[illustration: dr maurus jókai] works of maurus jÓkai hungarian edition the nameless castle translated from the hungarian under the author's supervision by s. e. boggs new york doubleday, page & company introduction to the english translation of my works this is not the first occasion upon which it has been my good fortune to win appreciation and approval for my works from the reading public of the united states. up to the present, however, it has often been under difficulties; for many of my works which have been published in the english tongue were not translated from the original hungarian text, while others, through want of a final perusal, were introduced to the public marred by numerous faults. in the present edition we have striven to give the english reading public a correct translation, for which an authorized text has been utilized by the doubleday & mcclure co., who have sole right for publishing future english translations of my books. between the united states and hungary we discover many common traits: the same state-creative energy in the predominant people, which finds expression in constitutional forms, relying upon the love of freedom, which unites so many different races in one uniform whole; the same independent institutions; the same ideas in religion, in ethics; the same respect for women, the same esteem of labor, the same mental culture; a striving after progress, yet side by side with this a high respect for traditions; the same poetry of agriculture, the same prose of industry; rapid progress of both, and in consequence thereof an impetuous growth of towns. yet, while we find so many common traits between america and hungary in the great field of theory, those typical figures which here in hungary represent such theories must make a novel and extraordinary _entrée_ in the new world, that they may deserve to win the interest of the foreign reader. hungary still represents a piece and parcel of the old world; she is not so much europe as a modern asia. my novels centre round those peculiar figures of hungarian common life; and in every work of mine a bit of history of true common life will be found described. i have had a particular delight, however, in occupying myself with foreign countries, especially with the east. there have been years when i was compelled to choose subjects for novel-writing in foreign parts. in english and in hungarian literature we find a common trait in that humor which is discovered also in the tragic; a characteristic of the nation itself. it is with perfect confidence and in good hope that i present my present work (translated so faithfully) before the much-esteemed english reading public. may god bless that home of freedom, by whose example we have learnt how to unite the greatness of the state with the welfare of the people. dr. maurus jokai. budapest, may th, . dr. maurus jokai a sketch to a man who has earned such titles as "the shakespeare of hungary" and "the glory of hungarian literature"; who published in fifty years three hundred and fifty novels, dramas, and miscellaneous works, not to mention innumerable articles for the press that owes its freedom chiefly to him, it seems incredible that there was ever a time of indecision as to what career he was best fitted to follow. the idle life of the nobility into which maurus jókay was born in had no attractions for a strongly intellectual boy, fired with zeal and energy that carried him easily to the head of each class in school and college; nor did he feel any attraction for the prosaic practice of law, his father's profession, to which austria's despotism drove many a nobleman in those wretched days for hungary. it was pétofi, the poet, who was his dearest friend during the student-life at pápa; idealism ever attracted him, and, by natural gravitation toward the finest minds, he chose the friendship of young men who quickly rose into eminence during the days of revolution and invasion that tried men's souls. for a time jókay, as he then wrote his name, was undecided whether to choose literature or art as an outlet for the idealism, imagination, and devotion that overflowed in two directions from this boy of seventeen. with some of the inherited artistic talent, which in his relative munkacsy amounted to genius, he felt most inclined toward painting and sculpture, and finally consecrated himself to them. in his library at budapest there now stands a small, well-executed bust of his wife in ivory; and on the walls hang several landscapes and still-life paintings, which he showed with a smile to an american visitor, who stood silent before them last winter, hoping for some inspiration of speech that would reconcile politeness with veracity and her own ideals of good art. if a "deep love for art and an ardent desire to excel" will "more than compensate for the want of method," to quote sir joshua reynolds, then jókay would have been a great painter indeed. while he never was that, his chisel and brushes have remained a recreation and delight to him always. apparently he was diverted from art to literature by a trifle; but in the light of later developments it is simple enough to see which was really the greater force working within. the academy of arts and sciences, founded by szécheni, offered a prize for the best drama, and jókay won it. he was then seventeen, for careers began early in olden times. when twenty-one his first novel, "work days," met with great applause; other romances quickly followed, and, as they dealt with the social and political tendencies that fanned the revolution into flame two years later, their success was instantaneous. his true representations of hungarian life and character, his passionate love of liberty, his lofty idealism for his crushed and lethargic country, aroused a great wave of patriotism like a call to arms, and consecrated him to work with his pen for the freedom of the common people. henceforth paint-brushes were cast aside. pétofi and jókay, teeming with great ideas, quickly attracted other writers and young men of the university about them, and, each helping the other, brought about a bloodless revolution that secured, among other inestimable boons, the freedom of a censored, degraded press. and yet the only act of violence these young revolutionists committed was in entering a printing establishment and setting up with their own hands the type for pétofi's poem, that afterward became the war-song of the national movement. at that very establishment was soon to be printed a proclamation granting twelve of their dearest wishes to the people. from this time jókay changed the spelling of his name to jókai, _y_ being a badge of nobility hateful to disciples of the doctrine of liberty, fraternity, equality. about this time jókai married the rachel of the hungarian stage, rosa laborfalvy. the portrait of her that hangs in her husband's famous library shows a beautiful woman of intense sensitiveness, into whose face some of the sadness of her rôles seems to have crept. it was to her powers of impersonation and disguise that jókai owed his life many years later, when, imprisoned and suffering in a dungeon, he was enabled to escape in her clothes to join kossuth in the desperate fight against the allied armies of austria and russia. since her death he has lived in retirement. the bloodless revolution of , which suddenly transformed hungary into a modern state, possessing civil and religious liberty for which the young idealists led by kossuth had labored with such passionate zeal, was not effected without antagonizing the old aristocracy, all of whose cherished institutions were suddenly swept away; or the semi-barbaric people of the peasant class, who could little appreciate the beneficent reforms. into the awful civil war that followed, when the horrors of an austrian-russian invasion were added to the already desperate situation, jókai plunged with magnificent heroism. side by side with kossuth, he fought with sword and pen. those who heard him deliver an address at the peace congress at brussels two years ago felt through his impassioned eloquence that the man had himself drained the bitterest dregs of war. while kossuth lived in exile in england and the united states, and many other compatriots escaped to turkey and beyond, jókai, in concealment at home, writing under an assumed name and with a price on his head, continued his work for social reform, until a universal pardon was granted by austria and the saddened idealists once more dared show their faces in devastated hungary. ripe with experience and full of splendid intellectual power, jókai now turned his whole attention to literature. the pages of his novels glow with the warmth of the man's intensity of feeling: his pen had been touched by a living coal. he knew his country as no other man has known it; and transferred its types, its manners, its life in high degree and low, to the pages of his romances and dramas with a brilliancy and mastery of style that captivated the people, whose idol he still remains. scenes from turkish life--in which, next to hungarian, he is particularly interested; historical novels, romances of pure imagination, short tales, dramatic works, essays on literature and social questions, came pouring from his surcharged brain and heart. the very virtues of his work, its intensity, and the boundless scope of its imagination, sometimes produce a lack of unity and an improbability to which the hypercritical in the west draw attention with a sense of superior wisdom; but the hungarians themselves, who know whereof he writes, can see no faults whatever in his work. it is essentially idealistic; the true and the beautiful shine through it with radiant lustre, in sharp distinction from the scenes of famine and carnage that abound. his turkish stories have been described as "full of blood and roses." of his more mature productions, the best known are: "a magyar nabob"; "the fools of love"; "the new landlord"; "black diamonds"; "a romance of the coming century"; "handsome michael"; "god is one," in which the unitarians play an important part; "the nameless castle," that gives an account of the hungarian army employed against napoleon in ; "captive ráby," a romance of the times of joseph ii.; and "as we grow old," the latter being the author's own favorite and, strangely enough, the people's also. dr. jókai greatly deplores that what the critics call his best work should not have been given to the english-speaking people. in hungary celebrated the completion of his fifty years of literary labor by issuing a beautiful jubilee edition of his works, for which the people of all grades of society subscribed $ , . every county in the country sent him memorials in the form of albums wrought in gold and precious stones, two hundred of these souvenirs filling one side of the author's large library and reception-room. low bookcases running around the walls are filled only with his own publications, the various editions of his three hundred and fifty books making a large library in themselves. the cabinets hold sketches and paintings sent by the artists of hungary as a jubilee gift; there are cases containing carvings, embroidery, lace, and natural-history specimens sent him by the peasants, and orders in gold and silver, studded with jewels, with autograph letters from the kings and queens of europe. in the midst of all this inspiring display of loving appreciation, dr. jókai has his desk; a pile of neatly written, even manuscript ever before him, for in his seventy-fourth year he still feels the old-time passion for work calling him to it early in the morning and holding him in its spell all the day long. a small room adjoining his library contains the books of reference he consults, a narrow bed like a soldier's, and a few window plants. it might be the room of a monk, so bare is it of what the world calls comforts. one devoted man-servant attends to dr. jókai's simple wants with abundant leisure to spare. while in budapest dr. jókai is seldom seen away from home, except in parliament, where he has a seat in the upper house, or at the theatre where his plays are regularly performed, or at the table of a few dear relatives and old-time friends. his life is exceedingly simple and well ordered. just a little way back on the hills that rise beyond buda, across the danube and overlooking wide stretches of beautiful, fertile country, stands dr. jókai's summer-home. his garden is a paradise. quantities of roses climb over the unpretentious house, the paths are lined with them; gay beds of poppies and other familiar favorites in our western gardens, but many new to american eyes, crowd the fruit that grows in delightful abundance everywhere, for dr. jókai tends his garden with his own hands, and his horticultural wisdom is only second to his knowledge of the turkish wars. his apples, pears, and roses win prizes at all the shows, and his little book, "hints on gardening," propagates a large crop of like-minded enthusiasts year after year. now, as ever, any knowledge he has he shares with the people. after a long life of bitter stress and labor, abundant peace has come in the latter days. hungary boasts four great men: liszt, munkacsy, kossuth, and jókai, who was the intimate friend of the other three. neltje blanchan. new york, june, . contents i cythera's brigade ii the home of anecdote iii the mistress of the cats iv satan laczi v ange barthelmy vi death and new life in the nameless castle vii the hungarian militia viii katharina or themire? ix satan and demon x conclusion part i cythera's brigade chapter i a snow-storm was raging with such vigor that any one who chanced to be passing along the silent thoroughfare might well have believed himself in st. petersburg instead of in paris, in the rue des ours, a side street leading into the avenue st. martin. the street, never a very busy one, was now almost deserted, as was also the avenue, as it was yet too early for vehicles of various sorts to be returning from the theatre. the street-lamps on the corners had not yet been lighted. in front of one of those old-fashioned houses which belong to a former paris a heavy iron lantern swung, creaking in the wind, and, battling with the darkness, shed flickering rays of light on the child who, with a faded red cotton shawl wrapped about her, was cowering in the deep doorway of the house. from time to time there would emerge from the whirling snowflakes the dark form of a man clad as a laborer. he would walk leisurely toward the doorway in which the shivering child was concealed, but would turn when he came to the circle of light cast on the snowy pavement by the swinging lantern, and retrace his steps, thus appearing and disappearing at regular intervals. surely a singular time and place for a promenade! the clocks struck ten--the hour which found every honest dweller within the quartier st. martin at home. on this evening, however, two belated citizens came from somewhere, their hurrying footsteps noiseless in the deep snow, their approach announced only by the lantern carried by one of them--an article without which no respectable citizen at the beginning of the century would have ventured on the street after nightfall. one of the pedestrians was tall and broad-shouldered, with a handsome countenance, which bore the impress of an inflexible determination; a dimple indented his smoothly shaven chin. his companion, and his senior by several years, was a slender, undersized man. when the two men came abreast of the doorway illumined by the swinging lamp, it was evident that they had arrived at their destination. they halted and prepared to enter the house. at this moment the child crouching in the snow began to sob. "see here!" exclaimed the taller of the two gentlemen. "here is a little girl." "why, so there is!" in turn exclaimed the elder, stooping and letting the light of his lantern fall on the child's face. "what are you doing here, little one?" he asked in a kindly tone. "i want my mama! i want my mama!" wailed the child, with a fresh burst of sobs. "who is your mama?" queried the younger man. "my mama is the countess." "and where does she live?" "in the palace." "naturally! in which avenue is the palace?" "i--don't--know." "a true child of paris!" in an undertone exclaimed the elder gentleman. "she knows that her mother is a countess, and that she lives in a palace; but she has never been told the name of the street in which is her home." "how come you to be here, little countess?" inquired the younger man. "diana can tell you," was the reply. "and who may diana be?" "why, who else but mama's diana?" "allow me to question her," here interposed the elder man. then, to the child: "diana is the person who helps you put on your clothes, is she not?" "it is just the other way: she took off my clothes--just see; i have nothing on but this petticoat and this hideous shawl." as she spoke she flung back the faded shawl and revealed how scantily she was clad. "you poor child!" compassionately ejaculated the young man; and when he saw that her thin morocco slippers were buried in the snow, he lifted her hastily in his arms. "you are half frozen." "but why did diana leave you half clothed in this manner?" pursued the elder man. "why did she undress you? can't you tell us that much?" "mama slapped her this morning." "ah! then diana is a servant?" "why, of course; what else could she be?" "well, she might be a goddess or a hound, you know," smilingly returned the old gentleman. "when mama went to the opera, this evening," explained the little one, "she ordered diana to take me to the children's ball at the marquis's. instead, she brought me to this street, made me get out of the carriage, took off my silk ball-gown and all my pretty ornaments, and left me here in this doorway--i am sure i don't know why, for there is n't any music here." "it is well she left this old shawl with you, else your mama would not have a little countess to tell the tale to-morrow," observed the elder man. then, turning to his companion, he added in a lower tone: "what are we to do with her?" "we can't leave her here; that would be inhuman," was the reply, in the same cautious tone. "but we can't take her in; it would be a great risk." "what is there to fear from an innocent prattler who cannot even remember her mother's name?" "we might take her to the conciergerie," suggested the elder gentleman. "_i_ think we had better not disturb the police when they are asleep," in a significant tone responded his companion. "that is true; but we can't take the child to our apartments. you know that we--" "i have an idea!" suddenly interposed the young man. "this innocent child has been placed in our way by providence; by aiding her we may accomplish more easily the task we have undertaken." "i understand," assented the elder; "we can accomplish two good deeds at one and the same time. allow me to go up-stairs first; while you are locking the door i will arrange matters up there so that you may bring this poor little half-frozen creature directly with you." then, to the child: "don't be afraid, little countess; nothing shall harm you. to-morrow morning perhaps you will remember your mama's name, or else she will send some one in search of you." he opened the door, and ran hastily up the worn staircase. when the young man, with the little girl in his arms, reached the door at the head of the stairs, his companion met him, and, with a meaning glance, announced that everything was ready for the reception of their small guest. they entered a dingy anteroom, which led, through heavily curved antique sliding-doors, into a vaulted saloon hung with faded tapestry. here the child exhibited the first signs of alarm. "are you going to kill me?" she cried out in terror. the old gentleman laughed merrily, and said: "why, surely you don't take us to be _croquemitaines_ who devour little children; do you?" "have you got a little girl of your own?" queried the little one, suddenly. "no, my dear," replied the old gentleman, visibly affected by the question. "i have no wife; therefore i cannot have a little girl." "but my mama has no husband, and she 's got me," prattled the child. "that is different, my dear. but if i have not got a little girl, i know very well what to do for one." as he spoke he drew off the child's wet slippers and stockings, rubbed her feet with a flannel cloth, then laid her on the bed which stood in the alcove. "why, how warm this bed is!" cried the child; "just as if some one had been sleeping here." the old man's face betrayed some confusion as he responded: "might i not have warmed it with a warming-pan?" "but where did you get hot coals?" "well, well, what an inquisitive little creature it is!" muttered the old man. then, aloud: "my dear, don't you say your prayers before going to sleep?" "no, indeed! mama says we shall have plenty of time for that when we grow old." "an enlightened woman, truly! well, i dare say, my little maid, your convictions will not prevent you from drinking a cup of egg-punch, and partaking of a bit of pasty or a small biscuit?" at mention of these dainties the child's countenance brightened; and while she was eating the repast with evident relish, the younger man rummaged from somewhere a large, beautifully dressed doll. all thought of fear now vanished from the small guest's mind. she clasped the toy in her arms, and, having finished her light meal, began to sing a lullaby, to which she very soon fell asleep herself. "she is sleeping soundly," whispered the elder man, softly drawing together the faded damask bed-curtains, and walking on tiptoe back to the fireplace, where his companion had fanned the fire into a fresh blaze. "it is high time," was the low and rather impatient response. "we can't stop here much longer. do you know what has happened to the duke?" "yes, i know. he has been sentenced to death. to-morrow he will be executed. what have you discovered?" "a fox on the trail of a lion!" harshly replied the young man. "he who aroused so many hopes is, after all, nothing more than an impostor--leon maria hervagault, the son of a tailor at st. leu. the true dauphin, the son of louis xvi., really died a natural death, after he had served a three years' apprenticeship as shoemaker under master simho; and in order that a later generation might not be able to secure his ashes, he was buried in quick-lime in the chapel of st. margarethe." "they were not so scrupulous concerning monsieur,"[ ] observed the old man, restlessly pacing the floor. "i received a letter from my agent to-day; he writes that monsieur was secretly shot at dillingen." [footnote : count de provence, afterward louis xviii.] "what! he, too? then--" "hush!" cautiously interposed the elder man. "that child might not be asleep." "and if she were awake, what could she understand?" "true; but we must be cautious." he ceased his restless promenade, and came close to the young man's side. "everything is at an end here," he added in a lower tone. "we must remove our treasure to a more secure hiding-place--this very night, indeed, if it be possible." "it is possible," assented his companion. "the plan of flight was arranged two days ago. the most difficult part was to get away from this house. it is watched day and night. chance, however, has come to our aid." "i understand," nodded the old gentleman, glancing significantly toward the bed. "the most serious question now is, where shall we find a secure hiding-place? even england is not safe. the bullets of dillingen can reach to that country! indeed, wherever there are police no secret is safe." "i 'll tell you something," after a moment's deliberation observed the elder man. "i know of a country in europe where order prevails, and where there are no police spies; and, what is more, the place of which i speak is beyond the range of a gunshot!" "i confess i am curious to learn where such a place may be found," with an incredulous smile returned the young man. "fetch the map, and i will point it out to you. afterward we will arrange your route toward it." the two men spread a large map of europe on the table, and, bending over it, were soon deeply absorbed in examining it, the while exchanging whispered remarks. at last they seemed to have agreed on something. the map was folded up and thrust into the younger man's pocket. "i shall start at once," he said, with an air of decision. "that is well," with evident satisfaction assented his companion. "and take with you also the steel casket. in it are all the necessary documents, some articles of clothing on which the mother with her own hands embroidered the well-known symbol, and a million of francs in english bank-notes. these, however, you will not use unless compelled to do so by extreme necessity. you will receive annually a sufficient sum from a certain banking-house which will supply all your wants. have our two trusty friends been apprised?" "yes; they await me hourly." "so soon as you are beyond the french boundary you may communicate with me in the way we have agreed upon. until i hear from you i shall be in a terror of anxiety. i am sorry i cannot accompany you, but i am already suspected. you are, as yet, free from suspicion--are not yet registered in the black book!" "you may trust my skill to evade pursuit," said the young man, producing from a secret cupboard a casket richly ornamented with gold. "i do not doubt your skill, or your ability to accomplish the undertaking; but the task is not a suitable one for so young a man. have you considered the fate which awaits you?" "i have considered everything." "you will be buried; and, what is worse, you will be the keeper of your own prison." "i shall be a severe jailer, i promise you," with a grim smile responded the young man. "jester! you forget your twenty-six years! and who can tell how long you may be buried alive?" "have no fear for me. i do not dread the task. those in power now will one day be overthrown." "but when the child, who is only twelve years old now, becomes in three or four years a blooming maiden--what then? already she is fond of you; then she will love you. you cannot hinder it; and yet, you will not even dare to dream of returning her love. have you thought of this also?" "i shall look upon myself as the inhabitant of a different planet," answered the young man. "your hand, my friend! you have undertaken a noble task--one that is greater than that of the captive knight who cut off his own foot, that his sovereign, who was chained to him, might escape--" "pray say no more about me," interposed his companion. "is the child asleep?" "this one is; the one in the other room is awake." "then let us go to her and tell her what we have decided." he lifted the two-branched candlestick from the table; his companion carefully closed the iron doors of the fireplace; then the two went into the adjoining chamber, leaving the room they had quitted in darkness. the elder gentleman had made a mistake: "this" child was _not_ asleep. she had listened attentively, half sitting up in bed, to as much of the conversation as she could hear. a ray of light penetrated through the keyhole. the little girl sprang nimbly from the bed, ran to the door, and peered through the tiny aperture. suddenly footsteps came toward the door. when it opened, however, the little eavesdropper was back underneath the covers of the bed. the old gentleman entered the room. he had no candle. he left the door open, walked noiselessly to the bed, and drew aside the curtains to see if "this" child was still asleep. the long-drawn, regular breathing convinced him. then he took something from the chair beside the bed, and went back into the other room. the object he had taken from the chair was the faded red shawl in which the stray child had been wrapped. he did not close the door of the adjoining chamber, for the candles had been extinguished and both rooms were now dark. to the listening child in the bed, however, it seemed as if voices were whispering near her--as if she heard a stifled sob. then cautious footsteps crossed the floor, and after an interval of silence the street door opened and closed. very soon afterward a light was struck in the adjoining room, and the elder man came through the doorway--alone. he flung back the doors of the fireplace, and stirred the embers; then he proceeded to perform a singular task. first he tossed a number of letters and papers into the flames, then several dainty articles of girls' clothing. he watched them until they had burned to ashes; then he flung himself into an arm-chair; his head sank forward on his breast, in which position he sat motionless for several hours. chapter ii when the younger of the two men stepped into the street he carried in his arms a little girl wrapped in a faded red shawl, to whom he was speaking encouragingly, in tones loud enough for any passer-by to hear: "i know the little countess will be able to find her mama's palace; for there is a fountain in front of it in which there is a stone man with a three-pronged fork, and a stone lady with a fish-tail! oh, yes; we shall be sure to find it; and very soon we shall be with mama." here the child in his arms began to sob bitterly. "for heaven's sake, do not weep; do not let your voice be heard," whispered the young man in her ear. at this moment a man wearing a coarse blouse, with his cap drawn over his eyes and a short pipe between his lips, came staggering toward them. the young man, in order to make room for him, pressed close to the wall, whereupon the new-comer, who seemed intoxicated, began in drunken tones: "hello, citizen! what do you mean? do you want me to walk in the gutter?--because you have got on fine boots, and i have only wooden sabots! i am a citizen like yourself, and as good as you. we are alike, are n't we?" the young man now knew with whom he had to deal--a police spy whose duty it was to watch him. he therefore replied quietly: "no, we are not alike, citizen; for i have in my arms an unfortunate child who has strayed from its mother. every frenchman respects a child and misfortune. is not that so, citizen?" "yes, that is so, citizen. let 's have a little conversation about it"; and the pretended drunkard seized hold of the young man's mantle to detain him. "it is very cold," returned the young man. "instead of talking here, suppose you help me get this child to its home. go to the nearest corner and fetch a coach. i will wait here for you." the blouse-wearer hesitated a moment, then walked toward the street-corner, managing, however, to keep an eye on the young man and his charge. at the corner he whistled in a peculiar manner, whereupon the rumbling of wheels was heard. in a few moments the leather-covered vehicle drew up beside the curb where the young man was waiting. "i am very much obliged to you for your kindness, citizen," he said to the blouse-wearer, who had returned with the coach. "here," pressing a twenty-sou piece into the man's palm, "is something for your trouble. i wish you would come with me to help hunt for this little girl's home. if you have time, and will come with me, you shall be paid for your trouble." "can't do it, citizen; my wife is expecting me at home. just you trust this coachman; he will help you find the place. he 's a clever youth--are n't you, peroquin? you have made many a night journey about paris, have n't you? see that you earn your twenty francs to-night, too!" that the coachman was also in the service of the secret police the young man knew very well; but he did not betray his knowledge by word or mien. the blouse-wearer now shook hands cordially with the young man, and said: "adieu, citizen. i beg your pardon if i offended you. i 'll leave you now. i am going to my wife, or to the tavern; who can tell the future?" he waited until the young man had entered the coach with his charge; then, instead of betaking himself to his wife or to the tavern, he crossed the street, and took up his station in the recess of a doorway opposite the house with the swinging lantern. . . . "where to?" asked the coachman of the young man. "well, citizen," was the smiling response, "if i knew that, all would be well. but that is just what i don't know; and the little countess, here, who has strayed from her home, can't remember the street, nor the number of the house, in which she lives. she can only remember that her mama's palace is on a square in which there is a fountain. we must therefore visit all the fountains in turn until we find the right one." the coachman made no further inquiries, but climbed to the box, and drove off in quest of the fountains of paris. two fountains were visited, but neither of them proved to be the right one. the young man now bade the coachman drive through a certain street to a third fountain. it was a narrow, winding street--the rue des blancs manteaux. when the coach was opposite a low, one-storied house, the young man drew the strap, and told the driver he wished to stop for a few moments. as the vehicle drew up in front of the house, the door opened, and a tall, stalwart man in top-boots came forth, accompanied by a sturdy dame who held a candle, which she protected from the wind with the palm of her hand. "is that you, raoul?" called the young man from the coach window. there was no response from the giant, who, instead, sprang nimbly to the box, and, flinging one arm around the astonished coachman, thrust a gag into his mouth. before the captive could make a move to defend himself, his fare was out of the coach, and had pinioned his arms behind his back. the giant and the young man now lifted the coachman from the box and carried him into the house, the woman followed with the trembling child, whom she had carefully lifted from the coach. in the house, the two men bound their captive securely, first removing his coat. then they seated him on the couch, and placed a mirror in front of him. "you need not be alarmed, citizen," said the man in the top-boots. "no harm shall come to you. we are only going to copy your face--because of its beauty, you know!" the young man also seated himself in front of the mirror, and proceeded, with various brushes and colors, to paint his cheeks and nose a copper hue, exactly like that of the coachman's reflection in the glass. then he exchanged his own peruke and hat for the shabby ones of the coachman. lastly, he flung around his shoulders the mantle with its seven collars, and the resemblance was complete. "and now," observed the giant, addressing the captive, "you can rest without the least fear. at the latest, to-morrow about this time your coach, your horses, your mantle, and whatever else belongs to you will be returned. for the use of the things we have borrowed from you we shall leave in the pocket of your coat twenty francs for every hour, and an extra twenty francs as a _pourboire_; don't forget to look for it! to-morrow at eleven o'clock a girl will fetch milk; she will release you, and you can tell her what a singular dream you had! if you can't go to sleep, just repeat the multiplication table. i always do when i can't sleep, and i never have to go beyond seven times seven. good night, citizen!" the door of the adjoining room opened, and the woman appeared, leading by the hand a pretty little boy. "we are ready," she announced. the two men thrust pistols into their pockets. then the woman and the little boy entered the coach, the two men took seats on the box, and the coach rolled away. chapter iii at ten o'clock the next morning the old gentleman paid a visit to his little guest. this time the child was really asleep, and opened her eyes only when the curtains were drawn back and the light from the window fell on her face. "how kind of you to waken me, monsieur!" she said, smiling; she was in a good humor, as children are who have slept well. "i have slept splendidly. this bed is as good as my own at home. and how delightful not to hear my governess scolding! you never scold, do you, monsieur? i deserve to be scolded, though, for i was very naughty last night, and you were so kind to me--gave me such nice egg-punch; see, there is a glass of it left over; it will do for my breakfast. i love cold punch, so you need not trouble to bring me any chocolate." with these words, the little maid sprang nimbly from the bed, ran with the naïveté of an eight-year-old child to the table, where she settled herself in the corner of the sofa, drew her bare feet up under her, and proceeded to breakfast on the left-over punch and biscuits. "there! that was a good breakfast," she said, after she had finished her meal. "oh, i almost forgot. has mama sent for me?" "certainly not, my dear! we are going, by and by, to look for her. the countess very likely has not yet learned of your disappearance; and if she does know that you did not return home last night, she believes you safe with the marquis. she will think you were not allowed to return home in the storm, and will not expect to see you before noon." "you are very clever, monsieur. i should never have thought of that! i imagined that mama would be vexed, and when mama is cross she is _so_ disagreeable. at other times, though, she is perfectly lovely! you will see how very beautiful she is, monsieur, for you are coming home with me to tell her how you found me--you are so very kind! how i wish you were my papa!" the old gentleman was touched by the little one's artless prattle. "well, my dear little maid," he said tenderly, "we can't think of showing ourselves on the street in such a costume. besides, it would frighten your mama to see you so. i am going out to one of the shops to buy you a frock. tell me, what sort was it diana took from you?" "a lovely pink silk, trimmed with lace, with short sleeves," promptly replied the little maid. "i shall not forget--a pink silk, trimmed with lace. you need not be afraid to stay alone here. no one will come while i am away." "oh, i am not the least bit afraid. i like to be alone sometimes." "there is the doll to keep you company," suggested the old gentleman, more and more pleased with his affable little visitor. "is n't she lovely!" enthusiastically exclaimed the child. "she slept with me last night, and every time i woke up i kissed her." "you shall have her for your own, if you like her so much, my dear." "oh, thank you! did the doll belong to your dear little daughter who is dead?" "yes--yes," sorrowfully murmured the old gentleman. "then i will not play with her, but keep her locked in my little cupboard, and call her philine. that was the name of my little sister who is dead. come here, philine, and sit by me." "perhaps you might like to look at a book while i am away--" "a book!" interrupted the child, with a merry laugh, clapping her hands. "why, i am just learning the alphabet, and can't bring myself to call a two-pronged fork 'y.'" "you dear little innocent rogue!" tenderly ejaculated the old gentleman. "are you fond of flowers?" he brought from the adjoining room a porcelain flowerpot containing a narcissus in bloom. "oh, what a charming flower!" cried the child, admiringly. "how i wish i might pluck just one!" "help yourself, my dear," returned her host, pushing the plant toward her. the child daintily broke off one of the snowy blossoms, and, with childlike coquetry, fastened it in the trimming of her chemise. "what is this beautiful flower called, monsieur?" "the narcissus." at mention of the name the little maid suddenly clapped her hands and cried joyfully: "why, that is the name of our palace! now don't you know where it is?" "the 'palace of narcissus'? i have heard of it." "then you will have no trouble finding my home. oh, you dear good little flower!" and she kissed the snowy blossom rapturously. the old gentleman surveyed her smilingly for a few moments, then said: "i will go now, and buy the frock." "and while you are away i shall tell philine the story of gargantua," responded the child. "lock the door after me, my dear, and do not open it until i mention my name: alfred cambray--" "oh, i should forget the second one! just say, 'papa alfred'; i can remember that." when the child was certain that the old gentleman had left the house, she began hastily to search the room. she peered into every corner and crevice. then she went into the adjoining chamber, and opened every drawer and cupboard. in returning to the first room she saw some scraps of paper scattered about the floor. she collected them carefully, placed them on the table, and dexterously fitted the pieces together until the entire note-sheet lay before her. it was covered with writing which had evidently been traced by a hurried hand, yet the child seemed to have no difficulty in reading it. when she heard the old gentleman's footstep on the staircase, she brushed the scraps of paper from the table, and hastened to open the door before the signal was given; and when he exhibited his purchase she danced for joy. "it is just like my ball-gown--exactly like it!" she exclaimed, kissing the hands of her benefactor. then the old gentleman clothed the child as skilfully as if he were accustomed to such work. when the task was finished he looked about him, and saw the scraps of paper on the floor; he swept them together, and threw them into the fire. then, with the hand of his little companion clasped in his own, he descended to the street in quest of a cab to take them to the palace of narcissus. the palace of narcissus had originally been the property of the celebrated danseuse, mlle. guimard, for whom it had been built by the duke de soubise. like so many other fine houses, it had been confiscated by the revolution and sold at auction--or, rather, had been disposed of by lottery, a lady who had paid one hundred and twenty francs for her ticket winning it. the winner of the palace sold it to m. périgaud, a banker and shrewd speculator, who divided the large dwelling into suites of apartments, which became the favorite lodgings of the young men of fashion. these young men were called the "narcissi," and later, the "incroyables" and "_petits crevés_." the building, however, retained the name of the palace of narcissus. when the fiacre stopped at the door of the palace which led to her mama's apartment, the little countess alighted with her escort, and said to the coachman: "you need not wait; the marquis will return home in my mama's carriage." m. cambray was obliged to submit to be called the "marquis." the harmless fib was due to the rank of the little countess; she could not have driven through the streets of paris in the same fiacre with a _pékin_! "we will not go up the main staircase," said the child, taking her companion's arm and leading him into the palace. "i don't want to meet any of the servants. we will go directly to mama's boudoir, and take her by surprise." the countess mother, however, was not in her boudoir; only a screaming cockatoo, and a capuchin monkey that grimaced a welcome. through the folding-doors which opened into an adjoining room came the melancholy tones of a harmonium; and m. cambray recognized a favorite air--beethoven's symphony, "_les adieux, l'absence, et le retour_." he paused a moment to listen to it. "that is mama playing," whispered the child. "you go in first, and tell her you have brought me home. be very careful; mama is very nervous." m. cambray softly opened the door, and halted, amazed, on the threshold. the room into which he had ventured unannounced was a magnificent salon, filled with a brilliant company. evidently the countess was holding a matinée. the assembled company were in full toilet. the women, who were chiefly young and handsome, were clad in the modest fashion of that day, which draped the shoulders and bust with embroidered kerchiefs, with priceless lace adorning their gowns and genuine pearls twined among their tresses. the men also wore full dress: hungarian trousers, short-waisted coat, with large, bright metal buttons, opening over an embroidered waistcoat. surrounded by her guests, the mistress of the house, an ideal of beauty, cythera herself, was seated at the harpsichord, her neck and shoulders hidden by her wonderfully beautiful golden hair. when m. cambray, in his plain brown coat buttoned to the chin, with black gloves and dull buckle-shoes, appeared in the doorway of the boudoir, which was not open to all the world, every eye was turned in surprise toward him. the lady at the harpsichord rose, surveyed the intruder with a haughty stare, and was about to speak when a lackey in silver-embroidered livery came hastily toward her and said something in a low tone. "what?" she ejaculated, with sudden terror. "my daughter lost?" the guests crowded around her, and a scene of great excitement followed. here m. cambray came forward and said: "i have found your daughter, countess, and return her to you." the lovely woman made one step toward the child, who had followed m. cambray into the room, then sank to the floor unconscious. she was tenderly lifted and borne into the boudoir. two physicians, who were of the company, followed. when the door closed behind them, the entire company remaining in the salon gathered about m. cambray. the ladies seized his hands; and while a blonde houri on his right sought to attract his attention, a brunette beauty claimed it on his left--both women ignoring the attempts of the men to shake hands with the hero of the hour. one of the men, an elderly and distinguished-looking personage with a commanding mien, now pressed forward to introduce himself. "monsieur, i am the marquis lyonel de fervlans," he repeated in a patronizing tone. "i am alfred cambray," was the simple response. "ah? pray, have the kindness to tell us--the friends of the countess--what has happened?" m. cambray related how and where he had found the lost child, the company listening with eager attention. all were deeply affected. some of the women wept. when m. cambray concluded his recital, the marquis grasped both his hands, and, pressing them warmly, said in a trembling voice: "thanks, many thanks, you brave, good man! we will never forget your kindness." one of the physicians now came from the boudoir, and announced that the countess was better, and desired to speak to the deliverer of her child. the countess was reclining on an ottoman, half buried in luxurious cushions. her little daughter was kneeling by her side, her head resting on her mother's knee. it was a charming tableau. "i am not able to express my gratitude, monsieur," began the countess, in a faint voice, extending both hands toward m. cambray. "i hope you will allow me to call you my friend. i shall never cease to thank you! amélie, my love, kiss this hand; look at this face; impress it on your heart, and never, _never_ forget it, for this brave gentleman rescued you from a most horrible fate." m. cambray listened to these profuse expressions of gratitude, but with heedless ear. his thoughts were with the fugitives. he longed to know if they had escaped pursuit. while the countess was speaking he could not help but think that a great ado was being made because a little countess had been abandoned half clad in the public street. _he_ knew of another little maid who had been treated with far greater cruelty. his reply was brief: "your little daughter is very charming." the mother sat upright with sudden decision, and unfastened the ivory locket from the black ribbon around her neck. it contained a portrait of the little countess amélie. "if the memory of the little foundling you rescued is dear to you, monsieur, then accept this from me, and think sometimes of your protégée." it was a noble gift indeed! the lovely countess had given him her most valued ornament. m. cambray expressed his thanks, pressed his lips to the countess's hand, and kissed the little amélie, who smilingly lifted her face for the caress. then he bowed courteously, and returned to the salon. he was met at the door by the marquis de fervlans, who exclaimed reproachfully: "what, you are going to desert us already? then, if you will go, you must allow me to offer you my carriage." he gave his arm to the old gentleman, and conducted him to the vestibule, where, among a number of liveried servants, stood a trim hussar in swiss uniform. the marquis ordered the hussar to fetch his carriage, and, when it drew up before the door, himself assisted m. cambray to enter it. then he shook hands cordially with the old gentleman, stepped back to the doorway, and watched the carriage roll swiftly across the square. * * * * * when the servant jocrisse had closed the boudoir door behind m. cambray, the suffering countess sprang lightly from her couch, and pressed her handkerchief to her lips to smother her laughter; the little amélie, overwhelmed by merriment, buried her face in her mother's skirts; the maid giggled discreetly; while jocrisse, clasping his rotund stomach with both hands, bent his head toward his knees, and betrayed his suppressed hilarity by his shaking shoulders. even the more important of the two physicians pursed his lips into a smile, and proffered his snuff-box to his colleague, who, smothering with laughter, whispered: "are we not capital actors?" * * * * * meanwhile m. cambray drove rapidly in the marquis de fervlans's carriage through the streets of paris. he was buried in thought. he glanced only now and then from the window. he was not altogether satisfied with himself that he was riding in a carriage which belonged to so important a person--a gentleman whose name he had never heard until that day. suddenly he was surprised to find the carriage entering a gateway. a carriage could not enter the gate at his lodgings! the swiss hussar sprang from the box, opened the carriage door, and m. cambray found himself confronted by a sergeant with a drawn sword. "this is not my residence," said the old gentleman. "certainly not," replied the sergeant. "this is the prison of st. pélagie." "what have i to do here? my name is alfred cambray." "you are the very one we have been expecting." and now it was m. cambray's turn to laugh merrily. when m. cambray's pockets had been searched, and everything suspicious confiscated, he was conducted to a room in the second story, in which he was securely locked. he had plenty of time to look about his new lodgings. apparently the room had been occupied by many an important personage. the walls were covered with names. above some of them impromptu verses had been scribbled; others had perpetuated their profiles; and still others had drawn caricatures of those who had been the means of lodging them here. the guillotine also figured among the illustrations. the new lodger was not specially surprised to find himself a prisoner; what he could not understand was the connection between the two events. how came it about that the courteous and sympathetic marquis de fervlans's carriage had brought him here from the palace of the deeply grateful countess? he was puzzling his brain over this question when his door suddenly opened, and a morose old jailer entered with some soup and bread for the prisoner. "thanks, i have dined," said m. cambray. the jailer placed the food on the table, with the words: "i want you to understand, citizen, that if you have any idea of starving yourself to death, we shall pour the soup down your throat." toward evening another visitor appeared. the door was opened with loud clanking of chains and bolts, and a tall man crossed the threshold. it was the marquis de fervlans. his manner now was not so condescending and sympathetic. he approached the prisoner, and said in a commanding tone that was evidently intended to be intimidating: "you have been betrayed, and may as well confess everything; it is the only thing that will save you." a scornful smile crossed the prisoner's lips. "that is the usual form of address to a criminal who has been arrested for burglary." the marquis laughed. "i see, m. cambray, that you are not the sort of person to be easily frightened. it is useless to adopt the usual prison methods with you. very well; then we will try a different one. it may be that we shall part quite good friends! what do i say? part? say, rather, that we may continue together, hand in hand! but to the point. you have a friend who shared the same apartment with you. this gentleman deserted you last night, i believe?" "the ingrate!" ironically ejaculated m. cambray. "beg pardon, but there was also a little girl secreted in your apartment, whom no one ever saw--" "pardon me, monsieur," interrupted cambray, "but it is not the custom for french gentlemen to spy out or chatter about secrets which relate to the fair sex." "i am not talking about the sort of female you refer to, monsieur, but about a child--a girl of perhaps twelve years." "how, pray, can one determine the age of a lady whom no one has seen?" "certain telltale circumstances give one a clue," retorted de fervlans. "why, for instance, do you keep a doll in your rooms?" "a doll? i play with it myself sometimes! i am a queer old fellow with peculiar tastes." "very good; we will allow that you are telling the truth. what have you to say to the fact that you took to your apartment yesterday evening a stray child, and an hour later your friend came out of the house with another child, wrapped in the shawl which had enveloped the lost child when you found her--" "have they been overtaken?" hastily interrupted cambray, forgetting himself. "no, they have not--more 's the pity!" returned the marquis. "my detective was not clever enough to perceive the difference between the eight-year-old girl who was carried to your apartments at ten o'clock, and the twelve-year-old little maid whom your friend brought downstairs at eleven, pretending that he was going in search of the lost child's mother. besides, everything conspired to aid your friend to escape. he was too cunning for us, and got such a start of his pursuers that there was no use trying to follow him. we do not even know in what direction he has gone." cambray repressed the sigh of relief which would have lightened his heart, and forced himself to say indifferently: "neither the young man nor the child concern me. it is his own family affair, in which i never meddled." "that is a move i cannot allow, m. cambray!" sharply responded the marquis. "there are proofs that you are perfectly familiar with his affairs." again cambray smiled scornfully. "you have evidently searched my lodgings." "we have done our duty, monsieur. we even tore up the floors, broke your furniture and ornaments,--for which we apologize,--and found nothing suspicious. notwithstanding this, however, we know very well that you received a letter yesterday warning you of approaching danger. we know very well that you and your friend traced out the route of his flight; we have a witness who listened to your plans, and who fitted together the scraps of the torn letter of warning, and read it." "and who may this witness be?" queried cambray. "the child you picked up in the street." "what!" ejaculated cambray, incredulously. "the little girl who sat shivering in the snow?" "yes; she is our most skilful detective, and has entrapped more than one conspirator," triumphantly interrupted de fervlans. "then"--and m. cambray brought his hands together in a vehement gesture--"what i have believed a myth is really true. the police authorities really employ a number of beautiful women, handsome young men, and clever children to spy out and entrap suspected persons? 'cythera's brigade' really exists?" "you had the pleasure of meeting that celebrated brigade this morning," replied de fervlans. "and those grateful men and women, who gathered about me with tearful eyes and sympathetic words--" "were members of cythera's brigade," supplemented the marquis. "and the mistress of the house--the beautiful woman who fainted at sight of her child?" "is the fair cythera's substitute! she taught her little daughter the part she played so successfully." with sudden fury m. cambray tore from his breast the ivory locket containing the little amélie's portrait, and was about to fling it on the floor and trample upon it. on second thought, he restrained himself, returned the locket to his breast, and muttered: "the child is not to blame. those who have made her such a monster are at fault. i will keep the miniature as a talisman for the future." "and now, m. cambray," pursued the marquis, "we want to learn what has become of your young friend. in fact, we _must_ know what has become of him and his charge." "i don't know where he is." "you do know. according to the report from our witness, he has fled to a 'country where order prevails, and where there are no police.' where is this country, m. cambray?" "in the moon, perhaps!" was the laconic response. "our witness heard these words from your own lips, and you pointed out the spot on the map to your friend." "your witness dreamed all this!" "m. cambray, let us talk sensibly. you are a banker--at least, that is what you are registered in the police records. it is to the interest of the state to discover your secret. if you will reveal the hiding-place of your friend you may demand your own reward. do you wish to be intrusted with the management of the state's finances? or--" "i regret, monsieur le marquis," interrupted cambray, "that i must refuse so handsome an opportunity to enrich myself. although i am a banker, i am no swindler." "very good! then you require no money. you are _not_ a banker, m. cambray; that is merely a fable. what is your ambition? should you prefer to be a governor? name any office; let it be what it may, you shall receive the appointment to-morrow." "thank you again, monsieur. i must repeat what i said before: i know nothing about the future residence of the fugitive gentleman." "and if i tell you, m. cambray, that your refusal may cost you your head?" "i should reply," returned cambray, smiling calmly, as he took up the piece of bread lying on the table, "that it is a matter of perfect indifference to me if this daily portion of bread is enjoyed by some one else to-morrow. that which i do not know i cannot tell you." "very well, then," in a harsh tone rejoined de fervlans. "i will tell you that cambray the banker may say what is not true; but the nobleman cannot lie. _marquis d'avoncourt_, do you know to what country your friend has flown?" at this question the old gentleman rose from his chair, drew himself up proudly, and gazing defiantly into the eyes of his questioner, replied: "i do." instantly de fervlans's manner changed. he became the embodiment of courtesy. he bowed with extreme politeness, then, slipping his arm familiarly through that of the prisoner, whispered insinuatingly: "and what can we do to win this information from you?" the gray-haired man released himself from de fervlans's arm, and answered with quiet irony: "i will tell you what you can do: have my head cut off, and send it to m. bichet, the celebrated professor of anatomy; perhaps he may be able to discover the information in my skull--if it is there! and now i beg you to leave me; i wish to be alone." de fervlans took up his hat, but turned at the door to say, in a meaning tone: "marquis d'avoncourt, we shall forget that you are a prisoner so long as it shall please you to remain obstinate. as for the fugitives, cythera's brigade will capture them, sooner or later. _au revoir_!" that same night the old nobleman was removed to the prison at ham. chapter iv while the ensnared conspirators against the state were receiving sentence in one district of paris, in another district the inhabitants were entertaining themselves. paris does not mourn very long. paris is like the earth: one half of it is always illumined by the sun. on this fateful evening the incroyables and the merveilleuses were amusing themselves within the walls of the palace of narcissus. the members of cythera's brigade took great pains to make outsiders believe that they never troubled themselves about that half of the world which was in shadow--that half called politics. in the salon of the fascinating countess themire dealba not a word was heard relating to affairs of state. the beautiful women who were banded together to learn the secrets which threatened the present order of government worked in an imperceptible manner. they did not belong to the ordinary class of spies--those who collect every ill-natured word, every trifling occurrence of the street. no, indeed! _they_ did nothing but amuse themselves. they were merry society women, trusty friends and confidantes. they moved in the best circles; no one ever saw them exchange a word with a police commissioner. if any one in the company happened to speak of anything even remotely connected with politics, some one quickly changed the subject to a more innocent theme; and if a stranger chanced to mention so delicate a matter as, say, the dinner which had been given by the emperor's nephew at very's, which cost seventy-five thousand francs, while forty thousand laborers were starving, then the witty countess themire herself turned the conversation to the "toilet rivalry" between the mesdames tallien and récamier. on this particular evening the countess dealba was discussing the beauties of the latest opera with a few of her most intimate friends, when the marquis de fervlans approached, and, bending over her, whispered: "i must see you alone; find an opportunity to leave the room, and join me in the conservatory." at that time it was the fashion to clothe children in garments similar to those worn by their elders. a company of little ones, therefore, looked like an assemblage of lilliputian merveilleuses and incroyables. the little men and women also accompanied their mamas to receptions and the theatre, where they joined in the conversation, danced vis-à-vis with their elders, made witty remarks, criticized the toilets and the play, gave an opinion as to whether hardy's confections or those of riches were the better, and if it were safe to depend on the friendship of the czar alexander. in this company of little ones the countess amélie was, beyond a doubt, the most conspicuous. one could not have imagined anything more interesting or entertaining than the manner of this miniature dame when left by her mama to do the honors of the house. the dignity with which the child performed her duties was enchanting. she understood perfectly how to entertain her mother's guests, how to spice her conversation with piquant anecdotes, how to mimic the manner of affected personages. she was, in a word, a prodigy! countess themire, knowing she might safely trust her little daughter to perform the duties of hostess, followed de fervlans to the conservatory. "we have been outwitted," he began at once. "they vanished twelve hours before we learned that they had flown." the countess shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head. "why do you think it necessary to tell me this?" she inquired, with a touch of asperity. "have you not got enough police to arrest the fugitives, who must pass through the entire country in their flight?" "yes, we have quite enough spies, and they are very skilful; but the fugitives are a trifle more skilful. they have disguised themselves so effectually that it is impossible to trace them. they seized a public coach by force, changed the number on it, and sent it back from the boundary by an accomplice, who left it in the rue muffetard. even should we succeed in tracing their flight, by the time we discovered them they would have crossed the boundary of switzerland, or would be sailing over the ocean. no; we must begin all over again. there is but one expedient: _you_ must travel in search of the fugitives, and bring them back." "i go in search of them and bring them back?" repeated the countess, in a startled tone. "the first part of your task will not be so difficult," continued de fervlans. "the imprisoned marquis will not reveal the destination of the fugitives; but we have learned, through your clever little daughter, that they have gone to a country where there is order, but where there are no police. that, methinks, is not a very difficult riddle to solve. you need only journey from place to place until you find such a country. the fugitives will be certain to betray themselves by their secrecy, and i have not the least doubt but your search will be rewarded before the year is out. for one year you shall have the command of three hundred thousand francs. when you discover the fugitives you will know very well what to do. the man is young and an enthusiast--an easy conquest, i should fancy; and when you have ensnared him the maid's fate is decided. we want the man, the maid, and the steel casket; any one of the three, however, will be of great value to us. you will keep us advised as to your progress, and we, of course, will assist you all we can. you know that we have secret agents all over europe. and now, you will do well to prepare for an immediate departure; there is not a moment to be lost." "but good, heavens! how can i take amélie on such a journey?" "you are not to take her with you--of what are you thinking? that man has already seen the child, and would recognize her at once." "you surely cannot mean that i am to desert my daughter?" "don't you think amélie will be in safe hands if you leave her in _my_ care?" asked de fervlans, with a glance that would have made any one who had not heard his words believe he was making a declaration of love. "besides, it will not be the first time you leave her to the care of another." "that is true," sighed the countess; "i ought to be accustomed to parting with her. have not i trusted her to the care of a police spy? and all for my own advantage! oh, what a wretched profession i have chosen for myself and my child!" "a profession that yields a handsome income, madame," supplemented the marquis, a trifle sharply. "you ought not to complain. surely the régime is not to blame that you married a roué, who squandered your fortune, and then was killed in a duel about a rope-dancer, leaving you a clever little daughter and a half-million of debts! what else could you have done to have earned a living for yourself and child?" "i might have sent the child to a foundling asylum, and sought employment for myself in the gobelin factory. it would have been better had i done so!" "i doubt it, countess. the path of virtue is only for those women who--have large feet! you are too fairy-like, and would have found the way too rough. it is much better, believe me, to serve the state. what would you? is there not a comforting word due to the conscience of the soldier who has killed a fellow-being in the interest of his country? don't you suppose his heart aches when he looks upon the death-struggles of the man he has killed without having a personal grudge against him? we are all soldiers of the state. when we assault an enemy, we do not inquire if we hurt him; we kill him! and the safety of our fatherland hallows the deed." "but that which we are doing is immoral," interposed the countess. "and that which our enemy is doing is not immoral, i presume? are not their beautiful women, their polished courtiers, acting as spies in our salons? we are only using their own weapons against them." "that may be; but it was a repulsive thought that prompted the using of children as instruments in this deadly game." "were not they the first to set us an example? was not it a repulsive thought which prompted them to hold over the heads of an entire people that hellish machine of torture in the shape of a smiling child? no, madame; we need not be ashamed of what we are doing. our men are engaged in warfare against their men; our lovely women are engaged in warfare against their lovely women; and our little children are engaged in warfare against their little children. your little amélie is a historical figure, and deserves a monument." the marquis, perceiving that his sophistry was not without its effect on the lovely woman, continued: "and then, madame, if you are weary of the rôle you and your little daughter are playing with such success, the opportunity is now offered to you to quit your present mode of life. your financial affairs are utterly ruined; you are only the nominal possessor of the estate you inherited from your ancestors. if you succeed in the task which you are about to undertake, the entire sum of money, the interest of which you receive annually, becomes your own. five millions of francs deserve some sacrifice. with this sum you can become an independent woman, and your daughter will never be reproached with having been, in her childhood, a member of cythera's brigade." countess themire deliberated a few moments; then she asked: "may i not kiss my daughter farewell?" "leave your kiss with me, and i will deliver it faithfully!" smilingly responded the marquis. "how can you jest at such a moment? suppose my absence lasts a long time?" "that is very probable." "am i not even to hear from my child--not even to let her know that i am living?" "certainly, countess; you may communicate with her through me. moreover, it rests with yourself how soon you will return. until that time it shall be my pleasure to take care of amélie; you may rest in peace as to that!" "yes; she could not be in worse hands than in those of her mother!" bitterly rejoined the countess. "the first letter, then, must be one of farewell." she rose, went into her boudoir, and wrote on a sheet of paper: "my dear child: i am compelled to take a journey. i shall write to you when i am ready to return. until then, i leave you to perform the duties of hostess, and intrust my money-chest to your care. i embrace you a thousand times. "your old friend and little mama, "themire." she folded and sealed the letter, and handed it to de fervlans. "i shall be sure to deliver it," he said. "and now, send jocrisse for a fiacre; you must not use your own carriage for this. you can leave the palace unperceived by the garden gate. speak german wherever you go, and remember that you do not understand a word of french. i think you would better begin your search in switzerland. and now, adieu, madame, until we meet again--" "if only i might take one last look at my little daughter!" pleadingly interrupted the countess. "themire! you are actually beginning to grow sentimental. that does not become a soldier!" "had i suspected this," returned themire, "i would not have given amélie's portrait to m. cambray in that ridiculous farce. i wonder if i might not get it from him?" "no; he will not part with it; he says he is going to keep it as a talisman. only m. sanson has the privilege of relieving prisoners of their trinkets, and cambray is still far enough from sanson's reach! i shall have another portrait painted of amélie, and send it to you." "but this picture was painted while yet she was an innocent child." "upon my word, madame, you are as sentimental as a professor's daughter! i begin to fear you will not accomplish your mission--that you will end by falling in love with the man you are to capture for us, and betray us to him." themire did not say another word, but hurried into her dressing-room. de fervlans wrote an order for one hundred and fifty thousand francs for the countess themire dealba for the first six months, added his wishes for a pleasant and successful journey, then returned to the salon, where he gave the missive which had been intrusted to his care to jocrisse. jocrisse placed it on a silver tray, and presented it to the tiny lady of the house. "pray allow me, ladies and gentlemen," said the lilliputian _grande dame_, as she broke the seal, "to read this letter--although i am only just learning the alphabet!" there were a number of persons in the company who understood and enjoyed the concluding words. the little countess lifted her gold-rimmed lorgnette to her eyes, and read her mother's letter. she shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and opened wide her blue eyes. "ladies and gentlemen," she proceeded to explain, "mama has been called suddenly away. she sends her greetings to you" (this was not in the letter, but the little diplomatist thought it best to atone for her mama's neglect) "until she returns, which will be very soon" (this also was a thought of her own). "i am to fulfil the duties of lady of the house." then she turned toward de fervlans, and whispered, holding the lorgnette in front of her lips: "mama leaves her money-chest in my care"--adding, with naïve sarcasm, "which means that she has left me to battle with her creditors." part ii the home of anecdote chapter i the entire population of fertöszeg was assembled on the public highway to welcome the new proprietress of the estate. elaborate preparations had been made for the reception. an arch of green boughs--at the top of which gleamed the word "vivat" in yellow roses--spanned the road, on either side of which were ranged twelve little girls in white, with flower-baskets in their hands. they were under the superintendence of the village cantor, whose intention it was to conclude the ceremonies with a hymn of welcome by these innocent little creatures. on a sort of platform, a bevy of rosy-cheeked maids were waiting to present to the new-comer a huge hamper heaped to the brim with ripe melons, grapes, and ostyepka cheeses of marvelous shapes. mortars crowned the summit of the neighboring hill. in the shadow of a spreading beech-tree were assembled the official personages: the vice-palatine, the county surveyor, the village pastor, the district physician, the justice of the peace, and the different attendants, county and state employees, belonging to these gentlemen. the vice-palatine's assistant ought also to have been in this company, but he was busy giving the last instructions to the village beauties whose part it was to present the hamper of fruit and cheeses. these gentlemen had wives and daughters; but _they_ had stationed themselves along the trench at the side of the road. _they_ did not seek the shadow of a tree, because _they_ wished people to know that _they_ had parasols; for to own a parasol in those days was no small matter. preparations were making in the market-place for an ox-roast. the fat young ox had been spitted, and the pile of fagots underneath him was ready for the torch. hard by, on a stout trestle, rested a barrel of wine. in front of the inn a gypsy band were tuning their instruments, while at the window of the church tower might have been seen two or three child faces; they were on the lookout for the new lady of the manor, in order that they might be ready to ring the bells the moment she came in sight. there was only that one tower in the village, and there was a cross on it; but it was not a romish church, for all that. the inhabitants were adherents of luther--swabians, mixed with magyars. the municipal authorities, in their holiday attire of blue cloth, had grouped themselves about the town hall. the older men wore their long hair brushed back from the temples and held in place by a curved comb. the young men had thrust into the sides of their lambskin caps gay little nosegays of artificial flowers. _they_ proposed to fire a grand salute from the pistols they had concealed in their pockets. meanwhile, the dignitaries underneath the umbrageous beech-tree were passing the time of waiting pleasantly enough. maple wine mixed with mineral water was a very refreshing drink in the intense heat; besides, it served as a stimulant to the appetite--_appetitorium_, they called it. three wooden benches, joined together in a half-circle, formed a comfortable resting-place for the committee of reception, the chief of whom, the vice-palatine, was seated on the middle bench, drawing through the stem of his huge carved meerschaum the smoke of the sweet veker tobacco. his figure was the living illustration of the ever true axiom: "_extra hungariam non est vita_,"--an axiom which his fat red face by no means confuted,--while his heavy, stiffly waxed mustache seemed to add menacingly: "leave the hungarian in peace." he shared his seat with the clergyman, whose ecclesiastical office entitled him to that honor. the reverend gentleman, however, was an extremely humble person, whom erudition had bent and warped to such a degree that one shoulder was lower than the other, one eyelid was elevated above its fellow, and only one half of his mouth opened when he gave utterance to a remark. his part in the festive ceremony was the performance of the _beneventatio_; and although he had committed the speech to memory, he could not help but tremble at thought of having to repeat it before so grand a dame as the new mistress of the manor. he always trembled whenever he began his sermons; but once fairly started, then he became a veritable demosthenes. "i only hope, reverend sir," jestingly observed the vice-palatine, "that it will not happen to you as it did to the _csokonai_, not long ago. some wags exchanged his sermon-book for one on cookery, and he did not notice it until he began to read in the pulpit: 'the vinegar was--' then he saw that he was reading a recipe for pickled gherkins. he had the presence of mind, however, to continue, '--was offered to the saviour, who said, "it is finished."' and on that text he extemporized a discourse that astounded the entire presbytery." "i shall manage somehow to say my speech," returned the pastor, meekly, "if only i do not stumble over the name of the lady." "it is a difficult name," assented the vice-palatine. "what is it? i have already forgotten it, reverend sir." "katharina von landsknechtsschild." the vice-palatine's pointed mustaches essayed to give utterance to the name. "lantz-k-nek-hisz-sild--that's asking a great deal from a body at one time!" he concluded, in disgust at his ill success. "and yet, it is a good old hungarian family name. the last diet recognized her ancestors as belonging to the nobility." this remark was made by a third gentleman. he was sitting on the left of the vice-palatine, and was clad in snuff-colored clothes. his face was covered with small-pox marks; he had tangled yellow hair and inflamed eyelids. "are you acquainted with the family, doctor?" asked the vice-palatine. "of course i am," replied the doctor. "baron landsknechtsschild inherited this estate from his mother, who was a markoczy. the baron sold the estate to his niece katharina. you, herr surveyor, must have seen the baron, when the land was surveyed around the nameless castle for the mad count?" the surveyor, who was seated beside the doctor, was a clever man in his profession, but little given to conversation. when he did open his lips, he rarely got beyond: "i--say--what was it, now, i was going to say?" as no one seemed willing to-day to wait until he could remember what he wanted to remark, the doctor, who was never at a loss for words, continued: "the baroness katharina paid one hundred thousand florins for the estate, with all its prerogatives--" "that's quite a handsome sum," observed the vice-palatine. "and, what is handsomer, it is said the new proprietress intends to take up a permanent residence here. is not that the report, herr justice? you ought to know." the justice had an odd habit, while speaking, of rubbing together the palms of his hands, as if he were rolling little dumplings between them. "yes--yes," he replied, beginning his dumpling-rolling; "that is quite true. the baroness sent some beautiful furniture from vienna; also a piano, and a tuner to tune it. all the rooms at the manor have been hung with new tapestry, and the conservatory has been completely renovated." "i wonder how the baroness came to take such a fancy to this quiet neighborhood? it is very strange, too, that none of the neighboring nobles have been invited here to meet her. it is as if she intended to let them know in advance that she did n't want their acquaintance. at any other celebration of this sort half the county would have been invited, and here are only ourselves--and we are here because we are obliged, _ex officio_, to be present." this speech was delivered over the mouthpiece of the vice-palatine's meerschaum. "i fancy i can enlighten you," responded the doctor. "i thought it likely that the 'county clock' could tell us something about it," laughingly interpolated the vice-palatine. "you may laugh as much as you like, but i always tell what is true," retorted the "county clock." "they say that the baroness was betrothed to a gentleman from bavaria, that the wedding-day was set, when the bridegroom heard that the lady he was about to marry was--" "hush!" hastily whispered the justice; "the servants might hear you." "oh, it is n't anything scandalous. all that the bridegroom heard was that the baroness was a lutheran; and as the _matrimonia mixta_ are forbidden in vienna and in bavaria, the bridegroom withdrew from the engagement. in her grief over the affair, the _sposa repudiata_ said farewell to the world, and determined to wear the_parta_[ ] for the remainder of her days. that is why she chose this remote region as a residence." [footnote : a head-covering worn only by hungarian maidens.] here the bell in the church tower began to ring. it was followed by a roar from the mortars on the hilltop. the gypsy band began to play biharis's "vierzigmann marsch"; a cloud of dust rose from the highway; and soon afterward there appeared an outrider with three ostrich-plumes in his hat. he was followed by a four-horse coach, with coachman and footman on the box. the committee of reception came forth from the shade of the beech and ranged themselves underneath the arch. the clergyman for the last time took his little black book from his pocket, and satisfied himself that his speech was still in it. the coach stopped, and it was discovered that no one occupied it; only the discarded shawl and traveling-wraps told that women had been riding in the conveyance. the general consternation which ensued was ended by the agent from vienna, who drove up in a second vehicle. he explained that the baroness and her companion had alighted at the park gate, whence they would proceed on foot up the shorter foot-path to the manor. and thus ended all the magnificent preparations for the reception! a servant now came running from the village, his plumed _czako_ in one hand, and announced that the baroness awaited the dignitaries at the manor. this was, to say the least, exasperating! a whole week spent in preparing--for nothing! you may be sure every one had something to say about it, audibly and to themselves, and some one was even heard to mutter: "this is the _second_ mad person come to live in fertöszeg." and then they all betook themselves, a disappointed company, to their homes. the baroness, who had preferred to walk the shorter path through the park to driving around the village in the dust for the sake of receiving a ceremonious welcome, was a lovely blonde, a true viennese, good-humored, and frank as a child. she treated every one with cordial friendliness. one might easily have seen that everything rural was new to her. while walking through the park she took off her hat and decorated it with the wild flowers which grew along the path. in the farm-yard she caught two or three little chickens, calling them canaries--a mistake the mother hen sought in the most emphatic manner to correct. the surly old watch-dog's head was patted. she brushed with her dainty fingers the hair from the eyes of the gaping farmer children. she was here and there in a moment, driving to despair her companion, whose gouty limbs were unable to keep pace with the flying feet of her mistress. at the manor the baroness was received by the steward, who had been sent on in advance with orders to prepare the "installation dinner." then she proceeded at once to inspect every corner and crevice--the kitchen as well as the dining-room, astonishing the cooks with her knowledge of their art. she was summoned from the kitchen to receive the dignitaries. "let there be no ceremony, gentlemen," she exclaimed in her musical voice, hastening toward them. "i detest all formalities. i have had a surfeit of them in vienna, and intend to breathe natural air here in the country, without 'fuss or feathers,' with no incense save that which rises from burning tobacco! this is why i avoided your parade out yonder on the highway. i want nothing but a cordial shake of your hands; and as regards the official formalities of this 'installation' business, you must settle that with my agent, who has authority to act for me. after that has been arranged, we will all act as if we were old acquaintances, and every one of you must consider himself at home here." to this gracious speech the vice-palatine gave utterance to something which sounded like: "kisz-ti-hand!" "ah!" returned the baroness, "you speak german?" "well, yes," replied the descendant of the scythians; "only, i am likely to blunder when speaking it, as did the valiant barkocz. when our glorious queen maria theresa recovered from the chicken-pox, she was bemoaning the disfiguring scars left on her face, when the brave soldier, in order to comfort her, said: 'but your majesty still has very beautiful _leather_.'" "ha, ha, ha!" merrily laughed the baroness. "you are the gentleman who has an anecdote to suit every occasion. i have already heard about you. pray introduce the other gentlemen." the vice-palatine proceeded to obey this request. "this is the rev. herr tobias mercatoris, our parish clergyman. he has a beautiful speech prepared to receive your ladyship; but he can't repeat it here, as it begins, 'here in the grateful shadow of these green trees.'" "oh, well, your reverence, instead of the speech, i will listen to your sermons on sundays. i intend to become a very zealous member of your congregation." "and this, your ladyship," continued the master of ceremonies, "is dr. philip tromfszky, resident physician of fertöszeg, who is celebrated not only for his surgical and medical skill, but is acknowledged here, as well as in raab, komorn, eisenburg, and odenburg, as the greatest gossip and news dispenser in the kingdom." "a most excellent accomplishment!" laughingly exclaimed the baroness. "i am devoted to gossip; and i shall manage to have some ailment every few days in order to have the doctor come to see me!" then came the surveyor's turn. "this, your ladyship, is herr martin doboka, county surveyor and expert mathematician. he will measure for you land, water, or fog; and if your watch stops going, he will repair it for you!" "and who may this be?" smilingly inquired the lady, indicating the vice-palatine's assistant, who had thrust his long neck inquisitively forward. "oh, he is n't anybody!" replied the vice-palatine. "he is never called by name. when you want him just say: '_audiat!_' he is one of those persons of whom cziraky said: 'my lad, don't trouble yourself to inquire where you shall seat yourself at table; for wherever you sit will always be the lowest place!'" this anecdote caused "audiat" to draw back his head and seek to make himself invisible. "and now, i must present myself: i am the vice-palatine of this county, and am called bernat görömbölyi von dravakeresztur." "my dear sir!" ejaculated the baroness, laughing heartily, "i could n't commit all that to memory in three years!" "that is exactly the way your ladyship's name affects me!" "then i will tell you what we will do. instead of torturing each other with our unpronounceable names, let us at once adopt the familiar 'thou,' and call each other by our christian names." "yes; but when i enter into a 'brotherhood' of that sort, i always kiss the person with whom i form a compact." "well, that can also be done in this instance!" promptly responded the baroness, proffering, without affectation of maidenly coyness, the ceremonial kiss, and cordially shaking hands with the vice-palatine. then she said: "we are now bernat _bácsi_, and katinka; and as that is happily arranged, i will ask the gentlemen to go into the agent's office and conclude our official business. meanwhile, i shall make my toilet for dinner, where we will all meet again." "what a perfectly charming woman!" exclaimed the justice, when their hostess had vanished from the room. "i wonder what would happen," observed the doctor, with a malicious grin, "if the vice-palatine's wife should hear of that kiss? would n't there be a row, though!" the heroic descendant of the scythians at these words became seriously alarmed. "the herr doctor, i trust, will be honorable enough not to gossip about it," he said meekly. "oh, you may rest without fear, so far as _i_ am concerned; but i would n't say as much for the surveyor, here. if ever he should succeed in getting beyond 'i say,' i won't answer for the safety of your secret, herr vice-palatine! when your wife hears, moreover, that it is 'bernat' and 'katinka' up here, it will require something besides an anecdote to parry what will follow!" chapter ii when the baroness appeared at the dinner-table, she was attired simply, yet with a certain elegance. she wore a plain black silk gown, with no other ornamentation save the string of genuine pearls about her throat. the sombre hue of her gown signified mourning; the gems represented tears; but her manner was by no means in keeping with either; she was cheerful, even gay. but laughter very often serves to mask a sorrowful heart. "thy place is here by my side," said the baroness, mindful of the "thee-and-thou" compact with herr bernat. the vice-palatine, remembering his spouse, sought to modify the familiarity. "i forgot to tell you, baroness," he observed, as he seated himself in the chair beside her own, "that with us in this region 'thou' is used only by children and the gypsies. to those with whom we are on terms of intimacy we say 'he' or 'she,' to which we add, if we wish, the words _bácsi_, or _hugom_, which are equivalent to 'cousin.'" "and do you never say 'thou' to your wife?" "to her also i say 'she' or 'you.'" "what a singular country! well, then, bernat bácsi, if it pleases 'him,' will 'he' sit here by me?" baroness katinka understood perfectly how to conduct the conversation during the repast--an art which was not appreciated by her right-hand neighbor, herr mercatoris. the learned gentleman had bad teeth, in consequence of which eating was a sort of penitential performance that left him no time for discourse. but the doctor and the vice-palatine showed themselves all the more willing to share the conversation with their hostess. "the official business was satisfactorily arranged without me, was it not, bernat bácsi?" after a brief pause, inquired the baroness. "not altogether. we are like the gypsy who said that he was going to marry a countess. he was willing, and all that was yet necessary was the consent of a countess. our business requires the consent of a baroness--that is, of katinka hugom." "to what must i give my consent?" "that the conditions relating to the nameless castle shall continue the same as heretofore." "nameless castle?--conditions?--what does that mean? i should like very much to know." "katinka hugom can see the nameless castle from the terrace out yonder. it is a hunting-seat that was built by a markoczy on the shore of lake neusiedl, on the site of a primitive pile-dwelling. three years ago, a gentleman from a foreign country came to fertöszeg, and took such a fancy to the isolated house that he leased it from the baron, the former owner, on condition that no one but himself and servants should be permitted to enter the grounds belonging to the castle. the question now is, will katinka hugom consent to the conditions, or will she revoke them?" "and if i should choose to do the latter?" inquired the baroness. "then your ladyship would be obliged to give a handsome bonus to the lessee. shall you revoke the conditions?" "it depends entirely on the sort of person my tenant proves to be." "he is a very peculiar man, to say the least--one who avoids all contact with his fellow-men." "what is his name?" "i don't think any one around here knows it. that is why his residence has been called the nameless castle." "but how is it possible that the name of a man who has lived here three years is not known?" "well, that is easily explained. he never goes anywhere, never receives visitors, and his servants never call him anything but 'the count.'" "surely he receives letters by post?" "yes, frequently, and from all parts of the known world. very often he receives letters which contain money, and for which he is obliged to give a receipt; but no one has yet been able to decipher the illegible characters on the letters addressed to him, or those of his own hand." "i should think the authorities had a right to demand the information?" "which authorities?" "why--'he,' bernat bácsi." "i? why, what business is it of mine?" "the authorities ought to inquire who strangers are, and where they come from. and such an authority is 'he'--bernat bácsi!" "hum; does 'she' take me to be a detective?" "but you surely have a right to demand to see his passport?" "passport? i would rather allow myself to be thrown from the window of the county-house than demand a passport from any one who comes to hungary, or set my foot in the house of a gentleman without his permission!" "then you don't care what people do here?" "why should we? the noble does as he pleases, and the peasant as he must." "suppose the man in the nameless castle were plotting some dreadful treason?" "that would be the affair of the king's attorney, not mine. moreover, nothing whatever can be said against the tenant of the nameless castle. he is a quiet and inoffensive gentleman." "is he alone? has he no family?" "that the herr justice is better able to tell your ladyship than am i." "ah! then, _herr hofrichter_," inquired the lady of the manor, turning toward the justice, "what do _you_ know about this mysterious personage? has he a wife?" "it seems as if he had a wife, your ladyship; but i really cannot say for certain if he has one." "well, i confess my curiosity is aroused! how is it possible not to know whether the man is married or not? are the people invisible?" "invisible? by no means, your ladyship. the nameless count and a lady drive out every morning at ten o'clock. they drive as far as the neighboring village, where they turn and come back to the castle. but the lady wears such a heavy veil that one can't tell if she be old or young." "if they drive out they certainly have a coachman; and one might easily learn from a servant what are the relations between his master and mistress." "yes, so one might. the coachman comes often to the village, and he can speak german, too. there is a fat cook, who never leaves the castle, because she can't walk. then, there are two more servants, schmidt and his wife; but they live in a cottage near the castle. every morning at five o'clock they go to the castle gate, where they receive from some one, through the wicket, orders for the day. at nine o'clock they return to the gate, where a basket has been placed for the things they have bought. but they never speak of the lady, because they have never seen her face, either." "what sort of a man is the groom?" "the people about here call him the man with the iron mouth. it is believed the fat cook is his wife, because he never even looks at the girls in the village. he will not answer any questions; only once he condescended to say that his mistress was a penniless orphan, who had nothing, yet who got everything she wanted." "does no one visit them?" "if any one goes to the castle, the count alone receives the visitor; the lady never appears; and no one has yet had courage enough to ask for her. but that they are christians, one may know from their kitchen: there is always a lamb for dinner on easter; and the usual _heiligen stritzel_ on all saints'. but they never go to church, nor is the pastor ever received at the castle." "what reason can they have for so much mystery, i wonder?" musingly observed the baroness. "that i cannot say. i can furnish only the data; for the deductions i must refer your ladyship to the herr doctor." "ah, true!" ejaculated her ladyship, joining in the general laughter. "the doctor, to be sure! if you are the county clock, herr doctor, surely you ought to know something about our mysterious neighbors?" "i have two versions, either of which your ladyship is at liberty to accept," promptly responded the doctor. "according to the first 'authentic' declaration, the nameless count is the chief of a band of robbers, who ply their nefarious trade in a foreign land. the lady is his mistress. she fell once into the hands of justice, in germany, and was branded as a criminal on her forehead. that accounts for the heavy veil she always wears--" "oh, that is quite too horribly romantic, herr doctor!" interrupted the baroness. "we cannot accept that version. let us hear the other one." "the second is more likely to be the true one. four years ago the newspapers were full of a remarkable abduction case. a stranger--no one knew who he was--abducted the wife of a french officer from dieppe. since then the betrayed husband has been searching all over the world for his runaway wife and her lover; and the pair at the castle are supposed to be they." "that certainly is the more plausible solution of the mystery. but there is one flaw. if the lovers fled here to fertöszeg to escape pursuit, the lady has chosen the very worst means to remain undiscovered. who would recognize them here if they went about in the ordinary manner? the story of the veil will spread farther and farther, and will ultimately betray them to the pursuing husband." by this time the reverend herr mercatoris had got the better of his bad teeth, and was now ready to join the conversation. "gentlemen and ladies," he began, "allow me to say a word about this matter, the details of which no one knows better than myself, as i have for months been in communication with the nameless gentleman at the castle." "what sort of communication?" "through the medium of a correspondence, which has been conducted in quite a peculiar manner. the count--we will call him so, although we are not justified in so doing, for the gentleman did not announce himself as such--the count sends me every morning his copy of the augsburg 'allgemeine zeitung.' moreover, i frequently receive letters from him through frau schmidt; but i always have to return them as soon as i have read them. they are not written in a man's hand; the writing is unmistakably feminine. the seal is never stamped; only once i noticed on it a crest with three flowers--" "what sort of flowers?" hastily interposed the baroness. "i don't know the names of them, your ladyship." "and what do you write about?" she asked again. "the correspondence began by the count asking a trifling favor of me. he complained that the dogs in the village barked so loud; then, that the children robbed the birds' nests; then, that the night-watchman called the hour unnecessarily loud. these complaints, however, were not made in his own name, but by another person whom he did not name. he wrote merely: 'complainant is afraid when the dogs bark.' 'complainant loves birds.' 'complainant is made nervous by the night-watchman.' then he sent some money for the owners of the barking dogs, asking that the curs be shut indoors nights; and some for the children, so they would cease to rob the birds' nests; and some for the watchman, whom he requested to shout his loudest at the other end of the village. when i had attended to his requests, he began to send me his newspaper, which is a great favor, for i can ill afford to subscribe for one myself. later, he loaned me some books; he has the classics of all nations--the works of wieland, kleist, börne, lessing, locke, schleiermacher. then we began to write about the books, and became entangled in a most exciting argument. frau schmidt, who was the bearer of this exchange of opinions, very often passed to and fro between the castle and the parsonage a dozen times a day; and all the time we never said anything to each other, when we happened to meet in the road, but 'good day.' from the letters, however, i became convinced that the mysterious gentleman is neither a criminal, nor a fugitive from justice, nor yet an adventurous hero who abducts women! nor is he an unfortunate misanthrope. he is, on the contrary, a philanthropist in the widest sense--one who takes an interest in everything that goes on about him, and is eager to help his suffering fellows. in a word, he is a philosopher who is happy when he is surrounded by peace and quiet." the baroness, who had listened with interest to the reverend gentleman's words, now made inquiry: "how does this nameless gentleman learn of his poor neighbors' needs, when neither he nor his servants associate with any one outside the castle?" "in a very simple manner, your ladyship. he has a very powerful telescope in the tower of the castle, with which he can view every portion of the surrounding region. he thus learns when there is illness or death, whether a house needs repair; and wherever anything is needed, the means to help are sent to me. on christmas he has all the children from the village up at the castle, where he has a splendid christmas tree with lighted tapers, and a gift for every child,--clothes, books, and sweets,--which he distributes with his own hand. i can tell you an incident which is characteristic of the man. one day the county arrested a poor woman, the wife of a notorious thief. the herr vice-palatine will remember the case--rakoncza jutka, the wife of the robber satan laczi?" "yes, i remember. she is still in prison," assented the gentleman referred to. "yes. well, she has a little son. when the mother was taken to prison, the little lad was turned away from every door, was beaten and abused by the other children, until at last he fled to the marshes, where he ate the young shoots of the reeds, and slept in the mire. the nameless count discovered with his telescope the little outcast, and wrote to me to have him taken to frau schmidt, where he would be well taken care of until his mother came back." by this time the tears were running down the baroness's cheeks. "poor little lad!" she murmured brokenly. "your story has affected me deeply, herr pastor." then she summoned her steward, and bade him fill a large hamper with sweets and pasties, and send it to frau schmidt for the poor little boy. "and tell frau schmidt," she added, "to send the child to the manor. we will see to it that he has some suitable clothes. i am delighted, reverend sir, to learn that my tenant is a true nobleman." "his deeds certainly proclaim him as such, your ladyship." "how do _you_ explain the mystery of the veiled lady?" "i cannot explain it, your ladyship; she is never mentioned in our correspondence." "she may be a prisoner, detained at the castle by force." "that cannot be; for she has a hundred opportunities to escape, or to ask for help." here the surveyor managed to express his belief that the reason the lady wore a veil was because of the repulsiveness of her face. at this, a voice that had not yet been heard said, at the lower end of the table: "but the lady is one the most beautiful creatures i ever saw--and quite young." every eye was turned toward the speaker. "what? audiat? how dares he say such a thing?" demanded the vice-palatine. "because i have seen her." "you have seen her? when did you see her? where did you see her--her whom no one yet has seen?" "when i was returning from college last year, _per pedes apostolorum_, for my money had given out, and my knapsack was empty. i was picking hazelnuts from the bushes in the park of the nameless castle, when i heard a window open. i looked up, and saw in the open sash a face the like of which i have never seen, even in a picture." "ah!" ejaculated the baroness. "tell us what is she like. come nearer to me." the clerk, however, was too bashful to leave his place, whereupon the baroness rose and took a seat by his side. "she has long, curling black hair," he went on. "her face is fair as a lily and red as a rose, her brow pure and high, with no sign of the branding-iron. her mouth is small and delicate. indeed, her entire appearance that day was like that of an angel looking down from heaven." "is she a maid or a married woman?" inquired one of the company. a maid, in those days, was very easily distinguished from her married sister. the latter was never seen without a cap. "a young girl not more than fifteen, i should say," was the reply. "a cap would not suit her face." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed bernat bácsi. "and this enchanting fairy opened the window to show her lovely face to audiat!" "no; she did not open the window on my account," retorted the young man, "but for the beasts that were luckier than i--for four cats that were playing in the gutter of the roof; a white one, a black one, a yellow one, and a gray one; and all of them scampered toward her when they heard her call." "the cats are her only companions--that much we know from the servants," affirmed the justice. the laurels which his clerk had won made the vice-palatine jealous. "audiat," he said, in a reproving tone, "you ought to learn that a young person should speak only when spoken to; indeed,--as the learned professor hatvani says,--even then it is not necessary to answer all questions." but the company around the dinner-table did not share these views. the clerk was assailed on all sides--very much as would have been an aëronaut who had just alighted from a montgolfier--to relate all that he had seen in those regions not yet penetrated by man. what sort of gown did the mysterious lady wear? was he certain that she had no cap on? was she really no older than fifteen years? the vice-palatine at last put an end to his clerk's triumph. "tut, tut! what can you expect to learn from a mere lad like him?--when he saw her only for an instant! just wait; _i_ will find out all about this nameless gentleman and lady." "pray how do you propose to accomplish that?" queried the baroness, who had returned to her former seat. "i shall go to the nameless castle." "suppose you are not permitted to enter?" "what? _i_, the vice-palatine, not permitted to enter? wait; i will explain my plan to you over the coffee." when the time came to serve the black coffee, the amiable hostess suggested that it would be pleasant to enjoy it in the open air; whereupon the company repaired to the veranda where, on several small tables, the fragrant mocha was steaming in the cups. here the baroness and the vice-palatine seated themselves where they could look directly at the nameless castle; and herr bernat görömbölyi proceeded to explain how he intended to take the castle without force--which was forbidden a hungarian official. then the two ladies withdrew to make their toilets for the evening; and the gentlemen betook themselves to the smoking-room, to indulge in a little game of chance, without which no "installation" ceremony would have been complete. chapter iii the following morning, after a very satisfactory breakfast, the gentlemen took leave of their amiable hostess, bernat bácsi lingering behind the rest to whisper significantly: "i will not say farewell, katinka hugom, for i am coming back to tell you all about it." then he took his place in the extra post-chaise, and bade the postilion drive directly to the neighboring castle. the nameless castle was built on a narrow tongue of land that extended into lake neusiedl. the road to the castle gate ran along a sort of causeway, which was protected from the water by a strong bulwark composed of fascines, and a row of willows with knotty crowns. a drawbridge at the farther end made it necessary for the person who wished to enter the gate to ask permission. on ringing the bell, there appeared at the gate the servant who has already been described,--the groom, coachman, and man of all work in one person. he had on a handsome livery, white gloves, white stockings, and shoes without heels. "is the count at home?" inquired the vice-palatine. "he is." "announce us. i am the vice-palatine of the county, and wish to pay an official visit." "the herr count is already informed of the gentlemen's arrival, and bids them welcome." this certainly was getting on smoothly enough! and the most convincing proof of a hearty welcome was that the stately groom himself hastened to remove the luggage from the chaise and carry it into the vestibule--a sign that the guests were expected to make a visit of some duration. now, however, something curious happened. before the groom opened the hall door, he produced three pairs of socks, woven of strands of cloth,--_mamuss_ they are called in this region,--and respectfully requested the visitors to draw them over their boots. "and why, pray?" demanded the astonished vice-palatine. "because in this house the clatter of boots is not considered pleasant; and because the socks prevent boots from leaving dusty marks on the carpets." "this is exactly like visiting a powder-magazine." but they had to submit and draw their socks over their yellow boots, and, thus equipped, they ascended the staircase to the reception-room. an air of almost painful neatness reigned in all parts of the castle. stairs and corridors were covered with coarse white cloth, the sort used for peasants' clothing in hungary. the walls were hung with glossy white paper. every door-latch had been polished until it glistened. there were no cobwebs to be seen in the corners; nor would a spider have had anything to prey upon here, for there were no flies, either. the floor of the reception-room into which the visitors had been conducted shone like a mirror, and not a speck of dust was to be seen on the furniture. "the herr count awaits your lordship in the salon," announced the groom, and conducted herr bernat into the adjoining chamber. here, too, the furniture was white and gold. the oil-paintings in the rococo frames represented landscapes, fruit pieces, and game; there was not a portrait among them. beside the oval table with tigers' feet stood the mysterious occupant of the nameless castle. he was a tall man, with knightly bearing, expressive face, a high, broad forehead left uncovered by his natural hair, a straight greek nose, gray eyes, a short mustache and pointed beard, which where a shade lighter than his hair. "_magnifice comes_--" the vice-palatine was beginning in latin, when the count interposed: "i speak hungarian." "impossible!" exclaimed the visitor, whose astonishment was reflected in his face. "hungarian? why, where can your worship have learned it?" "from the grammar." "from the grammar?" for the vice-palatine this was the most astounding of all the strange things about the mysterious castle. had he not always known that hungarian could only be learned by beginning when a child and living in a hungarian family? that any one had learned the language as one learns the _hic, hæc, hoc_ was a marvel that deserved to be recorded. "from the grammar?" he repeated. "well, that is wonderful! i certainly believed i should have to speak latin to your worship. but allow me to introduce my humble self--" "i already have the honor," quietly interrupted the count, "of knowing that you are herr vice-palatine bernat görömbölyi von dravakeresztur." he repeated the whole name without a single mistake! the vice-palatine bowed, and began again: "the object of my visit to-day is--" again he was interrupted. "i know that also," said the count. "the fertöszeg estate has passed into the hands of another proprietor, who has a legal right to withdraw the lease and revoke the conditions made and agreed to by her predecessor; and the herr vice-palatine is come, at the request of the baroness, to serve a notice to quit." herr bernat did not like it when any one interrupted him or knew beforehand what he intended to say. "on the contrary, i came because the baroness desires to renew the lease. she has learned how kind to the poor your worship is, and offers the castle and park at half the rent paid heretofore." he fancied this would melt the haughty lord of the castle, but it seemed to increase his hauteur. "thanks," frigidly responded the count. "if the baroness thinks the rent too high, she will find in her own neighborhood poor people whom she can assist. i shall continue to pay the same rent i paid to the former owner." "then my business will be easily settled. i have brought my clerk with me; he can write out the necessary papers, and the matter can be concluded at once." "thank you very much," returned the count, but without offering to shake hands. instead, he kept his arms crossed behind his back. "before we proceed to business," resumed the vice-palatine, "i must tell your worship an anecdote. a professor once told his pupils that he knew everything. shortly afterward he asked one of the lads what his name was. 'why,' responded the youth, 'how does it come that you don't know my name--you who know everything?'" "i cannot see why you thought it necessary to relate this anecdote to me," observed the count, without a smile. "i introduce it because i am compelled to inquire your worship's name and title, in order to draw up the contracts properly." this, then, was the strategem by which he proposed to learn the name which no one yet had been able to decipher on the count's letters? the count gazed fixedly for several seconds at his questioner, then replied quietly: "my name is count ludwig vavel de versay--with a _y_ after the _a_." "thanks. i shall not forget it; i have a very good memory," said herr bernat, who was perfectly satisfied with his success. "allow me, also, to inquire the family name of the worshipful frau countess?" at this question the count at last removed his hands from his back, and with the sort of gesture a man makes who would tear asunder an adversary. at the same time he cast upon herr bernat a glance that reminded the valiant official of the royal commissioner, as well as of his energetic spouse at home. the angry man seemed to have increased a head in stature. instead of replying to the question, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving his visitor standing in the middle of the floor. herr bernat was perplexed; he did not know what to do next. was it not quite natural to ask the name of a man's wife when a legal contract was to be written? his question, therefore, had not been an insult. at last, as the count did not return, there was nothing left for herr bernat to do but go to his room and wait there for further developments. the contracts would have to be renewed, else the count would have to vacate the castle; and one could easily see that a great deal of money had been expended in fitting it up. the count had transformed the old hunting-seat, which had been a filthy little nest, into a veritable fairy castle. yes, undoubtedly the contracts would be renewed. the vice-palatine was pacing the floor of his room in his noiseless cloth socks, when he suddenly heard the voices of his clerk and his servant outside the door. "well, janos, we are not going to dine here to-day; from what i can learn, we are going to be eaten ourselves." "what do you mean?" "the groom told me his master was loading his pistols to shoot some one. the count challenges to a duel every one who inquires after the countess." the voices ceased. the vice-palatine opened wide his eyes, and muttered: "may the devil fly away with him! he wants to fight a duel, does he? i am not afraid of his pistols; i have one, too, and a sword into the bargain. but it 's a silly business altogether! i am to fight about a woman i have n't even seen! and what will my wife say? i wish i had n't come into this crazy castle! i wish i had n't sealed a compact of fraternity with the baroness! why did not i leave this whole installation business to the second vice-palatine? if only i could think of an excuse to turn my back on this lunatic asylum! but i am not going to run away from a pistol. the hungarian noble is a born soldier. if only i had my pipe! a man is only half a man without his pipe. a pipe inspires one with ideas. where, i wonder, is that audiat gadding?" at this moment the clerk opened the door. "fetch our luggage, audiat; we are going to leave this damned lunatic asylum. the herr count may see to it then how he renews his lease." hereupon he kicked off the socks with such vigor that the very castle shook. then, grasping his sword in his hand, he marched out of his room, and down the staircase, to prove that he was not fleeing like a coward, but was clearing his way by force. when the clerk, who went to fetch the luggage, was about to enter the groom's apartment, the count came toward him and said: "you are the vice-palatine's clerk?" "that 's what they call me." "when do you expect to become a lawyer?" "when i have passed my examination." "when will that be?" "when i have served a year as jurat, and have paid a ducat for my diploma." "i will give you the ducat, and when you have become a lawyer i will employ you as my attorney at six hundred guilders a year. i know that a hungarian gentleman will not accept a gift without making some return; i ask you, therefore, to give me for this ducat some information." "what is it you wish to know?" "how can i obtain possession of a portion of lake neusiedl for my own use alone?" "by becoming a naturalized citizen of the county, and by purchase of a portion of the shore. i dare say there are some landowners on the shore who would be glad to part with their possessions in exchange for solid cash. if you buy such an estate you will have sole right to that part of the water in front of your property, and to the middle of the lake." "thank you. one more question: if you were my attorney, what could you do to prevent me from being ejected from this castle, in case i did not sign a new contract with the present owner?" "first, i should take advantage of the law of possession, and drag the case through a twelve years' process; then i should appeal, which would postpone a settlement for three years longer. would that be long enough?" "quite!" the count nodded a farewell to the youthful jurist without even inquiring his name; nor did audiat venture to propound a like question to his future employer. bernat bácsi did not, as he had promised, return to the manor to tell the baroness the result of his visit. he drove direct to his home. part iii the mistress of the cats chapter i when they heard the call, "puss, puss!" they scampered down the roof, leaped from the eaves, and vanished, one after the other, between the curtains of the open window. it was quite an ethnographic, so to speak, collection of cats; a panther-like french pussy from dund, a caucasian with long pointed ears, one from china with wavy silken fur and drooping ears. then the window was closed, for the company were all assembled--four cats, two pug-dogs, and a sparrow, and the hostess, a young girl. the girl, to judge from her figure, was perhaps fifteen years old; but her manner and speech were those of a much younger child. with her arched brow and rainbow-formed eyebrows, she might have served as a model for a saint, had not the roguish smile about the corners of her red lips betrayed an earthly origin. the sparkling dark eyes, delicately chiseled nostrils, and rounded chin gave to her face certain family characteristics which many persons would have recognized at a first glance. her clothing was richly adorned with lace and embroidery, which was not the fashion for girls of her age; at the same time, there was about her attire a peculiar negligence, as if she had no one to advise her what was proper to wear, or how to wear it. her room was furnished with luxurious elegance. satin hangings covered the walls; the furniture was upholstered with rare gobelin tapestry. gilded cabinets veneered with tortoise-shell held, behind glass doors, all sorts of costly toys, and dolls in full costume. on a venetian table with mosaic top lay a pack of cards and three heaps of money--one of gold, one of silver, the third of copper. on a low, three-legged table was a something shaped like an organ, with a long row of metal and wooden pipes. near the window stood a drawing-table, on which were sheets of drawing-board, and glasses containing pulverized colors. there was also a bookcase; on the shelves were volumes of vertuch's "orbis pictus," the "portefeuille des enfants," the "history of robinson crusoe," and several numbers of a fashion magazine, the "album des salons," the illustrations of which lay scattered about on tables and chairs. the guests were all assembled; not one was missing. the little hostess inquired after the health of each one in turn, and how they had enjoyed their outing. they all had names. the cats were hitz, mitz, pani, and miura. they were introduced to the two pugs, phryxus and helle. then the little maid fetched a porcelain basin, and with a sponge washed each nose and paw. only after this operation had been thoroughly performed were the guests allowed to take their places at the breakfast-table--the four cats opposite the two pugs. then a clean napkin was tied about the neck of each guest,--that their jabots might not get soiled with milk,--and a cup of bread and milk placed in front of each one. no complaints were allowed (the one that broke this rule was severely lectured), while all of them had patiently to submit when the sparrow helped himself from whichever cup he chose. the breakfast over, the guests bow-wowed and miaued their thanks, and were dismissed to their morning nap. the musical clock now began to play its shepherd's song; the brass cyclops standing on the dial struck the hour; the cuckoo called, and the halberdier saluted. then the little maid changed her toilet. she had a whole wardrobe full of clothes; she might select what she chose to wear. there was no one to tell her what to put on, or to help her attire herself. when her toilet was completed, a bell outside rang once, whereupon she donned her hat and tied over her face a heavy lace veil that effectually concealed her features. after a few minutes the bell rang a second time, and the sound of wheels in the courtyard was heard. then three taps sounded on the door, and in answer to the little maid's clear-voiced "come in!" a gentleman in promenade toilet entered the room and bowed respectfully. first he satisfied himself that the veil was securely fastened around the young girl's hat; then, drawing her hand through his arm, he led her to the carriage. on the box was seated the broad-shouldered groom, now clad in coachman's costume. the gentleman assisted the little maid into the carriage, took his seat by her side, and the black horses set off over the same road they had traversed a thousand times, in the regulation trot, avoiding the main thoroughfare of the village. those persons whom they chanced to meet did not salute, for they knew that the occupants of the carriage from the nameless castle did not wish to be spoken to; and any of the villagers who were standing idly at their doors stepped inside until they had passed; no inquisitive woman face peered after them. and thus the carriage passed on its way, as if it had been invisible. when it arrived at the forest, the horses knew just where they had to halt. here the gentleman assisted his veiled companion to alight, gave her his left arm, because he held in his right hand a heavy walking-stick, in the center of which was concealed a long, three-edged poniard, an effective weapon in the hands of him who knew how to wield it. in silence the man and the maid promenaded along the green sward in the shade of the trees. a campanula had just opened its blue eye at the foot of one of the trees, and pale-blue forget-me-nots grew along the path. blue was the little maid's favorite color; but she was not permitted to pluck the flowers herself. she had never been told why she must not do this; perhaps it was because the flowers belonged to some one else. sometimes the little maid's steps were so light and elastic, as if a fairy were gliding over the dewy grass; and sometimes she walked so slowly, so wearily, as if a little old grandmother came limping along, hunting for lichens on the mossy ground. after the promenade, they seated themselves again in the carriage, which returned to the nameless castle, and the gates were closed again. the man conducted the maid to her room, and the serious occupation of the day began. books were produced, and the man proceeded to explain the classics. they were his own favorites; he could not give her any others. she had not yet seen or heard of romances, and she was still too young to begin the study of history. the man could teach the maid only what he himself knew; a strange tutor or governess was not allowed to enter the castle. because her instructor could not play the piano, the little maid had not learned. but in order that she might enjoy listening to music, a hand-organ had been bought for her, and new melodies were inserted in it every four months. when the little maid wearied of her organ and her picture-making, she seated herself at the card-table, and played _l'hombre_, or _tarok_, with two imaginary adversaries, enjoying the manner in which the copper coins won the gold ones. at noon, when the bell rang a third time, the man tapped at the door again, offered his gloved hand to the maid, and conducted her to the dining-room. at either end of a large table was a plate. the maid took her place at the head; the man seated himself at the foot. they conversed during the meal. the maid talked about her cats and dogs; the man told her about his books. when the maid wanted anything, she called the man ludwig; and when the man addressed his companion, he called her simply marie. after dinner, they went to the library to look at the late newspapers. ludwig himself made the coffee, after which he read the papers, and dictated his comments and criticisms on certain articles to marie, who wrote them out in her delicate hair-line chirography. when ludwig and marie separated for the afternoon, he touched his lips to her hand and brow. marie then returned to her own apartments, played the hand-organ for her pets, changed her dolls' toilets, counted her gains or losses at cards, colored with her paints a few of the illustrations in the magazines, looked through her "orbis pictus," reading without difficulty the text which was printed in four languages, and read for the hundredth time her favorite "robinson crusoe." and thus passed day after day, from spring until autumn, from autumn until spring. evenings, when marie prepared for bed, before she undressed herself, she spread a heavy silken coverlet over the leather lounge which stood near the door. she knew very well that the some one she called ludwig slept every night on the lounge, but he came in so late, and went away so early in the morning, that she never heard his coming or his going. the little maid was a sound sleeper, and the pugs never barked at the master of the house, who gave them lumps of sugar. often the little maid had determined that she would not go to sleep until she heard ludwig come into the room. but all her attempts to remain awake were in vain. her eyelids closed the moment her head touched the pillow. then she tried to waken early, in order to wish him good morning; but when she thrust her little head from between the bed-curtains, and called cheerily, "good morning, dear ludwig!" there was no one there. ludwig never slept more than four hours of the twenty-four, and his slumber was so light that he woke at the slightest noise. then, too, he slept like a soldier in the field--always clothed, with his weapons beside him. chapter ii one day in the year formed an exception to all the rest. it was marie's birthday. from her earliest childhood this one day had been entirely her own. on this day she addressed ludwig with the familiar "thou," as she had been wont to do when he had taught her to walk. she always looked forward with great pleasure to this day, and made for it all sorts of plans whose accomplishment was extremely problematic. and who came to congratulate her on her birthday? first of all, the solitary sparrow, whose name was david--surely because he, too, was a tireless singer! already at early dawn, when the first faint rosy hues of morning glimmered through the jalousie, he would fly to the head of her bed. then the cats would come with their gratulations, but not until their little mistress had leaped from the bed, run to the window, flung open the sash, and called, "puss, puss!" then the whole four would scamper into the room, one after the other, and wish her many happy returns of the day. when the pugs had gone through their part of the program, the little maid proceeded to attire herself, a task she performed behind a tall folding screen. when she stepped forth again, she had on a gorgeous chinese-silk wrapper, covered all over with gay-colored palms, and confined only at the waist with a heavy silk cord. her hair was twisted into a single knot on the crown of her head. then she prepared breakfast for herself and her guests. the eight of them drank cold milk, and ate of the dainty little cakes which some one placed on her table every night while she slept. to-day marie did not amuse herself with her guests, but turned over the leaves of her picture-book, thus passing the time until she should hear, after the bell had rung twice, the tap at her door. "come in!" the man who entered was surprised. "what? we are not yet ready for the drive?" he exclaimed. the maid threw her book aside, ran toward him, and flung her arms with childish abandon around his neck. "we are not going to drive to-day. dost thou not know that this is my birthday--that i alone give orders in this house to-day? to-day everything must be done as _i_ say; and _i_ say that we will pass the time of the drive here in my room, and that thou shalt answer several silly questions which have come into my head. and forget not that we are to 'thou' each other to-day. and now, congratulate me nicely. come, let us hear it!" the count almost imperceptibly bent his knee and his head, but spoke not one word. there are gratulations which are expressed in this manner. "very good! then i am a queen for to-day, and thou art my sole subject. sit thou here at my feet on this taboret." the man obeyed. marie seated herself on the ottoman, and drew her feet underneath the wide skirt of her robe. "put that book away!" she commanded, when ludwig stooped to lift from the floor the volume she had cast there. "i know every one of the four volumes by heart! why dost not thou give me one of the books thou readest so often?" "because they are medical works." "and why dost thou read such books?" "in order that, should any one in the castle become ill, i may be able to cure him or her without a doctor." "and must the person die who is ill and cannot be cured?" "that is generally the end of a fatal illness." "does it hurt to die?" "that i am unable to tell, as i have never tried it." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the maid. "thou canst not put me off that way! thou knowest many things thou hast not yet tried. thou hast read about them; thou knowest! what is death like? is it more unpleasant than a disagreeable dream? is the pain all over when one has died, or is there more to come afterward? if death is painful, why must we die? if it is pleasant, why must we live?" children ask such strange questions! "life is a gift from god that must be preserved as long as possible," returned ludwig, evading the main question. "through us the world exists--" "what is the world?" interrupted marie. "the entire human race and their habitations--the earth." "then every person owns a plot of earth? where is the plot which belongs to us? answer me that!" "by the way, that reminds me!" exclaimed ludwig, relieved to find an opportunity to change the subject. "i have not yet told thee that i intend to buy a lovely plot of ground on the shore of the lake, which is to be made into a pretty flower-garden for thy use alone. will not that be pleasant?" "thou art very kind; the garden will be lovely. that plot of ground, then, will be our home, will it not? what is one's home called?" "it is called the fatherland." "then every country is not one's fatherland?" "if our enemies live there, it is not." "what are enemies?" "persons with whom we are angry." "what is angry? i have never yet seen anything like it. why art thou never angry?" "because i have no reason to be angry with thee, and i never associate with any one else." "what do those persons do who become angry with one another?" "they avoid each other. if they are very angry they fight; and if they are very, very angry they kill each other." the maid was tortured with curiosity to-day. she drew a pin from her robe, and secretly thrust the point into ludwig's hand. "what art thou doing?" he asked, in surprise. "i want to see what thou art like when thou art angry. did it hurt thee?" "certainly it hurt me; see, the blood is flowing." "ah, heaven!" cried the maid, in terror, drew the young man's head toward her, and pressed a kiss on his face. he sprang to his feet, his face pale as death, extreme horror depicted in his glance. "there!" exclaimed the maid. "thou dost not kill me, and yet i have made thee very angry." "this is not anger," sighed the young man. "what is it, then?" "it has no name." "then i may not kiss thee? thou lettest me kiss thee last year, and the year before, and every other year." "but thou art fifteen years old to-day." "ah! then what was allowed last year, and always before that, is not allowed now. dost not thou love me any more?" "all my thoughts are filled with thee." "thou knowest that i have always been allowed to make one wish on my birthday, and that it has always been granted. that is what some one accustomed me to--thou knowest very well who." "thy desires have always been fulfilled." "yes; and children understand how to desire what is impossible. but grown persons are clever enough to know how to impose on the children. three years ago i asked thee to bring me some one with whom i could talk--some one who would be company for me. thou broughtest me cats and dogs and a bird! two years ago i wished i might learn how to make pictures; and i was given paper patterns to color with water-colors. one year ago to-day i wished i might learn how to make music; and a hand-organ was bought for me. oh, yes; my wishes have always been fulfilled, but always in a way that cheated me. children are always treated so. to-day thou sayest that i am fifteen years old, and that i am not any more to be treated as a child. mark that! to-day, as heretofore, i ask something of thee which thou canst give me--and thou canst not cheat me, either!" "whatever it may be, thou shalt have it, marie." "thy hand on it! now, thou knowest that i asked thee not long ago to send to paris for a 'melusine costume' for me!" "and has it not already arrived? i myself delivered the box into thy hands." "knowest thou what a melusine costume is? see, this is it." with these words she sprang from her seat, untied the cord about her waist, flung off the silken wrapper, and stood in front of the speechless young man in one of those costumes worn by paris dames at the sea-shore when they disport themselves amid the waves of the ocean. the melusine costume was a bathing-dress. "to-day, ludwig, i ask that thou wilt teach me how to swim. the lake is just out yonder below the garden." the maid, in her pale-blue bathing-dress, looked like one of those fairy-like creatures in shakspere's "midsummer night's dream," innocent and alluring, child and siren. disconcerted and embarrassed, ludwig raised his hand. "art thou going to strike me?" inquired the child, half crying, half laughing. "pray put on the wrapper again!" said ludwig, taking the garment from the sofa and with it veiling the model for a naiad. "what sort of a caprice is this?" "i have had the thought in my head for a long, long time, and i beg that thou wilt grant my request. thou canst not say that thou canst not swim; for once, when we were traveling in great haste, i know not why, we came to a river, and found that the boat was on the farther shore. thou swammest across, and broughtest back the boat in which the four of us then crossed to the other side. already then the desire to swim arose in me. what a delicious sensation to swim through the water--to make wings of one's arms and fly like a bird! since we live in this castle the wish has become stronger. night after night i dream that i am cleaving through the waves. i never see god's sky when i go out, because i have to cover my face. it is just like looking at creation through a grating! i should love dearly to sing and shout for joy; but i dare not, for i am afraid the trees, the walls, the people, might hear me and betray me. but out yonder i could float on the green waves, where i should meet no one, where no one would see me. i could look up at the shining sky, and about in chorus with the fish-hawks, surrounded by the darting fishes, that would tell no one what they had seen or heard. that would be supreme happiness for me; wilt not thou help me to secure it?" the child's wish was so true, so earnest, and ludwig himself had experienced the proud delights of which she had spoken. perhaps, too, he had related to marie the story of clelia and her companions, who swam the tiber to preserve the roman maidens' reputation for virtue. "whatever gives pleasure to thee pleases me," he said, extending his hand to take hers. "and thou wilt grant my wish? oh, how kind, how dear thou art!" and in vain the young man sought to withdraw the hand she covered with kisses. "what!" she exclaimed reproachfully, "may i not kiss thy hand either?" "how canst thou behave so, marie? thou art fifteen years old! a grown-up girl does not kiss a man's hand." he passed his hand across his brow and sighed heavily; then he rose to his feet. "where art thou going? knowest thou not that to-day thou dost not belong to thy horrid books nor to thy telescope, but that thou art my subject?" "i go to execute the commands of my little queen. if she desires to learn to swim, i must have a bath-house built on the shore, and look about for a suitable spot in the little cove." "when i have learned to swim all by myself, may not i go beyond the little cove--away out into the open lake?" "yes, on two conditions. one is that i may follow in my canoe--" "but not keep very near to me?" "of course not. the second condition is that in daylight thou wilt not swim beyond those willows which conceal the cove. only on moonlight evenings mayest thou venture into the open lake." "but why may not i venture by daylight?" "because a telescope does not enable one to distinguish features after night. other people may have a telescope, like myself." "who would have one in this village?" "the manor has a new occupant. a lady has taken possession there." "a lady? is she pretty?" "she is young." "didst thou see her through the telescope? what kind of hair has she got?" "blonde." "then she must be very pretty. may i take a look at her some time?" "i am afraid thou mightest fall in love with her; for she is very beautiful, and very good." "how dost thou know she is good?" "because she visits the sick and the poor, and because she goes regularly to church." "why do we never go to church?" "because we profess a different belief from that acknowledged by those persons who attend this church." "do they pray to a different god from ours?" "no; they pray to the same god." "then why should n't we all go to the same church?" unable longer to control himself, ludwig took the shrewd little child-head between his hands, and said tenderly: "my darling! my little queen! not all the synods of the four quarters of the globe could answer thy questions--let alone this poor forgotten soldier!" "there! thou always pretendest to be stupid when i want to borrow a little bit of thy wisdom. thou art like the rich man who tells the beggar that he has no money. by the way, i must not forget that i always send money to the poor children on my birthday. come, tell me which of the heaps i shall send to-day--these small coins, or these large ones? if thou thinkest i ought to send these little yellow ones, i have no objections. i think i prefer to keep the white coins, they have such a musical sound; besides, they have the image of the virgin. if thou thinkest i ought to send some of the large red ones, too, i will do so." the "little yellow ones" were gold sovereigns; the "white coins" were silver _zwanziger_; and the "large red ones" were copper medals of the austrian minister of finance, worth half a guilder. "we will send some of the small coins and some of the large ones," decided ludwig, smiling at the little maid's ignorance of the value of the money. chapter iii tradition maintained that many years before, during the preceding century, the tongue of land now occupied by the nameless castle was part of the lake; and it may have been true, for neusiedl lake is a very capricious body of water. during the past two decades we ourselves have seen a greater portion of the lake suddenly recede, leaving dry land where once had been several feet of water. the owners of what had once been the shore took possession of the dry lake bottom; they used it for meadows and pastures; leased it, and the lessees built farm-houses and steam-mills on the "new ground." they cultivated wheat and maize, and for many years harvested two crops a year. suddenly the lake took a notion to occupy its old bed again; and when the water had resumed its former level, fields and farms had vanished beneath the green flood; only here and there the top of a chimney indicated where a steam-mill had been. magic tricks like this neusiedl lake has played more than once on trusting mortals. on either side of the peninsula on which stood the nameless castle was a little cove. one of these the count had spoken of to marie; the other separated the castle from the village of fertöszeg. the manor, the habitation of the owner of the fertöszeg estate, stood on the slope of a hill at the eastern end of the village, and fronted, as did the neighboring castle, on the lake. in the second half of the month of august, in the year , one might have seen from the veranda of the manor, after the sun had gone down and the marvelous tints of the evening sky were reflected in the water, a small boat speed out from the cove on the farther side of the nameless castle, trailing after it a long silvery streak on the parti-colored surface of the lake. a solitary man sat in the boat. but what could not be seen from the veranda of the manor was that a girlish form swam a little in advance of the boat. marie had proved an excellent scholar in the school of the hydriads. already after the fourth lesson she could swim alone, and sped over the waves as lightly and gracefully as a swan. she did not need to wear a hat on these evening swimming excursions; her long hair floated unbound after her on the waves. when the twilight shadows deepened, the swimmer would speed far ahead of the accompanying canoe. she had lost all fear of the water. the waves were her friends--they knew each other well. when she wished to rest, she would turn her face to the sky, fold her arms across her breast, and lie on the waves as among swelling cushions like a child in a rocking cradle. and here she was allowed the full privileges of a child. she shouted; called to the startled wild geese; teased the night-swallows, and the bats skimming along the surface of the lake in quest of water-spiders. here she even ventured to sing, and gave voice to charming melodies, which floated over the water like the sounds of an Æolian harp. many hours were spent thus on the lake. the little maid never wearied of the water. the protecting element restored to her nerves the strength which the stepmotherly earth had taken from them. a promenade of a hundred steps would tire her so that she would have to stop and rest. she had become unused to walking. but here in the water she moved about like a naiad; her whole being was transformed; she lived! then, when her guardian would call her, she would swim back to the canoe, clamber into it, and spread her long hair over his knees to dry while they rowed back to the shore. poor little maid! she declared she had found happiness in the water. * * * * * one evening, after the waning moon had risen, ludwig's canoe, as usual, followed marie, who was swimming a considerable distance ahead. among the peculiarities of neusiedl lake are its numerous islets, the shores of which are thickly grown with rushes, and covered with broom and tall trees. such an island lay not far from the shore in front of the nameless castle; it had frequently aroused marie's curiosity. the little maid was now permitted to swim as far out into the open world of waves as she desired, only now and again signaling her whereabouts through a clear-toned "ho, ho!" during this time ludwig reclined in his boat, and while the waves gently rocked him, he gazed dreamily into the depths of the starry sky, and listened to the mysterious voices of the night--the moaning, murmuring, echoing voices floating across the surface of the water. suddenly a piercing scream mingled with the mysterious voices of the night. it was marie's voice. frantic with terror, ludwig seized his oars, and the canoe shot through the water in the direction of the scream. the trail of light left behind her by the swimmer was visible on the calm surface of the lake. suddenly it made an abrupt turn, and began to form a gigantic v. evidently the little maid was impelled by desperate terror to reach the protecting canoe. when she came abreast of it she uttered a second cry, convulsively grasped the edge of the boat, and cast a terrified glance backward. "marie!" cried the count, greatly alarmed, seizing the girdle about her waist and lifting her into the canoe. "what has happened? who is following you?" the child trembled violently; her teeth chattered, and she gasped for breath, unable to speak; only her large eyes were still fixed with an expression of horror on the water. ludwig looked searchingly around, but could see nothing. and yet, after a few seconds, something rose before him. what was it? man or beast? the head, the face, were head and face of a human being--a man, perhaps. the cheeks and head were covered with short reddish hair like the fur of an otter. the long, pointed ears stood upright. the mouth was closed so tightly that the lips were invisible. the nose was flat. the eyes, like those of a fish, were round and staring. there was no expression whatever in the features. the mysterious monster had risen quite close to the boat. ludwig seized an oar with both hands to crush the monster's head; but the heavy blow fell on the water. the creature had vanished underneath the boat, and only the motion of the water on the other side indicated the direction it had taken. terror and rage had benumbed ludwig's nerves. what was it? who had sent this nameless monster after his carefully guarded treasure? even the bottom of the lake concealed her enemies! he could think of nothing but intrigues and malignant persecutions. rage boiled in his veins. he enveloped the maid in her bath-mantle, and took up his oars. "i will come back here to-morrow," he muttered to himself, "hunt up this creature, and shoot it--be it man or beast." marie murmured something which sounded like a remonstrance. "i will shoot the creature!" repeated ludwig, savagely. the young girl withdrew trembling to the stern of the boat, and said nothing further; she even strove to suppress her nervous terror, like a child that has behaved naughtily. when the boat reached the shore, ludwig bade marie in a stern voice to make haste and change her bathing-dress, and became very impatient when she lingered longer than usual in the bath-house. then he took her arm and walked rapidly with her to the castle. "are you really going to shoot that creature?" asked marie, still trembling. "yes." "but suppose it is a human being?" "then i shall certainly shoot him." "i will never, never again venture into the lake." "i am certain of that! if you once become frightened in the water, you will always have a dread of it." "my dear, beautiful lake!" sighed marie, casting backward a sorrowful glance at the glittering expanse of water, at the paradise of her dreams, which the rising wind was curling into wavelets. "go at once to bed," said ludwig, when he had conducted his charge to the door of her room. "cover yourself up well, and if you feel chilly i will make you a cup of camomile tea." all children have such a distaste for this herb tea that it was not to be wondered at if marie declared she did not feel in the least chilly, and that she would go at once to bed. but she did not sleep well. she dreamed all night long of the water-monster. she saw it pursuing her. the staring fish-eyes rose before her in the darkness. then she saw ludwig with his gun searching for the monster--saw him shoot at it, but without effect. the hideous creature leaped merrily away. more than once she awoke from her restless slumber and called softly: "ludwig, are you there?" but no one answered the question. since her last birthday ludwig had not occupied the lounge in her room. marie had discovered this. she had placed a rose-leaf on the silken coverlet every evening, and found it still there in the morning. if any one had slept on the lounge, the rose-leaf would have fallen to the floor. the following day ludwig was more silent than usual. he did not speak once during their drive, and ate hardly anything at meals. one could easily see how impatiently he waited for evening, when he might go down to the lake and search for the monster--a sorry object for a fury such as his! an otter, most likely, or a beaver--mayhap an abortion of the dead sea, which had survived the ages since the days of sodom! all the same, it was a living creature, and must become food for fishes. marie, however, prayed so fervently that nothing might come of ludwig's fury that heaven heard the prayer. the weather changed suddenly in the afternoon. a cold west wind succeeded to the warm august sunshine; clouds of dust arose; then came a heavy downpour of rain. ludwig was obliged to forego his intention to row about on the lake in the evening. he spent the entire evening in his room, leaving marie to complain to her cats; but they were sleepy, and paid no attention to what she said. the little maid had no desire to go to bed; she was afraid she might dream again of horrible things. the heavy rain beat against the windows; thunder rumbled in the distance. "i should not like to venture out of the house in such weather," said marie to her favorite cat, who was dozing on her knee. "ugh-h! just think of crossing the lonely court, or going through the dark woods! ugh-h! how horrible it must be there now! and then, to pass the graveyard at the end of the village! when the lightning flashes, the crosses lift their heads from the darkness--ugh-h!" the clock struck eleven; directly afterward there came a hesitating knock at her door. "come in! you may come in!" she called joyfully. she thought it was ludwig. the door opened slowly, only half-way, and the voice which began to speak was not ludwig's; it was the groom. "beg pardon, madame!" (thus he addressed the little maid). "is it you, henry? what do you want? you may come in. i am still up." the groom entered, and closed the door behind him. he was a tall, gray-haired man, with an honest face and enormously large hands. "what is it, henry? did the count send you?" "no, madame; i only wish he were able." "why? what is the matter with him?" "i don't know, indeed! i believe he is dying." "who? ludwig?" "yes, madame; my master." "for god's sake, tell me what you mean!" "he is lying on his bed, quite out of his mind. his face is flushed, his eyes gleam like hot coals, and he is talking wildly. i have never seen him in such a condition." "oh, heaven! what shall we do?" "i don't know, madame. when any of us gets sick the count knows what to do; but he does n't seem able to cure himself now; the contents of the medicine-chest are scattered all over the floor." "is there no doctor in the village?" "yes, madame; the county physician." "then he must be sent for." "i thought of that, but i did not like to venture to do so." "why not?" "because the count has declared that he will shoot me if i attempt to bring a stranger into his room, or into madame's. he told me i must never admit within the castle gate a doctor, a preacher, or a woman; and i should not think of disobeying him." "but now that he is so ill? and you say he may die? merciful god! ludwig die! it cannot--must not--happen!" "but how will madame hinder it?" "if you will not venture to fetch the doctor, then i will go myself." "oh, madame! you must not even think of doing this!" "i think of nothing else but that he is ill unto death. i am going, and you are coming with me." "holy father! the count will kill me if i do that." "and if you don't do it you will kill the count." "that is true, too, madame." "then don't you do anything. _i_ shall do what is necessary. i will put on my veil, and let no one see my face." "but in this storm? just listen, madame, how it thunders." "i am not afraid of thunder, you stupid henry. light a lantern, and arm yourself with a stout cudgel, while i am putting on my pattens. if ludwig should get angry, i shall be on hand to pacify him. if only the dear lord will spare his life! oh, hasten, hasten, my good henry!" "he will shoot me dead; i know it. but let him, in god's name! i do it at your command, madame. if madame is really determined to go herself for the doctor, then we will take the carriage." "no, indeed! ludwig would hear the sound of wheels, and know what we were doing. then he would jump out of bed, run into the court, and take a cold that would certainly be his death. no; we must go on foot, as noiselessly as possible. it is not so very far to the village. go now, and fetch the lantern." several minutes afterward, the gates of the nameless castle opened, and there came forth a veiled lady, who clung with one hand to the arm of a tall man, and carried a lantern in the other. her companion held over her, to protect her from the pouring rain, a large red umbrella, and steadied his steps in the slippery mud with a stout walking-stick. the lady walked so rapidly that her companion with difficulty kept pace with her. chapter iv dr. tromfszky had just returned from a _visum repertum_ in a criminal case, and had concluded that he would go to bed so soon as he had finished his supper. the rain fell in torrents on the roof, and rushed through the gutters with a roaring noise. "now just let any one send again for me this night!" he exclaimed, when his housekeeper came to remove the remnants of cheese from the supper-table. "i would n't go--not if the primate himself got a fish-bone fast in his throat; no, not for a hundred ducats. i swear it!" at that moment there came a knock at the street door, and a very peremptory one, too. "there! did n't i know some one would take it into his head to let the devil fetch him to-night? go to the door, zsuzsa, and tell them that i have a pain in my foot--that i have just applied a poultice, and can't walk." frau zsuzsa, with the kitchen lamp in her hand, waddled into the corridor. after inquiring the second time through the door, "who is it?" and the one outside had answered: "it is i," she became convinced, from the musical feminine tone, that it was not the notorious robber, satan laczi, who was seeking admittance. then she opened the door a few inches, and said: "the herr doctor can't go out any more to-night; he has gone to bed, and is poulticing his foot." the door was open wide enough to admit a delicate feminine hand, which pressed into the housekeeper's palm a little heap of money. by the light of the lamp frau zsuzsa recognized the shining silver coins, and the door was opened its full width. when she saw before her the veiled lady she became quite complaisant. curiosity is a powerful lever. "i humbly beg your ladyship to enter." "please tell the doctor the lady from the nameless castle wishes to see him." frau zsuzsa placed the lamp on the kitchen table, and left the visitors standing in the middle of the floor. "well, what were you talking about so long out yonder?" demanded the doctor, when she burst into his study. "make haste and put on your coat again; the veiled lady from the nameless castle is here." "what? well, that is an event!" exclaimed the doctor, hurriedly thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his coat. "is the count with her?" "no; the groom accompanied her." these magic words, "the veiled lady," had more influence on the doctor than any imaginable number of ducats. at last he was to behold the mythological appearance--yes, and even hear her voice! "show her ladyship into the guest-chamber, and take a lamp in there," he ordered, following quickly, after he had adjusted his cravat in front of the looking-glass. then she stood before him--the mysterious woman. her face was veiled as usual. behind her stood the groom, with whose appearance every child in the village was familiar. "herr doctor," stammered the young girl, so faintly that it was difficult to tell whether it was the voice of a child, a young or an old woman, "i beg that you will come with me at once to the castle; the gentleman is very seriously ill." "certainly; i am delighted!--that is, i am not delighted to hear of the worshipful gentleman's illness, but glad that i am fortunate enough to be of service to him. i shall be ready in a few moments." "oh, pray make haste." "the carriage will take us to the castle in five minutes, your ladyship." "but we did not come in a carriage; we walked." only now the doctor noticed that the lady's gown was thickly spattered with mud. "what? came on foot in such weather--all the way from the nameless castle? and your ladyship has a carriage and horses?" "cannot you come with us on foot, herr doctor?" "i should like very much to accompany your ladyship; but really, i have _rheumatismus acutus_ in my foot, and were i to get wet i should certainly have an _ischias_." marie lifted her clasped hands in despair to her lips, but the beseeching expression on her face was hidden by the heavy veil. could the doctor have seen the tearful eyes, the trembling lips! seeing that her voiceless petition was in vain, marie drew from her bosom a silken purse, and emptied the contents, gold, silver, and copper coins, on the table. "here," she exclaimed proudly. "i have much more money like this, and will reward you richly if you will come with me." the doctor was amazed. there on the table lay more gold than the whole county could have mustered in these days of paper notes. truly these people were not to be despised. "if only it did not rain so heavily--" "i will let you take my umbrella." "thanks, your ladyship; i have one of my own." "then let us start at once." "but my foot--it pains dreadfully." "we can easily arrange that. henry, here, is a very strong man; he will take you on his shoulders, and bring you back from the castle in the carriage." there were no further objections to be offered when henry, with great willingness, placed his broad shoulders at the doctor's service. the doctor hastily thrust what was necessary into a bag, locked the money marie had given him in a drawer, bade frau zsuzsa remain awake until he returned, and clambered on henry's back. in one hand he held his umbrella, in the other the lantern; and thus the little company took their way to the castle--the "double man" in advance, the little maid following with her umbrella. the doctor had sufficient cause to be excited. what usurious gossip-interest might be collected from such a capitol! dr. tromfszky already had an enviable reputation in the county, but what would it become when it became known that he was physician in ordinary to the nameless castle? the rain was not falling so heavily when they arrived at the castle. marie and henry at once conducted the doctor to ludwig's chamber. henry first thrust his head cautiously through the partly open door, then whispered that his master was still tossing deliriously about on the bed; whereupon the doctor summoned courage to enter the room. his first act was to snuff the candle, the wick having become so charred it scarcely gave any light. he could now examine the invalid's face, which was covered with a burning flush. his eyes rolled wildly. he had not removed his clothes, but had torn them away from his breast. "h'm! h'm!" muttered the doctor, searching in his bag for his bloodletting instruments. then he approached the bed, and laid his fingers on the invalid's pulse. at the touch of his cold hand the patient suddenly sat upright and uttered a cry of terror: "who are you?" "i am the doctor--the county physician--dr. tromfszky. pray, herr count, let me see your tongue." instead of his tongue, the count exhibited a powerful fist. "what do you want here? who brought you here?" he demanded. "pray, pray be calm, herr count," soothingly responded the doctor, who was inclined to look upon this aggressive exhibition as a result of the fever. "allow me to examine your pulse. we have here a slight paroxysm that requires medical aid. come, let me feel your pulse; one, two--" the count snatched his wrist from the doctor's grasp, and cried angrily: "but i don't need a doctor, or any medicine. there is nothing at all the matter with me. i don't want anything from you, but to know who brought you here." "beg pardon," retorted the offended doctor. "i was summoned, and came through this dreadful storm. i was told that the herr count was seriously ill." "who said so? henry?" demanded the count, rising on one knee. henry did not venture to move or speak. "did you fetch this doctor, henry?" again demanded the invalid, with expanded nostrils, panting with fury. the doctor, fancying that it would be well to tell the truth, now interposed politely: "allow me, herr count! herr henry did not come alone to fetch me, but he came with the gracious countess; and on foot, too, in this weather." "what? marie?" gasped the invalid; and at that moment his face looked as if he had become suddenly insane. an involuntary epileptic convulsion shook his limbs. he fell from the bed, but sprang at the same instant to his feet again, flung himself like an angry lion upon henry, caught him by the throat, and cried with the voice of a demon: "wretch! betrayer! what have you dared to do? i will kill you!" the doctor required nothing further. he did not stop to see the friendly promise fulfilled, but, leaving his lances, elixirs, and plasters behind him, he flew down the staircase, four steps at a time, and into the pouring rain, totally forgetting the ischias which threatened his leg. nor did he once think of a carriage, or of a human dromedary,--not even of a lantern, or an umbrella,--as he galloped down the dark road through the thickest of the mud. when the count seized henry by the throat and began to shake him, as a lion does the captured buffalo, marie stepped suddenly to his side, and in a clear, commanding tone cried: "louis!" at this word he released henry, fell on his knees at marie's feet, clasped both arms around her, and, sobbing convulsively, pressed kiss after kiss on the little maid's wet and muddy gown. "why--why did you do this for me?" he exclaimed, in a choking voice. the doctor's visit had, after all, benefited the invalid. the spontaneous reaction which followed the violent fit of passion caused a sudden turn in his illness. the salutary crisis came of its own accord during the outburst of rage, which threw him into a profuse perspiration. the brain gradually returned to its normal condition. "you will get well again, will you not?" stammered the little maid shyly, laying her hand on the invalid's brow. "if you really want me to get well," returned ludwig, "then you must comply with my request. go to your room, take off these wet clothes, and go to bed. and you must promise never again to go on another errand like the one you performed this evening. i hope you may sleep soundly." "i will do whatever you wish, ludwig--anything to prevent your getting angry again." the little maid returned to her room, took off her wet clothes, and lay down on the bed; but she could not sleep. every hour she rose, threw on her wrapper, thrust her feet into her slippers, and stole to the door of ludwig's room to whisper: "how is he now, henry?" "he is sleeping quietly," henry would answer encouragingly. the faithful fellow had forgotten his master's anger, and was watching over him as tenderly as a mother over her child. "he did not hurt you very much, did he, henry?" "no; it did not hurt, and i deserved what i got." the little maid pressed the old servant's hand, whereupon he sank to his knees at her feet, and, kissing her pretty fingers, whispered: "this fully repays me." the next morning ludwig was entirely recovered. he rose, and, as was his wont, drank six tumblerfuls of water--his usual breakfast. of the events of the past night he spoke not one word. at ten o'clock the occupants of the nameless castle were to be seen out driving as usual--the white-haired groom, the stern-visaged gentleman, and the veiled lady. that same morning dr. tromfszky received from the castle a packet containing his medical belongings, and an envelop in which he found a hundred-guilder bank-note, but not a single written word. meanwhile the days passed with their usual monotony for the occupants of the nameless castle, and september, with its delightfully warm weather drew on apace. in hungary the long autumn makes ample amends for the brief spring--like the frugal mother who stores away in may gifts with which to surprise her children later in the season. down at the lake, a merry crowd of naked children disported in the water; their shouts and laughter could be heard at the castle. ludwig fully understood the deep melancholy which had settled on marie's countenance. her sole amusement, her greatest happiness, had been taken from her. other high-born maidens had so many ways of enjoying themselves; she had none. no train of admirers paid court to her. no strains of merry dance-music entranced her ear. celebrated actors came and went; she did not delight in their performances--she had never even seen a theater. she had no girl friends with whom to exchange confidences--with whom to make merry over the silly flatterers who paid court to them; no acquaintances whose envy she could arouse by the magnificence of her toilets--one of the greatest pleasures in life! she had no other flatterers but her cats; no other confidantes but her cats; no other actors but her cats. the world of waves had been her sole enjoyment. the water had been her theater, balls, concert--the great world. it was her freedom. the land was a prison. again it was the full of the moon, and quite warm. the tulip-formed blossoms of the luxuriant water-lilies were in bloom along the lake shore. ludwig's heart ached with pity for the little maid when he saw how sorrowfully she gazed from her window on the glittering lake. "come, marie," he said, "fetch your bathing-dress, and let us try the lake again. i will stay close by you, and take good care that nothing frightens you. we will not go out of the cove." how delighted the child was to hear these words! she danced and skipped for joy; she called him her dear ludwig. then she hunted up the discarded melusine costume, and hastened with such speed toward the shore that ludwig was obliged to run to keep up with her. but the nearer she approached to the bath-house, the less quickly she walked; and when she stood in the doorway she said: "oh, how my heart beats!" when ludwig appeared with the canoe from behind the willows, the charming naiad stepped from the bath-house. the rippling waves bore the moonlight to her feet, where she stood on the narrow platform which projected into the lake. she knelt and, bending forward, kissed the water; it was her beloved! after a moment's hesitation she dropped gently from the platform, as she had been wont to do; but when she felt the waves about her shoulders, she uttered a cry of terror, and grasped the edge of the canoe with both hands. "lift me out, ludwig! i cannot bear it; i am afraid!" with a sorrowful heart the little maid took leave of her favorite element. the hot tears gushed from her eyes, and fell into the water; it was as if she were bidding an eternal, farewell to her beloved. from that hour the child became a silent and thoughtful woman. * * * * * then followed the stormy days of autumn, the long evenings, the weeks and months when nothing could be done but stay in doors and amuse one's self with books--dante, shakspere, horace. to these were occasionally added learned folios sent from stuttgart to count ludwig, who seemed to find his greatest enjoyment in perusing works on philosophy and science. meanwhile the communication by letter between the count and the erudite shepherd of souls in the village was continued. one day herr mercatoris sent to the castle a brochure on which he had proudly written, "with the compliments of the author." the booklet was written in latin, and was an account of the natural wonder which is, to this day, reckoned among the numerous memorable peculiarities of lake neusiedl,--a human being that lived in the water and ate live fishes. a little boy who had lost both parents, and had no one to care for him, had strayed into the morass of the hansag, and, living there among the wild animals, had become a wild animal himself, an inhabitant of the water like the otters, a dumb creature from whose lips issued no human sound. the decade of years he had existed in the water had changed his skin to a thick hide covered with a heavy growth of hair. the phenomenon would doubtless be accepted by many as a convincing proof that the human being was really evolved from the wild animal. accompanying the description was an engraved portrait of the natural wonder. the new owner of fertöszeg, baroness katharina landsknechtsschild, had been told that a strange creature was frightening the village children who bathed in the lake. she had given orders to some fishermen to catch the monster, which they had been fortunate enough to do while fishing for sturgeon. the boy-fish had been taken to the manor, where he had been properly clothed, and placed in the care of a servant whose task it was to teach the poor lad to speak, and walk upright instead of on all fours, as had been his habit. success had so far attended the efforts to tame the wild boy that he would eat bread and keep on his clothes. he had also learned to say "ham-ham" when he wanted something to eat; and he had been taught to turn the spit in the kitchen. the kind-hearted baroness was sparing no pains to restore the lad to his original condition. no one was allowed to strike or abuse him in any way. this brochure had a twofold effect upon the count. he became convinced that the monster which had frightened marie was not an assassin hired by her enemies, not an expert diver, but a natural abnormity that had acted innocently when he pursued the swimming maid. second, the count could not help but reproach himself when he remembered that _he_ would have destroyed the irresponsible creature whom his neighbor was endeavoring to transform again into a human being. how much nobler was this woman's heart than his own! his fair neighbor began to interest him. he took the pamphlet to marie, who shuddered when her eyes fell on the engraving. "the creature is really a harmless human being, marie, and i am sorry we became so excited over it. our neighbor, the lovely baroness, is trying to restore the poor lad to his original condition. next summer you will not need to be afraid to venture into the lake again." the little maid gazed thoughtfully into ludwig's eyes for several moments; evidently she was pondering over something. there had risen in her mind a suspicion that ludwig himself had written the pamphlet, and had had the monster's portrait engraved, in order to quiet her fears and restore her confidence in the water. "will you take me sometime to visit the baroness?" she asked suddenly. "and why?" inquired ludwig, in turn, rising from his seat. "that i, too, may see the wonderful improvement in the monster." "no," he returned shortly, and taking up the pamphlet, he quitted the room. "no!" "but why 'no'?" part iv satan laczi chapter i count vavel (thus he was addressed on his letters) had arranged an observatory in the tower of the nameless castle. here was his telescope, by the aid of which he viewed the heavens by night, and by day observed the doings of his fellow-men. he noticed everything that went on about him. he peered into the neighboring farm-yards and cottages, was a spectator of the community's disputes as well as its diversions. of late, the chief object of his telescopic observations during the day were the doings at the neighboring manor. he was the "lion-head" and the "council of ten" in one person. the question was, whether the new mistress of the manor, the unmarried baroness, should "cross the bridge of sighs"? his telescope told him that this woman was young and very fair; and it told him also that she lived a very secluded life. she never went beyond the village, nor did she receive any visitors. in the neighborhood of neusiedl lake one village was joined to another, and these were populated by pleasure-loving and sociable families of distinction. it was therefore a difficult matter for the well-born man or woman who took up a residence in the neighborhood to avoid the jovial sociability which reigned in those aristocratic circles. count vavel himself had been overwhelmed with hospitable attentions the first year of his occupancy of the nameless castle; but his refusals to accept the numerous invitations had been so decided that they were not repeated. he frequently saw through his telescope the same four-horse equipages which had once stopped in front of his own gates drive into the court at the manor; and he recognized in the occupants the same jovial blades, the eligible young nobles, who had honored him with their visits. he noticed, too, that none of the visitors spent a night at the manor. very often the baroness did not leave her room when a caller came; it may have been that she had refused to receive him on the plea of illness. during the winter count vavel frequently saw his fair neighbor skating on the frozen cove; while a servant propelled her companion over the ice in a chair-sledge. on these occasions the count would admire the baroness's graceful figure, her intrepid movements, and her beautiful face, which was flushed with the exercise and by the cutting wind. but what pleased him most of all was that the baroness never once during her skating exercises cast an inquiring glance toward the windows of the nameless castle--not even when she came quite close to it. on christmas eve she, like count vavel, arranged a christmas tree for the village children. the little ones hastened from the manor to the castle, and repeated wonderful tales of the gifts they had received from the baroness's own hands. every sunday the count saw the lady from the manor take her way to church, on foot if the roads were good; and on her homeward way he could see her distribute alms among the beggars who were ranged along either side of the road. this the count did not approve. he, too, gave plenteously to the poor, but through the village pastor, and only to those needy ones who were too modest to beg openly. the street beggars he repulsed with great harshness--with one exception. this was a one-legged man, who had lost his limb at marengo, and who stationed himself regularly beside the cross at the end of the village. here he would stand, leaning on his crutches, and the count, in driving past, would always drop a coin into the maimed warrior's hat. one day when the carriage drew near the cross, count vavel saw the old soldier, as usual, but without his crutches. instead, he leaned on a walking-stick, and stood on two legs. the count stopped the carriage, and asked: "are not you the one-legged soldier?" "i am, your lordship," replied the man; "but that angel, the baroness, has had a wooden leg made for me,--i could dance with it if i wished,--so i don't need to beg any more, for i can cut wood now, and thus earn my living. may god bless her who has done this for me!" the count was dissatisfied with himself. this woman understood everything better than he did. he felt that she was his rival, and from this feeling sprang the desire to compete with her. an opportunity very soon offered. one day the count received from the reverend herr mercatoris a gracefully worded appeal for charity. the new owner of fertöszeg had interested herself in the fate of the destitute children whose fathers had gone to the war, and, in order to render their condition more comfortable, had undertaken to found a home for them. she had already given the necessary buildings, and had furnished them. she now applied to the sympathies of the well-to-do residents of the county for assistance to educate the children. in addition to food and shelter, they required teachers. such sums as were necessary for this purpose must be raised by a general subscription from the charitably inclined. the count promptly responded to this request. he sent the pastor fifty louis d'or. but in the letter which accompanied the gift he stipulated that the boy whose mother was in prison should not be removed from frau schmidt's care to the children's asylum. it was quite in the order of things that the baroness should acknowledge the munificent gift by a letter of thanks. this missive was beautifully written. the orthography was singularly faultless. the expressions were gracefully worded and artless; nothing of flattery or sentimentality--merely courteous gratefulness. the letter concluded thus: "you will pardon me, i trust, if i add that the stipulation which you append to your generous gift surprises me; for it means either that you disapprove the principle of my undertaking, or you do not wish to transfer to another the burden you have taken upon yourself. if the latter be the reason, i am perfectly willing to agree to the stipulation; if it be the former, then i should like very much to hear your objection, in order that i may justify my action." this was a challenge that could not be ignored. the count, of course, would have to convince his fair neighbor that he was in perfect sympathy with the principle of her philanthropic project, and he wrote accordingly; but he added that he disapproved the prison-like system of children's asylums, the convict-like regulations of such institutions. _he_ thought the little ones would be better cared for, and much happier, were they placed in private homes, to grow up as useful men and women amid scenes and in the sphere of life to which they belonged. the count's polemic reply was not without effect. the baroness, who had her own views on the matter, was quite as ready to take the field, with as many theoretic and empiric data and recognized authorities as had been her opponent. the count one day would despatch a letter to the manor, and baroness katharina would send her reply the next--each determined not to remain the other's debtor. the count's epistles were dictated to marie; he added only the letter v to the signature. this battle on paper was not without practical results. the baroness paid daily visits to her "children's home"; and on mild spring days the count very often saw her sitting on the open veranda, with her companion and one or two maid-servants, sewing at children's garments until late in the evening. the count, on his part, sent every day for his little protégé, and spent several hours patiently teaching the lad, in order that he might compete favorably with the baroness's charges. the task was by no means an easy one, as the lad possessed a very dull brain. this was, it must be confessed, an excellent thing for the orphans. if the motherly care which the baroness lavished on her charges were to be given to all destitute orphans in children's asylums, then the "convict system" certainly was a perfect one; while, on the other hand, if a preceptor like count vavel took it upon himself to instruct a forsaken lad, then one might certainly expect a genius to evolve from the little dullard growing up in a peasant's cottage. ultimately, however, the victory fell to the lady. it happened as follows: one day the count was again the recipient of a letter from his neighbor at the manor (they had not yet exchanged verbal communication). the letter ran thus: "herr count: i dare say you know that the father of your little protégé is no other than the notorious robber, satan laczi, whom it is impossible to capture. the mother of the lad was arrested on suspicion. she lived in the village under her own honest family name--satan laczi being only a thief's appellation. as nothing could be proved against her, the woman has been set at liberty, and has returned to the village. here she found every door closed against her--for who would care to shelter the wife of a robber? at last the poor woman came to me, and begged me to give her work. my servants are greatly excited because i have taken her into my employ; but i am convinced that the woman is innocent and honest. were i to cast her adrift, she might become what she has been accused of being--the accomplice of thieves. i know she will conduct herself properly with me. i tell you all this because, if you approve what i have done, you will permit the lad you have taken under your protection to come to the manor, where he would be with his mother. if, however, you condemn my action, you will refuse to grant my request, and generously continue to care for the lad in your own way. the decision i leave to you." count vavel was forced to capitulate. the baroness's action--taking into her household the woman who had been repulsed by all the world--was so praiseworthy, so sublime, that nothing could approach it. that same day he sent the lad with frau schmidt to the manor, and herewith the correspondence between himself and the baroness ceased. there was no further subject for argument. and yet, count vavel could not help but think of this woman. who was she? he had sought to learn from his foreign correspondents something concerning the baroness katharina, but could gain no information save that which we have already heard from the county physician: disappointed love and shame at her rejection had driven the youthful baroness to this secluded neighborhood. this reason, however, did not altogether satisfy count vavel. women, especially young women, rarely quit the pleasures of the gay world because of one single disappointment. and for count vavel mistrust was a duty; for the reader must, ere this, have suspected that the count and the mysterious man of the rue mouffetard were identical, and that marie was none other than the child he had rescued from her enemies. here in this land, where order prevailed, but where there were no police, he was guarding the treasure intrusted to his care, and he would continue to guard her until relieved of the duty. but when would the relief come? one year after another passed, and the hour he dreamed of seemed still further away. when he had accepted the responsible mission he had said to himself: "in a year we shall gain our object, and i shall be released." but hope had deceived him; and as the years passed onward, he began to realize how vast, how enormous, was the task he had undertaken. it was within the possibilities that he, a young man in the flower of his youth, should be able to bury himself in an unknown corner of the world, to give up all his friends, to renounce everything that made life worth living, but that he should bury with himself in his silk-lined tomb a young girl to whom he had become everything, who yet might not even dream of becoming anything to him--that was beyond human might. more and more he realized that his old friend's prophetic words were approaching fulfilment: "the child will grow to be a lovely woman. already she is fond of you; she will love you then. then what?" "i shall look upon myself as the inhabitant of a different planet," he had replied; and he had kept his promise. but the little maid had not promised anything; and if, perchance, she guessed the weighty secret of her destiny, whence could she have taken the strength of mind to battle against what threatened to drive even the strong man to madness? ludwig was thirty-one years old, the fourth year in this house of voluntary madmen. with extreme solicitude he saw the child grow to womanhood, blessed with all the magic charms of her sex. gladly would he have kept her a child had it been in his power. he treated her as a child--gave her dolls and the toys of a child; but this could not go on forever. deeply concerned, ludwig observed that marie's countenance became more and more melancholy, and that now it rarely expressed childlike naïveté. a dreamy melancholy had settled upon it. and of what did she dream? why was she so sad? why did she start? why did the blood rush to her cheeks when he came suddenly into her presence? chapter ii count vavel had made his fair neighbor at the manor the object of study. he had ample time for the task; he had nothing else to do. and, as he was debarred from making direct inquiries concerning her, or from hearing the current gossip of the neighborhood, he learned only that about her which his telescope revealed; and from this, with the aid of his imagination, he formed a conclusion--and an erroneous one, very probably. his neighbor lived in strict seclusion, and was a man-hater. but, for all that, she was neither a nun nor an amazon. she was a true woman, neither inconsolably melancholy nor wantonly merry. she proved herself an excellent housewife. she rose betimes mornings, sent her workmen about their various tasks, saw that everything was properly attended to. very often she rode on horseback, or drove in a light wagon, to look about her estate. she had arranged an extensive dairy, and paid daily visits to her stables. she did not seem aware that an attentive observer constantly watched her with his telescope from the tower of the nameless castle. so, at least, it might be assumed; for the lady very often assisted in the labor of the garden, when, in transplanting tulip bulbs, she would so soil her pretty white hands to the wrists with black mold that it would be quite distressing to see them. certainly this was sufficient proof that her labor was without design. and, what was more to the purpose, she acted as if perfectly unaware of the fact that a lady lived in the nameless castle who possibly might be the wife of her tenant. common courtesy and the conventional usages of society demanded that the lady who took up a residence anywhere should call on the ladies of the neighborhood--if only to leave a card with the servant at the door. the baroness had omitted this ceremony, which proved that she either did not know of marie's hiding-place, or that she possessed enough delicacy of feeling to understand that it would be inconvenient to the one concerned were she to take any notice of the circumstance. either reason was satisfactory to count vavel. but a woman without curiosity! meanwhile the count had learned something about her which might be of some use to marie. he had received, during the winter, a letter from the young law student with whom he had become acquainted on the occasion of the vice-palatine's unpleasant visit to the castle. the young man wrote to say that he had passed his examination, and that when he should receive the necessary authority from the count he would be ready to proceed to the business they had talked about. the count replied that a renewal of his lease was not necessary. the new owner of the castle having neglected to serve a notice to quit within the proper time, the old contracts were still valid. therefore, it was only necessary to secure the naturalization documents, and to purchase a plot of ground on the shore of the lake. the young lawyer arranged these matters satisfactorily, and the count had nothing further to do than to appoint an _absentium ablegatus_ to the diet, and to take possession of his new purchase, which lay adjacent to the nameless castle. the count at once had the plot of ground inclosed with a high fence of stout planks, engaged a gardener, and had it transformed into a beautiful flower-garden. then, when the first spring blossoms began to open, he said to marie, one balmy, sunshiny afternoon: "come, we will take a promenade." he conducted the veiled maiden through the park, along the freshly graveled path to the inclosed plot of ground. "here is your garden," he said, opening the gate. "now you, too, own a plot of ground." count vavel had expected to see the little maid clap her hands with delight, and hasten to pluck the flowers for a nosegay. instead, however, she clung to his arm and sighed heavily. "why do you sigh, marie? are you not pleased with your garden?" "yes; i think it beautiful." "then why do you sigh?" "because i cannot thank you as i wish." "but you have already thanked me." "that was only with words. tell me, can any one see us here?" "no one; we are alone." at these words the little maid tore the veil from her face, and for the first time in many years god's free sunlight illumined her lovely features. what those features expressed, what those eyes flashed through their tears, that was her gratitude. when she had illumined the heart of her guardian with this expressive glance, she was about to draw the veil over her face again; but ludwig laid a gently restraining hand on hers, and said: "leave your face uncovered, marie; no one can see it here; and every day for one hour you may walk thus here, without fear of being seen, for i shall send the gardener elsewhere during that time." when they were leaving the garden, marie plucked two forget-me-nots, and gave one of them to ludwig. from that day she had one more pleasure: the garden, a free sight of the sky, the warmth of the sunlight--enjoyments hitherto denied her; but, all the same, the childlike cheerfulness faded more and more from her countenance. ludwig, who was distressed to see this continued melancholy in the child's face, searched among his pedagogic remedies for a cure for such moods. a sixteen-year-old girl might begin the study of history. at this age she would already become interested in descriptions of national customs, in archaeological study, in travels. he therefore collected for marie's edification quite a library, and became a zealous expounder of the various works. in a short time, however, he became aware that his pupil was not so studious as she had been formerly. she paid little heed to his learned discourses, and even neglected to learn her lessons. for this he was frequently obliged to reprove her. this was a sort of refrigerating process. for an instructor to scold a youthful pupil is the best proof that he is a being from a different planet! one day the tutor was delineating with great eloquence to his scholar--who, he imagined, was listening with special interest--the glorious deeds of heroism performed by st. louis, and was tracing on the map the heroic king's memorable crusade. the scholar, however, was writing something on a sheet of paper which lay on the table in front of her. "what are you writing, marie?" the little maid handed him the sheet of paper. on it were the words: "dear ludwig, love me." map and book dropped from the count's hands. the little maid's frank, sincere gaze met his own. she was not ashamed of what she had written, or that she had let him read it. she thought it quite in the order of things. "and don't i love you?" exclaimed ludwig, with sudden sharpness. "don't i love you as the fakir loves his brahma--as the carthusian loves his virgin mary? don't i love you quite as dearly?" "then don't love me--quite so dearly," responded marie, rising and going to her own room, where she began to play with her cats. from that hour she would not learn anything more from ludwig. the young man, however, placed the slip of paper containing the words, "dear ludwig, love me," among his relics. * * * * * since the new mistress's advent in the neighboring manor count vavel had spent more time than usual in his observatory. at first suspicion had been his motive. now, however, there was a certain fascination in bringing near to him with his telescope the woman with whom he had exchanged only written communication. if he was so eager to behold her, why did he not go to the manor? why did he look at her only through his telescope? she would certainly receive his visits; and what then? this "what then?" was the fetter which bound him hand and foot, was the lock upon his lips. he must make no acquaintances. results might follow; and what then? the entombed man must not quit his grave. he might only seat himself at the window of his tomb, and thence look out on the beautiful, forbidden world. what a stately appearance the lady makes as she strolls in her long white gown across the green sward over yonder! her long golden hair falls in glittering masses from beneath her wide-rimmed straw hat. now she stops; she seems to be looking for some one. now her lips open; she is calling some one. her form is quite near, but her voice stops over yonder, a thousand paces distant. the person she calls does not appear in the field of vision. now she calls louder, and the listening ear hears the words, "dear ludwig!" he starts. these words have not come from the phantom of the object-glass, but from a living being that stands by his side--marie. the count sprang to his feet, surprised and embarrassed, unable to say a word. marie, however, did not wait for him to speak, but said with eager inquisitiveness: "what are you looking at through that great pipe?" before ludwig could turn the glass in another direction, the little maid had taken his seat, and was gazing, with a wilful smile on her lips, through the "great pipe." the smile gradually faded from her lips as she viewed the world revealed by the telescope--the beautiful woman over yonder amid her flowers, her form encircled by the nimbus of rainbow hues. when she withdrew her eye from the glass, her face betrayed the new emotion which had taken possession of her. the lengthened features, the half-opened lips, the contracted brows, the half-closed eyes, all these betrayed--ludwig was perfectly familiar with the expression--jealousy. marie had discovered that there was an enchantingly beautiful woman upon whose phenomenal charms _her_ ludwig came up here to feast his eyes. the faithless one! ludwig was going to speak, but marie laid her hand against his lips, and turned again to the telescope. the "green-eyed monster" wanted to see some more! suddenly her face brightened; a joyful smile wreathed her lips. she seized ludwig's hand, and exclaimed, in a voice that sounded like a sigh of relief: "what you told me was true, after all! you did not want to deceive me." "what do you see?" asked ludwig. "i see the water-monster that frightened me. i believed that you invented a fable and had it printed in that book in order to deceive me. and now i see the creature over yonder with the beautiful lady. she called to him, and he came walking on his hands and feet. now he is standing upright. how ridiculous the poor thing looks in his red clothes! he does n't want to keep on his hat, and persists in wanting to walk on all fours like a poodle. dear heaven! what a kind lady she must be to have so much patience with him!" then she rose suddenly from the telescope, flung her arms around ludwig's neck, and began to sob. her warm tears moistened the young man's face; but they were not tears of grief. very soon she ceased sobbing, and smiled through her tears. "i am so thankful i came up here! you will let me come again, won't you, ludwig? i will come only when you ask me. and to-morrow we will resume our swimming excursions. you will come with me in the canoe, won't you?" ludwig assented, and the child skipped, humming cheerily, down the tower stairs; and the whole day long the old castle echoed with her merry singing. chapter iii and why should not baroness landsknechtsschild take observations with a telescope, as well as her neighbor at the nameless castle? she could very easily do so unnoticed. from the outside of a house, when it is light, one cannot see what is going on in a dark room. this question count vavel was given an opportunity to decide. the astronomical calendar had announced a total eclipse of the moon on a certain night in july. the moon would enter the shadow at ten o'clock, and reach full obscuration toward midnight. ludwig had persuaded marie to observe the phenomenon with him; and the young girl was astonished beyond measure when she beheld for the first time the full moon through the telescope. ludwig explained to her that the large, brilliant circles were extinct craters; the dark blotches, seas. at that time scientists still accepted the theory of oceans on the moon. what interested marie most of all, however, was the question, "were there people on the moon?" ludwig promised to procure for her the fanciful descriptions of a supposed journey made to the moon by some naturalists in the preceding century. innocent enough reading for a girl of sixteen! "i wonder what the people are like who live on the moon?" and ludwig's mental reply was: "one of them stands here by your side!" after a while marie wearied of the heavenly phenomena, and when the hour came at which she usually went to bed she was overcome by sleep. in vain ludwig sought to keep her awake by telling her about the imbrian ocean, and relating the wonders of mount aristarchus. marie could not keep from nodding, and several times she caught herself dreaming. "i shall not wait to see the end of the eclipse," she said to ludwig. "it is very pretty and interesting, but i am sleepy." she was yet so much a child that she would not have given up her sweet slumbers for an eclipse of all the planets of the universe. ludwig accompanied her to the door of her apartments, bade her good night, and returned to the observatory. already the disk of the moon was half obscured. ludwig removed the astronomical eye-piece from the telescope, and inserted the tellurian glass instead; then he turned the object-glass toward the neighboring manor instead of toward the moon. now, if ever, was the time to find out if his fair neighbor possessed a telescope. if she had one, she would certainly be using it now. it was sufficiently light to enable him to see quite distinctly the baroness sitting, with two other women, on the veranda. she was observing the eclipse, but with an opera-glass--a magnifier that certainly could not reveal very much. of this count ludwig might rest satisfied. and yet, in spite of the satisfaction this decision had given him, he continued to observe the disappearance of the moonlight from the veranda of the manor with far more attention than he bestowed upon the gradual darkening of the heavenly luminary itself. then there happened to the baroness's companions what had happened to marie: the women began to nod, whereupon the baroness sent them to bed. there remained now only the count and his fair neighbor to continue the astronomical observations. the lady looked at the moon; the count looked at the lady. the baroness, as was evident, was thorough in whatever she undertook. she waited for the full obscuration--until the last vestige of moonlight had vanished, and only a strange-looking, dull, copper-hued ball hung in the sky. the baroness now rose and went into the house. the astronomer on the castle tower observed that she neglected to close the veranda door. it was now quite dark; the silence of midnight reigned over everything. count vavel waited in his observatory until the moon emerged from shadow. instead of the moon, something quite different came within the field of vision. from the shrubbery in the rear of the manor there emerged a man. he looked cautiously about him, then signaled backward with his hand, whereupon a second man, then a third and a fourth, appeared. dark as it was, the count could distinguish that the men wore masks, and carried hatchets in their hands. he could not see what sort of clothes they wore. they were robbers. one of the men swung himself over the iron trellis of the veranda; his companions waited below, in the shadow of the gate. the count hastened from his observatory. first he wakened henry. "robbers have broken into the manor, henry!" "the rascals certainly chose a good time to do it; now that the moon is in shadow, no one will see them," sleepily returned henry. "i saw them, and i am going to scare them away." "we can fire off our guns from here; that will scare them," suggested henry. "are you out of your senses, henry? we should frighten marie; and were she to learn that there are robbers in the neighborhood, she would want to go away from here, and you know we are chained to this place." "yes; then i don't know what we can do. shall i go down and rouse the village?" "so that you may be called on to testify before a court, and be compelled to tell who you are, what you are, and how you came here?" impatiently interposed the count. "that is true. then i can't raise an alarm?" "certainly not. do as i tell you. stop here in the castle, take your station in front of marie's door, and i will go over to the manor. give me your walking-stick." "what? you are going after the robbers with a walking-stick?" "they are only petty thieves; they are not real robbers. men of this sort will run when they hear a footstep. besides, there are only four of them." "four against one who has nothing but a cudgel!" "in which is concealed a sharp poniard--a very effective weapon at close quarters," supplemented the count. "but don't stop here talking, henry. fetch the stick, and my driving-coat, into the pocket of which put my bloodletting instruments. some one might faint over yonder, and i should need them." henry brought the stick and coat. only after he had gone some distance from the castle did count vavel notice that some heavy object kept thumping against his side. the faithful henry had smuggled a double-barreled pistol into the pocket of his coat, in addition to the bloodletting instruments. the count did not take the road which ran around the cove to the manor, but hurried to the shore, where he sprang into his canoe, and with a few powerful strokes of the oars reached the opposite shore. a few steps took him to the manor. his heart beat rapidly. he had a certain dread of the coming meeting--not the meeting with the robbers, but with the baroness. the gates of the manor were open, as was usual in hungarian manors day and night. the count crossed the court, and as he turned the corner of the house there happened what he had predicted: the masked man who was on watch at the door gave a shrill whistle, then dashed into the shrubbery. count vavel did not give chase to the fleeing thief, but, swinging his cudgel around his head, ran through the open door into the hall. here a lamp was burning. he hurried into the salon, and saw, as he entered, two more of the robbers jump from the window into the garden. count ludwig hurried on toward the adjoining room, whence came the faint light of a lamp. the light came from another room still farther on. it was the sleeping-chamber of the lady of the house. there were no robbers here, but on the table lay jewelry and articles of silver which had been emptied from the cases lying about the floor. in an arm-chair which stood near the bed-alcove reclined a female form, the arms and hands firmly bound with cords to the chair. what a beautiful creature! the clinging folds of her dressing-robe revealed the perfect proportions of her figure. her hair fell like a golden cataract to the floor. modest blushes and joy at her deliverance made the lovely face even more enchanting when the knightly deliverer entered the room--a hero who came with a cudgel to do battle against a band of robbers, and conquered! "i am count vavel," he hastened to explain, cudgel in hand, that the lady might not think him another robber and fall into a faint. "pray release me," in a low tone begged the lady, her cheeks crimsoning with modest shame when he bent over her to untie the cords. the task was quickly performed; the count took a knife from his pocket and cut the cords; then he turned to look for a bell. "please don't ring," hastily interposed the baroness. "don't rouse my people from their slumbers. the robbers are gone, and have taken nothing. you came in good time to help me." "did the rascals ill-treat you, baroness?" "they only tied me to this chair; but they threatened to kill me if i refused to give them money--they were not content to take only my jewelry. i was about to give them an order to the steward, who has charge of my money, when your arrival suddenly ended the agreement we had made." "agreement?" repeated the count. "a pretty business, truly!" "pray don't speak so loudly; i don't want any one to be alarmed--and please go into the next room, where you will find my maid, who is also bound." count vavel went into the small chamber which communicated with that of the baroness, and saw lying on the bed a woman whose hands and feet were bound; a handkerchief had been thrust into her mouth. he quickly released her from the cords and handkerchief; but she did not stir: she had evidently lost consciousness. by this time the baroness had followed with a lighted candle. she had flung a silken shawl about her shoulders, thrust her feet into turkish slippers, and tucked her hair underneath a becoming lace cap. "is she dead?" she asked, lifting an anxious glance to ludwig's face. "no, she is not dead," replied the count, who was attentively scanning the unconscious woman's face. "what is the matter with her?" pursued the baroness, with evident distress. the count now recognized the woman's face. he had seen her with the lad who had been his protégé, and who was now a member of the baroness's household. it was the wife of satan laczi. "no, she is not dead," he repeated; "she has only fainted." the baroness hastily fetched her smelling-salts, and held them to the unconscious woman's nostrils. "peasant women have strong constitutions," observed the count. "when such a one loses consciousness a perfume like that will not restore her; she needs to be bled." "but good heavens! what are we to do? i can't think of sending for the doctor now! i don't want him to hear of what has happened here to-night." "i understand bloodletting," observed vavel. "you, herr count?" "yes; i have studied medicine and surgery." "but you have no lance." "i brought my chirurgic instruments with me." "then you thought you might find here some one who had fainted?" exclaimed the baroness, wonderingly. "yes. i shall require the assistance of a maid to hold the woman's arm while i perform the operation." "i don't want any of the servants wakened. can't i--help you?" she suggested hesitatingly. "are not you afraid of the sight of blood, baroness?" "of course i am; but i will endure that rather than have one of my maids see you here at this hour." "but this one will see me when she recovers consciousness." "oh, i can trust this one; she will be silent." "then let us make an attempt." the result of the attempt was, the fainting maid was restored to consciousness by the skilfully applied lance, while the face of the assisting lady became deathly pale. her eyes closed, her lips became blue. fortunately, she had a more susceptible nature than her maid. a few drops of cold water sprinkled on her face, and the smelling-salts, quickly restored her to consciousness. during these few moments her head had rested on the young man's shoulder, her form had been supported on his arm. "don't trouble any further about me," she murmured, when she opened her eyes and saw herself in vavel's arms; "but attend to that poor woman"; and she hastily rose from her recumbent position. the woman was shivering with a chill--or was it the result of extreme terror? if the former, then a little medicine would soon help her; but if it was terror, there was no remedy for it. to all questions she returned but the one answer: "oh, my god! my god!" the baroness and count vavel now returned to the outer room. "i regret very much, baroness, that you have had an unpleasant experience like this--here in our peaceful neighborhood, where every one is so honest that you might leave your purse lying out in the court; no one would take it." the baroness laughingly interrupted him: "the robber adventure amused more than it frightened me. all my life i have wanted to see a real hungarian robber, of whom the viennese tell such wonderful tales. my wish has been gratified, and i have had a real adventure--the sort one reads in romances." "your romance might have had a sorrowful conclusion," responded count ludwig, seriously. "yes--if heaven had not sent a brave deliverer to my rescue." "you may well say heaven sent him," smilingly returned the count; "for if there had not been an eclipse of the moon to-night, which i was observing through my telescope, and at the same time taking a look about the neighborhood, i should not have seen the masked men enter the manor." "what!" in astonishment exclaimed the baroness; "you saw the men through a telescope? truly, _i_ shall have to be on my guard in future! but," she added more seriously, lifting from the table the count's walking-stick, toward which he had extended his hand, "before you go i want to beg a favor. please do not mention the occurrence of this night to any one. i don't want the authorities to make any inquiries concerning the attempted robbery." "that favor i grant most willingly," replied count vavel, who had not the least desire for a legal examination which would require him to tell who he was, what he was, whence he came, and what he was doing here. "i can tell you why i don't want the affair known," continued the baroness. "the woman in yonder is the one of whom i wrote you some time ago--the wife of ladislaus satan, or, as he is called, satan laczi. should it become known that a robbery was attempted here, the villagers will say at once, 'it was the wife of the robber satan laczi who helped the men to rob her mistress,' and the poor woman will be sent back to prison." "and do you really believe her innocent?" "i can assure you that she knew nothing about this matter. i shall not send her away, but, as a proof that i trust her entirely, shall let her sleep in the room next to mine, and let her carry all my keys!" to emphasize her declaration, she thumped the floor vigorously with vavel's iron-ferruled stick. involuntarily the count extended his hand to her. she grasped it cordially, and, shaking it, added: "don't speak of our meeting to-night to any one; i shall not mention it, i can promise you! and now, i will give you your stick; i am certain some one at home is anxious about you. god be with you!" at home count vavel found henry on guard at the door of marie's room, his musket cocked, ready for action. "did anything happen here?" asked the count. "did marie waken?" "no; but she called out several times in her sleep, and once i heard her say quite distinctly: 'ludwig, take care; she will bite!" * * * * * count vavel could not deny that his fair neighbor had made a very favorable impression on him. in astronomy she had taken the place of the moon, in classic literature that of an ideal, and in metaphysics that of the absolutely good. he had sufficient command of himself, however, to suppress the desire to see her again. from that day he did not again turn his telescope toward the neighboring manor. but to prevent his thoughts from straying there was beyond his power. these straying thoughts after a while began to betray themselves in his countenance and in his eyes; and there are persons who understand how to read faces and eyes. "are you troubled about anything, ludwig?" one day inquired marie, after they had been sitting in silence together for a long while. ludwig started guiltily. "ye-es; i have bad news from abroad." such a reply, however, cannot deceive those who understand the language of the face and eyes. one afternoon marie stole noiselessly up to the observatory, and surprised ludwig at the telescope. "let me see, too, ludwig. are you looking at something pretty?" "very pretty," answered ludwig, giving place to the young girl. marie looked through the glass, and saw a farm-yard overgrown with weeds. on an inverted tub near the door of the cottage sat a little old grandmother teaching her grandchildren how to knit a stocking. "then you were not looking at our lovely neighbor," said marie. "why don't you look at her?" "because it is not necessary for me to know what she is doing." marie turned the telescope toward the manor, and persisted until she had found what she was looking for. "how sad she looks!" she said to ludwig. but he paid no attention to her words. "now it seems as though she were looking straight into my eyes; now she clasps her hands as if she were praying." ludwig said, with pedagogic calmness: "if you continue to gaze with such intensity through the telescope your face will become distorted." marie laughed. "if i had a crooked mouth, and kept one eye shut, people would say, 'there goes that ugly little marie!' then i should not have to wear a veil any more." she distorted her face as she had described, and turned it toward ludwig, who said hastily: "don't--don't do that, marie." "is it not all the same to you whether i am ugly or pretty?" she retorted. then, as if to soften the harshness of her words, she added: "even if i were ugly, would you love me--as the fakir loves his brahma?" * * * * * ludwig continued his correspondence with the learned herr mercatoris. he always dictated his letters to marie. no one in the neighborhood had yet seen his own writing. therefore, it would have been impossible for him to ask the pastor anything relating to the baroness without marie knowing it. in one of his letters, however, he inquired how the mother of the lad he had once had in his care was conducting herself at the manor, and was informed that the woman had disappeared--and without leaving any explanation for her conduct--a few days after the eclipse of the moon. the baroness had been greatly troubled by the woman's going, but would not consent to having a search made for her, as she had taken nothing from the manor. this incident made count vavel believe that the woman had secretly joined the band of robbers, and that there would be another attempt made sometime to break into the manor. from that time the count slept more frequently in his observatory than he did in his bedchamber, where an entire arsenal of muskets and other firearms were always kept in readiness. one evening, when he approached the door of his room, he was surprised to see a light through the keyhole; some one was in the room. he entered hastily. on the table was a lighted candle, and standing with his back toward the table was a strange man, clad in a costume unlike that worn by the dwellers in that neighborhood. for an instant count vavel surveyed the stranger, who was standing between him and his weapons; then he demanded imperiously: "who are you? how came you here, and what do you want?" "i am satan laczi," coolly replied the man. on hearing the name, count vavel sprang suddenly toward the robber, and seized him by the arms. the fellow's arms were like the legs of a vulture--nothing but bone and sinew. count vavel was an athletic man, strong and powerful; but had the room been filled with men as strong and powerful as he, and had they every one hurled themselves upon satan laczi, he would have had no difficulty in defending himself. he had performed such a feat more than once. this evening, however, he made no move to defend himself, but looked calmly at his assailant, and said: "the herr count can see that i have no weapons; and yet, there are enough here, had i wanted to arm myself against an attack. i am not here for an evil purpose." the count released his hold on the man's arms, and looked at him in surprise. "why are you here?" he asked. "first, because i want to tell the herr count that it was not i who attempted to rob the baroness, nor were those thieves comrades of mine. i know that the people around here say it was satan laczi; but it was n't, and i came to tell you so. i confess i have robbed churches; but the house which has given shelter and food to my poor little lad is more sacred to me than a church. the people insist that i was guilty of such baseness because i am satan laczi; but the herr count, who has doubtless read a description of my person, can say whether or no it was i he saw at the manor." with these words he turned his face toward the light. it was a very repulsive countenance. "do you think there is another face that the description of mine would fit, herr count?" he asked, a certain melancholy softening the repulsiveness of his features. "but what is the use of such senseless chatter?" he added hastily. "i am not silly enough to come here seeking honor and respect--though it does vex me when people say that one man with a cudgel put to flight satan laczi and three of his comrades. i came here to-night because the herr count rescued my poor little lad from the morass, gave him shelter and food, and even condescended to teach him. for all this i owe you, herr count, and i am come to return favor for favor. you are thinking: 'how can this robber repay me what he owes?' i will tell you: by giving you a robber's information. i want to prove to the herr count that the robber--the true robber who understands his trade--can enter this securely barred castle whenever he is so minded. the locks on the doors, the bolts on the windows, are no hindrance to the man who understands his business, and the way _i_ came in another can come as well. it is said that the herr count guards a great treasure here in this castle. i don't know, and i don't ask, what this treasure is. if i should find it, i would n't take it from the herr count, and if any one else took it i should try to get it back for him. but some one may steal in here, as i did, while the herr count is looking at the stars up in the tower, and carry off his carefully guarded treasure." count vavel gave utterance to a groan of terror; his knees gave way beneath him; a chill shook his entire frame. "marie!" he gasped, forgetting himself. then, hastily snatching the candle from the table, he rushed frantically toward the young girl's sleeping-chamber, leaving satan laczi alone in his room. since he had ceased guarding marie's door at night by sleeping on the lounge in her room, he had cautioned her to lock the door before retiring. now he found the door open. breathless with fear, the count sprang toward the alcove and flung back the bed-curtains. the little maid was sleeping peacefully, her face resting against her arm. her favorite cat was lying at her feet, and on the floor by the bedside lay the two pugs. but the door of the wall-cupboard in which was hidden the steel casket stood wide open, and on the casket was a singular toy--a miniature human figure turning a spinning-wheel. for an instant count vavel's heart ceased beating. here was sufficient proof that the maid, together with the steel casket, might have been carried away during his absence. he took the curious image, which was molded of black bread, and returned to his room. as he crossed the threshold, satan laczi pointed to the toy and said: "i left it on the casket as a remembrance in exchange for the little stockings some one in this house knit for my little lad. we learn to make such things in prison, where time hangs heavily on one's hands." "but how did you manage to open the door when it was locked and the key inside?" inquired the count. satan laczi showed him the tools which he used to turn keys from the outside. "any burglar can open a door from the outside if the key is left in the lock, herr count. only those doors can be securely locked which have no keyholes outside." "i have no idea how that could be arranged," said count vavel. "i am acquainted with a jack of all trades here in the neighborhood who could make such a door for you if i told him how to make it. he is a carpenter, locksmith, and clock-maker, all in one person." the count shook his head wonderingly. the robber was to direct the locksmith how to fashion a lock that no one could open! "shall i send the man to the castle?" asked satan laczi. "yes; if the fellow is sensible, and does not chatter." "but he is a fool that never knows when to stop talking. but he talks only on one subject, so you need not be afraid to employ him. he understands everything you tell him, will do just as you say, but will not talk about what he is doing for you. there is only one subject on which he will chatter, and that is, how napoleon might be beaten. he is continually talking about stratagems, infernal machines, and how to win a battle. on this subject he is crazy. he will make doors for the herr count that can't be opened, and tell everybody else only how to make infernal machines, and how to build fortifications." "very good; then send him to me." "but--i must say something else, herr count--no matter how secure your locks may be, that treasure is best guarded against robbers which is kept in the room you sleep in. a man of courage is worth a hundred locks. i am not talking without a purpose when i say the herr count must look after his treasure. i know more than i say, and satan laczi is not the greatest robber in the world. be on your guard!" "i thank you." "does the herr count still believe that it was i and my comrades who broke into the manor?" "no; i am convinced that it was not you." "then my mission here is accomplished--" "not yet," interposed the count, stepping to a cupboard, and taking from it a straw-covered bottle and a goblet. "here,"--filling the goblet and handing it to the robber,--"he who comes to my house as a guest must not quit it without a parting glass." "a strange guest, indeed!" responded the robber, taking the proffered glass. "i came without knocking for admittance. but i performed a masterpiece to-day; the herr count will find it out soon enough! i do not drink to your welfare herr count, for my good wishes don't go for much in heaven!" the count seated himself at the table, and said: "don't go just yet, my friend; i want to give you a few words of advice. i believe you are a good man at heart. quit your present mode of life, which will ultimately lead you--" "yes, i know--to the gallows and to hell," interposed the robber. "take up some trade," pursued the count. "i will gladly assist you to become an honest man. i will lend you the money necessary to begin work, and you can pay me when you have succeeded. surely honest labor is the best." "i thank you for the good advice, herr count, but it is too late. i know very well what would be best for me; but, as i said, it is too late now. there was a time when i would gladly have labored at my trade,--for i have one,--but no one would tolerate me because of my repulsive face. from my childhood i have been an object of ridicule and abuse. my father was well-born, but he died in a political prison, and i was left destitute with this hideous face. no one would employ me for anything but swine-herd; and even then luck was against me, for if anything went wrong with a litter of pigs, i was always blamed for the mishap, and sent about my business. count jharose gave me a job once; it was a ridiculous task, but i was glad to get any kind of honest work. i had to exercise the count's two tame bears--promenade with them through the village. the bears' fore paws were tied about their necks, so that they were obliged to walk on their hind feet, and i had to walk between them, my hands resting on a fore leg of each animal, as if i were escorting two young women. when we promenaded thus along the village street, the people would laugh and shout: 'there go count jharose's three tame bears.' at last i got out of the way of doing hard work, and got used to being ridiculed by all the world. but i had not yet learned to steal. the bears grew fat under my care. i was given every day two loaves of bread to feed to them. one day i saw, in a wretched hut at the end of the village, a poor woman and her daughter who were starving. from that day the bears began to grow thin; for i stole one of the loaves of bread and gave it to the poor women, who were glad enough to get it, i can tell you! but the steward found out my theft, and i was dismissed from the count's service. the poor women were turned out of their miserable hut. the mother froze to death,--for it was winter then,--and the daughter was left on my hands. we got a franciscan monk, whom we met in the forest, to marry us--which was a bad move for the girl, for no one would employ her, because she was my wife. so the forest became our home, hollow trees our shelter; and what a friend an old tree can become! well, to make a long story short, necessity very soon taught me how to take what belonged to others. i got used to the vagrant life. i could not sleep under a roof any more. i could n't live among men, and pull off my hat to my betters. when the little lad came into the world, i said to my wife: 'do you quit the forest, and look for work in some village. don't let the little one grow up to become a thief.' she did as i bade her; but the people who hired her always found out that she was the wife of satan laczi, and then they would not keep her, and she would have to come back to me in the forest. and that is where i shall end my days--in the forest. i am not good for anything any more; i could n't even plow a furrow any more. i shall end on the gallows--i feel it. i should have liked the life of a soldier, but they never would take me; they always said i would disgrace any regiment to which i might belong. yes, i would rather have been a soldier than anything else; but what is not to be will not be! i shall keep to my forest. i am obliged to the herr count for his good wishes and this delicious brandy." the robber placed the empty glass on the table, took up his hat, and walked with heavy steps toward the door. here he halted to say: "i must tell you that the touch-holes of all your firearms are filled with wax. have them cleaned, or you will not be able to shoot with them." the count rose, and hastened to convince himself that this statement was true. he found that his firearms had indeed been rendered useless; the robber had taken good care to protect himself from an attack. when vavel looked around again, satan laczi had disappeared. chapter iv the afternoon of the following day, henry entered the count's study to announce that a crazy person was below, who insisted on speaking to the lord of the castle. the stranger said he had invented a cannon that would at one shot destroy fifteen hundred men. he would take no denial, but insisted that henry should tell the herr count that master matyas had arrived. "yes; i sent for him to come here," answered the count. "show him up." the appearance of the man whom henry conducted to his master's presence was certainly original. he wore a costume unlike any prevailing fashion. his upper garment was so made that it might be worn either as a coat or a mantle; if sleeves were desired there were sleeves, and none if none were required. even his shoes were inventions of his own, for no regular shoemaker could have fashioned them. he held between the fingers of his right hand a bit of lead-pencil, with which he would illustrate what he described on the palm of his left hand. "you come in good time, master matyas," said the count. "yes--yes. if only i had been in good time at the battle of marengo!" sighed the singular man. "too late now for regrets of that sort, master matyas," smilingly responded count vavel. "facts cannot be changed! i have a task for you which i desire to have completed as quickly as possible. come, and i will show you what i want you to do." it was the hour marie spent in her garden; consequently the count was at liberty to conduct the jack of all trades to the young girl's apartment, and explain what he wished to have done. master matyas listened attentively to what the count said, and took the necessary measurements. when he had done so, he turned toward his patron, and said in a serious tone: "do you know why we lost the battle of marengo? because general gvozdanovics, when napoleon's cavalry made that famous assault, was not clever enough to order three men into every tree on that long avenue--two of the men to load the muskets, while the third kept up a continual fire. the french horsemen could not have ridden up the trees, and the entire troop of cavalry would have dropped under the continuous fire! the general certainly should have commanded: 'half battalion--half left! up the trees--forward!'" "that is true, master matyas," assented count vavel; "but i should like to know if you fully understand what i want you to do, and if you can do it?" master matyas's face brightened suddenly. "i 'll tell you what, herr count; if i succeed in doing what you want, i shall be able, if ever napoleon makes another attack on us, to pen him up, with his entire army, so securely that he won't be able to stir!" "i have no doubt of that!" again assented the count. "what i want, however, is a secure barrier that cannot be opened from the outside. pray understand me. i want this barrier made in such a manner that the person within the barricade will have sufficient light and air, but be invisible to any one outside, and be perfectly secure from intruders. could not you let me have a little drawing of what you propose to do?" "certainly"; and taking a small sketch-book from his pocket, master matyas proceeded to do as he was requested--first, however, explaining to the count a drawing of the cannon which would mow down at one shot fifteen hundred men. "you see," he explained, "here are two cannon welded together at the breech, with their muzzles ten degrees apart. but one touch-hole suffices for both. the balls are connected by a long chain, and when the cannon are fired off, the balls naturally fly in opposite directions and forward at the same time, and, stretching the chain, mow off the heads of every man jack with whom it comes in contact! fire! boom! heads off!" the count was perfectly satisfied with master matyas. he had found a man who fully understood his business, and who knew how to hold his tongue on all subjects but on that of his infernal machines, and of his stratagems to defeat napoleon. for two weeks master matyas labored diligently at his task in the nameless castle, during which time henry heard so much about warlike stratagems that his sides ached from the continued laughter. but when the villagers questioned master matyas about his work at the castle, they could learn nothing from him but schemes to capture the ever-victorious corsican. "herr count," one day observed henry, toward the close of the second week, "if i hear much more of master matyas's wonderful battles, i shall become as crazy as he is!" and the count replied: "you are crazy already, my good henry--and so am i!" at last the task was completed. count vavel was satisfied with the work master matyas had performed, and it only remained for marie to express herself satisfied with the arrangement which would barricade her every night as securely as were the treasures of the "green vault" in dresden. a few days afterward was marie's sixteenth birthday. count vavel had come to her apartments, as usual, to congratulate her, and to hear what her birthday wish might be. but the young girl, whose sparkling eyes had become veiled with melancholy, whose red lips had already learned to express sadness, had no commands to give to-day. after dinner the count, on some pretence, detained marie in the library while master matyas completed his task in her room. this masterpiece was a peculiar curtain composed of small squares of steel so joined together that light and air could easily penetrate the screen. it was fitted between the two marble columns which supported the arch of the bed-alcove. when the metal curtain was lowered, by means of a cord, two springs in the floor caught and held it so securely that it could not be lifted from the outside. to raise the screen the person in the alcove had only to touch a secret spring near the bed, when the screen would roll up of itself. "and hast thou no wish this year, marie?" asked the count, adopting, as usual on this anniversary, the familiar "thou." "yes, i have one, dear ludwig," replied the young girl, but with no brightening of the melancholy features. "i have lost something, but thou canst not give it back to me." "and what may this something be? what hast thou lost, marie? tell me." "my former sweet, sound sleep! and thou canst not buy me another in vienna or paris. i used to sleep so soundly. i used to be so fond of my sweet slumber that i could hardly wait to say my prayers, and often i would be in dreamland long before i got to the 'amen.' and if by any chance i awoke in the night and heard the clock strike, i would beg of it not to hurry along the hours so fast--i did not want morning to come so soon! but now that i have to sleep with locked doors, i lie awake often until midnight--terrified by i know not what. i dread to be so entirely alone when everything is so quiet; and when it is dark i feel as if some one were stealthily creeping about my room. when i hear a noise i wonder what it can be, and my heart beats so rapidly! then i draw the covers over my head to shut out all sound, and if i fall asleep thus i have such disagreeable dreams that i am glad when i waken again." count vavel gently took the young girl's hand in his. "suppose i could restore to thee thy former sweet slumber, marie? suppose i take up my old quarters on the lounge by the door?" the young girl gazed into his eyes as if she would penetrate his very soul. then she said sorrowfully: "no, dear ludwig; that would not restore my slumber." "then suppose i have thought of something that will? come with me, and see." she laid her hand on his arm, and went with him to her room. ludwig conducted her into the alcove, and stepped outside. "draw the cord which hangs at the head of the bed," he said, smiling at her wondering face. marie did as he bade her, and the metal screen unrolled, and was caught in the springs in the floor. "oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed in amazement. "i am a prisoner in my own alcove." "only so long as you care to remain in your prison," returned count vavel. "no one can lift the screen from this side; but if you will press your foot on the little brass button in the floor at the foot of the column to your left, you will be at liberty again." the next instant master matyas's handiwork was rolled up to the ceiling. marie was filled with delight and astonishment. "there is another work of art connected with this wonderful mechanism," said the count, after marie had rolled and unrolled the screen several times. "the cord which releases the screen rings a bell in my room. when i hear the bell i shall know that you have retired; then i shall bring my books and papers into your room out yonder, and continue my work there. only enough light will penetrate the screen to the alcove to prevent utter darkness. you will not need to be afraid hereafter, and perhaps the sweet, sound sleep will return to you." marie did not offer to kiss her guardian for this birthday gift. she merely held out both hands, and gave his a clasp that was so close and warm that it said more than words or kisses. she waited impatiently for evening to test the working of her wonderful screen. she did not amuse herself with her cards, as usual, but went to bed at ten o'clock. at the same moment that the screen unrolled and was caught by the springs in the floor, count ludwig's footsteps were heard in the corridor. in one hand he carried a two-branched candlestick, in the other his pistol-case and ink-horn. his pen was between his lips; his books and papers were held under his arm. he seated himself at a table, and resumed his studies. marie would have been untrue to her sex had she not watched him for several minutes through her metal screen--watched and admired the superb head, supported on one hand as he bent intently over his book, the broad brow, the classical nose, the chin and lips of an achilles--all as motionless as if they had been molded in bronze. a true hero--a hero who battled with the most powerful demons of earth, the human passions, and conquered. from that day marie found her old sweet sleep again. the second day marie's curiosity prompted her to signal to ludwig half an hour earlier. he heard, and came as readily at half-past nine o'clock. and then the little maid (like all indulged children) abused her privileges: she signaled at nine o'clock, and at last at eight o'clock--retiring with the birds in order to test if ludwig would obey the signal. he always came promptly when the falling screen summoned him. and then marie said to herself: "he loves me. he loves me very much--as the fakir loves his brahma, as the carthusian loves his sainted virgin. that is how he loves me!" part v ange barthelmy chapter i so far as marie's safety from robbers was concerned, count vavel might now rest content. satan laczi's advice had been obeyed to the letter. but how about baroness landsknechtsschild? danger still threatened her. count vavel was seriously concerned about his fair neighbor, and wondered how he might communicate his extraordinary discovery to her. what could he do to warn her of the danger which still threatened her? should he call in person at the manor, and tell her of his interview with satan laczi? a propitious chance came to count vavel's aid in his perplexity. one afternoon the sound of a trumpet drew him to his window. on looking out, he beheld a division of cavalry riding along the highway toward the village. they were dragoons, as their glistening helmets indicated. when the troop drew near to the village, the band struck up a lively mazurka, and to this spirited march the soldiers made their entry into fertöszeg. ludwig could see through his telescope how the men were quartered in the houses in the village; and in the evening, after the retreat had been sounded, he also saw that the windows of the hitherto unused wing of the manor were brilliantly illuminated. evidently the officers in command of the troop had taken up their quarters there, which was proper. the armed guard on duty at the manor gates verified this supposition. count vavel might now feel perfectly sure that no robbers would attempt to break into the manor; they were too cunning to come prowling about a place where cavalry officers were quartered. and with the arrival of the troop another danger had been averted. now baroness katharina would not break into the nameless castle and despoil count vavel of something which satan laczi could not, with all his cunning, have restored to him--his heart! count ludwig did not trouble himself further about the manor. he was convinced that enough gallant cavalrymen were over yonder to entertain the fair mistress, so that she would no longer wait for any more tiresome philosophizing from him. every evening he could hear the band playing on the veranda of the manor, and very often, too, the merry dance-music, which floated from the open windows until a late hour of the night. they were enjoying themselves over yonder, and they were right in so doing. how did all this concern him? in one respect, however, the soldiers taking up their quarters in fertöszeg concerned him: they exercised daily on the same road over which it was his custom to take his daily drive with marie. in order to avoid meeting them, he was obliged to change the hour to noon, when the soldiers would be at dinner. several days after the arrival of the troop at fertöszeg, the officer in command paid a visit at the nameless castle--a courtesy required from one who was familiar with the usages of good society. at the door, however, he was told by the groom that count vavel was not at home. he left his card, which henry at once delivered to his master, who was in his study. the card bore the name: "vicomte leon barthelmy, k. k., colonel of cavalry." count vavel tried to remember where he had heard the name before, but without success. he quieted his dread which this act of ceremony had aroused in him by the thought that it contained no further significance than the conventional courtesy which a stranger felt himself called upon to pay to a resident. the call would, of course, have to be returned. from his observatory count vavel informed himself at what hour the colonel betook himself to the exercise-ground, and chose that time to make his visit. naturally he found the colonel absent, and left a card for him. a few days afterward colonel barthelmy again alighted from his horse at the door of the nameless castle, and again met with a disappointment--the herr count was not at home to visitors; he was engaged, and had given orders not to be disturbed. again the troop's commander left his card, determining to remain indoors at the manor until the return visit had been paid, which would have to be done within twenty-four hours if no rudeness were intended. he was not a little astonished to find, on returning to the manor, that count vavel had left a card for him with the porter. such promptness perplexed the colonel. how had the count managed to reach the manor before he did? the porter informed him that the gentleman from the nameless castle had rowed across the cove, which was a much shorter way than by the carriage-road around the shore. the colonel now determined to prove that he was an obstinate and persistent admirer of the occupant of the nameless castle. he paid a third visit at eight o'clock the next evening. this time henry informed the visitor that the count had gone to bed. "is he ill?" inquired the colonel. "no; this is his usual hour for retiring." "but how can a man who is not ill go to bed at eight o'clock?" and again he handed henry a card. this visit count vavel returned the next morning at three o'clock. at this hour, as may be supposed, every soul in the manor was still sound asleep. only the guards on watch at the gate demanded: "halt! who comes there?" on learning that the intruder was a "friend," they allowed him to waken the porter, who thrust his frowzy head from the half-open door to ask, in surprise, what was wanted. "is the herr colonel at home?" inquired count vavel. "yes, your lordship; but he is in bed." "is he ill?" "no, your lordship; but he is in bed, of course, at this hour." "why, how can a man who is not ill stay in bed until three o'clock?" the count turned over a corner of his card, and handed it to the porter. this, at last, the colonel understood, and left no more cards at the nameless castle. * * * * * the officers quartered at the manor were agreeable companions. vicomte leon barthelmy was a true courtier, a brave soldier, an entertaining comrade, and a generous master. even his enemies would have admitted that his manners were irresistible in the salon, as well as on the battle-field. every one knew that colonel barthelmy was a married man--that he had a wife with whom, however, he did not live, but from whom he had not been divorced. susceptible feminine hearts did not risk a flirtation with the fascinating soldier, being forewarned by the canonical laws of the church, which forbade more intimate relations. there was no need to fear for so prudent and discreet a woman as the baroness katharina landsknechtsschild. her principles were very sound, and firmly grounded. she permitted no familiarities beyond a certain limit, but made no coy pretence of avoiding innocent amusements. her affable treatment of the officers was easily explained. she had not received the gentlemen residing in the neighborhood, because they would very soon have visited the manor with a special object--they would have come as suitors for her hand. she would have been compelled to reject such offers, and would have given rise to all sorts of gossip. moreover, these country magnates were tiresome persons; for, when they were once gathered about a gaming-table, the four ladies in a pack of cards engrossed so much of their attention that they had no thought for any of the living women about them. the sons of mars, on the contrary, were devoted entirely to the service of the fair sex. many of the officers' wives accompanied the regiment, and these helped to make up the quadrille, the mazurka, the redowa,--at that time the latest dance,--and every day saw a merry gathering of revelers. one day there would be a series of entertaining games; another day there would be a play on a hastily improvised stage, in which the baroness herself would take a part, and win well-deserved applause by her graceful and artistic acting. there were several skilled amateur jugglers among the merry company, who would give performances _à la_ bosko and philadelphia; and others would delight the audience with the wonderful scenes of a magic lantern. once the baroness arranged a chase, and herself joined in the hunt after the pheasants and deer on her estate, proving herself a skilled amazon in the saddle and in the management of her rifle. then, the officers improvised a horse-race; and once they even got up a circus, in which all look part. count vavel, in his tower, was an interested spectator of many of these amusements. there had been a time when he, too, had taken part in and enjoyed just such sports. he was a lover of the chase and of horse-racing. no one knew better than he the keen delights of a clean vault over ditches and hedges. if only he might join the merry company down yonder, _he_ could show them some riding! and as for hunting? he could spend whole days on the mountains, clambering after the fleet-footed chamois, following the larger game through morass and forest. he had grown up amid exhilarating sports such as these. and the dance-music! how alluring were the strains! and how often through the day he found himself humming the melodies which had floated to him from the open windows of the manor! once he, too, had taken pleasure in jesting with fair women until their white shoulders would shake with merry laughter. and all this he must look upon and hear at a distance, since he had made himself his own jailer! * * * * * during these weeks marie was very restless. the sound of the trumpets startled her; the unusual noises terrified her. she whose nightly slumbers had been guarded from the barking of dogs and the crowing of fowls now was obliged to listen half the night to clarionet, horn, and piccolo, and to wonder what these people could be doing that they kept their music going until such late hours. one circumstance, however, reconciled marie to the excitement of these days: ludwig spent more time with her; and though his face was as stern as ever, she could not detect in it the melancholy which cannot be concealed from the eyes of the woman who can look into the depths, of the soul. chapter ii at last, one day late in the autumn, count vavel received from his correspondent, herr mercatoris, the information that the dragoon regiment was going to change its quarters, and that the departure from fertöszeg would be celebrated by various amusements, among them a regatta with colored lanterns on the lake and magnificent fireworks on the shore. "we shall manage somehow to live through it," was the count's mental comment on the news. he knew marie's horror of fire--how she suffered with terror when she saw a conflagration, no matter how distant. she was even afraid of the rockets and paper dragons which were used at the celebration at the conclusion of the grape harvest every year. on the evening of the merrymaking marie was afraid to go to bed. she begged ludwig to close the blinds and to read to her in a loud voice, so that she might not see the light of the fireworks or hear the tumult on the lake shore. that which amused the revellers at the manor was a terror for this timid child. and that they were amusing themselves over at the manor was beyond a doubt. the program for the evening's entertainment was a varied one. colonel barthelmy was in the gayest of humors. the surprise of the evening was to conclude the entertainment, and was called on the program "the militiaman." every one in the audience expected that colonel barthelmy, who had arranged this part of the entertainment, would produce something extremely amusing. the reality surpassed all expectations. the figure conducted on to the stage by the colonel was no other than the little water-monster, baroness katharina's protégé. he was clad in the uniform of a soldier, with a wooden sword and gun, a hat decorated with crane-feathers, a canteen at his side, and a knapsack on his back. an enormous false mustache extended from ear to ear, and a short-stemmed pipe was thrust between his lips. "this, gentlemen and ladies, is a militiaman." the colonel was interrupted by a burst of merriment from his audience. even the baroness laughed immoderately, but suppressed it hastily when she remembered the telescope on the tower of the nameless castle. "poor little fellow!" she murmured, with difficulty keeping her face straight. "attention!" called the colonel, snapping the whip he held in his hand. "what does the militiaman do when he is in a good humor?" a bagpipe behind the curtain now began to play a familiar air, whereupon the little monster first touched his finger to his hat, then slapped his thighs with both hands, and lifted first one foot, then the other. the baroness hid with her fan that side of her face which was toward the neighboring castle, and joined in the uproarious laughter. "you see, gracious baroness," continued the colonel, "that i have accomplished what i determined i would do--made quite a man of the little fellow." he snapped his whip again, and called sharply: "now let the militiaman show us what he does when he is in an ill humor." the bagpipe struck up a different air. the dwarf muttered something unintelligible into his mustache, and grimaced hideously. then he took from his tobacco-pouch flint, tinder, and steel, and struck fire in the proper manner; he thrust the burning tinder into his pipe, and pressed it down with his finger. tremendous applause rewarded this exhibition. "do you see, gracious baroness, what a complete man he is become? he can even strike fire and light a pipe!" by this time the gnome began to understand that his antics amused the audience, and he, too, enjoyed them. for the first time an emotion was expressed on his stolid countenance; but it was not an agreeable transformation. the corners of his mouth widened until they reached his ears, which stood still farther out from his head; he closed one eye, and opened the other to its farthest extent; and pressing the stem of his pipe more firmly between his teeth, he blew the smoke and fire from the bowl like a miniature volcano. the thicker the smoke and sparks came from the pipe, the more furious became the strange creature's glee, while the entire company shouted and clasped their hands. even the colonel himself was amazed at the performance of his dull pupil. "why have we not a hogarth among us to perpetuate this caricature?" he exclaimed delightedly. "horrible! i cannot bear to look at him," said the baroness, holding her fan in front of her face. "pray take him away, herr colonel--take him away." "presently. ho, there, my little man! what does the militiaman do when he sees the enemy?" the whip snapped, and the bagpipe set up a discordant shriek, upon which the actor sprang with one bound from the stage, and vanished behind the curtain, wooden sword and gun clattering after him, while the audience showered applause on the successful instructor. "herr colonel," observed the baroness, when quiet had been restored, "i am very much afraid that your instructions will cause me some trouble in the future." "why, how so?" in surprise questioned the colonel. "you have taught a wild creature to kindle a fire, and thus aroused in him a dangerous passion. his desire to amuse himself with the dangerous element will develop into a mania, and he will end by setting fire to houses and other buildings." "i will tell you what to do, baroness. in order that the little monster may not play his tricks about here, give him to me; i will take him with me." "no; i had rather keep him here. i shall take good care, however, that he does not get hold of tinder and flint, and have him constantly watched. you have quite ruined my system of education. _i_ taught him to kneel and fold his hands to the music of the organ; _you_ taught him to dance and grimace to the drone of the bagpipe. you have even accustomed him to drink wine, which is unchristian." the company laughed at this harmless anger. then came the fireworks. when the roman candles and the fire-wheels illumined the darkness, it became impossible to control the little monster. he rushed into the thickest of the rain of fire, and tried to catch the red and blue stars in his hands. the sparks burned holes in his clothes, and he would not have escaped a severe burning himself had not some one thrown a pail of water over him. it was impossible to restrain him. he struck out with hands and feet, and bit at any one who attempted to prevent him from running into the fire. suddenly a rocket shot in an oblique direction, and dropped into the lake. when the human beast saw this he uttered a yell, and dashed into the water. he thought that the beautiful fire belonged to him because it had fallen into his lake, and he went to hunt for it. he did not return. the baroness had search made for him; but he knew so well how to escape his pursuers that he was not seen again at the manor. the next morning, while yet the stars were glittering in the sky, the trumpets sounded the departure of the regiment. the sounds were familiar to count vavel. even yet, when the blare of trumpets roused him from sleep, he felt as if he must hasten to the stable, saddle his horse, and buckle on his sword. but those days were past. his trusty war-horse had become used to the carriage-pole, and the keen toledo blades were drawn from their scabbards only when they were to be oiled to prevent the rust from corroding them. the departure of the troops removed one care from count ludwig's mind: the noise and turmoil would cease, and peace would again return to the silent neighborhood. one morning when frau schmidt brought her basket, as usual, to the castle, there was a letter in it for the count. he recognized the hand at once; it was from his fair neighbor at the manor. "herr count: as i have something of the utmost importance to communicate to you, i beg that you will receive a call from me this morning before you take your usual drive. answer when it will be convenient for you to see me." what did it mean? something of the utmost importance? why could she not have asked him to come to the manor? the count was puzzled. and how was he to answer this most singular request? he could not write it himself; was it not said that he was unable to hold a pen? he could not dictate the letter to marie appointing a meeting with the baroness. henry was a very shrewd fellow, but he had never learned to write. at last count vavel bethought him of an expedient. he marked on the back of his card the roman numerals xi, and trusted that the baroness would understand that she was expected at eleven o'clock. when the appointed hour drew near, curiosity began to torture the count. he could not wait indoors, but hurried into the park, where he paced restlessly to and fro amid the fallen leaves. he listened anxiously to every sound, and consulted his watch every few minutes. at last the gate bell rang. he hastened to admit the visitor, and found that the baroness had understood his reply. he recognized her figure, for the face was closely veiled. she wore a pale-blue silk gown with wide sleeves--marie's favorite costume. "it is i, herr count," she said in a low tone, looking anxiously about her. "how did you come? i did not hear the carriage," said count vavel. "i rowed across the cove--alone, because no one must know that i came. can any one see us here?" "no one." "we need not go into the house," she continued; "i can tell you here why i came." ludwig was more and more perplexed. he had believed the baroness wished to enter the nameless castle out of curiosity. "my visit," pursued the lady, "has as little conventionality about it as had yours. the magnitude of the danger which prompted yours must also excuse mine; i am come to repay the debt i owe you." "danger?" repeated the count. "yes; danger threatens you--and some one else! let us come farther into the park, that no one may by a possible chance overhear me." when they had reached a sheltered spot the lady again spoke: "do you know anything about colonel barthelmy?" "i received the cards he left here when he called," indifferently replied count vavel. "you certainly have heard more about him," returned the baroness, a trifle impatiently. "his domestic troubles were in all the newspapers--it was a _cause célèbre_. he was a major in the french army, under the directory, but entered our service when the empire was established. the domestic troubles i referred to occurred while he was still in france. his young and beautiful wife ran away with another man--a man who is unknown to barthelmy, who is pursuing the fugitives over the whole world--" "ah! i remember now reading something about it. that is why his name seemed familiar to me." "i thought you must have heard something about him," responded the baroness, in a peculiar tone. then, with a sudden movement, she seized his hand and whispered: "and you are the unknown who abducted colonel barthelmy's wife." "i?" in boundless amazement ejaculated the count. then he laughed heartily. "yes, you; and you are living here in seclusion with the lovely woman whose face no one is permitted to see." ludwig ceased laughing, and replied very seriously; "gracious baroness, were i the person you believe me to be, i should have been glad to meet the man who compelled me to live here in seclusion. a skilful sword-thrust or a well-aimed bullet would have released me from this prison." "and yet, everybody believes count vavel to be ange barthelmy's lover," responded the baroness. "do _you_ believe it, baroness?" "i? perhaps--not. but colonel barthelmy believes it all the more firmly because you refused to see him." "and suppose he had seen me?" "he would have asked you to introduce him to your--family." "then he would have learned that i have no family." "but you could not have refused to tell him what relation you bear to the lady at the castle." "my answer would have been very brief had he asked the question," was the count's grim response. "i know what men mean by a 'brief' answer; the result is usually fatal." "and does your ladyship imagine that i fear such a result?" "so far as courage is concerned, i should not give any one precedence to count vavel. a regular duel, however, requires more than courage. colonel barthelmy is a soldier by profession; you are a philosopher who lives amid his studies, and whose right hand is unable to hold a pen, let alone a sword or a pistol!" count vavel was touched on the spot where men are most susceptible. "who can tell whether i have always been a studious hermit?" he demanded proudly. "besides, might it not be that my hand is unable only when i don't want to use it?" "that may be," retorted the lady. "but barthelmy, who is perfectly insane on the subject of his wife's infamy, would have the advantage of you. he is suspicious of every stranger; and of all the gossip which environs you, the legend of that elopement is the mildest." "indeed? this is very flattering! probably i am also said to be a counterfeiter?" "i am not jesting, herr count. while colonel barthelmy was my guest i was able to prevent him from taking any aggressive steps toward you; this is why you did not hear from him again after his last call on you--" "i certainly am greatly indebted to you," interrupted count vavel, with visible irony. "you owe me no thanks, herr count. when a woman tries to prevent a quarrel between two men, she does so, believe me, out of pure self-love. the emotions which electrify your nerves torment ours. i could not have continued to live here had a tragic occurrence made the place memorable. that is why i prevented an encounter between you and the colonel; so you need not thank me. however, the evening before the regiment took its departure the colonel said to me: 'i have kept my word to you, baroness; but to-morrow i cease to be your guest. i shall take steps then to learn if the mysterious lady at the nameless castle be ange barthelmy or some one else.'" at these words a deep flush crimsoned count vavel's face. "i should like to know how he proposes to settle that question?" he said, in a voice that trembled with suppressed rage. "i will tell you. just listen to the ridiculous plan which the man betrayed in his fury. he is quartered in the neighboring village to the edge of which you and a certain person drive every day. he is going to rise, with several friends, along the road; and when he meets your carriage, he is going to stop it, introduce himself, and demand if the lady by your side be mme. ange barthelmy." count vavel clenched his hands and closed his lips tightly. after a brief struggle he regained command of himself, and said quietly: "i shall, of course, reply: 'on my word as a man of honor, this lady is not ange barthelmy.'" "but if that does not satisfy him? suppose he should insist on seeing the lady? suppose he even attempts to lift the lady's veil?" "then he dies!" the count gave utterance to these words in a tone that sounded more like the growl of a lion that has the neck of his prey between his teeth. "he is capable, in his present mood, of doing anything rash," murmured the baroness, with an expression of terror in her eyes. "and i am capable of an equally rash act," responded the count. "i believe it; i have heard of such courage before. but _you_ must not forget that you do not belong to yourself; there is some one else you must think of before you risk your life." count vavel started violently; he opened his lips as if to speak, but the baroness quickly raised her hand and interposed. "i am not trying to pry into your secret, herr count; i am no spy--you must have seen that ere this. all i know is that there is under your protection a woman to whom you are everything, and who will have no one should she lose you." "but what can i do?" in desperation exclaimed count vavel. "i cannot hide in my castle until colonel barthelmy leaves the neighborhood. would you have me confess to all the world that i am a coward?" "let me advise you, herr count," with sudden resolution responded the baroness. "turn this matter, which you look upon as a tragedy, into a capital jest. take _me_ to drive with you to-day instead of your--friend." count vavel suddenly burst into a loud laugh--from extreme anger to unrestrained merriment. but the baroness did not laugh with him. "i am in earnest, count vavel. now you will understand why i came here this morning." she drew her veil over her face, and asked: "am i enough like her to take her place in the carriage?" count vavel was astounded. the likeness to marie was perfect. the gown, the hat, and veil were exactly like those marie was wont to wear when she drove out with him. the daring suggestion, however, amazed him more than anything else. "what! you, baroness? you would really venture to drive with me? have you thought of the risk--the danger to yourself?" "i have given it as much thought as did you when you risked coming to the manor with nothing but a walking-stick to battle with four thieves. one ought not stop to think of the risk when a danger is to be averted. this adventure may end as harmlessly as the other." "and suppose the colonel should by any chance see your face? no, no, baroness; there is no comparison between my venture and this plan you propose. if i had had an encounter with those thieves i might have received a wound that would soon have healed; but your pure reputation as a woman might receive a wound that would never heal." a bitter smile wreathed the lady's lips as she replied: "could any wound that i might receive increase the burden on my heart?" she laughed harshly, then asked suddenly: "perhaps you are afraid the colonel will think i am the mysterious lady of the nameless castle?" count vavel's face reddened to the roots of his hair. again the lady laughed, then said apologetically: "pardon me, but the idea amused me. but, to return to colonel barthelmy, he is going very shortly to italy with his regiment; therefore, i need not care what fables he thinks of me--or repeats. the few persons whose opinion i care for will not believe him; as for the others--pah! come, your hand on it! let us perpetrate this joke. if _i_ am willing to run the risk, you surely need not hesitate." and yet he hesitated. "don't speak of this plan of yours as a mischievous trick, baroness," he said earnestly. "it is a great, a noble sacrifice--so great, indeed, that living woman could not perform a greater--to be willing to blush with shame while innocent. she who blushes for her love does not suffer; but to flush with shame out of friendship must be a torture like that endured by martyrs." "very well, then; let it be a sacrifice--as you will! i am a willing victim! i owe you a debt of gratitude; i want to pay it. now go and order the carriage; i will wait here for you." every drop of blood in his body rebelled against his accepting this offer. a woman rescue a strong man from a threatened danger! and at what a risk! "well," a trifle impatiently exclaimed the baroness, as he still lingered, "are n't you going to fetch your cloak? i am ready for the drive." without another word the count turned and strode toward the castle. marie was satisfied with the excuse he made for not taking her with him as usual: he said he had urgent business in the neighboring village, and would have to drive there alone. then he ordered henry to harness the horses to the carriage, and drive down to the gate, where he would await him. he found the baroness waiting for him where he had left her. "well," she began, when he came near enough to hear her, "have you decided to take me with you?" "no." "then you are going to take the lady?" "no." "not? then who is going with you?" "these two pistols," replied the count, flinging back his cloak and revealing the weapons thrust into his pocket. "with these two companions i am going to meet the gentleman who is so determined to see the face of the veiled lady. i shall show him a lady whose face is not a subject of gossip." the baroness uttered a cry of terror, and seized count vavel's hand. "no, no; you shall not go alone. listen. i was prepared for just such a decision on your part, so i wrote this letter. if you persist in going alone to meet the colonel, i shall hurry back to the manor, send my groom on the swiftest horse i own with this letter to colonel barthelmy. read it." she unfolded the letter she had taken from her pocket, and held it so that count vavel might read, without taking it in his hands: "herr colonel: you need not seek mme. ange barthelmy at the nameless castle. the veiled lady seen in company with count vavel is "b. katharina landsknechtsschild." in speechless amazement count vavel looked down at the baroness, who calmly folded the letter and returned it to her pocket. "now you may go if you like," she said coolly, "and i, too, shall do as _i_ like! the colonel will then have written proof to justify him in dragging my name in the dust!" the count gazed long and earnestly into the lovely face turned defiantly toward him. what was said by those glowing eyes, what was expressed by those lips trembling with excitement, could not be mere sport. there is only one name for the emotion which urges a woman to risk so much for a man; and if count vavel guessed the name, then there was nothing for him to do but offer his arm to the lady and say: "come, baroness, we will go together." when the count assisted his veiled companion into the carriage, and took his seat by her side, not even henry could have told that it was not his young mistress from the castle who was going to drive, as usual, with her guardian. it was with a singular feeling that count vavel looked at the woman beside him, to whom he was bound for one hour by the strongest, most dangerous of ties. only for one hour! for this one hour the woman belonged to him as wholly, as entirely as the soul belongs to the living human being. and afterward? afterward she would be no more to him than is the vanished soul to the dead human being. the carriage had arrived at the boundary of the neighboring village, where the usual turn was made for the homeward drive, and they had not yet seen any one. had colonel barthelmy's words been merely an idle threat? henry knew that he was not to drive beyond this point; he mechanically turned the horses' heads in the homeward direction, as he had done every day for years. on the return drive the carriage always stopped at the edge of the forest, where a shaded path led through the dense shrubbery to a cleared space some distance from the highway. this was the spot for their daily promenade. the count and his companion had gone but a short distance along the path when they saw coming toward them three men in uniform. they were cavalry officers. the two in the rear had on white cloaks; the one in front was without, an outer garment--merely his close-fitting uniform coal. "that is barthelmy," whispered the baroness, pressing the arm on which she was leaning. the count's expression of calm indifference did not change. he walked with a firm step toward the approaching officers. very soon they stood face to face. the colonel was a tall, distinguished-looking man; he carried his head well upright, and every movement spoke of haughty self-confidence and pride. "herr count vavel, i believe?" he began, halting in front of ludwig and his companion. "allow me to introduce myself; i am colonel vicomte leon barthelmy." count vavel murmured something which gave the colonel to understand that he (the count) was very glad to learn the gentleman's name. "i have long desired to make your acquaintance," continued the colonel (his companions had halted several paces distant). "i was so unfortunate as not to find you at home the three calls i made at your castle. now, however, i shall take this opportunity to say to you what i wanted to say then. first, however, let me introduce my friends,"--waving his hand toward the two officers,--"captain kriegeisen and lieutenant zagodics, of emperor alexander's dragoons." count vavel again gave utterance to his pleasure on making the acquaintance of the colonel's friends. then he said courteously: "in what way can i serve you, herr colonel?" "in a very simple manner, herr count," responded the colonel. "i have had the peculiar misfortune which sometimes overtakes a married man; my wife deceived me, and ran away with her lover, whom i do not even know. as mine is not one of those phlegmatic natures which can meekly tolerate such an indignity, i am searching for the fugitives--for what purpose i fancy you can guess. for four years my quest has been fruitless; i have been unable to find a trace of the guilty pair. a lucky chance at last led me to this secluded corner of the earth, and here i learned that--but, to be brief, herr count, i owe it to my heart and to my honor to ask you this question: is not this lady by your side, who is always closely veiled, ange barthelmy, my wife?" "herr vicomte leon de barthelmy," calmly replied count vavel, "i give you my word of honor as a cavalier that this lady never was your wife." the colonel laughed in a peculiar manner. "your word of honor, herr count, would be entirely satisfactory in all other questions save those relating to the fair sex--and to war. you will excuse me, therefore, if i take the liberty to doubt your assertion in this case, and request you to prove that my suspicions are at fault. without this proof i will not move from this spot." "then i am very sorry for you, herr colonel," returned count vavel, "but i shall be compelled to leave you and your suspicions in possession of this spot." he made as if he would pass onward; but the colonel politely but with decision barred the path. "i must request that you wait a little longer, herr count," he said, his face darkening. "and why should i?" demanded the count. "to convince me that the lady on your arm is not my wife," was the reply, in an excited tone. "you will have to remain unconvinced," in an equally excited tone retorted count vavel; and for a brief instant it was a question which of the two enraged men would strike the first blow. the threatening scene was suddenly concluded by the baroness, who flung back her veil, exclaiming: "here, colonel barthelmy, you may convince yourself that i am _not_ your wife." leon barthelmy started in amazement, and hastily laid his hand against his lips as if to repress the words which had rushed to them. then he bowed with exaggerated courtesy, and said: "i most humbly beg your pardon, herr count vavel. this lady is _not_ ange barthelmy. these gentlemen are witnesses that i have asked your pardon in the proper form." the colonel's companions, who had come hastily forward at the threatened conflict between their superior and the count, were gazing in a peculiar manner at the lady whose hospitality they had so lately enjoyed. colonel barthelmy also, although he bowed with elaborate courtesy before the baroness, cast upon her a glance that was full of insulting scorn. the situation had changed so rapidly--as when a sudden flash of lightning illumines the darkness of night; and like the electric flash a light sped into vavel's heart and illumined it with a delicious, a heavenly warmth that made it throb madly. but only for an instant. then he realized that this woman who had dared everything for his sake had been insulted by the glance of scorn and derision. he had now lost all control of himself. he snatched a pistol from his pocket, directed the muzzle toward colonel barthelmy's sneering face, and said in a voice that quivered with savage fury: "i demand that you beg this lady's pardon." "you do?" coolly returned the colonel, still smiling, and gazing calmly into the muzzle of the pistol. "yes--or i will blow out your brains!" the two officers accompanying the colonel drew their swords. the baroness uttered a cry of terror, and flung herself on vavel's breast. "i presume you will allow me to inquire, first, what relation this lady bears to you?" colonel barthelmy asked the question in measured tones; and without an instant's hesitation came count vavel's reply: "the lady is my betrothed wife." the sneer vanished from the colonel's lips, and the swords of his companions were returned to their scabbards. "i hasten to apologize," said the colonel. "accept, madame, my deepest reverence, and do not refuse to forgive the insulting scorn my ignorance caused me to express. permit me to convince you of my sincere homage, by this salute." he bent his head and pressed his lips to one of the lady's hands, which were clasped about count vavel's arm. then, with his helmet still in his hand, he turned to count vavel, and added: "are you satisfied?" "yes," was the curt reply. "then let us shake hands--without malice. accept my sincerest congratulations. to you, baroness, i give thanks for the lesson you have taught me this morning." he bowed once more, then stepped to one side, indicating that the way was clear. the baroness drew her veil over her face, and, clinging tremblingly to the arm of her escort, walked by his side back to the highway, the three officers following at a respectful distance. when they emerged from the forest they saw the three horses which had been left by the colonel and his companions in charge of the grooms. henry must have told the gentlemen where to find his master. with what different emotions count vavel returned to the castle! the dreamer in his slumbers had given utterance to words which betrayed what he had been dreaming, and he compelled the vision to abide with him even after he had wakened. he felt that he had the right to do what he had done. this woman loved him as only a woman can love; and what he had done had only been his duty, for he loved her! what he had said was no falsehood--the words had not been forced from him merely to preserve her honor; they were the truth. count vavel stopped the carriage at the park gate, assisted his companion to alight, and sent henry on to the castle with the horses. "what have you done?" in a deeply agitated voice exclaimed the baroness, when they were alone in the park. "i gave expression to the feeling which is in my heart." "and do you realize what that has done?" "what has it done?" "it has made it impossible for us to meet again--for us ever to speak again to each other." "i cannot see it in that light." "you could were you to give it but a moment's serious thought. i do not ask what the mysterious lady at the castle is to you; i know, however, that you must be everything to her. pray don't believe me cruel enough to rob her of her whole world. i cannot ask you to believe a lie--i cannot pretend that you are nothing to me. i have allowed you to look too deeply into my heart to deny my feelings. but there is something besides love in my heart! it is pride. i am too proud to take you from the woman to whom you are bound--no matter by what ties. therefore, we must not meet again in this life; we may meet again in another world! pray do not come any farther with me; i can easily find the way to my boat. no one at the manor knows of my absence. i must be careful to return as i came--unseen. and now, one request: do not try to see me again. should you do so, it will compel me to flee from the neighborhood. adieu!" she drew her veil closer over her face, and passed swiftly with noiseless steps through the gateway. ludwig vavel stood where she had left him, and looked after her until she vanished from his sight amid the trees. then he turned and walked slowly toward the castle. chapter iii count vavel did not see marie, after his return from the drive with the baroness, until dinner. he had not ventured into her presence until then, when he fancied he had sufficiently mastered his emotions so that his countenance would not betray him. the consciousness of his disloyalty to the young girl troubled him, and he could not help but tremble when he came into her presence. it was not permitted to him to bestow his heart on any one. did he not belong, soul and body, to this innocent creature, whom he had sworn to defend with his life? from that hour, however, marie's behavior toward him was changed. he could see that she strove to be attentive and obedient, but she was shy and reserved. did she suspect the change in him? or could it be possible that she had seen the baroness driving with him? it was very late when her bell signaled that she had retired, and when ludwig entered the outer room, as usual, he found a number of books lying about on the table. evidently the young girl had been studying. the next morning ludwig came at the usual hour to conduct her to the carriage. "thank you, but i don't care to drive to-day," she said. "why not?" "riding out in a carriage does not benefit me." "when did you discover this?" "some time ago." ludwig looked at her in astonishment. what was the meaning of this? could she know that some one else had occupied her place in the carriage yesterday? "and will you not go with me to-morrow?" "if you will allow me, i shall stay at home." "is anything the matter with you, marie?" "nothing. i don't like the jolting of the carriage." "then i shall sell the horses." "it might be well to do so--if you don't want them for your own use. i shall take my exercise in the garden." "and in the winter?" "then i will promenade in the court, and make snow images, as the farmers' children do." and the end of the matter was that ludwig sold the horses, and marie's outdoor exercises were restricted to the garden. moreover, she studied and wrote all day long. when she went into the garden, josef, the gardener's boy, was sent elsewhere so long as she chose to remain among the flowers. one afternoon josef had been sent, as usual, to perform some task in the park while marie promenaded in the garden. he was busily engaged raking together the fallen leaves, when marie suddenly appeared by his side, and said breathlessly: "please take this letter." the youth, who was speechless with astonishment and confusion at sight of the lady he had been forbidden to look at, slowly extended his hand to comply with her request when count vavel, who had swiftly approached, unseen by either the youth or marie, with one hand seized the letter, and with the other sent josef flying across the sward so rapidly that he fell head over heels into some shrubbery. then the count thrust the letter into his pocket, and without a word drew the young girl's hand through his arm, and walked swiftly with her into the castle. the count conducted his charge into the library. he had not yet spoken a word. his face was startlingly pale with anger and terror. when they two were alone within the four walls of the library, he said, fixing a reproachful glance on her: "you were going to send a letter to some one?" the young girl calmly returned his glance, but did not open her lips. "to whom are you writing, marie?" marie smiled sadly, and drooped her head. vavel then drew the letter from his pocket, and read the address: "to our beautiful and kind-hearted neighbor." the count looked up in surprise. "you are writing to baroness landsknechtsschild!" he exclaimed, not without some confusion. "i did not know her name; that is why i addressed it so." vavel turned the letter in his hands, and saw that the seal had been stamped with the crest which was familiar to all the world. he hurriedly crushed it into bits, and, unfolding the letter, read: "dear, beautiful, and good lady: i want you to love my ludwig. make him happy. he is a good man. i am nothing at all to him. "marie." when he had read the touching epistle, he buried his face in his hands, and a bitter sob burst from his tortured heart. marie looked sorrowfully at his quivering frame, and sighed heavily. "oh, marie! to think you should write this! nothing at all to me!" murmured the young man, in a choking voice. "'nothing at all,'" in a low tone repeated marie. vavel moved swiftly to her side, and, looking down upon her with his burning eyes still filled with tears, asked in an unsteady voice: "what do you want, marie? tell me what you wish me to do." marie softly took his hand in both her own, and said tremulously: "i want you to give me a companion--a mother. i want some one to love,--a woman that i can love,--one who will love me and command me. i will be an obedient and dutiful daughter to such a woman. i will never grieve her, never disobey her. i am so very, very lonely!" "and am not i, too, alone and lonely, marie?" sadly responded vavel. "yes, yes. i know that, ludwig. it is your pale, melancholy face that oppresses me and makes me sad. day after day i see the pale face which my cruel, curse-laden destiny has buried here with me. i know that you are unhappy, and that i am the cause of it." "for heaven's sake, marie! who has given you such fancies?" "the long, weary nights! oh, how much i have learned from the darkness! it was not merely caprice that prompted me to ask you once what death meant. had you questioned me more fully then, i should have confessed something to you. that time, when you rescued me from death, you gave my name to sophie botta, who also took upon herself my fate. i don't know what became of her. if she died in my stead, may god comfort her! if she still lives, may god bless and help her to reign in my stead! but give me the name of sophie botta; give me the clothes of a working-girl; give me god's free world, which she enjoyed. let me become sophie botta in reality, and let me wash clothes with the washerwomen at the brook. if sophie and i exchanged lives, let the exchange become real. let me learn what it is to live, or--let me learn what it is to die." in speechless astonishment count vavel had listened to this passionate outburst. it was the first time he had ever heard the gentle girl speak so excitedly. "madame," he said with peculiar intonation, when she had ceased speaking, "i am now convinced that i am the guardian of the most precious treasure on this terrestrial ball. henceforward i shall watch over you with redoubled care." "that will be unnecessary," proudly returned the young girl. "if you wish to feel certain that i will patiently continue to abide in this nameless castle, then make a home here for me--bring some happiness into these rooms. if i see that you are happy i shall be content." "marie, marie, the day of my perfect happiness only awaits the dawn of your own! and that yours will come i firmly believe. but don't look for it here, marie. don't ask for impossibilities. marie, were my own mother, whom i worshiped, still living, i could not bring her within these walls to learn our secret." "the woman who loves will not betray a secret." for an instant ludwig did not reply; then he said: "and if it were true that some one loves me as you fancy, could i ask her to bury herself here--here where there is no intercourse with the outside world? no, no, marie; we cannot expect any one else to become an occupant of this tomb--the gates of which will not open until the trump of deliverance sounds." "and will it be long before that trump sounds, ludwig?" "i believe--nay, i know it must come very soon. the signs of the times are not deceptive. our resurrection may be nearer than we imagine; and until then, marie, let us endure with patience." marie pressed her guardian's hand, and drew a long sigh. "yes; we will endure--and wait," she repeated. "and now, give me back my letter." "why do you want it, marie?" "i shall keep it, and sometime send it to the proper address--when the angel of deliverance sounds his trump." "may god hasten his coming!" fervently appended the count. but he did not give her the letter. * * * * * count vavel now rarely ventured beyond the gate of the nameless castle. the weather had become stormy, and a severe frost had robbed the garden of its beauties. the very elements seemed to have combined against the dwellers in the castle. even the lake suddenly began to extend its limits, overflowing its banks, and inundating meadows and gardens. marie's little pleasure-garden suffered with the rest of the flooded lands, and threatened to become an unsightly swamp. count vavel, knowing how marie delighted to ramble amid her flowers, determined to protect the garden from further destruction. laborers were easily secured. the numerous families of working-people who had been rendered homeless by the inundation besieged the castle for assistance and work, and none were turned empty-handed away. a small army was put to work to construct an embankment that would prevent further encroachment upon the garden by the water, while to herr mercatoris the count sent a liberal sum of money to be distributed among the sufferers by the flood. this gift renewed the correspondence between the castle and the parsonage, which had been dropped for several months. the pastor, in acknowledging the receipt of the money, wrote: "the flood has made a new survey of the lake necessary, as the evil cannot be remedied until it has been determined what obstructs the outlet. our surveyor made a calculation as to the probable cost of the work, and found that it would require an enormous sum of money--almost five thousand guilders! where was all this money to come from? the puzzling question was answered by that angel from heaven, baroness landsknechtsschild. when she heard of the sufferings of the poor people who had been driven from their homes by the inundation, she offered to supply the entire sum necessary. now, it seems, something besides the money is required for the undertaking. "the surveyor, in order to calculate the distances which cannot be measured by the chain, needs a superior telescope, and such a glass would cost two or three thousand guilders more. as your lordship is the owner of a telescope, i take it upon myself to beg the loan of it--if your lordship can spare it to the surveyor for a short time." the next day count vavel sent his telescope to the parsonage, with the message that it was a present to the surveyor. then, that he might not be again tempted to look out upon the world and its people, the count closed the tower windows. part vi death and new life in the nameless castle chapter i since count vavel had ceased to take outdoor exercise, he had renewed his fencing practice with henry, who was also an expert swordsman. in a room on the ground floor of the castle, whence the clashing of steel could not penetrate to marie's apartments, the two men, master and man, would fight their friendly battles twice daily, and with such vigor that their bodies (as they wore no plastrons) were covered with scratches and bruises. one morning the count waited in vain for henry to make his appearance in the fencing-hall. it was long past the usual hour for their practice, and the count, becoming impatient, went in search of the old servant. the groom's apartment was on the same floor with the kitchen, adjoining the room occupied by his wife lisette, the cook. the door of henry's room which opened into the corridor was locked; the count, therefore, passed into the kitchen, where lisette was preparing dinner. "where is henry?" he asked of the unwieldy mountain of flesh, topped by a face as broad and round as the full moon. "he is in bed," replied lisette, without looking up from her work. "is he ill?" "i believe he has had a stroke of apoplexy." she said it with as little emotion as if she had spoken of an underdone pasty. the count hastened through lisette's room to henry's bedside. the poor fellow was lying among the pillows; his mouth and one eye were painfully distorted. "henry!" ejaculated the count, in a tone of alarm; "my poor henry, you are very ill." "ye-es--your--lord-ship," he answered slowly, and with difficulty; "but--but--i shall soon--soon be--all right--again." ludwig lifted the sick man's hand from the coverlet, and felt the pulse. "yes, you are very ill indeed, henry--so ill that i would not attempt to treat you. we must have a doctor." "he--he won't come--here; he is--afraid. besides, there is nothing--the matter with--any part of me but--but my--tongue. i can--can hardly--move--it." "you must not die, henry--you dare not!" in an agony of terror exclaimed ludwig. "what would become of me--of marie?" "that--that is what--troubles--troubles me--most, herr count. who will--take my--place? perhaps--that old soldier--with the machine leg--" "no! no! no! oh, henry, no one could take your place. you are to me what his arms are to a soldier. you are the guardian of all my thoughts--my only friend and comrade in this solitude." the poor old servant tried to draw his distorted features into a smile. "i am--not sorry for--myself--herr count; only for you two. i have earned--a rest; i have--lost everything--and have long ago--ceased to hope for--anything. i feel that--this is--the end. no doctor can--help me. i know--i am--dying." he paused to breathe heavily for several moments, then added: "there is--something--i should--like to have--before--before i--go." "what is it, henry?" "i know you--will be--angry--herr count, but--i cannot--cannot die without--consolation." "consolation?" echoed ludwig. "yes--the last consolation--for the--dying. i have not--confessed for--sixteen years; and the--multitude of my--sins--oppresses me. pray--pray, herr count, send for--a priest." "impossible, henry. impossible!" "i beseech you--in the name of god--let me see a priest. have mercy--on your poor old servant, herr count. my soul feels--the torments of hell; i see the everlasting flames--and the sneering devils--" "henry, henry," impatiently remonstrated his master, "don't be childish. you are only tormenting yourself with fancies. does the soldier who falls in battle have time to confess his sins? who grants him absolution?" "perhaps--were i in--the midst of the turmoil of battle--i should not feel this agony of mind. but here--there is so much time to think. every sin that i have committed--rises before me like--like a troop of soldiers that--have been mustered for roll-call." "pray cease these idle fancies, henry. of what are you thinking? you want to tell a priest that you are living here under a false name--tell him that i, too, am an impostor? you would say to him: 'when the revolutionists imprisoned my royal master and his family, to behead them afterward, i clothed my own daughter in the garments belonging to my master's daughter, in order to save the royal child from death, i gave up my own child to danger, and carried my master's child to a place of safety. my own child i gave up to play the rôle of king's daughter, when kings and their offspring were hunted down like wild beasts; and made of the king's daughter a servant, that she might be allowed to go free. i counterfeited certificates of baptism, registers, passports, in order to save the king's daughter from her enemies. i bore false witness--committed perjury in order to hide her from her persecutors--'" "yes--yes," moaned the dying man, "all that have i done." "and do you imagine that you will be allowed to breathe such a confession into a human ear?" sternly responded the count. "i must--i must--to make my peace with god." "henry, if you knew god as he is you would not tremble before him. if you could realize the immeasurable greatness of his benevolence, his love, his mercy, you would not be afraid to appear before him with the plea: 'master, thou sentest me forth; thou hast summoned me to return. i came from thee; to thee i return. and all that which has happened to me between my going and my coming thou knowest.'" "ah, yes, herr count, you have a great soul. it will know how to rise to its creator. but what can my poor, ignorant little soul do when it leaves my body? it will not be able to find its way to god. i am afraid; i tremble. oh, my sins, my sins!" "your sins are imaginary, henry," almost irritably responded count vavel. "i swear to you, by the peace of my own soul, that the load beneath which you groan is not sin, but virtue. if it be true that human speech and thought are transmitted to the other world, and if there is a voice that questions us, and a countenance that looks upon us, then answer with confidence: 'yes, i have transgressed many of thy laws; but all my transgressions were committed to save one of thy angels.'" "ah, yes, herr count, if i could talk like that; but i can't." "and are not all your thoughts already known to him who reads all hearts? it does not require the absolution of a priest to admit you to his paradise." but henry refused to be comforted; his eyes burned with the fire of terror as he moaned again and again: "i shall be damned! i shall be damned!" count vavel now lost all patience, and, forgetting himself in his anger, exclaimed: "henry, if you persist in your foolishness you will deserve damnation. did not you say so yourself, when you pledged your word to me on that eventful day? did you not say, 'the wretch who would become a traitor deserves to be damned'?" with these words he rose and strode toward the door. but ere he reached it his feeling heart got the better of his anger. he turned and walked back to the bed, took the dying man's ice-cold hand in his, and said gently: "my old comrade--my brave old companion in arms! we must not part in anger. don't you trust me any more? listen, my old friend, to what i say to you. you are going on before to arrange quarters; then i will follow. when i arrive at the gates of paradise, my first question to st. peter will be, 'is my good old comrade, the honest, virtuous henry, within?' and should the sainted gatekeeper reply, 'no, he is not here; he is down below,' then i shall say to him, 'i am very much obliged to you, old fellow, for your friendliness, but a paradise from which my old friend henry is excluded is no place for me. i am going down below to be with him.' that is what i shall say, so help me heaven!" the sufferer who stood on the threshold of death strove to smile. he could not return the pressure of his master's hand, but he slowly and with painful effort turned his head so that his cold lips rested against the count's hand. "yes--yes," he whispered, and his dim eyes brightened for an instant. "if we were down there together--you and i--we should not have to stop long there; some one with her prayers would very soon win our release." count vavel suddenly beat his palm against his forehead, and exclaimed: "i never once thought of her! wait, my brave henry. i will return immediately. i cannot allow you to have a priest, but i will bring an angel to your bedside." he hastened to marie's apartments. "you have been weeping?" she exclaimed, looking up into his tear-stained eyes with deep concern. "yes, marie; we are going to lose our poor old henry." "oh, my god! how entirely alone we shall be then!" "will you come with me to his bedside? the sight of you will cheer his last moments." "yes, yes; come quickly." a wonderful light brightened henry's face when he saw his young mistress. she moved softly to the head of his bed, and with her delicate fingers gently stroked the cheeks of the trusty old servant. he closed his eyes and sighed when her hand touched his face. "is he smiling?" whispered marie to ludwig, gazing with compassionate awe on the distorted countenance. then she bent over him and said: "henry--my good henry, would you like me to pray with you?" she knelt beside the bed and in a feeling tone repeated the beautiful prayer which the good père lacordaire composed for those who journey to the other world, pausing from time to time to let the dying man repeat the words after her. henry's tongue became heavier and heavier as he repeated, with visible effort, the soul-inspiring words. then marie repeated the lord's prayer. even ludwig could not do otherwise than bend his knee upon the chair by which he stood, and bow his skeptical head, while the innocent maid and his dying servant prayed together. when marie rose from her knees, the painful smile had vanished from henry's lips; his face was calm and peaceful; the distortion had disappeared from his countenance. * * * * * after henry's death, life for the occupants of the nameless castle became still more uncomfortable. ludwig vavel had lost his only friend--the only one who had shared his cares and his confidences. he was obliged to hire a servant to assist lisette, and, remembering what henry had advised, took the old soldier with the wooden leg into the castle. for the old invalid, the change from hard labor to comfortable quarters and easy work was certainly an improvement. instead of cutting wood all day long for a mere pittance, he had now nothing to do but brush clothes which were never dusty, polish the furniture, receive the supplies from and deliver orders to frau schmidt every morning, to place the newspapers on the library table, and convey the victuals from the kitchen to the dining-room. but two weeks of this easy work and good wages, and the comforts of the castle, were all that the old soldier could endure. then he took off his handsome livery, and begged to be allowed to return to his former life of hardship and poverty. afterward he was heard to aver that not for the whole castle would he consent to live in it an entire year--where not one word was spoken all day long; even the cook never opened her lips. no, he could not stand it; he would rather, a hundred times over, cut wood for five groats the day. no sooner did baroness katharina learn that count vavel was again without a man-servant than she sent to the castle satan laczi's son, who was then twelve years old, and a useful lad. two leading ideas now filled count vavel's entire soul. one was an enthusiastic admiration for a high ideal, whose embodiment he believed he had found in the lovely person of his young charge. all the emotions that a man of deep and profound nature lavishes on his faithful love, his only offspring, his queen, his guardian saint, count ludwig now bestowed on this one woman, who endured with patience, renounced with meekness, forgave and loved with her whole heart, and who, even in her banishment, adored her native land which had repulsed and cruelly persecuted her. the second idea encompassed all the emotions of an opposing passion: a boundless hatred for the giant who, with strides that covered kingdoms and empires, was marching over the entire eastern hemisphere, marking his every step with graves and human skeletons; an enmity toward the titan who was using thrones as footstools, and who had made himself a god over a greater portion of europe, count vavel was not the only one who cherished a hatred of this sort; it was felt all over europe. what was happening in those days could be learned only through the english newspapers. liberty of speech was prohibited throughout the entire continent. only an indiscreet correspondent would trust his secret to the post; and ludwig vavel only by the exercise of extreme caution could learn from his banker in holland what was necessary for him to know. through this medium he learned of the general discontent with the methods of the all-powerful one. he learned of the plans of the philadelphia club, which counted among its members renowned officers in the army of france. he heard that a number of distinguished frenchmen had offered their services and swords to the foreign imperial army against their own hated emperor. he heard of the dissatisfied murmuring among the french people against the frightful waste of human life, the never-ending intrigues, the approaching shadows of the coalition. all this he heard there in the nameless castle, while he waited for his watchword, ready when it came to reply: "here!" and while he waited he interested himself also in what was going on in the land in which he sojourned. he had two sources for acquiring information on this subject--herr mercatoris in fertöszeg, and the young attorney, who was now living in pest. the count corresponded with both gentlemen,--personally he had never spoken to the pastor, and but once to his attorney,--and from their letters learned what was going on in that portion of the world in the vicinity of the nameless castle. however, as there was a wide difference between the characters of his two correspondents, the count was often puzzled to which of them he should give credence. the pastor, who was a student and a philosopher, and a defender of the existing state of affairs, affirmed that there was not on the face of the globe a more contented and peace-loving folk than the hungarians. the young lawyer, on the other hand, asserted that the existing system was all wrong; that general dissatisfaction prevailed throughout hungary. his irony did not spare the great ones who swayed the destiny of the country. in a word, resentment against oppression, and discontent, might be read in every line of his epistles. count vavel was rather inclined to believe that the younger man expressed the temper of the nation. in reality, however, it was only the discontent of a small social body, which found quite enough room for its meetings in the sleeping-chamber of one of the sympathizers. within this circumscribed space, and amid a lively interchange of opinions, originated many a daring project that was never carried beyond the threshold of the hall of meeting. ludwig vavel, on reading the young man's letters, had come to the conclusion that hungary awaited his (vavel's) enemy as its liberator. the diet, it is true, had authorized the "recruit contingent," but the recruits were not taken from those who were inspired with love for the fatherland, and who would do battle for an idea. the enlisted men were chiefly homeless wanderers. this "cannon-fodder" would go into battle without enthusiasm, would perform what was required of them like obedient machines. of what good would be such a crew against a host that had called into being a great national consciousness, a host that was made up of the best force of a vigorous people, a host whose every member was proud of his ensign with its eagle, and who held himself superior to every other soldier in the world? vavel well knew that the giant of the century could be conquered only by heroes and patriots. a hireling crew could not enter the field against him. chapter ii when a sacrifice is demanded by one's fatherland, it becomes the duty of every true patriot to offer himself as the victim. consequently, herr vice-palatine bernat görömbölyi von dravakeresztur did not hesitate to immolate himself on the sacrificial altar when his attention was directed by his superior to section of article ii. in the laws enacted by the diet in the year . said clause required the vice-palatine to call in person on those "high and mighty persons" who, instead of appearing with their horses at the _lustrations_,--according to section of article iii.,--preferred to send the fine of fifty marks for non-attendance. among these absentees from the county meetings was count ludwig vavel. the vice-palatine's task was to teach these refractories, through patriotic reasoning, to amend their ways. the sacrifice attendant upon the performance of this duty was that herr bernat would be obliged, during his official visit to the nameless castle, to abstain from smoking. but duty is duty, and he decided to do it. he preceded his call at the castle by a letter to count vavel, in which he explained, with satisfaction to himself, the cause of his hasty retreat on the occasion of his former visit, and also announced his projected official attendance upon the herr count on the following day. he arrived at the castle in due time; and count vavel, who wished to make amends for his former rudeness to so important a personage, greeted him with great cordiality. "the herr count has been ill, i understand?" began herr bernat, when greetings had been exchanged. "i have not been ill--at least, not to my knowledge," smilingly responded the count. "indeed? i fancied you must be ill because you did not attend the lustrations, but sent the fine instead." "may i ask if many persons attended the meeting?" asked count vavel. "quite a number of the lesser magnates were present; the more important nobles were conspicuous by their absence. i attributed this failure to appear at the lustrations to section i of article iii. of the militia law, which prohibits the noble militiaman from wearing gold or silver ornamentation on his uniform. this inhibition, you must know, is intended to prevent emulation in splendor of decoration among our own people, and also to restrain the rapacity of the enemy." "then you imagine, herr vice-palatine, that i do not attend the meetings because i am not permitted to wear gold buttons and cords on my coat?" smilingly queried the count. "i confess i cannot think of any other reason, herr count." "then i will tell you the true one," rather haughtily rejoined count vavel, believing that his visitor was inclined to be sarcastic. "i do not attend your meetings because i look upon the entire law as a jest--mere child's play. it begins with the mental reservation, 'the hungarian noble militia will be called into service _only_ in case of imminent danger of an attack from a foreign enemy, and then only if the attacking army be so powerful that the regular imperial troops shall be unable to withstand it!' that the enemy is the more powerful no commander-in-chief finds out until he has been thoroughly whipped! the mission of the hungarian noble militia, therefore, is to move into the field--untrained for service--when the regular troops find they cannot cope with a superior foe! this is utterly ridiculous! and, moreover, what sort of an organization must that be in which 'all nobles who have an income of more than three thousand guilders shall become cavalry soldiers, those having less shall become foot-soldiers'? the money-bag decides the question between cavalry and infantry! again, 'every village selects its own trooper, and equips him.' a fine squadron they will make! and to think of sending such a crew into the field against soldiers who have won their epaulets under the baptismal fires of battle! again, to wage war requires money first of all; and this fact has been entirely ignored by the authorities. you have no money, gentlemen; do you propose that the noble militia host shall march only so long as the supply of food in their knapsacks holds out? are they to return home when the provisions shall have given out? never fear, herr vice-palatine! when it becomes necessary to shoulder arms and march against the enemy, i shall be among the first to respond to the first call. but i have no desire to be even a spectator of a comedy, much less take part in one. but let us not discuss this farce any further. i fancy, herr vice-palatine, we may be able to find a more sensible subject for discussion. there is a quiet little nook in this old castle where are to be found some excellent wines, and some of the best latakia you--" "what?" with lively interest interrupted the vice-palatine. "latakia? why, that is tobacco." "certainly--and turkish tobacco, too, at that!" responded count vavel. "come, we will retire to this nook, empty one glass after another, enjoy a smoke, and tell anecdotes without end!" "then you do smoke, herr count?" "certainly; but i never smoke anywhere but in the nook before mentioned, and never in the clothes i wear ordinarily." "aha!--that a certain person may not detect the fumes, eh?" "you have guessed it." "then there is not an atom of truth in the reports malicious tongues have spread abroad about you, for i know very well that a certain lady has not the least objection to tobacco smoke. i do not refer to the herr count's donna who lives here in the castle--you may be sure i shall take good care not to ask any more questions about _her_. no; i am not talking about that one, but about the other one, who has puzzled me a good deal of late. she takes the herr count's part everywhere, and is always ready to defend you. had she not assured me that i might with perfect safety venture to call here again, i should have sent my secretary to you with the _sigillum compulsorium_. i tell you, herr count, ardent partizanship of that sort from the other donna looks a trifle suspicious!" the count laughed, then said: "herr vice-palatine, you remind me of the critic who, at the conclusion of a concert, said to a gentleman near whom he was standing: 'who is that lady who sings so frightfully out of tune?' 'the lady is my wife.' 'ah, i did not mean the one who sang, but the lady who accompanied her on the piano--the one who performs so execrably.' 'that lady is my sister.' 'i beg a thousand pardons! i made a mistake; it is the music, the composition, that is so horrible. i wonder who composed it?' 'i did.'" herr bernat was charmed--completely vanquished. this count not only smoked: he could also relate an anecdote! truly he was a man worth knowing--a gentleman from crown to sole. toward the conclusion of the excellent dinner, to which herr bernat did ample justice, he ventured to propose a toast: "i cannot refrain, herr count, from drinking to the welfare of this castle's mistress; and since i do not know whether there be one or two, i lift a glass in each hand. vivant!" without a word the count likewise raised two glasses, and drained first one, then the other, leaving not enough liquor in either to "wet his finger-nail." by the time the meal was over herr bernat was in a most generous mood; and when he took leave of his agreeable host, he assured him that the occupants of the nameless castle might always depend on the protection and good will of the vice-palatine. count vavel waited until his guest was out of sight; then he changed his clothes, and when the regular dinner-hour arrived joined marie, as usual, in the dining-room, to enjoy with her the delicate snail-soup and other dainties. chapter iii at last war was declared; but it brought only days of increased unhappiness and discontent to the tiger imprisoned in his cage at the nameless castle--as if burning oil were being poured into his open wounds. the snail-like movements of the austrian army had put an end to the appearance of the apocalyptic destroying angel. ludwig vavel waited like the tiger crouched in ambush, ready to spring forth at the sound of his watchword, and heard at last what he had least expected to hear. the single-headed eagle had not hesitated to take possession of that which the double-headed eagle had hesitated to grasp. napoleon had issued his memorable call to the hungarian people to assert their independence and choose their king from among themselves. count ludwig received a copy of this proclamation still damp from the press, and at once decided that the cause to which he had sacrificed his best years was wholly lost. he was acquainted with but a few of the people among whom he dwelt in seclusion, but he believed he knew them well enough to decide that the incendiary proclamation could have no other result than an enthusiastic and far-reaching response. all was at an end, and he might as well go to his rest! in one of his gloomiest, most dissatisfied hours, he heard the sound of a spurred boot in the silent corridor. it was an old acquaintance, the vice-palatine. he did not remove his hat, which was ornamented with an eagle's feather, when he entered the count's study, and ostentatiously clinked the sword in its sheath which hung at his side. a wolfskin was flung with elaborate care over his left shoulder. "well, herr count," he began in a cheery tone, "i come like the gypsy who broke into a house through the oven, and, finding the family assembled in the room, asked if they did not want to buy a flue-cleanser. at last the watchword has arrived: 'to horse, soldier! to cow, farmer.' the militia law is no longer a dead letter. we shall march, _cum gentibus_, to repulse the invading foe. here is the royal order, and here is the call to the nation."[ ] [footnote : written by alexander kisfalndy, by order of the palatine. a memorable document.] count vavel's face at these words became suddenly transfigured--like the features of a dead man who has been restored to life. his eyes sparkled, his lips parted, his cheeks glowed with color--his whole countenance was eloquent; his tongue alone was silent. he could not speak. he rushed toward his sword, which was hanging on the wall, tore it from its sheath, and pressed his lips to the keen blade. then he laid it on the table, and dashed like a madman from the room--down the corridor to marie's apartment. without knocking, he opened the door, rushed toward the young girl, raised her in his arms as if she were a little child, and, carrying her thus, returned to his guest. "here--here she is!" he cried breathlessly. "behold her! now you may look on her face--now the whole world may behold her countenance and read in it her illustrious descent. this is my idol--my goddess, for whom i have lived, for whom i would die!" he had placed the maid on a sort of throne between the two bookcases, and alternately kissed the hem of her gown and his sword. "can you imagine a more glorious queen?" he demanded, in a transport of ecstasy, flinging one arm over the vice-palatine's shoulder, and pointing with the other toward the confused and blushing girl. "is there anywhere else on earth so much love, so much goodness and purity, a glance so benevolent--all the virtues god bestows upon his favorites? is not this the angel who has been called to destroy the leviathan of the apocalypse?" the vice-palatine gazed in perplexity at the young girl, then said in a low tone: "she is the image of the unfortunate queen, marie antoinette, who looked just like that when she was a bride." involuntarily marie lifted her hands and hid her face behind them. she had grown accustomed to the piercing rays of the sun, but not to the questioning glances from strange eyes. "what--what does--this mean, ludwig?" she stammered, in bewilderment. "i don't understand you." count vavel stepped to the opposite side of the room, where a large map concealed the wall. he drew a cord, and the map rolled up, revealing a long hall-like chamber, which, large as it was, was filled to the ceiling with swords, firearms, saddles, and harness. "i will equip a company of cavalry, and command it myself. the entire equipment, to the last cartridge, is ready here." he conducted the vice-palatine into the arsenal, and exhibited his terrible treasures. "are you satisfied with my preparations for war?" he asked. "i can only reply as did the poor little saros farmer when his neighbor, a wealthy landowner, told him he expected to harvest two thousand yoke of wheat: 'that is not so bad.'" "now _i_ intend to hold a lustration, herr vice-palatine," resumed the count. "here are weapons. are enough men and horses to be had for the asking?" "i might answer as did the gypsy woman when her son asked for a piece of bread: 'you are always wanting what is not to be had.'" "do you mean that there are no men?" "i mean," hastily interposed herr bernat, "that there are enough men, and horses, too; but the treasure-chest is empty, and the _aerar_ has not yet sent the promised subsidy." "what care i about the aerar and its money!" ejaculated count vavel, contemptuously. "_i_ will supply the funds necessary to equip a company--and support them, into the bargain! and if the county needs money, my purse-strings are loose! i give everything that belongs to me--and myself, too--to this cause!" he opened, as he spoke, a large iron chest that was fastened with iron bolts to the floor. "here, help yourself, herr vice-palatine!" he added, waving his hand toward the contents of the chest. it was a more wonderful sight than the arsenal itself. rolls of gold coin, sacks of silver, filled the chest to the brim. herr bernat could only stare in speechless amazement. he made no move to obey the behest to "help himself," whereupon count vavel himself thrust his hands into the chest, lifted what he could hold between them of gold and silver, and filled the vice-palatine's hat, which that worthy was holding in his hand. "but--pray--i beg of you--" remonstrated herr bernat, "at least, let us count it." "you can count it when you get home," interrupted count vavel. "but i must give you a receipt for it." "a receipt?" repeated his host. "a receipt between gentlemen? a receipt for money which is given for the defense of the fatherland?" "but i certainly cannot take all this money without something to show from whom i received it, and for what purpose. give me at least a few words with your signature, herr count." "that i will gladly do," responded the count, turning toward his desk, and coming face to face with marie, who had descended from her throne. "what are you going to do?" she asked, laying her hand on his arm. "write." "are you going to let strangers see your writing, and perhaps betray who you are?" "in a week the strokes from my hand will tell who i am," he replied, with double meaning. "oh, you are terrible!" murmured marie, turning her face away. "i am so for your sake, marie." "for my sake?" echoed the young girl, sorrowfully. "for my sake? do you imagine that _i_ shall take pleasure in seeing you go into battle? suppose you should fall?" "have no fear on that score, marie," returned the young man, confidently. "i shall have a guiding star to watch over me; and if there be a god in heaven--" "then may he take me to himself!" interposed the young girl in a fervent tone, lifting a transfigured glance toward heaven. "and may he grant that there be not on earth one other frenchwoman who is forced to pray for the defeat of her own nation! may he grant that there be not another woman in the world who is waiting until a pedestal is formed of her countrymen's and kinsmen's skeletons, that she may be elevated to it as an idol from which many, many of her brothers will turn with a curse! may god take me to himself now--now, while yet my two hands are white, while yet i cherish toward my nation nothing but love and tenderness, now when i forgive and forget everything, and desire none of this world's splendor for myself!" ludwig vavel was filled with admiration by this outburst from the innocent girl heart. "your words, marie, only increase the brilliancy of the halo which encircles your head. they legalize the rights of my sword. i, too, adore my native land--no one more than i! i, too, bow before the infinite judge and submit my case to his wise decision. o god, thou who protecteth france, look down and behold him who rides yonder, his horse ankle-deep in the blood of his countrymen, who looks without pity on the dying legions and says, 'it is well!' then, o god, look thou upon this saint here, who prays for her persecutors, and pass judgment between the two: which of the two is thy image on earth?" "oh, pray understand me," in a pleading voice interposed marie, passing her trembling fingers over ludwig's cheek. "not one drop of heroic blood flows in my veins. i am not the offspring of those great women who crowned with their own hands their knights to send them into battle. i dread to lose you, ludwig; i have no one in this wide world but you. on this whole earth there is not another orphan so desolate as i am! when you go to war, and i am left here all alone, what will become of me? who will care for me and love me then?" vavel gently drew the young girl to his breast. "marie, you said once to me: 'give me a mother--a woman whom i can love, one that will love me.' when i leave you, marie, i shall not leave you here without some one to care for you. i will give you a mother--a woman you will love, and who will love you in return." a gleam of sunshine brightened the young girl's face; she flung her arms around ludwig's neck, and laughed for very joy. "you will really, really do this, ludwig?" she cried happily. "you will really bring her here? or shall i go to her? oh, i shall be so happy if you will do this for me!" "i am in earnest," returned ludwig, seriously. "this is no time for jesting. my superior here"--turning toward the vice-palatine--"will see that i keep the promise i made in his presence." "that he will!" promptly assented herr bernat. "i am not only the vice-palatine of your county: i am also the colonel of your regiment." "and i want you to add still another office to the two you fill so admirably: that of matrimonial emissary!" added count vavel. "in this patriarchal land i find that the custom still obtains of sending an emissary to the lady one desires to marry. will you, herr vice-palatine and colonel, undertake this mission for me?" "of all my missions this will be the most agreeable!" heartily responded herr bernat. "you know to whom i would have you go," resumed the count. "it is not far from here. you know who the lady is without my repeating her name. go to her, tell her what you have seen and heard here,--i send her my secret as a betrothal gift,--and then ask her to send me an answer to the words she heard me speak on a certain eventful occasion." "you may trust me!" with alacrity responded herr bernat. "within half an hour i shall return with a reply: _veni, vidi, vici!_" after he had shaken hands with his client, the worthy emissary remembered that it was becoming for even so important a personage as a hungarian vice-palatine to show some respect to the distinguished young lady under count vavel's protection. he therefore turned toward her, brought his spurred heels together, and was on the point of making a suitable speech, accompanying it with a deep bow, when the young lady frustrated his ceremonious design by coming quickly toward him and saying in her frank, girlish manner: "he who goes on a matrimonial mission must wear a nosegay." with these words she drew the violets from her corsage, and fastened them in herr bernat's buttonhole. hereupon the gallant vice-palatine forgot his ceremonious intentions. he seized the maid's hand, pressed it against his stiffly waxed mustache, and muttered, with a wary glance toward count vavel: "i am sorry this pretty little hand belongs to those messieurs frenchmen!" then he quitted the room, and in descending the stairs had all he could do to transfer without dropping them the coins from his hat to the pockets of his dolman. marie skipped, singing joyously, into the dining-room, where the windows faced toward the neighboring manor. she did not ask if she might do so, but flung open the sash, leaned far out, and waved her handkerchief to the vice-palatine, who was driving swiftly across the causeway. chapter iv when herr bernat görömbölyi, in his character of emissary, arrived at the manor, he proceeded at once to state his errand: "my lovely sister katinka, i am come a-wooing--as this nosegay on my breast indicates. i ask your hand for a brave, handsome, and young cavalier." "thank you very much for the honor, my dear bernat bácsi, but i intend to remain faithful to my vow never to marry." "then you send me out of your house with a mitten, katinka hugom?" "i should prefer to detain you as a welcome guest." "thanks; but i cannot stop to-day. i am invited to a betrothal feast over at the nameless castle. the count intends to wed in a few weeks." he had been watching, while speaking, the effect of this announcement on the lovely face before him. baroness katharina, however, acted as if nothing interested her so much as the letter she was embroidering with gold thread on a red streamer for a militia flag. "the count is in a hurry," continued herr bernat, "for he may have to ride at the head of a company of militia to the war in less than three weeks." here the cruel needle thrust its point into the fair worker's rosy finger. herr bernat smiled roguishly; and said: "would n't you like to hear the name of the bride, my pretty sister katinka?" "if it is no secret," was the indifferent response. "it is no secret for me, and i am allowed to repeat it. the charming lady count vavel intends to wed is--katharina landsknechtsschild!" the baroness suddenly dropped her embroidery, sprang to her feet, and surveyed the smiling emissary with her brows drawn into a frown. "it is quite true," continued herr bernat. "count vavel sent me here to beg you to answer the words he spoke to you on an eventful occasion. do you remember them?" the lady's countenance did not brighten as she replied: "yes, i remember the words; but between them and my reply there is a veil that separates the two." "the veil has been removed." "ah! then you saw the lady of the castle without her veil? is she pretty?" "more than pretty!" "and who is she? what is she to count vavel?" "she is not your rival, my pretty sister katinka; she is neither wife nor betrothed to count vavel--nor yet his secret love." "then she must be his sister--or daughter." "no; she is neither sister nor daughter." "then what is she? not a servant?" "no; she is his mistress." "his mistress?" "yes, his mistress--as my queen is my mistress." "ah!" there was a peculiar gleam in the lovely baroness's eyes. then she came nearer to herr bernat, and asked with womanly shyness: "and you believe the count--loves _me_?" "that i do not know, baroness, for he did not tell me; but i think you know that he loves you. that he deserves your love i can swear! no one can become thoroughly acquainted with count vavel and not love him. i went to the castle to ask him to join the noble militia, and he let me see the lady about whom so much has been said. she had excellent reasons, baroness, for veiling her lovely face, for whoever had seen her mother's pictures would have recognized her at once. when count vavel goes into battle to help defend our fatherland, he must leave the royal maid in a mother's hands. will you fill that office? will you take the desolate maid to your heart? and now, katinka hugom, give me your answer to the count's words." with sudden impulsiveness the baroness extended both hands to herr bernat, and said earnestly: "with all my heart i consent to be count vavel's betrothed wife!" "and i may fly to him with this answer?" "yes--on condition that you take me with you." "what, baroness? you wish to go to the castle--now?" "yes, now--this very moment--in these clothes! i have no one to ask what i should or should not do, and--_he_ needs me." when his emissary had departed, count vavel began to reflect whether he had not been rather hasty. had he done right in giving to the world his zealously guarded secret? but there lay the royal manifesto on the table; there was no doubting that. the venture must be made now or never. if only d'avoncourt were free! how well he would know what to do in this emergency! he seated himself at the table to write to his friends abroad; but he could accomplish nothing; his hand trembled so that he could hardly guide the pen. and why should he tremble? was he afraid to hear katharina's answer? it is by no means a wise move for a man to make on the same day a declaration of war and one of love. his meditations were interrupted by marie, who came running into his study, laughing and clapping her hands. she snatched the pen from his fingers, and flung it on the floor. "she is coming! she is coming!" she cried in jubilant tones. "who is coming?" asked ludwig, surveying the young girl in surprise. "who? why, the lady who is to be my mother--the beautiful lady from the manor." "what nonsense, marie! how can you give voice to such impossible nonsense?" "but the vice-palatine would not be returning to the castle in _two_ carriages!" persisted the maid. "come and see them for yourself!" she drew him from his chair to the window in the dining-room, where his own eyes convinced him of the truth of marie's announcement. already the two vehicles were crossing the causeway, and the baroness's rose-colored parasol gleamed among the trees. deeply agitated, count vavel hastened to meet her. "may i come with you?" shyly begged marie, following him. "i beg that you will come," was the reply; and the two, guardian and ward, hand in hand, descended to the entrance-hall. baroness katharina's countenance beamed with a magical charm--the result of the union of opposite emotions; as when shame and courage, timidity and daring, love and heroism, meet and are blended together in a wonderful harmony--a miracle seen only in the magic mirror of a woman's face. while yet several paces distant, she held out her hand toward count vavel, and, with a charming mixture of embarrassment and candor, said: "yes, i am." this was her confirmation of the words vavel had spoken in the forest in the presence of the three dragoon officers: "she is my betrothed." vavel lifted the white hand to his lips. then katharina quickly passed onward toward marie, who had timidly held back. the baroness grasped the young girl's hands in both her own, and looked long and earnestly into the fair face lifted shyly toward her. then she said: "it was not for his sake i came so precipitately. he could have waited. they told me your heart yearned for a mother's care, and it must not be kept waiting." after this speech the two young women embraced. which was the first to sob, which kiss was the warmer, cannot be known; but that marie was the happier was certain. for the first time in years she was permitted to embrace a woman and tell her she loved her. ludwig vavel looked with delight on the meeting between the two, and gratefully pressed the hand of his successful emissary. when the two young women had sobbed out their hearts to each other, they began to laugh and jest. was not the mother still a girl, like the daughter? "you must come with me to the manor?" said katharina, as, with arms entwined about each other, they entered the castle. "i shall not allow you to stop longer in this lonely place." "i wish you would take me with you," responded marie. "i shall be very obedient and dutiful. if i do anything that displeases you, you must scold me, and praise me when i do what is right." "and i am not to be asked if i consent to this abduction of my ward?" here smilingly interposed count vavel. "why can't you come with us?" innocently inquired marie. the other young woman laughed merrily. "he may come for a brief visit; later we will let him come to stay always." then she added in a more serious tone: "count vavel, you may rest perfectly content that your treasure will be safe with me. my house is prepared for assault. my people are brave and well armed. there is no possible chance of another attack from robbers like that from which you delivered me." "ludwig delivered you from robbers?" repeated marie, in astonishment. "when? how?" "then he did not tell you about his adventure? what a singular man!" here the vice-palatine interposed with: "what is this i hear? robbers? i heard nothing about robbers." "the baroness herself asked me not to speak of the affair," explained the count. "yes, but i did not forbid you to tell marie, herr count," responded katharina. "'baroness'--'herr count'?" repeated marie, turning questioningly from her guardian to their fair neighbor. "why don't you call each other by your christian names?" they were spared an explanation by herr bernat, who again observed: "robbers? i confess i should like to hear about this robbery?" "i will tell you all about it," returned the baroness; "but first, i must beg the vice-palatine not to make any arrests. for," she added, with an enchanting smile, "had it not been for those valiant knights of the road i should not have become acquainted with my brave ludwig." "that is better!" applauded marie, hurrying her "little mother" into the reception-room, where the wonderful story of the robbery was repeated. and what an attentive listener was the fair young girl! her lips were pressed tightly together; her eyes were opened to their widest extent--like those of a child who hears a wonderful fairy tale. even the vice-palatine from time to time ejaculated: "_darvalia_!" "_beste karaffia_!"--which, doubtless, were the proper terms to apply to marauding rascals. but when the baroness came to that part of her story where count vavel, with his walking-stick, put to flight the four robbers, marie's face glowed with pride. surely there was not another brave man like her ludwig in the whole world! "that was our first meeting," concluded katharina laughingly, laying her hand on that of her betrothed husband, who was leaning against the arm of her chair. "i should like to know why you both thought it best to keep this robbery a secret?" remarked herr bernat. "the real reason," explained count vavel, "was because the baroness did not want her protégé, satan laczi's wife, persecuted." "hum! if everybody was as generous as you two, then robbery would become a lucrative business!" "you must remember," katharina made haste to protest, "that all this has been told to the matrimonial emissary, and not to the vice-palatine. on no account are any arrests to be made!" "i will suggest a plan to the herr vice-palatine," said count vavel. "grant an amnesty to the robbers; not to the four who broke into the manor,--for they are merely common thieves,--but to satan laczi and his comrades, who will cheerfully exchange their nefarious calling for the purifying fire of the battle-field. i myself will undertake to form them into a company of foot-soldiers." "but how do you know that satan laczi and his comrades will join the army?" inquired herr bernat. "satan laczi told me so himself--one night here in the castle. he opened all the doors and cupboards, while i was in the observatory, and waited for me in my study." it was the ladies' turn now to exhibit the liveliest interest. each seized a hand of the speaker, and listened attentively to his description of the robber's midnight visit to the castle. "good!" was herr bernat's comment, when the count had concluded. "an amnesty shall be granted to satan laczi and his crew if they will submit themselves to the herr count's military discipline." chapter v the little servant, satan laczi, junior, interrupted the conversation. he came to announce dinner. lisette had not needed any instructions. she knew what was expected of her when a visitor happened to be at the castle at meal-times. besides, she wanted to show the lady from the manor what she could do. not since the count's arrival at the nameless castle had there been so cheerful a meal as to-day. marie sparkled with delight; the baroness was wit personified; and the vice-palatine bubbled over with anecdotes. when the roast appeared he raised his glass for a serious toast: "to our beloved fatherland. vivat! to our revered king. vivat! to our adored queen. vivat!" count vavel promptly responded, as did also the ladies. then the count refilled the glasses, and, raising his own above his head, cried: "and now, another vivat to _my_ queen! long may she reign, and gloriously! and," he added, with sudden fierceness, "may all who are her enemies perish miserably!" "ludwig, for heaven's sake!" ejaculated marie, in terror. "look at katharina; she is ill." and, indeed, the baroness's lovely face was pallid as that of a corpse. her eyes were closed; her head had fallen back against her chair. ludwig and marie sprang to her side, the young girl exclaiming reproachfully: "see how you have terrified her." "don't be frightened," returned ludwig, assuringly; "it is only a passing illness, and will soon be over." he had restored the fair woman to consciousness on another occasion; he knew, therefore, what to do now. after a few minutes the baroness opened her eyes again. she forced a smile to her lips, shivered once or twice, then whispered to ludwig, who was bending over her with a glass of water: "i don't need any water. we were going to drink a toast; wine is required for that ceremony." she extended her trembling hand, clasped the stem of her glass, and, raising it, continued: "i drink to your toast, count vavel! and here is to my dear little daughter, my good little marie. may god preserve her from all harm!" "you may safely drink to ludwig's toast," gaily assented marie, "safely wish that the enemies of your marie may 'perish miserably,' for she has no enemies." "no; she has no enemies," repeated the baroness in a low tone, as she pressed the young girl closely to her breast. a few minutes later, when katharina had regained her usual self-command, she said: "marie, my dear little daughter, i know that our friend ludwig is eager to discuss war plans with his emissary. let us, therefore, give him the opportunity to do so, while we make our plans for quite a different sort of war!" "what!" jestingly exclaimed count vavel, "my lovely betrothed speaks thus of her preparations for our wedding?" "the task is not so easy as you imagine," retorted katharina. "there will be a great deal to do, and i mean to take marie with me." "to-day?" "certainly; is she not my daughter? but seriously, ludwig, marie must not remain here if the recruiting-flag is to wave from the tower, and if the castle is to be open to every notorious bully in the county. you gentlemen may attend to your recruits here, while marie and i, over at the manor, arrange a fitting ensign for your company. before we bid adieu to the castle, however, we must pay a visit to the cook. if her mistress leaves here i fancy she will not want to stop." "lisette was very fond of me once," observed marie; "and there was a time when she did everything for me." "then she must come with us to the manor to a well-deserved rest. i can send one of my servants over here to attend to the wants of the gentlemen." the two ladies now took leave of count vavel and his visitor. marie led the way to her own apartments, where she introduced the cats and dogs to katharina. then she drew her into the alcove, and secretly pulled the cord at the head of the bed. "now you are my prisoner," she said to the baroness, who was looking about her in a startled manner. "were i your enemy--your rival--i should not need to do anything to gratify my enmity but refuse to reveal the secret of this screen, and you would have to die here alone with me." "good heavens, marie! how can you frighten me so?" exclaimed katharina, in alarm. "ha, ha!" merrily laughed the young girl, "then i have really frightened you? but don't be alarmed; directly some one will come who will not let you 'perish miserably.'" the baroness's face grew suddenly pallid; but she quickly recovered herself as count vavel came hastily into the outer room. "did you summon me, marie?" he called, when he saw that the screen was down. "yes, i summoned you," replied marie. "i want you to repeat the good-night wish you give me every night." "but it is not night." "no; but you will not see me again to-day, so you must wish me good night now." ludwig came near to the screen, and said in a low, earnest tone: "may god give you a good night, marie! may angels watch over you! may heaven receive your prayers, and may you dream of happiness and freedom. good night!" then he turned and walked out of the room. "that is his daily custom," whispered marie. then she pressed her foot on the spring in the floor, and the screen was lifted. chapter vi lisette had finished her tasks in the kitchen when the two ladies came to pay her a visit. she was sitting in a low, stoutly made chair which had been fashioned expressly for her huge frame, and was shuffling a pack of cards when the ladies entered. she did not lay the cards to one side, nor did she rise from her chair when the baroness came toward her and said in a friendly tone: "well, lisette, i dare say you do not know that i am your neighbor from the manor?" "oh, yes, i do. i used often to hear my poor old man talk about the beautiful lady over yonder, and of course you must be she." "and do you know that i expect to be count vavel's wife?" "i did not know it, your ladyship, but it is natural. a gallant gentleman and a beautiful lady--if they are thrown together then there follows either marriage or danger. a marriage is better than a danger." "this time, lisette, marriage and danger go hand in hand. the count is preparing for the war." this announcement had no other effect on the impassive mountain of flesh than to make her shuffle her cards more rapidly. "then it is come at last!" she muttered, cutting the cards, and glancing at the under one. it was only a knave, not the queen! "yes," continued the baroness; "the recruiting-flag already floats from the tower of the castle, and to-morrow volunteers will begin to enroll their names." "god help them!" again muttered the woman. "i am going to take your young mistress home with me, lisette," again remarked the baroness. "it would not be well to leave her here, amid the turmoil of recruiting and the clashing of weapons, would it?" "i can't say. my business is in the kitchen; i don't know anything about matters out of it," replied lisette, still shuffling her cards. "but i intend to take you out of the kitchen, lisette," returned the baroness. "i don't intend to let you work any more. you shall live with us over at the manor, in a room of your own, and, if you wish, have a little kitchen all to yourself, and a little maid to wait on you. you will come with us, will you not?" "i thank your ladyship; but i had rather stay where i am." "but why?" "because i should be a trouble to everybody over yonder. i am a person that suits only herself. i don't know how to win the good will of other people. i don't keep a cat or a dog, because i don't want to love anything. besides, i have many disagreeable habits. i use snuff, and i can't agree with anybody. i am best left to myself, your ladyship." "but what will become of you when both your master and mistress are gone from the castle?" "i shall do what i have always done, your ladyship. the herr count promised that i should never want for anything to cook so long as i lived." "don't misunderstand me, lisette. i did not ask how you intended to live. what i meant was, how are you going to get on when you do not see or hear any one--when you are all alone here?" "i am not afraid to be alone. i have no money, and i don't think anybody would undertake to carry _me_ off! i am never lonely. i can't read,--for which i thank god!--so that never bothers me. i don't like to knit; for ever since i saw those terrible women sitting around the guillotine and knitting, knitting, knitting all day long, i can't bear to see the motion of five needles. so i just amuse myself with these cards; and i don't need anything else." "but surely your heart will grow sore when you do not see your little mistress daily?" "daily--daily, your ladyship? this is the second time i have laid eyes on her face in six years! there was a time when i saw her daily, hourly--when she needed me all the time. is not that so, my little mistress? don't you remember how i had a little son, and how he called me _chère maman_, and i called him _mon petit garçon_?" as she spoke, she laid the cards one by one on her snowy apron. she looked intently at them for several moments, then continued: "no; i don't need to know anything, only that she is safe. _she_ will always be carefully guarded from all harm, and my cards will always tell me all i need know about _mon petit garçon_. no, your ladyship; i shall not go with you; i cannot leave the place where my poor henry died." "poor lisette! what a tender heart is yours!" "mine?" suddenly and with unusual energy interrupted lisette. "mine a tender heart? ask this little lady here--who cannot tell a lie--if i am not the woman who has the hardest, the most unfeeling heart in all the world. ask her that, your ladyship. tell her, _mon petit garçon_," she added, turning to marie,--"tell the lady it is as i say." "lisette--dear lisette," remonstrated marie. "have you ever seen me weep?" demanded the woman. "no, lisette; but--" "did i ever sigh," interrupted lisette, "or moan, or grieve, that time when we spent many days and nights together in one room?" "no, no; never, lisette." the woman turned in her chair to a chest that stood by her side, opened it, and took out a package carefully wrapped first in paper, then in a linen cloth. when she had removed the wrappings, she held up in her hands a child's chemise and petticoat. "what is needed to complete these, your ladyship?" she asked. "a dear little child, i should say," answered katharina, indulgently. "you are right--a dear little child." "where is the child, lisette?" "that i don't know--do you understand? _i--don't--know._ and i don't inquire, either. now, will you still imagine that i have a tender heart? it is years since i looked on these little garments. what did i do with the child that wore them? whose business is it what i did with her? she was _my_ child, and i had a right to do as i pleased with her. i was paid enough for it--an enormous price! you don't understand what i am talking about, your ladyship. go; take _mon petit garçon_ with you; and may god do so to you as you deal with him. take care of him. my cards will tell me everything, and sometime, when i have turned into a hideous hobgoblin, those whom i shall haunt will remember me! and now, _mon petit garçon_"--turning again to marie,--"let me kiss your hand for the last time." marie came close to the singular woman, bent over her, and pressed a kiss on the fat cheeks, then held her own for a return caress. this action of the young girl seemed to please the woman. she struggled to her feet, muttering: "she is still the same. may god guard her from all harm!" then she waddled toward katharina, took her slender hand in her own broad palm, and added: "take good care of my treasure, your ladyship. up to now, i have taken the broomstick every evening, before going to bed, and thrust it under all the furniture, to see if there might not be a thief hidden somewhere. you will have to do that now. a great treasure, great care! and, your ladyship, when you shall have in your house such a little chemise and petticoat, with the little child in them, trotting after you, chattering and laughing, clasping her arms round you and kissing you, and if some one should say to you, as they said to me, 'how great a treasure would induce you to exchange this little somebody in the red petticoat for it?' and if you should say, 'i will give up the child for so much,' then, your ladyship, you too may say, as i say, that your heart is a heart of stone." katharina's face had grown very white. she staggered toward marie, caught her arm, and drew her toward the door, gasping: "come--come--let us go. the steam--the heat of--the kitchen makes--me faint." the fresh air of the court soon revived her. "let us play a trick on ludwig," she suggested. "we will take his canoe, and cross the cove to the manor. we can send it back with a servant." she ordered her coachman to take the carriage home; then she took marie's hand and led her down to the lake. they were soon in the boat. marie, who had learned to row from ludwig, sent the little craft gliding over the water, while katharina held the rudder. very soon they were in the park belonging to the manor; and how delighted marie was to see everything! a herd of deer crossed their path, summoned to the feeding-place by a blast from the game-keeper's horn. the graceful animals were so tame that a hind stopped in front of the two ladies, and allowed them to rub her head and neck. oh, how much there was to see and enjoy over here! katharina could hardly keep pace with the eager young girl, who would have liked to examine the entire park at once. what a number of questions she asked! and how astonished she was when katharina told her the large birds in the farm-yard were hens and turkeys. she had never dreamed that these creatures could be so pretty. she had never seen them before--not even a whole one served on the table, only the slices of white meat which lisette had always cut off for her. but what delighted her more than anything else was that she might meet people, look fearlessly at them, and be stared at in return, and cordially return their friendly "god give you a good day!" what a pleasure it was to stop the women and children, with all sorts and shapes of burdens on their heads or in their arms, and ask what they were carrying in the heavy hampers; to call to the peasant girls who were singing merrily, and ask where they had learned the pretty songs. "oh, how delightful it is here!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around the baroness. "i should like to dig and work in the garden all day long with these merry girls. how happy i shall be here!" "to-morrow we will visit the fields," said katharina "can you ride?" "ride?" echoed marie, in smiling surprise. "yes--on a rocking-horse." "then you will very soon learn to sit on a living horse." "do you really believe i shall?" breathlessly exclaimed marie. "yes; i have a very gentle horse which you shall have for your own." "one of those dear, tiny little horses from which one could not fall? i have seen them in picture-books." "he is not so very small; but you will not be afraid of falling off when you have learned to ride. then, when you can manage your horse, we will ride after the hounds--" "no, no," hastily interposed the young girl; "i shall never do that. i could not bear to see an animal hurt or killed." "you will have to accustom yourself to seeing such sights, my dear little daughter. riding and hunting are necessary accomplishments; besides, they strengthen the nerves." "have not the peasant women got strong nerves, little mama?" "yes; but they strengthen them by hard work, such as washing clothes." "then let us wash clothes, too." katharina smiled indulgently on the innocent maid, and the two now entered the manor, where marie made the acquaintance of fräulein lotti, the baroness's companion. marie's attention was attracted by the number of books she saw everywhere; and they were all new to her. ludwig had never brought anything like them to the castle. there were poems, histories, romances, fables. ah, how she would enjoy reading every one of them! "oh, who is doing this?" she exclaimed, when her eyes fell on an easel on which was a half-finished painting--a study head. her admiration for the baroness increased when that lady told her the picture was the work of her own hand. "how very clever you must be, little mama! i wonder if you could paint my portrait?" "i will try it to-morrow," smilingly replied the baroness. "and what is this--this great monster with so many teeth?" she asked, running to the piano. katharina told her the name of the "monster," and, seating herself in front of the "teeth," began to play. marie was in an ecstasy of delight. "how happy you ought to be, little mama, to be able to make such beautiful music!" she cried, when katharina turned again toward her. "you shall learn to play, too; fräulein lotti will teach you." for this promise marie ran to fräulein lotti and embraced her. while at dinner marie suddenly remembered that she had not yet seen the little water-monster, and inquired about him. the baroness told her that the boy had gone back to his fish companions in the lake; then asked: "but where did you ever see the creature?" marie hesitated a moment before replying; a natural modesty forbade her from confessing to ludwig's betrothed wife that he had taught her how to swim, and had always accompanied her on her swimming excursions in his canoe. "i saw him once with you in the park, when i was looking through the telescope," she answered, with some confusion. "ah! then you also have been spying upon me?" jestingly exclaimed the baroness. "how else could i have learned that you are so good and beautiful?" frankly returned the young girl. "ah, i have an idea," suddenly observed the baroness. "that spy-glass is here now. the surveyor to whom ludwig gave it sent it to me when he had done with it. come, we will pay herr ludwig back in his own coin! we will spy out what the gentlemen are doing over at the castle." marie was charmed with this suggestion, and willingly accompanied her "little mama" to the veranda, where the familiar telescope greeted her sight. two of the windows in that side of the nameless castle which faced the manor were lighted. "that is the dining-room; they are at dinner," explained marie, adjusting the glass--a task of which the baroness was ignorant. when she had arranged the proper focus, she made room for katharina, who had a better right than she had to watch ludwig. "what do you see?" she asked, when katharina began to smile. "i see ludwig and the vice-palatine; they are leaning out of the window, and smoking--" "smoking?" interposed marie. "ludwig never smokes." "see for yourself!" katharina stepped back, and marie placed her eye to the glass. yes; there, plainly enough, she beheld the remarkable sight: ludwig, with evident enjoyment, drawing great clouds of smoke from a long-stemmed pipe. the two men were talking animatedly; but even while they were speaking, the pipes were not removed from their lips--ludwig, indeed, at times vanished entirely behind the dense cloud of smoke. "for six whole years he never once let me see him smoking a pipe!" murmured marie to herself. "how much he enjoys it! do you"--turning abruptly toward the baroness, who was smilingly watching her young guest--"do you object to tobacco smoke?" she seemed relieved when the baroness assured her that tobacco smoke was not in the least objectionable. some time later, when reminded that it was time for little girls to be in bed, marie protested stoutly that she was not sleepy. "pray, little mama," she begged, "let us look a little longer through the telescope; it is so interesting." but even while she was giving voice to her petition the windows in the dining-room over at the castle became darkened. the gentlemen evidently had retired to their rooms for the night. "oh, ah-h," yawned marie, "i am sleepy, after all! come, little mama, we will go to bed." katharina herself conducted the young girl to her room. marie exclaimed with surprise and delight when, on entering the room adjoining the baroness's own sleeping-chamber, she beheld her own furniture--the canopy-bed, the book-shelves, toys, card-table, everything. even hitz, mitz, pani, and miura sat in a row on the sofa, and phryxus and helle came waddling toward her, and sat up on their hind legs. the things had been brought over from the castle while the baroness and marie were in the park. "you will feel more at home with your belongings about you," said katharina, as she returned the grateful girl's good-night kiss. part vii the hungarian militia chapter i when count vavel and the vice-palatine disappeared from the window of the dining-room, they did not retire to their pillows. they went to ludwig's study, where they refilled their pipes for another smoke. "but tell me, herr vice-palatine," said the count, continuing the conversation which had begun at the dining-table, "why is it that six months have been allowed to pass since the diet passed the militia law without anything having been accomplished?" "well, you must know that there are three essential parts among the works of a clock," returned herr bernat, complacently puffing away at his pipe. "there is the spring, the pendulum, and the escapement. the wheels are the subordinates. the spring is the law passed by the diet. the pendulum is the palatine office, which has to set the law in motion; the escapement is the imperial counselor of war. the wheels are the people. we will keep to the technical terms, if you please. when the spring was wound up, the pendulum began to set the wheels going. they turned, and the loyal nobles of the country began to enroll their names--" "how many do you suppose enrolled their names?" interrupted the count. "thirty thousand cavalry and forty thousand infantry--which are not all the able-bodied men, as only one member from each family is required to join the army. after the names had been entered came the question of uniforms, arms, officering, drilling, provisions. you must admit that a clock cannot strike until the hands have made their regular passage through all the minutes and seconds that make up the hour!" "for heaven's sake! what a preamble!" ejaculated the count. "but go on. the first minute?" "yes; the first minute a stoppage occurred caused by the escapement objecting to furnish canteens; if the militiamen wanted canteens they must provide them themselves." "i trust the clock was not allowed to stop for want of a few canteens," ironically observed count vavel. "moreover," continued the vice-palatine, not heeding the interruption, "the escapement gave them to understand that brass drums could not be furnished--only wooden ones--" "they will do their duty, too, if properly handled," again interpolated vavel. "a more disastrous check, however, was the decision of the _komitate_ that the uniform was to consist of red trousers and light-blue dolman--" "a picturesque uniform, at any rate!" "there was a good deal of argument about it; but at last it was decided that the companies from the danube should adopt light-blue dolmans, and those from the theiss dark-blue." "thank heaven something was decided!" "don't be too premature with your thanks, herr count! the escapement would not consent to the red trousers; red dye-stuff was not to be had, because of the continental embargo. the militia must content itself with trousers made of the coarse white cloth of which peasants' cloaks are made. you can imagine what a tempest that raised in the various counties! to offer hungarian nobles trousers made of such stuff! at last the matter was arranged: trousers and dolman were to be made of the same material. the komitate were satisfied with this. but the escapement then said there were not enough tailors to make so many uniforms. the government would supply the cloth, and have it cut, and the militiamen could have it made up at home." "that certainly would make the uniform of more value to the wearer!" "_would have made_, herr count; would have made! the escapement suddenly announced that the cloth could not be purchased; for, while the dispute about the colors of the uniform had been going on, the greedy merchants had advanced the price of all cloths to such an exorbitant figure that the government could n't afford to buy it." "to the cuckoo with your escapement! the men have got to have uniforms!" "beg pardon; don't begin yet to waste expletives, else you will not have any left at the end of the hour! the counties then agreed to pay the sum advanced on the original price of the cloth, whereupon the escapement said the money would have to be forthcoming at once, as the cloth could not be bought on credit." "well, is there no treasury which could supply enough funds for this worthy object?" asked the count. "yes; there is the public treasury for current expenses. but the treasurer will not give any money to the militia until they are mounted and equipped; the escapement will not furnish the cloth for the uniforms without the money; and the treasury will not give any money until the militia has its uniforms!" "well, a man can fight without a uniform. if only these men have horses under them and weapons in their hands--" "two of these requisites we already have; but the escapement announces that arms of the latest improvements cannot be furnished, because the government has not got them." "well, the old ones will answer." "they _would_ if we had enough flints; but they are not to be had, because the insurrectionary poles have captured the flint depot in lemberg." "each man certainly could get a flint for himself." "even then there are only enough guns for about one half of the men. the escapement suggested that to those who had no arms it would furnish--halberds!" "what? halberds!" cried vavel, losing all patience. "halberds against bonaparte? halberds against the legions who have broken a path from one end of europe to the other with their bayonets, and with them carved their triumphs on the pyramids? halberds against them? do you take me to be a fool, herr vice-palatine?" he sprang to his feet and began to pace the floor excitedly, his guest meanwhile eying him with a roguish glance. "there!" at last exclaimed herr bernat, "i will not tease you any longer. fortunately, there is a clock-repairer who, so soon as he perceived how tardily the hands performed their task, with his finger twirled them around the entire dial, whereupon the clock struck the hour. this able repairer is our king, who at once advanced from his own exchequer enough money to equip the militia companies, distributed six thousand first-class cavalry sabers and sixteen cannon, and loaned the entire hungarian life-guard to drill the newly formed regiments. and now, i will wager that our noble militia host will be ready for the field in less than thirty days, and that they will fight as well as the good lord permitted them to learn how!" "why in the world did you not tell me this at once?" demanded count vavel. "because it is not customary to put the fire underneath the tobacco in the pipe! the king's example inspired our magnates. those whom the law compelled to equip ten horsemen sent out whole companies, and placed themselves in command." "as i shall do!" appended count vavel. "i hope, herr vice-palatine, that you will not forget the amnesty for satan laczi and his men. they will be of special value as spies." "i have a knot in my handkerchief for that, herr count, and shall be sure to remember. the company to be commanded by count ludwig fertöszeg will be complete in a week." "why do you call me fertöszeg?" "because a hungarian name is better for your ensign than your own foreign one. our people have an antipathy to everything foreign--and we have cause to complain of the frenchmen who served in our army. most of them were spies--tools of napoleon's. generals moiselle and lefebre surrendered fortified laibach, together with its entire brigade, without discharging a gun. and even our quondam friend, the gallant colonel barthelmy, has taken dutch leave and gone back to the enemy." "what? gone back to the enemy!" repeated ludwig, springing from his chair, and laughing delightedly. "the news seems to rejoice you," observed herr bernat. "i shout for very joy! the thought that we might have to fight side by side annoyed me. now, however, we shall be adversaries, and when we meet, the man who did not steal ange barthelmy will send her husband to the devil! and now, herr vice-palatine, i think it is time to say good night. it will be the first night in six years that i shall sleep quietly." they shook hands, and separated for the night. chapter ii from early morning until evening the enrolment of names went on at the nameless castle, while from time to time a squad of volunteers, accompanied by count vavel himself, would depart amid the blare of trumpets for the drill-ground. the count made a fine-looking officer, with the crimson shako on his head, his mantle flung over one shoulder, his saber in his hand. when he saluted the ladies on their balconies, his spirited horse would rear and dance proudly. his company, the "volons," had selected black and crimson as the colors for their uniform. the shako was ornamented in front with a white death's-head, and one would not have believed that a skull could be so ornamental. the volons' ensign was not yet finished, but pretty white hands were embroidering gold letters on the silken streamers; lead would very soon add further ornamentation! when ludwig vavel opened the door of his castle to the public, he very soon became acquainted with a very different life from that of the past six years. for six years he had dwelt among a people whom he imagined he had learned to know and understand through his telescope, and from the letters he had received from a clergyman and a young law student. the reality was quite different. every man that was enrolled in his volunteer corps count vavel made an object of special study. he found among them many interesting characters, who would have deserved perpetuation, and made of all of them excellent soldiers. the men very soon became devoted to their leader. when the troop was complete--three hundred horsemen in handsome uniforms, on spirited horses--their ensign was ready for them. marie thought it would have been only proper for katharina, the betrothed of the leader, to present the flag; but count vavel insisted that marie must perform the duty. the flag was hers; it would wave over the men who were going to fight for her cause. it was an inspiriting sight--three hundred horsemen, every one of noble hungarian blood. there were among them fathers of families, and brothers; and all of them soldiers of their own free will. of such material was the troop of volons, commanded by "count vavel von fertöszeg." count vavel had a second volunteer company, composed of satan laczi and his comrades. this company, however, had been formed and drilled in secret, as the noble volons would not have tolerated such vagabonds in their ranks. there were only twenty-four men in satan laczi's squad, and they were expected to undertake only the most hazardous missions of the campaign. ah, how marie's hand trembled when she knotted the gay streamers to the flag ludwig held in his hands! she whispered, in a tone so low that only he could hear what she said: "don't go away, ludwig! stay here with us. don't waste your precious blood for me, but let us three fly far away from here." those standing apart from the count and his fair ward fancied that the whispered words were a blessing on the ensign. she did not bless it in words, but when she saw that ludwig would not renounce his undertaking, she pressed her lips to the standard which bore the _patrona hungaria_. that was her blessing! then she turned and flung herself into katharina's arms, sobbing, while hearty cheers rose from the volons: "why don't _you_ try to prevent him from going away from us? why don't you say to him, 'to-morrow we are to be wedded. why not wait until then?'" but there was no time now to think of marriage. there was one who was in greater haste than any bridegroom or bride. the great leader of armies was striding onward, whole kingdoms between his paces. from the slaughter at ebersburg he passed at once to the walls of vienna, to the square in front of the cathedral of st. stephen. from the south, also, came job's messengers, thick and fast. archduke john had retreated from italy back into hungary, the viceroy eugene following on his heels. general chasteler had become alarmed at napoleon's proclamation threatening him with death, and had removed his entire army from the tyrol. his divisions were surrendering, one after another, to the pursuing foe. thus the border on the south and west was open to the enemy; and to augment the peril which threatened hungary, poland menaced her from the north, from the carpathians; and russia at the same time sent out declarations of war. the countries which had been on friendly terms with one another suddenly became enemies--poland against hungary, russia against austria. prussia waited. england hastened to seize an island from holland. the patriotic calls of gentz and schlegel failed to inspire germany. the heroic attempts of kalt, dörnberg, schill, and lützow fell resultless on the indifference of the people. only turkey remained a faithful ally, and the assurance that the mussulman would protect hungary in the rear against an invasion on the part of moldavia was the only ray of light amid the darkness of those days. then came a fresh job's messenger. general jelachich, with his five thousand men, had laid down his arms in the open field before the enemy. now, indeed, it might be said: "the time is come to be up and doing, hungary!" he who had neglected to celebrate his nuptials yesterday would have no time for marriage feasts to-morrow. hannibal was at the gates! the noble militia host was set in motion. the veszprime and pest regiments moved toward the marczal to join archduke john's forces. the primatial troops joined the main body of the army on the banks of the march, and what there was of soldiery on the farther side of the danube hastened to concentrate in the neighborhood of the raab--only half equipped, muskets without flints, without cartridges, without saddles, with halters in lieu of bridles! under such circumstances a fully equipped troop like that commanded by "count fertöszeg," with sabers, pistols, carbines, and a leader trained in the battle-field, was of some value. the days which followed the flag presentation were certainly not calculated to whispers of happy love, while the nights were illumined only by the light of watch-fires, and the glare over against the horizon of cannonading. count ludwig had so many demands on his time that he rarely found a few minutes free to visit his dear ones at the manor. sometimes he came unexpectedly early in the morning, and sometimes late in the evening. and always, when he came, like the insurgent who dashes unceremoniously into your door, there was a confusion and a bustling to conceal what he was not yet to see--marie's first attempts at drawing, her piano practices, or the miniature portrait katharina was painting of her. sometimes, too, he came when they were at a meal; and then, despite his protests that he had already dined or supped in camp, he would be compelled to take his seat between the two ladies at the table. hardly would he have taken up his fork, however, when a messenger would arrive in great haste to summon him for something or other--some question he alone could decide; then all attempts to detain him would prove futile. the day he received his orders to march, he was forced to take enough time to speak on some very important matters to his betrothed wife. he delivered into her hands the steel casket, of which so much has been written. when he entered the room where the two ladies were sitting, marie discreetly rose and left the lovers alone; but she did not go very far: she knew that she would be sent for very soon. why should she stop to hear the exchange of lovers' confidences, hear the mutual confessions which made _them_ so happy? she did not want to see the tears which _he_ would kiss away. "may god protect you," sobbed katharina, reflecting at the same moment that it would be a great pity were a bullet to strike the spot on the noble brow where she pressed her farewell kiss. "you will guard my treasure, katharina? take good care of my palladium and of yourself. before i go, let me show you what this casket which you must guard with unceasing care contains." he drew the steel ring from his thumb, and pushed to one side the crown which formed the seal, whereupon a tiny key was revealed. with it he unlocked the casket. on top lay a packet of english bank-notes of ten thousand pounds each. "this sum," explained ludwig, "will defray the expenses of our undertaking. when i shall have attained my object, i shall be just so much the poorer. i am not a rich man, katharina; i must tell you this before our marriage." "i should love you even were you a beggar," was the sincere response. a kiss was her reward. underneath the bank-notes were several articles of child's clothing, such as little girls wear. "her mother embroidered the three lilies on these with her own hands," said ludwig, laying the little garments to one side. then he took from the casket several time-stained documents, and added: "these are the certificate of baptism, the last lines from the mother to her daughter, and the deposition of the two men who witnessed the exchange of the children. this," taking up a miniature-case, "contains a likeness of marie, and one of the other little girl who exchanged destinies with her. the marquis d'avoncourt, who is now a prisoner in the castle of ham,--if he is still alive!--is the only one besides ourselves who knows of the existence of these things. and now, katharina, let me beg of you to take good care of them; no matter what happens, do not lose sight of this casket." he locked the casket, and returned the ring to his thumb. the baroness placed the treasure intrusted to her care in a secret cupboard in the wall of her own room. and now, one more kiss! the girl waiting in the adjoining room was doubtless getting weary. suddenly ludwig heard the tones of a piano. some one was playing, in the timid, uncertain manner of a new beginner, miska's martial song. ludwig listened, and turned questioningly toward his betrothed. katharina did not speak; she merely smiled, and walked toward the door of the adjoining room, which she opened. marie sprang from the piano toward ludwig, who caught her in his arms and rewarded her for the surprise. and thus it happened that marie, after all, was the one to receive ludwig's last kiss of farewell. chapter iii the camp on the bank of the rabcza was shared by the troop from fertöszeg and by a militia company of infantry from wieselburg. the parole had been given out for the night. count vavel had completed his round of the outposts, and had returned to the officers' tent. here he found awaiting him two old acquaintances--the vice-palatine and the young attorney from pest, each of them wearing the light-blue dolman. the youthful attorney, whose letters to the count had voiced the national discontent, had at once girded on his sword when the call to arms had sounded throughout the land, and was now of one mind with his quondam patron: if he got near enough to a frenchman to strike him, the result would certainly be disastrous--for the frenchman. bernat bácsi also found himself at last in his element, with ample time and opportunity for anecdotes. seated on a clump of sod the root side up, with both hands clasping the hilt of his sword, the point of which rested on the ground, he repeated what he had heard from the palatine's own lips, while dining with that exalted personage in the camp by the raab. at a very interesting point in his recital he was unceremoniously interrupted by the challenging call of the outposts: "halt! who comes there?" vavel hastened from the tent, flung himself on his horse, and galloped in the direction of the call. the patrol had stopped an armed man who would not give the password, but insisted that he had a right to enter the camp. vavel recognized satan laczi, and said to the guard: "release him; he is a friend of mine." then to the ex-robber: "come with me." he led the way to his own private tent, where he bade his companion rest himself on a pallet of straw. "i dare say you are tired, my good fellow." "not very," was the reply. "i have come only from kapuvar to-day." "on foot?" "part of the way, and part of the way swimming." "what news do you bring?" "we captured a french courier in the marshes near vitnyed just as he was about to ride into the stream." "where is he?" "well, you see, one of my fellows happened to grasp him a little too tightly by the collar, because he resisted so obstinately--and, besides, it must have been a very weak cord that fastened his soul to his body." "you have not done well, satan laczi," reproved the count. "another time you must bring the prisoner to me alive, for i may learn something of importance from him. did not i tell you that i would pay a reward for a living captive?" "yes, your lordship, and we shall lose our reward this time. but we did n't capture the fellow for nothing, after all. we searched his pockets, and found this sealed letter addressed to a general in the enemy's army." vavel took the letter, and said: "rest here until i return. you will find something to eat and drink in the corner there. i may want you to ride farther to-night." "if i am to go on a horse, that will rest me sufficiently," was the response. vavel quitted the tent to read the letter by the nearest watch-fire. it was addressed to "general guillaume." that the general commanded a brigade of the viceroy of italy's troops, vavel knew. the letter was a long one--four closely written pages. before reading it vavel glanced at the signature: "marquis de fervlans." the name seemed familiar, but he could not remember where he had heard it. he was fully informed when he read the contents: "m. general: the intrigue has been successfully carried out. themire has found the fugitives! they are hidden in a secluded nook on the shore of lake neusiedl in hungary, where their extreme caution has attracted much attention. themire's first move was to take up her abode in the same neighborhood, which she did in a masterly manner. the estate she bought belonged to a viennese baron who had ruined himself by extravagance. themire bought the property, paying one hundred thousand guilders for it, on condition that she might also assume the baron's name; such transfers are possible, i believe, in austria. in this wise themire became the baroness katharina landsknechtsschild, and, as she thoroughly understands the art of transformation, became a perfect german woman before she took possession of her purchase. in order not to arouse suspicion on the part of the fugitives, she carefully avoided meeting either of them, and played to perfection the rôle of a lady that had been jilted by her lover. "themire learned that our fugitive owned a powerful telescope with which he kept himself informed of everything that happened in the neighborhood, and this prompted her to adopt a very amusing plan of action. _i_ wanted to put an end at once to the matter, and had gone to vienna for the purpose of so doing. i entered the austrian army as count leon barthelmy, in order to be near my chosen emissary. but my scheme was without result. i had planned that a notorious robber of that region should steal the girl and the documents from the nameless castle,--as the abode of the fugitives is called,--but my robber proved unequal to the task. consequently i was forced to accept themire's more tedious but successful plan. the difficulty was for themire to become acquainted with our fugitive without arousing his suspicions. an opportunity offered. one night, when we knew to a certainty that the hermit in the nameless castle would be in his observatory because of an eclipse of the moon, themire put her plan into operation. the hermit, who is only a man, after all, found a lovely woman more attractive than all the planets in the universe; he was captured in the net laid for him! when the moon entered the shadow, four masked robbers (jocrisse was their leader!) climbed into the baroness landsknechtsschild's windows. the hermit in his observatory beheld this incursion, and, being a knight as well as a recluse, what else could he do but rush to the rescue of his fair neighbor? his telescope had told him she was fair. jocrisse played his part admirably. at the approach of the deliverer the "robbers" took to their heels, and the brave knight unbound the fettered and charming lady he had delivered from the ruffians. as themire had prepared herself for the meeting, you may guess the result: the hermit was captured!" oh, how every drop of blood in vavel's veins boiled and seethed! his face was crimsoned with shame and rage. he read further: "themire was perfectly certain that the mysterious hermit of the nameless castle had fallen in love with her; and _i_ am not so sure but themire has ended by falling in love with the knight! women's hearts are so impressionable. "i managed to have my regiment sent to her neighborhood, and took up my quarters in her house. i sought by every means to lure the hermit from his den; but he is a cunning fox, is this protector of fair ladies! i could not get a sight of him. i decided at last to waylay him (when he would be out driving with the veiled lady), to pretend that i was a betrayed husband in search of his errant wife, and ask to see the face of his veiled companion. this, naturally, he would refuse. a duel would be the result; and as he has not for years had a weapon in his hand, and as i am a dead shot, you can guess the result--a hermit against a spadassin! with a bullet in his brain, the mysterious maid would become my property." here an icy chill shook vavel's frame. he read on: "that was my intention. but something on which i had not counted prevented me from carrying it out. when i insisted on seeing the face of the veiled lady, after telling him i believed her to be my wife, ange barthelmy (i need not tell you that that entire story was an invention of my own; i published it in a provincial newspaper, whence it spread all over europe), my brave hermit showed a very bold front, and we were on the point of exchanging blows, when the lady suddenly flung back her veil and revealed the face of--themire! you may believe that i was dumfounded for an instant; then i began to believe that my faith in this woman had been misplaced. could it be possible that she had been caught in her own trap--that she had found this vavel's eyes more alluring than the fortune we promised her, and that instead of betraying him to us she would do the very opposite--betray us to him? it may be that she has woven a more delicate web than i can detect with which to entangle her romantic victim the more securely. at all events, when i asked vavel what relation the lady at his side bore to him, he replied: 'she is my betrothed wife.' "i confess i am puzzled. but i have the means of compelling themire to keep her promise. her daughter is in my power!" ("her daughter?" gasped vavel. "her daughter? then katharina is a married woman!") "but," he continued to read, "it might happen that a woman who is in love would sacrifice her child. so soon as this war broke out, vavel threw off his hermit's mask, and is now leading a company of troopers--which he equipped at his own expense--against us. "from jocrisse's letters i learn that vavel's treasures are now in themire's hands. that which our fair emissary was commissioned to find is in her possession. now, however, the question is, what will she do with it? "jocrisse also informs me that themire is quite bewitched with the amiability of the maid who has been intrusted to her care. if this be true, then matters are in a bad way. if this is not another of themire's schemes, but actual sympathy, if this girl, whose remarkable loveliness of character (even jocrisse is compelled to praise her) has won the piquant little amélie's place in her mother's heart, then it will be more difficult to separate themire from the girl than to win her from her lover." this was a solitary ray of sunshine amid the threatening clouds which enveloped ludwig. he continued to read with rapidly beating heart: "i must know to a certainty what themire proposes to do. to-day i sent her a message by a trusty courier, informing her that i should be at a certain place at an appointed time--that i wanted her to meet me and deliver into my hands the treasures she now holds. she will have an excellent excuse for leaving the manor. our troops are approaching steiermark, and have already crossed the hungarian border. thus it will seem as if she fell by accident into the hands of the enemy. vavel's heart almost ceased to beat. the letter shook in his trembling hands. "i shall not, however," he continued to read, "depend on the fickle mood of a woman, who may be swayed by a tear or a love-letter. if themire does not appear with the maid and the documents at the designated spot to-morrow evening, then i shall ride with my troop to the manor. my troop, as you know, belongs to the 'legion of demons,' and they do not know the definition of the word 'impossible'! if themire of her own free will delivers the treasures into my hands, i shall thank her becomingly. if, however, she fails to meet me, i shall take the maid and the documents by force." vavel did not notice that the firelight by which he was reading the letter had begun to grow dim; he believed the characters on the page before him were swimming in a blood-red mist. "and now," the letter went on, "i come to my instructions to you, general. you will move with your division toward the southern shore of lake neusiedl, and cut off the way of our fugitives toward the tyrol. there is also another task which you must undertake. the mysterious maid, once she is in our hands, must be treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. a remarkable destiny awaits her. you know the emperor is going to separate from josephine. a new palace will be built for the new empress. who is the fortunate lady? as yet, no one can tell. a royal maid who can bring as her dowry the crown of a sovereign. a marriage that would unite the imperial crown with the crown of hugo capet would firmly establish napoleon's throne. the legitimate dynasty would then be satisfied with the sovereign chosen by the people. this fugitive maid is, i hear, lovely, amiable, generous, pure, as only the ideal of a sovereign can be." vavel stamped his foot in a paroxysm of fury. had this miscreant written that marie was to be imprisoned in a convent, he could have borne it. but to suggest that his idol, his pure, adored image of a saint, might become the consort of the man on whom all the savage hatred of his nature was concentrated--this was more horrible than all the torments of hell. but he must calm himself and read the letter to the end. "with this probability in view, i request that you send your wife and daughter, with a proper escort, of course, to meet me in one of the border cities, say friedberg, where the ladies will be prepared to take charge of the maid. you will understand that a lady of her exalted position must travel only in company with distinguished persons. countess themire dealba's rôle is concluded. she must not be allowed, in any character, to accompany our presumptive sovereign to paris. she will receive her five millions of francs, as promised, and that will conclude our business transactions with her. pray communicate my desire to your wife and daughter, and bid them prepare for the journey. "very truly, "marquis de fervlans." not for one instant did ludwig vavel deliberate as to his course of action. he could not leave his post. for a soldier to quit his post before the enemy is treason. he hurried back to his tent. satan laczi was stretched on the bare ground, sleeping soundly. ludwig shook him vigorously. "awake--awake! you must depart at once." satan laczi sprang to his feet. "take my own horse, and ride for your life the shortest way to fertöszeg." "and what am i to do there?" "do you remember that an officer once asked you to steal the treasure i kept concealed in the nameless castle?" "yes; but i did n't do it." "well, i want you to do it now for me." "which do you want, the maid or the casket?" "both, if possible; the maid in any case. but you must be sure that she is alone when you approach her. then say merely the name 'sophie botta,' and she will listen quietly to what you have to say. then show her this ring,--here, put it on your left thumb"--he drew the steel ring from his own thumb and slipped it on to satan laczi's,--"and say, 'the person who wears this ring sent me to fetch you away from here. you are to come with me at once.'" "and where am i to take her?" "you will have a carriage with four swift horses at the park gate nearest the cemetery, and must drive with the maid to raab.--don't stop on any account until you get there. in raab you will inquire for the house of dr. tromfszky, who is our army physician. he will have been advised of your coming, and will take charge of the maid. then you will return to me here, and report what you have done. here is a passport; if you are stopped at our lines show it to the guard. and here is a purse; don't spare the contents. and do not speak to a living soul about your mission." "your orders shall be obeyed," responded satan laczi, as he turned to leave the tent. vavel did not go back to the officers' tent. he went out into the night, and stood with folded arms, gazing with unseeing eyes into the darkness. part viii katharina or themire? chapter i it was a delightful may evening. marie was practising diligently her piano lesson, in order to surprise ludwig with her progress when he should return from the war. that he would return marie was quite certain. katharina had gone into the park for a solitary promenade. she had complained all day of a headache--a headache that began to trouble her after she had read the letter she had received that morning from the marquis de fervlans. she held the letter in her hand now, and read it again for the hundredth time. yes, she had accomplished her mission successfully; the fugitive maid and the important documents were in her possession; and yet her trembling hand refused to grasp the promised reward. a fortune awaited her for the comedy she had played with such success--a comedy in which she had acted the part of the charitable lady of the manor. and what if there had been something of reality in the farce? suppose her heart had learned to thrill with emotions hitherto unknown to it? suppose it had learned to know the true meaning of gratitude--of love? but five millions of francs! if she were alone in the world! but there was amélie, her dear little daughter, who was now almost fifteen years old--almost a young lady. should she leave amélie in her present disagreeable position, a member of "cythera's brigade," or should she send for her, and confess to the man whose respect she desired to retain that the child was her daughter, and that she was a widow? could she tell him what she had once been? would he continue to respect, to love her? five millions of francs! it was an enormous sum, and would become hers if she should order the carriage, and, taking marie and the casket with her, drive leisurely along the highway until stopped by a troop of soldiers that would suddenly surround the carriage. a politely smiling face would then appear at the window of the carriage, and a courteous voice would say: "don't be alarmed, ladies. you are with friends. we are frenchmen." but to renounce the love and respect so hardly won! ah, how very dearly she loved the man to whom she had betrothed herself in jest! in jest? no, no; it was not a jest! but five millions of francs! would all the millions in the world buy one faithful heart? katharina was suffering for her transgressions. she had intended to play with the heart of another, and had lost her own. besides, she could not bear to think of betraying the innocent girl who loved and trusted her and called her "mother." but time pressed. three times already jocrisse had interrupted her meditations to inquire if her answer to the marquis's letter was ready. and still she struggled with herself. when jocrisse appeared again, she said to him: "my letter is of such importance that i cannot think of intrusting it to the hands of a stranger. you yourself, jocrisse, must take it to the marquis." "i am ready to depart at once, madame." katharina wrote her reply, sealed it carefully, and gave it to jocrisse, who set out at once on his errand. in the letter he carried were but three words: "_io non posso_" ("i cannot"). katharina locked herself in the pavilion in the park, and gave orders to the servants not to admit any visitors, whether acquaintances or strangers. an hour or more had passed when she heard a timid knock at the door, and an apologetic voice said: "a strange gentleman is here. i told him your ladyship would see no one; then he bade me give your ladyship this, which he said he had brought from paris." katharina opened the door wide enough to receive the object. it was a small ivory locket, yellow with age. katharina's hand shook violently as she pressed the spring to open it. she cast a hasty glance at the miniature,--the likeness of her daughter amélie,--then said in a faltering voice: "you may tell the gentleman i will see him." in a few minutes the visitor entered the pavilion. "m. cambray!" exclaimed the baroness. "yes, madame; i am cambray, with my other name, marquis richard d'avoncourt. i am he to whom you once said: 'i shall be grateful to you so long as i live.'" "how--how came you here?" gasped the baroness. "i managed to escape from my prison at ham, went to paris, where i saw your daughter--" "you saw my daughter?" interrupted the baroness, excitedly. "did you speak to her? oh, tell me--tell me what you know about her." "you shall hear all directly, madame. i told the countess that i intended to search for her mother, and asked if she had any message to send to her." "did she send a letter with you?" again interrupted the baroness. "she did, madame. but before i give it to you i should like to have a shovel of hot coals and a bit of camphor." "but why--why?" demanded the baroness. "i will tell you. do you know what napoleon brought home with him from the bloody battle of eilau?" "i have not heard." "the 'influenza.' i dare say you have never even heard the name; but you will very soon hear it often enough! it is a pestilential disease that is rather harmless where it originated, but when it takes hold of a strange region it becomes a deadly pestilence--as in paris, where a special hospital has been established for patients with the disease. it was in this hospital i found your daughter as a nurse." "_jesu maria!_" shrieked the mother, in a tone of agony. "a nurse in that pest-house?" "yes," nodded the marquis. then he took from his pocket a letter, and added: "she wrote this to you from there." the baroness eagerly extended her hand to take the letter. "would it not be better to fumigate it first?" said the marquis. "no, no; i am not afraid! give it to me, i beg of you!" she caught the letter from his hand, tore it open, and read: "dear little mama: what sort of a life are you leading out yonder in that strange land? do you never get weary or feel bored? have you anything to amuse you? _i_ have become satiated with my life--lying, cheating, deceiving every day in order to live! while i was a little girl i was proud of the praises heaped upon me for my cleverness. but a day came when everything disgusted me. it is an infamous trade, this of ours, little mama, and i have given it up. i have begun to lead a different life--one with which i am satisfied; and if you will take the advice of one who wishes you well, you, too, will quit the old ways. you can embroider beautifully and play the piano like a master. you could earn a livelihood giving lessons in either. do not trouble any further about me, for i can take care of myself. if only you knew how much happier i am now, you would rejoice, i know! let me beg you to become honest and truthful, and think often of your old friend and little daughter, "amÉlie (now soeuÉr agnes)." katharina's nerveless hands dropped to her lap. this sharp rebuke from her only child was deserved. then she sprang suddenly toward her visitor, grasped his arm, and cried: "tell me--tell me about my daughter, my little amélie! how does she look now? is she much changed? has she grown? oh, m. cambray! in pity tell me--tell me about her!" "i have brought you a portrait of her as she looked when i saw her last." he drew from his pocket a small case, and, opening it, disclosed a pallid face with closed eyes. a wreath of myrtle encircled the head, which rested on the pillow of a coffin. "she is dead!" screamed the horror-stricken mother, staring with wild eyes at the sorrowful picture. "yes, madame, she is dead," assented the marquis. "this portrait is sent by your daughter as a remembrance to the mother who exposed her on the streets, one stormy winter night, in order that she might spy upon another little child--a persecuted and homeless little child." the baroness cowered beneath the merciless words as beneath a stinging lash: but the man knew no pity; he would not spare the heartbroken woman. "and now, madame," he continued in a sharp tone, "you can go back to your home and take possession of your reward. you have worked hard to earn the blood-money." here the baroness sat suddenly upright, tore from her bosom a small gold note-case, in which was the order for the five millions of francs. she opened the case, took out the order, and tore it into tiny bits. then she flung them from her, crying savagely: "curse him who brought me to this! god's curse be upon him who brought this on me!" "madame," calmly interposed the marquis, "you have not yet completed the task you were set to do." "no, no; i have not--i have not," was the excited response, "and i never will. come--come with me! the maid and what belongs to her are here--safe, unharmed. take her--fly with her and hers whithersoever you choose to go; i shall not hinder you." "that i cannot do, madame. i am a stranger in a strange land. i know not who is my friend or who is my foe. _you_ must save the maid. if atonement is possible for you, that is the way you may win it. you know best where the maid will be safe from her persecutors. save her, and atone for your transgression against her. ludwig vavel gave you his love and, more than that, his respect. would you retain both, or will you tear them to tatters, as you have the order for the five million francs? will you let me advise you?" he asked, suddenly. "advise me, and i will follow it to the letter!" "then disguise yourself as a peasant, hide the steel casket in a hamper, and take it to ludwig vavel, wherever he may be." "and marie?" "you cannot with safety take her with you. the maid and the casket must not remain together. you must conceal marie somewhere until you return from the camp." "will you not stay here and keep watch over her until i return?" "i thank you, madame, for your hospitality, but i must not accept it. i come direct from the influenza hospital. i feel that the disease has laid hold of me. i have comfortable quarters at the nameless castle, where my old friend lisette will take care of me. don't let marie come to see me; and if i should not recover from this illness, which i feel will be a severe one, let me be buried down yonder on the shore of the lake." when the marquis d'avoncourt left the pavilion he was shaking with a violent chill, and as he took his way with tottering steps toward the nameless castle, katharina, broken-hearted and filled with anguish, wept out her heart in bitter tears. chapter ii marie had finished practising her lesson, and hastened to join katharina in the park. she found her in the pavilion, and was filled with alarm when she saw her "little mama" kneeling among the fragments of her fortune. katharina's tear-stained eyes, swollen face, and drawn lips betrayed how terribly she was suffering. "my dearest little mama!" exclaimed marie, hastening toward the kneeling woman, and trying to lift her from the floor, "what is the matter? what has happened?" "don't touch me," moaned the baroness. "don't come near me. i am a murderess. i murdered her who called me mother." she held the ivory locket toward marie, and added: "see, this is what she was like when i deserted her--my little daughter amélie!" "your daughter?" repeated marie, wonderingly. "you have been married? are you a widow?" "i am." katharina now held toward the young girl the portrait m. cambray had given her. "and this," she explained in a hollow tone, "is what she is like now--now, when i wanted her to come to me." "good heaven!" ejaculated marie, gazing in terror at the miniature, "she is dead?" "yes--murdered--as you, too, will be if you stay with me! you must fly--fly at once!" "katharina!" interposed the young girl, "why do you speak so?" "i say that you must leave me. go--go at once! go down to the parsonage, and ask herr mercatoris to give you shelter. tell him to clothe you in rags; and when you hear the tramp of horses, hide yourself, and don't venture from your concealment until they are gone. i, too, am going away from here." "but why may not i come with you?" asked marie, in a troubled tone. "where i go you cannot accompany me. i am going to steal through the lines of ludwig's camp." "you are going to ludwig?" interrupted the young girl. "yes, to deliver into his hands the casket containing your belongings. after that i--i don't know what will become of me." "katharina! don't frighten me so! do you imagine that ludwig will cease to love you when he learns you are a widow, and that you had a daughter?" "oh, no; he will not hate me because i had a daughter," returned katharina, shaking her head sadly, "but because my wickedness destroyed her." "don't talk so, katharina," again expostulated marie. "why, don't you see that she is dead? look at these closed eyes, the white face! ask these closed lips to open and tell you that i did not murder her!" "katharina, this is not true! your enemies have told you this to grieve you. look at these two pictures! there is not the least resemblance between them. this pale one is not your daughter. he who told you so lied cruelly." katharina sighed mournfully. "he who told me so does not lie. it was your old friend cambray." "cambray?" echoed marie, with mingled delight and astonishment. "cambray is here? my deliverer, my second father! where is he?" "he is gone. he accomplished that for which he came,--to crush me to the earth, and to serve you,--and has gone away again." "gone away?" repeated marie, incredulously. "gone away? impossible! cambray would not go away without seeing me! which way did he go? i will run after him and overtake him." "no; stay where you are!" commanded katharina, seizing her arm. "you must not follow him." "why not?" "listen, and i will tell you. cambray brought these pictures and this letter from paris. the letter was written by my daughter in the hospital, where she caught the dreadful disease which caused her death. she had been nursing the sick, like a heroine, and died like a saint. it is well with her now, for she is in heaven. if i weep, it is not for her, but for myself. the deadly disease amélie died of has seized upon your friend cambray; and the noble old man is unselfish even in dying. he does not want you to come near him, lest you, too, become affected by the pestilence. he is gone to the nameless castle, where lisette will take care of him--" "lisette?" interrupted marie, excitedly. "lisette, who was afraid to go near her own husband when he lay dying!" "well, what would you? shall i send some one to nurse him?" "no--no. _i_ am the one to take care of him! he was a father to me. for my sake he was imprisoned, persecuted, buried alive all these years! and i am to let him die over yonder--alone, without a friend near him! no; i am going to him. that which your other daughter had the courage to do, this one also will do!" "marie! think of ludwig! do you wish to drive him to despair?" "god watches over us. he will do what is well for all of us!" "marie"--katharina made a last effort to detain the young girl--"marie, do you wish to go to cambray to learn from him that i am the curse-laden creature who was sent after you to capture you and deliver you into the hands of your enemies?" marie turned at these desperate words, held out her hand, and said gently: "and if he were to tell me that, katharina, i should say to him that, instead of destroying me you liberated me, and instead of hating me you love me as i love you." she made as if she would kiss katharina; but the excited woman turned away her face, and held toward marie the letter cambray had given her. "read this, and learn to know me as i am," she said in a choking voice. while marie was reading the letter, katharina covered her burning face with both hands; but they were gently drawn away and held in the young girl's warm clasp, while she spoke: "a reply must be sent to this letter, little mother. i shall say to her, through the soul now on the eve of departure to the better land where she dwells: 'little sister, your mother will wear the pure white garment, as you desired, in mourning for you. instead of you, she will have me, and will love me, as i shall love her, in your stead. bless us both, and be happy.' shall i not send this message to your amélie with my good friend cambray?" "go, then; go--go," convulsively sobbed katharina, and fell upon her face on the floor as marie hastened from the pavilion. chapter iii when her grief had exhausted itself, katharina stole back to the manor, where she removed the steel casket from its hiding-place, wrapped it in her shawl, and, passing noiselessly and unseen down a staircase that was rarely used, crossed the park to the farmer's cottage. here she told the farmer's wife that she was going to play a trick on her betrothed, that she wanted to borrow a gown and a kerchief. she bade the farmer saddle the mule which his wife rode when she went to the village, and to hang the hampers, as usual, from the pommel. in one of these she placed the steel casket, in the other a pistol, and filled them both with all sorts of provisions. thus disguised, she mounted the quadruped, and set out alone on her way toward the camp. almost at the same moment that ludwig vavel had learned of the deceit of the woman he loved, he became convinced that his ambitious designs had come to naught. the rising of the german patriots against napoleon had ended in their defeat, and not a trace was left of the uprising among the french people themselves. it was the third day after the battle of aspern when master matyas entered count vavel's tent. the jack of all trades had proved himself a useful member of the army--not, indeed, where there was any fighting, for he much preferred looking on, when a battle was in progress, to taking an active part in the fray. but as a spy he was invaluable. "i have seen everything," he announced. "i saw the balloon in which a french engineer made an ascent to the clouds, to reconnoiter the austrian camp. he went up as high as a kite, and they held on to the rope below, down which he sent his messages--observations of the austrians' movements. i saw the bridge, which is two hundred and forty fathoms long, which can be transported from place to place, and reaches from one bank of the danube to the other. and i saw that demi-god flying on his white horse. he was pale, and trembled." "and how came you to see all these sights, master matyas?" interrupted vavel. "i allowed the frenchmen to capture me; then i was set to work in the intrenchments with the other prisoners." "and did you manage to deliver my letter?" "oh, yes. the philadelphians are easily recognized from the silver arrow they wear in their ears. when i whispered the password to one of them, he gave it back to me, whereupon i handed him your letter. i came away as soon as he brought me the answer. here it is." this letter by no means lightened vavel's gloomy mood. colonel oudet, the secret chief of the philadelphians in the french army, heartily thanked count vavel for his offer of assistance to overthrow napoleon; but he also gave the count to understand that, were bonaparte defeated, the republic would be restored to france. in this case, what would become of vavel's cherished plans? it was after midnight. the pole of "charles's wain" in the heavens stood upward. ludwig approached the watch-fire, and told the lieutenant on guard that he might go to his tent, that he, vavel, would take his place for the remainder of the night. then he let the reins drop on the neck of his horse, and while the beast grazed on the luxuriant grass, his rider, with his carbine resting in the hollow of his arm, continued the night watch. the night was very still; the air was filled with odorous exhalations, which rose from the earth after the shower in the early part of the evening. from time to time a shooting star sped on its course across the sky. one after the other, ludwig vavel read the two letters he carried in his breast. he did not need to take them from their hiding-place in order to read them. he knew the contents by heart--every word. one of them was a love-letter he had received from his betrothed; the other was the judas message of his enemy and marie's. at one time he would read the love-letter first; then that of the arch-plotter. again, he would change the order of perusal, and test the different sensations--the bitter after the sweet, the sweet after the bitter. suddenly, through the silence of the night, he heard the distant tinkle of a mule-bell. it came nearer and nearer. he heard the outpost's "halt! who comes there?" and heard the pleasant-voiced response: "good evening, friend. god bless you." "ah!" muttered ludwig, with a scornful smile, "my beautiful bride is sending another supply of dainties. how much she thinks of me!" the mule-bell came nearer and nearer. by the light of the watch-fire vavel could see the familiar red kerchief the farmer's wife from the manor was wont to wear over her head. the mule came directly toward the watch-fire, and stopped when close to vavel's horse. the woman riding the beast slipped quickly to the ground, emptied the provisions from the hampers, then, lifting the object which had been concealed in the bottom of one of them, came around to vavel's side, saying: "it is i. i have come to seek you." "who is it?" he demanded sternly, recognizing the voice; "katharina or themire?" "katharina--katharina; it is katharina," stammered the trembling woman, looking pleadingly up into his forbidding face. "and why have you come here?" "i came to bring you this," she replied, holding toward him the steel casket. "where is marie?" "she is safe--with the marquis d'avoncourt." "what?" exclaimed vavel, in amazement, flinging his carbine on the ground. "cambray--d'avoncourt--_here_?" "yes; he is at the nameless castle, and marie is with him." "after all, there is a god in heaven!" with deep-toned thankfulness ejaculated ludwig. then he added: "oh, katharina, how i have suffered because of--themire!" "themire is dead!" solemnly returned the baroness. "let us not speak of her. here, take these treasures into your own keeping; they are no longer safe with me. open the casket and convince yourself that everything is there." "i cannot open it; i have not got the key." "have you lost your ring?" "no. i have trusted the most notorious thief in the country with it. i have sent him with the ring to marie. i bade him show it to her, and tell her that she was to follow him wherever he might lead her. satan laczi has the ring." katharina covered her eyes with her hand, and stood with drooping head before her lover. "i have deserved this," she murmured brokenly. vavel passed his hand over his face, and sighed. "it was all a dream! it was madness to expect impossibilities," he murmured. "i am familiar enough with the stars to have known that there are constellations which never descend to the horizon. the 'crown' is one of them! of what use are these rags now?" he exclaimed, with sudden vehemence, pointing to the casket, which katharina still held on her arm. "whom can they serve? they have brought only sorrow to him who has guarded them, and to her to whom they belong. i cannot open the casket; but i need not do that to destroy the contents. pray throw it into the fire yonder." katharina obeyed without an instant's hesitation. after a while the metal casket began to glow in the midst of the flames. it became red, then a pale rose-color, while a thin cord of vapor trailed through the keyhole. "the little garments are burning," whispered vavel, "and the documents, and the portraits, and the heap of worthless money. from to-day," he added, in a louder tone, "i begin to learn what it is to be a poor man." "i have already learned what poverty means," said katharina. "look at these clothes! i have no others, and even these are borrowed." "i love you in them," involuntarily exclaimed vavel, extending his hand toward her. "what? you offer me your hand? do you believe that i am katharina--only katharina?" "that i may wholly and entirely believe that you are katharina, and not themire, answer one question. a creature who calls himself the marquis de fervlans and leon barthelmy is lying in ambush somewhere in this neighborhood, waiting for you to settle an old account with him. if you are the same to me that you once were, and if i am the same to you that i was once, tell me where i shall find de fervlans, for it will be _my_ duty then to settle with him." katharina's face suddenly blazed with eager excitement. she flung back her head with a proud gesture. "i will lead you to the place. together we will seek him!" she cried, with animation in every feature. "then give me your hand. you _are_ katharina--_my_ katharina!" he bent toward her, and the two hands met in a close clasp. * * * * * count fertöszeg ordered the drums to beat a reveille; then he selected from his troop one hundred trusty men, and galloped with them in the direction of neusiedl lake. katharina on her mule, without the tinkling bell, trotted soberly by his side. part ix satan and demon chapter i there was a notorious troop with napoleon's army, the sixth italian regiment, which was called the "legion of demons." the troop was made up of worthless members of society--idlers, highwaymen, outcasts, and desperate characters, who had lost all sense of respectability and morality. the majority of them had sought the asylum of the battle-field to escape imprisonment or worse. when their commander led his "demons" to an attack, he was wont to urge them thus: "_avanti, avanti, signori briganti! cavalieri ladroni, avanti!_" ("forward, forward, messieurs highwaymen! my chivalrous footpads, forward!") a division of this legion of demons had made its way with the vice-king of italy thus far through the belt-line, and had been intrusted with the mission mentioned in de fervlans's letter to general guillaume. the marquis commanded this body of the demons, he having, as colonel barthelmy in the austrian army, become thoroughly familiar with that part of hungary. * * * * * lisette and satan laczi's little son were living alone at the nameless castle. when marie, who was come in quest of her friend cambray, rang the bell, the door was opened by the lad. "is there a strange gentleman here?" she asked. "i don't know. he went to see lisette, and i did not see him come away," was the reply. "then let me come in," said the young girl. "i want to speak to lisette, too." "she will beat me if i let you come in," returned the boy, opening the door after a moment's hesitation. the fumes of camphor were perceptible even in the vestibule; and when marie's little conductor knocked at the door of the kitchen, a heaping shovelful of hot and smoking coals was thrust toward him, and a scolding voice demanded irritably: "what do you want again? why do you keep annoying me, you little torment!" "excuse me, lisette," humbly apologized the lad, "but our young mistress from the manor is here." at this announcement lisette hastily shut the door again, and opened a small loophole in an upper panel, through which she spoke in a sharp tone: "why do you come here? has the lord forsaken you over yonder, that you come back to this pest-house? get out of it as quickly as you can. go down and hide yourself in the schmidt's cottage--perhaps they will not betray you. anyway, you can't stop here with us." "that is just what i mean to do, lisette,--stop here with you," smilingly responded marie. "where is my friend cambray?" "how should i know where he is? a pretty question to ask me! he is n't anywhere. he has gone to bed, and you can't see him." "i shall hunt till i find him, lisette." "well, you will do as you like, of course; but you will not find m. cambray, for he does n't want to see you." "very well," returned marie. then to the lad by her side, "come with me, laczko; we will hunt for the gentleman." lisette was beside herself with terror at the danger which threatened marie; but before she could utter another word, the young girl and her little escort had disappeared down the corridor. there was a great change everywhere in the castle. the floors were covered with muddy foot-tracks; huge nails had been driven into the varnished walls, and great heaps of dust, straw, and hay lay about on the inlaid floors of the halls and salon. marie hardly recognized her former immaculate asylum. she called, with her clear, soft-toned voice, into every room, "cambray! father! art thou here?" but received no reply. then she mounted the staircase to her own apartment. the door was open like all the rest, but a first glance told marie that the room had not been used until now. lisette, beyond a doubt, had lodged her respected guest in this only habitable chamber. marie entered and looked about her. the metal screen was down! she hastened toward it. there was a light burning in the alcove, and she could see through the links by placing her eyes close to them. the noble old knight was lying on the bare floor, with his hands forming a pillow for his head. his glassy eyes were fixed and staring, and burning with a startling brightness. his parched lips were half-open, as if he were speaking. "cambray! father!" called marie; in a tone of distress. "who calls? marie?" gasped the fever-stricken man, making a vain attempt to rise. he fell back with a deep groan, but flung out his hand as if to ward off her approach. "let me come in, cambray. it is i, your little marie. please let me come in. there, close to your right hand, is a button in the floor. press it, and this screen will rise." the sick man began to laugh; only his face showed that he was laughing, no sound came from his parched throat. he was laughing because he had prevented his favorite from coming to his pestilential resting-place. marie deliberated a moment, then decided to resort to stratagem: "if you will not let me come in to you, papa cambray," she called, simulating a petulant tone, "i shall go away, and not come back again. if you should want anything there will be a little boy here, outside; you can summon him by pressing that button. good night, dear papa cambray!" the sick man turned his face toward the screen and listened in dreamy ecstasy to the sweet voice. he raised his hand, waved it weakly toward the speaker, then clasped it with the other on his breast, while his lips moved as if in prayer. "go fetch candles, and the tinder-box," whispered marie to the little laczko. "place them here by the sofa, then light the lamp in the corridor." "may i fetch my gun, too?" asked the boy. "your gun? what for?" "i should n't be afraid if i had it with me." "then fetch it; but don't come into the room with it, for i am dreadfully afraid of guns. leave it just outside the door." it was quite dark when laczko returned with the candles and a heavy double-barreled fowling-piece. he carefully placed the latter in the corner, then asked: "shall i light the candles now?" "certainly not. i don't want the gentleman to know that i am here. maybe he may want something, and open the screen. i am going to lie down on this sofa, and you are to stand close by the alcove and watch the gentleman. if he should lift the screen, and i have fallen asleep, you must waken me at once." marie wrapped herself in her shawl, and lay down on the leather couch. laczko took up his station as directed, close by the metal screen, through which he peered from time to time. but there was no danger of marie falling asleep. she could not even keep her eyes closed. every few moments she would sit up and ask in a cautious whisper: "what is he doing now?" "he is tossing from side to side." this reply was repeated several times. at last the answer came that the invalid was perfectly quiet, whereupon marie decided not to inquire again for an hour. suddenly she heard the lad say, in a trembling voice: "i am dreadfully frightened." "what of?" whispered marie. "the gentleman lies so still. he has n't stirred for a long time." "he is asleep, i dare say." "if he were sleeping his breast would rise and fall; but he is perfectly still." marie rose, and hastened to the screen. the smoking wick in the night-lamp near cambray's head illumined his ghastly face. marie had already seen one such pallid countenance--that of the old servant henry when he lay dead on his bier. she shuddered, and retreated with trembling limbs, drawing the lad with her. "you may light the candle now," she whispered; "then we will go back to lisette." laczko lighted the candle, then shouldered his gun, and preceded his young mistress down the staircase to the lower story. they had almost reached the door of lisette's room when marie, who had been peering sharply ahead, stopped abruptly, and exclaimed in a startled tone: "there is a man!" even as she spoke a dark form stepped from a doorway into the corridor in front of them. marie retreated several steps; but her little escort proved that he was made of sterner stuff. he placed himself valiantly in front of his young mistress, laid his gun against his cheek, and aiming directly for the stranger's breast, said, in a brave tone: "halt, or i will shoot you." "that's my brave lad," commented the stranger. "but don't shoot. it is i, your father." "don't come any nearer, i tell you!" responded the lad, threateningly. "why, i am not moving a muscle, lad; don't be foolish." "what do you want here?" demanded laczko. "i will not let you do any harm to my mistress." here marie, who had recovered from her alarm, came forward, and laid her hand over her small defender's eyes. "take down your gun, laczko," she commanded. then turning to the stranger asked: "what do you want, my good man?" for answer the man merely pronounced a name: "sophie botta." without an instant's hesitation, and although she shuddered involuntarily when her eyes fell on the stranger's repulsive countenance, the young girl went close to his side, and said calmly: "what do you wish me to do?" satan laczi held the thumb-ring toward her, and said: "the person who wears this sent me to fetch you away from here. are you ready to come with me at once?" "i am," replied marie, who seemed unable to remove her eyes from the hideously ugly face before her. "my master," continued the ex-robber, "also bade me fetch a little steel casket. do you know where it is hidden?" "the person who had it in her care has already taken it to your master," was marie's response. "ah, she has taken it to him?" repeated satan laczi. "then it is all right. i know now what i have to do. my master bade me convey you to a place of concealment; but my face is not exactly the sort to win anybody's confidence. besides, i know some one who can perform this errand as well as i. the way to raab is clear. instead of taking you there myself, my wife will go with you. i think you would rather have her for a companion?" "yes, i think i would rather go with a woman," diplomatically assented marie. "as an additional protection, take this little lad with you." here the ex-robber laid his hand on his son's shoulder, and looked proudly down on him. "his heart is already in the right place. and then he is not a wicked rascal like his father." he was silent a moment, then added: "but i intend to reform. when my master has spoken with the woman to whom he intrusted his treasures, and if she has not betrayed him, then i know where he will be to-morrow. and satan laczi will be there, too! then i and my comrades will show them what we can do. but come, we must make haste, and get on as far as possible while the moon is shining." "but i am not properly clad for a journey," interposed marie. "my wife brought a nice warm _bunda_ to wrap you in; it is in the carriage out yonder," returned the ex-robber. "one word first: you are acquainted with the man who made the metal screen in my apartments. could you see him?" "he is in count vavel's service, and i can see him when i return to the camp." "then tell him to come to the nameless castle at once. he understands the secret spring of the screen, behind which he will find a dead man. this man was a very good friend, and i want him properly buried." "i will give master matyas your order." marie now took leave of the nameless castle, feeling that she would never again come back to it. but she had not the courage to enter her apartments again. the four-horse coach waited at the park gate. marie entered it, wrapped the warm sheep-skin around her, and tied a cotton kerchief over her head in peasant fashion. satan laczi's wife took a seat by her side; the little laczko climbed to the coachman's box, where he sat with his gun between his knees. then the coachman cracked his whip, and the vehicle rattled down the road amid a cloud of dust. satan laczi looked after the coach until it disappeared around a turn in the road. then he blew a shrill blast on his whistle, whereupon a number of wild-looking men, each armed to the teeth, emerged from the shrubbery and came toward him. whispered orders were given, then the men in a body moved toward the willow-copse on the shore of the lake. here were two flatboats drawn up on the beach. these were pushed into the water; the men entered them, each took an oar, and the unwieldy vessels were propelled along the shore toward the marshes. the marquis de fervlans had camped with his company of demons on the shore of neusiedl lake. the marquis himself had taken quarters at the inn in the nearest village, where, assisted by two companions of questionable respectability but of undoubted valor, he was testing the quality of the fiery wine of the region, when a peasant cart, drawn by three horses, drew up before the inn, and jocrisse, baroness katharina's messenger, alighted. "ah, here comes a sensible fellow," exclaimed the marquis. "i wonder what news he brings." he was very soon enlightened. "hum! '_io non posso!_'" he repeated, after reading the brief message jocrisse delivered to him. "very well, madame, i think i shall know what to do if you 'cannot'! jocrisse, how is the country around odenburg garrisoned?" "a division of militia cavalry occupies every town," "that is exasperating! not that i fear these militiamen might give my demons too much work; but i am afraid i may alarm them; then they will scamper in all directions, and frighten the entire neusiedl region, so that when i arrive at fertöszeg i shall find the birds flown and the nest empty. we must take them by surprise. have you ever before been in this part of the country, jocrisse?" "i accompanied the county surveyor once as far as frauenkirchen." "is the road practicable for wheels?" "to frauenkirchen it is good for wagons; but beyond the city it is in a wretched condition." "very well. you will engage a post-chaise here, and follow us to frauenkirchen, where you will wait for further orders. what time did you leave fertöszeg?" "about noon." "listen. i suspect that your mistress will try to escape with the maid. if that is the case, we must bestir ourselves. but women are afraid to travel by night; and even if they have already left the manor, they cannot have gone very far. the water in the danube was unusually high on the day of the battle at aspern; that would cause the raab to rise, and overflow the bridges crossing it. i shall doubtless overtake the fugitives at vitnyed." "it will be rather risky crossing the hansag at night," observed jocrisse, "and no amount of money would induce one of these natives about here to act as guide. they are a peculiar folk." "yes; but i shall not need a guide. i have an excellent map of the neighborhood, which i used when i was in garrison here. i used to hunt all over this region after wild boars and turkeys, and never had any difficulty finding my way, even at night." de fervlans now sent orders to his troop to break camp at once, with as little stir as possible; and before twilight shadows fell upon the land, the demons were riding toward the hansag. if we assume that marie left the nameless castle in company with the wife of satan laczi at midnight, we can easily see that she would have but a few hours' advantage of the demons, who broke camp at sunset. if the latter met with no hindrance on their way, they would overtake the coach of the fugitives at the crossing of the raab. as it was after midnight when ludwig vavel learned of the danger which threatened marie, he could not, even if he had set out at once, have reached the hansag before noon of the following day, by which time de fervlans and his demons would have accomplished their errand. therefore nothing short of a miracle could save the maid. chapter ii the miracle happened--a true miracle, like the one of the biblical legend, when the red sea obstructed the way of the persecutor pharaoh. those who may doubt this assertion are referred to the "monograph on lake neusiedl," in which may be read a description of the phenomenon. in the last years lake neusiedl had been drained, and where it had joined the lakes of the hansag, a stout dam had been built. when the waters of the hansag chain rose, the muddy undercurrent threw up great mounds of earth, like enormous excrescences on a diseased body. one of these huge mounds burst open at the top and emitted a black, slimy mud that inundated the surrounding morass for a considerable distance. already in the neighborhood of st. andras this slimy ooze was noticeable when the troop of demons galloped over the plantain-covered flats which here and there bent under the weight of the horsemen. as they proceeded, the enormous numbers of frogs became surprising, as if this host of amphibia had leagued against the invading demons. then flocks of water-fowl, with clamorous cries and rustling wings, rose here and there, startled from their quiet nests by the approaching inundation, which by this time had completely hidden what was called in that region the public road. de fervlans, at a loss what to make of this singular freak of nature, sent a horseman to the right, and one to the left, to examine the ground, and learn whence came the sea of slime, and how it might be avoided. each of his messengers returned with the information that the slime was flowing in the direction he had ridden. the source, then, must be near where they had halted. "this is bad," said de fervlans, impatiently. "this eruption of mud will hinder our progress. we can't run a race with it. we must look up another route, and this will delay us perhaps for hours. but we can make that up when on a hard road again." de fervlans, who was familiar with the neighborhood, now led his troop in the direction of the path which ran through the morass toward the village of banfalva, hoping thus to gain the excellent highway of eszterhaza. here and there from the swamp rose slight elevations of dry earth which were overgrown with alders and willows. on one of these "hills" de fervlans concluded to halt for a rest, as both men and horses were weary with the toilsome journey over the wretched roads. very soon enough dry wood was collected for a fire. there was no need to fear that the light might attract attention; the camp was far enough from human habitation, and neither man nor beast ever spent the night in the morass of the hansag. besides, they could have seen, from the top of a tree, if any one were approaching. they could see in the bright moonlight the long poplar avenue which led to eszterhaza; and even a gilded steeple might be seen gleaming in the hungarian versailles, which was perhaps a two hours' ride distant. suddenly the sharp call, "_qui vive?_" was heard. it was answered by a sort of grunt, half-brute, half-human. again the challenging call broke the silence, and was followed in a few seconds by a gunshot. then a wild laugh was heard at some distance from the hill. de fervlans hurried toward the guard. "what was it?" he asked. "i don't know whether it was a wild beast or a devil in human form," was the reply. "it was a strange-looking monster with a large head and pointed ears." "i 'll wager it is my runaway fish-boy!" exclaimed the marquis. "when i challenged the creature he stood up on his feet, and barked, or grunted, or whatever you might call it; and when i called out the second time he seemed to strike fire with something; at any rate, he did not act in the proper manner, so i fired at him. but i did n't hit him." "i should be sorry if you had," responded the marquis. "i am convinced that it was my little monster. i taught him to strike fire; and he was evidently attracted by the light of our camp-fire." perhaps it would have been better had the guard shot the amphibious dwarf. hardly had de fervlans returned to his seat when the adjutant called his attention to a suspicious flashing in the morass a short distance from the hill on which they were resting. suddenly, while they were watching the flashes of light, a column of flame rose toward the sky, then another, and another--the morass was on fire in a dozen places. "hell, and all devils!" shouted de fervlans, springing toward his horse. "the little monster has set the marsh-grass on fire, and it was i who taught the devil's spawn how to use touchwood! give chase to the creature!" but the order for a chase came too late. in ten minutes the reeds growing about the hill were burning, and the demons were compelled to use their spurs in order to speed their horses from the dangerous conflagration. they did not stop until they had reached the valla plain--driven to their mad gallop by the caricature of the "militiaman"! "this is a pretty state of affairs!" grumbled de fervlans. "mire first, then flames, bar our way. _quis quid peccat, in eo punitur_--he who sins will be punished by his sin! i sinned in teaching that monster to strike fire. it has made us lose four more hours." the four hours were of some consequence to the fugitive maid and ludwig vavel. dawn broke before the demons found the road between the groups of hills, and when they reached it, they still had before them that half of the hansag which is formed by a series of small lakes. de fervlans now became anxious to shorten their route. a lakelet of fifty or sixty paces in width is not an impassable hindrance for a horseman. therefore it was not necessary to ride perhaps a thousand paces in making a detour of the lakelets--the demons must ride through them. how often had he, when following a deer, swam with his horse through just such a body of water. only then it was autumn, and now it was spring. the flora of this marsh country has many species which hide underneath the water, and in the springtime send their long stems and tendrils toward the surface. de fervlans was yet to learn that even plants may become foes. those of his demons who were the first to plunge into the water suddenly began to call for help. neither man nor beast can swim through a network of growing plants; at every movement they become entangled among the clinging tendrils and swaying stems, and sink to the bottom unless promptly rescued. the men on shore were obliged to grasp the tails of the struggling horses and draw them back to land. de fervlans, who could not be convinced that it was impossible to swim across the narrow stretch of water, came very near losing his life among the aquatic growths. there was now no likelihood of their reaching the highway before sunrise. there was still another hindrance. the fire in the morass had alarmed the entire neighborhood, and the inhabitants were out, to a man, fighting the flames which threatened their meadows. therefore de fervlans, who wished to avoid attracting attention to his troop, was obliged to make his way through thickets and over rough byways, which was very tedious work. it was noon when they arrived at the bridge which crossed the raab half a mile from pomogy. at the farther end of this bridge was the custom-house, which was also a public inn. "we must rest there," said de fervlans, "or our worn-out beasts will drop under us." just as the troop rode on to the bridge, two men ran swiftly from the custom-house toward the swampy lowland. before they entered the marsh they stopped, and bound long wooden stilts to their feet; and, thus equipped, stepped without difficulty from one earth-clod to another. no horseman could have followed them across the treacherous ground. de fervlans's adjutant became uneasy when he saw these two men, whose actions seemed suspicious to him; but the marquis assured him that they were only shepherds whose herds pastured in the marshes. the troop dismounted at the inn, and demanded of the host whatever he had of victuals and drinks. he could offer them nothing better than sour cider, mead, and wild ducks' eggs. but when a demon is hungry and thirsty, even these will satisfy him. de fervlans, who had not for one instant doubted that his expedition would be successful, spread out his map and planned their further march. general guillaume would have received one of his letters at least,--he had sent two, with two different couriers in different directions,--and would now be waiting at friedberg for the arrival of the demons and their distinguished captive. therefore the most direct route to that point must be selected. it was not likely that any militia troops would be idling about that cart of the country; and if there were, the demons could very easily manage them. chapter iii one of the two men who crossed the morass on stilts was master matyas, whose distance marches during this campaign were something phenomenal. matyas found count vavel with his troop already at eszterhaza, and apprized him at once of de fervlans's arrival at the bridge-inn. the volons had not yet rested, but they had traveled over passable roads, and were not so exhausted. their leader at once gave orders to mount. when ludwig saw that katharina also prepared to accompany the troop, he hurried to her side. "don't come any farther, katharina," he begged. "remain here, where you will be perfectly safe. something might happen to you when we meet the enemy." katharina's smiling reply was: "no, my dear friend. i have paid a very high entrance-fee to see this tragedy, for that you will kill barthelmy fervlans i am as certain as that there is a just god in heaven!" "but _your_ presence will make me fear at a moment when i must not feel afraid--afraid for your safety." "oh, don't trouble about yourself. i know you better. when you come in sight of the enemy you will forget all about _me_. as for me, i am going with you." the troop now set out on the march through the poplar avenue. when they drew near to pomogy, vavel sent a squad in advance to act as skirmishers, while he, with the rest of his men, took possession of a solitary elevation near the road, which was the work of human hands. it was composed of the refuse from a soda-factory, and encircled on three sides a low building. vavel concealed his horsemen behind this artificial hillock, then, accompanied by katharina, he ascended to the top to take a view of the surrounding country. he could see through his field-glass the bridge across the raab and the inn at the farther end. the entire region was nothing but morass. a trench ran from the highway toward lake neusiedl; it could be traced by the dense growth of broom along its edges. "you are my adjutant," jestingly remarked vavel to katharina. "i am going down now; for if i should be seen here it will be known what is behind me. you are a farmer's wife, and will not arouse suspicion; stop here, therefore, and take observations with my glass, and keep me informed of what happens." the marquis de fervlans was enjoying a tankard of foaming mead when his adjutant came hastily into the room with the announcement that some troopers were approaching the bridge on the farther side of the river. de fervlans hurried from the inn and gave orders to mount. as yet only the crimson hats of the troopers could be seen above the tall reeds on the farther shore. "those are vavel's volons," said de fervlans, taking a look through his glass. "i recognize the uniform from jocrisse's description. madame themire has turned traitor, and sent the count to deal with me instead of coming herself. very good! we will show the gentleman that war and star-gazing are different occupations. he was a soldier once; but i don't think he paid much attention to military tactics, else he would not have neglected to occupy yon hill, on which i see a peasant woman with a red kerchief over her head. that is an old soda-factory--i know the place well. i should n't wonder if vavel had concealed some men there after all! that small body coming this way is evidently bent on a skirmishing errand. well, our tactics will be to lure him from his concealment." he held a consultation with his subordinates; after which he turned toward the waiting demons, and called: "signor trentatrante!" the man came forward--a true type of the gladiator of the vatican. "dismount," ordered the marquis. "take thirty men, and proceed on foot to the farther side of yon thicket, where you will lie in ambush until i have begun an assault on the soda-factory over yonder. the men in hiding there will show up when we approach; i shall then pretend to retreat, and lure them toward the thicket. you will know what to do then--fall upon them in the rear. when you have arrived at the thicket let me know. set fire to that tallest clump of reeds near the willow-shrubs." "all right!" returned the signor. then he selected thirty of his companions, who also dismounted, and they started at once to obey the orders of their leader. the "peasant woman with a red kerchief over her head," who was standing on the soda-factory hill, called in a low, clear tone to ludwig: "de fervlans is coming with his troop." "then we must prepare a greeting for him," responded vavel. he ordered his men into their saddles, then sallied forth with them to meet the enemy. the two bodies of soldiers moving toward each other were very nearly alike in numbers. neither seemed to be in a particular hurry to begin an assault. suddenly a column of smoke rose from the thicket near the bridge--it was the signal de fervlans was waiting for. he gave orders to halt. the next instant there was a rattling salute from the demons' carbines. the "peasant woman" on the hill covered her face with both hands and shivered. the messengers of death flew about the head of her lover, but left him unharmed. vavel now moved nearer to the attacking foe, and himself made straight for the leader. one of de fervlans's lieutenants, however, a thick-set, sun-browned sicilian, met the count's assault. there was a little sword-play, then vavel struck his adversary's blade from his hand with a force that sent it whizzing through the air, and with his left hand thrust the sicilian, who was reaching for his pistols, from the saddle. nor had vavel's companions been idle the while. the first assault was a success for the count's troop. de fervlans now ordered a retreat. the death-heads looked upon this as a victory, and eagerly pursued the retreating foe. but the woman on the hill had already perceived that the retreat was but a feint. she saw the demons crouching among the reeds in the thicket, and guessed their intention. "vavel!" she shouted at the top of her voice, "vavel, take care! look to your rear!" she imagined that her lover would hear her amid the tumult of the fight. but vavel had ears and eyes only for what was in front of him. nearer and nearer he approached to the trap de fervlans had laid for him. he was in it! the trench was behind him now, and the demons in ambush were preparing to spring upon their prey. katharina could look no longer. she ran down the hill, sprang on her mule, and galloped after her lover. de fervlans's retreat was conducted in proper order, step by step, from earth-clod to earth-clod. suddenly katharina discovered that a mule was an obstinate beast. the one she was riding stopped abruptly, and would not advance another step. in vain she urged and coaxed. at last she sprang from the saddle, and on foot made her way toward the scene of the fray. at this moment the demons creeping steathily along the trench sprang from their concealment, their bayonets ready for action. they were on the point of firing a volley into the black backs of the volons, when a rattling fire in their own rear brought down half of them dead and wounded. the uninjured on turning found themselves confronted by satan laczi and his comrades, who, black and slimy from their passage through the morass, sprang like tigers upon the foe. "strike for their heads!" commanded satan laczi, as, with sabers drawn, the ex-robbers rushed upon the bewildered demons, who had at last met their match. when de fervlans heard the firing in the neighborhood of the trench, he believed it to come from the muskets of his own men, and quickly sounded an attack. the demons, who had been feigning to retreat, now turned and met their pursuers, and a hand-to-hand conflict began. vavel also had heard the firing behind him, and believed himself surrounded by the enemy. he beckoned to his trumpeter, to whom he wished to give orders to sound a retreat, but the man's horse unfortunately stumbled, and threw his rider to the earth. three demons, at once sprang to capture the fallen trumpeter; but vavel, who knew how necessary the man was to him, hastened to his assistance. de fervlans in amazement watched this unequal encounter. a masterly conflict arouses admiration even in an enemy; and vavel certainly proved himself a master in the art of fighting. he fought in cold blood; he was not in the least excited. he made no unnecessary thrusts, but wounded his three adversaries in the hand, the elbow, the forearm, whereby he rendered them incapable of further combat. de fervlans saw how his skilled demons gave way before vavel's masterly thrusts, while the volons drew their unfortunate trumpeter from beneath his horse, and assisted him to mount again, after they had also helped the horse to his feet. but the trumpet was now useless; it was filled with mud. consequently a signal for retreat could not be sounded. a dense mass of wild-hop vines inclosed the eastern side of the scene of action. de fervlans glanced impatiently toward this green wall. the armed men who should penetrate it would decide the victory. even as the thought flashed through his brain, the tangle of vines began to shake violently; but the first man to appear therefrom was not signor trentatrante, as de fervlans had expected, but satan laczi, with his ferocious followers. the attack from this point was so unexpected that de fervlans for a moment seemed stupefied; then quickly recovering himself, he dashed into the thick of the fight, vavel following his example. by this time the trumpet had been cleansed, but no orders were received for a retreat signal; instead, the sound it shrilled above the fearful turmoil was: "forward! forward!" with the blood pouring from a gaping wound in his head, satan laczi, swinging a saber he had captured from a foe, now rushed to meet de fervlans, who at once recognized the former robber. "ah!" he exclaimed, preparing to meet the furious onslaught, "you have not yet found your way to the gallows!" "no; here in hungary only traitors are hanged," retorted satan laczi, in a loud voice, as, with a mighty leap that would have done credit to a horse, he sprang toward the marquis, caught the reins from his hands, and with true robber-wit called: "surrender, brother-rascal!" de fervlans raised himself in his stirrups and brought his saber savagely down on the robber's head. this was the second serious cut satan laczi had received that day, and was evidently enough to calm his enthusiasm. he staggered to one side, made several vain attempts to straighten himself, then fell suddenly to the earth. his own blade, however, remained in the breast of de fervlans's horse, where he had thrust it to the hilt. the marquis hardly had time to leap from the saddle before the poor beast fell under him. all seemed lost now. his men were confused and thrown into disorder. in desperation he tore his pistols from the saddle of his fallen horse. only a single shrub separated him from his enemy,--twenty paces,--and de fervlans was a celebrated shot. count vavel saw what was coming, and he too drew his pistol. "good night, chevalier vavel!" in a mocking tone called de fervlans, as his finger pressed the trigger. there was a sharp report, the ball whistled through the air--but vavel did not fall. "accept _my_ greeting, marquis!" responded vavel, he raised his pistol, and fired without taking aim. de fervlans fell backward to the ground. chapter iv when de fervlans's men saw that their leader had fallen they retreated toward the bridge, where a portion of the troop alighted and held at bay their pursuers, while the rest tore up and flung into the stream the planks of the bridge. then the men who had prevented the volons from following crossed on foot the narrow lengthwise beam to the opposite shore--a feat impossible for a man on horseback. the spot where the fiercest fighting had occurred was already cleared when katharina arrived upon it. she shuddered with horror, and staggered like one who walks in his sleep as she moved about the desert place. suddenly she came upon a large wild-rose bush covered with bloom. close by it lay a horse with the hilt of a sword protruding from his breast. near the dead animal lay a metal helmet ornamented with the gilded imperial eagle, and a little farther on lay a mud-stained form in a uniform of coarse gray cloth, with a gaping wound in his head; his left hand clutched the rushes among which he had fallen. as katharina, in her peasant gown, moved timidly across the open space, she heard a voice say faintly in hungarian: "for god's sake, good woman, give me a drink of water." without stopping to question whether he was friend or foe, katharina caught up the metal helmet to fetch the water. there was water everywhere about her, but it was the filthy water of the morass. katharina remembered having heard that the shepherds of the hansag, when they were thirsty, cut a reed and thrust it deep into the swampy earth, when clear, drinkable water would rise from the lower soil. she therefore thrust a long cane into the moist earth, then put her lips to it, and sucked up the water. on removing her lips a clear stream shot upward from the cane. she held the helmet under this improvised fountain until it was full, then returned with it to the rose-bush. the wounded man was lying on his back, his bloodstained face upturned toward the sky. katharina knelt by his side, and held the helmet to his lips. "themire!" gasped the wounded man. at sound of the name a sudden fury seemed to seize the woman. "de fervlans!" she cried, in a hoarse voice. "_you!_ you, the accursed destroyer of my daughter! may god refuse to forgive you for making of me the wretched creature i am!" as she spoke she raised the helmet, of water above her head, as if she would dash it upon the dying man's face; but he turned his head away from her furious gaze, and did not stir again. slowly katharina lowered the helmet, and struggled with her excited feelings. she looked about her, and saw another motionless form lying across a clump of turf. perhaps he was still alive. perhaps she might help him. she stepped quickly to his side with the helmet of water and washed the blood and mud-stains from his face. ah, what a hideous face it was! all the same, she carefully washed it, then bathed the gaping wounds in his head. they were horribly deep, and she was almost overcome by the fearful sight. but she looked upward for a moment, and it seemed to her as if she recognized amid the fleecy clouds a snow-white form, and heard an encouraging voice say: "that is right, mother. i, too, performed such work." then she took her handkerchief and bound it around the wounded man's head. while so doing her eyes fell on the steel ring on his thumb. "satan laczi!" she exclaimed. she put her arms around him, and lifted him to a more comfortable position, wondering the while how he came to be there. had he failed to find marie, whom he was to accompany to raab? had cambray, perhaps, prevented her from leaving the castle? she bent over the wounded man and said: "satan laczi, awake! look up--come back to life!" and satan laczi was such an obedient fellow, he opened his eyes and saw the lady kneeling by his side. then he opened his lips, and said in a very weak voice: "i should like a drink of water." katharina made haste to fill the helmet again at her fountain. "thank you, sister." "look at me, laczi bácsi;" commanded katharina, in a cheerful tone. "don't you know me? i am the woman who gave shelter to your wife and child. i am little laczko's foster-mother." the wounded man smiled faintly, and murmured: "yes, yes--laczko--laczko is a fine lad! he came near--shooting me because--because of the maid." "tell me what you know about the maid," eagerly questioned katharina. "where is she?" the wounded man opened his eyes, and seemed to be trying to recall something. after a pause, he said slowly, and with evident difficulty: "you need n't--trouble about the--pretty maid. laczko is a brave lad--and my wife--my wife is--an honest woman." "yes, yes, i know," returned katharina. "a good lad, and an honest woman. but tell me, in heaven's name, where is the maid?" "the maid--sophie botta went with--my wife to raab--they are there now--and laczko too." how gently the lady bathed the wounded man's face and hands! how carefully she renewed the bandages on the horrible wounds! ludwig vavel, who hart approached noiselessly, stood and watched her perform the labor of love. he saw, heard, and admired. then he came close to the kneeling woman, and clasped his arms around her. "my katharina! oh, what a woman art thou!" part x conclusion chapter i when count vavel returned from his skirmish with de fervlans's demons, he sent his betrothed at once to raab, with instructions not to separate herself again from marie. he had not been able to accompany katharina on her journey, as he had received marching orders immediately on his return to camp. on parting with his betrothed, however, he had promised to pay a visit to her and marie at an early day, and to write to both of them daily. the first part of his promise he had not been able to fulfil; his time was too fully occupied with the duties of the field. but he sent frequent messages to his loved ones; while every day, no matter where he might be, he would be sure to receive his letter from raab--one sheet covered to the edges with katharina's writing, and the other with marie's. their letters were always cheerful, and filled with hope and confidence for the future. ludwig fancied he could see the scene as katharina described it, when marie had opened the steel casket. he knew just how delighted the young girl had been when she beheld nothing but ashes instead of the little garments, the documents, the portraits, the bank-notes; and he could hear her joyous laugh on finding herself relieved of the burden of her greatness. but what he could not hear was katharina reciting his brave exploits during the fierce struggle on the hansag, a recital marie insisted on hearing every day. then the two, marie and katharina, would go every morning to church, to pray for ludwig, to ask god to protect him, and bring him safely back to them. this was their daily pleasure and consolation. then came the bloody days of karako, papa, raab, and acs. the militia troops took active part in all these battles, and proved themselves valiant warriors. vavel with his volons had been assigned to mesko's brigade, and had shared its adventurous march from abda, around lake balaton to veszprim. here he found his spy and scout, master matyas, awaiting him. for weeks he had not had a word from his loved ones. when he had sent them to raab he believed he had selected a secure haven for them, but the course which events had taken proved that he had made a mistake in his calculations. katharina and marie were now surrounded on all sides by the enemy. it was while he was oppressed with these gloomy thoughts that his spy and scout suddenly appeared before him. noah in his ark had not looked more longingly for the dove than had he for his brave matyas. "well, master matyas, what news?" "all sorts, herr count." "good or bad?" "well, mixed. both good and bad. i will leave the good till the last. to begin: poor satan laczi was buried yesterday--may god have mercy on his sinful soul! they fired three salvos over his grave, and the primate himself said the prayers for his soul. if satan laczi himself could have seen it all, he could hardly have believed that so much honor would be shown to his dead body. poor laczi! his last words were a greeting to his kind patron." "his life closed well!" observed the count. "he got what he longed for--a soldier's death. but tell me what you know about raab." "i know all about it. i come from there." "ah, did you see them? has not the enemy besieged the city?" "yes; the city as well as the fortress is in the hands of the enemy, and the baroness and the princess are both in it." "who told you to call her a princess?" demanded count vavel, his face darkening. "i will come to that all in good time," composedly replied matyas, who was not to be hurried. "colonel pechy," he went on, "bravely defended the fortress for ten days against the frenchmen; but he had to yield at last--" "where are katharina and marie?" impatiently interrupted vavel. "what became of them when the city capitulated?" "all in good time, herr count, all in good time! i can tell you all about them, for i am just come from them." "were they in any danger?" "danger? no, indeed! when the city surrendered they were concealed in a house where they passed as the nieces of the herr vice-palatine görömbölyi." "is the vice-palatine with them now?" "certainly. he has surrendered, too." "excellent man! who commands the frenchmen at raab?" "general guillaume--" "general guillaume?" excitedly interrupted vavel. "yes, certainly; guillaume--that is his name. and he is a very polite gentleman. he does not ill-treat the citizens; on the contrary, the very next day after he entered the city he gave a ball in the large hotel, and invited all the distinguished citizens with their wives and daughters. the herr count's dear ones also received an invitation." "as the nieces of the vice-palatine, of course?" "not exactly! i saw the invitation-card, and it was to 'madame la comtesse de alba, avec la princesse marie.'" "princess marie?" echoed vavel. "as i tell you; and that is how i come to know she is a princess." vavel's brain seemed paralyzed. he could not even think. "the vice-palatine," nonchalantly continued matyas, "protested that a mistake had been made; but the french general replied that he knew very well who the ladies were, and that he had received instructions how to treat them. from that day, two french grenadiers began to guard the baroness's door, day and night, just exactly as if they were standing guard over a potentate." vavel paced the floor, mute with rage and fear. "why did i desert them!" he exclaimed at last, in desperation. "why did i not do as marie wished--flee with her and katharina into the wide world--we three alone!" "well, you see you did n't, and this is the way matters stand now," responded master matyas. "the general's adjutant visits the house twice every day to inquire after the ladies; then he reports to his superior." "if only cambray had not died!" ejaculated the count. "yes, but i helped to bury him, too," added matyas, shaking his head. "yes, so i was told. how did you manage to get the body from behind the metal screen?" "oh, that was easy enough. you know the spring is connected with the bell in your study; when the screen unrolled, the bell rang. it was only necessary to reverse the operation: by pulling the bell-wire in the herr count's study the screen was rolled up." "a very simple arrangement, indeed," observed count vavel, smiling in spite of his gloom. "ah, master matyas, if only you were clever enough to open for me the locks which now imprison my dear ones! that would be a masterpiece, indeed!" "i can do that easily enough," was the confident rejoinder. "you can? how?" "did n't i say i would leave the good news until the last?" "yes, yes. tell me what you have in view." "i must whisper the secret in your ear; i have often overheard important secrets listening at the keyhole or while hiding under a bed, and what i have done another may be doing." vavel bent his head so that master matyas might whisper the important information in his ear. the words were few, but they served to restore vavel to a cheerful mood. he laughed heartily, slapped master matyas on the shoulder, and exclaimed: "you are truly a wonderful fellow!" then he took a roll of bank-notes from his pocket, and pressed it into matyas's hand. "here--take these, and buy what is necessary. we will make the attempt at once." master matyas thrust the money into his own pocket, and darted from the room as if he had stolen it. ludwig hastened to his general, to beg for leave of absence. chapter ii "everything is ready," said master matyas to vavel, pointing toward three covered luggage-wagons, which the volons had captured from the frenchmen at klein-zell. the "death-head troop," as vavel's volons were designated, marched in the rear of the brigade; consequently they could drop out from it any time without attracting special notice. to-day the brigade marched toward palota, and the volons turned into the road which led to zircz. they seemed, however, to have been swallowed up by the bakonye forest, for nothing was seen again of them after they entered it. the inhabitants of ratota still repeat tales of the handsome troopers--every man of them a true magyar!--who rode through their village to the sound of the trumpet, nodding to the pretty girls, and paying gold coin for their refreshment at the inn. but the dwellers in zircz complained that, instead of magyar troopers, a squad of hostile cavalry passed through their village--frenchmen in blue mantles, with cocks' feathers in their helmets, with a commandant who had given all sorts of orders that no one could understand. luckily, the prior of the premonstrants could speak french, and he acted as interpreter for the french commandant. and everybody felt relieved when he marched farther with his troop. these were the transformed volons. they had exchanged their crimson shakos in the dense forest for the french helmets, and wrapped themselves in the blue mantles taken from the luggage-wagons. no one would have doubted that they were french _chasseurs_--even the trumpeter sounded the calls according to the regulations in the armies of france. master matyas hurried on in advance of the troop to learn if the way was clear. it would have been equally unpleasant to have met either hungarian or french soldiery. they encountered neither, however; and at daybreak on the second day arrived at the village of börcs, on the rabcza, where is an interesting monument of times long past--a redoubt of considerable extent, in the center of which stands the village church. vavel's troop camped within this redoubt, where they could escape attracting attention. the country about them, for a long distance, was occupied by french troops. the highway which led to raab might be seen from the steeple of the church, and here vavel took up his station with a field-glass. he had not been long in his tower of observation when he saw a heavy cloud of dust moving along the highway, and very soon was able to distinguish a body of horsemen. it was a company of cuirassiers, whose polished breastplates glittered in the sunlight like stars. the company was divided into two squads: one rode in front of a four-horse traveling-coach, the other in the rear of it. there were two ladies in the coach. the elder of the two shielded her face from the dust with a heavy veil; the younger lady wore no veil over her pale face, but held in front of it a fan, from behind which she took an occasional look at the variegated plain, where the ripening grain, blended with the green of the meadows, formed a rich, carpet on either side of the road. the young officer riding beside the coach sought to entertain the elder lady with observations on the country through which they were passing, and from time to time exchanged tender glances with the younger. these ladies were the wife and daughter of general guillaume. they were on their way to raab, where they expected an addition to their party in the person of _la princesse marie_, whom they were going to accompany to paris. the troop of cuirassiers was their escort. "there come some _chasseurs_ on a foraging expedition," observed the young officer, pointing toward a body of horsemen that was approaching across the green plain. and, judging from the appearance of the riders, he was right; for the volons, in order to deceive the frenchmen, were bringing with them a couple of loaded hay-wagons, which they were dragging through the middle of the highway. while yet a considerable distance away from the approaching _chasseurs_, the postilions began to blow their horns for a clear way. the hay-wagons were turned, in obedience to the signal, but, in turning, the second one ran into the one in advance with such force that the pole was broken clean off. in front of the barricade thus formed vavel halted his men, and commanded them to throw off their french cloaks and helmets. in a second the order was obeyed; the crimson shakos with their grim death-heads were donned, and the troop dashed forward upon the escort accompanying the coach. the astonished cuirassiers, who were wholly unprepared for the assault, were soon overpowered by the volons, who also outnumbered them. the youthful leader had at once placed himself in front of the coach, ready for combat with the leader of the attacking foe, and vavel was obliged to exercise all his skill to disarm without injuring him. at the moment when the young french champion's sword flew from his hand, the younger lady, forgetting all ceremony, cried in terror: "_oh mon dieu, ne tuez pas arthur!_" ludwig vavel turned toward her, bowed courteously, and said in talma's most exquisite french: "do not be alarmed, ladies. you are perfectly safe. we are hungarian gentlemen!" "but what do you want of us?" demanded the elder lady, haughtily surveying the count. "what business have we with you? we do not belong to the combatants." "i will tell this brave young chevalier what i want," replied vavel, turning toward the youthful leader. "first, let me restore your sword, monsieur. you handle it admirably, only you need to grasp it more firmly. then, let me beg of you to mount your horse--a beautiful animal! and third, i beg you to ride as quickly as possible to raab, and give general guillaume this message: 'i, count vavel de versay, have this day taken captive the wife and daughter of general guillaume. the general holds as prisoners my betrothed wife, countess themire dealba, and my adopted daughter, sophie botta, or, if he prefers, _la princess marie_. i demand my loved ones in exchange for madame and mademoiselle guillaume.' i have no further demands, monsieur, and the sooner you return the better. i shall await you in yonder redoubt, where you see the church-steeple. adieu." the younger lady, with hands clasped pleadingly, mutely besought the youthful officer to assent. as if he would not do everything in his power to urge the general to consent to the exchange! the young frenchman galloped down the road toward raab. count vavel took his place beside the coach, and ordered the postilions to drive to börcs. at first, the general's wife heaped reproaches on her captor. "this is a violation of national courtesies," she exclaimed irately. "it is brigandage, to waylay and take as prisoners two distinguished women." "madame's husband has also detained as prisoners two distinguished women," in a respectful tone responded vavel. "but my daughter is so nervous." "there is not a more timid creature in the world than my poor little marie." "at all events, monsieur, you are a frenchman, and know what is due to ladies of our station." "in that respect, madame, i shall follow general guillaume's example." they were now among the gardens of börcs, where the cherry-trees, heavily laden with fruit, rose above the tall hedges; and very soon they turned into a beautiful street shaded by walnut-trees, which led to the redoubt. the parsonage was the only house of importance in the village. the pastor was standing at his door when vavel ordered the coach to stop. he assisted the ladies to alight, and begged the pastor to grant them the hospitality of his roof. the request was not refused, and the ladies were made as comfortable as possible. "do you care to see the sights of the village, madame?" asked vavel of the mother, after they had partaken of the lunch prepared by the pastor's housekeeper. the young lady, who was exhausted by the journey, had gone to her room. "there is a very old church here which is interesting." "are there any fine pictures in it?" inquired madame. "there is one,--a very touching scene,--'the samaritan.'" "ancient or modern?" queried the lady. "the subject is old--it dates back to the first years of christianity, madame. the execution is modern." "is it the work of a celebrated artist?" "no; it is the work of our clerical host." the lady shook her head; she was uncertain whether count vavel was making sport of her or of the pastor. but she understood him when she entered the church. the house consecrated to the service of god had become a hospital, and was crowded with wounded french soldiers. the women of the village, as volunteer nurses, were taking care of them, and performed the task as faithfully as if the invalids were their own sons and brothers. the pastor himself supplied the necessary medicines from his own cupboard; for no army surgeon came here at a time when twenty thousand wounded frenchmen lay at aspern, and twenty-two thousand at wagram. "is it not an affecting tableau, madame?" said count vavel. "it would be a suitable altar-piece for notre dame--and the name of its creator deserves perpetuation!" chapter iii monsieur le capitaine descourcelles rode an excellent horse, was a capital rider, and was plainly very much in love. these three circumstances combined brought back the gallant soldier from raab by five o'clock in the afternoon. the captain of the cuirassiers was not a little surprised to find the general's wife playing cards with the hostile leader. "general guillaume agrees to everything," he announced immediately, on entering the room. "he will release the ladies he has been holding as prisoners." vavel hastened to shake hands with the bearer of these glad tidings, who was, however, more eager to kiss the hand of vavel's partner, and to inquire: "i hope i find the ladies perfectly comfortable?" "very comfortable indeed," replied madame. "_messieurs les cannibales_ are very polite, and _leur catzique_ plays an excellent hand at piquet." "and where is mademoiselle? i trust she is not suffering from the fatigue of the journey?" "oh, no; she is very well. she is making her toilet, and will soon join us. i hope we shall leave here very soon." madame now rose, and left the two soldiers alone in the room. "here," observed the french captain, handing vavel a paper, "is the _sauf conduit_." the pass contained the information that "vavel de versay, expatriated french nobleman and magnate of hungary, together with the countess themire dealba (alias baroness katharina landsknechtsschild) and sophie botta (pretended princess marie charlotte capet), with attendants, were to be allowed to travel unmolested by any french troops they might chance to meet." ludwig vavel looked at this document a long time. "do you doubt the assurance of a french officer, monsieur?" asked the captain. "no; i was just unable to understand why a word had been used here. i dare say it is a mistake. but no matter. i am greatly obliged to you." "pray don't speak of it," responded the frenchman, cordially shaking the hand vavel extended toward him. "i must not forget to tell you that a four weeks' armistice was agreed upon to-day." the ladies now entered the room, prepared to continue their journey. the face of the younger one wore a more cheerful expression than on her arrival at the parsonage. madame thanked vavel for his courtesy, then, with her daughter, entered the carriage and drove away. madame guillaume was forgetful: she neglected to take leave of her host the pastor, and of her wounded countrymen in the church. vavel communicated the news of the armistice to his adjutant, and commanded him to return at once with the volons to fertöszeg, there to quarter themselves in the nameless castle, and await further orders. then he mounted his horse, and, accompanied by master matyas, galloped out of the village. twilight had deepened into night when the two men arrived at raab. the clocks were striking eight, and the french trumpets were sounding the retreat at every gate. vavel, therefore, would not be allowed to enter the city until the next morning; but master matyas, who did not stop to inquire which was the proper way when he wanted to go anywhere, knew of a little garden that belonged to a certain tanner, and very soon found an entrance along a rather circuitous route among the tan-vats. vavel had already seen battered walls, and dwellings ruined by bombs and flames, yet the thought that he should find his loved ones amid these smoke-blackened ruins oppressed his heart. the two men attracted no attention. in the last days there had been many strangers in the city, deputations from the militia camps, to assist in establishing the line of demarcation. master matyas, without difficulty, led the way among the ruins to the neat little abode where the worthy vice-palatine had established his protégés. when they came within sight of the house matyas observed: "the two frenchmen with their bearskin caps are not on guard to-day. the vice-palatine's servant seems to be doing sentry-duty." vavel applied his spurs and cantered briskly toward the house, but moderated his speed when he came nearer. he remembered how easily marie was frightened by the clatter of horse-hoofs. at the corner of the street he alighted, and cautioning matyas to exercise slowly the fatigued horses, proceeded on foot to the house. the servant on guard at the door saluted in military fashion with drawn sword. ludwig hurried into the house. in the hall he encountered the little laczko, who, at sight of the visitor, dropped the boot and brush he held in his hands, and disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. vavel followed him, and found himself in the kitchen, where the widow of satan laczi also dropped to the floor the cooking-utensil she had in her hand. the count did not stop to question her, but went on into the adjoining room, whence proceeded the sound of voices, and here he found three acquaintances--the vice-palatine, dr. tromfszky, and the surveyor, herr doboka. the three started in alarm when they beheld vavel. the doctor even made as if he would rush from the room--as when in the nameless castle the furious invalid had seized his groom by the throat. the expressions on the three startled countenances brought a sudden fear to ludwig's heart. "is any one ill here?" he asked. the vice-palatine and the doctor looked at each other, but did not speak; the surveyor began to stammer: "i say--i say that--" "is marie ill?" interrupted vavel, excitedly. herr bernat silently nodded assent, and pointed toward the door leading into the next room. vavel did not stop to inquire further, but strode into the adjoining chamber. what a familiar little room it was, another fairy-like retreat like that of the nameless castle! here were marie's toys, her furniture; the four cats were purring in the window-seat, and the two pugs lay dozing on the sofa. a canopy-bed stood in the alcove, and among the pillows lay marie. katharina was sitting by the bedside. "oh, god!" cried vavel, in a tone so full of anguish that every one who heard it, man, woman, and child, burst into tears. the invalid among the pillows alone laughed--laughed aloud for joy. and had she not cause to rejoice? ludwig--_her_ ludwig--did not hasten first to embrace and kiss his betrothed wife. no, _she_, his little marie, was the first! he flung himself on his knees by the bed and covered the pale face with kisses and tears. "oh, my dearest! my adored saint! my idol!" he sobbed, while marie's face glowed with the purest earthly happiness. she pressed ludwig's head to her breast and whispered soothingly: "don't grieve, ludwig; i am not going to die. i have not got that horrid influenza poor papa cambray brought with him from paris. i took a little cold the night we ran away from the bombs; but i shall soon be well again, now that you are come. i want to live, ludwig, and you, who rescued me from death once before, will know how to do it again." katharina laid her hand tenderly on the maid's head, and said gently: "don't talk any more now, dearest; you know you must not excite yourself." marie grasped the white hand and drew it down to ludwig's lips. "kiss it, liadwig; kiss this dear, good hand. oh, she has been a good little mother to me! she has wept so much because of me. if only you knew what she had planned to do when they were going to tear me away from her! but that danger is past, and now that you are come everything will be well. we have been reading about you, ludwig. what a hero you are--our knight, st. george! i have n't been really ill, you know, ludwig; it was only anxiety about you. i shall soon be well again. please tell the doctor i don't need any more medicine. i want to get up--i feel strong already. i want to put on my gown; then i will take your arm and katharina's, and we three will promenade to the window. i want to see the evening star. please send frau satan to me; she can lift me more easily than katharina, for i am very heavy. ludwig, take katharina into the next room while i am dressing. i know you have much to say to each other." frau satan now entered in answer to the summons. the doctor had ordered that the invalid's wishes must be obeyed. ludwig and katharina went into the next room. they looked long into each other's eyes, and in the gaze lay many of the thoughts which, if they cannot be told to the one person on earth, are never heard by any one else. suddenly katharina, without word of warning, dropped on her knees at her lover's feet, seized his hand, and laid her face against it. "you are my guardian angel," she whispered (the invalid in the next room must not be disturbed by the sound of voices); "you have rescued that saint from her enemies and saved me from perdition. oh, ludwig, if only you knew what i have suffered! marie's every sigh, the feverish words uttered in her delirium, have been so many accusations oppressing my heart. these have been terrible days! to be compelled hourly to dread either of two horrible blows, and to have to pray to god that, if both could not be averted, to let the milder one fall! death would have been welcome, indeed, compared to the other one. to listen tremblingly, hour after hour, for the knock at the door which would announce the messenger sent to bear marie to paris, or death with his scythe to bear her to the grave! and then to have to look on her sufferings, and hear her pray for her betrayer! oh, it was terrible, terrible! ludwig, you are just--as god is just. i have suffered as any woman in the bible suffered. you have taken my load of sorrow from me, have released my heart from the tortures of perdition. all the evil i have done, you have made good. therefore, do you pronounce judgment on me. condemn me or forgive me. i deserve both; i will accept either at your hands." without a word ludwig vavel raised the woman to her feet, clasped her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers in a long, long kiss. in it were forgiveness, love, union. * * * * * from the adjoining room came the sounds of a piano. some one was playing the hymn of the hungarian militia. ludwig and katharina hurried into the room. marie was seated at the piano, arrayed in her favorite blue gown. her transparent hands hovered over the ivory keys, and lured from them the melancholy air, to which she sang, in a voice that seemed to come from the distant clouds: "was kleinliche bosheit ausgedacht, hat unserer liebe ein ende gemacht." at the last word her arms sank to her sides; the exertion had completely exhausted her. but she struggled bravely to overcome her weakness. she smiled brightly at ludwig and katharina, and said: "this melancholy song was not intended for you two. it was only to show ludwig how i have improved. you two will love each other very dearly, won't you? and you will go far, far away from here, and leave 'marie' buried in her tomb. i don't mean myself; i mean the troublesome girl who has made so much ill feeling in the world, because of whom so many people have suffered; the girl whose ashes rest there in the steel casket, and whose life was so sad that she had no desire to live longer. but 'sophie' is going with you out into the world. she will see how happy you two can be. and now, help me to the window; i want to look at the evening star," they rolled her arm-chair to the window, and vavel opened the sash to admit the fresh air from the garden. marie clasped ludwig's and katharina's hands in both her own, and whispered in a faint voice: "you will forget the past, will you not? or think of it only as a dream--a disagreeable dream. and don't go back to the nameless castle. the veiled woman, the locked doors, the silent man, the telescope, the lonely promenades in the garden--all, all were dreams. don't think of them! forget them all! the clanking swords, the thunder of cannons--all these were not. we only dreamed it. we never lived under the shadow of a throne. who was marie? a sovereign of cats, and crown princess in the realm of little dogs and birds--a nursery tale to tell naughty little children who will not go to sleep! but sophie botta will be here to-morrow, and the next day, and always; she will be with you, the silly, stupid little maid, who can do nothing but obey those whom she loves with all her heart." vavel with difficulty refrained from giving voice to his overwhelming grief. "just see," marie continued in a gay tone, "how much better i am! heretofore, when the hour came for the evening star to appear, the fever would come too, and to-day it has failed to come with the star. joy has cured me. don't take your hands away from me, ludwig--katharina. they will--hold me--hold me--fast." but they did not "hold her fast." and why should such a being remain on this earth--a being that could do naught else but love and renounce, adoring her nation even when it persecuted her? * * * * * a dark thunder-cloud rose above the horizon out over the hansag. the sky looked like a vaulted ceiling hung with mourning draperies. from time to time a distant flash of lightning illumined the cloud-curtain, then would be heard the rumbling of thunder, like the deep tones of a distant organ. under the threatening sky lay the glittering lake. its surface of quicksilver was streaked here and there with black shadows--the track of the wind-gusts racing across it. the trees were rustling in the wind, making a sound like a distant choral. on the shore of lake neusiedl stood the volons in rank and file. they were waiting for something that was coming from the farther shore of the little cove. presently the glistening surface of the water was ruffled by a black object that pushed out from the shore. it was a boat. six men were rowing, a seventh held the rudder. there was a coffin in the boat, covered with a simple pall. no ostentatious trappings ornamented the coffin; only a myrtle wreath lay on it. a woman, sat at the head of it, another at the foot--the former a lady, the latter a peasant wife. the six men, with even and powerful strokes, sent the craft through the ripples which occasionally leaped into the boat, as if they would salute her who had so often toyed with them. at the moment the boat touched the shore the storm burst. vivid lightning illumined the heavy downpour of rain, and it seemed as if the black-robed forms bore the coffin to its grave amid a flood of harpstrings that reached from heaven to earth. the two weeping women followed the coffin; at a little distance they seemed two shadows. the helmsmen of the funeral boat now stepped to the head of the grave and opened his lips to speak, but a heavy peal of thunder drowned his voice. when it had ceased he said: "my brave comrades, you are here to pay a last honor to your patroness. there is nothing left for us to fight for. peace has been proclaimed. the conqueror takes from you a plot of ground twenty-four hundred square miles in extent. the one lying here takes from you only six feet of earth. to you remain your tattered flag and your wounds. return to your homes. my sword has finished its work, and will accompany the saint for whom it was drawn!" as he spoke he broke the keen blade in twain and cast the pieces into the grave, adding impressively, "may god give us forgetfulness, and may we be forgotten!" the volons fired three salvos over the grave, the reverberating thunder and the flashing lightning mingling with the noise of the muskets. when the storm had passed the moon rose in a cloudless sky. only the waves, which had been stirred by the tempest, continued to murmur to their favorite who was sleeping peacefully in her grave on the shore. marie had asked to be buried on the grassy slope by the side of her old friend the marquis d'avoncourt, and that no other monument should mark her resting-place save the imperishable tree which turns to stone after it dies. and what could have been graven on her tomb? a name that was not hers? a history that was not true? or would it have been well to carve on the marble her true life-history, that those who would not believe it might wage a lawsuit against an epitaph? no; it was better so. no one would ever learn what had become of her. vavel had prayed for forgetfulness--that he might be forgotten. his prayer was granted. for a few years afterward tales were repeated about sophie botta, and some of her kinsfolk came from a distance to claim the sum of money vavel had placed in the hands of the authorities for the young girl's heirs. but none of the claimants could produce satisfactory proofs of kinship, and after a while sophie botta was forgotten by all the world, as were count vavel and katharina. the nameless castle as well vanished from the face of the earth, as have entire villages which once stood on the treacherous shores of lake neusiedl. gradually, imperceptibly, the castle disappeared; gradually, imperceptibly, bastion after bastion vanished, until not even the stone hand which held aloft the sword in the noble escutcheon, or the towering weathervane, could be seen above the placid waters of the lake. manasseh a romance of transylvania retold from the hungarian of dr. maurus jókai author of "black diamonds," "pretty michal," "the baron's sons," etc. by percy favor bicknell translator of "the baron's sons" boston l. c. page & company _copyright, _ by l. c. page & company (incorporated) _all rights reserved_ colonial press electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds &. co. boston, mass., u. s. a. contents. chapter page translator's preface vii i. fellow-travellers ii. a life's happiness at stake iii. an intruder expelled iv. a bit of strategy v. holy week in rome vi. the consecrated palm-leaf vii. an audience with the pope viii. an unwelcome visitor ix. the anonymous letter x. the fourteenth paragraph xi. the decision xii. a ghostly visitant xiii. a sudden flight xiv. wallachian hospitality xv. balyika cave xvi. a desperate hazard xvii. in porlik grotto xviii. toroczko xix. a midnight council xx. mirth and mourning xxi. the spy xxii. the hand of fate xxiii. old scores xxiv. a cruel parting xxv. secrets of the commissariat xxvi. solferino xxvii. an hour of trial xxviii. a day of reckoning translator's preface. a few words of introduction to this striking story of life in szeklerland may not be out of place. the events narrated are supposed to take place half a century ago, in the stirring days of ' , when the spirit of resistance to arbitrary rule swept over europe, and nowhere called forth deeds of higher heroism than in hungary. to understand the hostility between the magyars and szeklers on the one hand, and the wallachians on the other,--a state of feud on which the plot of the story largely hinges,--let it be remembered that the non-hungarian elements of the kingdom were exceedingly jealous of their hungarian neighbours, and apprehensive lest the new liberal constitution of should chiefly benefit those whom they thus chose to regard as enemies. therefore, secretly encouraged by the government at vienna, they took up arms against the hungarians. the croatians and serbs, under the lead of ban jellachich and other imperial officers, joined in the revolt. the most frightful atrocities were committed by the insurgents. hundreds of families were butchered in cold blood, and whole villages sacked and burned. these acts of massacre and rapine were especially numerous on the eastern borders of transylvania, among the so-called szeklers, or "frontiersmen," in whose country the scene of the present narrative is chiefly laid. the szeklers, who also call themselves attilans, claim descent from a portion of that vast invading horde of attila the hun, which fell back in defeat from the battle of châlons, in the year , and has occupied the eastern portion of transylvania ever since. the magyars are of the same or a nearly kindred race, and speak the same language; but their ancestry is traced back to a later band of invaders who forced their way in from the east early in the tenth century. the wallachians, or "strangers," form another considerable group in the population of hungary. "rumans" they prefer to call themselves, and they claim descent from the ancient dacians, and from the conquering army led against the latter by trajan. besides these, germans, croatians, serbs, ruthenians, slovaks, and other races, contribute in varying proportions to the heterogeneous population of the country. the hungarian title of the book is "egy az isten,"--"one is the lord,"--the watchword of the unitarians of transylvania. the want of an adequate english equivalent of this motto has led to the adoption of another title. in this, as in all the author's romances, love, war, and adventure furnish the plot and incident and vital interest of the narrative. as early as , three years after the introduction of unitarianism into poland, john sigismund szapolyai, the liberal and enlightened voivode of transylvania, issued a decree, granting his people religious toleration in the broadest sense. the establishment of the unitarian church in hungary, on an equal footing with the roman catholic, the lutheran, and the calvinist, dates from that time. through many trials and persecutions, through periods of alternate prosperity and adversity, it has bravely maintained its existence up to the present day, and now numbers nearly sixty-eight thousand members. though a comparatively small body, the unitarians of hungary "hold together well," as our author says, and exert an influence in education and in all that makes for the higher life, quite out of proportion to their numbers. as in so many of dr. jókai's novels that have appeared in english, it has been found necessary to abridge the present work in translation. not until we have endowed publishing houses which can afford to disregard the question of sales, shall we see this author's books issued in all their pitiless prolixity, in any country or language but his own. it is to be noted, in conclusion, that the excessive wealth of incident with which the following story abounds is characteristic of the author's style. broken threads and occasional inconsistencies are found in all his works, and if they are met with here, it is not because of, but in spite of, the abridgment which the book has undergone. manasseh chapter i. fellow-travellers. our story opens in an italian railway station, in the spring of . from a train that had just arrived, the passengers were hastening to secure their places in another that stood waiting for them. a guard had succeeded in crowding a party of two ladies and a gentleman into one of these itinerant prison-cells, which already contained seven occupants, before the newcomers perceived that they were being imposed upon. a vigorous protest followed. the elder of the two ladies, seizing the guard by the arm, addressed him in an angry tone, first in german, then in french. with the calm indifference of an automaton, the uniformed official pointed to a placard against the wall. _per dieci persone_ was the inscription it bore. ten persons, it seemed, were expected to find places here. "but we have first-class tickets," protested the lady, producing a bit of yellow pasteboard in proof of her assertion. the guard glanced at it with as little interest as he would have bestowed on a scarab from the tomb of the pharaohs. shrugging his shoulders, he merely indicated, with a wave of his hand, places where the three passengers might, perhaps, find seats,--one in this corner, a second yonder, and, if its owner would kindly transfer a greasy bundle to his lap, a third over there. this arrangement, however, was not at all to the liking of either the ladies or their escort. the latter was altogether disinclined to accept a seat between two fat cattle-dealers, being of no meagre dimensions himself. "we'll see about this!" he exclaimed, and left the compartment in quest of the station-master. that dignitary was promenading the platform in military uniform, his hands behind his back. the complainant began to explain the situation to him and to demand that consideration to which his first-class ticket entitled him. but the _illustrissimo_ merely opened his eyes and surveyed the gentleman in silence, much as a cuttlefish might have done if similarly addressed. "_partenza-a-a!_" shouted the guards, in warning. the indignant gentleman hurried back to his compartment, only to find that, in his absence, three additional passengers had been squeezed into the crowded quarters, so that he himself now raised the total to thirteen,--a decidedly unlucky number. the ladies were in despair, and their attendant had begun to express his mind vigorously in his native hungarian, when he felt himself touched on the elbow from behind, and heard a voice accosting him, in the same tongue. "my fellow-countryman, don't heat yourself. not eloquence, but backsheesh, is needed here. while you were wasting your breath i had a guard open for me a reserved first-class compartment. it cost me but a trifle, and if you and your ladies choose to share it with me, it is at your service." "thank you," was the reply, "but we shall not have time to change; we had only two minutes here in all." "never fear," rejoined the stranger, reassuringly. "the _due minute_ is a mere form with which to frighten the inexperienced. the train won't start for half an hour yet." the two ladies were no less grateful to their deliverer than was andromeda of old to the gallant perseus. they gladly accepted the comfortable seats offered them, while their escort took a third, leaving the fourth for their benefactor, who lingered outside to finish his cigar. at the second ringing of the bell, he gave his half-smoked havana to a passing porter, mounted the running-board of the moving train, and entered his compartment. seating himself, the young man removed his travelling-cap and revealed a broad, arched forehead, surmounted by a luxuriant growth of hair. thick eyebrows, bright blue eyes, and a greek nose were the striking characteristics of his face, which seemed to combine the peculiarities of so many types and races, that an observer would have been at a loss to classify it. the other gentleman of the party was of genuine hungarian stock, stout in figure and ruddy of countenance, with a pointed moustache, which he constantly twirled. the younger of the two ladies was veiled, so that only the graceful outlines of a face, evidently classic in its modelling, were revealed to the eye. but the elder had thrown back her veil, exposing to full view an honest, round face, blond hair, lively eyes, and lips that manifestly found it irksome to maintain that silence which good breeding imposes in the presence of a stranger. the ladies' escort was a very uneasy travelling companion. first he complained that he could not sit with his back toward the engine, as he was sure to be car-sick. the young stranger accordingly changed places with him. then he found fault with his new seat, because it was exposed to a draught which blew the cinders into his eyes. thereupon the young man promptly volunteered to close the window for him; but this only made matters worse, for fresh air was indispensable. at this, the blond lady gave up her place to the gentleman, and he, at last, appeared satisfied. not so, however, the lady herself; she was now seated opposite the stranger, to whom she and her companions were so greatly indebted, and the feeling of indebtedness is always somewhat irksome. women on a journey are inclined to regard a stranger's approach with some suspicion, and to be ever on the alert against adventurers. a vague mistrust of this sort concerning the young stranger may have been aroused by the mere fact that, hungarian though his language indicated him to be, he and the ladies' escort indulged in no interchange of courtesies so natural among fellow-countrymen meeting by chance in a foreign land. nevertheless the blond lady strove to assume an air that, on her part, should signify an entire absence of interest in all things relating to her _vis-à-vis_. even when the sun shone in her face and annoyed her, she seemed determined to adjust the window-shade without any help from the stranger, until he courteously prevailed on her to accept his aid. "oh, what helpless creatures we women are!" she exclaimed as she sank back into her seat. "you have yourselves to blame for it," was the other's rejoinder. if he had simply offered some vapid compliment, protesting, for example, that women were by no means helpless creatures, but, on the contrary, the rulers of the stronger sex, and so of the world,--then she would have merely smiled sarcastically and relapsed into silence; but there was something like a challenge in his unexpected retort. "_par exemple?_" she rejoined, with an involuntary show of interest. "for example," he continued, "a lady voluntarily surrenders the comfortable seat assigned to her, and exchanges with a man who occupies an uncomfortable one." the lady coloured slightly. "a free initiative," said she, "is seldom possible with a woman. she is ever subject to a stronger will." "yet she need not be," was the reply; "with the fascination which she exerts over men she is in reality the stronger." "ah, yes; but suppose that fascination is employed over a man by women that have no right thus to use their power?" "then the legitimate possessor of that right is still at fault. if fascination is the bond by which the man can be held, why does she not make use of it herself? a face of statuesque beauty that knows not how to smile has often been the cause of untold unhappiness." at these words the younger of the two ladies threw back her veil, perhaps to gain a better view of the speaker, and thus revealed just such a face as the young man had referred to,--a face with large blue eyes and silent lips. "would you, then," the elder lady continued the discussion with some warmth, "have a wife employ the wiles of a coquette toward her own husband, in order to retain his love?" "i see no reason why she should not if circumstances demand it." "very good. but you must admit that a wife is something more than a sweetheart; maternal duties and cares also enter into her life, and when, by reason of her exalted mission as a mother, anxieties and fears will, in spite of her, depict themselves on her face, what then becomes of your pretty theory?" the attack was becoming too warm for the young stranger, and he hastened to capitulate with a good grace. "in that case, madam," he admitted, "the husband is bound to show his wife nothing but the purest devotion and affection. the roman lictors were, by the consul's orders, required to lower their fasces before a roman matron; she was undisputed mistress in her sphere. the man who refuses to render the humblest of homage to the mother of his children deserves to have a millstone hung about his neck and to be cast into the sea." the blond lady seemed softened by this unconditional surrender. "are you on your way to rome, may i ask?" she presently inquired, her question being apparently suggested by the other's reference to ancient roman customs. "yes, that is my destination," he replied. "you go to witness the splendid ceremonies of holy week, i infer." "no; they do not interest me." "what!" exclaimed the lady; "the sublimest of our church observances, that which symbolises the very divinity of our saviour, does not interest you?" "no; because i do not believe in his divinity," was the calm reply. the lady raised her eyebrows in involuntary token of surprise at this most unexpected answer. she suddenly felt a strong desire to fathom the mysterious stranger. "i believe the vatican is seeking an unusually large loan just now," she remarked, half-interrogatively. the stranger could not suppress a smile. he read the other's surmise that he might be of hebrew birth and faith. "it is not the papal loan, madam," he returned, "that takes me to rome; it is a divorce case." "a divorce case?" the blond lady could not disguise her interest at these words, while even the statuesque beauty at the other end of the compartment turned her face fully upon the speaker, and her lips parted slightly, like the petals of an opening rosebud. "yes," resumed the young man, "a separation from one who has denied and rejected me for the sake of another; one whom i must for ever shun in the future, and yet cannot cease to love; one whose loss can never be made good to me. i am going to rome because it is a dead city and belongs equally to all and to none." the train halted at a station, and the young man alighted. after a few words to the guard he disappeared from sight. "do you know that gentleman?" asked the blond lady of her escort. "very well," was the reply. "and yet you two hardly exchanged a word." "because we were neither of us so disposed." "are you enemies?" "not enemies, and yet in a certain sense opponents." "is he a jew or an atheist?" "neither; he is a unitarian." "and what is a unitarian, pray tell me?" "the unitarians form one of the recognised religious sects of hungary," explained the man. "they are christians who believe in the unity of god." "it is strange i never heard of them before," said the lady. "they live chiefly in transylvania," added the other; "but the great body of them, taken the world over, are found in england and america, where they possess considerable influence. their numbers are not large, but they hold together well; and, though they are not increasing rapidly, they are not losing ground." the younger lady lowered her veil again and crossed herself beneath its folds; but her companion turned and looked out of the window with a curious desire to scrutinise the wicked heretic more closely. both the ladies, as the reader will have conjectured, were strictly orthodox in their faith. the train soon started again, after the customary ringing and whistling and the guards' repeated warning of "_partenza!_" but the young heretic seemed to put as little faith in bells and whistles and verbal warnings as in the dogma of the trinity; for he failed to appear as the train moved away from the station. the ladies who owed so much to his kindness could not deny a certain feeling of relief at being freed from the company of one who cherished such heterodox religious convictions. "you say you are well acquainted with the young man?" the blond lady resumed. "yes, i know him well enough," was the answer. "his name is manasseh adorjan, he is of good old szekler descent, and he has seven brothers and a twin sister. they all live at home in their ancestral castle. some of the brothers have married, but all live together peacefully under one roof and form one household. manasseh seems to have been recognised by the family as the gifted one,--his brothers are nothing more than honest and intelligent szeklers,--and for his education and advancement in the world all worked in unison. when he was only twenty years old this young genius became a candidate for the council. in transylvania it is the custom to make the higher government appointments from all four of the recognised religious sects,--roman catholic, calvinist, lutheran, and unitarian. from that time dates our mutual hostility." "then you are enemies, after all." "in politics, yes. however, i must not bore you ladies with political questions. suffice it to say, then, in regard to manasseh adorjan, that a sudden change of government policy, and the defeat of his party, gave the young man a fall from his proud eminence and led him to turn his back, for a time at least, on his native land; for he scorned to seek the preferment that was so easily within his reach by renouncing his principles and joining the opposite party." "now i understand," interposed the blond lady, "what he meant by his 'divorce case,' and his parting with one who had denied and rejected him, but whom he could never cease to love. those were his words, and they referred to his country." "yes, probably," assented the other; "for the young man is unmarried." at the next station the subject of this conversation suddenly reappeared. "ah, we thought you were lost," exclaimed the elder of the two ladies, with a not unfriendly smile. "oh, no, not lost," returned manasseh; "what belongs nowhere and to no one cannot be lost. i merely took a seat on the imperial. come, friend gabriel,"--turning to the ladies' escort,--"will you not join me there? the view is really fine, and we can smoke also." the one thus familiarly addressed, and whose name was gabriel zimandy, accepted the invitation after a moment's demur. the ladies were left to themselves. chapter ii. a life's happiness at stake. "a splendid country this!" exclaimed gabriel zimandy, when he had lighted his meerschaum and found himself at leisure to survey the landscape. "too bad the austrians have their grip on it!" "look here," interposed manasseh, "suppose we steer clear of politics. do you agree?" "did i say anything about politics?" retorted gabriel. "i merely alluded to the beautiful view. well, then, we'll talk about beautiful women if you prefer. you little know what a tender spot you touched upon with the ladies. i refer to the brunette--not to the blond, with whom you were talking." "ah, is the other a brunette? i did not get a good look at her." "but she got a good look at you, while you were discussing the duties of women toward their husbands, the subject of divorce, and heaven knows what else besides." "and did i awaken any unpleasant reminiscences?" asked the young man. "not in the bosom of your fair antagonist,--she is already a widow,--but in that of her companion, who sat silent and listened to all you said. she is on her way to rome to petition the pope to annul her marriage." "is that so!" exclaimed manasseh, in surprise. "i should have said she was just out of a convent where she had been placed to be educated." "what eyes you have! even without looking at her you have guessed her age to a month, i'll warrant! she is my client, the unfortunate princess cagliari, _née_ countess blanka zboroy. you know the family: their estates are entailed, so that all but the eldest son have to shift for themselves as best they can. the younger sons go into the army or the church, and the daughters are wedded to rich husbands, or else they take the veil. but it so happened that once upon a time a rich bishop belonging to this family made a will directing that his property be allowed to accumulate until it became large enough to provide a snug fortune of a million florins for each of his relatives; and this end was recently realised. but by the terms of the will, the heirs are allowed only the usufruct of this legacy, and, furthermore, even that is to be forfeited under certain circumstances, as for example, if allegiance be refused to the reigning dynasty, or if the legatee renounce the roman catholic faith, or, in the case of a woman, lead an unchaste life. any part of the estate thus forfeited goes to the remaining legatees in an equal division, and so you can imagine what a sharp watch the several beneficiaries under this will keep over one another. a million is no bagatelle; the game is worth the candle. but to come back to our starting-point, countess blanka was joined in marriage with prince cagliari as soon as she left the convent. you must know the prince, at least by reputation; he plays no small part in the political world." "i have met him several times," replied manasseh. "at court balls in vienna, doubtless," said the advocate; "for, old as cagliari is, he still turns night into day and burns the candle at both ends. when he married countess blanka he was very intimate with the marchioness caldariva, formerly known to lovers of the ballet as 'the beautiful cyrene.' she practised the terpsichorean art with such success that one day she danced into favour with an italian marquis who honoured her with the gift of his name and rank, after which he shot himself. the marchioness now owns a splendid palace in vienna, a present from prince cagliari, who, they say, forgot to deliver up the key to her when he married countess blanka. it is even whispered that the marchioness herself tied the bridegroom's cravat for him on his wedding-day. well, however that may be, the prince took the young lady to wife, much as a rich man buys a horse of rare breed, or a costly statue, or any other high-priced curiosity. but the poor bride could not endure her husband's presence. she was only a child, and, up to the day of her marriage, had no conception of the real meaning of matrimony. the prince has never enjoyed a moment's happiness with his young wife. his very first attempt to offer her a husband's caresses caused her to turn deadly pale and go into convulsions; and this occurred as often as the two were left alone. the prince complained of his hard lot, and sought medical advice. it was reported that the young wife was subject to epileptic attacks. a man of any delicacy would have accepted the situation and held his peace; but the prince took counsel of his factotum, a certain benjamin vajdar----" an involuntary movement, and a half-suppressed exclamation on manasseh's part, made the speaker turn to him inquiringly; then, as the other said nothing, he resumed: "this factotum is the evil genius of the family, and the two together make a pair hard to match. the prince has obstinacy, sensuality, arrogance, and vindictiveness; and his tool has brains, cunning, and inventiveness, for the effective exercise of the other's evil tendencies. cagliari finally went back to the beautiful cyrene for consolation; but she was bent on proving her power over him, and at her bidding he heaped all sorts of indignities upon his innocent and helpless wife. at last, to crown all, he instituted divorce proceedings against her. this was the price he paid to regain the fair cyrene's favour, but i am convinced that benjamin vajdar is at the bottom of it all. the prince bases his suit for a separation on his wife's alleged epileptic attacks and consequent unfitness for the wedded state. of course that is all nonsense. i am not an epileptic, nor wont to bite or scratch people; but i can't approach this cagliari without experiencing a sort of foaming at the mouth and a twitching of the muscles, as if i must pitch into the man, tooth and nail. my view of the case is that my client finds her husband's attentions so abhorrent that she even swoons when he offers to kiss her; and so i am going to apply for a total dissolution of the marriage, for if the other side win their case the papal edict will forbid a second marriage on the wife's part. and just imagine a young girl like her, in the first bloom of youth, scarcely twenty years old, compelled to renounce all hope of wedded happiness. we are now on our way to rome to see whether my fair client's personal appeal may not avail somewhat with her judges. they cannot but take pity on her if their hearts are human. prince cagliari has of late lost favour at the vatican, and all the conditions are in our favour; but there is one man whom i fear,--that cool and crafty vajdar. i fell in with him in venice, and asked him whither he was going. 'to milan,' said he, but i knew he lied. he, too, is bound for rome, and he will be there ahead of us, or at least overtake us. if we could only reach rome first, i am confident we should win the game. but i fear he may be on this very train. why, how warm you look! the perspiration stands in drops on your forehead. does my pipe annoy you? no? well, as i was saying, i suspect the fellow is on this train with us, and if he falls into my hands i'll wring his miserable neck! he thinks he's going to ruin the young life of my client and bury her alive, does he? we'll see about that." "he shall not do it!" exclaimed the other, with emphasis. "good for you, my friend! and if you can propose some scheme for balking him, i'll take my hat off to you. tell me, now, how can the princess make sure of outwitting her foes, and so escape the horrible fate of being buried alive?" "she can turn protestant, and then the church of rome will have no claim whatever on her." "very good, but how about the million florins left her as a good catholic by the bishop?" manasseh adorjan crumbled his cigar in his fingers. "if the princess has a woman's heart in her bosom," he declared, "she will throw her million away in return for the love of a true man." chapter iii. an intruder expelled. meanwhile the train had reached another station, a junction where a halt was made for refreshments, pending the arrival of a connecting train. the advocate was hungry, and accordingly made his way to the dining-room, being first warned by his companion to use despatch, as otherwise, on returning to the ladies, he might find his compartment filled. "and what will you do meantime?" asked gabriel. "i have my sketch-book with me," replied manasseh, "and i am going to draw the view from my perch up here." "ah, i did not know you were an artist." "yes, i am an artist, and nothing more." upon the arrival of the connecting train and the ensuing scramble for seats, the ladies of our little party felt some anxiety lest their privacy should be rudely broken in upon by unwelcome strangers. princess cagliari bent forward and looked down the platform, but immediately drew back again. too late, however; she had been seen; and a moment afterward a young man, of sleek and comely appearance, immaculately dressed, and carrying in one hand a small cane whose peculiar head betrayed the fact that it concealed a rapier, sprang lightly on the foot-board and entered the compartment. "ah, what an unexpected pleasure, princess!" he exclaimed by way of greeting, lifting his hat and appropriating the corner seat opposite her. "pardon me," said blanka, "but that seat is engaged. the gentleman who is with us--" "why, then, didn't he leave something--coat, or umbrella, or hand-bag--in proof of his claim to the seat?" interrupted the intruder. "the seat is now mine by railway usage, and i cannot deny myself the pleasure of sitting opposite you, my dear princess." blanka controlled her indignation as best she could, but her companion felt called upon to come to her aid with an energetic remonstrance. "mr. vajdar," said she, severely, "you should know what is expected of a gentleman in his conduct toward a lady. you are well aware that the princess cannot endure your presence, nor are you ignorant of the reason." the handsome young man drew a gilt pasteboard box from his side pocket, removed the cover, and offered the contents to the last speaker. "madam dormandy, you are fond of sweets. permit me to solicit your acceptance of these caramels. they are freshly made, and are really excellent." but madam dormandy turned her back disdainfully on the peace-offering and looked anxiously out of the window. "where can mr. zimandy be all this time?" she murmured, impatiently. "how long will you continue to dog my steps?" asked the princess, addressing the intruder in a voice that trembled with passion. "only to the grave," was the smiling reply; "there we shall separate--you to enter the gates of paradise, where i despair of gaining admission." "but what reason have you for wishing my ruin?" "because you yourself will have it so. have i ever made any secret of my designs or of my motives?" "are you determined to make me leave this compartment?" "you would gain nothing by so doing," was vajdar's cool retort. "i could not possibly forego the pleasure of your company, in whatever way you might choose to continue your journey." "what is your purpose in all this?" demanded blanka. "to make you either as happy as a man can make a woman, or as wretched as only the devil himself can render a human being." "i defy you to do either." "futile defiance! the game is in my hands, and i can make you as one buried alive." "god will never allow such an iniquity!" cried the princess. "ah, my dear madam, you forget that we are on our way to rome, where there are churches by the score, but no god." blanka shuddered in spite of herself, and drew her shawl more closely about her, while her foe crossed one leg over the other and smiled self-complacently. the warning cry "_partenza!_" sounded along the platform, and the ladies' escort came running in alarm from the dining-room and sought his compartment. "have i your seat, sir?" coolly inquired benjamin vajdar of the man who had so lately promised to wring his neck. "oh, no, certainly not," mumbled the doughty advocate, in considerable surprise and confusion, as he caught his breath and meekly looked around for a vacant place. a lightning-flash from the blond beauty's eyes and a mocking smile from the dandy rewarded this courteous forbearance. but the mocking smile changed the next instant to a sudden expression of disquiet, if not of actual fear. manasseh adorjan stood in the doorway, and blanka noted a swift interchange of glances between the young men, like the flashing of two drawn swords. "that place is already engaged, sir," said manasseh, quietly. benjamin vajdar's face flushed quickly, and then as suddenly paled. in his eyes one could have read rage, hate, and fear, and his right hand clutched the head of his cane convulsively, as if about to draw the weapon therein concealed. but manasseh still stood regarding him fixedly, and the intruder yielded without a word. taking up his satchel, he left the compartment. the whole scene had occupied but a moment. what was it that gave one of these men such power over the other, like that of a lion-tamer over his charge? manasseh himself took the vacated seat, without offering it to the advocate, and sat looking out of the window as long as vajdar was in sight. at length the train started, and as it soon entered on a stretch of monotonous, waste territory, blanka yielded to the drowsy lullaby of the smoothly rolling wheels, and fell asleep. once or twice she half opened her eyes and was vaguely conscious that the young stranger opposite her was drawing something in the sketch-book that lay open on his knee. she pushed her veil still farther back from face and brow, hardly aware what she was doing, and again fell asleep. chapter iv. a bit of strategy. a sharp whistle from the locomotive awakened the sleepers. "where are we now?" asked blanka. "near bologna," answered the artist, who alone had remained awake; "and there i have to leave the train, which continues on, via imola, to ancona." "you leave the train? but i thought you, too, were going to rome," said the princess, in surprise. "so i am," was the reply, "but by another route. my luggage will go through to ancona, and thence by diligence to rome, while i push on over the apennines to pistoja and florence. it is a harder road, but its splendid views amply repay one for an occasional climb on foot by the _vetturino's_ side; and then, too, i shall reach rome one day ahead of you, who go by way of ancona." blanka listened with interest. "couldn't we take that route also?" she asked. "what do you say to it, maria? we could quietly leave the train at bologna and let our trunks go on to rome without us." "but are the mountain passes safe?" queried madam dormandy, turning to manasseh. "is there no danger of highwaymen?" "bad men are to be feared everywhere," replied the young man; "but as for highway robbers, they are much more to be apprehended by those travelling with valises and trunks than by the tourist that simply carries a satchel slung over his shoulder, as i intend to do. in my student days i used to tramp over these mountains in every direction, and the brigands never molested me. whenever i fell in with a band i used to group the men together and sketch them. artists have nothing to fear from gentlemen of the road." "and besides, we are two able-bodied men, and i always carry a brace of pistols--don't you?" spoke up the advocate, his professional zeal kindling at the prospect of stealing a march on the enemy. "i carry no weapons of any kind," calmly replied the artist. "oh, i fear no harm from bad men," exclaimed the princess; "there is but one bad man whom we need to dread." the others easily guessed to whom she referred; but gabriel zimandy was bent on making her meaning still plainer. "he'd better not follow us into the mountains!" he cried, "for if the young rogue falls into my hands he'll wish he'd never been born. lucky for him he took our friend's gentle hint; had he kept his seat a moment longer there would have been serious trouble." "ha, ha!" laughed madam dormandy; "how surprised he will be when he fails to find us at ancona and is obliged to journey on by diligence with our baggage, but without us!" "we shall be hurrying on ahead of him over these grand old mountains," added the princess, with enthusiasm, her cheeks glowing in pleased anticipation. "and we have to thank you, mr. adorjan, for the suggestion." with an impulsive movement she extended her hand to the young artist, who scarcely ventured to touch her finger-tips in return. "very well, then," said he, "we will try the mountain road; and let us take no luggage but what we can carry in our hands. when we come to a beautiful waterfall we will sketch it, and when we chance upon a fine view we will celebrate its beauties in song." "yes, and people will take us for strolling minstrels," interposed the princess; "and we must drop our real names and titles. mr. zimandy shall be the impresario, and madam dormandy the prima-donna; they can pass for husband and wife. we two can be brother and sister. what is your sister's name?" "anna." "lend me her name for a little while, will you? you don't object?" manasseh turned strangely sober. "it would be only for your sake that i should object," he replied. "the bearer of that name is a very unfortunate girl." so they agreed to leave the train at bologna and take the mountain pass. it only remained to hoodwink benjamin vajdar, and manasseh adorjan promised to effect this. he alighted before the train had fairly stopped, having first directed the others to go into the waiting-room. "that young man will not stir from his seat, nor will he even look out of the window," added manasseh, with as much confidence as if he had acquired a talisman which enabled him to control the other's actions. as the train rolled out of the station the artist rejoined his party, with the welcome assurance that their enemy was now out of their way. "is there a mysterious relation of some sort between you two?" asked blanka. "yes--one of fear: i tremble every time i see the man." "you tremble?" "yes; i am afraid i shall kill him some day." with that, and as if regretting that he had said so much, he hurried away to engage a carriage to take them to vergato. during his absence the advocate explained to his client that the unitarians have an especial horror of bloodshed. he declared that some of them shrank from taking even an animal's life and abstained entirely from the use of meat. blanka shook her head incredulously. she could not conceive of a gentleman's being forbidden by his scruples to use arms when the occasion demanded. how else, she asked, could he defend his honour, his loved ones, the women entrusted to his charge? when the four were seated in their carriage, the gentlemen facing the ladies, blanka led the conversation back to the point at which manasseh had dropped it. "you said you feared you should kill that young man some day," she began. "does your religion forbid you to kill a man--under any circumstances?" "with a single exception," he replied; "but that exception is out of the question in this instance." blanka wondered what the single exception could be, but refrained from asking. "are you well acquainted with mr. vajdar?" she inquired presently. "we have known each other from childhood," was the reply. "whatever i possessed was shared with him. his father was my father's steward; and when the steward proved false to his trust and gambled away a large sum of money committed to his care, and then shot himself, my father adopted the little orphan, and always treated him exactly as he did his own children. he grew up to be a bright and promising young man, and never failed to win a stranger's favour and confidence. but woe to those that thus confided in him! my poor sister, my dear, good little anna, trusted him, and all was ready for their wedding when he disappeared, deserting her at the very altar." even the shades of approaching nightfall could not hide the expression of pain on the speaker's face. "when did this occur?" asked blanka, gently. "last year--in february." "the date of my marriage, and of my first seeing that man," was blanka's silent comment. she pondered the possible connection between the two circumstances. benjamin vajdar had left his affianced bride soon after seeing princess cagliari; he had then entered cagliari's service as private secretary, and, a little later, divorce proceedings had been begun by the prince against his young wife. "was it mr. vajdar's troubled conscience that made him leave us the moment you appeared?" she asked, after a pause. "no," said manasseh; "he has no conscience. when he has an object in view, all means are legitimate with him. he knows neither consideration for others nor shame for his own misdeeds." "and yet he certainly played the coward before you." "because he knows that i possess certain information, certain documentary evidence, by which, if i chose, i could hurl him down in confusion and disgrace from any height, however lofty, which he might succeed in attaining." "and you refrain from using this evidence against him?" "to use it would be revenge," replied the young man, calmly. "is revenge forbidden where you live?" "yes." "has your sister never found a balm for her wounded affections?" "never. my people are of the kind that loves but once." "pray tell me where it is that your people have their home," urged the princess. "is it on an island in the moon?" "indeed, princess, it is not unlike those glimpses of the moon that we get through a large telescope when we examine, for instance, the rocky island known to astronomers as 'plutarch,' or that named 'copernicus.' everything where i live would seem to you to savour of another planet. on the maps the place is put down as 'toroczko.' it is in a mountain gorge, entered by a narrow path along the riverside and through a cleft in the rocks. the northern side of this narrow ravine, being in some measure exposed to the southern sun, is clothed with woods; the southern is a great wall of bare rock rising in terraces, or giant steps, that might well suggest the dreariness and desolation of a landscape in the moon. this barren expanse of naked rock is called the szekler stone, and was formerly surmounted by the castle of a hungarian vice-voivode. its ruins are still to be seen there. the lower slopes of this mountainside are cultivated now, and the ploughshare is gradually forcing one terrace after another to yield sustenance to the farmer. thus it is that by these cultivated terraces the centuries of the town's history can be numbered. for there is a village there, deep down in the rocky ravine, as if on the floor of a volcano's crater, and in that village live the happiest people in all the world. do not think me unduly prejudiced by the fact that i am one of them. no, i am not prejudiced. strangers also find no terms of praise too high for those happy and industrious people. noted english and german travellers have visited my native valley and afterward written books about it, as other travellers have about japan or circassia. indeed, those two countries have something in common with my own. my people have developed and perfected industries peculiar to themselves, as have the japanese, and they also are proud of their handsome women, as are the circassians--except that the girls of toroczko are not for sale, nor, for that matter, are they to be had by foreigners, even for love. their charms bloom only for their own countrymen, and by them they are jealously guarded. they never work in the fields, and so their fair faces are never tanned or freckled. the young maidens keep their rooms, and spin, weave, and embroider for their own adornment. when sunday comes and they all go to church, they fill six benches and form a veritable 'book of beauties,' of various types, both blond and brunette, which, however, one cannot so easily distinguish, owing to the richly worked kerchiefs under which their hair is hidden. their entire costume is snow-white, even to the fine sheepskin bodice worn by each." "ah, your young women think of nothing but dress, i fear," remarked blanka. "by no means," protested manasseh; "on the contrary, their childhood and youth are largely devoted to education. the people of our little valley maintain a high school for boys and a seminary for girls, as well as a charity school for the poor." "then your people must be rich." "no, not rich. there are no lords or ladies among them, and they have suffered more from the ravages of war than any other community in hungary." "but how," asked blanka, "can they afford to dress their young women in silks and laces, and give both boys and girls an education? they must have some fairy talisman for conjuring wealth out of the rocks on which their houses stand." "and so they have. their talisman is industry, and out of their rocky soil they conjure riches in the shape of iron,--the best that can be found in all transylvania. the same men that fill the church every sunday, in holiday attire, dig and delve under ground the remaining six days of the week. another secret of their modest wealth is their abstinence from strong drink. there is not a single grog-shop in toroczko. but i fear i am wearying you." blanka begged him to continue, and took occasion to ask him why he did not go back to the beautiful valley which he seemed to love so warmly. "because," was the answer, "my people are now enjoying a period of happiness in which i have no part. if misfortune should ever overtake them, i should go back and strive to lighten it, or at least i would bear it with them." chapter v. holy week in rome. it was evening when the travellers reached rome. they had accomplished the journey in the time promised by manasseh, and now the query was raised, could their enemy, by any possibility, have outstripped them? upon the coachman's inquiring to what hotel he should take his passengers, gabriel zimandy drew out his memorandum-book and read the name of a house recommended to him by his landlord at vienna. european innkeepers, be it observed, join together in a sort of fraternity for mutual aid in a business way, passing their guests along from city to city and from hand to hand, sometimes even providing them with letters of introduction. the cards of the hotel in question bore the important announcement, "german is spoken here;" and this was an advantage not to be despised. "you will come with us, won't you?" said the advocate, turning with a courteous bow to manasseh. "where german is spoken? no, i thank you. if i announce myself as a hungarian, they will kiss my hand and then charge the kiss on the bill; if i say i am a german, i shall get a drubbing and be charged for that, too. i prefer to hunt up a modest little inn where, when i register from transylvania, the good people will think it is somewhere in america, perhaps in the neighbourhood of pennsylvania. the yankees, you know, are highly respected in italy." "i regret exceedingly--" began the advocate. "among so many strangers it would have been very pleasant to have----" "at least one enemy within call," interrupted the young man, with a smile. "well, you see, i am likely to be in rome some time; so i shall look up a quiet room for myself near the colosseum, where the sun shines and i can carry out certain plans of my own." the carriage turned into a brilliantly lighted street and passed a stately palace before which a richly sculptured fountain was sending its streams of sparkling water into the air. "the palazzo cagliari," remarked manasseh, but without any significant emphasis. a natural impulse of curiosity moved blanka to turn and look at the ancestral mansion of her husband's family. a moment later manasseh signalled the driver to stop, and alighted from the carriage after shaking hands with his fellow travellers. gabriel zimandy said they should be sure to meet again soon; madam dormandy hoped they might all go sightseeing together in a few days; but blanka said nothing as she bowed her farewell. reaching their hotel, our three travellers were greeted by the landlord with unmistakable tokens of surprise. "and have your excellencies met with no mishap on the way?" he took early occasion to inquire. "certainly not. why?" "your coming was announced in advance by our vienna agent, and accordingly we reserved rooms for you. but at the same time another guest was also announced, a gentleman of high station from hungary; and this afternoon word came that this gentleman and all his party had been captured by bandits in the ravine at the foot of monte rosso, and carried off into the mountains, where they will have to stay until their ransom is forthcoming. we feared your excellencies were of the party." "no," said gabriel; "we came by way of orvieto." "lucky for you!" exclaimed the landlord. "what is the name of the gentleman you refer to?" asked the princess, in a tone that betrayed the keenness of her interest. "it's a queer name," answered the landlord, "and i can't remember it. but i'll find it for you in my letters of advice and send it up to your room." blanka had hardly laid aside her wraps when a waiter knocked at her door and presented a card on a silver salver. "conte benjamino de vajdar" was the name she read in the landlord's handwriting. * * * * * on the following morning, blanka sent for the hotel-keeper and desired him to procure for herself and her two companions admission tickets to all the sacred ceremonies of the coming week. the worthy man fairly gasped at the coolness of this request. tickets to the sistine chapel, to the tenebræ, to the benediction, and to the glorification--and for three persons? why, money couldn't buy them at that late hour, he declared. admission tickets to paradise would be more easily obtainable. at the very utmost, places might still be procured on some balcony overlooking the piazza di san pietro, but only at extremely high prices. yet the view from such a position would be a fine one; and mine host, without waiting to listen to any objections, hastened away to secure tickets, if they were still to be had. the princess made her lament to gabriel zimandy over her poor success in obtaining what she so ardently desired, and that gentleman sought to console her with the assurance that it was highly venturesome for ladies to trust themselves in the crowd that always attended the church ceremonies of holy week, and that she could read all about them much more comfortably in the newspapers. blanka, however, took so much to heart the disappointment of her pious wishes, and came so near the point of tear-letting, that the advocate felt obliged to sally forth in person to see what he could do to console her. in less than an hour he was back again, breathless and exultant. he ran up-stairs with the agility of a much younger and less corpulent man, and hastened to the princess's room, regardless of the fact that she was at the moment under her hair-dresser's hands. "victory!" he cried, panting for breath. "the impossible is achieved, and here are tickets for all three of us--to everything--to the tenebræ, the washing of feet, the last supper, the resurrection, the relics, the benediction--" "but how did you get them?" interrupted the ladies, overcome with curiosity. madam dormandy had come hurrying out of her room at the first sound of his voice, and she and the princess now proceeded to pelt their victorious envoy with a volley of questions. "well, you see," replied the lawyer, gradually recovering his breath, "it is a curious story. as i was tearing across the corso, intent on my errand, i felt some one catch me by the coat-tail and heard a voice call to me in hungarian, 'haste makes waste!' i wheeled about, and there stood our arian friend." "manasseh adorjan?" "yes. he asked me if we had our affairs all in order, and i told him, by no means. i complained to him of our ill luck in securing tickets to the sacred ceremonies, and that it seemed impossible to get even anywhere near the vatican. 'well,' said he, with that confoundedly serious expression of his that you don't know whether to take as a sign of jest or earnest, 'let me see if i can't make it possible for you.' 'but,' said i, 'you don't imagine that you, a fallen statesman and an arian heretic, can gain what is denied to spanish princesses of the strictest orthodoxy?' 'you shall soon see,' he answered, and proceeded to lead me through one crooked street after another, until we found ourselves in front of a palace, at whose door a military watch was posted. he handed his card to the doorkeeper, and presently we were ushered into an anteroom, where adorjan left me while he himself went with a man who seemed to be a private secretary, or something of the sort, into the next room. it wasn't long before he came out again and put three cards into my hand. 'there they are,' said he. 'why, you are a regular magician!' i couldn't but exclaim. 'oh, no,' he replied, 'i am no cagliostro; the explanation is simple enough. this is the french embassy, and monsieur rossi is an old friend of mine. i have visited his family often. so when i asked him for tickets to all the ceremonies of holy week for two hungarian ladies and their escort, he gave them to me at once. but now you must look sharp, for cards enough have been given out to fill the sistine chapel six times over, and there will be a scramble to get in.'" the princess was as pleased as a child. her dearest wish was gratified; but, singularly enough, she owed this gratification to the very man whom she felt the necessity of avoiding and forgetting. it was, however, to the mysterious charm of the approaching ceremonies that she looked for an effective means of diverting her thoughts from forbidden channels. yet the fact remained that he himself had opened the way for her to this earnestly desired distraction, and to blanka it seemed as if his influence over her was only increased and strengthened by his absence. "what return, pray, did you make for all this kindness?" she asked. "a very ungracious one, i fear," replied gabriel. "after receiving these tickets, which are worth many times their weight in gold, i told our benefactor that i feared they would profit us little, unless he procured one for himself, also, and acted as our guide." "you asked him to escort us?" exclaimed the princess, consternation in her tone. "i know it was a strange request," admitted the advocate, "to ask a heretic to witness the passion, and the resurrection, and the glorification. it is like burning incense before his satanic majesty. naturally enough, he refused at first point-blank, alleging that he had no right to thrust himself as attendant on two ladies without their invitation. 'well, then,' said i, 'don't go as the ladies' escort, but just show me, your fellow countryman, the way about, else i shall certainly get lost, and find myself in the catacombs instead of the vatican.' finally, i forced him to yield, and so he is to accompany us." in the afternoon of the same day manasseh adorjan called on the princess, and brought her a piece of good news of the utmost importance. her trunks, and those of her friends, had arrived safely and promptly, and were at the custom-house. she had concluded that they had fallen into the bandits' hands, but it seemed that it was not the diligence, after all, that the robbers had waylaid; it was a post-carriage engaged by one of the travellers in the hope of reaching rome a few hours earlier than the public conveyance. this one traveller only had been carried off into the mountains by the bandits, who had despatched a letter from their captive to rome, addressed to prince cagliari, and presumably relating to the ransom. but as the prince was at present in vienna, and postal communication between the two cities was at that time slow and uncertain, the ransom stood a good chance of being considerably delayed. this was a hint to the princess to make the most of the interim, and plead her cause at the vatican, before her enemy could put in an appearance and damage her case. manasseh, however, betrayed no sign of possessing any knowledge of the pending divorce suit, but continued to bear himself with the courteous reserve of a new acquaintance. two things he sought thenceforth to avoid,--paying court to the beautiful young princess, and speaking lightly of things held sacred by her. complying with the expressed wish of the two ladies, in the evening he made with them the round of the principal churches, which now all wore gala attire. he took his seat on the box by the coachman's side, and pointed out, in passing, the buildings and scenes of special interest. in one of the churches he showed the ladies facsimiles of the four nails used in the crucifixion; of the originals, one, he explained, was preserved in st. peter's, and another had been used to make the circle of the iron crown. he even bought as a souvenir one of these facsimiles, which a cistercian monk was offering for sale. he obtained also consecrated palm-branches with gilded leaves, and bribed the custodian of the three sacred orange-trees planted by the apostles to give his party each a tiny leaflet. he schooled his face to betray no incredulity when the keepers of the various holy relics recited their virtues, and related the miracles wrought by them. and when blanka knelt in prayer before a statue of the madonna, he withdrew respectfully to a distance. it was an earnest petition she offered before the blessed virgin, a prayer for rescue from her enemies, and for strength to resist every temptation. and she knew not that her rescuer and her tempter were one and the same person, and that he stood there behind her at that very moment. of a highly impressionable temperament, and fresh from her convent life, the princess was so moved by the sacred emblems about her, and by their holy associations, that she could not conceive of any one's viewing these objects with less of awe and reverence than herself. and when her conductor recounted the legend of the sacred lance in the chapel of st. veronica,--how the roman lictor longinus had pierced the saviour's side with this lance, and been himself struck blind the same instant, but had immediately recovered his sight when he rubbed his eyes with the hand on which four drops of the redeemer's blood had fallen,--blanka could not but ask herself whether another such miracle might not be wrought, and another blind man be restored to sight. she dreamed of this miracle that night, and made a vow to the virgin that in case of her deliverance from her present difficulties, she would show her gratitude by presenting the madonna with a jewel more precious than any that adorned her crown: she would offer this young man himself, who now refused to worship at her shrine. the princess felt herself rich enough to buy this jewel for her offering. her heart held inexhaustible treasures, of which no man as yet could claim any share. she ceased to fear him against whom she had hitherto felt obliged to be on her guard; so much strength had she gained from the sacred relics that she now thought herself strong enough to make conquests of her own. in the morning manasseh came early to escort the ladies and gabriel zimandy to the sistine chapel. upon gaining the piazza di san pietro they found a vast throng already assembled, through which the young man was forced to pilot his charges. blanka was compelled to cling fast to his arm, while madam dormandy took the advocate's, and so they made the best of their way forward. as if by instinct, manasseh knew where a courteous request would open a path before them, where to resort to more energetic measures, and where a couple of _lire_ would prove most effectual. at length he was successful in gaining the very best position in the chapel, and here, unfolding a camp-stool which he had brought with him under his overcoat, he offered blanka a seat, whence she could view the ceremonies in comfort, and without annoyance from the pushing and crowding multitude. alas, poor blanka! she only learned later from her father confessor what a sin she had committed in thus yielding to the weakness of the flesh, instead of standing through all the weary hours of that morning. a good christian should not think of bodily comfort while his saviour hangs bleeding on the cross. but she did not know this at the time, and therefore her escort's kind attention was most grateful to her. the tenebræ is one of the most impressive of all the ceremonies of holy week in rome. the sistine chapel is draped entirely in black, and only the soft rays of thirteen wax candles serve to lessen the darkness, out of whose depths, as out of the blackness of the tomb, sounds the antiphony of mourning and lamentation. the human forms moving to and fro before the cross are hardly distinguishable, but have the appearance of vague shadows. then the candles are, one by one, extinguished, until only a single taper is left burning on the altar--that is jesus. and in this darkness, symbolic of grief and mourning, an invisible choir sings the _miserere_, allegri's world-renowned composition, whose mystic notes bring so vividly before us that last scene on golgotha,--the agony of the dying saviour, the taunts of the lictors, the wailing of the holy women, the shrieks of the dead whose graves are opened, and who cry aloud for mercy, and finally the rending of the temple curtain, and the chorus of angels in heaven. all this affects even the most hardened of skeptics with a power that cannot be withstood. for the time being the imagination is mistress of the reason. as the crowd poured out of the chapel after the ceremony was over, blanka shot a glance of scrutiny from beneath her veil at the young man by her side. his face wore its wonted look of seriousness, the utter opposite of careless indifference, but at the same time wholly unlike the devout rapture of a believer. in fact, his expression betrayed but too clearly that his thoughts were little occupied with what he had just witnessed. "have you heard the _miserere_ many times before?" asked blanka. "twice only,--once in the sistine chapel, and again in st. stephen's at vienna." "but i thought its production was forbidden elsewhere than in rome," said the princess. "formerly that was the case," replied manasseh, "the publication of allegri's work being strictly prohibited; but after mozart had heard it once and written it down from memory, its reproduction could not be prevented. so i had a chance to hear it in vienna, where, however, it was but ill received, some of the audience even being moved to laughter." "for what reason, pray?" "oh, not from any frivolity or irreverence, but because the music, which sounds so grandly impressive here in the sistine chapel, strikes one as a mere confusion of discordant notes amid other surroundings." on the following day came the washing of the apostles' feet. chosen priests from thirteen nations of the earth gathered in the pauline chapel to receive this humble service at the hands of the pope himself. the thirteenth of these chosen ones represented the angel that is said to have appeared with the appointed twelve in st. gregory's time. then followed the last supper, at which also the holy father ministered to the apostles in person. the next day was saturday, and gabriel zimandy declared himself surfeited with holy ceremonies. madam dormandy agreed with him and began to complain of a fearful headache. then the two united in maintaining that the princess looked utterly worn out and in need of rest. but manasseh, who, by appointment, just then came upon the scene to offer his escort for the day, laughed them all three to shame. "that is always the way," said he; "people tire themselves out so before saturday that on that day five-sixths of the crowd stay at home to save up their strength for easter, and thus miss one of the most impressive spectacles of the week,--the adoration of the true cross." poor gabriel was now given no rest: he was forced to accompany the others once more to the sistine chapel, though he declared himself already quite stiff and sore with so much standing. the chapel was at its best; the black hangings had been removed, the light from the windows was softened, candles burned on the altar, and, as manasseh had predicted, so many of the sightseers had stayed at home that ample room was left for those who were present. the general multitude could find little pleasure in the ceremony of the day,--the worship of a piece of wood about three yards in length, and unadorned with gold or silver. the pope and the cardinals, gowned with no pretence to magnificence or pomp, knelt before the relic as it lay on the altar. it was but a fragment of the original cross, broken in the strife that attended its rescue. this piece is said to have been saved and carried off by an emperor, making his way barefoot from jerusalem to alexandria, where another emperor concealed the precious relic in a statue, and finally the templars bore it in triumph through pagan hordes from constantinople to rome. and now, when the head of the church, the pastor of a flock of two hundred million human beings, the keeper of the keys of heaven, approaches this bit of wood, he strips himself of his splendid robes, removes the crown from his head, the shoes from his feet, and goes, simply clad and barefoot, with humble mien, to kneel and kiss the sacred emblem. the cardinals follow his example, and meanwhile the choir sings palestrina's famous composition, the "mass of pope marcellinus," a wonderful piece that must have been first sung to the composer by the angels themselves. when the last notes of the music had died away, the bells of st. peter's began to ring, the hangings before the windows were drawn aside, and michael angelo's marvellous frescoes were fully revealed to the admiring gaze of all present. the swords and halberds of the guards were once more raised erect, and the choir, the prelates, and the pilgrims joined in a common "hallelujah!" "hallelujah!" cried gabriel zimandy also, rejoicing that the ceremony was finally ended. "never before in all my life have i been so completely tired out." on his return to the hotel, he stoutly protested against attending any more church functions, and argued at length the inadvisability of the ladies exposing themselves to the heat and fatigue of the easter service. finally, and most important of all, he added that he had been granted an audience with the pope and must prepare his address, which was to be in latin. "we are infinitely indebted to you, friend manasseh," he concluded, "for all your kindness; but you see for yourself how the case stands with me." "yes, yes, i understand," replied the young man. "the audience is fixed for day after to-morrow, and of course you wish to prepare for it. let me suggest, too, that you pay the french ambassador, to whose house i took you the other day, the courtesy of a call; he knows a little latin, although, to be sure, it can't equal your own." this suggestion, casual though it was meant to appear, made it evident to the advocate that he owed the early granting of his request to the powerful influence of the french minister. and manasseh, on his part, was not slow to perceive that the advocate's chief concern was lest his fair client, at this critical time, should be seen in public in the company of a strange young man. it might hurt her case irremediably. with a full understanding of the situation, manasseh took leave of the princess, who indeed was looking very down-hearted at the prospect of missing what she had so ardently desired. but she was schooled to the denial of her own pleasure, and so quietly shook hands with her caller--then went to the window to watch his retreating form. chapter vi. the consecrated palm-leaf. early the next morning the cannon began to boom from the castle of st. angelo. gabriel zimandy sprang out of bed and dressed himself quickly. his first care was to tap at madam dormandy's door and inquire for her health. the patient answered in a pitiful voice that the guns were fairly splitting her poor head, and that she did not expect to live the day through. this reply seemed to be quite to the advocate's liking: of the lady's succumbing to her ailment he had not the slightest fear, while he now felt assured that it would be impossible for his client to go out that day. what conception had he, heartless man, of the longing that filled the young woman's soul for the papal blessing, to which she ascribed such miraculous power, but which to him was nothing more than a latin phrase? soon the bells began to ring from all the church-towers of the city, and a stream of people in gala attire poured toward st. peter's. poor blanka sat at her window with eyes fixed on a certain corner, around which she had the day before seen manasseh adorjan's form disappear. the clocks struck twelve, thirteen, fourteen--by italian reckoning of time; the crowds began to thin, and at last every one seemed to have betaken himself to st. peter's. an open carriage halted in the now deserted street in front of the hotel, and blanka recognised in its occupant the very person whose image had been so persistently before her mind's eye. "pardon me, princess, for intruding," began manasseh in greeting, as he entered the young lady's presence; "but yesterday i saw that you were disappointed at not being able to attend the easter service at st. peter's. i have found means to remove that disappointment, i hope." the princess felt her pulse quicken with eager delight, while at the same time she shrank back in nameless apprehension of what the young man might be going to propose. "i fear it is too late," she replied, quietly. "i am not even dressed for the occasion." "you have time enough," returned the other, reassuringly. "the french minister's wife has kindly offered to take you with her. seats for the ladies of the embassy have been reserved and can be easily reached by a special entrance. they are very near the _loggia_ where the papal blessing will be pronounced. in an hour madame rossi will be here; that will give you time to get ready." "and are you going with us?" "no, that will be impossible, as the reserved seats are for ladies only; but i will escort madame rossi and her daughter to your door, and you will, i am sure, find them very pleasant company. for myself, i shall hunt up some sort of a perch where i can get a view of the day's festivities." so saying, the young man hurried away. against this plan gabriel zimandy could raise no objections. indeed, he saw the policy of making friends with the french embassy, and as long as manasseh was not to accompany the party his professional schemes were in no wise endangered. when manasseh returned with the french ladies he sought the lawyer. "come, my friend," he urged, "if your legs have nothing to say against it, if your religious belief permits, and if you have studied your latin speech enough for one day, i will find you a good shady spot where you can witness what no mortal eye has seen in all these eighteen christian centuries, and is little likely to see again in eighteen centuries to come." "what may that be?" "a pope of the romish church, pronouncing his blessing from the _loggia_ of st. peter's on the roman army, preparatory to its marching forth to fight for freedom. durando's troops are now marshalled in st. peter's square, awaiting the papal blessing on the swords drawn for liberty and country. it has, i know, been your dream to witness a sight like that, and now i come to invite you to its realisation." "well, well, that is something worth while," admitted the advocate. "the whole roman army, and durando himself! surely, i can't afford to miss it." the invitation had driven quite out of his head all the objections so strenuously urged the day before. the ladies had no difficulty in reaching the places reserved for them; for the gentlemen, however, it was not so easy to find even standing-room. but at length manasseh guided his companion to one end of the scaffolding which supported the ladies' platform, and there found for him a v-shaped seat in the angle of two beams, while he himself stood on a projecting timber which afforded him room for one foot, and clung to the woodwork of the platform with both hands. the discomfort of his position was lightened for him by the fact that, only a few feet above, he could see blanka's face as she sat with eyes directed toward the _loggia_ where the pope was soon to appear. it was a grand spectacle. the whole army--infantry, cavalry, artillery--was drawn up in the immense _piazza_, each regiment carrying two flags--the banner of the church, on which were depicted the keys of heaven, and the red, white, and green flag of italian freedom. the background to this scene was furnished by the cathedral itself, a vast throng of spectators crowded the foreground, and the whole united to produce an effect of pomp and grandeur that fairly beggars description. the clocks struck eighteen--midday. the great bell sounded in the western turret of the cathedral, and the booming of cannon was once more heard from the castle of st. angelo. the service within the cathedral was at an end, the leather curtains that hung before the great bronze doors parted, and out poured the procession of pilgrims, until the whole wide expanse of the portico was filled. mysterious music fell on the ear from somewhere above: a military band stationed aloft in the cupola had struck up a psalm of praise, and it seemed to the listeners to come from heaven itself. silver trumpets--so the faithful believe--are used in rendering this piece. all faces were now turned toward the _loggia_, a sort of projecting balcony high up on the front of the cathedral. a sound like the murmur of the sea rose from the multitude: each spectator was shifting his position, and seeking a clearer view. then the _loggia_ became suddenly filled with moving forms,--cardinals in their splendid robes, knights in mediæval armour, pages in costly livery. the crown-bearers advanced with two triple tiaras, one the gift of napoleon i., the other presented by the queen of spain, and both sparkling with diamonds. a third crown,--the oldest of all, originally simple in form, then a double diadem, and finally a threefold tiara,--encircled the head of the pope himself, who, seated on a golden throne, was borne forward to the stone breastwork, on which two crowns had been placed by their bearers. the pontiff rose from his seat and the sun shone full upon his venerable form. he wore a white robe embroidered with gold, and his appearance was radiant with light. the benignant smile that illumined his countenance outshone all the diamonds in his triple crown. how happy was princess blanka at that moment! and hers were the fairest gems in all that costly array,--two tears that glistened in her large dark eyes as she gazed intently on the scene before her. the two youngest cardinals took their stand on either side of the pope, each holding a palm-leaf in his hand. then, over the awed and silent throng before him, in a voice still strong, sonorous, and vibrant with feeling, the aged pontiff pronounced his blessing in words at once simple, sincere, and gracious. blanka and manasseh exchanged glances, and the young man felt a tear-drop fall upon his cheek. from that moment an indissoluble bond united the two. when the benediction was over, a stentorian voice from the multitude cried, "_evviva pio nono!_" the shout was caught up by all the vast throng, and sent heavenward in a united cry of ever-swelling volume. not merely pius ix., but st. peter himself seemed to stand before the jubilant multitude, opening heaven's gates with one key, and the portals of an earthly paradise of freedom with another. the two cardinals cast their palm-leaves down to the people, and as they fell, fluttering uncertainly, now this way, now that, all eyes followed them to see who should be the happy ones to secure the precious emblems of benediction and absolution. one leaf, after hovering in the air a moment, sank in ever narrowing circles until it lodged on the flag of a volunteer regiment, whereupon a mighty cheer burst from thousands of throats. the other, borne hither and thither by shifting breezes, was finally wafted toward the raised platform where sat the ladies of the french embassy. a hundred hands reached eagerly for it as it sank lower and lower; but one arm, extending higher than the others, secured the prize. it was manasseh who from his elevated position, intercepted the coveted token as it fell, and he immediately turned and presented it to princess cagliari, amid a storm of applause from the onlookers. the princess was a beautiful woman, but at the moment of receiving this symbol of forgiveness and blessing, her face gained such a look of radiant happiness as can only be imagined on the countenance of an angel in his flight to heaven; and to her that precious leaf meant heaven indeed. but when she turned to thank the giver he had disappeared. "that was really grand," admitted gabriel zimandy, as his friend piloted him through the surging throng to the nearest cab. "to think of the pope's giving his blessing to an army mustered in the cause of liberty! such a sight was never seen before." "no," returned manasseh; "and you must make haste to push your client's cause while he is in his present good humour, which may not last." "but, surely, you don't mean that his holiness is in any way trifling with the people, do you?" asked the advocate. "i am fully convinced," replied the other, "that pio nono is a gentle, good-hearted, upright man, and a gracious pontiff; but i also believe that, at the very first engagement, the austrians will give the pious durando a most unmerciful whipping. what direction the wind will take in rome after that, no mortal can tell. you will do well, however, to make the most of your time while that palm-leaf is still green." chapter vii. an audience with the pope. on the following day came the audience with his holiness, pius the ninth. the very reverend dean szerenyi was first sent by the master of ceremonies to instruct the lawyer and his client in the details of their approaching interview. this envoy even took pains to indicate in what sort of toilet ladies were expected to appear. the gown must come up high about the neck and might be of any colour desired, or of black silk if the wearer was in mourning. jewelry was not forbidden. a lackey in red livery would usher the strangers into the audience-chamber. their petition must be carried in the hand. in the throne-room--where ladies were permitted to gaze to their hearts' content on the splendid display of japanese porcelain--the major-domo would marshal the company in a double file, and there they would wait until his holiness appeared. "but look here," interposed zimandy, with a troubled look, "does the pope know i am a calvinist?" "he never asks about the religious belief of those who seek an audience with him. on all alike he bestows his blessing, assuming that all who court his favour have an equal need of his benediction." "are there very many asking an audience at this time?" "only eight hundred." "e-e-e! eight hundred! how am i ever going to get a chance to deliver my latin speech that i have been working on all night?" "you will not be called upon for it at all. it is not customary in a general audience with the pope to make set speeches. his holiness addresses whom he chooses, and they answer him. all petitions are taken in charge by the secretary." "then it is lucky i put into mine everything that i intended to say. well, give my respects to his holiness, and tell him i was the one who made the motion in the pest radical club to have his portrait hung on the wall in a gilt frame; and if he is a smoker, i should be happy to send him some superfine--" but the dean had urgent matters to attend to, and begged to take his leave without further delay. our travellers, with the eager promptness characteristic of hungarians on such occasions, were the first to be ushered into the antechamber at the vatican. consequently they had an opportunity to hear the names of all the other petitioners announced by the footman as they came in by ones and twos and in little parties. they seemed to be all foreign prelates, princes, ambassadors, and other high dignitaries; and, in drawing them up in line, the major-domo gave them all precedence over our party, much to the latter's humiliation and disgust. it is not pleasant to stand waiting for a whole hour, only to find at its end that one is no farther forward than at first. but when the antechamber was nearly full, a uniformed official entered by a side door and made his way to the very foot of the line where the hungarians were standing. "serenissima principessa de cagliari! nobilis domina vidua de dormand! egregius dominus de zimand!" this ceremonious apostrophe was followed by a wave of the hand, which indicated that the persons addressed were to follow the speaker, and that they were granted the special favour of a private hearing before his holiness. through the long hall, past lines of waiting men and women, they made their way; and as they went, inquiring looks and suppressed whispers followed them. the princess was recognised by many as the fortunate recipient of the consecrated palm-leaf on the day before, and they whispered one to another, "ah, _la beata!_" this sudden turn of affairs drove gabriel zimandy's latin speech completely out of his head, so that he could not have given even the first word. as he hastened forward in all his court toggery, as he called it, he could have sworn that there were at least fifty swords dangling between his legs and doing their best to trip him up. after passing through a seemingly endless succession of splendid halls and stately corridors, the party was ushered into an apartment opening on the magnificent gardens of the vatican. here it was that pio nono was wont to receive the ladies whom he favoured with a private audience. the princess and her companions stood before the august head of the church, the sovereign who acknowledges no earthly boundaries to his dominions. blanka felt a deep joy in her heart as she looked on that benignant countenance, her eyes filled with tears, and she sank on her knees. the pope bent and graciously raised her to her feet. he laid his hand on her head, and spoke to her words of comfort which she enshrined in the inmost sanctuary of her heart. when the audience was over and our friends had retired, gabriel zimandy could not have given any coherent account of what had passed, nor, indeed, was he in the least certain whether he had unburdened himself of his latin speech, or stuck fast at the _beatissime pater_. madam dormandy, however, was sure to enlighten him as soon as they regained their hotel. he knew at least that the written petition which he had carried in his hand was no longer on his person; hence he must have accomplished his main object. madam dormandy alone seemed to have kept her wits about her through it all. she was able to tell how the pope, while zimandy was stammering some sort of gibberish,--hebrew or greek, for aught she knew,--had taken his snuff-box from a pocket behind, and smilingly helped himself to a pinch of snuff. further, the snuff-box had looked like a common tortoise-shell affair with an enamelled cover; and after he had taken his pinch, he had put his hand into the pocket of his gold-embroidered silk gown and drawn out a coarse cotton handkerchief such as the franciscans use. but these little details had entirely escaped the princess and her lawyer. chapter viii. an unwelcome visitor. one day, when blanka announced her intention of visiting the colosseum for the purpose of sketching it, gabriel zimandy declared that he could not be one of the party, and the two ladies must get along without his escort. he said he was going to the lateran, in his client's interest, and added that he had just received unwelcome news from manasseh. "then you have told him what brought us to rome," said the princess. "are you angry with me for doing so?" asked the advocate. "no, no; you were quite right. what word does he send you?" "i'll read you what he says--if i can; he writes an abominable hand. 'while you are seeing the sights of rome with the ladies,' he begins, 'important events are taking place elsewhere. general durando has had a taste of the austrians at ferrara, and found them hard nuts to crack. in his wrath he now proclaims a crusade against them, fastens red crosses on his soldiers' breasts, and is pushing forward to cross the po. but this action of his is very displeasing to the pope, who does not look kindly on a crusade by a roman army against a christian nation. accordingly he has forbidden durando to cross the po. if now the general disobeys, all those whose powerful favour your client at present enjoys will lose their influence; and should he suffer defeat beyond the po, as he well may, your client's enemies could hardly fail to gain the upper hand. you will do wisely, therefore, to press an issue before it is too late.'" "but is it possible that i should be made to suffer for a defeat on the battle-field?" asked blanka. "h'm! _quidquid delirant reges, plectuntur achivi_," returned the advocate, sententiously; and he hurried away without explaining that the quotation meant,--whenever kings fall to quarrelling, the common people suffer for it. such was the old greek usage. blanka was thus left to find her way to the colosseum with madam dormandy, under the guidance of an abbot, whom they had secured as cicerone; and, while the reverend father entertained the young widow with a historical lecture, the princess seated herself at the foot of the cross that stands in the middle of the arena, and sought to sketch the view before her. but her success was poor; she was conscious of failure with every fresh attempt. three times she began, and as often was forced to discard her work and start over again. the colosseum will not suffer its likeness to be taken by every one; it is a favour that must be fought for. high up on the dizzy height of the third gallery sat a wee speck of a man with an easel before him. even through an opera-glass the painter looked like an ant on a house-top. he wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, and behind him a large umbrella was opened against the fierce rays of the italian sun. thus protected, he sat there busily at work. blanka envied him: he had mastered the mighty colosseum and caught its likeness. how had he set about it? why, naturally enough, he had climbed the giddy height and conquered the giant from above. she resolved to come again, early the next morning, and follow his example. with that she tore the spoiled leaves impatiently from her sketch-book, and threw them down among the thistles that sprang up everywhere between the stones of the ruin. it was getting late, and she was forced to return to her hotel and dress for the theatre. the way back led past the cagliari palace, and blanka noted with surprise that its iron shutters were open and the first story brilliantly lighted. the gate, too, was thrown back, giving a view of the courtyard, which wore rather the aspect of a garden. who could have wrought this sudden transformation in the deserted old mansion? a still greater surprise awaited the princess when she reached her hotel. the proprietor himself came down the steps to open her carriage door, assist her to alight, and escort her to her rooms. "thank you, sir, but pray don't trouble yourself," began blanka. "i can find my way very well alone." the innkeeper persisted, however, although the double doors to which he led her, and which he threw open before her, were not those of her own apartment. the ladies found themselves in a sumptuously furnished anteroom, from which, through a half-opened door, they looked into a spacious drawing-room yet more luxuriously fitted up, with oil paintings on its walls and potted plants in its four corners. leading out of this apartment, to right and left, were still other elaborately furnished rooms, which a footman in gold-braided red livery obsequiously threw open. "while the princess was out," explained the hotel keeper, with a bow and a smile, "i had this suite of rooms put in order for her reception, and hope they will give entire satisfaction." "no, no, my dear sir," protested blanka, "they appear far too magnificent for my needs, and i prefer to remain where i was. and how about this footman?" "a servant of the house, but now dressed in the princess's livery," was the reply. "henceforth he is to be at your sole disposal, and a liveried coachman in a white wig, with a closed carriage, is also ordered to serve you. all this is in compliance with directions from high quarters. a gentleman was here in your absence and expressed great displeasure that princess cagliari and her party were lodged in a suite of only four rooms. where is his card, beppo? go and fetch it." blanka had no need to look at the card: she knew well enough whose name it bore. controlling her agitation, she turned calmly to the hotel proprietor. "i must beg you," said she, "not to receive orders from any one but my attorney. otherwise i shall feel obliged to leave your hotel at once. let my old rooms be opened for me again, and engage no special servants on my account." so saying, she returned to her former quarters. with no little impatience she awaited the advocate's return, and as soon as he appeared questioned him eagerly for news. "none at all," he answered, wearily. "i've been running around all day, and have accomplished absolutely nothing; couldn't find the people i wished to see, and those i did find pretended not to understand a word i said. if i only knew where that fellow manasseh had hidden himself!" "i could tell you," thought blanka, but did not offer to do so. "well," said she, aloud, "if you have no news, i have. look at this card." the lawyer put on his eyeglasses and read the name,--"benjamin vajdar." "prince cagliari is in rome also," added blanka. the advocate looked at her. "so vajdar has been here, has he? did you see him?" "no; but he is sure to come again. i have given orders that he is to be referred to you. i have nothing to say to him." "just let me get hold of him!" cried gabriel, with menace in his looks, and then added: "i only wish i knew where to find manasseh." "i know," said the princess to herself. she had learned his address by a curious accident. when she and the young painter went to see the sistine chapel together they were called upon, as are all visitors, to give their names and addresses. thus she could not avoid hearing the street and number of manasseh's temporary abode, and this street and number she had afterward written down in her sketch-book--foreign names are so hard to remember. when her lawyer had withdrawn she sought her book and turned its leaves in search of the address. but though she hunted through all the pages again and again, she could not find the memorandum which she felt sure she had made. suddenly she remembered having torn out and thrown away two or three leaves,--those containing her futile attempts to sketch the colosseum. at this point a letter was delivered to the princess. it was from prince cagliari, and asked blanka to assign an hour at which to receive him. she answered the note at once, naming ten o'clock of the following morning. promptly on the hour appointed the prince's equipage appeared at the hotel door, and he himself came up the stairs, leaning on his gold-headed cane. he enjoyed the full use of only one foot, although his gouty condition was not very apparent except when he climbed a flight of stairs. ordinarily he showed admirable skill in disguising his defect. he was still a fine-looking man, and only the whiteness of his hair betrayed his age. clean-shaven and of florid complexion, he wore a constant smile on his finely chiselled lips, and bore himself with a graceful air of self-assertion that seldom failed of its effect on the women whom he chose to honour with his attentions. the head waiter hurried on before him to announce his coming. blanka met the prince in her antechamber. he took her offered hand and at the same time barred the waiter's exit with his cane. "is the princess still lodged in these rooms?" he demanded. the servant could not find a word to say in apology, but the princess came to his aid. "i wished to remain here," said she, calmly. the domestic was then dismissed and the visitor ushered into the next room. "i greatly regret," he began, "that you chose to put aside my friendly intercession on your behalf. these quarters do not befit your rank. furthermore, by retaining a protestant lawyer you appear to challenge me to the bitterest of conflicts." "do you so interpret my action?" asked blanka, proud reproach in her tone. "no, blanka, assuredly not. your own noble heart moved you rather to use mild measures--in spite of your attorney. you generously refrained from pushing your advantage against me while i was detained elsewhere and while my secretary was also unavoidably delayed. in return for this generosity, prince cagliari comes to you now, not as your opponent in a suit at law, not as a husband to claim his wife, but as a father seeking his daughter. what say you? will you accept me as a father?" blanka was almost inclined to believe in the speaker's sincerity; yet he had caused her far too much pain in the past to admit of any sudden reconciliation in this theatrical fashion. she remained unmoved. "bear in mind, my dear blanka," proceeded the prince, "that the key to the situation is now in my hands. recent important events have made me a _persona grata_ at the vatican, and now the first of the conditions which i feel justified in imposing on you is that you acquiesce in the arrangements which, with all a father's forethought, i have made for your comfort during your sojourn in rome. if the case between us is to reach a peaceful settlement, we must, above all things, avoid the appearance of mutual hostility; and it is a hostile demonstration on the part of princess cagliari to be seen driving about the city in a hired cab, and occupying, with her party, a suite of only four rooms. my duty demanded that i should at least offer you the use of the cagliari palace, which consists of two entirely distinct wings, with separate entrances, stairs, and gardens; but i knew only too well that you would have rejected the offer." "most certainly." "therefore nothing was left me but to order the apartments in this hotel commonly occupied by visiting foreign princes to be placed at your disposal. no burdensome obligation, however, will be incurred by you in acceding to this arrangement, as i shall, in the event of our separation, see that the expense is deducted from the allowance which i shall be required to make you." blanka, who was naturally of a confiding disposition, not infrequently reposed her confidence where it was undeserved,--a failing not to be wondered at in one so young. her husband was one of those in whom she thus sometimes placed too large a measure of trust, although she had early learned that no word from his mouth was to be accepted in its obvious meaning. yet this matter of her apartments in the hotel seemed to her of such trifling moment that she let him have his way and consented to make the change which he desired, albeit at the same time strongly suspecting a hidden motive on his part. "i am very glad, my dear blanka," said cagliari, when the princess had indicated her willingness to comply with his request, "to find you disposed to meet me half-way in this matter. we will, then, leave further details to the hotel keeper. he will provide you with servants in the livery of our house. how many do you wish--two?" "one will suffice." "and if he does not suit you, dismiss him and demand another. you shall have no ground for suspecting me of placing a spy upon you in the guise of a servant." "even if you should, it would trouble me little. a spy would find nothing to report to you." "my dear blanka, no one sees his own face except in a mirror; others can see it at all times." "have you anything to criticise in my conduct?" "nothing, i assure you. i know your firmness of principle. i look at you now, not through the yellow glass used by a jealous husband in scrutinising his wife, but through the rose-coloured glass that a fond father holds before his eyes in regarding a beloved daughter. if you travelled in a stranger's company on your journey to rome, that may very well have been a mere matter of chance. if you left the accustomed route under his escort, you may have done so to avoid suspected dangers. if you are seen again in rome at this stranger's side, i see nothing in that but his recognition of his duty toward you,--the courtesy of a fellow countryman acquainted with rome toward a lady visiting that city for the first time. and if you walked together arm in arm, it was undoubtedly because of the pressure of the crowd, which always justifies a lady in seeking the protection of the first man available." this speech filled blanka with indignation and dismay. weapons were being forged against her, she perceived; but she could do nothing. had she offered a denial, her glowing cheeks would have testified against her. she held her peace, accordingly, and preserved such outward composure as she was able. "_n'en parlons plus!_" concluded the prince, fully aware of his triumph. "no one shall boast of outdoing prince cagliari in magnanimity,--not even his wife. where you have knelt and sued for mercy, i too will kneel; what you have written in your petition i will subscribe to, and add still further: 'we are not husband and wife, we are father and daughter.' and you shall learn that this is no empty phrase. i do not seek to sever the bond between us; i exchange it for another." all this was uttered in so friendly a tone, and with such seeming warmth of feeling, that no one unacquainted with the speaker, and not knowing him for the most consummate of hypocrites and the cleverest of actors, could have listened to him without being moved almost to tears. but his hearer in this instance knew him only too well. she knew that jerome cagliari was most to be feared when he professed the noblest sentiments. rising from his chair, he added, as if it were a matter of the most trifling importance: "this afternoon i will send my secretary to you." "your secretary?" repeated blanka, with a start. "pray send me anybody but him,--a notary, a strange lawyer, an attorney's clerk, a servant. i will receive your instructions from any of these, but not from your secretary." "and why not from him?" "because i hate him." "then you hate the man who is your best friend in all the world,--yes, even a better friend than i myself. if i were to ask heaven for a son i could pray for no more excellent young man than he. he has my full confidence and esteem." "but if you knew why i hate him!" interjected blanka, in a voice that trembled. "before you bring your accusation against him," rejoined the other, "remember you are speaking, not to your husband, but to your father, who wishes not only to set you free, but also to make you happy. accordingly, i will send mr. benjamin vajdar to call on you to-morrow afternoon, to open the way for a harmonious settlement of the affair between us. i beg you to receive him as my confidant and plenipotentiary, and not to let your attorney know of his coming. for myself, i shall, with your permission, allow myself the pleasure of calling on you again." with this the prince kissed blanka's hand, and withdrew. scarcely had he gone, when gabriel zimandy presented himself to learn the object of cagliari's visit. but blanka obeyed orders, and kept back the chief motive of his coming, saying simply that he had asked permission to order a larger and finer suite of rooms for her use, and that in this matter she had thought best to humour him. the advocate acquiesced, recognising the importance of securing the prince's good-will under present conditions. chapter ix. the anonymous letter. no sooner had her lawyer left her than a letter was delivered to blanka by one of the hotel servants. it was unsigned, and to the following effect: "princess cagliari:--be cautious. prince cagliari is carrying out a fiendish scheme against you. like yourself, he is bent on securing a divorce, but only that he may marry you to his protégé and favourite. he is even capable of selling his own wife. hitherto you have been cagliari's wife, and the marchioness caldariva his mistress; now he wishes to reverse these relations, and make the marchioness his wife, and you his mistress. be on your guard. you are in the country of the borgias." the princess was not a little disturbed by this communication. monstrous as was the plot which it purported to disclose, she could not disbelieve it when ascribed to the two men in question. certain fearful remembrances of the past confirmed her suspicions, and even inspired her in her distress with thoughts of suicide. but what if this letter were merely a trap? who could have written it? who, in that city, where so few knew even of her existence, was sufficiently familiar with her private affairs to be able to write it? whom could she now consult, with whom share her anxious forebodings? involuntarily she took up her sketch-book, and turned its leaves once more. in vain; the address was gone--gone with the leaves she had torn out and thrown away in the colosseum. having no further engagements for that morning, she proposed to her companion a second visit to the colosseum, that she might once more essay the sketch which had baffled her the day before. both madam dormandy and the advocate signified their readiness to accompany her, the more so as a party of german visitors was planning an inspection of the colosseum's subterranean chambers and passages, and zimandy proposed to join them. blanka made it her first care, on arriving at the colosseum, to search for the lost sketch-book leaves; but though she remembered exactly where she had dropped them, neither she nor her friend could discover the least trace of them. who could have appropriated them? the artist in the gallery had been the only stranger present at the time of her previous visit. while the advocate and madam dormandy went with the german party to inspect the lower regions, blanka remained above, on the plea that such subterranean excursions made her unwell. there were no robbers or wild beasts to molest her in the arena during the others' absence, and, besides, the entrances were all guarded. she sat down at the foot of the cross, but not to draw, for her mind was not now on her sketch. plucking the dandelions that grew in profusion about her, she fashioned them into a chain and hung it around her neck. the thought came to her, as she was thus engaged, that of all the christian martyrs torn to pieces by wild beasts in that arena, not one of them, when the tigers and hyenas leaped upon their prey, felt such a terror as hers at sight of the monsters that seemed to be closing in about her to rend her limb from limb. how happy the artist must be up there in the lofty gallery! for there he was, still at work on his picture. the artist is the only really happy man. he need fear no exile; every land is his home. no foreign tongue can confuse him; his thoughts find a medium of expression intelligible to all. wars have no terror for him; he paints them, but takes no part in them. storms and tempests, by land or sea, speak to him not of danger, but are merely the symbols of nature's ever-varying moods. popular insurrections furnish his canvas with picturesque groupings of animated humanity. though all rome surge with uproar about him, he sits under his sun-umbrella and paints. the artist is a cold-blooded man. he paints a madonna, but his piety is none the greater for it. he draws a venus, but his heart is still whole. he pictures god and satan, but prostrates himself before neither. how independent, too, he must feel as he wanders through the world! he asks no help in the production of his creations. the priest need not pray for rain or sunshine on his account. he seeks no office or title from prince or potentate. he desires no favour, no privilege, nor does he even require the advantage of a recognised religious belief. with his genius he can conquer the world. art it is, moreover, that makes woman the equal of man. the woman artist is something more than man's other half; she is complete in herself. she does not ask the world for a living, she does not beg any man to give her his name, she kneels before no marriage-altar for the priest's blessing; she goes forth and wins for herself all that she desires. an irresistible impulse drove blanka to ascend to the painter's lofty perch in order to see how he was succeeding in the task which she herself knew not even how to begin. an artist engrossed in his work heeds not what is going on around him. the painter in this instance wore a simple canvas jacket, spotted with oil and colours here and there, and a straw hat, broad of brim and ventilated with abundant holes. the princess, looking over his shoulder, was far less interested in the painter than in his work. indeed, the artist himself was so absorbed in his task that, to save time, he held one of his brushes crosswise between his teeth while he worked with the other. yet the instinct of politeness impelled him, as soon as he heard the rustle of a lady's skirt behind him, to remove his broad-brimmed hat and place it on the floor at his side. "manasseh!" startled surprise and gladness spoke in that word, which slipped out ere the speaker's discretion could prevent it. the young man turned quickly. "princess!" he exclaimed, "where did you drop from?" "i was not looking for you," she stammered, thus betraying that she had been seeking him and was rejoiced, heart and soul, at the chance that had led her to him. manasseh smiled. "no, not for me, but for the painter wrestling with the colosseum from this lofty roost. i saw you yesterday attempting the same task from below." "and you recognised me--so far off?" "i have very good eyes. i also saw that you were dissatisfied with your attempts, for you tore out one leaf after another from your sketch-book and threw them away." "did you find them again?" asked blanka, breathlessly. "i made it a point to do so, princess," was the reply. "oh, then give them back to me, please!" "here they are." no creditor ever did his distressed debtor a greater favour in surrendering to him an overdue note than did manasseh in restoring the lost leaves to their owner. she replaced them carefully in her sketch-book, assuring herself, as she did so, that the missing address was on the blank side of one of them. what if it had caught the young man's eye? how would he have explained its presence there? she sat down to rest a moment on the stone railing of the gallery, her back to the arena and her face toward manasseh,--an arrangement that very much interfered with the artist's view of what he was painting. the sun shone directly in her eyes, and she had no sunshade, having left hers in the carriage. the arena was so shaded that she had needed none there. manasseh adjusted his umbrella so as to shield the princess, and the rosy hue which its red fabric cast on her face reminded him of the _horæ_ that precede the sun-god's chariot at dawn, their forms glowing with purple and rose-coloured tints in the morning light. "i am very glad i happened to meet you," said blanka, speaking more sedately this time. "the party i came with is down below listening to an archæological lecture on the _cunei_, the _podium_, the _vomitorium_, and heaven knows what all, in which i am not interested. so i have time to discuss with you, if you will let me, a point which you raised the other day and which i have been puzzling over ever since. you said that where you used to live revenge is unknown; and that, though you were suffering under a grievous injury and had the means to exact full satisfaction, yet you would not take your revenge. i too am suffering in the same manner, and that is why i am now in rome. i have pondered your words and have imitated your example. possessing the means of revenge, i refused to use them. i loosed my enemy's hands when they were bound. did i do well?" "yes." "no, i did not. i should have taken my revenge. revenge is man's right." "revenge is the brute's right," manasseh corrected her. "it never repairs an injury that has once been done. in this i and the handful of my fellow-believers differ from mankind in general. in our eyes war is revenge, the duel is revenge, capital punishment is revenge, revolution is revenge. those who profess themselves followers of jesus too often forget that when he was dying on the cross he said, 'father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'" "that was said by jesus the man; but jesus the god has ascended into heaven, whence he will come to judge the quick and the dead. and that is revenge." "that conception of the judgment is one that i cannot entertain," returned manasseh. "man has made a god of the noblest of men, and has made him like those earlier divinities who slew niobe's innocent children with their arrows." blanka was sitting so far back on the stone railing that the artist felt obliged to warn her of her danger. "oh, i am protected by guardian angels," she replied, lightly. she wished to learn whether one of those angels was then before her. "i received this morning an anonymous letter," she continued, "and as it contains certain facts which only you could know, my first thought was that you had written it." "i assure you, i have never written you a letter," declared manasseh. "please read it." she handed him the letter. how quickly the young man's calm face flushed and glowed with passion as he read! the martyrs of old could forgive their enemies for the tortures inflicted on them; but could they also pardon the inhumanity shown to their loved ones? manasseh crumpled the paper in his hand with vindictive energy, as if he had held in his grasp the authors of that detestable plot. yet what right had he now to take vengeance on a man whom he had refrained from punishing on anna's behalf? anna was his own sister, and as such a beloved being. her life had been spoiled by this man, yet her brother had been able to declare, "we do not seek revenge"--although this revenge was easily in his power. and what was blanka to him? a dream. and did this dream weigh more with him than the sorrow that had invaded his own family? he returned the letter to its owner. "just like them!" he muttered between his teeth. "prince cagliari is in rome," remarked blanka. "i know it. i met him, and he spoke to me and thanked me for the attentions i had shown his wife during holy week." it was fortunate for the princess that she sat in the rosy light of the red umbrella, so that her heightened colour passed unnoticed. "he called on me this morning," said she, "and showed himself very gracious. his position is now stronger than it was, affairs at the vatican being guided at present by those who look upon him with favour." "yes, i know that," said manasseh. "how do you know it, may i ask?" "oh, i have wide-reaching connections. my landlord is a cobbler. 'messere scalcagnato' lounges about the _piazza_ by the hour, is therefore well instructed in political matters, and keeps me duly informed of all that takes place at the vatican." the princess gave a merry laugh at the thought of manasseh's taking lessons in politics from the professor of shoemaking. a little feeling of satisfaction contributed also to her display of good humour: she was assured by manasseh's words that his address was still the same that she had noted in her sketch-book. but her laugh was immediately followed by a sigh, and she folded her hands in her lap. "i wage war with nobody, heaven knows!" she exclaimed, sadly. "i have merely sued for mercy, and it has been promised me." "princess," interposed the young man, gently, "i cannot intervene between you and your enemies, but i can arm you with a weapon of defence against their assaults. if you wish to repulse the man whom you fear and who pursues you,--to give him such a rebuff that he will never again dare to approach you,--then wait until he makes the proposal which you dread, and give him this answer: 'between you and me there is a canonical interdict which renders our union impossible; it is contained in the fourteenth paragraph of the secret instructions.' as soon as you say that he will vanish so completely from your presence that you will never set eyes on him again." "wonderful!" cried blanka. "that will surely be a miracle." "such it may always remain to you," returned manasseh, "and you may never know how deep a wound you have inflicted. but you must thenceforth look for no mercy. sue urgently for a decision, and be prepared for a harsh one." "thank you," said blanka, simply. "_n'en parlons plus_"--repeating prince cagliari's phrase. with that she stepped lightly to the stone block which the artist had been using for a chair, and, seating herself on it, began to copy in outline his painting of the colosseum, as if that had been the sole purpose of her coming. nor did she so much as ask permission thus to violate the rules of professional courtesy. this sketching from a finished picture she found vastly easier than drawing from the object itself, a task which always proves elusive and baffling to the beginner. manasseh took his stand behind her as she worked, but his eyes were not wholly occupied in following her pencil. meanwhile the archæological explorers had abundant time to inspect all the subterranean passages and chambers of the colosseum, and it was only when they emerged into the arena and began to seek their lost companion, with loud outcries, that she started up in some alarm and made haste to retrace her steps. manasseh picked up the dandelion chain that had fallen from her neck and put it in his bosom. chapter x. the fourteenth paragraph. blanka was now like a boy who fears to stay at home alone, and to whom his father has therefore given a loaded gun as a security. the lad has a shuddering eagerness to encounter a burglar, that he may try his weapon on him, never doubting but that he can kill a giant if need be. let the robbers come if they wish; he is armed and ready for them. in this confidence blanka's entire mood underwent a change: she became light-hearted almost to the point of unrestrained gaiety. at the very door of her hotel she began to exchange pleasantries with the landlord, who came forward to greet her with the announcement that a gentleman, a count, had called upon her in her absence. "count who?" asked the princess, whereupon she was presented with a card bearing the name of benjamin vajdar. but she read it without losing a particle of her serenity, and then ordered an elaborate lunch. while her dishes were preparing, she sent for a hair-dresser and for a maid to assist at her toilet. she wished to make herself beautiful--even more beautiful than usual--and, indeed, she accomplished her object. her slender form, its height accentuated by a long bodice, looked still taller from the imposing manner in which her hair was dressed. her features, until then somewhat drawn by the strain of constant anxiety, gained now a vivacity that was matched by the added colour that glowed in her cheeks. a single morning in the italian sun had, it would have seemed to an observer, worked wonders in her appearance. but what she herself marvelled at most of all was the new light that shone in her eyes. what could have caused this transformation? the weapon which she held in her hands,--"the fourteenth paragraph of the secret instructions." what cared she that to her these words were utterly meaningless? it sufficed her to know that there was such a paragraph; _he_ had told her so. a waiter announced that her lunch was served. ordinarily blanka ate no more than a sick child; now she was conscious of an appetite like that of a convalescent making up for a long series of lost meals. the dainties which she had ordered tasted uncommonly appetising. while she was busy with her oysters, the head waiter informed her that the "count" had come a second time and begged leave to wait upon her. "show him up," promptly replied the princess, without allowing her lunch to be interrupted in the least. the handsome young man already introduced to the reader was ushered in. the situation in which he found the princess seemed scarcely to harmonise with his plans. it rendered exceedingly difficult any approach to the sentimental. "set a chair for the gentleman," blanka commanded her attendant, speaking, as if from forgetfulness, in hungarian, and then correcting herself with a great show of surprise at her own carelessness. "_grazie!_ and now, sir, pray be seated. you will pardon me if i go on with my lunch. we can converse just the same. this man will not understand a word we say. we may consider our interview entirely private." vajdar misinterpreted the situation: he thought the princess feared him, as of old, and that therefore she kept her servant in the room. this belief only added fuel to his evil passions. he who sees himself feared gains an increased sense of power. "i come bearing the olive-branch, princess," he began, in smooth accents. at this blanka turned suddenly to her attendant. "that reminds me," she exclaimed; "beppo, the waiter forgot my olives." vajdar had taken a chair and drawn up to the table. "the prince wishes," he continued, "to keep his promise and to show you all the affectionate concern of a father toward his daughter." he produced a roll of manuscript from his pocket. "there are certain points in your marriage contract which must be discussed. prince cagliari made over to you, at the time of your union, one million silver florins. if you should gain your suit you would retain this sum in full; otherwise you would lose it all. he now offers you the following compromise. the principal is not to be paid into your hands, but you are to receive the interest on it, at six per cent., during your lifetime. and, more than that, one-half of the palazzo cagliari is placed at your disposal as a dwelling." the princess bowed, as if in assent, but expressed the hope that she should not be obliged to stay long in rome. "i think you will find it advisable to remain some time, at any rate," said the young man. "but i wish to return home, to hungary, where, as you know, i have an estate of my own." "that will be impossible, because the serbs have burnt your castle to the ground." "burnt it to the ground? but my steward has not informed me of this." "and for a very good reason: the insurgents chopped off his head on his own threshold." even this intelligence could not destroy blanka's appetite. she ate her sardines with unusual relish, and vajdar could see that she gave little credence to his words. "stormy times are ahead of us," he went on, "and i assure you this is the only safe retreat for you,--the holy city, the home of peace." "as is proved by the iron shutters on the windows of the cagliari palace," remarked blanka. "but tell me, if i should wish to choose my own household and my own intimates, would that liberty be allowed me?" "undoubtedly. nevertheless, it would be greatly to your advantage to surround yourself with persons speaking the language of the country and familiar with its ways." "and if i should win my cause, and should take a fancy to marry again, could i select a husband to suit myself?" this was too much. it was like throwing raw meat to a caged tiger. "without doubt," murmured benjamin vajdar between his teeth, at the same time casting furious glances at the servant behind his mistress's chair. suddenly the princess changed her tactics. she wished to show her enemy that she dared leave her entrenchments and offer battle in the open field. "caro beppo," said she, turning to the servant, "clear the table, please, and then stay outside until i call you. meantime, admit no one." the two were left alone, and vajdar was free to say what he wished. blanka made bold to rise and survey herself coquettishly in the mirror, as if to make sure of her own beauty. she was the first to speak. "all these favourable turns in my affairs are due to your kind intervention, i infer," she began. "without wishing to be boastful, i must admit that they are. you know the prince: he has more whims and freaks than caligula. he has moments when he is capable of throttling an angel from heaven, and gentle moods in which he is ready to do his most deadly enemy a secret kindness. these latter phases of his humour it was my task to lie in wait for and turn to your account. whether this was a difficult task or not, you who know the prince can judge." "you will find me not ungrateful," said the princess. "in case the unpleasant affair which has called me to rome is settled satisfactorily, i shall make over to you, as the one chiefly instrumental in effecting this settlement, the yearly allowance intended for me by the prince. for myself i retain nothing further, and wish nothing further, than my golden freedom." vajdar's face glowed with feeling. he was a good actor and could summon the colour to his cheeks at will. "but even if you should give me your all, and the whole world besides," he returned, "i should count it as dross in comparison with one kind word from your lips. i know it is the height of boldness on my part to strive for the object of my longing; but an ardent passion justifies even the rashest presumption. you remember the fable of the giants' piling pelion upon ossa in order to scale olympus. i am capable of following their example. you would cease to look down on me were i of like rank with yourself; and this equality of station i shall yet attain." "i am sure i shall be the first to congratulate you." "the prince has promised to be a father to you if, as the result of a peaceful separation, he ceases to be your husband. a somewhat similar promise he has made to me also." "does he intend to adopt you as his son?" asked blanka. "such is his purpose," replied vajdar. "and what, pray, is his motive in this?" benjamin vajdar averted his face, as if contending with feelings of shame. "do not ask me," he begged, "to betray the weakness of my poor mother. hers was an unhappy lot, and i am the child of her misfortune. he whose duty it is to make that misfortune good is--prince cagliari." blanka could hardly suppress an exclamation. "oh, you scoundrel!" she was on the point of crying, "how can you dishonour your mother in her grave, and deny your own honest birth, merely to pass yourself off as a prince's bastard son?" instead of this she clapped her hands and exclaimed: "how interesting! it is just like a play at the theatre. 'is not the little toe of your left foot broken?' 'yes.' 'then you are my son.' or thus: 'haven't you a birthmark on the back of your neck?' 'i have.' 'let me see it. aha! you are my long-lost boy.' or, again: 'who gave you that half of a coin which you wear on a string around your neck?' 'my mother, on her death-bed.' 'come to my arms. you have found your father.'" her listener was convinced that he had to do with a credulous child whose ears were open to the flimsiest of fairy tales. he proceeded to entertain her with further interesting details of his story, after which the princess produced the anonymous letter she had that morning received. first smoothing it out on her knee,--for it had been sadly crumpled by a certain hand, and, indeed, even bore the impression of a man's thumb in oil,--she presented it to her visitor. "please read that," said she, "and then explain it to me." vajdar had no sooner glanced at the letter than he perceived that the enemy, by a feigned retreat, had been decoying him over a mine which threatened presently to explode. yet his assurance did not desert him. "a stupid bit of play-acting!" he exclaimed, throwing the letter down on the table. "but whose interest could it have been to indulge in play-acting at my expense?" asked blanka. "i can tell you, for i recognise the handwriting. the marchioness caldariva wrote you that letter." "the marchioness caldariva? is she here?" "to be sure. the prince never travels without her." "but what motive had she thus to injure herself and, perhaps, prevent her marriage with the prince?" "motive enough for a woman," replied vajdar,--"jealousy." "jealousy!" repeated blanka, in astonishment. but one glance at the face confronting her was a sufficient explanation. that handsome face, smiling with triumph and self-confidence, made her tingle with wrath and scorn from head to foot. this man, it appeared, was impudent enough to play the rôle of suitor to his patron's wife, and also, at the same time, to pose as the object of a sentimental attachment on the part of that patron's mistress. and he smiled complacently the while. "sir," resumed the princess, whom that smile so irritated that she resolved to use her deadly weapon without further delay, "i appreciate your devotion to my cause, but i cannot deceive you. i must not encourage hopes that would end only in disappointment. let this matter not be referred to again between us." "but how if it were imposed by the prince as the indispensable condition of a peaceful settlement of your relations with him?" "i cannot believe that such is the case," replied blanka, calmly. "but however that may be, i cannot bind myself by any promise to you, knowing as i do that the question of matrimony between us is one that the canons of the romish church forbid us to consider." "ah, you have been studying ecclesiastical law, i see,--an error like that of the sick man that reads medical works. you undoubtedly have in mind the tenth paragraph, which forbids a son to marry his father's divorced wife; but you should have read farther, where it is declared that a marriage pronounced null and void by the clemency of the pope is as if it never had been, and thus offers no hindrance to a subsequent union." "no," rejoined the princess, "i did not refer to the tenth paragraph. the paragraph which renders our union impossible is the fourteenth." the shot was fired, the mark was hit. like a tiger mortally wounded the man sprang up and stood leaning on the back of his chair, glaring at his assailant with a fury that made her draw back in alarm. with what sort of ammunition had the gun been loaded, that it should inflict so deadly a wound,--that it should cause such a sudden and complete transformation of that complacently smiling face? "who told you that?" demanded vajdar so furiously that blanka recoiled involuntarily. "only one person could have been your informant, and i know who that person is. i shall have my revenge on both of you for this!" with that he was gone, hurrying out of the room and out of the hotel as if pursued by a legion of devils. beppo came running to his mistress, and seemed surprised not to find her lying in her blood on the floor with half a dozen dagger-thrusts in her bosom. "well," he exclaimed, "whoever that man may be, i shouldn't like to meet him on a dark night in a narrow street." blanka told her servant that if the gentleman who had just left ever called again, she should not be at home to him. then she sent her obedient beppo away, as she wished to be alone. first of all, she must ponder the meaning of those mysterious words that had proved so potent in routing her enemy. she could hardly wait for her lawyer to return, so eager was she to question him in the matter. "well," began the advocate on entering, "what have you accomplished?" "i have not made peace." "why not?" "because it would have cost more than war. all negotiations are broken off. read this letter." "a devilish plot!" cried the lawyer wrathfully. "but they are fully capable of carrying it out, all three of them. did you show this to vajdar?" "yes." "and was that why he ran out of the hotel in such an extraordinary manner that the very waiters felt tempted to seize him at the door?" "they had no such thought, i'll warrant," returned blanka. "they are all in his pay. to-morrow i leave this place. you must find me a private dwelling." "i have one for you already. the rossis are moving out of the embassy, and have engaged a private house. they invite you to share their new quarters with them. there is ample room." "oh, how fortunate for me!" "and yet the affair is not so altogether fortunate, after all. rossi has fallen from favour, and with his fall the whole liberal party loses its influence at the vatican." but what did the princess care for the liberal party at that moment? she was thinking of the lucky chance that had made it possible for her to meet manasseh again--at the house of their common friends. "now i must beg you," said she, changing the subject, "to press my suit as diligently as possible. but first let me ask you a question. you are thoroughly familiar with the marriage laws of the romish church, aren't you?" "i know them as i do the lord's prayer." "do you remember the fourteenth paragraph?" "the fourteenth paragraph? thank god we have nothing to do with that." "why 'thank god'?" "because the fourteenth paragraph has to do with state's prison offences; it declares null and void any marriage, if either of the contracting parties has committed such an offence." the mystery was clear to blanka now. chapter xi. the decision. gabriel zimandy came to the princess one day with a very downcast mien. "our case makes no headway," he lamented, "and the reason is that your advocate is a protestant. now there are two ways to remedy this: either you must dismiss me and engage a roman catholic lawyer, or i must turn roman catholic myself. the latter is the shorter and simpler expedient." blanka thought him in fun, and began to laugh. but zimandy maintained his solemnity of manner. "you see, princess," he went on, "i am ready to renounce the faith of my fathers and incur the world's ridicule, all to serve you. i am going this morning to the cardinal on whom the whole issue depends, to ask him to be my sponsor at the baptism." the princess pressed his hand warmly in sign of her appreciation of his devotion. in a few days the lawyer carried out his purpose and was received into the church of rome. the newspapers gave the matter considerable prominence, and it was generally expected that the godfather's present to the new convert would be a favourable decision in the pending divorce suit. and, in fact, a week later the decision was rendered. it was to the following effect: the husband and wife were declared divorced, but with the proviso that the latter should never marry again, and the former not during his divorced wife's lifetime. thus the coffin-lid was closed on the young wife, who was, as it were, buried alive; but in falling it had caught and held fast the bridal veil of the marchioness caldariva, who could not now hope to be led to the altar so long as the princess remained alive. had there been in this some malevolent design to wreak vengeance on the two women at one stroke, the purpose could not have been better accomplished. the further provisions of the decree of the roman curia were of secondary importance. prince cagliari was required to pay to princess zboroy--for blanka retained her rank and title--an annuity of twelve thousand ducats, to give over for her use as a dwelling one wing of the cagliari palace, and to restore her dowry and jewels. these latter terms were evidently to be credited to gabriel zimandy's generalship; for his client might have found herself left with neither home nor annuity. so the lawyer's conversion had met with its reward even in this world. but blanka's enjoyment of house and home and yearly income was made dependent on a certain condition: she was never to leave rome. the nature of the decree rendered this provision necessary. as she was forbidden to contract a second marriage, her judge found himself obliged to keep her under his eye, to make sure that his mandate was obeyed; and no more delicate and at the same time effective way to do this could have been devised than to offer her a palace in rome and bid her enjoy its possession for the rest of her life. this was surely kinder than shutting her up in a convent. after the rendering of this decree blanka lost no time in taking possession of that half of the cagliari palace assigned to her, and in engaging a retinue of servants befitting her changed surroundings. her own property yielded her an income equal to that which she received from the prince, and thus she was enabled to allow herself every comfort and even luxury that she could desire. of the two wings of the palace, blanka's faced the tiber, while the other fronted upon the public square. each wing had a separate garden, divided from its neighbour by a high wall of masonry, and the only connection between the two parts of the house was a long corridor, all passage through which was closed. what had once been a door, leading from the room which blanka now chose for her bedchamber into the corridor, was filled in with a fireplace, whose back was formed by a damascened iron plate. this apartment the princess selected for her asylum, her hermitage, where she could be utterly shut out from the world. the next day after the decision was rendered, blanka was greeted by her bosom friend, the fair widow dormandy, with the announcement of her engagement to gabriel zimandy. they intended to be married in rome, she said, and then return to hungary, whither the bridegroom's business called him. it was clear to blanka now why her lawyer had been so ready to renounce "the faith of his fathers." it was more for the sake of winning the hand of madam dormandy, who was a devout catholic, and of marrying her then and there, in rome, than on account of his client's interests. here let us take leave of the worthy man and let him depart with god's blessing, his newly married wife by his side, and his honorarium from princess blanka in his pocket. thus the divorced wife, who was yet hardly more than a girl, found herself left alone in rome. she shut herself off entirely from the world, never venturing into society lest people should whisper to one another as she passed,--"_la condannata!_" she received no one but her father confessor, who came to her once a week. the sins which she had to confess to him were,--the doubting of providence, rebellion against human justice, forbidden dreams in waking hours, envy of others' happiness, aversion to prayer, and hatred of life--all sins for which she had to do penance. meanwhile quite a different sort of life was being led in the other wing of the palace. she could not but hear, from time to time, sounds of mirth and gaiety in the adjoining garden, or even through the solid partition-wall of the house. voices that she knew only too well, and some that she hated, penetrated to her ears and drove her from one room to another. in due time, however, the malarial fever of the italian summer came to her as another distraction. it was an intermittent fever, and for six weeks she was subject to its periodical attacks, which returned every third day with the constancy of a devoted lover. when at length she began to mend, her physician prescribed a change of air. knowing that his patient could not absent herself from rome and its vicinity, he did not send her to switzerland, but to tivoli and monte mario; and even before venturing on these brief excursions she was obliged to ask permission at the vatican. the convalescent was allowed to spend her days on monte mario, but required to return to rome at nightfall. good morals and good laws demanded this. nevertheless, even this slight change--the drives to and from monte mario, and the mountain air during the fine autumn days--did the princess good, and eventually restored her health. meanwhile there was more than one momentous change in the political world, but blanka heeded them not. what signified to her the watchword of the period,--"liberty?" what liberty had she? even were all the world beside free, she was not free to love. chapter xii. a ghostly visitant. it was the irony of fate that the mansion which had been assigned as a permanent dwelling-place to the woman condemned to a life of asceticism, had been originally fitted up as a fairy love-palace for a beautiful creature, possessed of an unquenchable thirst for the fleeting joys of this earthly existence. over the richly carved mantelpiece in blanka's sleeping-room was what looked like a splendid bas-relief in marble. it was in reality no bas-relief at all, but a wonderfully skilful bit of painting, so cleverly imitating the sculptor's chisel that even a closer inspection failed to detect the deception. it represented a recumbent sappho playing on a nine-stringed lyre. the opening in the sounding-board of the instrument appeared to be a veritable hole over which real strings were stretched. this painting blanka had before her eyes when she lay down to sleep at night, and it was the first to greet her when she awoke in the morning. nor was it simply that she was forced to see it: sappho seemed able to make her presence known by other means than by addressing the sight alone. mysterious sounds came at times from the lyre,--sometimes simple chords, and again snatches of love-songs which the princess could have played over afterward from memory, so plainly did she seem to hear them. occasionally, too, the notes of a human voice were heard; and though the words were muffled and indistinct, as if coming from a distance, the air was easily followed. these weird melodies came to blanka's ears nearly every evening, but she did not venture to tell any one about them. she tried to persuade herself it was all imagination on her part, and feared to relate her experience, lest she should incur suspicion of insanity and be consigned to a less desirable prison than the cagliari palace. one evening, as she was preparing to retire, and was standing for a moment before her mirror, the sappho seemed to give vent to a ripple of laughter. the princess was so startled that she dropped the candle she held in her hand. once more she heard that mysterious laugh, and then she beat a hasty retreat to her bed and buried herself in the pillows and blankets. but, peeping out at length and throwing one more glance at the picture, which was faintly illumined by her night-lamp, she heard still another repetition of the mysterious laughter, coming apparently from a great distance. was this, too, an illusion, a dream, a trick of her imagination? if the painted sappho was alive, why did she give these signs only at night, and not in the daytime as well? november came, and with it rainy days, so that blanka was constrained to suspend her drives to monte mario and remain in the house. every evening she sat before her open fire with her eyes fixed on the glowing phoenix with which the back of the fireplace was adorned. it was the work of finiguerra, the first of his craft to discard the chisel for the hammer. the many-hued feathers of the flaming bird were of steel, copper, brass, corinthian bronze, silver, and gold. especially resplendent was the bird's head, with its gleaming red circle around the brightly shining eye. this eye glowed and sparkled in the flickering light of the crackling wood fire until it seemed fairly endowed with life and vision. one evening, as the princess was watching this glowing eye, it suddenly vanished from the bird's head and left a dark hole in its place. then, as if not content with this marvellous demonstration, the phoenix next took flight bodily and disappeared, apparently up the chimney, with a rattling, rasping sound, as of the creaking of cogged wheels, leaving a wide opening where it had been. the coals which still glowed on the hearth presently died with a hissing noise, and only the soft light of the shaded lamp diffused itself through the room. out of the mysterious depths of the fireplace stepped the white-clad form of a woman. "i am the marchioness caldariva," announced the unbidden guest. the suddenness and the mystery of it all, as well as the name that greeted her ears, might well have startled the princess blanka. the strange visitor was of tall and slender form, and suggested, in her closely fitting gown of soft material, a statue of one of the pagan goddesses. her thick blond hair was carelessly gathered into a knot behind; her complexion was pale, her blue eyes were bright and vivacious, and her coral lips were parted in a coquettish smile. every movement was fraught with grace and charm, every pose commanded admiration. she followed up her self-introduction with a laugh--a laugh that sounded familiar to her listener. it was the sappho's tones that she heard. blanka gazed in wonder at the mysterious apparition. she thought she must be dreaming, and that this was but another creation of her own fancy. "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the visitor, "an original way to pay a call, isn't it?--without warning, right through the back wall of your fireplace, and in _négligé_, too! but as you wouldn't visit me, i had to come to you, and this is the readiest communication between our apartments. you didn't know anything about it, did you? the back of your fireplace is a secret door. if you press on the green tile here at the left, the phoenix flies up the chimney, and then if you bear down hard on this one at the right, it returns to its place again. do you see?" as she spoke the white lady stepped on the tile last designated, and straightway the phoenix descended and filled the opening through which she had just made her entrance. "on the other side," she continued, "is a piece of mechanism which will only work when a secret lock has been opened, and to effect this the bird's eye must first be pushed aside to make room for the key. your ignorance of all this became apparent to me when i found both of the two keys in my room. one of them belongs to you, and i have brought it to give you. without it you might be broken in upon most unpleasantly by some unwelcome intruder. but with the key in your possession, you can insert it in the lock whenever you wish to guard against any such intrusion." with that the speaker handed over the key, and then went on: "now you will be able to visit me, just as i do you. one thing more, however, is necessary. you generally have a fire in your fireplace, and not every woman is a saint euphrosyne, able to walk barefoot over glowing coals. here is a little bottle of liquid with which you can quench the flames at pleasure. it is a chemical mixture expressly prepared for this purpose. and in this other bottle is another liquid for rekindling the fire,--no secret of chemistry, this time, but only naphtha. let us try it at once, for your room is cold and i have nothing on but this dressing-gown." the flames were soon crackling merrily again in the fireplace. blanka, much bewildered and still doubting the evidence of her senses, sank down on a sofa, while her unbidden guest seated herself opposite. the princess raised her eyes involuntarily to the sappho over the mantelpiece. again the familiar laugh fell on her ears. "you look up at the sappho," said the marchioness. "you have heard her play and sing and laugh more than once, haven't you? well, you shall learn the secret of it all. a jealous husband once had the passage constructed which connects our two apartments. you know the story of dionysius's ear. here you see it in real life. a hollow tube runs from the opening in the lyre directly to my room, and through this the jealous husband was able to hear every sound in his wife's chamber. through it, too, you have heard me sing and play and laugh, and i have heard tones of sadness from your room, and exclamations in an unknown tongue, with no cheering word to comfort you and drive away your sorrow. three days ago, about midnight, you began to sing, and that time i could follow the words,--'_de profundis ad te clamavi, domine.'_ don't look so surprised. you are not dreaming all this, and i am really the marchioness caldariva, better known as 'the beautiful cyrene.' i have intruded on you this evening, but to-morrow you will admit me of your own free will, and the day after you shall be my guest. we will signal to each other through the tube when we are alone and disengaged, and we shall soon be great friends." blanka started slightly at the bare thought of friendship with this woman. "i am in love with you already," continued the marchioness caldariva. "for the past week we have been meeting every day. we kneel side by side in the same church, for i go to church regularly; but you have not noticed me, because you never raise your eyes from your prayer-book to look at your neighbours' bonnets and gowns. as for me, now, i watch you all the time i am praying. daily prayers are a necessity with me. in the morning i pray for the sins i have committed the day before, and in the evening for those to be committed on the morrow. another bond of sympathy between us is the similar lot to which we are both condemned,--a life unblessed by domestic happiness,--and we cherish therefore a common hatred of the world. you, however, show yours by leading a solitary life of mourning, i mine by amusing myself the best way i can. if i were strong enough to follow your example, i should do so, but i can't live without distraction. you are strong; i am weak. i admire in you your power to humble your enemies before you. you were told, weren't you, that i wrote that anonymous letter?" blanka looked at the speaker with wide eyes of inquiry and wonder. she began at length to place confidence in her words. "and you were told the truth, too," continued the other. "oh, those two men are intriguers of the deepest dye. i was accused of upsetting their plan. i was told how mercilessly you had repulsed one of them. really, that was a master stroke on your part. the fourteenth paragraph! he himself confessed the secret to me,--how he forged a note, some years ago, in the name of a good friend of his, who now holds the incriminating document in his possession. with it he can at any time crush his false friend and deliver him over to a long imprisonment. the trembling culprit wished to free himself at any cost from this sword of damocles suspended over his head, and he proposed to me two ways to effect the desired end. one was for me to seduce the young artist and then, as the price of my smiles, cajole him into surrendering the fatal note." the beautiful cyrene threw at her listener a look full of the proud consciousness of her own dangerous charms. blanka drew back in nameless fear under her gaze. "the other way," proceeded the marchioness, "was to have him assassinated if he refused to give up the forged paper." blanka pressed her hands to her bosom to keep from crying out. "between these two plans i was asked to choose, and i rejected them both,--the first because i knew the young man adored you, the second because i knew you reciprocated his feeling." the princess rose hastily and walked across the room, seeking to hide her tell-tale blushes. "come," said the marchioness, lightly, "sit down again and let us laugh over the whole affair together. you see, i would have nothing to do with either tragedy. i prefer comedy. both of our arch-schemers have now taken flight from rome; they were seized with terror at a street riot the other day, and they won't come back again, you may be sure, unless it be in the rear of a besieging army. so now we have the cagliari palace quite to ourselves, and can sit and chat together all we please. but i must say good night; i've gossiped enough for one while, and i'm sleepy, too." once more the fire was extinguished and the phoenix made to yield a passage, after which blanka found herself alone again. she shuddered at the thought of having lived for months with an open door leading to her bedroom. she debated with herself whether to stick her key in that door and leave it there permanently, while she herself sought another sleeping-room, or to yield to the charm of her unbidden guest and acquiesce in her plan of exchanging confidential visits. the strangeness and mystery of it all, and still more the hope that her neighbour might let fall an occasional word concerning manasseh, at length prevailed over her fears and scruples, and determined her to receive the other's advances. on the following evening she gave her servants permission to go to the theatre,--the play representing the defeat of the austrian army by the italians,--while she herself, after having her samovar and other tea-things brought to her room, took up her mandolin and struck a few chords on its strings. the reclining sappho answered her, and a few minutes later there came a knock on the back of the fireplace. "come in!" the phoenix rose, and the fair cyrene appeared, this time in full toilet, as for a fashionable call, her hair dressed in the english mode, a lace shawl falling over her pink silk gown, from beneath which one got an occasional glimpse of the richly embroidered underskirt and a pair of little feet encased in high-heeled shoes. "you were going out?" asked the princess. "i was coming to see you." "did you know i was waiting for you?" "i told you yesterday i should come, and i knew you were expecting me from your sending your servants away to the theatre." "and you knew that too?" "yes, because they took mine along with them. so here we are all alone by ourselves." the consciousness of being the only living creatures in a whole house has a delicious charm, fraught with mystery and awe, for two young women. blanka took her guest's hat and shawl, and then proceeded to start a fire on the hearth. the fair cyrene meanwhile caught up her mandolin and began to sing one of alfred de musset's songs, full of the warmth and glow of the sunny south. presently the hostess invited her guest to take tea with her, and asked her at the same time her baptismal name. the marchioness laughed. "haven't you heard it often enough? they call me 'cyrene.'" "but that isn't your real name," objected blanka. "you were not christened 'cyrene.'" "i use it for my name, however, and no one but my father confessor calls me by my real name, so that now i never hear it without thinking that i must fall on my knees and repeat a dozen paternosters in penance. besides, my name doesn't suit me at all. it is rozina, and i am as pale as moonshine. you might far better be called rozina, for you have such beautiful rosy cheeks, and i should have been named blanka. i'll tell you, suppose we exchange names: you call me blanka, and i'll call you rozina." the suggestion seemed so funny to blanka that she burst out laughing, and a woman who laughs is already more than half won over. "now, then," continued the other, "we can chat away to our heart's content. there's no one to listen to us or play the spy--a good thing for you to know, rozina, because all your servants are hired spies. your doorkeeper and his wife keep a regular journal of who comes in and who goes out, what visiting-cards are left, whom you receive, where you drive,--which they learn from your coachman,--whom you visit, and even with whom you exchange a passing word. your maid reads all your letters and searches all your pockets. even your gardener keeps an account of all the flowers you order; for flowers, you know, have a language of their own. be sure you don't buy a parrot, else it will turn spy on you, too." "who can it be that is so suspicious of me?" asked the princess, in surprise. "have you forgotten the strict terms of your uncle's legacy, and are you unaware how slight an indiscretion on your part might furnish your relatives with a pretext for contesting your right to a share of the property? do you forget, too, how trifling an error might result in the cutting off of your allowance from prince cagliari?" "well, let them watch me, if they wish," returned blanka, composedly. "i have no secrets to hide from anybody." "a rash assertion for a woman to make," commented the other, as she poured herself a glass of water. "how warm this water is!" she exclaimed, after taking a sip. blanka sprang up and offered to bring some ice from the dining-room. "aren't you afraid to go for it alone?" "certainly not; the lamps are all lighted." while the hostess was out of the room, her guest turned over blanka's portfolio of drawings, and among them found her outline sketch of the colosseum. "you sketch beautifully," commented the marchioness, upon the other's return. "it is my only diversion," replied the princess. "this view of the colosseum reminds me of one i saw at the rossis'." "the artist may have chosen the same point of view," returned blanka with admirable composure. "i called on him at his studio lately," proceeded the marchioness. "i had heard one of his pictures very highly praised. it represents a young woman sitting on the gallery railing in the colosseum, with the sunlight streaming on her through a red umbrella. the warm glow of the sunbeams is in striking contrast with the deep melancholy on the girl's face. i offered the artist two hundred scudi for the piece, but he said it was not for sale at any price." blanka felt as powerless in the hands of this woman as a rabbit in the clutches of a lion. the beautiful cyrene closed the portfolio and exclaimed: "rozina, these men are terrible creatures! they make us women their slaves. but the woman's first and dominant thought must ever be to find some escape from her bondage." with that she jumped up and ran out of the room, as if taken suddenly ill. her hostess followed to see what was the matter, and found her sitting in a corner of the adjoining apartment. "you are weeping?" "not at all; never merrier in my life!" nevertheless, two tears were shining in the fair cyrene's eyes. next she ran to the piano and began to rattle off "la gitana," which cerito had just made so popular throughout europe. "have you the score?" asked the marchioness, turning to blanka. "no, but i can play it from memory." "then play it to me, please." blanka complied, and the other began to dance "la gitana" to her playing. the spirit and feeling, the coquettish grace and seductive charm, which the dancer put into the movements of her lithe form, challenge description. if only a man could have seen her then! from sheer amazement blanka found herself unable to control her fingers, which struck more than one false note. "faster! put more fire into it!" cried the dancer. but blanka could not go on. "ah, you don't remember it, after all." "i can't play when i look at you," was the reply; and the marchioness caldariva believed her. "you could drive a man fairly insane." "as long as the men will torment us, we must be able to pay them back." she took blanka's arm and returned with her to the other room. "woe to him who invades my kingdom!" she continued. "he is bound to lose his reason. do you wish to wager that i can't drive all rome crazy over me? if i took a notion to dance the 'gitana' on the opera-house stage for the benefit of the wounded soldiers, all rome would go wild with enthusiasm, and the people would half smother me with flowers." "i will make no such wager with you," returned blanka, "because i know i should lose." the beautiful cyrene changed the subject and invited the princess to attend one of her masked balls,--"a masquerade party," she explained, "of only forty guests at the most, and those the chief personages of roman society. i ferret out all their secrets and can see through their masks; but i use no witchery about it. my guests are admitted by ticket only, and my major-domo, who receives these cards, writes on the back of each a short description of the bearer's costume. so i have only to go to him and consult his notes to learn my guest's identity." "but cannot your guests also procure information from the same source--for a consideration?" "undoubtedly. my domestics are none of them incorruptible." blanka laughed, and rozina hastened to take advantage of her good humour. "and now just imagine among these forty masks one guest who comes neither through the door, nor through the major-domo's anteroom, so that no card, no personal description, no cab-number, no information of any kind, is to be had concerning her from my servants. she is acquainted with all the secrets of those around her, but no one can guess her secret, or fathom her mystery. meanwhile a young painter has taken his seat in one corner behind a screen of foliage, and sketches the lively scene before him. he is the only one who, with beating heart, guesses the name of the mysterious unknown. what do you say,--will this bewitching guest from fairyland deign to figure as the chief personage on my young artist's canvas?" "before deciding, may i see a list of those whom you have invited?" "certainly--a very proper request." the marchioness handed over her fan, the ribs of which were of ivory, and served the owner as tablets. they were covered with a miscellaneous list of well-known names from all classes, and the last among them was manasseh adorjan's. "you can order a costume of black lace, spangled with silver stars," the fair cyrene went on; "then, with a black velvet mask, you will be ready to appear as the queen of night." blanka offered no objection to this plan. "i will admit you upon signal, through our secret passageway, into my boudoir, and from there you will pass, when the way is clear, into the ladies' dressing-room, and thence into the ballroom. with this fan of mine in your hand, you will, after some instructions from me, be able to puzzle and mystify all whom you address, while no one will be in a position even to hazard a surmise as to your identity. when you tire of the sport, come to me, pretend to tease me, and then turn and run away. i will give chase, and under cover of this diversion you will slip out of the room, and return to your own apartments by the same way you came, while i continue the hunt and summon all present to aid me in finding my mysterious guest." such was the speaker's influence over blanka, that the latter could not give her a refusal. accordingly, when the two parted, it was with the understanding that they were soon to see each other again at the marchioness's masquerade. chapter xiii. a sudden flight. blanka sat in her room, with closed doors, preparing her costume for the masked ball. affairs in the world outside had moved rapidly during the past few days. in the feverish excitement of that revolutionary period, mob violence was threatening to gain the upper hand. shouts of boisterous merriment reached the princess from the street. from the adjoining wing of the palace, too, other sounds, almost equally boisterous, fell on her ear at intervals. the fair cyrene was entertaining a company of congenial spirits. gradually the noise in the street grew louder, until it seemed as if a cage of wild animals had been let loose before the cagliari palace. suddenly, as blanka stood before her fire, all her senses alert, she saw the glowing phoenix rise from its position, and her fair neighbour stood in the opening. "put out your fire, and let me in," bade the marchioness. "i have emptied my extinguisher. don't you hear the mob storming my palace gates? the soldiery who were summoned to restore order have made common cause with the rioters, and we are in frightful peril. quick! out with your fire, and let me and my guests through. we can make our escape by your rear door, and so gain the riverside in safety." blanka could not refuse this appeal. she opened the way for the marchioness and her motley company to pass out; then she herself, first closing the secret passage between the two wings of the palace, followed the other fugitives and, gaining the street by a wide détour, engaged a cab to take her to the vatican. "his holiness receives no one this afternoon," was the announcement made to her at the door. almost in despair, and bewildered by the sudden turn of events which had thus cast her homeless on the streets, the princess returned to her carriage. "do you know where signor scalcagnato lives?" she asked the driver. "scalcagnato the shoemaker, the champion of the people? to be sure i do: in the piazza di colosseo. but if the lady wishes to buy shoes of him she should not address him as _signor_ scalcagnato." "why not?" "because he will ask half as much more for them than if he were called plain _citizen_ scalcagnato." after this gratuitous bit of information the coachman whipped up his horse and rattled away toward the colosseum with his passenger. arriving at the shoemaker's shop, blanka was received by a little man of lively bearing and a quick, intelligent expression. "pst! no words needed," was his greeting. "i know all about it. i am citizen scalcagnato, _il calzolajo_. take my arm, citizeness. cittadino adorjano lives on the top floor, and the stairs are a trifle steep. he is out at present, but his studio is open to you." the young lady was reassured. the honest cobbler evidently did not suspect her of coming to meet his tenant by appointment, but took her for an artist friend on a professional visit, or perhaps a customer come to buy a picture. the shoemaker took the artist's place, in the latter's absence, and sold his paintings for him. perhaps, too, the artist sold his landlord's shoes when that worthy was abroad. thus it was that blanka took the offered arm without a misgiving, and suffered the cobbler to lead her up the steep stairway to the little attic chamber that served her friend for both sleeping-room and studio. it was as neat as wax, and as light and airy as any painter could desire. a large bow-window admitted the free light of heaven and at the same time afforded a fine view of the palatine hill. leaning for a moment against the window-sill, in mute admiration of the prospect before her, the princess thought how happy a woman might be with this view to greet her eyes every day, while a husband who worshipped her and was worshipped by her worked at her side--or, rather, not _worked_, but _created_. it was a picture far more alluring than any that the cagliari palace had to offer. "pst!" the cobbler interrupted her musing; "come and let me show you the portrait." so saying, he conducted her to an easel on which rested a veiled picture, which he uncovered with an air of pride and satisfaction. the feeling of rapture that took possession of blanka at sight of her own portrait was owing, not to the fact that it was her likeness,--radiant though that likeness was with youth and beauty and all the charm of an ideal creation,--but to the thought that _he_ had painted it. "the price is thirty-three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three _scudi_, and not a _soldo_ less!" announced the shoemaker, with a broad smile. then he laid his fingers on his lips. "pst! not a word! i know all. it will be all right." blanka saw now that he had recognised her the moment she entered his shop. "the citizen painter is not at home," continued the other, "but he will turn up at the proper time where he is wanted. sun, moon, and stars may fall from heaven, but he will not fail you. no more words! what i have said, i have said. you can now return home, signorina, and need give yourself no further uneasiness. whatever occurs in the streets, you need not worry. and finally"--they had by this time reached the ground floor again--"it will be well for you to take a pair of shoes with you, to make the coachman think you came on purpose for them. here's a good stout pair, serviceable for walking or for mountain-climbing. you can rely on them. so take them along; you may need them sometime." "but how do you know they will fit me?" asked blanka. "citizeness, don't you remember the stone footprint of our lord in the church of _domine quo vadis_? and may not the footprint of an angel have been left in the sand of the colosseum for a devout artist to copy in his sketch-book? such a sketch is enough for the cittadino scalcagnato to make a pair of shoes from, so that they cannot fail to fit." the princess turned rosy red. "i have no money with me to pay for them," she objected. "a footman usually accompanies me and pays for all my purchases; but to-day i left him at home, and i neglected to take my purse with me." "no matter; i understand. i'll charge the amount. here, take this purse and pay your cab-fare out of it when you reach the square. don't go home in a carriage, but on foot. you needn't fear to do so, with a pair of shoes in your hand. if your gold-laced lackey were with you, you might meet with insult and abuse; but walking alone with the shoes in your hand, you will not be molested, and you will find all quiet at home by this time. now enough said. i know all. you can pay me back later." with that the little shoemaker escorted his guest to her carriage and took leave of her with a polite request--intended for the cabman's ear--for her further patronage. following the mysterious little man's directions, blanka reached home unharmed, and found everything there as she had left it. whatever violence the rioters may have allowed themselves in storming the marchioness's quarters, her own wing of the palace, for some reason that she could only vaguely conjecture, had been spared. after assuring herself of this, the princess tried on her new shoes, and found that citizen scalcagnato was no less skilful as a shoemaker than eminent as a politician and a party-leader. the house was now still and deserted, although the sounds of riotous excess were faintly audible in the distance. the servants had evidently fled at the same time that blanka and the marchioness left the palace. looking out of her rear window, the princess noticed that her garden gate was open; it must have been left swinging by her domestics in their flight. she was hastening down-stairs to close it, when a man's form appeared before her in the gathering gloom, and she cried out in sudden terror. "do not be alarmed, princess." the words came in a firm, manly voice that thrilled the hearer; she recognised the tones. manasseh adorjan stood before her. "i could not gain admittance by the front door," he explained, "so i went around to the garden gate." "and how is it," asked blanka, "that you have come to me at the very moment that i was seeking you?" "i wished, first, to bid you farewell. i am going home, to transylvania, for my people are in trouble and i must go and help them. as long as they are happy i avoid them, but when misfortune comes i cannot stay away. war threatens to invade our peaceful valley, and i hasten thither." "has the hour come, then, when you feel it right to kill your fellow-men?" "no, princess; my part is to restore peace, not to foment strife." blanka's hands were clasped in her lap. she raised them to her bosom and begged her fellow-countryman to take her with him. the colour mounted to his face, his breast heaved, he passed his hand across his brow, whereon the perspiration had started, and stammered, in agitated accents: "no, no, princess, i cannot take you with me." "why not?" asked blanka, tremulously. "because i am a man and but human. i could shield you against all the world, but not against myself. i love you! and if you came with me, how could you expect me to help you keep your vows? i am neither saint nor angel, but a mortal, and a sinful one." the poor girl sank speechless into a chair and hid her face in her hands. "hear me further, princess," continued the other, with forced calmness. "i have told you but one reason why i sought you here to-day. the other was to show you a means of escape from this place, where you cannot remain in safety another day. you must leave rome this very night, and that will be no easy thing to accomplish now that all the gates are guarded. but i have a plan. above all things, you must find a lady to take you under her protection, and that, i think, can be effected. citizen scalcagnato issues all the passports for those that leave the city by the colosseum gate. from him i have learned that the countess x---- is to leave for the south to-night. i have obtained a pass for you, and you have only to make yourself ready and go with me to the colosseum gate, where we will wait for her carriage. she is a good friend of yours and cannot refuse to take you as her travelling-companion. do you approve my plan?" "yes, and i thank you." "then a few hours hence will see you on your journey southward. i shall set out for the north, and soon the length of italy will separate us. is it not best so?" blanka gave him her hand in mute assent. * * * * * an hour later manasseh and blanka stood in the shelter of the gateway by which the countess was expected to leave rome. they had not long to wait: the sound of an approaching carriage was soon heard, and when it halted under the gas-lamp blanka recognised her friend's equipage. the gate-keeper advanced to examine the traveller's passport, and as the carriage door was thrown open blanka hastened forward and made herself known. "what do you wish?" demanded the liveried footman. the princess turned and looked at him. surely she had seen that face and form before in a different setting, but she could not recall when or where. so much was evident, however, that the speaker was more wont to give than to receive orders. blanka turned again to the open carriage door and plucked at the cloak of the person sitting within. "you are fleeing from rome, too, countess," said she. "i beg you to take me with you." but the carriage door was closed in her face. "countess, hear me!" she cried, in distress. "have pity on me! don't leave me to perish in the streets!" her petition was unheeded. the footman drew her away and, as he turned to remount the vehicle, whispered three words in her ear: "_È il papa!_" it was the pope, and he was fleeing! the spiritual ruler of the world, the king of kings, heaven's viceroy upon earth, was flying for his life. the judge fled and left the prisoner to her fate. blanka felt herself absolved from all her vows. she plucked from her bosom the consecrated palm-leaf, tore it to pieces, and threw the fragments scornfully after the retreating carriage. then she turned once more to manasseh. "now take me with you whithersoever you will!" she cried, and she sank on his bosom and suffered him to clasp her in a warm embrace. chapter xiv. wallachian hospitality. manasseh had not much choice of routes in making his way, with his companion, to transylvania. after leaving italy, he bent his course first to deés, as the road thither seemed to offer no obstacles to peaceful travellers. troops were, indeed, encountered here and there on the way; but they suffered manasseh and blanka to pass unmolested. manasseh had fortunately provided a generous hamper of supplies, so that his companion was not once made aware that they were passing through a district lately overrun by a defeated army, which had so exhausted the resources of all the wayside inns that hardly a bite or a sup was to be had for love or money. the weather was unusually fine, as the sunny autumn had that year extended into the winter. the transylvanian was perfectly familiar with the region, and entertained his fellow-traveller with legends and stories of the places through which they passed. in the splendid chestnut forests that crowned the heights of nagy-banya he told her the adventures of the bandit chief, dionysius tolvaj, who kept the whole countryside in terror, until at last the men of nagy-banya hunted him down and slew him. in his mountain cave are still to be seen his stone table, his fireplace, and the spring from which he drank. manasseh also related the adventures of bear-hunters in these woods, and told about the search for gold that had long been carried on in the mountains, and often with success, so that many of them were now honeycombed with shafts and tunnels. up from yonder valley rose the spirit of the mountains, a white and vapoury form, with which the sturdy mountaineers fought for the possession of the hidden treasure. in reality, however, it was no genie, but simply the fumes of sulphur and arsenic from the smelting works of the miners, who never drew breath without inhaling poison. and yet they lived and throve and were a healthy and happy people, the men strong, the women fair, and one and all fondly attached to their mountain home. one evening manasseh pointed to a town in the distance, and told his companion that it was kolozsvar. as they drew nearer they saw that it was garrisoned with a division of the national guard. manasseh was now among people who knew him well, and he did not expect to be asked to show his passport. but he was mistaken. suddenly a hand was laid on his arm and a firm voice saluted his ears. "so you thought you'd slip by me without once showing your papers, did you? a pretty way to act, i must say!" manasseh turned to the speaker, who proved to be a short, broad-shouldered, thick-set man, in a coarse coat such as the szeklers wear, high boots, and a large hat. his arms were disproportionately long for his short body, his beard was either very closely cut or sadly in need of the razor, and his legs were planted widely apart as he confronted the travellers in a challenging attitude. perhaps he wished to invite manasseh to a wrestling bout. blanka looked on in surprise as she saw the two men fling their arms around each other. but it was not the embrace of wrestlers. they exchanged a hearty kiss, and then manasseh cried, joyfully: "aaron, my dear brother!" "yes, it is aaron, my good manasseh," returned the stocky little man, with a laugh; and, throwing aside the jacket that hung from his neck, he extended his right hand to his brother. then he turned to blanka. "and this pretty lady is our future sister-in-law, isn't she? god bless you! pray bend down a bit and let me give your rosy cheek a little smack of a kiss." blanka complied, and brother aaron gave her blushing cheek much more than "a little smack." "there," declared the honest fellow, with great apparent satisfaction, "i'm delighted that you didn't scream and make a fuss over my bristly beard. you see, i haven't had a chance to shave for four days. three days and nights i've been here on the watch for my brother and his bride." "and what about our two brothers, simon and david?" asked manasseh, anxiously. "are they alive and well?" "certainly, they are alive," was the answer. "have you forgotten our creed? our life is from everlasting to everlasting. but they are really alive and in the flesh, and, what is more"--turning to blanka--"they are sure to come to meet us and will expect to receive each a nosegay from their brother's sweetheart." blanka smiled and promised not to disappoint them, for there were still plenty of autumn flowers in the woods and fields. "yes," said aaron, "you'll find posies enough on the road. we are going by a way that is covered with them. if you don't believe it, look at this bouquet in my hat; it is still quite fresh, and i picked it in the torda gap. have you ever heard of the torda gap? there is nothing like it in all the world; you'll remember it as long as you live. it is a splendid garden of wild flowers, and there you will see the cave of the famous balyika,--he was francis rakoczy's general. thence it is only a step to the szekler stone, and we are at home. do you like to walk in the woods?" "nothing better!" here manasseh pulled his brother's sleeve. "do you really mean to take us by the way of torda gap?" he whispered. "yes," returned the other, likewise in an undertone; "there is no other way." a blare of trumpets interrupted this conversation, and presently a squad of hussars came riding down the street, every man of them a raw recruit. "look, see how proud he is on his high horse!" interjected aaron. "he never even looks at a poor foot-passenger like me. halloa there, brother! what kind of a cavalryman do you call yourself, with no eyes for a pretty girl? oh, you toad!" with this salutation aaron called to his side the young lieutenant who rode at the head of the hussars. he bore a striking resemblance to manasseh,--the same face, the same form, the same eyes. indeed, the two had often been mistaken for each other. there was only a year's difference in their ages. the young hussar gave his hand to manasseh, and while they exchanged cordial greetings they looked each other steadfastly in the eye. "whither away, brother?" asked the elder. "i am going to avenge my two brothers," was the reply. "and i am going to rescue them," declared manasseh. "i am going forth to fight for my country," was the other's rejoinder. then the rider bent low over his horse's neck, and the two brothers kissed each other. "but aren't you going to ask your new sister for a kiss, you young scapegrace?" cried aaron. the youthful soldier blushed like a bashful girl. "when i come back--when i have earned a kiss--then i will ask for it. and you will give me one, won't you, dear sister-in-law, even if they bring me back dead?" blanka gave him her hand, while a nameless dread showed itself in her face. "never fear!" cried the young man. as he gave blanka a radiant look he saw tears glistening in her eyes. "i shall not die. _egy az isten!_"[ ] [footnote : see preface.] "_egy az isten!_" repeated the elder brother. then the young hussar put spurs to his horse and galloped to the head of his little company. "come, let us be going," said aaron, and he led the way toward the farther end of the town, where the family owned a villa which they used whenever occasion called them from toroczko to kolozsvar. adjoining the house lay a garden which was now rented to a market-woman, who made haste to prepare supper for the travellers. blanka went into the kitchen and helped her, but not before the woman had been instructed in what was going on and warned not to breathe a word to the young mistress of the dangers that encompassed them all in those troublous times. it was manasseh's desire to lead his bride home without giving her cause for one moment of disquiet on the way. "can you sleep in a carriage?" the market-woman asked her, without pausing in her baking and boiling. "now as for me, many's the time i've slept every night for two weeks in my cart when i was taking apples to market. one gets used to that sort of thing. the gentlemen propose to set out for torda this very night, because to-morrow is the great market-day in kolozsvar, and there'll be troops of peddlers and dealers of all sorts coming into town, and farmers driving their cattle and sheep and swine, so that you couldn't possibly make head against them if you should wait till morning." blanka readily gave her consent to any plan that seemed best to her conductors. aaron meanwhile had brought out three good horses from the stable and harnessed them to a travelling carriage. "water behind us, fire before us," he remarked to manasseh as he buckled the last strap. wallachian troops were holding the mountain passes about torda, and had even threatened toroczko; but thus far the inhabitants had not allowed themselves to be frightened. now, however, there was a report that general kalliani was approaching from hermannstadt with a brigade of imperial soldiery. consequently it was to be feared that a general flight from torda to kolozsvar would soon follow; and, when once the stream of fugitives began, it would be impossible to make one's way in an opposite direction. therefore our travellers had not a moment to lose. blanka was by this time well used to travelling by night, and she entered cheerfully and without question into the proposed plan. a longing to reach "home," and perhaps a vague suspicion of the perils that threatened her party, made her the more willing to push forward. when danger braces to action, a high-bred woman's power of endurance is almost without limit. aaron drove, manasseh sat beside him, and thus the entire rear seat was left to blanka, who was so swathed and muffled in wraps and furs that she was well-nigh hidden from view. despite all the plausible explanations, she came very near guessing the well-meant deceit that was practised upon her. "why, your horses are saddled!" she exclaimed to aaron. "yes, to be sure," calmly replied the mountaineer. "that's the custom in transylvania; we put saddles on our carriage-horses just as in styria they buckle a block of wood over the horse's neck." blanka appeared satisfied with this explanation of transylvanian usage. aaron gave his good szekler steeds a free rein. they were raised in the mountains and could, if need were, trot for twenty-four hours on a stretch without food or water; then, if they were unharnessed and allowed to graze a little, they were able to resume the journey with unslackened pace. the driver had no occasion to use reins or whip: they knew their duty,--to pull lustily when the road led up-hill, to hold back in going down-hill, to trot on a level, to overtake and pass any carriage in front of them, to quicken their pace when they heard one behind, and to halt before every inn. aaron, turning half around on his seat, beguiled the time by telling stories to his fair passenger, to whom his fund of amusing anecdotes seemed inexhaustible. when at length, as they were ascending a long hill, he noticed that she ceased to laugh at his tales, but sat inert and with head sunk on her bosom, he put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and, drawing out an enamelled gold watch, pressed the stem and held it to his ear. "half-past twelve," he murmured. the man himself was a gold watch encased in a rough exterior, a noble heart in a rude setting. his horny hands were hardened by toil, but he had a clever head on his shoulders; he was well endowed with mother-wit, quick at repartee, merciless in his satire toward the haughty and overbearing, cool and good-humoured in the presence of danger,--in short, a genuine szekler, heart and soul. when, then, his repeater had told him the hour, aaron turned and addressed his brother. "the young lady is asleep," said he, "and now you and i can have a little talk together. you asked me how our two brothers came to be captured. let me begin at the beginning, and you shall hear all about it. you know when freedom is first born she is a puny infant and has to be suckled. that she cries for blood instead of milk is something we can't help. so all the young men of toroczko enlisted in the militia,--every mother's son of them,--and they are now serving in the eleventh, the thirty-second, and the seventy-third battalions. you ask me, perhaps, why we mountain folk must needs take the field when already we are fighting for our country all our life long in the bowels of the earth. you say it is enough for us to dig the iron in our mountains without wielding it on the battle-field; else what do the privileges mean that were granted us by andreas ii. and bela iv., by which we are exempted from military service? it's no use your talking, manasseh; you've been away from home. but had you been here and seen and heard your brother david when he stood up in the middle of the marketplace, made a speech to the young men around him, and then buckled on his sword and mounted his horse, you would certainly have mounted and followed him. how can you quench the flames when every house is ablaze? all the young men were on fire and it was out of the question to dampen their ardour. besides, this is no ordinary war; freedom itself is at stake, and that is a matter that concerns toroczko. all the wallachians around us, stirred up by imperial officers sent from vienna, took up arms against us, and nothing was left us but to defend ourselves. the people took such a fancy to our brothers that there was no other way but to make them officers. you cry out against the good folk for letting their commanders be taken prisoners. but don't make such a noise about it." (manasseh had thus far not once opened his mouth.) "you shall soon see that your brothers were no fools, and did not rush into danger recklessly. you know that soon after the wallachian mass-meeting at balazsfalva came the szekler muster at agyagfalva, and presently we found ourselves like an island in the midst of the sea. a wallachian army ten thousand strong, under moga's command, beset us on all sides, while we had but three hundred armed men all told,--just the number that leonidas had at thermopylæ. our eldest brother, berthold, who, since he turned vegetarian, can't bear to see a chicken killed for dinner, and is dead set against all bloodshed, advised us to make peaceful terms with the enemy. so we drew lots to see who should go out and parley with them, and it fell to our brother simon. he took a white flag and went into the enemy's camp; but they held him prisoner and refused to let him go. then david started up and went after him, with an offer of ransom for his release. but they seized him, too, and so now they have them both. meanwhile the wallachs are threatening, if we don't surrender to them and admit them into toroczko, to hang our two brothers before our eyes. we on our part, however, turn a deaf ear to the rascally knaves, and would perish to the last man before we would think of yielding. it's no use your screaming in my ears, you won't make me change my mind. i'm ready to treat with people that are reasonable, but when they bite me i bite back. i agree with you it's a hateful thing to have two of our brothers hanged; noblemen are not to be insulted with the halter; their honour should be spared and their heads taken off decently. but what can we do? can we hesitate a moment between two noblemen's deaths and the destruction of all the peasantry? one man is as good as another now. so you may make as much rumpus as you please, it won't do any good. i am taking you to toroczko, and as our two brothers are as good as lost to us, you must take the command of the toroczko forces. you have seen the barricade fighting in vienna and rome, and you understand such things. so, then, not another word! i won't hear it." manasseh had not uttered a syllable, but had permitted his brother to argue out the matter with himself. "i don't gainsay you, brother aaron," he calmly rejoined, "not in the least. take me to toroczko, the sooner the better; but we shall not get there by this road. do you see that great cloud of dust yonder moving toward us?" "aha! what sharp eyes you have to see it, by moonlight too! i hadn't noticed it before. all torda and nagy-enyed are coming to meet us. they must have set out about the same time we did, to make the most of the night. we can't get through this way, that's sure. but don't you worry. it's a sorry kind of a fox that has only one hole to hide in. do you see that gorge there on our right? it leads to olah-fenes. the people there are wallachs, it is true, but they side with us; to prove it, they have cut their hair short. next we shall come to szent-laszlo, where magyars live. so far we can drive, though it's a frightful road and one of us must walk beside the carriage and keep it from tipping over. we must wake up the young lady, too, and tell her to hold on tight, or she'll be thrown out. but never fear. the horses can be depended on, and the carriage is toroczko work and good for the jaunt." there was a halt, and blanka awoke of her own accord. manasseh turned to her, chatted with her a moment on the brightness of the stars and the clearness of the sky, then kissed her hand and bade her draw it back again under her furs, else it would get frost-bitten. thereupon aaron reined his horses toward the mountain gorge he had pointed out, and they began their dangerous journey over a rough wood-road that led through the ravine. at one point it ran along the brink of a precipice, and as they paused to breathe their horses the rumble of wagons on the highway from torda fell on their ears, sounding like distant thunder in the still night. then, to the north and south, red lights began to glimmer on the mountain peaks. "how beautiful!" exclaimed blanka, as she gazed at them. little did she suspect that they were beacon-fires calling to deeds of blood and rapine. a turn in the road at length conducted the travellers through a gap in the mountain range, and they had a view of the moonlit landscape before them. a noisy brook went tumbling and foaming down the ravine, and over it led a wooden bridge, at the farther end of which could be seen a rude one-story house surrounded by a palisade. five smaller houses of similar architecture were grouped about it. the barking of dogs greeted the travellers while they were still some distance off, and the crowing of cocks soon followed. "do you hear ciprianu's roosters?" aaron asked his brother. "so you are acquainted with ciprianu and his poultry?" returned manasseh. "yes, i know them well. ciprianu is a wallach, but a nobleman of hungary for all that, and his poultry unique of its sort. the cocks are white, but in head and neck they bear a strong resemblance to turkeys, and they gobble like turkeys, too. they are a special breed and ciprianu wouldn't part with one of them for a fortune. he guards them jealously from thieves, and that explains why he has so many dogs. as soon as he hears our carriage-wheels he'll come out on his veranda and fire off his gun--not at us, but into the air, to let us know he's awake and ready to meet friend or foe." the barking increased, the dogs sticking their noses out from between the stakes of the palisade and joining in a full chorus. presently a shot was heard from the front porch of the house. "oh, they are firing at us!" cried blanka, startled. "don't be afraid, sister-in-law," aaron reassured her; "that shot wasn't aimed at us." then he shouted, in stentorian tones: "don't shoot, ciprianu, don't shoot! there's a lady with us, and she can't bear the noise." at this there was heard a great commotion among the dogs, as of some one quieting the unruly beasts with a whip. then the gate opened and a six-foot giant in a sheepskin coat, wool outward, and bearing a club, appeared. he exchanged greetings in rumanian with aaron, and the conversation that followed was likewise in that language, so that blanka could not understand a word of it. the wallach pointed to the signal-fires on the mountains, and his face assumed an expression of alarm. finally he took one of the horses by the bridle, and conducted the carriage through the gate and into his stronghold. "why are we stopped here?" asked blanka. aaron gave her a reassuring reply. "ciprianu says it is not best for us to go any farther to-night, as the rains have washed out the road in some places, and we might get into trouble in the dark. so we must accept his invitation and spend the rest of the night under his roof." aaron had explained the situation only in part. the wallachian's argument for detaining them had much less to do with water than with the fires on the mountain tops. the dogs were kicked aside to make room for the strangers, and sundry villagers appeared out of the gloom to reconnoitre the new arrivals. the country peasantry never give themselves a regular night's sleep, but lie down half-dressed in order to get up occasionally and look around in house and stable, to make sure all is as it should be. ciprianu had a handsome daughter, as tall as himself and with regular features of the old roman cast. at her father's call she came out, lifted blanka like a child from the carriage, and carried her into the house. it was a pleasant little abode, built of smoothly planed oak beams and planks. the kitchen, which served also as entrance hall, was as neat as wax and cheerfully adorned with brightly polished tinware. the fire on the hearth was still smouldering, and it needed only a handful of shavings to make it blaze up and crackle merrily. the wall which separated the great fireplace from the next room was of glazed tiles, and thus the adjoining apartment was heated by the same fire that warmed the kitchen. both the master of the house and his daughter were most cordial toward their guests. the father spread the table, while the girl put on the kettle and brought out the best that the house had to offer of food and drink, pressing the refreshments upon blanka in words that sounded to her not unlike italian, but were nevertheless quite unintelligible. "they can both speak hungarian," whispered aaron, when father and daughter were out of the room for a moment, "but these are times when they choose to forget all tongues except their own." blanka soon learned that her hostess's name was zenobia. when they sat down to the table, zenobia made as if to kiss her fair guest's hand; blanka, however, would not allow it, but embraced the young woman and kissed her on the cheek. this act was noted by the father with no little pride and satisfaction. blanka could not understand his words; she could only guess his meaning by the gestures and the play of countenance with which a wallachian knows so well how to convey his thoughts. thus, when ciprianu put his hand first to his head, then tapped aaron on the shoulder, kissed his own fingers and then stretched them heavenward, made a motion with his head and raised his eyebrows, bowed low, stood erect again, thumped his bosom, and finally extended his great, muscular hands toward blanka as if to caress her, she could not but infer that the wallachian-hungarian nobleman was proud of the courtesy shown to his daughter. after this bit of eloquent pantomime, ciprianu turned and hastened out of the room and into the courtyard, whence he soon reappeared amid a great cackling of poultry. he brought with him, tied together by the feet, a cock and a hen of that splendid breed that so strangely resembles, in head and neck, the proudest of calcutta turkeys. this pair of fowls he presented to blanka. she smiled her pleasure, and gladly accepted the gift, mindful of the new duties soon to be imposed upon her as a young housewife, and thinking that this present would be a welcome addition to her establishment. the generous host did not wait for his guest's thanks, but disappeared again from the room. "sister-in-law," said aaron, "you little suspect the value of the present you have received. even to his bishop ciprianu has never given a cock and a hen of this breed at one time. so now we can sleep soundly in this house, for we have a sure proof that you have won its master's heart. with ciprianu's cock and hen we can make our way unchallenged through the whole wallachian army. they are as good as a passport for us." blanka laughed, unaware of the full significance of his words. she was like a saint walking over red-hot coals without once singeing the hem of her robe. ciprianu's house was, as is usual among the wallachian nobility, well fitted for the reception of guests. everything savoured of the householder's nationality, but comfort and abundance were everywhere manifest. canopied beds were provided for all, only the master of the house, according to established custom, lay down before the kitchen door, wrapped in his sheepskin, and with his double-barrelled musket by his side. in an adjoining room stood two beds for blanka and zenobia. aaron and manasseh were likewise given a chamber in common. curiously enough, one is often most wakeful when most in need of sleep. all her surroundings were so strange to blanka that she found herself wide awake and listening to the barking of the dogs, the occasional crowing of the cocks, the snoring of the master of the house, and his frequent mutterings as he dreamed of fighting with thieves and housebreakers. then her companion began to moan and sob in her sleep, and to utter disjointed sentences in hungarian, of which she had so studiously feigned ignorance a few hours before. "oh, dear jonathan," she whispered, passionately, "do not leave me! kiss me!" then she moaned as if in anguish. blanka could not compose herself to sleep. only a wooden partition separated her from the room in which the two brothers slept. she could hear manasseh turning restlessly on his couch and muttering in his sleep as if in dispute with some one. "no, i will not let you go!" she heard him exclaim. "you may plunge my whole country in blood, you may baptise my countrymen with a baptism of fire, but i will never despair of my dear fatherland. your hand has girt it round about with cliffs and peopled it with a peaceful race. it is my last refuge, and thither i am carrying my bride. with your strong arm restore me to my beloved home. i will wrestle with you, fight with you; you cannot shake me off. i will not let you go until you have blessed me." the fisticuffs and elbow-thrusts that followed must have all spent themselves on poor aaron's unoffending person. at length the elder brother wearied of this diversion and aroused his bedfellow. "with whom are you wrestling, brother?" he cried in the sleeper's ear. "with god," returned manasseh. "like jacob at peniel?" "yes, and i will not let him go until he blesses me--like jacob at peniel." "take care, or he will put your thigh out of joint, as he did jacob's." "let him, if it is his will." with that manasseh turned his face to the wall, on the other side of which lay blanka, who likewise turned her face to the wall, and so they both fell asleep. and the lord blessed them and spake to them: "i am jehovah, almighty. increase and be fruitful. from your seed shall spring peoples and races; for you have prevailed with god, and shall prevail also with men." chapter xv. balyika cave. the sun rises late in november. when blanka awoke, every one else in the house was already up. manasseh met her with the announcement that their journey was thenceforth to be on horseback, at which she was as pleased as a child. so that explained why their carriage-horses had been saddled. in the kitchen a plentiful breakfast stood ready,--hot milk, bacon spiced with paprika, snow-white mountain honey, long-necked bottles of spirits distilled from various fruits, cheeses rolled up in the fragrant bark of the fir-tree,--all of which was new to blanka and partaken of by her with the keenest relish, to the great satisfaction of her host. what was left on the table by his guests he packed up and made them carry away with them, assuring them it would not come amiss. zenobia was to guide the travellers on their way. blanka laughed with delight as she mounted her horse. at first she found it strange enough to sit astride like a man, but when she saw the stately wallachian maiden thus mounted, she overcame her scruples and even thought it great fun. the little mountain horses were so steady and sure-footed that it was like being rocked in a cradle to ride one of them. the two young women rode ahead, while the men lingered behind a moment to drink a stirrup-cup with their host, who would not let them go without observing this ceremony. entering the forest, blanka accosted her companion. "zenobia, call me 'blanka,' and speak hungarian with me. you spoke it well enough in your sleep last night." the wallachian girl drew rein abruptly and crossed herself. "holy virgin!" she whispered, "don't lisp a word of what you heard me say, and don't ask me about it, either." they rode on side by side up the slope of the mountain. blanka was in high spirits. the turf was silvered with hoar frost, except here and there where the direct rays of the sun had melted it and exposed the grass beneath, which looked all the greener by contrast. a stately grove received the travellers. a silence as of some high-arched cathedral reigned, broken occasionally by the antiphony of feathered songsters in the trees overhead. a pair of wild peacocks started up at the riders' approach and alighted again at a little distance. the ascent became steeper. horses bred in the lowlands must have long since succumbed to the strain put upon them, but aaron's good mountain ponies showed not even a drop of sweat on their sleek coats. gaining the mountain top at length, the travellers saw before them a wild moor threaded by a narrow path, which they were obliged to follow in single file, zenobia taking the lead. the sun was high in the heavens when they reached the end of this tortuous path and found themselves at a point where their road led downward into the valley below. a venerable beech-tree, perhaps centuries old, marked this spot. it was the sole survivor of the primeval forest that had once crowned the height on which it stood. held firm by its great, wide-reaching roots, which fastened themselves in the crannies of the rock, it had thus far defied the elements. its trunk half hid a cavernous opening in the mountainside, before which lay a large stone basin partly filled with water. "here we will rest awhile, beside the wonder spring," said zenobia, leaping from her horse and loosening her saddle-girth. "we'll take a bite of lunch and let our animals graze; then later we will water them." "how can we?" asked blanka. "there is scarcely any water here." "there will be enough before long," was the reply. "that is why we call it the wonder spring: every two hours it gushes out, and then subsides again." blanka shook her head doubtfully, and, as if to make the most of the water still remaining in the basin, she used her hand as a ladle and dipped up enough to quench the thirst of her pair of fowls--for her valuable present had not been left behind. meanwhile aaron had spread the lunch on the green table-cloth provided by good dame nature, and had begun to cut, with his silver-mounted clasp-knife, a generous portion for each traveller. but blanka declared herself less hungry than thirsty. "the saints have but to wish, and their desires are fulfilled," was zenobia's laughing rejoinder. "even the barren rocks yield nectar. hear that! the spring is going to flow in a moment." a gurgling sound was heard from the cavernous opening behind the beech-tree, and presently an abundant stream of crystal-clear water burst forth, flooded the basin, and then went leaping and foaming over the rocks and down the mountainside into the ravine below. blanka clapped her hands with delight at this beautiful appearance, and declared that if she were rich, she would build a house there and ask for no other amusement than to watch the spring when it flowed. she laughed like a happy child, and perhaps in all transylvania, that day, hers was the only happy laugh that was heard. aaron gathered a heap of dry twigs and made a fire, at which he taught blanka to toast bread and broil bacon,--accomplishments not to be despised on occasions like this. in half an hour the spring ceased to flow. it stopped with a succession of muffled, gurgling sounds from the depths of its subterranean channel, ending finally with gulping down the greater part of the water that had filled the basin. then all was still once more. meanwhile something had occurred to trouble blanka's happiness. two or three wasps, of that venomous kind of which half a dozen suffice to kill a horse, lured from their winter quarters by the smell of food, were buzzing about her ears in a manner that spoiled all her pleasure. aaron hastened to her assistance, and suspecting that the intruders had their nest in the hollow beech, he made preparations to smoke them out. setting fire to a bunch of dry grass, he inserted it in the hollow of the tree and confidently awaited results. a sound like the snort of a steam-engine followed, and presently flames were seen bursting from the top of the chimney-like trunk. the dry mould and dust of ages that had collected inside this shaft had now caught fire, like so much tinder, turning the whole tree in a twinkling into a mighty torch. "oh, what have you done?" cried zenobia, starting up. "do you know that you have killed my father and set fire to the house that sheltered you last night?" blanka at first thought the girl was joking, but when she saw aaron's vexed expression and manasseh's ruffled brow, she knew that the words must have a meaning that the others understood, though she did not. "quick!" exclaimed the wallachian maiden. "mount and away! you have not a moment to lose. i hasten back to my father. you can find your way down the mountain by following the bed of the brook. night must not overtake you in this neighbourhood. oh, aaron, may god forgive you for what you have done this day!" out of the burning tree a pair of owls fluttered, blinded and panic-stricken, a family of squirrels scampered off to a place of safety, and a nest of serpents squirmed and wriggled away from that blazing horror. yet neither owls nor squirrels nor serpents fled with more headlong haste than did our travellers. zenobia galloped back the way she had come, while the two men took blanka between them and clattered down the rocky bed of the now nearly dry mountain torrent. of all this blanka could understand nothing. what great harm, she wondered, could come from the burning of an old beech-tree? toward evening the travellers found themselves on a height commanding a wide view of the surrounding country. to the north rose the cliff where they had lunched at noon, and where they could still see black smoke ascending in a column from the smouldering beech as from a factory chimney. to the southeast another column of smoke was visible, and toward the same quarter torda gap opened before them in the distance. aaron said they must halt here and rest their horses, whereupon all three dismounted and manasseh spread a sheepskin for blanka to sit on; but she chose rather to go in quest of wild flowers. "your blanka is a jewel of a woman!" exclaimed aaron to his brother. "from early dawn she sits in the saddle, bears all the hardships of the journey, and utters not a sigh of weariness or complaint. with that filigree body of hers, she endures fatigues that might well make a strong man's bones ache, and keeps up her good cheer through them all. nothing daunted by danger ahead, she makes merry over it when it is passed. yet once or twice i thought she was going to lose heart, but she looked into your face and immediately regained her courage. but the hardest part of the journey is still to come. turn your field-glass toward monastery heights, yonder, where you see the smoke. do you find any tents there?" "yes, and on the edge of the woods i see the gleam of bayonets." "that is the camp of moga's insurgents, and it lies between us and the szekler stone. every road leading thither is now unsafe for us. but hear my plan. the insurgents hold monastery heights, and we must ride past them, through the torda gap. the millers of the two mills that stand one at each end of the gap are my friends. the hungarian miller at peterd has shut off hesdad brook to-day, to clear out the mill-race. he does it once in so often, and i know he is about it now. so we shall have no trouble making our way up the dry bed of the stream to the farther end of the gap. the miller there has promised to give a signal if the road through the torda woods is clear, and unless it is blocked by the insurgents we can push on at once to the saw-mill on the aranyos, where a four-horse team is waiting for us with twelve mounted young men from bagyon as escort. but don't wrinkle your brow, we sha'n't come to bloodshed yet awhile. a dozen bagyon horsemen make nothing of dashing through the whole wallachian army, and not a hair of their heads will be touched. we shall be shot at, but from such a distance that we shall never know it. we will tell the young lady it is the custom in our country to receive bridal parties with a volley of musketry. when we reach the borev bridge we are as good as at home, and we shall be there before any one can overtake us, i'll warrant." "but what if the torda woods are held by the enemy?" queried manasseh. "then we will take up our quarters for the present in balyika cave. everything is provided there for our comfort, and we shall not suffer. we'll wait until the danger passes. near the balyika gate we shall find a signal: a cord will be stretched from one rock to another, and a red rag hung on it if danger threatens, but a green twig if all is well." "and when you first proposed in kolozsvar that we should go home by way of torda gap, did you know the perils we should have to face?" "certainly," replied aaron. "you can read my heart, brother, like an open book, and i need not try to conceal anything from you. do you suppose we should ever have taken up arms unless we had been forced to do so, even as you will exchange the olive-branch for the sword as soon as you find what is dearest to you in danger? you cannot do otherwise; the iron hand of destiny constrains you. you have brought your sweetheart with you from rome; your honour as a man obliges you to make her your lawful wife. our law, our canon, compels you to make your way home with her, for nowhere else can your wedding be duly solemnised. suppose the enemy block your way: you are given a good horse, a trusty sword and a brace of pistols, and then, with thirteen loyal comrades, including myself, you clear a path, through blood if need be, to the altar whither it is your duty to lead your betrothed." while the two men thus discoursed on war and bloodshed, blanka was enjoying the late autumn flowers that the frost had spared. indigo-blue bell-flowers and red and white tormentils were still in bloom, while in the clefts of the rocks she came upon the red wall-pepper and a kind of yellow ragwort. she had gathered a great bunch of these blossoms when she had the good fortune to find a clump of bear-berry vines, full of the ripened fruit hanging in red clusters and set off by the leathery, dark green leaves, which never fall. the bear-berry is the pride of the mountain flora, and blanka was delighted to meet with it. "are these berries poisonous?" she asked aaron, with childish curiosity, as soon as she rejoined her companions. he put one of them into his mouth to reassure her; then she had to follow his example, but immediately made a wry face and declared the fruit to be very bitter. "but the berries will do to put in my bouquets for your two brothers who are coming to meet us," she said, as she seated herself on the sheepskin to rest a few minutes and to tie up her flowers. at these words aaron's eyes filled, but he hastened to reply, with assumed cheerfulness: "in balyika glen we shall find a still more beautiful species of bear-berry. it, too, is a kind of arbutus, but of great rarity, and found nowhere else except in italy and ireland. we call it here the 'autumn-spring flower.' the stems are coral-red, the leaves evergreen, and the blossoms grow in terminal umbels, white and fragrant, late in the fall, while the berries do not ripen until the following autumn, so that the beautiful plant bears flowers and fruit at one and the same time, and thus wears our national colours, the tricolour of hungary." "oh, where does it grow? is it far from here?" exclaimed blanka, eagerly, starting up from her seat. she had lost all feeling of fatigue. "it is a good distance, dear sister-in-law," replied aaron. "to the torda gap is a full hour's ride, and thence to balyika glen about as far; and i'm afraid somebody is tired enough already, so that we had best stay overnight in the mill and not push on until to-morrow morning." "no, i am not tired," blanka asserted. "let us go on this evening," and she was ready to remount at once. "but the horses ought to graze a little longer," objected aaron, "and even then we shall fare much better if we walk down the mountain; it will be easier for us than riding." with that he went off into the bushes and picked his hat full of huckleberries, returning with which he drew a clean linen handkerchief from his knapsack, used it as a strainer for extracting the juice of the fruit, and then presented the drink in a wooden goblet to blanka. she left some for manasseh, who drank after her and declared he had never tasted a more delightful draught. she seemed now fully rested and refreshed, and eager to resume their journey. aaron put two fingers into his mouth and whistled, whereupon the three horses came trotting up to him. he called them by name, and they followed him as a dog follows his master, while manasseh and blanka brought up the rear. thus the party descended the steep mountainside. the torda gap is one of the most marvellous volcanic formations in existence. it is as if a mighty mountain chain had been rent asunder from ridge to base, leaving the opposing sides of the gorge rugged and precipitous, but matching each other with a rude harmony of detail most curious to behold. the zigzags and windings of the giant corridor, three thousand feet in length, have a wonderful regularity and symmetry in their bounding walls. the whole forms an entrance-way or passage of solid rock, the most imposing gateway in the world, and a marvel to all geologists. the wonders of this mountain gorge, and the stories and legends that aaron narrated as the travellers proceeded, made blanka entirely unconscious of the difficulties of the way. after leaving the peterd mill behind them, they were forced to use the bed of the stream for a road. its waters were for the time being restrained, although numerous pools were still standing, in which numbers of small fishes darted hither and thither and crabs were seen in abundance. as the riders advanced through the rocky passageway, its walls came nearer and nearer together and left only a narrow strip of blue sky visible overhead, with a few slanting rays of the evening sunlight playing high up on one side of the gorge. at length the passage became so straitened that only three fathoms' space was left between the confining walls. when hesdad brook is at all full one can make his way through only with great difficulty and by boldly breasting its waters. therefore it is that very few people have ever seen the gate of torda gap. just above this narrow gateway is situated the natural excavation in the mountainside, called from its last defender, balyika cave. as the travellers approached this spot, aaron rode on ahead, ostensibly to ascertain whether the water was still shallow enough to wade through, but in reality to look for the preconcerted signal and remove it before blanka should come up. he had agreed with manasseh, if the signal was favourable, to offer to show her the flower garden of balyika glen and to discourage all desire on her part to visit balyika cave, by alleging that it was the haunt of serpents; but if the signal should be unfavourable, he was to employ all his arts to make the young lady eager to inspect the cavern and pass the night there. he soon returned, and reported that it would be easy to wade their horses through the gateway, after which they could go and view the wonders of balyika cave. "but aren't there any snakes in the cave?" was blanka's first and most natural inquiry. every woman in her place would have put the same question. ever since mother eve's misadventure with the serpent in paradise, women have cherished a deadly enmity toward the whole reptile family. "yes," was aaron's reply, "there are snakes there." manasseh drew a breath of relief, but this time he had mistaken his brother's meaning. "we need not fear them, however," the elder made haste to add. "we will build a fire and drive them out. our fowls, too, will be a still better protection for us; with their naked necks they will be taken for vultures by the snakes, and we shall have no trouble whatever." manasseh now knew that dangers surrounded them, and that they must pass the night in the cave. aaron, however, put forth all his eloquence to depict the charms of the place, likening its cavernous depths to the groined arches of a cathedral, and telling how his ancestors had maintained themselves there for months at a time in the face of a besieging force. he assured blanka that she would find it most delightful to camp there by a blazing fire; he and manasseh would take turns watching while she slept, her head pillowed on a fragrant bundle of hay. they passed through the giant gateway, and clambered up to balyika cave, a spacious chamber in the side of the cliff, rudely but strongly fortified by a stone rampart that had been built to guard the entrance. a wild rosebush grew in the narrow doorway and seemed at first to refuse all admittance. manasseh and blanka waited without, while aaron fought his way through the brambles, which tore at his leather coat without injuring it, and presently returned with three broad planks. he and manasseh held the briers aside with two of them and laid the third as a bridge for blanka to pass over unharmed. in a corner of the stone wall lay a pile of hay, and behind it a supply of pitch-pine torches, one of which aaron now lighted. then, like a lord in his own castle, he issued his orders to his companions. manasseh was to lead the horses up, one at a time, and stable them in the rude courtyard, while blanka was instructed to sit on a stone and arrange her flowers and feed her poultry. meantime the master of ceremonies made everything ready for the other two within the cave. the cock and hen were soon picking the barley from their mistress's lap, while she busied her fingers with the manufacture of a red necklace of the hips that grew on the wild rosebush. that other necklace, the dandelion chain, was treasured by manasseh among his most precious possessions. soon the horses were led up, stalled and fed, and then their groom drew in the wooden planks, according to his brother's instructions, and carried them into the cave, leaving the wild rosebush to resume its guardianship of the doorway. after this aaron came out and offered his arm, like a courteous host, to escort blanka into the cavern. she was no little surprised, on entering, to find herself in a stately hall, clean and comfortable, and lighted and warmed by a cheerful fire of fagots in its centre. near the fire stood a table, neatly spread with a white cloth, on which were placed glasses and a pitcher of fresh spring-water. beside the table a couch, rude but comfortable, had been prepared for her repose. "aaron, you are a magician!" cried the young girl. "where did you get all these things?" at this question the good man nearly let the cat out of the bag by explaining that everything had long since been in readiness for their coming. but he checked himself and considered his answer a moment. to say that he had brought all this outfit in his knapsack would have been too obviously a falsehood, so he sought another way out of the difficulty. "i told the miller," he replied, with a jerk of his thumb over one shoulder, "that we should stay the night here, and he sent these things forward by a short cut over the mountain." thus it was only the speaker's thumb, and not his tongue, that lied, by pointing backward to the mill just passed, instead of forward to the other mill at the upper end of torda gap. aaron now offered to show the wonders of this rock palace, which, like the palazzo cagliari, consisted of two wings, from the second of which a low and narrow passage led upward to the mountain spring whence the thoughtful host had procured fresh water for their table. the previous occupants of this abode seemed to have been provided with not a few conveniences. returning to the fireside, blanka was easily persuaded to try the couch that had been spread for her. the three planks, laid on some flat stones and heaped with sheepskins and rugs, made a very comfortable resting-place even for a lady. blanka demanded nothing further, except a glass of water, and then begged aaron to tell her some more stories, to which she listened with her chin resting in her hand and her eyelids now and then drooping with drowsiness, despite the interest she took in the narrator's ingenious farrago of fact and fiction, of romance and reality. he told her how balyika, the last lord of this castle, had held it for years against the imperial troops; even after francis rakoczy's surrender he had refused to lay down his arms, but had maintained his position with a sturdy band of a hundred mountaineers. with this little company he waged bitter warfare against his foes, losing his followers one after another in the unequal contest, until he alone was left. even then he refused to yield himself, but outwitted all who strove to kill or capture him. finally he met the fate of many another brave man,--he was betrayed by the woman he loved. he had been smitten with a passion for the daughter of the torda baker, the beautiful rosalie; but her affections were already bespoken by the butcher's apprentice, marczi by name, a youth of courage and activity. however, she deigned to receive the outlawed chieftain's attentions, her sole purpose being to entrap him and deliver him up to his foes. one evening, when she went to keep an appointment with balyika, she notified the village magistrate and the captain of the yeomen. these two took an armed force and surrounded the lovers' rendezvous, thinking thus at last to capture their man. but he cut his way through the soldiery, and, fleeing over the mountain, made straight for his cave in the torda gap, outstripping the pursuit of both horse and foot--with the single exception of the injured lover, marczi, whom he could not shake off. the young man clung to his heels and chased him to the very entrance of his retreat, where, just as the robber chief was slipping through the opening of his cave, his pursuer hurled his hatchet with such deadly aim that it cleft the fugitive's skull, and he sank dead on the spot. "and that was how the last lord of the cave came to his end," concluded aaron. "but what about marczi and rosalie?" asked blanka. the narrator proceeded to gratify her curiosity by making the young man fall into the hands of the mongols, after which he was captured by a troop of cossacks; and then, when aaron was putting him through a similar experience with the dog-faced tartars, his listener succumbed at last to the drowsiness against which she had been struggling, and the story was abruptly discontinued. "i never heard that tale before, brother," said manasseh, after assuring himself that blanka was really asleep. "nor i, either," was aaron's candid reply; "but in a tight pinch a man turns romancer sometimes. i don't know, though, what fables we can invent to keep the young lady here over to-morrow. you think up something, brother; don't let me go to perdition all alone for the lot of yarns i've been reeling off to your sweetheart." "very well," assented the other; "i'll set my wits to work. now you lie down and rest a bit, while i stay up and tend the fire. at midnight i will wake you and lie down myself while you watch." aaron lay down with a bundle of twigs under his head for a pillow, and, muttering a snatch of a prayer, was fast asleep in a twinkling. manasseh was now left undisturbed to devise something new and surprising against his brother's awakening. tearing a leaf from his sketch-book, he wrote as follows: "dear brother aaron:--i cannot close my eyes in sleep while death threatens our brothers simon and david. nor can i endure the thought of my birthplace being turned into a bloody battle-field, and of the horrors of war invading the peaceful valley whither i am bringing my bride, and which has ever looked upon bloodshed with disapproval. it was my fond hope to give my wife a glimpse of mankind in something like its original sinless state, and to let her learn to know and worship the god of our fathers as a god of love and gentleness. i am seeking a way by which this cherished hope of mine may yet be realised. while the lord watches over your slumbers, i go in quest of the insurgent leader. that which force and threats cannot effect may yet be accomplished by peaceful means. i go to rescue our brothers from imprisonment and death. no fears can hold me back, as no inducements could prevail on me to slip stealthily by their place of confinement and push forward to celebrate my wedding while they perhaps were being led out to execution. i go forth alone and unarmed, and i am hopeful of success. meanwhile do you guard and cherish my beloved. above all, take her away from this place early to-morrow morning. our presence here is known to one man, and he may betray us. you know the way to porlik grotto; few people are even aware of its existence, so well is it hidden from the view of travellers. thither you must conduct our companion, and i will join you there with our two brothers from monastery heights. i may perhaps be there before you. but if it should please god not to prosper my undertaking, take blanka home with you, and, if the lord preserves our family, treat her as a sister. she is worthy of your adoption. break to her gently the news of my fate. in the accompanying pocketbook is all her worldly wealth, as well as my own savings. take charge of it. my brother jonathan resembles me in appearance, and is a much better man than i. to him i leave _all_ that i now call mine. "do not betray to blanka any anxiety on my account. if god be with me, who shall prevail against me? "your brother, "manasseh." chapter xvi. a desperate hazard. after finishing his letter, manasseh took a number of banknotes out of his pocketbook and put them into his waistcoat pocket, and then softly slipped the pocketbook itself, with his letter, under aaron's pillow. on blanka's pure brow, as she lay asleep, he gently pressed a parting kiss, after which he heaped fresh fuel on the fire, stole out of the cave, saddled his horse, and rode away into the darkness. the signal-fire on monastery heights showed him where to find the wallachian camp. no outposts challenged his progress, and he made his way unmolested to the ruined monastery which sheltered the insurgents. fastening his horse to a tree, he turned his steps toward the belfry tower that marked the position of the cloister and the chapel, which, as the only building on the mountain with a whole roof, served the wallachian leader and his staff as headquarters. softly opening the door, manasseh found himself in a low but spacious apartment. twelve men were seated around a table on which stood a single tallow candle, whose feeble rays could hardly pierce the enveloping clouds of tobacco smoke. the company was engaged in that engrossing pursuit which, as is well known, claimed so much of the officers' time during the campaigns of the period,--they were playing cards. one chair in the circle was empty. perhaps its former occupant had gambled away his last kreutzer and left the room. at any rate, the newcomer advanced without hesitation and took the vacant seat. it may be that the players were too absorbed in their game to notice him; or possibly they had so recently come together that they were not yet sufficiently acquainted to detect a stranger's presence; or, again, the feeble light and the clouds of tobacco smoke may have rendered it impossible to distinguish one's neighbours very clearly. whatever the reason, the stranger's advent elicited no comment. a pocketful of money furnished him all the language he needed to speak, and the cards were dealt to him as a matter of course. opposite him sat the wallachian leader. the game proceeded and the stakes rose higher and higher. one after another the losers dropped out, until at last manasseh and the wallachian commander were left pitted against each other, a heap of coins and banknotes between them. fortune declared for manasseh, and he swept the accumulated stakes into his pocket. at this the others looked him more sharply in the face. "who is he?" was asked by one and another. "why, you are manasseh adorjan!" exclaimed the leader at length, in astonishment. "what do you mean by this rashness?" the faces around him assumed threatening looks, and more than one muttered menace fell on his ear; but the hardy intruder betrayed no sign of uneasiness. "i trust i am among gentlemen," he remarked, quietly, "who will not seek a base revenge on a player that has won their money from them." the words failed not of their effect. honour forbade that a hand should be raised against the fortunate winner. "but, adorjan," interposed the leader, in a tone of mingled wonder and vexation, "how did you come here and what is your purpose?" "time enough to talk about that when we have finished playing," was the careless rejoinder. "first i must win the rest of your money. so have the goodness to resume your seats." the company began to laugh. clenched fists relaxed, and the men clapped the intruder jovially on the shoulder, as they again took their places around the table. "haven't you a spare pipe to lend me?" manasseh asked his right-hand neighbour. "yes, yes, to be sure," was the ready reply. manasseh filled the proffered pipe, drew from his pocket a banknote which he rolled into a lighter, thrust it into the candle-flame, and so kindled his pipe, after which he took up his cards and began to play. a faint-hearted man, on finding his own and his brothers' lives thus at stake, would have sought to curry favour by allowing his opponents to win. but not so manasseh. he plundered the company without mercy, as before, and as before he and his _vis-à-vis_ were at last left sole antagonists, while the others rose from their places and gathered in groups about these two. manasseh still continued to win, and his opponent's supply of money ebbed lower and lower. the loser grew furious, and drank deeply to keep himself in countenance. "give me a swallow of your brandy," said manasseh, but he had no sooner tasted it than he pushed the bottle disdainfully away. "fusel-oil!" he exclaimed, making a wry face. "to-morrow i will send you a cask of my plum brandy." "no, you won't," returned his antagonist. "why not, pray?" "because to-morrow you shall hang." "oh, no," replied manasseh, lightly, "for that would require my personal presence, and i am needed elsewhere." the wallachian continued to lose. finally, in his fury, he staked his last penny--"and your brothers' heads into the bargain!" he added, in desperation. the other took him up and staked his own head in addition to the bundle of notes which he threw down nonchalantly before him. they played, and again manasseh won. a man less bold of temperament might have thought to gain his enemies' good-will by leaving his winnings on the table. but manasseh knew better. his opponents, angered by their losses, called him a robber, but still respected him. had he, however, been so timid as to leave the money lying there, they would have regarded his action as such an insult that he would have been compelled to fight the entire company, one after another, in single combat. "now, then," said the leader, "we have time to talk. why are you here--to persuade us to release your two brothers and leave toroczko in peace?" "a man of your discernment can fathom my motives without asking any questions," replied manasseh, with a courteous bow. "well, let us see how you are going to work to bring this about. your brother david, like the simple rustic he is, thought to talk me over with bible quotations. he preached me a sermon on the love of one's neighbour, christ's commandments, the almighty power of jehovah, and a lot more of the same sort, until at last i grew tired of it and had him locked up to keep him quiet. your brother simon is a shrewder man; he has been to school at kolozsvar. he came to me with threats in his mouth, delivered a long harangue on the constitution, the powers of the government, our past history, and kept up such a din in my ears that finally i had to shut him up, too. but you are the cleverest of the three; you have been trained as a diplomat, and have taken lessons in vienna from metternich himself. let us hear what you have to say." "set my brothers free," returned manasseh, boldly, "and promise me not to attack toroczko; then i will give you sixteen fat oxen and twenty casks of plum brandy." the wallachian sprang to his feet and clapped his hand to his sword. "if you were only armed," he exclaimed wrathfully, "you should pay for your insolence by fighting me. do you take me for an armenian peddler to be chaffered with in that fashion?" manasseh kept his seat on the edge of the table, swinging one foot carelessly to and fro. "if you were an armenian peddler," was his cool retort, "you would be far more sensibly employed than at present. but why so angry? i offer you what you most need, food and drink; and i ask in return what we most desire, peace." "but what you offer us we can come and take in spite of you. you three brothers are now in our hands, and we have only to send word to the people of toroczko that, unless they lay down their arms and surrender the town, we shall hang you from the turret of st. george castle." "there are five more of us brothers at home, and, furthermore, in order to reach st. george castle you must push through the gap or make your way over the szekler stone, and you know well enough that the men of toroczko have held this valley in times past against the whole invading army of the tartars." "you forget that there is still another way to reach toroczko." "no, i do not forget it. you mean the bridge over the aranyos. but our iron cannon guard that bridge, and your bushrangers are hardly the troops to take it." "well, then, look out of yonder window toward the west. do you see that signal-fire, and do you know its meaning? it means that a division of regular troops, with artillery and cavalry, is on the way hither from szent-laszlo." manasseh burst into a laugh. "it means that a merry company of picnickers took their lunch this noon at the wonder spring, at the foot of the great beech-tree. the wasps came out and plagued them, so they stuck burning grass into the hollow trunk, and consequently the whole tree was soon in flames. that is what you see burning now." "manasseh, if you are lying to me!" "you know me. you know i never lie. what i say is true. when i choose not to tell the truth, i hold my tongue. last night i slept at ciprianu's. there are no imperial troops to be seen for miles around. what is more, the hungarian forces have left kolozsvar. whither have they gone? i do not know; but it might befall you, while counting on meeting with help, to stumble upon an enemy. after the first three adorjans, you will encounter a fourth, jonathan, and he will give you something beside bible quotations and metternichian diplomacy." the wallachian was visibly affected by this speech, but he sought to hide his concern, and cried out, in a harsh tone: "if you are trifling with me, adorjan, you'll find you have trifled with your own life. if you have told me a lie, god in heaven shall not save you." "but as i have not told you a lie, god in heaven will save me, and i beg you to tell me where i may lie down and sleep, for i am very tired." "shut him up in the bell-tower," commanded the wallachian. "good!" cried manasseh, with a laugh. "at least i shall be able to ring you up early in the morning." "inasmuch as you have offered us a supply of brandy and eighteen oxen," were the leader's parting words, "we will have another interview in the morning." "sixteen was the number," manasseh corrected him. a bed of hay under the bell was furnished the captive, and he was locked up for the night, after which the company he had left held a council of war. chapter xvii. in porlik grotto. complying with his brother's instructions, aaron broke up his quarters at balyika cave early the next morning, and, descending with blanka to the bed of the stream, led her up the valley to porlik grotto, one of nature's wonders known to few and seldom visited. from the top of its high-arched entrance hung cornel-bushes with brown leaves and red berries, while luxuriant wild grape-vines, with pendant clusters of ripe fruit, climbed upward from below to meet them, the whole thus forming an almost perfect screen before the opening. through the screen, however, an observant eye caught the gleam of the stalactites within; the sun's rays, piercing the foliage, lighted them up like so many sparkling chandeliers. but our two travellers' thoughts were not on the beauties of the place. "if manasseh should only come out now to meet us!" they both exclaimed at once. "there!" cried aaron, "we both wished the same thing, and we have a sort of superstition here that a wish so uttered by two at the same time is bound to be fulfilled." but manasseh did not appear. "look there," said aaron, with forced cheerfulness, pointing out the wonders of the grotto; "see how the limestone pillars grow together from above and below, till they meet and make one solid column." and all the while he was thinking: "what if manasseh should come back, not alone, but with our two brothers! yet is it right to ask so much of fate? will not heaven be angry with me for cherishing such a wish? ah, let manasseh himself come, even if he must come alone and with evil tidings!" "see there, my dove," he continued aloud to his companion, "how the arches extend back, one behind another, with balconies along the sides, just like a theatre, and high up yonder a perch for the gallery gods." meanwhile he was saying to himself: "oh, that brother of mine ought to have been here long ago if he was coming at all." then, aloud to blanka: "hear me play on the organ up there,--for theatres have organs sometimes. you notice the pipes, side by side, some longer and some shorter, each for a different note. but you stay here,--the rocks are wet and slippery,--while i go up and play you a pretty tune." with that he clambered up the side of the cavern to a series of stalactites that presented somewhat the appearance of organ-pipes, and drew the handle of his hatchet across them, assuring his listener the while that he was playing a beautiful melody. blanka was expected to laugh at this, and had manasseh only been there, she could have done so with a light heart. "don't you think this back wall looks like a stage curtain?" aaron went on. "with a little stretch of the imagination you might take it for the curtain in the kolozsvar theatre, with apollo and the muses painted on it. one feels almost like stamping one's feet, to make it go up and the play begin." but the undercurrent of the speaker's thoughts was quite different. "what if manasseh shouldn't come by noon--by nightfall?" he was asking himself. "then what is to become of this poor girl?" aloud once more: "that lad manasseh must have made a little mistake--just like these young men! he probably took the longer way, instead of following my advice. but just look out toward the entrance, and see how the sun shines in through the leaves and lights up the whole grotto like a fairy palace." blanka, however, was feeling so heavy of heart and, in a vague way, so fearful of impending misfortune, that she was in no mood to enjoy the splendours around her. she crossed her hands on her bosom and, in the half-light of this mysterious subterranean cathedral, yielded to the awe-inspiring influence of the place and gave utterance, in a subdued chant, to these words of the psalmist: "hear me, o god, nor hide thy face, but answer, lest i die." aaron could control his feelings no longer. throwing himself down on his face, he began to sob as only a strong man can when he is at last moved to tears, not by any selfish grief, but by the very burden of his love and anxiety for others. but at that moment the psalm was broken off, and aaron heard himself called three times by name. he rose to his knees and looked toward the opening of the grotto, where a glad and unexpected sight met his eyes. glorified by the flood of light that poured in from without, appeared the forms of three men, the middle one being the tallest and stateliest. they were manasseh and his two brothers, david and simon. aaron sprang up and threw himself on them with an inarticulate cry like that of a lioness recovering her lost cubs. embraces and kisses were not enough: he bore them to the ground and thumped them soundly on the back in the excess of his emotion. "you rascal, you good-for-nothing, you shameless rogue, to worry me like that!" he exclaimed, accosting now one, now the other of his two lost brothers, after which he embraced them both once more. "and am i of no account?" asked manasseh. "have i no share in all this?" "you are your brothers' father," aaron made answer, "before whom they prostrate themselves, even as the sheaves of joseph's brethren bowed before his sheaf. we are all your humble slaves." so saying, he threw himself at manasseh's feet and embraced his knees. "torda gap is, indeed, a place of wonders, but the greatest wonder of all you have wrought in rescuing your brothers." this unrestrained outburst of joy opened blanka's eyes and made her see that there was far more behind the meeting of these brothers than she had at first suspected. she knew now that the vague dread which had oppressed her, and from which she had sought relief in sacred song, had not been unfounded. thus it was that she felt all the more impelled to take up the psalm where she had broken off, and to pour out her gladness in the concluding lines: "he hears his saints, he knows their cry, and by mysterious ways redeems the prisoners doomed to die, and fills their tongues with praise." much rejoicing then followed, and the two brothers, whom manasseh now presented to blanka, told her all about the preparations made for receiving the bridal party at the borev bridge. then all five sat down and emptied the lunch-basket with which ciprianu had provided his guests; for thenceforth they would not need to carry their supplies with them. toward noon they mounted their horses, david and simon taking blanka between them, and the other two bringing up the rear. "now tell me all about it," began the elder brother, as he rode a little behind with manasseh. "you must have had the eloquence of aaron and the magician's power of moses, to prevail on pharaoh to let your people go." "i have wrought no miracle and used no eloquence," was the reply. "but i showed our foes neither fear nor haughtiness. i joined their circle, but did not spoil their entertainment. they questioned me, and i told them the truth. i asked them for peace, and offered them a price that i thought we were able to pay." "how high a price?" asked aaron. "sixteen oxen and twenty casks of plum brandy," was the matter-of-fact reply. "if my arm were only long enough, wouldn't i box your ears!" exclaimed aaron, by way of giving vent to his admiration. "they wished to do something of the sort to me up yonder, too, when they heard my offer," returned the other. "but then they reconsidered the matter, and at last came to see that it was a very fair proposal, and one that needed no lawyer or interpreter to make clear to them. they all understood it, and finally declared themselves satisfied." "but where did you get the two horses for our brothers?" "i bought them, and i gave a price, too, such as is paid only for the best english thoroughbreds; but half of the money was what i won from the sellers themselves last night." "so you have been playing cards with the amorites, you godless man!" "they held me prisoner till morning, while they took counsel together what to do with me and my two brothers. some of them were for sending our heads, minus our bodies, to toroczko, with a demand to surrender the town, else they would storm it and not leave one stone on another. but the upshot was that they led me out in the morning and told me my terms of peace were accepted. they abandon their plans against toroczko, disperse to their homes, and promise henceforth to be our good neighbours, as heretofore." "did they swear to this?" "before the altar, and a priest administered the oath." "with two candles on the altar?" "yes." "then they will keep their word." "and i, as plenipotentiary and envoy extraordinary, gave them a written and sealed pledge to restrain my people from all acts of hostility against them." "that will cost you a hard fight when you get home." "but i shall win. the wallachians will respect the peace, and we shall avoid all contention with them. their leader, when he handed me our passport, said to me: 'you now have no further cause for uneasiness so far as we are concerned. my comrades and i will do your countrymen no further harm. as to the supplies offered by you, we accept them as a gift, not as a ransom. one parting word i have to add, however, and i bid you mark it well: we cannot promise you that some day a renegade from your own midst may not plunge your town into war and bloodshed.' with that we shook hands and kissed each other; and i can assure you positively that from here to the aranyos our way will be clear." "but how did you win them over so easily, i should like to know? surely, the sixteen oxen and a few casks of brandy could not have done it." "i gained my end simply by telling the truth. i told them about our setting the beech-tree on fire. they had taken it for a signal, and the mistake might have cost them dear." "and did they believe you?" "no, they doubted my word and discussed the matter a long time in their council, one party being strongly opposed to any change in their preconcerted arrangements; and this faction pressed urgently for my immediate execution." "what, then, was it that saved you?" "a mere chance--no, it was providence, rather. it was a heart that beat with warm human feeling and a will that was prompt to act. in the midst of their discussion a messenger came from ciprianu and confirmed the truth of my words." "from ciprianu? then the messenger must have ridden all night." "yes, through a trackless wilderness and over rugged mountains." "i do not see how mortal man could have accomplished it!" exclaimed aaron, shaking his head. "it was not a man; it was a woman that effected the impossible. she came to monastery heights to attest the truth of my statement by assuring the insurgents that what they took for a signal-fire was merely the result of an accident. the woman who saved us three from death was zenobia." at this point blanka interrupted the conversation of the two brothers. she laughingly demanded to know what they were so earnestly discussing together. "we can't agree on what guests to invite to our wedding," was manasseh's ready reply. "aaron would have only the immediate family, but i am in favour of inviting all our friends. what are your wishes in the matter, my angel?" "i have no relatives or friends that i can invite to my wedding," answered blanka, gently, "but i shall feel very happy if all your family can be present, even to your youngest brother, whom we met in kolozsvar. you must send for him to come home." "he will be there, dear heart," aaron assured her. "and stay! i have a friend, after all,--a friend that i have made since coming into this country, and should much like to see at my wedding. it is zenobia, ciprianu's daughter." * * * * * at sunset they reached the aranyos river, beyond which lay the longed-for home, the happy valley which, from manasseh's description, had so often been the subject of blanka's dreams. at last she was to see toroczko. chapter xviii. toroczko. it was a new world to blanka,--that busy mining community, where clouds of black smoke from the tall chimneys of the smelting works and iron foundries met the eye in every direction, and the cheerful hum of toil constantly saluted the ear. the adorjan family gave the newcomer a most hearty welcome. with anna, manasseh's twin sister, the girl whom benjamin vajdar had so cruelly wronged, blanka felt already acquainted. they embraced without waiting for an introduction, and when they drew back to scan each other's faces, they could hardly see for the tears that filled their eyes. blanka was surprised, and agreeably so. she had prepared herself to see a face stamped with the melancholy of early disappointment, whereas she now beheld a fresh, rosy-cheeked countenance, golden locks, and blue eyes in which no tears had been able to dim the dancing light of a lively and cheerful temperament. other women there were also in the family,--rebecca, berthold's wife, and susanna, the helpmate of barnabas, with a little circle of children around each. the home-coming of the long-absent brother with his betrothed was celebrated, in accordance with time-honoured custom, with a great dinner that filled the spacious family dining-room to its utmost. blanka could not sufficiently admire the skill and patience with which susanna directed the feast and ministered to the varied wants and the individual tastes of so many guests. the eldest brother and his family were vegetarians and would touch no meat, but indulged freely in milk and eggs, butter and cheese. with them sat doctor vernezs, who was even stricter in his vegetarianism; the sole contribution from the animal kingdom that he allowed in his diet was honey. brother aaron sat beside blanka, and partook freely of a dish of garlic that had been provided especially for him. he offered some to blanka. "i can eat this all my life," said he, with a roguish twinkle in his eyes, "but you only eleven weeks longer." she understood the allusion. in szeklerland a lover and his sweetheart bear themselves with much decorum and mutual respect throughout the entire period of their engagement. only after the wedding do they exchange the first kiss. anna wished to come to her new friend's aid at this embarrassing juncture. "it won't be so long as that, aaron!" she exclaimed. "let us reckon it up, my little turtledove," returned the brother. "to-morrow we will tell the parson that our sister blanka wishes to join our communion. the law requires her to wait two weeks after this first announcement and then to go and declare her purpose a second time. after that follow six weeks for the divorce proceedings. that makes eight weeks. then the banns have to be published three successive sundays, and so we make out the eleven weeks, as i said. for seventy-seven days and nights, then, our peach-blossom will be your companion, sister anna." anna and blanka embraced each other with much affection. the latter showed no embarrassment at aaron's plain speech. "i will add five days to the seventy-seven," said she, with a smile. "how so?" asked the brother and sister. "because i shall not go to the parson to-morrow, but shall wait until after sunday. i am going to your church on that day, and till then i can't tell whether i wish to belong to it or not." this prudent resolve met with aaron's hearty approbation. * * * * * it was not long before anna and blanka became the warmest of friends. they shared the same room together, and the newcomer was allowed to look over all her companion's books, drawings,--for she, like her twin brother, was an artist,--keepsakes, and treasures of every sort. one day she came upon something that made her start back as if stung by an adder. it was a little portrait in an oval frame, a man's face, highly idealised by the artist, and yet strikingly true to life. evidently the hand of love had depicted those lineaments. the eyes were bright, the lips wore a proud smile, the whole expression was one to charm the beholder. it was benjamin vajdar's likeness, and no ghost could have given blanka a greater start. it was as if her most hated foe had pursued her into paradise itself, to spoil her pleasure there. anna noticed her friend's involuntary movement, and she sighed deeply. "did manasseh tell you about him?" she asked. "i know him well," replied blanka, and she could not control an accent of abhorrence in her voice as she spoke. anna clasped her companion's hand in both her own. "i beg you," she entreated, in tones at once sad and tender, "if you know aught ill of him, do not tell it me." "you still love him?" asked the other, in compassion. the young girl sank down on the edge of her bed and hid her face in her hands. "he has killed me," she sobbed; "he has done much that a man, an honourable man, ought not to do; and yet i cannot hate him. we may say, 'i loved you yesterday, to-morrow i shall hate you,' and we may act as if we meant it; but we cannot really _feel_ it." "my poor anna!" was all blanka could say. "i know he is dishonourable," admitted the girl; "there are women here that report everything to me, thinking thus to cure me. but what does it avail? a sick person is not to be made well with words. how many a woman has waited for the return of an absent lover who may perhaps have gone around the world, or to the north pole, and who yet cannot get beyond the reach of her love and yearning!" "if it were only the earth's diameter that lay between you!" murmured blanka. "true," replied anna, resting her head on her hand; "the wide world is not so effective a barrier as a bewitching face that has once thrust itself between two loving hearts. that is harder to circumnavigate than the earth itself." "if a pretty face were all that stood between you----" began the other once more, sitting down beside her friend and putting her arms about her. "yes, yes, i know," the poor girl interrupted; "the whole world and heaven and hell stand between us. all the laws of honour, of faith, and of patriotism, tear us asunder. i cannot go to him where he is, but yet it may be that he will come back to me--some day." "do you think so?" "i believe it as i believe in one god above us. not that i think we could now ever be happy together; but i am convinced that the road which he took on going away from here will some day bring him back again to our door. broken and humbled, scorned and repulsed by all the world, he will then seek the one remaining asylum that stands open to him, and he will find one heart that still beats for him from whom all others have turned away." the speaker rose from her seat and stood erect, her face all aglow with noble emotion. was it an angel in love with a devil? "see!" she continued, pointing to the little portrait, which was encircled by a wreath of immortelles, "this picture here in my room gives daily proof how lasting a thing love is in our family. my brothers all hate him with a deadly hatred, and yet they spare his likeness because they know that i still love him; they leave the little picture hanging in my room, nor offer to offend me by proposing another marriage for me. they know how deep is my love, and they respect my feelings. oh, i beg you, if you have reason to hate this man, yet suffer his portrait to keep its place, and turn your eyes away from it if it causes you offence." but blanka hated the man no longer. "now i must not let you see me in tears," said anna, briskly. "i must not make myself a killjoy in the family. i am naturally of a happy, cheerful temperament, and interested in all that goes on around me. my face shall never frighten people by being pale and wobegone. just look in the glass! i am as rosy-cheeked as you." with that she drew blanka to the mirror, and began to dispute with her as to which could boast the more colour. "you are happy," she continued, "and will be still happier. manasseh will turn the earth itself into a paradise for you; just wait till you know him as i do, to the very bottom of his heart." blanka could not but smile at the sister's proud claim. yet anna was in earnest. "perhaps you don't believe me," said she. "have you ever seen him in anger, with an enemy before him?" "yes." "how did he look?" "on his forehead were two red spots." "yes, and further?" "his eyes glowed, his face seemed turned to stone, his bosom heaved, and he strove with himself until gradually he recovered his self-control; then his features relaxed, he smiled, and presently he spoke as coolly and collectedly as possible." "then you have never seen him really aroused," affirmed the sister, "as i saw him once, when with one hand he seized a strong man who had wronged him, and threw him down with such force that all his family had to hasten to help him up. when he speaks in wrath he can strike terror into a multitude, and he is such a master of all weapons of warfare that no one can vie with him. now, then, have you ever really learned to know him?" "indeed, i think not," returned blanka, in surprise. "and hear me further," anna went on. "when our house witnessed the sad event that spread a widow's veil over my bridal wreath, our whole family was terribly wrought up. my brothers swore to kill the man wherever they found him,--all but manasseh. nor did i seek to allay their wrath, knowing but too well that it was justified. but i also knew that they would never go forth into the world to hunt him down. to the people of toroczko it is an immense undertaking to go even beyond the borders of transylvania, and, as a general rule, no power on earth could drag one of them to vienna or rome. but manasseh, i knew, must meet with the fugitive, as the two were to be dwellers in the same city and members of the same social circle. manasseh, however, said not a word, and it was on him that i used all my influence. still wearing my wedding-dress, i went to his room, where he was preparing for his journey. it happened that he was just putting a brace of pistols into their case; one of them he still held in his hand. i went up to him, threw myself on his bosom, and appealed to him. 'manasseh,' i pleaded, 'my heart's treasure, unless you wish to kill me too, promise not to kill that man,--not to send his wretched soul out of this world.' manasseh looked at me: his eyes glowed, as you have described, and two red spots burned on his forehead; his face turned hard, like that of a statue, and while he panted and struggled with the demon in his bosom, the pistol-barrel bent in his clenched hands like a wax taper, and so remained. i was wonder-struck. 'see!' i cried, 'you cannot shoot now any more with that pistol. so let him go; don't lay a finger on him.' then my brother embraced and kissed me, and, lifting his hand to heaven, said, 'i promise you, sister anna, that for your sake i will not kill the man, but will let him live.'" how her lover's image grew in blanka's heart and assumed larger proportions as she listened to this recital! the twin sister was the brother's complement. it was necessary to know the nature of the one in order to understand that of the other. hitherto manasseh's self-control in foregoing all revenge had excited blanka's wonder only; she had thought that the secret of this self-mastery was to be found in a rigid dogma only, but now she perceived that what really shielded the wretched culprit was the magic influence of a woman's faithful heart that could cease to love only when it ceased to beat. the pledge won from him by his sister manasseh had come to regard as no less sacred than the articles of his faith. thenceforth he commanded not merely the love of his betrothed, but her adoration. * * * * * blanka soon found herself leading a life that differed in every respect from that which she had so recently quitted. in the cagliari palace she had been left entirely to herself, and when she went abroad it had been only to witness scenes of intrigue and envy, dissipation and frivolity, hypocrisy and deceit, on every side. but in her new home she found a large family of honest souls living in loving harmony under one roof, all its members engaged in active work for the common good, and sharing at a common table the bread that they earned. every joy, every sorrow was common to all, and so the newcomer was at once claimed as a sister by all alike, and immediately became a universal favourite. work was found for her, too, every one assuming that she would far rather work than be idle; and, indeed, she would gladly have engaged in any toil, however severe, but the others would not let her overtax her strength in labours for which they were much better fitted than she. a task was found for her, however, exactly suited to her capacity,--the keeping of the family accounts. she received a big book, in which she entered the current expenses and receipts, with all the details of the family housekeeping that called for preservation. after the working days of the week came sunday, the lord's day. how blanka had looked forward to that first sunday, how often pictured to herself the toroczko church and its sabbath service! it was a simple structure, with four blank white walls, and a plain white ceiling overhead. a gallery ran across each end of the room, and in the middle stood the pulpit, with the communion table before it. men and women, youths and maidens, entered the sacred house through special doors. first came the young men and took their places in the galleries, the students all gathering in a body on the same side as the organ. next entered the married men in the order of their age, the wardens--or, as they were popularly known, the "big-heads"--taking their seats in the first pew facing the pulpit. on the left of the pulpit were seated the foremost families of the place, with the adorjans at their head. for the first time blanka now saw the people assembled in their holiday attire, a costume peculiar to the place, and showing a mixture of hungarian and german dress. the men wore black dolmans faced with lamb's fleece, and further decorated with rows of carnelian and amethyst buttons, the setting of the stones being silver. under the dolman was worn a waistcoat of fine leather embroidered with threads of silk and gold, and around the waist was girt a belt, as broad as one's hand, of red leather handsomely trimmed with strips of many-coloured skins. to complete this imposing outfit, there was thrown over one shoulder a handsome cloak richly embroidered with piping-cord, and furnished with a high collar made from the fur of the fox. a large silver brooch held the mantle together at the breast, while six rows of silver clasps adorned it on each side. the whole costume was luxurious in its appointments, and yet no one would presume to find fault with it on that score. the wearer had earned his adornment with the work of his hands. as soon as the men were seated, the women entered. a parisian modiste would have been put to the blush by the ingenuity of design displayed by these countrywomen's costumes. the dazzlingly white linen, the tasteful combination of lace, embroidery, and furbelows, the handsome bodice and woven belt, the richly trimmed cloaks, the skirts hanging in many folds, the silk pinafores, the black lace caps set off by white veils disposed in picturesque puffs and creases,--all betrayed a wealth of fancy and nicety of taste on the wearer's part that would be hard to match. after the matrons were seated, the maidens came in through the fourth and last door, entering now in pairs, now singly, and sat down on the two sides of the house, behind the married women. finally the children were admitted,--a splendid phalanx, a company of angels of the murillo and bernini type. the pride of the toroczko church is its people. the churches of rome boast many a masterpiece of early italian art on their walls, but their worshippers are ragged and dirty. the walls of the toroczko temple are bare, but the faces of its congregation beam with happiness. no works of sculpture, resplendent with gold and silver and precious stones, are to be seen there. the people themselves are arrayed in costly stuffs and furnish the adornment of the house. after a simple opening prayer, the pastor ascended the pulpit and addressed his flock, in words intelligible to all, on such themes as patriotism, man's duty to his fellow-man, the blessings of toil, the recompense of good deeds in the doer's own bosom, and god's infinite mercy toward his children. in his prayer the preacher referred to jesus as the beloved son of god, the model for mankind to follow, but he did not deny salvation and paradise to those that chose other leaders for their guidance. after the service blanka asked aaron and berthold to go with her to the preacher as witnesses while she announced her purpose to join the church. after making this declaration in due form, she was reminded that she had two weeks in which to consider the matter carefully, at the end of which, if she was still of the same mind, she was to come back again and renew her declaration. "two weeks longer," sighed blanka, "and then six weeks more for the divorce!" aaron heard her sigh, and hastened to say: "if we make a special effort we can shorten this period. our law directs that an applicant for a divorce must either be a resident of, or own an estate in, transylvania. therefore, if you could acquire a piece of land here, we should only have to wait for the consistory to assemble and ratify the divorce already granted by the roman curia, with the added permission to marry again. that done, nothing further remains to hinder the marriage. so you must manage to buy a house-lot or something of the sort in toroczko." "have i money enough, do you think, to purchase an iron mine?" "what, do you really propose to buy one?" "yes,--as my dowry to bring to manasseh. he said he wished to begin a new career and turn miner." "very well, then, we'll buy a mine and call it by your name, and it can't fail to turn out a diamond mine." the purchase was made on that very day, and in the evening the transfer of the property was solemnised with a banquet. it will be noted here that there is a great difference between the hungarian unitarians and the english puritans. the strict observance of sunday by the latter presents a marked contrast to the joy and freedom with which the day is celebrated by the former. the people of toroczko gather in the evening for social intercourse, and even join in the pleasures of the dance, to the music of a gipsy orchestra, until the ringing of the vesper bell. taverns and pot-houses are unknown in the village. chapter xix. a midnight council. while blood was being shed on the banks of the theiss, on the slopes of the carpathians, and in the mountains of transylvania, life at the austrian capital went on much as usual. a grand ball given by the marchioness caldariva made its due claim on the attention of the fashionable world. after the last note of the orchestra had died away and the last guest had departed, prince cagliari led the fair hostess to her boudoir. "how did it please you?" asked the prince, referring to the evening's entertainment. "not at all," replied the other, throwing her bracelets and fan down on the table. "didn't you notice that not one member of the court circle was present? they all sent regrets." "but the court is in mourning now, you know," was cagliari's soothing reminder. "and i am in mourning, too," returned rozina, in a passion. "how long must i submit to this humiliation?" she demanded, compressing her lips and darting a wrathful look at her devoted slave. "i swear to you," replied the latter, vehemently, "as soon as i get word of my divorced wife's death, our engagement shall be announced." "and how long is that woman to live?" demanded the angry beauty, in a tone that startled the listener. "as long as god wills," was all he could say in reply. the fair cyrene drew nearer and laid her cheek caressingly against his shoulder. "do you know where your wife is now?" she asked softly, and when the other shook his head, she went on: "you see, i don't lose sight of her so easily. as for you, you could only shut her up in rome and leave her there; but i knew how to go to work to rid ourselves of this obstruction. the dogs of jezebel were howling under her very windows, when there came a man blundering on to the scene and spoiled everything,--a man who is a man, who is more than a prince, a man from top to toe, in short, who carried off the woman from rome. i hoped they would take flight to some foreign land, whence we might have obtained an official announcement of her death. of course it might not have been true, but the fugitives would have changed their names, in all probability, and an official certificate would have answered our purpose. did you receive blanka's letter,--the one she wrote you from trieste in november?" "no," replied the prince, much astonished at what he had just heard; "and i recently sent to her, by vajdar, her allowance of fifteen thousand scudi for the current quarter." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the marchioness, "a most affectionate and devoted foster-son you have there! your letters pass through his hands and are, according to your directions, opened by him. as to this last letter of blanka's, however, he must have forgotten to deliver it, and he counts himself blameless if a remittance of fifteen thousand scudi, directed to a person whose address cannot be found, goes astray. really he has a genius for roguery. but you needn't get angry with him. the money has not gone out of the family: he spent it on diamonds for me. i learned all about that letter, too, a month ago." "and may i inquire what the princess wrote me?" "she begs leave to discontinue the enjoyment of your bounty, and announces her intention of marrying again; and to that end she declares her purpose of embracing the religion of her betrothed." "the most pleasing result of which will be the saving to me of sixty thousand scudi a year, which i will henceforth bestow on you." the speaker laid a caressing hand on the woman's shoulder. "don't touch me, sir!" cried the marchioness, drawing back. "if one woman has had the spirit to say to you, 'there is your coronet and your gold; pick them up. i need them no longer, for i am going to marry a _man_, who shall be my lord and king,'--why, you may find that another woman can do the same." "but what would you have me do?" asked the other, helplessly; "follow blanka zboroy's example and turn protestant with you, so that we might marry each other?" "really, i have a good mind to say yes. what you propose in jest, sinful as it is, may be more to your liking than what i have to suggest." "you have a plan, rozina?" "yes. before our loving couple can gain their end they must first reach toroczko. there, high up in the mountains, lies the dove-cote where they hope to do their billing and cooing. but the surrounding woods are at present full of birds of prey, and--" "do you dare to think of such a thing?" interrupted the prince, with a start. the old _roué_ had a dread of ghosts by night; he was full of all sorts of superstitions; he disliked to have a beautiful woman allude to certain unpleasant themes in his presence. "i am only letting my fancy play a little," replied the marchioness, "but perhaps what i have in mind may come to pass. if not, then will be the time for action." she fetched from her bookcase a military map of transylvania. it gave in minute detail the mountains, hills, valleys, rivers, towns, and villages of the country. "here in this valley," she resumed, pointing with her finger, "lies toroczko, and these positions that i have marked are held by the wallachian insurgents. have you heard about their doings?" "yes, frightful accounts." "well, then, what if our runaway couple should stumble upon the scene of some of these horrid deeds? possibly your wife is even now lying in the bed of one of these mountain streams." "horrible!" "horrible only if it were really so and we had no proof of it. but i have guarded against that. the war office receives detailed reports of all that is going on in transylvania, and a transcript of those reports is furnished me." she produced a roll of manuscript and read a line or two, laughing as she did so. she might have been reading sanskrit, for all the prince could understand of it. then she nestled softly at her listener's side and began to stroke his chin with one velvet finger. "if you wish to make me very happy--to make us both very happy," she murmured, "bring me from the war office the key to this mysterious manuscript. then we will sit down and decipher it together; and if it contains the name i am so anxious to hear, you shall see how a lioness can kiss her tamer's feet." the prince listened in silence. what effect her words were producing in his bosom, she could only conjecture. she threw herself back on her sofa with a smile on her face. "what do you say?" she asked. "it is not yet too late to find some one at the war office to do your bidding. indeed, the hour is well suited for a confidential mission of that sort. and when you come back, if you find me asleep, just whisper in my ear, 'news from transylvania!'--and i will wake up at once. so good-bye for the present. i shall expect you back again soon." prince cagliari took leave of the enchantress and made his way to the carriage that awaited him below. entering it, he gave a direction to his coachman, and the carriage rolled rapidly down the street. soon after the fair cyrene--or rozina, to call her by her real name--found herself alone, the tall clock in her boudoir struck ten, although the hour was nearer two. she rose at once, and taking a little key from her bosom, unlocked and opened the door of the old-fashioned timepiece. but instead of hanging weights and a swinging pendulum, the opening revealed another open door beyond, through which stepped a young man,--benjamin vajdar. "so you've come at last?" the marchioness exclaimed. "yes, and i have the key to the cipher despatches, too!" all smiles and caresses, the siren led her visitor to the table on which lay the mysterious correspondence. but before the two begin their clandestine work, let us say a few words concerning the relations between them. months before, at a court ball to which prince cagliari's influence had procured the marchioness caldariva a much-coveted invitation, benjamin vajdar, who then occupied a subordinate government position, was also present. struck with the beauty of the marchioness, he sought an introduction, and, to make a long story short, was soon enrolled among her willing slaves. not long after this first meeting he threw up his modest position and became prince cagliari's private secretary. a day had already been set for his marriage with anna adorjan, but he had the hardihood to write and beg to be released from the engagement. he did not, however, think it necessary to announce in his letter that he had changed his religion and turned roman catholic. a desire to shine in society, meanwhile, and the difficulty of doing so on a small salary, had led him to employ dishonest and criminal means for replenishing his purse. he had raised money on his friend manasseh's forged signature. after entering the prince's service and finding himself amply supplied with means, he went to his broker to redeem the false note, but, to his consternation, was informed by the money-lender that, in a moment of financial embarrassment, although the note was not yet due he had presented it to manasseh, who had promptly discounted it. benjamin vajdar felt capable of murdering the broker. a noose now seemed placed around his neck, and the end of the rope was held by the man whose sister he had just wronged so shamefully. the new secretary's appearance in the prince's household served to hasten the impending outbreak between the recently married couple. one afternoon blanka left the house and fled to a friend of hers in hungary, whence her petition for a divorce soon led her, her friend, and her lawyer, as we have already seen, to rome. the decree which was in due time issued from the vatican, that, so long as his divorced wife lived, the prince might not marry again, was a serious check upon certain pet schemes cherished by the marchioness caldariva. * * * * * to return to the latter's boudoir, where she and her willing tool were bending over the cipher despatches, after long and fruitless search they came upon a name familiar to them both,--adorjan. it appeared that a certain adorjan of toroczko had gone out to parley with the insurgent forces then besieging the town, and they had seized him and held him prisoner. a second adorjan had followed to ransom his brother, but he too was detained. finally there came a third brother,--manasseh. "ah, at last!" cried the marchioness, eagerly. it appeared that this third adorjan was on his way home from italy, and was accompanied by his fiancée, whom he left in care of his brother aaron while he himself sought the insurgents' camp. he too was seized and imprisoned, and preparations were made for the execution of the three brothers; but in the morning, by some means or other, he succeeded in persuading his captors to release all three of their prisoners and to give the whole party, including the young lady, princess blanka zboroy, a safe-conduct to toroczko, while the insurgents themselves dispersed to their homes. "but go on!" urged rozina; "what occurred after that in toroczko?" "nothing further is said about toroczko," answered the other. "have you no spies there?" demanded the marchioness. "no, there are no informers in toroczko. there was one, but you have made him your slave." "and you can sit there so calm and cool!" cried the woman, in a passion. "just think, there is a man in that town in whose hand your good name and your freedom lie. if he but takes a fancy, he can drag you in the mud. you can count on no happiness, no security, without his consent. remember, too, there is a woman with him who has smitten you in the face and made you recoil, who is perhaps even now laughing at you, who is the object of my deadly hatred, and during whose lifetime the door is closed to me into the world i wish to enter. so long as that woman lives the sun does not shine for me: i can show my face only at night. and can you sit there while those two are happy in each other's embraces? oh, coward! how long are you going to let them live?" benjamin vajdar did not venture to open his mouth. the marchioness drew a key from her bosom and held it before him. "do you see that?" she whispered, while for an instant a smile lighted up her face. "this key belongs to the man who first brings me word of that woman's death." so saying, she kissed the little key and held it to the other's lips to kiss also. "what do you say?" "i am wont only to think and to act, not to promise," was his reply. "very well. _au revoir!_" the marchioness pulled her bell-cord three times for her maid,--a signal for her visitor to retire. he hastened to the secret door, accordingly, and disappeared. calling a cab, he ordered the driver to take him to the café de l'europe. the head waiter told him, in answer to his inquiries, that prince cagliari was there also,--was, in fact, taking supper with two ladies in a private room. the secretary asked to be shown thither. "i knew you would turn up here before the night was over," cried the prince, with a laugh, as the young man entered. "i had a cover laid for you." the two young women were costumed as _fleurs animées_,--the one as a violet, the other as a tulip. the remains of a generous meal were on the table. the newcomer held out his glass to the tulip and begged her to pour him some champagne. "one moment!" interrupted the prince. "first let me ask a question. how much have you left of my wife's quarterly allowance that i sent her by you?" "that is exactly what i was going to speak to you about," returned the young man. "i have to ask you for the next quarter's allowance also." "indeed! and must you have it immediately?" "if you please." "but haven't you already learned, from her letter which she wrote me in november, that she is about to change her religion and marry again, and that consequently she declines all further assistance from me? didn't this letter come into your hands?" benjamin vajdar shrugged his shoulders and calmly proceeded to squeeze lemon-juice on his oysters. "i assumed without question," he rejoined, "that a man of prince cagliari's chivalrous nature would merely reply to this letter: 'it is a matter of indifference to me how the princess orders her life; but so long as she bears my name she must not be forced to go on foot and soil her shoes.'" "bravo!" cried the prince. "and you would have me give her a dower for her second marriage, would you, and a quarter's allowance into the bargain?" "let us not discuss that at present," returned the other, "it would only spoil our evening. time enough for serious matters to-morrow." "but i wish to discuss it now." "very well. the truth of the matter is, the beautiful princess blanka is at this moment lying dead in the mountains of transylvania." the prince recoiled. "young man, i forbid you to indulge in such ill-chosen jests." benjamin rose and made a low bow. "such a lack of respect as a jest of that sort to my master and benefactor is an utter impossibility." "well, then, sit down, and let us have no play-acting. where do you say this thing occurred?" "somewhere on the highway between nagy-enyed and felvincz. she is lying there in the snow, transfixed with an insurgent's lance." the speaker therewith proceeded to relate several episodes in the bloody drama then enacting in transylvania. "but why are you so sure that the princess is one of the victims?" asked the listener. "the names are all recorded," was the answer. "the first thing, therefore, for prince cagliari to do is to order the recovery of his wife's body, that it may receive proper interment in his family vault. if you wish to convince yourself of the truth of my statements, i will give you the key to the cipher despatches. the despatches themselves you will find in a place that is always open to you. go and read for yourself." "no, no," cried the prince, "i will not look at the papers. what you have said is enough for me." "very well," rejoined the secretary, quietly. "then i will go and make ready to start at once for transylvania. i am determined to find and bring back to you the remains of the princess blanka. it is a grim task, and calls for a heart of iron." "and a purse of gold," added the other. "here is my pocketbook to begin with, and i will open an account for you with a czernovicz banker." what was most important of all, the smooth-tongued secretary had entirely omitted,--namely, that the subject of his ingenious story was at that moment alive and well, and waiting to see the sun rise over the toroczko hills. after the prince had somewhat recovered from the effect produced upon him by benjamin vajdar's announcement, he gave himself up to the rapturous thought that now at last he could carry word to rozina of his wife's death. he sought her presence without delay. the marchioness, cosily ensconced on her sofa, was either asleep, or feigned to be, when cagliari entered and whispered in her ear: "rozina, my wife is dead!" her eyes opened and a quick flush of pleasure overspread her face. "how? when? where?" she asked eagerly. "at nagy-enyed--killed by the insurgents." "nonsense!" cried the marchioness. "who told you so?" "my private secretary, your favourite, benjamin vajdar. he has just read it in the despatches received at the war office." the listener's eyes flashed with scorn. "i am telling you the truth," asserted the other, vehemently. "i give you my word of honour, it is as i say. i have this moment given vajdar my purse and despatched him to transylvania to bring the poor woman's body back to vienna." the prince seated himself in an armchair opposite the marchioness, and continued: "i am even more eager than you to see her laid to rest in my family vault. my motives are deeper and stronger than yours. you have been longing for blanka zboroy's death because her existence meant humiliation to you. this thought has brought unrest to your pillow, but a legion of demons chases sleep from mine. shall a cagliari suffer any living woman to drag his name in the mire before all the world--to laugh to scorn the decree of the roman curia--to scratch out his name after her own and replace it with that of a szekler peasant? that may be allowed to pass among common people, but the descendants of the ferraras will find a way, or make one, to prevent such a scandal. it has become a necessity in my eyes that _she_ should not walk the same planet with me." the marchioness was listening by this time with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips. "of late i have suffered heavy losses," the speaker continued. "formerly my income amounted to a million and a half; now it is barely half a million. my estates in the romagna have been confiscated, my serfs in hungary freed, and i have lost frightful sums by my investments. i know many a poor devil has been forced to wont himself to rags and poverty, but for one who has been a leader among men to debase himself and drag out a miserable existence in obscurity--never! shall i, forsooth, suspend the erection of the votive church which i began at the seat of my ancestors twelve years ago? or shall i, discarding the masterpieces of a thorwaldsen, embellish the sacred edifice with the rude productions of a stone-cutter? would you have me say to the woman i adore, 'my dear, hitherto we have lived in two palaces; henceforth we must be content with one'? but most impossible of all would it be to confess my pecuniary embarrassments to my banker and my major-domo, and to direct them to cut down my future expenditures by a third, to sell my picture-gallery, my museum, and two-thirds of my collection of diamonds. no, no! what i am now telling you has never passed my lips before, nor ever will again; for i know how to apply the remedy, and i will not submit to humiliation, even though it should cost human blood to prevent it." the speaker bent forward and went on in a more guarded tone: "now as to the woman of whom we were speaking. when her brothers gave her to me in marriage, we entered into a contract which stipulated that the property of the one who died first should go to the survivor. she was young, i was old; the advantage was all on her side. our divorce has not annulled this contract. if blanka zboroy dies, her brothers must deliver her property over to me." "but her fortune is only a million." "don't you believe it. to be sure, her brothers paid her the interest on only a million, but her property really amounts to five times that sum. my part thus far has been simply to await the turn of events. in rome, as it appears, this woman's fate hung by a thread; but all at once she took the insane notion of marrying again. however, that does not invalidate the contract between us, as the roman curia, though it granted her a divorce, did so on terms that will make it impossible to recognise her marriage with a protestant. when death overtakes her, it will be as the princess cagliari that she leaves this world. one thing we must remember, however: the protestant church will require her to renounce her former faith in order to render her separation from her first husband valid. yet, if she does this she will forfeit all claim to her property, which, by the testator's will, can descend only to roman catholic heirs." with both hands rozina drew the prince's head down and whispered in his ear: "she must die before this second marriage takes place." "i shall not meddle with destiny," returned the prince, straightening up again. "i shall be satisfied and ask no questions if vajdar brings back a leaden casket containing the unhappy woman's remains. i shall render her the last honours with princely pomp, and shall then give orders to pursue and punish the insurgents who were responsible for her death." rozina burst out laughing. it is always too irresistibly funny to see the devil trying to wash himself clean. even cagliari himself was forced to smile. "yes," said he, "that is a joke we may laugh at, if you like. but now hear what i have to say further. if blanka zboroy renounces the faith of her fathers and marries again, it will not suffice for her only to die. the man she marries must die also, the parson who joined their hands at the altar, the witnesses of the ceremony, the whole family that received her in its midst, the schoolchildren that sang the bridal hymn, the guests who sat around the wedding-table, the people who looked out of their windows and saw the bridal procession pass,--yes, the whole town where this marriage took place must be destroyed, and i have it in my power to accomplish this. now are you satisfied?" chapter xx. mirth and mourning. meanwhile preparations were going forward in toroczko for the approaching nuptials. all preliminaries had been duly attended to, blanka had joined the unitarian church, and nothing now stood in the way of her marriage to manasseh. in the courtyard to the rear of the adorjan family mansion stood a little house, containing two rooms and a kitchen, which aaron secretly fitted up in genuine toroczko style, with carved hard-wood furniture, a row of pegs running around the wall and hung with a fine array of glazed earthenware mugs, and an old-fashioned dresser filled with pottery and a dazzling display of bright new tinware. in the sleeping-room bedclothes, canopy, and curtain were embroidered by peasant maidens. this little house was not to be shown to blanka until her wedding day. during these preparations aaron climbed the szekler stone every evening and surveyed the horizon in search of any beacons blazing on the surrounding hills. "if only no mishap befalls, to spoil everything!" he would murmur to himself as he came down again. on the sunday when the banns are published for the last time it is customary for all the friends of the young couple--and there is sure to be a whole army of them--to assemble at the bridegroom's house, which in the present instance was also the bride's. the banquet on this occasion is not furnished by the bridal pair: it is a farewell supper given by the guests of the bride and groom, each of the company contributing a roasted fowl and a cake. the groom merely supplies the wine, but not gratis, as all pay for what they drink, and the sum thus collected goes into the village school fund. on monday morning the wedding festivities begin in earnest. at an early hour people are awakened by the firing of cannon, after which young men mount their horses and gallop hither and thither, and two others, accompanied by trumpeters, go forth to invite the village folk to the wedding and to bear the bridal gifts through the street. then the nuptial procession moves, amid the glad ringing of bells, from the house of the bride to the church. the old men head the line, the young men come next, and the women follow, while the bridegroom with his escort, and the bride with her bridesmaids, are given a place in the middle of the procession. on coming out of the church, the newly married pair receive a shower of flowers from the hands of the maidens gathered at the door. but the ceremonies at the church by no means end the wedding festival. what follows is peculiarly characteristic and important. first the young men bearing the bridal cake run a race from the church to the bridegroom's house, the victor winning a silk neckerchief embroidered by the bride. then comes the rhymed dialogue, in which the representatives of the bride and of the groom chaffer with each other over the bride, but always with the result that the bridegroom's deputy gets the better of his opponent--yet only after the bridegroom himself has promised to be father and brother to his young wife, and to cherish her as the apple of his eye. thereupon the maidens form a ring around the bride, sing songs to her to conquer her bashfulness, and so induce her to yield her hand to the bridegroom. after this the bridesmaids escort her to her new home--which in this case was represented by the little house that aaron had secretly furnished for her. neither blanka nor manasseh had even suspected what he was about. blanka found herself in the paradise of her dreams, and when her attendants had placed a gold-embroidered cap on her head, and she came forth again into the courtyard,--which was now crowded with eager friends,--her hand in that of the man whose wife and queen she was thenceforth to be, it seemed to her that the happiness of heaven itself was her portion. five hundred guests partook of the wedding feast. food and drink were provided in plenty, and every heart was filled to overflowing with the joy of the occasion. and yet, to blanka herself, something was still lacking. "if jonathan and zenobia were only here!" she could not but say to herself, and her happiness was not quite complete without them. toward evening aaron himself began to feel uneasy at their non-appearance. he had nearly exhausted his ingenuity in quieting blanka's anxiety. finally he played his last card. "now, my angel," said he, "you remember i promised you i would dance the szekler dance at your wedding. have the goodness to pay attention, and you will see something that is not to be seen every day." the szekler dance resembles no other terpsichorean exercise, nor is it by any means easy of execution. it calls for sinews of steel and great suppleness of limb. to make it still more difficult, the performer is obliged to provide his own music by singing a merry popular ballad while he dances. he throws himself first on one leg, then on the other, bending his knee and sinking nearly to the floor, while he extends the other leg straight before him, raises one hand above his head, and rests the other on his hip. his heels must never touch the floor, nor may he, while bobbing thus comically up and down and trolling his lively ditty, suffer his face to relax from that expression of sober and dignified earnestness which marks the true szekler. it is a dance and a display of great physical strength and endurance at the same time. while aaron's performance was still in progress, his brother alexander broke through the circle of spectators and whispered something in his ear, whereupon the dancer immediately ceased his exhibition with the cry, "they have come!" with an exclamation of joy blanka sprang up from her seat. she wished to be the first to welcome the long-awaited pair. "sister-in-law," cried alexander, "don't go out! don't let her go out!" but it was too late. two horses stood before the door, and on one of them sat zenobia. blanka ran to her and took her hand. "have you come at last?" she exclaimed. "oh, how long we've been looking for you! let me help you down." zenobia, however, sat silent and made no move to dismount. "where is jonathan?" asked blanka. "there he is." zenobia pointed to the other horse, on whose back was bound a swathed form--a corpse. "jonathan!" cried blanka, wildly. "your brother killed my father," zenobia continued in a monotone, "and my brothers killed your brother; and so it will go on now for nobody knows how long." blanka was stricken speechless with horror, but anna, who followed her, broke out in lamentations, until a strong hand was laid on her from behind and aaron's voice was heard saying: "don't cry, don't make a noise! if the people inside hear you, they'll come out and tear ciprianu's daughter to pieces; and she is now our guest." anna buried her face in blanka's bosom. "alexander," said aaron, softly, turning to his brother, "go in and tell the gipsy band to play a lively reel. the company must be kept amused." meanwhile manasseh had appeared. "manasseh," whispered aaron, "come and help me lift our brother down from the horse." these words were to manasseh like a dagger-thrust in his heart. his knees trembled under him. but presently he manned himself and hastened to untie the ropes that held the inanimate form on the horse's back. zenobia meanwhile went on talking in a low tone to blanka. "in the skirmish at felvincz, the hungarians had one man killed, and he was the man. his horse carried him until i found him. you invited us to your wedding, and here we are. now you may, if you wish, take me in and say to your guests, 'this is the daughter of that ciprianu whose sons laid waste sasd and felvincz and killed jonathan adorjan.'" "away, away!" stammered blanka, waving her hand. she was terrified at the thought of zenobia's being found there by the people of toroczko, and perhaps suffering violence at their hands. "go in peace," said aaron. "my people will not pursue you. let bygones be bygones between us. we owe each other nothing now." "i owe you nothing, aaron, but i owe something to your sister and your sister-in-law for the very kind invitation they sent me; and that is a debt which i will yet repay. to you, manasseh, i have to say, remember those parting words on monastery heights: 'we make peace with you and swear to keep it; but if a traitor from your own number stirs up dissension between us, then tremble!' think of those words often. and now farewell, and god bless you!" with that she turned her horse about and rode away, breasting the wind, which blew the snow into her face. "where shall we lay the body?" asked aaron. "the house is full of guests." "here, in our little cabin," said blanka. "what, in your bridal chamber?" gasped aaron. "oh, father in heaven!" but there was no other way. the two brothers bore jonathan into the little house, unswathed his cold limbs, and laid him in the bridal bed until his coffin should be ready for him. so death entered the little abode and was the first guest. blanka sat down on the edge of the bed and gazed at the dead face. the resemblance between jonathan and manasseh was striking. this lifeless image of her husband suddenly revealed to her all that had hitherto been so carefully kept from her knowledge. when she met jonathan in kolozsvar she had conceived of the war, to which so many stately cavaliers were turning their horses' heads, as a kind of splendid tournament. she remembered now the promise she had made to give the young soldier a kiss on his return home, and recalled how he had begged her to keep her word even though he came back dead. and he had come back dead, and now claimed the fulfilment of her promise. she bent down over him, and as she did so the illusion that it was manasseh himself lying lifeless before her, grew stronger still. she trembled as she touched her lips to the dead man's marble brow, and with an outburst of sobs and tears she called aloud, "manasseh!" he was at her side in a moment, bending over her and pressing her to his heart. so he was not dead, after all. she recovered her self-control, but she murmured in his ear: "oh, do not die! never let me see you lying like that before me!" then she gave place to the three brothers, who likewise embraced the dead man. one by one the other brothers came out of the house of rejoicing and entered the chamber of mourning. alexander had summoned them. the guests, however, found nothing strange in their disappearance, but merely gave themselves up the more unrestrainedly to the gaiety of the occasion. that the bride and groom should have vanished so suddenly was entirely in accord with established usage: the loving pair had, it was taken for granted, sought the spot where all the delights of paradise awaited them. how different was the reality from these conjectures! blanka watched through the long hours by the dead man's couch. so passed her wedding night. at early dawn the tolling of bells announced to the people of toroczko that death had laid his cold hand on one of their number. those who had been wedding guests the day before now came as mourners to the house of the adorjans. the brothers were out on the mountainside. graves for the dead in toroczko are hewn out of the solid rock, and the side of some bare cliff serves the people for a cemetery. here each family has a vault, which, as years pass, penetrates more and more deeply into the mountainside, until in many cases it becomes a veritable tunnel. no name is carved over these vaults, and only the memory of the survivors serves to distinguish one tomb from another. when a man dies, his relatives take it on themselves to hollow out his grave in the cliff. this is an old and pious custom. if, however, there is no man in the family to render this last service, the neighbours gladly offer their help. it would be a grievous thing in toroczko to have one's grave dug by a hired grave-digger. in the afternoon the catafalque was erected in the church, and the entire population assembled to pay the last honours to the deceased. the people sang, and the pastor delivered a funeral discourse. then all accompanied the remains to the rock-hewn cemetery. men bore the coffin on their shoulders, and on the coffin lay the dead man's sword, crowned with garlands, and his shako pierced with a bullet-hole. leading the procession marched a student chorus singing a dirge, while weeping women brought up the rear. when the family vault was reached, the seven brothers of the deceased took the coffin and laid it in the niche prepared to receive it; then they rolled a great stone before the opening, came out of the vault, and kissed one another. after that a plain villager, an old and gray-haired man, mounted a stone pulpit and addressed the assembly, telling them who it was they were burying, how he had lived, how he had been loved, and in what manner he had come to his end. the speaker closed with the hope that the memory of the departed might last as long as there were dwellers in the valley to speak his name. the pastor then blessed the grave and pronounced a benediction on the company before him. finally the student choir rendered a closing selection, while the women and children left the place in groups, and only the men remained behind. aaron now ascended the stone pulpit and spoke. "brothers and friends," he began, "we have done our duty to the dead; now let us discharge our obligations to the living. enough of funeral dirges for the present! let us now to arms!" three hundred men echoed his words. "to arms!" they cried, "to arms!" they were ready and eager to go in quest of the foemen at whose hands their fellow-townsman had met his death. "come, let us go home and arm ourselves!" said they, one to another. "we will meet in the marketplace!" called out aaron from the stone pulpit, when suddenly he felt a strong hand on his belt behind, and he was lifted down bodily from his place. he did not need to ask who dealt thus summarily with him; he knew that only his brother manasseh was capable of such a feat of strength. "what are you thinking of?" cried manasseh, in a voice that all could hear. "have i not made peace with our neighbours and sworn in the name of the one living god to maintain it, and would you put me to shame?" "have they not murdered our brother jonathan?" demanded aaron. "no; our brother fell in battle like a brave soldier, with his sword in his hand. and others of our land are fighting now for their country and will die for her. we shall mourn them and honour their memory, but we are not wild indians to exact a bloody vengeance for those fallen on the battle-field." "very well, brother manasseh, but you need not charge us with being wild indians. i do not ask that we should fall upon our neighbours and burn their houses over their heads, but that we should be on our guard and defend ourselves and our families the best we know how. believe me, brother, i am as good a christian as the next man; i go to church every holy day, even when i am ill; but i feel easier, when i pray for my soul's salvation, if i know my gun is loaded and primed." "then you are no true believer in god," returned manasseh, in a tone of reproof. "you worship that jesus in whose name the massacre of st. bartholomew was perpetrated, the burning of heretics sanctioned, and the crusades undertaken; but you are no true follower of that jesus who came with a message of peace and good-will to mankind, and who said to peter, 'they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.'" "i am not so sure that he really said that," rejoined aaron, shrewdly. "matthew has it that he did, but mark and luke make no mention of it, and, according to john, jesus simply said to peter, after the latter had cut off the ear of malchus, the high priest's servant, 'put up thy sword into the sheath.' at any rate, i am not clear what i should have done had he said it to me; but i know one thing, if i had been there when the saviour handed the sop to judas, i should have dealt iscariot such a blow on the head that he wouldn't have had wit enough left to betray his master. and just so i will strike down the traitor who leads a foe against toroczko, if he once comes within my reach." "what traitor do you mean?" "the one that the girl spoke of yesterday when she said, 'if a traitor rises up from amidst your own people, then tremble!' i know whom she meant now: with the insurgents is a man, lately come into notice, who surpasses all his fellows in cruelty. he is our iscariot." "what makes you think so?" "because he calls himself diurbanu. no genuine wallachian would have taken the nickname of his king, decebalus. it is as if one of us should call himself attila. now, then, manasseh, i love you and am ready to follow your lead. i shall never forget how you went up to monastery heights and came back with our two brothers. you knew how to serve them better than i. i would have avenged their death merely, but you saved their lives. so, as you made peace with moga and his people, you have a right to ask us to keep it. therefore we will demand no atonement from them for jonathan's death. but when we hear that diurbanu and his men, who know nothing about that peace and are no parties to it, are advancing on toroczko, then will be the time for us to act." "and i will take a hand with you," declared manasseh. therewith the two brothers clasped hands and embraced each other, after which the men all returned to their homes. chapter xxi. the spy. albeit the earth reeked with blood in those days, yet the spring of saw the flowers blooming in as great profusion as ever, as if god's blessing had been vying with man's curse to see which should outdo the other. on a beautiful afternoon in may, blanka and anna, with manasseh and aaron, were climbing a steep and tortuous mountain path. manasseh had his portfolio and some few other implements of his craft, while aaron carried the ladies' wraps and lunch-basket. with the exception of iron-shod alpenstocks, none of the party were armed. the two men walked on ahead, side by side, leaving the young women to loiter behind and pick mayflowers. rhododendrons, orchids, and epigonitis rewarded their search in abundance. from the valley below came up the bleating of goats and the flute-like notes of the blackbird. "are you really in earnest, aaron, about defending the town from this position in case of an attack?" asked manasseh. "wasn't it from the szekler stone that our fathers repulsed the whole mongolian horde?" was the rejoinder. "but that was in the old days, in old-fashioned warfare." "well, the wallachians are now no further advanced in military science than were the tartars then." "yes, but at that time the szekler stone was in a condition for defence," objected manasseh. "and how do you know i haven't put it in such a condition again?" asked the other. "i should like to see how you have accomplished it." "i shall not show you, for you are not a soldier, and no civilian shall see my fortifications. i will show them to the two young ladies; they count as combatants. the other day they coaxed alexander to lend them his pistols, and since then they have been practising shooting at a mark in the garden behind the house." "what, does my wife know how to handle a pistol?" "to be sure; and it's no elderberry popgun, either. you may depend upon it, she'll sell her life dear. you needn't laugh." the rocky height known as the szekler stone commands a view of vast extent. nestled among the hills, twenty-two villages may be counted from its summit, with the aranyos river winding this way and that among them, like a ribbon of silver, until it empties into another tortuous stream which carries its waters to the maros. but on the opposite side, toward the northwest, in striking contrast with this picture of happy human industry, a boundless waste of rugged, forest-clad mountain peaks meets the eye, with no sign of house or hamlet. from the side toward toroczko, which lay smiling in the valley, its fruit-trees in full bloom, its fields looking like so many squares of green carpet, and its church-spire rising conspicuous above the foliage, one could hear, like the throbbing of a giant's heart, the heavy beating of steam hammers. there the scythe and the ploughshare were being fashioned, and all the implements wherewith the hand of man subdued to his use those rugged hillsides. "if i could only paint that picture!" sighed manasseh. "you succeeded with the colosseum," was blanka's encouraging rejoinder. "that was rome, this is toroczko. i could hit my sweetheart's likeness; my mother's is beyond me." nevertheless he was determined to try his hand; so the others left him at work and went on to view the curiosities of the szekler stone. "take good care of my wife," manasseh called to his brother, "and don't let her fall over any precipice." "never fear," aaron shouted back. "the whole szekler stone shall fall first." "promise not to take blanka and anna up hidas peak." "i promise." "on your honour as a szekler and a unitarian?" "on my honour as a szekler and a unitarian." with that manasseh let them go their way. but in the midst of his sketching it occurred to him that aaron had only promised not to "take" the ladies up hidas peak, which might mean that he would not carry them up, but was at liberty to lead them; for aaron was full of all such quips and quibbles as that. manasseh closed his portfolio, picked up his things, and followed the path taken by the others. yet there was no mischievous intent in aaron's mind. he conducted anna and blanka to the verge of the gorge that separates the so-called hidas peak of the szekler stone from the louis peak. this ravine is a deep cutting, down which a steep, breakneck path leads directly to toroczko, but is very seldom used. on the farther side of the gorge may be seen a cave in the rocks, popularly known as csegez cave. a rude stone rampart guards its mouth, and, as only a very narrow path along the brink of the precipice leads to this cavern, it could be easily held against an assault. on the summit of hidas peak was planted a bundle of straw, which was visible from a considerable distance, and served as a warning not to ascend. was it meant as a protection to the single fir-tree left standing there in lonely majesty, or to deter hay-thieves from cutting the grass that grew there? perhaps it was a friendly caution to sightseers not to hazard the ascent, as it might cost them their lives. the two young women recognised at once the inadvisability of their attempting this dangerous climb, but to aaron the ascent was mere sport. he had often been up there before. promising his companions that, if they would be on their good behaviour, and not stir from the spot, he would climb the rocky height, blow a blast on his horn that should awake the echoes, and bring them back a twig from the solitary fir-tree, he left them seated on the grass and busy arranging the flowers they had gathered. it seemed a long time before he gained the summit, and the young women grew tired of sitting still in one place. anna, true miner's daughter that she was, spied some scattered bits of carnelian in the rubble near by, and pointed them out to blanka. agate and chalcedony were also to be found among the loose stones, and often the three occurred together. both anna and her companion were soon busy gathering these treasures and pocketing the rarest specimens. indeed, so intent were they on their work that they failed to note the approach of a strange man, until he stood within fifty paces of them. whence could he have come? had he been concealed behind some rock? what was his purpose in thus stealing on the two unprotected women? he wore the wallachian peasant costume,--a high cap of white lamb's wool, from beneath which his long, black hair hung down over his shoulders, a leather dolman, without sleeves, a broad belt with buckles, under which his shirt extended half-way to his knees, and laced shoes. he carried a scythe over one shoulder, and stood with his back to the sun, so that his features could not be clearly distinguished. the young women seized each other by the hand, and uttered a cry of alarm. the sight of the strange figure seemed to work on them like a nightmare, or like the ghost of some one known in life, but long since laid to rest in the grave. at first the man appeared to be as badly frightened as the young ladies. he halted, gave a start as of surprise, opened his mouth to speak, and then stood dumb, with staring eyes. for several seconds he seemed undecided what to do next. then he put himself in motion and advanced toward the ladies, his face at the same time assuming a wild, demoniac expression. he lowered his scythe from his shoulder, and grasped it in his right hand. at that moment there sounded from the height above the trumpet-like peal of aaron's horn. "aaron! aaron!" cried both young women in concert and with all their strength. the intruder, taking fright at sound of the horn and at the name, stood still and threw a look behind. "run, _frate_!"[ ] shouted aaron from above, already descrying the man. [footnote : rumanian for "brother."] but the latter, counting with safety on a considerable interval before aaron could descend, started once more toward anna and blanka. only twenty paces now intervened between him and them. his eyes glowed and his face was distorted with a horrid expression, more brutal than human. his appearance might well have made the boldest recoil. anna planted herself before her companion, as if to shelter her, while blanka felt only a mad desire to run and throw herself over the precipice. but suddenly, when the man was only a few steps from them, he halted and drew back as if some one had smitten him in the face, his knees trembled, and an inarticulate cry escaped his lips. he seemed to have encountered something from which he drew back in dismay, as the leopard, when pursuing a deer, turns tail at sight of a lion. blanka and anna gave a backward glance and then started to run. fear now left them, and as they ran they called aloud, in the glad assurance of help near at hand, "manasseh! manasseh!"--until they reached him and threw themselves into his arms. meanwhile the strange man, looking over his shoulder and seeing aaron descending upon him with bold leaps and bounds, did not pause long to consider, but dropped his scythe and ran for his life, down the steep side of the gorge, over rubble-stones and slippery boulders. "what are you so frightened at?" asked manasseh, taking the matter lightly and kissing back the roses into the ladies' pale cheeks. panting and gasping for breath, they could hardly stammer out the cause of their alarm, but managed to explain that a "terrible man" had suddenly come upon them and chased them. yet neither blanka nor anna went on to say of whom this strange figure had reminded her. "you little geese!" cried manasseh, laughing, "it was only a hay-thief. grass grows on hidas peak, and ever since the days of king matthias the szeklers on the aranyos have quarrelled with their neighbours over the cutting of it. the man who is on hand first with his scythe carries it off. so that bugaboo of yours was merely a harmless peasant in quest of fodder for his cow, and he took fright at sight of us and ran away. look there, will you, he has dropped his scythe in his eagerness to escape." the two young women, still clinging to manasseh, went with him to examine the wallachian's scythe. "a tool of our own make!" he cried, lifting it up and inspecting it. "it has our trade-mark. the snath is full of notches--probably the owner's record of work done and of his share in the harvest." the said owner was by this time far down the steep path. aaron now joined his companions, much out of breath, red in the face, and without his hat, which he had thrown away in order to run the faster. he shouted to the fugitive to stop, and, going to the edge of the ravine, snatched up a great stone and hurled it after him. "oh, heavens!" cried anna, "what have you done? what if it should hit him?" "if it hits him it will help him along the faster," was aaron's reply as he caught up a second stone, smaller than the first, and sent it to overtake its fellow. but the fleeing form was too far down the hill to serve as a good target, and aaron's stones bounded harmlessly by. "you might have killed him!" said anna, reproachfully. "and that would have been the best thing for all concerned," answered aaron, giving his moustache a fierce pull. "but it would have been a piece of needless cruelty," remarked manasseh,--"and merely on account of a little hay that has not been touched, after all." "he didn't come up here to steal hay; he is one of diurbanu's spies." "but what, pray, could he spy out here?" "what could he spy out? oh, just see how sharp my brother manasseh is! my fortifications and armament are on the szekler stone. yes, you may laugh now, but you won't laugh when you come to learn their value. i will show the ladies my cannon, but i won't let you see them, manasseh." "cannon, brother?" repeated manasseh, laughing. "how in the world did you ever get them up here?" "my business is with the ladies now," was all aaron would say. "you sit down on a stone and paint the beautiful view. my battery is not for you to see. yes, i have a battery, all complete. if aaron gabor could fit out his szeklers with artillery, why should not his namesake be able to do the same? you young women may see my big guns; i'll show them to you. but first promise me solemnly not to tell any mortal soul what you see--not even manasseh." blanka and anna both pledged themselves most solemnly to secrecy, whereupon aaron led them up to a height on which stood the ruins of szekler-stone castle, one of the oldest monuments to be found in all hungary. after a short interval the three rejoined manasseh, the two ladies laughing and in the merriest of moods, scarcely heeding their conductor's solemnly raised forefinger and sober mien, which were meant to remind them of their promise. but they betrayed no secrets; they only laughed. yet aaron thought it betrayal enough for them even to laugh. "that's always the way," he muttered, "when you let a woman into a secret!" they soothed and caressed him, but only laughed the more as they did so. "i wish you to understand that this is no trifling matter," he declared, "and that i had good reason to send those stones after that prying spy." this allusion checked the young women's merriment at once, and a shudder ran over them at the remembrance of what had passed. "did we both have the same thought?" whispered blanka to anna. "yes," returned the latter, with a sigh. that night, before she lay down to sleep, anna veiled the little portrait that hung in her room, as if to prevent her seeing it in her dreams. chapter xxii. the hand of fate. through the main street of abrudbanya rode two men, one of them wearing an overcoat with silver buttons over his wallachian dress, and a tuft of heron's feathers in his cap, while at his side hung a curved sword, pistols protruded from his holsters, and a rifle lay across his saddle-bow. his face had nothing of the wallachian peasant in its features or expression. the other horseman, however, who rode at some paces' distance in the rear, was manifestly of the peasant class. the horses' hoofs awoke the echoes of the vacant street. silence and desolation reigned supreme. half-burned houses and smoke-blackened walls greeted the riders on every side. high up on the door-post of a church appeared the bloody imprint of a child's hand. how had it come there? grass and weeds were growing in the marketplace, and a millstone covered the village well. here and there a lean and hungry dog crept forth at the horsemen's approach, howled dismally, and then retreated among the ruins. after this scene of devastation was passed, the highway led the riders along the bank of a stream, on both sides of which smelting works had been erected, as this region is rich in gold-producing ore; but nothing except charred ruins was now left of the buildings. at intervals a deserted mill was passed, its wheel still turning idly under the impulse of the tireless stream. leaving this mining district behind, the two riders came to a settlement of a different sort, which had not been given over entirely to destruction. only occasionally a house showed windows or doors lacking, while many were wholly unharmed. among the latter was one building in whose front wall a well-preserved roman gravestone was set, its carving in high relief being still clearly outlined. here had once been entombed the ashes of caius longinis, a centurion of the third legion. _sit sibi terra levis!_ one of the door-posts had in ancient times served as a milestone, and the broad bench before the house was made from the lid of a sarcophagus, bearing an inscription which informed the archæologist what saffron-haired roman beauty had, centuries before, been laid to rest beneath it. the riders drew rein before this house, and straightway an old woman of extraordinary ugliness stuck her head out of the little door. among the wallachians one meets with the comeliest young women and the ugliest old hags. knock at any door, and it is sure to be opened by one of these ancient dames. "he isn't at home," called out the old woman, without waiting to be addressed. "he has gone to the 'priest's tree.' you'll find him there." "well, then, if you know where this 'priest's tree' is, go ahead and show us the way," commanded he of the silver buttons, unwilling even to halt long enough to water his horse, so pressing was his errand. the way led through a vast forest, and when the riders reached their destination it was late evening, the darkness being further increased by gathering thunder-clouds. the so-called "priest's tree" is a giant beech standing in a broad open space and fenced around with a hedge planted by pious hands. under this tree have been sworn the most solemn of oaths, and the ground shaded by it is hallowed. near by stands a wooden church, exactly like the churches to be seen in all wallachian villages, its steep roof and sides covered with shingles, and a pointed turret surmounting the whole. the belfry has no bell, and the windows are unglazed, so that the breezes blow at will through the deserted building. our riders found a dozen or more horses tethered at the foot of the tree and watched by a few wallachian lads, who were muffled in fur coats against the approach of the storm. the beech furnished a good shelter: lightning could not strike it, as it was the "priest's tree." leaving his horse in charge of his attendant, he of the silver buttons hastened on to the church door, where an armed sentry demanded his name. "diurbanu," was the reply, whereupon he was admitted. the interior of the church was very dark. two wax tapers, indeed, burned on the altar, but they flickered and flared so in the wind as to furnish a very insufficient light. the thunder-clouds without, however, were now rent with frequent flashes of lightning, which served to illumine the scene within. about a dozen men were assembled there, sitting on the benches that had once been occupied by worshippers, some wearing the costume of the country, while others were dressed in military uniform. before them, with his back to the altar, sat a man of commanding appearance, attired in a clerical gown with long, flowing sleeves. in his lap he held a little fair-haired boy, covering the child with one of his wide sleeves, and giving it the golden crucifix that hung from his neck to play with. at times his long black beard completely concealed the child's face. the little one was playing and prattling, giving no heed to the talk of the men about him and betraying no alarm at the tumultuous approach of the storm. the newcomer advanced and addressed the group: "gentleman and friends, glorious descendants of decebalus and trajan!" "never mind ceremony now, diurbanu," interrupted the wearer of the gown, in a deep, commanding voice. "what news? let us hear your errand." "i am the bearer of instructions." "out with them, then!" "we must prosecute the war with might and main. there is no time to lose. bem regards the transylvanian campaign as ended, and has set out with his whole army for the banat, leaving only a few regulars to guard the passes and to prosecute the siege of karlsburg. our part is to check him in his march on croatia." "or, in other words," interrupted the man in the gown, "to prevent him from dealing jellachich a fatal blow, we are to throw ourselves in bem's way." "the victors of abrudbanya and brad will not shrink from the undertaking, i should hope," was diurbanu's response. "let us understand each other," said the other, setting the little boy on his knee and trotting him up and down as he spoke. "is it reasonable to suppose that we could, without cavalry, artillery, or experienced commanders, attack a fully equipped force with any hope of success, especially after that force has driven an austrian army corps out of the country and shown itself able to repulse the russian auxiliaries?" "no one expects that of us. our operations are to be confined to raids in the mountains." "but no enemy is to be found now in the mountains. don't you know that? you have just come over the mountains. did you see any sign of the enemy?" "we have foes enough there still. there is toroczko." diurbanu's face, as he said this, was suddenly illumined by a blinding flash of lightning. "and torda!" cried a voice from the benches. "no, we have nothing against torda," declared diurbanu, almost angrily. "but what have we against toroczko?" asked another voice. "the men of toroczko have never done us any harm. so far we have received their iron only in the form of ploughs and shovels, scythes and wheel-tires." "their sons are serving under bem," was the rejoinder, "and it is from them that we have received their iron in other shapes. yet that is not the main reason. toroczko is a breeding-place of magyar ideas and magyar civilisation, an asylum open to protestant reformers, the pride of a handful of people who hope to conquer the world by dint of their science and industry. the fall of toroczko would spread a wholesome fear far and wide; it would be almost as if one should report the overthrow of pest itself. bem's men would halt on the march, panic-stricken at the news, and bem himself would be forced to yield to their desires and return to transylvania. and the more terrible our work of devastation, the more brilliant will be the military success that must follow as its result." the thunder-claps came at such frequent intervals that the speaker could with difficulty make himself heard. when he had ended, the deep voice of him who wore the clerical gown began in reply: "listen to me, diurbanu. you are deceived on one point. those on whom you count in this bloody work are sated with slaughter. so long as they thirsted for revenge they were eager to shed human blood; but now they have slaked their thirst and are beginning to rue their deeds. i saw a family being cut down in the open street, and i rushed forward and snatched this little flaxen-haired boy from the murderers' hands and hid him under my cloak. at that a young man, the most furious one of the party, aimed such a stroke at my head with his scythe that he would certainly have split my skull had not my cap deadened the blow. but three days later this same young man came to see the child whose rescue had filled him with such fury that he had lifted his hand with murderous intent against me, his anointed priest; and because the little boy cried for his lost blackbird, the young man went into the woods and caught another for him. more than that, he would now gladly restore the boy's parents to him if he could. ever since i saved the little one's life he has clung to me and refused to be parted from me." the priest spoke in a tongue strange to the little boy, who consequently understood not a word of what was said, but went on with his innocent prattle and laughter. "comrades," resumed diurbanu, addressing the group before him, "all this is wide of the mark. we are in the midst of war, and in war-times the soldier must go whither he is sent." "very well, diurbanu," was the reply, "our soldiers will go whither they are sent. the wind can direct the storm-cloud whither it shall go, but cannot compel it to flash lightning and hurl thunderbolts at command." "but i know one storm-cloud," rejoined diurbanu, "that has not withheld its thunderbolts." "you mean ciprianu and his men?" "yes." "but ciprianu and both his sons are now fallen." "so much the better. he left a daughter who thirsts for revenge." "do you know her?" "she is my sweetheart." "and have you picked out the village whose destruction is to be her bridal gift? which one is it?" "i have told you already,--toroczko." "but i say it shall be torda!" cried a determined voice. "i protest." "let us draw lots to decide it." "very well," assented diurbanu, and, going to the altar on which stood the flickering candles, he wrote a name on each of two cards and threw the bits of pasteboard into his cap. "now who will draw?" he asked; but no one volunteered. "it must be an innocent hand that decides the fate of these two towns," continued diurbanu. "this little chap shall draw for us." "what, this innocent child decide which town shall be given over to fire and blood and pillage!" exclaimed the priest. "an infernal contrivance of yours, diurbanu!" but meantime the child had reached out a tiny hand and clutched at one of the cards, which it handed to the priest. "bring me one of the candles," bade the latter. but no candle was necessary, for even as he spoke a flash of lightning penetrated to the remotest corner of the little church. the group of men whose heads were bent over the bit of cardboard started and cried out in concert: "toroczko!" in the peal of thunder that followed the very ground shook under their feet and the building rocked over their heads. chapter xxiii. old scores. the inhabitants of the doomed town were warned beforehand by a friendly informer what was in store for them. for two months they knew that they were standing over a mine which awaited only the proper moment to be touched off. nevertheless, during this time they went about their usual tasks, digging iron out of the bowels of the earth, sowing their grain, planting and weeding their gardens, spinning their flax, tanning their hides, sending their children to school, and all betaking themselves to church on sunday morning. the sunday afternoon diversions, however, were suspended, and in their stead the entire male population practised military drill. even the twelve-year-old boy cried if he was not allowed to take part. all were determined to shed their last drop of blood rather than let the enemy set foot inside their town. even the women busied themselves sharpening axes and scythes, resolute in their purpose to defend their little ones or, if need were, to put them to death with their own hands and then slay themselves. no woman, no child, should fall into the enemy's clutches alive. it was the very last day of july. the fields were dotted with sheaves of grain, and the farmers were hastening to gather them in. they had been surprised by countless numbers of crows and ravens which invaded the valley and filled the air with their hoarse, discordant cries. those experienced in war knew that these birds were the usual attendants and heralds of armies. more definite tidings were not long in coming. messengers from st. george arrived breathless with the report that diurbanu's troops were rapidly approaching. but no one was disconcerted by the news; all were ready for the enemy. throwing scythes and pitchforks aside, they snatched up their firearms. each battalion of the national guard had its assigned position. the streets were barricaded with wagons, and the road toward borev was laid under water by damming the brook, to prevent a surprise from that direction. aaron, with forty other men, clambered up the steep slope of the szekler stone to repulse the enemy from this commanding height,--forty men against as many hundred. they would have laughed at their own folly had they but stopped to think. toward noon the sturdy little band of defenders was increased by the coming of fugitives from st. george. for these, too, there were arms enough in toroczko. the effective force now in the village amounted to nearly four hundred. manasseh was at home with the women of the family. they had declined aaron's offer to conceal them in csegez cave, preferring to remain under the family roof and there await what god had appointed them. manasseh now embraced blanka and anna and bade them farewell. "where are you going?" asked blanka, in alarm. jonathan's pale face seemed at that moment to float before her vision, and she feared to part with her husband, lest he should not return. "i am going to the enemy's camp." "alone?" "no, not alone. i am well attended: uriel goes before me, raphael is on my right hand, gabriel on my left, behind me michael, and over my head israel." "but you are going unarmed." "no, i am armed with the peace treaty which our foes concluded with me, swearing not to attack toroczko. that is my weapon, and with it i will win a bloodless victory." blanka looked sorrowfully into her husband's face, and in that look was expressed all that her tongue was powerless to utter,--her infinite love for the man and her deep despair at the thought of perhaps never again meeting those eyes so full of love and tenderness for her. "i tried it once before, you know," he reminded her, "and you know how well i succeeded then. the leader of the wallachians is an old acquaintance of mine." but this last was true in a sense that the speaker little dreamed--as he was to learn later. blanka pressed her husband's hand. "very well," said she, with a brave effort at cheerful confidence, "do as seems best to you, and heaven will care for us." manasseh could not suppress a sigh as he kissed his wife on the forehead. anna, who could read her brother's face, knew what that sigh meant. "you need not be anxious about us, dear brother," she said. "we are under god's protection, and are prepared for the worst. we decided long ago what we should do if we were forced to it. when all is lost that is dearest to us,--our loved ones, our home, our country,--we shall not wait tamely for the enemy to break into the house. here are two pistols: each of us will take one of them and point it at the other's heart, each will utter the name that is last in her thoughts, and that will be the last word that will ever pass her lips. now you may go on your errand and need not fear for us." manasseh's feelings were too deep for utterance. without a word he kissed the dear ones before him and then left the house and hastened away. he turned his face toward st. george. he was alone and had not even a stick in his hand. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon. to a good pedestrian st. george is only half an hour's walk from toroczko. on the outskirts of the village manasseh met scattered bodies of soldiery who surveyed him in much surprise; but, as he was unarmed, they offered him no injury. his calmness of bearing and the cool, collected look with which he met their scrutiny completely disarmed them. besides, they were busy cutting up slaughtered cattle and cooking their supper in the open fields. as was usual among such irregular troops, no outposts had been set to challenge the approach of strangers. manasseh accosted the first man whose face impressed him favourably, and asked for guidance to the commander's quarters. the man willingly gave him his escort. on the way he went so far as to unbosom himself to manasseh, complaining that, at this busy season of the year, when all ought to be at home, men were forced to make so long a march. after showing the way to the house where the commander was to be found, he received a cigar from manasseh, and acknowledged himself amply repaid for his trouble. manasseh advanced to the door and announced to a group of armed men lounging about it that he wished to see diurbanu. "the general is not to be seen just now," was the reply; "he is at dinner, and will not leave the table for some time yet." manasseh drew a visiting-card from his pocket, and, first bending down one corner, sent it in to the general. the bearer of it soon returned with the announcement that diurbanu bade the visitor wait awhile, and meantime he was to be bound and confined in the cellar. manasseh assented to this peculiar reception. "many men, many manners," said he to himself. it would have been easy enough for him to leap the railing of the porch and flee to the woods before the others could lay hands on him, but he had not come hither merely to run away again the next moment. "very well, go ahead and bind me," said he, good-humouredly, to the guards. but they looked at one another in helpless inquiry who should undertake to manacle this large, strong man. when at length two had volunteered to essay the task, it appeared that there was no rope in readiness. "go and get one," commanded the prisoner; and when a stout cord had been procured, he went on with his directions: "now take my pocketbook out; you'll find some loose change in it which you may divide among you. there is also a folded paper in the pocketbook; deliver it to the general and ask him to read it. then take a cigar out of my waistcoat pocket, light it and stick it in my mouth." these commands having been duly executed, two of the guards led their prisoner down into the cellar, which appeared to be diurbanu's antechamber for such visitors as came to him with troublesome petitions. not satisfied with conducting him to the main or outer cellar, manasseh's escort opened the iron door leading into an inner compartment, pushed him through it, and closed the portal upon him, after bidding him take a seat and make himself comfortable. manasseh found himself in almost total darkness. only an air-hole over his door admitted a very feeble light from the dimly illumined outer cellar. he began to consider his situation, comforting himself with the reflection that at monastery heights he had been treated in much the same fashion, except that there his hands had not been bound. he had been kept in confinement all night, and in the morning his terms of peace had been accepted. this time, too, he hoped for a like issue. when a cigar is smoked in the dark it lights up the smoker's face at each puff. suddenly a voice from out of the gloom called, "manasseh!" "who is there?" "i." it was a gipsy, whose voice manasseh recognised. "how came you here, lanyi?" he asked. "diurbanu had me locked up--the devil take him!" "what grudge had he against you?" "he ordered me to play to him while he sat at dinner," explained the gipsy; "but i told him i wouldn't do it." "why not?" "because i won't make music for my country's enemies." his country, poor fellow! what share had he in that country beyond the right to tramp the public highway, and make himself a mud hut for shelter? "then he gave me a cuff," continued the gipsy, "had me shut up here, and promised to hang me. well, he may break me on the wheel, for aught i care, but i won't play for him even if he smashes my fiddle for refusing." "well, don't be down-hearted, my little man," said manasseh, cheerily. "i'm not a bit down-hearted," declared the other. "i only thought i'd ask you not to throw away your cigar-stump when you've finished smoking. you can walk, your feet are free; come here when you are through with your cigar, and let it fall into my mouth, so that i can chew it." "but you'll find it a hot mouthful." "so much the better." this cynical gipsy phlegm exactly suited manasseh's mood, and he exerted himself to cheer the poor fellow up, promising to secure his release as soon as he himself should gain an audience with diurbanu. "but you won't get out of here yourself in a hurry," returned the gipsy. "once in diurbanu's hands, you might as well be in the hangman's. already he has put to death seven envoys who came to treat for peace, and they were only st. george peasants. so what will he do to you who are an adorjan and wear a seal ring? but you've a breathing-spell yet. the others served him as a little relish before dinner; you are to be kept for dessert. one drinks a glass of spirits at a gulp, but black coffee is to be sipped and enjoyed. i know this diurbanu well, and you'll know him, too, before he's through with you. i'll bet you my fiddle, manasseh, you won't live to see another day; but it serves you right! you could handle three such men as diurbanu in a fair fight; yet, instead of meeting him on the battle-field, you walk right into his clutches and let him bind you fast--like christ on the cross." "take not that name in vain, you rogue!" commanded manasseh, sternly, "or i'll let you feel the weight of my foot." "kick me if you wish to," returned the vagrant, imperturbably; "but, all the same, if i had been christ i wouldn't have chosen a miserable donkey to ride on, but would have sent for the best horse out of baron wesselenyi's stud; and as soon as i had the nag between my legs, i would have snapped my fingers at old pontius pilate." the gipsy's eloquence was here interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the outer door of the cellar. "they're coming!" cried the fiddler; "and i sha'n't get your cigar-stump, manasseh. they'll take me out first." through the hole above the iron door a reddish light could now be seen. presently the iron door itself was opened, and two men, bearing pitch-pine torches, entered, and then stood one on each side of the door. diurbanu came last, dressed in the costume of a wallachian military commander, his face flushed with wine and evil passions, and his long hair falling over his shoulders. despite his disguise, manasseh recognised him at once. he saw that the gipsy's words had conveyed no idle warning. the man before him was none other than benjamin vajdar. yet the prisoner lost nothing of his composure, but with head erect and unflinching gaze faced his deadly enemy. "well, manasseh adorjan," began the other, "you asked to see me, and here i am. do you know me now?" "you are called diurbanu," replied manasseh, coldly. "and don't you know another name for me? don't i remind you of an old acquaintance?" "to him whom you resemble, i have nothing to say. i have come to you as to diurbanu, i have placed in your hands the peace-treaty which your people made with my people, and i demand its observance." "to convince you that i am not merely diurbanu, but also another, look here." with that he called one of the torch-bearers and held to the flame the paper he had received from manasseh. the latter shrugged his shoulders and blew a cloud of cigar-smoke. "do you understand now," continued diurbanu, "that there is one man in the world who has sworn to march against toroczko, treaty or no treaty, to leave not one stone on another in that town, and not one of its people alive to tell the story of its destruction? my day has come at last--and toroczko's night." the speaker's features took on at these words an expression more like that of a hyena than of a human being. "idle threats!" muttered manasseh, scornfully, between his teeth. "idle threats, are they?" retorted the other, striking the hilt of his sword and raising his head haughtily. "you think, do you, that i am joking, and that i will take pity on you?" "oh, as for me, you may do what you please with me--torture me, kill me, if you choose. i am ready. but that will not help you to take toroczko. all are in arms there and waiting for you. go ahead with your plan. you'll find many an old acquaintance to receive you there. our defences are abundantly able to withstand your soldiers, who, you know well enough, are tired of fighting and have no love for storming ramparts. kill me, if you wish, but there will be only one man the less against you; and all the satisfaction you and your men will get from toroczko will be broken heads. not one stone will you disturb in all the town." "we'll soon make you sing another tune," returned diurbanu, and he began to roll up his sleeves, like an executioner preparing to torture his victim. "you shall hear our plan. i will be perfectly honest with you. while a part of my forces conduct a feigned assault in the valley, and so engage the attention of your men, my main body will descend on the town from the direction of the szekler stone, and will assail it in the rear, where none but women and children are left to receive the attack. what the fate of these women and children is likely to be, you may conjecture from the fact that the assaulting party is led by a woman,--a woman whose heart is full of bitter hatred, a maiden whose father and two brothers have been killed before her eyes, a proud girl whom your brothers have driven from their door with insulting words. this woman is zenobia, ciprianu's daughter, once your brother jonathan's sweetheart, but now betrothed to me--or, at least, she fancies she is. while i keep your armed forces busy, she will knock at the door of your house. at her signal the work of carnage and destruction will begin. your whole family will fall into her hands." manasseh shuddered with horror, and drew a deep breath. his head was no longer proudly erect, his self-confidence was gone. "god's will be done!" he murmured. "so i've found your tender spot, have i?" cried the other, with an exultant laugh. "just think what is in store for your wife (but what am i saying? she is not your wife)--your mistress." at this insult to his adored blanka, manasseh's wrath blazed up and mastered him. he spit his burning cigar stump into the speaker's face. it was the utmost he could do. the other swallowed his rage at the indignity and wiped the ashes from his face, which presently broke into a smile--a hideous smile. "very good, manasseh! one more score to charge up against you. i don't attempt to even the account on your unfeeling body, but on your soul, which i know how to torture. for this last insult, as well as for a hundred former injuries, i shall wreak ample revenge on blanka zboroy, before your own turn comes." "do not count too confidently on that," rejoined manasseh. "the moment your ruffian crew break into our house, two women will put their pistols to each other's hearts, and your men will find only a couple of dead bodies." "ha, ha! to deprive you of even this last consolation, i beg to assure you that the two women will not lay a finger on their pistols, because zenobia is to gain entrance to them before the men appear. she will come to them in the guise of a friend and deliverer, promising to rescue them for jonathan's sake. she will furnish them wallachian peasant clothes, help them about their disguise, and, amidst the general confusion, bring them away with her, alive and unharmed, to st. george, so that you will have the pleasure of seeing blanka zboroy in my power. further details i will leave to your own imagination; and to enable you to pursue these pleasant fancies undisturbed i will now say good night." "manasseh!" called a voice from the darkness, when diurbanu had gone. "who calls? or is it only a rat?" manasseh had forgotten that his dungeon contained another prisoner beside himself. "yes, it's a rat," answered the voice. "i heard my schoolmaster tell a story once about a lion that fell into a snare, and a mouse came and gnawed the ropes so as to set him free. if you will bend down here i'll untie your knots with my teeth." manasseh complied. the gipsy had splendid teeth, and he bit and tugged at the knots until the prisoner's hands were free, and he felt himself another man altogether. "now pull this stake out from under my knees," directed the fiddler, whose hands were tied together and passed over his bent knees, where they were held fast by a stick of wood. his legs being freed, he slipped the cords from his hands like a pair of gloves. he was no little elated over his achievements. "and now we will sell our lives dear!" he cried, with a glad leap into the air. the rattle of small arms in the distance began to be heard, and through the little opening over the iron door a ruddy light as from a fire became visible. at first manasseh thought some one was coming again with a torch; but as the iron door did not open, and the red light grew constantly brighter, he finally guessed the cause of the illumination. those who were now assaulting toroczko must have set fire to st. george first, to furnish the people of the former place an example of what they were themselves to expect, and perhaps also to supply a light for the attacking party. the whole village was in flames. so it appeared that diurbanu's words had conveyed no empty threat. the work of revenge had begun with st. george, and now came toroczko's turn. that the latter place was offering a spirited resistance could be inferred from the lively firing that was to be plainly heard. but how would it be when the attack in the rear should begin, from the direction of the szekler stone? could aaron and his forty men offer any effectual opposition to the invaders? night must have fallen ere this. manasseh paced his prison cell in almost unbearable impatience, as he listened to the distant firing, and watched the red glow over the door growing gradually brighter. a heavy booming as of cannon was heard from the szekler stone. so the attack in that quarter had begun, and aaron's battery was at work. zenobia must be leading the enemy into the town, for surely no means at aaron's command could repulse the assaulting party. manasseh was fast losing all self-control. "i will find a way out of this!" he cried, in a frenzy. running to the door, he seized its iron ring and shook the heavy portal in impotent fury. then he turned back and surveyed his place of confinement with searching eyes. it was now fairly well lighted by the ruddy glare that came through the air-hole. the place had formerly been a wine cellar, but every cask and barrel was now gone. the support on which they had rested, however, remained behind. this was a massive oak beam which had served to keep the wine casks from the damp earthen floor of the cellar. "lanyi," commanded manasseh, in quick, energetic tones, "take hold of one end of this beam, and we will batter the door down." "i'm your man!" responded the gipsy, with alacrity. he was small of person, but every sinew in his wiry frame was of steel. he grasped the beam behind while manasseh carried the forward end, and so they converted it into a roman battering-ram. the booming of cannon was drowned now by the pounding on the iron door. the two prisoners wondered that no one in the house seemed to hear them. but those who might before have heard were engaged elsewhere, while to those outside the noises in the street drowned all tumult in the cellar. at length the lock gave way under the tremendous battering to which it was subjected, and soon the door flew open. the outer door was of wood, and yielded readily. "hold on, stand back!" cried the gipsy, as manasseh was about to run up the stairs. "wait until i take a peep and see if the coast is clear. i'll mayhap find a gun that some one has thrown down." "but i can't wait," returned the other, brushing him aside. "i need no gun. the first man that dares get in my way shall furnish me with arms. i am going to seek my wife! let him who values his life run from before me!" he burst through the door, and sprang up the steps. no sooner was he in the open air than an armed figure confronted him. but manasseh did not strike down this person, for it was a woman,--zenobia. a dirk and a brace of pistols were stuck in her belt. "take care!" she cried to manasseh, and she made as if to shield him from view with her cloak. "stay where you are!" but manasseh seized her by the wrist and shouted hoarsely in her ear: "where are my wife and sister?" zenobia understood his tone and the frenzy with which he grasped her arm. with a sad smile she made answer: "calm yourself. they are well cared for. they are at home in their own house, where no one can harm them." he looked at her, in doubt as to her meaning. zenobia handed him her weapons. "here, take these," she commanded. "you may need them. i have no further use for them." thus, disarmed and in manasseh's power, she stood calmly before him. "now be quiet and listen to me," she went on. the cannon thundered on the szekler stone in one continuous roar, while fiery rockets shot from hidas peak in a wide curve and fell into the valley below, hastening the mad flight of routed and panic-stricken men, who fled as if for their lives to gyertyamos, kapolna, and bedellö, to the woods, and into the mountain defiles. the burning village of st. george no longer offered them an asylum, and its streets were by this time nearly deserted. "that is over," said the wallachian girl, calmly, and she led manasseh into the empty house. "aaron might as well stop now," she murmured to herself; "for there are no more to frighten." then to manasseh: "you know it takes two to get up a scare,--one to do the frightening and the other to be frightened. if i had but said to our men, 'stop running away! those are not the brass cannon of the national guard, but only aaron adorjan's holes in the side of the rock, where he is harmlessly exploding gunpowder; and that roll of drums that you hear on the csegez road does not mean an approaching brigade of hungarians, but is only the idle rub-a-dub of a band of school children,'--if i had said that, toroczko would now lie in ashes. but i held my tongue and let the panic do its work. with this day's rout all is ended, and in an hour's time you can safely return home. when you meet your wife and sister, tell them you saw me this evening, and let them know that the wallachian girl has forgotten nothing--do you hear me?--nothing. they wrote me a beautiful letter, both of them on one sheet of paper, a letter full of love and kindness. they called me sister and invited me to your wedding, promising me that jonathan should be there, too, and making me promise to come. and when they had written the letter they even coaxed the stiff-necked aaron, who hates us wallachians like poison, to add his signature to it, though i could see in the very way he wrote his name how he disliked to do it. i promised to come, and i kept my word. and jonathan came with me--i brought him. that night i told your wife and your sister that i should come to toroczko once more, and not with empty hands, but should bring them something. i have come, and i bring them--you, manasseh, alive and unharmed. that is how a wallachian girl remembers a kindness." she turned to go, but then, as if remembering something, came back and drew a ring from her finger. "here," said she, "i will give you this ring. do you remember it?" "it belonged to my sister," answered manasseh, in a tone of sadness. "i bought it for her to give to her lover as an engagement ring. soon afterward he deserted her." "i know it. her name is engraved inside the ring. the pretty fellow who gave it me told me all about it. he said to me: 'my pearl, my turtledove, my diamond, see here, i place this ring on your finger and swear to be true to you. but i can't marry you as long as that other woman lives who wears my betrothal ring, for our laws forbid it. that woman dwells in the big house at toroczko. you know her name and know what to do to enable me to marry you.'" manasseh trembled with suppressed passion as he listened. the girl handed him the ring and proceeded: "give her back her ring; it belongs to her. and tell me, did not this man come to you and tell you how a shameless creature in woman's form was to steal into your house, and, under the pretext of rescuing your wife and sister, lead them away to misery and dishonour? speak, did he not tell you some such story?" "yes, he did." zenobia laughed in hot anger and scorn. "well, then," said she, in conclusion, "i have another present for you. the proverb says, 'little kindnesses strengthen the bonds of friendship.' and this will be the smallest of gifts i could possibly make you. the handsome young man who gave me this ring, and is betrothed to me--or thinks he is--lies somewhere yonder in a ditch. his horse took fright at the tumult, and threw him so that he broke his ankle. his fleeing troops left him lying there; they stumbled over him and ran on; no one offered to help him up. they all hate him, and they see in his fall a punishment from heaven. the wallachian fears to lend aid to him that is thought to lie under god's displeasure. the fallen man's horse you will find in the church. mount it and hasten back to toroczko. as for the rider, you will do well to hang him to the nearest tree. you have a gipsy here to help you. and now farewell." she blew a little whistle that hung at her neck, and a lad appeared leading two mountain ponies. zenobia mounted one, waved a final adieu to manasseh, and rode away with her attendant toward bedellö. "come, sir," said the gipsy, touching manasseh's elbow, "let us set about what she told us to do. you go into the church and get diurbanu's horse while i go and find the rider. you have two pistols and a dagger. what, don't you want them? then give them to me." the fiddler was proud to find himself so well armed. he made a belt of the cords he had brought with him from the cellar, and stuck the weapons into it. "now we must hurry," he urged, "or the people will be coming back." while manasseh made his way to the church, his companion hastened in search of diurbanu. the little man had sharp eyes and keen wits. he conjectured that the fallen rider, with his broken leg, would avoid the dry harvest-fields, over which the fire was rapidly spreading, and would be found in the moist ditch beside the road. nor was he wrong in this surmise. he was soon saluted in a voice that he recognised. "gipsy, come here!" "not so fast," the fiddler replied. "how do i know you won't shoot me?" "i have nothing to shoot with. i am lying in the water, so that even if i had my pistols the powder would be soaked through." "but what do you want of me?" "i wish you to save my life." "and won't you have me locked up afterward?" "if you will help me get away from here i'll make you a rich man. you shall have a thousand florins." "if you had promised me less i should have believed you sooner." "but i will pay you the money now. come, take me on your back and carry me away." "where to?" "into the church yonder." the gipsy laughed aloud. "first do your swearing out here, then," said he, "for no one may curse god in his house. but what will you do in the church?" "i will wait while you run to gyertyamos and hire a carriage for me. you shall have a thousand florins, the driver the same, and for every hour before sunrise that you accomplish your errand you shall receive an extra hundred." "you won't see the sun rise," muttered the fiddler to himself as he obeyed the other's directions. the burden proved not too heavy for the little man's back; he could have carried him all the way to gyertyamos, but the horse must obey his rider, so into the church he went with him. "there, manasseh," he cried, in triumph, "there's our man!" and he dropped his burden on the stone floor. diurbanu cried out with pain as he fell, then raised himself on one elbow and met manasseh's gaze. "kill me and be done with it," he muttered, in sullen despair. but manasseh remained standing with folded arms before him. "no, benjamin vajdar," said he, "you shall not die by my hand. he who kills cain is seven times cursed. my promise to an angel whom you would have destroyed is your safeguard. i shall neither kill you myself nor let any one else lay hands on you. you are to live many days yet and continue in the way you have begun, obeying the sinful impulses of your wicked nature, and doing evil to those that have done nothing but good to you. you weigh upon our house like a curse, but it is god's will thus to prove and try our hearts. fulfil your destiny, plot your wicked scheme's against us, and then at last, broken, humbled, scorned of all the world beside, come back to us and sue for pity at the door of those to whom you have shown no pity. god's will be done!" manasseh allowed himself to use no reproach, no word of withering scorn, in thus addressing his enemy. he even spoke in german, to spare the fallen man's shame in the gipsy's presence. he had the horse in readiness for its master, and bade the fiddler help him lift the injured rider into the saddle and tie him there with ropes to ensure him against a second fall, especially as one foot was now unfit for the stirrup. "aha!" cried the little gipsy, "a good idea! we'll take him alive and show him off in toroczko." the fires in the village made the spirited horse restive and hard to manage. manasseh took him by the bridle and led him out of the church, the gipsy following at the animal's heels. "turn to the right and begone!" whispered manasseh to the rider, and he caused the horse to make a sudden spring to one side. "oh, he's got away!" cried the gipsy, in great chagrin. "why didn't you let me take the bridle? catch me bringing you another thousand-florin prize, to be thrown away like that!" "never mind, my lad. from this day on you shall find a full trencher always ready for you at our house. but now let us start for home." * * * * * six weeks later benjamin vajdar made his reappearance in vienna, the net result of his expedition to transylvania being, first, a heavy draft on the bank-account of his chief, and, second, a limping gait for himself, which proved a sad affliction to him on the dancing-floor. chapter xxiv. a cruel parting. at the close of the war the young men of toroczko who had served in the national guard returned home and resumed their work in the mines and iron foundries. the mining classes had always been exempt from military service in the imperial army, and so the toroczko young men had no fear of being soon called away again from their peaceful industry. out of these young artisans manasseh set about forming a guild for the better working of the toroczko mines. he wished to make intelligent and skilful mining engineers of them, and so enable them to avail themselves, more fully than they had yet done, of the mineral resources of their native hills. and having now had some experience of military discipline, these young men offered him material of no mean order for his experiment. they seconded his efforts with a will, reposing the utmost confidence in their leader, and perceiving that he knew thoroughly what he was undertaking. it was a great piece of good fortune for manasseh that he had a partner in his enterprise who was in fullest sympathy with him, and in whom he could place the utmost trust. this partner kept the accounts of the business in which the two had invested their all, and showed the keenest intelligence and the most watchful vigilance in guarding their joint interests. this expert accountant and able manager was none other than manasseh's wife. in the third year of her marriage, however, she had something else to engage her attention beside iron-mining: in that year the house of adorjan was increased by the birth of twins,--bela and ilonka, the former a likeness in miniature of his father, and the latter a second blanka. but their aunt anna insisted on sharing the mother's cares, and soon she assumed almost entire charge of the little ones, thus enabling blanka to resume her business duties. in this way everything was running smoothly, when one evening there came a government order requiring all men between certain ages to report within three days at karlsburg for military service; any who refused would be treated as deserters. three quarters of manasseh's workmen came under the terms of this order; but they promptly obeyed and went to karlsburg, where, after being found physically qualified, they were enrolled for six years' service,--three extra years being added to the usual term because they had neglected to report voluntarily. this was a hard blow to manasseh's enterprise. he resolved to go to vienna and petition for the exemption of his employees from military duty, claiming for them the miners' privileges which they had enjoyed hitherto. well acquainted though he had been in government circles in the past, manasseh now found everything changed and scarcely a familiar face left. like the veriest stranger, he was forced to wait with the crowd of other petitioners in the war minister's anteroom until his turn should come. much to his surprise, however, the great man's door suddenly opened and prince cagliari advanced to meet him with a face all smiles and words of honey on his lips. "ah, my dear friend, how glad i am to see you!" began the prince. "all well at home? that's good. and what brings you hither, may i ask? you come on behalf of your countrymen who were recently drafted? ah, yes." (then in a whispered aside: "we'll soon arrange that; a word from me will suffice.") again aloud: "a very difficult matter, sir, very difficult indeed! these recent complications in the orient compel us to raise our army to its highest effective strength." (once more in a whisper, with a stealthy pressure of the hand: "pray give yourself not the slightest concern. i'll speak to his excellency about it this very minute.") manasseh was by no means pleased at finding himself placed under obligations to prince cagliari, but he could not well refuse such a gracious offer of assistance. accordingly, when the prince returned and smilingly informed him that he had put the petition in the minister's hands, and obtained a promise that it should be speedily taken under favourable consideration, manasseh forced himself to smile in return and to express his acknowledgments to his intercessor as he took leave of him. the petition was, in fact, taken under early advisement, and three days after manasseh's return to toroczko he was summoned to karlsburg to learn the issue. "your memorial has reached us from vienna with a refusal," was the chilling announcement that greeted him. "impossible!" cried manasseh, in astonishment. "i was promised a favourable answer." the government official only shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "on what ground is the petition rejected?" asked manasseh. "on the ground that those for whom you petition forfeited their privileges as miners by taking up arms in ' . having taken them up once, they cannot refuse to do so a second time." manasseh's bitter reflections were somewhat sweetened by the thought that, after all, he was not in any way indebted to prince cagliari. but he owed him more than he suspected. as he was turning to go, the government official detained him a moment longer. "i hope," said he, as if by way of a casual remark, "that your own exemption from service is a matter of no uncertainty." "my own exemption!" repeated manasseh, in amazement. it had not once occurred to him that he, a former government councillor, might be drafted into the army. but he controlled his indignation at what seemed an ill-timed jest, and added, calmly: "at any rate, i cannot be charged with having forfeited my rights as a miner by taking up arms in ." "that remains to be seen," was the cool reply. then, after some search among his papers, the official produced a document from which he read as follows: "'mr. manasseh adorjan is alleged, on unquestionable authority, to have participated in the fight at st. george and toroczko. in fact, he with his own hands took general diurbanu prisoner and bound him with a rope to his horse. only the animal's impatience of control saved the rider and secured him his freedom.'" after listening to this astounding accusation against him, manasseh recognised that he was far more deeply in cagliari's debt than he had supposed. * * * * * "i have accomplished my mission in brilliant style," was his report when he reached home. "not only my workmen are drafted, but i also along with them." the women were struck with consternation, but aaron burst out laughing. "oh, you poor innocent!" he cried, "how can you be a soldier with one shoulder six inches higher than the other?" "what, am i really so misshapen as that?" asked manasseh, in surprise. "to be sure, or at least you can make yourself so for the nonce. don't you remember how our neighbour methuselah's grandson went limping about with one leg longer than the other, when the recruiting officer was here?" "methuselah's grandson may do that kind of thing," answered manasseh, "but not an adorjan. i can't practise any deceit of that sort." "deceit!" cried aaron; "we are deceiving no one--only the government." "and is the government no one?" asked his brother. "well, it's all right to outwit the austrians," muttered aaron. "i don't agree with you," was all manasseh could say. "if i am ordered to march i shall obey. my poor lads are obliged to exchange the pick for the rifle, and shall i, their master, shirk my duty?" "manasseh is right," declared anna. "what will do for a grandson of methuselah will not do for an adorjan. when an adorjan's name is called he must answer to it like a man. our brother will be the pride of his regiment, and will soon rise to be an officer; then he can obtain his discharge and come home." manasseh pressed his sister's hand in gratitude for these words of courage and good cheer. "yes, but suppose he has to go to war?" objected blanka. "never fear," returned her husband. "even if austria becomes involved in the present dispute, the hungarian regiments are not likely to be sent to the front. they will be stationed in lombardy, where all is as quiet as possible." "then i will go with you," said blanka, brightening up. "no, you must stay with us," anna interposed. "you and the children are best cared for here, and, besides, if manasseh goes away you will have to look after the iron works. new hands are to be engaged, and ever so much is to be done all over again. how can you think of leaving us in the lurch? there will be no one but you to manage things; you alone can direct the works and put bread into our poor people's mouths." "ah, me!" sighed the distressed wife; "and must i live perhaps a whole year without seeing manasseh--a whole autumn, winter, spring, and summer?" anna's eyes filled with tears and a sigh escaped her lips. how many a season had she seen pass, without hope and without complaint! blanka knew the meaning of those tears, and she hastened to kiss them away. and so it came about that the toroczko young men, and manasseh with them, were sent off to lombardy. thence every month came a letter to toroczko, to blanka adorjan, from her devoted husband. the very first one told her how he had risen from private to corporal and then from corporal to sergeant. but there he stuck. on parting with his wife, he had consoled her with the confident assurance that in a year, at most, she would see him return; but the year lengthened into five. little bela no longer sent meaningless scrawls to his father, but wrote short letters in a round, clear hand, and even added verses on his father's birthday. but not a single furlough could that father obtain to go home and see his dear ones. nor did he gain his long-expected promotion to a lieutenancy. the colonel of the regiment wrote letters with his own hand to blanka, praising her husband and telling her how he was looked up to by all his comrades and esteemed by his officers; and yet he could not secure his promotion. even the commandant at verona had interceded for him in vain. he must have a powerful enemy who pursued him with relentless persistence. blanka well knew who that enemy was, but she took no steps--for she felt that they would have been useless--to try to soften him. her family were united in opposing any suggestion on her part of undertaking a journey. she did not even venture to visit her husband in verona. an instinct, a foreboding, and also certain timely warnings, kept her safe at home. this long period of trial and suspense was not without its chastening effect on the young wife's character. it developed her as only stern experience can. on her shoulders alone rested the cares which her husband had formerly shared with her. the iron works were now under her sole management. foresight, vigilance, and technical knowledge were called for, and nobly did she meet the demand. those five years brought her many a difficult problem to solve and many an anxious hour. once a hail-storm destroyed all her crops two days before the harvest, and she was forced to buy grain from her own purse. again it happened that the crop of iron itself was ruined by something far worse than hail. some one at vienna dealt a mortal blow to all the iron mines in the land with a single drop of ink. he lowered the tariff, and native iron production thenceforth could go on only at a loss. but blanka was determined not to close her mines and her foundries. she recognised the hand that had dealt her this severe blow, but she knew the harsh decree would have to be repealed before long, such an outcry was sure to go up against it. so she pawned her jewels, kept all her men at work,--they seconded her efforts nobly by volunteering to take less than full pay,--and wrote nothing at all about her troubles to manasseh. chapter xxv. secrets of the commissariat. the mysterious workings of the commissary department are beyond the understanding of ordinary mortals. therefore let it suffice us to take only a passing glance at those mysteries. benjamin vajdar was enjoying a tête-à-tête with the marchioness caldariva after the theatre. "well, what has my cripple to report of his day's doings?" asked rozina. "is all going well in italy?" "we signed a contract to-day for supplying our army there with forty thousand cattle," was vajdar's reply. "ah, that will make about two hundredweight of beef to a man," returned the other, reckoning on her fingers. "not an ounce of which will ever reach them," said the secretary, with a smile; "but we shall make a couple of millions out of the transaction,--a mere bagatelle for papa cagliari, however; not enough to keep him in champagne." "a very clever stroke of yours," commented the marchioness, with approval; "and i can tell you of another little operation the prince has in hand just now. bring me the morocco pocketbook out of my writing-desk, please." vajdar limped across the room and brought the pocketbook. rozina opened it and drew forth an official-looking document. "here is a contract for so and so many bushels of grain to be furnished to the army. you see it foots up a large sum, but the profits won't be so very great, after all, owing to the recent rise in prices on the corn exchange." "oh, don't worry about that," interposed benjamin, with a knowing smile. "who will ever know the difference if a quarter part of the total weight is chaff and clay? it will all grind up into excellent flour, and when the soldier eats his barley bread or his rye loaf it will taste all the better to him. there is nearly half a million florins' clear profit in the transaction, at a moderate estimate." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the beautiful cyrene. "so the soldiers must eat half a million florins' worth of chaff and clay to enable papa cagliari to take his morning bath in champagne." "well, what of that? it makes, at most, only two florins' worth to a man, and the soldier who loves his country ought to be glad to eat two florins' worth of her soil. has the prince any other contract under consideration?" "yes, a very important one. he has procured an order that the troops in italy shall wear for their summer uniform cotton blouses instead of linen, and he has the contract for furnishing the material." "but the prices named here are very low," objected vajdar, reading from the paper rozina had handed him. "ah, but let me explain. the cotton is to be thirty inches wide, with so and so many threads to the warp--according to the specifications. but what soldier will ever think of counting the threads in his blouse, or know whether it was cut from goods thirty inches wide or twenty-eight? so, you see, with a little trimming here and a little paring there we can make a good hundred thousand florins out of the job." "but are our tracks well covered? is there no risk in all this?" "fear nothing. there are eyeglasses that blind the sharpest of eyes." "how if there are some eyes that will not be fitted with these glasses?" "again i say, never fear. a victorious campaign covers a multitude of sins." "and a lost one brings everything to light." "not at all. a slaughtered army tells no tales. but, by the way, is not our toroczko friend among those who are likely enough to fall some day before the french and italians?" "he is still in lombardy," said vajdar, with a significant nod of the head. "we have our eyes on him." "i am curious to know what this apostle of peace will do when he is ordered into battle. you know, he and his comrades are unitarians and entertain scruples against shedding blood, except in defence of home and country. will manasseh adorjan fight when he is ordered to, or throw down his arms?" "in either case, he will die," declared benjamin vajdar. "i should prefer to have him only wounded," said the marchioness. "then his mate would leave her nest in the mountains and hasten to nurse him in the hospital; and contagious diseases are not uncommon in military hospitals, where both patients and nurses are often swept off by them--so quickly, too, that no one thinks of inquiring very closely into the matter." "you are impatient, marchioness," commented the secretary. "and you choose to remark upon it because i would have the prince a widower and a free man?" with that the fair cyrene nestled close at her fellow-conspirator's side, and proceeded to caress him and to murmur soft words in his ear. and so the night sped, and the first peep of dawn overtook the two before they separated. chapter xxvi. solferino. one of the most momentous battles in history was in progress, and the battalion in which manasseh adorjan still served as a sergeant stood from early morning until afternoon among the reserves, watching the fight. leaning on his gun, manasseh thoughtfully observed the transformation of that earthly paradise into a scene of slaughter. he thought how, in times of peace, the cry of a single human being in distress would call ready succour and excite the warmest sympathy; but now, when men were dying by thousands, their fellows looked on in the coldest indifference. he asked himself whether this fearful state of things, this deplorable sacrifice of a country's best and bravest sons, was a necessity, and must still go on for ages to come. and while he thus communed with himself he, too, held in his hands a weapon calculated to carry not only death to a valiant foe, but also sorrow and anguish to that foeman's wife and mother, and perhaps destitution to his family. to the north of the fortress of solferino rose a wooded height, since known to the historians of that battle as cypress hill, and distinguished as the point around which the conflict raged most fiercely. occupied alternately by each side, the opposing batteries stormed it in succession, and the squadrons, now of one army, now of the other, marched up to assault it. but though they marched up, manasseh saw none of them return. austrians, french, and italians, all seemed to be swallowed up alike in that maelstrom of blood and fire. at four o'clock in the afternoon the battle was at its height. in the heat of the conflict one could see uniforms of all three armies mingled in inextricable confusion. the austrian forces were at last becoming exhausted with toil and hunger. whole regiments were there that had not tasted meat for a week--where were those forty thousand cattle?--and the bread dealt out to them was ill-baked, mouldy, gritty, and altogether unfit to eat. a final and concentrated effort was determined upon. reserves to the front! cypress hill was to be stormed once more. a battalion of yagers, the pride of the austrian army, charged up the fatal hill and succeeded in taking it, after which the rattle of musketry beyond announced that the fight was being continued on the farther side. at this point manasseh's battalion was ordered to hold the hill while the yagers were pushed farther forward. the order was obeyed, and then manasseh learned what the cypress-crowned height really was: it was a cemetery, the burial-ground of the surrounding district, and each cypress marked a grave. but the dead under the sod lay not more closely packed than the fallen soldiers with whose bodies the place was covered. cypress hill was a double graveyard, heaped with dead and dying frenchmen, italians, austrians, hungarians, poles, and croatians, their bodies disfigured and bleeding and heaped in chaotic confusion over the mounds beneath which slept the regular occupants of the place. in the soldier's march to glory each step is a human corpse. manasseh took care to step over and between the prostrate forms before him. gaining the summit of the hill, he had an open view of the prospect beyond. a large farm, since known to history as the _madonna della scoperta_, lay before him. a high terrace facing the hill had been converted by the enemy into a fortress, which commanded the cemetery, and which the yagers were now pressing forward to take. the charge was gallantly led, but after a fierce struggle, in which the assailants exhausted their ammunition, and the engagement became a hand-to-hand fight, the austrians were driven back in confusion. manasseh's battalion was then commanded to charge the terrace, from which the enemy's battery was dealing such deadly destruction, and to capture and hold the _madonna della scoperta_. the major gave the necessary orders, but it was to manasseh that every eye was turned at this critical moment. had he but shaken his head the whole battalion would have stood still and refused to advance a step. if he said the word, however, his comrades would follow him, and attempt the impossible. manasseh looked up at the clouded heavens above, and breathed a sigh. the hour had come when he must bow before the iron will of destiny. he, the apostle of peace, must plunge into the midst of bloody strife. "thy will be done!" he murmured, then advanced to the front of the battalion, and turned to address his comrades. "forward!" they obeyed him with alacrity, singing as they advanced, "a mighty fortress is our god," and so began the assault. not a shot was fired as they pushed forward at double-quick in the face of a murderous artillery discharge from the terrace above. gaining the foot of the scarp, they planted their bayonets in the earthern wall, and so mounted the rampart, those behind helping up those in front. as they sang the last stanza of their hymn, the _madonna della scoperta_ was taken--without the firing of a single shot. the major of the battalion was beside himself with pride and exultation. he embraced manasseh, and kissed him on both cheeks. "to-morrow will see you an officer with a medal of honour on your breast," was his confident prediction. manasseh smiled sadly. he knew better than the other what to expect. meanwhile the enemy had not given up the fight. the terrace, they perceived, must be retaken, and a detachment of french troops was advancing to storm it. "let them come on!" cried the major, confidently. "we can handle them, ten to one. give them a volley, my lads!" but this time manasseh shook his head, whereupon the whole battalion grounded arms. "what do you mean?" exclaimed the major, astounded. manasseh raised his hand to heaven. "_egy az isten!_" he cried, and all his comrades followed his example. "what do you say?" asked the bewildered officer. "we swear by the god who has said 'thou shalt not kill!'" was manasseh's reply. "but you are soldiers, and on the battle-field." "we do our duty, we go whither we are ordered, and we can die if we must; but we will not take human life except in defence of our homes and our fatherland." "but, man, the enemy will kill you." "so be it." the commander threatened, begged, wept--all in vain. the only reply was, "_egy az isten!_" the men were willing to discharge their pieces if necessary, but it would only be a waste of ammunition: they would fire into the air. troops were now rapidly moving on the threatened position from two directions, one party to assault, the other to defend. fearful slaughter seemed imminent, and nothing was left for those who had so gallantly carried the terrace but to die where they stood. suddenly, however, a third power took a hand in the fray, and smote both assailants and defenders with equal fury. the black clouds that had been gathering over the battle-field opened and began such a cannonade as neither side could withstand. wind, hail, lightning, and thunder, accompanied by an ominous darkness in which friend was indistinguishable from foe, played such havoc with the puny combatants and their mimic artillery, that all were forced to seek shelter and safety from the angry elements. thus neither side was left in possession of the field, but a third and a mightier power than either claimed the victory in that day's fight. manasseh and his comrades fled with the rest before the fury of the storm. they succeeded in gaining a sheltered position where they found campfires burning, and thought themselves among friends. but they were mistaken. they had stumbled in the darkness upon the enemy's camp. chapter xxvii. an hour of trial. manasseh and those with him were taken prisoners and sent to bresci. what befell them there is matter of history. adorjan was surprised one morning by the receipt of the following: a coffee-coloured uniform, trimmed with red cord and its collar adorned with gold lace; a handsome sword in a gold-mounted scabbard; and an official document from the italian war office, appointing him major of the battalion with which he had been taken prisoner. the sight of these most unexpected presents could not but thrill manasseh with pride and exultation. now at last it was in his power to wreak vengeance on those who had so grievously wronged him,--to cut his way, sword in hand, back to his downtrodden fatherland, perhaps even to exact a rich retribution at the oppressor's hands, and to restore his country once more to a position of proud independence. added to all this, the seductive picture of future fame, of undying renown as a patriot and liberator, rose before his vision. already, as hero of the _madonna della scoperta_, he had tasted the intoxication of martial glory. a strength and self-denial more than human seemed necessary if he would turn his back coldly on the splendid prospect that opened before him as his country's avenger and deliverer. what words can do justice to the conflicting emotions which manasseh experienced in that hour of trial? his comrades in arms and many of his dearest friends, he felt convinced, would turn upon him with mockery and reviling if he should now still cling to his principles and refuse to disobey the commandment of his god,--"thou shalt not kill." in italy every house has its image of the crucified saviour. manasseh stood now before one of these crucifixes, lost in troubled thought. to jesus, too, the people had cried: "be our general, lead us against the romans, free your nation!" and he had answered them: "i will lead you to a heavenly kingdom, and will free all mankind." then he was heaped with scorn and abuse, was scourged by the roman lictors, and was finally dragged before pontius pilate and crucified. but not the scourging, not the crown of thorns, or the cruel nails, or the spear of longinus,--none of these was the really hard thing to bear. a man may suffer the severest physical torture and still utter no cry. the cruelest of all was the scornful laughter of those to whom he had brought salvation and eternal life, the blame of his fellow-citizens for whom he so freely shed his life's blood. that was what only a man of divine nobility and courage could endure. "i am but mortal!" cried the tempted man, in anguish. "i cannot attain unto such heights." and he buckled on his gold-mounted sword. the crucified form, however, seemed to turn its eyes upon him in mild reproof and gentle encouragement. "i will lend you my aid," it seemed to say to him. but manasseh hastened from the room and turned his steps toward the commandant's quarters. perturbed in mind and hardly master of himself, he started at the rattle of his own sword; and when some of his comrades saw him pass and cheered him with loud hurrahs, he hurried by and barely returned their salute. the general received him in his breakfast-room, where he was engaged with his morning mail. acknowledging manasseh's greeting, he handed him an open letter. the hungarian took it and read as follows: "villafranca. peace has been concluded. the hungarian battalion is to be disbanded, and its members allowed to return home." this room, too, had its crucifix. it seemed to look down on manasseh with the same gentle reproof, and to say, "have i failed you in your hour of trial?" with the first ripening of the fruit in the toroczko orchards, manasseh and his comrades were at home. blanka came to meet her husband as far as kolozsvar, bringing her little daughter ilonka with her. bela could not come, as he had just then a school examination. at the borev bridge a splendid reception awaited the home-comers. a handsome little lad headed the receiving party, waving a flag. "who is that pretty boy?" manasseh asked his wife. she laughed merrily, and rebuked him for not knowing his own son. but he had not seen the child for six years. his brother aaron, too, he hardly recognised, so gray had his hair turned under the anxieties of the past few years. the speech of welcome which the elder brother was to have delivered proved a total failure, owing to the emotion aroused in the orator's breast at sight of the returned wanderer. but the most affecting part of it all to manasseh was the appearance of his sister anna. the poor girl, he could not fail to see, was sinking into an early grave. chapter xxviii. a day of reckoning. victory had neither glossed over nor defeat buried from sight those dishonest army contracts. louder and louder grew the murmurs against the fraud that had contributed so disastrously to the unhappy issue of the war, until at last a high military officer opened his mouth and declared, emphatically, "the parties responsible for such an outrage deserve to be hanged!" soon after this bold utterance a decree went forth for an investigation of the scandal and the condign punishment of the guilty ones. confusion and panic followed in more than one family of exalted station. a nobleman of proud lineage burnt all his papers and then opened the veins of his wrists with a penknife, and so escaped the ignominy of a trial in court. another submitted to arrest, but no sooner saw his prison door closed upon him than he despatched himself by piercing his heart with a breast-pin. two others vanished completely from sight and hearing the very day the edict was published, and never showed themselves afterward. benjamin vajdar, black with guilt as he knew himself to be, chose the shrewder course of remaining in vienna and calmly going about his business, with all the outward confidence of spotless innocence. suspicion is much like a watch-dog; it leaps upon the man who quails. prince cagliari and the marchioness caldariva also remained quietly in the city, and even went so far as to forego their wonted sojourn at the seashore when summer came. they seemed to have acquired a sudden extraordinary fondness for the austrian capital. but one day the expected happened to benjamin vajdar. he was called to the police bureau. the official who received him was an old friend of his who now gave signal proof of his friendliness. "benjamin vajdar," said he, "you are ordered by the government to leave vienna within twenty-four hours and go back to your native town, beyond which you are forbidden to stir." this mandate was a surprise to vajdar, who had expected to be arrested and tried, and had made his preparations accordingly. however, there was nothing to do but submit to the inevitable. further particulars or explanations were denied him, except that he would find a special police officer placed at his service from that moment until he reached his destination,--which was a polite intimation that he was thenceforth under government surveillance, and that any attempt at flight would be frustrated. he returned at once to his house, which adjoined that of the marchioness caldariva. indeed, from his bedroom a secret passage, already referred to, led into rozina's boudoir; but the clock-door had seldom opened to the secretary of late. toward seven o'clock in the evening he saw a closed carriage drive away from the next door. "she is going to the opera," said he to himself as he watched the vehicle turn a corner and disappear. he donned hat and coat and sauntered after it, the emissary of the police always ten steps in the rear. arrived at the opera-house, he purchased tickets for himself and his faithful attendant, and then made his way to the box of the marchioness. rozina received him with apparent cordiality and listened to his whispered account of what had befallen him. "have you talked this over with prince cagliari?" she asked. "no, and i shall not," replied vajdar, with significant emphasis. "this is his doing." "what makes you think so, pray?" asked the marchioness, with an air of surprise. "why should he plot the ruin of his own secretary and confidant?" "you yourself are the cause," was the retort. the beautiful woman bent her head still nearer to him. even her cruel heart felt the compliment conveyed in this acknowledgment of her power. "and what do you wish of me, my poor boy?" she murmured softly in his ear. "i wish an interview with you after the opera--a strictly confidential interview." "very well. come to me as soon as i get home, and i will admit you." "no; you shall not turn me away so easily, with an empty promise." "what, must i swear to you, then?" "no, give me the little key, and i shall be sure of gaining admittance." "i am almost afraid to trust you with it," objected the marchioness, with an arch look; "but still you shall have it--there! and now guard it well, and be discreet." vajdar kissed the hand extended to him and retired. the fair cyrene turned again toward the stage and joined in the applause. one might have thought she was applauding the prima-donna; but no, she was applauding herself. benjamin vajdar returned home, left the police officer quartered in his antechamber, and, with his servant's aid, began packing his trunks. after that task was accomplished he waited impatiently for the close of the opera and rozina's return. when his watch told him that he must have waited long enough, he passed noiselessly through the secret passage and opened the mysterious door in the tall clock at its farther end. the marchioness was not there. one hour, two hours, he waited in her boudoir, and still she failed to appear. "very well; so be it," said vajdar to himself. "you thought to outwit me; we shall see which will outwit the other." with that he opened the little writing-desk and took out the morocco-bound pocketbook which he seemed to know so well where to find. a single glance at its contents satisfied him that the papers he desired were still there. he quickly pocketed his prize and then paused to look around for the last time at the dainty appointments of the luxurious apartment. "adieu, beautiful cyrene, adieu, for ever!" he murmured, a smile of irony on his lips. stealthily he had come, stealthily he withdrew. he did not take the trouble to close the writing-desk, but he was careful to leave the little key sticking in the clock door, where its rightful owner would be sure to see it. he found the police officer still awake and waiting for him. a cab was quickly summoned, and the two started on their journey to transylvania. when the marchioness caldariva entered her boudoir a little later, her eyes fell at once on her open writing-desk, and she perceived that the morocco pocketbook was gone. she laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh to hear. "very good," said she, half aloud; "you would have it so, and i am not to blame." * * * * * anna adorjan hovered on the brink of the grave. she had heard that benjamin vajdar was charged with a penal offence, and she felt only too well convinced that if such a charge had been brought against him he must be guilty. if guilty, he would be sentenced to a term of imprisonment, and she would never see him return to his old home as she had once so confidently expected. she had nothing now to live for. her dear brother manasseh was restored to his family, and she was ready to die. "brother," she gently entreated, as she lay on her bed of pain, "if he should by any chance ever come back to us, promise me to treat him as you would if i were still here. you will promise me that, won't you?" a silent nod of manasseh's bowed head was her sufficient assurance that her slightest wish would be respected. "and even though he may never come back, i wish you to make my resting-place in the rocks large enough for two. perhaps he will return sometime, when he sees his life drawing to a close, and he may be glad to find a place ready for him by my side. you will do as i wish in this matter, brother manasseh, will you not?" another nod of the bowed head. * * * * * the prediction uttered by manasseh, when his enemy lay in his power in the desolate church at st. george, was completely fulfilled. though he would have infinitely preferred banishment to siberia, benjamin vajdar was forced to return to toroczko, to the very house where he had been reared, and there take up his abode as a state prisoner. the government made him a pitiful allowance of three hundred florins a year, to keep him from starving. thus it was, too, that anna's words came true, and the man despised and rejected of all the world sought refuge in the house where he had been tenderly nurtured as a child. thus did he return, vanquished in life's battle, to have his wounds bound by the hands of those he had so grievously wronged, and to beg a place in that family circle into which he had done his utmost to bring sorrow and despair. manasseh met the police officer at the door, and heard his announcement with perfect composure. "we have no objection to raise," said he, "against the decree of the government. benjamin vajdar was formerly a member of our family, and so we must provide for him. the state allowance of twenty-five florins a month we beg leave to refuse. in our iron works there is a bookkeeper's position open to this man, and we shall ask him to assume its duties. indeed, we shall ourselves probably be the gainers by this arrangement, as the keeping of our books has become too heavy a burden for my wife, and she will be glad to be relieved. but enough of this at present; to-morrow we will discuss the matter more at length. meanwhile mr. vajdar is welcome to our house." benjamin vajdar's emotions can better be imagined than described. to find himself called upon to lighten blanka zboroy's duties and to live in constant sight of her happy home life, after all he had done in the vain attempt to spoil that life, was more than he had counted on. he bit his compressed lips till the blood ran. opening the door of the chamber into which he had been ushered, he hurried out to seek the freedom of the open air and to set his confused thoughts in order. on his way his attention was caught by an unexpected sight. through an open door he had a full view of a bier, on which rested a coffin, and in the latter, with hands folded on her bosom, lay the woman he had most cruelly wronged. in those clasped hands he saw a little picture wreathed in evergreen,--his own likeness, which the dead girl had begged her family to bury with her. now, if never before, the unhappy man saw what a wealth of love he had cast aside, a love that, even in death caused by his base desertion, could forgive him his perfidy and carry his picture in a fond embrace down to the grave. as his guardian angel, she would bear it with her up to god's throne, and there plead his cause. overcome at last by a flood of anguish and remorse, the guilty man cried aloud in his despair and fell prostrate beside the coffin, striking his head on its corner as he sank unconscious to the floor. manasseh found him there and bore him back to his room. after putting him to bed and ministering to his wants, he went out with aaron to prepare anna's grave. "we must make it wide enough for two," said he; "it was her wish." when, after several hours of hard work, the two brothers returned home, manasseh went at once to his guest's room. before his marriage this chamber had been occupied by him, and he still used it occasionally for writing. in his absence vajdar had risen and seated himself at the desk. searching the drawer for writing-materials, he had come upon a sheet of paper yellow with age, and written upon in ink now much faded. the document proved to be a promissory note, but the signature was so heavily scored through and through as to be hardly legible. benjamin vajdar started violently as he took up the faded sheet and saw that the man whom he had so feared and hated had, by his own voluntary act, disarmed himself and put it out of his power to punish the fraud practised upon him by his false friend. as if distrusting his own constancy and the binding force of his promise to his sister, manasseh had, with a few strokes of his pen, rendered harmless what could otherwise have been used as incriminating evidence against the forger. on entering the room, manasseh detected a peculiar odour in the air. benjamin vajdar sat at the writing-desk, a morocco pocketbook open before him. a half-finished letter lay under the writer's hand, but his pen had ceased to move. his eyes met those of his host with a dull stare. "don't come near me!" he cried, in warning. "death is in this room!" but manasseh hurried to the window, threw it open, and then, snatching up the pocketbook and the papers scattered over the desk, cast them all into the fire that was burning on the hearth. thus all the tell-tale documents relating to certain fraudulent army contracts went up in smoke, but not before they had done their deadly work on one, at least, of the guilty men involved. those papers had passed through the hands of a second lucretia borgia, and not without reason had she applauded herself that night at the opera when she permitted her dupe to extort from her the little key which she wore in her bosom. * * * * * many years of untroubled peace and happiness for the adorjan family followed these events. the children and grandchildren born to manasseh and blanka grew up to call them blessed, the labours of the toroczko miners and iron-workers were prospered, and heaven still smiles on the humble homes of that happy valley. the end. halil the pedlar a tale of old stambul by maurus jÓkai author of "the green book," "black diamonds," "the poor plutocrats," etc. authorised edition, translated by r. nisbet bain [illustration] sans peur et sans reproche third edition london jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c. [all rights reserved] copyright london: jarrold & sons new york: mcclure, phillips, & co. translated from the hungarian, "a fehér rózsa," by r. nisbet bain. contents. chapter page introduction i. the pedlar ii. gÜl-bejÁze--the white rose iii. sultan achmed iv. the slave of the slave-girl v. the camp vi. the bursting forth of the storm vii. tulip-bulbs and human heads viii. a topsy-turvy world ix. the setting and the rising sun x. the feast of halwet xi. glimpses into the future xii. human hopes xiii. the empty place introduction. on september th, , a rebellion burst forth in stambul against sultan achmed iii., whose cowardly hesitation to take the field against the advancing hosts of the victorious persians had revolted both the army and the people. the rebellion began in the camp of the janissaries, and the ringleader was one halil patrona, a poor albanian sailor-man, who after plying for a time the trade of a petty huckster had been compelled, by crime or accident, to seek a refuge among the mercenary soldiery of the empire. the rebellion was unexpectedly, amazingly successful. the sultan, after vainly sacrificing his chief councillors to the fury of the mob, was himself dethroned by halil, and mahmud i. appointed sultan in his stead. for the next six weeks the ex-costermonger held the destiny of the ottoman empire in his hands till, on november th, he and his chief associates were treacherously assassinated in full divan by the secret command, and actually in the presence of, the very monarch whom he had drawn from obscurity to set upon the throne. this dramatic event is the historical basis of jókai's famous story, "a fehér rózsa," now translated into english for the first time. no doubt the genial hungarian romancer has idealised the rough, outspoken, masterful rebel-chief, halil patrona, into a great patriot-statesman, a martyr for justice and honour; yet, on the other hand, he has certainly preserved the salient features of halil's character and, so far as i am competent to verify his authorities, has not been untrue to history though, as i opine, depending too much on the now somewhat obsolete narrative of hammer-purgstall ("geschichte des osmanischen reichs"). almost incredible as they seem to us sober westerns, such incidents as the tame surrender of achmed iii., the elevation of the lowliest demagogues to the highest positions in the realm, and the curious and characteristically oriental episode of the tulip-pots, are absolute facts. naturally jókai's splendid fancy has gorgeously embellished the plain narrative of the turkish chroniclers. such a subject as halil's strange career must irresistibly have appealed to an author who is nothing if not vivid and romantic, and ever delights in startling contrasts. on the other hand, the unique episode of gül-bejáze, "the white rose," and her terrible experiences in the seraglio are largely, if not entirely, of jókai's own invention, and worthy, as told by him, of a place in the thousand and one nights. finally--a bibliographical note. originally "a fehér rózsa," under the title of "halil patrona," formed the first part of "a janicsárok végnapjai," a novel first published at pest in three volumes in . the two tales are, however, quite distinct, and have, since then, as a matter of fact, frequently been published separately. the second part of "a janicsárok végnapjai" was translated by me from the hungarian original, some years ago, under the title of "the lion of janina," and published by messrs. jarrold and sons as one of their "jókai" series in . the striking favour with which that story was then received justifies my hope that its counterpart, which i have re-named "halil the pedlar," from its chief character, may be equally fortunate. r. nisbet bain. _september, ._ halil the pedlar. chapter i. the pedlar. time out of mind, for hundreds and hundreds of years, the struggle between the shiites and the sunnites has divided the moslem world. persia and india are the lands of the shiites; turkey, arabia, egypt, and the realm of barbary follow the tenets of the sunna. much blood, much money, many anathemas, and many apostasies have marked the progress of this quarrel, and still it has not even yet been made quite clear whether the shiites or the sunnites are the true believers. the question to be decided is this: which of the four successors of the prophet, ali, abu bekr, osmar, and osman, was the true caliph. the shiites maintain that ali alone was the true caliph. the sunnites, on the other hand, affirm that all four were true caliphs and equally holy. and certainly the shiites must be great blockheads to allow themselves to be cut into mince-meat by thousands, rather than admit that god would enrich the calendar with three saints distasteful to them personally. the head mufti had already hurled three fetvas at the head of shah mahmud, and just as many armies of valiant sunnites had invaded the territories of the shiites. the redoubtable grand vizier, damad ibrahim, had already wrested from them tauris, erivan, kermandzasahan, and hamadan, and the good folks of stambul could talk of nothing else but these victories--victories which they had extra good reason to remember, inasmuch as the janissaries, at every fresh announcement of these triumphs, all the more vigorously exercised their martial prowess on the peaceful inhabitants they were supposed to protect, and not only upon them, but likewise upon the still more peaceful sultan who, it must be admitted, troubled himself very little either about the sunnites, or the victories of his grand vizier, being quite content with the contemplation of his perpetually blooming tulips and of the damsels of the seraglio, who were even fairer to view than the tulips whose blooms they themselves far outshone. * * * * * the last rays of sunset were about to depart from the minarets of stambul. the imposing shape of the city of the seven hills loomed forth like a majestic picture in the evening light. below, all aflame from the reflection of the burning sky, lies the bosphorus, wherein the seraglio and the suburbs of pera and galata, with their tiers upon tiers of houses and variegated fairy palaces, mirror themselves tranquilly. the long, winding, narrow streets climb from one hill to another, and every single hill is as green as if mother nature had claimed her due portion of each from the inhabitants, so different from our western cities, all paved and swept clean, and nothing but hard stone from end to end. here, on the contrary, nothing but green meets the eye. the bastions are planted with vines and olive-trees, pomegranate and cypress trees stand before the houses of the rich. the poorer folks who have no gardens plant flowers on their house-tops, or at any rate grow vines round their windows which in time run up the whole house, and from out of the midst of this perennial verdure arise the shining cupolas of eighty mosques. at the end of every thoroughfare, overgrown with luxuriant grass and thick-foliaged cypresses, only the turbaned tombstones show that here is the place of sad repose. and the effect of the picture is heightened by the mighty cupola of the all-dominating aja sofia mosque, which looks right over all these palaces into the golden mirror of the bosphorus. soon this golden mirror changes into a mirror of bronze, the sun disappears, and the tranquil oval of the sea borrows a metallic shimmer from the dark-blue sky. the kiosks fade into darkness; the vast outlines of the rumili hisar and the anatoli hisar stand out against the starry heaven; and excepting the lamps lit here and there in the khans of the foreign merchants and a few minarets, the whole of the gigantic city is wrapped in gloom. the muezzin intone the evening _noómát_ from the slender turrets of the mosques; everyone hastens to get home before night has completely set in; the mule-drivers urge on their beasts laden on both sides with leather bottles, and their tinkling bells resound in the narrow streets; the shouting water-carriers and porters, whose long shoulder-poles block up the whole street, scare out of their way all whom they meet; whole troops of dogs come forth from the cemeteries to fight over the offal of the piazzas. every true believer endeavours as soon as possible to get well behind bolts and bars, and would regard it as a sheer tempting of providence to quit his threshold under any pretext whatsoever before the morning invocation of the muezzin. he especially who at such a time should venture to cross the piazza of the etmeidan would have been judged very temerarious or very ill-informed, inasmuch as three of the gates of the barracks of the janissaries open upon this piazza; and the janissaries, even when they are in a good humour, are not over particular as to the sort of jokes they choose to play, for their own private amusement, upon those who may chance to fall into their hands. every faithful mussulman, therefore, guards his footsteps from any intrusion into the etmeidan, as being in duty bound to know and observe that text of the koran which says, "a fool is he who plunges into peril that he might avoid." the tattoo had already been beaten with wooden sticks on a wooden board, when two men encountered each other in one of the streets leading into the etmeidan. one of them was a stranger, dressed in a wallachian _gunya_, long shoes, and with a broad reticule dangling at his side. he looked forty years old and, so far as it was possible to distinguish his figure and features in the twilight, seemed to be a strong, well-built man, with a tolerably plump face, on which at that moment no small traces of fear could be detected and something of that uncomfortable hesitation which is apt to overtake a man in a large foreign city which he visits for the very first time. the other was an honest mussulman about thirty years old, with a thick, coal-black beard and passionate, irritable features, whose true character was very fairly reflected in his pair of flashing black eyes. his turban was drawn deep down over his temples, obliterating his eyebrows completely, which made him look more truculent than ever. the stranger seemed to be going towards the etmeidan, the other man to be coming from it. the former let the latter pass, by squeezing himself against the wall, and only ventured to address him when he perceived that he had no evil intentions towards him. "i prythee, pitiful mussulman, be not wrath with me, but tell me where the etmeidan piazza is." the person so accosted instantly stopped short, and fixing the interrogator with a stony look, replied angrily: "go straight on and you'll be there immediately." at these words the knees of the questioner smote together. "woe is me! worthy mussulman, i prythee be not wrath, i did not ask thee where the etmeidan was because i wanted to go there, but to avoid straying into it. i am a stranger in this city, and in my terror i have been drawing near to the very place i want to avoid. i prythee leave me not here all by myself. every house is fast closed. not one of the khans will let me in at this hour. take me home with you, i will not be a burden upon you, i can sleep in your courtyard, or in your cellar, if only i may escape stopping in the streets all night, for i am greatly afraid." the turk so addressed was carrying in one hand a knapsack woven out of rushes. this he now opened and cast a glance into it, as if he were taking counsel with himself whether the fish and onions he had just bought in the market-place for his supper would be sufficient for two people. finally he nodded his head as if he had made up his mind at last. "very well, come along!" said he, "and follow me!" the stranger would have kissed his hand, he could not thank his new friend sufficiently. "you had better wait to see what you are going to get before you thank me," said the turk; "you will find but scanty cheer with me, for i am only a poor man." "oh, as for that, i also am poor, very poor indeed," the new-comer hastened to reply with the crafty obsequiousness peculiar to the greek race. "my name is janaki, and i am a butcher at jassy. the kavasses have laid their hands upon my apprentice and all my live-stock at the same time, and that is why i have come to stambul. i shall be utterly beggared if i don't get them back." "well, allah aid thee. let us make haste, for it is already dark." and then, going on in front to show the way, he led the stranger through the narrow winding labyrinth of baffling lanes and alleys which lead to the hebdomon palace, formerly the splendid residence of the greek emperors, but now the quarter where the poorest and most sordid classes of the populace herd together. the streets here are so narrow that the tendrils of the vines and gourds growing on the roofs of the opposite houses meet together, and form a natural baldachino for the benefit of the foot-passenger below. suddenly, on reaching the entrance of a peculiarly long and narrow lane, the loud-sounding note of a song, bawled by someone coming straight towards them, struck upon their ears. it was some drunken man evidently, but whoever the individual might be, he was certainly the possessor of a tremendous pair of lungs, for he could roar like a buffalo, and not content with roaring, he kept thundering at the doors of all the houses he passed with his fists. "alas! worthy mussulman, i suppose this is some good-humoured janissary, eh?" stammered the new-comer with a terrified voice. "not a doubt of it. a peace-loving man would not think of making such a bellowing as that." "would it not be as well to turn back?" "we might meet a pair of them if we went another way. take this lesson from me: never turn back from the path you have once taken, as otherwise you will only plunge into still greater misfortunes." meanwhile they were drawing nearer and nearer to the bellowing gentleman, and before long his figure came full into view. and certainly his figure was in every respect worthy of his voice. he was an enormous, six-foot high, herculean fellow, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, and the disorderly appearance of his dolman and the crooked cock of his turban more than justified the suspicion that he had already taken far more than was good for him of that fluid which the prophet has forbidden to all true believers. "gel, gel! ne miktár dir, gel!" ("come along the whole lot of you!") roared the janissary with all his might, staggering from one side of the lane to the other, and flourishing his naked rapier in the air. "woe is me, my brave mussulman!" faltered the wallachian butcher in a terrified whisper, "wouldn't it be as well if you were to take my stick, for he might observe that i had it, and fancy i want to fight him with it." the turk took over the stick of the butcher as the latter seemed to be frightened of it. "h'm! this stick of yours is not a bad one. i see that the head of it is well-studded with knobs, and that it is weighted with lead besides. what a pity you don't know how to make use of it!" "i am only too glad if people will let me live in peace." "very well, hide behind me, and come along boldly, and when you pass him don't so much as look at him." the wallachian desired nothing better, but the janissary had already caught sight of him from afar, and as, clinging fast to his guide's mantle, he was about to slip past the man of war, the janissary suddenly barred the way, seized him by the collar with his horrible fist, and dragged the wretched creature towards him. "khair evetlesszin domusz!" ("not so fast, thou swine!") "a word in thine ear! i have just bought me a yataghan. stretch forth thy neck! i would test my weapon upon thee and see whether it is sharp." the poor fellow was already half-dead with terror. with the utmost obsequiousness he at once began unfastening his neck-cloth, whimpering at the same time something about his four little children: what would become of them when they had nobody to care for them. but his conductor intervened defiantly. "take yourself off, you drunken lout, you! how dare you lay a hand upon my guest. know you not that he who harms the guest of a true believer is accursed?" "na, na, na!" laughed the janissary mockingly, "are you mad, my worthy balukji, that you bandy words with the flowers of the prophet's garden, with begtash's sons, the valiant janissaries? get out of my way while you are still able to go away whole, for if you remain here much longer, i'll teach you to be a little more obedient." "let my guest go in peace, i say, and then go thine own way also!" "why, what ails you, worthy mussulman? has anyone offended thee? mashallah! what business is it of thine if i choose to strike off the head of a dog? you can pick up ten more like him in the street any time you like." the turk, perceiving that it would be difficult to convince a drunken man by mere words, drew nearer to him, and grasped the hand that held the yataghan. "what do you want?" cried the janissary, fairly infuriated at this act of temerity. "come! go thy way!" "do you know whose hand thou art grasping? my name is halil." "mine also is halil." "mine is halil pelivan--halil the wrestler!" "mine is halil patrona." by this time the janissary was beside himself with rage at so much opposition. "thou worm! thou crossed-leg, crouching huckster, thou pack-thread pedlar! if thou dost not let me go immediately, i will cut off thy hands, thy feet, thine ears, and thy nose, and then hang thee up." "and if thou leave not go of my guest, i will fell thee to the earth with this stick of mine." "what, _thou_ wilt fell _me_? me? a fellow like thou threaten to strike halil pelivan with a stick? strike away then, thou dog, thou dishonourable brute-beast, thou dregs of a mussulman! strike away then, strike here, if thou have the courage!" and with that he pointed at his own head, which he flung back defiantly as if daring his opponent to strike at it. but halil patrona's courage was quite equal even to such an invitation as that, and he brought down the leaded stick in his hand so heavily on the janissary's head that the fellow's face was soon streaming with blood. pelivan roared aloud at the blow, and, shaking his bloody forehead, rushed upon patrona like a wounded bear, and disregarding a couple of fresh blows on the arms and shoulders which had the effect, however, of making him drop his yataghan, he grasped his adversary with his gigantic hands, lifted him up, and then hugged him with the embrace of a boa-constrictor. but now it appeared that patrona also was by no means a novice in the art of self-defence, for clutching with both hands the giant's throat, he squeezed it so tightly that in a few seconds the janissary began to stagger to and fro, finally falling backwards to the ground, whereupon patrona knelt upon his breast and plucked from his beard a sufficient number of hairs to serve him as a souvenir. pelivan, overpowered by drink and the concussion of his fall, slumbered off where he lay, while patrona with his guest, who was already half-dead with fright, hastened to reach his dwelling. after traversing a labyrinth of narrow, meandering lanes, and zig-zagging backwards and forwards through all kinds of gardens and rookeries, halil patrona arrived at last at his own house. were we to speak of "his own street door," we should be betraying a gross ignorance of locality, for in the place where patrona lived the mere idea of a street never presented itself to anybody's imagination. there was indeed no such thing there. the spot was covered by half a thousand or so of wooden houses, mixed together, higgledy-piggledy, so inextricably, that the shortest way to everybody's house was through his neighbour's passage, hall, or courtyard, and inasmuch as the inmates of whole rows of these houses were in the habit of living together in the closest and most mysterious harmony, every house was so arranged that the inhabitants thereof could slip into the neighbouring dwelling at a moment's notice. in some cases, for instance, the roofs were continuous; in others the cellars communicated, so that if ever anyone of the inhabitants were suddenly pursued, he could, with the assistance of the roofs, passages, and cellars, vanish without leaving a trace behind him. halil patrona's house was of wood like the rest. it consisted of a single room, yet this was a room which could be made to hold a good deal. it had a fire-place also, and if perhaps a chance guest were a little fastidious, he could at any rate always make sure of a good bed on the roof, which was embowered in vine leaves. there was certainly no extravagant display of furniture inside. a rush-mat in the middle of the room, a bench covered with a carpet in the corner, a few wooden plates and dishes, a jug on a wooden shelf, and a couple of very simple cooking-utensils in the fire-place--that was all. from the roof of the chamber hung an earthenware lamp, which patrona kindled with an old-fashioned flint and steel. then he brought water in a round-bellied trough for his guest to wash his hands, fetched drinking-water from the well in a long jug, whereupon he drew forward his rush-woven market-basket, emptied its contents on to the rush-mat, sat him down opposite honest janaki, and forthwith invited his guest to fall to. there was nothing indeed but a few small fish and a few beautiful rosy-red onions, but halil had so much to say in praise of the repast, telling his guest where and how these fish were caught, and in what manner they ought to be fried so as to bring out the taste; how you could find out which of them had hard roes and which soft; what different sorts of flavours there are in the onion tribe, far more, indeed, than in the pine-apple; and then the pure fresh water too--why the koran from end to end is full of the praises of fresh pure water, and halil knew all these passages by heart, and had no need to look in the holy book for them. and then, too, he had so many interesting tales to tell of travellers who had lost their way in the desert and were dying for a drop of water, and how allah had had compassion upon them and guided them to the springs of the oasis--so that the guest was actually entrapped into imagining that he had just been partaking of the most magnificent banquet, and he enjoyed his meat and drink, and arose from his rush-carpet well satisfied with himself and with his host. i'll wager that sultan achmed, poor fellow! felt far less contented when he rose from his gorgeous and luxurious sofa, though the tables beside it were piled high with fruits and sweetmeats, and two hundred odalisks danced and sang around it. "and now let us go to sleep!" said halil patrona to his guest. "i know that slumber is the greatest of all the joys which allah has bestowed upon mankind. in our waking hours we belong to others, but the land of dreams is all our own. if your dreams be good dreams, you rejoice that they are good, and if they be evil dreams, you rejoice that they are but dreams. the night is nice and warm, you can sleep on the house-top, and if you pull your rope-ladder up after you, you need not fear that anybody will molest you." janaki said "thank you!" to everything, and very readily clambered to the top of the roof. there he found already prepared for him the carpet and the fur cushion on which he was to sleep. plainly these were the only cushion and carpet obtainable in the house, and the guest observing that these were the very things he had noticed in the room below, exclaimed to halil patrona: "oh, humane chorbadshi, you have given me your own carpet and pillow; on what will you sleep, pray?" "do not trouble your head about me, muzafir! i will bring forth my second carpet and my second cushion and sleep on them." janaki peeped through a chink in the roof, and observed how vigorously halil patrona performed his ablutions, and how next he went through his devotions with even greater conscientiousness than his ablutions, whereupon he produced a round trough, turned it upside down, laid it upon the rush-mat, placed his head upon the trough, and folding his arms across his breast, peacefully went to sleep in the prophet. the next morning, when janaki awoke and descended to halil, he gave him a piece of money which they call a golden denarius. "take this piece of money, worthy chorbadshi," said he, "and if you will permit me to remain beneath your roof this day also, prepare therewith a mid-day meal for us both." halil hastened with the money to the piazza, bargained and chaffered for all sorts of eatables, and made it a matter of conscience to keep only a single copper asper of the money entrusted to him. then he prepared for his guest pilaf, the celebrated turkish dish consisting of rice cooked with sheep's flesh, and brought him from the booths of the master-cooks and master-sugar-bakers, honey-cakes, dulchas, pistachios, sweet pepper-cakes filled with nuts and stewed in honey, and all manner of other delicacies, at the sight and smell of which janaki began to shout that sultan achmed could not be better off. halil, however, requested him not to mention the name of the sultan quite so frequently and not to bellow so loudly. that night, also, he made his guest mount to the top of the roof, and having noticed during the preceding night that the greek had been perpetually shifting his position, and consequently suspecting that he was little used to so hard a couch, halil took the precaution of stripping off his own kaftan beforehand and placing it beneath the carpet he had already surrendered to his guest. early next morning janaki gave another golden denarius to halil. "fetch me writing materials!" said he, "for i want to write a letter to someone, and then with god's help i will quit your house and pursue my way further." halil departed, went a-bargaining in the bazaar, and returned with what he had been sent for. he calculated his outlay to a penny in the presence of his guest. the _kalem_ (pen) was so much, so much again the _mürekob_ (ink), and the _mühür_ (seal) came to this and that. the balance he returned to janaki. as for janaki he went up on to the roof again, there wrote and sealed his letter, and thrust it beneath the carpet, and then laying hold of his stick again, entreated halil, with many thanks for his hospitality, to direct him to the pera road whence, he said, he could find his way along by himself. halil willingly complied with the petition of his guest, and accompanied him all the way to the nearest thoroughfare. when now janaki beheld the bosphorus, and perceived that the road from this point was familiar to him, so that he needed no further assistance, he suddenly exclaimed: "look now, my friend! an idea has occurred to me. the letter i have just written on your roof has escaped my memory entirely. i placed it beneath the carpet, and beside it lies a purse of money which i meant to have sent along with the letter. now, however, i cannot turn back for it. i pray you, therefore, go back to your house, take this letter together with the purse, and hand them both over to the person to whom they are addressed--and god bless you for it!" halil at once turned round to obey this fresh request as quickly as possible. "give also the money to him to whom it belongs!" said the greek. "you may be as certain that it will reach him as if you gave it to him yourself." "and promise me that you will compel him to whom the letter is addressed to accept the money." "i will not leave his house till he has given me a voucher in writing for it, and whenever you come back again to me here you will find it in my possession." "god be with you then, honest mussulman!" "salem alek!" halil straightway ran home, clambered up to the roof by means of the rope-ladder, found both the letter and the money under the carpet, rejoiced greatly that they had not been stolen during his absence, and thrusting them both into his satchel of reeds without even taking the trouble to look at them, hastened off to the bazaar with them, where there was an acquaintance of his, a certain money-changer, who knew all about every man in stambul, in order that he might find out from him where dwelt the man to whom the letter entrusted to him by the stranger was addressed. accordingly he handed the letter to the money-changer in order that he might give him full directions without so much as casting an eye upon the address himself. the money-changer examined the address of the letter, and forthwith was filled with amazement. "halil patrona!" cried he, "have you been taking part in the carnival of the giaours that you have allowed yourself to be so befooled? or can't you read?" "read! of course i can. but i don't fancy i can know the man to whom this letter is directed." "well, all i can say is that you knew him very well indeed this time yesterday, for the man is yourself--none other." halil, full of astonishment, took the letter, which hitherto he had not regarded--sure enough it was addressed to himself. "then he who gave me this letter must needs be a madman, and there is a purse which i have to hand over along with it." "yes, i see that your name is written on that also." "but i have nothing to do with either the purse or the letter. of a truth the man who confided them to me must have been a lunatic." "it will be best if you break open the letter and read it, then you will _know_ what you have got to do with it." this was true enough. the best way for a man to find out what he has to do with a letter addressed to him is, certainly, to open and read it. and this is what was written in the letter. "worthy halil patrona! "i told you that i was a poor man, but that was not true; on the contrary, i am pretty well to do, thank god! nor do i wander up and down on the face of the earth in search of herds of cattle stolen from me, but for the sake of my only daughter, who is dearer to me than all my treasures, and now also i am in pursuit of her, following clue after clue, in order that i may discover her whereabouts and, if possible, ransom her. you have been my benefactor. you fought the drunken janissary for my sake, you shared your dwelling with me, you made me lie on your own bed while you slept on the bare ground, you even took off your kaftan to make my couch the softer. accept, therefore, as a token of my gratitude, the slender purse accompanying this letter. it contains five thousand piastres, so that if ever i visit you again i may find you in better circumstances. god help you in all things! "your grateful servant, "janaki." "now, didn't i say he was mad?" exclaimed halil, after reading through the letter. "who else, i should like to know, would have given me five thousand piastres for three red onions?" meanwhile, attracted by the noise of the conversation, a crowd of the acquaintances of halil patrona and the money-changer had gathered around them, and they laid their heads together and discussed among themselves for a long time the question which was the greater fool of the two--janaki, who had given five thousand piastres for three onions, or halil who did not want to accept the money. yet halil it was who turned out to be the biggest fool, for he immediately set out in search of the man who had given him this sum of money. but search and search as he might he could find no trace of him. if he had gone in search of someone who had stolen a like amount, he would have been able to find him very much sooner. in the course of his wanderings, he suddenly came upon the place where three days previously he had had his tussle with halil pelivan. he recognised the spot at once. a small dab of blood, the remains of what had flowed from the giant's head, was still there in the middle of the lane, and on the wall of the house opposite both their names were written. in all probability the janissary, when he picked himself up again, had dipped his finger in his own blood, and then scrawled the names upon the wall in order to perpetuate the memory of the incident. he had also taken good care to put halil pelivan uppermost and halil patrona undermost. "nay, but that is not right," said halil to himself; "it was you who were undermost," and snatching up the fragment of a red tile he wrote his name above that of halil pelivan. he hurried and scurried about till late in the evening without discovering a single trace of janaki, and by that time his head was so confused by all manner of cogitations that when, towards nightfall, he began chaffering for fish in the etmeidan market, he would not have been a bit surprised if he had been told that every single carp cost a thousand piastres. he began to perceive, however, that he would have to keep the money after all, and the very thought of it kept him awake all night long. next day he again strolled about the bazaars, and then directed his steps once more towards that house where he had chalked up his name the day before. and lo! the name of pelivan was again stuck at the top of his own. "this must be put a stop to once for all," murmured halil, and beckoning to a load-carrier he mounted on to his shoulders and wrote his name high up, just beneath the eaves of the house on a spot where pelivan's name could not top his own again, from whence it is manifest that there was a certain secret instinct in halil patrona which would not permit him to take the lower place or suffer him to recognise anybody as standing higher than himself. and as he, pursuing his way home, passed by the tsiragan palace, and there encountered riding past him the padishah, sultan achmed iii., accompanied by the grand vizier, ibrahim damad, the kiaja beg, the kapudan pasha, and the chief imam, ispirizade; and as he humbly bowed his head in the dust before them, it seemed to him as if something at the bottom of his heart whispered to him: "the time will come when the whole lot of you will bow your heads before me in the dust just as i, halil patrona, the pedlar, do obeisance to you now, ye lords of the empire and the universe!" fortunately for halil patrona, however, he did not raise his face while the suite of the lords of the universe swept past him, for otherwise it might have happened that halil pelivan, who went before the sultan with a drawn broadsword, might have recognised him, and certainly nobody would have taken particular trouble to inquire why the janissary had split in two the head of this or that pedlar who happened to come in his way. chapter ii. gÜl-bejÁze--the white rose. the booth of halil patrona, the pedlar, stood in the bazaar. he sold tobacco, chibooks, and pipe-stems, but his business was not particularly lucrative. he did not keep opium, although that was beginning to be one of the principal articles of luxury in the turkish empire. from the very look of him one could see that he did not sell the drug. for halil had determined that he would never have any of this soul-benumbing stuff in his shop, and whenever halil made any resolution he generally kept it. oftentimes, sitting in the circle of his neighbours, he would fall to discoursing on the subject, and would tell them that it was satan who had sent this opium stuff to play havoc among the true believers. it was, he would insist, the offscouring of the _jinns_, and yet mussulmans did not scruple to put the filth into their mouths and chew and inhale it! hence the ruin that was coming upon them and their posterity and the whole moslem race. his neighbours let him talk on without contradiction, but they took good care to sell as much opium themselves as possible, because it brought in by far the largest profits. surely, they argued among themselves, because an individual cuts his throat with a knife now and then, that is no reason why knives in general should not be kept for sale in shops? it was plain to them that halil was no born trader. yet he was perfectly satisfied with the little profit he made, and it never occurred to him to wish for anything he had not got. consequently when he now found himself the possessor of five thousand piastres, he was very much puzzled as to what he should do with such a large amount. the things he really desired were far, far away, quite out of his reach in fact. he would have liked to lead fleets upon the sea and armies marshalled in battle array. he would have liked to have built cities and fortresses. he would have liked to have raised up and cast down pashas, dispensed commands, and domineered generally. but a beggarly five thousand piastres would not go very far in that direction. it was too much from one point of view and too little from another, so that he really was at a loss what to do with it. his booth looked out upon that portion of the bazaar where there was a vacant space separated from the trading booths by lofty iron railings. this vacant space was a slave-market. here the lowest class of slaves were freely offered for sale. every day halil saw some ten to twenty of these human chattels exhibited in front of his booth. it was no new sight to him. in this slave-market there were none of those pathetic scenes which poets and romance writers are so fond of describing when, for instance, the rich traders of dirbend offer to the highest bidder miracles of loveliness, to be the sport of lust and luxury, beautiful circassian and georgian maidens, whose cheeks burn with shame at the bold rude gaze of the men, and whose eyes overflow with tears when their new masters address them. there was nothing of the sort in this place. this was but the depository of used up, chucked aside wares, of useless jessir, such as dry and wrinkled old negresses, worn-out, venomous nurses, human refuse, so to speak, to whom it was a matter of the most profound indifference what master they were called upon to serve, who listened to the slang of the auctioneer with absolute nonchalance as he circumstantially totted up their years and described their qualities, and allowed their would-be purchasers to examine their teeth and manipulate their arms and legs as if they were the very last persons concerned in the business on hand. on the occasion of the first general auction that had come round after the departure of janaki from halil, the pedlar was sitting as usual before his booth in the bazaar when the public crier appeared in the slave-market, leading by the hand a veiled female slave, and made the following announcement in a loud voice: "merciful mussulmans! lo! i bring hither from the harem of his majesty the sultan, an odalisk, who is to be put up to public auction by command of the padishah. the name of this odalisk is gül-bejáze; her age is seventeen years, she has all her teeth, her breath is pure, her skin is clean, her hair is thick, she can dance and sing, and do all manner of woman's handiwork. his shall she be who makes the highest bid, and the sum obtained is to be divided among the dervishes. two thousand piastres have already been promised for her; come hither and examine her--whoever gives the most shall have her." "allah preserve us from the thought of purchasing this girl," observed the wiser of the merchants, "why that would be the same thing as purchasing the wrath of the padishah for hard cash," and they wisely withdrew into the interiors of their booths. they knew well enough what was likely to happen to the man who presumed to buy an odalisk who had been expelled from the harem of the sultan. anyone daring to do such a thing might just as well chalk up the names of the four avenging angels on the walls of his house, or trample on his talisman with his slippers straight away. it was not the act of a wise man to pick up a flower which the sultan had thrown away in order to inhale its fragrance. the public crier remained in the middle of the bazaar alone with the slave-girl; the chapmen had not only retired into their shops but barred the doors behind them. "much obliged to you; but we would not accept such a piece of good luck even as a gift," they seemed to say. only one man still remained in front of his shop, and that was halil patrona. he alone had the courage to scrutinise the slave-girl carefully. perchance he felt compassion for this slave. he could not but perceive how the poor thing was trembling beneath the veil which covered her to the very heels. nothing could be seen of her but her eyes, and in those eyes a tear was visible. "come! bring her into my shop!" said halil to the public crier; "don't leave her out in the public square there for everybody to stare at her." "impossible!" replied the public crier. "as i value my head i must obey my orders, and my orders are to take her veil from off her head in the auction-yard, where the ordinary slaves are wont to be offered for sale, and there announce the price set upon her in the sight and hearing of all men." "what crime has this slave-girl committed that she should be treated so scurvily?" "halil patrona!" answered the public crier, "it will be all the better for my tongue and your ears if i do not answer that question. i simply do what i have been told to do. i unveil this odalisk, i proclaim what she can do, to what use she can be put. i neither belittle her nor do i exalt her. i advise nobody to buy her and i advise nobody not to buy her. allah is free to do what he will with us all, and that which has been decreed concerning each of us ages ago must needs befall." and with these words he whisked away the veil from the head of the odalisk. "by the prophet! a beauteous maid indeed! what eyes! a man might fancy they could speak, and if one gazed at them long enough one could find more to learn there than in all that is written in the koran! what lips too! i would gladly remain outside paradise if by so doing i might gaze upon those lips for ever. and what a pale face! well does she deserve the name of gül-bejáze! her cheeks do indeed resemble white roses! and one can see dewdrops upon them, as is the way with roses!--the dewdrops from her eyes! and what must such eyes be like when they laugh? what must that face be like when it blushes? what must that mouth be like when it speaks, when it sighs, when it trembles with sweet desire?" halil patrona was quite carried away by his enthusiasm. "carry her not any further," he said to the public crier, "and show her to nobody else, for nobody else would dare to buy her. besides, i'll give you for her a sum which nobody else would think of offering, i will give five thousand piastres." "be it so!" said the crier, veiling the maid anew; "you have seen her, anyhow, bring your money and take the girl!" halil went in for his purse, handed it over to the crier (it held the exact amount to a penny), and took the odalisk by the hand--there she stood alone with him. halil patrona now lost not a moment in locking up his shop, and taking the odalisk by the hand led her away with him to his poor lonely dwelling-place. all the way thither the girl never uttered a word. on reaching the house halil made the girl sit down by the hearth, and then addressed her in a tender, kindly voice. "here is my house, whatever you see in it is mine and yours. the whole lot is not very much it is true, but it is all our own. you will find no ornaments or frankincense in my house, but you can go in and out of it as you please without asking anybody's leave. here are two piastres, provide therewith a dinner for us both." the worthy mussulman then returned to the bazaar, leaving the girl alone in the house. he did not return home till the evening. meanwhile gül-bejáze had made the two piastres go as far as they could, and had supper all ready for him. she placed halil's dish on the reed-mat close beside him, but she herself sat down on the threshold. "not there, but come and sit down by my side," said halil, and seizing the trembling hand of the odalisk, he made her sit down beside him on the cushion, piled up the pilaf before her, and invited her with kind and encouraging words to fall to. the odalisk obeyed him. not a word had she yet spoken, but when she had finished eating, she turned towards halil and murmured in a scarce audible voice, "for six days i have eaten nought." "what!" exclaimed halil in amazement, "six days! horrible! and who was it, pray, that compelled you to endure such torture?" "it was my own doing, for i wanted to die." halil shook his head gravely. "so young, and yet to desire death! and do you still want to die, eh?" "your own eyes can tell you that i do not." halil had taken a great fancy to the girl. he had never before known what it was to love any human being; but now as he sat there face to face with the girl, whose dark eyelashes cast shadows upon her pale cheeks, and regarded her melancholy, irresponsive features, he fancied he saw a peri before him, and felt a new man awakening within him beneath this strange charm. halil could never remember the time when his heart had actually throbbed for joy, but now that he was sitting down by the side of this beautiful maid it really began to beat furiously. ah! how truly sang the poet when he said: "two worlds there are, one beneath the sun and the other in the heart of a maid." for a long time he gazed rapturously on the beauteous slave, admiring in turn her fair countenance, her voluptuous bosom, and her houri-like figure. how lovely, how divinely lovely it all was! and then he bethought him that all this loveliness was his own; that he was the master, the possessor of this girl, at whose command she would fall upon his bosom, envelop him with the pavilion, dark as night, of her flowing tresses, and embrace him with arms of soft velvet. ah! and those lips were not only red but sweet; and that breast was not only snow-white but throbbing and ardent--and at the thought his brain began to swim for joy and rapture. and yet he did not even know what to call her! he had never had a slave-girl before, and hardly knew how to address her. his own tongue was not wont to employ tender, caressing words; he knew not what to say to a woman to make her love him. "gül-bejáze!" he murmured hoarsely. "i await your commands, my master!" "my name is halil--call me so!" "halil, i await your commands!" "say nothing about commanding. sit down beside me here! come, sit closer, i say!" the girl sat down beside him. she was quite close to him now. but the worst of it was that, even now, halil had not the remotest idea what to say to her. the maid was sad and apathetic, she did not weep as slave-girls are wont to do. halil would so much have liked the girl to talk and tell him her history, and the cause of her melancholy, then perhaps it would have been easier for him to talk too. he would then have been able to have consoled her, and after consolation would have come love. "tell me, gül-bejáze!" said he, "how was it that the sultan had you offered for sale in the bazaar." the girl looked at halil with those large black eyes of hers. when she raised her long black lashes it was as though he gazed into a night lit up by two black suns, and thus she continued gazing at him for a long time fixedly and sadly. "that also you will learn to know, halil," she murmured. and halil felt his heart grow hotter and hotter the nearer he drew to this burning, kindling flame; his eyes flashed sparks at the sight of so much beauty, he seized the girl's hand and pressed it to his lips. how cold that hand was! all the more reason for warming it on his lips and on his bosom; but, for all his caressing, the little hand remained cold, as cold as the hand of a corpse. surely that throbbing breast, those provocative lips, are not as cold? halil, intoxicated with passion, embraced the girl, and as he drew her to his breast, as he pressed her to him, the girl murmured to herself--it sounded like a gentle long-drawn-out sigh: "blessed mary!" and then the girl's long black hair streamed over her face, and when halil smoothed it aside from the fair countenance to see if it had not grown redder beneath his embrace--behold! it was whiter than ever. all trace of life had fled from it, the eyes were cast down, the lips closed and bluish. dead, dead--a corpse lay before him! but halil would not believe it. he fancied that the girl was only pretending. he put his hand on her fair bosom--but he could not hear the beating of the heart. the girl had lost all sense of feeling. he could have done with her what he would. a dead body lay in his bosom. an ice-cold feeling of horror penetrated halil's heart, altogether extinguishing the burning flame of passion. all tremulously he released the girl and laid her down. then he whispered full of fear: "awake! i will not hurt you, i will not hurt you." her light kaftan had glided down from her bosom; he restored it to its place and, awe-struck, he continued gazing at the features of the lovely corpse. after a few moments the girl opened her lips and sighed heavily, and presently her large black eyes also opened once more, her lips resumed their former deep red hue, her eyes their enchanting radiance, her face the delicate freshness of a white rose, once more her bosom began to rise and fall. she arose from the carpet on which halil had laid her, and set to work removing and re-arranging the scattered dishes and platters. only after a few moments had elapsed did she whisper to halil, who could not restrain his astonishment: "and now you know why the padishah ordered me to be sold like a common slave in the bazaar. the instant a man embraces me i become as dead, and remain so until he lets me go again, and his lips grow cold upon mine and his heart abhors me. my name is not gül-bejáze, the white rose, but gül-olü, the dead rose." chapter iii. sultan achmed. the sun is shining through the windows of the seraglio, the two ulemas who are wont to come and pray with the sultan have withdrawn, and the kapu-agasi, or chief doorkeeper, and the anakhtar oglan, or chief key-keeper, hasten to open the doors through which the padishah generally goes to his dressing-room, where already await him the most eminent personages of the court, to wit, the khas-oda-bashi, or master of the robes, the chobodar who hands the sultan his first garment, the dülbendar who ties the shawl round his body, the berber-bashi who shaves his head, the ibrikdar aga who washes his hands, the peshkiriji bashi who dries them again, the serbedji-bashi who has a pleasant potion ready for him, and the ternakdji who carefully pares his nails. all these grandees do obeisance to the very earth as they catch sight of the face of the padishah making his way through innumerable richly carved doors on his way to his dressing-chamber. this robing-room is a simple, hexagonal room, with lofty, gold-entrellised window; its whole beauty consists in this, that the walls are inlaid with amethysts, from whose jacinth-hued background shine forth the more lustrous raised arabesques formed by topazes and dalmatines. precious stones are the delight of the padishah. every inch of his garments is resplendent with diamonds, rubies, and pearls, his very fingers are hidden by the rings which sparkle upon them. pomp is the very breath of his life. and his countenance well becomes this splendour. it is a mild, gentle, radiant face, like the face of a father when he moves softly among his loving children. his large, melancholy eyes rest kindly on the face of everyone he beholds; his smooth, delicate forehead is quite free from wrinkles. it would seem as if it could never form into folds, as if its possessor could never be angry; there is not a single grey hair in his well-kept, long black beard; it would seem as if he knew not the name of grief, as if he were the very son of happiness. and so indeed he was. for seven-and-twenty years he had sat upon the throne. it is possible that during these seven-and-twenty years many changes may have taken place in the realm which could by no means call for rejoicing, but allah had blessed him with such a happy disposition as to make him quite indifferent to these unfortunate events, in fact, he did not trouble his head about them at all. like the true philosopher he was, he continued to rejoice in whatsoever was joyous. he loved beautiful flowers and beautiful women--and he had enough of both and to spare. his gardens were more splendid than the gardens of soliman the magnificent, and that his seraglio was no joyless abode was demonstrated by the fact that so far he was the happy father of one-and-thirty children. he must have had exceptionally pleasant dreams last night, or his favourite sultana, the incomparably lovely adsalis, must have entertained him with unusually pleasant stories, or perchance a new tulip must have blossomed during the night, for he extended his hand to everyone to kiss, and when the berber-bashi proceeded comfortably to adjust the cushions beneath him, the sultan jocosely tapped the red swelling cheeks of his faithful servant--cheeks which the worthy bashi had taken good care of even in the days when he was only a barber's apprentice in the town of zara, but which had swelled to a size worthy even of the rank of a berber-bashi, since his lot had fallen in pleasant places. "allah watch over thee, and grant that thy mouth may never complain against thy hand, worthy berber-bashi. what is the latest news from the town?" it would appear from this that the barbers in stambul also, even when they rise to the dignity of berber-bashis, are expected to follow the course of public events with the utmost attention, in order to communicate the most interesting details thereof to others, and thus relieve the tedium invariably attendant upon shaving. "most mighty and most gracious one, if thou deignest to listen to the worthless words which drop from the mouth of thine unprofitable servant with those ears of thine created but to receive messages from heaven, i will relate to thee what has happened most recently in stambul." the sultan continued to play with his ring, which he had taken off one finger to slip on to another. "thou hast laid the command upon me, most puissant and most gracious padishah," continued the berber-bashi, unwinding the pearl-embroidered _kauk_ from the head of the sultan--"thou hast laid the command upon me to discover and acquaint thee with what further befell gül-bejáze after she had been cast forth from thy harem. from morn to eve, and again from eve to morning, i have been searching from house to house, making inquiries, listening with all my ears, mingling among the chapmen of the bazaars disguised as one of themselves, inducing them to speak, and ferreting about generally, till, at last, i have got to the bottom of the matter. for a long time nobody dared to buy the girl; it is indeed but meet that none should dare to pick up what the mightiest monarch of the earth has thrown away; it is but meet that the spot where he has cast out the ashes from his pipe should be avoided by all men, and that nobody should venture to put the sole of his foot there. yet, nevertheless, in the bazaar, one madly presumptuous man was found who was lured to his destruction at the sight of the girl's beauty, and received her for five thousand piastres from the hand of the public crier. these five thousand piastres were all the money he had, and he got them, in most wondrous wise, from a foreign butcher whom he had welcomed to his house as a guest." "what is the name of this man?"? "halil patrona." "and what happened after that?" "the man took the girl home, whose beauty, of a truth, was likely to turn the head of anybody. he knew not what had happened to her at the seraglio, in the kiosks of the kiaja beg and the grand vizier, ibrahim damad and in the harem of the white prince. for, verily, it is a joy to even behold the maiden, and it would be an easy matter to lose one's wits because of her, especially if one did not know that this fair blossom may be gazed at but not plucked, that this beautiful form which puts even the houris of paradise to shame, suddenly becomes stiff and dead at the contact of a man's hand, and that neither the warmth of the sun-like face of the padishah, nor the fury of the grand vizier, nor the thongs of the scourge of the sultana asseki, nor the supplications of the white prince, can awaken her from her death-like swoon." "and didst thou discover what happened to the girl after that?" "blessed be every word concerning me which issues from thy lips oh, mighty padishah! yes, i went after the girl. the worthy shopkeeper took the maiden home with him. it rejoiced him that he could give to her everything that was there. he made her sit down beside him. he supped in her company. then he would have embraced her. so he drew her to his bosom, and immediately the girl collapsed in his arms like a dead thing, as she is always wont to do whenever a man touches her, at the same time uttering certain magical talismanic words of evil portent, from which may the prophet guard every true believer! for she spoke the name of that holy woman whose counterfeit presentment the giaours carry upon their banners, and whose name they pronounce when they go forth to war against the true believers." "was he who took her away wrath thereat?" "nay, on the contrary, he seemed well satisfied that it should be so, and ever since then he has left the girl in peace. he regards her as a peri, as one who is not in her right mind, and therefore should be dealt gently with. she is free to go about the house as she likes. halil will never permit her to do any rough work, nay, rather, will he do everything himself, with his own hands, so that all his acquaintances already begin to speak of him as a portent, and his patience has become a proverb in their mouths. halil they say took unto himself a slave-woman, and lo! he has himself become that slave-woman's slave." "of a truth it is a remarkable case," observed the padishah; "try and find out what turn the affair takes next. and the teskeredji bashi shall record everything that thou sayest for an eternal remembrance." during this speech the berber-bashi had artistically completed the official dressing of the padishah's head, whereupon the ibrikdar aga came forward to wash his hands, the peshkiriji bashi carefully dried them with a towel, the ternakdji bashi pared his nails, the dülbendar placed the pearl-embroidered _kauk_ on the top of his head, and adjusted the long eastern shawl round his waist, the chobodar handed him his upper jacket, the _binis_ heavy with turquoise, the silihdar buckled on his tasselled sword, and then everyone, after performing the usual salaams withdrew, except the khas-oda-bashi and the kapu-agasi, who remained alone with their master. the khas-oda-bashi announced that the two humblest of the sultan's servants, abdullah, the chief mufti, and damad ibrahim, the grand vizier, were waiting on their knees for an audience in the vestibule of the seraglio. they desired, he said, to communicate important news touching the safety and honour of the empire. the sultan had not yet given an answer when, through the door leading from the harem, popped the kizlar-aga, the chief eunuch, a respectable, black-visaged gentleman with split lips, who had the melancholy privilege of passing in and out of the sultan's harem at all hours of the day and night, and finding no pleasure therein. "kizlar-aga, my faithful servant! what dost thou want?" inquired achmed going to meet him, and raising him from the ground whereon he had thrown himself. "most gracious padishah!" cried the kizlar-aga, "the flower cannot go on living without the sun, and the most lovely of flowers, that most fragrant blossom, the sultana asseki, longs to bask in the light of thy countenance." at these words the features of achmed grew still more gentle, still more radiant with smiles. he signified to the khas-oda-bashi and the kapu-agasi that they should withdraw into another room, while he dispatched the kizlar-aga to bring in the sultana asseki. adsalis, for so they called her, was a splendid damsel of damascus. she had been lavishly endowed with every natural charm. her skin was whiter than ivory and smoother than velvet. compared with her dark locks the blackest night was but a pale shadow, and the hue of her full smiling face put to shame the breaking dawn and the budding rose. when she gazed upon achmed with those eyes of hers in which a whole rapturous world of paradisaical joys glowed and burned, the padishah felt his whole heart smitten with sweet lightnings, and when her voluptuously enchanting lips expressed a wish, who was there in the wide world who would have the courage to gainsay them? certainly not achmed! ah, no! "ask of me the half of my realm!"--that was the tiniest of the flattering assurances which he was wont to heap upon her. if he were but able to embrace her, if he were but able to look into her burning eyes, if he were but able to see her smile again and again, then he utterly forgot stambul, his capital, the host, the war, and the foreign ambassadors--and praised the prophet for such blessedness. the favourite sultana approached achmed with that enchanting smile which was eternally irresistible so far as he was concerned, and never permitted an answer approaching a refusal to even appear on the lips of the sultan. what pressing request could it be? why it was only at dawn of this very day that the padishah had quitted her! what vision of rapture could she have seen since then whose realisation she had set her heart upon obtaining? the sultan, taking her by the hand, conducted her to his purple ottoman, and permitted her to sit down at his feet; the sultana folded her hands on the knees of the padishah, and raising her eyes to his face thus addressed him: "i come from thy daughter, little eminah, she has sent me to thee that i may kiss thy feet instead of her. as often as i see thee, majestic khan, it is as though i see her face, and as often as i behold her it is thy face that stands before me. she resembles thee as a twinkling star resembles a radiant sun. three years of her life has she accomplished, she has now entered upon her fourth summer, and still no husband has been destined for her. this very morning when thou hadst turned thy face away from me i saw a vision. and this was the vision i saw. thy three children, aisha, hadishra, and eminah, were sitting in the open piazza, beneath splendid, sparkling pavilions. there were three pavilions standing side by side: the first was white, the second violet, and the third of a vivid green. in these three pavilions, i say, the princesses, thy daughters, were sitting, clothed in _kapanijaks_ of cloth of silver, with round _selmiks_ on their heads, and embellished with the seven lucky circles which bring the blessings of prosperity to womenkind. thou knowest what these circles are, oh padishah! they are the ishtifan or diadem, the necklace, the ear-ring, the finger-ring, the girdle, the bracelet, and the mantle-ring-clasp--the seven gifts of felicity, oh padishah, that the bridegroom giveth to the bride. beside these pavilions, moreover, were a countless multitude of other tents--of three different hues of blue and three different hues of green--and in these tents abode a great multitude of emir defterdars, reis-effendis, muderises, and sheiks. and in front of the seraglio were set up three lofty palm-trees, which elephants drew about on great wheeled cars, and there were three gardens there, the flowers whereof were made of sugar, and then the chiefs of the viziers arose and the celebration of the festival began. after the usual kissing of hands, the nuptials were proceeded with, the kiaja representing the bridegroom and the kizlar-aga the bride, and everyone received a present. then came the bridal retinue with the bridal gifts, a hundred camels laden with flowers and fruits, and an elephant bearing gold and precious stones and veils meet for the land of the peris. two eunuchs brought mirrors inlaid with emeralds, and the _miri achorok_ held the reins of splendidly caparisoned chargers. after them came the attendants of the grand vizier, and delighted the astonished eyes of the spectators with a display of slinging. then came the wine-carriers with their wine-skins, and in a pavilion set up for the purpose wooden men sported with a living centaur. there also were the egyptian sword and hoop dancers, the indian jugglers and serpent charmers, after whom came the chief mufti, who read aloud a verse from the koran in the light of thy countenance, and gave also the interpretation thereof in words fair to listen to. then followed fit and capable men from the arsenal, dragging along on rollers huge galleys in full sail, and after them the topijis, dragging after them, likewise on rollers, a fortress crammed full of cannons, which also they fired again and again to the astonishment of the multitude. thereupon began the dancing of the egyptian opium-eaters, which was indeed most marvellous, and after them there was a show of bears and apes, which sported right merrily together. close upon these came the procession of the guilds and the junketing of the janissaries, and last of all the feast of palms, which palms were carried to the very gates of the seraglio, along with the sugar gardens i have already spoken of. then there was the feast of lamps, in which ten thousand shining lamps gleamed among twenty thousand blossoming tulips, so that one might well have believed that the lamps were blossoming and the tulips were shining. and all the while the cannons of the anatoli hisar and the rumili hisar were thundering, and the bosphorus seemed to be turned into a sea of fire by reason of the illuminated ships and the sparkling fireworks. such then was the dream of the humblest of thy slaves at dawn of the th day of the month dzhemakir, which day is a day of good omen to the sons of osman." it might have been thought a tiresome matter to listen to such long, drawn-out visions as this to the very end, but achmed was a good listener, and, besides, he delighted in such things. nothing made him so happy as great festivals, and the surest way of gaining his good graces was by devising some new pageant of splendour, excellence, and originality unknown to his predecessors. adsalis had won his favour by inventing the feast of lamps and tulips, which was renewed every year. this feast of palms, moreover, was another new idea, and so also was the idea of the sugar garden. so achmed, in a transport of enthusiasm, pressed the favourite sultana to his bosom, and swore solemnly that her dream should be fulfilled, and then sent her back into the harem. and now the kizlar-aga admitted the two dignitaries who had been waiting outside. the chief mufti entered first, and after him came the grand vizier, damad ibrahim. both of them had long, flowing, snow-white beards and grave venerable faces. they bowed low before the sultan, kissed the hem of his garment, and lay prostrate before him till he raised them up again. "what brings you to the seraglio, my worthy counsellors?" inquired the sultan. as was meet and right, the chief mufti was the first to speak. "most gracious, most puissant master! be merciful towards us if with our words we disturb the tranquil joys of thy existence! for though slumber is a blessing, wary wakefulness is better than slumber, and he who will not recognise the coming of danger is like unto him who would rob his own house. it will be known unto thee, most glorious padishah, that a few years ago it pleased allah, in his inscrutable wisdom, to permit the persian rebel, esref, to drive his lawful sovereign, tamasip, from his capital. the prince became a fugitive, and the mother of the prince, dressed in rags, was reduced to the wretched expedient of doing menial service in the streets of ispahan for a livelihood. the glory of the ottoman arms could not permit that a usurper should sit at his ease on the stolen throne, and thy triumphant host, led by the vizier ibrahim and the virtuous küprili, the descendant of the illustrious nuuman küprili, wrested kermandzasahan from persia and incorporated it with thy dominions. and then it pleased the prophet to permit marvellous things to happen. suddenly shah tamasip, whom all men believed to be ruined--suddenly, i say, shah tamasip reappeared at the head of a handful of heroes and utterly routed the bloody esref khan in three pitched battles at damaghan, derechár, and ispahan, put him to flight, and the hoofs of the horses of the victor trod the rebel underfoot. and now the restored sovereign demands back from the ottoman empire the domains which had been occupied. his grand vizier, safikuli khan, is advancing with a large army against the son of küprili, and the darkness of defeat threatens to obscure the sun-like radiance of the ottoman arms. most puissant padishah! suffer not the tooth of disaster to gnaw away at thy glory! the grand vizier and i have already gathered together thy host on the shores of the bosphorus. they are ready, at a moment's notice, to embark in the ships prepared for them. money and provisions in abundance have been sent to the frontier for the gallant nuuman küprili on the backs of fifteen hundred camels. it needs but a word from thee and thine empire will become an armed hand, one buffet whereof will overthrow another empire. it needs but a wink of thine eye and a host of warriors will spring from the earth, just as if all the ottoman heroes, who died for their country four centuries ago, were to rise from their graves to defend the banner of the prophet. but that same banner thou shouldst seize and bear in thine own hand, most glorious padishah! for only thy presence can give victory to our arms. arise, then, and gird upon thy thigh the sword of thy illustrious ancestor muhammad! descend in the midst of thy host which yearns for the light of thy countenance, as the eyes of the sleepless yearn for the sun to rise, and put an end to the long night of waiting." achmed's gentle gaze rested upon the speaker abstractedly. it seemed as if, while the chief mufti was speaking, he had not heard a single word of the passionate discourse that had been addressed to him. "my faithful servants!" said he, smiling pleasantly, "this day is to me a day of felicity. the sultana asseki at dawn to-day saw a vision worthy of being realised. a dazzling festival was being celebrated in the streets of stambul, and the whole city shone in the illumination thereof. the gardens of the puspáng-trees and the courtyards of the kiosks around the sweet waters were bright with the radiance of lamps and tulips. waving palm-trees and gardens full of sugar-flowers traversed the streets, and galleys and fortresses perambulated the piazzas on wheels. that dream was too lovely to remain a dream. it must be made a reality." the chief mufti folded his hands across his breast and bent low before the padishah. "allah akbar! allah kerim! god is mighty. be it even as thou dost command! may the sun rise in the west if it be thy will, oh padishah!" and the chief mufti drew aside and was silent. but the aged grand vizier, damad ibrahim, came forward, and drying his tearful eyes with the corner of his kaftan, stood sorrowfully in front of the padishah. and these were his words: "oh! my master! allah hath appointed certain days for rejoicing, and certain other days for mourning, and 'tis not well to confuse the one with the other. just now there is no occasion for rejoicing, but all the more occasion for mourning. woeful tidings, like dark clouds presaging a storm, are coming in from every corner of the empire--conflagrations, pestilences, earthquakes, inundations, hurricanes--alarm and agitate the people. only this very week the fairest part of stambul, close to the chojabasha, was burnt to the ground; and only a few weeks ago the same fate befell the suburb of ejub along the whole length of the sea-front, and that, too, at the very time when the other part of the city was illuminated in honour of the birthday of prince murad. in gallipoli a thunder-bolt struck the powder-magazine, and five hundred workmen were blown into the air. the kiagadehane brook, in a single night, swelled to such an extent as to inundate the whole valley of sweet waters, and a whole park of artillery was swept away by the flood. and know also, oh padishah, that, but the other day, a new island rose up from the sea beside the island of santorin, and this new island has grown larger and larger during three successive months, and all the time it was growing, the ground beneath stambul quaked and trembled. these are no good omens, oh, my master! and if thou wilt lend thine ears to the counsel of thy faithful servant, thou wilt proclaim a day of penance and fasting instead of a feast-day, for evil days are coming upon stambul. the voice of the enemy can be heard on all our borders, from the banks of the danube as well as from beside the waters of the pruth, from among the mountains of erivan as well as from beyond the islands of the archipelago; and if every mussulman had ten hands and every one of the ten held a sword, we should still have enough to do to defend thy empire. bear, oh padishah! with my grey hairs, and pardon my temerity. i see stambul in the midst of flames every time it is illuminated for a festival, and full of consternation, i cry to thee and to the prophet, 'send us help and that right soon.'" sultan achmed continued all the time to smile most graciously. "worthy ibrahim!" said he at last, "thou hast a son, hast thou not, whose name is osman, and who has now attained his fourth year. now i have a daughter, eminah, who has just reached her third year. lo now! as my soul liveth, i will not gird on the sword of the prophet, i will not take in my hand the banner of danger until i have given these young people to each other in marriage. long ago they were destined for each other, and the multiplication of thy merits demands the speedy consummation of these espousals. i have sworn to the sultana asseki that so it shall be, and i cannot go back from my oath as though i were but an unbelieving fire-worshipper, for the fire-worshippers do not regard the sanctity of an oath, and when they take an oath or make a promise they recite the words thereof backwards, and believe they are thereby free of their obligations. it beseemeth not the true believers to do likewise. i have promised that this festival shall be celebrated, and it is my desire that it should be splendid." ibrahim sighed deeply, and it was with a sad countenance that he thanked the padishah for this fresh mark of favour. yet the betrothal might so easily have been postponed, for the bridegroom was only four years old and the bride was but three. "allah kerim! god grant that thy shadow may never grow less, most mighty padishah!" said damad ibrahim, and with that he kissed the hand of the grand seignior, and both he and the chief mufti withdrew. at the gate of the seraglio the chief mufti said to the grand vizier sorrowfully: "it had been better for us both had we never grown grey!" but sultan achmed, accompanied by the bostanjik, hastened to the gardens of the grove of puspáng-trees to look at his tulips. chapter iv. the slave of the slave-girl. worthy halil patrona had become quite a by-word with his fellows. the name he now went by in the bazaars was: the slave of the slave-girl. this did not hurt him in the least; on the contrary, the result was, that more people came to smoke their chibooks and buy tobacco at his shop than ever. everybody was desirous of making the acquaintance of the mussulman who would not so much as lay a hand upon a slave-girl whom he had bought with his own money, nay more, who did all the work of the house instead of her, just as if she had bought him instead of his buying her. in the neighbourhood of patrona dwelt musli, a veteran janissary, who filled up his spare time by devoting himself to the art of slipper-stitching. this man often beheld halil prowling about on the house-top in the moonlit nights where gül-bejáze was sleeping, and after sitting down within a couple of paces of her, remain there in a brown study for hours at a time, often till midnight, nay, sometimes till daybreak. with his chin resting in the palm of his hand there he would stay, gazing intently at her charming figure and her pale but beautiful face. frequently he would creep closer to her, creep so near that his lips would almost touch her face; but then he would throw back his head again, and if at such times the slave-girl half awoke from her slumbers, he would beckon to her to go to sleep again--nobody should disturb her. halil did not trouble his head in the least about all this gossip. it was noticed, indeed, that his face was somewhat paler than it used to be, but if anyone ventured to jest with him on the subject, face to face, he was very speedily convinced that halil's arms, at any rate, were no weaker than of yore. one day he was sitting, as usual, at the door of his booth, paying little attention to the people coming and going around him, and staring abstractedly with wide and wandering eyes into space, as if his gaze was fixed upon something above his head, when somebody who had approached him so softly as to take him quite unawares, very affectionately greeted him with the words: "well, my dear chorbadshi, how are you?" patrona looked in the direction of the voice, and saw in front of him his mysterious guest of the other day--the greek janaki. "ah, 'tis thou, musafir! i searched for you everywhere for two whole days after you left me, for i wanted to give you back the five thousand piastres which you were fool enough to make me a present of. it was just as well, however, that i did not find you, and i have long ceased looking for you, for i have now spent all the money." "i am glad to hear it, halil, and i hope the money has done you a good turn. are you willing to receive me into your house as a guest once more?" "with pleasure! but you must first of all promise me two things. the first is, that you will not contrive by some crafty device to pay me something for what i give you gratis; and the second is, that you will not expect to stay the night with me, but will wander across the street and pitch your tent at the house of my worthy neighbour musli, who is also a bachelor, and mends slippers, and is therefore a very worthy and respectable man." "and why may i not sleep at your house?" "because you must know that there are now two of us in the house--i and my slave-girl." "that will not matter a bit, halil. i will sleep on the roof, and you take the slave-girl down with you into the house." "it cannot be so, janaki! it cannot be." "why can it not be?" "because i would rather sleep in a pit into which a tiger has fallen, i would rather sleep in the lair of a hippopotamus, i would rather sleep in a canoe guarded by alligators and crocodiles, i would rather spend a night in a cellar full of scorpions and scolopendras, or in the tower of surem, which is haunted by the accursed jinns, than pass a single night in the same room with this slave-girl." "why; what's this, halil? you fill me with amazement. surely, it cannot be that you are that mussulman of whom all pera is talking?--the man i mean who purchased a slave-girl in order to be her slave?" "it is as you say. but 'twere better not to talk of that matter at all. those five thousand piastres of yours are the cause of it; they have ruined me out and out. my mind is going backwards i think. when people come to my shop to buy wares of me, i give them such answers to their questions that they laugh at me. let us change the subject, let us rather talk of your affairs. have you found your daughter yet?" it was now janaki's turn to sigh. "i have sought her everywhere, and nowhere can i find her." "how did you lose her?" "one saturday she went with some companions on a pleasure excursion in the sea of marmora in a sailing-boat. their music and dancing attracted a turkish pirate to the spot, and in the midst of a peaceful empire he stole all the girls, and contrived to dispose of them so secretly that i have never been able to find any trace of them. i am now disposed to believe that she was taken to the sultan's seraglio." "you will never get her out of there then." janaki sighed deeply. "you think, then, that i shall never get at her if she is there?" and he shook his head sadly. "not unless the janissaries, or the debejis, or the bostanjis lay their heads together and agree to depose the sultan." "who would even dare to think of such a thing, halil?" "i would if _my_ daughter were detained in the harem against her will and against mine also. but that is not at all in your line, janaki. you have never shed any blood but the blood of sheep and oxen, but let me tell you this, janaki: if i were as rich a man as you are, trust me for finding a way of getting my girl out of the very seraglio itself. wealth is a mightier force than valour." "i pray you, speak not so loudly. one of your neighbours might hear you, and would think nothing of felling me to the earth to get my money. for i carry a great deal of money about with me, and am always afraid of being robbed of it. in front of the bazaar a slave is awaiting me with a mule. on the back of that mule are strung two jars seemingly filled with dried dates. let me tell you that those jars are really half-filled with gold pieces, the dates are only at the top. i should like to deposit them at your house. i suppose your slave-girl will not pry too closely?" "you can safely leave them with me. if you tell her not to look at them she will close her eyes every time she passes the jars." meanwhile patrona had closed his booth and invited his guest to accompany him homewards. on the way thither he looked in at the house of his neighbour, the well-mannered janissary, who mended slippers. musli willingly offered halil's guest a night's lodging. in return patrona invited him to share with him a small dish of well-seasoned pilaf and a few cups of a certain forbidden fluid, which invitation the worthy janissary accepted with alacrity. and now they crossed halil's threshold. gül-bejáze was standing by the fire-place getting ready halil's supper when the guests entered, and hearing footsteps turned round to see who it might be. the same instant the greek wayfarer uttered a loud cry, and pitching his long hat into the air, rushed towards the slave-girl, and flinging himself down on his knees before her fell a-kissing, again and again, her hands and arms, and at last her pale face also, while the girl flung herself upon his shoulder and embraced the fellow's neck; and then the pair of them began to weep, and the words, "my daughter!" "my father!" could be heard from time to time amidst their sobs. halil could only gaze at them open-mouthed. but janaki, still remaining on his knees, raised his hands to heaven, and gave thanks to god for guiding his footsteps to this spot. "allah akbar! the lord be praised!" said patrona in his turn, and he drew nearer to them. "so her whom you have so long sought after you find in my house, eh? allah preordained it. and you may thank god for it, for you receive her back from me unharmed by me. take her away therefore!" "you say not well, halil," cried the father, his face radiant with joy. "so far from giving her back to me you shall keep her; yes, she shall remain yours for ever. for if i were thrice to traverse the whole earth and go in a different direction each time, i certainly should not come across another man like you. tell me, therefore, what price you put upon her that i may buy her back, and give her to you to wife as a free woman?" halil did not consider very long what price he should ask, so far as he was concerned the business was settled already. he cast but a single look on gül-bejáze's smiling lips, and asked for a kiss from them--that was the only price he demanded. janaki seized his daughter's hand and placed it in the hand of halil. and now halil held the warm, smooth little hand in his own big paw, he felt its reassuring pressure, he saw the girl smile, he saw her lips open to return his kiss, and still he did not believe his eyes--still he shuddered at the reflection that when his lips should touch hers, the girl would suddenly die away, become pale and cold. only when his lips at last came into contact with her burning lips and her bosom throbbed against his bosom, and he felt his kiss returned and the warm pulsation of her heart, then only did he really believe in his own happiness, and held her for a long--oh, so long!--time to his own breast, and pressed his lips to her lips over and over again, and was happier--happier by far--than the dwellers in paradise. and after that they made the girl sit down between them, with her father on one side and her husband on the other, and they took her hands and caressed and fondled her to her heart's content. the poor maid was quite beside herself with delight. she kept receiving kisses and caresses, first on the right hand and then on the left, and her face was pale no longer, but of a burning red like the transfigured rose whereon a drop of the blood of great aphrodite fell. and she promised her father and her husband that she would tell them such a lot of things--things wondrous, unheard of, of which they had not and never could have the remotest idea. and through the thin iron shutters which covered the window the berber-bashi curiously observed the touching scene! they were still in the midst of their intoxication of delight when the frequently before-mentioned neighbour of halil, worthy musli, thrust his head inside the door, and witnessing the scene would discreetly have withdrawn his perplexed countenance. but halil, who had already caught sight of him, bawled him a vociferous welcome. "nay, come along! come along! my worthy neighbour, don't stand on any ceremony with us, you can see for yourself how merry we are!" the worthy neighbour thereupon gingerly entered, on the tips of his toes, with his hands fumbling nervously about in the breast of his kaftan; for the poor fellow's hands were resinous to a degree. wash and scrub them as he might, the resin would persist in cleaving to them. his awl, too, was still sticking in the folds of his turban--sticking forth aloft right gallantly like some heron's plume. naturally he whose business it was to mend other men's shoes went about in slippers that were mere bundles of rags--that is always the way with cobblers! when he saw gül-bejáze on halil's lap, and halil's face beaming all over with joy, he smote his hands together and fell a-wondering. "there must be some great changes going on here!" thought he. but halil compelled him to sit down beside them, and after kissing gül-bejáze again--apparently he could not kiss the girl enough--he cried: "look! my dear neighbour! she is now my wife, and henceforth she will love me as her husband, and i shall no longer be the slave of my slave. and this worthy man here is my wife's father. greet them, therefore, and then be content to eat and drink with us!" then musli approached janaki and saluted him on the shoulder, then, turning towards gül-bejáze, he touched with his hand first the earth and next his forehead, sat down beside janaki on the cushions that had been drawn into the middle of the room, and made merry with them. and now janaki sent the slave he had brought with him to the pastry-cook's while musli skipped homewards and brought with him a tambourine of chased silver, which he could beat right cunningly and also accompany it with a voice not without feeling; and thus halil's bridal evening flowed pleasantly away with an accompaniment of wine and music and kisses. and all this time the worthy berber-bashi was looking on at this junketing through the trellised window, and could scarce restrain himself from giving expression to his astonishment when he perceived that gül-bejáze no longer collapsed like a dead thing at the contact of a kiss, or even at the pressure of an embrace, as she was wont to do in the harem, indeed her face had now grown rosier than the dawn. at last his curiosity completely overcame him, and turning the handle of the door he appeared in the midst of the revellers. he wore the garb of a common woodcutter, and his simple, foolish face corresponded excellently to the disguise. nobody in the world could have taken him for anything but what he now professed to be, and it was with a very humble obeisance that he introduced himself. "allah kerim! salaam aleikum! god's blessing go with your mirth. why, you were so merry that i heard you at the cemetery yonder as i was passing. if it will not put you out i should be delighted to remain here, as long as you will let me, that i may listen to the music this worthy mussulman here understands so well, and to the pretty stories which flow from the harmonious lips of this houri who has, i am persuaded, come down from paradise for the delight of men." now musli was drunk with wine, gül-bejáze and halil patrona were drunk with love, so that not one of them had any exception to take to the stranger's words. janaki was the only sober man among them, neither wine nor love had any attraction for him, and therefore he whispered in the ear of halil: "for all you know this stranger may be a spy or a thief!" "what an idea!" halil whispered back, "why you can see for yourself that he is only an honest baltaji.[ ] sit down, oh, worthy mussulman," he continued, turning to the stranger, "and make one of our little party." the berber-bashi took him at his word. he ate and drank like one who has gone hungry for three whole days, he was enchanted with the tambourine of musli, listened with open mouth to his story of the miserly slippers, and laughed as heartily as if he had never heard it at least a hundred times before. "and now you tell us some tale, most beautiful of women!" said he, wiping the tears from his eyes as he turned towards the damsel, and then gül-bejáze, after first kissing her husband and sipping from the beaker extended to her just enough to moisten her lips, thus began: "once upon a time there was a rich merchant. where he lived i know not. it might have been pera, or galata, or damascus. nor can i tell you his name, but that has nothing to do with the story. this merchant had an only daughter whom he loved most dearly. she had ne'er a wish that was not instantly gratified, and he guarded her as the very apple of his eye. not even the breath of heaven was allowed to blow upon her." "and know you not what the name of the maiden was?" inquired the berber-bashi. "certainly, they called her irene, for she was a greek girl." janaki trembled at the word. no doubt the girl was about to relate her own story, for irene was the very name she had received at her baptism. it was very thoughtless of her to betray herself in the presence of a stranger. "one day," continued the maiden, "irene went a-rowing on the sea with some girl friends. the weather was fine, the sea smooth, and they sang their songs and made merry, to their hearts' content. suddenly the sail of a corsair appeared on the smooth mirror of the ocean, pounced straight down upon the maidens in their boat, and before they could reach the nearest shore, they were all seized and carried away captive. "poor irene! she was not even able to bid her dear father god speed! her thoughts were with him as the pirate-ship sped swiftly away with her, and she saw the city where he dwelt recede further and further away in the dim distance. alas! he was waiting for her now--and would wait in vain! her father, she knew it, was standing outside his door and asking every passer-by if he had not seen his little daughter coming. a banquet had been prepared for her at home, and all the invited guests were already there, but still no sign of her! and now she could see him coming down to the sea-shore, and sweep the smooth shining watery mirror with his eyes in every direction, and ask the sailor-men: 'where is my daughter? do you know anything about her?'" here the eyes of the father and the husband involuntarily filled with tears. "wherefore do you weep? how silly of you! why, you know, of course, it is only a tale. listen now to how it goes on! the robber carried the maiden he had stolen to stambul. he took her straight to the kizlar-aga whose office it is to purchase slave-girls for the harem of the padishah. the bargaining did not take long. the kizlar-aga paid down at once the price which the slave-merchant demanded, and forthwith handed irene over to the slave-women of the seraglio, who immediately conducted her to a bath fragrant with perfumes. her face, her figure, her charms, amazed them exceedingly, and they lifted up their voices and praised her loudly. but when irene heard their praises she shuddered, and her heart died away within her. surely god never gave her beauty in order that she might be sacrificed to it? at that moment she would have much preferred to have been born humpbacked, squinting, swarthy; she would have liked her face to be all seamed and scarred like half-frozen water, and her body all diseased so that everyone who saw her would shrink from her with disgust--better that than the feeling which now made her shrink from the contemplation of herself." then they put upon her a splendid robe, hung diamond ear-rings in her ears, tied a beautiful shawl round her loins, encircled her arms and feet with rings of gold, and so led her into the secret apartment where the damsels of the padishah were all gathered together. this, of course, was long, long ago. who can tell what sultan was reigning then? why, even our fathers did not know his name. "pomp and splendour, flowers and curtains adorned the immense saloon, the ceiling whereof was inlaid with precious stones, while the floor was fashioned entirely of mother-o'-pearl--he who set his foot thereon might fancy he was walking on rainbows. moreover, cunning artificers had wrought upon this mother-o'-pearl floor flowers and birds and other most wondrous fantastical figures, so that it was a joy to look thereon, for no carpet, however precious, was suffered to cover all this splendour. yet lest the cold surface of the pavement should chill the feet of the damsels, rows of tiny sandals stood ready there that they might bind them upon their feet and so walk from one end of the room to the other at their ease. and these sandals they called _kobkobs_." "aye, aye!" cried the anxious janaki, "you describe the interior of the seraglio so vividly that i almost feel frightened. if a man listened long enough to such a tale he might easily get to feel as guilty as if he had actually cast an eye into the sultan's harem, and 'twere best for him to die rather than do that." "is it not a tale that i am telling you? is not the room i have just described to you but a creature of the imagination?--in the centre of this saloon, then, was a large fountain, whence fragrant rose-water ascended into the air sporting with the golden balls. along the whole length of the walls were immense venetian mirrors, in which splendid odalisks admired their own shapely limbs. hundreds and hundreds of lamps shone upon the pillars which supported the room--lamps of manifold colours--which gave to the vast chamber the magic hues of a fairy palace, and in the midst thereof seemed to float a transparent blue cloud--it was the light smoke of ambergris and spices which the damsels blew forth from their long narghilis. but what impressed irene far more than all this magnificence, was the figure of the sultana asseki, to whom she was now conducted. a tall, muscular lady was sitting at the end of the room on a raised divan. her figure was slender round the waist but broad and round about the shoulders. her snow-white arms and neck were encircled by rows of real pearls with diamond clasps. a lofty heron's plume nodded on her bejewelled turban, and lent a still haughtier aspect to that majestic form. with her large black eyes she seemed to be in the habit of ruling the whole world." "yes, yes!" exclaimed janaki, "you describe it all so vividly, that i am half afraid of sitting down here and listening to you. you might at least have let a little bit of a veil hang in front of her face." "but this happened long, long ago, remember! who can even say under what sultan it took place?... so they led the slave-girl into the presence of the sultana, who was surrounded by two hundred other slave-girls, and was playing with a tiny dwarf. they were singing and dancing all around her and swinging censers. above her head was a large fruit-tree made entirely of sugar, and covered with sugar-fruit of every shape and hue, and from time to time the sultana would pluck off one of these fruits and taste a little bit of it and give the remainder to the tiny dwarf, who ate up everything greedily. here irene was seized by a black eunuch--a horrid, pockmarked man, whose upper lip was split right down so that all his teeth could be seen." "just like the present kizlar-aga!" cried musli laughing, "i fancy i can see him standing before me now!" "the moor commanded irene to fall on her face before the sultana. irene fell on her face accordingly, and while her forehead beat the ground before the sultana she muttered to herself the words: 'holy mother of god! protectress of virgins, thou seest me in this place, when i call upon thee, deliver me!' the sultana, meanwhile, had commanded her handmaidens to let down irene's tresses, and as she stood before her there covered by her own hair from head to heel, she bade them paint her face red because it was so pale, and her eyelashes brown. she commanded them also to salve her hair with fragrant unguents, and to hang chains of real pearls about her arms and neck. irene knew not the meaning of these things. she knew not what they meant to do with her till the kizlar-aga approached her, and said these words to her in a reassuring tone: 'rejoice, fortunate damsel! for a great felicity awaits thee. in a week's time it will be the feast of bairam, and the favourite sultana has chosen thee from among the other odalisks as a gift for the padishah. rejoice, therefore, i say.' but irene at these words would fain have died. and in the meantime the sultana had placed a large fan in her hand made entirely of pea-cocks' feathers, and permitted her to sit down by her side and hold the little dwarf in her lap. at a later day irene discovered that this was a mark of supreme condescension. during the next six days the damsel lived amidst mortal terrors. her companions envied her. the damsels of the harem do not love each other, they can only hate. every day she beheld the sultan, whose gentle face inspired involuntary respect, but the very idea of loving him filled her soul with horror. the sultan spent the greater part of his time with his favourite wife, but it happened sometimes that he cast a handkerchief towards this or that odalisk, which was a great piece of good fortune for her, or the reverse--it all depends upon the point of view. the damsel whom the grand seignior seemed to favour the most was a beautiful blonde italian girl; on one occasion this beautiful blonde damsel neglected to cast her eyes down as they chanced to encounter the eyes of the sultana. the following day irene could not see this damsel anywhere, and on inquiring after her was told by her bedfellow in a whisper that she had been strangled during the night. and oftentimes at dead of night the silence would be broken by a shriek from the secret dungeon of the seraglio, followed by the sound of something splashing into the water, and regularly, on the day following every such occurrence, a familiar face would be missing from the seraglio. all these victims were self-confident slave-girls, who had been unable to conceal their joy at the sultan's favours, and therefore had been cast into the water. nobody ever inquired about them any more." janaki shivered all over. "it is well that this is all a tale," he observed. but gül-bejáze only continued her story. "at last the feast of bairam arrived, and throughout the day all the cannons on the bosphorus sent forth their thunders. in the evening the sultan came to the seraglio weary and inclined to relaxation, and then the sultana asseki took irene by the hand and conducted her to the padishah, and presented her to him, together with gold-embroidered garments, preserved fruits, and other gifts intended for his delectation. the grand seignior regarded the girl tenderly, while she, like a kid of the flocks offered to a lion in a cage, stood trembling before him. but when the sultan seized her hand to draw her towards him she sighed: 'blessed virgin!'--and lo! at these words her face grew pale, her eyes closed, and she fell to the ground as one dead. this was not the first time that such a spectacle had been seen in the harem. everyone of the damsels brought thither generally commenced with a fainting-fit. the slave-girls immediately came running up to her, rubbed her body with fragrant unguents, applied penetrating essences to her face, let icy-cold water trickle down upon her bosom--and all was useless! the damsel did not awaken, and lay there like a corpse till the following morning--in fact, she never stirred from the spot where they laid her down. next day the padishah again summoned her to his presence. he spoke to her in the most tender manner. he gave her all manner of beautiful gifts, glittering raiment, necklaces, bracelets, and diamond aigrettes. the slave-girls, too, censed her all around with stupefying perfumes, bathed her in warm baths fragrant with ambergris and spikenard, and gave her fiery potions to drink. but it was all in vain. at the name of the blessed virgin, the blood ceased to flow to her heart, she fell down, died away, and every resource of ingenuity failed to arouse her. the same thing happened on the third day likewise. then the sultana asseki's wrath was kindled greatly against her. she declared that this was no doing of allah's as they might suppose. no, it was the damsel's own evil temper which made her pretend to be dead, and she immediately commanded that the damsel should be tortured. first of all they extended her stark naked on the icy-cold marble pavement--not a sign of life, not a shiver did she give. then they held her over a slow fire on a gridiron--she never moved a muscle. then they sent and sought for red ants in the garden among the puspáng-trees and scattered them all over her body. yet the girl never once quaked beneath the stings of the poisonous insects. finally they thrust sharp needles down to the very quicks of her nails, and still the damsel did not stir. then the sultana asseki, full of fury, seized a whip, and lashed away at the damsel's body till she could lash no more, yet she could not thrash a soul into the lifeless body." "by allah!" cried halil, smiting the table with his heavy fist at this point of the narration, "that sultana deserves to be sewn up in a leather sack and cast into the bosphorus." "why, 'tis only a tale, you know," said gül-bejáze, stroking mockingly the chin of worthy halil patrona, and then she resumed her story. "the sultan commanded that irene should be expelled from the harem, for he had no desire to see this living corpse anywhere near him, and the sultana gave her as a present to the padishah's nephew, the son of his own brother. "the prince was a pale, handsome youth, as those whom women love much are generally wont to be. he was kept in a remote part of the seraglio, for although every joy of life was his, and he was surrounded by wealth, pomp, and slave-girls, he was never permitted to quit the seraglio. the sultana herself led irene to him, thinking that the fine eyes of the handsome youth would be the best talisman against the enchantment obsessing the charms of the strange damsel. the pale prince was charmed with the looks of the girl. he coaxed and flattered. he begged and implored her not to die away beneath his kisses and embraces. in vain. the girl swooned at the very first touch, and he who touched her lips might just as well have touched the lips of a corpse. the prince knelt down beside her, and implored her with tears to come to herself again. she heard not and she answered not. at last the fair sultana asseki herself had compassion on his tears and lamentations which produced no impression on the dead. her heart bled for him. she bent over the pale prince, embraced him tenderly, and comforted him with her caresses. and the prince allowed himself to be comforted, and they rejoiced greatly together; for of course there was nobody present to see them, for the senseless damsel on the floor might have been a corpse so far as they were concerned." "hum!" murmured the berber-bashi to himself, "this is a thing well worth remembering." "on the following day the pale prince made a present of irene to the grand vizier. the grand vizier also rejoiced greatly at the sight of the damsel; took her into his cellar, showed her there three great vats full of gold and precious stones, and told her that all these things should be hers if only she would love him. then he took and showed her the multitude of precious ornaments that he had concealed beneath the flooring of his palace, and promised these to her also. for every kiss she should give him, he offered her one of his palaces on the shores of the sweet waters, yes, for every kiss a palace." "i would burn all these palaces to the ground!" cried halil impetuously. "nay, nay, my son, be sensible!" said janaki. he himself now began to feel that there was something more than a mere tale in all this. but the berber-bashi pricked up his ears and grew terribly attentive when mention was made of the hidden treasures of the grand vizier. "the sight of the treasures," resumed the girl, "had no effect upon irene. she never failed to invoke the name of the blessed virgin whenever the face of a man drew near to her face, and the blessed virgin always wrought a miracle in her behalf." "'tis my belief," said halil, "that there were no miracles at all in the matter; but that the girl had so strong a will that by an effort she made herself dead to all tortures." "at last they came to a definite decision concerning this slave-girl, it was resolved to sell her by public auction in the bazaars--to sell her as a common slave to the highest bidder. and so irene fell to a poor hawker who gave his all for her. for a whole month this man left his slave-girl untouched, and the girl who could not be subdued by torture, nor the blandishments of great men, nor by treasures, nor by ardent desire, became very fond of the poor costermonger, and no longer became as one dead when _his_ burning lips were impressed upon her face." and with that gül-bejáze embraced her husband and kissed him again and again, and smiled upon him with her large radiant eyes. "a very pretty story truly!" observed musli, smacking his lips; "what a pity there is not more of it!" "oh, no regrets, worthy mussulman, there _is_ more of it!" cried the berber-bashi, rising from his place; "just listen to the sequel of it! having had the girl sold by auction in the bazaar, the padishah bade ali kermesh, his trusty berber-bashi, make inquiries and see what happened to the damsel _after_ the sale. now the berber-bashi knew that the girl had only pretended to faint, and the berber-bashi brought the girl back to the seraglio before she had spent a single night alone with her husband. for i am the berber-bashi and thou art gül-bejáze, that same slave-girl going by the name of irene who feigned to be dead." everyone present leaped in terror to his feet except janaki, who fell down on his knees before the berber-bashi, embraced his knees, and implored him to treat all that the girl had said as if he had not heard it. "we are lost!" whispered the bloodless gül-bejáze. the intoxication of joy and wine had suddenly left her and she was sober once more. janaki implored, musli cursed and swore, but halil spake never a word. he held his wife tightly embraced in his arms and he thought within himself, i would rather allow my hand to be chopped off than let her go. janaki promised money and loads of treasure to ali kermesh if only he would hold his tongue, say nothing of what had happened, and let the girl remain with her husband. but the berber-bashi was inexorable. "no," said he, "i will take away the girl, and your treasures also shall be mine. ye are the children of death; yea, all of you who are now drawing the breath of life in this house, for to have heard the secret that this slave-girl has blabbed out is sufficient to kill anyone thrice over. i command you, irene, to take up your veil and follow me, and you others must remain here till the debedzik with the cord comes to fetch you also." with these words he cast janaki from him, approached the damsel and seized her hand. halil never once relaxed his embrace. "come with me!" "blessed mary! blessed mary!" moaned the girl. "your guardian saints are powerless to help you now, for your husband's lips have touched you; come with me!" then only did halil speak. his voice was so deep, gruff, and stern, that those who heard it scarce recognised it for his: "leave go of my wife, ali kermesh!" cried he. "silence thou dog! in another hour thou wilt be hanging up before thine own gate." "once more i ask you--leave go of my wife, ali kermesh!" instead of answering, the berber-bashi would, with one hand, have torn the wife from her husband's bosom while he clutched hold of halil with the other, whereupon halil brought down his fist so heavily on the skull of the berber-bashi that he instantly collapsed without uttering a single word. "what have you done?" cried janaki in terror. "you have killed the chief barber of the sultan!" "yes, i rather fancy i have," replied halil coolly. musli rushed towards the prostrate form of ali kermesh, felt him all over very carefully, and then turned towards the hearth where the others were sitting. "dead he is, there is no doubt about it. he's as dead as a door-nail. well, halil, that was a fine blow of yours i must say. by the prophet! one does not see a blow like that every day. with your bare hand too! to kill a man with nothing but your empty fist! if a cannon-ball had knocked him over he could not be deader than he is." "but what shall we do now?" cried janaki, looking around him with tremulous terror. "the sultan is sure to send and make inquiries about his lost berber-bashi. it is known that he came here in disguise. the affair cannot long remain hidden." "there is no occasion to fear anything," said musli reassuringly. "good counsel is cheap. we can easily find a way out of it. before the business comes to light, we will go to the etmeidan and join the janissaries. there let them send and fetch us if they dare, for we shall be in a perfectly safe place anyhow. why, don't you remember that only last year the rebel, esref khan, whom the padishah had been pursuing to the death, even in foreign lands, hit, at last, upon the idea of resorting to the janissaries, and was safer against the fatal silken cord here, in the very midst of stambul, than if he had fled all the way to the isle of rhodes for refuge. let us all become janissaries, i and you and janaki also." but janaki kicked vigorously against the proposition. "you two may go over to the janissaries if you like, but in the meantime my daughter and i will make our escape to the isle of tenedos and there await tidings of you. one jar of dates i will take with me, the other you may divide among the janissaries; it will put them in a good humour and make them receive you more amicably." halil embraced his wife, kissed her, and wept over her. there was not much time for leave-taking. the debedjis who had accompanied the berber-bashi were beginning to grow impatient at the prolonged absence of their master; they could be heard stamping about around the door. "hasten, hasten! we can have too much of this hugging and kissing," whispered musli, lifting one of the jars on to his shoulders. yet halil pressed one more long, long kiss on gül-bejáze's trembling cheek. "by allah!" said he, "it shall not be long before we see each other again." and thus their ways parted right and left. musli conducted janaki away in one direction, through a subterranean cellar, whilst halil fled away across the house-tops, and within a quarter of an hour the pair of them arrived at the etmeidan. footnote: [ ] woodcutter. chapter v. the camp. what a noise, what a commotion in the streets of stambul! the multitude pours like a stream towards the harbour of the golden horn. young and old stimulate each other with looks of excitement and enthusiasm. they stand together at the corners of the streets in tens and twenties, and tell each other of the great event that has happened. on the etmeidan, in front of the seraglio, in the doors of the mosques, the people are swarming, and from street to street they accompany the banner-bearing dülbendar, who proclaims to the faithful amidst the flourish of trumpets that sultan achmed iii. has declared war against tamasip, shah of persia. everywhere faces radiant with enthusiasm, everywhere shouts of martial fervour. from time to time a regiment of janissaries or a band of albanian horsemen passes across the street, or escorts the buffaloes that drag after them the long heavy guns on wheeled carriages. the mob in its thousands follows them along the road leading to scutari, where the camp has already been pitched. for at last, at any rate, the padishah is surfeited with so many feasts and illuminations, and after having postponed the raising of the banner of the prophet, under all sorts of frivolous excuses, from the th day of safer ( nd of september) to the st day of rebusler, and from that day again to the prophet's birthday ten days later still, the expected, the appointed day is at length drawing near, and the whole host is assembling beneath the walls of scutari, only awaiting the arrival of the sultan to take ship at once--the transports are all ready--and hasten to the assistance of the heroic küprilizade on the battlefield. the whole bosphorus was a living forest planted with a maze of huge masts and spreading sails, and a thousand variegated flags flew and flapped in the morning breeze. the huge line of battle-ships, with their triple decks and their long rows of oars, looked like hundred-eyed sea-monsters swimming with hundreds of legs on the surface of the water, and the booming reverberation of the thunder of their guns was re-echoed from the broad foreheads of the palaces looking into the bosphorus. everywhere along the sea-front was to be seen an armed multitude; sparkling swords and lances in thousands flash back the rays of the sun. the whole of the grass plain round about was planted with tents of every hue; white tents for the chief muftis, bright green tents for the viziers, scarlet tents for the kiayaks, dark blue tents for the great officers of state, the emirs, the mecca, medina, and stambul justiciaries, the defterdars, and the nishandji; lilac-coloured tents for the ulemas, bright blue tents for the müderesseks, azure-blue tents for the ciaus-agas, and dark green designates the tent of the emir alem, the bearer of the sacred standard. and high above them all on a hillock towers the orange-coloured pavilion of the padishah, with gold and purple hangings, and two and three fold horse-tails planted in front of the entrance. at sunset yesterday there was not a trace of this vast camp, all night long this city of tents was a-building, and at dawn of day there it stands all ready like the creation of a magician's wand! the plain is occupied by the spahis, the finest, smartest horsemen of the whole host; along the sea-front are ranged the topidjis, with their rows and rows of cannons. other detachments of these gunners are distributed among the various hillocks. on the wings of the host are placed the albanian cavalry, the tartars, and the druses of horan. the centre of the host belongs of right to the flower, the kernel of the imperial army--the haughty janissaries. and certainly they seemed to be very well aware that they were the cream of the host, and that therefore it was not lawful for any other division of the army to draw near them, much less mingle with them, unless it were a few _delis_, whom they permitted to roam up and down their ranks full of crazy exaltation. the whole host is full of the joy of battle, and if, from time to time, fierce shouts and thunderous murmurings arise from this or that battalion, that only means that they are rejoicing at the tidings of the declaration of war: the war-ships express their satisfaction by loud salvoes. sultan achmed, meanwhile, is engaged in his morning devotions, day by day he punctually observes this pious practice. the previous night he did not spend in the harem, but shut himself up with his viziers and counsellors in that secret chamber of the divan, which is roofed over with a golden cupola. grave were their deliberations, but nobody, except the viziers, knows the result thereof; yet when he issues forth from his prayer-chamber the kizlar-aga is already awaiting him there and hands the sultan a signet-ring. "most glorious of padishahs! the most delicious of women sends thee this ring. well dost thou know what was beneath this ring. deadly venom was beneath it. that venom is no longer there. the sultana asseki sends thee her greeting, and wishes thee good luck in this war of thine. 'hail to thee!' she says, 'may thy guardian angels watch over all thy steps!' the sultana meanwhile has locked herself up in her private apartments, and in the very hour in which thou quittest the seraglio she will take this poison, which she has dissolved in a goblet of water, and will die." the sultan had all at once become very grave. "why didst thou trouble me with these words!" he exclaimed. "i do but repeat the words of the sultana, greatest of padishahs. she says thou art off to the wars, that thou wilt return no more, and that she will not be the slave-girl of the monarch who shall come after thee and sit upon thy throne." "wherefore dost thou trouble me with these words?" repeated the sultan. "may my tongue curse my lips, may my teeth bite out my tongue because of the words i have spoken. 'twas the sultana that bade me speak." "go back to her and tell her to come hither!" "such a message, oh, my master, will be her death. she will not leave her chamber alive." for a moment the sultan reflected, then he asked in a mournful voice: "what thinkest thou?--if thy house was on fire and thy beloved was inside, wouldst thou put out the flames, or wouldst thou not rather think first of rescuing thy beloved?" "of a truth the extinguishing of the flames is not so pressing, and the beloved should be rescued." "thou hast said it. what meaneth the firing of cannons that strikes upon my ears?" "salvoes from the host." "can they be heard in the seraglio?" "yea, and the songs of the singing-girls grow dumb before it." "conduct me to adsalis! she must not die. what is the sky to thee if there be no sun in it? what is the whole world to thee if thou dost lose thy beloved? go on before and tell her that i am coming!" the kizlar-aga withdrew. achmed muttered to himself: "but another second, but another moment, but another instant long enough for a parting kiss, but another hour, but another night--a night full of blissful dreams--and it will be quite time enough to hasten to the cold and icy battlefield." and with that he hastened towards the harem. there sat the sultana with dishevelled tresses and garments rent asunder, without ornaments, without fine raiment, in sober cinder-coloured mourning weeds. before her, on a table, stood a small goblet filled with a bluish transparent fluid. that fluid was poison--not a doubt of it. her slave-girls lay scattered about on the floor around her, weeping and wailing and tearing their faces and their snowy bosoms with their long nails. the padishah approached her and tenderly enfolded her in his arms. "wherefore wouldst thou die out of my life, oh, thou light of my days?" the sultana covered her face with her hands. "can the rose blossom in winter-time? do not its leaves fall when the blasts of autumn blow upon it?" "but the winter that must wither thee is still far distant." "oh, achmed! when anyone's star falls from heaven, does the world ever ask, wert thou young? wert thou beautiful? didst thou enjoy life? mashallah! such a one is dead already. my star shone upon thy face, and if thou dost turn thy face from me, then must i droop and wither." "and who told thee that i had turned my face from thee?" "oh, achmed! the wind does not say, i am cold, and yet we feel it. thy heart is far, far away from me even when thou art nigh. but my heart is with thee even when thou art far away from me, even then i am near to thee; but thou art far away even when thou art sitting close beside me. it is not achmed who is talking to me. it is only achmed's body. achmed's soul is wandering elsewhere; it is wandering on the bloody field of battle amidst the clash of cold steel. he imagines that those banners, those weapons, those cannons love him more than his poor abandoned, forgotten adsalis." the salvo of a whole row of cannons was heard in front of the seraglio. "hearken how they call to thee! their words are more potent than the words of adsalis. go then! follow their invitation! go the way they point out to thee! the voice of adsalis will not venture to compete with them. what indeed is my voice?--what but a gentle, feeble sound! go! there also i will be with thee. and when the long manes of thy horse-tail standards flutter before thee on the field of battle, fancy that thou dost see before thee the waving tresses of thy adsalis who has freed her soul from the incubus of her body in order that it might be able to follow thee." "oh, say not so, say not so!" stammered the tender-hearted sultan, pressing his gentle darling to his bosom and closing her lips with his own as if, by the very act, he would have prevented her soul from escaping and flying away. and the cannons may continue thundering on the shores of the bosphorus, the imperial ciauses may summon the host to arms with the blasts of their trumpets, the camp of a whole nation may wait and wait on the plains of scutari, but sultan achmed is far too happy in the embraces of adsalis to think even for a moment of seizing the banner of the prophet and leading his bloodthirsty battalions to face the dangers of the battlefield. the only army that he now has eyes for is the army of the odalisks and slave-girls, who seize their tambourines and mandolines, and weave the light dance around the happy imperial couple, singing sweet songs of enchantment, while outside through the streets of stambul gun-carriages are rattling along, and the mob, in a frenzy of enthusiasm, clamours for a war of extermination against the invading shiites. meanwhile a fine hubbub is going on around the kettle of the first janissary regiment. these kettles, by the way, play a leading part in the history of the turkish empire. around them assemble the janissaries when any question of war or plunder arises, or when they demand the head of a detested pasha, or when they wish to see the banner of the prophet unfurled; and so terrible were these kettles on all such occasions that the anxious viziers and pashas, when driven into a corner, were compelled to fill these same kettles either with gold pieces or with their own blood. an impatient group of janissaries was standing round their kettle, which was placed on the top of a lofty iron tripod, and amongst them we notice halil patrona and musli. both were wearing the janissary dress, with round turbans in which a black heron's plume was fastened (only the officers wore white feathers), with naked calves only half-concealed by the short, bulgy pantaloons which scarce covered the knee. there was very little of the huckster of the day before yesterday in halil's appearance now. his bold and gallant bearing, his resolute mode of speech, and the bountiful way in which he scattered the piastres which he had received from janaki, had made him a prime favourite among his new comrades. musli, on the other hand, was still drunk. with desperate self-forgetfulness he had been drinking the health of his friend all night long, and never ceased bawling out before his old cronies in front of the tent of the janissary aga that if the aga, whose name was hassan, was indeed as valiant a man as they tried to make out, let him come forth from beneath his tent and not think so much of his soft bearskin bed, or else let him give his white heron plume to halil patrona and let him lead them against the enemy. the janissary aga could hear this bellowing quite plainly, but he also could hear the janissary guard in front of the tent laughing loudly at the fellow and making all he said unintelligible. meanwhile a troop of mounted ciauses was approaching the kettle of the first janissary regiment in whose leader we recognise halil pelivan. allah had been with him--he was now raised to the rank of a ciaus-officer. the giant stood among the janissaries and inquired in a voice of thunder: "which of you common janissary fellows goes by the name of halil patrona?" patrona stepped forth. "methinks, halil pelivan," said he, "it does not require much brain-splitting on your part to recognise me." "where is your comrade musli?" "can you not give me a handle to my name, you dog of a ciaus?" roared musli. "i am a gentleman i tell you. so long as you were a janissary, you were a gentleman too. but now you are only a dog of a ciaus. what business have you, i should like to know, in begta's flower-garden?" "to root out weeds. the pair of you, bound tightly together, must follow me." "look ye, my friends!" cried musli, turning to his comrades, "that man is drunk, dead drunk. he can scarce stand upon his feet. how dare you say," continued he, turning towards pelivan--"how dare you say that two janissaries, two of the flowers from begta's garden, are to follow you when the banners of warfare are already waving before us?" "i am commanded by the kapu-kiaja to bring you before him." "say not so, you mangy dog you! let him come for us himself if he has anything to say to us! what, my friends! am i not right in saying that the kapu-kiaja, if he did his duty, ought to be here with us, in the camp and on the battlefield? and that it is no business of ours to dance attendance upon him? am i not right? let him come hither!" this sentiment was greeted with an approving howl. "let him come hither if he wants to talk to a janissary!" cried many voices. "who ever heard of summoning a janissary away from his camp?" it was as much as pelivan could do to restrain his fury. "you two are murderers," said he, "you have killed the sultan's berber-bashi." at this there was a general outburst of laughter. everybody knew that already. musli had told the story hundreds of times with all sorts of variations. he had described to them how halil had slain ali kermesh with a single blow of his fist, and how the latter's jaw had suddenly fallen and collapsed into a corner, all of which had seemed very comical indeed to the janissaries. so five or six of them, all speaking together, began to heckle and cross-question pelivan. "are there no more barbers in stambul that you make such a fuss over this particular one?" "what an infamous thing to demand the lives of a couple of janissaries for the sake of a single beard-scraper!" "may you and your kapu-kiaja have no other pastime in paradise than the shaving of innumerable beards!" at last patrona stepped forth and begged his comrades to let him have _his_ say in the matter. "hearken now, pelivan!" began he, "you and i are adversaries i know very well, nor do i care a straw that it is so. i am not palavering now with you because i want to get out of a difficulty, but simply because i want to send you back to the kiaja with a sensible answer which i am quite sure you are incapable of hitting upon yourself. well, i freely admit that i _did_ kill ali kermesh, killed him single-handed. nobody helped me to do the deed. and now i have thrown in my lot with the janissaries, and here i stand where it has pleased allah to place me, that i may pay with my own life for the life i have taken if it seem good to him so to ordain. i am quite ready to die and glorify his name thereby. his will be done! let the honourable kiaja therefore gird up his loins, and let all those great lords who repose in the shadow of the padishah draw their swords and come among us once for all. i and all my comrades, the whole janissary host in fact, are ready to fall on the field of battle one after another at the bare wave of their hand, but there is not a single janissary present who would bow his knee before the executioner." these words, uttered in a ringing, sonorous voice, were accompanied by thunders of applause from the whole regiment, and during this tumult musli endeavoured to add a couple of words on his own account to the message already delivered by patrona. "and just tell your master, the kiaja," said he, "and all your white-headed grand viziers and grey-bearded muftis, that if they do not bring the sultan and the banner of the prophet into camp this very day, not a single one of them will need a barber on the morrow, unless they would like their heels well shaved in default of heads." pelivan meanwhile was looking steadily into halil's eyes. there was such a malicious scorn in his gaze that halil involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword. "fear not, patrona!" cried he jeeringly, "gül-bejáze will never again be conducted into the seraglio. she and your father-in-law have been captured as they were trying to fly, and the unbelieving greek cattle-dealer has been thrown into the dungeon set apart for evil-doers. as for that woman whom you call your wife, she has been put into the prison assigned to those shameless ones whom the gracious sultan has driven together from all parts of the realm, and kept in ward lest the virtue of his faithful mussulmans should be corrupted. there you will find her." patrona, like a furious tiger that has burst forth from its cage, at these words rushed from out the ranks of his comrades. his sword flashed in his hand, and if pelivan had been doubly as big as he was, his mere size could not have saved him. but the leader of the ciauses straightway put spurs to his horse, and laughing loudly galloped away with his ciauses, almost brushing the enraged halil as he passed, and when he had already trotted a safe distance away, he turned round and with a scornful ha, ha, ha! began hurling insults at the janissaries, five or six of whom had set out to follow him. "ha! he is mocking us!" exclaimed musli, whereupon the janissaries who stood nearest perceiving that they should never be able to overtake him on foot, hastened to the nearest battery, wrested a mortar from the topijis by force, and fired it upon the retreating ciauses. the discharged twelve-pounder whistled about their heads and then fell far away in the midst of a bivouac where a number of worthy bosniaks were cooking their suppers, scattering the hot ashes into their eyes, ricochetting thence very prettily into the pavilion of the bostanji bashi, two of whose windows it knocked out, thence bounding three or four times into the air, terrifying several recumbent groups in its passage, and trundling rapidly away over some level ground, till at last it rolled into the booth of a glass-maker, and there smashed to atoms an incalculable quantity of pottery. here pelivan finally ran it to earth, seized it, hauled it off to the kiaja, and duly delivered the message of the janissaries, together with the twelve-pound cannon-ball, at the same time reminding him that it was an old habit of the janissaries to accompany their messages with similar little _douceurs_. pelivan had anticipated that the kiaja would foam with rage at the news, and would have the offending janissary regiment decimated at the very least; but the kiaja, instead of being angry, seemed very much afraid. he saw in this presumptuous message a declaration of rebellion, and hurried off to the grand vizier as fast as his legs could carry him, taking the heavy twelve-pounder along with him. ibrahim perfectly comprehended what was said to him, and placing the cannon-ball in a box nicely lined with velvet took it to the seraglio, and when he got there sent for the kizlar-aga, placed it in his hands, and commissioned him to deliver it to the sultan. "the army," said he, "has sent this present to the most glorious padishah. it is a treasure which is worth nothing so long as it is in our possession; it only becomes precious when we pay our debts with it, but it is downright damaging if we let others pay their debts to us therewith. say to the most puissant of sultans that if he finds this one specimen too little, the army is ready to send him a lot more, and then it will choose neither me nor thee to be the bearer thereof." the kizlar-aga, who did not know what was in the box, took it forthwith into the hall of delight, and there delivered it to achmed together with the message. the sultan broke open the box in the presence of the sultana asseki, and on perceiving therein the heavy cannon-ball at once understood ibrahim's message. he was troubled to the depths of his soul when he understood it. he was so good, so gentle to everyone, he tried so hard to avoid injuring anybody, and yet everybody seemed to combine to make him miserable! it seemed as though they envied him his sweet delights, and were determined that he should find no repose even in the very bosom of his family. he embraced and kissed the fair sultana again and again, and stammered with tears in his eyes: "die then, my pretty flower! fade away! wither before my very eyes! die if thou canst that at least my heart may have nothing to long for!" the sultana threw herself in despair at his feet, with her dishevelled tresses waving all about her, and encircling achmed's knees with her white arms she besought him, sobbing loudly, not to go to the camp, at any rate, not _that_ day. let at least the memory of the evil dreams she had dreamed the night before pass away, she said. but no, he could remain behind no longer. in vain were all weeping and wailing, however desperate. the sultan had made up his mind that he must go. one single moment only did he hesitate, for one single moment the thought did occur to him: am i a mere tool in the hands of my army, and why do i wear a sword at all if i do not decapitate therewith those who rise in rebellion against me? but he very soon let that thought escape. he knew he was not capable of translating it into action. many, very many, must needs die if he acted thus; perhaps it were better, much better, for everybody if he submitted. "there is nought for thee but to die, my pretty flower," he whispered to the sultana, who, sobbing and moaning, accompanied him to the very door of the seraglio, and there he gently removed her arms from his shoulders and hastened to the council-chamber. adsalis did _not_ die however, but made her way by the secret staircase to the apartments of the white prince and found consolation with him. "the sultan did not yield to my arguments," she said to the white prince, who took her at once to his bosom, "he is off to the camp. if only i could hold him back for a single day the rebellion would burst forth--and then his dominion would vanish and his successor would be yourself." "calm yourself, we may still gain time! remind him through the kizlar-aga that he neglect not the pricking of the koran." "you have spoken a word in season," replied adsalis, and she immediately sent the kizlar-aga into the council-chamber. the grand vizier, the kapudan pasha, the kiaja, the chief mufti, and the sheik of the aja sophia, ispirizade, were assembled in council with the sultan who had just ordered the silihdar to gird him with the sword of mahomet. "most illustrious padishah!" cried the kizlar-aga, throwing himself to the ground and hiding his face in his hands, "the sultana asseki would have me remind thee that thou do not neglect to ask counsel from allah by the pricking of the koran, before thou hast come to any resolution, as was the custom of thine illustrious ancestors as often as they had to choose between peace and war." "well said!" cried achmed, and thereupon he ordered the chief mufti to bring him the alkoran which, in all moments of doubt, the sultans were wont to appeal to and consult by plunging a needle through its pages, and then turning to the last leaf in which the marks of the needle-point were visible. whatever words on this last page happened to be pricked were regarded as oracular and worthy of all obedience. on every table in the council-chamber stood an alkoran--ten copies in one room. the binding of one of these copies was covered with diamonds. this copy the chief mufti brought to the sultan, and gave into his hands the needle with which the august ceremony was to be accomplished. meanwhile ibrahim glanced impatiently at the three magnificent clocks standing in the room, one beside the other. they all pointed to a quarter to twelve. it was already late, and this ceremony of the pricking of the koran always took up such a lot of time. the sultan opened the book at the last page, pricked through by the needle, and these were the words he read: "he who fears the sword will find the sword his enemy, and better a rust-eaten sword in the hand than a brightly burnished one in a sheath." "la illah il allah! god is one!" said achmed bowing his head and kissing the words of the alkoran. "make ready my charger, 'tis the will of god." the kizlar-aga returned with the news to adsalis and the white prince. even the pricking of the koran had gone contrary to their plans. "go and remind the sultan," said adsalis, "that he cannot go to the wars without the surem of victory;" and for the second time the kizlar-aga departed to execute the commands of the sultana. the surem, by the way, is a holy supplication which it is usual for the chief imam to recite in the mosques before the padishah goes personally to battle, praying that allah will bless his arms with victory. now, because time was pressing, it was necessary to recite this prayer in the chapel of the seraglio instead of in the mosque of st. sophia. ispirizade accordingly began to intone the surem, but he spun it out so long and made such a business of it, that it seemed as if he were bent on wasting time purposely. by the time the devotion was over every clock in the seraglio had struck twelve. ibrahim hastened to the sultan to press him to embark as soon as possible in the ship that was waiting ready to convey him and the white prince to scutari; but at the foot of the staircase, in the outer court of the seraglio where stood the sultan's chargers which were to take him through the garden kiosk to the sea-shore, the way was barred by the kizlar-aga, who flung himself to the ground before the sultan, and grasping his horse's bridle began to cry with all his might: "trample me, oh, my master, beneath the hoofs of thy horses, yet listen to my words! the noontide hour has passed, and the hours of the afternoon are unlucky hours for any undertaking. the true mussulman puts his hand to nothing on which the blessing of allah can rest when noon has gone. trample on my dead body if thou wilt, but say not that there was nobody who would have withheld thee from the path of peril!" the soul of achmed iii. was full of all manner of fantastic sentiments. faith, hope, and love, which make others strong, had in him degenerated into superstition, frivolity, and voluptuousness--already he was but half a man. at the words of the kizlar-aga he removed his foot from the stirrup in which he had dreamily placed it with the help of the kneeling rikiabdar, and said in the tone of a man who has at last made up his mind: "we will go to-morrow." ibrahim was in despair at this fresh delay. he whispered a few words in the ear of izmail aga, whereupon the latter scarce waiting till the sultan had remounted the steps, flung himself on his horse and galloped as fast as he could tear towards scutari. meanwhile the grand vizier and the chief mufti continued to detain the sultan in the divan, or council-chamber. three-quarters of an hour later izmail aga returned and presented himself before the sultan all covered with dust and sweat. "most glorious padishah!" he cried, "i have just come from the host. since dawn they have all been on their feet awaiting thy arrival. if by evening thou dost not show thyself in the camp, then so sure as god is one, the host will not remain in scutari but will come to stambul." the host is coming to stambul!--that was a word of terror. and achmed iii. well understood what it meant. well did he remember the message which, three-and-twenty years before, the host had sent to his predecessor, sultan mustafa, who would not quit his harem at adrianople to come to stambul: "even if thou wert dead thou couldst come here in a couple of days!" and he also remembered what had followed. the sultan had been made to abdicate the throne and he (achmed) had taken his place. and now just the same sort of tempest which had overthrown his predecessor was shaking the seat of the mighty rock beneath his own feet. "mashallah! the will of god be done!" exclaimed achmed, kissing the sword of muhammad, and a quarter of an hour later he went on board the ship destined for him with the banner of the prophet borne before him. in the seraglio all the clocks one after another struck one as four-and-twenty salvoes announced that the sultan with the banner of the prophet had arrived in the camp. and the people of the east believe that the blessing of allah does not rest on the hour which marks the afternoon. chapter vi. the bursting forth of the storm. a contrary wind was blowing across the bosphorus, so that it was not until towards the evening that the sultan arrived at scutari, and disembarked there at his seaside palace with his viziers, his princes, the chief mufti, and ispirizade. though everything had quieted down close at hand, all night long could be heard, some distance off, in the direction of the camp, a murmuring and a tumult, the cause of which nobody could explain. more than once the grand vizier sent fleet runners to the aga of the janissaries to inquire what was the meaning of all that noise in the camp. hassan replied that he himself did not understand why they were so unruly after they had heard the arrival of the sultan and the sacred banner everywhere proclaimed. shortly afterwards ibrahim commanded him to seize all those who would not remain quiet. hassan accordingly laid his hands on sundry who came conveniently in his way; but, for all that, the rest would pay no heed to him, and the tumult began to extend in the direction of stambul also. towards midnight a ciaus reached the kiaja with the intelligence that a number of soldiers were coming along from the direction of tebrif, crying as they came that the army of küprilizade had been scattered to the winds by shah tamasip, and that they themselves were the sole survivors of the carnage--that was why the army round stambul was chafing and murmuring. the kiaja went at once in search of the grand vizier and told him of this terrible rumour. "impossible!" exclaimed ibrahim. "küprilizade would not allow himself to be beaten. only a few days ago i sent him arms and reinforcements which were more than enough to enable him to hold his own until the main army should arrive. "and even if it were true. if, in consequence of the sultan's procrastination, we were to arrive too late and the whole of the provinces of hamadan and kermanshan were to be lost--even then we should all be in the hands of allah. come, let us go to prayer and then to bed!" at about the same hour, three softas awoke the chief mufti and ispirizade, and laid before them a letter written on parchment which they had discovered lying in the middle of a mosque. the letter was apparently written with gunpowder and almost illegible. it turned out to be an exhortation to all true mussulmans to draw the sword in defence of muhammad, but they were bidden beware lest, when they went against the foe, they left behind them, at home, the greatest foes of all, who were none other than the sultan's own ministers. "this letter deserves to be thrown into the fire," said ispirizade, and into the fire he threw it, there and then, and thereupon lay down to sleep with a good conscience. the following day was thursday, the th september. on that very day, twelve months before, the sultan's eleven-year-old son had died. the day was therefore kept as a solemn day of mourning, and a general cessation of martial exercises throughout the host was proclaimed by a flourish of trumpets. to many of the commanders this day of rest was a season of strict observance. the aga of the janissaries withdrew to his kiosk; the kapudan pasha had himself rowed through the canal to his country house at chengelköi, having just received from a dutch merchant a very handsome assortment of tulip-bulbs, which he wanted to plant out with his own hands; the reis-effendi hastened to his summer residence, beside the sweet waters, to take leave of his odalisks for the twentieth time at least; and the kiaja returned to stambul. each of them strictly observed the day--in his own peculiar manner. but fate had prepared for the people at large a very different sort of observance. early in the morning, at sunrise, seventeen janissaries were standing in front of the mosque of bajazid with halil patrona at their head. in the hand of each one of them was a naked sword, and in their midst stood musli holding aloft the half-moon banner. the people made way before them, and allowed patrona to ascend the steps of the mosque, and when the blast of the alarm-horns had subsided, the clear penetrating voice of the ex-pedlar was distinctly audible from end to end of the great kalan square in front of him. "mussulmans!" he cried, "you have duties, yes, duties laid upon you by our sacred law. we are being ruined by traitors. fugitives from the host have brought us the tidings that the army of küprilizade has been scattered to the winds; four thousand horses and six hundred camels, laden with provisions, have been captured by the persians; the general himself has fled to erivan, and the provinces of hamadan and kermanshan are once more in the possession of the enemy. and all this is going on while the grand vizier and the chief mufti have been arranging lantern feasts, processions of palms and illuminations in the streets of stambul instead of making ready the host to go to the assistance of the valiant küprilizade! our brethren are sent to the shambles, we hear their cries, we see their banners falter and fall into the enemy's hands, and we are not suffered to fly to their assistance, though we stand here with drawn swords in our hands. there is treachery--treachery against allah and his prophet! therefore, let every true believer forsake immediately his handiwork, cast his awl, his hammer, and his plane aside, and seize his sword instead; let him close his booth and rally beneath our standard!" the mob greeted these words with a savage yell, raised patrona on its shoulders, and carried him away through the arcades of bezesztan piazza. everyone hastened away to close his booth, and the whole city seemed to be turned upside down. it was just as if a still standing lake had been stirred violently to its lowest depths, and all the slimy monsters and hideous refuse reposing at the bottom had come to the surface; for the streets were suddenly flooded by the unrecognised riff-raff which vegetates in every great town, though they are out of the ken of the regular and orderly inhabitants, and only appear in the light of day when a sudden concussion drives them to the surface. yelling and howling, they accompanied halil everywhere, only listening to him when his escort raised him aloft on their shoulders in order that he might address the mob. just at this moment they stopped in front of the house of the janissary aga. "hassan!" cried halil curtly, disdaining to give him his official title, and thundering on the door with his fists, "hassan, you imprisoned our comrades because they dared to murmur, and now you can hear roars instead of murmurs. give them up, hassan! give them up, i say!" hassan, however, was no great lover of such spectacles, so he hastily exchanged his garments for a suit of rags, and bolted through the gate of the back garden to the shores of the bosphorus, where he huddled into an old tub of a boat which carried him across to the camp. then only did he feel safe. meanwhile the janissaries battered in the door of his house and released their comrades. then they put halil on hassan's horse and proceeded in great triumph to the etmeidan. the next instant the whole square was alive with armed men, and they hauled the kulkiaja caldron out of the barracks and set it up in the midst of the mob. this was the usual signal for the outburst of the war of fiercely contending passions too long enchained. "and now open the prisons!" thundered halil, "and set free all the captives! put daggers in the hands of the murderers and flaming torches in the hands of the incendiaries, and let us go forth burning and slaying, for to-day is a day of death and lamentation." and the mob rushed upon the prisons, tore down the railings, broke through bolts and bars, and whole hordes of murderers and malefactors rushed forth into the piazza and all the adjoining streets, and the last of all to quit the dungeon was janaki, halil's father-in-law. there he remained standing in the doorway as if he were afraid or ashamed, till musli rushed towards him and tore him away by force. "be not cast down, muzafir, but snatch up a sword and stand alongside of me. no harm can come to you here. it is the turn of the gaolers now." in the meantime halil had made his way to that particular dungeon where the loose women whom the sultan had been graciously pleased to collect from all the quarters of the town to herd in one place were listening in trembling apprehension. the doors were flung wide open, and the mob roared to the prisoners that all to whom liberty was dear might show a clean pair of heels, whereupon a mob of women, like a swarm of shrieking ghosts, fluttered through the doors and made off in every direction. those women who stroll about the streets with uncovered faces, who paint their eyebrows and lips for the diversion of strangers, who are shut out from the world like mad dogs, that they may not contaminate the people--all these women were now let loose! some of them had grown old since the prison-gates had been closed upon them, but the flame of evil passion still flickered in their sunken eyes. alas! what pestilence has been let loose upon the mussulman population. and thou, halil! wilt thou be able to ride the storm to which thou has given wings? there he stands in the gateway! he is waiting till, in the wake of these unspeakably vile women, his pure-souled idol, the beautiful, the innocent gül-bejáze shall appear. how long she delays! all the rest have come forth; all the rest have scattered to their various haunts, only one or two belated shapes are now emerging from the dungeon and hastening, after the others--creatures whom the voice of the tumult had surprised _en déshabillé_, and who now with only half-clothed bodies and hair streaming down their backs rush screaming away. only gül-bejáze still delays. full of anxiety halil descends at last into the loathsome hole but dimly lit by a few round windows in the roof. "gül-bejáze! gül-bejáze!" he moans with a stifling voice, looking all around the dungeon, and, at the sound of his whispered words, he sees a white mass, huddled in a corner of the far wall, feebly begin to move. he rushes to the spot. surely it is some beggar-woman who hides her face from him? gently he removes her hands from her face and in the woman recognises his wife. the poor creature would rather not be set free for very shame sake. she would rather remain here in the dungeon. speechless with agony, he raised her in his arms. the woman said not a word, gave him not a look, she only hid her face in her husband's bosom and sobbed aloud. "weep not! weep not!" moaned halil, "those who have dishonoured thee shall, this very day, lie in the dust before thee, by allah. i swear it. thou shalt play with the heads of those who have played with thy heart, and that selfsame puffed-up sultana who has stretched out her hand against thee shall be glad to kiss thy hand. i, halil patrona, have said it, and let me be accursed above all other mussulmans if ever i have lied." then snatching up his wife in his arms he rushed out among the crowd, and exhibiting that pale and forlorn figure in the sight of all men, he cried: "behold, ye mussulmans! this is my wife whom they ravished from me on my bridal night, and whom i must needs discover in the midst of this sink of vileness and iniquity! speak those of you who are husbands, would you be merciful to him who dishonoured your wife after this sort?" "death be upon his head!" roared the furious multitude, and rolling onwards like a flood that has burst its dams it stopped a moment later before a stately palace. "whose is this palace?" inquired halil of the mob. "damad ibrahim's," cried sundry voices from among the crowd. "whose is that palace, i say?" inquired halil once more, angrily shaking his head. then many of them understood the force of the question and exclaimed: "thine, o halil patrona!" "thine, thine, halil!" thundered the obsequious crowd, and with that they rushed upon the palace, burst open the doors, and patrona, with his wife still clasped in his arms, forced his way in, and seeking out the harem of the grand vizier, commanded the odalisks of ibrahim to bow their faces in the dust before their new mistress, and fulfil all her demands. and before the door he placed a guard of honour. outside there was the din of battle, the roll of drums, and the blast of trumpets; and the whole of this tempest was fanned by the faint breathing of a sick and broken woman. chapter vii. tulip-bulbs and human heads. it is not every day that one can see budding tulips in the middle of september, yet the kapudan pasha had succeeded in hitting upon a dodge which the most famous gardeners in the world had for ages been racking their brains to discover, and all in vain. the problem was--how to introduce an artificial spring into the very waist and middle of autumn, and then to get the tulip-bulbs to take september for may, and set about flowering there and then. first of all he set about preparing a special forcing-bed of his own invention, in which he carefully mingled together the most nourishing soil formed among the mountains of lebanon from millennial deposits of cedar-tree spines, antelope manure, so heating and stimulating to vegetation, that wherever it falls on the desert, tiny oases, full of flowers and verdure, immediately spring up amidst the burning, drifting sand-hills, and burnt and pulverized black marble which is only to be found in the dead mountains. a judicious intermingling of this mixture produces a soft, porous, and exceedingly damp soil, and in this soil the kapudan pasha very carefully planted out his tulips with his own hands. he selected the bulbs resulting from last spring's blooms, making a hole for each of them, one by one, with his index-finger, and banking them up gingerly with earth as soft as fresh bread crumbs. then he had snow fetched from the summits of the caucasus, where it remains even all through the summer--whole ship loads of snow by way of the black sea--and kept the tulip-bulbs well covered with it, adding continually layers of fresh snow as the first layers melted, so that the hoodwinked tulips really believed it was now winter; and when towards the end of august the snow was allowed to melt altogether, they fancied spring had come, and poked their gold-green shoots out of their well-warmed, well-moistened bed. on the eve of the prophet's birthday about fifty plants had begun to bloom, all of which had been named after battles in which the mussulmans had triumphed, or after fortresses which their arms had captured. then, however, the kapudan pasha was obliged to go to sea and command the fleet, in other words, he was constrained to leave his beloved tulips at the most interesting period of their existence. on the very evening when the sultan arrived at scutari, one of the kapudan pasha's gardeners came to him with the joyful intelligence that belgrade, naples, morea, and kermanjasahan would blossom on the morrow. the kapudan pasha was wild with impatience. there they all were, just on the point of blooming, and he would be unable to see it. how he would have liked a contrary wind to have kept back the fleet for a day or two. but what the wind would not do for him, the sultan's birthday gave him the opportunity of doing for himself. the day of rest appointed for the morrow permitted the kapudan pasha to get himself rowed across to his summer palace at chengelköi, where his marvellous tulips were about to bloom at the beginning of autumn. what a spectacle awaited him! all four of them, yes, all four, were in full bloom! belgrade was pale yellow with bright green stripes, those of the stripes which were pale green on the lower were rose-coloured on the upper surface, and those of them which were bright green above died gradually away into a dark lilac colour below. naples was a very full tulip, whose confusingly numerous angry-red leaves, with yellow edges, symbolized, perhaps, the fifteen hundred venetians who had fallen at its name-place beneath the arms of the ottomans. morea was the richest in colour. the base of its cup was of a dark chocolate hue, with green and rose-coloured stripes all round it; moreover, the green stripes passed into red, and the rose ones into liver-colour, and a bright yellow streak of colour ran parallel with every single stripe. on the outside the green hues, inside the red rather predominated. but the rarest, the most magnificent of the four was kermanjasahan. this was a treasure filched from the garden of the dalai lama. it was snow-white, without the slightest nuance of any other colour, and of such full bloom that the original six petals were obliged to bend downwards. the kapudan pasha was enraptured by all this splendour. he had made up his mind to present all these tulips to the sultan, for which he would no doubt receive a rich viceroyalty, perhaps even egypt, who could tell. he therefore ordered that costly china vases should be brought to him in which he might transplant the flowers, and he dug with his hands deep down in the soil lest he should injure the bulbs. just as he was kneeling down in the midst of the tulips, with his hands all covered with mould, a breathless bostanji came rushing towards him at full speed, quite out of breath, and without waiting to get up to him, exclaimed while still a good distance off: "sir, sir, rise up quickly, for all stambul is in a commotion." "take care!--don't tread upon my tulips, you blockhead; don't you see that you nearly trampled upon one of them!" "oh, my master! tulips bloom every year, but if you trample a man to death, mashallah! he will rise no more. hasten, for the rioters are already turning the city upside down!" the kapudan pasha very gently, very cautiously, placed the flower, which he had raised with both hands, in the porcelain vase, and pressed the earth down on every side of it so that it might keep steady when carried. "what dost thou say, my son?" he then condescended to ask. "the people of stambul have risen in revolt." "the people of stambul, eh? what sort of people? do you mean the cobblers, the hucksters, the fishermen, and the bakers?" "yes, sir, they have all risen in revolt." "very well, i'll be there directly and tell them to be quiet." "oh, sir, you speak as if you could extinguish the burning city with this watering-can. the will of allah be done!" but the kapudan pasha, with a merry heart, kept on watering the transplanted tulips till he had done it thoroughly, and entrusted them to four bostanjis, bidding them carry the flowers through the canal to the sultan's palace at scutari, while he had his horse saddled and without the slightest escort trotted quite alone into stambul, where at that very moment they were crying loudly for his head. on the way thither, he came face to face with the kiaja coming in a wretched, two-wheeled kibitka, with a russian coachman sitting in front of him to hide him as much as possible from the public view. he bellowed to the kapudan pasha not to go to stambul as death awaited him there. at this the kapudan pasha simply shrugged his shoulders. what an idea! to be frightened of an army of bakers and cobblers indeed! it was sheer nonsense, so he tried to persuade the kiaja to turn back again with him and restore order by showing themselves to the rioters, whereupon the latter vehemently declared that not for all the joys of paradise would he do so, and begged his russian coachman to hasten on towards scutari as rapidly as possible. the kapudan pasha promised that he would not be very long behind him; nay, inasmuch as the kiaja was making a very considerable detour, while he himself was taking the direct road straight through stambul, he insinuated that it was highly probable he might reach scutari before him. "we shall meet again shortly," he cried by way of a parting salute. "yes, in abraham's bosom, i expect," murmured the kiaja to himself as he raced away again, while the kapudan pasha ambled jauntily into the city. already from afar he beheld the palace of the reis-effendi, on whose walls were inscribed in gigantic letters the following announcements: "death to the chief mufti! "death to the grand vizier! "death to the kapudan pasha! "death to the kiaja beg!" "h'm!" said the kapudan pasha to himself. "no doubt that was written by some softa or other, for cobblers and tailors cannot write of course. not a bad hand by any means. i should like to make the fellow my teskeredji." as he trotted nearer to the palace, he perceived a great multitude surging around it, and amongst them a mounted trumpeter with one of those large turkish field-horns which are audible a mile off, and are generally used at stambul during every popular rising, their very note has a provocative tone. the trumpeting herald was thus addressing the mob assembled around him: "inhabitants of stambul, true-believing mussulmans, our commander is halil patrona, the chief of the janissaries, and in the name of the stambul cadi, hassan sulali, i proclaim: let every true believing mussulman shut up his shop, lay aside his handiwork, and assemble in the piazza; those of you, however, who are bakers of bread or sellers of flesh, keep your shops open, for whosoever resists this decree his shop will be treated as common booty. as for the unbelieving giaours at present residing at stambul, let them remain in peace at home, for those who do not stir abroad will have no harm done to them. and this i announce to you in the names of halil patrona and hassan sulali." the kapudan pasha listened to the very last word of this proclamation, then he spurred his horse upon the crier, and snatching the horn from his hand hit him a blow with it on the back, which resounded far and wide, and then with a voice of thunder addressed the suddenly pacified crowd: "ye worthless vagabonds, ye filthy sneak-thieves, mud-larking crab-catchers, pitchy-fingered slipper-botchers, huddling opium-eaters, swindling knacker-sellers, petty hucksters, ye ragged, filthy, whey-faced tipplers!--i, abdi, the kapudan pasha, say it to you, and i only regret that i have not the tongue of a giaour of the hungarian race that i might be able to heap upon you all the curses and reproaches that your conduct deserves, ye dogs! what do you want then? have you not enough to eat? do you want war because you are tired of peace? war, indeed, though you would take good care to keep out of it. to remain at home here and wage war against women and girls is much more to your liking; booths not fortresses are what you like to storm. be off to your homes from whence you have come, i say, for whomsoever i find in the streets an hour hence his head shall dangle in front of the pavilion of justice. mark my words!" with these words abdi gave his horse the spur and galloped through the thickest part of the mob, which dispersed in terror before him, and with proud self-satisfaction the kapudan pasha saw how the people hid away from him in their houses and vanished, as if by magic, from the streets and house-tops. he galloped into the town without opposition. at every street corner he blew a long blast in the captured horn, and addressed some well-chosen remarks to the people assembled there, which scattered them in every direction. at last he reached the bezesztan, where every shop was closed. "open your shops, ye dogs!" thundered abdi to the assembled merchants and tradesmen. "i suppose your heels are itching?--or perhaps you are tired of having ears and noses? open all your shop-doors this instant, i say! for whoever keeps them closed after this command shall be hanged up in front of his own shop-door!" the shopkeepers, full of terror, began to take down their shutters forthwith. from thence he galloped off towards the etmeidan. the great fishmarket, which he passed on his way, was filled with people from end to end. not a word could be heard for the fearful din, which completely drowned the voices of a few stump-orators who here and there had climbed up the pillars near the drinking-fountains to address the mob. nevertheless the resonant, penetrating voice of the horn blown by the kapudan pasha dominated the tumult, and turned every face in his direction. rising in his stirrups, abdi addressed them with a terrible voice: "ye fools, whose mad hands rise against your own heads! do ye want to make the earth quake beneath you that so many of you stand in a heap in one place? what fool among you is it would drag the whole lot of you down to perdition? would that the heavens might fall upon you!--would that these houses might bury you!--would that ye might turn into four-footed beasts who can do nothing but bark! lower your heads, ye wretched creatures, and go and hide yourselves behind your mud-walls! and let not a single cry be heard in your streets, for if you dare to come out of your holes, i swear by the shadow of allah that i'll make a rubbish-heap of stambul with my guns, and none shall live in it henceforth but serpents and bats and your accursed souls, ye dogs!" and nobody durst say him nay. they listened to his revilings in silence, gave way before him, and made a way for his prancing steed. halil was not there, had he but been there the kapudan pasha would not have waited twice for an answer. so here also abdi succeeded in trotting through the ranks of the rioters, and so at last directed his way towards the etmeidan. by this time not only the caldron of the first but the caldron of the fifth janissary regiment had been erected in the midst of the camp. they had been taken by force from the army blacksmiths, and a group of janissaries stood round each of them. abdi pasha appeared among them so unexpectedly that they were only aware of his presence when he suddenly bawled at them: "put down your weapons!" they all regarded the kapudan pasha with fear and wonder. how had he got here? not one of them dared to draw a sword against him, yet not one of them submitted, and everyone of them felt that patrona was badly wanted here. the banner of the insurgents was waving in the midst of the piazza. abdi pasha rode straight towards it. the janissaries remained rooted to the spot, staring after him with astonishment. suddenly musli leaped forth from amongst them, and anticipating the kapudan, seized the flag himself. "give me that banner, my son!" said abdi with all the phlegm of a true seaman. musli had not yet sufficiently recovered to be able to answer articulately, but he shook his head by way of intimating that surrender it he would not. "give me that banner, janissary!" cried abdi once more, sternly regarding musli straight between the eyes. instead of answering musli simply proceeded to wind the banner round its pole. "give me that banner!" bellowed abdi for the third time, with a voice of thunder, at the same time drawing his sword. but now musli twisted the pole round so that the mud-stained end which had been sticking in the earth rose high in the air, and he said: "i honour you, abdi pasha, and i will not hurt you if you go away. i would rather see you fall in battle fighting against the giaours, for you deserve to have a glorious name; but don't ask me for this banner any more, for if you come a step nearer i will run you through the body with the dirty end." and at these words all the other janissaries leaped to their feet and, drawing their swords, formed a glittering circle round the valiant musli. "i am sorry for you, my brave janissaries," observed the kapudan pasha sadly. "and we are sorry for you, famous kapudan pasha!" then abdi quitted the etmeidan. he perceived how the crowd parted before him everywhere as he advanced; but it also did not escape him that behind his back they immediately closed up again when he had passed. "these people can only be brought to their senses by force of arms," he said to himself as away he rode through the city, and nobody laid so much as a finger upon him. * * * * * meanwhile, in the camp outside, a great council of war was being held. on the news of the insurrection which had been painted in the most alarming colours by the fugitive kiaja and the janissary aga, the sultan had called together the generals, the ulemas, the grand vizier, the chief mufti, the sheiks, and the kodzhagians in the palace by the sea-shore. an hour before in the same palace he had held a long deliberation with his aunt, the wise sultana khadija. good counsel was now precious indeed. the grand vizier opined that the army, leaving the sultan behind at brusa, should set off at once towards tebrif to meet the foe. if it were found possible to unite with abdullah pasha all was won. stambul was to be left to itself, and the rebels allowed to do as they liked there. once let the external enemy be well beaten and then their turn would come too. the chief mufti did not believe it to be possible to lead the host to battle just then; but he wished it to be withdrawn from stambul, lest it should be affected by the spirit of rebellion. the kiaja advised negociating with the rebels and pacifying them that way. at this last proposal the sultan nodded his head approvingly. the sultana khadija was also of the same opinion. as to the mode of carrying out these negociations there was some slight difference of detail between the plan of the kiaja and the plan of the sultana. in the opinion of the former, while the negociations were still proceeding, the ringleaders of the rebellion were to be quietly disposed of one after the other, whereas the sultana insinuated that the sultan should appease the rebels by handing over to them the detested kiaja and any of the other great officers of state whose heads the mob might take a fancy to. and that, of course, was a very different thing. the sultan thought the counsel of the kiaja the best. at that very moment, the kapudan pasha, abdi, entered the council-chamber. everybody regarded him with astonishment. according to the account of the kiaja he had already been cut into a thousand pieces. he came in with just as much _sangfroid_ as he displayed when he had ridden through the rebellious city. he inquired of the doorkeepers as he passed through whether his messengers had arrived yet with the tulips. "no," was the reply. "then where have they got to, i wonder," he muttered; "since i quitted them i have been from one end of stambul to the other?" then he saluted the sultan, and in obedience to a gesture from the padishah, took his place among the viziers, and they regarded him with as much amazement as if it was his ghost that had come among them. "you have been in stambul, i understand?" inquired the grand vizier at last. "i have just come from thence within the last hour." "what do the people want?" asked the padishah. "they want to eat and drink." "it is blood they would drink then," murmured the chief mufti in his beard. "and what do they complain about?" "they complain that the sword does not wage war of its own accord, and that the earth does not produce bread without being tilled, and that wine and coffee do not trickle from the gutters of the houses." "you speak very lightly of the matter, abdi. how do you propose to pacify this uproar?" "the thing is quite simple. the cobblers and petty hucksters of stambul are not worth a volley, and, besides, i would not hurt the poor things if possible. many of them have wives and children. those who have stirred them up are in the camp of the janissaries--there you will find their leaders. it would be a pity, perhaps, to destroy all who have excited the people in stambul to revolt, but they ought to be led forth regiment by regiment and every tenth man of them shot through the head. that will help to smooth matters." all the viziers were horrified. "who would dare to do such a thing?" they asked. "that is what i would do," said abdi bluntly. after that he held his peace. it was the sultan who broke the silence. "before you arrived," said he, "we had resolved, by the advice of the kiaja beg, to go back to the town with the banner of the prophet and the princes. "that also is not bad counsel," said abdi; "thy glorious presence will and must quell the uproar. unfurl the banner of the prophet in front of the gate of the seraglio, let the chief mufti and ispirizade open the aja sophia and the mosque of achmed, and let the imams call the people to prayer. let damad ibrahim remain outside with the host, that in case of need he may hasten to suppress the insurgents. let the kiaja beg collect together the jebedjis, ciauses, and bostanjis, who guard the seraglio, and let them clear the streets. and if all this be of no avail my guns from the sea will soon teach them obedience." sultan achmed shook his head. "we have resolved otherwise," said he; "none of you must quit my side. the grand vizier, the chief mufti, the kapudan pasha, and the kiaja must come along with me." and while he told their names, one after the other, the padishah did not so much as look at one of them. the names of these four men were all written up on the corners of the street. the heads of these four men had been demanded by the people and by halil patrona. what then was their offence in the eyes of the people? they were the men highest in power when misfortune overtook the realm. but how then had they offended halil patrona? 'twas they who had brought suffering upon gül-bejáze. the viziers bowed their heads. at that same instant abdi's messengers arrived with the tulips. they were brought to the padishah, who was enchanted by their beauty, and ordered that they should be conveyed to stambul, to the sultana asseki, with the message that he himself would not be long after them. moreover, he patted abdi on the shoulder, and protested with tears in his eyes that there was none in the world whom he loved better. the kapudan pasha kissed the hem of the sultan's robe, and then remained behind with ibrahim, abdullah, and the kiaja. "abdullah, and you, my brave ibrahim, and you, kiaja," said he, addressing them with a friendly smile, "in an hour's time our four heads will not be worth an earless pitcher," whereupon damad ibrahim sadly bent his head, and whispered with a voice resembling a sob: "poor, poor sultan!" then they all four accompanied achmed to his ship. they were all fully convinced that achmed would first sacrifice them all and then fall himself. chapter viii. a topsy-turvy world. halil patrona was already the master of stambul. the rebel leaders had assembled together in the central mosque, and from thence distributed their commands. at the sixth hour (according to christian calculation ten o'clock in the evening) the ship arrived bearing the sultan, the princes, the magnates, and the sacred banner, and cast anchor beside the coast kiosk at the gate of cannons. inside the seraglio none knew anything of the position of affairs. all through the city a great commotion prevailed with the blowing of horns, in the cemetery bivouac fires had been everywhere lighted. "why cannot i send a couple of grenades among them from the sea?" sighed the kapudan pasha, "that would quiet them immediately, i warrant." as the kizlar-aga, elhaj beshir, came face to face with the newly arrived ministers in the ante-chamber where the mantle of the prophet was jealously guarded, he rubbed his hands together with an enigmatical smile which ill became his coarse, brutal countenance and cloven lips, and when the padishah asked him what the rebels wanted, he replied that he really did not know. that smile of his, that rubbing of the hands, which had been robbed of their thumbs by the savage cruelty of a former master for some piece of villainy or other--these things were premonitions of evil to all the officials present. elhaj beshir aga had now held his office for fourteen years, during which time he had elevated and deposed eight grand viziers. and now, how were the demands of the rebels to be discovered? damad ibrahim suggested that the best thing to do was to summon sulali hassan, a former cadi of stambul, whose name he had heard mentioned by the town-crier along with that of halil patrona. they found sulali in his summer house, and at the first summons he appeared in the seraglio. he declared that the rebels had been playing fast and loose with his name, and that he knew nothing whatever of their wishes. "then take with you the chaszeki aga and twenty bostanjis, and go in search of halil patrona, and find out what he wants!" commanded the padishah. "it is a pity to give worthy men unnecessary trouble, most glorious sultan," said abdi pasha bitterly. "i am able to tell you what the rebels want, for i have seen it all written up on the walls. they demand the delivery of four of the great officers of state--myself, the chief mufti, the grand vizier, and the kiaja. surrender us then, o sultan! yet surrender us not alive! but slay us first and then their mouths will be stopped. let them glut their appetites on us. you know that no wild beast is savage when once it has been well fed." the sultan pretended not to hear these words. he did not even look up when the kapudan spoke. "seek out halil patrona!" he said to the chaszeki aga, "and greet him in the name of the padishah!" what! greet halil patrona in the name of the padishah! greet that petty huckster in the name of the master of many empires, in the name of the prince of princes, shahs, khans, and deys, the dominator of great moguls! who would have believed in the possibility of such a thing three days ago? "greet halil patrona in my name," said the sultan, "and tell him that i will satisfy all his just demands, if he promises to dismiss his forces immediately afterwards." the chaszeki aga and sulali hassan, with the twenty bostanjis, forced their way through the thick crowd which thronged the streets till they reached the central mosque. only nine of the twenty bostanjis were beaten to death by the mob on the way, the eleven others were fortunate enough to reach the mosque at least alive. there, on a camel-skin spread upon the ground, sat halil, the rebel leader, like a second dzhengis khan, dictating his orders and nominations to the softas sitting before him, whom he had appointed his teskeredjis. when the janissaries on guard informed him that the sultan's chaszeki aga had arrived and wanted to speak to him, he drily replied: "he can wait. i must attend to worthier men than he first of all." and who, then, were these worthier men? well, first of all there was the old master-cobbler, suleiman, whom they had dragged by force from his house where he had been hiding under the floor. halil now ordered a document to be drawn up, whereby he elevated him to the rank of reis-effendi. halil patrona, by the way, was still wearing his old janissary uniform, the blue dolman with the salavari reaching to the knee, leaving the calves bare. the only difference was that he now wore a white heron's feather in his hat instead of a black one, and by his side hung the sword of the grand vizier, whose palace in the galata suburb he had levelled to the ground only an hour before. it was with the signet in the hilt of this sword that halil was now sealing all the public documents issued by him. after suleiman came muhammad the saddle-maker. he was a sturdy, muscular fellow, who could have held his own against any two or three ordinary men. him halil appointed aga. then came a ciaus called orli, whom he made chief magistrate. ibrahim, a whilom schoolmaster, who went by the name of "the fool," he made chief cadi of stambul, and then catching sight of sulali, he beckoned him forth from among the ciauses and said to him: "thou shalt be the governor-general of anatolia." sulali bowed to the ground by way of acknowledgment of such graciousness. "i thank thee, halil! make of me what thou wilt, but listen, first of all, to the message of the padishah which he has entrusted to me, for i am in very great doubt whether it be thou or sultan achmed who is now lord of all the moslems. tell me, therefore, what thou dost require of the sultan, and if thy demands be lawful and of good report they shall be granted, provided that thou dost promise to disperse thy following." then halil patrona stood up before the sulali, and with a severe and motionless countenance answered: "our demands are few and soon told. we demand the delivery to us of the four arch-traitors who have brought disaster upon the realm. they are the kul kiaja, the kapudan pasha, the chief mufti, and the grand vizier." sulali fell to shaking his head. "you ask much, halil!" "i ask much, you say. to-morrow i shall ask still more. if you agree to my terms, to-morrow there shall be peace. but if you come again to me to-morrow, then there will be peace neither to-morrow nor any other morrow." sulali returned to the sultan and his ministers who were still all assembled together. full of suspense they awaited the message of halil. sulali dared not say it all at once. only gradually did he let the cat out of the bag. "i have found out the demands of the insurgents," said he. "they demand that the kiaja beg be handed over to them." the kiaja suddenly grew paler than a wax figure. "such a faithful old servant as he has been to me too," sighed achmed. "well, well, hand him over, and now i hope they will be satisfied." with tottering footsteps the kiaja stepped among the bostanjis. "they demand yet more," said sulali. "what! more?" "they demand the kapudan pasha." "him also. my most valiant seaman!" exclaimed achmed sorrowfully. "mashallah!" cried the kapudan cheerfully, "i am theirs," and with a look of determined courage he stepped forth and also joined the bostanjis. "weep not on my account, oh padishah! a brave man is always ready to die a heroic death in the place of danger, and shall i not, moreover, be dying in your defence? hale us away, bostanjis; do not tremble, my sons. which of you best understands to twist the string? come, come, fear nothing, i will show you myself how to arrange the silken cord properly. long live the sultan!" and with that he quitted the room, rather leading the bostanjis than being led by them, he did not even lay aside his sword. "then, too, they demanded the grand vizier and the chief mufti," said sulali. the sultan, full of horror, rose from his place. "no, no, it cannot be. you must have heard their words amiss. he from whom you required an answer must needs have been mad, he spoke in his wrath. what! i am to slay the grand vizier and the chief mufti? slay them, too, for faults which i myself have committed--faults against which they wished to warn me? why, their blood would cry to heaven against me. go back, sulali, and say to halil that i beg, i implore him not to insist that these two grey heads shall roll in the dust. let it suffice him if they are deprived of their offices and banished from the realm, for indeed they are guiltless. entreat him, also, for the kiaja and the kapudan; they shall not be surrendered until you return." again sulali sought out halil. he durst not say a word concerning the kiaja and the kapudan. he knew that it was the kapudan who had seized upon halil's wife when she was attempting to escape by sea, and that it was the kiaja who had had her shut up in the dungeon set apart for shameless women. he confined himself therefore to pleading for the grand vizier and the chief mufti. halil reflected. the incidents which had happened in the palace by the sweet waters all passed through his mind. he bethought him how damad ibrahim had forced his embraces upon gül-bejáze, and compelled her to resort to the stratagem of the death-swoon, and he gave no heed to what sulali said about sparing ibrahim's grey beard. "the grand vizier must die," he answered. "as for abdullah, he may remain alive, but he must be banished." after all, abdullah had done no harm to gül-bejáze. sulali returned to the seraglio. "halil permits the chief mufti to live, but he demands death for the three others," said he. at these words achmed sprang from the divan like a lion brought to bay and drew his sword. "come hither, then, valiant rebels, as ye are!" cried he. "if you want the heads of my servants, come for them, and take them from me. no, not a drop of their blood will i give you, and if you dare to come for them ye shall see that the sword of mohammed has still an edge upon it. unfurl the banner of the prophet in front of the gate of the seraglio. let all true believers cleave to me. send criers into all the streets to announce that the seraglio is in danger, and let all to whom the countenance of allah is dear hasten to the defence of the banner! i will collect the bostanjis and defend the gates of the seraglio." the two grey beards kissed the sultan's hand. if this manly burst of emotion had only come a little earlier, the page of history would have borne a very different record of sultan achmed. the banner of danger was immediately hung out in the central gate of the seraglio, and there it remained till early the next evening. at dawn the criers returned and reported that they had not been able to get beyond the mosque of st. sophia, and that the people had responded to their crying with showers of stones. the green banner waved all by itself in front of the seraglio. nobody assembled beneath it, even the wind disdained to flutter it, languidly it drooped upon its staff. the unfurling of the green banner on the gate of the seraglio is a rare event in history. as a rule it only happens in the time of greatest danger, for it signifies that the time has come for every true mussulman to quit hearth and home, his shop and his plough, snatch up his weapons, and hasten to the assistance of allah and his anointed, and accursed would be reckoned every male osmanli who should hesitate at such a time to lay down his life and his estate at the feet of the padishah. knowing this to be so, imagine then the extremity of terror into which the dwellers in the seraglio were plunged when they saw that not a single soul rallied beneath the exposed banner. the criers promised a gratuity of thirty piastres to every soldier who hastened to range himself beneath the banner, and two piastres a day over and above the usual pay. and some five or six fellows followed them, but as many as came in on one side went away again on the other, and in the afternoon not a single soul remained beneath the banner. towards evening the banner was hoisted on to the second gate beneath which were the dormitories of the high officers of state. the generals meanwhile slept in the hall of audience, damadzadi lay sick in the apartment of prince murad, and the mufti and the ulemas remained in the barracks of the bostanjis. sultan achmed did not lie down all night long, but wandered about from room to room, impatiently inquiring after news outside. he asked whether anyone had come from the host to his assistance? whether the people were assembling beneath the sacred green banner? and the cold sweat stood out upon his forehead when, in reply to all his questions, he only received one crushing answer after another. the watchers placed on the roof of the palace signified that the bivouac fires of the insurgents were now much nearer than they had been the night before, and that in the direction of scutari not a single watch-fire was visible, from which it might be suspected that the army had broken up its camp, returned to stambul, and made common cause with the insurgents. achmed himself ascended to the roof to persuade himself of the truth of these assertions, and wandered in a speechless agony of grief from apartment to apartment, constantly looking to see whether the kiaja, the kapudan, and the grand vizier were asleep or awake. only the kapudan pasha was able to sleep at all. the kiaja was all of an ague with apprehension, and the grand vizier was praying, not for himself indeed, but for the sultan. at last even the kapudan was sorry for the sultan who was so much distressed on their account. "why dost thou keep waking us so often, oh, my master?" said he, "we are still alive as thou seest. go and sleep in thy harem and trouble not thy soul about us any more, it is only the rebels who have to do with us now. allah kerim! look upon us as already sleeping the sleep of eternity. at the trump of the angel of the resurrection we also shall arise like the rest." and achmed listened to the words of the kapudan, and at dawn of day vanished from amongst them. when they sought him in the early morning he had not yet come forth from his harem. the four dignitaries knew very well what that signified. early in the morning, when the dawn was still red, sulali effendi and ispirizade came for the chief mufti, and invited him to say the morning prayer with them. the ulemas were already all assembled together, and at the sight of them abdullah burst into tears and sobs, and said to them in the midst of his lamentations: "behold, i have brought my grey beard hither, and if it pleases you not that it has grown white in all pure and upright dealing, take it now and wash it in my blood; and if ye think that the few days allah hath given me to be too many, then take me and put an end to them." then all the ulemas stood up and, raising their hands, exclaimed: "allah preserve thee from this evil thing!" then they threw themselves down on their faces to pray, and when they had made an end of praying, they assembled in the kiosk of erivan in the inner garden where the grand vizier already awaited them. not long afterwards arrived the kiaja and the kapudan pasha also, last of all came the sick damadzadi and the cadi of medina, mustafa effendi, and segban pasha. "ye see a dead man before you," said the grand vizier, damad ibrahim, to the freshly arrived dignitaries. "i am lost. we are the four victims. the chief mufti perhaps may save his life, but we three others shall not see the dawn of another day. it cannot be otherwise. the sultan must be saved, and saved he only can be at the price of our lives." "i said that long ago," observed the kapudan pasha. "our corpses ought to have been delivered up to the rebels yesterday, i fear it is already too late, i fear me that the sultan is lost anyhow. the banner of affliction ought never to have been exposed at all, we should have been slain there and then." "you three withdraw into the chamber of the executioners," said the grand vizier to his colleagues, "but wait for me till the kizlar-aga arrives to demand from me the seals of office, till then i must perform my official duties." the three ministers then took leave of damad ibrahim, embraced each other, and were removed in the custody of the bostanjis. it was now the duty of the grand vizier to elect a new chief mufti from among the ulemas. the ulemas, first of all, chose damadzadi, but he declining the dignity on the plea of illness, they chose in his stead the cadi of medina, and for want of a white mantle invested him with a green one. after that they elected from amongst themselves seid mohammed and damadzadi, to receive the secret message of the sultan from the kizlar-aga and deliver it to halil patrona. damad ibrahim was well aware of the nature of this secret message, and thanked allah for setting a term to the life of man. * * * * * meanwhile sultan achmed was sitting in the hall of delectation with the beautiful adsalis by his side, and in front of him were the four tulips which abdi pasha had presented to him the day before. the four tulips were now in full bloom. adsalis had thrown her arms round the sultan's neck, and was kissing his forehead as if she would charm away from his soul the thoughts which suffered him not to rest, or rejoice, or to love. he had an eye for nothing but the tulips before him, which he could not protect or cherish sufficiently. he scarce noticed that elhaj beshir, the kizlar-aga, was standing before him with a long ms. parchment stretched out in his hand. "master," cried the kizlar-aga, "deign to read the answer which the ulemas are sending to halil patrona, and if it be according to thy will give it the confirmation of thy signature." "what do they require?" asked the sultan softly, withdrawing, as he spoke, a tiny knife from his girdle, with the point of which he began picking away at the earth all round the tulips in order to make it looser and softer. "the rebels demand a full assurance that they will not be persecuted in the future for what they have done in the past." "be it so!" "next they demand that the kiaja aga be handed over to them." the sultan cut off one of the tulips with his knife and handed it to the kizlar-aga. "there, take it!" said he. the aga was astonished, but presently he understood and took the tulip. "then they want the kapudan pasha." the sultan cut off the handsomest of the tulips. "there you have it," said he. "they further demand the banishment of the chief mufti." the sultan tore up the third tulip by the roots and cast it from him. "there it is." "and the grand vizier they want also." the last tulip achmed threw violently to the ground, pot and all, and then he covered his face. "ask no more, thou seest i have surrendered everything." then he gave him his signet-ring in which his name was engraved, and the kizlar-aga stamped the document therewith, and then handed back the signet-ring to the sultan. the grand vizier, meanwhile, was walking backwards and forwards in the garden of the seraglio. the kizlar-aga came there in search of him, and with him were the envoys of halil patrona, suleiman, whom he had made reis-effendi, orli, and sulali. elhaj beshir approached him in their presence, and kissing the document signed by the sultan, handed it to him. damad ibrahim pressed the writing to his forehead and his lips, and, after carefully reading it through, handed it back again, and taking from his finger the great seal of the empire gave it to the kizlar-aga. "may he who comes after me be wiser and happier than i have been," said he. "greet the sultan from me once more. and as for you, tell halil patrona that you have seen the door of the hall of the executioners close behind the back of damad ibrahim." with that the grand vizier looked about him in search of someone to escort him thither, when suddenly a kajkji leaped to his side and begged that he might be allowed to lead the grand vizier to the hall of execution. this sailor-man had just such a long grey beard as the grand vizier himself. "how dost thou come to know me?" inquired damad ibrahim of the old man. "why we fought together, sir, beneath belgrade, when both of us were young fellows together." "what is thy name? "manoli." "i remember thee not." "but i remember thee, for thou didst release me from captivity, and didst cherish me when i was wounded." "and therefore thou wouldst lead me to the executioner? i thank thee, manoli!" all this was spoken while they were passing through the garden on their way to the fatal chamber into which manoli disappeared with the grand vizier. the kizlar-aga and the messengers of the insurgents waited till manoli came forth again. he came out, covering his face with his hands, no doubt he was weeping. the grand vizier remained inside. "to-morrow you shall see his dead body," said the kizlar-aga to the new reis-effendi, and with that he sent him and his comrade back to halil. "we would rather have had them alive," said the ex-ciaus, so suddenly become one of the chief dignitaries of the state. that same evening halil sent back sulali with the message that the chief mufti might go free. the old man quitted his comrades about midnight, and day had scarce dawned when he was summoned once more to the presence of the grand seignior. all night long the kizlar-aga tormented achmed with the saying of the reis-effendi: "we would rather have them alive!" "no, no," said the sultan, "we will not have them delivered up alive. it shall not be in the power of the people to torture and tear them to pieces. rather let them die in my palace, an easy, instantaneous death, without fear and scarce a pang of pain, wept and mourned for by their friends." "then hasten on their deaths, dread sir, lest the morning come and they be demanded while still alive." "tarry a while, i say, wait but for the morning. you would not surely kill them at night! at night the gates of heaven are shut. at night the phantoms of darkness are let loose. you would not slay any living creature at night! wait till the day dawns." the first ray of light had scarce appeared on the horizon when the kizlar-aga once more stood before the sultan. "master, the day is breaking." "call hither the mufti and sulali!" both of them speedily appeared. "convey death to those who are already doomed." sulali and the mufti fell down on their knees. "wherefore this haste, o my master?" cried the aged mufti, bitterly weeping as he kissed the sultan's feet. "because the rebels wish them to be surrendered alive." "so it is," observed the kizlar-aga by way of corroboration, "the whole space in front of the kiosk is filled with the insurgents." the sultan almost collapsed with horror. "hasten, hasten! lest they fall into their hands alive." "oh, sir," implored sulali, "let me first go down with the imam of the aja sophia to see whether the street really is filled with rebels or not!" the sultan signified that they might go. sulali, hassan, and ispirizade thereupon hastened through the gate of the seraglio down to the open space before the kiosk, but not a living soul did they find there. not satisfied with merely looking about them, they wished to persuade themselves that the insurgents were approaching the seraglio from some other direction by a circuitous way. meanwhile the sultan was counting the moments and growing impatient at the prolonged absence of his messengers. "they have had time enough to cover the distance to the kiosk and back twice over," remarked the kizlar-aga. "no doubt they have fallen into the hands of the rebels who are holding them fast so that they may not be able to bring any tidings back." the sultan was in despair. "hasten, hasten then!" said he to the kizlar-aga, and with that he fled away into his inner apartments. ten minutes later sulali and the iman returned, and announced that there was not a soul to be seen anywhere and no sign of anyone threatening the seraglio. then the kizlar-aga led them down to the gate. a cart drawn by two oxen was standing there, and the top of it was covered with a mat of rushes. he drew aside a corner of this mat, and by the uncertain light of dawn they saw before them three corpses, the kiaja's, the kapudan's, and the grand vizier's. * * * * * happy gül-bejáze sits in halil's lap and dreamily allows herself to be cradled in his arms. through the windows of the splendid palace penetrate the shouts of triumph which hail halil as lord, for the moment, of the city of stambul and the whole ottoman empire. gül-bejáze tremulously whispers in halil's ear how much she would prefer to dwell in a simple, lonely little hut in anatolia instead of there in that splendid palace. halil smooths away the luxuriant locks from his wife's forehead, and makes her tell him once more the full tale of all those revolting incidents which befell her in the seraglio, in the captivity of the kapudan's house, and in the dungeon for dishonourable women. why should he keep on arousing hatred and vengeance? the woman told him everything with a shudder. at her husband's feet, right in front of them, stood three baskets full of flowers. halil had given them to her as a present. but at the bottom of the baskets were still more precious gifts. he draws forward the first basket and sweeps away the flowers. a bloody head is at the bottom of the basket. "whose is that?" gül-bejáze, all shuddering, lisped the name of abdi pasha. he cast away the flowers from the second basket, there also was a bloody head. "and whose is that?" "that is the kiaja beg's," sobbed the terrified girl. and now halil brought forward the third basket, and dashing aside from it the fresh flowers, revealed to the eyes of gül-bejáze a grey head with a white beard, which lay with closed eyes at the bottom of the basket. "whose is that?" inquired halil. gül-bejáze's tender frame shivered in the arms of the strong man who held her, as he compelled her to gaze at the bloody heads. and when she regarded the third head she shook her own in amazement. "i do not know that one." "not know it! look again and more carefully. perchance death has changed the expression of the features. that is damad ibrahim the grand vizier." gül-bejáze regarded her husband with eyes wide-open with astonishment, and then hastened to reply: "truly it _is_ damad ibrahim. of course, of course. death hath disfigured his face so that i scarce knew it." "did i not tell thee that thou shouldst make sport with the heads of those who made sport with thy heart? dost thou want yet more?" "oh, no, no, halil. i am afraid of these also. i am afraid to look upon these dumb heads." "then cover them over with flowers, and thou wilt believe thou dost see flower-baskets before thee." "let me have them buried, halil. do not make me fear thee also. thou wouldst have me go on loving thee, wouldst thou not? if only thou wouldst come with me to anatolia, where nobody would know anything about us!" "what dost thou say? go away now when the very sun cannot set because of me, and men cannot sleep because of the sound of my name? dost not thou also feel a desire to bathe in all this glory?" "oh, halil! the rose and the palm grow up together out of the same earth, and yet the palm grows into greatness while the rose remains quite tiny. suffer me but gently to crouch beside thee, dispense but thy love to me, and keep thy glory to thyself." halil tenderly embraced and kissed the woman, and buried the three baskets as she desired in the palace garden beneath three wide-spreading rosemary bushes. then he took leave of gül-bejáze, for deputies from the people now waited upon their leader, and begged him to accompany them to the mosque of zuleima, where the sultan's envoys were already waiting for an answer. in order to get to the mosque more easily and avoid the labour of forcing his way through the crowd that thronged the streets, halil hastened to the water side, got into the first skiff he met with, and bade the sailor row him across to the zuleima mosque on the other side. on the way his gaze fell upon the face of the sailor who was sitting opposite to him. it was a grey-bearded old man. "what is thy name, worthy old man?" inquired halil. "my name is manoli, your excellency." "call me not excellency! dost thou not perceive from my raiment that i am nothing but a common janissary?" "oh! i know thee better than that. thou art halil patrona, whom may allah long preserve!" "thou also dost seem very familiar to me. thou hast just such a white beard as had damad ibrahim who was once grand vizier." "i have often heard people say so, my master." on arriving opposite the zuleima mosque, the boatman brought the skiff ashore. halil pressed a golden denarius into the old man's palm, the old man kissed his hand for it. then for a long time halil gazed into the old man's face. "manoli!" "at thy command, my master." "thou seest the sun rising up yonder behind the hills?" "yes, my master." "before the shadows return to the side of yon hills take care to be well behind them, and let not another dawn find thee in this city!" the boatman bent low with his arms folded across his breast, then he disappeared in his skiff. but halil patrona hastened into the mosque. the sultan's ambassadors were awaiting him. sheik suleiman came forward. "halil!" said he, "the bodies of the three dead men i have given to the people and their heads i have sent to thee." "who were they?" asked halil darkly. "the first was the corpse of the kiaja beg, his body was cast upon the cross-ways through the etmeidan gate." "and the second?" "the kapudan pasha, his body was flung down in front of the fountains of khir-kheri." "and the third?" "damad ibrahim, the grand vizier. his body we flung out into the piazza in front of the seraglio, at the foot of the very fountains which he himself caused to be built." halil patrona cast a searching look at the sheik's face, and coldly replied: "know then, oh, sheik suleiman, that thou liest, the third corpse was _not_ the body of damad ibrahim the grand vizier. it was the body of a sailor named manoli, who greatly resembled him, and sacrificed himself in damad's behalf. but the grand vizier has escaped and none can tell where he is. go now, and tell that to those who sent thee hither!" chapter ix. the setting and the rising sun. the dead bodies of the victims were still lying in the streets when sultan achmed summoned the ulemas to the cupolaed chamber. his countenance was dejected and sad. before coming to the council-chamber he had kissed all his children, one by one, and when it came to the turn of his little ten-year-old child, bajazid, he saw that the little fellow's eyes were full of tears and he inquired the reason why. the child replied: "father, it is well with those who are thy enemies and grievous for them that love thee. what then will be our fate who love thee best of all? amongst the wives of our brethren thou wilt find more than one in grey mourning weeds. look, i prythee, at the face of ummettulah; look at the eyes of sabiha, and the appearance of ezma. they are all of them widows and orphans, and it is thou who hast caused their fathers and husbands to be slain." "to save thee i have done it," stammered achmed, pressing the child to his breast. "thou wilt see that thou shalt not save us after all," sighed bajazid. in the years to come these words were to be as an eternal echo in the ears of achmed. so he sat on his throne and the ulemas took their places around him on the divans covered with kordofan leather. opposite to him sat the chief imam, ispirizade. sulali sat beside him. "lo, the blood of the victims has now been poured forth," said achmed in a gloomy, tremulous voice, "i have sacrificed my most faithful servants. speak! what more do the rebels require? why do they still blow their field trumpets? why do they still kindle their bivouac fires? what more do they want?" and the words of his little son rang constantly in his ears: "it is well with those who are thy enemies and grievous for them that love thee." no one replied to the words of the sultan. "answer, i say! what think ye concerning the matter?" once more deep silence prevailed. the ulemas looked at one another. many of them began to nudge sulali, who stood up as if to speak, but immediately sat down again without opening his mouth. "speak, i pray you! i have not called you hither to look at me and at one another, but to give answers to my questions." and still the ulemas kept silence. dumbly they sat around as if they were not living men but only embalmed corpses, such as are to be found in the funeral vaults of the pharaohs grouped around the royal tombs. "'tis wondrous indeed!" said achmed, when the whole council had remained dumb for more than a quarter of an hour. "are ye all struck dumb then that ye give me no answer?" then at last ispirizade rose from his place. "achmed!" he began--with such discourteous curtness did he address the sultan! "achmed! 'tis the wish of halil patrona that thou descend from the throne and give it up to sultan mahmud...." achmed sat bolt upright in his chair. after the words just uttered every voice in the council-chamber was mute, and in the midst of this dreadful silence the ulemas were terrified to behold the padishah stand on the steps of the throne, extend his arm towards the imam, fix his eyes steadily upon him, and open his lips from which never a word proceeded. thus for a long time he stood upon the throne with hand outstretched and parted lips, and his stony eyes fixed steadily upon the imam, and those who saw it were convulsed by a feeling of horror, and ispirizade felt his limbs turn to stone and the light of day grow dim before his eyes in the presence of that dreadful figure which regarded him and pointed at him. it was, as it were, a dumb curse--a dumb, overpowering spell, which left it to god and his destroying angels to give expression to his wishes, and read in his heart and accomplish that which he himself was incapable of pronouncing. the whole trembling assembly collapsed before the sultan's throne, crawled to his feet and, moistening them with their tears, exclaimed: "pardon, o master! pardon!" an hour before they had unanimously resolved that achmed must be made to abdicate, and now they unanimously begged for pardon. but the deed had already been done. the hand of the padishah that had been raised to curse sank slowly down again, his eyes half closed, his lips were pressed tightly together, he thrust his hands into the girdle of his mantle, looked down for a long time upon the ulemas, and then quietly descended the steps of the throne. on reaching the pavement he remained standing by the side of the throne, and cried in a hollow tremulous voice: "i have ceased to reign, let a better than i take my place. i demand but one thing, let those who are at this moment the lords of the dominion of osman swear that they will do no harm to my children. let them swear it to me on the alkoran. take two from amongst you and let them convey my desire to halil." again a deep silence followed upon achmed's words. the ulemas fixed their gaze upon the ground, not one of them moved or made even a show of conveying the message. "perhaps, then, ye wish the death of my children also? or is there not one of you with courage enough to go and speak to them?" a very aged, tremulous, half paralyzed ulema was there among them, the dervish mohammed, and he it was who at length ventured to speak. "oh, my master! who is valiant enough to speak with a raging lion, who hath wit enough to come to terms with the burning tempest of the samum, or who would venture to go on an embassy to the tempest-tost sea and bandy words therewith?" achmed gazed darkly, doubtfully upon the ulema, and his face wore an expression of repressed despair. sulali had compassion on the sultan. "i will go to them," he said reassuringly; "remain here, oh, my master, till i return. of a truth i tell thee that i will not come back till they have sworn to do what thou desirest." and now ispirizade said that he also would go with sulali. he had not sufficient strength of mind to endure the gaze of the sultan till sulali should return. far rather would he go with him also to the rebels. besides they already understood each other very well. the envoys found halil sitting under his tent in the etmeidan. sulali drew near to him and delivered the message of the sultan. but he did not deliver it in the words of achmed. he neither begged nor implored, nor mingled his request with bitter lamentations as achmed had done, but he spoke boldly and sternly, without picking his words, as achmed ought to have done. "the padishah would have his own life and the lives of his children guaranteed by oath," said he to the assembled leaders of the people. "swear, therefore, on the alkoran that you will respect them, and swear it in the names of your comrades likewise. the padishah is resolved that if you refuse to take this oath he will blow up the seraglio and every living soul within it into the air with gunpowder." the rebels were impressed by this message, only halil patrona smiled. he knew very well that such a threat as this never arose in the breast of achmed. his gentle soul was incapable of such a thing. so he folded his arms across his breast and smiled. then the chief imam fell down in the dust before him, and said in a humble voice: "listen not, o halil, to the words of my companion. the padishah humbly implores you for his life and the lives of his children." halil wrinkled his brow and exclaimed angrily: "rise up, ulema, grovel not before me in the name of the sultan. those who would slay him deal not half so badly with them as thou who dost humiliate him. sulali is right. the sultan is capable of great deeds. i know that the cellars of the seraglio are full of gunpowder, and i would not that the blossoms of the sheik-ul-islam and the descendants of the prophet should perish. behold, i am ready, and my comrades also, to swear on the alkoran to do no harm either to sultan achmed, or his sons, or his daughters, or his daughters' husbands. whosoever shall raise his hand against them his head i myself will cut in twain, and make the avenging angels of allah split his soul in twain also, so that each half may never again find its fellow. go back and peace rest upon achmed." sulali flew back with the message, but ispirizade hastened to the aja sophia mosque to give directions for the enthronement of the new sultan. meanwhile achmed had assembled his sons around him in the cupolaed chamber, and sitting down on the last step of the throne made them take their places round his feet, and awaited the message which was to bear the issues of life and death. sulali entered the room with a radiant countenance, carrying in his hand the copy of the alkoran, on which halil and his associates had sworn the oath required of them. he laid it at the sultan's feet. "live for ever, oh, sultan!" he cried, "and may thy heart rejoice in the prosperity of thy children!" achmed looked up with a face full of gratitude, and thanked allah, the giver of all good and perfect gifts. his children embraced him with tears in their eyes, and achmed did not forget to extend his hand to sulali, who first raised it to his forehead and then pressed it to his lips. then achmed sent the kizlar-aga for sultan mahmud, surnamed "the white prince," from the pallor of his face, to summon him to his presence. half an hour later, accompanied by elhaj beshir, prince mahmud arrived. he was the son of mustapha ii., who had renounced the throne in favour of achmed just as achmed was now resigning the throne in favour of mahmud. the sultan arose, hastened towards him, embraced him, and kissed him on the forehead. "the people desire thee to ascend the throne. be merciful to my children just as i was merciful to thy father's children." sultan mahmud did obeisance to his uncle, and seizing his hand, as if it were worthy of all honour, reverently kissed it. then achmed beckoned to his sons, and one by one they approached mahmud, and kissed his hand. and all the time the ulemas remained prostrate on the ground around them. then achmed took the new sovereign by the right hand, and personally conducted him into the chamber of the mantle of the prophet. there, standing in front of the throne, he took from his hand the diamond clasp, the symbol of dominion, and with his own hand fastened it to the turban of the new sultan, and placing his hand upon his head, solemnly blessed him. "rule and prosper! may those thou lovest love thee also, and may those that thou hatest fear thee. be glorious and powerful while thou livest, and may men bless thy name and magnify thy memory when thou art dead!" then achmed and his children thrice did obeisance to mahmud, whereupon taking his two youngest sons by the hand, with a calm and quiet dignity, he quitted the halls of dominion which he was never to behold again, abandoning, one after another, every single thing which had hitherto been so dear to him. in the hall of audience he gave up the sword of the prophet to the silihdar, who unbuckled it from his body, and when he came to the door leading to the harem he handed over his children to the kizlar-aga, telling him to greet the sultana asseki in his name, and bid her remember him and teach his little children their father's name. for henceforth he will see no more his sharp sword, or the fair adsalis, or the other dear damsels, or his darling children. he must remain for ever far away from them behind the walls of a dungeon. a deposed sultan has nought whatever to do with swords or wives or children. the same fate befell mustapha ii. six-and-twenty years before. he also had to part with his sword, his wives, and his children in just the same way. and this achmed had good cause to remember, for then it was that he ascended the throne. and now he, in his turn, descended from the throne, and now that had happened to him for his successor's sake which had happened to his predecessor for his sake. * * * * * but the great men of the realm bowed their heads to the ground before sultan mahmud and did him homage. the long procession of those who came to do him obeisance filled all the apartments of the seraglio and lasted till midnight. the whole court bent head and knee before the new sultan, and the chief officers of state, the clergy, and the eunuchs followed suit. only the captains of the host and halil patrona still remained behind. hastily written letters were dispatched to all the captains and to all the rebels, informing them that sultan achmed had been deposed and sultan mahmud was reigning in his stead; let them all come, therefore, at dawn of day next morning and do homage to the new padishah. the moon had long been high in the heavens and was shining through the coloured windows of the seraglio when the magnates withdrew and mahmud remained alone. only the kizlar-aga awaited his pleasure--the kizlar-aga whose sooty face seemed to cast a black shadow upon itself. mahmud extended his hand to him with a smile that he might kiss it. and then elhaj beshir conducted him to the door of those secret apartments within which bloom the flowers of bliss and rapture, and throwing it open bent low while the new sultan passed through. only three among the peris of loveliness had preferred eternal loveless slavery to the favours of the new padishah, and among those who smiled upon the young sultan as he entered the room, the one who had the happiest, the most radiant face, was the fair adsalis, who still remained the favourite wife, the sultana asseki, even after the great revolution which had turned the whole empire upside down and made the least to be the greatest and the greatest to stand lowest of all. among so many smiling faces hers was the one towards which the tremulously happy and enraptured sultan hastened full of tender infatuation; she it was whom he raised to his breast and in whose arms he soothed himself with dreams of glory, while she stifled his anxieties with her kisses. everything was asleep in the halls of felicity, only love was still awake. mahmud, forgetful alike of himself and his empire, pressed to his bosom his dear enchanting sultana, the most precious of all the treasures he had won that day; but the fair sultana shuddered from time to time in the midst of his burning embrace. it seemed to her as if someone was standing behind her back, sobbing and sighing and touching her warm bosom with his cold fingers. perchance she could hear the sighing and the sobbing of him who lay sleepless far, far below that bower of rapture, in one of the cold vaults of the place of oblivion, thinking of his lost empire and his lost eden! * * * * * early next morning the chief captains of the host, the bashas and the sheiks, appeared in the seraglio to greet the new sultan. it was only the leaders of the rebels who did not come. ever since sulali had frightened the insurgents by telling them that the cellars of the seraglio were full of gunpowder, they did not so much as venture to draw near it, and when the public criers recited the invitation of mahmud in front of the mosques, thousands and thousands of voices shouted as if from one throat: "we will not come!" not one of them would listen to the invitation from the seraglio. "it is a mere ruse," observed the wise reis-effendi. "they only want to entice us into a mouse-trap to crush us all at a blow like flies caught in honey." "a short cut into paradise that would be," scornfully observed orli, who, despite his office of softa, did not hesitate to speak disrespectfully even of paradise, whither every true believer ought joyfully to hasten. last of all "crazy" ibrahim gave them a piece of advice. "'twill be best," said he, "to gather together from among us our least useful members--any murderers there may happen to be, or escaped gaol-birds for instance; call them halil, musli, and suleiman, deck them out in the garments of agas, begs, and ulemas, and send them to the seraglio. then, if we see them return to us safe and sound, we can, of course, go ourselves." this crazy counsel instantly met with general applause. everyone approved of it, of that there could be no doubt. halil patrona regarded them all in contemptuous silence. only when "crazy" ibrahim's proposal had been resolved upon did he stand up and say: "i myself will go to the seraglio." some of them regarded him with amazement, others laughed. musli clapped his hands together in his desperation. "halil! dost thou dream or art thou beside thyself? dost thou imagine thyself to be one of the princes of the thousand and one nights who can hew his way through monsters and spectres, or art thou wearied of beholding the sun from afar and must needs go close up to him?" "'tis no concern of thine what i do, and if i am not afraid what need is there for thee to be afraid on my account?" "but, prythee, bethink thee, halil! it would be a much more sensible jest on thy part to leap into the den of a lioness suckling her young; and thou wouldst be a much wiser man if thou wert to adventure thyself in the sulphur holes of balsorah, or cause thyself to be let down, for the sake of a bet, into the coral-beds at the bottom of the sea of candia to pick up a bronze asper,[ ] instead of going to the seraglio where there are now none but thine enemies, and where the very atmosphere and the spider crawling down the wall is venomous to thee and thy deadly enemy." "they may kill me," cried halil, striking his bosom with both hands and boldly stepping forward--"they may kill me it is true, but they shall never be able to say that i was afraid of them. they may tear my limbs to pieces, but when it comes to be recorded in the chronicles that the rabble of constantinople were cowards, it shall be recorded at the same time that, nevertheless, there was one man among them who could not only talk about death but could look it fairly between the eyes when it appeared before him." "listen, halil! i and many more like me are capable of looking into the very throat of loaded cannons. many is the time, too, that i have seen sharp swords drawn against me, and no lance that ever hath left the smith's hand can boast that i have so much as winked an eye before its glittering point. but what is the use of valour in a place where you know that the very ground beneath your feet has hell beneath it, and it only needs a spark no bigger than that which flashes from a man's eye when he has received a buffet, and we shall all fly into the air. why, even if both our hands were full of swords and pistols, not one of them could protect us--so who would wish to be brave there?" "have i invited thee to come? did i not say that i would go alone?" "but we won't let thee go. what art thou thinking about? if they destroy thee there we shall be without a leader, and we shall fall to pieces and perish like the rush-roof of a cottage when the joists are suddenly pulled from beneath it. and thou thyself wilt be a laughing-stock to the people, like the cock of the fairy tale who spitted and roasted himself." "that will never happen," said halil, unbuckling his sword (for no weapon may enter the seraglio) and handing it to musli; "take care of it for me till i return, and if i do not return it will be something to remember me by." "then thou art really resolved to go?" inquired musli. "well, in that case, i will go too." at these words the others also began to bestir themselves, and when they saw that halil really was not joking, they accompanied him right up to the seraglio. into it indeed they did not go; but, anyhow, they surrounded the huge building which forms a whole quarter of the city by itself, and as soon as they saw halil pass through the seraglio gates they set up a terrific shout. alone, unarmed, and without an escort, the rebel leader passed through the strange, unfamiliar rooms, and at every door armed resplendent sentries made way before him, closing up again, with pikes crossed, before every door when he had passed through them. on reaching the hall of audience, a couple of kapu-agasis seized him by the arm, and led him into the cupola chamber where sultan mahmud received those who came to render homage. in all the rooms was that extraordinary pomp which is only to be seen on the day when a new sultan has ascended the throne. the very ante-chamber, "the mat-room," as it is called, because of the variegated straw-mats with which it is usually covered, was now spread over with costly persian carpets. the floor of the cupola chamber looked like a flower-bed. its rich pile carpets were splendidly embroidered with gold, silver, and silken flowers of a thousand hues, interspersed with wreaths of pearls. at the foot of a sofa placed on an elevated daïs glistened a coverlet of pure pearls. on each side of this sofa stood a little round writing-table inlaid with gold. on one of these tables lay an open portfolio encrusted with precious stones and writing materials flashing with rubies and emeralds; on the other lay a copy of the alkoran, bound in black velvet and studded with rose brilliants. another copy of the alkoran lay open on a smaller table, written in the talik script in letters of gold, cinnabar, and ultramarine; and there were twelve other korans on just as many other tables, with gold clasps and pearl-embroidered bindings. on both sides of the fire-place, on stands that were masterpieces of carving, were heaped up the gala mantles exhibited on such occasions; and side by side, along the wall, on raised alabaster pedestals were nine clocks embellished with figures, each more ingenious than the other, which moved and played music every time the hour struck. four large venetian mirrors multiplied the extravagant splendours of the stately room. around the room on divans sat the chief dignitaries of the empire, the viziers, the secretaries, the presenters of petitions according to rank, in splendid robes, and with round, pyramidal or beehive-shaped turbans according to the nature of their office. yet all this pomp was utterly eclipsed by the splendour which radiated from the new padishah; he seemed enveloped in a shower of pearls and diamonds. whichever way he turned the roses embroidered on his dress, the girdle which encircled his loins, the clasp of his turban, and every weapon about him seemed to scatter rainbow sparks, so that those who gazed at him were dazzled into blindness before they could catch a glimpse of his face. behind the back of the throne, flashing with carbuncles as large as nuts, stood a whole army of ministering servants with their heads plunged deep in their girdles. it was into this room that halil entered. on the threshold his two conductors released his arm, and halil advanced alone towards the padishah. his face was not a whit the paler than at other times, he stepped forth as boldly and gazed around him as confidently as ever. his dress, too, was just the same as hitherto--a simple janissary mantle, a blue dolman with divided sleeves, without any ornament, a short salavari, or jerkin, reaching to the knee, leaving the lower part of the legs bare, and the familiar roundish kuka on his head. as he passed through the long apartment he cast a glance upon the dignitaries sitting around the throne, and there was not one among them who could withstand the fire of his gaze. with head erect he advanced in front of the sultan, and placing his muscular, half-naked foot on the footstool before the throne stood there, for a moment, like a figure cast in bronze, a crying contrast to all this tremulous pomp and obsequious splendour. then he raised his hand to his head, and greeted the sultan in a strong sonorous voice: "aleikum unallah! the grace of god be upon thee!" then folding his hands across his breast he flung himself down before the throne, pressing his forehead against its steps. mahmud descended towards him, and raised him from the ground with his own hand. "speak! what can i do for thee?" he asked with condescension. "my wishes have already been fulfilled," said halil, and every word he then uttered was duly recorded by the chronicler. "it was my wish that the sword of mahomet should pass into worthy hands; behold it is accomplished, thou dost sit on the throne to which i have raised thee. i know right well what is the usual reward for such services--a shameful death awaits me." mahmud passionately interrupted him. "and i swear to thee by my ancestors that no harm shall befall thee. ask thine own reward, and it shall be granted thee before thou hast yet made an end of preferring thy request." halil reflected for a moment, and all the time his gaze rested calmly on the faces of the dignitaries sitting before him. his gaze passed down the whole row of them, and he took them all in one by one. everyone of them believed that he was seeking a victim whose place he coveted. the rebel leader read this thought plainly in the faces of the dignitaries. once more he ran his eyes over them, then he spoke. "glorious padishah! as the merit of thy elevation belongeth not to me but to thy people, let the reward be theirs whose is the merit. a heavy burden oppresses thy slaves, and the name of that burden is malikane. it is the farming out of the taxes for the lives of the holders thereof which puts money into the pockets of the high officers of state and the pashas, so that the sublime porte derives no benefit therefrom. abolish, o padishah, this farming out of the revenue, so that the destiny of the people may be in thy hands alone, and not in the hands of these rich usurers!" and with these words he waved his hand defiantly in the direction of the viziers and the magnates. deep silence fell upon them. through the closed doors resounded the tempestuous roar of the multitudes assembled around the seraglio. those within it trembled, and halil patrona stood there among them like an enchanter who knows that he is invulnerable, immortal. but the sultan immediately commanded the ciaus aga to proclaim to the people with a trumpet-blast at the gates of the seraglio, that at the desire of halil patrona the malikane was from this day forth abolished. the shout which arose the next moment and made the very walls of the seraglio tremble was ample evidence of the profound impression which this announcement made. "and now place thyself at the head of thy host," said halil, "accept the invitation of thy people to go to the ejub mosque, in order that the silihdars may gird thee with the sword of the prophet according to ancient custom." the sultan thereupon caused it to be announced that in an hour's time he would proceed to the mosque of ejub, there to be girded with the sword of the prophet. with a shout of joy the people pressed towards the mosque in their thousands, crowding all the streets and all the house-tops between the mosque and the seraglio. the cannons of the bosphorus sent thundering messages to the distant mountains of the joy of stambul, and an hour later, to the sound of martial music, mahmud held his triumphal progress through the streets of his capital on horseback; and the people waved rich tapestries at him from the house-tops and scattered flowers in his path. behind him came radiant knightly viziers and nobles, and venerable councillors in splendid apparel on gorgeous full bloods; but in front of him walked two men alone, halil patrona and musli, both in plain, simple garments, with naked calves, on their heads small round turbans, and with drawn swords in their hands as is the wont of the common janissaries when on the march. and the people sitting on the house-tops shouted the name of halil just as often and just as loudly as they shouted the name of mahmud. the firing of the last salvo announced that the sultan had arrived at the ejub mosque. ispirizade, the chief imam of the aja sophia mosque, already awaited him. he had asked halil as a favour that he might bless the new sultan, and halil had granted his request. since he had ventured into the seraglio everyone had obeyed his words. the people now whispered everywhere that the sultan was doing everything which halil patrona demanded. ispirizade had already mounted the lofty pulpit when mahmud and his suite took their places on the lofty daïs set apart for them. the chief priest's face was radiant with triumph. he extended his hands above his head and thrice pronounced the name of allah. and when he had thus thrice called upon the name of god, his lips suddenly grew dumb, and there for a few moments he stood stiffly, with his hands raised towards heaven and wide open eyes, and then he suddenly fell down dead from the pulpit. "'tis the dumb curse of achmed!" whispered the awe-stricken spectators to one another. footnote: [ ] farthing. chapter x. the feast of halwet. the surgujal--the turban with the triple gold circlet--was on the head of mahmud, but the sword, the sword of dominion, was in the hand of halil patrona. the people whose darling he had become were accustomed to regard him as their go-between in their petty affairs, the host trembled before him, and the magnates fawned upon him for favour. in the osman nation there is no hereditary nobility, everyone there has risen to the highest places by his sword or his luck. every single grand vizier and kapudan pasha has a nickname which points to his lowly origin; this one was a woodcutter, that one a stone-mason, that other one a fisherman. therefore a mohammedan never looks down upon the most abject of his co-religionists, for he knows very well that if he himself happens to be uppermost to-day and the other undermost, by to-morrow the whole world may have turned upside down, and this last may have become the first. so now also a petty huckster rules the realm, and sultan mahmud has nothing to think about but his fair women. who can tell whether any one of us would not have done likewise? suppose a man to have been kept in rigorous, joyless servitude for twenty years, and then suddenly to be confronted with the alternative--"reign over hearts or over an empire"--would he not perhaps have chosen the hearts instead of the empire for his portion? at the desire of the beauteous sultana asseki the insurrection of the people had no sooner subsided than the sultan ordered the halwet festival to be celebrated. the halwet festival is the special feast of women, when nobody but womankind is permitted to walk about the streets, and this blissful day may come to pass twice or thrice in the course of the year. on the evening before, it is announced by the blowing of horns that the morrow will be the feast of halwet. on that day no man, of whatever rank, may come forth in the streets, or appear on the roof of a house, or show himself at a window, for death would be the penalty of his curiosity. the black and white eunuchs keeping order in the streets decapitate without mercy every man who does not remain indoors. notices that this will be done are posted up on all the boundary-posts in the suburbs of the city, that strangers may regulate their conduct accordingly. on the day of the feast of halwet all the damsels discard their veils, without which at all other times they are not permitted to walk about the streets. then it is that the odalisks of one harem go forth to call upon the odalisks of another. rows upon rows of brightly variegated tents appear in the midst of the streets and market-places, in which sherbet and other beverages made of violets, cane-sugar, rose-water, pressed raisins, and citron juice, together with sweetmeats, honey-cakes, and such-like delicacies, to which women are so partial, are sold openly, and all the sellers are also women. ah! what a spectacle that would be for the eyes of a man! every street is swarming with thousands and thousands of bewitching shapes. these women, released from their prisons, are like so many gay and thoughtless children. group after group, singing to the notes of the cithern, saunter along the public ways, decked out in gorgeous butterfly apparel, which flutter around their limbs like gaily coloured wings. the suns and stars of every climate flash and sparkle in those eyes. the whole gigantic city resounds with merry songs and musical chatter, and any man who could have seen them tripping along in whole lines might have exclaimed in despair: "why have i not a hundred, why have i not a thousand hearts to give away!" and then when the harem of the sultan proudly paces forth! half a thousand odalisks, the lovelinesses of every province in the empire, for whom the youths of whole districts have raved in vain, in garments radiant with pearls and precious stones, mounted on splendid prancing steeds gaily caparisoned. and in the midst of them all the beautiful sultana, with the silver heron's plume in her turban, whose stem flashes with sparkling diamonds. her glorious figure is protected by a garment of fine lace, scarce concealing the snowy shimmer of her well-rounded arms. she sits upon the tiger-skin saddle of her haughty steed like an amazon. the regard of her flashing eyes seems to proclaim her the tyrant of two sultans, who has the right to say: "i am indeed my husband's consort!" in front and on each side of the fairy band march four hundred black eunuchs, with naked broadswords across their shoulders, looking up at the windows of the houses before which they march to see whether, perchance, any inquisitive peeping-toms are lurking there. dancing and singing, this bevy of peris traverses the principal streets of stambul. every now and then, a short sharp wail or scream may be heard round the corner of the street the procession is approaching: the eunuchs marching in front have got hold of some inquisitive man or other. by the time the radiant cortège has reached the spot, only a few bloodstains are visible in the street, and, dancing and singing, the fair company of damsels passes over it and beyond. scarce anyone would believe that those wails and screams did not form part and parcel of the all-pervading cries of joy. meanwhile in the etmeidan a much more free-and-easy sort of entertainment is taking place. the women of the lower orders are there diverting themselves in gaily adorned tents, where they can buy as much mead as they can drink, and in the midst of the piazza on round, outspread carpets dance the bayaderes of the streets, whom sultan achmed had once collected together and locked up in a dungeon where they had remained till the popular rising set them free again. in their hands they hold their nakaras (timbrels), clashing them together above their heads as they whirl around; on their feet are bronze bangles; and their long tresses and their light bulging garments flutter around them, whilst with wild gesticulations they dance the most audacious of dances, compared with whose voluptuous movements the passion of the fiercest spanish bailarina is almost tame and spiritless. suddenly one of these street dancing-girls scream aloud to her companions in the midst of the mazy dance, bringing them suddenly to a standstill. "look, look!" she cried, "there comes gül-bejáze! gül-bejáze, the wife of halil patrona." "gül-bejáze! gül-bejáze!" resound suddenly on every side. the bayaderes recognise the woman who had been shut up with them in the same dungeon, surround her, begin to kiss her feet and her garments, raise her up in their arms on to their shoulders, and so exhibit her to all the women assembled together on the piazza. "yonder is the wife of halil patrona!" they cry, and rumour quickly flies with the news all through the city. everyone of the bayaderes dancing among the people has something to say in praise of her. some of them she had cared for in sickness, others she had comforted in their distress, to all of them she had been kind and gentle. and then, too, it was she who had restored them their liberty, for was it not on her account that halil patrona had set them all free? everyone hastened up to her. the poor thing could not escape from the clamorous enthusiasm of the sturdy muscular fish-wives and bathing women who, in their turn also, raised her upon their shoulders and carried her about, finally resolving to carry her all the way home for the honour of the thing. so for halil patrona's palace they set off with gül-bejáze on their shoulders, she all the time vainly imploring them to put her down that she might hide away among the crowd and disappear, for she feared, she trembled at, the honour they did her. from street to street they carried her, whirling along with them in a torrent of drunken enthusiasm everyone they chanced to fall in with on the way; and before them went the cry that the woman whom the others were carrying on their shoulders was the wife of halil patrona, the fêted leader of the people, and ever denser and more violent grew the crowd. any smaller groups they might happen to meet were swept along with them. now and then they encountered the harems of the greatest dignitaries, such as pashas and beglerbegs. it was all one, the august and exalted ladies had also to follow in the suite of the wife of halil patrona, the most powerful man in the realm, whose wife was the gentlest lady under heaven. suddenly, just as they were about to turn into the great square in front of the fortress of the seven towers, another imposing crowd encountered them coming from the opposite direction. it was the escort of the sultana. the half a thousand odalisks and the four hundred eunuchs occupied the whole width of the road, but face to face with them were advancing ten thousand intoxicated viragoes led by the frantic bayaderes. "make way for the sultana!" cried the running eunuchs to the approaching crowd, "make way for the sultana and her suite!" the execution of this command bordered on the impossible. the whole space of the square was filled with women--a perfect sea of heads--and visible above them all was a quivering, tremulous white figure which they had raised on high. "make way for the sultana!" screamed the kadun-kiet-khuda, who led the procession; a warty old woman she was, who had had charge of the harem for years and grown grey in it. at this one of the boldest of the bayaderes thrust herself forward. "make way thyself, thou bearded old witch," she cried; "make way, i say, before the wife of halil patrona. why, thou art not worthy to kiss the dust off her feet. stand aside if thou wilt not come along with us." and with these words she banged her tambourine right under the nose of the kadun-kiet-khuda. and then the bad idea occurred to some of the eunuchs to lift their broadswords against the boisterous viragoes, possibly with a view of cutting a path through them for the sultana. ah! before they had time to whirl their swords above their heads, in the twinkling of an eye, their weapons were torn from their hands, and their backs were well-belaboured with the broad blades. the furious mænads fell upon their assailants, flung them to the ground, and the next instant had seized the bridles of the steeds of the odalisks. the kizlar-aga was fully alive to the danger which threatened the sultana. the whole square was thronged with angry women who, with faces flushed and sparkling eyes, were rushing upon the odalisks. any single eunuch they could lay hold of was pretty certain to meet with a martyr's death in a few seconds. they tore him to pieces, and pelted each other with the bloody fragments before scattering them to the winds. elhaj beshir, therefore, earnestly implored the sultana to turn back and try to regain the seraglio. adsalis cast a contemptuous look on the aga. "one can see that thou art neither man nor woman," cried she, "for if thou wert one or the other, thou wouldst know how to be courageous." then she buried the point of her golden spurs in the flank of her steed, and urged it towards the spot where the most frantic of the mænads stood fighting with the mounted odalisks, tearing some from their horses, rending their clothes, and then by way of mockery remounting them with their faces to the horses' tails. suddenly the sultana stood amongst them with a haughty, commanding look, like a demi-goddess. "who is the presumptuous wretch who would bar the way before me?" she cried in her clear, penetrating voice. one of the odalisks planted herself in front of the sultana and, resting one hand upon her hip, pointed with the other at gül-bejáze! "look!" she cried, "there is gül-bejáze, and she it is who bars thy way and compels thee to make room for her." gül-bejáze, whom the women had brought to the spot on their shoulders, wrung her hands in her desperation, and begged and prayed the sultana for forgiveness. she endeavoured to explain by way of pantomime, for speaking was impossible, that she was there against her will, and it was her dearest wish to humble herself before the face of the sultana. it was all of no use. the yells of the wild bacchantes drowned every sound, and adsalis did not even condescend to look at her. "ye street-sweepings!" exclaimed adsalis passionately, "what evil spirit has entered into you that ye would thus compel the sultana asseki to give way before a pale doll?" "this woman comes before thee," replied the bayadere. "comes before me?" said adsalis, "wherefore, then, does she come before me?" "because she is fairer than thou." adsalis' face turned blood-red with rage at these words, while gül-bejáze went as white as a lily, as if the other woman had robbed all her colour from her. there was shame on one side and fury on the other. to tell a haughty dame in the presence of ten, of twenty thousand persons, that another woman is fairer than she! "and she is more powerful than thou art," cried the enraged bayadere, accumulating insult on the head of adsalis, "for she is the wife of halil patrona." adsalis, in the fury of despair, raised her clenched hands towards heaven and could not utter a word. impotent rage forced the tears from her eyes; and only after these tears could she stammer: "this is the curse of achmed!" when they saw the tears in the eyes of the sultana, everyone for a moment was silent, and suddenly, amidst the stillness of that dumb moment, from the highest window of the prison-fortress of the seven towers, a man's voice called loudly into the square below: "sultana adsalis! sultana adsalis!" "ha! a man! a man!" cried the furious mob; and in an instant they all gazed in that direction--and then in a murmur which immediately died away in an awe-struck whisper: "achmed! achmed!" only adsalis was incapable of pronouncing that name, only her mouth remained gaping open as she gazed upwards. there at the window of the seven towers stood achmed, in whose hands was now a far more terrible power than when they held the wand of dominion, for in his fingers now rests the power of cursing. it is sufficient now for him to point the finger at those he loves not, in order that they may wither away in the bloom of their youth. whomsoever he now breathes upon, however distant they may be, will collapse and expire, and none can save them; and he has but to pronounce the name of his enemies, and torments will consume their inner parts. the destroying angel of allah watches over his every look, so that on whomsoever his eye may fall, that soul is instantly accursed. since the death of ispirizade the people fear him more than when he sat on the throne. a deep silence fell upon the mob. nobody dared to speak. and achmed stretched forth his hand towards adsalis. those who stood around the sultana felt a feeling of shivering awe, and began to withdraw from her, and she herself durst not raise her eyes. "salute that pure woman!" cried the tremulous voice of achmed, "do obeisance to the wife of halil patrona, and cover thy face before her, for she is the true consort of her husband." and having uttered these words, achmed withdrew from the window whither the noise of the crowd had enticed him, and the multitude clamoured as before; but now they no longer tried to force the suite of the sultana to make way before gül-bejáze, but escorted halil patrona's wife back to the dwelling-place of her husband. adsalis, desperate with rage and shame, returned to the seraglio. sobbing aloud, she cast herself at the feet of the sultan, and told him of the disgrace that had befallen her. mahmud only smiled as he heard the whole story, but who can tell what was behind that smile. "dost thou not love me, then, that thou smilest when i weep? ought not blood to flow because tears have flowed from my eyes?" mahmud gently stroked the head of the sultana and said, still smiling: "oh, adsalis! who would ever think of plucking fruit before it is _ripe_?" chapter xi. glimpses into the future. halil patrona was sitting on the balcony of the palace which the sultan and the favour of the people had bestowed upon him. the sun was about to set. it sparkled on the watery mirror of the golden horn, hundreds and hundreds of brightly gleaming flags and sails flapped and fluttered in the evening breeze. gül-bejáze was lying beside him on an ottoman, her beautiful head, with a feeling of languid bliss, reposed on her husband's bosom, her long eyelashes drooping, whilst with her swan-like arms she encircled his neck. she dozes away now and then, but the warm throb-throb of the strong heart which makes her husband's breast to rise and fall continually arouses her again. halil patrona is reading in a big clasped book beautifully written in the ornamental talik script. gül-bejáze does not know this writing; its signs are quite strange to her, but she feasts her delighted eyes on the beautifully painted festoons and lilies and the variegated birds with which the initial letters are embellished, and scarce observes what a black shadow those pretty gaily coloured, butterfly-like letters cast upon halil's face. "what is the book thou art reading?" inquired gül-bejáze. "fairy tales and magic sentences," replied patrona. "is it there that thou readest all those nice stories which thou tellest me every evening?" "yes, they are here." "tell me, i pray thee, what thou hast just been reading?" "when thou art quite awake," said halil, rapturously gazing at the fair face of the girl who was sleeping in his arms--and he continued turning over the leaves of the book. and what then was in it? what did those brightly coloured letters contain? what was the name of the book? that book is the "takimi vekai." ah! ask not a mussulman what the "takimi vekai" is, else wilt thou make him sorrowful; neither mention it before a mohammedan woman, else the tears will gush from her eyes. the "takimi vekai" is "the book of the sentences of the future," which was written a century and a half ago by said achmed-ibn mustafa, and which has since been preserved in the muhamedije mosque, only those high in authority ever having the opportunity of seeing it face to face. those golden letters embellished with splendid flowers contain dark sayings. let us listen: "takimi vekai"--the pages of the future. "on the eighth-and-twentieth day of the month rubi-estani, in the year of the hegira, ,[ ] i, said achmed-ibn mustafa, governor of scutari and scribe of the palace, having accomplished the abdestan[ ] and recited the fateha[ ] with hands raised heavenwards, ascended to the tower of ujuk kule, from whence i could survey all stambul, and there i began to meditate. "and lo! the prophet appeared before me, and breathed upon my eyes and ears in order that i might see and hear nothing but what he commanded me to hear and see. "and i wrote down those things which the prophet said to me. "the giaours already see the tents of the foreign hosts pitched on the tsiragan piazza, already see the half-moon cast down, and the double cross raised on the towers of the mosques, the khanzé[ ] plundered, and the faithful led forth to execution. in the fanar quarters[ ] they are already assembling the people, and saying to one another: 'to-morrow! to-morrow!' "yet allah is the god who defends the padishah of the ottomans. their odzhakjaiks[ ] will scatter terror. allah akbar! god is mighty! "and the captains of the galleys, and the rowers thereof, and the chief of the gunners, and the corsairs of the swift ships will share with one another the treasures and the spoils of the unbelievers. "and the padishah shall rule over thirteen nations. "but lo! a dark cloud arises in the cold and distant north. a foe appears more terrible and persistent than the magyars, the venetians, or the persians. he is still tender like the fledgelings of the hawks of the balkans, but soon, very soon, he will learn to spread his pinions. up, up, silihdar aga, the sultan's sword-bearer! up, up, rechenbtar aga, the sultan's stirrup-holder; up, up, and do your duty. and ye viziers, assemble the reserves. those men who come from the land where the pines and firs raise their virgin branches towards heaven, they long after the warm climates where the olive, the lestisk, the terebinth, and the palm lift their crowns towards heaven. the fathers point out stambul to their sons, they point it out as the booty that will give them sustenance; tender women lay their hands upon the sword to use it against the osmanli, and will fight like heroes. yet the days of the sons of the prophet will not yet come to an end; they will resist the enemy, and stand fast like a salamander in the midst of the burning embers. "the years pass over the world, again the giaours assemble in their myriads and threaten vengeance. but the divan answers them: 'olmaz!'--it cannot be. the anatolian and the rumelian lighthouses, at the entrance of the bosphorus, will signal from their watch-towers the approach of the foreign war-ships. "but this shall be much later, after three-and-twenty padishahs have ruled over the thirteen nations; then and not till then will the armies of the unbelievers assemble before stambul. woe, woe unto us! eternally invincible should the osmanlis remain if they walked, with firm footsteps, according to the commands of the koran. but a time will come when the old customs will fall into oblivion, when new ways will creep in among mussulmen like a rattlesnake crawling into a bed of roses. faith will no longer give strength against those men of ice, and they will enter the nine-and-twenty gates of the seven-hilled city. "lo! this did the prophet reveal to me in the season of el-ashsör, beginning at the time of sundown. "allah give his blessing to the rulers of this world." thus ran the message of the "takimi vekai." halil patrona had read these lines over and over again until he knew every letter of them by heart. they were continually in his thoughts, in his dreams, and the eternally recurring tumult of these anxious bodings allowed his soul no rest. what if it were possible to falsify this prophecy! what if his strong hand could but stay the flying wheel of fate in mid career, hold it fast, and turn it in a different direction! so that what was written in the book of thora before sun and moon were ever yet created might be expunged therefrom, and the guardian angels be compelled to write other things in place thereof! but such an idea ill befits a mussulman; it is not the mental expression of that pious resignation with which the mohammedan fortifies himself against the future, submissive as he is to the decrees of fate, with never a thought of striving against the powers of omnipotence with a mortal hand. ambitious, world-disturbing were the thoughts which ran riot in the brain of halil patrona--thoughts meet for no mere mortal. poor indeed are the thoughts of man. he piles world upon world, and sets about building for the ages, and then a light breath of air strikes upon that which he has built and it becomes dust. wherefore, then, does man take thought for the morrow? the night slowly descended, the glow of the southern sky grew ever paler on the half-moons of the minarets, till they grew gradually quite dark and the cry of the muezzin resounded from the towers of the mosques. "allah kerim! allah akbar! la illah il allah, mohammed rasul allah! god is sublime. god is mighty. there is one god and mohammed is his prophet." and after a few moments he called again: "come, ye people, to the rest of god, to the abode of righteousness; come to the abode of felicity!" gül-bejáze awoke. halil washed his hands and feet, and turning towards the mehrab[ ] began to pray. but in vain he sent away gül-bejáze (for women are not permitted to be present at the prayers of men nor men at the prayers of women); in vain he raised his hands heavenwards; in vain he went down on his knees and lay with his face touching the ground; other thoughts were abroad in his heart--terrifying, disturbing thoughts which suggested to him that the god to whom he prayed no longer existed, but just as his kingdom here on earth was falling to pieces so also in heaven it was on the point of vanishing. thrice he was obliged to begin his prayer all over again, for thrice it was interrupted by a cough, and it is not lawful to go on with a prayer that has once been interrupted. once more he cast a glance upon the darkened city, and it grieved him sorely that nowhere could he perceive a half-moon; whereupon he went in again, sought for gül-bejáze, and told her lovely fairy tales which, he pretended, he had been reading in the talik book. the next day halil gathered together in his secret chamber all those in whom he had confidence. among them were kaplan giraj, a kinsman of the khan of the crimea, musli, old vuodi, mohammed the dervish, and sulali. sulali wrote down what halil said. "mussulmans. yesterday, before the abdestan, i was reading the book whose name is the 'takimi vekai.'" "mashallah!" exclaimed all the mohammedans mournfully. "in that book the overthrow of the ottoman empire is predicted. the year, the day is at hand when the name of allah will no longer be glorified on this earth, when the tinkling of the sheep-bells will be heard on the ruins of the marble fountains, and those other bells so hateful to allah will resound from the towers of the minarets. in those days the giaours will play at quoits with the heads of the true believers, and build mansions over their tombs." "mashallah! the will of god be done!" said old dervish mohammed with a shaking voice, "by then we shall all of us be in paradise, up in the seventh heaven, the soil whereof is of pure starch, ambergris, musk, and saffron. there, too, the very stones are jacinths and the pebbles pure pearls, and the tuba-tree shields the faithful from the heat of the sun, as they rest beneath it and gaze up at its golden flowers and silver leaves, and refresh themselves with the milk, wine, and honey which flow abundantly from its sweet and glorious stem. there, too, are the dwellings of mohammed and the prophets his predecessors, in all their indescribable beauty, and over the roof of every true believer bend the branches of the sacred tree, whose fruits never fail, nor wither, nor rot, and there we shall all live together in the splendour of paradise where every true believer shall have a palace of his own. and in every palace two-and-seventy lovely houris will smile upon him--young virgins of an immortal loveliness--whose faces will never grow old or wrinkled, and who are a hundred times more affectionate than the women of this world." halil listened with the utmost composure till greybeard vuodi had delivered his discourse concerning the joys of paradise. "all that you say is very pretty and very true no doubt, but let your mind also dwell upon what the prophet has revealed to us concerning the distribution of rewards and punishments. when the angel azrael has gently separated our souls from our bodies, and we have been buried with the double tombstone at our heads, on which is written: 'dame allah huti ale remaeti,'[ ] then will come to us the two angels of judgment, monker and nakir. and they will ask us if we have fulfilled the precepts of the prophet. what shall our trembling lips reply to them? and when they ask us whether we have defended the true faith, whether we have defended our fatherland against the infidels, what shall we then reply to them? blessed, indeed, will be those who can answer: 'i have done all which it was commanded me to do,' their spirits will await the final judgment in the cool abodes of the well of ishmael. but as for those who shall answer: 'i saw the danger which threatened the osmanli nation, it was in my power to help and i did it not,' their bodies will be scourged by the angels with iron rods and their souls will be thrust into the abyss of morhut there to await the judgment-day. and when the trump of the angel israfil shall sound and the marvel from the mountain of safa doth appear to write 'mumen'[ ] or 'giaour'[ ] on the foreheads of mankind; and when al-dallaja[ ] comes to root out the nation of the osmanli, and the hosts of gog and magog appear to exterminate the christians, and drink up the waters of the rivers, and at the last all things perish before the mahdi; then when the mountains are rent asunder and the stars fall from heaven, when the archangels michael and gabriel open the tombs and bring forth the trembling, death-pale shapes, one by one, before the face of allah, and they all stand there as transparent as crystal so that every thought of their hearts is visible--what then will you answer, you in whose power it once stood to uphold the dominion of mahomet, you to whom it was given to have swords in your hands and ideas in your heads to be used in its defence--what will you answer, i say, when you hear the brazen voice cry: 'ye who saw destruction coming, did ye try to prevent it?' what will it profit you then, old vuodi and ye others, to say that ye never neglected the abdestan, the güzül, and the thüharet ablutions, nor the five prayers of the namazat, that ye have kept the fast of ramazan and the feast of bejram, that ye have richly distributed the zakato[ ] and the sadakato,[ ] that you have made the pilgrimage to the kaaba at mecca so many times, or so many times, that you have kissed the sin-remitting black stone, that you have drunk from the well of zemzem and seven times made the circuit of the mountain of arafat and flung stones at the devil in the valley of dsemre--what will it profit you, i say, if you cannot answer that question? woe to you, woe to everyone of us who see, who hear, and yet go on dreaming! for when we tread the bridge of alshirat, across whose razor-sharp edge every true believer must pass on his way to paradise, the load of a single sin will drag you down into the abyss, down into hell, and not even into the first hell, gehenna, where the faithful do penance, nor into the hell of ladhana, where the souls of the jews are purified, nor into the hell of hotama wherein the christians perish, nor into the hell of sair which is the abode of the heretics, nor into the hell of sakar wherein the fire-worshippers curse the fire, nor yet into the hell of jahim which resounds with the yells of the idol-worshippers, but into the seventh hell, the deepest and most accursed hell of all, whose name is al-havija, where wallow those who only did god lip-service and never felt the faith in their hearts, for we pray lying prayers when we say that we worship allah and yet allow his temple to be defiled." these words deeply moved the hearts of all present. every sentence alluded to the most weighty of the moslem beliefs; the meshes of the net with which halil had taken their souls captive were composed of the very essentials of their religious and political system, so they could but put their hands to their breasts, bow down before him, and say: "command us and we will obey!" then halil, with the inspiration of a seer, addressed the men before him. "woe to us if we believe that the days of threatening are still far off! woe to us if we believe that the sins which will ruin the nation of osman have not yet been committed! while our ancestors dwelt in tents of skin, half the world feared our name, but since the nation of osman has strutted about in silk and velvet it has become a laughing-stock to its enemies. our great men grow gardens in their palaces; they pass their days in the embraces of women, drinking wine, and listening to music; they loathe the battlefield, and oh, horrible! they blaspheme the name of allah. if among the giaours, blasphemers of god are to be found, i marvel not thereat, for their minds are corrupted by the multitude of this world's knowledge; but how can a mussulman raise his head against god--a mussulman who has never learnt anything in his life save to glorify his name? and what are we to think when on the eve of the feast of halwet we hear a sheik, a descendant of the family of the prophet, a sheik before whom the people bow reverently when they meet him in the street--what are we to think, i say, when we hear this sheik say before the great men of the palace all drunk with wine: 'there is no allah, or if there is an allah he is not almighty; for if he were almighty he would have prevented me from saying, there is no allah!'" a cry of horror arose from the assembled mussulmans which only after a while died away in an angry murmur like a gradually departing gust of wind. "who was the accursed one?" exclaimed mohammed dervish, shaking his clenched fist threateningly. "it was uzun abdi, the aga of the janissaries," replied halil, "who said that, and the others only laughed." "let them all be accursed!" "wealth has ruined the heart of the osmanli," continued halil. "who are they who now control the fate of the realm? the creatures of the sultana, the slaves of the kizlar-aga, the izoglani, whose licentiousness will bring down upon stambul the judgment of sodom and gomorrah. it is from thence we get our rulers and our treasurers, and if now and then fate causes a hero to plump down among them he also grows black like a drop of water that has fallen upon soot; for the treasures, palaces, and odalisks of the fallen magnates are transferred to the new favourite, and ruin him as quickly and as completely as they ruined his predecessors; and so long as these palaces stand by the sweet waters more curses than prayers will be heard within the walls of stambul, so that if ye want to save stambul, ye must burn down these palaces, for as sure as god exists these palaces will consume stambul." "we must go to the sultan about it," said the dervish mohammed. "pulled down they must be, for no righteous man dwells therein. the whole of this empire of stone must come down, whoever is so much as a head taller than his brethren is a sinner. let us raise up those who are lowest of all. down from your perches, ye venal voivodes, khans, and pashas, who buy the empire piecemeal with money and for money barter it away again! let men of war, real men though fame as yet knows them not, step into your places. the very atmosphere in which ye live is pestiferous because of you. for some time now, gold and silver pieces, stamped with the heads of men and beasts, have been circulating in our piazzas, although, as we all know, no figures of living things should appear on the coins of the mussulman. neither russia, nor sweden, nor yet poland pay tribute to us; and yet, i say, these picture-coins still circulate among us. oh! ever since baltaji suffered white[ ] mustache, the emperor of the north, to escape, full well ye know it! gold and silver go further and hit the mark more surely than iron and lead. we must create a new world, none belonging to the old order of things must remain among us. write down a long, long list, and carry it to the grand vizier. if he refuses to accept it, write another in his place on the list, and take it to the sultan. woe betide the nation of osman if it cannot find within it as many just men as its needs require!" the assembled mussulmans thereupon drew up in hot haste a long list of names in which they proposed fresh candidates for all the chief offices of the empire. they put down choja dzhanum as the new kapudan pasha, mustafa beg as the new minister of the interior, musli as the new janissary aga; the actual judges and treasurers were banished, the banished judges and treasurers were restored to their places; instead of maurocordato, who had been educated abroad, they appointed his enemy, richard rakovitsa, surnamed djihan, voivode of wallachia; instead of ghyka they placed the butcher of pera, janaki, on the throne of moldavia; and instead of mengli giraj, khan of the crimea, kaplan giraj, actually present among them, was called to ascend the throne of his ancestors. kaplan giraj pressed halil's hand by way of expressing his gratitude for this mark of confidence. and, oddly enough, as halil pressed the hand of the khan, it seemed to him as if his arm felt an electric shock. what could it mean? but now musli stood up before him. "allow me," said he, "to go with this writing to the grand vizier. you have been in the seraglio already, let mine be the glory of displaying my valour by going thither likewise! do not take all the glory to yourself, allow others to have a little of it too! besides, it does not become you to carry your own messages to the divan. why even the princes of the giaours do not go there themselves but send their ambassadors." halil patrona gratefully pressed the janissary's hand. he knew right well that he spoke from no desire of glorification, he knew that musli only wanted to go instead of him because it was very possible that the bearer of these demands might be beheaded. once again musli begged earnestly of halil that the delivery of these demands might be entrusted to him, and so proudly did he make his petition that it was impossible for halil patrona to deny him. now musli was a sly dog. he knew very well that it was a very risky business to present so many demands all at once, but he made up his mind that he would so completely take the grand vizier by surprise, that before he could find breath to refuse the demands of the people, he would grant one of them after another, for if he swallowed the first of them that was on the list, he might be hoodwinked into swallowing the rest likewise. the new grand vizier went by the name of kabakulak, or blunt-ear, because he was hard of hearing, which suited musli exactly, as he had, by nature, a bad habit of bawling whenever he spoke. at first kabakulak would not listen to anything at all. he seemed to have suddenly gone stone-deaf, and had every single word repeated to him three times over; but when musli said to him that if he would not listen to what he was saying, he, musli, would go off at once to the sultan and tell _him_, kabakulak opened his ears a little wider, became somewhat more gracious, and asked musli, quite amicably, what he could do for him. musli felt his courage rising many degrees since he began bawling at a grand vizier. "halil patrona _commands_ it to be done," he bellowed in kabakulak's ear. the vizier threw back his head. "come, come, my son!" said he, "don't shout in my ear like that, just as if i were deaf. what did you say it was that halil patrona begs of me?" "don't twist my words, you old owl!" said musli, naturally _sotto voce_. then raising his voice, he added, "halil patrona wants dzhanum choja appointed kapudan pasha." "good, good, my son! just the very thing i wanted done myself; that has been resolved upon long ago, so you may go away home." "go away indeed! not yet! then wallachia wants a new voivode." "it has got one already, got one already i tell you, my son. his name is maurocordato. bear it in mind--mau-ro-cor-da-to." "i don't mean to bother my tongue with it at all. as i pronounce it it is--djihan." "djihan? who is djihan?" "djihan is the voivode of wallachia." "very well, you shall have it so. and what do you want for yourself, my son, eh?" musli was inscribed in the list as the aga of the janissaries, but he was too modest to speak of himself. "don't trouble your head about me, kabakulak, while there are so many worthier men unprovided for. we want the khan of the crimea deposed and the banished kaplan giraj appointed in his stead." "very well, we will inform kaplan giraj of his promotion presently." "not presently, but instantly. instantly, i say, without the least delay." musli accompanied his eloquence with such gesticulations that the grand vizier thought it prudent to fall back before him. "don't you feel well?" he asked musli, who had suddenly become silent. in his excitement he had forgotten the other demands. "ah! i have it," he said, and sitting down on the floor at his ease, he took the list from his bosom and extending it on the floor, began reciting halil patrona's nominations seriatim. the grand vizier approved of the whole thing, he had no objection to make to anything. musli left janaki's elevation last of all: "he you must make voivode of moldavia," said he. suddenly kabakulak went quite deaf. he could not hear a word of musli's last demand. musli drew nearer to him, and making a speaking-trumpet out of his hands, bawled in his ear: "janaki i am talking about." "yes, yes! i hear, i hear. you want him to be allowed to provide the sultan's kitchen with the flesh of bullocks and sheep. so be it! he shall have the charge." "would that the angel izrafil might blow his trumpet in thine ear!" said musli to himself _sotto voce_. "i am not talking of his trade as a butcher," added he aloud. "i say that he is to be made prince of moldavia." kabakulak now thought it just as well to show that he heard what had been asked, and replied very gravely: "you know not what you are asking. the padishah, only four days ago, gave this office to prince ghyka, who is a wise and distinguished man. the sultan cannot go back from his word." "a wise and distinguished man!" cried musli in amazement. "what am i to understand by that? is there any difference then between one giaour and another?" "the sultan has so ordered it, and without his knowledge i cannot take upon myself to alter his decrees." "very well, go to the sultan then and get him to undo again what he has done. for the rest you can do what you like for what i care, only beware of one thing, beware lest you lose the favour of halil patrona!" kabakulak by this time had had nearly enough of musli, but the latter still continued diligently to consult his list. he recollected that halil patrona had charged him to say something else, but what it was he could not for the life of him call to mind. "ah, yes! now i have it!" he cried at last. "halil commands that those nasty palaces which stand by the sweet waters shall be burnt to the ground." "i suppose, my worthy incendiaries, you will next ask permission to plunder stambul out and out?" "it is too bad of you, kabakulak, to speak like that. halil does not want the palaces burnt for the love of the thing, but because he does not want the generals to have an asylum where they may hide, plant flowers, and wallow in vile delights just when they ought to be hastening to the camp. if every pasha had not his paradise here on earth and now, many more of them would desire the heavenly paradise. that is why halil patrona would have all those houses of evil luxury burnt to the ground." "may halil patrona live long enough to see it come to pass. this also will i report to the sultan." "look sharp about it then! i will wait in your room here till you come back." "you will wait here?" "yes, never mind about me! i have given orders that my dinner is to be sent after me here. i look to you for coffee and tobacco, and if you happen to be delayed till early to-morrow morning, you will find me sleeping here on the carpet." kabakulak could now see that he had to do with a man of character who would not stir from the spot till everything had been settled completely to his satisfaction. the most expeditious mode of ending matters would, no doubt, have been to summon a couple of ciauses and make them lay the rascal's head at his own feet, but the political horizon was not yet sufficiently serene for such acts of daring. the bands of the insurgents were still encamping in the public square outside. first of all they must be hoodwinked and pacified, only after that would it be possible to proceed to extreme measures against them. all that the grand vizier could do, therefore, was frankly to present all halil patrona's demands to the sultan. mahmud granted everything on the spot. in an hour's time the firmans and hatti-scherifs, deposing and elevating the various functionaries, were in musli's hands as desired. only as to the method of destroying the kiosks did the sultan venture to make a suggestion. they had better not be burnt to the ground, he opined, for thereby the mussulmans would make themselves the laughing-stock of the whole christian world; but he undertook to dilapidate the walls and devastate the pleasure-gardens. and within three days one hundred and twenty splendid kiosks, standing beside the sweet waters, had become so many rubbish heaps; and the rare and costly plants of the beautiful flower-gardens were chucked into the water, and the groves of amorous dallying were cut down to the very roots. only ruins were now to be seen in the place of the fairy palaces wherein all manner of earthly joys had hitherto built their nests, and all this ruin was wrought in three days by halil patrona, just because there is but one god, and therefore but one paradise, and because this paradise is not on earth but in heaven, and those who would attain thereto must strive and struggle valiantly for it in this life. footnotes: [ ] a.d. [ ] ablutions before prayers. [ ] the first section of the koran. [ ] the imperial treasury. [ ] the part of stambul inhabited by the greeks. [ ] companies of horse. [ ] tablets indicating the direction in which mecca lies. [ ] "god be for ever gracious to him." [ ] believer. [ ] unbeliever. [ ] anti-christ. [ ] the prescribed almsgiving. [ ] voluntary almsgiving. [ ] peter the great. the allusion is to the peace of the pruth. chapter xii. human hopes. a time will come when the star has risen so high that it can rise no higher, and perchance learns to know that before long it must begin its inevitable descent!... all halil patrona's wildest dreams had been realised. there he stood at the very apex of sovereignty, whence the course of empires, the destiny of worlds can be controlled. ministers of state were pulled down or lifted up at his bidding, armies were sent against foreign powers as he directed, princes were strengthened on their thrones because halil patrona wished it, and the great men of the empire lay in the dust at his feet. for whole days at a time he sat reading the books of the ottoman chroniclers, the famous rashid and the wise chelbizade, and after that he would pore over maps and charts and draw lines of different colours across them in all directions, and dot them with dots which he alone understood the meaning of. and those lines and dots stretched far, far away beyond the borders of the empire, right into the midst of podolia and the ukraine. he knew, and he only, what he meant by them. the projects he was hatching required centuries for their fulfilment--what is the life of a mere man? in thought he endowed the rejuvenescent ottoman empire with the energies of a thousand years. once more he perceived its conquering sword winning fresh victories, and extending its dominions towards the east and the south, but especially towards the north. he saw the most powerful of nations do it homage; he saw the guardian-angels of islam close their eyes before the blinding flashes of the triumphant swords of the sons of osman, and hasten to record in the book of the future events very different from those which had been written down before. ah, human hopes, human hopes!--the blast blows upon them and they crumble away to nothing. but halil's breast beat with a still greater joy, with a still loftier hope, when turning away from the tumult of the world, he opened the door of his private room and entered therein. what voices are those which it does his soul good to hearken to? why does he pause and stand listening before the curtain? what is he listening to? it is the feeble cry of a child, a little baby child. a few days before gül-bejáze bore him a son, on the anniversary of the very day when he made her his wife. this child was the purest part of halil's joy, the loftiest star of his hopes. whithersoever i may one day rise, he would reflect, this child shall rise with me. whatever i shall not be able to achieve, he will accomplish. those happier, more glorious times which i shall never be able to see, he will rejoice in. through him i shall leave behind me in ottoman history an eternal fame--a fame like to that of the küprili family, which for a whole century and a half gave heroes and saints and sages to the empire. gül-bejáze wanted the child to be called ferhád, or sender, as so many of the children of the poor were wont to be called; but halil gave him the name of behram. "he is a man-child," said halil, "who will one day be called to great things." human calculations, human hopes, what are they? to-day the tree stands full of blossoms, to-morrow it lies prone on the ground, cut down to the very roots. who shall strive with the almighty, and from what son of man does the lord god take counsel? halil stole on tip-toe to the bed of his wife who was playing with the child; she did not perceive him till he was quite close to her. how they rejoiced together! the baby wandered from hand to hand; how they embraced and kissed it! both of them seemed to live their lives over again in the little child. and now old janaki also drew nigh. his face was smiling, but whenever he opened his mouth his words were sad and gloomy. all joy vanished from his life the moment he was made a voivode, just as if he felt that only death could relieve him of that dignity. he had a peculiar joy in perpetually prophesying evil things. "if only you could bring the child up!" he cried; "but you will not live long enough to do that. men like you, halil, never live long, and i don't want to survive you. you will see me die, if see you can; and when you die, your child will be doubly an orphan." with such words did he trouble them. they were always relieved when, at last, he would creep into a corner and fall asleep from sheer weariness, for his anxiety made him more and more somnolent as he grew older. but again the door opened, and there entered the kadun-kiet-khuda, the guardian of the ladies of the seraglio, accompanied by two slave-girls carrying a splendid porcelain pitcher, which they deposited at the sick woman's bed with this humble salutation: "the sultana validé greets thee and sends thee this sherbet!" the sultana validé, or dowager, used only to send special messages to the sultan's favourite wives when they lay in child-bed; this, therefore, was a great distinction for the wife of halil patrona--or a great humiliation for the sultana. and a great humiliation it certainly was for the latter. it was by the command of sultan mahmud that the sultana had sent the sherbet. "you see," said halil, "the great ones of the earth kiss the dust off your feet. there are slaves besides those in the bazaars, and the first become the last. rejoice in the present, my princess, and catch fortune on the wing." "fortune, halil," said his wife with a mournful smile, "is like the eels of the bosphorus, it slips from your grasp just as you fancy you hold it fast." and halil believed that he held it fast in his grasp. the highest officers of state were his friends and colleagues, the sultan himself was under obligations to him, for indeed halil had fetched him from the dungeon of the seven towers to place him on the throne. and at that very moment they were digging the snare for him into which he was to fall. the sultan who could not endure the thought that he was under a debt of gratitude to a poor oppressed pedlar, the sultana who could never forget the humiliation she had suffered because of gül-bejáze, the kizlar-aga who feared the influence of halil, the grand vizier who had been compelled to eat humble pie--all of them had long been waiting for an occasion to ruin him. * * * * * one day the sultan distributed thirty wagon-loads of money among the forty thousand janissaries and the sixteen thousand topadshis in the capital because they had proposed to be reconciled with the seraglio and reassemble beneath the banner of the prophet. the insurgent mob, moreover, promised to disperse under two conditions: a complete amnesty for past offences, and permission to retain two of their banners that they might be able to assemble together again in case anything was undertaken against them. their requests were all granted. halil patrona, too, was honoured by being made one of the privy councillors of the divan. seven-and-twenty of the popular leaders were invited at the same time to appear in the divan and assist in its deliberations. halil patrona was the life and soul of the lot. he inspired them with magnanimous, enlightened resolutions, and when in his enthusiastic way he addressed them, the worthy cobblers and fishermen felt themselves turned into heroes, and it seemed as if _they_ were the leaders of the nation, while the pashas and grandees sitting beside them were mere fishermen and cobblers. everyone of his old friends and his new colleagues looked up to and admired him. only one person could not reconcile himself with the thought that he owed his power to a pedlar who had risen from the dust--and this man was kaplan giraj, the khan of the crimea. he was to be halil's betrayer. he informed the grand vizier of the projects of halil, who wished to persuade the sultan to declare war against russia, because russia was actively assisting persia. moldavia and the crimea were the starting points of the armies that were to clip the wings of the menacing northern foe, and thereby nullify the terrible prophecies of the "takimi vekai." kaplan giraj informed kabakulak of these designs, and they agreed that a man with such temerarious projects in his head ought not to live any longer--he was much too dangerous. they resolved that he should be killed during the deliberations at the house of the grand vizier. for this purpose they chose from among the most daring of the janissaries those officers who had a grudge against halil for enforcing discipline against them, and were also jealous of what they called his usurpation of authority. these men they took with them to the council as members of the divan. it was arranged thus. when halil had brought forward and defended his motion for a war against russia, then kaplan giraj would argue against the project, whereupon halil was sure to lose his temper. the khan thereupon was to rush upon him with a drawn sword, and this was to be the signal for the janissary officers to rise in a body and massacre all halil's followers. so it was a well-prepared trap into which halil and his associates were to fall, and they had not the slightest suspicion of the danger that was hanging over their heads. * * * * * the grand vizier sat in the centre of the councillors, beside him on his right hand sat kaplan giraj, while the place of honour on his left was reserved for halil patrona. all around sat the spahi and janissary officers with their swords in their hands. the plot was well contrived, the whole affair was bound to be over in a few minutes. the popular deputies arrived; there were seven-and-twenty of them, not including halil patrona. the janissary officers were sixty in number. kabakulak beckoned to halil to sit on his left hand, the others were so arranged that each one of them sat between a couple of janissary officers. as soon as kaplan giraj gave the signal by drawing his sword against halil, the janissaries were to fall upon their victims and cut them down. "my dear son," said the grand vizier to halil, when they had all taken their places, "behold, at thy desire, we have summoned the council and the chief officers of the army; tell them, i pray thee, wherefore thou hast called them together!" halil thereupon arose, and turning towards the assembly thus addressed it: "mussulmans! faithful followers of the prophet! if any one of you were to hear that his house was on fire, would he need lengthy explanations before hastening away to extinguish it? if ye were to hear that robbers had broken into your houses and were plundering your goods--if ye were to hear that ruffians were throttling your little children or your aged parents, or threatening the lives of your wives with drawn swords, would you wait for further confirmation or persuasion before doing anything, or would you not rather rush away of your own accord to slay these robbers and murderers? and lo! what is more than our houses, more than our property, more than our children, our parents, or our wives--our fatherland, our faith is threatened with destruction by our enemy. and this enemy has all the will but not yet the power to accomplish what he threatens; and his design is never abandoned, but is handed down from father to son, for never will he make peace, he will ever slay and destroy till he himself is destroyed and slain--this enemy is the muscovite. our fathers heard very little of that name, our sons will hear more, and our grandsons will weep exceedingly because of it. our religion bids us to be resigned to the decrees of fate, but only cowards will be content to sit with their hands in their laps because the predestined fate of the ottoman empire is written in heaven. if the prophecy says that a time must come when the ottoman empire must fall to pieces because of the cowardice of the ottoman nation, does it not depend upon us and our children whether the prophecy be accomplished, or whether its fulfilment be far removed from us? of a truth the signification of that prophecy is this: we shall perish if we are cowards; let us _not_ be cowards then, and never shall we perish. and if the foe whose sword shall one day deal the nations of muhammad the most terrible wounds, and whose giant footsteps shall leave on turkish soil the bloodiest and most shameful imprints--if i say this foe be already pointed out to us, why should we not anticipate him, why should we wait till he has grown big enough to swallow us up when we are now strong enough to destroy him? the opportunity is favourable. the cossacks demand help from us against the muscovite dominion. if we give them this help they will be our allies, if we withhold it they will become our adversaries. the tartars, the circassians, and moldavians are the bulwarks of our empire, let us join to them the cossacks also, and not wait until they all become the bulwarks of our northern foe instead, and he will lead them all against us. when he built the fortress of azov he showed us plainly what he meant by it. let us also now show that we understood his intentions and raze that fortress to the ground." with these words halil resumed his place. as pre-arranged kaplan giraj now stood up in his turn. halil fully expected that the tartar khan, who was to have played such an important part in his project, inasmuch as his dominions were directly in the way of an invading enemy, and therefore most nearly threatened, would warmly support his proposition. all the greater then was his amazement when kaplan giraj turned towards him with a contemptuous smile and replied in these words: "it is a great calamity for an empire when its leading counsellors are ignorant. i will not question your good intentions, halil, but it strikes me as very comical that you should wish us, on the strength of the prophecy of a turkish recluse, to declare war against one of our neighbours who is actually living at peace with us, is doing us no harm, and harbours no mischievous designs against us. you speak as if europe was absolutely uninhabited by any but ourselves, as if there was no such thing as powerful nations on every side of us, jealous neighbours all of them who would incontinently fall upon us with their banded might in case of a war unjustly begun by us. all this comes from the simple fact that you do not understand the world, halil. how could you, a mere petty huckster, be expected to do so? so pray leave in peace imperial affairs, and whenever you think fit to occupy your time in reading poems and fairy-tales, don't fancy they are actual facts." the representatives of the people regarded the khan with amazement. halil, with a bitter look, measured him from head to foot. he knew now that he had been betrayed. and he had been betrayed by the very man to whom he had assigned a hero's part! with a smiling face he turned towards him. he had no thought now that he had fallen into a trap. he addressed the khan as if they were both in the room together alone. "truly you spoke the truth, kaplan giraj, when you reproached me with the shame of ignorance. i never learnt anything but the koran, i have never had the opportunity of reading those books which mock at the things which are written in the koran; i only know that when the prophet proclaimed war against the idolators he never inquired of the neighbouring nations, shall i do this, or shall i not do it? and so he always triumphed. i know this, too, that since the divan has taken to debating and negociating with its enemies, the ottoman armies have been driven across the three rivers--the danube, the dnieper, and the pruth--and melt away and perish in every direction. i am a rough and ignorant man i know, therefore do not be amazed at me if i would defend the faith of mohammed with the sword when, perhaps, there may be other means of doing so with which i am unacquainted. i, on the other hand, will not be astonished that you, a scion of the princely crimean family, should be afraid of war. you were born a ruler and know therefore that your life is precious. you embellish the deeds of your enemy that you may not be obliged to fight against him. you say 'tis a good neighbour, a peaceful neighbour, he does no harm, although you very well know that it was the muscovite guns which drove our timariots out of kermanshan, and that the persians were allowed to march through russian territory in order to fall upon our general abdullah pasha from behind. but there is nothing hostile about all this in your eyes, you are perfectly contented with your fate. war might deprive you of your khannish dignity, while in peaceful times you can peaceably retain it. it matters not to you whose servant you may be so long as you hold sway in your own domain, and you call him a blockhead who does not look after himself first of all. yes, kaplan giraj, i am a blockhead no doubt, for i am not afraid to risk losing this wretched life, awaiting my reward in another world. i was not born in silks and purples but in the love of my country and the fear of god, while you are wise enough to be satisfied with the joys of this life. but, by way of reward for betraying your good friend, may allah cause you, one day, to become the slave of your enemies, so that he who was wont to be called kaplan[ ] may henceforth be named sichian."[ ] even had nothing been preconcerted, kaplan giraj's sword must needs have leaped from its sheath at these mortally insulting words. furiously he leaped from his seat with his flashing sword in his hand. ah! but now it was the turn of the grand vizier and all the other conspirators to be amazed. the janissaries who had been placed by the side of the popular leaders never budged from their seats, and not one of them drew his weapon at the given signal. such inertia was so inexplicable to the initiated that kaplan giraj remained standing in front of halil paralyzed with astonishment. as for halil he simply crossed his arms over his breast and gazed upon him contemptuously. the janissary officers had disregarded the signal. "i am well aware," said halil to the khan with cold sobriety--"i am well aware what sort of respect is due to this place, and therefore i do not draw my sword against yours even in self-defence. for though i am not so well versed in european customs as you are, and know not whether it is usual in the council-chambers of foreign nations to settle matters with the sword, or whether it is the rule in the french or the english cabinet that he who cuts down his opponent in mid-council is in the right and his opinion must needs prevail--but of so much i am certain, that it is not the habit to settle matters with naked weapons in the ottoman divan. now that the council is over, however, perhaps you would like to descend with me into the gardens where we may settle the business out of hand, and free one another from the thought that death is terrible." halil's cold collected bearing silenced, disarmed his enemies. the eyes of the grand vizier and the khan surveyed the ranks of the janissary officers, while halil's faithful adherents began to assemble round their leader. "then there is no answer to the words of halil patrona?" inquired kabakulak at last tentatively. they were all silent. "have you no answer at all then?" at this all the janissaries arose, and one of them stepping forward said: "halil is right. we agree with all that he has said." the grand vizier did not know whether he was standing on his head or his heels. kaplan giraj wrathfully thrust his sword back again into its scabbard. all the janissary officers evidently were on halil patrona's side. it was impossible not to observe the confusion in the faces of the chief plotters; the well-laid plot could not be carried out. after a long interval kabakulak was the first to recover himself, and tried to put a new face on matters till a better opportunity should arise. "such important resolutions," said he, "cannot be carried into effect without the knowledge of the sultan. to-morrow, therefore, let us all assemble in the seraglio to lay our desires before the padishah. you also will be there, halil, and you also, kaplan giraj." "which of us twain will be there allah only knows," said halil. "there, my son, you spake not well; nay, very ill hast thou spoken. it is a horrible thing when two mussulmans revile one another. be reconciled rather, and extend to each other the hand of fellowship! i will not allow you to fight. both of you spoke with good intentions, and he is a criminal who will not forget personal insults when it is a question of the commonweal. forgive one another and shake hands, i say." and he seized the reluctant hands of both men and absolutely forced them to shake hands with each other. but he could not prevent their eyes from meeting, and though swords were denied them their glances of mutual hatred were enough to wound to the death. after the council broke up, halil's enemies remained behind with the grand vizier. kaplan giraj gnashed his teeth with rage. "didn't i tell you not to let him speak!" he exclaimed, "for when once he opens his mouth he turns every drawn sword against us, and drives wrath from the breasts of men with the glamour of his tongue." so they had three days wherein to hatch a fresh plot. * * * * * the session of the divan was fixed for three days later. halil patrona employed the interval like a man who feels that his last hour is at hand. he would have been very short-sighted not to have perceived that judgment had already been pronounced against him, although his enemies were still doubtful how to carry it into execution. he resigned himself to his fate as it became a pious mussulman to do. he had only one anxiety which he would gladly have been rid of--what was to become of his wife and child. on the evening of the last day he led gül-bejáze down to the shore of the bosphorus as if he would take a walk with her. the woman carried her child in her arms. since the woman had had a child she had acquired a much braver aspect. the gentlest animal will be audacious when it has young ones, even the dove becomes savage when it is hatching its fledgelings. halil put his wife into a covered boat, which was soon flying along under the impulse of his muscular arms. the child rejoiced aloud at the rocking of the boat, he fancied it was the motion of his cradle. the eyes of the woman were fixed now upon the sky and now upon the unruffled surface of the watery mirror. a star smiled down upon her wheresoever she gazed. the evening was very still. "knowest thou whither i am taking thee, gül-bejáze?" asked her husband. "if thou wert to ask me whither thou oughtest to send me, i would say take me to some remote and peaceful valley enclosed all around by lofty mountains. build me there a little hut by the side of a bubbling spring, and let there be a little garden in front of the little hut. let me stroll beneath the leaves of the cedar-trees, where i may hear no other sound but the cooing of the wood-pigeon; let me pluck flowers on the banks of the purling brook, and spy upon the wild deer; let me live there and die there--live in thine arms and die in the flowering field by the side of the purling brook. if thou wert to ask me, whither shall i take thee, so would i answer." "thou hast said it," replied halil, shipping the oars, for the rising evening breeze had stiffened out the sail and the little boat was flying along of its own accord; then he sat him down beside his wife and continued, "i am indeed sending thee to a remote and hidden valley, where a little hut stands on the banks of a purling stream. i have prepared it for thee, and there shalt thou dwell with thy child." "and thou thyself?" "i will guide thee to the opposite shore, there an old family servant of thy father's awaits thee with saddled mules. he loves thee dearly, and will bring thee into that quiet valley and he must never leave thee." "and thou?" "this little coffer thou wilt take with thee; it contains money which i got from thy father; no curse, no blood is upon it, it shall be thine and thy children's." "and thou?" inquired gül-bejáze for the third time, and she was very near to bursting into tears. "i shall have to return to stambul. but i will come after thee. perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the day after to-morrow, perhaps later still. it may be very much sooner, it may be much later. but thou wait for me. every evening spread the table for me, for thou knowest not when i may arrive." the tears of gül-bejáze began to fall upon the child she held to her breast. "why weepest thou?" asked halil. "'tis foolish of thee. leave-taking is short, suspense only is long. it will be better with thee than with me, for thou wilt have the child while i shall have nothing left, yet i do not weep because we shall so soon meet again." meanwhile they had reached the shore, the old servant was awaiting them with the two mules. halil helped his wife to descend from the boat. gül-bejáze buried her head in her husband's bosom and tenderly embraced him. "go not back, leave me not alone," said she; "do not leave us, come with us. what dost thou seek in that big desolate city when we are no longer there? come with us, let us all go together, vanish with us. let them search for thee, and may their search be as vain as the search for a star fallen from heaven; it is not good for thee to be in high places." halil made no reply. his wife spoke the truth, but pride prevented him from escaping like a coward when he knew that his enemies were conspiring against him. presently he said to gül-bejáze with a reassuring voice: "do not be anxious on my account, i have a talisman with me. why dost thou smile? thou a christian woman dost not believe in talismans? my talisman is my heart, surely thou believest in it now? it has always helped me hitherto." and with that halil kissed his wife and his child and returned to the boat. he seized the oars in his powerful hands and was soon some distance from the shore. and as he rowed further and further away into the gloom of evening he saw his abandoned wife still standing on the shore with her child clasped to her breast, and the further he receded the keener grew his anguish of heart because he durst not turn back to them and kiss and embrace them once more. * * * * * early in the morning the gigantic halil pelivan, accompanied by twelve bostanjis, appeared among the janissaries with three asses laden with five little panniers, containing five thousand ducats which he emptied upon the ground and distributed among the brave fellows. "the grand vizier sends you this, my worthy comrades," cried he. this was the only way of talking sense to the janissaries. "and now i have to ask something of you." "say on!" "is there among you any fellow who loves nobody, who would be capable of slaying his own dear father if he were commanded so to do and well paid for it, who is afraid of nothing, has no bowels of compassion, and cannot be made to falter by the words of the wise?" in response to this challenge, hundreds and hundreds of the janissaries stepped out of their ranks, declaring that they were just the boys to satisfy pelivan's demands. pelivan selected from amongst them two-and-thirty of the most muscular and truculent, and commanded them to follow him into the seraglio. once there he conducted them into the porcelain chamber, made them squat down on the precious carpets, put before them quantities of the most savoury food, which they washed down with the rich wine of cypress and the heating muskoveto, a mysterious beverage generally reserved for the sultan's use, which is supposed to confer courage and virility. when they had well eaten and drunken moreover, pelivan supplied them with as much opium as they wanted. shortly afterwards there came out to them the grand vizier, the lame pasha, topal ozman, patsmajezade, the chief justiciary of rumelia, the cobbler's son, and the tartar khan, who patted their shoulders, tasted of their food, drank out of their goblets, and after telling them what fine brave fellows they were, discreetly withdrew. the divan meanwhile had assembled in the hall of lions. there were gathered together the ulemas, the viziers, and the representatives of the people. halil patrona was there also; and presently kabakulak, topal ozman, patsmajezade, and kaplan giraj arrived likewise and took their places. the grand vizier turned first of all to halil, whom he addressed with benign condescension. "the padishah assures thee through me of his grace and favour, and of his own good pleasure appoints thee beglerbeg of rumelia." and with that a couple of dülbendars advanced with the costly kaftan of investiture. halil patrona reflected for an instant. the sultan indeed had always been gracious towards him. he evidently wanted to favour him with an honourable way of retreat. he was offering him a high dignity whereby he might be able to withdraw from the capital, and yet at the same time gratify his ambition. the sultan really had a kindly heart then. he rewards the man whom his ministers would punish as a malefactor. but his hesitation only lasted for a moment. then he recovered himself and resolutely answered: "i will not accept that kaftan. for myself i ask nothing. i did not come here to receive high office, i came to hear war proclaimed." the grand vizier bowed down before him. "thy word is decisive. the padishah has decided that what thou and thy comrades demand shall be accomplished. the grand seignior himself awaits thee in the porcelain chamber. there war shall be proclaimed, and the kaftans of remembrance distributed to thee and thy fellows." and with that the ulemas and halil's comrades were led away to the kiosk of erivan. "and ye who are the finest fellows of us all," said kabakulak, turning to halil and musli--"ye, halil and musli, come first of all to kiss the sultan's hand." halil with a cold smile pressed musli's hand. even now poor musli had no idea what was about to befall them. only when at "the gate of the cold spring" the spahis on guard divested them of their weapons, for none may approach the sultan with a sword by him--only, then, i say, did he have a dim sensation that all was not well. in the sofa chamber, where the divan is erected, is a niche separated from the rest of the chamber by a high golden trellis-work screen, behind whose curtains it is the traditional custom of the sultan to listen privately to the deliberations of his counsellors. from behind these curtains a woman's face was now peeping. it was adsalis, the favourite sultana, and behind her stood elhaj beshir, the kizlar-aga. both of them knew there would be a peculiar spectacle, something well worth seeing in that chamber to-day. the curtains covering the doors of the porcelain chamber bulged out, and immediately afterwards two men entered. they advanced to the steps of the sultan's throne, knelt down there, and kissed the hem of the sultan's garment. mahmud was sitting on his throne, the same instant kabakulak clapped his hands and cried: "bring in their kaftans!" at these words out of the adjoining apartment rushed pelivan and the thirty-two janissaries with drawn swords. mahmud hid his face so as not to see what was about to happen. "halil! we are betrayed!" exclaimed musli, and placing himself in front of his comrade he received on his own body the first blow which pelivan had aimed at halil. "in vain hast thou written thy name above mine, patrona," roared the giant, waving his huge broadsword above his head. at these words halil drew forth from his girdle a dagger which he had secreted there, and hurled it with such force at pelivan that the sharp point pierced his left shoulder. but the next moment he was felled to the ground by a mortal blow. while still on his knees he raised his eyes to heaven and said: "it is the will of allah." at another blow he collapsed, and falling prone breathed forth his last sigh: "i die, but my son is still alive." and he died. then all his associates were brought into the sofa chamber one by one from the erivan kiosk where they had been robed in splendid kaftans, and as they entered the room were decapitated one after the other. they had not even time to shut their eyes before the fatal stroke descended. six-and-twenty of them perished there and then. only three survived the day, sulali, mohammed the dervish, and alir aalem, the custodian of the sacred banner and justiciary of stambul. all three were ulemas, and therefore not even the sultan was free to slay them. accordingly the grand vizier appointed them all sandjak-begs, or governors of provinces. as they knew nothing of the death of their comrades they accepted the dignities conferred upon them, renouncing at the same time as usual their office of ulemas. the following day they were all put to death. on the third day after that the people of the city in their walks abroad saw eight-and-thirty severed heads stuck on the ends of spears over the central gate of the seraglio. all these heads, with their starting eyes and widely parted lips, seemed to be speaking to the amazed multitudes; only halil patrona's eyes were closed and his lips sealed. suddenly a great cry of woe arose from one end of the city to the other, the people seized their arms and rushed off to the etmeidan under three banners. they had no other leader now but janaki, all the rest had escaped or were dead. so now they brought _him_ forward. the tidings of halil's death wrought no change in him, he had foreseen it long before, and was well aware that gül-bejáze had departed from the capital. he had himself prepared for her the little dwelling in the valley lost among the ravines of mount taurus, which was scarce known to any save to him and the few dwellers there, and he had brought back with him from thence a pair of carrier-pigeons, so that in case of necessity he might be able to send messages to his daughter without having to depend on human agency. when the clamorous mob invited him to the etmeidan he wrote to his daughter on a tiny shred of vellum, and tied the letter beneath the wing of the pigeon. and this is what he wrote: "god's grace be with thee! wait not for halil, he is dead. the janissaries have killed him. and i shall not be long after him, take my word for it. but live thou and watch over thy child.--janaki." with that he opened the window and let the dove go, and she, rising swiftly into the air, remained poised on high for a time with fluttering pinions, and then, with the swiftness and directness of a well-aimed dart, she flew straight towards the mountains. "poor irene!" sighed janaki, buckling on his sword with which he certainly was not very likely to kill anybody--and he accompanied the insurgents to the etmeidan. in stambul things were all topsy-turvy once more. the seventh janissary regiment, when the two-and-thirty janissaries returned to them with bloody swords boasting of their deed, rushed upon them and cut them to pieces. the new janissary aga was shot dead within his own gates. kabakulak retired within a mosque. halil pelivan, who had been appointed kulkiaja, hid himself in a drain pipe for three whole days, and never emerged therefrom so long as the uproar lasted. three days later all was quiet again. a new name came to the front which quelled the risen tempest--the last scion of the famous küprili family, every member of which was a hero. achmed küprilizade collected together the ten thousand shebejis, bostanjis, and baltajis who dwelt round the seraglio, and when everyone was in despair attacked the rebels in the open streets, routed them in the piazzas, and in three days seven thousand of the people fell beneath his blows--and so the realm had peace once more. janaki also fell. they chopped off his head and he offered not the slightest resistance. as for pelivan and kabakulak they were banished for their cowardice. so achmed küprilizade became grand vizier. as for achmed iii. he lived nine years longer in the seven towers, and tradition says he died by poison. footnotes: [ ] tiger. [ ] mouse. chapter xiii. the empty place. everything was now calm and quiet, and the world pursued its ordinary course; but far away among the blue mountains dwells a woman who knows nothing of all that is going on around her, and who every evening ascends the highest summit of the hills surrounding her little hut and gazes eagerly, longingly, in the direction of stambul, following with her eyes the long zig-zag path which vanishes in the dim distance--will he come to-day whom she has so long awaited in vain? every evening she returns mournfully to her little dwelling, and whenever she sits down to supper she places opposite to her a platter and a mug--and so she waits for him who comes not. at night she lays halil's pillow beside her, and puts _their_ child between the pillow and herself that he may find it there when he comes. and so day follows day. one day there came a tapping at her window. with joy she leaps from her bed to open it. it is not halil but a pigeon--a carrier-pigeon bringing a letter. gül-bejáze opens the letter and reads it through--and a second time she reads it through, and then she reads it through a third time, and then she begins to smile and whispers to herself: "he will be here directly." from henceforth a mild insanity takes possession of the woman's mind--a species of dumb monomania which is only observable when her fixed idea happens to be touched upon. at eventide she again betakes herself to the road which leads out of the valley. she shows the letter to an old serving-maid, telling her that the letter says that halil is about to arrive, and a good supper must be made ready for him. the servant cannot read, so she believes her mistress. an hour later the woman comes back to the house full of joy, her cheeks have quite a colour so quickly has she come. "hast thou not seen him?" she inquires of the servant. "whom, my mistress?" "halil. he has arrived. he came another way, and must be in the house by now." the servant fancies that perchance halil has come secretly and she, also full of joy, follows her mistress into the room where the table has been spread for two persons. "well, thou seest that he is here," cries gül-bejáze, pointing to the empty place, and rushing to the spot, she embraces an invisible shape, her burning kisses resound through the air, and her eyes intoxicated with delight gaze lovingly--at nothing. "look at thy child!" she cries, lifting up her little son; "take him in thine arms. so! kiss him not so roughly, for he is asleep. look! thy kisses have awakened him. thy beard has tickled him, and he has opened his eyes. rock him in thine arms a little. thou wert so fond of nursing him once upon a time. so! take him on thy lap. what! art thou tired? wait and i will fill up thy glass for thee. isn't the water icy-cold? i have just filled it from the spring myself." then she heaps more food on her husband's platter, and rejoices that his appetite is so good. then after supper she links her arm in his and, whispering and chatting tenderly, leads him into the garden in the bright moonlit evening. the faithful servant with tears in her eyes watches her as she walks all alone along the garden path, from end to end, beneath the trees, acting as if she were whispering and chatting with someone. she keeps on asking him questions and listening to his replies, or she tells him all manner of tales that he has not heard before. she tells him all that has happened to her since they last separated, and shows him all the little birds and the pretty flowers. after that she bids him step into a little bower, makes him sit down beside her, moves her kaftan a little to one side so that he may not sit upon it, and that she may crouch up close beside him, and then she whispers and talks to him so lovingly and so blissfully, and finally returns to the little hut so full of shamefaced joy, looking behind her every now and then to cast another loving glance--at whom? and inside the house she prepares his bed for him, and places a soft pillow for his head, lays her own warm soft arm beneath his head, presses him to her bosom and kisses him, and then lays her child between them and goes quietly to sleep after pressing his hand once more--whose hand? the next day from morn to eve she again waits for him, and at dusk sets out once more along the road, and when she comes back finds him once more in the little hut ... oh, happy delusion! and thus it goes on from day to day. from morn to eve the woman accomplishes her usual work, her neighbours and acquaintances perceive no change in her; but as soon as the sun sets she leaves everyone and everything and avoids all society, for now halil is expecting her in the open bower of the little garden. punctually she appears before him as soon as the sun has set. it has become quite a habit with her already. she so arranges her work that she always has a leisure hour at such times. sometimes, too, halil is in a good humour, but at others he is sad and sorrowful. she tells this to the old serving-maid over and over again. sometimes, too, she whispers in her ear that halil is cudgelling his brains with all sorts of great ideas, but she is not to speak about it to anyone, as that might easily cost halil his life. poor halil! long, long ago his body has crumbled into dust, death can do him no harm now. and thus the "white rose" grows old and grey and gradually fades away. not a single night does the beloved guest remain away from her. for years and years, long--long years, he comes to her every evening. and as her son grows up, as he becomes a man with the capacity of judging and understanding, he hears his mother conversing every evening with an invisible shape, and she would have her little son greet this stranger, for she tells him it is his father. and she praises the son to the father, and says what a good, kind-hearted lad he is, and she compares their faces one with the other. he is the very image of his father, she says; only halil is now getting old, his beard has begun to be white. yes, halil is getting aged. otherwise he would be exactly like his son. and the son knows very well that his father, halil patrona, was slain many, many long years ago by the janissaries. the end. _jarrold & sons, the empire press, norwich and london._ [illustration] _selections from jarrold & sons' list of fiction_ maurus jókai's famous novels. _authorised editions. crown vo, art linen, /= each._ black diamonds. (_fifth edition._) by maurus jÓkai, author of "the green book," "poor plutocrats," etc. translated by frances gerard. with special preface by the author. "full of vigour ... his touches of humour are excellent."--_morning post._ "an interesting story."--_times._ the green book. (freedom under the snow.) (_sixth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by mrs. waugh. with a finely engraved portrait of dr. jókai. "brilliantly drawn ... a book to be read."--_daily chronicle._ "thoroughly calculated to charm the novel-reading public by its ceaseless excitement ... from first to last the interest never flags. a work of the most exciting interests and superb descriptions."--_athenæum._ pretty michal. (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a specially engraved photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "a fascinating novel."--_the speaker._ "his workmanship is admirable, and he possesses a degree of sympathetic imagination not surpassed by any living novelist. the action of his stories is life-like, and full of movement and interest."--_westminster gazette._ a hungarian nabob. (_fifth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a fine photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "full of exciting incidents and masterly studies of character."--_court circular._ "the work of a genius."--_pall mall gazette._ in tight places. (_third edition._) by major arthur griffiths, author of "forbidden by law," etc. /= "a lively and varied series of cosmopolitan crime, with plenty of mixed adventure and sensation. such stories always fascinate, and major arthur griffiths knows well how to tell them."--_pall mall gazette._ st. peter's umbrella. (_third edition._) by kalmÁn mikszÁth, author of "the good people of palvez." translated from the original hungarian by w. b. worswick. with introduction by r. nisbet bain. a charming photogravure portrait of the author and three illustrations. /= "the freshness, high spirits, and humour of mikszáth make him a fascinating companion. his peasants, priests, and gentlefolks are amazingly human. mikszáth is a born story-teller."--_the spectator._ the adventures of cyrano de bergerac. captain satan. (_fourth edition._) from the french of louis gallet. with specially engraved portrait of cyrano de bergerac. /= "a delightful book. so vividly delineated are the _dramatis personæ_, so interesting and enthralling are the incidents in the development of the tale, that it is impossible to skip one page, or to lay down the volume until the last words are read."--_daily telegraph._ a woman's burden. (_third edition._) by fergus hume, author of "the mystery of a hansom cab," "the lone inn," etc. /= "very good reading."--_athenæum._ "simply full of thrills from cover to cover."--_publishers' circular._ vivian of virginia. (_second edition._) being the memoirs of our first rebellion, by john vivian, of middle plantation, virginia. by hulbert fuller, author of "god's rebel." with ten charming illustrations by frank t. merrill. /= "there is not a dull moment in the quaintly-written story, adventure following adventure, holding the reader in thrall; whilst the love interest is fully sustained."--_gentlewoman._ anima vilis. (_second edition._) a tale of the great siberian steppe. by marya rodziewicz. translated from the polish by count s. c. de soissons. with a fine photogravure portrait of the author. /= "a striking novel."--_the times._ "has both power and charm."--_literature._ the lion of janina. (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a special photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "a fascinating story--a brilliant and lurid series of pictures drawn by a great master's hand."--_daily chronicle._ eyes like the sea. (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a fine photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "in wealth of incident, in variety and interest of characterisation, in the richness and humour of its surprises, 'eyes like the sea' ranks with the finest work of the great hungarian romancer. all is told with delightful and touching candour."--_the spectator._ halil the pedlar; the white rose. (_now ready._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. this beautiful and picturesque tale of oriental life reads like a chapter out of the "arabian nights." the heroine is a beautiful young greek girl who escapes the gilded dishonour of the harem by feigning death and enduring torments. the scene of the story is stambul, in the eighteenth century, and every phase of life in the great metropolis is described with singular fidelity. carpathia knox. (_third edition._) by curtis yorke, author of "hush," "that little girl," "a romance of modern london," etc. with a charming photogravure portrait of the author. /= "a very graphic and realistic glimpse of spanish life. full of freshness and prettily told."--_aberdeen free press._ jocelyn erroll. (_third edition._) by curtis yorke, author of "once," "dudley," "the wild ruthvens," etc. with a fine photogravure portrait of the author. /= "clever and fascinating, as is everything by this writer."--_dundee advertiser._ valentine: a story of ideals. (_fourth edition._) by curtis yorke, author of "the medlicotts," "his heart to win," "because of the child," etc. /= "it would indeed be hard to find a brighter, cheerier book ... and few readers of 'valentine' will be able to resist her charming personality."--_the speaker._ the gray house of the quarries. (_second edition._) by mary h. norris. with etched frontispiece by edmund h. garrett. /= "susanna is a splendid study. no person who takes up the book can resist its fascination."--_westminster review._ distaff. (_second edition._) by marya rodziewicz, author of "anima vilis," etc. translated from the polish by count s. c. de soissons. with a finely engraved portrait of the author. /= "a pleasant story, full of ability."--_pall mall gazette._ "a striking novel."--_spectator._ the captive of pekin. (_fourth edition._) a realistic story of chinese life and manners. by charles hannan. with twenty-three graphic illustrations from life, depicting the chinese torture fiends, by a. j. b. salmon. /= "told with great vividness, a thrilling story dramatically told. the reader's interest does not flag from beginning to end."--_the times._ "a powerfully written and absorbing story."--_morning post._ a daughter of mystery. (_second edition._) by r. norman silver /= "it cannot comfortably be laid down until it is finished. the plots and counter-plots make the brain reel. the book should be read, and will repay the most exacting lovers of the exciting."--_daily news._ wayfarers all. (_second edition._) by leslie keith, author of "'lisbeth," "my bonnie lady." /= "an extremely entertaining and sympathetic romance. the misses green are masterly characterisations, and so are ruth's fascinating children."--_daily telegraph._ the inn by the shore. (_fifteenth thousand._) by florence warden, author of "the house on the marsh," etc. / "a rattling story, told in a lively way, incident following on incident in rapid succession."--_daily chronicle._ judy a jilt. (_third edition._) by mrs. conney, author of "a lady house breaker," "gold for dross," etc. / "written in mrs. conney's happiest manner 'judy a jilt' is a telling story throughout."--_daily telegraph._ the tone king. (_third edition._) a romance of the life of mozart by heribert rau. translated by j. e. s. rae. with specially engraved portrait of mozart. /= "a lively story. the narrative of his achievements as a boy and man, deftly built up to completeness by mr. heribert rau, is delightful reading throughout."--_daily telegraph._ "full of fire and musical passion."--_literary world._ over one hundred thousand copies sold in america. the golden dog (le chien d'or). (_third edition._) a romance of the days of louis quinze in quebec. by william kirby, f.r.s.c. /= "brimful of interest and excitement, the novel may be read with pleasure, and finished with regret."--_sheffield independent._ memory street. by martha baker dunn, author of "sleeping beauty," "lias' wife," etc. /= "this charming story is not only one of daily actions, but of important epochs. the novel is bright and alert, the personages are natural, the story is graphic and true to the very last."--_boston times._ god's rebel. by hulbert fuller, author of "vivian of virginia." "a book ... palpitating with intensity."--_st. paul's despatch._ "most interesting throughout."--_albany times._ the rejuvenation of miss semaphore. (_thirtieth thousand._) a farcical novel. by hal godfrey (miss c. o'conor eccles). /= "a lightsome, laughable farce.... some delightfully grotesque situations. the humour of the book is most enjoyable."--_daily mail._ "is the clever expansion of a clever idea. well written, drawn to the life, and full of fun."--_black and white._ the man who forgot. (_second edition._) by john mackie, author of the "prodigal's brother," "sinners twain," etc. with a special photogravure portrait of the author. /= "an exciting tale ... distinctly a book to read and enjoy."--_daily mail._ "a vigorous and exciting story. some part of the action of the book is laid in java, and the catastrophe of krakatoa is described with a vividness that makes real to us that appalling upheaving of nature."--_daily news._ the poor plutocrats. (as we grow old.) (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a fine photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "distinctly a novel of incident and adventure, the whole atmosphere is fresh and new; the ways of life, the people of those curious towns and villages and lonely mountains, are a revelation and a novelty. put before us by the pen of a master like jókai, the effect is to stir and interest in an unusual degree."--_daily chronicle._ the day of wrath. (_fifth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated from the hungarian by r. nisbet bain. with a photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "it is wildly exciting--having once begun you cannot stop, but must go hurtling on to the end. the descriptive passages are remarkably vivid and lucid."--_black and white._ dr. dumany's wife. (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by f. steinitz (under the author's personal supervision). with specially engraved photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "with kaleidoscopic rapidity, scene after scene passes before us. the novel shows us in a high degree the craft of the story-teller."--_literature._ the nameless castle. (_fifth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by s. e. boggs (under the author's personal supervision). with a photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. "told with infinite delicacy and charm, an enthralling romance."--_the bookman._ debts of honor. (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by a. b. yolland. with a charming photogravure portrait of dr. and madame jókai. "full of life and incident. jókai's inimitable pen, vivid, fiery, humorous, never fails to stir and attract."--_daily telegraph._ 'midst the wild carpathians. (_fourth edition._) by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. with a specially engraved portrait of dr. jókai. "will enthral all english lovers of romance."--_saturday review._ "it is powerful, it is vigorous, and, what is more than all, it is fresh."--_the sun._ cherry ripe. (_ th thousand._) by helen mathers, author of "comin' thro' the rye." / "it has humour, it has poetry, it has dramatic force.... must take rank amongst our stronger and more original fiction."--_newcastle daily leader._ new uniform edition by helen mathers. _crown vo, cloth gilt, / each._ the story of a sin. (_seventh edition._) eyre's acquittal. (sequel to the above.) (_fifth edition._) jock o' hazelgreen. (_fifth edition._) my lady green sleeves. (_seventh edition._) found out. (_ rd thousand._) the lovely malincourt. (_sixth edition._) * * * * * miss providence. (_fourth edition._) by miss dorothea gerard. / "a story to be read with genuine pleasure."--_weekly sun._ the winds of march. (_second edition._) by george knight. / "a clever story, cleverly told, and exceedingly well worth reading."--_hearth and home._ the prodigal's brother. (_second edition._) by john mackie, author of "the man who forgot," etc. / "his characters are well defined ... a book well worth reading."--_daily mail._ "an excellent story."--_bookman._ hungarian literature: an historical and critical survey. by emil reich (doctor juris), _author of "history of civilization," "historical atlas of modern history," "græco-roman institutions," etc._ crown vo. cloth, gilt top, s. with map of hungary. some press opinions. daily chronicle-- "a work of no small merit and ability. it supplies a long-felt want. dr. reich has evidently read up his subject with care and conscientiousness, and displays no small ability in marshalling an immense array of facts. he has presented us with an exceedingly lucid and pregnant account of one of the most original and fascinating literatures of europe." sunday times-- "dr. reich has done us a very real service, and his work should be widely known, and take a permanent place among our literary reference books." the globe-- "it should be in great demand among those who desire to add to their knowledge of european poetry and fiction." academy-- "an excellent piece of work, lucid, and well proportioned, displaying considerable critical faculty and great historical knowledge." bookseller-- "we hope the volume will find a wide circulation among educated english readers." "thomas moore": _being anecdotes, bon-mots, and epigrams from the journal of thomas moore._ edited, with notes, by wilmot harrison, author of "memorable london houses," etc. with special introduction by richard garnett, ll.d., and frontispiece portrait of thomas moore. crown vo. cloth neat, / . some press opinions. the morning leader-- "no happier beginning could have been made than by the anecdotes, bon-mots, and epigrams from the 'journal of thomas moore.' the fame of moore as a poet has sadly diminished since his death. all the more, therefore, as mr. richard garnett, in his scholarly introduction demands, should we be glad to preserve his name and fame as a raconteur, a story-teller who carries us irresistibly back to the very atmosphere breathed by byron and washington irving." literature-- "mr. garnett's introduction gives a delightful picture of the man and his social charm. the collection is a storehouse of good things said by men noted for the brilliance of their conversation. much pleasure can be extracted, and no small knowledge of an intensely social period." pall mall gazette-- "every one of the pages has sparkle and animation in it, moore knew everybody worth knowing in his time, and he introduces us to men who have taken their places in history--not by any formidable description, but with an enjoyable joke and a good-natured story." the "greenback" series of _popular novels_ by authors of the day. _crown vo, cloth gilt, neat, s. d. each._ helen mathers. cherry ripe! ( ) the story of a sin. ( ) eyre's acquittal. ( ) jock o' hazelgreen. ( ) my lady green sleeves. ( ) found out. ( ) the lovely malincourt. ( ) curtis yorke. that little girl. ( ) dudley. ( ) the wild ruthvens. ( ) the brown portmanteau. ( ) hush! ( ) once! ( ) a romance of modern london. ( ) his heart to win. ( ) darrell chevasney. ( ) between the silences. ( ) a record of discords. ( ) the medlicotts. ( ) valentine. ( ) mrs. leith adams. louis draycott. ( ) geoffrey stirling. ( ) bonnie kate. ( ) a garrison romance. ( ) madelon lemoine. ( ) the peyton romance. ( ) may crommelin. for the sake of the family. ( ) bay ronald. ( ) love knots. ( ) j. s. fletcher. old lattimer's legacy. ( ) rowland grey. by virtue of his office. ( ) the power of the dog. ( ) mrs. herbert martin. lindsay's girl. ( ) britomart. ( ) john mackie. the prodigal's brother. ( ) dorothea gerard. miss providence. ( ) iza duffus hardy. a new othello. ( ) somerville gibney. the maid of london bridge. ( ) t. w. speight. the heart of a mystery. ( ) in the dead of night. ( ) major norris paul. eveline wellwood. ( ) mrs. bagot harte. wrongly condemned. ( ) linda gardiner. mrs. wylde. ( ) agnes marchbank. ruth farmer. ( ) mrs. h. h. penrose. the love that never dies. ( ) mrs. conney. judy a jilt. ( ) dr. philpot crowther. the travail of his soul. ( ) scott graham. a bolt from the blue. ( ) the golden milestone. ( ) esmÈ stuart. harum scarum. ( ) mrs. a. phillips. man proposes. ( ) mrs. e. newman. the last of the haddons. ( ) eastwood kidson. allanson's little woman ( ) margaret moule. the thirteenth brydain. ( ) eleanor holmes. through another man's eyes. ( ) e. m. davy. a prince of como. ( ) margaret parker. the desire of their hearts. ( ) hadley welford. whose deed? ( ) geo. knight. the winds of march. ( ) _others in preparation._ jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c. proofreaders works of maurus jókai hungarian edition dr. dumany's wife translated from the hungarian by f. steinitz new york doubleday, page & company publishers' note. this, the latest story from the pen of hungary's great man of letters, maurus jókai, was translated directly from the manuscript of the author by mme. f. steinitz, who resides in buda-pest, and was selected by him for that purpose. maurus jókai is now sixty-six years of age, having been born at komaróm, in . he was intended for the law, that having been his father's profession but at twelve years of age the desire to write seized him. some of his stories fell into the hands of the lawyer in whose office he was studying, who read them, and was so struck by their originality and talent that he published them at once at his own expense. the public was as well pleased with the book as the lawyer had been with the manuscripts, and from that tender age to the present jókai has devoted himself to writing, and is the author of several hundred successful volumes. at the age of twenty-three he laid down his pen long enough to get married, his bride being rosa laborfalvi, the then leading hungarian actress. at the end of a year he joined the revolutionists, and buckled on the sword of the patriot. he was taken prisoner and sentenced to be shot, when his bride appeared upon the scene with her pockets full of the money she had made by the sale of her jewels, and, bribing the guards, escaped with her husband into the birch woods, where they hid in caves and slept on leaves, all the time in danger of their lives, until they finally found their way to buda-pest and liberty. this city jókai has made his home; in the winter he lives in the heart of the town, in the summer just far enough outside of it to have a house surrounded by grounds, where he can sit out of doors in the shade of his own trees. he is probably the best-known man in hungary to-day, for he is not only an author, but a financier, a statesman, and a journalist as well. contents. part i. i. the dumb child ii. the dark god iii. the englishman iv. the nabob v. a republican countess vi. dumany kornel vii. the dead man's vote viii. my uncle diogenes ix. a slavonic kingdom x. "dead" xi. my dear friend siegfried xii. the devil's hoof xiii. the valkyrs part ii. i. the sea-dove ii. "what is the devil like?" iii. the four-leaved clover iv. the history of my friend v. how roses are inoculated vi. mr. parasite vii. a brilliant game viii. a biting kiss ix. who is the visitor? x. after the wedding xi. my scheme xii. seeking for death xiii. my discharge xiv. home! sweet home xv. vox populi xvi. dame fortune xvii. light at last dr. dumany's wife. part i. i. the dumb child. it was about the close of the year when, on my road to paris, i boarded the st. gothard railway-train. travellers coming from italy had already taken possession of the sleeping-car compartments, and i owed it solely to the virtue of an extraordinarily large tip that i was at last able to stretch my weary limbs upon the little sofa of a half-coupé. it was not a very comfortable resting-place, inasmuch as this carriage was the very last in an immensely long train, and one must be indeed fond of rocking to enjoy the incessant shaking, jostling, and rattling in this portion of the train. but still it was much preferable to the crowded carriages, peopled with old women carrying babies, giggling maidens, snoring or smoking men, and hilarious children; so i made the best of it, and prepared for a doze. the guard came in to look at my ticket, and, pitying my lonely condition, he opened a conversation. he told me that the son of an immensely wealthy american nabob, with an escort well-nigh princely, was travelling on the same train to paris. he had with him an attendant physician, a nursery governess, a little playfellow, a travelling courier, and a huge negro servant to prepare his baths, besides several inferior servants. these all occupied the parlour-car and the sleeping compartments; but the little fellow had a parlour, a bedroom, and a dressing-room all to himself. i did not pay much attention to the talk of the gossiping guard, and so he departed, and at last i could sleep. on the road i am like a miller in his mill. so long as the wheel turns, i sleep on; but the moment it is stopped, i start up and am instantly wide awake. we had reached a smaller station where the train usually stops for a few minutes only, when, to my surprise, there was a great deal of pushing and sliding of the cars backward and forward, and we halted for an extraordinarily long time. i was just getting up to learn what was going on, when the guard entered, lantern in hand. "i beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but there is something amiss. the linch-pin of the parlour-car has become over-heated, and we had to uncouple the car and leave it behind. now we are obliged to find a convenient place for the little american, until we reach some main station, where another parlour-car can be attached to the train. i am really sorry for you, sir, but this is the only suitable place we have, and the little fellow and his governess must be your travelling companions for a while." "well, when a thing can't be helped, grumbling is unreasonable, so good-bye sleep and quiet, and let us prepare to pay homage to the illustrious youth and his lady attendant," said i, smiling at the guard's earnestness. but still he hesitated. "and pray, sir, what is your religion?" stammered he; "i have to tell the governess." "indeed!" my good-humour was rising still, and i continued smiling. "tell the lady that i am a swiss protestant, and i hope she will not object, as i shall not try to convert her or her charge if they are of a different creed. is there anything else you want to inquire into?" "yes, sir. the little gentleman's physician would also like to accompany his charge, and stay at his side." "but there is only room for three." "i know; but, sir, the doctor is a very liberal gentleman, and he told me that if anybody would be willing to exchange places with him, he would gladly repay his whole travelling expenses." "that's liberal, certainly, and i have no doubt the fireman of the engine will thankfully accept his offer. you can tell him as much. and now go!" the man went out, but right after him came the doctor--a very pleasant and distinguished-looking young man. he apologised for the guard's bluntness and his misinterpretation of his message. he had not meant to offend a gentleman, and so forth. he introduced himself as dr. mayer, family physician at the house of the so-called "silver king," mr. dumany, the father of the little "silver prince." after learning that i did not smoke, and had no objection to children, he inquired my nationality. my astrachan fur cap and coat-collar made him take me for a russian, but, thanking him for his good opinion, i stated that as yet i was merely a hungarian. he did not object; but asked if we were free from small-pox, diphtheritis, croup, measles, scarlet-fever, whooping-cough, and such like maladies in our country at present. after i had satisfied him that even the foot-and-mouth disease had by this time ceased, he finally quitted me, but immediately returned, assisting a lady with both hands full of travelling necessaries to climb up into the carriage. after the lady came a grand stately-looking negro servant, with gold-braided cap and overcoat of white bear's fur, and on his arm, bundled up in rich velvet and costly fur, he carried a beautiful five-year-old boy, who looked like some waxen image or big doll. the lady seemed very lively and talkative, and had a host of languages at command. with the doctor she conversed in german; to the guide she spoke french; the negro she questioned in english, and to a maid who brought in some rugs and air-pillows she spoke italian. all these languages she spoke excellently, and i am certain that if a dozen persons of different nationalities had been present she could have talked to them in their various dialects with the same ease and fluency. of her beauty i could not judge, for she wore a bonnet with a thick veil, which covered her face to the chin. taking her seat at the opposite window, she placed the child between us. he was a pale, quiet little boy, with very red, thin, tightly-compressed lips, and great, melancholy dark-blue eyes. as long as the negro was occupied in arranging the rugs and pillows, he looked wholly unconcerned, and the smiles from the great black shining face did not impress him at all; but when the swarthy giant caught the two fair little hands in his own great black palm and wanted to kiss them, the boy withdrew his hands with a quick gesture and struck the ebony forehead with his tiny fist. at last we were seated. the negro was gone, the guide went out and locked the door after him. seeing that the open window was disagreeable to the lady, i volunteered to close it. she accepted gratefully, and at the same time expressed her regrets that, in consequence of the accident to the parlour-car, she had been compelled to disturb me. of course, i hastened to say that i was not in the least incommoded, and only regretted that it was not in my power to make her more comfortable. she then told me that she was an american, and pretty well used to railroad accidents of a more or less serious character. three times she had been saved by a miracle in railway collisions at home, and she assured me that in america about , persons were every year injured in railway accidents, while some , were killed outright. we conversed in german, and, as the lady became more and more communicative, talk turned upon the subject of the child between us. she told me that master james was deaf and dumb, and could not understand a word of our conversation; hence restraint was unnecessary. i asked her if he was born with this defect, and she said, "no; until the age of three he could speak very nicely, but at that age he was thrown out of his little goat-carriage, and in consequence of the shock and concussion lost his power of speech." "then he will possibly recover it," i said. "i knew a young man who lost his speech in the same manner at the age of five, and could not speak up to his tenth year; then he recovered, and now he has graduated from college as senior wrangler." "yes," she said. "but mr. dumany is impatient, and he has sent the boy to all the deaf-and-dumb boarding-schools in europe. even now we are coming from such an institution in italy; but none of all these different masters has been able to teach more than sign-talk, and that is insufficient. mr. dumany wants to give the german heinicke method a trial. that professes to teach real conversation, based on the observations of the movements of the lips and tongue." of this method i also knew examples of success. i was acquainted with a deaf and dumb type-setter, who had learned to talk intelligibly and fluently, could read aloud, and take part in conversation, but in a piping voice like that of a bird. "even that would be a great success," she said. "at any rate, little james will be taken to the zürich institute, and remain there until he acquires his speech." during this whole conversation the little fellow had sat between us, mute, and, to all appearance, wholly indifferent. his little pale face was dull, and his great eyes half closed. i felt sorry for him, and with a sigh of real compassion i muttered in my own native hungarian tongue, "szegény fincska!" ("poor little boy!") at this i saw a thrill of surprise run through the child's little frame; the great blue eyes opened wide in wonder and delight, and the closed cherry lips opened in a smile of joy. i was struck with surprise, and did not believe my own eyes. the lady had not noticed anything, since she still kept her bonnet on and the thick veil tightly drawn over her face. i took pity on her, and offered to go out into the corridor to smoke a cigarette, so that she might make herself a little more comfortable until we arrived at some large station, where she would enter another parlour-car. she accepted thankfully, and, to my utter astonishment, the little boy raised his tiny hand, and caressingly stroked the fur collar of my coat. i bent down to kiss him, and he smiled sweetly on me; and when i got up and signed to him that he could now occupy both seats and stretch himself upon the little sofa, he shook his head, and crept into the corner which i had quitted. and there, as often as in my walk up and down the corridor i threw a glance into his corner, i could see the child's large dark-blue eyes following all my movements with an eager curiosity; the white little face pressed to the window-pane and the tiny hand never losing hold of the edge of the curtain, which he had purposely lifted, for the governess had pulled the curtain down the moment i left, possibly to take off her bonnet. mine was not a very pleasant situation in that corridor. i watched the rising and sinking of the moon, which phenomenon repeated itself about twice every hour, according to the serpentine windings of the road. i looked at the milky mist which surrounded the icy pinnacles of the great mountains, and grumbled over the intense darkness in the many tunnels, in which the roar and noise of the train is tremendously increased, thundering as if titans were breaking out of their prisons below mount pelion. as if they had not broken through long, long ago! what if the old grecian gods should come to life? should leave their marble temples, and gaze about on the world as it is at present? if pallas athene were told of america? if helios apollo could listen to wagner's operas, and zeus jupiter might look into the great tube of the london observatory, wondering what had become of that milky way which had been formed out of the milk spilled by amalthea? if we could show him that we had caught and harnessed his heavenly lightning to draw our vehicles and carry our messages, and that, with the help of fire-eyed leviathans, we break through the rocky womb of his great mountains? and yet, how easy it would be for them, with a simple sneeze of their most illustrious and omnipotent noses, to raise such a tempest that earth and sea would rise and destroy man and his pigmy works at one fell stroke! i wonder if they never awake? i rather think they sometimes get up and shake their mighty fists at us. these cyclones look very suspicious to me! the huge iron leviathan turns and twists itself like a gordian knot; disappears and reappears, almost on the same spot, but higher up on the mountain, and then glides rapidly on along the brinks of fearful abysses, over long iron bridges looking like some fanciful filigree work, some giant spider's web, extending across great valleys, chasms, and precipices, over which great mountain rivers splash down, roaring and foaming in gigantic falls. what giant power has cleft the way for these waters--vulcan or neptune? or was it laid down in euclid's adventurous age, when the titans went into bankruptcy? the train increases its speed to regain the time lost in uncoupling the disabled parlour-car, and this increased speed is chiefly felt at the tail of the great iron dragon. i have to cling tightly to the brass rod in front of the windows. we pass the central station without stopping, the locomotive whistles, the lamps of the little watch-houses fly past like so many jack-o'-lanterns, and all at once we are enveloped by a thick fog rising from beneath, where it had rested above the sea, and when the train has twice completed the circle around the valley, the noxious, dangerous mist surrounds us entirely. but once more the creation of human hands conquers the spectre, and, puffing and whistling, the locomotive breaks through the dark haze. once again the iron serpent disappears into the bowels of the rock, and as it emerges it crosses another valley and is greeted by a clear heaven and a multitude of brightly-glistening stars. we are on the rossberg. a devastated tract of the globe it seems. our eyes rest on barren soil devoid of vegetation. beneath a large field of huge boulders, imbedded in snow and ice, the alpine vegetation thrives. the whole valley is one immense graveyard, and the great rocks are giant tombstones, encircled by wreaths of white flowers meet for adorning graves. at the beginning of the present century one of the ridges of the rossberg gave way, and in the landslide four villages were buried. this happened at night, when the villagers were all asleep, and not a single man, women, or child escaped. this valley is their resting-place. was i not right to call it a graveyard? above this valley of destruction the train glides on. upon the side of the mountain is a little watch-house, built into the rock; a narrow flight of steps hewn in the stone leads up to it like a ladder. the moon, which had lately seemed fixed to the crest of the mountain, now plays hide-and-seek among the peaks. a high barricade on the side of the rossberg serves to protect the railroad track against another landslide. on the high ridges of the mountain goats were pasturing, and not far from them a shepherd's fire was blazing, and the shepherd himself sat beside it. i remember all these accessories as well as if they were still before my eyes. i can see the white goats climbing up and pulling at the broom-plants. i can see the shepherd's black form, encircled by the light of the fire, and the white watch-house with its black leaden roof, the high signal-pole in front of it, above which all at once a great flaming star arises. ii. the dark god. i was gazing at that shining red light, when all at once i felt a concussion, as if the train had met with some impediment. i heard the jolting of the foremost cars, and had time to prepare for the shock which was sure to follow; but when it did come, it was so great that it threw me to the opposite wall of the corridor. yet the train moved on as before, so that it could not have been disabled, as i at first thought. i heard the guards run from carriage to carriage, opening the doors, and i could see great clouds of steam arise from the puffing and blowing engines. the friction of the wheels made a grating noise, and i leaned out of the window to ascertain the nature of the danger. was another train approaching, and a collision inevitable? i could see nothing, but suddenly i beheld the figure of the shepherd, and saw him raise his staff aloft. i followed the motion of his hand, and with a thrill of horror i saw a great ledge of rock sliding downward with threatening speed, while at the same time a shower of small stones crashed on the roof of the cars. i did not wait for the guards to open my door. i had it open in an instant. from the other carriages passengers were jumping out at the risk of life and limb, for the train was running at full speed. i hastily ran into the coupé to awaken my travelling companions, but found them up. "madam," i said, "i am afraid that we are in danger of a serious accident. pray come out quickly!" "save the child!" she answered; and i caught the little boy, took him in my arms, and ran out. the train was gliding perpetually on, and i bethought myself of the recommendation of one who is jumping from a running vehicle, to leap forward, because in jumping sideways or backward he invariably falls under the wheels. so i followed the recommendation and leaped. fortunately, i reached the ground, although my knees doubled up under me, and i struck the knuckles of my right hand a hard blow. the child had fainted in my arms, but only from fright; otherwise he had received no harm. i laid him on the ground in a safe place, and ran with all my might after the train to help the lady out. she was standing on the steps, already prepared for the jump. i extended my hand to her, impatiently crying "quick!" but instead of taking my proffered hand she exclaimed, "oh! i have forgotten my bonnet and veil," and back she ran into the coupé, never again to come forth. at that moment i felt a tremendous shock, as if the earth had quaked and opened beneath me, and this was followed by a deafening uproar, the clashing of stones, the cracking of wood and glass, the grating and crushing of iron, and the pitiful cries of men, women, and children. the great mass of rock broke through the protecting barricade and rushed right upon the engine. the huge, steam-vomiting leviathan was crushed in an instant, and the copper and steel fragments scattered everywhere. three of the wheels were shattered, and with that the iron colossus came to a dead stop, the suddenness of which threw the carriages crashing on top of each other. this fearful havoc was not all. through the breach which the great rock had made in the barricade, an incessant avalanche of stones, from the size of a cannon-ball to that of a wheelbarrow, descended upon the train, crushing everything beneath into fragments, pushing the unhappy train into the chasm below, into the valley of death and destruction. like a huge serpent it slid down, the great glowing furnace with its feeding coals undermost, and then the whole wrecked mass of carriages tumbled after, atop of each other, while cries of despair were heard on every side. then i saw the rear car--that in which i had been sitting--stand up erect on top of the others, while on its roof fell, with thunderous violence, the awful shower of stones. mutely i gazed on, until a large stone struck the barricade just where i stood, and then i realised that the danger was not over, and ran for shelter. the stones were falling fast to left and to right, and i hastened to gain the steps which led to the little watch-house. then i bethought me of the boy. i found him still insensible, but otherwise unharmed, and i took him up, covering him with a furred coat. i ran up the steps with him, so fast that not a thought of my asthma and heart disease slackened my speed. there was nobody in the house but a woman milking a goat. in one corner of the room stood a bed, in the middle was a table, and on one of the walls hung a burning coal-oil lamp. as i opened the door the woman looked up, and said in a dull piteous moaning-- "it is none of jörge's fault. jörge had shown the red light in good season, and yesterday he specially warned the gentlemen, and told them that a ridge of the gnippe was crumbling, and would soon break down; but they did not listen to him, and now that the accident has come, they will surely visit their own carelessness upon him. it is always the poor dependent that is made to suffer for the fault of his superiors. but i will not stand it; and if jörge is discharged and loses his bread, then--" "all right, madam!" i said, "i saw the red light in time, and i shall testify for jörge in case of need. only keep quiet now, and come here. you must try to restore this child. he has fainted. give him water or something; you will know best what to do." in recalling these words to my memory and writing them down, i am not quite certain that i really spoke them; i am not certain of a single word or action of mine on that fearful night. but i think that i said the words i am relating, although i was so confused that it is possible i did not utter a word. i had come out of the house again, and saw a man running up and down on the narrow rocky plateau, like one crazy. it was jörge the watchman; he was looking for the signal-post, and could not find it. "here it is, look!" i said, turning his face toward the high pole right in front of him. he gazed up wistfully, and then all at once he blubbered out-- "see! see, the red light! i gave the warning. they cannot blame me; they dare not punish me for it. it is not my fault!" of course, he thought of nothing but himself, and the misfortune of the others touched him only in so far as he was concerned. "don't blubber now!" i said. "there will be time enough to think of ourselves. now let us learn what has happened to the others. the whole train has been swept down into the abyss below. what has become of the people in it?" "god almighty have mercy on their souls!" "yet perhaps we could save some of them. come along!" "i can't go. i dare not leave my post, else they will turn against me." "well then, i shall go alone," said i, and hastened down the steps. i heard no screams, no cries, not a sound of human voices. the poor victims of the catastrophe were exhausted or frightened out of their wits, and gave no utterance to the pain they felt. only the never-ceasing clatter of the falling stones was heard, nothing else. awful is the voice of the elements, and dreadful their revenge on their human antagonists! the thundering heavens, the roaring sea, are awful to behold and to listen to; but most fearful of all is the voice of the earth, when, quivering in wrath, she opens her fiery mouth or hurls her rocky missiles at pigmy men. from the wrecked train a great many travellers had jumped like myself; but not all with the same happy result. they had mostly reached the ground more or less bruised, but at the moment of escape from the clutch of death we do not much feel our hurts. these unhappy victims, frightened as they were, had managed to creep and hide behind the untouched portion of the bulwark, and happy to have escaped from immediate death, sheltered from the tremendous cataract of stones, they remained quiet, trembling, awaiting the end of the catastrophe and the ultimate rescue. but what had meanwhile become of those who had stayed in the falling carriages? there came a terrible answer to that question, and out of the old horror arose a new and still more terrible spectre. a demon with a cloudy head, rising from the darkness below, and with a swift and fearful growth, mounting up to the sky--a demon with a thousand glistening, sparkling eyes and tongues, a smoke-fiend! the great boiler of the locomotive had gone down first. there it fell, not on the ground, but on a large fragment of rock, which pierced it completely, so that the air had free access to the fire. upon the top of both boiler and tender, the coal-van had been turned upside down, and these had pulled all the carriages one on top of the other in the same way, so that the whole train stood upright, like some huge steeple. this dreadful structure had become a great funeral pile, the altar of a black pagan idol whose fiery tongues were greedily thrusting upward to devour their prey. then, as the smoke became blacker and blacker, a heart-rending, almost maddening sound of shrieking and crying rang out from that devilish wreck, so loud and piercing that it drowned the clatter of stones, the crackling of the fast-kindling coals, and the crushing noise of the metals. at the cry for aid of the doomed victims, all who had escaped and hidden behind the bulwark came forth, creeping or running, shrieking and gesticulating, forgetful of their own danger and pitiful condition, thinking only of those dear lost ones there in that abode of hell, and maddened at the impossibility of rescuing them. it was a wild hurly-burly of voices and of tongues, of despairing yells, hysterical sobs, heart-rending prayers; and as i stumbled over the twisted and broken rails, that stood upright like bent wires, and stooped over the bulwark, i beheld a spectacle so terrible that every nerve of my body, every heart-string, revolted at it. even now they quiver at the ghastly recollection. as the fire lighted up the horrible pile i could see that the first carriage atop of the coals was a shattered mass, the second crushed flat, while the third stood with wheels uppermost, and so forth to the top, and out of all of them human heads, limbs, faces, bodies, were thrust forward. two small gloved female hands, locked as in prayer, were stretched out of a window, and above them two strong, muscular, masculine arms tried with superhuman force to lift the iron weight above, to break a way at the top, until the blood flowed from the nails, and even these strong arms dropped down exhausted. half-seen forms, mutilated, bleeding, were tearing with teeth and nails at their dreadful prison. then for a while the smoky cloud involved everything in darkness. a moment after, the red fiery tongues came lapping upward, and a red, glowing halo encircles the fatal wreck. the first and second carriages were already burned. how long would it take the flames to reach the top? how many of the sufferers were yet alive? what power in heaven or earth could save them, and how? the hollow into which the train had fallen was so deep that, in spite of the erect position of the ill-fated pile, the topmost car--that containing the poor foolish american governess, who had lost her life in running back for her bonnet--was ten mètres below us, and we had not even a single rope or cord with which to hazard the experiment of descending. a young man, one of those few who had come forth unharmed, ran up and down the embankment, shouting madly for a rope, offering a fortune for belts, shawls, and cords. his newly-married bride was in one of those carriages, and hers were the tiny gloved hands that were stretched out of the window. "a rope!" cried he; "give me anything to make a rope!" but who heeded him? a young mother sat on the tracks, fondly hugging a plaid shawl in her arms. her babe was there in that burning pyre, but horror had overpowered her reason. there she sat, caressing the woollen bundle, and in a low voice singing her "eia popeia" to the child of her fantasy. an aged polish jew lay across the barricade wall. his two hands were stretched downward, and there he muttered the prayers and invocations of his ancient liturgy, which no one there understood but himself and his god. the ritual prayer-bands were upon his thumbs and wrists, and encircling his forehead. his forked beard and greasy side-locks dangled as he chanted his hymns, while his eyes, starting almost out of their sockets, were fixed upon one of the carriages. what did that car contain? his wife? his children? or his worldly goods, the fortune hoarded up through a life-time of cunning and privation? who knows? forth he chants his prayers, loudly yelling, or muttering low, as the ghastly scene before him vanishes in smoke and darkness, or glows out again in fearful distinctness. every one shrieks, cries, prays, swears, raves. no; not every one! there, on the barricade, his logs doubled up turk-fashion, sits a young painter with mephisto beard and grey eyes. his sketch-book is open, and he is making a vivid sketch of the sensational scene. the illustrated papers are grateful customers, and will rejoice at receiving the sketch. but this young draughtsman is not the only sensible person in the place. there is another, a long-legged englishman, standing with watch in hand, reckoning up the time lost by the accident, and eyeing the scene complacently. some noisy dispute attracts my attention, and, turning, i behold a man, trying with all his might to overcome a woman, who attacks him with teeth and nails, biting his hands and tearing at his flesh, as he drags her close to him. at last he succeeds in joining both of her hands behind her back, she foaming, writhing, and cursing. i ask indignantly, "what do you want with the woman? let her alone!" "oh, sir!" he said, showing me a sorrowful and tear-stained face, "for heaven's sake, help me! i cannot bear with her any more. she wants to leap down and kill herself. pray help me to tie her hands, and carry her off from here!" by his speech i knew him for a pole, and the woman's exclamations were also uttered in the polish language. she was his wife; her children were there in that infernal pile, and she wanted to die with them. "quick! quick!" gasped the man. "take my necktie and fasten her hands behind her." i obeyed; and as i wound the silken strip tight around the unhappy woman's wrist, her despairing gaze fixed itself in deadly hate upon my face, and her foaming lips cursed me for keeping her away from her children. as her husband carried her away, her curses pierced the air; and although i could not understand the words, i understood that she spoke of the "czrny bog," or, as the russians say, "cserny boh," the "black god" of the slavs--death. by this time the horrible tower was burning brightly, and the night was all aglow with the glaring light, and still those terrible shrieks from human voices resounded to and fro. the young artist had a picturesque scene for his pencil, and kept making sketch after sketch. the burning wreck, the flying cinders, the red mist around the black pine woods on the rocky wall of the mountain, and that small span of star-lit heaven above; all those frightened, maddened, running, crouching, creeping men and women around, with the chanting jew, in his long silken _caftan_ and dangling locks, in the midst of them, made a picture of terrible sublimity. but still the god of destruction was unsatisfied, and his fiery maw opened for more victims. the unhappy young husband had succeeded in tearing up his clothes and knotting the strips together. a compassionate woman had given him a shawl, which he fastened to the bushes. on this he descended into that mouth of hell. the perilous attempt succeeded so far that, with one mad leap, he landed on the top of the uppermost car with its pile of stones, and then, with cat-like dexterity and desperate daring, he scrambled downward to the third carriage. quickly he reached the spot, and the poor little gloved hands of his darling were thrown in ecstasy around his neck. someone had drawn up the cord on which he had let himself down, fastened a stout iron rod to it, and suspended it carefully. happily it reached him, and with its aid he made a good-sized breach, widening the opening of the window; he worked with desperate strength, and we gazed breathlessly on. now we saw him drop the rod again. the tender arms of his bride were around his neck, a fair head was thrust out, the whole form was emerging, when with a tremendous crash, and a hissing, spluttering, crackling noise, the whole fabric shook and trembled, and husband and wife were united in death. the great boiler had burst; the explosion had changed the scene again, and the young painter might draw still another sketch. iii. the englishman. that long-legged son of albion whom i had previously observed, strolled up to my side and asked-- "do you understand german, sir?" "yes, sir, i do." "then call for that shepherd. i want him." i obeyed, and the shepherd, who had complacently eyed the scene as something that was of no consequence to him, came slowly and wonderingly up. he was in no hurry, and my coaxing "dear friend" and "good friend" did not impress him at all; but when the englishman showed him a handful of gold coins he came on quickly enough. "tell him," said the englishman, "to run to the next railway station, give notice of the accident, and return with a relief train for succour. tell him to be quick, and when he returns i will give him two hundred francs." "yes," said the man; "but who will take care of my goats meanwhile?" "how many goats have you?" "six." "and what is the average price of a goat?" "fifteen francs." "well, here is the price of your goats in cash. i give you one hundred francs--ten more than your goats are worth. now run! how far is it?" "a good running distance, not very far." the man pocketed his money and turned, when an idea struck him. "could you not take care of my goats anyhow, till i return?" he asked. smart fellow! he kept the money for his goats, and tried to keep the goats into the bargain. "all right," said the englishman, "i will take care of them. never fear. go!" "but you must take my stick and my horn; the goats will get astray when they do not hear the horn." "then give it to me, and i will blow it," said the englishman, with admirable patience, and, taking the shepherd's crook and horn, he gave the man his red shawl to use as a signal-flag. as the shepherd at length trotted on and disappeared, that unique, long-legged example of phlegm and good sense sat down by the shepherd's fire, on exactly the same spot where the shepherd had sat, and began watching the goats. i returned to the mournful scene which i had quitted when the englishman came up to me. it was a terrible one, and no marvel that even the painter had closed his sketch-book to gaze upon it in silent awe. the entire valley below showed like a giant furnace, or some flaming ocean of hell. huge fiery serpents came hissing and snarling up to the barricade, and great flakes of fire were flying about everywhere, scorching and kindling as they fell. the chill, keen, mountain air had become heavy and warm in spite of the winter, and a loathsome, penetrating odour arose and drove us away from the horrible place. no one remained but the polish jew. he did not move away. he had risen to his knees on the barricade wall, and his hands, with their prayer-bands, were uplifted to heaven. louder and louder he chanted his hymns, raising his voice above the thundering roar of the crackling fire, the rolling stones, and the last despairing cries of the doomed ones. the fur on his cap, his forked beard and dangling locks were singed by the falling cinders, and his skin scorched and blistered, yet still he chanted on. but when at last he saw that his prayer was in vain, all at once he sprang up, and seemed to strike at the flames with both palms; then, spitting into the fire "pchi!" he fell down senseless. by this time the heat was so oppressive that it was dangerous to stand anywhere near the barricade, and even for the sake of saving a man's life from such a horrid fate, it was impossible to venture among the falling cinders and rolling stones. all that the few of us who had escaped with sound limbs and bodies could do was to carry our less fortunate, wounded or maimed fellow-travellers up into the little watch-house. this we did, and then came those seemingly endless minutes in which we waited for the relief train. once the englishman blew the horn for the goats, and we thought it was the whistling of the expected train. how terribly that disappointment was felt! and what sinful, subtle, and sophistical thoughts crowded into our heads, burdened our hearts, and oppressed our spirits in those awful minutes! what terrible thing had these poor victims done to deserve such fearful punishment? what heinous crime had they committed to be sentenced to death and destruction by such a painful, torturing process? whose sin was visited on the guileless heads of little infants and innocent children who had perished in those flames? could not they have been spared? or that loving and beautiful young couple, just on the brink of life and happiness, and now sent to eternity together by such a fearful road, into the mouth of hell when they had thought themselves before the open gate of paradise? what had that unhappy mother done? or all these old and young men and women, in full health and spirits, enjoying life and happiness, surrounded by happy relatives, full of happy plans and hopes? what had they done to deserve this fate, those poor servants of the public convenience, the guards, the engineer, and the other officials, who could have saved their own lives easily, and in good time, if they had abandoned their fatal posts, and had not preferred to die in doing their duty? why had not these been saved for the sake of their wives and children, now widows and orphans, abandoned to the charities of a merciless world? who and where is that awful deity into whose altar-fire that conjuring jew had spat, because he would not listen to his invocations? what dreadful power is it which has pushed down that rock-colossus to destroy so many human lives? is it the czrny bog of the samaritans, the lord of darkness and doer of mischief, whose might is great in harm, whose joy is human despair, and who is adored with oaths and curses? but if such a power exists--if there is a czrny bog, indeed--then his deeds are befitting his name--dark and black. but why should i, who am human myself, and have a heart for my brethren and a sense of their wrongs, why should i in this fatal instant, although full of pity and commiseration, yet inwardly rejoice that this misfortune has fallen upon others and not upon me? why should i feel that although others have perished, all is well as long as i am safe? is this not shameful? is it not an everlasting stain and disgrace upon my inner self? what right have i to think myself the chosen ward of some guardian angel or tutelary spirit? in what am i different from those lost ones? in what better, worthier than they? and if not, why had i been saved and not they? here! here was the czrny bog, the dark god, in my own breast. at last day was dawning, and, in the grey morning light, the horrible picture looked ghastlier still, when, to our intense relief, the long-expected train came, and physicians with their assistants, firemen with their manifold implements, police, and all kinds of labourers, arrived upon it. the train stopped at a safe distance, and then the work of rescue began. wounds were dressed, the insensible restored, watchmen and travellers were interrogated by officials. ropes and rope-ladders were fastened and suspended, and brave men, magnanimously forgetful of the threatening danger, went down into the flames, although the hope of success was small. true, the two or three uppermost cars had not as yet caught fire; but who could breathe amid that suffocating smoke, that lurid loathsome atmosphere, and yet live? the labourers set to work at the breaches of the barricade and the line of rails. the engineers discussed the best way in which a protecting barrier ought to be built so as to shut out every possibility of such an accident; and from the plateau before the watch-house some men were incessantly calling for a "monsieur d'astrachan." at last one of the labourers called my attention to these repeated shouts, and, turning in their direction, i observed that this title was intended for me. the watchman's wife, not knowing my name, had described me as wearing an astrachan cap and coat-collar, and accordingly i was called "monsieur d'astrachan." now for the first time i remembered the child i had carried thither. i had completely forgotten it, and the occurrence seemed such an age away that i should not have been surprised to hear that the boy had grown to be a man. i hastened up the steps, and observed that some official personage in showy uniform was expecting me quite impatiently. "come up, sir," he said; "we cannot converse with your little boy." "to be sure you can't!" said i, smiling, in spite of the dreadful situation. "neither can i, for the boy is deaf and dumb; but i have to correct you, sir. the boy is not my own, although i took him out of the carriage." "that boy deaf and dumb? about as much as we are, i judge. why, he is talking incessantly, only we can't make anything out of his prattle, as we do not understand the language," said the officer. "well, that's certainly a miracle!" i exclaimed, "and it bears witness to the truth of the old proverb, 'it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.' assuredly, the shock of the accident restored his power of speech. what is he saying?" "i told you we can't make it out. it's a language that none of us understand." "then i hardly suppose that i shall be cleverer than all of you." "whose child is it, if not yours?" "some rich nabob's. i can't at the moment recall his name, although the governess told me, poor soul! we were thrown together by chance, and the poor woman perished in the flames. has no one of his many attendants and servants escaped?" "it seems not. but pray come in and listen to him; perhaps you will understand him." i went in, and found my practical englishman beside the child, but incapable of arriving at a mutual understanding. the injured travellers and the hysterical women passengers were already snugly stowed away in the ambulance carriages and well taken care of. the goats were again under the protection of their legitimate shepherd, and that temporary official, the long-legged son of albion, was addressing all kinds of questions in english to an obstinate little boy. as i entered, and the child caught sight of me, the little face lit up at once. he extended both his little arms in joy. "please come," he said; "i will be a good boy. i will speak!" it is marvellous enough when a dumb child speaks; but what was my surprise when i recognised these words, uttered in my own native hungarian tongue! just imagine the five-year-old son of a wealthy american, whose entire _cortège_ had been german, french, italian, and english, speaking hungarian! i took the little fellow up in my arms, and he put both his little arms around my neck, and, leaning his soft cheek on my bearded face, he said again, "i will be good, very good; but please take me to my papa. i am afraid!" "who is your father, my child?" i asked. "what is his name?" as i uttered these questions in hungarian, he clapped his hands in gladness, and then, after a little meditation, he answered-- "my father is called the 'silver king,' and his name is mr. dumany. do you know him?" "oh!" said the englishman, as he heard the name, "mr. kornel dumany, the silver king; i know him very well. he is an american, and very rich. he lives mostly in paris. if it is more convenient for you to get rid of the child, i can take care of him and bring him to his father." "no, no!" protested the little one, clinging tightly to me. "please, do not give me to him! i want to stay with you; i want to go with you to my papa!" so he knew english well enough, since he understood every word of the englishman's. in this case he could not have been deaf at all, but obstinate, hearing and refusing to talk. was not such unheard-of obstinacy in a child of such tender age some malady of the mind or soul? "i wonder how this child comes to speak hungarian?" said i, turning to the englishman. "ours is not a language generally spoken by foreigners, least of all by the young children of american nabobs." "i never wonder at anything," said he, coolly. "at any rate, i should advise you at the first station to telegraph to mr. dumany; i will give you his address. so you will be expected when you arrive in paris, and have no further trouble. since you are the only person able to talk to the boy, it will be certainly the best thing for him to remain with you. now i think it is time for us to take our seats in the carriage, or else the train will start and leave us behind. come on, gentlemen!" iv. the nabob. the train from zürich arrived at the eastern railway station at seven o'clock in the morning. in paris the day has at that early hour not yet begun, and but very few persons, mostly travelling foreigners and labourers, are seen on the streets. since it has become the fashion to use the moving train for suicidal purposes, the perron is locked, and only those travellers admitted whose luggage is undergoing examination by the customs officials. i was lucky enough to have sent my luggage one day ahead of me to paris, and so it had not been lost in the accident. i had nothing with me but a small satchel, which i had saved, but which contained nothing to interest the custom-house officers, and so, taking my little charge in hand, i stepped out into the hall. i had hardly gone two paces, when the child dropped my hand, and crying, "papa! dear, darling papa!" ran to a gentleman who, with a lady at his side, stood by the turnstile. i had never before seen the lady, yet i recognised her at once as the mother of my little charge, so striking was the resemblance between them. she had the same large, dark-blue eyes, the same dimpled chin, aquiline nose, and pretty, shell-shaped, little mouth as he, and she could hardly have been more than four-and-twenty, so young and girlish did she look. the husband was a large-made, well-shaped, and distinguished-looking gentleman. his bronze complexion had a healthy flush, and he wore side whiskers, but no moustache. his head was covered with a round soft beaver, and a long, rich fur coat was thrown lightly over his shoulder. in his scarf i saw a large solitaire. the lady at his side was very plainly attired in black, and wore no jewellery at all. the age of the gentleman was, according to my judgment, about forty. as the child ran toward him, with both his little arms stretched out, and crying, in hungarian, "apám! drágo édes apám!" ("papa! dear darling papa!") the gentleman hastened to meet him, caught the boy up in his arms, and covered the little face, hands, eyes, and hair with a shower of kisses. the father sobbed in his joy, while the child laughed, caressed his father's cheeks, and called him "Édes jo apám!" ("my good, sweet father!") in hungarian, and the father called him, crying and laughing, "my dear little fool"--in english. then i saw the father whisper something to the child, and in an instant the whole little face became rigid and dull, all child-like mirth and sweetness had vanished. he looked around, and then clung tightly to his father, as if in dread of something, and i saw his lips move in appeal. the father kissed him again and carried him to the lady, who all the while had given no sign of animation or interest, but had looked on, cool and indifferent. "look, my pet, here is your mama!" said the gentleman to the boy, approaching the lady and holding the boy toward her. now, according to the law of nature, according to all human sentiment and experience, we should expect a mother who receives back her own offspring, saved from a fate too horrible even to contemplate, her own child who had gone from her mute and comes back to her speaking, i say we should think it natural in such a mother to seize this child, and, in the ecstasy of her love and joy, half suffocate it with her kisses and caresses. not so here. i could see no glad tear in the lady's eye, no smile of welcome on her face. her hands were snugly stowed away in a costly little muff, and she did not think it necessary to extend them to her child. she breathed a cold, lifeless kiss upon the boy's pale forehead, and the tiny hand of the child caressed the fur trimming on her jacket, just as he had done with the astrachan lapel of my coat. what a strange behaviour in mother and child after such a reunion! i had watched this family scene out of a strange curiosity, which was wholly involuntary. presently i recollected the situation, and turned to leave the perron. perhaps, if i had saved some honest cockney's son from a like danger, i should not have avoided him, but, with a friendly pressure of the hand, expressed my pleasure at having been able to be of service to him. then we should have parted good friends. but to introduce myself to an american nabob as the rescuer of his child was impossible! why, the man was capable of offering me a remuneration! no, i would have nothing to do with aristocrats like these. they have their child; it is safe; and so good-bye to them! however, as i turned to leave, i was surprised to hear some one pronounce my name, and, to my astonishment, i found that it was mr. dumany. he still held the child on his arm, and, coming toward me, he said in french, "oh, sir! you do not mean to run away from us, surely?" "indeed i must!" said i, bowing. "but, pray, how is it that you know my name? you cannot know me personally?" "well, that is a question which must remain to be answered later on. at present it is sufficient to tell you that the telegraph service has been very full and exact, even in personal description. however, i beg you to revoke that 'i must,' for indeed i cannot allow you to depart. to the great favour you have done me, you must add the additional favour of being my guest for the time of your sojourn in paris. promise me to accept of my hospitality--nay, to regard my house as your own. i shall be ever so happy! come, pray, do not hesitate, and give me leave to introduce you to my wife!" with that he took my arm, and holding it tight, as if in fear i might break loose and run off, he led me to the turnstile, where the lady was standing as quiet and composed as before. he introduced me to her by my proper name and title, naming even the district which i represented in the hungarian parliament; and all these he pronounced perfectly and correctly, as i never heard them pronounced by a foreigner before. how could he know all that? true, i had shown my passport to the frontier officials; but were these also subject to the silver king? the lady bowed politely as her husband said, "this gentleman has saved our little james from being consumed by the flames at the rossberg catastrophe"; and for a moment i felt the slight pressure of a little gloved hand in mine. it was a very slight pressure, the faintest possible acknowledgment of a duty, and if i had saved her little pet monkey or dog, instead of her child, she might well have afforded me a warmer recognition. indeed, i had seen women go into raptures on account of such animals before this, but never before had i seen a mother value the life of her own child so cheap. she did not hold it worthy of a single expression of gratitude; she had not a word to spare for him or me. was this woman a human monstrosity and void of all natural feeling? or else was it part of the american etiquette to suppress all outward signs of emotion? what puzzled me most was the boy. he was so different from the happy, talkative little fellow he had been with me and with his father some minutes ago, and he looked just as dull and inanimate as when i had seen him first on the railway. was it because he could only speak hungarian? but then, how could he speak to his father? who had taught the boy to speak that peculiar language, dear to me and my compatriots, but wholly unintelligible and of very little use or advantage to the world at large? i observed that mr. dumany held a short conversation with a tall liveried footman behind him, and i understood that he ordered him to take out my luggage. i protested and tried to escape. i like hospitality at home; but when i come into a foreign country, i prefer the simplest inn or the obscurest hotel to the most magnificent apartments of a palace of a prince of the bourse, because independence goes with the former, and of all slavery i fear that of etiquette the worst. but mr. dumany did not mean to give way to my polite protestations. "just surrender nicely, pray!" he said, smilingly. "it saves you trouble. look! if you insist upon going to some hotel, i promise you that all the reporters of every paper we have, daily and weekly, will be sure to pester you day and night with interviews, besides the reporters of foreign papers here, of which we also have an abundance. every word you speak will by each reporter be turned into a different meaning, and by to-morrow the papers will be full of your intimations, although you do not say anything at all. and then the photographers: how will you escape them? don't you know that every penny paper will appear with your picture in front to-morrow, and, wherever you go, it will be thrust before your eyes? you will hear your name pronounced in all languages, and in every way, and you will not know how to escape this unsought-for and unwelcome notoriety. but if you accept my invitation, nobody will be able to stare at you or interrogate you, and you shall live as quietly and peacefully as if you were in some herdsman's hovel in hortobágy at home." i stared at him quite stunned. how, in the name of all that was wonderful, could he have learned of the existence of a herdsman's hovel in hortobágy? how could he know that it was my favourite spot? and how he pronounced that hortobágy! just as i myself! he smiled at my astonishment, but offered no explanation. but now he had caught me in my weak point--a writer's curiosity--and i gave in, willingly enough. mr. dumany ordered the carriages. in one magnificent landau mrs. dumany was to go with little james, in the other mr. dumany and myself. but the child obstinately refused to leave his father's arms, and clung to him more tightly than ever. so the lady was obliged to go alone, and we two men took the boy with us. i confess that the gentleman puzzled and interested me very much. not because people had given him the name of "silver king." i do not covet, and i do not admire wealth alone, pure and simple. i know how to describe a vine-embowered cottage, or even a thatch-roofed hut, with a garland of gourd blossoms around its small windows, and i can appreciate the beauties of a picturesque church or castle. but all my descriptive faculties desert me before the marble and gold luxury of a modern palace, and its gorgeous splendour has no charm for me. the interest i felt was due to the man himself, and, most of all, to the connection existing between him and my own home. how came this american croesus to be acquainted with the nomenclature, customs, and topography of my own country and language? how came the latter upon the lips of his five-year-old boy? in my childhood i had known a five-year-old boy, the son of a count, who could speak only latin, and not a word except latin. but, then, latin is taught throughout the world, and no education is considered as finished without a more or less perfect knowledge of latin. but where in a foreign country is the professor who teaches the ugro-finnish tongue, even if there were some whimsical parent who wished that his son should learn to speak it? during the drive mr. dumany acquainted me with some particulars regarding the customs of his house. he told me that the hour for breakfast was nine, and that for lunch one o'clock. dinner was invariably served at six, and i was entirely at liberty to put in my appearance or stay away. they would not wait for me, but my place at the table would be kept reserved; and if i was late, i should be served afresh. the cook should be entirely at my disposal. if the excitement and fatigue of the journey should make me wish for a day's rest, i was free to retire to my rooms at once, and should not be disturbed by anybody. in answer to all this i said that i had no habits whatever; that i was able to eat, drink, and sleep at will; was never fatigued, and would with pleasure put in my appearance at his breakfast-table that very morning. "that will be nice, indeed!" he said. "but i must beg your pardon in advance for my wife. on ordinary days she is up and presides at breakfast; but to-day she bade me apologise. she has been up all night from excitement, and now i have told her to lie down and rest a few hours. after that she usually spends some time in the nursery, superintending the children's ablutions, prayers, and breakfast, and only when all these matters are accomplished is she ready for her duties as hostess and mistress of the household." "so little james is not your only child?" i ventured to ask. "not by many; we have two more boys and two beautiful little girls--quite a houseful." "but the lady looks almost too young to be the mother of so many children. little james is the eldest, of course?" "yes, he is her first-born, and she is not yet twenty-four. we have been married six years, so christening has been an annual event with us." well, i was more puzzled than ever. i had met with a good many english and american gentlemen before, but all had been rather reserved in speech and manner, quite different from this croesus; and, regarding the lady, i was altogether at a loss, as all my conjectures were entirely at fault. she was not without feeling; she was apparently a good mother, and little james was her own child and not a stepson, as i had guessed. her behaviour at the station was still an enigma to me. at last we arrived at the silver king's residence--a large, well-built, and rather comfortable than brilliant mansion, filled with a host of servants, of whom each knew and fulfilled his particular duty. a _valet de chambre_ showed me into a very splendid and comfortable suite of rooms, consisting of a reception-room, sitting-room, work-room, bed-, dressing-, and bathroom, all furnished in the choicest and most practical way, and i was delighted to see that, although all was rich and costly, none of the offensive and pretentious pomp of the ordinary millionaire's house met my eye. the valet, an alsacian, who talked to me in german--perhaps with the notion of paying me a compliment--informed me that he was entirely at my own service. he showed me a beautiful escritoire in the work-room, with everything ready for writing purposes, and told me that, in the reading-room attached, i should find an assortment of newspapers. he then quickly and skilfully prepared me a bath, unpacked and arranged my things, and helped me to dress. he was altogether a wonderfully nice fellow. when the valet left me, i went into the reading-room, and looked at the newspapers. i found quite a number of them--french, english, italian, and one german; but still i was a little disappointed. i had half expected to find a hungarian paper, and there was none. the library contained a choice collection of books; works of science, philosophy, history, poetry, and fiction--of the latter, only a small and select number. here also was no hungarian author to be found; not even the translation of a hungarian book could i detect, although i looked into every one--french, german, english, and italian, and even some spanish and danish ones. from the reading-room opened the billiard-room, a handsome apartment. its walls were covered with beautiful frescoes, betraying the french school of art in the delicate colours, and in the norman, basque, breton, and kabyle scenes and types represented. of hungary i could see nothing. the hortobágy herdsman's hovel, of which my host had spoken, was not to be found. in another room i found a sort of ethnographical museum, full of relics and rarities from all countries except hungary; and yet, if that man had ever been in my country, he would certainly have brought some token of remembrance with him. hungary is more rich in curiosities than a good many of the countries represented here. mr. dumany came in to see if i was ready for breakfast, and i followed him into the tea-room, passing a little, semi-circular, ship-cabin-like apartment, with small, round windows, between which, in beautifully-sculptured, round frames, of the size of the windows, hung very handsome landscapes, apparently american. in the breakfast-room i recognised a tiny meissonier, in a gold frame of twice its size, and an alma tadema. mr. dumany, observing my interest in the pictures, informed me that these two were there only temporarily, pending their shipment to new york. there, in mr. dumany's real home, was his picture gallery, containing works of art of the highest standard. i ventured to observe that we scythians, barbarians as we were held to be, had also some painters worthy the interest of a mæcenas, and not without fame, too. "i should think so," he said, smiling. "and in my new york gallery you will find munkácsy _genres_, zichy _aquarelles_, a benczur, and some other equally fine hungarian pictures. here i keep only french and german pictures of lesser value." our conversation turned to art in general, and mr. dumany surprised me again by an allusion to the hungarian witticism that when we speak of hungarian art we cannot omit liszt (for the name of the great musician is also the hungarian word for _flour_); and mr. dumany remarked that americans travelling abroad have learned to appreciate both the hungarian specialties. the great artist, and the product of the soil and mill converted into fine cake, are equally esteemed by them. we talked about commerce and exports, and he observed that although american wheat was sure to inundate the european market, yet hungarian flour was unrivalled in quality, and would increase in consumption throughout the world. then we spoke of financial matters, and here mr. dumany was completely at home. the hungarian rente had at that time just been introduced into the market, and mr. dumany predicted for it a fair success. he prophesied the rente conversion scheme and the four per cent. bonds, and from this topic we diverged to politics. he was a very fair politician, and i was pleasantly impressed by the apparent interest which he took in hungary. he admired andrássy, and spoke well of his bosnian policy. of tisza he entertained great hopes, and he felt sorry for apponyi, because he had allied his great talents with the opposition. he spoke of kossuth, and said it was a pity to see the grand old man's name misused by the extreme faction. i tried to turn the conversation to hungarian literature, but on this point i met with but little interest. still, i noticed that he knew more about us than foreigners in general do. he did not think the gypsies the ruling race in hungary, and he did not believe us to be a sort of chivalrous brigands, as some foreigners consider us; but he did not show any particular sympathy with either the country or the people, and certainly used no flattery on the subject of our special virtues. our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of mr. dumany's valet, who handed his master two letters. "will you give me leave to read them at once?" he asked, turning to me. "they are of some importance, being answers to two dinner invitations i sent out this morning." "certainly," i answered; "pray do as you wish." he opened and read the letters, and, replacing them again on the silver salver upon which the servant had brought them, he ordered him to hand them over to the chambermaid so that mrs. dumany might receive and read them. after the valet had left, mr. dumany said to me-- "i have invited these two gentlemen to meet you at dinner. one of them is secretary of the department of the interior, the other an old catholic priest, the parson of st. germain l'auxerrois. it is very nice and pleasant that both of them accepted, and so i hope you will not object to make the acquaintance of two whole-souled and intelligent gentlemen." "quite the contrary," i hastened to say; "i shall be very happy to meet them." just then the valet returned, and, deferentially bowing, he said to me-- "madame la comtesse begs to inform monsieur that she would be grateful if monsieur would be kind enough to see madame in her apartments." v. a republican countess. "madame la comtesse!" a peruvian or argentine countess? or have these plutocrats of the great republic some special distinguishing titles, such as "silver king," "railway prince," etc., and was this exotic countess the daughter of some such lord of the money market? at any rate, i had to obey her polite commands, so, throwing away my cigar, i bowed to mr. dumany and followed the lead of the valet. in crossing a long suite of tastefully-furnished rooms, i noticed the entire absence of family pictures. they had no ancestors, or did not boast of them. no farthingaled, white-wigged ladies in hooped skirts and trailing brocade robes; no mail-clad, chivalrous-looking gentlemen, with marshals' staffs, keys, and like emblems of rank and high station; or else these, too, had gone over to new york to subdue with their haughty grandeur the eyes of less high-born mortals. there was something else i missed in these beautiful chambers--the usual obtrusive, caressed and pampered pet animal of a great lady. no paroquet, no monkey, no little, silken-haired lap-dog, no st. bernard or newfoundland dog, no cat, not even a little canary bird, was to be met with; and not a single flower, real or artificial, greeted the eye. at last we came to a room with beautiful heavy brocaded draperies, evidently veiling the entrance into some other apartment. as the servant stepped up and drew the hanging aside, i could not suppress an exclamation of admiration and surprise; and for a moment i stood transfixed at the lovely and exquisite scene, deeming that fairyland had opened to me, and that queen mab was expecting me in her own enchanting bower. the room which i now entered resembled to some extent the blue grotto of capri. it was flooded with a magic blue light. just opposite to the entrance was some kind of bower, with honeysuckle, woodbine, and other blooming and fragrant vines intertwined. this bower was prolonged in the rear into a spacious and seemingly endless tropical garden, with wonderful blooming exotic plants and trees; and in this east indian paradise, gaily-plumed, sweet-voiced birds of different size and colour were chirping, hopping, and hovering above their nests, among evergreen bushes and glorious flowers. the whole winter-garden received its light from above, and this light, falling through large panes of blue glass, threw that peculiar, fairy, grotto-like hue over the little boudoir in front. to prevent the luscious odour of the winter-garden from pervading the air of the boudoir and becoming oppressive, a fine, translucent film separated the bower from the garden. but this film was not of glass or any other transparent but solid substance; it consisted of a beautiful, clear waterfall, transparent as a veil, and noiseless as a fine summer rain. at the touch of a spring, this softly-pouring waterfall might be shut off and the entrance into the winter-garden thrown wide. in the little boudoir, at the opening of the bower, stood a couch, and opposite this a little settee and two small gilded and embroidered chairs; while two large sculptured frames, one containing a splendid mirror, the other a life-size portrait of mr. dumany, completed the appointments. mrs. dumany, or, as she was called, the countess, wore a loose morning-dress of raw silk, with rich embroidery. her rich, dark hair was uncovered and wound around her head in three thick coils, like a tiara. her graceful figure was as slender as that of a girl, and she looked so young and childlike that no living man would have supposed her to be the mother of five children. in the peculiar blue light of the boudoir her naturally fair face appeared so white that i was almost startled. it was just as though some marble or alabaster statue had moved, looked at me with those large dark-blue eyes, spoken to me with those finely-chiselled, ruby-coloured lips. "pray pardon me for troubling you to call on me," she said, in fluent and precise french, although with a somewhat foreign accent and manner of speech; "i should not have done it were you not the only trustworthy person from whom i can learn the necessary particulars of the terrible rossberg accident. my husband, as perhaps you already know, has invited two gentlemen to dine with us. one is a government officer of high rank, the other a kind and benevolent priest. my husband's intention is to spend a considerable sum of money for distribution among those who were injured in the rossberg catastrophe, or their destitute relatives. they shall at least not suffer actual want, and although i daresay that money is a poor compensation for a lost or crippled husband and father, or son and brother, still it is the only possible consolation we can offer them, and in providing for their own future and that of their dependents, we at least relieve their hearts of one burden. of this my husband wants to talk to the government official. the priest was invited by me, and i want him to hold a requiem for the souls of those who perished, and to superintend the erection of a memorial chapel at the place of the terrible accident. mr. dumany is ungrudging in his charity, and ready for any sacrifice of money; but, you see, we know really nothing about the particulars. how many were lost, and how many died afterward in consequence of their injuries? who were they? of what nation, faith, quality, and circumstances? how many were saved, and in what condition? have they somebody to attend to them, to support them in case of need? and then those belonging to ourselves, our dutiful servants, i might call them our true and faithful friends, has not one of them escaped? have they all perished together? you can tell me best, and therefore i made bold to call you to me. do not hesitate, pray, but tell me all that happened, and in what manner it happened, from the dreadful beginning to the pitiful end--the whole catastrophe, with all the particulars you can recall to memory." "madam," said i, "pray do not wish that. these particulars are much too dreadful to relate--much too horrible for the ear of a lady. it requires strong nerves and an iron heart to listen to such a tale as that." "and what that?" she replied. "true, my nerves are not a bit less sensitive than those of any other woman, but i have learned to suppress them--to hold them down. never fear me! never spare me! if the scourge hurts me, i shall think it a penance. go on! you hold the scourge--strike! go on, i say!" there was an impatient, almost fierce resolution in her voice, and i obeyed. if this woman regarded the act of listening to the dreadful tale i had to tell as a penance, then, indeed, she allowed it to become a torture. i was obliged to recount the smallest incident of the ghastly event, and she drank in every word, shuddering as at some deadly poison. again and again she questioned me with the skill and zeal of a professional cross-examiner. nor would she let me omit a syllable. and when at the most fearful and heartrending point, her soft, dimpled chin sunk down on her breast, and her fair, babyish hand knocked at the tender bosom "_mea culpa_! oh, _mea culpa_!" when she heard that the uncoupling of the parlour car had caused a delay, she groaned. "then all this terrible mishap is due to our own vanity?" she cried. "a consequence of our own presumptuous pride! if our dependents had sat with the boy in a common carriage with other decent travellers, the train would have passed the fatal spot long before the landslide was in motion! but, of course, the silver king's son is far too precious a creature to breathe the same air with other creatures of god's making. he must needs have a separate parlour to himself! and this sinful, detestable vanity of ours must cost the lives of so many good, brave, happy, and useful persons. oh, hell itself must mock at our folly!" now this commination, unexpected as it was from a lady of wealth and position, was not altogether unwarranted, and so i went on. as i drew near to the catastrophe i could hear the beating of her heart, and her breath came short and gasping. when i related how i had caught hold of the governess's hand, she was trembling, and an almost deadly pallor overspread her white face. "alice! oh, alice!" she cried; and when i told her how the lady ran back to the coupé for her bonnet, just at the last moment for escaping, she broke out into a painful hysterical laugh. "just like her! her bonnet! yes; ha! ha! she would have come down to dinner in her bonnet, the foolish pride! she was so afraid to show her bare ears to a man! oh! oh! alice!" at last the tears came to her relief, and she sobbed pitifully. "if you had only known her goodness," she cried, "her self-sacrificing devotion, her pure, kind heart! she was the best friend i ever had, and how she loved that unhappy boy! she was more his mother than i, for she gave him all a mother's love and all a mother's care and attention. why did i let her go with him? why did i not keep her back from him?" i told her how the poor woman's first thought had been the safety of the child. "and you have not seen her again? you do not know what has become of her?" i denied having seen her again. i could not describe to her the horrid spectacle of the poor woman as i had seen her last, when taken by the brave firemen from that infernal pile; for, strong as she forced herself to appear, this would have been more than she could bear; so i told her that the relief train started with the rescued before we could learn anything of the rest; but of the certainty of their death there could not be the slightest doubt. "what a misfortune!" she sighed, wringing her hands. "why, that boy had an escort with him like a prince royal! the honest dr. mayer, such a refined, generous young man; and tom, the negro, my best servant, and the truest! he saved me from an alligator once, and killed him with an iron bar. he was severely wounded by the ferocious reptile, yet he laughed at his pains." i remembered the grin on his broad black face in the moment of death, as i had seen him at the carriage window. he had laughed then also. "and poor little georgie?" she asked again, "james's playfellow and foster-brother? georgie's mother was james's nurse. how she begged of me to take care of her darling, to bring him up well, to make a priest of him! and how well i have kept that promise! i have made more of him than a priest: he is a saint, and a martyr. oh, _mea culpa_! _mea culpa_!" when i had explained to her the circumstances which had made all attempts at rescue impossible for us, and afterward futile, she nodded. "i know it," she said. "on that evening i had not said my prayers. we dined out late, and spent the evening there. i could not come home to pray with my children, and i could not say my prayers there. i felt the heavy load on my heart, and once for a moment, when i was not observed by anybody, i heaved a sigh and said, 'god bless us!' it must have been at the moment of the catastrophe, for my heart ached with some vague and gloomy presentiment. oh, me! our neglected prayer, and such a fearful chastisement! tell me! who is that terrible being that watches us so relentlessly, and if he catches us napping but once, hurls down those we love into death and destruction?" her marble-white face, her large wide-open eyes, gave her the look of a spirit. "perhaps," said i, "the single blessing you asked saved the life of your dear child. let this thought comfort you." "james?" she said. "this child of sin and misfortune? why, it was because he was on that train that all those pure and good people had to die! oh, accursed was the hour of his birth! no, no; he is not accursed. i--i, his mother, that gave birth to him, i am guilty! he is innocent; he could not help it. oh, _mea culpa_! _mea culpa_!" she was beating her breast, and rocking herself to and fro, uttering her incessant "_mea culpa_!" "tell me more," she said again, presently; "show me more dreadful sights, that i may suffer more. i yearn for it; it will do my soul good--it is like purgatory. go on!" i took good care not to feed this religious frenzy further. on the contrary, i spoke of the practical englishman and his performances, and of the artist who had sat there among all the terrible havoc and had drawn sketch after sketch. "that picture we must secure, at whatever cost," she said, eagerly. "it shall be the altar-piece of the chapel which we are about to raise in memory of the tragic event and of the souls of the slain." i had formed my own opinion of mrs dumany's state of mind. no doubt she was mentally deranged, and her special craze was religious monomania. from this arose the deep melancholy which held her own innocent babe responsible for the misfortune of others. this made the child repugnant to the mother, and, no doubt, this was at the bottom of that remarkable mutual estrangement between mother and child. i tried to quiet her. i told her that in a very short period a great many serious catastrophes, such as frequent earthquakes, great inundations, and similar unfortunate and most terrible events, had shocked the world and buried whole cities, destroyed the lives and fortunes of thousands upon thousands of happy and innocent persons. even this rossberg catastrophe had been preceded by another at the same spot, about the beginning of the present century. such catastrophes were by no means to be considered as a punishment from god almighty, who is far too magnanimous to visit the sins of the guilty upon the heads of the innocent, but simply as the outcome of geological and meteorological phases of our globe, depending upon natural laws. if anybody was really to be blamed for the present misfortune, it must be the engineer who had planned and erected that insufficient barrier instead of a strong bastion. mr. dumany's entrance interrupted our painful conversation. he came on the pretence that letters and newspapers had arrived for me, and with that he handed me a copy of the _hon_. "but i had them addressed to the hôtel d'espagne," i said. "they have been already informed that you are here," he answered; and then, turning to his wife, he said-- "have you drunk deep enough of the bitter cup? or do you thirst for more of its contents?" his voice was soft and tender, and the wife threw both her arms around the husband's neck, and, burying her face on his breast, she wept bitterly. i took my journal, and, without making my excuses to the lady, i silently stole out of the room. vi. dumany kornel. at dinner i was punctual, but nevertheless the two gentlemen of whom mr. dumany and his wife had spoken were already present and discussing the question of mr. dumany's munificent offer. after a hurried introduction i was soon informed of all that had been agreed on. the secretary of state had received bonds for , , francs, to be taken by the two governments, the french and the swiss, for distribution among the injured or maimed of the rossberg catastrophe and the poor dependents of the slain. the old railroad watchman, who had been discharged by the company, and the canny shepherd, who both sold and kept his goats when he ran for the relief train, each received , francs, and a considerable sum went to the officials of the relief train as a remuneration for their services. the rest of the million francs was set aside for a memorial chapel on the site of the accident, and for the celebration of masses and a grand requiem in the church of st germain l'auxerrois on the following day--a ceremony which was to be repeated annually. i have forgotten to mention that although the dinner was sumptuous, and the dishes and wines were excellent, yet it was as stately, solemn, and unsociable a meal as a funeral banquet, and mrs. dumany presided in deep mourning. the only jewel she wore was a large cross studded with dark-blue diamonds, only recognisable as such by the rays of blue, yellow, red, and green light which darted from them. this cross was suspended on a chain of black beads resembling a rosary, and giving to the black-robed figure the appearance of an abbess. the spanish lace mantilla which she had thrown over her beautiful hair served as the veil, and made the resemblance perfect. at nine o'clock the government official and the priest took their leave, and mrs. dumany retired, to put her babes to bed, as she said--a duty which she always fulfilled herself, saying her prayers with them, and watching them until they slept. after the lady had retired, mr. dumany told me that even when he and his wife dined out, or were going to the opera, my lady invariably went home at nine o'clock to put her children to bed--a duty which she never omitted; but on the evening of the catastrophe she had been compelled to stay by the company present, and this had given rise to her self-accusations. she was nowhere happy but in the company of her children, who afforded her the greatest delight and amusement. i sighed, and, yes--i think i was actually guilty of the remark that hungarian ladies of quality were equally good and dutiful mothers. we went over to mr. dumany's bedroom for a cup of tea and a cigar. it was a grand room, lofty and spacious as a church, and if i had been a chauvinist, i should have said that the rays of light in this room composed a tricolour of the same hues as the hungarian flag. the beautiful hanging-lamp shed a green light, the glowing coals in the grate threw a reddish tint over the surrounding objects, and the large, richly-sculptured bed-canopy was all ablaze with white electric lights, arranged like a chain of diamonds above the heavy purple velvet hangings which encircled the couch and gave it a cosy and well-shaded effect. we had hardly finished our first cigar, when mrs. dumany, or, as i should call her, the countess, came in. she wore a white wrapper, covered with costly lace and leaving her beautiful arms bare below the loose lace-trimmed sleeves. she led little james into the room, and, turning to her husband, she said--"this boy obstinately refuses to sleep anywhere but with his father, just as before we sent him to the institute." the little fellow was simpering, and tottered drowsily to and fro. he was evidently very sleepy. mr. dumany took him up on his lap, unbuttoned his little boots, and pulled off the tiny socks. the mother stood there, looking on unconcerned, and presently she said, "good-night!" and went out of the room. the father undressed the child, and put him to bed; then he drew the curtains aside; the child knelt in bed, folded his little hands, and evidently said his prayers, for i saw his lips move; but i could not hear a word. after he had finished, his father kissed him tenderly, covered him up with the angora rug, and, letting down the curtains, returned to me. he had hardly sat down, when the bed-curtains moved, and the cherubic little head peeped out. "papa! papa!" said the child. "what is it, darling?" his father asked, going back to him. "i want you to kiss me again," he said, with a little mischievous smile. after the boy had had his wish, he crept below the covering, and was soon fast asleep. mr. dumany observed that my cigar had expired, and that i looked rather drowsy. "you are tired," he said; "let me lead you to your room." "i have not slept for the last two nights," i replied; "but i shall not trouble you, as i can find my room easily, or else i can ask the valet. pray stay and rest yourself." "well then, good-night and sleep well!" but however sleepy i had been the moment before, these few words were enough to drive sleep from my eyes for ten nights to come, and to raise my curiosity to the highest pitch, for they were spoken in clear, well-pronounced hungarian. i gazed at him in utter astonishment, and he smiled. "you did not recognise me," he said, "but i knew you at once. i knew you very well, too--at one time: we have been colleagues once." "indeed? and how is that possible? pray where was that?" "in budapest, in the sándor uteza palace, the house of commons." "you have been a member of the hungarian parliament? when? and what name did you then bear?" "the name i bear now, which is my own. only i used to write it in hungarian, dumany kornel." "still i don't remember. neither your name, nor yet your face is familiar to me." "naturally enough. i was in parliament for only one day; the next day they conducted me out again." "ah, now i know you! you were the dead man's candidate." "yes, you have hit it; i was the man." well, this was indeed a surprise. all the drowsiness had entirely gone from me, and, turning back into the room, i asked, eagerly-- "sir, have i some claim on your generosity?" "oh sir! my dear friend!" he cried, extending both hands to me, "i am your most grateful and obedient servant for ever. i hand you a blank sheet, and, whatever you may be pleased to write upon it, i shall most willingly subscribe to." "then tell me how the right honourable dumany kornel, a member of the hungarian landed gentry, and also of the medical profession, if i rightly remember, a rather fast-living bachelor, and rejected commoner, has been metamorphosed into cornelius dumany, the silver king, the south american nabob, the matador of the bourse, husband of a beautiful countess, and father of five children, within such a short period. tell me this, for it is the only gratification i shall accept." "and let me tell you, dear friend, it is the highest i could give," was his reply. "in fact, you have presented me such a draft that, in spite of all my wealth, i am unable to pay it at sight. i have to ask my wife's permission first. the story you want me to tell is but one half my own, the other half belongs to my wife, and you must allow me to ask her leave;" and, bowing to me, he left the room. i was alone. no, not alone. from behind the bed-curtains issued a heavy groaning, as if the little sleeper were troubled with bad dreams. i went to him and lifted the hangings. the glare of the light awakened him, and he cried out, "apa!" ("papa!") "papa will come presently, my little one," i said in hungarian, and he smiled happily. "oh, the hungarian uncle!" he said, "that's nice;" and, taking hold of my hand, he caressingly laid his little, soft cheek on it. "have you been troubled in your sleep?" i asked. "yes," he said; "i was dumb again, although i wanted to speak and tried very hard. a snake was coiled around my neck, and choked me. there is no snake in this room? or is there?" "no. don't be afraid of anything. try to sleep again." "you will stay with me?" "yes, until your papa comes back." "stay always. papa would like it. he always used to say, 'speak to me, my boy, only to me! i have nobody but thee to speak to me in our own hungarian;' and now he has you also. how glad he must be of it! you will stay?--promise!" i promised him to stay a long time, and, holding fast to my hand, he fell asleep again. when mr. du many, or rather dumany, returned to me, i was sitting before the grate, musing over what the child's innocent prattle had revealed to me--the tender, loving recollection this man had of his home and the sweet sounds of our beloved mother tongue. he came in with an animated face. "my wife has consented," he said. "she told me that it was confession-time. to-morrow she will confess to father augustin, and this evening i shall make you my confessor. now that i have made up my mind to it, i really think that, even from a practical point of view, it would be much better if the truth should be known about us, rather than those wild, fanciful stories reported by gossiping american newspapers." with that he rang the bell for the servant, and gave his orders for the night. tea with mandarin liqueur at once, at twelve o'clock punch and fruits, at two in the morning coffee _à la turque_, and at five o'clock a cold woodcock and champagne, were to be served. "i hope you will be able to stand being up all night?" he asked. "i think so. i am chief of the campaign committee at home." "i beg your pardon. then i know your quality. but it will possibly interest you to learn that the bill of fare i have issued consists entirely of products of my own raising. the tea comes from my own garden in hong kong. the mandarin is decocted from the crop of oranges grown in my borneo orchard. the coffee comes from my cuban plantation, as well as the 'gizr' spirit, obtained from the coffee bean. the woodcock is from my own park; and it is only the flour for the cakes that i have to buy, for that comes from hungary, and there i own nothing." "how is that? if i remember rightly, you had a handsome property there." "have you not heard that it was sold to pay my debts?" "and you consented to that?" "well, first hear my story. however, i have told you an untruth. i am yet a landed proprietor at home; i own a cabbage-garden in the rear of my former castle. that garden is the only bit of soil i kept, and in this garden fine cabbages grow. year after year the whole crop is sliced up, put into great barrels, and converted into sauer-kraut. this they send after me, wherever i happen to be--whether at new york, rio de janeiro, palermo, or paris--and from this, after a sleepless night, my wife prepares me a delicious 'korhely-leves'" (a broth made from the juice, and some slices of cabbage, with sour cream and fresh and smoked ham, and sausages. this broth is in hungary frequently served after a night of dissipation; hence its name, "korhely-leves," which means "scamp's-broth"). "and the countess understands how to prepare the old-fashioned hungarian delicacy?" i asked. he laughed. "ha-ha-ha! why, she is as good a hungarian as you or i. if she speaks french, she only imitates our ladies at home, who think themselves so much more refined when they speak bad french instead of good hungarian." this was another revelation, and upset the other half of my fictitious combination. i had imagined that my countryman had won the love of some south american magnate's daughter, and in this way had become the possessor of his innumerable millions. mr. dumany might have read my thoughts in my face, for he smiled and said-- "you will presently understand that i did not rob, did not cheat, and did not marry for money, and yet i did not acquire my present great wealth by my own good sense and management, either. i'll show you by what road i have reached it, as a warning to others. may no other man ever do as i did! but i do not believe that such events are ever likely to happen again. i do not believe that there can ever be born another such a pair of thick-skinned, iron-nerved human beings as the heroes of this story, or two other persons able to endure what we endured. i will venture to say that the worldly wealth i have won is not worth the price i paid for it; but i have gained another prize, whose value can never be expressed in figures." thereupon we sat down at the little tea-table. mr. dumany threw a few logs of odorous cedar wood upon the fire and began his tale. so, from this point, the present romance is not written by me, but by him. mr dumany's story. vii. the dead man's vote. i do not think it necessary to particularly describe the borough for which i was nominated as a candidate for parliament. if you know one, you know all. there were factions, of course, ranged into parties, one of which drank deep, while the other drank deeper still. there are a good many nationalities in this particular district, and they are distinguished by the liquor they prefer. the slavs drink whiskey; the suabians or germans, beer; the ugro-fins or hungarians, wine; and the more intelligent and cultivated of all the races show their agreement in matters of taste by drinking, alternately, wine, beer, or whiskey, with equal relish. jehovah's own chosen people, considering it much more prudent and hospitable to serve the liquid to others than to drink it themselves, furnish all parties with the wished-for fluid, according to individual taste, and find the transaction even more satisfactory and profitable than drinking in itself. if dante had visited hungary, and had seen my particular borough in election-time, he would not have omitted it in his description of hell. yet the highly respectable voters expect a substantial confirmation of their patriotic convictions, and some of them are not fully persuaded until four or five angels (golden, of course) come to enlighten their minds. others refuse to listen even to the sweet voices of these angels, and wait obstinately for the mightier spirits, emblazoned on fifty and one hundred florin bank-bills. others, again, are to be had only _en bloc_--that is, in company with their friends and connections, and only just at the last moment, when the bidding is highest; and so tender is their conscience that they listen to the persuasions of all parties with equal earnestness, and it takes much to convince and win them over. it is a matter of course that the nominated candidate of each party is far above such negotiations, and, although he owns that it has come to his knowledge that his antagonist actually stooped to bribery in order to defend his weak cause, yet he himself will never condescend to meet the man on that ground. if his own moral integrity, the lofty standing of his party, and his party's principles, will not secure the victory for him, why, then there is no honesty and patriotism in this decayed age, and the patriotic cause is lost! at every election, as you well know, are a number of kind, disinterested, active, and zealous party members, indefatigably busy in securing and collecting votes, or, what is more essential, trying to win over the votes of the enemy. these very useful and highly respectable gentlemen are leaders or drum-majors, and they have a number of subalterns, not less useful, painstaking, and persuasive, only a little less gentlemanlike and less scrupulous, and perhaps not wholly disinterested as regards pecuniary gain. these are the election drummers, plain and simple. now at the election of which i am speaking there were two factions. i, as the champion of the clerical-national-conservative party, stood in opposition to the champion of the panslavonic-liberal-reform party, and you may believe that we did all that was possible to defeat the opposing faction. my own party emblem was the red feather, that of my adversary the green feather; the national cockade we sported in common. at six o'clock p.m. the green feathers were one vote ahead of us. "this is not to be endured!" shouted my head drummers, and "this is not to be endured!" was the war-cry of the subordinate drummers. but how could they help it? the lists were scrutinised again, and it was found that tóth jános, the potter, had not voted. "where is tóth jános, the potter? and why did he not vote?" added my chief drummer. "beg pardon," said one of the subalterns, "but the man was buried the other day." "well, that was a calamity. is there no other tóth jános in the village? the name is rather a common one." "there is indeed, and he happens to live in the same house with the deceased, only he is not a voter, as he does not pay taxes; he is only a poor poultry-dealer. still he is on the list as a carter, and the thing could be managed." tóth jános, the poultry-dealer, was sent for, but his voting in his own right was out of the question. so the drummers talked with him a long time, and they had glib tongues, and the aid of the ever-welcome angels. tóth jános the poultry-dealer, who could not vote in his own name, voted as tóth jános, the potter, but he had a great sacrifice to make. the deceased potter was nick-named the "gap-toothed," because he had lost his front teeth in a brawl. now the poultry-dealer's front teeth were as sound as ivory, yet so great and effective were the persuasions of the "angels" that, in half an hour's time, tóth jános, the poultry-dealer, so closely resembled tóth jános, the potter, in outward appearance that no question concerning his identity was raised, and his vote was recorded. still, this was insufficient. true, we were now even with the foe, but we were compelled to show a majority, even if it consisted only of a single vote. if richard iii could offer "a kingdom for a horse," why should not we offer " , florins for a vote?" somebody made the discovery that on the outskirts of the village, in an old tumble-down shanty of his own, lived a poor jew with a lot of half-starved, forlorn-looking children, and a half-crazed, careworn, hard-working wife. the husband and father had been laid up with consumption for the last few months, and was daily expected to die. this poor wretch, who never in all his life had been the owner of an entire suit of decent clothes--for when he had a hat, he invariably lacked shoes, or when in possession of a coat, he was in sore want of a pair of trousers--this poor fellow had yet a fortune at his call, for he could bequeath to his family the , florins which we were willing to pay for his vote. all his life he had been as honest as he was poor, earning a miserable livelihood by setting glass panes in the village windows. nobody had ever thought of getting his vote, still less had he himself thought of attaching any importance to the right he possessed as a taxpayer. our drummers found the poor fellow just in the act of taking leave of this vale of care and sorrow; but they would not have been the smart fellows they were if they had not succeeded in defeating death himself, and robbing him of his prey for as long as they needed. the dying man stared vacantly into their faces when they offered him this enormous sum of ready money, while his wife and children broke into a howl of despair that the offer had not come earlier, for how could a dying man leave his bed to vote? but my drummers were not to be beaten. they caught up the bedstead with the sufferer on it, and hastened with it to the tent where the votes were collected. the dying man had been made to understand that the bill of , florins which he saw would be given to his wife, if he would only pronounce my name when asked to whom he gave his vote, and he hold tight to his wife's hand, and met her appealing glance with something like assurance. happily, he was still alive when brought to the urn, and the drummers announced that "the poor man was troubled in his conscience, and could not die unless the opportunity of fulfilling his patriotic duty was afforded him, so that he had begged them to bring him to the tent and allow him to vote." this touching little piece of news was received in the spirit in which it had been given, and just as the poor fellow in his agony was asked the name of his chosen candidate, death came to claim his own. with a last look of sorrow and affection at his wife he sighed with his dying breath, "du mein liebel"[ ] ("thou, my love!"), and expired. [footnote : the jews in hungary usually speak german among themselves.] "'nelly dumany! dumany nelly!' he said," cried my drummers--"nelly" being an abbreviation of kornel, my christian name--and since the "du meine" really sounded like "dumany" and not at all like "belacsek," the candidate of the other party, and since the dead man could not be made to repeat his vote, whereas my drummers were ready to take their oath of the correctness of their assertion, the vote was credited to me, and i was declared elected by a majority of one vote, my suffrages being , in number, whereas my adversary had received only , . the case was afterward contested, and some witnesses endeavoured to prove that the dying man had not said, "dumány nelly," but "du mein liebe"; yet there was the sworn statement of my drummers to the contrary, as well as the evidence of his wife and children that the man had been a devout and religious jew, incapable of offending jehovah by uttering german words with his last breath. he had simply pronounced my name in jewish fashion, and eased his patriotic heart by voting for me. itzig maikäfer's vote was as sound as a nut and could not be rejected. not quite so sound, however, was the other dead man's vote--that of tóth jános, the potter. we had sent his substitute, the poultry-dealer, with a cartload of odds and ends to galicia, just to have him out of the way. we managed to make it difficult to prove which of the two men named tóth jános had been buried two days before election-day by providing for the dead man's family, and sending them off to a remote place; and as the poultry-dealer (who was a widower without any family) did not return from galicia for many weeks to come, everything seemed secure. but we had reckoned without our host, and did not take into consideration a possible treachery. the barber, a miserable wretch, whom we thought to be a true red-feather man, and who had been more than liberally paid for extracting the poultry-dealer's front teeth, and trimming his hair and beard into the semblance of those of the dead potter, went and blabbed of his work. a strict examination followed, the body of the potter was exhumed, and his identity proved to a certainty. of course, no one dared to accuse me of foul play, but a new election was found necessary, and the day after i had first taken my seat as a member of the hungarian parliament, i was politely but firmly given to understand that i had no legal right to its possession, and had better go. this is the story of how i became to be called "the dead man's representative," and how i was a colleague of yours for a single day. yet this story i have told you cannot give anyone a fair or true estimate of me, or my character, or ability. anybody who heard or read this story would suppose me to have been a vain, good-for-nothing sort of fellow, who had missed his degree at college and lacked the ability to fill any decent position, and therefore plunged into politics to make his living, or perhaps to squander the inheritance he had received from his ancestors. but, in reality, i had already, at the age of six-and-twenty, occupied the position of a well-qualified assistant physician, and at two-and-thirty the newspapers spoke of me as a famous specialist and a great light of the profession. as i was established in vienna, where the competition is great, and hungarians are pushed into the rear if possible, my reputation could not have been without some foundation at least. i was respectable and respected, very much in love with my profession, and did not care a straw for politics. so, in order to make you understand the change--nay, the entire revolution--which my outward and inward man, my entire existence, had experienced, i must acquaint you with a portion of my family troubles and domestic relations, and i shall have to speak of my uncle diogenes. viii. my uncle diogenes. first of all, i must inform you that my father was a very zealous patriot, and mingled largely in state and political affairs. of course, in the great insurrection of the year he took an active share, and after the catastrophe of világos he was seized and imprisoned at olmütz. at that time i was a lean, overgrown youngster of sixteen. i was compelled to take charge of the household, and behave as head of the family, for which dignity i had no inclination and but little talent. study was the great object of my life. after my father's release from prison i was just of an age to decide as to my future career; but that, at the time, was rather a difficult thing for a hungarian youth, all offices and positions being filled by germans and bohemians. i did not wish to follow in my father's footsteps, for i saw that what with his neglect of business matters, what with his liberality in furnishing all patriotic enterprises out of his own pocket with the necessary means, and in extending a wide hospitality to all political refugees, our own circumstances were getting worse and worse, and we were deeply in debt. so one day i took courage to speak to my father upon the subject, and told him that i thought it was time for me to select a profession. "oh! you are going to hunt for some paltry office in the district courts?" he said, with a snarl. "no! i am going to study as a physician," i replied. "what? do you want to be a barber or a veterinary surgeon, or one of those curs who pretend to look after the wounded so that they themselves may keep out of danger when their betters fight? imagine a scion of the dumanys, and the last one, too, wanting to be a sick nurse instead of a man! i have a notion to shoot you on the spot!" "that you can't, for our present ingenious government takes precious good care that such dangerous persons as my father shall not be left in possession of a rifle or any other shooting-iron; and surely you will not butcher me? come, father, be reasonable! you know well what i mean to become, and that the calling i have selected is honourable and respected." "it is not fit for the son of a gentleman and a dumany. if you dare to follow such an insane course, you may be sure of my malediction, and, besides that, i'll discard you--disinherit you!" "i am very much afraid, papa, that if our present course lasts awhile longer, there will not be much left to bequeath to your heirs. so i am not afraid of that threat; and as to maledictions, you are much too kind and good-natured to utter such stuff; and, besides, curses are just as harmless and useless as blessings. the frauenhofer lines tell us all the secrets of hell, and so i am not at all afraid of them. but i am terribly afraid, dear father, that the road which you have pursued will lead us to ruin in a very short time." i had taken precise accounts of all that we possessed and all that we owed. i had computed these accurately, and showed him the result, which was rather alarming; but he waved the document away with his hands, and said, "don't be foolish; don't worry about these little inconveniences, which can't be helped, and will soon cease to trouble us. why, there is your uncle dion, with eighty-seven winters on his head (may god rest him!) and not a soul to leave his large fortune to, but you, his only nephew! bless my soul! what a nuisance is this boy! instead of going to this paragon of an uncle, and trying to get into his good graces, as his next of blood and kin, he talks of becoming an apothecary, smearing plasters, mixing poisons, and setting sprained joints. go to thy uncle, i say, like a dutiful nephew, and doctor him, if doctor you must!" "i have been to him already, and have told him of my intentions." "'pon my word! and then?" "he gave me the money to pay my preliminary expenses, and i hope to get along afterward by myself." "well, to think of dion giving away anything but advice! it's a treat! and what did he say?" "that i was right and sensible in providing against the future; for he knows of your difficulties." "stuff and nonsense! he can't last for ever, and then where is the need for your troubling yourself about my difficulties or studying for a profession?" "you are mistaken: he will not leave us a penny; neither do i care for his money. all i wanted of him i have got, and there is an end of it." "then don't say that i am an unnatural or unfeeling father. i'll give you thir--no, twenty florins!" but he never said whether these twenty florins were meant to be given monthly, or only once for good and all. however, as i did not ask for them, i never got a penny, and soon learned to do without my father's money by giving lessons, coaching less diligent and capable fellow-students, and contriving to live upon almost nothing. but i wanted to speak to you of my uncle diogenes, as he was generally called, although his christian name was dion. he was my father's brother, but by no means like him. rather an odd sort of a fellow, and as keen as a razor. he went even beyond the old classical types; he was more cynical and more of a philosopher than they. not the oldest inhabitant remembered the time when the cloak that covered his stooping shoulders on the street was new. daily he went to church, never into church. there, on the sacred threshold, among the beggars and outcasts, he paid his homage to his maker, and then returned to his desolate home. there was a large public well in the village. to this he himself went with a large pitcher for his drinking-water. this water he poured into a large boiler, boiled and strained it, and then drank it, because then he was sure of the bacilli. he kept no attendant or housekeeper, for fear of being murdered; and he was so much in dread of poison that he never ate cooked food or anything made of flour, not even bread. he lived on baked potatoes, nuts, honey, raw fresh eggs, and all sorts of fruits and vegetables which might be eaten raw, and which grew in his own orchard and garden. out of his large herd of cattle he selected a cow for his stall. this cow he attended to with his own hand, carefully examining each stalk or haulm she ate, in order that no poisonous weed might be consumed by her, and thus poison the milk. each morning and evening his own hands milked her, and he churned all his butter, and made all his cheese himself. he never ate anything but what i have mentioned, and he never went out without two loaded double-barrelled pistols in his boots. he never read any other newspaper than the slavonic _narodne novine_, which he got from the village parson; but, before reading it, he held it over a charcoal fire, on which he had thrown some juniper berries, to kill possible malarial germs. his land was all farmed out, and the rent had to be paid to him in gold or silver, which he locked away in a great old iron chest. occasionally, through auctioning off some poor debtor's effects, he came into possession of bank bills, , , , florin notes. these he rolled up separately, and pushed one by one into a hollow reed. of those stuffed reeds he made bundles, which he stowed away in a corner of his room. he never lent a penny of his money; he never put a penny into any savings-bank, for he called them all humbugs; and he never gave a penny for charity or friendship. such was my uncle diogenes or dion; and now i will tell you what he had given me. you remember i told my father that my uncle dion had furnished me with the means of paying my preliminary expenses. that was true, but i had earned the money, little as it was, in ciphering, writing, and riding about to my uncle's tenants at a time when he was ill with a cold, and would have been obliged to pay a stranger for the work which i did for him. i said it was little he gave me. i have not told the whole truth, for he gave me his advice, and put his own example before me, and that made a small sum go a long way. well, to make a long story short, let me tell you that i was an established physician when my father died, and immediately after his death his estate was seized in bankruptcy proceedings. i did not care. i was satisfied with my position in vienna, and as i had no mother nor sisters or dependent younger brothers, and had long ago relinquished the hope of coming into possession of our family estate, i tried to forget my former home and live only for my profession. after my efforts had made me a name as a clever and skilful specialist, i was occasionally called to visit some wealthy patient in hungary, and then the papers gave accounts of the diagnosis i had given, and mentioned the generous fee i had received. i did not approve of this sort of advertisement, but i found that it could not be checked, and so grew indifferent to it. one day i received a registered letter containing money. it was stamped all over with the cheapest kind of sealing-wax, and, on opening the envelope, i was surprised to find a letter from my uncle dion, with an old, crumpled hundred-florin bill, of a kind that had long gone out of circulation, and which showed every mark of having issued from one of the hollow reeds. the letter ran about as follows:-- "my dear nephew, dr. dumany,--knowing well that physicians will not move a step without being well paid, i send you the enclosed bank-bill, and pray you to take the trouble to visit me for a few days here in my house. "dumany dion." i took the bank-bill, put it into a fresh envelope, and wrote the following lines:-- "my dear uncle,--one hundred florins will not induce me to leave my patients, and so i return the bill; but if you are really in need of a physician, and want me in that capacity, then please let me know, without enclosing money, for i should consider it my duty as a near blood-relation to give you my professional assistance without delay.--yours, "dumany kornel." by return of post came the answer--"yes, i want you immediately." i went at once. it was ten years since i had seen him last. he was eighty-seven then; he must be ninety-seven now. a rare age, indeed! when last i saw him, his long and thick white hair had reached to the middle of his back, and his long untrimmed beard flowed down to his girdle, and was the colour of hemp. his eyes were as sharp as those of any young man, and he did his reading and writing without an eye-glass. even his grafting he did without an artificial help to his vision. i remembered well the old custom for guests arriving at his house: coach and servants had to be left at the inn, and dinner had to be ordered there. whoever came to visit the lord of the château, quite a magnificent old-fashioned country seat, had to enter through a narrow garden-gate, just wide enough to admit a single person. the great gate was never opened, no vehicle of any kind was admitted to pass through it, and a thick growth of horse-sorrel, both without and within the great oaken wings, bore witness to the fact. there was a turnkey at the little gate, and an old man--the only servant my uncle ever kept, who served for porter, gardener, and all other purposes--opened the door. there was yet one tender spot in my uncle's heart, one sprinkle of poetry in his nature. he adored flowers, especially roses, and he did not even grudge money to secure rare specimens. his flower-garden was a real fairy bower, and the old man, with the flowing snow-white hair and beard, pruning and grafting continually, resembled some sorcerer who, with a single touch of his withered hands, could create or destroy all the beauty around him. i found him there among his roses when i came. he recognised me at once, although the last ten years had considerably changed my appearance. he was looking just the same as he did ten years ago; not altered in the least. he was as dry, as wrinkled, and as white as when i had last seen him, and his eyes appeared by no means less sharp than at the time i speak of. "happy to see you, my dear fellow!" he said. "i should have known you wherever i met you. you look like the old boy you were." "so i do, because of my clean-shaven face, uncle. i do not care for the manly beauty of a moustache and beard. but i must return your compliment. you have not aged in the least, and i can hardly believe in your wanting a physician at all. you do not look like it." he chuckled. "well, well, i don't think you are much mistaken; but sit down here in the bower: my room is not quite so pleasant and orderly a place. i must call the gardener--" "don't take the least trouble, uncle," i said. "i shall not stay with you, as i ordered a room at the inn and also my dinner. i had a hearty lunch half an hour ago, and so you need not worry about my comfort. now tell me what ails you, pray, and then i'll see what i can do for you." "nothing in the least with regard to my health, for i am not a bit worse than i was ten years ago, and far better than most others at my age. i am ninety-seven, as you know, and that's no trifle. it would be foolish to expect anything better, and you could not prevent my dying about this time next year." "oh! you are hypochondriac, i see, and give way to fancies! come in, and let me examine you professionally, for such fancies are always the result of some serious disorder." "there you are mistaken, my boy. my heart, lungs, liver, and the rest of it are all right, and i am not melancholy. neither am i weak-minded or nervous, and you need not look into my eyes or feel my pulse. i have known these four years that i am to die at the time i mentioned, although i am sure, when i tell you how i came to know it, you will call me superstitious. for you fellows of the present day are so sceptical and matter-of-fact that you refuse to believe in anything that cannot be proved by optical inspection or by evidence. it was, as i said, just four years ago, on my ninety-third birthday, when st. john the nepomuc appeared to me in a dream, and said--'dionysius, my good fellow, make the best of your time! there are only five more years for you in store, and then you must die! no help for it!' since that time he comes to me every year regularly on the night of my birthday, and repeats his warning, each time giving me one year less. last week was my birthday, and he gave me the last warning. next time he comes i shall have to go. so--" "but, my dear uncle," i said, rather vexed, "if you are so much convinced of the certainty of your death, then it was not at all necessary for me to come. you want the priest, and not the physician. i can cure bodily diseases, and release you from the clutches of cholera, or sometimes even of death; but if the saints have got hold of you, and such a tight hold, too, then you had better go to your confessor, for it is his business to be in close connection with all of them. i give you up. good-bye! i have patients in vienna, and cannot afford to waste my time on a pleasure trip." "good god! what a hot-tempered fellow, and what admirable rudeness! stay, you unmannerly specimen of honesty, who don't think it worth your while to cajole an old fool for the sake of his money! what do you think that i summoned you for? but none of your impudence, if you please!" i was amazed, and must have looked so, for the old man broke into a merry laugh, that sounded like two pieces of cracked iron rubbing together. there was a merry twinkle in his eye even after his laugh, and he regarded me with a humorous expression which was entirely new to me. "well," he said, "i see that you are somewhat slow of apprehension; not at all as sharp as others of the family. so i must help you out. i am going to make my will. there!" "well then, you had better consult a lawyer or a notary. i am neither of the two, and cannot be of the least use to you." "that's gospel truth. but as you are the only sensible person of the whole family, the only one who is not a prodigal, and have made shift to live decently upon your own earnings, i rather think that i may be of use to you. i like you, because you browbeat me and do not flatter me, and i will tell you the truth; that bank-bill which you returned to me strongly interested me in your favour. there was a time when i was not the shrewd hard fellow that i am, but a true dumany and a spendthrift. i can show you a heap of signatures from nearly all the members of our family--that is, the elder members--every one given me as security for money i have lent them; but that money was never returned to me, and although i have always believed that spirits will break their bonds and return to their former home, i never believed in a bank-note's return until you showed me the miracle. therefore i have decided to make you my heir, and i have called you to witness the will and--" "not a word more," i said. "i never speculated upon anybody's death, and do not intend to change my habit. i never took the trouble to inquire how much of my poor father's fortune was swallowed by the lawyers, although i know that, after paying all of his debts, there must have been a handsome penny left, and i could have recovered that money if i had cared to see about it. i have earned for myself a respected position and a decent living, and i expect to do better yet. so thanks to you for your kind intention, but i am not the man you want." "yes, you are, and the more so because you do not worship the golden calf, and do not want to hurry me into my grave as the others do. to tell you all: i wish to settle everything on you while i live, the estate, the house, the money, and all--no, don't run away! i am not crazy, and you need not be afraid that i want you to live here with me in this old hall as it is, mouldy and dirty and desolate. neither do i want you to share my diet of fruits and raw vegetables, eggs and milk, and baked potatoes. on the contrary, i want you to come to me and live like a gentleman, as a dumany should, and let me enjoy life with you." ix. a slavonic kingdom. "you see, my dear boy," continued the old man, fondly taking my hand and pressing it, "it is a princely domain that i offer you, and a princely income. the station i invest you with is that of a king in its way, and not a small way, either. now listen to me! for a great number of years i have lived here on this spot, like one of those hermits of bygone times, living on roots and other primitive food, and never tasting of a decent cooked meal, because i have never ceased to fear that those who wished to get my money would try to poison me in order to get it sooner. this fear i know no longer. i know well that my time expires next year; but of this one year of life i am assured, and i am resolved to make the best of it. i want to eat nice roasts, good cakes, and other delicate dishes, and i want to drink wine. i have not tasted wine since , when i was studying law and attached as juratus to the personal. for many years i did not seem to care about it; but now i long for it, and i remember how delicious it used to taste." "but, my dear uncle, this would not be wise. such a change would absolutely kill you." "tut! tut! never fear! i am sure of the one year, and am not going to bargain with death for more. give me the one year, and let me enjoy it according to my wishes--that is all i ask for. but for a safeguard against extravagances, should not i have a skilled and renowned physician living with me and looking after me daily? don't you see that your professional attendance will prevent all evil results, so that i shall be perfectly safe? i could not have lighted upon a better plan than making you my heir, and letting you live with me. of course, i could have taken a housekeeper; but i know womankind. in less than half a year she would have persuaded me to marry her and settle all my belongings on her, and this would not do for a dumany. but if you come to live with me, everything will be different. i'll let you have the whole mansion, and keep nothing but my old room, of which i am fond, because i am used to it and to the old, dingy, broken furniture that's in it. you should marry, and bring your pretty little wife into the house, and she would sing to me and play the piano or the organ, and would keep pretty little chambermaids that i could pat on the cheeks, and your little wife would let me kiss her fair, soft little hands; it would be delicious! then i should hear a little scolding and quarrelling in the house, and you would take care that your little lady-wife should not spoil me by too much fondness, and you would order my dinners and select my wearing apparel according to my health. perhaps i might sleep a little after meals at the open window--a luxury i always longed for, but did not dare to indulge in. this would be life for me, and a slow and sweet transit from the cares and troubles of this world into heaven." the old man became quite excited over this ideal picture of happiness. "i speak of heaven," he continued, "and this reminds me of the church. do you know why i say my prayers outside among the beggars, and never go into the church? not out of humility, but because at present there is only a simple slav minister here, and i am not over-anxious to listen to his orations. besides, the church is always so full of the slav peasants that you cannot breathe inside of it, such an infernal odour is diffused by them. but if you would come to live here, and bring a gentle little hungarian lady with you, perhaps the bishop could be induced to send some nice hungarian priest to preach to us; and i am very fond of a good sermon, especially if i could listen to it comfortably in my pew, as you may wager that not one of these burly peasants would go inside the church if the service were held in hungarian. and then just fancy the happiness if there should be a christening in the family, and i should be godfather to your son! would not that be glorious? oh, if i could live to see it! you must make haste and marry, or i'll put speed into you, you may rely on that!" i was ready with my diagnosis by the time he had finished his last sentence. hallucinations born of religious frenzy; idiosyncrasies with allotriophagical symptoms, a consequence of his ascetical mode of living; nymphomania of old age; hypochondriacal fancies: all symptoms that are frequently found together. to second his morbid intention of changing his diet and habits would be sheer lunacy; nay, worse, it would be actual murder. yet first i must win his confidence as a physician, so that he may trust me and take my advice. i embraced him, and thanked him most heartily and tenderly for his kind intentions, which i should never forget and should always feel grateful for; but i said, brilliant and splendid as it was, i could not accept his proposition, i could not give up the career i had entered, the profession i had embraced and which i loved, and the independent and honoured position i was proud of. my calling was everything to me--life, happiness, fortune, and ambition; and to give up my profession in order to till my farm, to exchange my study, laboratory, and dissecting-table for the petty cares and troubles of a country squire and a county member, would be physical and mental death to me. the old man smiled. "you talk so because you cannot comprehend the importance of the position you will fill as the lord of my slavic kingdom, because you cannot guess the amount of the wealth i offer you. you shall know it, and you are the only person alive to whom i have ever spoken, or shall ever speak about it. you think this old mansion looks as dreary and rotten inside as out; but you are mistaken. this residence of the so-called slav king is a princely seat, and it hides treasures that monarchs and potentates would be proud to possess. if any one of the family calls on me, he finds me in my dingy little hole of a room, which, with an old rotten table, broken chairs, mutilated chest of drawers, and coarse bed with bear-skin coverlet, looks poor and inhospitable enough, and my visitors are generally glad to escape into the open air again, thinking that the whole house resembles this room in appearance; whereas, were i to throw the doors open, and show them the splendour of the rooms and halls, they would stare in amazement. every one of the rooms is a perfect museum, and contains precious rarities. one is full of carved furniture of costly woods, inlaid with ivory, mother-of-pearl, gold and silver, and rich stones of the time of 'ulászló.' the next contains all sorts of pottery of past centuries--roman and etruscan, chinese and japanese, sèvres and dresden, old hungarian, and so forth. the third room is full of weapons of all ages--panoplies, coats of mail, shields, bucklers, saddles. in the fourth room are gowns and trains and coats of brocade, and artistic embroidery and tapestry. the fifth room is a picture-gallery of unlimited value; and then comes a library that has not its equal on this continent, nor, i may say, on any other. high up to the ceiling the large hall is filled with precious and rare old products; books with clasps that are themselves curiosities of rare beauty. but those books! if your medical colleagues had the privilege of entering this library and peeping into those books, i doubt if they would be willing to part with them ever after. why, there is actually a book to invoke the devil with! i did not dare to look into it, but you young fellows are such sceptics that you will deny the existence of god and devil presently, and you will take the risk of reading that book. "all these treasures were hoarded together by my father--may god bless and rest his soul! he was called a miser throughout his life, and he denied himself all comfort in order to spend his income in replenishing his collection of rarities. shortly after the birth of his second son, your father, our mother grew tired of his mania and the sacrifices she had daily to make, and left him, taking us boys with her, while he remained alone among his beloved curiosities, which became dearer to him on account of the high price he had to pay for them. when we boys--your father and i--grew up, your father grew daily more like our mother, while i became strangely infatuated with the old man and his store of curiosities. he was also fond of me, showed me all his treasures, dwelling upon the particular beauty of each. miser as our father was, he occasionally gave money to his younger son, but he never gave any to me, and i had to consider this as an especial favour, for had i not the privilege of sharing the main interest of his life? "when my father died, there was hardly enough ready money in his desk to pay his funeral expenses, and he had left a very strange will. he had kept minute accounts of the amount he had spent each day and year for different objects. all the money he had given to my mother and my younger brother was reckoned up and subtracted from their share under his will. he wrote that, as he knew that his wife was well provided for, having a considerable fortune of her own, he left her a life-estate in such one of his many domains as she might select. with regard to his two sons, one had never shown him any love, and visited him only when in want of spending-money; the other had never asked for a penny, although he had received less from his mother than her favourite, the younger. yet, as a dutiful father, he did not wish to be partial; therefore his sons were to divide his lands, goods, and chattels in the following manner:--one was to take all his ready money, bonds, and objects of gold, silver, and jewellery of recent workmanship (meaning the present century), besides his horses and cattle, and the wine in the cellars; while the other was to take possession of all the lands and the residuary estate, on condition that he should reside in this particular mansion and take charge of the museum therein, that he should never marry, never accept any public office, in order that the treasures under his care might receive the full benefit of his resources. he was required to pledge himself to live in exactly the same secluded and frugal way as his father, and to take his oath that during his lifetime and stewardship he would not sell or give away one particle of the estate, whether real or personal, which he received under the will. further, he must give up all claim on his mother's estate for ever, and must relinquish all that she might give or bequeath him to his brother. "to say that your father was furious would hardly express his state of mind. i have already said that the whole amount of cash left was barely enough for the funeral expenses. the bonds which were found proved to be so many worthless pieces of parchment. the jewellery of recent workmanship consisted of a set of valueless shirt-studs and a watch that would not have fetched ten florins at auction. of silver there was a tablespoon, a teaspoon, a ladle, and two or three pieces of tableware, bent, crooked, and broken, hardly worth the mentioning. of horses there were two lean and decrepit-looking animals, and the cattle consisted of a diminutive black cow and her calf, neither of much value, yet forming no doubt the most valuable part of the whole bequest. this was your father's portion, for as to his taking the other part, giving up the prospect of our mother's goodly store of money and other property, and living a secluded life as guardian of a museum, that was entirely out of the question. "to tell that i felt pleased or glad on taking possession of the immense wealth my father had left me would be a falsehood. i was young, and not altogether devoid of the passions and inclinations pertaining to that age. but i had interpreted the true spirit of my father's will, and i knew that all this seeming spite and injustice was really a token of his great love for me and of his great wisdom. had he not stipulated such hard conditions, my brother would have taken and squandered these lands and goods as he squandered our mother's fortune, and i should not have been able now to say to his only son, 'stay with me, and receive at my hands the undiminished fortune which your grandfather entrusted to my care.' how immense that fortune is you may guess, when i tell you that one year's income, large as it is, was not sufficient to pay the legacy-taxes. but come, let me show you everything, and give you an idea of the slavic kingdom to which i invite you." we entered the mansion, an old château built in the time of king albert, under the dynasty of the mazures. strong walls of cut stone, like the ramparts of a fortress; great projecting, mullioned oriel windows; everywhere the dumany coat-of-arms hewn in stone, wrought in iron, carved in wood. the main entrance was walled up; the middle portion of the building contained but one storey; the wings, too, were low, but in the rear of the house there was a large, high turret. a heavy oaken door, beautifully carved, gave access to this turret, and as this was at present the only approach to the interior of the house, we had to cross halls and corridors until we reached the floor of the main building. as we entered, my uncle locked the massive portal and put the key in his pocket. when, in order to do this, he lifted the lapel of his long zrinyi dolmány (old-fashioned hungarian coat), i could see the butts of his pistols, which were always loaded and ready to his hands. he noticed the smile on my lips, and said testily, shrugging his shoulders, "what can i do? i have to think of my personal safety at all times. wickedness has not died out of the world, and a poor lone old man is rather a temptation to robbers. to keep a manservant for protection would not do. he would be the very person to kill me, having me at his mercy all the time; and as to keeping a dog for the purpose, i could not think of it. a dog may bite, and there is danger in that; and, besides, his keep costs just as much as a man's. he will eat up a fortune in time. but when you are here, you will have servants and dogs, and all the rest, and there will be no more need of my pistols." my uncle took me directly to his treasures. with all he had said to excite my curiosity, he had not said enough. for here were treasures indeed, and i could readily believe that in these luxurious creations of long-forgotten ages and races a strong witchcraft was pent, and that a man might grow to give his heart and soul to them. my uncle could give me the date of every object. this statuette is a praxiteles; this picture a guido reni; benvenuto cellini was the owner of this goblet; and this sword was that of sultan soliman. it was dusk, and the shadows of night were falling fast when i quitted the museum. my uncle and i returned to the narrow turret-room in which he had taken up his abode for the last seventy years and more. this room of itself was a sight to see, and i was slightly faint and dizzy from bewilderment at what i had already beheld. "you see, my boy," said the old man again, "i have not lied to you; and when you are once established here, and open these rooms to your visitors, all the barons, and counts, and princes will stare at them with open mouth, and will cajole you, flatter you, and bring their handsomest daughters for you to choose a wife from; for such is the power of wealth. but do not believe that the rarities i have shown you are all that i can give. for what would be the good of the offer if i gave you nothing else? you would have to lead a miserable existence like mine, for you could not soil those things--no, not to save your life. if once you come to take possession of them, you will find that you belong to them as much as they to you. you will cling to them and neglect the present, only to live in the forgotten past. the beauty of women you will admire in these pictures only; the beauty of nature in these stones and minerals. for politics you will not care, and home will mean to you this mansion, which encloses your treasure. oh, the air of these rooms is poisonous to youth, and mirth, and love!" "yes, uncle," i said, earnestly, "and to ambition and independence, and all good and right purposes, also; and therefore i cannot stay with you, for i have chosen my path in life, and i will adhere to it in spite of these powerful temptations." "oh, you are afraid that they will convert you into a miser and a hermit, as i have become! but i can give you a potent antidote, which was never given to me; that is, ready money. come, and i'll show you what you have never seen, and assuredly never dreamed of. you see this large iron chest, itself a rare piece of workmanship, and stronger and safer than any of your new inventions? come, let me show you how to unlock it, for it is difficult; and one who was unacquainted with the secret of this lock might try until doomsday to force it open, and all to no purpose. see, it turns this way, and at this point you must stop. if in all three locks the keys have been turned to this point, the chest will open. the contents will rebuild this old castle, will buy you horses and carriages, and all the home luxuries of modern times, and will enable you to keep up with the richest and the noblest of them all. keep up, i say--nay, go ahead of them; and still you will have what money cannot buy for them--your museum. oh, the dumanys shall be a powerful race once more, and i shall live to see it!" he lifted the heavy lid of the chest, and i saw a number of linen bags and an equally large number of bladders. the linen bags, my uncle explained, were full of silver coins, the bladders of gold coins. "you see," he continued, "there are fourteen hundred acres of ground belonging to this estate--rather a handsome piece of property in this part of the country. it has all been leased out to farmers for many, many years, almost a century, and it has greatly deteriorated. but this money will help you to improve the soil also, and it will yield you more than the twelve thousand acres of count vernöczy's estate can do, for half of that land has been turned into a deer-park, and the other half is imperfectly cultivated. look at the bundles of reeds there in the corner. you have wondered at them, no doubt; and at all those pipes on the shelf yonder. you asked me if i was a smoker. i am, but i do not smoke out of those pipe-stems. both they and the reeds are money-boxes, every one of them. in them i keep the bank-notes which i have had to take during the last seventy years. they represent a fortune in themselves. i hardly know myself how much money they contain. you can split them, and find out when you come to live with me. i'll settle it all on you in legal fashion, and keep nothing but my own room. you can do with the rest as you please; build and rebuild, buy and furnish, to suit your fancy. only let me live the one year that remains to me pleasantly and in plenty, and promise me three things: never to till your acres after the ideas you will get from the text-books; never to do a kindness to a great lord; and never to quarrel or get vexed with a woman." "i promise you whatever you wish, dear uncle," said i; "but, since i have listened to you for quite a while, you must now listen to me. you have called me in the capacity of a doctor, and as such i must speak to you." "do you know a remedy for old age?" was his sarcastic inquiry. "i do, to grow older still. you do not look a bit older or feebler than you did ten years ago, and there is no positive reason why you should not live for ten years longer, or even more, provided you do not change your course of living in the least degree. the slightest change of habits, of diet, or of dress, may prove fatal at your age. i know that you are not afraid of death, and that you also have taken st. john the nepomuc's word for the remaining year. but, my dear uncle, saints are sometimes ambiguous, and there is something that resembles a living death, a prospect too horrible to dwell upon, yet dreadfully near. a single meal of some heavy, unwonted food, one glass of liquor, may bring it on. it is called paralysis, and when it comes, st. nepomuc may stick to his word and give you a year, but what a year that would be!" he looked at me with a troubled face, and i pressed his hands and said, "yes, dear uncle; you have to stick to the old, long-travelled road, and then i may hope to see you ten years hence as hearty as you are now, or as you were ten years ago. for you are in perfect health otherwise, and there is no need whatever of my staying with you. only beware of indigestion, and you will be all right. as for myself, i shall never cease to remember your kindness and to feel grateful for it, but to accept your offer would be moral death to me. i have to go back to my profession, and if you, dear uncle, dislike our other relatives, and do not want to leave them your property, then give it to such patriotic and charitable institutions as deserve patronising, and you may be sure that your memory will be blessed by thousands. of me you need not think. i am not the man to speculate on another man's death, and build my future on a grave." the old man looked curiously at me; then he sighed, and embraced me. "thank you, my dear fellow!" he said; "i see you are a truly honest man and no hypocrite. i won't offer you any money: on the contrary, i'll ask a further favour. before you leave, i'll give you a letter, which you will personally hand to the prefect at his residence at the county seat, which is on your way to vienna. i am afraid to entrust this letter to the mail, as there are very valuable papers in it, and you will have to take a receipt for it from the magistrate. this receipt you need not send me, but keep it safe; and if you come to this house again, you may bring it with you." with that the old man showed me out into the garden, carefully unlocking and re-locking the door, and securing the key. "thank you for coming to me, my dear fellow," he said. "and since you decline to take anything of actual value from me, let me offer you something that has only fanciful value, yet is dearer to me than all the treasures within the house. see these remontan roses in their second bloom--for instance, this sultan of morocco, the most perfect specimen of its kind? i gave a _napoléon d'or_ for the scion, and this is its first year of flowering. here, take it!" with that he actually cut the blossom from the stalk, and handed it to me. it was a magnificent flower, and almost black, with but a slight purple tinge. it was the darkest-hued rose known at that time. later on the "deuil d'alsace" came out of pandora's box. at the time i speak of, that box was in benedetti's pocket, and more is the pity that the pocket held it so tight. x. "dead." hardly three months after i had taken a tender and affectionate farewell from my uncle dion a newspaper item informed me of his death. my prediction that a fit of indigestion would prove fatal to him had come true. his confidence in st. john of nepomuc had been greater than his prudence, and it was a mercy that the stroke of apoplexy had killed him outright, instead of making a living corpse of him, as is so often the case. about a fortnight after i had read of the death of the celebrated slav king, i received a package by mail, containing an official and a private letter. the official letter informed me that the honourable dionysius dumany had recorded a last will and testament in the county archives, in which last will and testament he nominated me, dr. kornel dumany, as his sole heir, upon condition that i should take possession of the property and live in dumany castle. but if i should stubbornly refuse to fulfil that condition, lands, goods, and chattels should forthwith pass over to the "maticza" (slavic and ecclesiastical literary fund, employed for panslavonic ends). the private letter came from the governor of the county, and referred to the same subject. the governor declared that it was my unmistakable duty, as a dumany and a son of hungary, to take possession of the home of my ancestors, and not to allow such an anti-patriotic and dangerous institution as the "maticza" to do her a mischief on the strength of hungarian funds, and to turn the ancient halls of my patriotic forefathers into a meeting-place of daring conspirators. i shrugged my shoulders, but had not the faintest notion of accepting. i did not care for politics, and knew of the "maticza" as a purely slavonic literary society. if this society was to hold future meetings in my uncle's museums, i could bear it; there was very little of chauvinism or even patriotism left in me. i was rather cosmopolitan in tendency; and as to giving up my profession and becoming a country squire, that was simply ridiculous. this happened to be the very period when, after years of degradation and suffering, the hungarian national spirit was first allowed to lift its head and show its colours. germans and bohemians, who for many years had filled all the public offices in hungary, were compelled either to learn the hungarian language or surrender their places to natives. in most cases the latter was unavoidable, and these aliens, furious at being driven from their prescriptive sinecures, went up to vienna and did their best to make it hot for the hungarians. as every war has its origin in an inkstand, students are, naturally, the greatest chauvinists, and i was to find that out with a vengeance. all my friends and colleagues became more and more averse to me, and even went so far as to take my patients from me by incensing them against me in every possible manner. soon they began to drag my name into professional polemics, into professional newspapers; and when i had defeated and silenced them in one place, they began to annoy me in another. at home, in hungary, the reorganisation of the counties was begun. for twenty years constitutional life in hungary had been extinct, and now it had to be resuscitated. this was a hard task, and at first it was not even known who were entitled to vote at the meetings. and now i received another letter from the governor, again reminding me of my duty, clearly describing the situation of affairs, and telling me how much good every honest and right-minded man could effect, and how much mischief i should be able to prevent. "but," he closed, "if you stubbornly and positively adhere to your unpatriotic resolution, and finally decline to accept your deceased uncle's legacy, i must trouble you to come down in person and give a definite renunciation, with the necessary affidavit, such being your uncle's strict demand." there was no help. i had to go to get rid of the annoyance. arriving at the county seat, i paid my respects to the vice-governor, the same dignitary to whom i had given the letter which my uncle had entrusted to my care, and which, as i now learned, proved to be the very will in question. i announced my firm resolution to adhere to my principles, and the magistrate replied that that was all right, but before we talked further on the subject, i had better go to the county meeting, which was to be held that day. "but what right have i to be there?" i asked. "why, as the present head of the ancient dumany family, of course," was the reply. "there is not one of us provided with a better claim." so i let myself be persuaded, and went. the great hall of meetings was crowded to suffocation, and among the local celebrities i recognised a few of those compatriots who had kindly assisted my poor father to get rid of his money by feeding them and keeping their pockets full. there were others who were quite young men, old schoolfellows of mine; somewhat bad students at the time, but, since providence had furnished them with strong voices, they had taken advantage of the gift so as to make a noise in the world, and played the _rôle_ of leading partisans. one of them in particular, a good-for-nothing sort of fellow who had never come near his degree in any school, was recognised as a bright particular star, and quite too smart for anything. if i remember rightly, he was the head of the radical wing. after much deliberation and a good deal of talk, of which i did not comprehend anything, it was decided to read the names of the present county members. a long list was handed to an official, who was instructed to pronounce each name clearly; and each name, as it was read, was followed by a loud cheer "Éljen!" all at once there came, instead of the "Éljen!" after one of the names, the unanimous shout "dead!" and the person named had to rise from his seat and leave the room, and his name was erased from the list. this was repeated a number of times, and behind me stood a slav nobleman, who after each of these utterances of "dead," added the slavonic word "smrt"[ ]--a beautiful word, as bony as the spectre "death" itself. [footnote : "dead."] there was a priest, with a broad red sash, who made himself especially obnoxious to me; for, as often as the "dead" sentence was pronounced, he laughed, and pointed conspicuously with his fat fingers at the expelled man, who, with bent head, made his way to the door. i inquired the reason of these demonstrations, and was told that these men were traitors, who had filled offices under the absolutist government of the austrians. immediately after one of these shouts of "dead," an old gentleman who sat just in front of me, and of whom i had up to this moment seen nothing but his bald head, which showed an immense scar, evidently an old sword-cut, got up from his seat at the green-covered table, and as he turned i beheld an aged and careworn but honest face, with two big tears slowly rolling down the furrowed cheeks. "that is for the seven wounds i received at nagy sarló!" said he, with choking voice; and raising his trembling hand to his eyes, he moved away. "seven children the poor fellow has at home, and he had to earn daily bread for them, somehow, so he served as surveyor, and that was his treachery," said one of my neighbours in an undertone. as the banished man passed out, i sat down on the seat he quitted. "it is ill luck to sit in a traitor's chair," said a well-meaning man at my elbow; but i smiled and kept my seat. "who may that smooth-faced stranger be? and how comes it that he is here?" i heard some of the bystanders ask, referring, of course, to my clean-shaven visage. nobody in the whole congregation knew or recognised me, except the vice-governor, and the fellow-student of whom i have spoken. but, of course, he kept at a distance. presently my own name, "dumany kornel," was pronounced, and "dead! dead! smrt!" was the shout of all around. i had caught the infection, and as the red-sashed priest smilingly and playfully raised a threatening fat finger at me and said, "he is turned into a german, an austrian," down came my fist upon the green cloth of the table. philosophy, _sang-froid_, and political indifference were blown to the winds, carrying forethought and resolution with them. i jumped up, pushed the chair away from behind me, and shouted-- "he is not dead! he is here! and what is more, here he shall stay! i am a landed gentleman, as well as the best of you, and as pure a hungarian as any in this meeting, or in this country either. i am that dumany kornel whose name has been read, and i am not dead, but alive, as you shall soon find out!" there was a dead silence at these words, and some heads were nodded in acknowledgment that i was right. then there was a whispering and consulting and questioning, until the honourable vice-governor said, "silence, gentlemen! the honourable dumany kornel has the floor upon a personal question." "hear! hear!" shouted all, some in good earnest, some in order to embarrass me, and the red-sashed parson said, maliciously, "if you are a hungarian, sir, as you claim, where is your moustache?" "out hunting for yours, your reverence," said i, with a grin. "i am a priest!" was the haughty reply; but that was just what i expected, and looking around at the portraits upon the walls of the room, portraits representing the most celebrated heroes of our national history, i gave them then and there such a barbological sermon, _ex tripode_, that they listened to me in mute astonishment. i told them that the great national high-priests and patriots, peter pázmány, prince cardinal esterházy, and thomas bakács, there portrayed, had worn moustaches, although they were priests; whereas mathias corvinus, our glorious, never-to-be-forgotten hero-king, wore a clean-shaven face like mine. the famous palatinus illésházy had pronounced hungary free and independent with smooth hairless lips, and thomas nádasdy had carried the hungarian tricolour to immortal triumphs although his face was as beardless as mine, as everybody might see by his portrait there present. i told them that i did not speak for myself, as i did not care a straw for their opinion, and felt sufficiently strong in my own self-respect and clear conscience, which, perhaps, was more than a good many present could say of themselves. but i was not going to look on when patriotism was made the monopoly of certain people, whereas decent and deserving men were hooted at because they had dared to earn their own bread and that of their family, instead of living upon the bounty of friends and driving them to ruin and death. and then i told them that it was not a time to inaugurate a policy of jealousy and persecution. we had had enough of that under the absolutist government; what we wanted was honest, energetic co-operation for a common purpose, the welfare of country and nation. i had spoken with all the bravery of a simpleton, who has no idea that if he throws a glowing tinder into a barrel of gunpowder he may blow the house up and himself also. for some seconds i ran the risk of being thrown out of doors, or of getting my hands full of private quarrels and duels, but the concluding sentences met with such unanimous applause that i was heartily congratulated on the success of my maiden speech, and had the additional satisfaction of seeing the majority of those formerly pronounced "dead" restored to the list again, and i was able to give back the seat which i occupied to its former owner, the old gentleman with the seven scars and as many children. among those who had congratulated me was one conspicuously handsome and distinguished-looking young man. he fairly embraced me, and said, "you are the man we wanted! let me welcome you, and consider me your friend; i am count vernöczy. siegfried vernöczy is my name!" the vice-governor invited me to dinner, and just as we were pushing our way out of the hall, i heard the red-sashed priest and the slav nobleman, who had always added his "smrt" to the cry of "dead!" speaking together in slav, of which language they supposed me ignorant. the nobleman said to the priest-- "what folly it was of you to vex and excite this blockhead by pronouncing him dead! had you left him alone, he would have gone off, and left the maticza in possession of the old miser's fortune. now we may go and hunt for other fools; this one has escaped us for ever." "well, how could i know that the milksop had turned into a fighting bull?" was the reply. the reverend gentleman was wrong. i was not a bull, but an ox; and a moment's excitement had made me give up fame and ambition, profession and independence, and here i was in the kingdom of swatopluk, taking possession of my uncle diogenes's legacy. it was very foolish, but if i had to do it again--why, i should do it. i was a hungarian and a dumany, in spite of my cosmopolitan tendencies and in spite of modern equality. xi. my dear friend siegfried. so i must needs call him, for dear was his friendship to me; at least, i have paid for it dearly. at our first meeting he told me that henceforth we should stick to each other like the siamese twins. and the man whom he thought worth catching was clever indeed if he could extricate himself from the meshes which encircled him. he was altogether a wonderful fellow. of athletic build, striking beauty, great agility and versatility in all bodily exercises, an unrivalled fencer, and a perfect marksman. what a soldier he would have made! but mr. schmerling knew a good many fine tricks, and one of the prettiest was the prevention of hungarian youths from entering the army. he took advantage of the prevalent chauvinistic sentiments, and put them forward as a bait. one thousand florins, paid down, protected a hungarian youth from serving in the hated army, and he was free to ride his own horses instead of the king's. yet what a general that siegfried might have been! he was born to command and direct other people. all who adhered to him and did his bidding were his soldiers; all who declined to follow his lead, he regarded as enemies. the former he compelled to serve him, the latter he defeated and slew. he was sometimes high-spirited to eccentricity. at other times he was discreetly prudent. he spoke almost every existing language, and was a brilliant orator. his addresses were admirably delivered, and he took an independent and imperative tone. his talk was always fluent; and if a hungarian or a german word failed him, he substituted for it a french, english, spanish, italian, danish, turkish, or other foreign phrase, never stopping for a moment to consider or even to explain. his hungarian speeches were rhetorical gems, yet they could hardly be styled hungarian, for they were delivered in a perfect volapük--that is, in a medley of all possible languages. he was a strong personality, and a "grand seigneur." his purse was always open, and he spent his money with a liberal hand. he must have been a very rich man, for i never knew him in even a momentary embarrassment for money. when i first felt the pressure of his iron arm, i knew at once that he would dominate me. but such was the fascination he exercised that i submitted at once. it was at the close of that memorable meeting, and after he told me to consider him my friend. the vice-governor had invited me to dine with him, and i wanted to go to my rooms for a change of attire, or at least a white tie and a pair of light gloves. "nonsense!" he said, "these rustics will take you as you are, _en plein parade_. come at once. we will order them to lose no time, but to take up your status in your new domain to-morrow, and have you put in possession of your rights and privileges without delay." "but to-morrow i shall not be here," i remonstrated; "i have to go to vienna and provide for my patients." "what would you provide for them? _qu'ils attendent, les pauvres bêtes_; death will not escape them. 'we can wait,' is the austrian parole; don't worry about them. to-morrow you will have the board of commissioners meet on your new premises, and put you in possession of your inheritance, so that you may be placed on the list of voters. this must not be postponed, for if you miss that you are dead indeed--'smrt,' as that honest maticza champion said." siegfried lost no time, and the vice-governor said that he was right. "yes," he said, "to-morrow you shall have the keys of your castle." "and that of the famous iron chest," said siegfried. "no, that cannot be yet," replied the officer; "the iron chest is under an official lock as yet, for the 'maticza' has put in a claim to the inheritance. the slav parish priest in dumanyfalva, as well as his housekeeper and his sacristan, affirm that your deceased uncle, on the eve of his death, dined with them (in parentheses, the fat pork he partook of and the strong wine he drank brought on the fatal stroke), and there at the table he declared that, even in case you, his nephew, should accept of the inheritance, the maticza should not be left empty-handed, but should receive all the ready money found on the premises." "franca, franca! it's all a lie!" said siegfried. "so i think, too. but we have no evidence to prove it. it all depends on the decision of the court, because the maticza has no documentary evidence, and so the court will decide the question." "and where is the chest at present?" "there at the castle, under guard." "and why did you let it remain there? it ought to be here under your own care." "yes; but it is so riveted to the wall that we could not remove it without tearing up the wall also." "then why have you not taken the money into your own custody? some unknown person or persons may force the lock." "that lock? why, we tried it in every way, for the tax-commissioner would have liked to examine its contents to make sure as to the amount of taxes due. but we could not find a locksmith capable of using the three keys belonging to the locks in the proper way." at this i spoke out. "if," i said, "my uncle has indeed willed away his ready money to the maticza, he must assuredly have instructed them how to get at their money. to me, at least, he disclosed the secret of the lock, and i know how to apply the keys properly." "bravissimo! that settles the question. a clearer piece of evidence cannot exist. the court cannot decide otherwise than in your favour." "then try to expedite the formalities. you can do it." "i can't. the parties must be informed at what time the court holds its session; they have to appear before the court, and introduce testimony. all this takes a month at least." "and how is he to manage until then? is there nothing in old diogenes's casket to make money out of?" "oh yes, a lot of old rubbish! i daresay it would bring something at least. we have taken an inventory of it, and taxed it; here it is." with that he took from the shelf an official-looking document, and handed it to me. i was curious to know at what they had appraised my uncle's precious treasures, and looked at the inventory. i was more than surprised--i was amused beyond everything. the contents of the two large halls, ante-chamber, and five chambers were valued at three hundred and seventy-nine florins and forty-five kreutzers. the kreutzers were for an old gobelin hanging--a rare piece of tapestry. "why, this is ludicrous!" said i laughingly. the vice-governor smiled knowingly, and siegfried took the paper out of my hand, and read the items. a palissy-cabinet was described as a wooden chest, worth three florins; precious old majolica as old earthenware, the suits of armour as old iron, and so forth. "now this is a masterpiece!" said siegfried; but i was indignant. "it is hyper-barbarism!" i said. "this inventory enumerates the contents of some dime museum--not of my uncle's valuable collections. if you had looked for it, you might have found an exact schedule, made by my uncle, with the name of each object, statement of cost, etc." "we could not find anything of the kind," said the vice-governor. "but i forgot. attached to the will was a package, sealed; and addressed to you--'dr. cornelius dumány.' here it is." i took the package, opened it, found the inventory within, and handed it to the official. "here it is. you see i was right! here you can see the actual worth of my uncle's museum." "i have no curiosity whatever," said the vice-governor; "this is a private document addressed to you, and, therefore, i have no business to inquire into it." "but--" "but it is time for you to go," said siegfried, slapping me on the shoulder; "never mind that old inventory of your uncle's." "but i do mind it," i insisted. "i can't have something that is actually worth two hundred thousand florins appraised at three hundred, all in all." "but can't you see that on the three hundred florins the amount of tax would be seventeen florins, and on the two hundred thousand you will have to pay nine thousand florins as legacy taxes?" "is that the law?" "of course it is, clear and distinct." "then i shall pay according to law. i do not intend to cheat the treasury." the vice-governor broke into a laugh, and siegfried took hold of both my ears and gave them a hard pull. "oh! you, you, you doctor!" he would have said you fool, or you simpleton, but he found the "doctor" more explanatory, and a good deal more to the purpose. why, did i not understand that it was the patriotic duty of a hungarian citizen to cheat the treasury whenever an opportunity to do so was offered? "just you let him alone," said the vice-governor, laughing. "he is an innocent, honest fellow, with a tender conscience, and nothing so tough and hardened as you. come, friend kornel! tell me, what do you think of the rate at which the other things are estimated? for instance, your uncle's private room? the whole furniture is valued at twenty-three florins. do you think that underestimated? no? well, here are his pipes--old clay pipes, stuck into cane stems. they are valued at ninety kreutzers." i laughed. "the pipes are hardly worth more, but the stems would be well worth the money, for they and the old reeds in my uncle's room were his bank-note receptacles, and for all i know they may be full of hundred- or even thousand-florin bills." "well, if you are not the greatest ass in christendom, then i am--and no doubt about it," said siegfried, vexed. "here is this fellow actually denouncing his own money to the police. if you are such an imbecile, and really do not care for your own profit, then at least do not talk without being asked." "hadn't you better use more civil language?" i asked. "i really am not used to such strong expressions." "oh, of course; i beg your pardon! only i should like to know what you will do without ready money? because you have compelled our friend, the vice-governor here, to take all the money on the premises, that is, all the contents of the reeds and pipe-stems, of which you blabbed, into his own custody, whereas you might have kept your own counsel, and culled the money out at your leisure, without anybody having an idea of its existence." "yes; but that would not be honest. if anybody finds a pocket-book full of money he cannot keep it for himself, but must give it up to the authorities." "not if it is his own pocket-book, i should think. but, as you have done it, it is too late to quarrel about the policy of the act." the vice-governor called in one of his office clerks, and drew up a statement containing all i had said about the reeds and pipes, and the actual value of the museum. i had to put my signature at the foot of the document, and then i was allowed to go. next day siegfried took me out in his own chaise, to which four beautiful horses were attached, to dumanyfalva, and there, with all the ceremony belonging to the occasion, i was inducted into my legal rights as landlord. i was conducted into the mansion, the keys were put into my hands, then they took me out into the field and gave me a handful of soil of each individual plot, or meadow, or pasture. after that they split the reeds and pipe-stems, and ten bills of one thousand florins apiece, two hundred bills of one hundred florins, and sixty-four fifty-florin bills were found, flattened out, made into a package, upon which each of the persons present put a seal, with his own name. then the vice-governor wrote on its cover, "legacy of the late honourable dionysius dumany," and handed it over to the trustee. "now you see what has come of your blabbing," said siegfried. "how will you manage now?" "well enough. i have some money in vienna, and i am going to fetch it. i have to go up to vienna, anyhow, to arrange my belongings there." "and i'll go with you, for, thorough Æsculapius as you are, there is danger of your escaping us yet." he kept his word, and we went by his own chaise and four to nagy szombat, where we took the train for vienna. in vienna he never moved from my side, hardly allowing me time for any business transactions, but taking me to theatres, dinners, cafes, and all sorts of variety-shows and music-halls. i had lived soberly and industriously up to this time, rarely going to the opera or to private entertainments; but i was young and naturally jovial, and did not object to a few days of dissipation, enjoying the manifold diversions which the austrian metropolis offered. on the last day, siegfried helped to pack and send off my furniture to dumanyfalva, and, as i could not sleep in my empty rooms, he carried me off to a hotel; but not to sleep, for we never closed our eyes that night, and it was with a dizzy head and a confused brain that i found myself in the railway carriage, travelling homeward. happily, my faithful old servant had gone with the furniture ahead of me, and, on my arrival at home, i found that the practical old fellow had made the best of his time. a bedroom and sitting-room had already been furnished and the old dining-room made serviceable. he had also procured a cook, and for the first time in my life i enjoyed the sensation of sitting at my own table and playing the host, for that siegfried did not leave me yet will be readily understood. while at dinner, siegfried laid down a plan of how the old mansion might be renovated without and within, and i had to acknowledge that his taste was perfect; but--very expensive, as i remarked. "how much ready money have you?" he asked. "something over four thousand florins," i replied. "that is almost nothing--hardly sufficient to furnish a few rooms, and what becomes of the building? then there is the grange, the stable, etc., and then you will want to buy two pair of horses; one for your chaise, the other for work. you will have to buy cattle, and grain, and hay, and a good many other necessaries, and you will have to take the distillery away from the lessee, for what will you do with your cattle? what you want is at least twenty thousand florins, and these you have fooled away. it will take months to get hold of them again, and then half of them will be gone, and the time for making all necessary arrangements will have passed. i'll tell you what, you cannot sit here and do nothing, and i am not going to let you waste time. i'll lend you these twenty thousand florins." i was surprised at the offer. "yes," he said, "i have the money ready, for i intended to buy a piece of property, but could not make a bargain with the owner. now the money is of no use to me at present, and you may have it until your money is restored to you. happily, i have the money with me now. here it is!" with that he took out a portfolio, and handed me twenty bank-notes of one thousand florins each. i wanted to give him a bond, but he would not hear of it "the idea!" he said; "why, we are no jews, but gentlemen. just write upon your card: 'good for twenty thousand florins, which i will pay upon receipt of my legacy.' here, take my lead-pencil; that will do." i was rather embarrassed, but his face showed so much sincere friendship and regard that i did not venture to refuse the offer, and, considering the circumstances, he was right, and he had behaved nobly. still, i did not like the obligation he had put me under, and should have preferred to pay interest on the sum even to a common usurer. i had some faint presentiment that the interest on such a loan as this would be much higher than the usual percentage taken by the professional money-lender; but i had done it, and could not undo it, as you might say. with the money in hand i attended to business. siegfried, indefatigable in his endeavours to be of use in me, assisted me with his practical versatility in business matters, and with his good taste in the domestic sphere. he purchased the horses for my carriage, he bargained with the mason about the buildings, he made the contracts with my tenants, and he bought my grain and other household necessaries. i could never have got on without his help--at least, not so profitably--and i was naturally very grateful to him. "you can't pay any visits to your neighbours until you have made your own house fit to receive company; but, as it would be rather hard upon you to live like a hermit until that time, you might drive over to the county town and put in an appearance at the casino. i'll introduce you to the whole set." the county town was two hours' drive from dumányfalva. siegfried drove me over, and my own brand-new and very "pshutt"-looking cab was to wait for me at the casino door. in the casino siegfried introduced me to about a dozen of young and old local celebrities, and one or two great lights of national reputation. party divisions there were none; all parties agreed harmoniously, and played with each other their whist, their games of chess or dominoes. i was very cordially received, and in the ensuing conversation i took a very lively and active share, and stood my ground without any of the usual bashfulness of a novice. siegfried seconded me in all my remarks with an occasional nod and a "very true, my friend," or "you have hit it exactly," or "you have expressed my own opinion;" "my friend, you are an excellent debater," and other observations of the kind, and soon we were unanimously called "the dioscuri," for we were never found apart. at a county banquet siegfried spoke of me, in a brilliant toast-speech, as of a newly risen star, or rather "a great shining planet," and there was a universal "Éljen!" and shouts of acclamation. it was wonderful how many friends i found, and how much i was sought after! i had a dozen different invitations at once. one invited me to his shooting-box in the mountains, another to inspect his model farm and dairy, a third invited me on a fishing excursion, and so forth. while driving home from the casino, siegfried said to me--"i wonder you are not vexed at my never inviting you over to vernöcze, but i must tell you the truth. i am not the master of my own house and home at present. an aunt of mine is here with my two cousins, half-grown young girls, staying until the bathing-season begins. so the lady has control of the house, and i live in a little pavilion in the park. my aunt will be very much pleased to make your acquaintance--too much pleased, i should say, for she is one of those spirited women who have an opinion of their own, and let you know it. she is never tired of arguing, and you are the very person for her. i verily believe that the two little girls have caught the infection from her, and you would be surprised to hear what a flow of nonsense issues from the aristocratic little mouths. and the number of questions they ask is astonishing! sometimes i give them an answer in language such as i would not venture to use to a variety singer; but the little innocents stare at me, and laugh without the faintest blush; they do not understand the hidden impertinence. i'll some day introduce you to all of them, my aunt and the two girls; but your house must first be put in order. for i find it hard, even now, to keep them from rushing in upon you unawares, and introducing themselves. they are positively dying for a peep at you and your museum. well, i have done enough to excite that curiosity. i am incessantly talking of you." "then it will be your fault if their ladyships are shocked at finding out the deception. i am too commonplace a fellow not to disappoint them cruelly." "vederemo!" he said. "the devil is never at rest!" intermezzo. the devil? "do you believe, then, in the existence of a personal devil?" you ask. "has not this story been terribly dull and tedious up to this moment? you have not shown us a single devil as yet. no, not even a woman." "well, i'll show you three of the latter species presently--a strong-minded, argumentative aunt, and two little nieces." "you won't say that these two little countesses or their aristocratic aunt, or either of them, is an incarnation of the evil one? or are you speaking of your dear friend, siegfried? why, he is a perfect guardian angel, the personification of goodness and benevolence!" "do you know the story of st. anthony? how he was tempted by the devil in the semblance of a lovely sylph, until all at once he saw the fiend's hoof appear from under the robe?" that night, as siegfried took leave of me, to drive home to vernöcze, he embraced me and kissed me on the cheek. it is many years since that night, but many a night since then i have lain sleepless in my bed and rubbed that eternally burning and smarting spot, and felt an almost unconquerable temptation to take the operating-knife and cut out the part which had been contaminated by that foul kiss. xii. the devil's hoof. one morning my dear friend, siegfried, came. "my dear nell," he said, "we held a party meeting yesterday, and it was decided that you should be a candidate for parliament. in fact, we have nominated you already." "you are in a jocular mood, i suppose?" said i. "i do not understand an atom of legislation and politics." "neither do i; yet i fill my place in the house of lords, so will you fill yours in the house of commons. you need not stare at me, for i am not joking. i am fully in earnest, and, now that the chalice is set to your lips, you are bound to drain it." "but i can't see why," said i. "i am not in the least fit for the position, and am not going to make a fool of myself. i am a doctor of medicine, not a legislator." "and what does that matter, pray? the department of public health is very much in need of a radical reform, and you are the very man to advocate sanitary measures in parliament. but this is all nonsense. hungary is not yet in a position to have all departments represented by experts; what she wants at present is firmness to principle, strict party fealty. the demagogues, the heretics, and the panslavonians of our country are preparing for a strong contest at the coming electoral struggle, and we conservatives must strain every nerve to defeat them, and cause patriotism, religion, and aristocratic rights to triumph. our party believes that you are the man to represent these principles, and you can't decline to accept such an honourable mission. do you not love your country? do you want her to become a prey to infidels, or panslavonic conspirators, or to the mob? you would not have the descendants of the hussites dominate hungary? are you not a catholic christian? you are brave; you have strong principles, and you are an excellent orator. you are the man we want, and there is an end of arguing." "very good! but there is a practical side to the question." "yes. if the other parties come off victorious, the agrarian movement will grow too fast for us. the socialist rabble is preaching the assessment of all land, the abolition of the congrua taxes,[ ] and the abolition of our feudal privileges. this is the prose or practical side of the question, my friend." [footnote : congrua taxes are the taxes paid by the parish members to their curates or priests.] "there is another still," i persisted, "and i must speak plainly. you know that i have no money for political enterprises. my own money is in official custody; but, even if it were not, and i had so much money at my disposal that i did not know what to set about in order to get rid of it, i should not waste it in buying myself a seat in parliament. i remember well what politics did for my father, and how much it cost him. but, besides this recollection, the idea of corrupting the minds of the electors and of making drunken animals out of decent and intelligent labourers for two or three weeks is repulsive to me. it is entirely against my conscience." "now listen to me. in the first place, no one asks for a penny of your money, so it is no business of yours to inquire or care about it. what is the use of party funds, i might ask? then, what have you to do with the details of the campaign? i am head-drummer, manager of the canvass. you need not give a single bottle of wine to anybody, unless you want to regale your friends here in your house; but that is quite a different thing, and has nothing to do with the election. there is one thing you must remember. if you offer venison and champagne to your electors, it is called a banquet, and the papers speak admiringly of your bountiful hospitality; but if you boil a sheep and open a barrel of sixpenny wine or beer for them, then you are bribing voters, and corrupting the minds of the innocent. so never trouble your head with a thought about these things. i have made a bargain with every hotel-keeper or inn-keeper in the whole county for that one day, and the voters may revel as they please--at their own expense; that is, a dinner may be had for two kreutzers, a supper for three, and the wine will be included in that price. who can forbid an inn-keeper to sell cheap viands? you will have nothing to do with the whole business. only, if some decent elector gets his head broken in the spree, you will plaster him up, or sew him up, as may be necessary. up to the day of election you will not show yourself, and only put in your appearance when they come to fetch you with music and flags and all that flummery, and beg you to come and kindly accept the mandate, which the chairman of the party is dying to hand over to you. then at the banquet you offer a toast to his majesty the king, and afterward you will accept of the torchlight serenade, which your voters will give you, and perhaps speak a few gracious words; but that is not essential, and you may hold your peace. at any rate, with that serenade all your duties are ended." "i should think they began with that--at least, according to my notion. no, i can't accept. i can't afford to loiter about in budapest, and have everything here go to the dogs." "what a greenhorn you are! you need not live in budapest at all. if the chief of the party telegraphs you that some great division is coming on with respect to some important question, you go up, find the seat with your name on it, sit down, and, when your name is called, you shout 'yes' or 'no,' according to the party's views, and then you travel home again, and make your famous 'lipto cheese.'" "i have no intention of becoming a voting machine." "there you are right. you are too spirited and much too talented for that. you will deliver your maiden speech amid universal applause, and become famous at once. you will be hated by the opposite parties, hated and feared, and that will only stimulate your courage. you will be a great man, and a blessing to your country. you can engage a trustworthy man to manage your estate, and do well under such an arrangement; and you will give your talent and your faculties to your country and your party. it is your duty, and you are not the man to shrink from an acknowledged duty. besides, out of friendship for me, you cannot refuse. i have positively staked my word on your acceptance; and then there is a request from the party, with a hundred and twenty signatures. look here!" he showed me a sheet of writing, with a long list of badly-scrawled names underneath a few lines of writing. i still hesitated, when siegfried smiled, and, taking from his pocket a little bit of a letter, perfumed with heliotrope, handed it to me. "my aunt sends you this." i broke the rose-coloured wax, and drew out a tiny piece of bristol-board with the signature of countess diodora vernöczy. its contents were as follows:-- "pray accept the nomination." that was all. but what all the persuasions, all the allusions to country, race, patriotism, and religion had not effected, these few hungarian words, written in a fine, aristocratic hand, did at once. they persuaded me, and i accepted. yet i had never seen the lady who had written these words, and did not even know whether she was young or old, beautiful or ugly! she was a woman, and that sufficed. no! the devil is not dead; here is his hoof. how i triumphed and how i fell i have told you already. if i had the gift of virgilius maro, and could speak or write in hexameters, in such verses i would compose the "Æneid" of my career as a belligerent. as it is, you can read it all, described in somewhat unflattering language, in the hungarian newspapers of the period. there is a whole history of bribery, corruption, intimidation, and similar crimes committed in my name, related in those papers, and you may read of the horrible fraud that was practised in offering the vote of a dead man. the epithets "cheat," "deceiver," "liar," and so forth were freely and frequently attached to my name; and then followed the shameful annulment of the election, and i was sent home--a broken, disgraced, snuffed-out wretch--a dead man, indeed! there is something fearful, something terribly cruel and unjust, in such a moral cudgelling to death, for those who cast the stones are not a whit better than their victim. a common criminal, murderer, counterfeiter, or forger may procure a pardon, and rehabilitate himself in time; but a man that has furnished society with amusement and been laughed to death is never again allowed to hold up his head and show his face. i was nearly mad with shame and disgrace. what should i do with myself now--now that i was nothing but a broken tool--i, who might have been a scientific celebrity, a light in the profession? i could not go back to vienna for very shame. a flouted, ridiculed man cannot be a doctor. a doctor must be respected, trusted, even revered, like a priest. for me there was nothing but to hide myself in my own house, shut the doors against everybody, and live the life of a hermit--the life of my uncle diogenes. i need not have shut my doors; not a soul demanded admittance. i really think my dear friends made a circuit around my château when they had to pass through my village. the first day i remained shut up in my room; the second i paced the garden walks in a furious rage; the third i noticed that i had shamefully neglected my uncle's dearly-cherished garden since i had abandoned myself to the mania of politics. the carefully tended isabella grapes wound their tender twigs up and around an apple tree; the roses were full of water shoots; the american lilies choked up with dead nettles. wasps' nests were hanging from the branches of the trees, and giant ants had built their pyramids on the foot-path; and the hedgehogs boldly invaded the lawn as i passed. as i strolled, my eye fell upon a little flower which i recognised as a favourite from my dear mother's garden; i observed a glowing alkermes, an oriental corn-rose, then again an artichoke, overgrown with vile weeds. all at once i found myself working away with garden-knife, shovel, and spade, pruning, weeding, and tying up the twigs and branches, just as uncle diogenes had done. by night i had smoked out the wasps, put the little bower to rights, and, hardly knowing how or why, i had gone into my uncle's turret-chamber instead of my own bedroom. and why not be as he had been? i asked myself. here at least i could meet with no shame, no disappointment, and no deception. all was well. i should be a gardener in summer and a museum-keeper in winter, and so the time would pass with me as it passed with him. no doubt, in time, this solitary, secluded life would not be so irksome to me as now. the social instinct would die out; and, left to rural pleasures and occupations, the polish would be rubbed off me, and in appearance also i should be as my uncle diogenes had been. i gave up shaving, dressed shabbily, and ordered a dinner of pork and potatoes, which disgusted me. i ceased to drink wine, because i was no toper to enjoy drinking alone, and in the course of two or three days i had a hearty indigestion, which at least recalled me from my self-tormenting course so far as my inward man was concerned. in outward appearance i had a beard of a week's growth, wore a pair of coarse breeches and high top-boots, because in low boots i could not ramble about in garden and field as i did. my valet was in despair; the good old man had known me for years, and was very faithful to me. of course, he dared not ask questions, but he threw me such appealing glances that i was strongly tempted to pour out all my burning shame and rage to him, since i had nobody else to make a confidant of. it was a very, very miserable time, and it lasted something more than a week--a week, i say! i thought it a century at the least. xiii. the valkyrs. it was about ten or twelve days after my discomfiture, and a beautiful afternoon. i was standing in my front garden, attired, as i usually had been of late, in coarse breeches, muddy top-boots, a not very clean linen blouse, and a broad, rough straw hat on my head. my face was rough and adorned with bristles. i do not think that anybody coming upon me unawares would have taken me for anything but a slav garden labourer. presently i heard the gallop of horses, and, looking through the new and very handsome iron trellis in front of the building, i saw three amazons riding up to the house. i did not know them, and supposed them to be strangers in the country, approaching in order to admire the curious old building. they wore long black riding-habits, all three alike, with blue veils tied around their high beavers and entirely concealing their faces. one of them was a real zenobia figure: tall of stature, regal in gait, a magnificent creature! the second was tall and slender, and slow and stately in movement. the third was a tiny little figure, but full of nervous vitality and energy. opposite to the verandah of my house they checked their horses, and looked through the trellis at me as if they expected me to run out, and give them the desired information. the tall, slender lady rode nearer to the gate and looked haughtily in, while the little girl-rider cried out: "_tu y serais_!" then she beckoned the groom, who was waiting behind them, to come nearer and hand her a little wooden case with a round glass set in at the front--a little photograph-apparatus. "well," thought i, "these are amateur photographers, and dumany castle has apparently pleased their eye, and they want to immortalise it in the pages of their albums--an interesting object!" i was standing near the fence, by the side of a flowering rose-bush. i held a spade in my hand, and was just in the act of putting it to its proper use when the lady directed her camera toward me. i thought it was rather a clever performance for a person on horseback. "_ne remuez pas, mon cher_!" cried the lady, as i lifted the spade. of course the slav gardener, whom i resembled, was bound to understand her french prattle. so there i stood, with uplifted spade in hand, until the lady had finished her picture, and then she released me with a "_merci, mon garçon_!" and i, hardly able to keep my composure, answered in slav, "_dobri nocz, mladi panyicska_," which means "good night, miss!" the ladies broke out into a merry laugh, returned the apparatus to the groom, and rode off, laughing because the slender lady had been included in the picture. i laughed also as i looked after them, and i said to myself, "now i shall not utterly die, '_non omnis moriar_.' the valkyrs have come to pick up the fallen hero and carry him into their walhalla, which in all probability is bound in morocco leather with silver clasps." the same evening i had another surprise. my friend siegfried drove up to my house, sprang from his barouche, and, seeing me, he ran up and embraced me tenderly. "so you know me still?" asked i. "know you? it would be no wonder if i had not recognised you as you look now! do you know that with a week's growth of beard and moustache a man looks like a gorilla?" "well then, i look like the progenitor of mankind, if darwin is to be believed." "i say, it's high time i came! otherwise you would cease to be a christian, and become one of those detestable naturalists." with that siegfried ordered his coachman to walk the horses about, feed them, water them, and prepare for the drive home after supper. so i had to give orders for a supper, and remember that i was not yet my uncle diogenes, but his nephew and a gentleman, and this friend of mine a veritable count, who expected me to give him a good supper. "after supper you must come with me," said siegfried, decidedly. "i! where?" "to vernöcze, to visit me! have you not got my letter?" "i received a letter. i have it in my blouse-pocket yet, but--" "you have not opened it, nor looked at it yet?" "no. i thought that if anybody wrote to me now, he either wanted to insult me or call me to some kind of a reckoning. i thought there was time for both." "oh, you stupid fellow! where is that letter? i want you to read it at once!" i took out the letter, opened it, and read:-- "dear nell,--our party decided at yesterday's meeting to support your name at all odds against the ensuing new election, and carry you through at any cost. my aunt wants to inform you of some very serious matter, so she begs you to pay her a visit on wednesday next.--yours, as ever, "sigid." the previous day had been wednesday, and the letter had been in my pocket for the last four days. i confess that i felt a glow after reading these lines. something like joy, like exultation, filled me, that after all i was not dead and buried there in that house, not an utter laughing-stock, and that my name was not hooted by friend and enemy alike. i still had noble friends. they remembered me, acted for me, endeavoured to avenge me, and rehabilitate me. it was an intense feeling of relief, of pride, of happiness; but i tried to hide my sensations and play the cincinnatus a little longer. when siegfried said, "we expected you all day yesterday; but as you did not come i concluded to come over and look after you," i replied, "i had not read the letter; but if i had, it would hardly have been otherwise. i cannot go from home at present." "why! what is the matter with you? you are not going to play uncle diogenes, are you? simple civility might have induced you to come over to vernöcze. you are due there for ever so long." "you are very kind; but, you see, the vice-governor does not send his sentinels to guard the iron chest with the money, and so i have to guard it myself; and then, you see, i am busy budding my 'marshal niel' and 'sultan of morocco' roses--it is their season." siegfried broke into a merry laugh. "the dear boy is actually trying to live after the pattern of that exemplary old uncle of his. now, don't make a fool of yourself, old fellow, and don't make believe that you like baked potatoes and curds. i tell you i want a good supper, and after that i'll take you with me. you can take your rose-scions with you. my gardener will be thankful for them. we have a lot of water-shoots in our garden." we had a good supper, and after the first glass of wine i felt the gloom vanish from me entirely. siegfried had brought me good news. the new election was to take place in twenty days. our party was firm as a rock, and the enemy was disheartened and short of money, as the maticza society, which had given up all hope of driving me away from the estate, would not furnish them with more funds. now they had reunited to a last desperate method, and their candidate was about to unfold the anti-semitic flag, in this way driving all intelligent, liberal voters--or those at least who assumed the name, and all the jews with their money, influence, and keenness--straight into our arms, so that our success was undoubted. in order to silence all accusations of bribery, of feasting the voters, and so forth, countess diodora, siegfried's aunt, was ready to keep open house in vernöcze for our political friends, and so there would be no need of engaging any public restaurants or wine-shops. siegfried told me that countess diodora was a very active champion of our party, and very influential, too. besides, she was very much interested in me personally. "i am sure i am very grateful to her ladyship, and shall take the liberty of telling her so, to-morrow," i said--"the more grateful, as i really do not know how i could have merited such an interest." he smiled. "merit is not everything," he said. "but aunt diodora is a little vexed at your want of politeness. you should have come and paid your homage long ago. her ladyship really threatened the other day that some day she would come over with the two little ones and fetch you, if not personally, at least in effigy. they have photographic apparatus, and are very clever amateur photographers." i could not suppress an exclamation, and then i related the little adventure of the afternoon. he laughed. "oh, no question as to their identity! sure enough, it was my aunt and the girls! that queenly amazon is my aunt, countess diodora. you are surprised? i see, you supposed that an aunt must necessarily be some aged, corpulent lady, fond of her game of 'patience,' and secretly indulging in a sip. my aunt is but one year my senior, and i am barely thirty. my aunt is a classical beauty, highly intellectual, and very talented; quite a female phenomenon. that tall, slender girl is countess flamma, a miracle of beauty and virtue; and that tiny creature was the little kobold, puck, or whatever else you may call her, cousin cenni. she is the most skilful photographer of the three, and it was she who told you not to move, and took you with spade in hand. that's the best joke i ever heard! how vexed countess cenni will feel on discovering the mistake! she is a little vixen, and full of mischief. if any of the young dandies tries to court her, she bids him go bear-hunting with her and show his valour. my woods are full of bears. i have shot three, but there are a lot of them alive still, and they do a deal of damage. so, if cenni invites you, which no doubt she will, you need not be afraid of want of game." i was dazzled, flattered, and surprised. what a difference between these ladies of the high aristocracy and the daughters of our country gentry! as if they really belonged to a different world, lived on a different planet. one of them assuming the lead in politics, another bear-hunting and photographing. the third, that tall, slender, somewhat haughty, but modest girl, who had approached to admire my roses, pleased me best; and then, too, their names--"diodora! cenni! flamma!" the first domineering, imposing; the second with a touch of the bohemian or the gipsy; the third bewitching, enticing, a flame! oh, what a moth i should make! i did not show much further resistance, but was willing enough to go with siegfried. i did not even take the trouble of locking the turret-chamber, in which the precious iron chest stood, with my own hands, but ordered my valet to perform that duty and take care of the key. i went out into the garden, and cut all the blooming "sultan of morocco" roses and carefully wrapped them up with wet moss; and all the way i held them in my hand for fear of injuring them. so the valkyrs were indeed taking away the fallen hero to walhalla, their own abode. "where is walhalla, and what is it like? does anybody know? if only somebody might return and tell us!" "well, i have been there, and i have returned, and i will tell you." part ii. i. the sea-dove. from dumanyfalva to vernöcze the high-road makes a circuit of a two hours' ride, but we took a short cut by a cross-road through siegfried's deer-park, which is about ten thousand acres in extent. the whole park was fenced in with high iron railings, and this fence alone had cost the neat little sum of one hundred and fifty thousand florins. yet it was worth its cost, for, before its erection, the vernöczys had to pay yearly about twenty-five thousand florins for damage done by their game upon the crops in the neighbouring fields. at the big iron gate a ranger with two loaded rifles was waiting for us. he handed the rifles to the two servants, and then took his seat on the box with the coachman. it was a beautiful wood through which we drove--all of giant larch trees of a century's growth, perfuming the air with ambrosial odours. the bright rays from our lanterns attracted the deer, and they stood gazing at us with their glittering eyes. one of the bucks bellowed at us, and one of the little fawns came almost under the wheels. pheasants, startled from sleep by the noise of our wheels, soared above our heads. from the depths of the forest mysterious voices met our ears: the woodcock's hoarse call, the roebuck's deep bellow, the wild boar's grunt, the squirrel's chatter, and the shrill cries which announce the presence of the wild peacock. what a difference between this lordly forest and my small twenty-acre park! red squirrels, gray squirrels, gambolling among the boughs, playing with acorns and hazelnuts; thrushes, blackbirds, nightingales, and greenfinches, chirruping and twittering, were all the game i had. in vain we endeavour to bring high nobility and plain gentry into one class. they are divided by the game-park. we are only visitors there, kindly invited, kindly received, but visitors still, and we can never repay the compliment. therefore i consider we should always think twice before we accept the invitation. it was past midnight when we finally arrived at siegfried's shooting-box, a beautiful pavilion in the swiss style, with a large verandah to the east, facing the magnificent château. between the two buildings extended a clear, broad lake, with silvery willows on the nearer side, and grand old lime-trees on the side toward the mansion. graceful white and black swans swam on the lake, and two tiny little wherries lay ready for a boating excursion. the south side of the shooting-box had "altdeutsch" windows of coloured glass, and wooden shutters with heart-shaped perforations on the outside. on the nearer side of the lodge was a beautiful green lawn and a few somewhat neglected rose-beds. the shooting-box was a comfortably large and luxuriously-furnished building, and afforded accommodation for thirty guests. the couches in the different sleeping apartments were all covered with deerskin spreads, and the furniture was all in harmony with the purpose and style of the building. i left my window ajar for the night, so as to be up early, and my plan succeeded. the dew still glittered upon the tender petals of the roses when i was up and sauntering among the flowers. i had brought my "malmaison" and "sultan of morocco" roses with me, and also my budding-knife and the sap for budding. "what a surprise for them," i thought, "when they find these beautiful flowers instead of the wild suckers." i had put my roses into a glass of water, and was now preparing for the performance by cutting off the collateral shoots and removing the inconvenient thorns. just as i had taken one of the "sultan of morocco" roses out of the water, i heard steps on the gravel, and a musical voice cried-- "gardener, do you hear?" i turned around, and beheld two beautiful young girls hurrying toward me. one of them, a tiny little creature, was of the blonde type, with long, golden curls and a face of cream and roses. one startling, bewitching little black mole was seen on one of the dimpled cheeks. her eyebrows were dense, of a golden-brown, and arched over a pair of large, glittering brown eyes. the corners of her little mouth curved upward in a smile, and the cherry lips were always open and moving. her little hands were busy gesticulating, explaining, acting, and never at rest; a picture of the entire little personage. the other girl was a tall, slender, willow-like figure, with raven hair pushed high above the marble forehead. her skin was clear and transparent, but with hardly a tinge of colour. her straight, black brows and long black lashes overhung a pair of deep blue, or rather sea-green, eyes, and her little coral mouth was so small that the idea struck me that it must hurt her to speak, and therefore she liked to hold her peace. both were in morning dress, appropriate to the country. the blonde wore a dress of some sort of light japanese silk, covered with a pattern of great painted birds and flowers. the dark girl had a nile-blue gown of some light material, and in style somewhat resembling the greek. the verandah had prevented me from perceiving their approach. now they hastened toward me with the easy composure with which we meet some old friend, or--a servant. of course, i had no difficulty in recognising the equestrian amateurs of the previous day, and it was easy to guess that they repeated their mistake of that afternoon, by taking me for a gardener. i had no intention of undeceiving them, and did not take off my hat, but stood with the "sultan of morocco" between my teeth, and my hands engaged with the budding-knife. "do you hear?" said the little blonde, now coming near; "cut me a bud of these 'gloire de dijons.' no! one of these 'marshal niels'; not this, the other, that is just opening!" i was correctly dressed for the occasion, and quite in proper style for a country visit: tanned shoes, knickerbocker jacket, pepita waistcoat, madapolam shirt-collar, bismarck _en colère_ scarf, panama hat. "my darling, does not that content you?" still these girls took me for a servant. well, let it pass! i cut off one of the roses, and began to pare off the thorns with my knife, when she angrily stamped her little foot on the grass. "what are you paring the thorns off for? i don't like a rose without thorns, i want a rose with thorns; this looks stripped!" and, pulling the rose out of my hand, she held it over to her companion. "_tiens! ca m'embête_!" to her she spoke french; to me, german. the girl took the rose without a word; for her it was good enough without the thorns. i prepared to cut another bud for the capricious fair one, when she asked, "what rose is that in your mouth?" "a sultan of morocco," i said, taking the rose from my lips. "give me this," with an imperative gesture. "this is for grafting," i tried to explain. "but i want it!" was the haughty reply, and she impatiently held out her bit of a hand for the rose. i handed it to her, and for a moment she buried her little nose in it and then tried to fasten it to her dress. presently a thought seemed to strike her, for she lifted the rose to her lips, and then, turning to me again, asked-- "has the count returned home?" "he has," i answered. "he did not come alone? a gentleman came with him, did he not?" i answered in the affirmative. "are they asleep yet, do you think? which is his window?" "whose? the count's?" "no, that i know! the stranger's?" "the one that is open," i said, wondering what she meant. she looked around, and observed a double step-ladder standing in front of a tree. "bring that ladder," she said to me, "and put it in front of that window." i began to perceive her intention, and, much amused, i fetched the ladder. "shall i hold it?" i asked, with seeming innocence. "no. go back to your work!" i submitted, and went back to my roses, where the other girl was still standing. the little blonde vixen, as siegfried had called her, went up the ladder, throwing me a haughty glance because i had the impertinence to watch her movements. as i prepared for work again, i noticed that in the chalice of each flower, two or more green cetonias were to be found. the cetonia beetle is the deadliest foe of the rose, destroying it entirely, and since my boyhood, when i used to practise gardening at home, and was taught to kill a cetonia wherever i found it, i could not bear the sight of the glittering, green beetle. i was just crushing one under my foot, when the dark-haired girl near me cried out-- "why do you kill that poor cetonia?" "because it injures the roses," i said. "well, let them alone! who cares for the roses?" "who cares for the roses?" is not that strange? a young girl taking the side of the harmful destroyer against the innocent victim! the blonde descended the ladder, and her face, her hands, and her walk betrayed that she was vexed. i was very much amused. was it not a joke that she had climbed up to my window to present me with my own rose, the rose she had taken out of my mouth? and was it not amusing to see her angry, because i had had the sauciness to watch the movements of those tiny slippered feet in pink stockings as they mounted the ladder and revealed a bewitching little ankle? the black-haired girl turned to her and complained--"see, he kills our cetonias!" whereupon the little one, with a queenly mien, stepped in front of me and said-- "i forbid you to do that! do not dare to hurt my cetonias!" i could not repress a smile, as i answered, "i shall duly obey. i had no right to interfere, as these cetonias do not belong to me." "i really think that fellow is laughing at us!" said the little one, with arching brows, when the other, who had been watching me for some moments, made some whispered remark, and then the fair head and the dark one were put close together in earnest consultation. on one of my hands i wore an antique carnelian seal-ring, with my family crest, and a large solitaire, the gift of a grateful patient. these rings, rather unusual upon the finger of a common gardener, had caught the eye of the dark-haired girl, and she could not but notice that my hands and nails were not those of a labourer. for a while they looked shyly at me, while they busied themselves in gathering into their garden hats all the cetonias they could, as if afraid that, after their departure, i should avenge myself by a general onslaught on their _protégées_. presently the blonde stepped up to me, and, touching the carnelian on my hand with her finger, she said-- "are you a nobleman?" i answered by an anecdote. "a german journalist had to translate an item on sea-turtles from an english paper. he did not exactly understand what a turtle was; but he know of turtle-doves, which are in german called _turtel-tauben_, and, as he did not want to trouble himself to look for the expression in a dictionary, _turtle-doves_ it remained. he wrote of the bird, that it comes out of the sea to the sand of the shore, lays its eggs in that sand, carefully and safely scratching them in, and smoothing the surface with its front paws. these front paws of a turtle-dove perplexed him, and he did what he ought to have done before: he looked in the dictionary and found that the sea-turtle was no dove at all." "hem!" said the little one, looking with charming astonishment at the other girl; and then she turned to me again, and, lifting a threatening little finger at me, she said-- "now, don't you go and betray us to anybody. promise!" "you have my knightly word," i said; "_parole d'honneur_!" but, unable to suppress my mirth any longer, i broke into a ringing laugh, and both girls fled as fast as they could. on returning to my room, i found siegfried there. "my aunt's footman has already been here to invite us to breakfast," he said. "when in the country she is always an early riser, and so are the children. i wonder they have not been running about yet. they used to." i did not tell him that they had been running about already; but, stepping up to the window, i found the rose which the fair girl had laid upon the sill, and, fastening it in the button-hole of my jacket, made ready to follow up the invitation for breakfast. "wouldn't you rather shave before going down?" asked siegfried, with a disapproving look at my face. "my valet has an easy hand, and is very reliable." "no, thank you!" i said, and with that i took his arm and we went down. near the lake was a mass of beautiful dolomite rock, a forerunner of the high mountains further on. the face of the rock was all overgrown with birch trees, and wild roses and other flowers were peeping out of the thick moss and bush. at the foot of the rock was a clearing, surrounded with pines, their drooping foliage forming a shady roof above the little circuit of ground. in the wall of the rock was a grotto, overrun with henna leaves, hedge-plant, and other creepers. out of one of the walls of the grotto broke, murmuring and rippling, a clear mountain spring, which, meeting with another and uniting with it to form a rivulet, flowed across the flowery plain, emptying itself into the lake by a series of cascades. in the centre of this space the breakfast-table was set--the shining silver, the glittering crystal, and the creamy china forming a pleasant contrast to the rural simplicity of the chairs and table and the green roof and walls above and around. countess diodora was already there, expecting us. the two girls were in the grotto, pretending to be busy with the preparations for breakfast. countess diodora was strikingly handsome. tall of stature and fully developed, her movements had all the elasticity of youth and all the majesty of a goddess. her creole complexion was in harmony with the great almond-shaped eyes, the minerva forehead, grecian nose, and shell-shaped mouth with its coral-red lips. her head was crowned with a tiara of heavy black tresses, more precious and beautiful than any artificial ornament. siegfried led me to her and presented me with the following words-- "at last i am able to introduce my hitherto invisible friend. do not be amazed at his present resemblance to our common progenitors, the simians--that is, if we believe the evolutionists; but our friend here has no intention of claiming that affinity. his sprouting moustache and beard are a token of patriotic zeal, and a sacrifice upon the altar of national idiosyncrasy. henceforth he will be known as a hungarian in appearance also, and nobody will be justified in calling him an austrian." the lady smiled at the humorous introduction, and extended both her hands, which were somewhat large, but magnificently shaped. could i do less than kiss both? the smile that flitted over her queenly features gave her the appearance of a veritable goddess. "is it not odd," she asked, "that we know each other so well, yet have never met until this moment?" her voice was a rich, deep contralto, and very sweet. "i have already enjoyed the happiness of seeing your ladyship," said i, smiling. "indeed? and where?" "in my own garden. if i am not greatly mistaken, your ladyship and the two young ladies, your cousins, were yesterday at the pains to immortalise me by taking my photograph." "impossible!" she cried. "it could not have been you! with the spade in hand, and--oh, it is too odd!" and she broke into a loud laugh. a laughing pallas! the two girls ran but of the grotto to see what the staid diodora was laughing at. "come on, cenni," said the lady to the little blonde: "here is the gardener of yesterday; the one you have photographed along with his garden." but by that time the little one knew me well enough; she had recognised the rose in my button-hole, and, with pretended anger, she ran toward me, took hold of the collar of my jacket, and gave it a hearty pull. "you are an artful and dangerous cheat and deceiver--that is what you are!" she said. "why did you deceive us this morning, and make sport of us? let us treat you as a gardener, and send you on errands? why did not you tell us who you were?" siegfried came to my help. "how could he? he did not know you; maybe he took you for your own maids. if you had told him who you were, he would have returned the compliment." "but you won't betray us to anybody?" she said, holding up, as if in prayer, her little hands, that looked like the delicate petals of the white lily. "you won't tell anybody of our conversation at the rose bushes? if you promise, i'll give you a kiss; i will, indeed!" "but, cenni!" cried countess diodora, shocked, "what expression is that again?" the little one looked like a scolded school-girl, who does not know what crime she has been punished for, and said, poutingly-- "but i want him to keep the secret, and i must give him a reward." "you always forget that you are no longer a little girl of twelve years, but a grown-up young lady, although, god knows, you do not look like it!" said the countess, with a humorous shake of the head. "now you great debater and future lawgiver, what do you say to this offered reward? answer _ex tripode_!" said siegfried, laughingly. "i say that i am no usurer, and cannot take unlawful interest," i replied. "bravo! bravissimo! a usurer! unlawful interest he calls a kiss! oh, what a moral fellow!" cried siegfried; but countess diodora observed that breakfast was waiting, and that we had time enough for ventilating academic questions afterward. at the table i sat between countess diodora and countess flamma. the latter turned to me, and said in her quiet and sober way-- "but i discovered soon enough that the sea-turtle was not a sea-dove, did i not?" "what are you talking about sea-doves?" asked the countess; "it seems you have secrets in common already." i opened my mouth to answer, when the little blonde opposite to me sprang up and put her little shell-coloured hand to my lips. "no betrayal, if you please! you have given your knightly word!" "i am mute!" i said, bowing to her with a smile. "i declare!" said the countess, "knightly word, turtle-dove! why, what mystery is this? flamma was complaining something about the cetonias." "oh, that is nothing," said cenni, lightly, "and that may be spoken of; but the 'step-ladder,' the 'sultan of morocco,' and the 'sea-dove' are strict secrets, and never to be mentioned anywhere." siegfried clapped his hands in surprise. "riddle after riddle! and to think that i myself have brought this boy to the house only last night for the first time in his life, and introduced him not an hour ago, and--talk of his being shy in the company of ladies!--he is head over ears in conspiracy with both of the girls, when i thought he had never seen them, and they did not know him at all!" ii. "what is the devil like?" "we not know him?" asked the little one. "why, we have his photograph in our album! only he looks much nicer there. such a lord byron face!" "well, this is really audacious!" cried siegfried, "with such a face to appear before ladies! coarse and stubby like that of a slav field-labourer, and yet such a young lady as that calls it a lord byron face! now i see that the old proverb is right, and a man has to be but one shade handsomer than the devil, for women will find him handsome enough." "only that the proverb is a paradox in itself. the evil one is not ugly; on the contrary, he is beautiful!" said diodora. "_quien sabe_?" answered siegfried. "i have seen his portrait in the greek churches, in a large wall-painting, and there he is represented as a bandy-legged, ox-tailed, black-faced monster, with a pair of big horns on his forehead. then, again, i have seen the devil in the opera, as göthe and gounod's creation of mephistopheles in _faust_, and there he wore a goat's-beard and red-feathered cap, was a little lame in one leg, and had a baritone voice. he was not in the least beautiful." "you ought to read klopstock, then, and milton," said countess diodora. "their devils are enchantingly handsome men, with pale faces, and deep, sorrowful eyes; and that is the real demon-type as given by the classics: for, originally, the devil was not known as an evil spirit, but was an angel. only he was haughty and ambitious, and tried to rival and dethrone the almighty. it was after he was defeated, and due punishment was dealt to him, that he became the representative of evil, and, after the creation of man, the tempter and seducer." "so part of the devil's corruption is due to man kind," said siegfried, ironically. "if you read the cabalists and gnostics you will learn how sinful pride had its downfall, and the angel fell. still, in all his humiliation and his banishment from grace and glory, he never lost his beauty, and this is natural; for who would listen to the temptations of an ugly monster? a seducer must needs be handsome. in the old jewish scripture, from before moses' time, the evil spirit is represented by a woman, lilith, the ideal beauty. in the same manner menander has painted sybaris, and of socrates it is said that he lived in intimate friendship with the demon." siegfried had made a desperate onslaught on the sandwiches; now he turned in comical vexation to me, and said-- "friend, brother, help! for this learned woman is slaying me with pandects, and, if the devil has such a champion, what can poor i do against him?" it was a difficult task. if i said that she was right, she would scorn me as a simple, empty-headed flatterer. if, on the other hand, i tried to contradict her, she was sure to conquer me with arguments. so i thought i would plead scepticism. "indeed, i can't," was my reply. "all i have to say is that i do not believe in the existence of an actual devil at all. i positively deny the existence of evil spirits or devils." "ah!" said the countess, astonished and seemingly dismayed, "do you know that such a negation includes a denial of the fundamental truths of all religion also? turn wherever you will, and you will find that the roman catholic faith expressly commands us to believe in the devil. the protestants, with martin luther at the head, have in speech and writing gone so far as to compose a whole shamanism of the devil's special qualities; and so on in all positive religions. are you an infidel, a so-called freethinker, and not a christian?" at first i smilingly referred her to becker's "bewitched world," which made all belief in an actual devil completely ridiculous, showing to demonstration that such a being is simply impossible. she answered me with spinoza. i again spoke of thomasius, whereupon the countess declared me a rationalist. siegfried smiled, and smoked his cigarette complacently, and the two girls listened innocently and wonderingly to the strange dispute. "you see, my lady," said i at last, "i am a physician, and i know of no bodily or mental ailment that is without some foundation or reason. i know of miasmata, spores, bacilli, as sources of bodily diseases, of inherited or fancied maladies, infections, contagions, and their proper remedies: vaccination, disinfection, prophylactics; but an invisible, immaterial spirit, which we ought to know by the title of devil, has nothing to do with any of these. all evil-doers, murderers, etc., are prompted to the mischief they do by some abnormity in their brains, or by some powerful egotistic motive, as jealousy, revenge, greed, ambition, etc.; but the temptation is always material--a benefit they want to secure by their crime--never a spiritual devil. we may fairly say that all crimes committed without a visible motive are founded upon lunacy, a disorder of the brain. i do not believe in one being, either corporal or spiritual, that would do mischief purely for mischief's sake, out of evil principle, of pure malice. i do not believe that any being exists which would inflict sorrow on others just in order to rejoice at the despair of the victims. the so-called hellish passions and inclinations in man are really created by that which is beneath him, the animal part of him, the material element, and it is superfluous to look to that which is above him, a spirit, for a motive." as i pronounced this conviction, the four persons present looked at each other and then at me, in wonder and defiance, but without a word. for a moment a chilly presentiment crept over me--a shadowy warning that the declaration i had just made would prove the _fatum_ of my life. as a physician, i had given very much attention to disturbances of the mind; nervous distractions, diseases of the brain. in lunatic asylums i had had frequent opportunity of observing the different manifestations of extravagances of the mind diseased. there are cases in which simulation is identical with the symptoms of actual insanity, others in which it is mistaken for such; but still the simulator is never quite sane. i had speculated about the hidden motives of apparently motiveless crimes. i had seen a gallant youth, whose noble, manly features inspired love and confidence, and who yet had murdered many victims of his bestial desires; had lured them on, and killed them. i had seen a tender, innocent, pleasant-looking young girl, with a winning smile on her ruby lips, after she had poisoned all the members of her family in turn; and i had known a miracle-working virgin, who had for years and years befooled and deceived aged and experienced men. all these and more i had seen, but all had possessed one common peculiarity which betrayed them as belonging to that large and unhappy class we term lunatics, and their mental disorder was revealed in a clear, glittering glance, cold and keen as a steel blade. the moment that unlucky assertion had escaped me, i saw my companions stare at each other and then at me, and in the eyes of all four of them i clearly discerned and recognised the same cold, keen, and gloomy expression. i felt a shock of terror, and then i laughed at my own folly. a professional habit of mentally examining and distinguishing all persons as sane and healthy, or diseased, i thought, and i tried to joke the matter away. "let us make a bargain, countess! we will leave the demon to those who cannot spare him; for there are people who would greatly protest against being robbed of their devils--as, for instance, some western nations who worship him instead of god. they say god is good, and won't hurt them, anyhow, but the devil must be bribed by compliments to keep him from doing mischief. therefore they raise altars to him, and set up his images with many ceremonies. the yakoots and chuckches believe in a double creation, and think that all good things are created by god, and all bad things by the devil." "it would not hurt you to be of the same creed," said countess diodora. "for instance, to believe that the rose was created by god and the cetonia by the devil," i replied, smilingly. "and why those?" she asked. "my niece has complained to me that you crush these beautiful little beetles to death. in what have they offended you?" "offended me? do you hold me capable of such petty malice? i kill the cetonias because they are the deadliest foes of the rose; or, rather, as they love the rose, and in loving destroy the flower, i must call the cetonia the most dangerous friend of the rose." "however, the beetles are necessary to my nieces, and therefore they must live." "necessary?" i cried. "how so?" the blonde girl went into the grotto and, returning, brought with her a large teak board, upon which a chinese sun-bird was enamelled. the bird was only half finished as yet, but it was the most artistic, tasteful, and delightful enamel-work i had ever seen, and all of it was composed of the delicate lids of the beetle-wings. the cetonias vary in colour: some of them are red with a tinge of gold; others green and gold; others again the colour of darkened copper, and still others in a metallic blue, like steel. all these were carefully arranged and pasted upon the teak board in a wonderful mosaic, the sun-bird's head and wings consisting of red, its neck of blue, and its breast of green cetonia-wings. i looked admiringly at the work. so, then, they had not protected the cetonias out of some sentimental fancy for them, but for industrial purposes. this changed my conception of the matter entirely; for the better in some respects--in some for the worse. "so you save the life of the beetle in order to rob them of their wings?" i asked them, reproachfully. "these are only their winter wings which we take off; their summer wings they keep, and we give them their liberty again. it is summer now; they have no need of their winter wings at present." well, this was girlish logic and philosophy: i have taken what i wanted, you must make the best of what i have left you. rather a striking piece of egotism! "do you know that the cetonia contains poison?" asked i. "what kind of poison?" was the inquiring response, given with great quickness. "the poison," i said, evasively, "that gives the motive to the bánk-bán tragedy." at these words siegfried puffed a whole cloud of tobacco-smoke full in my face, and at any other time i should have strongly resented the insult; but this time he was right. the explanation was, even as an allusion, objectionable in the presence of girls. nevertheless i could perceive through the cloud of smoke that the pale face of flamma had coloured violently, and that cenni pouted and pushed the sun-bird away. the innocents were not so very innocent, after all. "is not this beetle identical with the holy scarabæus of the egyptians?" asked countess diodora. "no. because the cetonia lives on roses; and of the holy scarabæus herodotus tells us that he dies of the odour of roses. as soon as the roses begin to bloom the scarabæus vanishes." this interested the girls, and we continued the subject. i told them of the south american hercules-beetle, that is as fond of liquor as any human tippler, and i really thought that i had succeeded in turning the conversation from the horned devil to the horned beetle, when countess diodora said-- "you are too much of a naturalist. this won't do, and you must try to amend. to deny god is bad enough, but he is kind and forgiving, and the infidel may yet be saved; but to deny the devil is sure destruction, for the devil knows no mercy, and he takes his revenge on the insulter." i looked up astonished and met her eyes. again i detected that bewildering cold glitter, and with an involuntary shiver i turned away. iii. the four-leaved clover. the same day our political friends and partisans came, and we held a conference. from that day on i was a daily guest in vernöcze, and when occasionally i spent a night at home in my own house, next morning i was sure to feel restless and uneasy, and persuaded myself that political reasons required my presence in vernöcze, and that i must make haste to go there. a number of times the illustrious ladies of the vernöcze castle descended from their lofty situation to pay a visit to my lowly house, and on these occasions i played the host, and set before them what my cellar and buttery afforded. then i conducted them through the chambers in which were stored my late uncle's beloved curiosities, and i told them of the horrors of the olden time, and the history of this ancient seat of my family. there was the story of a walled-up wife and murdered lovers, and we had our "woman in white" and our "red templar," who, at the stroke of midnight, duly stalked through locked rooms and corridors, and performed all the actions that could be expected of real and respectable ghosts. these phantoms the countess rather envied me, for vernöcze could boast of no such token of old nobility; yet the vernöczys were counts and the dumanys only plain gentry. of course, i was an ardent admirer of the three fairies, only i could not exactly tell which of the three i admired most. countess diodora's philosophical intellect impressed me as much as countess cenni's unruly activity; and countess flamma's pensive silence affected me none the less, and i looked at her with the reverential awe of the priest before the holy virgin. only one thing puzzled me. here were three beautiful, gifted, high-born, and wealthy young women, and not one of them had a real, earnest, and sincere suitor. of course, there were a number of young aristocrats paying court to them, and very much inclined to carry on a little bit of flirtation; but all in an easy-going, although certainly very respectful and distant way; but of a real, true attachment i could perceive no sign. once i had ventured a remark to this effect in siegfried's presence, whereupon he explained that the two younger countesses were mere school-girls yet, and nobody would have the audacity to think of a serious courtship in that quarter as yet, while, as to countess diodora, she would never marry at all. she repudiated the very idea of marriage, and would no doubt, sooner or later, enter a convent as abbess. this explanation, to tell the truth, did not satisfy me. if the two young ladies were such forbidden fruit at present, why bring them in constant contact with young men? and, as to countess diodora's intention to become a nun, i had my strong doubts. true, she was religious, even to bigotry, but she was not averse to the pleasures of the world, and i did not believe in her inclination to give them up of her free will. i rather believed that men were afraid of her, for such learned and strong-minded women can be only the wives of yet wiser and more strong-minded men, or else of fools, who willingly become their slaves. to me countess diodora was conspicuously kind, and showed me an exceptional preference--that is, she did me the honour to select me as her antagonist in debate. when she supported one paradox, i would support the opposite, and we kept up a constant battle with intellectual weapons. she was a great reader; so was i. she had travelled a good deal; so had i, and, as it chanced, we had observed the same countries and scenes. on art, architecture, literature, i gave judgment with the same startling audacity as she, only that my opinions were in direct opposition to hers. still in matters of politics our views were harmonious. i had the same conservative principles as she, and i heartily agreed with all that she uttered on that point. this was the first step to our mutual understanding. the second step was taken when we joined each other in defence of our principles against persons of opposing views; and the third step, which lifted me not only to a level with my new and beautiful ally, but even above her, was gained by me in a controversy on professional science, with especial relation to physicians. the countess, in a very spirited bit of banter, ridiculed the whole profession and its science, stating that, in her belief, our entire pathology, therapeutic, etc., was not worth the sand strewn over the prescriptions. she declared that in the treatment of internal maladies medical science has made no progress since galen's time, and our most renowned professional celebrities are no wiser than paracelsus. our medicines, according to her opinion, were either baneful poisons, or of no higher sanative power, at the best, than the waters of lourdes. she also was afflicted with bodily pain at times, but never yet had she submitted to any professional treatment. no physician had ever entered her bed-room or parted the tapestry hangings around her bed, and never yet had she tasted of any kind of medicine. i listened complacently to her talk, and did not interrupt her with a word. after she had finished, i said-- "allow me to contradict, and, at the same time, convict you. you have never spoken of your special ailment to me up to this moment. i have never heard of it before this, and i need not put any questions either to you or to others in regard to it. yet, by simply looking at you, i can tell you from what you are suffering--that you are a victim of occasional nervous attacks of greater or less severity, and i can tell you exactly how these paroxysms commence, what symptoms they show, and all the particulars of your ailment." she stared at me, quite perplexed. "you are right!" she said at last, and there was not a man alive who could boast that she had ever said as much to him. she asked me how i came to know or to guess the nature of her sufferings, and i told her that i had had great experience in the treatment of nervous disorders, and that her case was by no means hopeless. that although it was impossible to entirely and permanently cure the disease and drive away its attacks, yet it might be greatly diminished. the paroxysms might be reduced in duration and violence, and that without administering any poisonous drugs--simply by proper massage. "then i am sorry that we have no female physicians as yet; for i would never submit to that treatment from a male physician." "and do you know that this shrinking is one of the symptoms of the malady, and at the same time its main foundation?" "how so?" "because, if your views of propriety were not distorted, you would apply for help in time, and not wait until you are past cure; but you grow up with the conviction that it is a shame and a degradation to confess your physical weaknesses to a male physician, yet you are by no means ashamed--nay, you consider it a duty and a virtue--to confess your mental and moral failings to a priest, although he is a man as well as the physician, and the sins you confess are sometimes more degrading and shameful than the sores of your body." she looked at me for quite a while. "again you are right," she said, and with that broke off the conversation. at that period, every day brought some political meeting or party conference, and the leaders of the coming elections, head-drummers, and subalterns swarmed into vernöcze, bringing all sorts of news, asking for all sorts of information, and countess diodora was at the head of everything--presiding at the councils, assisting them all with her advice, never tired, never slackening in spirit or courage, and never forgetting her position as hostess--and a bountiful hostess, too. when the discussion approached the financial question, she said to me with rare delicacy-- "this is no affair of yours; leave that to us. you can meanwhile go and look for the girls in the park." and i, in spite of my professional sagacity, in spite of the knowledge and experience i had gained, i was such a greenhorn--such a simple fool--that i actually believed in the existence of a fund raised for the especial purpose of sending such shining political stars, such rare celebrities, as the honourable cornelius dumany, into parliament, there to enlighten the minds of his compatriots, and to be a blessing to his country; although, if any one had asked me how i had deserved to be held in such high esteem, i could not have found an answer! oh, vanity and conceit! how easily you are caught in the meshes of cunning deception! the "girls," as they were invariably called, were on the lawn looking for four-leaved clovers, and the little blonde declared that she was bent on finding one, for whoever found it first was sure to be married first. i laughed, and, looking down, i saw one little quatrefoil just at my feet. i gathered it, and presented it to the little blonde countess, but she refused to accept it. "no," she said, "everybody must keep his own fortune. you have found the leaf, and you will get married first, and within the year." "ought not i to know something of the coming happiness in advance?" i asked, smilingly. "surely i can't get married without my own knowledge!" "just you keep quiet. mockery is not becoming to you; but tell us in good earnest, why don't you marry? you ought to." "why, then, in good faith, i do not marry because the girls that would not reject me i do not care for, and those that i might care for would not accept me." "how do you know? first tell us what qualities a girl must possess to make you care for her." "well, i suppose i must obey your ladyship's wishes. in the first place, then, she must be young and pretty; then she must be intellectual, prudent, and well educated; and, finally, she must have a kind heart and a sweet disposition; if she is merry and bright also, i shall like her the better. yes, there is something else: i should like my future wife to be always elegant and stylish, and i should like to give her a splendid home and keep her in luxury; but, as my own little slav kingdom is not sufficient for my notion of the term, therefore she must also have a fortune of her own. yet, if a woman, or let me rather say a young girl, should possess all these qualities at once, which i think unlikely, i would not take her if i were not fully convinced that she married me for love. so, you see, with these pretensions i am likely to live and die a bachelor." "not necessarily. i, for instance, know a lady who answers to your description as if you had drawn her portrait." "indeed? you seem bent on proving that the four-leaved clover was a true prophet of marriage. you want to make the match?" "why not? but, indeed, i am speaking in good faith. why don't you marry aunt diodora?" "because i have more sense than those poor birds who shatter their heads and beaks in flying against the reflected rays of the lighthouse." "i don't understand the simile." "do you know the story of turandot?" "no. novels and comedies i dare not read yet; but i should like to know, for aunty diodora is nicknamed 'princess turandot.' i have often heard her spoken of by that name. i think that turandot must be a fictitious creature, who tortures all her suitors to death, for aunty is also very unkind to them. only that is no fault of hers; it is her misfortune to have nobody sue for her hand except simpletons. all these sweet-spoken, flattering, aping, thought-snatching, cajoling, empty-headed wooers my aunt calls monkeys, and not men. a man must have the courage to oppose her, defend his own opinion against her and all the world, to gain her respect and her confidence. this you have done. oh, we girls know well enough what impression a man has made on another girl!" this was a startling confession. here was a little girl, who was treated and spoken of as quite a baby; yet, in spite of her unacquaintance with novels and comedies, she seemed to be very well versed in all matters of love and matrimony. "yes," she continued, "i have noticed it plainly enough, and quite frequently. whenever you are away she is gloomy, and melancholy, and out of spirits; but, as soon as she sees you or hears your voice, she brightens up and is good-humoured and pleasant. when, the other day, flamma and i had made some remark about you--some light jest--she gave us such a sermon! telling us that men were all so different, and that you were, among them, like a real diamond among coloured glass. oh, if i could tell you all! but you are proud and disdainful, i see. perhaps you want to wait until countess diodora vernöczy makes you a humble offer of her hand, and then maybe you would be proud, and consider about it." "perhaps i should. give me leave, ladies, to tell you a story--the history of a very intimate friend, and from beginning to the end true to the letter. i shall invent nothing." iv. the history of my friend. as soon as i promised them a story, the two young girls sat down on a low bench beneath a jasmine bush, and i sat down on the bowling-green at their feet; or, rather, i kneeled there before them. do not think that we were left without a proper guard, for we could be seen from the balcony of the house, and on the mountain-ash tree was an old missel-thrush that kept on chirruping and twittering, "take care, you boy! take care!" the young ladies had stripped a heap of the slender pimprinpáre stalks, from which they began to braid chains and other ornaments, while i related the following story:-- "my friend is a descendant of the noblest families of hungary, and a count by birth. during the revolution of he was one of the bravest and most heroic defenders of the national cause, and his great personal attractions, manly beauty, athletic strength, intellectual power, and high moral integrity, united with an iron will and the tender heart of a woman, made him distinguished above many. of him it was said that, even as a man, he obeyed every command of his mother, but could never be made to obey that of any potentate of the world." "is that paragon of a man alive yet?" asked cenni. "he is. only he is an old eagle now, for our friendship dates from the time when he gave me a ride on his knees, while i blew the whistle he had brought me. during our national struggle for liberty in he served as a captain of the ---- hussars, and, after the russian invasion, and the final overthrow of the national cause, he made good his escape to england. of course, his lands and goods were seized, and he was sentenced to death; but, as he could not be caught and hanged in person, he was hanged in effigy--that is, his portrait was nailed to the gallows. "the same high qualities which had distinguished him at home distinguished him abroad. a great many hungarian refugees had found a home in england, especially in that gigantic metropolis, london; and it is said of them, in general, that of all political emigrants they behaved best. they never quarrelled, never grumbled, and never conspired. everyone hastened to find a mode of earning a decent living for himself, and none of them were too proud or too lazy to work. every one of them was honestly and diligently engaged in some business. "my friend had some acquaintances among the english nobility, and he was soon introduced, and speedily became at home in english high life. among those aristocratic families with which he had frequent intercourse was one in which there was a young girl, an orphan and an heiress. she was beautiful and intellectual, like countess diodora, and competition for her hand was naturally high among the young and old bachelors, and marriageable men of their set. singularly enough, the young stranger, who never thought of such good fortune, at last felt compelled to believe that the open preference the lady showed him was more than common courtesy, and more than the friendly, even sisterly regard with which most ladies of his acquaintance honoured him. he could not but admire her beauty, her grace, and accomplishments, and he was ready and willing enough to fall in love with so much charm and loveliness. his courtship, if so it must be termed, although the lady was doing the greater part of the wooing, was short and successful, and they were married. "the marriage took place on the isle of wight, at that time the favourite haunt of the hungarian refugees. two of the latter, the one a renowned politician, the other a famous general, were witnesses, and the wedding breakfast was quite an event. but when, after the bridal cake had been cut and the toasts drunk, the guests retired, and the young couple were left alone, the fair young bride said to the happy groom:-- "'i beg your pardon for leaving you to your own company, but i must retire to change my dress, for my yacht is waiting, and i shall start for france in two hours.' "he gazed at her in utter amazement 'why, dearest,' he said, 'don't you know that louis napoleon denies us hungarians even the privilege of passing through france, and that for me to go there is equivalent to imprisonment, possibly death?' "'i know it, and i do not ask you to accompany me. i shall go there alone. i yearned for independence and liberty, and for the coming years i could get it only as a married woman. i was in need of a husband, or of his name, and my choice fell upon you, because i did not dare to play this trick on one of our english hotspurs. of you i know that you are too gentle and too noble withal to injure a woman. so good-bye to you, count, for i do not think that we shall ever set eyes on each other again!' "with that the fair goddess left her husband of two hours' standing, humiliated, stunned, without money, bereft of his former occupation, to which, as her husband, he could not return; left him for ever; and he was such a gentle fool that he did not even for a moment think of revenge upon the woman who had robbed him of the last and only treasure he possessed, his spotless name and honour, and had ruined him for ever. "for twenty-five years the poor victim of the fair deceiver could not with decency extricate himself from the meshes of the net which she had thrown over him. after some years he found a good, pure, and true heart that was full to the brim with love for the unhappy man--so much so that she sacrificed position, family, and reputation for his sake, and accompanied him from country to country, through danger and poverty, sharing his cares and troubles, and consoling him with her love and fidelity. to this woman, who was his real wife, he could not give the legal name and position she merited, and the curse that had been laid on his own life was heavy upon his innocent children, for he could not carry them to the baptismal font, could not christen them as his own. in england he could not secure a divorce, to france he could not go, and home to hungary he dared not come. for twenty-five years he dragged these heavy chains on his weary limbs, until hungary had risen from her prostration, had become a constitutional state with a free parliament, and had crowned her king, and called home her banished children from the nooks and corners of the world. then only, when again at home and in full possession of his ancestral castle and estates, then only a legal divorce set him at liberty and left him free to bestow his name upon his faithful, loving companion and their children. but when that time had at last arrived, my friend was an old man with silvery beard and a bald head. the fairy that was the cause of so much suffering had taken nothing of him but his name, of which she was in need; but what is a name? nothing but the lid, the tender coverlet of the beetle's wing. she did not kill the poor beetle, and she set him free; he was allowed to live with his winter wings." during the recital of this story, cenni's rosy countenance was crimsoned through and through, while flamma's pale face was overspread with an almost deadly pallor, and, as i spoke the final words, the girls looked at each other in silence. "so, you see," i continued, "if such a thing could happen to a man like my friend, the bearer of a great name, noble, brave, accomplished, and handsome, what would be my fate if i should attempt to do what he did--marry a beauty and an heiress? i, that am nothing but a runaway doctor, an expelled member of parliament, and a slav king! one who, from his appearance, is mistaken for his own subject." "no! no!" said cenni, taking hold of both my hands, "there you are mistaken, and--and i am sure you do not know your own worth!" at that moment the jasmine-bush was parted, and siegfried's voice asked, "may i take the liberty to interrupt these tender confessions?" at the sound of siegfried's voice we all sprang from our seats, and cenni, throwing the chain she had braided on his neck, said, "you are a great, naughty, good-for-nothing fellow! what do you want?" "this noble and gallant knight of yours. he is wanted by his executioners--that is, by the election leaders that are to be." the two young girls laughed, and ran to the little lake for a boating trip, and i asked siegfried, "what do these men want from me? what is their business with me?" "oh, nothing!" he said, coolly. "they have not come; it is i who have business to speak of with you, and quickly, too, for i may be too late already. my dear boy, even a friend has something that he wants to keep for himself and does not want to share with his dearest friend--his love! you are making love to cenni, although you must have seen that i am over ears in love with her myself." "i have seen nothing of the kind, and i give you my word that i never thought of making love to her." "possibly so; but then she makes love to you, and that renders matters worse yet." "i assure you that your jealousy leads you into error." "oh! do you think we have no telescopes in the house? i have witnessed the last interesting scene as if i were on the spot." "then i can only wish that your hearing might have been as much increased by some instrument as your vision by the telescope, so that you might have heard our discourse, and not guessed at it by sight." "did you not find a four-leaved clover, and offer it to cenni?" "yes, here it is; take it, my boy, and marry your cenni, with my blessing!" "take care! i may take you at your word!" "and welcome! i'll be your best man." "that's a bargain. and, now that i see that you are really not going to play the traitor with me, i'll tell you the whole truth. i am mad with love for cenni; and then, too, she has a million florins from her grandfather, and this money would come in well to help me carry out my plans. but my aunt does not consent to give the girl to me. she says i am a libertine, a _frivol viveur_, etc., and she won't take the responsibility of trusting me with the dear child." "tell her you will reform, you will change after marriage." "that i have repeatedly tried, but she refuses to believe me. then there is that million. as long as the girl is unmarried and a minor, my aunt takes her revenues, and, among her other accomplishments, my aunt is a very fair accountant. she has found out that the girl cannot eat figs and candies in a year to the amount of sixty thousand florins, so she is not over-willing to part with her at all. but i am not going to play the tantalus for years, and run the risk of having the girl snatched from me by some jackanapes or rascal or another. pardon!" "never mind! i shan't pick up the 'jackanapes' or the 'rascal.' they do not belong to me." "then help me carry out my plan. do you promise?" "by all means." "thank you. but let me unfold my plan. cenni and i will be married clandestinely behind aunt diodora's back. my aunt is sometimes subject to severe neuralgic attacks, and, as she never calls a physician and never takes any remedies for her pains, she suffers all day. during these paroxysms of her nerves she remains all day in a darkened room, and will not allow anybody to stay with her but flamma. that kind soul is with her at such times, administering to her comforts, smoothing her pillows, etc., and in return she is allowed to read flammarion, or one of verne's harmless fictions, in the adjoining sitting-room. on such days cenni is entirely at liberty, and not watched by anybody, because that sleepy governess the girls have is hardly worth mentioning. now listen. i keep here, concealed in my shooting-box, a priest--a capuchin monk--father paphuntius. he seems to be a jolly good fellow, and he has an open hand. in the park there is a little memorial chapel, erected by one of my ancestors in honour of st. vincent de paul. in that chapel we will exchange vows. you and muckicza shall be my witnesses. now you have given me your promise, will you stick to your word?" "by all means! only after the marriage is perfected give me leave to run away as fast as possible; for i should not dare to look your aunt in the face after such perfidy on my part." "_au contraire_, you shall not run, for you must stay and help me out further. i have chosen you in your capacity as physician to persuade diodora to swallow this bitter medicine. she will take much if it comes from you, and i really believe you have magnetised her. it will be your mission to break the fact of the accomplished marriage to her, and persuade her to give her consent, since the matter is irreparable. you see, we cannot afford to quarrel with her, for she has four millions, and is not likely to marry at all." i hesitated, but he begged and prayed--"my dear friend," "my own nell," and so forth--until i gave way, and promised to do all that he wanted. when i had finally promised him he pressed my hands, and then turned away and buried his face in his silk pocket-handkerchief. was this to hide his tears or--his laughter? _o sancta simplicitas_! v. how roses are inoculated. the same day, after luncheon, countess flamma turned to me with the question-- "would you mind teaching me the process of inoculation? i am greatly interested in roses, and should like to see how the scion is set into the stock." "with ever so much pleasure," i said, pleased that the pale, silent girl showed an interest in my favourites, the roses, and turned to me for a favour. countess diodora gave the required permission for the lesson, which was to be given and taken while the others were playing lawn-tennis on the adjacent grounds. flamma was a bad player, anyhow, so she might take to horticulture meanwhile. when the whole company were on the grounds, flamma and i stepped up to the rose-beds, and i began to explain to her how, in the first place, a t-shaped incision has to be made on the stock, when presently she said, in a low whisper, "take care of yourself." i thought she meant that i should cut my fingers with the knife, when she repeated her warning again, mid more explicitly, "take care; they mean to play a bad joke on you." i looked up amazed. what could she mean? "who?" i asked. "don't look at me, but continue the explanation and demonstration. never forget i am taking a lesson, for we are closely watched." "thank you. so now we take a carefully chosen scion. tell me, pray, who wants to play that jest on me?" "this scion is beautifully developed, let us take it--siegfried." "siegfried? what does he intend to do?" "keep your hands busy, and do not look surprised. that clandestine marriage, of which you are to be a witness, is a comedy. the capuchin monk, who is to perform the ceremony, is seestern, the famous german actor, who is here under an assumed name, as he does not want to be pestered to play or amuse the others." my hands trembled, but i kept on and said-- "siegfried has sworn to me that he is madly in love with countess cenni, and that he will marry her, come what may." "what for?" "what a question! for love, and--because--he wants the million florins of her grandfather's which the countess has." "hand me the knife, for you will assuredly cut your finger, and give me that scion, so that i may try to insert it. cenni is no countess at all, but the niece of leestern and daughter of an actress, who at one time did my aunt a great service, and, when dying, made aunt diodora promise to take care of her little girl. aunt gave her at confirmation the name of cenerentola, which we have shortened to cenni. her real name is klara. she has no other money or dower but what aunt diodora will give her, which will not be much, for in money matters she is not very liberal, and cenni is called 'comtesse' because it suits aunt diodora's whims. that million of which siegfried spoke exists; but it is mine, and not cenni's. is this scion well inserted?" "no. i will show you the whole process again. what is siegfried's object in the deception?" "you show too much agitation. show me how to cut out the germ properly. this is the plan. after the ceremony, on the day when diodora is confined to her room and i am with her, a festival banquet will be spread in the shooting-box. it will be a noisy, dissolute company that meets there, and siegfried will drink most, be the loudest and least well-behaved of the set. the bride will pretend to be afraid of the groom, and at last she will break away from his hands, and ask the protection of the only sober, sensible, and decent man present, namely, yourself. the bridegroom will have lost all self-control through drink. he will swear, and use all sorts of bad language, and the bride will sob and entreat you to take her away, protesting that she hated the sight of the vulgar wretch she had just married, but had been forced to do his will, although he knew well that in reality she loved you, and you alone. at last, growing desperate, she will attempt to leap out of the window to escape from this place, even at the risk of her life. you will take pity on her; her tears and charms will conquer your resistance, and you will tell her to dispose of you for ever, and take shelter in your own castle from the ruffian who was not worthy of the treasure he had obtained. you will order your carriage, and take cenni with you; but, as soon as you have left, the fellow-plotters will mount their horses, and, by a short cross-cut, arrive there before you, discover the intended elopement of the bride, and carry off you and her as criminals. you will of course offer to fight every one of them, until all, the bride included, will burst out into olympian laughter, and you stand stunned and bewildered. but, pray, show me how to insert the germ properly into the t-shape?" my whole frame trembled with excitement. "what is his object in all this?" i asked. "to give you the usual 'jump,' as they call it in our set. if, for instance, a member of some other class of society--in your case a simple nobleman--is pushing his way into high aristocracy, he must be 'jumped,' each in his own different way. one is made to drink until he makes himself obnoxious even to his nearest friends; another is made to gamble until he either wins or loses a fortune, generally the latter; but all must 'jump,' and if they break their necks, well and good! it was proposed to 'jump' you in courtship; you refused to aspire to diodora. in a duel you are not afraid of a fight, and so this course was decided on. you had been 'jumped' already--at the election--but the triumph and your downfall were not complete. your vanity--don't start--was not yet wounded to death, and you will have to 'jump' once more--once in private and once at a second election. but this time you will not rise again. hopp! hopp! that's the design. don't look at me--that's all!" i was fairly choked with emotion. "but why do they play that trick on me? i did not want to enter their society; in fact, never valued it at all; but i cared for siegfried, and he lured me on with protestations of friendship. what was his reason for that? what have i done to him to merit this?" "what have you done? you have provoked him--called him out. you said you could not believe in the existence of a spiritual or corporal being who would do mischief without a material motive, simply for the sake of mischief and the pleasure he found in the despair of a fellow-being: you did not believe that there are men who will afflict the innocent with pain and sorrow, who will degrade, socially and morally humiliate you, and then laugh you in the face and make game of you. stay here, move in our society, and you will find out your mistake! why, what a sight it will be to have the great debater, the candidate-elect, the sage and learned doctor, and heir of old diogenes caught in the act of robbing another man of his bride! they will have a painter there to take a sketch of the fine situation '_en plein air_.'" at that moment one of the lawn-tennis players throw the ball just in front of my feet, and siegfried came running to fetch it. "well, have you profited at all by this lesson on inoculating?" he asked the girl, and he added a remark which was so vulgar and impertinent that he would not have dared to use the expression in a variety theatre or any other low place of common entertainment. "i have," said the girl, with low emphasis, and laid down the knife. i was in such a state of anguish that i did not know for certain whether the spot i was standing on belonged to this earth or was part of the infernal kingdom, for the soil actually burned my feet. countess mamma thanked me for the horticultural lesson i had given her, and i was so much embarrassed that i repeated her own words verbally, instead of giving her a courteous reply. siegfried laughed. "what an exemplary, bashful young fellow you are! evidently you are not used to teach young ladies such delicate lessons. come! come! don't blush. try your hand at lawn tennis." and i went with him and played. vi. mr. parasite. i have never given way to paroxysms of temper; not exactly because i was naturally cool and collected, but because my profession had taught me presence of mind and self-control. violent wrath, violent terror, and violent love could not attack me. countess flamma's singular disclosure had made a twofold impression. my first feeling was a painful regret that my most intimate friend, in whom i had placed infinite trust and confidence, was a faithless deceiver; and my second emotion was that of a burning curiosity as to why that girl, a close relative of my cozening friend, had betrayed him to me--a stranger. what reason had the one to hurt me, and what was the motive of the other in warning me? for, as i refused to believe in evil spirits, i also refused to believe in protecting angels. "my dear friend, take care!" said siegfried, throwing the ball at me. the ball i did not catch, but the "dear" epithet i picked up; for it struck me that the same phrase was often attached to my name as well as to that of other less intimate acquaintances, and sometimes with a special, humorous playfulness. now i caught it. of course i was their "dear" friend, for did not i sit there and do nothing, and let them waste their money on my election? in hungarian society, and i think in most other societies as well, there is a certain person whom we call "potya ur"--"mr. parasite." he feeds at every board, sleeps in other men's rooms, is served by other men's servants, uses other men's horses and carriages, and smokes other men's cigars. when playing cards, he has invariably left his money at home; so when he is a loser it does not matter, for he is not accustomed to pay his losses; but, when a winner, he complacently pockets his gains. he never pays for the flowers he sends to his hostess, never pays anything or anybody; yet he is well lodged, well fed, well clad, and in excellent spirits, for he needs them. his wit is his only resource, his sole capital. such a mr. parasite, i thought, was i to these men, and i determined that i would be so no longer. surely i, who was formerly a physician in vienna, had no right to accept a nomination for parliament in hungary--at other men's expense. they were right, and i had been an ass and a coxcomb. when siegfried told me that the party had decided not to take a penny of me, but to secure my election out of party funds, i should have remembered chinese etiquette. if two chinamen meet on the street, tsang will invariably invite tsing home to dinner, and tsing will invariably refuse. tsang will use all possible persuasion, and finally fairly drag the invited one to his house, although the man protests and struggles as much as possible. and well he knows why; because if he should give way to the pressing invitation and go with tsang, the moment he entered the house his host would call him a rude, unmannered peasant; for he must remember well that it becomes the one to courteously invite, and the other to respectfully refuse. this is the law of civilisation in china; and i had forgotten that law the second time. so, about siegfried's motive i felt pretty sure; but what was that girl's motive in betraying the whole plot? more! she had not only betrayed siegfried, her own cousin, to me--a stranger: she had betrayed cenni, her origin, her real name, and her kin; and, finally, what motive had she in informing me that the million of florins was her money, and not cenni's? what was her motive in confiding to me such a secret in such a mysterious and secret manner? was it only kindness, generosity, compassion, that prompted her, or--? no, i durst not go farther--as yet--only i knew now beyond a doubt that, from the first, of all the three fairies of the castle flamma alone had aroused my interest and sympathy. her clear, transparent, pale face, her deep, sea-tinted eyes, and her silent, cherry lips, so lovely when parted in speaking, had attracted me from the first. we were called indoors to partake of some iced coffee, and strawberries with cream; but this time i had not forgotten tsang and tsing. i refused, saying that i had a letter from the vice-governor, and was expected by him; so i could not return until next day in the afternoon. my excuse was accepted, and i took my leave. for a second the thought flashed through my mind that i ought not to return at all, and that this should be my last visit to the place; but, somehow, to that rose-scion which i had taught flamma how to inoculate i had involuntarily and unconsciously tied that particular part of my being which is known as the "soul." next morning i drove over to the county seat, and paid a visit to the vice-governor. of course, he was as cordial as ever, and welcomed me as a dear friend. "well, what have you brought me?" he asked finally. "this time a sensible resolution," i said. "i have come to give in my resignation as a candidate for parliament." the vice-governor embraced, nay, fairly hugged me in his arms. "my dear boy, that's a sensible thing, indeed: not from the view of the government party only--i don't believe that your party could have carried the day with you--but in consideration of your own welfare. just sit down, and let me inform the president of the board of elections of your resolution. i shall do that at once. not for a world would i let you reconsider this excellent idea. perhaps you might be over-persuaded, and 'jumped' again by your good friends." again i heard the expression "jumped," and i sat down to meditate over it. "have you told siegfried yet?" asked the vice-governor. "not yet," i said; "but i think he won't greatly object." "who knows? but you will pledge your word that you will stick to your resignation against all persuasion?" "certainly. i'll give you any oath you want, and--well, here is my hand on the promise. my resignation is final." "then allow me to congratulate you, and to convince you, by action, what a sensible conclusion you have come to. i should have withheld your property from you until after election, for i feared that generous nature of yours, and was afraid that, if you had free access to your uncle's iron chest, your companions would soon enough have their fists deep in it. but, now that you convince me of your good sense, here are the papers which make you lord of the real and personal property of your late uncle, and here is the package with the bank-bills. pray open and count them over. the county sheriff will go over with you to take off the seals from everything, and put you in legal possession." i thanked him, and put the money, uncounted, in my coat pocket. then i returned to our former theme, and asked the vice-governor if he really thought that my nomination had put my party to very great expense. "think so?" he exclaimed, "of course, i think so! why, my dear friend, you are a new man, and considered almost as a foreigner and a scholar, not a patriotic politician! but, if you are really interested in the question, you can find out the exact figure which your nomination has cost your party. just go straight to the county savings bank here, and ask the amount which siegfried has drawn on bills signed with his own name and that of his political friends as security." i was stunned. "i never thought of such a thing," i said. "siegfried told me that he had money at home which he did not want for himself at present, and could easily spare." the official laughed. "siegfried, and spare money! why, what an innocent you are! if he had money at all, he would leave it on the card-table, he is such a gambler. the fact is, he is on such a sandbank, just at present, that it will be fortunate for him if his barque ever gets afloat again." "how is that possible? i thought him very well off." "he is more than that; he is very rich. his domains are large and beautiful, and his income is princely; only he is of the opinion that it is mean to keep money, and he spends in six months the income of a year, and in this way he runs into debt. he has practised that for a considerable time, and it cannot go on that way much longer. his only resource is his maiden aunt, countess diodora. it is said--at least, siegfried says--that she hates men, and will take the veil to become an abbess. in that case her estates will revert to him as next heir." "h--m; and do you think siegfried would feel insulted if i should go to the savings bank and pay those bills of his? or do you believe that his friends would be offended if i took up all the bills, and paid all the expenses i have caused them?" "no; although they would pretend to be so for a while, in reality i think they would be only too glad. but i will tell you something: you are just such a generous, large-hearted, noble, free-handed fool as your father was, and, if you go on the way you have begun, old diogenes's hoard will go after your father's fortune. do you know what the two ms in the palm of your hands signify?" "_memento mori_," i said, smilingly. "no. mind money. it means 'always mind your own money.' it is the best advice i can give you, and the one you stand most in need of." i thanked him, and took my leave: no more mr. parasite, but on the way to earn the title he had given me--that of a fool. vii. a brilliant game. if i had had a particle of good judgment or common sense, i should have taken the bills i had paid for at the bank to the solicitor who acted both for siegfried and myself, should have authorised that gentleman to pay the twenty thousand florins siegfried had lent me when i came into possession of my house, and i myself should have written two pleasant letters--one to countess diodora, thanking her for her great and disinterested kindness and hospitality, and the other to siegfried, notifying him formally of what i had done, and, at the same time, telling him that my resolution was firm, and that no persuasion on his part would shake it. then i should have thanked him for his friendship, and finally have taken myself off with all possible speed to heligoland, ostend, or some other remote watering-place. after an election campaign, or, as in my case, nearly two campaigns, such an invigorating of the system is very commendable. all this i should have done as a man of good judgment, but, alas! i was not such a man--at any rate, no longer. my judgment had left me, and it would need a whole pathologico-psychological dissertation to explain how the process of inserting a rose-scion into a stock can, in a period of hardly an hour, convert a cool, sensible, and collected man into a stark raving madman. for a lunatic i was--no doubt about that. now it was i who wanted to play the game to the end, and to show to those five companions of mine which of us could "jump" best. an angel had come to warn me, and had given me a weapon against my adversaries; now i was bound to show her that i could make proper use of the weapon. there was already a sweet secret bond between us--her warning, and i was burning to find out the cause, the fountain-head, of that significant partiality shown to me. why was the angel an angel? the question was all-important to me. on arriving at home with the sheriff i found a letter from siegfried, and on the envelope the inscription, "_ibi, ubi, cito, citissime_. n.b. dr. cornelius dumany, esquire." the contents of the letter were as follows:-- "dear friend,--aunt diodora has her nervous attack, and is dangerously ill. pray make haste! _periculum, in mora_. bring your electro-magnetic apparatus with you, and come at once.--siegfried." the gamekeeper had brought the letter, and said that he had strict orders to wait for me, if it was until midnight. so i despatched my business with the sheriff, gave orders for refreshments for him, and, going into my museum, i took out a watch of the apafy period, with which i presented him, and made him perfectly happy. then i picked out an antique opal bracelet, which cenni had found exceptionally beautiful, and put it into my pocket as a present for the bride. i would take the ceremony _bonâ fide_, and play my part as naturally as possible. we drove through siegfried's game-park, and at the cascades i was expected by baron muckicza, the other witness. "you are expected like the messiah by the jews," he cried, and leaped up to me without stopping the vehicle. "cenni and siegfried are in the chapel already." on arriving in front of the chapel, an old gothic edifice, situated in a large clearing in the park, we alighted, and i ordered my coachman not to unhitch the horses, but to drive about, and wait for me at the gate in about an hour or more. we opened the little gate that led to a large stone crucifix in front of the chapel, and found the vestry-clerk and a boy ministrant waiting for us in the entry. now they tolled the bell hurriedly and briefly, and gave way to us. siegfried and cenni met us in the chapel. he pressed my hand in evident excitement, assuring me of eternal friendship and gratitude for standing by his side at this turning-point of his life, whereupon i returned his protestations with equal feeling. the bride, in a dove-coloured travelling-dress, with a wreath of orange flowers in her blonde locks, and a costly lace shawl as a bridal veil, was an exquisite image of love and modesty. on seeing me she bashfully hid her face in her hands, exclaiming, "oh! what will you think of me?" and to siegfried, imploringly, "pray let me go back to the house! my god, what a step you have persuaded me to! pray let me go back; oh, pray do!" but siegfried tenderly held her hands, and persuaded her to go to the good father paphuntius, who was awaiting her in the shriving-pew to receive the confession of her sins; for, as a good catholic, she could not marry unshriven. so she simpered and blushed a good deal, and went away to where the father, with clean-shaven face--evidently a ligorian, not a capuchin--received her with a benediction. it was a splendid farce, and admirably acted by almost all the parties. there were two bridesmaids with somewhat rural complexions, and hands which seemed to swell out of their number seven white gloves, as did their robust waists from the tightly-laced silk bodices. of course, we called them "milady," and spoke french to them, although it was easy to guess that they were dairy and garden wenches, and the only language they understood or spoke was the slavonic. they blushed and giggled a good deal, and did not feel very much at ease on our arms. the ceremony took place in the most solemn and decorous way. father paphuntius delivered a very impressive sermon on domestic virtues and the fear of god leading to earthly happiness and eternal bliss. bride and groom kneeled down before the altar and exchanged their vows, whereupon the priest bound their hands together and gave them his benediction. my hand itched, and i could hardly keep from loudly applauding the acting priest or the preaching actor; but i did not forget that at least the place of comedy was really sacred, although profaned by a parcel of blasphemous roysterers, and so i held my peace and looked on. after the ceremony, of course, everybody congratulated the new couple, and i added the opal bracelet to my compliments, and received in return a sweet smile from the fair bride. "you have robbed your collection of its most precious treasure," she said, and "it will be made more precious by your ladyship's acceptance" was my answer. we wrote our names in an old register which was in the vestry. i presented the excellent father paphuntius with six gold eagles, and the vestry clerk was made happy with as many brand-new and shining silver florins, while the boy received six glittering quarters--all in the fashion of a real wedding. after that, the new benedict gave his arm to his bride. baron muckicza and i bowed to the red-faced damsels, with the german phrase, "_darf ich ihnen meinen arm bieten, mein fräulein_," to which they answered in classic slavonian, "_gyekujem peknye mladi-pan_," which means, "thank you very much, young master." then we went, _per pedes apostolorum_, to the shooting-box, father paphuntius, of course, accompanying us, to feast at the wedding banquet. the table fairly groaned under the sumptuous meal. the newly-wedded couple took the seat of honour. i was placed to the right of the bride, and musinka, the dairy-wench, sat next to me, as became her position as bridesmaid. next to the groom sat the priest, then anyicska, the garden-wench and second bridesmaid, and at her side, between the two damsels (the table was round), sat baron muckicza. we were in excellent humour and rather hilarious, and the affair was a very lively one. at all such revels i have the peculiarity of never drinking anything but champagne. all other wine i despise and scorn to drink. siegfried knew this well, and had given orders that, after the trout, champagne should be served. the cork was drawn with a loud noise, the wine foamed and sparkled in the glasses, but, when the servant came to help me, i took the bottle from his hands to look at the label; for there is a difference in the fluid, and röderer and röderer is not always alike. there are certain symbolical marks on the bottles, well known to connoisseurs. on some is a bee, on others an ostrich or an elephant. on this particular bottle was a fly, and i threw the bottle to the wall with such force that it broke into shivers, and the foaming contents went splashing into the faces of the company. the reverend father had just risen, glass in hand, to drink a toast to the happy couple, and siegfried said, reproachfully-- "my dear fellow, you begin it too early; the bottle-breaking business comes after the drinking, not before it." "all right," said i, grumbling, "but if you have a physician as your marriage witness, don't treat your wedding company with wine marked with a fly. i know the effect of that poison." he smiled mischievously, and, turning, he said in hungarian, which the father did not understand, "don't spoil the game. you'll have another mark; this is for the capuchin. i want to 'jump' him." "indeed!" i thought. "well, i'll 'jump' you both." the mock priest was standing with his glass in hand to begin his toast, when i turned to him and asked-- "is it not you, my dear seestern, that plays the capuchin in schiller's _wallenteins's camp_?" the man stared at me, and fell back into his chair, with the classical quotation "_ha, ich bin erkannt_!" the bride shrieked, and, bounding from my side, ran out of the room. the rustic bridesmaids stared at each other, and asked, "_csoeto_?" ("what does that mean?") and siegfried's fist came down hard on the table. "_sacré de dieu_! this is treachery!" and taking hold of my arm, he asked, "who was it? who has betrayed this little joke?" i looked him innocently in the face. "why, my dear siegfried, it would be unnatural if an old vienna theatre-goer like me did not know seestern, the famous comic actor. i am no country cousin to be cozened in that way." "well, evidently we have made the reckoning without our host," said he, grumblingly. "but it is a pity. such a capital joke it would have been, and you would have laughed most. still, it can't be helped, so we'll make the best of the spoiled game. i see the prima donna has thrown off her _rôle_, so you had better go after her, seestern, and see her safe to the château. your monk's cowl is a protection in itself. don't look disconcerted; you can come back. our revel does not end yet; it has hardly begun. you, muckicza, my dear boy, go out and get in the boys. tell them the hunt is over; the game has broken fence." by this time one of the slav girls had stuffed her pockets with french candies and confectionery from the table, and the other drank off the champagne from all the glasses near. now siegfried looked at them, and imperatively motioned to the door. they hurried out, and "my dear friend" siegfried and i were face to face, alone. his face wore a gloomy expression, and he said, in a courtly manner-- "sir, i am at your service. do you feel offended by this joke?" i laughed outright. "i offended? why should i? nothing has happened to me." "but it would have happened. we intended to give you a little 'jump.'" "and why?" "oh, for nothing! only you look so funny with that gorilla beard you wear on your face." "indeed? and pray how should i 'jump' as your marriage witness?" "has not the person who warned you betrayed the whole scheme?" "never you mind. i am not offended; quite the contrary. i like such practical jokes, and have taken my revenge beforehand. i have played you an equal trick: i have given my resignation as a candidate this morning." "you cannot mean it! tell me, are you in earnest?" "dear me, no! i am joking; i told you so! but the thing is irrevocably done, all the same." "but how could you do it without consulting the party!--without telling me! thunder and lightning! this is no child's play, but a high game; and there are thousands staked on it! how dare you play fast and loose with us, after all the expenses you have caused us?" "oh, if i have a hand in such a game, i generally play it in the proper way!" i said, taking out the wallet with siegfried's bills, and putting them all in a row on the table. "you see, this is the way i ventured to do as i did." he tried to play the offended man. "sir, it seems you do not know--" "oh, everything, my dear count!" i said, laughingly; "only don't let us make much ado about nothing. we have both had our joke, and now allow me to beg you for my piece of pasteboard, on which you had the kindness to lend me twenty thousand florins. here, pray, let me hand you your money. i have it ready for you." he gave me my card, but refused the money. "it is paid already," he said. "the amount is included in these bills." at that moment countess diodora's footman came in, and siegfried asked if he had come to look for countess cenni. "no," said the man, "countess cenni is in the château"--("what a good runner she is!" i thought)--"but her ladyship, the countess vernöczy--diodora--is very ill, and begs his honour, the dr. dumany, to be kind enough to come and see her. the ranger has saddled his horse, and is waiting for the prescription to take it to town at once." that was an honour indeed, and i lost no time in following the man, and left siegfried utterly amazed. "why, nell," he said, "you can work miracles! you are a cagliostro, and exercise some powerful, mysterious influence! you must be congratulated on this victory. fancy aunt diodora consulting a physician! having a man enter her maiden sanctuary! it would not be believed if i told it!" at the portal of the château i hesitated for a moment. i had grown suspicious, and suddenly it occurred to me that this might be some other little practical joke, and part of the programme; but i dismissed the thought as base. the countess was a woman--a sick woman; deception in that line was impossible, at least in my profession. i could not be "jumped." in the château everybody went on tiptoe, as usual when diodora had her nervous attacks, but i did not heed that. my step was as firm as ever; the reverberation of the physician's step is soothing to the patient, and fills him with hope and assurance. the servant conducted me to the room in which countess flamma sat; the adjacent room was that of the sufferer. flamma sat reading before the lamp when i entered. she laid down the book, got up, and extended her hand. "diodora expects you impatiently. she is more excited than ever, and has just driven out cenni because she smelt of wine." "so cenni was here already, possibly for the sake of an _alibi_." "don't speak of that! she told me all that has occurred. have you drunk wine also, or is your breath pure? bend down a little, so. you are all right, and i'll take you to diodora; only wait here a little." she went in, but returned instantly, and beckoned me to follow her into a boudoir lighted by a lamp with a shade of green glass. rich tapestry hangings divided the apartment. flamma drew the hangings partly aside, motioned me to go near, and left the room, softly closing the entrance. so i was here on that sacred spot, the first and only male being alive who had ever been granted the privilege of seeing the sublime diodora on her couch. only her head and arms were visible--such arms as might have been lost by the venus of milo and found by this, her divine sister. the thick tresses of raven hair were uncoiled and scattered in rich skeins on the pillows and the coverlet. one of the silken coils fell down heavily to the carpet, and another was thrown high over the sculptured ornaments of the mahogany bedstead. it was an _embarras de richesses_ rarely met with; and in the rich and precious braids the ivory fingers were clutched, dishevelling them, tearing at them, in the excess of pain. the beautiful face was pale and lustrous, the eyes bright and glittering, surrounded by broad, dark blue circles; the lips were parted, and the breath came short. her hands were hot and dry, and the pulse beat intermittently. when i laid my hand on her head and my thumb pressed against the crown, she groaned--"yes, there it is. hell itself, with all its tortures!" my hands went down on her neck, between the _musculus cucullaris_ and the _sternocleido mastoideus_. "ah, that is the way the pain goes down," she sighed; and when i asked, "will your ladyship give me leave to make use of my skill?" she answered, "don't call me 'ladyship'! i am no countess now; i am nothing but a suffering animal, and you may call me what you please. give me the title of dog, so you can help me." "then pray sit up first, and let me gather and secure your hair; it hinders my movements." she obeyed; and, while i gathered the loose tresses and coiled them around the head, the coverlet slipped down unnoticed, and the lace nightgown, torn open by the restless fingers, revealed the marble bust and shoulders; but for the physician, in the execution of his professional duty, female charms do not exist. the warm, soft, creamy skin is nothing to him but epidermis, _stratum mucosum malpighii_; the white, sculptured neck only the _regio nuchæ_, and then comes the _regio scapularis_, the _deltoidea_, and then the _sacrospinalis_. what a fuss they make about that ascetic who resisted the temptations of the flesh when tried by the evil spirit in the shape of lilith! what would that famous saint have done, how would he have behaved, if he had been called to rub this soft, velvety, odorous flesh, the fascinating, peerless body, with his hands? who knows if then the catholic church had not boasted of one saint less? indeed, indeed, we modern physicians have more of the saint in our disposition--in general, of course. the effect of the treatment appeared at once in soft, voluptuous sighs of relief, deep and long-drawn; in the magnetic showers of the body i recognised a sure token which that mysterious disorder in the veins, lymphs, and nerves reveals in the ganglia. a firm pressure of the biceps with full fist, a pressure of the thumb against the _rhomboideus_, made her exclaim, "oh, that has done me good!" then she began to shiver, the body ceased to be hot and dry, and perspiration set in. she laughed involuntarily, her teeth chattering with cold, and then she sighed again, and said, gratefully, "i feel as if you had saved me from drowning in an ocean of hot oil." i was at the _regio palmarum_, rubbing her hands and fingers, cracking each of them. "thank you," said she; "that will do. i feel much better." but i told her that my work was only half done as yet and had to be finished, or else the attack would return. the object was to gain regular circulation of the blood throughout the whole body. this is no witchcraft, but plain mechanical aid to the action of the live organism. but now that her sense had returned, her bashfulness returned also. "could not the remaining part of the treatment be executed by a woman?" she asked. "yes, if she has studied anatomy, visited the dissecting-room regularly, and knows every particle in the structure of the human body; otherwise, a quack may do just as much mischief with the pressure of her unskilled hands on the outside of your body as with a bottle of quack medicine to your inner system. it is hard to make you open your eyes to the fact that the organic structure of the human body is a more wonderful, much more admirable work of creation than the starry heaven. when, at a word, the muscles of your face move to a smile of pleasure, or your eyes are filled with tears of joy, sorrow, or compassion such a complicated machinery is set in motion that no mechanical iron structure on earth can be found half as involved or half as complete; and a person not thoroughly acquainted with the qualities and parts of this wonderful apparatus will prove a tormenting executioner, not a healing physician, to the sufferer. be patient, milady, the physician at the bed of his patient is of the neuter gender--just as the angels are." "then--be an angel!" i did my duty. the _musculus risorius_ was moving already. a happy smile played on her face, the pale face regained its colour, and then the involuntary smile gave way to involuntary tears. after this she fell asleep; so deep, so peaceful was her sleep that the _aponeurosis plantaris_ did not disturb her, although there are few or none who are able to undergo the process of having the soles of their feet rubbed. she slept, and there she lay in all her sublime beauty, like some wonderful marble statue, the image of a goddess. i took the coverlet, on which the vernöczy crest--a nymph rising out of a shell, holding apart her long, golden hair--was embroidered, and covered up the fair sleeper, folding the blanket well on the feet to prevent evil dreams. then i let down the curtains to shut out the lamplight, and left the room. on the thick, soft carpet, my step was noiseless, and countess flamma was not aware of my presence. i entered the room in which she sat before a little table, her palms clutched together, her pale, beautiful face bent over a book. it seemed to be a very interesting book, for she was entirely lost in the contents. i waited until she finished the page, but she did not turn the leaf, but re-read the same page again and again. "countess!" i said, deferentially. she looked up and hastily closed the book. the silver filigree cross on the purple velvet cover betrayed the prayer-book. what prayer was that of which she did not tire, but read it over and over repeatedly? she gazed at me in evident wonder, and her eyes sparkled like two shining orbs. "you have returned?" she exclaimed, as if in doubt of my bodily reality. "countess diodora is asleep," i said, "and will not wake until the morning. pray, take care not to disturb her." "and--you--you--did not remain--there?" pointing to the room i left. "i have done all i could, and my staying would be of no use to her. to watch her sleep would do no good to her and be tiresome to me." from the shooting-box shouts of revelry reverberated up to us. "you are going back to them?" she asked. "no. i have finished my business with siegfried, and told him that i had revoked my nomination." "you have really done it?" "certainly. i have also paid the election expenses up to date, and thanked siegfried for his good intentions. henceforth we shall be friendly neighbours, but not friends. now give me leave to say good-night to you. to-morrow morning i'll drive over to pay a professional visit to countess diodora." "don't go home now," she said, holding my hand; "the night is dark, and something might happen to you. i have prepared a room for you here in the château, with auntie's permission, and you will stay. henceforth, whenever you come to vernöcze, you will come straight here, not to the shooting-box." the blood rushed up to my face, and then back to my heart with a throbbing sensation. a tingling noise like the sound of bells was in my ears, and for a moment the whole universe seemed to have but one real fixed star--the fair, pale face before me. "will you stay?" she asked, with a sweet smile and a pressure of her hand; and i ask, is there on earth a cicero or a demosthenes so eloquent as the pressure of a woman's hand when it speaks? i thought i knew all. i had sounded the mystery of her warning to me, and in that moment of overwhelming bliss i do not know what i did. had i kissed her hand? had i said anything? given a promise or received one? i do not know; but that my head was dizzy, and my heart filled with a world of joy, that i remember. viii. a biting kiss. the valet conducted me to the room assigned to me, and carried my orders to my coachman to unhitch the horses, and send up my necessaries. "will it please your honour to take some tea?" asked the valet. "thanks," said i, "i won't take anything. but you will greatly oblige me if you will send me a bowl with warm water; i want to shave." "certainly, sir. the chambermaid will fetch it at once." i had resolved to shave. good-bye to chauvinism and national peculiarity! i wanted a smooth, clean face, as i had had before i had given way to vanity and political ambition. from this day on i ceased to be a clay figure in the hands of juggling quacks. i was dr. dumany again, and would remain so for life. as i sat before the mirror, looking at my own face, i could not repress a smile. that beard of a few weeks' growth lent me an appearance that was nearly akin to that of a gorilla. i took a pair of scissors and clipped off the hair; then i prepared the soap and razor for shaving the bristles. a woman, whom i took to be the chambermaid, set a bowl of water before me, and, as i am not in the habit of looking closely at chambermaids, i said, "thank you," prepared the lather, and commenced shaving. the woman was yet standing beside me, and, as i thought she was waiting for orders, i said, without turning-- "much obliged, my dear; you need not wait. i shall not want anything this evening." "may i not send you a cup of tea?" i started, and the razor in my hand gave a great jerk, happily not into my face: the woman i had taken for a chambermaid was cenni. "oh," i said, "it is you!" she laughed, and said, with a mock obeisance, "yes, sir." but, looking at me in the mirror, she laughed again, and said--"only go on. i am waiting for the byron face to appear again, when these stalks are swept off. we can talk a little meanwhile." "indeed? but, you see, there is one more forbidden subject between us. there are four now: the step-ladder, the sultan of morocco, the sea-dove, and now father paphuntius." "it's astonishing how sharp you are; almost as keen as your razor. only take care, you may cut your own skin!" "not likely. my hand is skilled in using knives. am i mistaken in supposing that you have come to ask for secrecy on my part?" "not altogether. that was a part of my motive in coming." "you magnanimously promised me a kiss for keeping the other secrets. what will be my fee for this?" "a bite, and yet a kiss. it will hurt you, and yet it is meant as a caress--like those biting kisses which some over-fond mothers bestow on their little ones, and make them cry." "thank you, i am ready to accept it, and shall do my best not to cry." "don't be too sure of that. take care of the blade in your hand! i half think i ought to postpone my revelations, because as long as this shaving process serves you as a pretext for making grimaces, i cannot clearly detect the real impression my words are making on you. would you mind laying down that razor for a while, and leave off making faces and holding the tip of your own nose?" "impossible. i have heard of janus having two different faces--one for peace, smooth and smiling sweetly; the other for war, frowning and threatening, and clothed with a grizzly beard. but i myself always show an honest impartiality to friend or foe." "oh, i daresay that you condemn and despise me, for, foolish and conceited as you are, you scarcely know how to distinguish between friend and foe. you think the misfortune that little pleasantry would have brought upon you highly important, whereas, if carried out as intended, it would have saved you from real harm and real degradation." "what? if i had played that game to the end and had caused you, the pretended bride of another man, to elope with me, it would have been to my advantage? is that the quintessence of cynicism, or sublime _naïveté_?" "no. it is plain truth, and you will find it out with a vengeance! only then it will be too late for repentance. you have been told that i lent my aid to play a trick which would have made you the laughing-stock of all your acquaintances. i tell you if you had only gone on, unforewarned, you would have come out a hero and the master of them all. only then you would have known me as i truly am, and not as i choose to appear. i have been slandered to you, and you think me a she-devil at least, because i like a joke, and look everybody in the face, and not up to heaven like a saint, or down to earth like a sinner. i also look like a bold word, and am no more a hypocrite in words than i am in deeds; and, first of all, i never make use of calumny to gain my own ends. i know who has told you that i was a satanella. flamma, the--'angel.' of course, everybody who is acquainted with us will tell you that she _is_ an _angel_, and that i am a devil at least, because i have cat's-eyes, a sharp tongue, and a quick temper, whereas she has the face of a madonna, the disposition of a nun, and--she knows how to keep her own counsel. her mouth is only opened when necessary to her own purposes; in such a case she does not recoil from the basest slander. do you think i did not watch you two at that rose-bed? that i did not notice the glitter in your eye, the excited shaking of your hands? and do you know why she did it? because the day before i had boldly told you to win diodora. that she could not forgive me, and do you know why? you remember your answer. it was when you told us the tragic story of your friend and the moral, that you were wary of the caprices of aristocratic heiresses. now--she thought--if this is so? here is a girl without a penny of her own, with a mock title which does not belong to her; if he disbelieves in heiresses, he may believe in her, and that is a state of things not to be endured. let us spoil that little private game of miss nobody, because we have a reason for wanting the light-headed, easily-deceived fellow for ourselves. but do you know that reason? can you guess it?" the knife was at my throat literally; but she laughed a short, harsh laugh, and continued-- "ha! ha! you come from them. you have been called to the divinity to admire her in her sublime loveliness, and you have treated her as clay, and played the _rôle_ of the messiah, who drove out the demons by the touch of his hands. how she must despise you--nay, hate you--for that proof of your preference for psyche over anadyomene! how that sweet-winged creature, psyche, must have pressed your hand, and looked up to you with a sweet, promissory smile as you kissed her hand and professed yourself her most obedient slave for ever after! although you ought to remember your friend's story well enough! when you told it, you said, 'i am nothing but a runaway doctor, an expelled member of parliament, and a slav king'; now you shave your face and say, 'i am a marvellously powerful man, and endowed with magical charms. i shall be a king of hearts!'" my face was smooth and clean. i poured some _eau de cologne_ in the bowl of water, dipped a sponge into it, and washed my face, drying it with a soft towel. "oh, you are quite handsome enough!" she said, mockingly; "you can show your byron face; 'i come, i see, i conquer,' is written on your forehead. but now i am not jesting; and listen to me, or repent it until your dying hour! if you succeed in winning the divinity you may be a slave, but a cherished slave. you will not know the blessing of love, but you will also be free of the pangs of jealousy and of shame. but beware of the angel! i tell you, if that rose-scion which you both inserted the other day germinates and comes to bloom, deadly despair will be your lot, and the angel's rose will kill you with foul poison! beware, i say! cut that scion while you have the opportunity, and then go to the end of the world to be safe from the angel's revenge! remember, i have warned you!" she had gone to the door, but at the threshold she turned and said--"i have given you the biting kiss i promised. much good it may do you!" with that she went out, but her biting kiss had not hurt me. my heart was full of hope and joy. this girl's impotent jealousy had convinced me of the reality of my happiness. i was beloved, and i loved again; and could the venomous tongue of a jealous woman incense me against an angel like flamma? true love is like pure gold, and the acid of calumny does not destroy it, but gives new proof of its value. i loved flamma, and flamma loved me. this was enough of bliss, enough to keep me all night in a waking dream, in a transport of exquisite joy. ix. who is the visitor? i waited impatiently for the daybreak. at the first dawn i was up and dressed, and taking long strides on the garden path. how long would it be until the ladies were up, and willing to receive me? even the servants were asleep yet. i strolled on aimlessly until i found myself unexpectedly at the dairy, which was quite a grand establishment, where twenty milch cows of the aargau breed were milked daily, and a delicious cheese manufactured. siegfried had told me some time before that, as soon as the railway was extended to the neighbouring town--a prospect which was expected to be realised shortly--he would have a branch laid on, at his own expense, to his dairy. anyicska and masinka, the two bridesmaids of last evening, met me at the gate, and were very officious in showing me in, and while anyicska brought me a cup of excellent sweet milk, masinka brought some spongy rye bread, fresh from the oven, upon a salver. of course, this was offered as a bribe for my secrecy on the topic of last night, and i promised them not to tell countess diodora how they had been employed at the mock wedding. poor things, why should i betray them for obeying orders? so i graciously accepted my hush-money, which was less subtle and more substantial than that offered by the fair bride herself; and they told me that the revelry had lasted almost until cock-crow. they all had capital fun. the father had sung highly amusing songs. the girls had been called back after my departure, and then, with the other companions who were called in, the merry-making had reached a very high pitch. of course, cenni had not returned to them. as i gave them my promise of silence they thanked me, and in return they told me that, with my smooth face, i was a much handsomer-looking fellow than last night, with that beard on my cheeks and chin; and i was conceited enough to pocket the compliment and believe in its truth. breakfast was served to me in my room. the ladies were up, but countess diodora was too weak to preside as usual at the breakfast-table. i requested the honour of paying her a professional visit, and was told that she would be glad to see the "doctor." the room in which she received me was a magnificent _salon_, with a balcony in front. when i entered, the doors and windows were wide open; the rays of the sun darted through the filmy lace curtains; it was a "_tableau en plein air_" that met my eye. countess diodora, in a mauve-coloured silk dressing-gown, rested on a settee. before her was a little venetian mosaic table, and on it a tea-tray. diodora seemed to be in excellent spirits, and looked beautiful; the suffering of last night had not told on her complexion the least bit. she wore a black lace scarf to conceal her hair, which was still in the state in which i had coiled and pinned it, except that a great ornamental tortoise-shell comb, of yellow hue, had been thrust into it. opposite to the countess, on two embroidered stools, sat the two girls, engaged in finishing the japanese sunbird; and in the balcony door stood siegfried, smoking a cigarette, and blowing the smoke--in consideration of his aunt--out of the door. i thought it would have been more considerate still if he had not smoked at all. as i entered, the thought seemed to occur to him that the business of smoking would be best despatched on the balcony, so he escaped the difficulty of looking me in the face. cenni also found a pretext for retiring; she took the tea-tray from the little table and left the room with it. countess diodora, flamma, and myself remained in the room. i asked the countess how she felt, and whether she had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and she answered, with rapture-- "i slept deliciously, as i never have before since my childhood; and i had such delightful dreams! i fancied i was a child again, and rambled in the garden chasing butterflies. you have worked miracles, and henceforth i shall believe in you as in an oracle. i revoke all i have said against your profession and science, and confide myself entirely into your hands. the first touch of your hand had a magic effect on me, and afterward i felt as if you had taken my vile body of clay from me, joint by joint, with the witchcraft of your fingers, and given me a new, better, and more perfect form. i felt as if you had lent me wings, and that now i could rise with you up above the clouds, captivated by your mesmeric influence upon me. moon and stars seemed to remain far below me, and you were guiding me up to a strange world, full of unknown and eternal bliss. oh, why cannot this transport of exquisite pleasure last for ever? indeed, indeed, i do not know how to express the gratitude i owe you!" diodora said this to me in the presence of flamma, and in the hearing of siegfried, who, on the balcony, could hear every word through the open door; and, as she said it, her great juno-like eyes rested on mine with an expression of enthusiastic admiration. yes! such might have been the look which the goddess bestowed on poor, silly ixion as she lured him on and then--left a cloud in his arms. but do you know why that look failed to infect me as it had ixion? because i had been inoculated against the infection by another look last night--a look from the violet eyes of flamma. i rose from my seat, and, throwing myself into an attitude befitting a ceremonious announcement, i said-- "countess, to be of service to you is a happiness to me. pray dispose of me. if i can convert your pains into pleasures, i shall consider the happy result as the highest reward. your ladyship's gracious words at this moment inspire me with boldness; so much so that i feel encouraged to lay the hidden secret of my heart, the cherished wish of my life, in your hands. if you deign to accept my confession and grant my desire, you will bind me to your service for life, in attaching me to your family." i shall never in life forget that proud, repellent lifting of her head as i spoke. diana might have looked so at actæon, although, poor fellow, he had never come so near to the virgin charms of that olympian lady as i to those of the queenly virgin before me on the preceding night. her forehead seemed to gain in height, her eyes retreated behind the lashes, her lips were pressed together, and her nostrils dilated. in looking at me her chin doubled, and she seemed the personification of haughty disdain. "my dear doctor," she said, with proud emphasis on the "doctor," "it seems you have misinterpreted my words. i have never thought of encouraging you in desires such as you this moment expressed." i bent my head deeper still. "dear countess, allow me to say that the misconstruction is on your side. i did not intend the bold request which you seem to impute to me; i simply beg leave to ask for the hand of your niece." her whole disposition seemed to change on hearing this, and she broke into a long, ringing, scornful laugh--the laugh of offended vanity, of angered pride; such a laugh as women use to mask their disappointment and jealousy, and the rising of their temper. "ha! ha! ha! ah! ha! ha! the little cenni! ha! ha! so it is true, and i have guessed right? ha! ha! ha! and the little fool has run out; she guessed the object of your visit. ha! ha! ha! it's wonderful! my niece, the little cenni--countess cenni! oh, what a perfect match! ha! ha! ha!" i did not disturb the explosion of her mirth. as a physician i knew that it impaired the health of a nervous woman if she was interrupted in her vagaries. at the sound of her laughter siegfried re-entered and asked, "what is it now?" diodora explained, laughing hysterically, that their dear, common friend, dr. dumany, had just now asked for the hand of little cenni. "very well," said siegfried, "serves him right. let him have her, by all means!" "i beg both your pardons," i said, "but it seems to me as if the misunderstanding between us is becoming chronic. i very much admire, but have no intention of marrying--miss klara." "ah!" like semiramis she stood before me. "who has told you that there was such a person--a miss klara--existing in this house?" retreat was impossible. i looked at flamma, and she answered with an encouraging nod; so i replied to the countess's imperious inquiries-- "lady flamma." "yes, it was i," said flamma, rising from her seat, and stepping to my side. "you shall pay dear to me for this!" cried siegfried, with a threatening look; but i took her hand, and said-- "pray compose yourself. this lady stands under my protection. i have done myself the honour to ask for her hand, and i wait for your decision." "show the devil your finger, and he will take your hand; treat a peasant with kindness, and he will think himself your equal," said he, with a sneer. "siegfried!" said diodora, "i beg you not to forget that this is my room, and that my guests are not to be insulted in my presence. this affair does not concern you in the least." "but if he is impertinent?" growled he. "perhaps the count might be more careful in his choice of language," said i, proudly, "if he would consider that a dumany fought as a knight and a soldier under the national tricolour at mount thabor, while the first vernöczy was still serving as a humble shepherd on the verhovina." i was sorry for this as soon as i said it, for i had offended flamma also; but the bitter pill had the desired effect, inasmuch as the whole aristocratic family regained their usual lymphatic composure. "flamma," said diodora, coldly, "have you given this gentleman the right to claim your hand?" "yes." "then--i do not object," and she motioned with her hand. i understood the gesture, and extended my hand to flamma. she accepted it, and i bowed and kissed her hand. that was our betrothal. siegfried took out a cigarette, lighted it, and blow the smoke at the chandelier. "i had other intentions concerning flamma's future," said diodora again, "but, since her choice has fallen on you, i am satisfied--at least, i do not object. only i beg of you not to delay your nuptials. have them celebrated as soon as possible, for i intend to go to heligoland--to try the baths." to heligoland!--that was the place i should have gone to, if i had listened to good sense--and to cenni. "certainly," i said; "i am only too happy in the prospect. if you will give me leave i shall hasten to szepes-váralja, to the bishop, for a dispensation, and, as soon as i am in possession of that document, i shall return, and we can have the ceremony performed the day after my return." "then i should also wish," said diodora again, "that the wedding might be altogether a simple family affair, with no strangers as witnesses." "your ladyship expresses my own wishes." "if so, we might have the ceremony performed here, in our chapel." i remembered father paphuntius. "no, i'll have nothing to do with that chapel." siegfried smiled as he guessed the reason of my embarrassed silence, and then flamma smiled, and diodora also. at last, as a smile has a soothing effect on everybody, we all laughed. "no," said diodora, "i was not speaking of the park hermitage. we have a chapel here in the château, and if we do not invite too many we shall have room enough." "i shall invite no one but a single witness as my best man." "but do not ask me to fill that position," said siegfried; "for i am invited to go buffalo-hunting in volhynia, and shall start to-morrow." "there is something else," said diodora. "after the wedding ceremony i shall hand you over flamma's dowry, which she has inherited from her grandfather. it consists of a million of florins in good bonds." i bowed in silence, looking at flamma. "no; this is a matter which concerns you as well as her, and you must know that her grandfather laid down the condition that if she, guided by whatever motive, should release herself from the bonds of the catholic religion, she should lose everything, and surrender the inheritance to collateral relatives." "i cannot think that such an event could take place at any time." "time will show." there was a long pause, and i thought best to take my leave. i turned first to flamma, who laid both her hands in mine, and, looking up to me, asked me softly to return soon. then diodora languidly extended her hand to me, and i bowed over it with cool, studied politeness, and as i looked up i saw that siegfried thought fit to shake my hand in honour of the new relation between us. he even went so far as to embrace me. "god bless you, my dear--cousin," he said, laughingly; but, thank god, he did not think it necessary to kiss me! a week later flamma and i were married. everything went on in the regular way. no objection, no obstacle was raised. the ceremony was held in vernöcze in the afternoon, and the same evening i was free to take my bride home to dumanyfalva. from one of the great portals i drove with flamma; from the other, diodora and cenni started on a trip to heligoland. siegfried had gone to volhynia six days before. if you think that with this marriage my story is at an end, you are mistaken; it has hardly begun. it is a strange story, and not pleasant to dwell on; but you shall judge for yourself. x. after the wedding. so overwhelming was my happiness that i sometimes fancied that it was all a dream, and that i should wake to find myself in my former condition. in one short week i had had my old mansion refurnished in a style worthy of the high-born and gently-reared bride who was to inhabit it; and i thought what joy it would give me if she should walk through the halls and chambers of her new home, and find everything arranged to suit her own delicate and refined taste, and answering all her requirements as to beauty and comfort. and then i had dreamt of the first supper we should eat at home at our own table; each dish an inviting delicacy, deliciously prepared; and yet we should hardly taste of it, our palates thirsting for different feasts. and now this dream had become a reality, and i looked at my beloved, and tried to catch a glance of her beautiful, downcast eyes. i had as yet never enjoyed the privilege of a kiss from her lips, and i was longing for one; but when i tried to draw her close to me, she whispered, "don't, we shall be observed by the servants!" at last the meal was over, and we rose from the table. "pray lead me to your work-room. i have yet to hand you over my dowry." i laughed. "time enough for that a week or more hence. no? well, any day you please; but not now." still she persisted. "it has to be done this evening. i can't keep it any longer. you did not accept of it from diodora, so you must take it from me. it is no longer my own--it is yours." "dearest, there is no such distinction existing! since this blessed morning neither of us can claim possession of anything that is not common to both alike. what is mine is all yours, and what is yours i claim all for myself! for the marriage tie has made us one for ever!" "but pray come," she said again; "i have the chest with the securities here with me, and i should like to have it all over." i sighed and obeyed. at the door of my study she left me for a moment, returning instantly with a rosewood chest, richly ornamented with silver. on one of her bracelets a tiny filigree key was dangling; with this key she opened the chest, and then, stepping back, she said-- "convince yourself. the contents must amount to exactly one million of florins." "i am quite convinced," i said, "and accept it as correct." "that you shall not. let us take out everything, and reckon up the amount." with that she took the papers out herself, and i had to sit down, take slate and pencil, while she dictated to me the value of each bond, its title, and, looking into every one, she satisfied herself that the coupons were attached to it. in the abstract it may seem rather a pleasant occupation for a married couple to reckon up a million of money as their joint property; but, in this concrete instance, to spend the wedding-night in a study, making pecuniary computation, is the pinnacle of pedantry. at last it was done; and, as i computed it, i made the total to be one million and twenty-five thousand florins. "how is that possible?" she asked. i had to explain to her the fluctations of the market price in relation to the nominal value, which was the basis of our computation. "then let us look for the market-price of the bonds as it is at present. i know it is to be found in every newspaper," and with that she took one up from the table, looked for the exchange report, and dictated again, "hungarian real estate bonds, ; lower-austrian, ; transylvanian, , etc." this time we have thirty thousand florins less than the million. "how is that possible?" she asked again. "dearest," said i, "let that be! what does it matter if--" "but it does matter. my grandfather left me exactly one million; neither more nor less. so i must find out this balance of thirty thousand, also." "maybe, at the time when he bequeathed this money to you the price of these securities was higher than at present," i suggested. "that is possible. but then there ought to be some list, or something else relating to it. let me look it over again." great heavens! she took everything out again, and searched for a last year's exchange list. a crumbled yellow newspaper clipping was found, and then the whole process had to be repeated again; and now thank god, the million came out even! i drew a great sigh of relief; but i had triumphed too soon. she asked for pen and ink, and, as i got up from the seat before the writing-desk, she sat down and wrote on each of the bonds, deeds, obligations, mortgages, etc., her own name--"flamma maria dumany of dumanyfalva, _née_ countess vernöczy of vranicsa," in a clear, almost masculine hand. "what is the use of this, dearest?" i asked. "you know," she replied, "all these papers, as yet, bear the name of my grandfather, and we could not realise upon them as they are. i must first write my own name upon each." "but we do not want to realise on them." "that you don't know--at present." "but there would be time for this on some future day." "no. pray compose yourself. i have to finish this now." and she did finish it. on two hundred different securities she wrote, in bold, large letters, her full name, and i stood there and looked on in helpless despair. at last there was an end of it. she put the papers in the chest again, handed me the key, and begged me to lock everything up in the safe. i obeyed, in the ardent hope that at last i had done with papers and accounts. "there is something else i have to hand over to you," said flamma, as i stepped nearer; and, drawing from the pocket of her dress an envelope, she handed me an official-looking document, fastened with tri-coloured tape, with a large official seal upon it. it was a power of attorney from flamma maria, countess vernöczy of vranicsa, to her husband dr. cornelius dumany of dumanyfalva, giving him full authority over her dowry, consisting of real estate, bonds, etc., to the amount of one million of florins, and authorising him to sell or retain or use the aforesaid securities according to his own need or pleasure, and without previous consultation with any person, his wife included. "dearest," i said, "this is very generous of you; but there is no need of any such document to give me proof of your confidence." "i did not intend it as such a proof." "then what was your intention?" "to give you no cause to accuse me of meanness. you shall not say that i left you on your wedding-day without a shilling in your pocket, as your friend was left on the isle of wight." i gazed at her, at the pale face that was even paler than usual, and cold and inanimate as a block of ice. "flamma!" i cried, "what does it mean? how am i to take this?" "as a confession. that other man has made me--his--wife." "flamma!" she stood there, pale, cold, statue-like, and her voice sounded like that of an automaton. i felt like one stupefied, like one who had meant to enter the gates of paradise and found himself in a sea of fire and brimstone. "who is the man?" i stammered. "siegfried." "and why did he not marry you, if--" "because he is married already. his wife lives in egypt, and he cannot get a legal divorce from her." "and why have you married me? for we are married. the ceremony of this afternoon was real, not a comedy like that other?" "no; we are married. when that--misfortune--happened to me siegfried promised to marry me to some distinguished gentleman who might give me a good name and an acceptable position, so that the marriage should need no explanation." "when was that?" "three months ago." "at the time i arrived from vienna?" "yes." "was that the reason for his instantaneous proffer of friendship?" "yes." "and for that reason i was nominated for parliament?" "yes, but that also was the cause of your first failure. it was siegfried who bribed the witnesses against you. he wanted to crush your pride, draw you closer to him, bring you into close connection with and dependence upon our homes and us." "so it was all a conspiracy?" "yes." "and cenni's mock-marriage and your betrayal of the scheme?" "were meant to win your confidence." "so cenni co-operated with you?" "she had to. at first she opposed it, and meant to win you for herself. she is a poor girl, and dependent on diodora's charity; and she had to give way." "and diodora?" "it was she who designed the whole plot. her sickness that night was simulated in order to bring you near me, and to encourage you to the proposal." this whole discourse, so closely resembling a cross-examination, had altogether the appearance of such an interrogatory as a magnetiser would address to his subject; and the answers i received were given with the plain, involuntary precision characteristic of hypnotised persons. she stood there before me, with her hands clasped in each other; that seraph-face of hers, that seemed the type of innocence and purity, without a tinge of colour, although her dreadful confession was enough to paint the cheeks of the most degraded woman with the colour of shame. she seemed to have no bashfulness, no sense of shame, and to be wholly incapable of realising her offence. and i had not believed in a devil! here he was before me, in the shape of this fair woman, who had tempted me with her angel's mien to sell my soul for her, and now she was dragging me down with her to eternal damnation! and the other one had warned me! she had told me with that "biting kiss" of hers that this seeming angel was no angel, but a devil to kill me body and soul. she had told me that this fair rose was full of foul poison, and her warning had filled me with vain conceit and enhanced my love for my executioner. i saw it now. cenni had meant to make that elopement real; and if i had taken her she would have given me her love, as this one had given me her accursed million. money to pay for my honest name, money for my lost life and happiness, money to bribe me to the endurance of these hellish tortures! impossible! i cannot believe that human nature can be so vile, so miserably cunning and treacherous. this is some evil dream, some test, perhaps, of the sincerity of my love and trust in her. "flamma!" i said--"dearest! do not continue this ugly jest. i cannot hear foul words come out of your pure mouth;" and i tried to take her hand. but she drew back. "i have told you the truth," she said, with a repellent gesture. the truth! the truth! this shameful, horrid confession was the truth? like an idiot or a lunatic i stared, gazing before me, with scarcely a thought in my stunned, aching head. a calabrian dagger lay before me on the table. i had taken it from the museum, and used it for paper-cutting. upon the steel blade was graven, in golden letters, "_buona notte_;" and "_buona notte! buona notte_," i kept incoherently murmuring. "have you no other question to address to me?" she asked, in a tremulus voice. i shook my head, and pointed to the door, and, like a wooden puppet, she turned and disappeared through it. at the moment when her back was turned something like a flame flashed through my brain and body. for an instant i felt a mad impulse to rush after her, and with one bound bury this two-edged knife in her heart. yes, in her heart; but from behind, just as they had stabbed me unawares, like assassins. my better self kept me back. my uncle diogenes rose before me. "never quarrel with, never hurt a woman!" and my professional instinct was awakened. i should then have destroyed two lives; with the guilty i should have slain the innocent--a life which was in god's keeping as yet. now the door closed behind her, and i had let the only opportunity for a deadly revenge upon the woman who had tricked me pass by neglected. had i killed her at that moment i should have washed off the stain she had brought on my name in her own blood. "look," i might have said, "she was led astray by another man, and i have killed her; it was my right and my duty!" this i could no longer do. she had escaped, and would live on safe and unharmed, and i should be dead and buried alive. i remembered now how confused they looked, cenni and she, when i related to them the story of my friend, and how i had prided myself on my own prudence and good sense! and the trap was already laid for me, and i, who had thought myself safe from every such danger, here was i, on my wedding night, left alone, insulted, degraded as he was. no, not quite. he had had no money, and i had received a million. i had been paid for my disgrace, bribed for my infamy with money! great jehovah, whose vengeance is mighty, lend me thine ear! no! thou art too just and upright, i'll have nothing from thee! turn from me! i will none of thy advice, none of thy heavenly patience and magnanimous mercy! that marble-hearted woman had said to me, "if you deny god, he will forgive you, for he is infinitely good and merciful; but if you deny the devil, he will be revenged on you!" and i had seen the devilish light in their eyes. i had shuddered and shunned them, and yet i had plunged headlong into the abyss which they had opened at my feet. but now they had conjured up the devil before me, i felt that in my own breast they had awakened a demon quite as cunning and wicked as their hoofed and horned idol; and we would see whose teachings would prove more destructive! only, cool blood! let me not betray myself; let me consider how to act, and then keep my own counsel. shall i go to volhynia after that man? hold him to account, invite him to face the muzzle of my pistol or the edge of my sword? he is a ruffian and a notorious duellist. i am a bad shot and an indifferent fencer. he is perfect in both; it is his profession. naturally, he would kill me, and where would be my revenge? should i kill myself? die the death of a suicide, and be spoken of as a lunatic who had crazy fancies because his fortune had turned his head? and what would be the result? flamma would perhaps faint away for a few seconds, have bad dreams for a week, wear mourning for six months, and--would be none the worse for being a widow, whereas i should be laughed at as a silly fool. shall i sue for a legal divorce? "_si fuerit dolus_?" had i not had enough of notoriety? enough of laughter, calumny, and ridicule? must i drag my honest and hitherto respected name through the mire, and become the laughing-stock of every fop throughout the country? no, anything but that! help me, thou worser self, thou devil in my own breast, help me to find some revenge worthy of a devil's teaching! give me death, for it is death i crave; but such a death as will give me peace and rest and honour in my grave, and to those others remaining here on earth, shame, sorrow, and remorse! i am a dead man from this accursed night forward, but i can, at least, choose the manner of my corporal death, and woe to her who has driven me to the choice! when the morning dawned my scheme was complete, and it was a scheme that did honour to my special demon. i would die, but fame and glory should write my epitaph; and dead, i should be remembered by this woman with lifelong sorrow. she shall never be happy; and in remembering me, her soul shall be filled with bitter repentance for the misfortune she brought on me. she shall yearn for me, shed bitter tears for me, and fret away her life in despair. this should be my revenge. xi. my scheme. next morning i said to my wife--"we cannot stay here. our next year must be spent in travelling in foreign parts, and we shall start for paris in three days. you had better make arrangements accordingly." "my arrangements are made, for i have not unpacked my things yet. so everything is at your command," was her answer. i left her, and drove over to the county town to my solicitor, and told him to borrow as much money on my property as he could possibly get from the financial institutions. as a pretext i told him that i had the intention of buying lands. he advised me to wait, for he had learned for certain that in a year's time siegfried would have to sell out. his estates were mortgaged over and over, and matters were going very ill with him. if, then, i should add to the million my wife had brought me, the money i had and the money i could at any moment raise on my property, i should be able to purchase the vernöczy estates. this was a revelation that for a moment made me hold my breath. it would be something to tear that water-nymph on the vernöczy crest from over the portals of the château into the mire, and erect the dumany crest on the front of the proud old castle. but that feeling passed, and with it the temptation. it would be no revenge on her to let her live as mistress on the estates of her forefathers, and, first of all, i craved revenge on her. more than that scoundrel who had betrayed her and then flung her to me, i hated her, lilith, the tempting devil in the guise of a seraph! but i said to the lawyer, "very well"--that i would consider about it, and not buy anything at present; but that he should raise the money, all the same, and send it for me to paris, as well as the funds i had inherited. perhaps i might have use for the money there--at any rate, he must send it. then i took the rosewood chest with my wife's dowry, and sent it by mail, and under the usual guarantee, to a well-known banking firm in brussels as a deposit. three days after, we were on our journey to paris. i had taken the swiss route, for in those days it was the safest way to escape the obstacles and annoyances which on the road through germany were thrown in the way of travellers to france. war was, so to speak, floating in the air, and was each moment expected to break upon the two leading nations of the continent. at such a time the railroad termini are naturally the centres of exciting scenes and noisy demonstrations; but the swiss republic was neutral, and the southern part of france was quiet. so we arrived in paris unmolested; and the great crowds in the boulevards, and the multitude of detectives among the people, gave us the first notion that something extraordinary was occurring. at first the demonstrations were all in favour of peace. labourers in blue blouses were marching up in compact masses on the place de la concorde, carrying white flags and signs with the inscriptions "_À bas la guerre_" and "_vive la paix_!" public speakers delivered long orations on the horrors of war, and protested against the ambitious, fame-hunting tyrants who drove their innocent, peace-loving subjects into bloody combats to feed their own greed for glory and power. but their speeches were all blown to the winds. bellona is a fair woman, and the more she is slandered to her admirers the more ardent and impassioned is their love for her. in vain did the orators protest that france was all for peace, and would not be dragged into the perils of war. the soil was thirsting for blood, and the day after our arrival in paris the declaration of war which napoleon had issued against prussia was publicly announced. i had been informed of these events long before they happened, and on them my whole scheme was built. when the public enthusiasm was highest, and the shouts "_À berlin_!" loudest, when throngs of people crowded through the streets, singing the "_marseillaise_" and "_le départ_," i mingled with them, bent on business. during our journey i had shown my wife all those polite little attentions which are due to a bride on her wedding tour from her husband. now i was looking for a residence for her. i found a handsome, palatial-looking house, exquisitely furnished, which had been hastily abandoned by a german diplomat at the first rumour of the war, and was now in the market, with its carriages and horses, servants, and everything. the bargain was made, and, as i took my wife to her temporary home, she seemed to be struck with the delicate consideration which i showed her. i saw by her face that she wished to protest against this excess of luxury, which was not in keeping with our means. but perhaps something in the expression of my face warned her to be silent; perhaps it occurred to her that as she had given me full power to do what i pleased with her dowry, i had acquired the right to squander it--if it suited my whims--on herself. when she was comfortably established i said to her--"i have offered my services as an army physician to the french government, and they have been accepted. i have received my commission from the duke of palikao, and shall start this evening for my destination." "if it is your wish, i cannot oppose it," was her answer. what a meek, obedient wife she was! whatever i said or did, it was, "pray please yourself. whatever you think best will satisfy me." she never showed the slightest increase of temper, never offered the least resistance to my arrangements. she was the same quiet, pale, silent, sylph-like being as she had been when i first knew her, and i wondered that she had not changed. we had been married only two weeks, but to me it seemed as if seven hard winters and seven fierce tropical summers had passed since that time, and had taken the marrow from my bones and every spark of hope and brightness from my soul. "i have left you forty thousand francs in the safe; they will last you until the time of my return. you need not deny yourself anything you wish," i said. "thank you. i shall manage the money carefully, and shall not spend more than is strictly necessary. i am of a saving disposition." these were our parting words, and we exchanged no others. i went to h----'s banking-house to draw the money my solicitor had sent me, and when they inquired whether i wanted checks or bills of exchange, i asked for the latter, because, as i said, in time of war the government might bring in a _moratorium_.[ ] "what," they laughed, "the napoleonic government bring in _moratorium_? _tête carrée_!" the latter was meant as a compliment for me. [footnote : a governmental act of mercy in regard to the payment of debts.] by the next express train i went to brussels, and then straight to the banker to whom i had sent flamma's million. i opened the chest in his presence, and convinced him that it actually contained good security--bonds and deeds for the sum of one million and twenty-five thousand florins par--and asked him for an advance. the banker put seventy-five per cent of the nominal value at my disposal, and i handed him the power of attorney from my wife, and a written authorisation permitting him to sell the securities without notice in the event of my failure to repay the loan at a certain date. this money, with a part of the funds which my solicitor had sent me, amounted to two millions of francs. with this sum i went to a well-known and trustworthy stockbroker, and instructed him to speculate with the whole amount in french government bonds for a fall. "do you intend to throw this money in the gutter?" said the man, eyeing me critically. "that is my own business, i presume," said i, calmly. "have you ever speculated on the exchange before? are you versed in these manipulations?" "no! never!" "do you know the situation of the money market at present?" "no." "then grant me leave to inform you by giving you a few data. all french securities are rising in value. paris is enthusiastic for the war. the money-chests of the financial ring are open to the government. the french military force is fully equipped, ready to begin hostilities, and stationed at the rhone, whereas the prussians are caught unprepared. bavaria will remain neutral, and the danes are preparing to break into schleswig-holstein. the sequel of the war can be foretold with such certainty that a paris financier offers, to any one who will accept it, a wager of two hundred thousand francs against one hundred thousand that on august the french will march into berlin." "well, you may take up that wager, also, for me." the agent shrugged his shoulders, and accepted my offer for a bear speculation. we agreed that from time to time we should communicate with each other in cipher. telegrams were to be forwarded through h----'s bank. from brussels i returned to paris, and procured all the necessary surgical instruments at my own expense. next i bought three waggons with strong trakene horses for my own transport and that of the invalids, furnished myself with all utensils requisite for camp hospitals, and then, under the protecting ensign of the geneva cross, i joined the regiment of the french army in which i had enlisted as volunteer camp-surgeon. my scheme was clear now. i was a dead man. i was seeking death in his own realm, where he reigned supreme, and it was impossible not to find him there, if one really sought him. so i should die, but not the death of a suicide, despised, misjudged, forgotten, but a death on the field of honour and glory, as a hero and a martyr of science and philanthropy. and that accursed money which was given me as a fee for my disgrace would be blown to naught, as my body would be by a merciful krupp shell. when the news of my death reaches that woman in paris, she will try hard to discover what i have done with her fortune--and mine! but let her search ever so thoroughly, she would find--nothing! i had left no trace of my operations, nothing from which she could regain one penny. then she would be compelled to come down from her height, return to hungary, and live a lonely, miserable, poverty-stricken existence on my slav kingdom, which i had mortgaged and ruined. she would have to struggle against poverty and want, and, by daily care and close economy, would have to pay from her scanty crops the heavy debts i had incurred. all day she would pine and toil, all night she would sigh and grieve. and in her dreams she would call me back, and ask me where i had buried the treasures. her priests would fail to console her, and she would become superstitious, and resort to clairvoyants and mediums for the solution of the torturing mystery. but no prayer or curse will reach me, no incantation of conjurers or spirit-rappers will call me back. the dead do not return, either for promised kisses or for promised bites. xii. seeking for death. to tell the truth, on my arrival at the camp i felt like an apprentice in the presence of his masters. french surgery in general occupies a foremost place. french camp-surgeons have acquired skill and experience in their great military expeditions; there their studies receive the finishing-touch, whereas the little skill and practice which i had came entirely from the clinic and the dissecting-table. but, nevertheless, i was very cordially received by the old, experienced masters of the profession, to whom i stated that i had come, as a voluntary apprentice, to aid in the work of philanthropy as best i could. my immediate superior was old duval, who had served as camp-surgeon at sebastopol, and i succeeded in acquiring his good graces. he asked me if i had ever been on a battle-field before, and i answered, a little ashamed, that i had never had that opportunity. in spite of my descent from the chivalrous hungarian nation, i know the sound of the cannon only from hearing the salutes fired on our king's birthday, or other occasions equally peaceful. "it does not matter," said the old man, encouragingly. "you will get over your first irritation at the noise, and then you will feel as much at home and as safe as in your own study. there is not the least danger for us. we hoist the geneva flag with its red cross, and every civilised foe respects that ensign. after the battle is over, and the enemy has fled, beaten, shattered, and in disorder, we carry our ambulances to the gory field, and take up the wounded, friend and foe alike. the severely injured we attend to at once, dressing their wounds on the spot, and then we place them all on our beds, and take them to our hospital-tents for treatment." this had been the old man's practice in many wars. the french had invariably been victors and masters of the field; the enemy had retreated, and then the french had taken up the wounded and nursed them faithfully, whether friend or foe. that a time could come when the french would be driven from the field, and the enemy would take up the wounded, was deemed preposterous and out of the question. we were attached to marshal douay's corps, but, unfortunately, i did not receive the privilege of participating in the first battle at saarbrücken, where old dr. duval's experience was confirmed; the prussian advance was repulsed, and the victorious french gathered up the wounded. the first wounded soldiers whom we treated were foes; one an englishman, the other a german from baden. both were officers in the german army. three daring officers from the german camp, on horseback and in full uniform, had galloped into the heart of the french camp in broad daylight; there they had cut down the sentinel, ordered food and drink, taken notes as to the camp, the position and order of the forces, the number of the batteries, etc., until at last the french awoke from their illusion, and recognised them as foes. they retreated firing, cutting their way through the french lines, killing two french officers, one of whom, as he expires, finds strength enough to return the fire, and one of the three, the englishman, falls shot in the abdomen. a second, the badener, is hewn down from his horse; but the third escapes unhurt, and cuts his way back to the german camp. this incident i regarded as a bad omen. the french were so confident, so presumptuous, that they neglected the outpost service. next day the germans attacked marshal douay at weissenburg with three times his force. this was the fault of the french, who ought to have attacked the germans with an overwhelming force, instead of waiting to be attacked by them. the french fought heroically against the crushing superiority of the germans, vainly hoping that the report of the cannonade would attract assistance from a corps stationed in the neighbourhood of the battle-field; but in this heroic fight their lines were sadly decimated. at first they fought in the village, then they were forced out by the germans, and had to defend themselves among the vineyards and the thickets. the soil was saturated with blood, and the dead and wounded were lying about in ditches, copses, and everywhere. "sir," said i to dr. duval, "to-day the enemy will be master of the field, and he will gather up the wounded, unless we prevent this by picking them up while the fight lasts. now, while the balls are flying about, is our chance! give me leave to go there with the ambulance." "with all my heart! try it if you have a mind to." "if i had a mind to?" why, of course, i had come for that; it was the opportunity i had craved, the chance for the immortalising cannon-ball to send me up to heaven and glory! so, taking the twelve men who were given me as aids, i started off with the ambulance to the scene of the battle. there is not the slightest braggadocio about this. soldiers, even in the hottest ardour of battle, will carefully avoid firing at the life-saving corps, which is distinguished by the sign of the red cross. but it is impossible to prevent an exploding shell from sending its splinters among them, and on that eventful day i had occasion to watch the course of these splinters. the firing did not cease for a moment. the roar of the artillery, the cracking of the rifles created a deafening noise; the hoarse, grating sounds from the french mitrailleuses, in particular, made a horrible accompaniment to the dying groans of the wounded. but the french mitrailleuses had found their match in the krupp cannon. these fire no balls, but some fiendish contrivances, longitudinal, cylindrical projectiles, which explode as they alight, and scatter their deadly fragments far and near. all the injured men whom we took from the field were wounded by these splinters. as we toiled, the hellish projectiles were flying over our heads; but my experienced aids worked with the coolness of the harvester when he hastens to save his crops from the threatening rain. they knew well that these messages of death were not sent to them, but to the french artillery, which was opposing the advance of the germans. all this while i felt that indescribable intoxication which is sure to overtake every novice. i stood there in the terrible realm of death, in the presence of the awful moloch, hamoves, the angel with the scythe. i felt a chill, a shudder, and i bowed down before the omnipotent lord of life and death, the almighty ruler of the universe. this short-lived sensation of terror every novice has to overcome. nor is anyone spared the humiliation of this experience. the eye can hardly perceive anything of the effect of the shots, for the cannon-smoke envelopes the surrounding objects in a thick cloud of fog. the prussian infantry were crouching down, and, while creeping and cringing thus, they were pressing forward. nothing but the smoke of their rifles betrayed the level of their faces, and the french infantry were hidden in ditches, behind bushes and trees, and firing from these vantage-grounds. only the zouaves and the turcos might now and then be recognised by their red caps. while the artillery was pealing, the bugle was sounding the commands. all at once a strange drumbeat was heard from beside us, and the veteran sergeant at my elbow said-- "sir, we must get out of this with our beds at once. cavalry is advancing." "cavalry of the enemy?" i asked. "brother and enemy is all one in such a case. if we are in their way they will crush us under their horses' hoofs, without observing what body we belong to." so we hastily picked up our beds with the wounded, and retreated with all speed behind the line of battle. we had hardly reached security when, from both sides, the cavalry advanced, both friends and enemies. the earth shook with the stamping of the hoofs, "_quadrupedante putrem crepitu quatit ungula campum_." avoiding our right wing, a regiment of prussian hussars was galloping towards us; a regiment of french chasseurs on horseback, under command of the commander-in-chief, marshal douay, in person, was dashing from the hills to meet them. the strong west wind was blowing clouds of dust in the faces of the french, the backs of the germans. all at once the prussian regiment divided itself, wheeling to right and left; behind them a whole battery of artillery appeared, and a powerful discharge saluted the chasseurs. the shells made a fearful gap in the french horsemen, but still they dashed bravely on, shouting wildly, and giving the enemy's artillery no time for a second shot. the prussians wheeled swiftly, and hussars, battery and all, fled before the lines of the french chasseurs. we thought this wild retreat meant victory for the french, but we discovered that it was only a ruse. when the clouds of dust had dispersed, we saw that on the battle-field horses, struggling in deadly convulsions, and men in the throes of death, were strewn thickly around. we hastened thither to save whom we could, but, oh! what an awful sight it was! man and beast piled in confusion and crushing each other. the neighing of the wounded horse mingled with the last prayer, or the death-groan, of its rider. maddened horses, with their dead or wounded riders hanging in the saddle, were galloping on, while the less-injured soldiers, who had been thrown from their slain horses, or were struggling to extricate themselves from beneath them, were cursing and swearing, and invoking god and devil for vengeance on the prussians. among those who were fatally injured was marshal douay himself. as the old sergeant drew him out from under his horse, the blood rushed from an awful gash on his neck. "_o, mon général_!" sobbed the old soldier, trying to close the gash with his pocket-handkerchief. "don't cry!" said the dying chief, hoarsely. "go shout to them '_en avant_!' in my place." it was a fatal command, this "_en avant_!" the french chasseurs had pursued the german hussars to a hop plantation, which proved to be full of concealed prussian sharp-shooters. at this point the hussars attacked the chasseurs in the rear, while the sharp-shooters received them with a volley from their quick-firing rifles, and a general onslaught was begun upon the brave corps. the chasseurs endeavoured to break into the hop field, but such a plantation is a terrible fortification, with its walls of vines fastened to other walls of stout poles, and behind each a hidden foe with a quick-slaying weapon. the whole fine corps of cavalry was destroyed then and there. the fall of the commander-in-chief, marshal douay, had decided the fate of the battle. when finally, all too late, macmahon arrived with his troops, douay's unfortunate command was shattered, and the battle of weissenburg lost. xiii. my discharge. in spite of this terrible disaster, the retreat of the french troops was accomplished in good order, and but few prisoners fell into the hands of the prussians; even those few were mostly zouaves and turcos, not real french soldiers. that we had really been beaten was not believed by anybody. everybody was inspired by the conviction that the weissenburg disaster was nothing but an incident. a comparatively small defensive force had been attacked by an overwhelmingly large force of prussians, and was compelled to retreat for the moment; but the fight had been only a trifling prologue to the great battle to come, or else was part of a deep-laid plan which would secure to us the final victory. so it had been at solferino, when benedek had been allowed to attack and disperse the french-italian troops on their left wing, while at solferino itself the austrian army was destroyed. so it would be here. it was supposed that this slight victory was allowed to the prussians, so as to divert their attention from the movements of macmahon and bazaine, who were certain to crush them all at their first encounter. next day the emperor himself and his young heir-apparent appeared among us, presenting to each of those who had distinguished themselves at the battle of the preceding day some badge of honour. at the recommendation of old dr. duval, the chevalier cross of the legion of honour was pinned to my breast, and the reporter of a paris newspaper wrote a flourishing item about the heroic and self-sacrificing hungarian surgeon. when i read it, i thought of that woman in paris, and what she would think of these reports. perhaps she would say to herself, "so he is not everywhere the same coward as he was here! he has some pluck, some physical courage at least." but in vain did we wait for our revenge upon the prussians. after weissenburg came spicheren, then wörth. everywhere the german force was stronger than the french, and it turned out that their artillery was better than ours. macmahon was cut off from bazaine, and in the gigantic battles at bézonville and gravelotte, bazaine, with his force of one hundred and fifty thousand men, was driven back into metz. strasburg was besieged, and macmahon cut off from the road to paris. in every battle that was fought the prussians remained masters of the field, and it was always they who took charge of the wounded. of course, each corps was in ignorance as to the fate of the others, and if one was beaten or repulsed, it was fully convinced that the other had meanwhile been victorious elsewhere. the paris newspapers and the bourse supported and increased that belief. one evening, after a forced march that very much resembled a regular flight, we arrived at a certain town. i entered a café, and being very curious to learn something of the present state of the money market, i looked for a newspaper, and here it was:--"paris. extraordinary upward movement! rate of interest raised to - , and rising rapidly. news of great victories!" "well," i thought, "my two millions are nicely exploded by this time." underneath i read in large letters, "the prussians severely beaten by macmahon! the german crown prince captured and made prisoner by macmahon!" that very day we had been compelled to leave our entire baggage in the enemy's hands and run for our lives, so to speak, and here they are talking of the german prince having been captured. that is how they create upward movements on 'change. but could this last? surely such lies would soon be exposed! how long was it possible to keep on in this way? how long? for ever. after the massacre at mars-la-tour, macmahon's forces were practically scattered to the winds, running aimlessly about, and, when coming into contact with the enemy, hardly thinking any longer of resistance. if a prussian uhlan was seen far off on the road every man took to his heels. the infantry threw down their rifles, the cuirassiers their helmets and breastplates; the gunners cut the traces of the horses, jumped upon their backs, and dashed on, without thinking of the fate of the rest. on horseback, with a loaded revolver in hand, i had to keep guard at the side of the ambulance carts, to keep the marauders away from the wounded. once i had a narrow escape from being captured by the bavarians. it was at a skirmish of artillery. a couple of french and a couple of german pieces were in position. the french were quickly disabled by the germans, and even the head gunner was severely wounded. i took him on my shoulders, and got him out of the line of fire. the bavarians sent another shrapnell shell after us, and, as the projectile burst over our heads, i felt a blow on the leather rim of my képi. "a shrapnel splinter!" i thought, scornfully: "could it not have hit me a little more to the right, and have done with me?" after i had hastily placed the wounded officer on the waggon, i jumped on horseback, and hastened after the flying troops. upon a wooden bridge that led over a shallow rivulet the soldiers were crowded. i did not stop to consider, but dashed on with my waggons to the water. a detachment of bavarian hussars, guessing at my intention, was there to prevent its execution. a young lieutenant of hussars was leading the detachment, and, placing the muzzle of his revolver to my forehead, he shouted: "_rendez-vous: demande pardon_!" "at last!" i thought, "here is my opportunity for the glorious end. this fellow is the man i want," and, turning my face full toward him, i looked coolly into the barrel of his weapon. "shoot, comrade!" i said. "you'll get neither me, nor my charges, as long as i am alive." he gazed at me, as if scrutinising my features. "you are not french?" he asked. "i am a hungarian," i answered. "kornel, and no doubt about it!" he exclaimed, taking hold of my hand and shaking it. "don't you know me? i am plessen." sure enough, he was my favourite chum from the university; but we had not seen each other for years, and the last three months of camp-life had done more to change a man's outward appearance than whole years at home. "go on, comrade," he said, with a farewell shake of the hand, "and may our next meeting be a pleasanter one! good-bye!" with that he let me take my charges safely across the water and over the fields, avoiding the open roads, until finally, as night fell, i reached with my patients the camp at chalons, and found my way to the camp hospital. what a cursed, vile task old duval had had all day! nothing but sore heels and slight shrapnel scars in the rear!--and he embraced me and kissed me all over for bringing him now three cart-loads of real wounded men, with wounds got from sword-cuts, rifle-bullets, and gun-shots. "what an invaluable, brave fellow you are!" he said to me, handling each of my charges with the tenderness of a loving father; "but now you shall share the privilege of dressing their wounds, and assist me in the necessary operations." this was a privilege indeed, and for a while we were very busy. when we had finished, he put his hand into his pocket and said, "now, my boy, i will also present you with something." i thought he meant to give me one of his utterly wretched cigars; but no--it was a paper, and, on handing it over to me, duval said, "it is your discharge, my boy; you are free." "my discharge?" i asked, offended, "and why, pray? have i not done more than my duty? and if so, how have i merited this disgrace?" "i am afraid that it was just your extraordinary ardour that brought it on you; that's it, you have done more than your duty; and as you are a foreigner, it is natural to ask, why have you done it? why have you exposed your own life, contrary to custom, picking up the wounded where the fight was the hottest and the balls flying thickest? true, you have by this course saved the lives of many that would have bled to death, or been otherwise lost; but it is a marvellous thing that you could do all that and escape unhurt. the fact is, you have always come back with a sound skin. can you explain this miracle? can you tell me, why you, a foreigner, took the risk of such imminent danger for--hecuba--that is, for wounded french soldiers?" the old man was right. i could not explain it, for i could not tell him that i had regarded their great national calamity as a means of carrying out my petty suicidal designs and giving them a decent cloak. i never thought of it before; but now i had to acknowledge that my conduct looked suspicious to strangers. what will be their suspicions, i thought, when they learn that i have talked german with a prussian officer, and shaken hands with him? would this not give new matter for their suspicions, and was it not natural in the vanquished to believe in treachery? and then i thought what a self-conceited fool i had been to think i could command god mars to afford me a disguise for self-murder. "why," he said, "do you suppose these great national conflagrations are kindled to cook your meals on? what do i care for your family quarrels? if you are tired of life, take a rope and hang yourself on that willow, and there is an end of you and your paltry complaints." as i stood there musing, old duval turned my face around and exclaimed--"look! look! your forehead is wounded." "a mere scratch with a shrapnel splinter," i said, bitterly, "not worth plastering." i took from him the letter with my discharge, presented him with my camp outfit, instruments, horses, etc., and kept nothing but one of the waggons and a pair of horses for my journey homeward--that is, to paris. this was now the speediest way of travelling, for the railways were all occupied with the transport of troops. before i left chalons, i entered a café and drank a cupful of some black beverage that was called coffee, although i think it tasted of soot, and read one of the paris newspapers--the last that had arrived the same day. a dazzling glare of light was visible through the windows, arising from the valley. it was the burning camp. the emperor had given orders to burn all tents, since there was not time enough to strike them and carry them off. so everything was left to be consumed by the flames, while the men fled for their lives. the newspapers in the coffee-house were going from hand to hand, and were eagerly devoured. at last i obtained one. i found the following report in large letters-- "the prussian army scattered! two hundred krupp guns remaining as captures in the hands of the french! commander moltke a prisoner! bismarck fatally wounded! price of rentes, franc ." if this were true, one part of my scheme had succeeded. the two millions were annihilated. but what of the other part? i was still alive, and death would not come to me without disgrace and ridicule. what a position to be in! xiv. home! sweet home! it was damp, disagreeable, dirty weather when i arrived in paris. it had rained for the last few days, for usually after great battles stormy weather sets in. the poets will have it that heaven washes away with tears the blood spilt by man. scientists say that the gas freed by the combustion of so much gunpowder, together with the detonations at the explosions, brings on the rain. the fact is that after all great battles rain is sure to follow. as i alighted from the one-horsed vehicle that had brought me to the door of my residence, my own porter asked me whom i was looking for at this house? i answered "myself," but found it difficult to convince him that i was his master. at last he let me in, and rang the bell three times as a signal that the master of the house had arrived. the valet met me at the ante-chamber, and stared at me with mouth and eyes wide open; but no wonder. i must have cut a handsome figure, with, that torn and perforated red képi on my head, and the dirty, blood-smeared cotton handkerchief around my forehead. my face was blackened by exposure to the sun and wind, and had a grizzly beard of three months' growth upon it. my uniform was dirty and torn, and above it was a rubber cloak with a hood, while on my feet were a pair of rough, high top-boots, with spurs. by my side i had a sabre, a revolver, and a bag for bread and bacon--not a very gentlemanly appearance, by any means. "is madame at home?" i asked. "yes, sir. madame is in her boudoir." "then tell her, monsieur has come home, and afterward see that a fire is kindled in my room. i am cold and damp." the valet was a very humane and obliging fellow. he asked me to step into the _salon_, where a fire was burning already. i was forcibly struck by this proof of democratic condescension. fancy his allowing a fellow with such a robber's look, who had unexpectedly intruded into the house, to enter the luxurious, polished, gilded _salon_ of--his own wife! the fire was burning in the grate, and i went up to it to warm myself, when the door opened, and, with quick steps, there entered--my wife. she had entered hastily, but, on seeing me she faltered, and stood motionless at the door. well might she start at my strange appearance; but, if i looked dreadful to her, her appearance was positively loathsome to me. i had not seen her for three months, and she had visibly changed since then. to another man his wife looks charming in that condition, but to me my wife seemed perfectly disgusting, horrid, abominable! i cannot find a phrase to express the detestation that filled me as i looked at her. "you have come away from the camp?" she asked, in a low tone. "i have been discharged," i answered. "you? how could that be?" "they believed me to be a prussian spy." "nonsense! i have read so much of your courage and daring, of the self-sacrifice which made you risk your own life to save that of others. the papers were full of praise of your magnanimous conduct." "that's it exactly. they think a respectable surgeon has no business to risk his hide or exhibit sentiment. so they told me to pack off." "but you are wounded!" she cried out, as i took off my képi. "a mere scratch, and already closed. it's nothing." and, throwing the rubber cloak from my shoulders, i stepped nearer to the gate. "you have been decorated!" she said, pointing to the "_légion d'honneur_" on my breast. "trash!" i said, tearing it off, and with an angry gesture throwing it almost into the fire. she ran up to me, and held my hand. "no! no!" she said: "i shall not let you! leave it on your breast!" and, snatching it out of my hand, she pinned it in its place again. "well, let it be," i thought. at least there would be one spot on my body that was honourable. but it was time to change the subject. for a soldier coming home from the gory field of honour might speak to his wife of his wounds and his deserts, but i? as i was no real soldier, so my wound was no real wound, this badge of merit not really merited, and--my wife--was not really my wife. so i changed the subject, and, like a conscientious family physician, i questioned her about her health. my questions were purely professional, and she gave her answers in confidence, as patients usually answer the questions of their _ordinarius_. i advised her as to the best way of avoiding inconveniences connected with her present condition, and so on. after the consultation was over, i asked her if no letters had arrived for me during my absence. "only one--in the last day or two, and that has been opened." "by whom?" "by the police, i think. for a short time back all letters coming from foreign parts are opened by the police." "have you also read the letter?" "i looked into it certainly; but i have not read it. it is written in cipher." "ah!" i thought, "the communication from my agent to say that the millions have disappeared." but i did not show any impatience to get at the contents of the letter. i listened politely as she related to me the events of her life in my absence. after a while the valet announced that my room was ready for me, and then she asked if i would not dine with her? "no, thank you!" said i, with an inward shudder; "i am quite unfamiliar with your civilised customs, and will thank you if you will permit me to retire to my room." in my room i found the letter upon my writing-desk. as i had expected, it came from my agent in brussels. the key to the cipher code was in my pocket, rolled up in a cigarette; so that in case of my death on the battle-field some soldier or nurse might smoke the cigarette and unwittingly destroy this last clue to the mystery which surrounded my money transactions. the letter ran as follows:-- "sir,--the two millions which you entrusted to my care have doubled themselves, and i hold four millions of francs for you. the decline is continuous, and will hold good for a considerable time to come. the paris bourse created an enormous rise by fictitious reports of victories; but the decline was all the sharper in consequence. the french are beaten everywhere, and if you will consent to let me continue in the present course, i shall double your money again on short sales." camp life had taught me to swear, and i was furious. fate was mocking me, tantalising me. instead of taking from me the accursed money which i had received in exchange for my life, my soul's salvation, and my honour, it doubled that money, and threw it back at me. but i would see if i could not get the better of blind fortune. i did not want that money, and would have none of it. i sat down and wrote an answer on the spot i gave the agent fixed instructions to speculate with the whole amount for a rise, and that immediately. as soon as i had translated this into cipher, i gave it to the valet to be posted. then i took out the rough fare i had been accustomed to during my camp life, the rye bread and bacon, and, slicing it up, i toasted it at the grate fire. surely a man who had thrown four millions out at the window a few minutes before had a right to indulge in such luxuries. but the cognac which i had been used to drink i could not relish at home. for three months i had drunk nothing but cognac. it is a powerful stimulant, good for fever and ague, hunger and thirst, influenza-cold, and, yes, the tremor before a battle. but here, at home, i wanted something i could not get there--a glass of clear, fresh water. oh, how i enjoyed it! how deliciously refreshing it was after so long a craving! home had still a great treasure to offer me--a glass of clear, fresh water. what a precious, sweet, home it was! xv. vox populi. the street was very noisy, and a tumult of loud voices, shouts, etc., penetrated through the blinds, shutters, and doors into the room in which i sat. i took that to be the normal condition of a paris street, for in large cities there is always some spectacle afoot to set the mob shouting. but i was mistaken. the valet, whom i had sent to the post-office to mail my letter to the broker at brussels, entered hastily, his face livid with fear. "monsieur, save yourself!" he cried. "the mob is coming." "coming where?" "to this hotel. a german diplomat lived here before you, and the people think this is his house still. someone has given them a hint, and they have taken it up, and they are coming to storm and plunder the house. the residences of two bankers have been demolished in this way, only because their names had a german sound." "let them alone," i said; "i will talk with their leaders. now go to madame, and tell her i beg she will retire to the winter-garden, and not come out of it in any case or for any noise." the valet obeyed, and i girded on my sword again, put on my képi, and went downstairs. the porter had locked the entrance, but a loud muttering and battering noise was heard from the outside. "open the door!" i said to the porter, and, sword in hand, i stepped out what i beheld was the usual spectacle upon such occasions. a mob of all classes; labourers in blouses, dandies in tall hats, college youths, street boys, market women, and veiled "ladies" in flashy dresses and with painted cheeks, all huddled pell-mell in picturesque disorder. the man who was battering at the door was a gigantic locksmith, with hammer in hand, and i believe that the only object he had in his battering operations was to make use of his hammer. as i appeared, those who were near the door, retreated a little, and some of them called out, "see, see! an officer of the army." "_citoyens_!" said i, in a loud voice, "in this house there is a sick woman, and whoever tries to break into this house will have his skull split in two." most of the _gommeux_ retreated at these words, but the locksmith seemed to think resistance a provocation to an attack. "ho, ho!" said he, beating his breast and swinging his hammer, inviting me to try the edge of my sword on his skull, while around him sticks and umbrellas were upraised against me with threatening gestures of all sorts of people, male and female. i had to make an end of this, and that was only possible by showing them that i was not afraid of them, and, first of all, i had to silence that burly smith by a smart cut on the hand that held the hammer. i had just lifted my arm with the sword, when someone caught it from behind, seizing tight hold of both hand and sword. it was flamma. "what do you want here? why did you come out?" i asked her. she stepped close to my side, and addressed the people. i could never have believed that that tiny, silent, shell-mouth of hers could be capable of such eloquence. "_citoyens_!" she said, with a perfectly dramatic intonation and gesture, "you are mistaken in this house and in us. we are no germans, no enemies, but hungarians, and friends to the french. look at my husband! he has just arrived from the battlefield, where he has served the french army. he has repeatedly risked his own life to save that of your brethren. look at his forehead! that wound upon it he received in the service of your country! look at his breast! it is decorated with the star of the legion of honour! he--" i was furious. what business had this woman, who, in her heart of hearts, despised me as an abject, greedy, dishonourable coward, a base wretch, who had accepted the most degrading position on earth for a money consideration--what business, said i, had she to speak fair of me before this crowd? "madame," i shouted, "go into the house! i do not want your speeches! let go my hand, i say! i want to drive this rabble away!" but she clung tightly to me, and, seeing that i could not free myself of her, i caught her up in my arms, and carried her to her room. there i threw her upon her couch and said--"don't move from this bed. you are trifling with your life!" "then stay here with me," she said, beseechingly; "don't go back among them!" "nonsense, i am able to protect and save you from a drunken mob, but from an attack of convulsions i could not save you! this might cost you your life." at this word i fancied i saw a smile of contempt on her lips, and it occurred to me that she thought i feared for her life, because, in case of her death, i should have to return her money. "i wish they would come and tear me to pieces in her very presence," i thought, in the bitterness of my heart; but, to my surprise, no one came. the next minute or two furnished an explanation. i heard the sound of a bugle, then the clatter of horse-hoofs; the imperial guard itself had cleared the street of the mob. in a few minutes the shouts and threats were silenced, and the crowd had moved on to other quarters. immediately afterward i heard voices in the _salon_, and, telling the woman to keep quiet and not stir, i entered the _salon_. a police officer was talking with the valet. i thanked him for ridding me of my unpleasant visitors, who would undoubtedly have done harm to the furniture of the house, if not to our persons. "oh, that is past," said he, "but there is something else amiss; and i may tell you at once, sir, something that is very serious!" "serious to me?" i asked. "yes, the police have certain knowledge of the fact that you keep up a cipher correspondence with somebody in brussels. you have received a letter a day or two ago." "i know it. the letter had been opened by the police." "exactly. you have answered that letter, also in cipher, and the letter was posted not quite an hour ago." "and the contents of this letter are already in the hands of the police?" "yes. will you have the kindness to give me the key to the cipher?" "sir," said i, "you know well that every correspondence has secrets which cannot be disclosed to a stranger!" "i assure you that the police department is just as silent with respect to the secrets that are entrusted to it, as the tongueless stone lions on st. mark's square in venice." "and what will be the consequence if i refuse to give you the key?" "if they offer to shoot me," i thought, "i will not tell." "if you refuse, you will be conducted to the belgian frontier without a moment's delay." "no, thank you," i thought; "i'll have none of that." so i invited him into my room, and together we solved the contents of both letters. the first was that of the agent, the second was my answer, which consisted of the following words:-- "the french will be victorious; invest my whole fortune, all the money you hold of mine, in buying for a rise." the tears rushed down the cheeks of the police officer. that a foreigner had so much confidence in the french cause as to stake his whole fortune on it was completely overpowering to him. he pressed my hands in silent acknowledgment, when i could have laughed in his face, and was silently applauding myself on the comedy i had played. "it is all right, sir," said he, taking his leave; "but since you are a true friend of the french, let me give you a bit of honest advice. don't stay in paris beyond to-day at the utmost. to-day we command; to-morrow, god knows who may fill our place. go to-day, while you are free to go; to-morrow it is possible that i shall follow your example." i thanked him heartily, and gave him my passport for revision. in an hour the passport was returned to me in proper order, and at daybreak we were sitting in a railway carriage. my wife confessed that she felt very happy in being able to leave paris; she had been very uncomfortable and ill at ease there. xvi. dame fortune. it took us two whole days to reach brussels. all the railway trains were crowded with soldiers and refugees fleeing from paris, and at every station there was some delay. special trains had to be waited for, and at every town the passengers had to leave the carriage, show their passports, answer all questions, and open all trunks and valises for examination by the police. for me this exasperating procedure was rendered more difficult still. the wound on my forehead betrayed me for a soldier of some sort, and a strict command of general trochu expressly forbade soldiers to leave the country. of course, i had my discharge; but, when i showed the document, it took them always a good while to consider which command of general trochu should be respected--the one which bade me go, or the other which directed me to stay. at the border i was detained for exactly four hours. again my luggage was searched; again i had to convince them that i was no runaway soldier, no foreign spy, but a lawfully-discharged volunteer camp-surgeon of foreign birth; and i had to give my word of honour that the lady with me was really and legally my own wife. when we finally arrived at brussels, late at night, we could hardly find a lodging. all the hotels were crowded to the doors, and only with difficulty, and by the aid of a very liberal tip, was i enabled to procure a back room on the third storey. i took my wife to the elevator, to be carried to the room, gave orders for her supper, etc., and went down to the café to drink a glass of hot punch. the place was crowded to suffocation, in spite of the lateness of the hour. every newspaper was being read by five or six readers at once. something very important seemed to have happened, but the noise was so deafening that it was utterly impossible to catch a word of the news. i begged the waiter to let me have one of the papers. "never mind, sir," he said, smilingly; "these are all afternoon editions. if you will wait till your punch is ready, i will manage to get you a fresh paper moist from the press." i rewarded his good offices with the expected money gratification, and some minutes later the hot punch and a moist copy of the morning _indépendance_ were before me. the price of the copy was five francs. as an experienced reader of continental newspapers, i began my reading on the last page, devoted to the telegrams. i found one from arlon, stating that macmahon's position was very good. he was posted behind fortifications, which were stored with provisions for three hundred thousand men. yesterday's engagement had ended in a triumph for the french. another telegram came from mézières, according to which yesterday's battle had ended fatally for the french, who had been forced to the belgian frontier by the prussians. the emperor was with macmahon. the line of battle extended from bazille to la chapelle. three thousand french soldiers, with five hundred horses, had been driven across the belgian frontier, and had there surrendered. a gentleman sitting near me, evidently a frenchman, politely begged me to show him the telegrams. "oh," said he, "these are old ones, brought over from the evening papers. let us look at the front page," and, turning the leaves, he pointed to a few lines printed in large letters, "sedan, september , p.m. macmahon's army has surrendered and laid down its arms. macmahon is severely wounded, and general wimpffen has taken command in his place. the capitulation was signed by him. napoleon has personally surrendered to the prussian king." the french gentleman had fallen from his chair in a swoon. he was carried out into the fresh air to recover. this incident caused a sensation in the room; everybody inquired for the cause of the swoon, and i gave them the newspaper, which was eagerly devoured, until one gentleman leaped upon a billiard-table and read the news aloud to all. i went up to my wife. she had thrown herself on the bed, without undressing, for, as we had only this single apartment for both of us, she could not undress before the stranger who was--her husband. i begged her pardon for disturbing her, but i thought she would be interested in the important news. of course she was! all the sleep was gone from her eyes in a moment. she sprang from the bed and came to me. "see how kind providence has been!" she said. "if you had not been dismissed, you also would be a prisoner now. so what seemed an evil has been converted into a benefit." at the first moment i felt inclined to share her views. for, indeed, it would have been a ludicrous end to my little private tragedy if, instead of the coveted death, i had experienced a few years of tedious inaction at mainz or some other german fortress. so that, considered from this point of view, i had indeed had a fortunate escape, and out of the fancied evil had come a certain good. "but if evil may change into good," i thought, "i wonder who can repair my marred and blackened life? is there any providence powerful enough to convert this evil into a benefit?" i gazed at flamma, and wondered how she would look if i were to tell her that her million had ceased to exist, that this catastrophe, which had dragged a monarch from his throne into captivity, had also cost her her sole fortune, the inheritance of her grandfather, and had thrown her upon my mercy? "good-night!" i said to her. "try to sleep a little. i will go and look for some private lodgings. we cannot stay in this place." she thanked me, and, if i remember rightly, she extended her hand to me; but i contrived to avoid taking it, and left her to her own company. i descended again to the café. nobody was there except the staff of waiters. everybody else had gone to the bourse, i learned. 'change open at four o'clock in the morning! is not that extraordinary? certainly, but so are the events which are occurring. the spacious halls and corridors of the exchange were brilliantly lighted all night long, and were filled with a throng of brokers and "matadores." curiosity took me there also; but i had literally to fight my way in. my fists had to procure admission for me. in the large hall this lighting for room was general; and as for the noise and uproar of voices, the blockade of spicheren must have been a symphony in comparison. i promised twenty francs to one of the servants of the establishment if he would fetch me mr. x., my broker, from the _coulisses_. i handed him my card. it was an hour before the good man could emerge from the crowd. his silk hat was crushed, his coat-collar torn off, the bow of his necktie was dangling at the back of his neck, and his waistcoat had lost four buttons; but he was radiant. as he caught sight of me, he ran to meet me, shook my hands, embraced and kissed me, and fairly went into ecstasies over me. was this man mad? "sir!" he cried. "my friend! my hero! you are a sage, a prophet! at the news of the catastrophe of sedan a tremendous rise has set in on 'change!" "rise!" i exclaimed, astonished. "certainly, and what a rise! if the french had simply been vanquished we should have had a tremendous fall, but at the news of the surrender values are rising enormously. you are a wonderful man! how you have scented it all! let me go back to make millions! your money is all invested for a rise. to-day we shall take lunch at tortoni's at twelve o'clock sharp. i shall bring you home eight millions. let me go, or i shall leave the lappet of my coat in your hands." with that he ran back to the orgies around the golden calf. i let myself go with a crowd that was thronging out--possibly the beaten speculators--and was borne by the current into the street. i was completely stunned at the results of my determined efforts to lose that money, and felt for my head to make sure that i was not dreaming. could all this be true? could ice be kindled into flames, and could flames freeze to ice? how was i to believe that all my curses could be turned into blessings, and that out of misfortune fortune herself should arise? by this time the morning had dawned, and i went into a café to get some tea. with the tray a newspaper was laid before me, and, sure enough, i read--"general rise! french values mounting and greatly in demand! money in abundance!" so it was no dream. until noon i sauntered about in order to kill time. at precisely twelve o'clock i was at tortoni's, and found my broker already expecting me. he had ordered lunch: four dozen oysters, woodcock, artichokes, giardinetto. wines: chablis, chateau lafitte, grand vin mumm, etc. "wonderful victory!" said he, taking my hand. "_Écrasant_ defeat of the _contremine_! sir, napoleon has capitulated before king william; i capitulate before you. you know more of the psychology of the money market than i!" i to know the psychology of the money market? was not that excessively absurd? "it is easy to understand," he continued. "you are home from the french camp. evidently you have not gone there to plaster sores or set broken bones, but to have an opportunity for watching the development of the situation, and the movements of the forces. oh if all 'matadores' would only be as prudent! but this course requires pluck, courage, and perfect coolness. you already knew that macmahon was hemmed in, and that the emperor shared the same fate. it was easy to foresee the ensuing surrender, and you made use of the means provided for your escape. you gave me instructions; i have carried out your order, and here is the result. four millions are the prize of this one day." "but how is it possible?" asked i. "pray don't try to play the simpleton before me. of course, you had calculated that, with the capitulation and the capture of the emperor, the war was at an end. the french have no organised armies left, and are, therefore, compelled to make peace. the stock market anticipates the conclusion of peace, and forces up french securities. what shall i do with your eight millions?" what? i hardly knew. throw it into the ocean; it would come back to me, like the ring of polycrates. nay, not like that, for it kept hatching, and came back like a hen with a brood of chickens--that is, millions. this odious money sticks to me like so many burs, and i cannot get rid of it. fortune is called a goddess. to me she was a "she-devil;" her gold was choking me. "did you come from paris alone?" asked the broker. "no; my wife is with me." "have you found comfortable quarters to live in?" "a back room on the third storey. i am looking for private lodgings." "well, i will tell you something. a banker, who was on the bear side, offers his residence for sale, in order to pay his differences. his house cost him four hundred thousand francs. we could get it for half the amount, and you could move into it at once." "take it, by all means." "but what shall i do with the balance of the money? this glass to the new landlord!" we clinked glasses. what a powerful agent money was! only last night i could not find a room to sleep in, and now i was practically the owner of a palatial residence in brussels. but what should i do with the rest, the seven million eight hundred thousand francs? "speculate with the whole amount for a fall," said i to the agent, determined that this time the hateful money should be lost for ever. mr. x. set down his glass and looked at me. "i beg pardon, sir, but--perhaps you are not accustomed to spirits? the champagne was rather strong." "wine does not affect me. i am quite sober." "then, in all politeness, i would advise you to consult a specialist; perhaps you are suffering from the mania of contradiction or some other mental disease." "this is my own affair. you do with my money as i instruct you. put all the money left, after paying for the house, on a bear speculation at one week." "then, pray, give me permission to take out my percentage first; for in this transaction i take no share. you have pulled out the devil's forelock and shaved off his beard, but he won't give you his hoof and tail also. give me my percentage, and handle your money yourself." "your percentage you may take when you please, but with the rest do as i tell you; speculate for a fall at the end of a week. i have no time to go on 'change, as i must be off to paris." "paris? you are going back to paris? sir, your reason must be disturbed. why, revolution has broken out in paris. don't you know of it?" "that's exactly the reason for my going. my wife has left her whole wardrobe, her silver, jewellery, pictures, and tapestry in paris, and i am going to take everything away before it is destroyed." "but, sir, this is foolish! here are eight millions. surely you can buy a new wardrobe and jewellery for your wife with this money without carrying your head to the guillotine." "will you allow me to judge of my own affairs?" said i, angrily. "i must know best what i ought to do." after that my man put the tip of his forefinger to his nose, and exclaimed: "oh, so!" i looked at him with tight-shut lips, giving vent to a slight "h--m, h--m!" at that he raised his eyebrows, lifted his fat finger with a warning gesture, and smiled mischievously; whereat i shrugged my shoulders, and the mutual understanding was perfect. of course, it was natural in the owner of eight millions to have, besides his legal wife, another illegal wife, or mistress; and as in case of danger an honest man's first duty is to save his own wife, i had of course done so; but, like a real gentleman, i was returning to the place of danger in order to save my other wife as well. that was the meaning of the mysterious winking and smiling and hemming, and i did not think it worth my while to undeceive him. let him believe whatever he likes; what do i care for his opinion? the same day i obtained possession of the house, and took my wife to it. she was greatly astonished at its splendour, but ventured no remark. i asked her if she had any money left out of the forty thousand francs, and she answered that she had only spent half of it. that showed good economy. not to spend more than twenty thousand francs in three months was the quintessence of thriftiness. i told her that the house was at her disposal, and that she might arrange everything to please herself. i was compelled to leave her on urgent business. she did not ask me what business i had, nor where it would take me. neither would she persuade me to stay. i reached paris much sooner than i had expected. as soon as i had passed the frontier i had donned my uniform again, and was very wise in doing so. all those who had hindered me when leaving the country were now very officious in assisting me to reach paris. the sight of my uniform, my wounded forehead, and the _légion d'honneur_ was enough to put them entirely at my service. in paris i was surprised at the change of the appearance in the public streets. over every porch, on every house, a large tricolour flag was displayed; the military embraced and fraternised with the people. i saw the imperial guard hacking at the imperial eagle over the barrack-gate with their swords--the same swords which they used two days before to drive off and disperse the mob at my door. my own residence had undergone a similar change. like the caterpillar which has developed into a gay butterfly, it had put on wings, and from the balcony, above the porch, on all sides, great tricolours were hanging, with the legend "_vive la république_!" so it was already a republic, and only the other day it had been an empire. and all this had occurred without the shedding of a single drop of blood, without the least disorder! it was just as though a handsome widow should remarry the day after her husband's funeral. the new government was already established, and the satisfaction over this performance was enough to sweeten the pang caused by the catastrophe of sedan. in the streets no policeman, no detective could be seen. the national guard watched over the public order, and the foreigners, who, under palikao's reign, had been the victims of so many molestations, were left in peace. yes, large placards, in big red letters, invited all foreigners who were true friends of liberty to enter the volunteer corps, which was called into existence for defence against the tyrants. it was enough to show some exotic trait of dress or appearance to be literally embraced on the streets by fair ladies. so it was in vain that i had come to this place to get rid of my head. there was no guillotine, no barricade, not the slightest opportunity for cheap martyrdom; and as for the volunteer legion, why, that was a veritable life insurance corps. i could not get myself killed. but my millions had another chance of annihilation. the rise was lasting for days, and all europe believed in a restoration of peace. on the sixth day, the limit i had given to my broker, appeared that manifesto of the french republican government which proclaimed that the war would be continued until all resources were exhausted. france would never rest until she had driven her enemy from her soil. this proclamation was a deathblow to all hopes of peace, and destroyed all calculations and expectations. that a tremendous decline in values was the consequence will be readily understood. so my hell-born millions had hatched again, and returned to me doubled. dame fortuna insulted me! she was a demon--a devil! xvii. light at last. at this i gave up that quixotic fight against windmills, and said to my own familiar spirit, my little inward devil-- "my dear little demon, i find you are a much more cunning little devil than i thought you to be, and i shall begin to listen to your advice. what the devil shall i kill myself for, when i have got sixteen million francs of ready money? is there any need of my final surrender to you as yet? first, i'll see what services you'll do me still. the money i got by following your suggestions, but the suicide speculation was a failure. evidently there are other devils more potent than you. now let me see. if i judge correctly, i can spare you altogether, dismiss you with good references, such as, 'a fine little demon, very cunning, very devoted and submissive.' it would be easy for you to find another master, and i could well spare you. why, with sixteen millions there is no need of my being unhappy, and giving way to despair; with so much ready money, i have fortune at my command. she will come at my bidding. if every husband in france who is not beloved by his wife were to enlist against the prussians, daring death and devil alike, the prussians would very soon find their way home again. and if she has insulted, betrayed me with another man before she became my wife, i can revenge myself now, and why not? when father adam quarrelled with mother eve, he found consolation with lilith, the dark-skinned hashor, the almond-eyed anaitio, the silent mylitta. so, my dear little demon, i can't see of what use you can be to me any longer. i am tired of going death-hunting, and not fool enough to play a game of shuttlecock with a lump of gold. then what's the use of my keeping you?" "ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" laughed he. "fancy your sending me off when you stand most in need of me and my advice. my dear boy, you were never so much my own as at this moment. you are tired of death-hunting? very good; live on, drink deep of the fountain of life, drain it to the dregs, and much good may it do you! you have wealth and therefore power, and you will become just such a dare-devil villain as the man who has caused all this pother. you will betray innocent, confiding maidens, deceive loving friends, ruin families, and beget unfortunate, ill-starred beings. you will become a heartless libertine, a selfish sensualist. you will mock at god, mock at the devil; and when you are all alone, you will dread and despise yourself. you will do evil for evil's sake, and rejoice at the despair of your brethren. oh, you can't spare me now, my boy; you want me more than ever!" i did not enter the franc-tireur legion, although its captain was a countryman of mine, a chivalrous hungarian: if i am not mistaken, his name was varjassy. i returned to brussels, and remained there. my broker, mr. x., came to me, quite submissive, doing penance in sackcloth and ashes. again he called me sage and prophet, and finally asked me, "what next?" "nothing," i said. "we will not go near the bourse again. we have made our booty; don't let us run the risk of losing it." "you are certainly wise!" he said, admiringly. he took his own proportion, and bought property with it. the last time i had heard of him he had established a great dairy and was manufacturing an excellent cheese. i had become a fashionable dandy. i was a member of the jockey club, was seen at the theatres and at all fashionable places of public entertainment. i opened my palatial residence to fashionable society, and took my wife to all social amusements fitted to her station in life. i took pride in the elegance of her toilette, and was jealously careful that her equipage should outshine all others. still i cannot say that this constant, tender consideration and attention to her affected her in my favour. on the contrary, i found that of late her glance had a troubled, i may say, puzzled expression when it rested on me; and when occasionally i entered her room unexpectedly i saw that she hastily concealed in a drawer a small and well-worn note-book. i supposed she was calculating what this expensive rate of living might cost. if she only computed what i spent officially, so to speak--that is to say, on herself and the household--she must have made it some four hundred thousand francs. the income on her million of florins would amount, at the utmost, to one hundred thousand francs, so she must naturally have come to the conclusion that her securities were scattered to the winds. at that time the rosewood chest with the bonds, in exactly the same condition as when she had given them to me on our wedding night, was in my own possession again, and locked up in my safe. it had been my first care to take it home from the banking-house where it had been deposited. i had repaid the amount of the loan, received the securities, and found them all in excellent order. by this time the period of flamma's confinement had arrived, and a son was born. i had made her a proposition to postpone the christening for a month, and only then to give our aristocratic family connections at home information of the happy event. she consented, and by the time the christening took place she had fully recovered her health and beauty, or, rather, she had become more beautiful than ever; for, from a girlish maiden, she had developed into a blooming woman. the little boy we christened william james. he was a well-formed, healthy child, and i myself had conscientiously selected a nurse for him. when at last no harm was to be feared from excitement, and flamma's health was fully established, i wrote her a line that i should like to have some conversation with her on money matters that afternoon. she wrote me in reply that i had anticipated her own wishes, and that she would be ready to receive me. at the appointed time i carried the rosewood chest with her dowry to her room. i found her engaged with the same worn-looking note-book that i had already noticed, but this time she did not hide it upon my entrance. she offered me a seat, but i set the chest on the table in front of her, and, looking her in the face, i said-- "madame, to-day it is seven months since that eventful evening on which you made me certain confidential disclosures. at that time i did not make any remark on the subject, because the state of your health was such that, in my capacity as a physician, conscientious scruples prohibited me from creating in you any excitement which might prove fatal to yourself and to another being. you will not refuse to bear witness that i have paid you all the care and attention which your condition required, and that i have done everything that was possible, under the circumstances, to save you from emotions which might be injurious. i have nursed you conscientiously, and omitted nothing which i thought necessary to your health and that of your child. but now your health is fully established, your child is christened, and i have given him an honourable name and a good nurse, which is all that he requires for the present. now the time has come when i may express my real sentiments to you. i shall even now forbear to reproach you. in this whole baneful connection between us the fault has been mine alone. it was my boundless vanity, my absurd conceit, which led me to believe that a beautiful, wealthy, and high-born young lady would choose me, of all men, for her husband, without any secret motive or hidden reason to prompt her. i ought to have known my own worthlessness better, and not yielded to a flattering self-conceit. you see, i acknowledge my fault fully, and i own that i have deserved my punishment. i have no accusation against you. you were desperate; you had to save your reputation, and you did not stop to consider what it might cost me so long as it served your purpose. of course, the pride and honour of countess vernöczy were of much higher importance than the life, the honour, of an insignificant fool like myself. move over, you paid for the services you had procured with admirable magnanimity. you placed your whole dowry at my disposal. but now your honour and reputation are saved; so is that of your child. there is no need of my suffering longer for a fault for which i have bitterly atoned. now, pray, let me restore to you the money which you placed in my hands on that memorable night. let me beg you to take slate and pencil, and convince yourself of the entire correctness of the amount." she looked at me as if mesmerised, and mechanically she obeyed me. i opened the chest, took out the papers, and, as she had done on the night of our wedding, i dictated to her the titles of the various deeds and securities, and she wrote as i dictated. the amount was correct. "you see that the coupons are inside," i said; "those of last year and those of this year also. not one has been touched." "and our household expenses?" asked she, breathlessly. "were liquidated by me with my own money. now, pray, take the property out of my hands, for this is the last time that we shall ever speak with or behold each other as long as we live." she gazed up at me, trembling in every nerve. i continued-- "i shall leave you to-day, and you will never learn whither i have gone or where i am. like the criminal escaping from jail, i shall change my name, and deny the term which i have served at your side. i shall possess no name, no home, no family. i shall be a stranger and an outcast, wandering to and fro for fear that the acquisition of a settled residence might betray my abode to you. and now, there are three roads open to you. you may return with your child to the old home of the dumanys, my poor slav kingdom. there you may live, secluded from the world, bringing up your child and teaching him virtue, honesty, and useful employments. you may dole out alms to the poor, and in this mournful solitude pray to god for happy oblivion or the still happier news of my death. this is one of the roads open to you; it is the stony path of virtue, dreary and tiresome. the second path is the flowery one. you may throw yourself upon the waves of life, drink deep of the cup of pleasure, not troubling yourself with scruples as to what is allowed and what forbidden. your youth, beauty, and wealth will carry you up to the pinnacle of pleasure--only beware of the consequences! i, the husband, shall be separated from you by whole oceans perhaps, and shall not be here to legitimatise the result of a _faux pas_. there is still a third way--a divorce; and i authorise you to commence your suit. only, you know, this way is tedious, and requires great sacrifices. monetary sacrifices also, for we cannot get a divorce without being converted to protestantism, and in that case, according to your grandfather's will, you are obliged to give up your dowry--this million. but you have also to give up the church and the religion in which you were born and brought up, and which has given you consolation in despair, and the saints whom you are accustomed to invoke to your aid. still, the road is open to you, and i will give you four hours to make your decision. if it should be for a divorce, i am ready to go with you to transylvania to procure a divorce under the unitarian laws." as i finished she rose from her seat, her cheeks aglow, her eyes burning. "i know a fourth way," she said, catching her breath. "and that is?" "i will not let you go!" she cried, taking hold of my arm with both hands, and clinging to me with her trembling body. i broke out into a bitter, scornful laugh. "countess," said i, "do you believe that there is in the world an interest, a sentiment, a spirit of magnanimity or of cowardice, which is powerful enough to hold me in jail now that the time for which i have sentenced myself has expired? that there is any power existing which could tie me to your side, if but for another day? well, i have read the hate, the contempt, the scorn in your eyes, and you were justly entitled to those feelings; but you cannot wish me to endure these daily pangs and lacerations of my wounded self-esteem for ever. you cannot ask of me to live on at the side of a woman who hates me, despises me, and scorns me, simply because it would suit that woman to retain her present position. no, my lady! even my ample stock of weak foolish indulgence is at an end. i go, and i go for ever! not even in paradise do i wish to meet you again. and if you go to salvation, i shall go to perdition to avoid you!" the effect of my cruel, insulting words were marvellous. they did not seem to hurt or offend her; she seemed to delight in them, drink them in like some sweet, delicious nectar. her face, her eyes, her attitude spoke of exultant admiration, of triumphant joy, of ecstatic delight. "true!" she said, "it is all true that you have said. only what i have felt for you was never hate; it was love warring against contempt, and contempt fighting against love. yes, i have despised you; for i was told, and i believed it, that money was all that you cared for, and your own words have confirmed me in this opinion. do you remember, after you had told cenni and me the story of your friend, you spoke of the qualities of the girl whom you might marry? she must be young and beautiful, and wealthy and luxurious. young and beautiful--i thought--to suit your vanity; wealthy and luxurious--because you loved wealth and luxury; and your conduct after our marriage hourly convinced me of the correctness of the supposition. you accepted your position without a murmur. i was burning with shame and humiliation, ready at a word to fall at your feet, and make you a confession which would cleanse me from the burning stigma, remove from me the brand of shame. but you accepted the money, and asked no questions, and i left you in despairing contempt. our married life was much too luxurious to undeceive me, and i believed that you were making use of my money to feed your appetite for pleasure. when you protected me against danger, nursed me in my odious condition, i thought, 'all is well to him as long as he can keep the money. he fears for my life, because, in case of my death, he would have to restore the money.' the comfort, the splendour, the costly presents, dresses, and jewels which you bestowed upon me were so many accusations against yourself. and yet how i longed to be able to respect you! when the newspapers spoke of your undaunted courage, of your disinterested and indefatigable activity, your self-denial, generosity, and discreet modesty, how my heart yearned for you! how my soul cried out to you, 'why are you not the same to me as to the world? why are you brave, generous, disinterested, and self-denying to them, and not to me? why am i, of all persons alive, condemned to know you for a cowardly, avaricious, and selfish man, when, in spite of all that, my heart burns for love of you?' and now you have thrown off the hideous mask you wore, have shown me your real face, shown me how much i have misjudged you, how i have sinned against you! you give me back that money untouched. you have not even spent the interest of it, and now i see how i have wronged you in accusing you of greed. all your tender care, your delicate attention, your patient indulgence were given to me out of your magnanimous sense of duty, the heavenly generosity of your soul! and now that i know you in all the glory of your goodness, now that i have found my ideal in you and my love has grown into worship, now you tell me that you are lost to me for ever, that you will not be mine, and i must choose the paths you point out to me. no, sir; that is impossible! you cannot cast me off, now that i love you! i have sinned against you, caused you insufferable pains, infinite tortures; but my whole life shall be given to atone for those sins by meek submission, dutiful obedience, ardent love. i cannot choose between those paths you have shown me. i do not want to be consumed by the fires of sinful love, nor to freeze in the ice of solitude and self-abnegation. i want to be happy, and to make you happy. i want to love, and i do love you!" "you have a child." "that child! that living stigma which was branded into my flesh by a miserable assassin! i hate it so much that i will never kiss it, never pray for it. its very sight is loathsome to me! i have given birth to it, but shall never love it as a mother!" after this tempest of her emotions she threw herself against the door, barring it against me as though to say: "the way through this door, the way that separates you from me, leads over my body." i looked at her, and the sight of her deep and real agitation summoned me to a silent condemnation of my base hypocrisy. what was i but a cunning dissembler, coming here to play a great part before her, making believe that i had not touched her money, when i had time and again risked it in speculations? and the very house she lived in, the comfort and splendour that surrounded her, were the result of the profits her money had acquired. how dared i make a parade of my generosity, when all the time i had been scheming for her ruin and dreaming of revenge? truth and sincerity were all on her side; the halo of virtue around my head was false. and she loved me! she confessed that love with the frank truthfulness of her nature--confessed it in words that sent a thrill of delight through my whole frame! and i, who am burning for love of her, i stand here like a pagan idol, in stony indifference, looking down at the bleeding heart which is held up as a sacrifice to me. no, i am no stone! avaunt, hathor, mylitta, baaltis, i am none of yours! and thou too, vile, wretched dissimulation, i cast thee forth! depart from the presence of this true woman! i went to her and took her hands. "if your boy is not to have the love of a mother, he shall have that of a father instead. i shall love him dearly and be a true father to him." as i said this, she broke into passionate sobbing, and, crouching down at my feet, she threw her arms around my knees and wept bitterly. "no," said she, "do not lift me up, for my confessions are not yet ended. i have asked you for mercy heretofore. i now ask you for justice; for a righteous judgment! i have never been the degraded wretch you believed me to be, have never been the mistress of another man, never listened to his words of love, so help me god! siegfried was not my betrayer, he was my assassin! he made use of diodora's and cenni's absence from the house, at a time when a slight illness had prevented me from accompanying them, to drug my wine at the table, and during the lethargy caused by the soporific potion he slew my soul! devil as he is, he took a devilish revenge, because i had shown him my contempt and abhorrence." before this i was down on my knees, covering her eyes, her hair, her face, and her mouth with my kisses; weeping in the excess of my love and happiness. "why did you not tell me this before? why not on the night of our wedding?" i asked. "i intended to! do you remember that i asked you if you had no other question to address to me? you said 'no,' and pointed to the door. for a few moments only your eye had rested with a fiery glare on a two-edged dagger which lay upon the table. if you had carried out the wild promptings of your wrath, if your hand had raised the dagger against me, if only a single word or action had given me proof that you were the man i wished you to be, and not the wretch who accepts the money which is offered in return for his name and honour, i should have spoken. oh, how i have longed to do it!" i pressed her to my heart and kissed her again. "you are innocent," i said: "as innocent as that poor child himself. you have not sinned; others have sinned against you. and now that you have confessed to me, let me also confess to you, and, if you can, forgive me!" i told her all--my evil designs, the monetary speculations, my suicidal purposes, my moral cowardice. she listened, shuddering, but, when i had finished, she nestled close to my heart and kissed me passionately. she had forgiven. * * * * * after this we decided to leave europe and go to the new world--to america. my old slav kingdom i did not care to keep; it was best to give up everything, and wipe out all memory of myself. so i left it to be sold in payment of the debts i had accumulated. in the new world fortune clung to me with the same persistence. whatever i undertook was sure to succeed, and all my enterprises were fortunate. so, in course of time, i became the "silver king." we came to europe on account of little james, who all at once ceased speaking and became a mute. we tried american physicians, but to no purpose, and so we came to europe in order to consult the best professional talent. now you know all. you know how it was possible for the little son of a south american nabob, after regaining his lost speech, to speak hungarian, and you know who taught him to speak that language. the child has never loved anyone but me, and no one has loved him but myself. and i love him truly and with all my heart. for to him i am indebted for all my present happiness; not only for my wealth, for wealth alone is not happiness. a man may be happy without wealth, and be very unhappy with it; but i owe him this. he took a photograph from his pocket-book, and showed it to me--four laughing little cherub heads, peeping out of a bath-tub, like birds from the nest. "these my little james has brought me," he said, with tears of joy in his eyes; "if he had not come, these would not have come either. so, you see, my dear friend, i was thrown into hell and fell into paradise." * * * * * "i beg your pardon," said i to mr. dumany, as he finished his story, "but i am curious to know what became of siegfried? would you mind telling me?" "oh, he is a very famous man at present, and fills a very honourable position. he is engaged as horse-tamer in the paris hippodrome, and they say that he is excellent in 'jumping.' i have not seen him yet, but i hear he has a good salary, and is a general favourite. he is very much praised and admired by those who have seen him. i think it highly creditable in a man when he lives honourably by means of his ability and talent." by this time the dawn had greeted us. through the chinks of the closed shutters the rising sun was stealing, decorating the wall-tapestry with rings of golden red, adding radiant circles to the smoke-wreaths of our cigarettes, and sending long glittering darts into all the corners and behind the curtains. presently, breaking the monotony of our voices, which punch and cognac had made hoarse, a sweet, silvery voice chimed in, "apácska! apácska!" ("papa! papa!") and a little unfledged cherub was peeping out from the bed-curtains. "you may come to me," said mr. dumany, smilingly, and, in an instant, little james was out of bed, and, barefooted, in his little nightgown as he was, he ran to his father, shouting with glee, climbing up into his lap, and throwing his little arms caressingly around his neck, laughing mischievously the while. at the noise of this babbling and laughter, similar sounds were heard in the next room, just as in a bird's nest when one little fledgeling chirps all the rest join in, lifting the little heads and trying the winglets. "reveille is sounded," said my friend, with a happy smile. "i have to go and muster my troops; this next chamber is their bedroom." but the muster was postponed, for the commander-in-chief arrived--the mother. she was in a plain, dark dress, but her beautiful face bore a soft expression of happiness which i had not seen the day before. "you are up yet?" she asked. "and you are up already?" asked her husband. "yes. i have been out to my confessor's. you have made a clean breast to your friend at home; i have done the same in the confessional, and i have come home much happier than i went, and i truly hope much better." with that she bent down to the child, and kissed it tenderly. "i have been an unnatural and undutiful mother," she said, in a low, trembling voice, "and if you, in your generous pity, in the overflowing kindness of your nature, had not taken this poor innocent to your heart, it would not have known the tender love, the sweet care of a parent. father augustin has shown me the great, black sin in my breast. how can i hope for mercy from heaven if i mercilessly lock my heart against my own innocent offspring? how can i hope for love and respect from my other children, if i withhold a mother's love from this one? oh, my dearest husband! here in the presence of your friend, whom you have made cognisant of our past sorrows and trials, i thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love you have borne my child!" and before he could prevent the action she had bent down and pressed her lips to his hand. "flamma! dearest!" he said, overcome by his emotion, "you have been the truest, the most considerate, most loving, and most dutiful of all wives and mothers; but this day you have filled my cup of happiness to the brim. this one drop, the mother's kiss to the sweet innocent, was wanting. this day shall henceforth be kept as a high holiday, as this little darling's real birthday, for it has given him a mother." he held up the boy to her, and at the sweet, inviting smile and the opened arms the little one threw open his arms also; one of them he drew around his mother's, the other around his father's neck, and then he showered a volley of kisses and caresses on both. never in all my life have i seen a picture more lovely and beautiful than this. "come, my little one," said the mother, after a while, to the child, "it is too early yet for you to rise. come to your little brothers and sisters and sleep awhile longer," and, nodding sweetly to us, she disappeared, with the child on her arm, through the tapestry _portière_ that led to the children's bedroom. the "silver king" silently pressed my hand as i said-- "sir, you are the happiest man on earth, nor can all the crowned monarchs of the world compare to you in wealth!" "yes," he said, after a while, "i am very happy. but i owe you an explanation, before i take leave of you. you may think it singular that a man who is the father of a family should disclose such intimate secrets to a friend of whom he knows beforehand that he will make public use of the disclosure, and relate to his readers the events he has learned. but, you see, so much has already been said about my wife and me--the fantastic imagination of one half of our fellow-creatures has invented so much to feed the idle curiosity of the other half, that the plain truth will serve in general as a cooling sedative. there are different versions afloat as to how we got our money. some say that i was a general spy of the prussians, and that my money was a fee for the information furnished, or, in plain words, the betrayal of the positions of the french forces. others say that my wife had been the mistress of a king, and was enriched by him, and that she still draws a life-pension from the civil list; while superstitious fools will have it that i have sold myself to the devil, and am supplied by him with infernal lore. against all of these the disclosure of the plain truth will be the best defence. human i am and have been, and human have been the temptations and trials that have beset me. the only devil to whom, for a time, i sold myself, was the demon in my own breast--a poor, feeble spirit, and long ago subdued by the more potent angel of love and peace." the end. * * * * * * * transcriber's note: the following typographical errors in the original text have been corrected. in part i, chapter v, "religous monomania" has been changed to "religious monomania". in part i, chapter viii, "yes, i wan you immediately" has been changed to "yes, i want you immediately". in part i, chapter xiii, "photograpers" has been changed to "photographers". in part ii, chapter iv, "siezed" has been changed to "seized". in part ii, chapter x, a missing quotation mark has been added to the sentence, upon the steel blade was graven, in golden letters, "_buona notte_; and "_buona notte! buona notte_," i kept incoherently murmuring. in part ii, chapter xii, "distinguised" has been changed to "distinguished". in part ii, chapter xv, an extra "are" has been deleted from "you are are mistaken in this house". in part ii, chapter xvii, "moveover" has been changed to "moreover". in part ii, chapter xvii, "infernal ore" has been changed to "infernal lore". [illustration: the devil illustrated molnar] [illustration: dr. millar: "what an ideal couple you two would make."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] the devil a tragedy of the heart and conscience _novelized by joseph o'brien from henry w. savage's great play_ by ferenc molnar new york grosset & dunlap publishers copyright, , by american-journal-examiner. copyright, , by j. s. ogilvie publishing company. foreword there is a great lesson for all women and men in this wonderful story. it is one that will impress with its power. but i am glad to say that i do not believe fully in its truth. the devil here wins his victory, as he has won many. but each year, as men and women get better, the victories of satan are fewer. good men and good women fight against evil and do not yield. this tragic, heart-breaking story, by the wonderful new writer, tells one side of the battle between good and evil that goes on in every human heart. it has its lesson for all men and women. it is a powerful warning against playing with fire. its lesson, taught in the downfall of the man and woman, is "keep away from evil, and the appearance of evil." beatrice fairfax. the characters karl mahler an artist heinrich his valet mimi his model herman hofmann a banker olga hofmann the banker's wife the devil calling himself dr. millar elsa berg an heiress the scenes are laid in vienna, austria, in karl mahler's studio, and in the conservatory reception-room at the hofmanns', and all the events transpire within the space of one day. list of illustrations. page. dr. millar: "what an ideal couple you two would make" frontispiece mimi: "you do not love me; you have ceased to care for me" "call me dr. millar. my social position is beyond question" "the art dealer," he said sarcastically "they seem to be growing fond of each other," olga said jealously "let only your bare neck show above your cloak, and the tips of your shoes beneath it" "i have begun this, let me finish it. let me dictate this letter" "i wanted to feel that you loved me as i hoped you did" note:--the illustrations used in this book are reproduced from scenes in henry w. savage's production of "the devil," the only version approved by the author. table of contents foreword chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii chapter viii chapter ix chapter x chapter xi chapter xii chapter xiii chapter xiv the moral of "the devil" the devil chapter i herman hofmann, the wealthy banker, and his beautiful young wife, olga, had as their guest at dinner karl mahler, an artist. some years earlier, before hofmann married, mahler, befriended by his family, had been sent away to paris to study art. olga, at that time a dependent ward in the hofmann family, and the poor young art student loved each other with the sweet, pure affection of boy and girl. in the absence of karl, olga yielded to the pressing suit of herman and the importunities of her own relatives, all poor, and became his wife. karl returned to find the sweetheart whom he had kissed for the first time when he told her good-by, married to another. he was not greatly shocked at the discovery, the life of an art student in paris having somewhat dimmed the memory of his boyhood's love, and neither he nor olga alluded to their early romance. for six years the two had been friends, although they never saw each other alone. karl was a frequent visitor at their house and herman was his devoted and loyal friend. olga honestly believed that she loved her husband and had long ago forgotten her love for karl. lately she had interested herself in his future to the extent of proposing for him a bride, elsa berg, a beautiful and youthful heiress, and she had arranged a grand ball, to be given so that the two young people might be brought together. in all the six years of her married life olga had never visited karl's studio. karl had never even offered to paint her portrait. although neither would confess it, some secret prompting made them fear to break down the barriers of convention, and they remained to each other chaperoned and safe. on this evening, however, when karl was with them, the subject of a portrait of olga came up for the first time, and herman declared that it must be painted. "she is more beautiful than any of your models or your patrons," he said to karl. olga was strangely disturbed, she could not tell why. she blushed and looked at karl, whom the proposition seemed to excite to strange eagerness. she did not trust herself to speak, but listened to the artist and her husband. neither olga nor karl could have defined the strange, conflicting emotions with which they separately received herman's proposition. unwillingly olga's mind traveled swiftly back to the old days and her girlhood, and she recalled the day of karl's departure, the day he took her in his arms and kissed her lips and said: "i love you, olga; i will not forget." the memory thrilled her and the color flamed into her cheeks. karl looked at her, so enraptured and absorbed that he could scarcely give attention to herman, who rattled on about the portrait. it was finally settled that the first sitting should be the following day at karl's studio, where olga would be left with him alone. it was there that olga was then to encounter the materialization of the impulses she had been, only half unconsciously, struggling against for six years; the spirit of evil purpose against which good contends; the incarnation of the arch fiend in the attractive shape of a suave, polished, plausible, eloquent man of the world, whose cynicism bridged the years of married life; whose subtle suggestions colored afresh the faded dreams which she believed faintly remembered, and believed would come no more. karl left them with the promise of a sitting on the morrow. karl's fitful slumber was disturbed that night by vague half dreams which oppressed him when he arose. he was filled with misgiving, doubt, uncertainty. his thoughts, half formed, disturbing, were of olga. he tried to think of marriage with elsa, but it was without enthusiasm. warm, beautiful, affectionate, she made no impression on his heart, which seemed like ice. he looked around the studio with aversion. the pictures on the walls seemed no longer to represent the aspiration of the artist; they were mementos of the models who had posed and flirted and talked scandal within his walls. he paced the floor restlessly, nervously, twisting his unlighted cigarette in his fingers until it crumbled, his mouth tight, his eyebrows drawn together. then he seized his hat and overcoat and flung himself out of the door into the gathering winter storm. for an hour he plunged through the snow, the chaos of the storm matching his mood. almost exhausted, he turned back toward his home and entered. the room glowed warmly. in front of the inviting fire was the big arm-chair with its wide seat, comfortable cushions and high pulpit back. as he laid aside his greatcoat he stepped toward the chair, intending to bury himself in its depths and surrender to his mood. a shudder ran over him and he drew back, staring at the seat. it was empty, his eyes assured him, but he could not rid himself of a feeling that it was occupied. he pressed his hands to his eyes and then flung them outward with the gesture of one distraught. "i am going mad!" he thought. he called loudly, harshly: "heinrich! heinrich!" his old servant, alarmed at the unwonted violence of his master's voice, hastened into the room. karl flung aside his coat and heinrich held for him his velvet dressing jacket. he slipped into it, shook himself, and lighted a cigarette. his hands shook with nervousness, and he held them out from him that he might look at them. "oh, what a terrible sight!" he groaned. "monsieur?" heinrich said inquiringly. "has any one been here?" karl asked. "no, monsieur, only ma'm'selle mimi. she is waiting in the studio to pose." with an impatient gesture karl walked across the room, picked up a newspaper, flung himself on a couch and held the sheet before his eyes. he did not even see the print, but he persisted, trying to banish his restless thoughts. heinrich, solicitously brushing and folding karl's coat, waited. the artist looked at him impatiently: "tell ma'm'selle mimi i shall not need her to-day. she may go." "yes, monsieur," heinrich said. the servant stepped to the door of the studio and threw it open. he called out: "ma'm'selle, monsieur karl says he will not need you to-day; you may go home." heinrich withdrew. karl lay at full length on the couch, holding the paper before him. a young woman, daintily featured, with rounded figure whose lines showed through her close-fitting costume, burst into the room. although conscious of her presence and irritated, karl did not look. he pretended to be absorbed in his newspaper. mimi looked at him and waited, but as he did not speak, she ventured timidly: "aren't you going to paint me to-day?" "er--no, not to-day." "do you not love me any more, karl?" the newspaper rattled with the artist's impatience and irritation, but he did not answer. mimi approached him. "you do not love me; you have ceased to care for me. ah, karl, when you loved me you painted me every day. now you paint nothing but landscapes." [illustration: mimi: "you do not love me; you have ceased to care for me."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] karl forced a laugh. "nonsense!" he said. "you talk like a silly child, mimi." "you say that now, but you did not say such things when you loved me, karl. it is always the way with us poor models. at first it is, 'ah, what shoulders, what beautiful coloring, what perfect ankles!' then you paint us every day. "and then it is, 'what in the world have you done with your figure? it is all angles!' or, 'what on earth have you put on your face? it is as yellow as old parchment.' and then you paint landscapes." mimi burst into tears, and vigorously dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. she was an extremely pretty girl of the bourgeois type, with heavy coils of straw-colored hair piled high on her head, and big blue eyes that were quick to weep. karl arose, threw aside his paper and essayed to comfort her. "there, there," he said, patting her shoulder, "don't cry, mimi; you are full of folly to-day." as quick to smile as she had been to cry, mimi unveiled her eyes and looked at him eagerly, her lips parting over her white teeth. "then you do love me, karl? ah, tell me that you love me." "yes." "and you will paint me again? if not to-day, perhaps to-morrow?" "perhaps, but i am very busy." he turned from her and sat on the couch again. mimi's mood suddenly turned to anger, and she cried out at him furiously: "i know that you do not love me, and i know why. you are going to be married. "yes, yes," as karl made an impatient gesture; "i know it is true." "you are very silly, mimi," he said. "ah, no; i am not. it is true what i have said. i have heard all about it, but i did not believe it, because i was a fool. you are going to marry ma'm'selle elsa berg, who is said to be very beautiful and who will be a great heiress; and then you will forget me, as you would be glad to do now." "where in the devil have you heard all of this?" karl demanded, springing angrily to his feet. "it does not matter; you cannot deny that it is true." then her mood changed swiftly to contrition, and she went close to karl. "but forgive me; i know it must be. i have always known, and i must have annoyed you. we models are always annoying--in our street clothes. forgive me, karl." she looked appealingly at karl, and he was moved. "never mind, mimi; run along home, now, and i promise to paint you again, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the next day." she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. then she fled from the room. karl flung himself down on the couch again and hid his face with his arms. chapter ii olga's dream journey had been through the flowering orchard of girlhood, hand in hand with karl, and she awoke with a sense of regret that the realities of everyday life should take the place of such joyous visions. she felt strangely elated during the day, and eagerly waited for the hour when herman was to call for her and take her to karl's studio. "i wonder what it will be like there?" she asked herself a dozen times. "i think i have always been jealous of that studio and its possibilities, and i have always wanted to go there--but i did not dare." then she chided herself for the thought she had not uttered. "why, i am a goose! what am i confessing here to myself? that i am in love with karl? what silly nonsense. come, olga, you are getting romantic." herman came after luncheon and they drove together to the studio building. old heinrich admitted them, his eyes growing big and round at the imposing splendor of herman's greatcoat and the bewildering beauty of the grand lady. karl, in his artist's velvet jacket, hurried forward to greet them. "welcome to my workshop," he cried. "how do you do?" olga said, barely giving him her hand, and turning at once to let her eyes rove curiously around the walls of the room. "how do you do, karl?" herman said. "you see, we are prompt. and now i am curious to see your place." karl watched olga as she surveyed the room. he felt piqued at her seeming lack of interest in him. "so this is your wonderful studio," she said absently. "it is much like a junkshop," karl said deprecatingly. "it is very interesting," olga said. "whose picture is that?" she asked, pointing to a painting of a half nude figure on the wall. "that? oh, that is a model who has posed for me." "oh, yes, i recognize it. we met the girl on the stairs, herman." "oh, yes; that is she." herman busied himself looking at the pictures, chuckling over those that caught his unpoetic fancy, and nudging karl in the ribs at some of them. "i must come again and inspect them more at my leisure," he said. "this afternoon i have to go away." "i am sorry you are not to remain," karl said politely. "oh, i suppose we might put off the sitting in view of the fact that the picture might have been painted any time these last six years," herman said. "but olga has been nervous about the ball we are going to have to-night, and i thought it best to bring her to-day to distract her. you know this is really a house-warming to-night." "and we were obliged to invite so many people," olga said, still looking at the pictures. "i hate these social affairs," herman rattled on, "but i suppose in our position they are inevitable. what time shall i return for olga?" "it grows dark quickly," karl said, looking at his watch. "in another hour we shall not be able to see. suppose you return about o'clock." "very well; and now i must be going. you are coming to the ball to-night, karl? you know you really are the guest of honor; isn't he, olga?" "yes, indeed. karl is to fall in love with his future wife to-night." karl looked at her, but she spoke with perfect self-possession, and lightly. "i shall do my best," he said, and he tried to speak with enthusiasm. "ah, you are not half grateful enough for this treasure, karl; you should be happy," olga said. "of course he should, and he will," herman interposed, moving toward the door. "we will all be happy--you and elsa and karl and i--everybody, i hope." olga went nearer to karl and spoke seriously. "she is a very charming girl, karl." "if you say one word more about that girl i shall fall in love with her immediately, which would be ahead of my matrimonial scheme," karl replied jestingly. "you know i am not obliged to fall in love until to-night." "well, well, i must be off," herman said, as he went up to kiss olga. "good-by, dear; i shall call for you at o'clock." almost against his will, karl asked a question which he had never before in all his life thought of. "aren't you afraid to leave your wife alone?" "alone?" "with me, i mean?" herman looked at him, and then spoke jestingly, but with an effort. "i am hurrying away because i am afraid i shall change my mind and take olga with me," he said. "you are not jealous?" olga asked. "if you don't want the truth--no, i am not," herman replied, and in his tone there was the peculiar meaning which his words did not convey. "if i were not afraid of becoming ridiculous, i should say warningly, 'children, be sure to be good.'" he paused and looked at both of them. then he said: "good-by." as he turned, karl followed and escorted him through the door. olga stood frowning, worried, ill at ease. karl looked at her in surprise when he returned. "what is the matter?" he asked. olga started nervously and looked at him. she pressed her hands before her eyes and for a moment did not speak. she looked away as karl approached her and said tenderly: "are you afraid? please tell me." "i don't know what is the matter with me, but just now, when my husband went away, i felt as if i had been left without a protector." she broke off abruptly, and karl urged her to explain. "what do you mean? i don't understand," he said. "yes, you do, karl," olga said, as she turned and faced him. "you know. i have fought against coming here for six years; ever since my marriage." she looked away from him, around the studio, with its bizarre decorations, and shuddered. "ugh! this place looks like a devil's kitchen," she cried. "these strange things, terrible monsters, cold, white statues, heads without bodies, and you in their midst like a conjurer. i did not notice them while herman was here, but now----" karl turned swiftly toward her. "but now?" he asked. olga looked at him with an expression of terror in her eyes. the two stood thus at bay. left to themselves in the big studio, facing each other, karl and olga were silent. there was a look in karl's eyes that olga had never seen before; there was a tumult in her heart that she had never before felt. it was karl who first recovered himself and broke the silence, trying to speak lightly: "don't be nervous," he said, reassuringly. "this is the reception-room of my studio. every woman i paint comes here." "and do you paint every woman who comes here?" olga asked slowly. "no," karl replied shortly. there was another awkward pause. olga could not tell why she had asked that question any more than karl could have told why he had asked herman if he was not afraid to leave them alone. it was some unsuspected jealousy that prompted it. "did you understand my husband?" olga asked. "yes, i think i did." "he said, 'i trust you.' why should he say that? why should it not be a matter of course?" "you don't think he is really jealous?" olga shook her head. "i don't know," she said. "during the six years we have been together and you have been our friend, he has often pretended to be jealous. this time there was something in his voice that made me believe it was more than pretense. it is the first time he has ever left us alone." they were standing, karl near the door, where he had bidden herman farewell, and olga across the apartment. in an alcove in one corner an open fire burned brightly, casting a red glow over the big, comfortable arm-chair drawn up before it, with its high, pulpit-shaped back toward them. karl walked over to olga and said with quiet earnestness: "we have tried to avoid it, olga; tried for six years. now that the situation is forced upon us, why not be honest? let us talk about it frankly." "i think it was sweet not to discuss it for six long years," olga said, smiling at him. "a clean conscience is like a warm cloak, karl; it enfolds us and makes us feel so comfortable." she tried to make her mood seem light, but karl would not fall in with it. "last night, when it was suggested that i should paint your portrait, you gave me a look i had never seen before," he persisted. "i wonder why?" "i don't know," olga answered, her fear returning. "don't let us talk about it; i don't want to." "you must not be afraid of me, olga; if i were not i you might be frightened. i am fond of you, yes; but respectfully. i do not see what harm can be done by talking everything over quietly. it seems so long ago--seven years--since they told me that herman was to be your husband. it was on the anniversary of the day----" "oh, karl!" she protested, holding out her hands to silence him. "the day we kissed each other," he went on, speaking so quietly that it seemed almost a whisper. "we were almost children then. i was a poor little chap, who gave drawing lessons to herman and his sisters. you were a little waif, fed cake and tea at the millionaire's table. there we met, a beggar boy and a beggar girl, thrown together in a palace. we looked at each other, and i think we understood." olga covered her burning face with her hands, and karl went on: "we kissed each other, quite innocently; just one kiss, the memory of which has almost faded." "yes, karl, faded," olga cried eagerly. "we have grown up sensibly and we never mentioned it." karl seemed not to hear her interruption. he went on: "you became herman's wife and went to live in a palace. i found you there when i came back from paris, still fond of you, but determined never to tell you so, and when i met you again i, too, was somewhat changed. still, when our eyes met, olga, it was with the same look of the two poor, longing little beggars of the years ago. but we did not kiss again." "why not?" olga breathed. "your husband and i are the best of friends," karl said. "though we have met hundreds of times, you and i, we have not mentioned it." olga turned to him gratefully and held out her hand to clasp his. "you are a good, true friend, karl." "are you satisfied now?" karl asked her, smiling. "you are not afraid of me, are you?" "no; but there was something in my husband's voice that frightened me," olga answered. "he knows what we were to each other, and when he was leaving us here alone i think it made him feel uncomfortable. we aren't in love any more, are we, karl?" "no, of course not." "and it is sweet to think that we have not entirely forgotten old times, isn't it?" "yes," he answered absently. "and, of course, if we loved each other still you would not marry, would you, karl?" "of course not," he said shortly. "now you will get married and you will be very, very happy. and i, too, shall be happy, because i want you to marry, and i myself have chosen a sweet, clever girl for you." "exactly," karl acquiesced dryly. "and now let us think no more of it," olga cried, her mood changing to one of gayety. she ran over to the door, turned and faced karl, knocking loudly on the panel. "now for work; we have done nothing," she said. "monsieur, i have come to have my portrait painted." "come in, madame," karl said, bowing gravely and entering into her play. "good-morning." "i have come to have my portrait painted," olga said again. karl forgot the playing and exclaimed seriously: "ah, last night i made a memory sketch of you after i got home. i have made many, very many, but now i see you differently." "why?" olga asked, startled again by his vehemence. "yesterday i saw the lines of your figure; to-day i see your soul," he said. "yesterday you were a model; to-day you are an inspiration." "please, karl; please, don't; we agreed to end everything," she pleaded. "it is hard to end everything so suddenly." "karl, my good friend, i did wrong in coming here," olga said. "now that i did come, let us work. take your colors and brush. we must get through with it as soon as possible." "you are right, olga; as soon as possible." "what shall i do first?" she asked. "take off your hat and coat, please." karl stepped toward her with outstretched hands as if to help her. she drew back, with a little gesture of apprehension. "you mustn't touch me," she said. as she brushed past him karl caught a whiff of fragrance from her hair that was intoxicating. "do you use perfume on your hair?" he asked, quite innocently. "certainly not," she laughed. "oh, then, it is the natural perfume of your hair. pardon me; i stood too close to you." olga removed her hat and cloak. she looked up and saw that karl was regarding her intently. "you seem to be studying my features," she said. "i know them by heart, each one," he answered. "i am thinking of a pose. you know your husband wished a half length in evening gown." "yes; i should have preferred a full length in street costume." "i agree with herman. you must be quick; it is getting dark." "what shall i do?" "your waist; you must take it off; you will find some shawls there from which to select one for your shoulders. i will go into the studio." "oh, karl." "don't mind; i shall close the door. oh, it is snowing terribly," he added as he moved toward the big studio. "snowing! oh, karl, can't we postpone this? i don't feel well to-day; to-morrow i could come and bring my maid." "certainly not; your husband would surely want to know why we did no work to-day. now i will leave you." chapter iii he left the room, closing the studio doors behind him. olga looked apprehensively about her. some mysterious presence seemed to oppress her. she fumbled with nerveless fingers at the buttons of her waist. "oh, what folly!" she cried to herself. "what is the matter with me?" resolutely she set to work and drew from her beautiful shoulders and gleaming, rounded arms the silken waist that covered them. she turned to get the shawl, and the waist fell to the floor, as she recoiled with a shriek of terror from an apparition that arose slowly from the depths of the big arm-chair. where there had been no human being an instant before olga saw a tall, strange-looking man. he was in conventional afternoon attire, save that his waistcoat was red, in sharp contrast to the somber black of his frock coat. his hair was black. his upward pointing eyebrows were black, and his eyes shone like dull-burning lumps of coal. his face was like a mask, matching his immaculate linen in whiteness. it was cynical in its expression and almost sinister as he bowed low, with his hands folded over his breast, and said in a low, musical voice: "pardon me, madam, i think you dropped something." he stooped and picked up the silken waist which had fallen from olga's hands. as he held it out to her she drew back in horror. olga shrank from this strange being, sensible of his serpent-like fascination, even while he repelled her. it flashed across her consciousness that he was something more than human, something worse--the embodiment of malevolent purpose--a man devoid of good--the devil himself. he came from behind the chair, and as he moved toward her his every action heightened the impression she had received. in a situation where any man might have been confused he was perfectly self-possessed. his attitude was neither offensive nor ingratiating. he became at once a part of her surroundings, of her thoughts, yes, of her soul. it was this influence that she felt herself combating with growing weakness. "i hope you will forgive me," his smooth, suave voice went on, breaking the stillness almost melodiously, and he bowed again. "i permitted myself to fall asleep." still olga could not find tongue, and she drew yet farther away. the man, or the devil, watched her as she groped for the shawl, found it and quickly wound its filmy length around her beautiful shoulders and arms. an expression of cynical amusement crossed his face. "excuse me, but i awoke just as you were about to unbutton your blouse," he said. "propriety should have made me close my eyes, but----" "oh!" olga cried, shocked into speech. "oh, i know, madam," he said, with a bow, "you think i am suspicious, and you only came here----" "to have my portrait painted," olga said quickly. "precisely," he acquiesced, with the same cynical expression. "only yesterday i met a lady at the dentist's, and i observed that she permitted him to extract a perfectly good and very pretty tooth." "but i----" olga began, accepting the defensive position into which he placed her, when he interrupted her: "yes, you, i know, speak the truth. i am even at liberty to believe you, but i cannot." for an instant olga recovered her self-possession, and her indignation sprang into a flame that she should be addressed in this manner by a man whom she had never seen before--an intruder. "i don't know why i permit a stranger to talk to me in this fashion," she exclaimed. "it amazes me." the man stepped toward her. terrified, she turned and fled toward the door of the studio. "karl! karl!" she called. the stranger smiled as the doors were flung open and karl burst into the room. the young artist paused, astonished at the presence of the stranger. he was more amazed when the man cried out in the voice of genial comradeship: "hello, karl; how do you do?" "why, how do you do?" karl faltered, looking blankly from olga to the mysterious visitor. "i don't----" "you don't remember me," the other said. "don't you recall me at monte carlo?" "oh, yes, at monte carlo," karl said with dawning recollection. "it was an eventful day," the stranger said. "yes, yes, of course, i remember; it was last fall, when i had lost all my money playing roulette. some one stood behind me, and it was you. i was afraid when i turned and saw you, because i fancied i had seen you a moment before, beside the croupier, grinning at me as my gold pieces were swept away. but when i had lost everything you offered me a handful of gold." "which you refused, but i saw the longing to accept in your eyes." "i did not know you." "but i offered it again and you accepted." "yes, and in ten minutes i had recouped my losses and won $ , besides," karl cried with growing enthusiasm. "i remember indeed. your money seemed to possess mystic luck. when you put it in my hands it glowed, and i thought it was hot. it seemed to burn me." "you were excited, my boy," said the other genially. "but you repaid me and invited me to dine. i could not accept, because i was forced to leave for spain that same evening. i promised, however, to call on you when you needed me--and here i am." he bowed to karl and olga, who stood in speechless astonishment at this strange dialogue. she could understand nothing of this uncanny stranger; this specter in black and white, who seemed to emit a lurid radiance as if his red waistcoat were alive. "it was kind of you to come," karl said. "i am glad." "you were not here when i entered," the visitor said, "and i took a seat in that comfortable arm-chair. the warmth of the fire affected me, and i permitted myself to fall asleep." he indicated, with a sweeping gesture, the big pulpit-backed arm-chair. olga started and cried out: "that chair was empty; i remember quite well, when my husband was here. there was no one in it, i am absolutely certain." karl was so strangely affected by the stranger's presence that he did not notice olga's agitation. the other regarded her with his expression of cynical amusement, bowed gravely and said: "then i was mistaken, madam." "won't you sit down?" karl said. "allow me to present you to--but i can't remember your name." "it does not matter," the other said with an expansive outward gesture of his restless, eloquent hands. "i am a philanthropist, traveling incognito. you may call me anything you like; call me dr. millar." "dr. millar," karl repeated, seeming for the first time to have some doubt as to the character of his guest. "oh, you may rest assured my social position is beyond question," the stranger said, as if divining his thought. [illustration: "call me dr. millar. my social position is beyond question."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] karl did not heed the irony of his speech, but presented him to olga, who distantly acknowledged his bow. as karl appeared to succumb to this strange influence, she felt herself growing indignant. millar seemed bent on provoking an outburst, and his astonishing remarks in another would have seemed vulgar insolence, but in him they possessed a singular meaning that made both karl and olga shiver. "under different circumstances i should now take my hat and say good-by," millar said, after the introduction. "but my infinite tact compels me to force my presence upon you in this most unpleasant situation." the innuendo stung olga, and she turned to the artist. "karl, i can hardly believe it," she exclaimed, indignantly. "think of it--this man dared to----" "how long has your husband been dead?" millar interrupted with exasperating coolness. "i am not a widow," olga said, surprised that she should reply. "oh, you are divorced?" "i am not." "then if you feel that i have offended you i should think your husband would be the proper man to appeal to," he said with the utmost coolness. he seemed like a trainer, prodding tame animals with sharp prongs out of the lethargy of their caged lives to stir them to viciousness. turning to karl he went on: "however, if you wish it, i am also at your disposal. but do you not see, madam, that it would be an admission on your part?" he spoke as one who had dared read every secret thought of each. bewildered, karl cried out: "what does all this talk mean? i don't understand anything. you come in here unannounced; i don't know how nor from where. you make us feel quite uncomfortable, just as if you had trapped us in some compromising situation." "yes, yes, that is it," olga cried, relieved at karl's outburst. the stranger looked at them amusedly. "you may be as impolite to me as you wish; i cannot go," he said. "why?" olga demanded. "my departure now would mean that i leave you because i have interrupted you. on the other hand, by remaining i prove that i suspect nothing." "there is nothing to suspect," karl declared angrily. "i do not want you here." "then that is settled; let us talk of something else," the visitor remarked with the most casual inattention to karl's rage. "the weather; isn't it snowing beautifully? art; are you preparing anything for the spring exhibition at the royal academy?" "perhaps i may send something," karl answered sullenly. olga's bewilderment gave place to panic. in her mind was formed the purpose of snatching up her waist and rushing from the room. before she could do it the stranger was there, holding the waist out and bowing profoundly. "permit me, madam," he said. with a cry of astonishment olga snatched at the garment. "who are you? where do you come from?" she cried. with his restless, vibrant hands in the air, the stranger said: "i come from nowhere, i go everywhere; i am here." he touched his forehead with his long, white fingers, and his black eyes were fixed upon her. clutching the silken garment she had worn, olga rushed into the studio. millar, man or devil, looked after her and chuckled. chapter iv karl threw himself moodily into a chair as olga fled into the outer studio, and sat there, not looking at his unwelcome visitor. dr. millar seemed to find his dejection amusing. he allowed the silence to remain undisturbed, while he puffed a cigarette. then he said, half to himself, half to karl: "full of temperament, that woman, and pretty, too; extremely pretty." "yes, she is pretty," karl acquiesced, without looking at him. "it's a pity she doesn't love her husband," was the next cynical remark that fell on karl's ears. he wheeled in his seat and looked at the visitor, who went on with perfect coolness: "how do i know? it was apparent when she fancied i had insulted her and turned to you for protection." karl angrily slammed down an ash tray he had picked up in his nervous fingers and began to pace the floor. millar went on in a light tone: "she does not love her husband. he must be a genius or a very commonplace man. marriage always is a failure with such men. common men live so low that women are afraid some one may steal into their lives at night through a cellar window. genius--well, genius lives on the top floor, up toward the clouds, and with so many gloomy steps to climb and no elevator, it's very uncomfortable for a pretty woman. her ideal is one easy flight of stairs to comfortable living rooms on the first floor." karl maintained silence, and continued to walk the floor. he looked at his watch and started toward the door of the reception-room leading into the hall, which was locked. "this is the second time i have seen madam's shoulders," millar remarked, casually, blowing cigarette rings in the air. "what do you mean?" karl demanded, stung to speech by jealousy. "ah, i saw them first in paris, at the louvre, fashioned of snow-white marble. they were the shoulders of venus. am i right, karl?" "i don't know," the artist snapped. "well, you must take my word for it, then," millar said lightly. "i have seen both. and since alcamenes i have known but one sculptor who could form such wonderful shoulders." "who?" karl asked, turning to him. "prosperity," millar replied, sententiously. "such tender, soft, exquisite curves are possible only to women who live perfectly. madam must be the wife of a millionaire." karl fell to pacing the floor again, glancing impatiently at the door through which olga had fled. "is she dressing?" asked millar slyly. "yes," karl answered nervously. "is there a mirror in your studio?" "yes." "madam must be very respectable," millar said in an insinuating tone; "she takes so long to dress." "your remarks are in very bad taste," karl cried angrily, walking up threateningly to his visitor. millar stood erect, without changing his expression of ironical amusement, and said: "do you wish to offend me?" "yes," karl snarled. "then you, too, must be respectable," the visitor said coolly, adding, as karl looked at him with wonder: "in a situation like this only a very respectable man could behave with such infernal stupidity." karl was about to retort when the studio door opened and olga entered. he turned quickly toward her and she went to him without noticing millar. "what time is it?" she asked. "your husband will be here in ten minutes," millar interposed. olga turned toward him and cried accusingly: "then you were not asleep in that chair when my husband was here. you heard him say when he would return." "madam is mistaken. feminine presentiment always feels the approach of the husband ten minutes ahead of time. were it not for those ten minutes there would be more divorced women, but fewer locked doors." as he spoke he walked over and unlocked the door leading into the hall, then turned and looked at them calmly. "is this never to finish?" olga asked. "i tried to change the subject, but karl would not let me," millar answered. "i have not spoken a word," karl protested. "by your actions, karl; by the way you jumped up, impatiently consulted your watch, rushed to the door. poor chap, he was afraid," he added to olga. "afraid!" karl exclaimed. "yes, afraid that your husband would come before you finished dressing. and you were right, karl." "why, my dear olga----" karl began impatiently, when the other interrupted him. "please, please, let us be logical," he urged. "look at the situation. the husband enters suddenly. 'well, here i am, back again, my darling,' he announces. 'where is the picture? i must see the picture.' there is none. karl did not work on the picture. your husband is worried; he does not speak, but he is irritated. he wants to speak and the words stick in his throat. you look at each other, unhappy. nothing has happened, but the mischief is done. what mischief? appearances. whatever you say makes matters worse, and a compromising situation like this is never forgotten by the husband. you go home together in silence." "ah, if it were like that," karl broke in; "but we are not alone. you are here." millar shrugged his shoulders. "ah, that is it; i am here, and with one word i could dispel the illusion," he acquiesced. "but i know myself; i am cursed with a peculiar, sinister sense of humor, and i am afraid i would not say the word. hence, when the husband enters we are all silent. then i say, 'i regret to have arrived at such an inopportune moment.' i take my hat and walk out, leaving you, madam, your husband and karl." he seemed to find keen pleasure in the possibility of forcing the two into a position which would cause them suffering and weaken the barriers of self-control they had built up around that boy and girl love that had come back so vividly to both. had they regarded him as merely human it is certain that karl would have kicked this cynical being out of the studio, with his infernal innuendoes. but there was something supernormal about him. he dominated both the artist and the wife, and they were completely under his spell, struggle as they would to break it. olga shrank from the cruelty of their tormentor. "if this is a jest it is a cruel one," she cried. "true, madam. but there is another way. if you wish it i can be quite truthful. should your husband arrive i can tell him the portrait has not been touched and ask his pardon." "pardon for what?" "for having seen your shoulders." "this is a trap," olga cried, turning toward karl for protection. "what do you want? you overwhelm me with false insinuations. i hardly know you five minutes, and i imagine i feel your long fingers at my throat." "other pretty women do not feel them quite so soon," he murmured, bending toward her. enraged at the attitude of the man, karl stepped toward him. "stop! i won't allow any more of this," he commanded. the entrance of heinrich checked his speech. the old servant said: "the tailor has sent some evening clothes, monsieur karl, but they are not yours." "they are mine," interrupted the stranger. "yours?" karl said in amazement. "yes; they were crushed in my trunk," the other said coolly. "i told the tailor to press them and send them here for the evening. i must dress, as i am invited to the ball of one of the most beautiful women in the city to-night at the residence of the duke of maranese." "but the duke is not living there any more," olga interposed. "he is in madrid." "yes, i know that; i met the duke in paris." "he has sold his house to us. we are living there now, and the ball is given by me," she went on. the man looked at her, his black eyes seeming to burn through her own. shrinking, fearful, fascinated, olga was held in the spell of those eyes. "was i mistaken? am i not invited?" he asked. "yes, you are invited," she faltered. she could not resist the subtle influence of the man, even while every instinct of good made her recoil from him. with a triumphant smile he bowed and said softly: "madam, a little while ago you asked me what i wanted. it was your invitation that i wanted. i thank you." "but my husband," olga said, already repenting of the advantage she had given him. "oh, he will be delighted to see me," the stranger assured her confidently. "he speculates in wheat; i have information that will be of value to him. the crop has turned out worse than was expected. you love your husband; you should be happy that the wheat crop is bad." "i am," olga assented. "we want wheat to be bad because the price will go up." "your husband will make another fortune, and you will have the new gown you want." "how do you know i want a new gown?" olga asked, falling in once more with the devil's humor of the man. "i observe that you have a new hat, and a very pretty one; surely you want a new gown." "you must be married." "married! not i," he exclaimed. "a wife is like a monocle; it looks well, but one sees more clearly without it." "your views seem against marriage; why?" olga asked. the tone of millar became suddenly serious as he said: "you want karl to marry; i want to prevent him from marrying." "please let's not discuss that," karl protested. "pardon me, karl, but an artist should not marry," he went on. "your future wife will swear to stand by your side for life--until the wedding day--and the day after she will be in your way." "not the true wife," olga declared. "ah, but the true wife is always the other fellow's wife," he answered. millar had talked so absorbingly that karl and olga unconsciously drew near to each other. they stood in front of the high pulpit back of the arm-chair, each one resting a hand on the chair back. although they were quite unaware of it, their position suggested that of a young couple, before the altar, about to be joined in wedlock. the cynical humor of the situation struck millar, who walked around them, stood in the chair and leaned over the back, like a preacher in his pulpit. "you are a pessimist," olga declared, looking up at him. "no, not a pessimist; only practical." "i agree with you," karl said. "a man should stay at home." chapter v millar leaned down, placing his hands over karl's and olga's as they rested on the back of the chair. looking at karl, he said: "why didn't you stay at home? you ran away to become an artist. you refused a professional position and ordinary morals; a decent occupation at so much a week. you wanted to go out and seek the golden fleece of fame. now, fight your battle; fight it alone; don't get married." as he spoke he lifted the hands of karl and olga and placed them together, holding them clasped in his own. they thrilled at each other's touch; they looked into each other's eyes, and they hardly heard the cynical devil's voice as millar leaned yet farther toward them and said: "i was thinking what a splendid couple you two would make." olga felt herself yielding to the devilish insinuation of millar. she made no effort to withdraw her hand from karl's; she was completely under his sinister, dominating influence. karl's will seemed equally impotent; he could not shake off the mysterious obsession. this man was more than a mere physical presence; he was a part of their very selves--the weaker, sensual impulses against which they had fought, but which now seemed gaining the mastery. the struggle went on in the soul of each as millar's voice fell melodiously on their ears: "the most important thing to you in life is to find your proper mate. generations of conventional treatment will try to prevent you from doing so, by pretending it is impossible. but down in your hearts, in their depths where truth is not perverted by the veneer of convention, i know and you know that it is the simplest thing on earth. here you are full of talent and longing; here is a woman, beautiful, passionate----" karl made a last struggle against the inevitable consequence of this demon's urging, drawing olga away from him. "i beg of you, don't!" he cried. "when i look at you i fear. please don't speak of it. for six years we have lived peacefully." "say what you will," the soft, even voice persisted, "i can read your eyes and they are telling me. don't believe him; he lies," he went on to olga. "he dreams of her--you--every night and you of him, and he knows it and you know it. ah, i understand the language of your eyes. no matter what you say, that little love light in your eyes discredits you, reveals your inmost thoughts, and i read them through." "let me speak," karl pleaded. "for six years we have lived quietly in peace, good friends, nothing else. olga has not the least interest in me, and i--i am quite, quite indifferent." "any one who thinks karl capable of a base thought must be base and contemptible himself," olga cried. the two were almost hysterical as they stood beside each other, warding off the evil that seemed to emanate from the mysterious person who towered over them from the pulpit-backed chair. karl held olga's right hand in his; his left hand was on her shoulder protectingly. millar spoke quickly, leaning far down toward them: "it is not a base thought; it is a beautiful thought, a thought shedding happiness, warmth and joy upon your otherwise miserable lives. but happiness, warmth and joy have a price that must be paid. he who loves wine too well will go to a drunkard's grave, but while he is drunk with wine angels sing to him. "whatever the price, his happiness is cheaply bought. the poet sings his greatest song when he is about to die, and is a poor, weak, human mortal to live without wine and song and women's lips? a little stump of a candle shines its brightest ere it goes out forever. it should teach you that one glow of warmth is worth all this life can give. life has no object but to be thrown away. it must end; let us end it well. let our raging passions set fire to everything about us, burning, burning, burning until we ourselves are reduced to ashes. those who pretend otherwise are hypocrites and liars." the two listened spellbound to this amazing sermon of sin. karl's arm slipped down to olga's waist. he felt himself drawing her closer to him. "don't be a liar," millar urged, his eyes still burning into them; "don't be a hypocrite. be a rascal, but be a pleasant rascal and the world is yours. look at me; all the world is mine, and what i have told you is the honest confession of all the world. we are baptized, not with water, but with fire. love yourself; only yourself; wear the softest garments, sip the sweetest wine, kiss the prettiest lips." no subtler tempter ever spoke to the hearts of a man and a woman. karl was leaning over olga now; he saw her eyes, her lips, soft, warm, rose-colored, he felt her arms as she clung to him, while over them both gloated the sinister figure of millar--the devil--triumphant, confident that his work was done. there was a crashing ring at the doorbell that acted like an electric shock on the group. karl and olga came to their senses, dazed, trembling, thankful. millar stepped down from the chair, baffled, and turned his back upon them. "my husband!" olga gasped. "mr. moneybags!" millar sneered contemptuously. olga and karl quickly drew apart. both were relieved. olga felt as if she had stepped back from the brink of a terrible precipice, over which she had almost fallen. her face was colorless, and there were lines of agony across her brow. the two unhappy people stood staring at each other for a full minute before heinrich entered and announced herman. it had been growing dark in the studio during the remarkable discourse by millar, but so absorbed had both his listeners been in their own tremendous emotions that they had paid no heed. now, as herman entered, his first exclamation was: "how dark it is in here. i am sorry i am late." heinrich turned on the lights, and the apartment was suddenly illuminated. karl and olga had not yet recovered their self-possession, but karl managed to indicate with a wave of his hand his strange visitor. "dr. millar," he said. millar nodded absently and barely replied to herman's cordial greeting. he was still enraged at the interruption which had prevented the success of his infamous plan. herman turned quickly to karl and olga. "well, children, where is the picture? i am anxious to see it," he exclaimed. "there is no picture," was all karl could say. olga, filled with apprehension at she knew not what, was silent. "no picture!" herman exclaimed. "what have you been doing all this time?" "it has been dark for an hour," karl explained. "yes, but olga has been here for two hours," herman said, looking at his watch. there was an instant of silence that threatened to become painfully embarrassing. olga was about to speak when millar unexpectedly stepped forward, briskly and politely. "my dear monsieur hofmann, it was my fault," he explained. "i came a moment after you left. i had not seen karl in two years. we chatted and the time flew past. it was an extremely interesting conversation and madam was so kind as to invite me to the ball this evening." "you will accept, i trust," herman said with ready hospitality. "yes, thank you," millar said. "i have come direct from odessa, where i have had a talk with the russian wheat magnate." "ah, i know; i shall lose money; the wheat crop is bad," herman said impatiently. "oh, isn't that good for us?" olga asked. "no, dear, it is not; i am short on wheat." "what does short on wheat mean?" olga asked. "it means digging a pit for others and falling into it yourself," millar remarked cynically. "however," he went on, "things are not so bad. i have reliable information that the later crop will be abundant." "good; i am delighted to learn this," herman said, very much pleased with millar, who now spoke pleasantly and ingratiatingly. karl had paid little attention to the colloquy between herman and millar. he tried to speak to olga, but could not catch her eye. she seemed to wish to avoid him. she watched her opportunity, however, and managed to whisper to millar: "i want to speak with you alone." millar brought his subtlety into instant play. turning to herman he asked: "by the way, have you seen the sketch of madam karl made yesterday? it is atrociously bad." "no; where is it? i would like to see it," herman cried eagerly. "it is in the studio," millar said. "you must show it to me, karl," herman said, walking toward the studio door with the young artist. "i am sorry you didn't start on the picture to-day, but i suppose it can't be helped. what in the world were you talking about all that time?" as they went out talking, olga followed slowly. as she passed millar he said: "i will await you here." olga went with karl and her husband. she had hardly left the room when the door from the hall opened and mimi entered. as millar turned toward her with his ironical bow she drew back, affrighted. "oh, excuse me," she murmured. "you wish to see the artist?" millar said. "yes, please." he walked over, took her by the shoulders and coolly pushed her through the door into the hall. "wait there, my dear," he said. "he is engaged just now." then he turned to meet olga, who entered suddenly, looking suspiciously around the room. "i thought i heard a woman's voice," she exclaimed. "the scrubwoman; i sent her away," millar explained. "i wanted to speak with you alone," olga began, turning toward him and speaking very earnestly, "in order to tell you----" "that is not true," millar interrupted her, cynically. "what is not true?" "what you wanted to tell me," he said with exasperating suavity. "you really want to talk with me because you regret that my sermon was interrupted by mr. moneybags." "no, no, i simply want to tell you the truth," she protested. "you may want to tell the truth--but you never do. i might believe you, if you told me you were not telling the truth." "must i think and speak as you wish?" she cried desperately. "no, not yet. what may i do for you, madam?" "please do not come to-night," she implored. millar smiled deprecatingly. she went on rapidly, speaking in a low tone that she might not be overheard by herman and karl. "i am myself again--a happy, dutiful wife. your frivolous morals hurt me. your words, your thoughts, your sinister influence that seems to force me against my will, frighten me. i must confess that i had become interested in your horrible sermon when, thank god, my good husband rang the bell and put an end to it. he came in at the proper moment." "yes, as an object-lesson," millar sneered. "i observed you closely. we three were beginning to understand one another when he came in." "won't you drop the subject?" olga asked. "are you afraid of it?" "no," she answered coldly; "but please don't come to-night." millar bowed deeply, as if granting her request, but he replied coolly: "i shall come." "and if my husband asks you not to come?" "he will ask me to come." "and if i should ask you in the presence of my husband not to come?" "i will agree to this, madam," millar said, looking at her with amusement. "if you do not ask me, in the presence of your husband, to come to-night i will not come. is that fair?" "yes, that is more than nice. it is the first really nice thing you have said," olga said, greatly relieved. she wanted to be rid of this terribly sinister influence; to be out of reach of the being who seemed to compel her thoughts to link her present with the past. she wished to feel again the sweet, wholesome purpose that had inspired her yesterday; to go ahead with her unselfish plans for karl's future. now that he had given his promise, she was eager to be away, and as karl and herman entered she suggested to her husband that it was time to go. "yes, put on your coat," herman said, turning to talk to millar, whom he found interesting. karl helped olga on with her coat, and the touch of it brought back the feeling that had surged over him when he had leaned down to kiss her a few minutes before. "now i see how unworthy is my sketch," he said softly. "do not look at me like that," olga protested. "why not?" karl asked hopelessly. "even when i don't look at you i see you just the same." olga covered her face and turned away from him. "karl, you shall not do my portrait," she said. "come, herman, let us go home," she called to her husband. herman and millar were deep in the discussion of a subject on which the stranger seemed to be amazingly well informed. the business instincts of olga's husband were uppermost, and he did not like to be drawn away, but he said: "we shall continue this talk this evening, then." "no, i regret to say that i can't come; i have made my apologies to madam hofmann. i had forgotten an engagement with the russian consul for this evening." "ah, the russian consul will be at our house. olga, dear, add your entreaties to mine. persuade monsieur millar to come." in dreadful embarrassment olga turned to the smiling, cynical mask of a face that looked at her triumphantly. she could not refuse. "i hope we may have the pleasure of seeing you this evening," she said, and turned wearily toward the door. "thank you, madam," the fiend replied. "i shall be more than delighted." karl interrupted to say that he would not reach the house that evening before o'clock. he explained that he expected an art dealer. in reality he had just recalled his promise to stop at the house of mimi. herman, suspecting his design, made some jesting allusion to it, which caused olga to ask what he meant. he evaded her question, and millar, seeing another excellent opportunity to point a moral, declared that he heard a knock. he walked over to the door, opened it, and to the amazement of the others, ushered the embarrassed little model into the room. "the art dealer," he said sarcastically. olga felt instantly consumed with jealousy. as she and her husband walked out millar said to her: "i will repay you for your invitation, madam. i shall manage to forget my overcoat, and in five minutes i shall return for it and break up the chat which you anticipate with such displeasure." olga could not deny the insinuation. she did feel jealous of the pretty model; she did wish that the girl and karl might not be left alone, and she felt almost grateful to millar for his promise. karl had ushered mimi into the studio, and then he bade his guests good-by. left alone, he threw himself face downward on the sofa, where mimi found him a few minutes later. [illustration: "the art dealer," he said sarcastically.--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] chapter vi karl paid no attention to mimi until she walked over to him and touched him on the shoulder. then he sat up impatiently. "did i not promise to call at your house?" he asked. "why did you come here?" "are you ashamed because i came while all those people were here?" mimi asked, hurt and drawing away from him. "oh, no, not at all. i promised to call, and i can't understand why you did not wait," karl answered. mimi timidly leaned down and put her arms around his neck. then she said pleadingly: "oh, karl, dear, please don't get married." "don't! you'll spoil my collar," karl exclaimed, trying to avoid her embrace. mimi began to cry softly. "before i saw these people i hardly ever thought of your marriage," she said. "but now--karl, dear, my heart aches. please don't get married." karl was touched by her grief, in spite of himself. he reached over and patted her cheek. "there, don't cry, dearie; please don't cry," he said. "it makes you homely." mimi brightened instantly, and her tears vanished, leaving her face smiling. "i am a silly little girl," she said. "yes, you are, but i like you very much," karl said, taking her in his arms. "now, mimi, suppose we talk over our marriage quietly and sensibly. you may as well stay, now that you are here. take off your hat and your jacket." he arose and was helping her off with her red woolen jacket. then he hugged her and said as he kissed her lips: "i am your best friend, after all, mimi, and you are my----" the door opened suddenly and millar entered, taking up karl's speech with: "my overcoat; it is here somewhere. your servant gave me yours." karl and mimi drew away from each other, and millar looked at them, smiling. "it's very singular," he said, "but each time i enter your studio i find a lady disrobing. you might think this was a ladies' tailoring establishment." mimi looked at karl jealously as he glared at millar. then she burst into tears and ran out of the room. karl watched her, and as she slammed the door, he turned to millar and quietly said: "thank you very much." "oh, don't mention it." "i will get your overcoat, and don't let me detain you," said karl with significant emphasis. "i broke the hanger; your man is mending it and will bring it here," millar said coolly, ignoring the marked impoliteness. karl said nothing more, and after a few minutes of silence millar resumed: "i just saw something that touched me deeply. madam hofmann clinging to her husband's arm as if she were begging him to protect her----" "protect her?" karl exclaimed angrily. "you don't mean to protect her from me?" "look here, karl, do you think you are wise to be a fool?" "i prefer not to discuss this subject," karl answered coldly. "you don't seem to understand my position. why, it is absurd; i have seen this woman every day for years; met her and her husband; we have been good friends. that's all, absolutely, and had i thought of anything else i should laugh at myself. in wealth, position, everything, she is above me." "no woman is above her own heart," millar replied cynically. "look at her. she is yours if you want her. just stretch out your hand, my boy, and you have your warmth, your happiness, your joy, unspeakable joy, the most supreme joy possible to a human being, and you are too lazy to reach out your hand. why, another man would toil night and day, risk life and limb for such a woman; yet she drops into your arms unsought--a found treasure." karl laughed bitterly. "a found treasure," he repeated. "perhaps that is why i am indifferent." millar moved over to where the young artist was seated on the couch and sat beside him. he leaned toward karl and spoke low and earnestly, keeping his big, black, glittering eyes fixed on him. "last fall, on the th of september--i shall never forget the date--i had a singular experience," he said. "i put on an old suit of clothes--one i had not worn for some time--and as i picked up the waistcoat a sovereign dropped out from one of the pockets. it had been there no one knew how long. i picked it up, saying to myself, as i turned the gold piece over in my hand, 'i wonder when you got there?' it slipped through my fingers and rolled into some dark corner. "i searched the room trying to find it, but my sovereign had gone. i became nervous. again i searched, with no result. i became angry, took up the rugs, moved the furniture about, and i called my man to help me. i grew feverish with the one thought that i must have that sovereign. suddenly a suspicion seized me. i sprang to my feet and cried to my servant, 'you thief, you have found the sovereign and put it back in your pocket.' he answered disrespectfully. i rushed at him. i saw a knife blade glimmer in his pocket and i drew a pistol--this pistol--from mine." he drew a shining revolver from his hip pocket and laid it on the table at karl's elbow. "and with this pistol i nearly killed a man for a found sovereign which i did not need," he finished quietly. karl was profoundly stirred by the story, although he could hardly tell why. "i give found money away," he said, laughing uncertainly, and adding, "for luck." "so do i," said millar quickly, "but it slipped through my fingers, and what slips through our fingers is what we want--we seek it breathlessly--that is human nature. you, too, will seek your found treasure once it slips through your fingers. and then you will find that worthless thing worth everything. you will find it sweet, dear, precious." karl turned away from him, trying not to listen to him. "kill a man for a found sovereign," he repeated. "that woman will become sweeter, dearer, more precious to you every day," the malignant one went on, his words searing karl's soul. "you will realize that she could have given you wings, that she is the warmth, the color--her glowing passion the inspiration of your work. all this you will realize when she has slipped through your fingers. you might have become a master--a giant. not by loving your art, but by loving her. oh, to be kissed by her, to look into her burning eyes and to kiss her warm, passionate mouth." karl covered his face with his hands. millar picked up the delicately scented shawl which had covered olga's bare shoulders. "this has touched her bosom," he cried, twining it around karl's head and shoulders, so that its fragrance reached his nostrils. the boy lost control of himself and caught the drapery, pressing it to his lips. "both so beautiful," millar persisted in his soft, even, melodious voice. "oh, what you could be to each other. what divine pleasure you would find." dropping the shawl, karl started to his feet. "be quiet! you are trying to drive me mad," he cried. "do you want to ruin me? for god's sake, man, be still!" "afraid again, o puritan," millar sneered. "why, boy, life is only worth living when it is thrown away." "why do you tell me that?" karl demanded. "why do you hover over me? what do you want? who sent you?" "no one; i am here." he again touched his forehead significantly and karl shuddered. "i won't do it; no, no, no! do you hear? i won't," the boy cried hysterically. "i have been her good friend for years--we have been good friends; we will remain good friends. i don't want the found sovereign." "but if it slips through your fingers," millar cried. "suppose another man runs away with her." "who?" karl demanded. "myself," millar replied coolly. "you!" "to-night! this very night!" millar cried, laughing satanically and triumphantly. "to-night i shall play with her as i please. oh, what joy! what exquisite joy! for ten thousand years no lovelier mistress." "what's that?" karl cried, taking a step toward him. "mistress, i said--mistress! she will do whatever i wish--to-night, at her home. you will see, when the lights are bright, when the air is filled with perfume--before day dawns, you will see." "stop, stop!" karl cried warningly. "be there and you will run after your lost sovereign," millar went on tauntingly. "every minute you don't know where she is she is spending with me. a carriage passes you with drawn blinds, and your heart stands still. who is in it? she and i. you see a couple turn the corner with arms lovingly interlocked. who was that? she and i--always she and i. we sit in every carriage. we go around every corner. always she and i--always clinging to each other, always lovingly. the thought maddens you. you run through the streets. a light is extinguished in some room, high up in a house. who is there? she and i. we stand at the window, arm in arm, looking down into your maddened eyes, and we hold each other closer, and we laugh at you." "stop, damn you, stop!" karl cried, beside himself and trying to shut out the terrible monotony of millar's voice. "we laugh at you, you fool," the fiend cried again hoarsely. "and her laughter grows warmer and warmer until she laughs as only a woman can laugh in the midst of delirious joy." with a maddened scream of rage karl reached the table with a bound and snatched up the revolver. but millar, with a spring as lithe and agile as a cat, was there beside him, holding the arm with which he would have shot down the man who was pouring insidious poison into his ears--into his soul. millar smiled as he looked at the helpless boy before him. karl released the revolver, and as he replaced it in his pocket, millar said quietly: "you see, karl, a man may kill a man for a lost sovereign." karl's paroxysm of rage and pain over, he threw himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands. he did not even look up as millar, his cynical glance fixed on him, walked out, closing the door softly behind him. his departure seemed to clear the atmosphere of its oppressive burden of evil, however, and karl jumped to his feet. he made a few turns up and down the studio and then changed his velvet studio jacket for a greatcoat and plunged out of doors into the storm. chapter vii a brisk walk through the snow and gathering darkness revived him and he turned back to the studio with a clearer brain. his old servant, heinrich, met him at the door. "monsieur, the gentleman has returned and is dressing," the old man said, in an awe-struck whisper. "i think he is the devil," he added vindictively. heinrich had been terrified when millar, returning to the studio in karl's absence, had taken possession, with the utmost coolness, of karl's guest-chamber and proceeded to change to the evening clothes which had been sent to him there from the tailor's. unwilling to meet the man again, karl hurried into his own room and locked the door. he did not emerge again until long after millar had completed his dressing and had left the studio. karl tried desperately to drive thoughts of olga from his mind; but the terrible flame of passion which had grown from the tiny, buried spark of boy love that lurked in his heart, under the sinister suggestion of millar, tortured him. he could hardly keep himself from rushing off to olga's house, in advance of the ball, to beg her not to proceed with her design of bringing him and elsa together; to tell her that he loved her and that in all the world there lived no other woman for him. desperately, at last, he remembered his promise to see mimi, and he hurried out and made his way afoot to the tattered little buildings in which she lived, hoping there to find forgetfulness. but, go where he would, the haunting black eyes, the cynical smile, that even, persistent voice, the insidious suggestions of millar, the devil, followed him and would not be shaken off. * * * * * in a state of mind even more desperate than that of karl, olga went home with herman. their journey was as silent as their carriage was silent. herman was absorbed in contemplation of the information millar had given him regarding business affairs in russia, in which he was heavily interested. olga was torn by conflicting emotions. the man had roused in her the dormant love for karl which she believed buried forever. she could not deny to herself now, as she had denied for six years, that she loved him. she knew now that during those six years it had been to karl, not to herman, that she had turned for sympathy, for understanding, and the knowledge maddened her. deep in her heart olga exalted duty before every other virtue, and the duty of a loyal wife before every other duty. she could feel now the crumbling away of all her principles. she had believed for six years that she had given to herman every bit of her love and loyalty, and now she was forced to the self-confession that she had lived a lie, even to herself. she loved karl. but, away from millar's influence, she resolved that she would yet battle with and overcome the terrible impulses he had aroused. she would make the artist love the beautiful, accomplished girl whom she herself had selected for his bride. she would make him happy; make them both happy, even if it meant that she must crush out her own hopes of happiness in doing so. "that is a very remarkable man, that friend of karl's," herman said after they had driven some time in silence. "yes; he is very disagreeable," olga replied. "oh, i don't think so," herman protested. "to me he seemed very agreeable. where does he come from? he seems to have been everywhere and to know everybody." "and everything," assented olga wearily. "i cannot tell you anything about him. karl met him a year ago at monte carlo." "i am glad you persuaded him to come to-night," herman said. "he is going to give me information that will be of great value to me." olga was on the point of telling herman all about the terrible sermon the stranger had preached to them; of his wicked insinuations and of her terrible dread, but she checked herself. herman seemed fatuously delighted by millar, and she could not bring herself to talk to him now. they continued the ride in silence until home was reached. chapter viii herman and olga occupied one of the finest residences in park lane. it had been built by a wealthy nobleman and completed with a princely disregard for expenditure. it stood in the center of a considerable park, surrounded by trees and gardens. preparations were already going forward for the ball when herman and olga reached home. decorators were putting the finishing touches on the magnificent ballroom. florists were banking ferns and potted plants along the stairs and halls. all was bustle and preparation. herman delightedly went forward and examined every detail of the work. olga, who ordinarily would have taken the same keen interest in the preparations, turned wearily away and went to her own room. she dined alone, under the plea of a headache, and did not again appear until the guests began to arrive in the evening. "you look very beautiful, my dear," herman said to her when she entered the drawing-room. her mood had changed. her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. she herself could not tell what had caused the change. when she reached home she had looked forward with shuddering aversion to her second meeting with millar. now she was impatient for him to arrive. she wanted to talk to him; to hear again the soft, persuasive voice, the insidious harmony of his words that seemed to frame for her the thoughts she had never dared express. she was bright, alive, witty, charming in the beauty of her fresh color, her glorious hair, her splendid figure set off charmingly in an evening gown of white satin brocade. she stood at the head of the winding stairway leading to the drawing-room when millar came. the man seemed more suggestive of malignant purpose in his evening clothes than he had been in the afternoon. immaculate in every detail of his dress, his very grooming suggested wickedness. he walked slowly up the stairs, feasting his eyes on olga as she stood with hand extended to meet him. "madam, i am charmed to greet you again," he said. "i congratulate you on the wonderful transformation, and i need not ask in what way it was effected." "it may be that i owe it to you, monsieur," olga replied gayly, her eyes frankly meeting those of millar as he looked at her with admiration he did not attempt to disguise. "i trust we are soon to have the pleasure of seeing karl again." "he will be here--later, i believe," olga answered. "meanwhile, monsieur, i am going to ask you to make yourself agreeable to some of my guests." "madam, i can only make myself disagreeable to them," he replied cynically. "it is not they whom i came to see and entertain." "but you must be entertained now," olga said. "soon i hope we may talk." "we shall talk," millar assured her, bowing. he passed on to greet herman, and was presented to others in the rapidly growing throng. wherever he went olga heard exclamations usually of surprise or dismay from her women guests, and the number that invariably gathered around him at first rapidly diminished. he seemed bent on making himself disagreeable, as he had promised. one elderly spinster to whom he was presented greeted him with an affected lisp, drooping eyes and an inane remark about the terrible cold. "yes, mademoiselle, your teeth will chatter to-night--on the dresser." to another--a portly lady who affected the airs of a girl--he said in his most silken tones: "my dear madam, i must tell you of a splendid remedy for getting thin." "i don't want to get thin," the portly one replied indignantly as she flounced away from him. olga waited impatiently for an opportunity to withdraw with millar into a secluded place, where she might listen to him while he told her the things that she did not dare tell herself. the evening had grown late, however, and karl had arrived before she could get away from her guests. karl had tried to avoid a tête-à-tête with olga, and she took the first opportunity of introducing him to elsa. she rebelled in her soul now at the thought of their marriage, but her will drove her to the fulfilment of her purpose, to that extent at least. but it was with a heart torn with jealousy that she watched karl and elsa move off together, and turned to meet millar, standing beside her with his cynical, sinister smile. elsa berg was a brilliant, vivacious girl, rarely beautiful, with lively blue eyes, chestnut hair and a tall, slender, willowy figure. the romance and excitement of her meeting with karl made her seem doubly beautiful, and she gladdened the artist in him, but he helplessly confessed to himself that she made no impression on his heart. his thoughts were with olga, and he was abstracted, almost to the point of rudeness, while elsa tried to talk with him. "who is that terribly rude person who seems to be frightening every one?" she asked. "he? oh, that is dr. millar, a friend of mine," karl replied. "pooh! i don't see why every one seems so afraid of him," elsa said with a note of challenge in her tone. "i think i shall meet him just to see if he will make me run." "no, no; don't go near him," karl begged. "and why not? has he such a sharp tongue or an evil mind? i can take care of myself." "i don't really think you ought to meet him," karl said, but he spoke without conviction. he suddenly yielded to a curiosity to see what might come of a meeting between elsa and millar. "i don't care; i'm going to hunt him up," she cried, jumping up and scampering off. millar had gone into an anteroom leading out into the beautiful gardens. a number of the company had assembled there as he entered, and it was obvious from the instant silence which ensued that he had been the subject of their discussion. this seemed to gratify his cynical humor, and he looked the assembled men and women--society puppets--over with a cynical grin. elsa was among them, and toward her millar bowed as he said: "i never knew this number of ladies could be so silent. i presume during my absence you have been discussing me kindly." the others did not speak, but elsa turned boldly to millar. "don't flatter yourself that i am afraid of you," she said. "i would say to your face what these people only dare think. indeed, i was just going to look for you." "it is just as well you are here; they might discuss you and your approaching betrothal with karl," millar said. "you--you know!" elsa cried in astonishment. the others seemed tremendously interested at the information millar had imparted, and elsa was embarrassed. she knew the design of her friend olga in bringing her and karl together, but she was not aware that it was known to any one else. millar smiled as he replied: "of course; they would throw you into his arms." while the others who overheard laughed at this sally and elsa blushed furiously, millar went close to her and said: "i must speak to you alone. i will send these people away. leave it to me." elsa drew away and there was a silence in the room. the others began to feel uncomfortable as millar looked slowly from one to the other of them. one or two essayed conversation, and his cutting, insolent replies sent them scurrying from the room. in a few moments only he and elsa remained in the apartment. from the adjoining ballroom came the strains of music and the sound of dancing and bright laughter. millar looked at elsa. "now they are gone," he said. "are you not surprised that i did not go also?" she asked. "you offended me, you know, but i stayed because i want to talk with you." "how charming," millar said with gentle sarcasm. "perhaps you know my nickname--saucy elsa?" said the girl warningly. "oh, yes." "then you should know that your chesterfieldian manners embarrass me," elsa said impatiently as millar bowed again before her. "i have selected you to deliver a most impudent message to that crowd in there, because you are so perfectly impolite." "i am entirely at your disposal, mademoiselle." "how can i be impudent, though, when you are so polite to me?" she cried petulantly. "shall we end the conversation, then?" "oh, no, not yet," elsa cried, embarrassed. then she went on with determination: "when you came in here you said i was the girl they were going to throw into karl's arms." "i did." "but you did not say that i am the girl who permits herself to be thrown into karl's arms. am i right?" "yes." "please sit down," elsa went on, recovering her self-poise, which the baffling politeness of millar had disturbed. he declined the chair with a gesture, but she insisted. "i feel much more commanding when i stand, and i want every advantage," she said. "i want to set you right, and it will be much easier when you sit down and i stand." smiling, millar sat down and looked up at her expectantly. slightly confused, she went on: "i don't want people making fun of me before my face. i know everything. do i make myself clear? you were kind enough to mention the subject, and i shall delegate to you the mission of explaining the true facts to those dummies." she grew quite vehement, and her cheeks flushed. millar looked at her admiringly as he said: "your confidence does me great honor." "as a rule i don't take these people seriously," the girl hurried on. "i have no more interest in them or their opinions than i have in last week's newspapers. but i want them all to know that they have not fooled me into marrying karl. and you all want me to marry him--you all want to throw me into his arms." "pardon me----" millar interrupted, but she went on, unheeding. "don't you think i can see through your transparent schemes? but i'll marry him just the same, if he'll have me. do you understand? i'll marry him." "i do not think you will," millar said quietly. "i tell you i am going to be karl's wife," elsa cried with emphasis. "now that you have graced me with your confidence," millar said, rising, "i feel that i may be quite frank with you. this marriage cannot take place." he pointed to the chair he had vacated and smiled. "now, you sit down, because i am going to set you right," he said. wonderingly, elsa obeyed. millar called a servant who was passing, and said: "you will find a small red leather case in my overcoat pocket. bring it here." the servant went out and he continued to elsa: "i know the reason of this marriage, but you--you don't know the reason, or----" "or what?" "or you don't want to know. hence you are about to consent." "consent to what?" elsa cried. "don't beat around the bush. this is what i am trying to avoid. i am about to consent to become the wife of a man who loves another woman. and, what is more, i intend to go on my honeymoon with a man who has another woman in his heart--who leaves with this other woman everything he should bring to his wife--love, sympathy, enthusiasm, everything. you see, you did not know me." millar was unmoved by her vehement declaration. as the servant re-entered the room and handed him a small, red leather case, he said: "i did not think this subject could excite you to such a degree." "i don't want any one laughing at me," elsa protested. "i want them all to understand that i know quite well the way i am going, and that i go that way proudly, fully conscious of it--that i know everything and yet i consent to be his wife." "why?" millar asked, opening his little satchel. "because--because--i--i love him," the girl answered, and began to sob. millar smiled wickedly as he took from the case a dainty lace handkerchief and held it toward elsa. "pardon me, i always carry this with me," he said. "it is my weeping bag. in it is everything a woman needs for weeping." elsa sobbed and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, not noticing that the man was amused. "i--i love him," she declared. "and take this also," millar said, handing her a little mirror, then a powder puff and a tiny stick of rouge. elsa could not help smiling through her tears at the absurdity of it, as she dabbed and dusted her tear-stained face, looking at herself in the little mirror, until all traces of her weeping were removed. "so this is the far-famed saucy elsa," millar said as he watched her. "no, it isn't," she said rebelliously. "when i came here to-night i was a young, saucy girl. now i am a nervous old woman. what shall i do?" "whatever you do, you must not be discouraged. you must fight--attack the enemy. but first of all you must be pretty." "i shall try," elsa said dolefully. "you must show that woman your teeth. of course it is hard for a young girl to fight a woman," millar went on. "you don't possess so many weapons as a married woman who knows love already--who--may i say something improper?" "please do," she said, her sauciness returning as she held her hands before her eyes and looked at him through her fingers. "a woman who knows all about love that you have yet to learn." "i understand," she said. "but don't mind that; listen. there is not much sentiment in me, but i am a man, and i tell you, little girl, you possess the weapon that will deal the death blow to the most attractive, the most experienced woman in the world. that weapon is purity." "should i listen to all this?" elsa asked. "you should not," millar replied promptly; "but listen just the same. it may help you. and now, go dance with karl. you must conquer. but don't try to be a woman; be a girl. don't try to be saucy." "i don't care to be saucy, but it is so original," elsa said contritely. "don't try to be original," millar said earnestly. "be yourself. be modest. be ashamed of your pure white shoulders. look at karl as if you feared he is trying to steal you away from girlhood land and show you the way to woman's land. and if any one ever dares to call you saucy again, tell him you once met a gentleman to whom you wanted to give a piece of your mind and that you left him with a piece of his mind, feeling very small indeed yourself, and making him feel as if he were the biggest rascal in the world." elsa turned and went toward the other room, meeting karl at the door as millar withdrew behind a curtain of palms. chapter ix millar had played with devilish ingenuity on the tender susceptibilities of elsa. he encouraged her in her love for karl and her determination to win him, evidently with the deliberate purpose that she should repel the boy whose will he had determined to subordinate to his own. he watched as a cat watches its prey the meeting between karl and elsa after he withdrew quietly into the sheltering recess behind the palms. karl had been searching for her and stopped, barring her way into the ballroom. "so here you are at last, miss elsa," he exclaimed. "yes," elsa replied, dropping her eyes demurely. "why are you not in the ballroom?" "i wanted to be alone. if any one really wanted me he could find me." her dejection surprised karl. "you seem sad. are you worried?" "no." "then what has happened?" karl asked. he walked toward her, and as he did so millar emerged from his place of concealment. karl looked at him. "ah, now i understand," he said. "surely you do not mean to suspect that i am the cause of miss elsa's unhappiness," he said blandly. karl ignored him and turned to elsa, looking at her in frank admiration. "you are very pretty to-night," he said, going close to her. "it is because you are yourself--a sweet, pure, natural girl. i like you better this way, elsa. i could take you in my arms and hug you." "oh, karl!" elsa exclaimed, blushing and hiding her face. millar's cynical smile overspread his face, and he turned away, well satisfied with the progress he was making. "excuse me," he murmured. "i must say good-evening to our hostess," and he stole quietly out. the two young people did not notice him. they sat down very close to each other, karl leaning forward and looking into the big blue eyes of the girl. elsa gave a glance at the disappearing figure of millar. "i am awfully glad to be alone with you, elsa," karl said. "you are the one natural thing in this fetid, artificial atmosphere. don't you feel warm?" "yes, as if some hot breeze were blowing through this room. it stifles me." "you never spoke like that before," karl said. his back was toward the ballroom door and he did not see millar usher olga into the room. the man had brought olga that she might witness the fulfilment of her plan, and that he might triumph in her jealousy and further thwart them. elsa saw them come in and seat themselves across the room. "there is olga," she said, "and she, too, is jealous. don't you want to speak to her?" "i have seen her," karl replied without turning around. "i would rather talk with you. it's far more interesting." "they are talking about us," elsa said warningly, as she saw olga and millar look toward them. "oh, what of it?" karl exclaimed impatiently. "let us be glad we are together. i am just beginning to know you, elsa." "why do you look around, then?" elsa said. "am i looking around?" karl asked. "i wasn't aware of it." but even as he spoke he could not help furtively glancing around to see what millar and olga were doing. he remembered the man's declaration in the studio that afternoon and he distrusted and feared him. he was beginning to hate him. by a sheer effort of will he forced himself to turn to elsa. he resolved that he would talk to her; that he would make love to her; that he would marry her and banish from his heart those hateful emotions which millar had aroused. he leaned forward and spoke of love to the girl in low tones, while elsa, with color coming and going in her face, listened and watched the woman she knew for her rival. "our first love usually is our last love--our last love always is the first," karl said. "i don't know," elsa cried demurely. "i have never been in love, although i was disappointed twice," she added gayly. karl was beginning to find his task difficult. his attention wandered to olga. "disappointments; well, yes, who has not been disappointed?" elsa observed his growing inattention, his efforts to concentrate his thoughts on their talk, his futile love-making, and she turned from him coldly. meanwhile millar and olga were having a conversation in which olga was being torn on the rack of her jealous emotions. millar had brought her into the anteroom to show her karl making love to elsa. every circumstance favored his design. olga at first was disposed to withdraw when she saw them. "don't you think we should leave the young people together?" she said. "you are too considerate," millar replied cynically. "they seem to be growing fond of each other," olga said jealously. [illustration: "they seem to be growing fond of each other," olga said jealously.--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] "yes; do you dislike it?" "no." "shall we leave now?" "no; i rather enjoy watching my seed bear fruit." olga tried to speak lightly and smile. millar, watching her closely, saw her lips twitch, and it was with difficulty that she controlled herself. "they are an interesting couple," he said. "can't we discuss something besides these two?" olga asked impatiently. "yes, certainly," millar acquiesced. "i came here to-night to decide a wager," he went on. "what was it?" olga asked absently, looking with jealous eyes at elsa and karl. "i made a wager that you would fall in love with me to-night." olga was startled by the declaration, but she treated it lightly as one of millar's strange sayings. "with whom did you make such a wager?" she asked. "with karl," millar answered quickly. "karl--and what did he say?" olga cried, almost rising from her seat. "i must not tell you now; it might hurt you." "oh, no, it won't; please tell me now," olga pleaded, leaning over the table toward him. millar, too, leaned forward, his face almost touching her white shoulder, his hand touching hers as it rested on the table. it was thus karl saw them with one of those furtive glances, and the glist froze the pretty speech he was trying to make to elsa. the girl, seeing his look, jumped to her feet, exclaiming angrily, and so that all three heard her: "take me to the ballroom immediately. i have promised the next dance." karl also, his face white with passion, had jumped to his feet. elsa, almost in tears, stamped her foot at him. "why do you stand there? take me away. aren't you coming?" she turned and started to the door, karl following. they passed millar and olga, still seated at the table. "i thought you were in the ballroom," olga said sweetly to the girl. "oh, did you?" "i hope you are enjoying the dancing." "i hate dancing, but i shall dance every dance to-night," elsa cried passionately. she looked angrily at olga, who arose and moved toward her. karl stepped between them, giving his arm to elsa. the two walked together, leaving olga looking helplessly into the smiling face of millar. olga looked angrily at the stormy little elsa as she floundered from the room into the ballroom, followed by the enraged karl. millar smiled more cynically than ever as he saw the play of emotion on olga's face. his ruse had worked admirably. he had at least beaten down olga's will, but he had yet to make certain of karl. "how dared she speak like that?" olga demanded, turning to her cynic millar. "karl must love her." "let us not reach conclusions so hastily," millar said. "first let me tell you how karl answered me this afternoon." "when you made the wager?" olga asked quickly. "yes; when i promised to make you fall in love with me." "what did he say?" "he tried to kill me," millar answered slowly. the color rushed to olga's cheeks. her eyes sparkled as she turned them toward her tempter. it was delight she felt; mad, unreasoning joy that karl's love for her had prompted him to kill another who threatened to win her from him. still smiling, millar went on, taking the shining revolver from his pocket and showing it to her: "with his own hands, dear lady, karl tried to kill me with this little pistol. i took it away from him." "he tried to shoot you?" olga exclaimed. "yes; and he would have done so. this is nicely loaded for six." almost to herself olga whispered her next words: "this afternoon he wanted to kill you when you only spoke of making love to me, and now--he saw you whisper in my ear, hold my hand, touch my shoulders. why, he must have fallen in love with----" "don't you think it silly to shoot a friend on account of a woman?" millar interrupted, before she could pronounce elsa's name. "oh, he's fond of me--perhaps you said something about me," olga stumbled on hurriedly. "karl holds me in high regard, but, there is no doubt of it, these young people are in love." "i fear you regret the success of your matrimonial scheme for karl and elsa," millar said. "do you think it will be successful?" she asked eagerly. "i don't know, but we may find out easily enough." "how?" millar took a turn up and down the room, his up-slanting eyebrows drawn together in deep thought. "this afternoon he tried to shoot me when i told him i would make you fall in love with me," he said, stopping in front of olga. "that means love. don't speak to me of respect or regard, my dear lady. they fire off cannons in salute out of respect, but when they draw pistols, that means love. now, you think karl loves this little girl. suppose we find out who is right. we will make karl tell us himself." olga turned away with a gesture of dissent, but millar went on insinuatingly: "of course, i understand it interests you only because you planned this marriage, and after all it is only right that you should feel a certain amount of pride in the success of your plans. is it not so?" "yes, that is true." "very well, then; karl shall tell us which was real--his attempt to murder me or this little affair with elsa." "but how--you don't mean to ask karl?" olga asked in bewilderment. "you are not going to listen at key-holes?" "oh, madam, no." "then how can we make him tell us?" "it is simple; i have a plan. but you must follow my instructions to the letter. don't ask for any reasons; simply do as i say." olga looked at him reflectively. she knew instinctively that he had some new bit of devilish ingenuity, some sinister twist of that marvelous brain, and she was afraid. but she wanted more than anything else to be assured that karl did not love elsa; that her scheme for their marriage had failed, and she replied: "very well, it is agreed." "i saw you once at the opera with a very beautiful cloak that covered you completely from your neck to your shoe tips. have you such a cloak now?" "yes." "good. put this cloak on. let only your bare neck show above it and the tips of your shoes beneath. button it from top to bottom, as if you felt cold. then we shall need but the presence of yourself and karl, here in this room, to solve the problem." [illustration: "let only your bare neck show above your cloak, and the tips of your shoes beneath it."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] olga looked at millar a moment in silence. there flashed instantly through her mind the full meaning of his daring suggestion, and at first she was on the point of indignant refusal. then she as quickly resolved to carry out the scheme; to beat the man at his own cunning game; to find out for herself what karl really felt. "unconditionally obey me and we shall know everything," millar assured her, observing her hesitation. "this is very mysterious," olga said slowly. "what strange influence do you possess that compels me to obey your will? your eyes seem to have all the wisdom of the world behind them." "you do my eyes poor, scant justice," millar replied. "now go, dear madam. if any one expresses astonishment that you wear a cloak indoors, simply say that you felt cold." "it really is cold," olga said with a little shiver as they turned away. "out this way," millar said quickly, pointing to the palms and a door beyond them. "karl is coming." olga gathered her skirts up and hurried from the room just as karl entered. the young artist caught a glimpse of her dress as she disappeared behind the palms. he looked at millar with jealous rage making his eyes glow. "who was that?" he demanded. "who?" millar asked, blandly. "did olga run away from me?" "no one ran from you that i know of, karl. that is a pretty girl, my young friend, that little elsa." "yes, she is pretty," karl replied absently, sitting down at a table. he was still tortured by the sight of millar leaning over olga, touching her hands, whispering in her ear. he was tormented by the insinuating words the man had uttered in the afternoon when he swore that olga should love him; should be his. he would have liked to take millar's throat in his two hands and throttle him. keenly aware of the inferno he had raised in karl, millar continued to chat affably, karl not deigning to answer. finally millar said: "you seem annoyed." karl lost control of himself and leaped to his feet. he went close to millar, staring into his eyes. "i am annoyed. do you want to know why?" he demanded, putting all the insolence he could command into his tone. "no," millar replied with a smile. "i want to tell you why," karl declared. "please don't," millar said deprecatingly. "yes, i will," karl went on belligerently. "i am amazed at the change which has come over you since this afternoon. don't imagine that it is on account of olga--we won't discuss her at all." "certainly not; she is out of the question," millar assented warmly. "absolutely," karl went on. "i came here this evening determined to ask elsa to marry me." "fine! i am very glad to hear it. i wish you good luck, my boy!" millar cried with enthusiasm. "you are glad?" "delighted," millar assured him. "it does not take you long to change your mind," karl continued, still with a truculent air. "this afternoon you insisted i should not marry elsa. to-night you are delighted at the prospect." "oh, yes; i see the matter now in a different light." "then it was olga who ran away as i entered!" karl almost shouted, glaring at him menacingly. "ran away? why should she run away?" millar asked, pretending embarrassment. "don't act like a cad!" karl cried threateningly. "what do you mean, karl?" "i mean exactly what i say. don't act like a cad. if you were a gentleman you would hide your pleasure." millar pretended to be shocked at the indignation of the young artist, which secretly delighted him. "don't talk that way, karl," he urged. "as you seem to have penetrated my secret, i suppose i might as well--but have you made up your mind to marry elsa?" "absolutely." "and you will not change your mind--you promise?" "i will not change my mind." "well, of course, if that is the case, i can tell you. i----" he hesitated as if embarrassed at his own question. karl cried roughly: "and did you succeed?" "well, i----" "what of her husband?" "ah, karl, he is deaf, dumb and blind," millar cried gleefully. stifled with the pain at his heart, karl turned away. "this afternoon, at my house, you met her for the first time," he said. "ah, karl, she is a clever woman; cleverer than i thought," millar said, affecting tremendous enthusiasm. "she deceived me this afternoon about her true character; she has been deceiving all of you. i am sure of it. oh, she is grand, fantastic, passionate, daring. think of it, karl," he went on, going close to the boy and leaning over him, bringing out his words so that every one seemed to penetrate his heart; "think of it, to-night a kiss behind a door in front of which her husband was standing. danger fascinates her. and just now, a moment before you came, we agreed----" "so it was she?" karl interrupted. "oh, yes, it was she," millar admitted. "i suggested a wild plan, karl; almost too daring for the first day of our acquaintance. her honor, position, everything depend upon its success. of course i did not dream she would carry it out. i suggested it merely to sound the depths of her passion. but she loved the idea and insisted upon doing it this very night. if it fails we are lost." karl trembled with apprehension for olga, whom he believed in the devilish power of this man. "what is it?" he asked. "she will be here in one minute, dressed in an opera cloak--and nothing else. think of it, karl; the daring of it. she will walk through the ballroom on my arm, among all those people, her friends, her husband, with no one in the secret but we two--and you. ah, karl, i told you she would be mine," millar concluded with rapturous accents. with a wild cry karl sprang at millar, hurling one word at him: "liar!" "karl, be careful," millar protested, avoiding him. "it's a lie; a damnable, dirty lie!" karl cried, trying blindly to reach him, to grasp his throat to throttle him. millar deftly avoided him and laughed triumphantly. "i have trapped you who tried to trap me," he cried. "you love olga hofmann." "yes, i love her," karl cried loudly. "i love her, and yet i will marry elsa. now, i have listened to your infernal lies; i have watched you gloat over them. men like you steal a woman's reputation and boast of it and call it a success. but you shall pay for it, now, this minute, when i kick you out of the house. out with you, like a sneak-thief that you are!" he advanced determinedly on millar, who quietly faced him. "remember, karl, that i have the pistol now," he said coolly. "out with you, you sneak-thief; i am not afraid of you," karl cried again. he was about to seize millar by the throat, when he started back in amazement at what seemed to be the fulfilment of the other's sinister promise. olga stepped through the door into the room. she was clothed from head to foot in a beautiful, shimmering, fur-trimmed cloak. above the top button gleamed her bare throat. her white arms projected from the short sleeves. the hem of the skirt fell to the tips of her white satin shoes. as olga entered she gave one glance at karl and then moved away from him, and stood beside the table at which she and millar had been seated. she saw the wild rage stamped on his face, and her woman's intuition made her know that millar had told him what she had divined he meant. the situation frightened her, and she felt on the point of fleeing from the room or casting aside the cloak; but she resolved to see the game through. karl stared at her, rage giving place to amazement, then to despair. for full a minute no one spoke. the music floated in softly from the ballroom, mingled with the hum of voices and laughter. olga was the first to break the stillness, but she did not look at him as she spoke. "karl, this is the first time i have had a chance to talk with you to-night," she said. "what is that?" karl absently asked. he had not heard; his mind was confused, bewildered. millar, cynically misunderstanding his question, said quickly: "why, that is an opera cloak." olga turned quickly, fearful that the remark might cause an eruption which she could not control. she cried impulsively, seeking to divert the threatening train of conversation: "the ball is a great success. every one is merry; every one dances as if it were the first affair of the season. the girls are all as happy as young widows who have just taken off mourning." "i have observed it," millar agreed with enthusiasm. "it is splendid. but why is karl so sad amid all this merry-making?" he added. "why are you sad, karl?" olga asked, turning to him. "i sad? you are silly," karl cried with forced gayety. "i never felt happier in all my life." there was a touch of hysteria in his voice that made olga's heart go out to him. "i am glad you are having such a good time," she said. "yes, yes; i feel like a schoolboy," karl cried wildly; "like a young tiger. i'm mad with joy. i will get drunk to-night. i will drink, drink drink until the angels in heaven sing to me--as you said this afternoon," he added, turning to millar. "no, no, karl," olga pleaded, thoroughly frightened. "why, you never drank. why should you drink to-night?" "because i am doing things to-night i never did before," karl replied bitterly. "i have never been engaged before; to-night i shall be engaged." "good! fine, karl," millar exclaimed. "she is a splendid girl." "splendid girl! what do i care what sort of a girl she is? it's not the girl; it's marriage--something new. i want to see what it is like." "for a bridegroom you are not very gay," millar said tauntingly. "gay! why should i be gay? i am drinking the last bitter drops of my bachelor days--but i'll swallow them, and then--purity." "bravo, karl!" olga said. "oh, i don't care what any one else thinks about it," karl sneered at her. "i am doing this to please myself." olga was hurt and surprised at his tone. she had never seen him so completely beside himself before; she had never heard him speak so bitterly, so vindictively. as she watched him he looked at her, and a spasm of pain contorted his face. he pointed his finger at her accusingly, and cried: "why are you wearing that cloak in the house?" "madam hofmann may be cold," millar suggested quietly. "yes, yes; i am cold," olga said hurriedly, drawing the cloak around her more closely. "you are fortunate to have such a beautiful cloak," millar said, determined now to keep them at the main point of his game. "suppose we do not talk about the cloak," olga said. "you and elsa seemed to get on nicely to-night, karl." "yes," he replied absently. "really, it was charming to watch such devoted young people," millar said. karl flashed a look of hatred at him and turned again to olga. "that cloak is lined with fur, isn't it?" before she could reply millar had interrupted in his silken, insinuating voice: "yes, soft, smooth fur." "i did not speak to you," karl cried at him savagely. "well?" he demanded of olga. "soft, smooth fur," olga replied. "it is cold in here." "nonsense; it is hot. i feel stifling," karl declared. "i feel chilly," olga insisted. "perhaps madam is not dressed warmly enough," millar insinuated. "you should wear plenty of clothes in the winter time, or you may run the chance of taking cold." olga caught her breath and then she answered: "i love to take chances." "you do, eh?" karl cried. "yes; what is it to you?" she asked tauntingly. karl threw his self-control to the winds. with flaming face and a voice that shook with anger, he cried: "aren't you two afraid of me?" olga was afraid and she looked at him apprehensively. millar smiled his cynical, sinister smile and answered: "afraid? i'm not afraid of the husband. why should i be afraid of a moralizing, joyless bridegroom?" karl took a step toward him, when herman entered the room. all three were silent and herman looked at them in surprise. "what is this--a conspiracy?" he asked gayly. "oh, no, merely a conversation," millar said. "well, karl, how are you getting along with elsa?" herman asked, taking the boy by the arm and walking off with him. olga watched them as they disappeared, going into the ballroom, karl evidently reluctant to be taken away. then she turned to millar. "what did you tell him about my cloak?" "about the cloak? nothing." "you did not tell him----" "what?" "he stared at me as if he thought--thought i had on only this cloak." "that is exactly what i told him," millar assured her. "oh, how could you?" "now don't be shocked," millar said cynically. "you knew it. the moment you entered the room you realized that i had told him. and what is more you liked it." "how dare you!" olga gasped, "if i had understood----" "if you had understood, would you have taken off the cloak?" "yes." "well, now you understand, why do you not take it off?" olga raised her head and looked straight into millar's eyes. she said not a word, but drew her cloak more closely about her with a movement that sent a thrill of suspicion and surprise through him. "madam, you didn't really?" he cried in amazement. "do you think i am a child?" she asked. "do you imagine that i did not understand your suggestion from the very first? you wanted me to fool karl. perhaps i have fooled you. how do you know i am not nude beneath this cloak?" "madam!" millar cried in wide-eyed amazement. "now let us see if you will take a chance," olga said. "give me your arm, my dear doctor, and we will walk together through the ballroom." millar was at a loss for a moment. his imperturbable calm was broken. olga had matched her woman's intuition against his cunning and had won. but his bewilderment gave way to undisguised admiration, and, bowing as gallantly as a youthful sweetheart, he gave her his arm. as they were about to leave, however, karl suddenly barred their way, coming hurriedly in from the ballroom. "are you coming in with us, karl?" olga asked, as they paused. "no," karl almost shouted; "and you are not going--you stay here." "what do you mean?" "i mean what i said. you stay here. and you, too," he added to millar. he turned and closed the ballroom door. then he faced them again. "we will settle this thing right here. take off that cloak." "i will not." "by heavens, i'll tear it off," he cried furiously, rushing at her. olga stood unmoved. millar caught karl by the arm and stopped him. "why did you stop him?" olga asked, smiling. she was perfectly self-possessed now and in command of the situation. millar was frankly afraid that she had taken his meaning literally. karl was mad with rage and jealousy. olga was unruffled. "madam, i was afraid," millar said. "you will take it off," karl cried, still held back by millar. "if you do not, i'll find your husband and he shall have the pleasure." olga turned to him sweetly. "karl, will you help me off with my cloak?" she asked. karl almost leaped toward her, but when his hands nearly touched her cloak he drew back, afraid. slowly he backed away from her, while she smiled. "dr. millar, will you help me remove my cloak?" she asked sweetly. millar put out his hands as if to do so, but quickly folded them over his breast, bowed very low and smiled, cynically shaking his head. olga looked first at one and then the other with her tantalizing smile. the three might have been carved of stone, so still were they when herman entered. "hello, karl; i lost you when i went to find elsa," he said. "what are you talking about?" "i think we have been discussing cloaks," millar said. "oh, i see olga is wearing one. isn't it rather warm for that, dear?" "yes, it is, but i felt chilly a while ago," olga answered. "will you help me off with it, herman?" herman stepped to her side as she loosened the clasps, and lifted the beautiful fur-lined garment from her shoulders. she stood before them again in the beauty of her shimmering evening gown, her white arms and shoulders gleaming, her lips parted in a dazzling smile. karl did not speak. he half involuntarily made a step toward olga, and she, fearing what he might say, cried lightly: "now, i have devoted too much time to you two. my guests are departing. i must go. come, herman." chapter x herman took his wife's arm, and together they returned to the ballroom. karl watched them disappear and turned on millar as if to attack him. there was such menace in his manner, the frenzied appearance of his face, that millar put his hand behind him quickly and half drew his revolver. before either spoke, however, elsa entered from the ballroom. she was in her cloak, ready to leave, and said, holding out her hand to karl: "i wanted to say good-by." her voice seemed to awaken karl as from a bad dream. he took her hand eagerly, stepped forward impulsively as if he would take her in his arms and kiss her, but millar interposed himself between them, and a servant entered at the same moment. checked in his advance, karl said: "i shall take you to your carriage." the servant announced that elsa's aunt awaited her. she took karl's arm, and millar directed the servant to follow them. "the sidewalk is very slippery," he said. "take miss elsa's other arm." he was determined not to give the beautiful girl a chance alone with karl. in the young artist's present excited state almost anything might occur to wreck his plans. as the two went out, followed by the servant, olga came in excitedly. she looked around to see that millar was alone and said: "your plan worked splendidly." "what are you going to do now?" asked millar anxiously, as olga sat at a table and took out writing materials. "i am going to write to him," she answered, addressing an envelope. "but what will you say?" "i shall tell him," olga said wearily, with her hands clasped to her forehead, "never to speak to me again. i never want to see him. he must leave town immediately. to think he believed me capable of----" "of what?" "ah, it is all over," olga cried, ignoring him. "i never want to see him again, because----" "because you love him?" "oh, no. after what has happened i hate him." "i am very sorry, madam," millar said contritely. "you need not be," olga assured him. "i am glad it happened. with all your cynicism you are clever and you have done me a great service. when i know that this letter is in his hands again i shall be perfectly happy," she went on, dipping her pen in the ink-well. "you say i have helped you; let me render you one more service," millar urged. "what can that be?" olga asked. "i have begun this; let me finish it. let me dictate this letter. you are excited. you cannot think of things to say. it must be firm, strong." [illustration: "i have begun this, let me finish it. let me dictate this letter."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] "yes, firm, strong," olga acquiesced. "undoubtedly," millar went on. "let me tell you what to say." wearily olga yielded to his spell. she seemed under hypnotic influence as she replied: "very well, i shall write whatever you tell me to say." millar stood behind her chair, hovering over her like an evil spirit. his singular, expressive hands twitched. "good. i shall try to express your thoughts," he said. "cold, formal?" "yes, it must be so," olga said. "it is finished forever?" "forever." "then write," he ordered. she settled herself to her task. leaning over her, millar suggested a sinister hypnotist bending a helpless victim to his will. he dictated, while olga wrote: "i have found out what i dreaded to learn--that you love me. your behavior to-night convinced me. i could not place any other interpretation on it, and my own heart answered, i cannot, dare not, see you again. god knows i want to; i long for the happiness that i might find with you, but i must not. only the certainty that i am not to see you impels me to this confession. good-by forever." when this was finished olga dropped her pen and stared at the letter. before she could do anything, millar had taken the sheet of paper, blotted it, folded it and placed it within the envelope, which he deposited in his pocket. "what have i written?" olga cried, bewildered. "the last letter," millar replied, with a smile of triumph. "i will deliver it to karl," he said. olga passed her hands wearily over her eyes, and struggled to clear her mind of the strange, intricate network of intrigue, insinuation and suggestion which millar had woven there. she thought she was rid of his sinister influence until her fingers wrote, in obedience to his will, the letter which she would have given anything to have left unwritten. when she looked up, millar was putting the letter in his pocket, and his face wore the evil, cynical smile. "i wrote it, yet i am ashamed of what i have written," she faltered, speaking with difficulty. "i tried to resist--yes, i did--but my hands, my pen, followed your words. you are a very strange man." "i will deliver the letter to karl," millar repeated slowly. "you know i did not mean it; you know i did not want to write it," olga said. "a woman does not always write what she wants," millar said lightly, "but she always wants what she writes." "the letter was not for him; it was for me," olga insisted. she arose and her hand was extended imploringly, begging millar to return the missive to her, when herman entered. the house had grown still. the music was hushed, the guests were gone. only millar, spirit of evil, incarnation of the devil, remained. "this is good of you, to stay behind and entertain the hostess," herman said cordially. "madam hofmann's conversation has been so entertaining that i quite forgot the time," millar said, looking at his watch. "by jove! it is late; i must go immediately." "won't you have some cognac before you go out? the night is cold," herman urged. "no, i thank you; i have an important engagement in the morning, and it is now too late. madam, i must bid you good-night. i have really spent a very pleasant evening." millar started toward the door. olga uttered a half-suppressed cry, and he turned inquiringly. "i left a letter lying here on the table; did you, perhaps, pick it up?" she asked nervously. she was almost weeping and spoke in a half-hysterical tone. millar, without changing countenance, drew the letter from his pocket. "perhaps this is it," he said, holding it up. "if it is of interest to your husband----" he made a movement as if to hand it to herman. fear clutched at olga's heart and she cried quickly: "no, no, it was not that; it was nothing." she forced herself to laugh. millar bowed with impressive politeness and left the room. herman bowed the strange guest out, and then noticed for the first time olga's weariness and distress. "you look tired, dear," he said tenderly. "it has been a long evening." "yes, i am tired," she said sadly. her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. as she stood leaning against the table herman thought her prettier than he had ever seen her before. he went up to her, took her hands in his and kissed her. "you seem excited, too," he said. "it makes you prettier, and i like it, my dear, sweet, darling wife." olga shrank from his caress so obviously that herman was hurt. she withdrew her hands. "please don't," she said. "i am awfully nervous." "your cheeks are burning, dear," he said, touching them. "don't, herman; i wish to be alone for a few minutes; to rest all alone. please leave me here." "very well, it shall be as you wish," herman replied, adding as he left the room: "but it would be better if you went to sleep." a servant entered, and olga signed to him to extinguish the lights. in a few moments she was alone, in semi-darkness, the room being partially lighted by the reflected light from the garden lamps. as she sat there, the tall, sinister figure of millar, in his fur overcoat and his top hat, passed the window. "it would be better if i went to sleep," olga repeated to herself slowly. just then the shadow of millar, as he passed in front of one of the garden lamps, was thrown against the white wall of the room, and she could hear distinctly his cynical chuckle. with a cry of horror she raised herself to her full height, put out her hands to ward off the evil spell, and shrieked: "no! no! no!" then she sank fainting on the floor. for a moment the shadow lingered above her, and faded. when karl left the home of herman and olga to conduct elsa and her aunt to their carriage he did not return. he was deeply ashamed of the suspicion he had entertained, and humiliated at the trick played upon his overheated imagination by millar. he could not bear to face olga or his tormentor. sending the servant back for his overcoat and hat, he plunged along through the snow, walking briskly. old heinrich had gone to bed when he reached the studio. there remained but a few hours of the night, but karl could not bring himself to sleep. he paced restlessly up and down the studio, his mind tortured by the thoughts so skilfully implanted there by millar. he was not surprised when the door bell rang and it was millar whom he admitted. his strange visitor shook the snow from his great fur coat and laid it aside. then he walked over to the grate where the fire burned cheerfully and stood in front of it, rubbing his hands as he held them out to the blaze. karl resumed his restless march up and down the room. millar watched him cynically for a few moments. "you seem nervous this morning, karl," he said. "i am nervous; i'm crazy," karl answered. "you ought to be very happy," millar insinuated. "ought to be happy! i ought to be miserable--as i am, but it is all through your evil machinations. you have made me reveal all that is evil in me to the woman----" "to the woman you love?" "yes, to the woman i love and have no right to love; to the woman whose honor i have held sacred for six years; to the woman i must never see again." "you will see her again," millar asserted quietly. "how base she must think me," karl went on wildly. "i did not know myself; i did not dream that i could be so rotten." "you will see her again," millar repeated. "she will come to you of her own free will here, in this very studio, to-day, and she will tell you with her lips on yours that she loves you." "stop! i won't listen to your infernal insinuations. you have ruined my happiness; you shall not ruin hers. i want you to keep out of her way. do you understand? i give you fair warning." "my dear karl, you don't know what you are saying. i shall not mar her happiness or yours." "why did you play that evil trick on me to-night?" "why, you dull, young artist? because i wanted to show her that you loved her; that you cared not two straws for that little slip of a girl to whom you were trying to play devoted. because i wanted to show her that her great love is not wasted on an empty-pated ass." "her love!" "of course. her love. she loves you, and has loved you for six years, and you were blind and did not know it." "it is not true. it must not be so. she is a true, loyal wife to my friend." "bah! do you want her to be loyal to that big boor of a husband when she loves you?" "i refuse to listen to you any further. now, let me tell you this. i am going away. i shall not see olga again. i shall close my studio and return to paris. and i wish not to see you again. do you understand? i am going to bed now. when i awake i want you to be gone. don't let me find you here." "you are not hospitable, my dear young friend," millar said, smiling and bowing. he seemed genuinely amused at the passionate outburst of the young artist. "i believe you are the devil!" karl cried. "and you don't find the devil a pleasing personage to look upon, except when he is decked out by poets in the disguise of cupid," millar sneered. karl abruptly left the room, going into his own room and locking the door. he threw himself upon the bed and tried to sleep, but for hours he lay awake, haunted by the sinister shadow of his temptation. left alone, millar sank comfortably back in the big, gothic arm-chair before the fire. the red glow of the flames seemed to absorb him. he was merged in the shadows--light and shadow, as they played around the big chair, from whence there came his devilish chuckle. * * * * * olga's maid, alarmed at the prolonged absence of her mistress, found her moaning on the floor, where she had fallen in a swoon after millar's departure. the maid helped her mistress to her room and to bed. "as soon as it is daylight go to monsieur karl's studio and find out at what time he will arise. let no one else know that you go there. and awaken me as soon as it is possible for me to see him." "yes, madam." olga meant to get to karl to intercept the letter which millar had tricked her into writing. she meant to tell him to go away; to end everything between them. but, although she did not know it, she was blindly obeying the evil will of millar. broad, glaring daylight had come when heinrich entered the reception-room of the studio. he divined no presence. there were no conflicting passions in his old heart. he pottered about, humming an old song to himself, dusting the vases and paintings, stirring the slumbering fire, until the door bell rang. he admitted to the anteroom a beautiful young woman whom he had never seen before. when he returned to the reception-room to ruminate on the situation he was confronted by the figure of millar--the figure of the devil. "i--i beg your pardon; i did not know you were here," he said. "i am here," millar responded cheerfully. "who rang?" "a lady, sir." "a real lady?" "oh, yes, sir." "that's odd. what does she want?" "she wants to see my master, sir, mr. karl." heinrich hurried out and ushered in elsa. the poor little girl had lost her bravado of the night before. she was ready to humble herself. she was stricken with the terrible malady. she was in love; she acknowledged it to herself, and she knew that the man she loved had his heart elsewhere. but she had resolved to make a fight--to win him if she could, and she had taken this desperate move. she was startled, though, when she was ushered into the reception-room and saw millar there, his hands on his breast, bowing profoundly. "you seem to be everywhere," she exclaimed. "what are you doing here? are you karl's secretary?" millar was transformed back into his frock coat, his immaculate trousers, his wine-colored waistcoat. he was again the polished, suave, affable gentleman of the afternoon, with ingratiating manner, cynical smile and insinuating words. "no, i am not karl's servant; only his friend," he said. "how are you feeling to-day?" "oh, very well, thank you. i did not know there was any one in here or i should have waited outside. but as it is only you i do not mind." she resented the presence of this man in the place, and she took a seat, turning her back to him. millar, not in the least disturbed, said: "karl got in very late this morning." "i assume that he did; it was very late when the ball ended." "still, i think he would be very much pleased to know that you are here. will you permit me to acquaint him of the pleasure that awaits him?" "thank you, no; i will wait for him here. this is an interesting room. i have never been here before." "i know that," millar said. "how do you know it?" elsa demanded with spirit. "oh, heinrich told me. a lady may come here secretly every day, but when she comes the first time it cannot be secret, even to heinrich." "i wish i had not come alone," elsa declared. "i know that also," said the imperturbable millar. "how do you know that?" "oh, heinrich told me there was a real lady waiting." "i am glad at least that heinrich recognized me as such," elsa declared indignantly. "he is the only one who has spoken to me as if he realized that." "then he must have thought you the other kind," millar said cynically. "heinrich made a mistake." "i think heinrich is the better judge," elsa said. "an excellent judge, i grant you," millar said, laughing. "he is the one man who should have brought you here. you know only two men have the right to open the door of a bachelor apartment to a young lady. they are his valet and the clergyman. you may choose which of the two you would prefer." elsa turned on him with eyes that flashed indignation. "i was once left alone with a man who kissed me, and i insulted him," she said. "i was once alone with a lady who insulted me and i kissed her," the cynical person replied. "you are horrible!" elsa exclaimed. millar saw her distress and rang the bell. when heinrich entered he said: "get a little red leather pocketbook out of my overcoat." "oh, you need not fear; i shall not cry this morning," elsa said. "i am not apprehensive, but i thought you were laughing," millar said. "when girls laugh i fear they are going to cry. why did you come here?" "i want to have my portrait painted, and i shall come every day," elsa replied. "you mean you want to come every day, and therefore you will have to have your portrait painted," said the cynic. "you are an expert word juggler," said elsa. "do you know that another lady comes here to have her portrait painted?" "yes; that is why i am coming," elsa declared boldly. "i want to see whose portrait will be better." "that is a bold challenge, my little girl; you were not so brave yesterday." "yesterday i was undecided. to-day i have made up my mind to fight. you gave me good advice." "i have some more advice to give you to-day; we did not finish last night." "what is it?" "it is this. do not fight. you were not made to fight." "why not? i am courageous." "yes, you are courageous, but you are not strong. don't fight, because you will batter yourself against an impenetrable wall and suffer defeat. do you know where karl's heart is?" "no." "then let me tell you. he loves olga. he cannot love any one else. he has no room in his heart for any other image. do not make sorrow for yourself, my child. forget. go away. karl is the man for another woman." elsa was courageous. she had set aside her conventional training and ideas when she came to the studio to see karl--to fight for him. now she resolved that millar should not defeat her again. she looked at him squarely and said: "in spite of all that you tell me, i shall not give up." in spite of her resolve to fight she was on the verge of tears. she sat at a table, shrinking from the sinister figure before her. millar inspired her with a nameless terror, and it was almost against her will that she listened. "let me tell you what you must do," he said, sitting down in front of her. "do you know what you should do?" "i don't like to have you sit in judgment on me this way," she protested. "you question me as if you were a judge." "no, it is not that, but you answer as if you were a prisoner. now, little elsa, stand up and listen. you know that karl is in love with olga." "yes, i know it; it is the only thing i do know." "then you should give karl up." "i can't give him up." "you must learn." "how? from whom shall i learn?" "let me see; i think i have here the very person," millar said. he walked over and opened the hall door. "mimi, come in here and wait; it is warmer," he called. chapter xi to the amazement of elsa, the shrinking little model came in, hesitating on the threshold. she wore a red woolen jersey over her bodice that fitted her tightly and made her look very slight and shivering. she looked with wide-open eyes at the beautiful girl and dropped a courtesy as she sat in the seat millar drew out for her. elsa nodded at her in silence, and millar, after watching them a few seconds with a smile of amusement, walked out of the room, whistling softly. mimi was the first to break the silence, squirming under elsa's direct scrutiny. "madam is waiting for the artist?" "yes," elsa replied shortly. "so am i," mimi said, adding, with engaging frankness: "he went on a spree last night. when he does that he always sleeps late." elsa was embarrassed, and there was another interval of silence. then mimi said: "is madam to have her portrait painted?" "yes." "i know all those who come here to be painted," mimi went on. "this is quite like home to me. i am his model. i don't have to pay for my portraits. madam has a splendid profile." "please do not call me madam," elsa said impatiently. "i am miss, like yourself." "i beg your pardon," mimi said. "i am not madam, either. my name is mimi." "my name is elsa." "oh, i know; i have heard of you. you are very rich as well as very beautiful. i know what it means to be rich. once our family was well off, and i did not have to work as a model." "i am sorry you have been unfortunate," elsa said. "but i have heard much of you," the girl went on. she was now tremendously interested in this beautiful woman whose coming, she believed, meant that she would no longer be karl's model. "you see, i know all the things that go on here; i look out for the artist's laundry and sew his buttons on; and i almost know his thoughts." "and do they interest you?" "oh, yes; but it will not be so any more." "why not?" "because he is to be married; because you have come and he will not need me." "why not? he will still paint. he must have models." "yes, but it will not be the same, and i will not come any more." "do you like monsieur karl?" "very much." "does he paint you now?" "ah, no; nothing but landscapes." "then you did not come as a model to-day?" elsa asked. "i come always as a model. if the artist does not treat me as such it is not my fault." she noticed that elsa looked offended, and went on hurriedly, apologetically: "please, if i offend you i will be quiet. but you seem to be so nice. if i were you and you were the model i should not be angry with you." elsa was touched by the pathos in mimi's eyes. "pardon me; i am very, very sorry if i have hurt you," she cried impulsively. "let us be friends." "yes, let's," mimi cried. "you can talk to me about everything. i am not a bad sort, but i have known him for a long while. i was crying when i went away yesterday and he felt sorry for me. he came to the house on his way to the ball last night in his evening clothes, but i would not see him. it must be finished." "was he fond of you?" "i liked him very much," mimi replied simply. "and now?" "ah, now it is different. if a man wants to have another sweetheart, what can we do? it is like the railway. the train comes in and goes and the little station must wait until another train comes." "and you are going to wait for another train? you were fond of him and can speak like that?" "i was fond of him," mimi said. "but i am not silly enough to believe it will last just because i wanted it to last. i knew when it started that i should have to give him up some day. i have learned that. i shall forget him--and hope that he and you will be happy." mimi's tears came unrestrainedly now, and as she looked for her handkerchief elsa picked up millar's weeping satchel, where he had left it on the table, and gave it to the model. mimi dabbed vigorously at her streaming eyes. "i am glad that i met you here," she said when she could control her voice. "i shall be clever to-day and not see him at all. i will go away now and never come back. what time is it?" "it is o'clock," elsa said, looking at her watch. "then i must go. another artist in the next block expects me to pose for him, and his laundress comes at . he is very clever." she stood up and looked around the room at the things on the walls--her own pictures--the place that seemed like home to her. she sobbed as she started toward the door. "good-by, miss," she said. elsa looked after her as she went out. then she looked around the room and was seized with panic. "mimi! mimi!" she called out. the model did not return. elsa seized her hat and fled, just as millar entered from the adjoining room. his chuckle of satanic amusement reached her as she hurried from the house. chapter xii millar's sardonic face was wreathed in smiles as he looked after the two young girls, each of whom carried from his hateful presence a bruised heart. with mimi it was the fate of a child of the underworld--something to which she was pathetically resigned. with her there was no struggle. she knew that when she ceased to charm she must go her way and find another man; a master rather than a sweetheart. elsa could not have told herself what fear made her fly from the studio after mimi, but she feared that she was also doomed to give up the hope of her heart. it was her first cruel disappointment, but mimi had made her see that she was beaten, and, in spite of her earlier resolution to fight, she saw that fighting would bring only unhappiness. she hurried to her waiting carriage and was driven home, where she locked herself in her room to weep alone. and millar, the sinister being, ever at hand with his insidiously evil suggestions, chuckled as he watched them go. he threw himself into a chair and rang the bell for heinrich. the old servant entered rebelliously, but, trained to habits of obedience, he could not give expression to his feeling of hatred and distrust of his master's strange visitor. as for millar, he even seemed to find something amusing in the old man's obvious aversion. "bring me tea and brandy," he ordered peremptorily. "yes, sir." "is your master up?" "yes, sir." "has any one seen him this morning?" "no, sir. madam hofmann's maid was here three times." "what for?" millar demanded quickly. "she wished to know when madam hofmann might see mr. karl. i told her i had strict orders not to call him before o'clock." millar looked at his watch and saw that it was a few minutes after o'clock. "humph! we shall have another visitor shortly," he muttered. "i think i begin to see the completion of my work. it shall be this afternoon. get my tea," he added to heinrich, "and serve it in the studio." the old man went out. millar paced slowly up and down the floor, looking at his watch, until he heard the door bell ring. "the beautiful olga," he said, stepping softly from the reception-room into the studio and leaving the way clear for olga. she was admitted by heinrich. she hurried into the room, looked wildly about her and sank into a seat. for a moment she could not speak. all night and all day, since millar's shadow hovered above her fainting form in her own home, she had been torn by the emotions raised by the letter. it was a confession she had never meant to make. she dreaded the thought of karl ever seeing it. heinrich waited respectfully. "is mr. karl at home?" she asked. "yes, madam." "my maid told me he could not be seen until o'clock. it is now after . may i see him?" "if you will wait a few minutes longer, madam, i will tell him that you are here." heinrich started toward the studio. "one moment," olga called after him. "has any one seen mr. karl to-day?" "no, madam." "has he received no letter?" "no, madam." "thank god!" she exclaimed fervently. "go, heinrich; tell him i am in a great hurry and must see him at once." "i am afraid, madam, you will have to wait a few minutes for mr. karl to dress," heinrich said. "shall i tell dr. millar you are here?" "who?" olga cried, springing up in dread. "dr. millar; the gentleman who was here yesterday," heinrich said. "is he with your master?" olga cried in fright. "yes, madam." "oh, god! am i too late? tell me, did you see dr. millar give a letter to your master?" "he may have done so, madam. i cannot remember." olga walked nervously up and down the room, while heinrich waited, sympathizing at her distress. the old man was mystified, but he felt that millar was to blame for the grief which his young master's beautiful visitor showed. "it may not be too late," olga cried to herself. then she said to heinrich: "please tell dr. millar to come down. do not tell him who is here; simply say a lady wishes to see him at once." "yes, madam." heinrich withdrew, leaving olga, with clenched hands and twitching features, walking up and down the room. it was thus millar saw her as he entered, with his cynical smile, at which she shuddered. "you are the lady who wished to see me at once?" he asked, with his most polite bow. "i am honored, madam." "yes, i sent for you," olga said, not knowing how to begin. "and what may i do for you?" "please tell me quickly--i am trembling--did you----" "yes, dear lady, i delivered your letter." olga sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands, while dry, tearless sobs shook her body. millar looked at her unmoved, and as heinrich entered with the tea tray he turned coolly to the old servant. "put that tea here," he said, indicating a table near olga. "and the brandy. thank you. you may go." he poured himself a cup of tea and began to sip it, looking the while at the terrified woman before him. chapter xiii it was the moment of millar's complete triumph, and he gloated over olga as she sat there, her trembling hands covering her face, much as a large cat gloats over a mouse, helpless beneath his paws. he lied deliberately about the letter, which even then reposed in the inside pocket of his immaculate frock coat. but he reserved it for a final coup. he knew that olga, believing karl was in possession of the letter, would yield to the inevitable; that she would again confess her love, even to karl himself, and that only a miracle of resolution and faith and strength could save the two young people from the abyss of dishonor and unhappiness into which he was about to plunge them. he sipped his tea in silence. several moments elapsed before olga was able to control herself. then she asked, without looking at millar, and her voice was dry with pain: "did--did karl read the letter?" "oh, yes," millar said, with another sip of tea. "oh, god! too late!" she cried. millar arose and stood behind olga's chair, leaning over her and speaking in a soft, low voice. "after he read the letter he buried his face in his pillow and wept," he said. "he wept?" "yes; he wept with joy. i do not like men who weep." olga did not heed his flippancy. she looked up at him imploringly. "i did not want him to get that letter," she said. "i came to ask him to give it back to me unopened. i am too late." "it is not you who are too late; it was i who was too early," millar said deprecatingly. "oh, is this life really a serious matter?" olga exclaimed; "when everything can depend upon one's getting here a few moments before or a few minutes after o'clock?" "that is it exactly," millar said. "we should not take it so seriously." olga looked thoughtfully away from him and said to herself softly: "he wept." "from joy," millar repeated after her, in the same soft voice. "i am afraid to speak to him, and yet i must," olga cried, starting up. "i would like to go far, far away, but i cannot. something seems to hold me here. i cannot, cannot go. what will become of me?" "you will be very happy and will make karl very happy," millar said. heinrich entered and took the tea-things. "mr. karl will be down in a moment," he said. olga clasped her hands tragically and turned an imploring face on millar, who started for the studio door. "good-by," he said. "i will leave you to speak to karl alone." "please don't go," olga implored. "i can hardly remain under the circumstances," he said. he knew that to further his design karl and olga should meet quite alone. he would see to it that even old heinrich did not interrupt them until olga had repeated her confession of love, and the hoax of the letter had been revealed. then he would reappear, with the letter, and they might read it together. olga knew that her own frail, feminine heart would give way if she were left alone to meet karl. evil as she believed millar to be, yet she dreaded his going now. "i am afraid to be alone with him," she said. "won't you please stay?" "but if i stay, how could you speak to karl about the letter?" millar asked. "and you must say something about it, you know. i would only be in the way." olga weakened and began to pace the floor again. "well, i shall be quite frank with him," she said. "i shall be honest. i shall ask him for the last time----" karl's voice was heard in his own room, calling to heinrich. "he is coming," millar said. "i will leave you." "please don't go very far away," olga implored. "i shall be here," millar said, going to a small anteroom adjoining the studio. "if you need me, call." he stepped within the other room and closed the door softly. olga stood, her hands gripping the back of her chair, waiting. karl entered the reception-room and stood for an instant looking at olga. he showed that he, too, had suffered during the night. his face was white and drawn. when he saw olga standing there, a mute statue of despair, he was filled with pity for her and self-abasement. he stepped quickly to her side, caught her hands and kissed them passionately. "i ought to go down on my knees and beg your pardon for my conduct last night, olga," he said. she turned to him quickly, yielding her hands to him, leaning toward him, speaking eagerly. "speak very low; he is in there," she said, pointing to the anteroom where millar was hiding. "let us be brief, karl. i have been very foolish, but i could not control myself. after what happened i wanted to know. i wanted to feel that you loved me as i thought you did, as i hoped you did, day and night, every minute." "olga!" he exclaimed rapturously. [illustration: "i wanted to feel that you loved me as i hoped you did."--page . by permission of henry w. savage.] he was not prepared for this. he feared that he had offended her, and her impulsive declaration swept him from his feet. he watched her face eagerly, hungrily, as she went on, talking very rapidly, and making no effort to disengage her hands, which he held clasped to his breast. "everything has changed since yesterday, karl. but let us try to repeat what we said then. let us shake hands honorably. let us try to be strong and keep our promises, as we have kept them so long, karl. if i have been bold and frivolous it was only because i wanted to know what you thought of me; nothing else. but i am afraid i have been punished too much." her passion swept her along, as she was swayed alternately by love for karl and the saner impulse to flee from him. but the sweetness of knowing that she was loved, of feeling her hands clasped in his, after all her years of self-depression, broke down her resolution. "i fear it is too late, karl. my strength is gone. my will is lost. we have gone back six years. karl, i love you." chapter xiv the last words she whispered with infinite tenderness, and her head fell on his breast. hysterically they clasped each other in their arms and, half laughing, half sobbing, looked into each other's eyes. karl leaned over her, murmuring his love and kissing her eyes and hair. "be careful; he is in there," olga warned him finally, again pointing at the door behind which their evil spirit lurked. then she whispered shyly: "did my letter surprise you?" "letter?" karl asked, astonished. "what letter, dear heart?" "karl, i understand you wish to be discreet," olga said reproachfully, "but it is my first letter and i am not ashamed. let us be honest; i am not afraid. i love you. when i wrote that letter i hardly knew what i was doing, and i must confess i felt ashamed at first. but i am no longer ashamed now; i am proud. sometimes women do not write what they want, karl, but they always want what they write. karl, i would like to read that letter over again in your arms." that letter meant much to olga; it was her only love letter. she had never written to karl before, except in the conventional boy and girl fashion, when she did not know how to express love. her correspondence with herman had always been of the most perfunctory sort. never before had she poured out her soul as she did in this letter. now she wanted to see what she had written; to read it over with the man for whom it was intended. it was with a shock of pain that she beheld karl's indifference, and she was amazed when he added: "i received no letter from you, olga." "what! how can you say so? was not a letter delivered to you this morning?" "i assure you that i did not receive any letter from you," karl said earnestly. the realization of millar's trick was like a blow in the face to olga. she saw now how he had deliberately lied to her, in order that she would certainly repeat her confession of love to karl. in what a bold, forward, disloyal attitude she had been placed! her first impulse was of anger, and she ran toward the anteroom. "doctor! dr. millar!" she called wildly. the door opened noiselessly and millar stood bowing on the threshold. "my--my letter!" olga stammered. "madam, i beg a thousand pardons," millar said suavely. "my only excuse is that some letters are better undelivered." he drew from the inner pocket of his coat a letter, and with a smile and a sweeping bow handed it to karl. "however, i can now make reparation," he said. karl took the letter, looking wonderingly from olga to millar. he held it an instant in his hand and was about to open it, when olga cried: "karl, tear the letter up." karl instantly obeyed her, tearing the envelope into small pieces. "now burn it," olga said. he stepped over to the fireplace and threw the bits of paper on the glowing coals. they started up in a little flame and were quickly reduced to ashes. olga was terrified at the trick millar had played upon her and at its results. she looked in fear from him to karl. "who is this man?" she asked. karl could not answer her. the same question was echoing in his heart. who was this man, this personification of evil? ever there were his insidious wiles to compromise, cajole, trick and betray them. he could not tell. he only knew that he loathed him and that he would drive him out. "are you going now?" he demanded, as millar stood looking at them with his evil smile. millar took the question in the most natural way, disregarding the purposely offensive tone in which karl spoke. "yes, i am; i must," he said, half regretfully. "my train leaves in half an hour. again permit me to beg a thousand pardons. could i have foreseen the anguish that was to follow my failure to deliver madam's letter, nothing in the world could have----" karl interrupted him rudely, determined that he should not beguile them again and that he should not speak of olga or the letter as a thing of importance. "you should know that the letter contained only a conventional message," he said. millar looked at olga, and his smile grew broad as she hung her head and blushed. who should know better than he the confession which she had written and which was now destroyed? "it was quite conventional, i am sure," he said cynically. "you will miss your train," karl said with studied insolence. "heinrich, help the doctor on with his coat." "a thousand thanks," the imperturbable millar said. "madam, good-by. and once more i beg a thousand pardons." neither olga nor karl spoke to him as he walked to the door, looked back at them, bowed low again and chuckled as the door closed after him. olga turned quickly to karl and held out her hands. "he is gone. i am glad. but, karl, i would have given a year of my life if he had delivered my letter to you." "why? tell me what you wrote," he asked eagerly. "i wrote all the things i told you a few moments ago, karl. you know it all now." she went over to the grate and looked sadly into the ashes. "my first love letter," she said softly. "oh, karl, it was my confession of my love for you. i would like to read it over again with you, and then we might forget. i don't want to be afraid. i want to be strong, to be happy. if i only had that letter now." karl took her hands in his, and comforted her. "never mind it, olga; it has served its purpose. it has taught us ourselves, our hearts." "it has taught us that we must be strong, brave and loyal," olga declared warmly. they stood thus, looking into each other's eyes, sanely, clearly, each ready to renounce. the door of the studio opened and millar stood before them again, holding in his extended hand a letter. "i beg a thousand pardons again," he said. "i find i gave karl an old tailor's bill instead of madam's letter." olga eagerly took the letter, opened it and recognized her own handwriting. "my letter, karl!" she exclaimed. both bent close over the letter, reading it eagerly, while millar slipped quietly out of the studio--out of their lives. olga looked up from their reading. "i am glad that i wrote it, karl," she said. "now we will burn it." together they watched it glow brightly into flame and fall into gray ashes. "that is our love begun and ended, karl," olga said quietly. "it was wrong, and now we realize it, don't we? and now, dear boy, you are coming with me." "where?" karl asked. "i am going to take you to elsa," olga answered. with a feeling of elation, karl called heinrich, and was helped into his overcoat. he bent respectfully and kissed olga's hand as they walked out of the studio together. the end the moral of "the devil" by ella wheeler wilcox copyright, , by american journal-examiner. in every human organization dwell the _twins_--the angel and the demon. the angel is the real self; the enduring, immortal self, which goes on from life to life, from planet to planet, until it has made the circuit and ended where it began--at the _source_. the demon is man made; it belongs to the changing, perishable bodies which are created anew with each incarnation; and it goes down, and out, into nothingness, with the disintegration of the animal body. but with each new body, the mortal being usually invents, or adopts, a new devil. a few great souls have passed along through earth without such demoniacal association; christ, the latest and greatest of the masters, held converse with the devil once, on the mountain top, when he was tempted; but that was his only acquaintance with him, because he had finished his circuit, and was ready to become _one with god_. a weak man or woman, with good intentions and desirous of leading a moral life, but lacking _will power_, and inclined to be timid, and fearful, and negative in thought, often adopts a devil formed by some selfish and licentious person, who fashions devils by the wholesale and sends them out to roam over the earth, seeking an open door in a weak mind. when such occurrences are analyzed they are usually called hypnotism. in every liquor saloon, in every gambling den, in every boldly vicious and immoral place, about every race track and pool room, devils swarm. and the weak, the dissipated, the thoughtless and the irresponsible minds are the open doors for them to mass through, into dominion of the human citadel. in many drawing-rooms of fashion, in brilliant restaurants and hotels, where the élite congregate; in sensuously decorated studios, devils also wait day and night, knowing that they will be entertained, if not welcomed, by some of the self-indulgent frequenters of these places. many are the devices employed by the devils of earth to bring about the desired results. drinks, drugs, avarice, money mania, jealousy, love of power, desire to outshine neighbors, lust, sensuality, gross appetites, gourmandism, love of praise, personal conceit and egotism, selfishness in every form--all these are webs which the devils spin about humanity. even beautiful, romantic sentiment, memory and imagination, become aids of the devil, at times, when coarser and more common methods fail in the snaring of a refined soul. many a good wife, who shrinks with horror at the thought of a vulgar amour, or of any act which could pain or anger her husband, has been led into the devil's net by indulging in retrospective dreams of a vanished romance and through the stirring of old ashes to see if one little spark remained. letter writing is a favorite pastime of almost all devils. once they get a romantic man or woman, with a pen in hand and an unoccupied chamber in the heart, and the breed of devils who hang about the domestic hearth, hoping to find rooms to let, chuckle in glee. wives who have believed themselves happy and satisfied, husbands who have been unconscious of any lack in their lives, have fallen by the wayside through an interesting correspondence with some sympathetic "affinity," who was devil-instructed to lead them into trouble. after a man or woman falls into the devil's snare they both call it fate, and proclaim their inability to combat the powerful influence of "destiny." but destiny is _man himself_. the angel dwells always within him, ready to say, "get thee behind me, satan," if the man really wants it said. the angel and the devil both are completely under man's control; the work of man, here in this sphere and in every other, is to develop the _character which will enable him to get back to the source_. unless the man directs the angel to take the ascendancy, there would be no growth in wisdom for him were the angel to interpose. so he remains silent and lets the devil do his work, in order that man may find out for himself the pain and folly of such dominion; and in order that when he again encounters the devil, either in this plane of existence or some other, he may be able to say as christ said, "get thee behind me." always have there been devils; always will there be devils, while humanity is evolving from the lower to the higher states. but always is there the angel, ready to lead the soul to conquest and victory if the soul will call. famous copyright books in popular priced editions re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. library size. printed on excellent paper--most of them with illustrations of marked beauty--and handsomely bound in cloth. price, cents a volume, postpaid. * * * * * beverly of graustark. by george barr mccutcheon. with color frontispiece and other illustrations by harrison fisher. beautiful inlay picture in colors of beverly on the cover. "the most fascinating, engrossing and picturesque of the season's novels."--_boston herald._ "'beverly' is altogether charming--almost living flesh and blood."--_louisville times._ "better than 'graustark'."--_mail and express._ "a sequel quite as impossible as 'graustark' and quite as entertaining."--_bookman._ "a charming love story well told."--_boston transcript._ half a rogue. by harold macgrath. with illustrations and inlay cover picture by harrison fisher. "here are dexterity of plot, glancing play at witty talk, characters really human and humanly real, spirit and gladness, freshness and quick movement. 'half a rogue' is as brisk as a horseback ride on a glorious morning. it is as varied as an april day. it is as charming as two most charming girls can make it. love and honor and success and all the great things worth fighting for and living for the involved in 'half a rogue.'"--_phila. press._ the girl from tim's place. by charles clark munn. with illustrations by frank t. merrill. "figuring in the pages of this story there are several strong characters. typical new england folk and an especially sturdy one, old cy walker, through whose instrumentality chip comes to happiness and fortune. there is a chain of comedy, tragedy, pathos and love, which makes a dramatic story."--_boston herald._ the lion and the mouse. a story of american life. by charles klein, and arthur hornblow. with illustrations by stuart travis, and scenes from the play. the novel duplicated the success of the play; in fact the book is greater than the play. a portentous clash of dominant personalities that form the essence of the play are necessarily touched upon but briefly in the short space of four acts. all this is narrated in the novel with a wealth of fascinating and absorbing detail, making it one of the most powerfully written and exciting works of fiction given to the world in years. barbara winslow, rebel. by elizabeth ellis. with illustrations by john rae, and colored inlay cover. the following, taken from story, will best describe the heroine: a toast: "to the bravest comrade in misfortune, the sweetest companion in peace and at all times the most courageous of women."--_barbara winslow._ "a romantic story, buoyant, eventful, and in matters of love exactly what the heart could desire."--_new york sun._ susan. by ernest oldmeadow. with a color frontispiece by frank haviland. medallion in color on front cover. lord ruddington falls helplessly in love with miss langley, whom he sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, susan. through a misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses a love missive to the maid. susan accepts in perfect good faith, and an epistolary love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. it naturally makes a droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story that is particularly clever in the telling. when patty went to college. by jean webster. with illustrations by c. d. williams. "the book is a treasure."--_chicago daily news._ "bright, whimsical, and thoroughly entertaining."--_buffalo express._ "one of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written."--_n. y. press._ "to any woman who has enjoyed the pleasures of a college life this book cannot fail to bring back many sweet recollections; and to those who have not been to college the wit, lightness, and charm of patty are sure to be no less delightful."--_public opinion._ the masquerader. by katherine cecil thurston. with illustrations by clarence f. underwood. "you can't drop it till you have turned the last page."--_cleveland leader._ "its very audacity of motive, of execution, of solution, almost takes one's breath away. the boldness of its denouement is sublime."--_boston transcript._ "the literary hit of a generation. the best of it is the story deserves all its success. a masterly story."--_st. louis dispatch._ "the story is ingeniously told, and cleverly constructed."--_the dial._ the gambler. by katherine cecil thurston. with illustrations by john campbell. "tells of a high strung young irish woman who has a passion for gambling, inherited from a long line of sporting ancestors. she has a high sense of honor, too, and that causes complications. she is a very human, lovable character, and love saves her."--_n. y. times._ * * * * * grosset & dunlap, -- new york [transcriber's note: a table of contents has been created for this electronic book. in addition, the following typographical errors from the original edition have been corrected. in chapter iii, a triple quotation mark following "you were not here when i entered" and a single quotation mark preceding "your future wife will swear" were changed to double quotation marks, and "sip the sweeest wine" was changed to "sip the sweetest wine". in chapter vi, a quotation mark was added following "a found treasure". in chapter viii, "the fulfilment of her puropse" was changed to "the fulfilment of her purpose", and "every detal of his dress" was changed to "every detail of his dress". in chapter ix, quotation marks were removed in front of "don't you want to speak to her?" and ""with a wild cry", "the indignation of the yiung artist" was changed to "the indignation of the young artist", and "he advanced determedly" was changed to "he advanced determinedly". in the advertisements, a comma following "boston transcript" was changed to a period, "dominant personalties" was changed to "dominant personalties", and "medalion in color" was changed to "medallion in color". no other corrections were made to the text.] transcriber's note: [=a] indicates a with macron [)a] indicates a with breve [)e] indicates e with breve] everyman's library edited by ernest rhys romance kalevala translated from the finnish by w. f. kirby, f.l.s., f.e.s. in vols. vol. kalevala the land of the heroes volume one london: j. m. dent & sons ltd. new york: e. p. dutton & co. inc. all rights reserved made in great britain at the temple press letchworth and decorated by eric ravilious for j. m. dent & sons ltd. aldine house bedford st. london first published in this edition reprinted , , introduction the _kalevala_, or the land of heroes, as the word may be freely rendered, is the national epic of finland, and as that country and its literature are still comparatively little known to english readers, some preliminary explanations are here necessary. on reference to a map of europe, it will be seen that the north-western portion of the russian empire forms almost a peninsula, surrounded, except on the norwegian and swedish frontiers, by two great arms of the baltic sea, the gulf of bothnia and the gulf of finland; the two great lakes, ladoga and onega; the white sea, and the arctic ocean. in the north of this peninsula is lapland, and in the south, finland. the modern history of finland begins with the year , when the country was conquered from the original inhabitants by the swedes, and christianity was introduced. later on, the finns became lutherans, and are a pious, industrious, and law-abiding people, the upper classes being highly educated. during the wars between sweden and russia, under peter the great and his successors, much finnish territory was wrested from sweden, and st. petersburg itself stands on what was formerly finnish territory. when what was left of finland was finally absorbed by russia in , special privileges were granted by alexander i. to the finns, which his successors confirmed, and which are highly valued by the people. the upper classes speak swedish and finnish; and the lower classes chiefly finnish. finnish is upheld by many finns from patriotic motives, and there is a considerable modern literature in both languages. translations of most standard works by english and other authors are published in finnish. the finns call their country _suomi_ or marshland; and it is often spoken of as the land of ten thousand lakes. the language they speak belongs to a group called finnish-ugrian, or altaic, and is allied to lappish and esthonian, and more distantly to turkish and hungarian, there are only twenty-one letters in the alphabet; the letter j is pronounced like y (as a consonant), and y almost as a short i. the first syllable of every word is accented. this renders it difficult to accommodate such words as _k[=a]l[)e]v[)a]l[=a]_ to the metre; but i have tried to do my best. the finlanders are very fond of old ballads, of which a great number have been collected, especially by elias lönnrot, to whom it occurred to arrange a selection into a connected poem, to which he gave the name of _kalevala_. this he first published in , in two small volumes containing twenty-five runos or cantos, but afterwards rearranged and expanded it to fifty runos; in which form it was published in ; and this was speedily translated into other languages. perhaps the best translations are schiefner's german version ( ) and collan's swedish version ( ). several volumes of selections and abridgments have also appeared in america and england; and an english translation by john martin crawford (in two volumes) was published in new york and london in . schiefner used a flexible metre for his translation, which resembles the original as closely as the different character of finnish and german would permit, a metre which had previously, though rarely, been used in english. his work attracted the attention of longfellow, whose "song of hiawatha" is only a rather poor imitation of schiefner's version of the _kalevala_, some of the lines being almost identical, and several of the characters and incidents being more or less distinctly borrowed from those in the kalevala. the incidents, however, are generally considerably altered, and not always for the better. it will be seen that lönnrot edited the _kalevala_ from old ballads, much as the poems of homer, or at least the _iliad_ and _odyssey_, are said to have been put together by order of pisistratus. in the preparation of my own translation, the flexibility of the metre has permitted me to attempt an almost literal rendering; without, i hope, sacrificing elegance. the simplicity of the finnish language and metre would, in my opinion, render a prose version bald and unsatisfactory. my chief difficulty has been to fit the finnish names into even a simple english metre, so as to retain the correct pronunciation, and i fear i have not always succeeded in overcoming it satisfactorily. i am greatly indebted to prof. kaarle krohn and madame aino malmberg of helsingfors, for their kindness in looking over the whole of my typewritten translation, and for numerous suggestions and comments. of course i am solely responsible for any errors and shortcomings which may be detected in my work. i have added short notes at the end of each volume, and a glossary of proper names at the end of the book, but a detailed commentary would be out of place in a popular edition. the arguments to each runo are translated, slightly modified, from those in the original. the religion of the poem is peculiar; it is a shamanistic animism, overlaid with christianity. the _kalevala_ relates the history of four principal heroes: väinämöinen, the son of the wind, and of the virgin of the air; a great culture-hero, patriarch, and minstrel, always described as a vigorous old man. the esthonians call him vanemuine, and make him the god of music. his "brother" ilmarinen appears to be the son of a human mother, though he is also said to have been "born upon a hill of charcoal." he is a great smith and craftsman, and is described as a handsome young man. the third hero, lemminkainen, is a jovial, reckless personage, always getting into serious scrapes, from which he escapes either by his own skill in magic, or by his mother's. his love for his mother is the redeeming feature in his character. one of his names is kaukomieli, and he is, in part, the original of longfellow's "pau-puk-keewis." the fourth hero is kullervo, a morose and wicked slave of gigantic strength, which he always misuses. his history is a terrible tragedy, which has been compared to that of oedipus. he is, in part, the prototype of longfellow's "kwasind." he is the principal hero of the esthonian ballads, in which he is called kalevipoeg, the son of kaiev (kaleva in finnish), the mythical ancestor of the heroes, who does not appear in person in the _kalevala_. the history of the kalevipoeg will be found in my work entitled _the hero of esthonia_, published by nimmo in , in two volumes. however, the esthonians make him not a slave, but a king. in the _kalevala_ we meet with no kings, but only patriarchs, or chiefs of clans. the principal heroines of the _kalevala_ are ilmatar, the daughter of the air, the creatrix of the world, in the first runo, whose counterpart is marjatta, the mother of the successor of väinämöinen, in the last runo; aino, a young lapp girl beloved of väinämöinen, whose sad fate forms one of the most pathetic episodes in the _kalevala_; louhi, the mistress of pohjola, or the north country; and her daughter, afterwards the wife of ilmarinen. the character of the daughter of louhi presents three phases, which illustrate more than anything else the composite character of the poem, for it is impossible that any two can have been drawn by the same hand. firstly, we find her as the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the witch, playing the part of a medea, without her cruelty. secondly, we find her as a timid and shrinking bride, in fact almost a child-bride. thirdly, when married, she appears as a wicked and heartless peasant-woman of the worst type. the heroes are all skilled in magic, and to some extent are able to command or propitiate even the gods. a peculiarity of finnish magic is what is called "the word of origin." to control or banish an evil power, it is sufficient to know and to repeat to it its proper name, and to relate the history of its creation. before concluding the introduction, it may be well to give a brief summary of the principal contents of the fifty runos of the poem. runo i. after a preamble by the bard, he proceeds to relate how the virgin of the air descended into the sea, was tossed about by the winds and waves, modelled the earth, and brought forth the culture-hero väinämöinen, who swims to shore. runo ii. väinämöinen clears and plants the country, and sows barley. runo iii. the laplander joukahainen presumes to contend with väinämöinen in singing, but is plunged by him into a swamp, till he pledges to him his sister aino; after which he is released, and returns home discomfited. but aino is much distressed at the idea of being obliged to marry an old man. runo iv. väinämöinen makes love to aino in the forest; but she returns home in grief and anger, and finally wanders away again, and is drowned while trying to swim out to some water-nymphs in a lake. her mother weeps for her incessantly. runo v. väinämöinen fishes up aino in the form of a salmon; but she escapes him, and his mother advises him to seek a bride in pohjola, the north country, sometimes identified with lapland, but apparently still further north. runo vi. while väinämöinen is riding over the water on his magic steed, joukahainen shoots the horse under him. väinämöinen falls into the water, and is driven onwards by a tempest, while joukahainen returns to his mother, who upbraids him for shooting at the minstrel. runo vii. väinämöinen is carried by an eagle to the neighbourhood of the castle of pohjola, where the chatelaine, louhi, receives him hospitably, and offers him her beautiful daughter if he will forge for her the talisman called the sampo. he replies that he cannot do so himself, but will send his brother ilmarinen, so louhi gives him a sledge in which to return home. runo viii. väinämöinen, on his journey, finds the daughter of louhi sitting on a rainbow weaving, and makes love to her. in trying to accomplish the tasks she sets him, he wounds himself severely, and drives away till he finds an old man who promises to stanch the blood. runo ix. the old man heals väinämöinen by relating the origin of iron, and by salving his wounds. runo x. väinämöinen returns home, and as ilmarinen declines to go to pohjola to forge the sampo, he causes a whirlwind to carry him to the castle. ilmarinen forges the sampo, but the maiden declines to marry him at present, and he returns home disconsolate. runos xi.-xv. these runos relate the early adventures of lemminkainen. he carries off and marries the beautiful kyllikki, but quarrels with her, and starts off to pohjola to woo the daughter of louhi. louhi sets him various tasks, and at length he is slain, cast into the river of tuoni, the death-god, and is hewed to pieces; but is rescued and resuscitated by his mother. runos xvi.-xvii. väinämöinen regrets having renounced the daughter of louhi in favour of ilmarinen, and begins to build a boat, but cannot complete it without three magic words, which he seeks for in vain in tuonela, the death-kingdom, but afterwards jumps down the throat of the dead giant, antero vipunen, and compels him to sing to him all his wisdom. runos xviii.-xix. väinämöinen and ilmarinen travel to pohjola, one by water and the other by land, and agree that the maiden shall make her choice between them. she prefers ilmarinen, who is aided by his bride to perform all the tasks set him by louhi. runos xx.-xxv. the wedding is celebrated at pohjola, an immense ox being slaughtered for the feast; after which ale is brewed by osmotar, "kaleva's most beauteous daughter." every one is invited, except lemminkainen, who is passed over as too quarrelsome and ill-mannered. before the bride and bridegroom leave, they have to listen to long lectures about their future conduct. runos xxvi.-xxx. lemminkainen is enraged at not being invited to the wedding, forces his way into the castle of pohjola through the magical obstacles in his path, and slays the lord of the castle in a duel. he flies home, and his mother sends him to hide in a distant island where all the warriors are absent, and where he lives with the women till the return of the men, when he is again obliged to fly. he returns home, and finds the whole country laid waste, and only his mother in hiding. against her advice, he persuades his old comrade tiera to join him in another expedition against pohjola, but louhi sends the frost against them, and they are driven back in great distress. runos xxxi.-xxxvi. a chief named untamo lays waste the territory of his brother kalervo, and carries off his wife. she gives birth to kullervo, who vows vengeance against untamo in his cradle. untamo brings kullervo up as a slave, but as he spoils everything he touches, sells him to ilmarinen. ilmarinen's wife ill-treats him, and he revenges himself by giving her over to be devoured by wolves and bears, and escapes to the forests, where he rejoins his family. one of his sisters has been lost, and meeting her accidentally and without knowing her, he carries her off. she throws herself into a torrent, and he returns home. his mother advises him to go into hiding, but first he makes war on untamo, destroys him and his clan, and again returns home. here he finds all his people dead, and everything desolate; so he wanders off into the forest, and falls on his own sword. runos xxxvii.-xlix. ilmarinen forges himself a new wife of gold and silver, but cannot give her life or warmth, so he carries off another daughter of louhi; but she angers him so much that he changes her into a seagull. ilmarinen and väinämöinen, who are afterwards joined by lemminkainen, now undertake another expedition to pohjola to carry off the sampo. on the way, väinämöinen constructs a kantele or harp of pikebone, and lulls louhi and her people to sleep; but she pursues the robbers, and first the kantele is lost overboard, and then the sampo is broken to pieces and lost in the sea. väinämöinen saves enough to secure the prosperity of kalevala, but louhi only carries home a small and almost useless fragment. väinämöinen then makes a new kantele of birchwood. louhi brings pestilence on kalevala, then sends a bear against the country, and lastly, steals away the sun and moon, hiding them in the stone mountain of pohjola. väinämöinen drives away the plagues, kills the bear, and renews fire from a conflagration caused by a spark sent down from heaven by the god ukko. ilmarinen then prepares chains for louhi, and terrifies her into restoring the sun and moon to their original places. runo l. the virgin marjatta swallows a cranberry, and brings forth a son, who is proclaimed king of carelia. väinämöinen in great anger quits the country in his boat, but leaves the kantele and his songs behind him for the pleasure of the people. * * * * * as a specimen of the finnish language, i quote the original text of a few lines from the charming passage at the commencement of runo viii (lines - ):-- tuo oli kaunis pohjan neiti, maan kuula, ve'en valio, istui ilman wempelellä, taivon kaarella kajotti pukehissa puhtaissa, walkeissa vaattehissa; kultakangasta kutovi, hopeista huolittavi kultaisesta sukkulasta, pirralla hopeisella. suihki sukkula piossa, käämi käessä kääperöitsi, niiet vaskiset vatisi, hopeinen pirta piukki neien kangasta kutoissa, hopeista huolittaissa. the _kalevala_ is very unlike any poem familiar to general readers, but it contains much that is extremely curious and interesting; and many beautiful passages and episodes which are by no means inferior to those we find in the ballad-literature of better-known countries than finland. w. f. kirby. _chiswick, may_ contents of vol. i runo page introduction vii i. birth of vÄinÄmÖinen ii. vÄinÄmÖinen's sowing iii. vÄinÄmÖinen and joukahainen iv. the fate of aino v. vÄinÄmÖinen's fishing vi. joukahainen's crossbow vii. vÄinÄmÖinen and louhi viii. vÄinÄmÖinen's wound ix. the origin of iron x. the forging of the sampo xi. lemminkainen and kyllikki xii. lemminkainen's first expedition to pohjola xiii. hiisi's elk xiv. lemminkainen's death xv. lemminkainen's recovery and return home xvi. vÄinÄmÖinen in tuonela xvii. vÄinÄmÖinen and antero vipunen xviii. vÄinÄmÖinen and ilmarinen travel to pohjola xix. the exploits and betrothal of ilmarinen xx. the great ox, and the brewing of the ale xxi. the wedding feast at pohjola xxii. the tormenting of the bride xxiii. the instructing of the bride xxiv. the departure of the bride and bridegroom xxv. the home-coming of the bride and bridegroom notes to runos i-xxv runo i.--birth of vÄinÄmÖinen _argument_ prelude ( - ). the virgin of the air descends into the sea, where she is fertilized by the winds and waves and becomes the water-mother ( - ). a teal builds its nest on her knee, and lays eggs ( - ). the eggs fall from the nest and break, but the fragments form the earth, sky, sun, moon and clouds ( - ). the water-mother creates capes, bays, sea-shores, and the depths and shallows of the ocean ( - ). väinämöinen is born from the water-mother, and is tossed about by the waves for a long time until he reaches the shore ( - ). i am driven by my longing, and my understanding urges that i should commence my singing; and begin my recitation. i will sing the people's legends, and the ballads of the nation. to my mouth the words are flowing, and the words are gently falling, quickly as my tongue can shape them, and between my teeth emerging. dearest friend, and much-loved brother, best beloved of all companions, come and let us sing together, let us now begin our converse, since at length we meet together, from two widely sundered regions. rarely can we meet together, rarely one can meet the other, in these dismal northern regions, in the dreary land of pohja. let us clasp our hands together, let us interlock our fingers; let us sing a cheerful measure, let us use our best endeavours, while our dear ones hearken to us, and our loved ones are instructed, while the young are standing round us, of the rising generation, let them learn the words of magic. and recall our songs and legends, of the belt of väinämöinen, of the forge of ilmarinen, and of kaukomieli's sword-point, and of joukahainen's crossbow: of the utmost bounds of pohja, and of kalevala's wide heathlands. these my father sang aforetime, as he carved his hatchet's handle, and my mother taught me likewise, as she turned around her spindle, when upon the floor, an infant, at her knees she saw me tumbling, as a helpless child, milk-bearded, as a babe with mouth all milky. tales about the sampo failed not, nor the magic spells of louhi. old at length became the sampo; louhi vanished with her magic; vipunen while singing perished; lemminkainen in his follies. there are many other legends; songs i learned of magic import; some beside the pathway gathered; others broken from the heather; others wrested from the bushes; others taken from the saplings, gathered from the springing verdure, or collected from the by-ways, as i passed along as herd-boy, as a child in cattle pastures, on the hillocks, rich in honey, on the hills, for ever golden, after muurikki, the black one, by the side of dappled kimmo. then the frost his songs recited, and the rain its legends taught me; other songs the winds have wafted, or the ocean waves have drifted; and their songs the birds have added, and the magic spells the tree-tops. in a ball i bound them tightly; and arranged them in a bundle; on my little sledge i laid it, on my sleigh i laid the bundle; home upon the sledge i brought it, then into the barn conveyed it; in the storehouse loft i placed it, in a little box of copper. in the cold my song was resting, long remained in darkness hidden. i must draw the songs from coldness, from the frost must i withdraw them, bring my box into the chamber, on the bench-end lay the casket, underneath this noble gable, underneath this roof of beauty. shall i ope my box of legends, and my chest where lays are treasured? is the ball to be unravelled, and the bundle's knot unfastened? then i'll sing so grand a ballad, that it wondrously shall echo, while the ryebread i am eating, and the beer of barley drinking. but though ale should not be brought me, and though beer should not be offered, i will sing, though dry my throttle, or will sing, with water only, to enhance our evening's pleasure, celebrate the daylight's beauty, or the beauty of the daybreak, when another day is dawning. i have often heard related, and have heard the song recited, how the nights closed ever lonely, and the days were shining lonely. only born was väinämöinen, and revealed the bard immortal, sprung from the divine creatrix, born of ilmatar, his mother. air's young daughter was a virgin, fairest daughter of creation. long did she abide a virgin, all the long days of her girlhood, in the air's own spacious mansions, in those far extending regions. wearily the time passed ever. and her life became a burden, dwelling evermore so lonely, always living as a maiden, in the air's own spacious mansions, in those far-extending deserts. after this the maid descending, sank upon the tossing billows, on the open ocean's surface, on the wide expanse of water. then a storm arose in fury, from the east a mighty tempest, and the sea was wildly foaming, and the waves dashed ever higher. thus the tempest rocked the virgin, and the billows drove the maiden, o'er the ocean's azure surface, on the crest of foaming billows, till the wind that blew around her, and the sea woke life within her. then she bore her heavy burden, and the pain it brought upon her, seven long centuries together, nine times longer than a lifetime. yet no child was fashioned from her, and no offspring was perfected. thus she swam, the water-mother, east she swam, and westward swam she, swam to north-west and to south-west, and around in all directions, in the sharpness of her torment, in her body's fearful anguish; yet no child was fashioned from her, and no offspring was perfected. then she fell to weeping gently, and in words like these expressed her: "o how wretched is my fortune, wandering thus, a child unhappy! i have wandered far already, and i dwell beneath the heaven, by the tempest tossed for ever, while the billows drive me onward. o'er this wide expanse of water, on the far-extending billows. "better were it had i tarried, virgin in aerial regions, then i should not drift for ever, as the mother of the waters. here my life is cold and dreary, every moment now is painful, ever tossing on the billows, ever floating on the water. "ukko, thou of gods the highest, ruler of the whole of heaven, hasten here, for thou art needed; hasten here at my entreaty. free the damsel from her burden, and release her from her tortures. quickly haste, and yet more quickly, where i long for thee so sorely." short the time that passed thereafter, scarce a moment had passed over, ere a beauteous teal came flying lightly hovering o'er the water, seeking for a spot to rest in, searching for a home to dwell in. eastward flew she, westward flew she. flew to north-west and to southward, but the place she sought she found not, not a spot, however barren, where her nest she could establish, or a resting-place could light on. then she hovered, slowly moving, and she pondered and reflected, "if my nest in wind i 'stablish or should rest it on the billows, then the winds will overturn it, or the waves will drift it from me." then the mother of the waters, water-mother, maid aerial, from the waves her knee uplifted, raised her shoulder from the billows, that the teal her nest might 'stablish, and might find a peaceful dwelling. then the teal, the bird so beauteous, hovered slow, and gazed around her, and she saw the knee uplifted from the blue waves of the ocean, and she thought she saw a hillock, freshly green with springing verdure. there she flew, and hovered slowly, gently on the knee alighting, and her nest she there established, and she laid her eggs all golden, six gold eggs she laid within it, and a seventh she laid of iron. o'er her eggs the teal sat brooding, and the knee grew warm beneath her; and she sat one day, a second, brooded also on the third day; then the mother of the waters, water-mother, maid aerial, felt it hot, and felt it hotter, and she felt her skin was heated, till she thought her knee was burning, and that all her veins were melting. then she jerked her knee with quickness, and her limbs convulsive shaking, rolled the eggs into the water, down amid the waves of ocean, and to splinters they were broken, and to fragments they were shattered. in the ooze they were not wasted, nor the fragments in the water, but a wondrous change came o'er them, and the fragments all grew lovely. from the cracked egg's lower fragment, now the solid earth was fashioned, from the cracked egg's upper fragment, rose the lofty arch of heaven, from the yolk, the upper portion, now became the sun's bright lustre; from the white, the upper portion, rose the moon that shines so brightly; whatso in the egg was mottled, now became the stars in heaven, whatso in the egg was blackish, in the air as cloudlets floated. now the time passed quickly over, and the years rolled quickly onward, in the new sun's shining lustre, in the new moon's softer beaming. still the water-mother floated, water-mother, maid aerial, ever on the peaceful waters, on the billows' foamy surface, with the moving waves before her, and the heaven serene behind her. when the ninth year had passed over, and the summer tenth was passing, from the sea her head she lifted, and her forehead she uplifted, and she then began creation, and she brought the world to order, on the open ocean's surface, on the far extending waters. wheresoe'er her hand she pointed, there she formed the jutting headlands; wheresoe'er her feet she rested, there she formed the caves for fishes; when she dived beneath the water, there she formed the depths of ocean; when towards the land she turned her, there the level shores extended, where her feet to land extended, spots were formed for salmon-netting; where her head the land touched lightly, there the curving bays extended. further from the land she floated, and abode in open water, and created rocks in ocean, and the reefs that eyes behold not, where the ships are often shattered, and the sailors' lives are ended. now the isles were formed already, in the sea the rocks were planted; pillars of the sky established, lands and continents created; rocks engraved as though with figures, and the hills were cleft with fissures. still unborn was väinämöinen; still unborn, the bard immortal. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, rested in his mother's body for the space of thirty summers, and the sum of thirty winters, ever on the placid waters, and upon the foaming billows. so he pondered and reflected how he could continue living in a resting-place so gloomy, in a dwelling far too narrow, where he could not see the moonlight, neither could behold the sunlight. then he spake the words which follow, and expressed his thoughts in this wise: "aid me moon, and sun release me, and the great bear lend his counsel, through the portal that i know not, through the unaccustomed passage. from the little nest that holds me, from a dwelling-place so narrow, to the land conduct the roamer, to the open air conduct me, to behold the moon in heaven, and the splendour of the sunlight; see the great bear's stars above me, and the shining stars in heaven." when the moon no freedom gave him, neither did the sun release him, then he wearied of existence, and his life became a burden. thereupon he moved the portal, with his finger, fourth in number, opened quick the bony gateway, with the toes upon his left foot, with his nails beyond the threshold, with his knees beyond the gateway. headlong in the water falling, with his hands the waves repelling, thus the man remained in ocean, and the hero on the billows. in the sea five years he sojourned, waited five years, waited six years, seven years also, even eight years, on the surface of the ocean, by a nameless promontory, near a barren, treeless country. on the land his knees he planted, and upon his arms he rested, rose that he might view the moonbeams, and enjoy the pleasant sunlight, see the great bear's stars above him, and the shining stars in heaven. thus was ancient väinämöinen, he, the ever famous minstrel, born of the divine creatrix, born of ilmatar, his mother. runo ii.--vÄinÄmÖinen's sowing _argument_ väinämöinen lands on a treeless country and directs sampsa pellervoinen to sow trees ( - ). at first the oak will not grow, but after repeated sowings it springs up, overshadows the whole country, and hides the sun and moon ( - ). a little man rises from the sea, who fells the oak, and permits the sun and moon to shine again ( - ). birds sing in the trees; herbs, flowers and berries grow on the ground; only the barley will not spring up ( - ). väinämöinen finds some barleycorns in the sand on the shore, and fells the forest, leaving only a birch-tree as a resting-place for the birds ( - ). the eagle, grateful for this, strikes fire, and the felled trees are consumed ( - ). väinämöinen sows the barley, prays to ukko for its increase, and it grows and flourishes ( - ). then did väinämöinen, rising, set his feet upon the surface of a sea-encircled island, in a region bare of forest. there he dwelt, while years passed over, and his dwelling he established on the silent, voiceless island, in a barren, treeless country. then he pondered and reflected, in his mind he turned it over, "who shall sow this barren country, thickly scattering seeds around him?" pellervoinen, earth-begotten, sampsa, youth of smallest stature, came to sow the barren country, thickly scattering seeds around him. down he stooped the seeds to scatter, on the land and in the marshes, both in flat and sandy regions, and in hard and rocky places. on the hills he sowed the pine-trees, on the knolls he sowed the fir-trees, and in sandy places heather; leafy saplings in the valleys. in the dales he sowed the birch-trees, in the loose earth sowed the alders, where the ground was damp the cherries, likewise in the marshes, sallows. rowan-trees in holy places, willows in the fenny regions, juniper in stony districts, oaks upon the banks of rivers. now the trees sprang up and flourished, and the saplings sprouted bravely. with their bloom the firs were loaded, and the pines their boughs extended. in the dales the birch was sprouting, in the loose earth rose the alders, where the ground was damp the cherries, juniper in stony districts, loaded with its lovely berries; and the cherries likewise fruited. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, came to view the work in progress, where the land was sown by sampsa, and where pellervoinen laboured. while he saw the trees had flourished, and the saplings sprouted bravely, yet had jumala's tree, the oak-tree, not struck down its root and sprouted. therefore to its fate he left it, left it to enjoy its freedom, and he waited three nights longer, and as many days he waited. then he went and gazed around him, when the week was quite completed. yet had jumala's tree, the oak-tree, not struck down its root and sprouted. then he saw four lovely maidens; five, like brides, from water rising; and they mowed the grassy meadow, down they cut the dewy herbage, on the cloud-encompassed headland, on the peaceful island's summit, what they mowed, they raked together, and in heaps the hay collected. from the ocean rose up tursas, from the waves arose the hero, and the heaps of hay he kindled, and the flames arose in fury. all was soon consumed to ashes, till the sparks were quite extinguished. then among the heaps of ashes, in the dryness of the ashes, there a tender germ he planted, tender germ, of oak an acorn whence the beauteous plant sprang upward, and the sapling grew and flourished, as from earth a strawberry rises, and it forked in both directions. then the branches wide extended, and the leaves were thickly scattered, and the summit rose to heaven, and its leaves in air expanded. in their course the clouds it hindered, and the driving clouds impeded, and it hid the shining sunlight, and the gleaming of the moonlight. then the aged väinämöinen, pondered deeply and reflected, "is there none to fell the oak-tree, and o'erthrow the tree majestic? sad is now the life of mortals, and for fish to swim is dismal, since the air is void of sunlight, and the gleaming of the moonlight." but they could not find a hero, nowhere find a man so mighty, who could fell the giant oak-tree, with its hundred spreading branches. then the aged väinämöinen, spoke the very words which follow; "noble mother, who hast borne me, luonnotar, who me hast nurtured; send me powers from out the ocean: (numerous are the powers of ocean) so that they may fell the oak-tree, and destroy the tree so baneful, that the sun may shine upon us. and the pleasant moonlight glimmer." then a man arose from ocean, from the waves a hero started, not the hugest of the hugest, nor the smallest of the smallest. as a man's thumb was his stature; lofty as the span of woman. decked his head a helm of copper, on his feet were boots of copper, on his hands were copper gauntlets. gloves adorned with copper tracings; round his waist his belt was copper; in his belt his axe was copper; and the haft thereof was thumb-long, and the blade thereof was nail-long. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, deeply pondered and reflected: "while he seems a man in semblance, and a hero in appearance, yet his height is but a thumb-length, scarce as lofty as an ox-hoof." then he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in this wise: "who are you, my little fellow, most contemptible of heroes, than a dead man scarcely stronger; and your beauty all has vanished." then the puny man from ocean, hero of the floods, made answer: "i'm a man as you behold me, small, but mighty water-hero, i have come to fell the oak-tree, and to splinter it to fragments." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "you have hardly been created, neither made, nor so proportioned, as to fell this mighty oak-tree, overthrow the tree stupendous." scarcely had the words been spoken, while his gaze was fixed upon him, when the man transformed before him, and became a mighty hero. while his feet the earth were stamping, to the clouds his head he lifted, to his knees his beard was flowing, to his spurs his locks descended. fathom-wide his eyes were parted, fathom-wide his trousers measured; round his knee the girth was greater, and around his hip 'twas doubled. then he sharpened keen the axe-blade, brought the polished blade to sharpness; six the stones on which he ground it, seven the stones on which he whet it. then the man stepped forward lightly, hastened on to do his mission; wide his trousers, and they fluttered round his legs as onward strode he, and the first step taken, brought him to the shore so soft and sandy; with the second stride he landed on the dun ground further inland, and the third step brought him quickly, where the oak itself was rooted. with his axe he smote the oak-tree, with his sharpened blade he hewed it; once he smote it, twice he smote it, and the third stroke wholly cleft it. from the axe the flame was flashing, flame was bursting from the oak-tree, as he strove to fell the oak-tree, overthrow the tree stupendous. thus the third blow was delivered, and the oak-tree fell before him, for the mighty tree was shattered, and the hundred boughs had fallen, and the trunk extended eastward, and the summit to the north-west, and the leaves were scattered southwards, and the branches to the northward. he who took a branch from off it, took prosperity unceasing, what was broken from the summit, gave unending skill in magic; he who broke a leafy branchlet, gathered with it love unending. what remained of fragments scattered, chips of wood, and broken splinters, on the bright expanse of ocean, on the far-extending billows, in the breeze were gently rocking, on the waves were lightly drifted. like the boats on ocean's surface, like the ships amid the sea-waves. northward drove the wind the fragments, where the little maid of pohja, stood on beach, and washed her head-dress, and she washed her clothes and rinsed them, on the shingle by the ocean, on a tongue of land projecting. on the waves she saw the fragments, put them in her birchbark wallet, in her wallet took them homeward; in the well-closed yard she stored them, for the arrows of the sorcerer, for the chase to furnish weapons. when the oak at last had fallen, and the evil tree was levelled, once again the sun shone brightly, and the pleasant moonlight glimmered, and the clouds extended widely, and the rainbow spanned the heavens, o'er the cloud-encompassed headland, and the island's misty summit. then the wastes were clothed with verdure, and the woods grew up and flourished; leaves on trees and grass in meadows. in the trees the birds were singing, loudly sang the cheery throstle; in the tree-tops called the cuckoo. then the earth brought forth her berries; shone the fields with golden blossoms; herbs of every species flourished; plants and trees of all descriptions; but the barley would not flourish, nor the precious seed would ripen. then the aged väinämöinen, walked around, and deeply pondered, by the blue waves' sandy margin, on the mighty ocean's border, and six grains of corn he found there, seven fine seeds of corn he found there, on the borders of the ocean, on the yielding sandy margin. in a marten's skin he placed them, from the leg of summer squirrel. then he went to sow the fallows; on the ground the seeds to scatter, near to kaleva's own fountain, and upon the field of osmo. from a tree there chirped the titmouse: "osmo's barley will not flourish, nor will kaleva's oats prosper, while untilled remains the country, and uncleared remains the forest, nor the fire has burned it over." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, ground his axe-blade edge to sharpness and began to fell the forest, toiling hard to clear the country. all the lovely trees he levelled, sparing but a single birch-tree, that the birds might rest upon it, and from thence might call the cuckoo. in the sky there soared an eagle, of the birds of air the greatest, and he came and gazed around him. "wherefore is the work unfinished, and the birch-tree still unfallen? wherefore spare the beauteous birch-tree?" said the aged väinämöinen, "therefore is the birch left standing, that the birds may perch upon it; all the birds of air may rest there." said the bird of air, the eagle, "very wisely hast thou acted, thus to leave the birch-tree standing and the lovely tree unfallen, that the birds may perch upon it, and that i myself may rest there." then the bird of air struck fire, and the flames rose up in brightness, while the north wind fanned the forest, and the north-east wind blew fiercely. all the trees were burned to ashes, till the sparks were quite extinguished. then the aged väinämöinen, took the six seeds from his satchel, and he took the seven small kernels, from the marten's skin he took them, from the leg of summer squirrel, from the leg of summer ermine. then he went to sow the country, and to scatter seeds around him, and he spoke the words which follow; "now i stoop the seeds to scatter, as from the creator's fingers, from the hand of him almighty, that the country may be fertile, and the corn may grow and flourish. "patroness of lowland country, old one of the plains; earth-mother, let the tender blade spring upward, let the earth support and cherish. might of earth will never fail us, never while the earth existeth, when the givers are propitious. and creation's daughters aid us. "rise, o earth; from out thy slumber, field of the creator, rouse thee, make the blade arise and flourish. let the stalks grow up and lengthen, that the ears may grow by thousands, yet a hundredfold increasing, by my ploughing and my sowing, in return for all my labour. "ukko, thou of gods the highest. father, thou in heaven abiding, thou to whom the clouds are subject. of the scattered clouds the ruler, all thy clouds do thou assemble, in the light make clear thy counsel, send thou forth a cloud from eastwards in the north-west let one gather, send thou others from the westward, let them drive along from southward. send the light rain forth from heaven, let the clouds distil with honey, that the corn may sprout up strongly, and the stalks may wave and rustle." ukko, then, of gods the highest, father of the highest heaven, heard, and all the clouds assembled. in the light made clear his counsel, and he sent a cloud from eastward. in the north-west let one gather, others, too, he sent from westward, let them drive along from southward, linked them edge to edge together, and he closed the rifts between them. then he sent the rain from heaven, and the clouds distilled sweet honey, that the corn might sprout up stronger, and the stalks might wave and rustle. thus the sprouting germ was nourished, and the rustling stalks grew upward, from the soft earth of the cornfield. through the toil of väinämöinen. after this, two days passed over, after two nights, after three nights, when the week was full completed, väinämöinen, old and steadfast, wandered forth to see the progress; how his ploughing and his sowing and his labours had resulted. there he found the barley growing, and the ears were all six-cornered, and the stalks were all three-knotted. then the aged väinämöinen wandered on and gazed around him, and the cuckoo, bird of springtime, came and saw the birch-tree growing. "wherefore is the birch left standing, and unfelled the slender birch-tree?" said the aged väinämöinen, "therefore is the birch left standing, and unfelled the slender birch-tree, as a perch for thee, o cuckoo; whence the cuckoo's cry may echo. from thy sand-hued throat cry sweetly, with thy silver voice call loudly, with thy tin-like voice cry clearly, call at morning, call at evening, and at noontide call thou likewise, to rejoice my plains surrounding, that my woods may grow more cheerful, that my coast may grow more wealthy, and my region grow more fruitful." runo iii.--vÄinÄmÖinen and joukahainen _argument_ väinämöinen increases in wisdom and composes songs ( - ). joukahainen sets out to contend with him in wisdom; but as he cannot overcome him, he challenges him to a duel, whereupon väinämöinen grows angry, and sinks him in a swamp by his magic songs ( - ). joukahainen, in great distress, finally offers his sister aino in marriage to väinämöinen, who accepts the offer and releases him ( - ). joukahainen returns home discomfited, and relates his misfortunes to his mother ( - ). the mother rejoices at the prospect of such an alliance, but the daughter laments and weeps ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast passed the days of his existence where lie väinölä's sweet meadows, kalevala's extended heathlands: there he sang his songs of sweetness sang his songs and proved his wisdom. day by day he sang unwearied, night by night discoursed unceasing, sang the songs of by-gone ages, hidden words of ancient wisdom, songs which all the children sing not. all beyond men's comprehension, in these ages of misfortune, when the race is near its ending. far away the news was carried, far abroad was spread the tidings of the songs of väinämöinen, of the wisdom of the hero; in the south was spread the rumour; reached to pohjola the tidings. here dwelt youthful joukahainen, he, the meagre youth of lapland; and, when visiting the village, wondrous tales he heard related, how there dwelt another minstrel, and that better songs were carolled. far in väinölä's sweet meadows, kalevala's extended heathlands; better songs than he could compass; better than his father taught him. this he heard with great displeasure, and his heart was filled with envy that the songs of väinämöinen better than his own were reckoned. then he went to seek his mother; sought her out, the aged woman, and declared that he would journey, and was eager to betake him, unto väinölä's far dwellings, that he might contend with väinö. but his father straight forbade him. both his father and his mother, thence to väinölä to journey, that he might contend with väinö. "he will surely sing against you, sing against you, and will ban you, sink your mouth and head in snow-drifts, and your hands in bitter tempest: till your hands and feet are stiffened, and incapable of motion." said the youthful joukahainen, "good the counsel of my father, and my mother's counsel better; best of all my own opinion. i will set myself against him, and defy him to a contest, i myself my songs will sing him, i myself will speak my mantras; sing until the best of minstrels shall become the worst of singers. shoes of stone will i provide him, wooden trousers on his haunches; on his breast a stony burden, and a rock upon his shoulders; stony gloves his hands shall cover. and his head a stony helmet." then he went his way unheeding, went his way, and fetched his gelding, from whose mouth the fire was flashing, 'neath whose legs the sparks were flying. then the fiery steed he harnessed, to the golden sledge he yoked him, in the sledge himself he mounted, and upon the seat he sat him, o'er the horse his whip he brandished, with the beaded whip he smote him, from the place the horse sprang quickly, and he darted lightly forwards. on he drove with thundering clatter, as he drove a day, a second, driving also on the third day, and at length upon the third day, came to väinölä's sweet meadows, kalevala's extended heathlands. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he, the oldest of magicians, as it chanced was driving onward, peacefully his course pursuing on through väinölä's sweet meadows, kalevala's extended heathlands. came the youthful joukahainen driving on the road against him, and the shafts were wedged together, and the reins were all entangled, and the collar jammed with collar, and the runners dashed together. thus their progress was arrested, thus they halted and reflected; sweat dropped down upon the runners; from the shafts the steam was rising. asked the aged väinämöinen, "who are you, and what your lineage, you who drive so reckless onward, utterly without reflection? broken are the horses' collars, and the wooden runners likewise; you have smashed my sledge to pieces. broke the sledge in which i travelled." then the youthful joukahainen answered in the words which follow: "i am youthful joukahainen; but yourself should also tell me, what your race, and what your nation, and from what vile stock you issue." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, told his name without concealment, and began to speak as follows: "youth, if you are joukahainen, you should move aside a little. for remember, you are younger." but the youthful joukahainen answered in the words which follow: "here of youthfulness we reck not; nought doth youth or age concern us, he who highest stands in knowledge, he whose wisdom is the greatest, let him keep the path before him, and the other yield the passage. if you are old väinämöinen, and the oldest of the minstrels, let us give ourselves to singing, let us now repeat our sayings, that the one may teach the other. and the one surpass the other," väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "what can i myself accomplish as a wise man or a singer? i have passed my life in quiet, here among these very moorlands, on the borders of my home-field i have heard the cuckoo calling. but apart from this at present, i will ask you to inform me what may be your greatest wisdom; and the utmost of your knowledge?" said the youthful joukahainen, "many things i know in fulness, and i know with perfect clearness, and my insight shows me plainly, in the roof we find the smoke-hole, and the fire is near the hearthstone. "joyful life the seal is leading, in the waves there sports the sea-dog, and he feeds upon the salmon, and the powans round about him. "smooth the water loved by powans, smooth the surface, too, for salmon; and in frost the pike is spawning, slimy fish in wintry weather. sluggish is the perch, the humpback, in the depths it swims in autumn, but it spawns in drought of summer, swimming slowly to the margin. "if this does not yet suffice you, i am wise in other matters, and of weighty things can tell you. in the north they plough with reindeer, in the south the mare is useful, and the elk in furthest lapland. "trees i know on pisa mountain, firs upon the rocks of horna, tall the trees on pisa mountain, and the firs on rocks of horna. "three great waterfalls i know of, and as many lakes extensive, and as many lofty mountains, underneath the vault of heaven. halläpyörä is in hame, karjala has kaatrakoski, but they do not match the vuoksi, there where imatra is rushing." said the aged väinämöinen, "childish tales, and woman's wisdom, but for bearded men unsuited, and for married men unfitted. tell me words of deepest wisdom. tell me now of things eternal." then the youthful joukahainen answered in the words which follow: "well i know whence comes the titmouse, that the titmouse is a birdie, and a snake the hissing viper, and the ruffe a fish in water. and i know that hard is iron, and that mud when black is bitter. painful, too, is boiling water, and the heat of fire is hurtful, water is the oldest medicine, cataract's foam a magic potion; the creator's self a sorcerer, jumala the great magician. "from the rock springs forth the water, and the fire from heaven descendeth, and from ore we get the iron, and in hills we find the copper. "marshy country is the oldest, and the first of trees the willow. pine-roots were the oldest houses, and the earliest pots were stone ones." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "is there more that you can tell me, or is this the end of nonsense?" said the youthful joukahainen, "many little things i wot of, and the time i well remember when 'twas i who ploughed the ocean, hollowed out the depths of ocean, and i dug the caves for fishes, and i sunk the deep abysses, when the lakes i first created, and i heaped the hills together. and the rocky mountains fashioned. "then i stood with six great heroes! i myself the seventh among them. when the earth was first created, and the air above expanded; for the sky i fixed the pillars. and i reared the arch of heaven, to the moon assigned his journey, helped the sun upon his pathway, to the bear his place appointed, and the stars in heaven i scattered," said the aged väinämöinen, "ay, indeed, a shameless liar! you at least were never present when the ocean first was furrowed, and the ocean depths were hollowed. and the caves were dug for fishes, and the deep abysses sunken, and the lakes were first created, when the hills were heaped together, and the rocky mountains fashioned. "no one ever yet had seen you, none had seen you, none had heard you. when the earth was first created, and the air above expanded, when the posts of heaven were planted, and the arch of heaven exalted, when the moon was shown his pathway, and the sun was taught to journey, when the bear was fixed in heaven, and the stars in heaven were scattered." but the youthful joukahainen answered in the words which follow: "if i fail in understanding, i will seek it at the sword-point. o thou aged väinämöinen, o thou very broad-mouthed minstrel, let us measure swords together, let the blade decide between us." said the aged väinämöinen, "i have little cause to fret me either for your sword or wisdom, for your sword-point or your judgment. but, apart from this at present, i will draw no sword upon you, so contemptible a fellow, and so pitiful a weakling." then the youthful joukahainen shook his head, his mouth drawn crooked, and he tossed his locks of blackness. and he spake the words which follow: "he who shuns the sword's decision, nor betakes him to his sword-blade, to a swine i soon will sing him, to a snouted swine transform him. heroes i have thus o'erpowered, hither will i drive and thither. and will pitch them on the dunghill, grunting in the cowshed corner." angry then was väinämöinen, filled with wrath and indignation, and himself commenced his singing, and to speak his words of wisdom. but he sang no childish ditties, children's songs and women's jesting, but a song for bearded heroes, such as all the children sing not, nor a half the boys can master, nor a third can lovers compass, in the days of dark misfortune, when our life is near its ending. sang the aged väinämöinen; lakes swelled up, and earth was shaken, and the coppery mountains trembled. and the mighty rocks resounded. and the mountains clove asunder; on the shore the stones were shivered. then he sang of joukahainen, changed his runners into saplings, and to willows changed the collar, and the reins he turned to alder, and he sang the sledge all gilded, to the lake among the rushes, and the whip, with beads embellished, to a reed upon the water, and the horse, with front white-spotted to a stone beside the torrent. then he sang his sword, gold-hilted, to a lightning-flash in heaven, and his ornamented crossbow, to a rainbow o'er the water, and he sang his feathered arrows, into hawks that soar above him; and his dog, with upturned muzzle, stands a stone in earth embedded. from his head, his cap, by singing, next became a cloud above him, from his hands, his gloves, by singing, next were changed to water-lilies, and the blue coat he was wearing, floats a fleecy cloud in heaven, and the handsome belt that girt him, in the sky as stars he scattered. as he sang, sank joukahainen waist-deep in the swamp beneath him, hip-deep in the marshy meadow, to his arm-pits in a quicksand. then indeed young joukahainen knew at last, and comprehended; and he knew his course was finished, and his journey now was ended. for in singing he was beaten, by the aged väinämöinen. he would raise his foot to struggle but he could no longer lift it; then he tried to lift the other, but as shod with stone he felt it. then the youthful joukahainen felt the greatest pain and anguish, and he fell in grievous trouble, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou wisest väinämöinen, o thou oldest of magicians, speak thy words of magic backwards, and reverse thy songs of magic. loose me from this place of terror, and release me from my torment. i will pay the highest ransom, and the fixed reward will give thee." said the aged väinämöinen, "what do you propose to give me, if i turn my words of magic, and reverse my songs of magic, loose you from this place of terror, and release you from your torment?" said the youthful joukahainen, "i've two crossbows i could give you, ay, a pair of splendid crossbows, one shoots forth with passing quickness, surely hits the mark the other. if it please you, choose between them." said the aged väinämöinen, "no, your bows i do not covet, for the wretched bows i care not; i myself have plenty of them. all the walls are decked with crossbows, all the pegs are hung with crossbows; in the woods they wander hunting, nor a hero needs to span them." then the youthful joukahainen in the swamp he sang yet deeper. said the youthful joukahainen, "i have yet two boats to offer; splendid boats, as i can witness, one is light, and fit for racing, heavy loads will bear the other; if it please you, choose between them." said the aged väinämöinen, "no, your boats i do not covet, and i will not choose between them, i myself have plenty of them. all the staves are full already, every creek is crowded with them, boats to face the gale adapted, boats against the wind that travel." then the youthful joukahainen, in the swamp he sang yet deeper. said the youthful joukahainen, "i have still two noble stallions; ay, a pair of handsome horses; one of these of matchless swiftness, and the other best in harness. if it please you, choose between them." said the aged väinämöinen, "no, i do not want your horses; do not need your steeds, white-footed. i myself have plenty of them. every stall has now its tenant, every stable's filled with horses, with their backs like water shining; lakes of fat upon their haunches." then the youthful joukahainen, in the swamp he sang yet deeper. said the youthful joukahainen, "o thou aged väinämöinen, speak thy words of magic backwards, and reverse thy songs of magic. i will give a golden helmet, and a hat filled up with silver, which my father won in warfare, which he won in battle-struggle." said the aged väinämöinen, "no, i do not want your silver, and for gold, i only scorn it. i myself have both in plenty. every storeroom crammed with treasure. every chest is overflowing. gold as ancient as the moonlight, silver with the sun coeval." then the youthful joukahainen in the swamp he sang yet deeper. said the youthful joukahainen, "o thou aged väinämöinen, loose me from this place of terror, and release me from my torment. all my stacks at home i'll give thee, and my fields i likewise promise, all to save my life i offer, if you will accept my ransom." said the aged väinämöinen, "no, your barns i do not covet, and your fields are 'neath my notice, i myself have plenty of them. fields are mine in all directions, stocks are reared on every fallow, and my own fields please me better, and my stacks of corn are finest." then the youthful joukahainen in the swamp he sang yet deeper. then the youthful joukahainen, felt at length the greatest anguish, chin-deep in the swamp while sinking, in the mud his beard was draggled, in the moss his mouth was sunken, and his teeth among the tree-roots. said the youthful joukahainen, "o thou wisest väinämöinen, o thou oldest of magicians, sing once more thy songs of magic, grant the life of one so wretched, and release me from my prison. in the stream my feet are sunken, with the sand my eyes are smarting. "speak thy words of magic backwards, break the spell that overwhelms me! you shall have my sister aino, i will give my mother's daughter. she shall dust your chamber for you, sweep the flooring with her besom, keep the milk-pots all in order; and shall wash your garments for you. golden fabrics she shall weave you, and shall bake you cakes of honey." then the aged väinämöinen, heard his words, and grew full joyful, since to tend his age was promised joukahainen's lovely sister. on the stone of joy he sat him, on the stone of song he rested, sang an hour, and sang a second, and again he sang a third time: thus reversed his words of magic, and dissolved the spell completely. then the youthful joukahainen from the mud his chin uplifted, and his beard he disentangled, from the rock his steed led forward, drew his sledge from out the bushes, from the reeds his whip unloosing. then upon his sledge he mounted, and upon the seat he sat him, and with gloomy thoughts he hastened, with a heart all sad and doleful, homeward to his dearest mother, unto her, the aged woman. on he drove with noise and tumult, home he drove in consternation, and he broke the sledge to pieces, at the door the shafts were broken. then the noise alarmed his mother, and his father came and asked him, "recklessly the sledge was broken; did you break the shafts on purpose? wherefore do you drive so rashly, and arrive at home so madly?" then the youthful joukahainen could not keep his tears from flowing; sad he bowed his head in sorrow, and his cap awry he shifted, and his lips were dry and stiffened, o'er his mouth his nose was drooping. then his mother came and asked him wherefore was he sunk in sorrow. "o my son, why weep so sadly? o my darling, why so troubled, with thy lips so dry and stiffened, o'er thy mouth thy nose thus drooping?" said the youthful joukahainen, "o my mother, who hast borne me, there is cause for what has happened, for the sorcerer has o'ercome me. cause enough have i for weeping, and the sorcerer's brought me sorrow. i myself must weep for ever, and must pass my life in mourning, for my very sister aino, she, my dearest mother's daughter, i have pledged to väinämöinen, as the consort of the minstrel, to support his feeble footsteps, and to wait upon him always." joyous clapped her hands his mother, both her hands she rubbed together, and she spoke the words which follow: "do not weep, my son, my dearest, for thy tears are quite uncalled for. little cause have we to sorrow, for the hope i long have cherished. all my lifetime i have wished it, and have hoped this high-born hero might akin to us be reckoned, and the minstrel väinämöinen might become my daughter's husband." but when joukahainen's sister heard, she wept in deepest sorrow, wept one day, and wept a second, at the threshold ever weeping, wept in overwhelming sorrow, in the sadness of her spirit. then her mother said consoling, "wherefore weep, my little aino? you have gained a valiant bridegroom, and the home of one most noble, where you'll look from out the window, sitting on the bench and talking." but her daughter heard and answered, "o my mother who hast borne me, therefore have i cause for weeping, weeping for the beauteous tresses, now my youthful head adorning, and my hair so soft and glossy, which must now be wholly hidden, while i still am young and blooming. "then must i through lifetime sorrow for the splendour of the sunlight, and the moonbeam's charming lustre and the glory of the heavens, which i leave, while still so youthful, and as child must quite abandon, i must leave my brother's work-room, just beyond my father's window." said the mother to the daughter, to the girl the crone made answer, "cast away this foolish sorrow, cease your weeping, all uncalled for, little cause have you for sorrow, little cause for lamentation. god's bright sun is ever shining on the world in other regions, shines on other doors and windows than your father's or your brother's; berries grow on every mountain, strawberries on the plains are growing, you can pluck them in your sorrow wheresoe'er your steps may lead you; not alone on father's acres, or upon your brother's clearings." runo iv.--the fate of aino _argument_ väinämöinen meets aino in the wood and addresses her ( - ). aino hurries home weeping, and informs her mother ( - ). her mother forbids her to weep, and tells her to rejoice, and to adorn herself handsomely ( - ). aino continues to weep, and declares that she will never take a very old man as her husband ( - ). she wanders sorrowfully into the wild woods, and reaches the banks of a strange unknown lake, where she goes to bathe, and is lost in the water ( - ). the animals commission the hare to carry the tidings of aino's death to her home ( - ). her mother weeps for her night and day ( - ). then the little maiden aino, youthful joukahainen's sister, went for besoms to the greenwood, sought for bath-whisks in the bushes; one she gathered for her father, and a second for her mother, and she gathered yet another, for her young and ruddy brother. as she turned her footsteps homeward, pushing through the alder-bushes, came the aged väinämöinen, and he saw her in the thicket, finely clad among the herbage, and he spoke the words which follow. "maiden, do not wear for others, but for me alone, o maiden, round thy neck a beaded necklace, and a cross upon thy bosom. plait for me thy beauteous tresses, bind thy hair with silken ribands." but the young maid gave him answer, "not for thee, and not for others, rests the cross upon my bosom, and my hair is bound with ribands. nought i care for sea-borne raiment; wheaten bread i do not value. i will walk in home-spun garments, and with crusts will still my hunger, in my dearest father's dwelling, and beside my much-loved mother." from her breast she took the crosslet, drew the rings from off her fingers, from her neck the beaded necklace, from her head the scarlet ribands. down upon the ground she threw them, scattered them among the bushes; then she hastened, ever weeping, loud lamenting, to the homestead. at the window sat her father, while he carved a hatchet-handle. "wherefore weepest thou, my daughter, young, and yet so full of sadness?" "cause enough have i for weeping, cause for weeping and lamenting. therefore weep i, dearest father, weep, and feel so full of sorrow. from my breast i lost the crosslet, from my belt i dropped the buckle, from my breast my silver crosslet, from my waist the copper girdle." at the gate, her brother sitting, for the sledge was shaping runners. "wherefore weepest thou, my sister, young, and yet so full of sorrow?" "cause enough have i for weeping, cause for weeping and lamenting. therefore do i weep, poor brother, weep, and feel so full of sorrow. rings i lost from off my fingers, from my neck my beaded necklace, and my finger-rings were golden, and my necklace-beads were silver." at the window sat her sister, as she wove a golden girdle "wherefore weepest thou, poor sister, young, and yet so full of sorrow?" "cause enough have i for weeping, cause for weeping and lamenting. therefore do i weep, poor sister, weep and feel so full of sorrow. from my brow the gold has fallen, from my hair i lost the silver, tore the blue bands from my temples, from my head the scarlet braiding." on the threshold of the storehouse, skimming milk, she found her mother. "wherefore weepest thou, my daughter, young, and yet so full of sorrow?" "o my mother, who hast borne me, o my mother, who hast nursed me, cause enough have i for anguish, cause enough for bitter sorrow. therefore do i weep, poor mother, therefore grieve i, o my mother, to the wood i went for besoms, gathered bath-whisks from the bushes; one i gathered for my father, one i gathered for my mother, and i gathered yet another, for my young and ruddy brother. as i turned my footsteps homeward, and across the heath was tripping, from the dell there called osmoinen, from the field cried kalevainen, "do not wear, fair maid, for others, but for me alone, poor maiden, round thy neck a beaded necklace, and a cross upon thy bosom. plait for me thy beauteous tresses, braid thy hair with silken ribands." "from my breast i took the crosslet, from my neck the beaded necklace, tore the blue bands from my temples, from my head the scarlet ribands, then upon the ground i threw them, scattered them among the bushes, and i answered him in this wise: 'not for thee, and not for others, rests my cross upon my bosom, and my hair is bound with ribands. nought i care for sea-borne raiment, wheaten bread i do not value. i will walk in home-spun garments, and with crusts will still my hunger, in my dearest father's dwelling, and beside my much-loved mother.'" and her mother answered thus wise, said the old crone to the maiden, "do not weep, my dearest daughter, do not grieve (and thou so youthful); eat a whole year long fresh butter, that your form may grow more rounded, eat thou pork the second season, that your form may grow more charming, and the third year eat thou cream-cakes, that you may become more lovely. seek the storehouse on the mountain, there the finest chamber open. there are coffers piled on coffers, chests in heaps on chests are loaded, open then the finest coffer, raise the painted lid with clangour, there you'll find six golden girdles, seven blue robes of finest texture, woven by the moon's own daughter, by the sun's own daughter fashioned. "in the days when i was youthful, in my youthful days of girlhood, in the wood i sought for berries, gathered raspberries on the mountain, heard the moonlight's daughter weaving, and the sunlight's daughter spinning, there beside the wooded island, on the borders of the greenwood. "thereupon i softly neared them, and beside them took my station, and began to ask them gently, in the words that i repeat you: 'give you of your gold, o kuutar, and your silver give, paivatar, to the maiden poorly dowered, to the child who now implores you!' "then her gold did kuutar give me. and her silver gave paivatar. with the gold i decked my temples, and adorned my head with silver, homeward like a flower i hastened, joyful, to my father's dwelling. "these i wore one day, a second. then upon the third day after took the gold from off my temples. from my head removed the silver, took them to the mountain storehouse; in the chest with care i laid them, there until this day i left them, and since then i have not seen them. "on thy brows bind silken ribands on thy temples gold adornments, round thy neck a beaded necklace, on thy breast a golden crosslet. put thou on a shift of linen, of the finest flax that's woven, lay thou on a robe of woollen, bind it with a silken girdle, then the finest silken stockings, and of shoes the very finest, then in plaits thy hair arranging, bind it up with silken ribands, slip the gold rings on thy fingers, deck thy wrists with golden bracelets. after this return thou homewards from thy visit to the storehouse, as the joy of all thy kindred, and of all thy race the fairest, like a floweret by the wayside, like a raspberry on the mountain; far more lovely than aforetime, fairer than in former seasons." thus the mother urged her counsel, thus she spoke unto her daughter, but the daughter did not heed her, heeded not her mother's counsel. from the house she wandered weeping, from the homestead went in sorrow, and she said the words which follow, and expressed herself in this wise: 'what may be the joyous feelings, and the thoughts of one rejoicing? such may be the joyous feelings, and the thoughts of one rejoicing; like the dancing of the water on the waves when gently swelling. what do mournful thoughts resemble? what the long-tailed duck may ponder? such may mournful thoughts resemble, thus the long-tailed duck may ponder, as 'neath frozen snow embedded, water deep in well imprisoned. "often now my life is clouded. often is my childhood troubled, and my thoughts like withered herbage. as i wander through the bushes, wandering on through grassy meadows, pushing through the tangled thickets, and my thoughts are pitch for blackness and my heart than soot not brighter. "better fortune had befel me, and it would have been more happy. had i not been born and nurtured, and had never grown in stature, till i saw these days of sorrow, and this joyless time o'ertook me, had i died in six nights only, or upon the eighth had perished. much i should not then have needed, but a shroud a span-long only, and of earth a tiny corner. little then had wept my mother, fewer tears had shed my father, and my brother not a tearlet." thus she wept a day, a second. and again her mother asked her, "wherefore dost thou weep, poor maiden. wherefore thus lament and sorrow?" "therefore weep i, hapless maiden, therefore do i weep for ever, that yourself have pledged me, hapless. and your daughter you have promised thus to be an old man's comfort, as a solace to the old man, to support his feeble footsteps, and to wait upon him always. better were it had you sent me deeply down beneath the billows, there to be the powan's sister, and companion of the fishes. in the lake 'tis surely better there beneath the waves to sojourn, there to be the powan's sister. and companion of the fishes, than to be an old man's comfort. to support his aged footsteps, so that i can mend his stockings, and may be a staff to prop him." then she sought the mountain storehouse, and the inner room she entered; and the finest chest she opened, raised the painted lid with clangour, and she found six golden girdles, seven blue robes of finest textures, and she robed her in the finest, and completed her adornment. set the gold upon her temples, on her hair the shining silver, on her brow the sky-blue ribands, on her head the bands of scarlet. then she wandered from the storehouses, and across the fields she wandered, past the marshes, and the heathlands, through the shady, gloomy forests. thus she sang, as on she hastened, thus she spoke, as on she wandered: "all my heart is filled with trouble; on my head a stone is loaded. but my trouble would not vex me, and the weight would less oppress me, if i perished, hapless maiden, ending thus my life of sorrow, in the burden of my trouble, in the sadness of my sorrow. "now my time perchance approaches, from this weary world to hasten, time to seek the world of mana, time to tuonela to hasten, for my father will not mourn me, nor my mother will lament me, nor my sister's cheeks be moistened, nor my brother's eyes be tearful, if i sank beneath the waters, sinking where the fish are sporting, to the depths beneath the billows, down amid the oozy blackness." on she went, one day, a second, and at length, upon the third day, came she to a lake's broad margin, to the bank, o'ergrown with rushes. and she reached it in the night-time, and she halted in the darkness. in the evening wept the maiden, through the darksome night lamented, on the rocks that fringed the margin, where a bay spread wide before her. at the earliest dawn of morning, as she gazed from off a headland, just beyond she saw three maidens, bathing there amid the waters, aino made the fourth among then, and the fifth a slender sapling. then her shift she cast on willows, and her dress upon the aspens, on the open ground her stockings, threw her shoes upon the boulders, on the sand her beads she scattered, and her rings upon the shingle. in the waves a rock was standing, brightly hued and golden shining; and she swam and sought to reach it, as a refuge in her trouble. when at length she stood upon it, and would rest upon the summit, on the stone of many colours, on the rock so smooth and shining, in the waves it sank beneath her, sinking to the very bottom. with the rock, the maiden aino sank beneath the water's surface. there the dove for ever vanished, thus the luckless maiden perished, she herself exclaimed in dying, when she felt that she was sinking: "to the lake i went to bathe me, and to swim upon its surface, but, like tender dove, i vanished, like a bird by death o'ertaken. never may my dearest father, never while his life endureth, cast his net amid the waters, in these waves, so wide extending. "to the shore i went to wash me, to the lake i went to bathe me, but, like tender dove, i vanished, like a bird by death overtaken. never may my dearest mother, never while her life endureth, fetch the water for her baking, from the wide bay near her dwelling. "to the shore i went to wash me, to the lake i went to bathe me, but, like tender dove, i vanished, like a bird by death o'ertaken. never may my dearest brother, never while his life endureth, water here his prancing courser, here upon the broad lake's margin "to the shore i went to wash me, to the lake i went to bathe me, but, like tender dove, i vanished, like a bird by death overtaken. never may my dearest sister, never while her life endureth, hither stay to wash her eyebrows, on the bridge so near her dwelling. in the lake the very water is as blood that leaves my veinlets; every fish that swims this water, is as flesh from off my body; all the bushes on the margin are as ribs of me unhappy; and the grass upon the margin as my soiled and tangled tresses." thus the youthful maiden perished, and the dove so lovely vanished. who shall now the tidings carry. and repeat the mournful story, at the dwelling of the maiden, at the homestead of the fair one? first the bear would take the tidings, and repeat the mournful story; but the bear conveyed no tidings, for he strayed among the cattle. who shall now the tidings carry, and repeat the mournful story. at the dwelling of the maiden. at the homestead of the fair one? then the wolf would take the message, and repeat the mournful story; but the wolf conveyed no tidings, for among the sheep he wandered. who shall now the tidings carry, and repeat the mournful story, at the dwelling of the maiden, at the homestead of the fair one? then the fox would take the message, and repeat the mournful story; but the fox conveyed no tidings, for among the geese he wandered. who shall now the tidings carry, and repeat the mournful story, at the dwelling of the maiden, at the homestead of the fair one? 'twas the hare who took the tidings, and conveyed the mournful story; for the hare replied discreetly, "i will not forget the message." then the hare sprang quickly onward, sped the long-ear with his story, on his crooked legs he hastened, with his cross-like mouth he hurried, to the dwelling of the maiden, to the homestead of the fair one. thus he hastened to the bath-house and he crouched upon the threshold. full of maidens is the bath-house, in their hands the bath-whisks holding. "scamp, come here; and shall we boil you, or, o broad-eye, shall we roast you, either for the master's supper, or perchance the mistress' breakfast, for the luncheon of the daughter, or perchance the son to dine on?" thereupon the hare responded, and the round-eye answered boldly, "would that lempo might come hither for the cooking in the kettle! i am come to give you tidings, and to bring a message to you. vanished from you is the fair one, perished has the tin-adorned one. sunken with her silver buckle, drowning with her belt of copper, diving in the muddy water, to the depths below the billows, there to be the powan's sister, and companion of the fishes." then her mother fell to weeping, and her bitter tears flowed freely, and she loud lamented, speaking in her grief the words which follow: "never, o unhappy mothers, never while your life endureth, never may you urge your daughters, or attempt to force your children to a marriage that repels them, like myself, o wretched mother, urging vainly thus my daughter, thus my little dove i fostered." thus the mother wept, lamenting, and her bitter tears flowed freely from her blue eyes in her sadness, o'er her cheeks, so pale with sorrow. after one tear flowed another, and her bitter tears flowed freely from her cheeks, so pale with sorrow, to her breast, so sadly heaving. after one tear flowed another, and her bitter tears flowed freely from her breast, so sadly heaving, on the borders of her garments. after one tear flowed another, and her bitter tears flowed freely from the borders of her garments down upon her scarlet stockings. after one tear flowed another, and her bitter tears flowed freely down from off her scarlet stockings to her shoes, all gold-embroidered. after one tear flowed another, and her bitter tears flowed freely from her shoes, all gold-embroidered, on the ground where she was standing. as they flowed, the ground they moistened. and they swelled to streams of water. on the ground the streams were flowing, and became the source of rivers; thence arose three mighty rivers from the tears of bitter weeping, which were ever ceaseless flowing from the weeping mother's eyelids. from each stream that thus was fashioned, rushed three waterfalls in fury, and amid each cataract's flowing. three great rocks arose together. and on every rocky summit there arose a golden mountain. and on every mountain summit up there sprang three beauteous birch-trees, in the crown of every birch-tree, golden cuckoos three were perching. all at once they called together, and the first cried, "sweetheart, sweetheart!" and the second, "lover, lover!" and the third cried, "gladness, gladness!" he who cried out, "sweetheart, sweetheart!" sang his song for three months running, for the young and loveless maiden, resting now beneath the water. he who cried out, "lover, lover!" sang his song for six months running, sang to the unhappy suitor, who must sorrow through his lifetime. he who cried out, "gladness, gladness!" sang his song for all a lifetime; sang to the unhappy mother, who must daily weep for ever. and the mother spoke as follows! as she listened to the cuckoo: "never may a hapless mother listen to the cuckoo crying! when i hear the cuckoo calling. heavy beats my heart within me. from my eyes the tears are falling o'er my cheeks are waters rolling. and the drops like peas are swelling. than the largest broad-beans larger. by an ell my life is shortened, by a span-length i am older, and my strength has wholly failed me, since i heard the cuckoo calling," runo v.--vÄinÄmÖinen's fishing _argument_ väinämöinen fishes for joukahainen's sister in the lake, and draws her into his boat in the form of a fish ( - ). he is about to cut her to pieces when she slips from his hand into the lake, and tells him who she is ( - ). väinämöinen tries to persuade her to return to him, and then fishes for her, but in vain ( - ). he returns home disconsolate, and his dead mother advises him to woo the maiden of pohja ( - ). now the tidings were repeated, and the news was widely rumoured, how the youthful maid had perished, and the fair one had departed. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, deeply sorrowed at the tidings; wept at evening, wept at morning, spent the livelong night in weeping, for the fair one who had perished, for the maiden who had slumbered, in the muddy lake downsunken to the depths below the billows. then he went, in sorrow sighing, while his heart was filled with anguish, to the blue lake's rocky margin, and he spoke the words which follow: "tell me, untamo, thou sleeper, tell me all thy dreams, o idler, where to find the realm of ahto, where dwell vellamo's fair maidens?" sleeper untamo made answer, and his dreams he thus repeated: "there has ahto fixed his country, there dwell vellamo's fair maidens, near the cloud-encompassed headland, near the ever-misty island, in the depths below the billows, on the black ooze at the bottom. "there has ahto fixed his country, there dwell vellamo's fair maidens, living in a narrow chamber, in a little room abiding, with the walls of varied marble, in the depths beside the headland." then the aged väinämöinen hastened to his little vessel, and he scanned his fishing-tackle, and his hooks with care inspected; put the tackle in his pocket, and the barbed hooks in his wallet. through the waves his boat he ferried, making for the jutting headland, to the cape, with clouds encompassed, and the ever-misty island. then he set about his fishing, and he watched his angle closely, and he held his hand-net ready, dropped his angle in the water, and he fished, and tried his fortune, while the rod of copper trembled, and the thread of silver whistled, and the golden line whirred loudly. and at length one day it happened, very early in the morning, on his hook a fish was hanging, and a salmon-trout was captured. in the boat he drew it quickly, and upon the planks he cast it. then he scanned the fish, and turned it, and he spoke the words which follow; "'tis a fish, among the fishes, for i never saw its equal, smoother is it than a powan, than a salmon-trout more yellow, greyer than a pike i deem it, for a female fish too finless, for a male 'tis far too scaleless; has no tresses, like a maiden, nor, like water-nymphs, 'tis belted; nor is earless like a pigeon; it resembles most a salmon, or a perch from deepest water." in his waistband väinämöinen bore a case-knife, silver-hafted, and he drew the knife of sharpness. drew the case-knife, silver-hafted, and prepared to slit the salmon, and to cut the fish to pieces, thought to eat it for his breakfast. or a snack to make his luncheon, to provide him with a dinner, and a plenteous supper likewise. as he would have slit the salmon. and would cut the fish to pieces, sprang the salmon in the water, for the beauteous fish jumped sideways from the planking of the red boat, from the boat of väinämöinen. thereupon her head she lifted, raised her shoulders from the water, on the fifth wave's watery hillock, from the sixth high wave emerging, then her hands in air uplifted, and displayed her left foot also, when the seventh wave roses upswelling, and upon the ninth wave's summit. thereupon the fish addressed him, and it spoke, and thus protested: "o thou aged väinämöinen, surely i have not come hither, like a salmon, to be slaughtered, or a fish, to cut to pieces, only to become your breakfast, or a snack to make your luncheon, to provide you with a dinner. and a plenteous supper likewise." said the aged väinämöinen, "wherefore didst thou then come hither?" "therefore 'tis that i have sought thee, in thine arm like dove to nestle, by thy side to sit for ever, on thy knee, as consort sitting, to prepare the couch to rest thee, and to smooth thy pillow for thee, keep thy little room in order, and to sweep the flooring for thee, in thy room to light the fire, and to fan the flames up brightly, there large loaves of bread to bake thee, cakes of honey to prepare thee, and thy jug of beer to fill thee, and thy dinner set before thee. "i am not a water-salmon, not a perch from deepest water, but a young and lovely maiden, youthful joukahainen's sister, whom thou all thy life hast longed for, whom thou hast so long desired. "o thou pitiful old creature, väinämöinen, void of wisdom, thou hadst not the wit to hold me, vellamo's young water-maiden, me, the darling child of ahto!" said the aged väinämöinen, head bowed down, and deeply grieving, "sister thou of joukahainen, once again return, i pray thee." but she never more came near him, ne'er again throughout his lifetime; for she turned away, and, diving, vanished from the water's surface down among the rocks so varied, in a liver-coloured crevice. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, pondered deeply, and reflected, what to do, and what was needful quick he wove a net all silken, and he drew it straight and crossways, through the reach, and then across it, drew it through the quiet waters, through the depths beloved by salmons and through väinölä's deep waters. and by kalevala's sharp headlands, through the deep, dark watery caverns, and the wide expanse of water, and through joukola's great rivers, and across the bays of lapland. other fish he caught in plenty, all the fishes of the waters, only not the fish he sought for, which he kept in mind for ever, never vellamo's fair maiden, not the dearest child of ahto. then the aged väinämöinen, bowed his head, lamenting deeply, with his cap adjusted sideways, and he spoke the words which follow: "o how grievous is my folly, weak am i in manly wisdom, once indeed was understanding, insight too conferred upon me, and my heart was great within me; such in former times my portion. but in days that now are passing. in the evil days upon me, now my strength with age is failing, all my understanding weakens and my insight has departed, all my judgment is perverted. "she for whom long years i waited, whom for half my life i longed for, vellamo's fair water-maiden, youngest daughter of the surges. who should be my friend for ever, and my wife throughout my lifetime, came and seized the bait i offered, in my boat sprang unresisting, but i knew not how to hold her, to my home i could not take her, but she plunged amid the waters, diving to the depths profoundest." then he wandered on a little, and he walked, in sadness sighing, to his home direct returning, and he spoke the words which follow: "once indeed the birds were singing, and my joyous cuckoo hailed me, both at morning and at evening, likewise, too, in midday hours. what has stilled their lively music, and has hushed their charming voices? care has stilled their lively music, sorrow checked their cheerful voices, therefore do they sing no longer, neither at the sun's declining, to rejoice me in the evening, nor to cheer me in the morning. "now no more can i consider how to shape my course of action, how upon the earth to sojourn, how throughout the world to travel. would my mother now were living, and my aged mother waking! she would surely tell me truly how to best support my trouble, that my grief may not o'erwhelm me, and my sorrow may not crush me, in these weary days of evil, in this time of deep depression." in her grave his mother wakened, answered from beneath the billows: "still thy mother lives and hears thee, and thy aged mother wakens, that she plainly may advise thee. how to best support thy trouble. that thy grief may not o'erwhelm thee, and thy sorrow may not crush thee, in these weary days of evil, in these days of deep depression. seek thou out the maids of pohja, where the daughters are more handsome, and the maidens twice as lovely, and are five or six times nimbler, not like lazy girls of jouko, lapland's fat and sluggish daughters. "thence a wife, o son, provide thee, from the fairest maids of pohja; choose a maid of fair complexion, lovely, too, in every feature, one whose feet are always nimble, always active in her movements." runo vi.--joukahainen's crossbow _argument_ joukahainen cherishes hatred against väinämöinen and lies in wait for him on his journey to pohjola ( - ). he sees him riding past and shoots at him, but only kills his horse ( - ). väinämöinen falls into the water and is driven out to sea by a tempest, while joukahainen rejoices, because he thinks he has at last overcome väinämöinen ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, now resolved upon a journey to the cold and dreary regions of the gloomy land of pohja. then he took his straw-hued stallion like a pea-stalk in his colour, and the golden bit adjusted, bridle on his head of silver, on his back himself he seated, and he started on his journey, and he trotted gently onward, at an easy pace he journeyed, mounted on the straw-hued courser, like a pea-stalk in his colour. thus through väinölä he journeyed, over kalevala's wide heathlands, and the horse made rapid progress, home behind, and journey shortened, then across the sea he journeyed, o'er the far-extending billows, with the horse's hoofs unwetted, and his feet unsunk in water. but the youthful joukahainen, he, the puny son of lapland, long had cherished his resentment, and had long indeed been envious of the aged väinämöinen, of the ever-famous minstrel then he wrought a mighty crossbow. and a splendid bow he fashioned, and he formed the bow of iron, overlaid the back with copper. and with gold inlaid it also, and with silver he adorned it. where did he obtain the bowstring? whence a cord to match the weapon? sinews from the elk of hiisi, and the hempen cord of lempo. thus at length the bow was finished. and the stock was quite completed, and the bow was fair to gaze on, and its value matched its beauty. at its back a horse was standing, on the stock a foal was running, on the curve a sleeping woman, at the catch a hare was couching. shafts of wood he likewise fashioned. every arrow triply feathered, and the shafts were formed of oakwood, and he made the heads of pinewood; thus the arrows were completed, and he fixed the feathers on them, from the swallows' plumage taken. likewise from the tails of sparrows. after this, the points he sharpened. and the arrow-points he poisoned. in the black blood of the serpent, in the blood of hissing adders. thus he made his arrows ready, and his bow was fit for bending, and he watched for väinämöinen, waited for suvantolainen, watched at morning, watched at evenings waited also through the noontide. long he watched for väinämöinen, waited long, and wearied never, sitting gazing from the window, or upon the stairs he waited, sometimes lurking by the pathway, sometimes watching in the meadow, on his back his well-filled quiver, 'neath his arm his crossbow ready. then he waited further onwards. lurking near another building, on the cape that juts out sharply, where the tongue of land curves outward. near a waterfall, all foaming. past the banks of sacred rivers. and at length one day it happened. very early in the morning, as he turned his eyes to westward, and he turned his head to eastward something dark he spied on ocean. something blue upon the billows. "is a cloud in east arising, or the dawn of day appearing?" in the east no cloud was rising, nor the dawn of day appearing. 'twas the aged väinämöinen, 'twas the ever-famous minstrel, who to pohjola was hasting, as to pimentola he journeyed, mounted on his straw-hued courser. like a pea-stalk in his colour. then the youthful joukahainen, he, the meagre son of lapland, spanned in haste his mighty crossbow. and he aimed the splendid weapon at the head of väinämöinen, thus to kill suvantolainen. then his mother came and asked him, and the aged one inquired, "wherefore do you span your weapon, bending thus the iron crossbow?" then the youthful joukahainen answered in the words which follow. "therefore do i span the weapon. bending thus the iron crossbow. for the head of väinämöinen, thus to kill suvantolainen, i will shoot old väinämöinen, strike the ever-famous minstrel, through the heart, and through the liver, 'twixt the shoulders i will shoot him." but his mother straight forbade him, and dissuaded him from shooting. "do not shoot at väinämöinen, do not kalevalainen slaughter. of a noble race is väinö; he's my sister's son, my nephew. "if you shoot at väinämöinen, and should kalevalainen slaughter. gladness from the world will vanish, and from earth will song be banished. in the world is gladness better. and on earth is song more cheerful, than to manala if banished. and to tuonela's darkest regions." then the youthful joukahainen paused a moment and reflected, and he pondered for an instant, though his hands to shoot were ready, one would shoot, and one restrained him, but his sinewy fingers forced him. and at length these words he uttered, and expressed his own decision: "what if twice from earth in future every gladness should be banished? let all songs for ever vanish; i will shoot my arrows, heedless!" then he spanned the mighty crossbow. and he drew the bow of copper, and against his left knee bent it, steady with his foot he held it, took an arrow from his quiver, chose a triple-feathered arrow, took the strongest of his arrows, chose the very best among them, then upon the groove he laid it, on the hempen cord he fixed it, then his mighty bow he lifted, and he placed it to his shoulder, ready now to shoot the arrow, and to shoot at väinämöinen. and he spoke the words which follow: "do thou strike, o birchwood arrow, strike thou in the back, o pinewood. twang thy best, o hempen bowstring! if my hand is leaning downward, let the arrow then strike higher, if my hand is bending upward, let the arrow then strike downward!" quickly then he drew the trigger, shot the first among his arrows. far too high the shaft flew upward. high above his head to skyward, and it whizzed among the cloudlets, through the scattered clouds it wandered. thus he shot, in reckless fashion, shot the second of his arrows. far too low the shot flew downwards. deep in mother earth 'twas sunken. earth was almost sunk to mana, and the hills of sand were cloven. then he shot again, a third time, and the third shaft, straighter flying, in the blue elk's spleen was buried, under aged väinämöinen, thus he shot the straw-hued courser, like a pea-stalk in his colour; through the flesh beneath his shoulder, in the left side deep he pierced him. then the aged väinämöinen, plunged his fingers in the water, with his hands the waves he parted, grasping at the foaming billows, from the blue elk's back he tumbled from the steed of pea-stalk colour. then a mighty wind arising raised upon the sea a billow, and it bore old väinämöinen, swimming from the mainland further, o'er the wide expanse of water, out into the open ocean. then the youthful joukahainen uttered words of boastful triumph: "now thou ancient väinämöinen, never while thy life endureth, in the course of all thy lifetime, while the golden moon is shining, walk in väinölä's fair meadows. or on kalevala's broad heathlands! "may you toss for six years running, seven long summers ever drifting, tossed about for over eight years, on the wide expanse of water, on the surface of the billows, drift for six years like a pine-tree, and for seven years like a fir-tree, and for eight years like a tree-stump!" then the house again he entered, and at once his mother asked him, "have you shot at väinämöinen? slaughtered kaleva's famous offspring?" then the youthful joukahainen answered in the words which follow "i have shot at väinämöinen, and have o'erthrown kalevalainen, sent him swimming in the water, swept him out upon the billows, on the restless waves of ocean where the waves are wildly tossing, and the old man plunged his fingers and his palms amid the waters, then upon his side he tumbled, and upon his back he turned him, drifting o'er the waves of ocean, out upon the foaming billows." but his mother made him answer, "very evil hast thou acted, thus to shoot at väinämöinen and to o'erthrow kalevalainen. of suvantola the hero, kalevala's most famous hero." runo vii.--vÄinÄmÖinen and louhi _argument_ väinämöinen swims for several days on the open sea ( - ). the eagle, grateful to him for having spared the birch-tree for him to rest on, when he was felling the trees takes väinämöinen on his wings, and carries him to the borders of pohjola, where the mistress of pohjola takes him to her abode, and receives him hospitably ( - ). väinämöinen desires to return to his own country, and the mistress of pohjola permits him to depart, and promises him her daughter in marriage if he will forge the sampo in pohjola ( - ). väinämöinen promises that when he returns home he will send the smith ilmarinen to forge the sampo, and the mistress of pohjola gives him a horse and a sledge to convey him home ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, swam upon the open ocean, drifting like a fallen pine-tree, like a rotten branch of fir-tree, during six days of the summer, and for six nights in succession, while the sea spread wide before him, and the sky was clear above him. thus he swam for two nights longer, and for two days long and dreary. when the ninth night darkened round him, and the eighth day had passed over, sudden anguish came upon him, and his pain grew ever greater. from his toes his nails were dropping, and the joints from off his fingers. then the aged väinämöinen spoke in words like those which follow: "woe to me, unhappy creature, overburdened with misfortune! i have wandered from my country, and my ancient home abandoned. 'neath the open sky for ever, driven along in sun and moonlight, rocked about by winds for ever, tossed about by every billow, on the wide expanse of water, out upon the open ocean, here i live a cold existence, and 'tis painful thus to wallow, always tossing on the billows, on the surface of the waters. "now, alas, i know no longer how to lead this life of sadness in this everlasting trouble, in an age when all is fleeting. shall i rear in wind a dwelling, build a house upon the waters? "if i rear in wind a dwelling, then the wind would not sustain it; if i build a house on water, then the waves will drift it from me." came a bird from lapland flying, from the north-east came an eagle, not the largest of the eagles, nor was he among the smallest, with one wing he swept the water, to the sky was swung the other; on the sea his tail he rested, on the cliffs his beak he rattled. slowly back and forwards flying, turning all around, and gazing, soon he saw old väinämöinen on the blue waves of the ocean. "what has brought you here, o hero, wandering through the waves of ocean?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "this has brought the man to ocean, plunged the hero in the sea-waves. i would seek the maid of pohja, woo the maiden of pimentola. "on my journey swift i hasted, on the ocean's watery surface, till about the time of daybreak, came i, after many mornings, where is luotola's deep embayment, hard by joukola's rapid river, when my horse was shot beneath me, by an arrow launched against me. "thus i fell into the water, in the waves i plunged my fingers, and the wind impels me onward, and the billows drift me forward. "then there came a gale from north-west, from the east a mighty tempest, far away the tempest drove me, swimming from the land still further, many days have i been floating, many days have i been swimming, on this wide expanse of water, out upon the open ocean. and i cannot now conjecture, cannot guess, nor e'en imagine, how i finally shall perish, and what death shall overtake me whether i shall die of hunger, or shall sink beneath the waters." said the bird of air, the eagle, "let thy heart be free from trouble; climb upon my back, and seat thee, standing up upon my wing-tips, from the sea will i transport thee, wheresoever thou may'st fancy. for the day i well remember, and recall a happier season, when fell kaleva's green forest, cleared was osmola's famed island, but thou didst protect the birch-tree, and the beauteous tree left'st standing, that the birds might rest upon it, and that i myself might sit there." then the aged väinämöinen raised his head from out the water, from the sea the man sprang upward, from the waves the hero mounted. on the eagle's wings he sat him, on the wing-tips of the eagle. then the bird of air, the eagle, raised the aged väinämöinen, through the path of wind he bore him, and along the east-wind's pathway, to the utmost bounds of pohja, onwards to the misty sariola, there abandoned väinämöinen, soared into the air, and left him. there stood väinämöinen weeping, there stood weeping and lamenting, on the borders of the ocean, on a land whose name he knew not, with a hundred wounds upon him, by a thousand winds belaboured, and his beard was much disordered, and his hair was all entangled. thus he wept for two, and three nights, for as many days stood weeping, for the country round he knew not, and no path could he discover, which perchance might lead him homeward, back to a familiar country, to his own, his native country, where he passed his days aforetime. but the little maid of pohja, fair-haired damsel of the household, with the sun had made agreement, and both sun and moon had promised, they would always rise together, and they would awake together. she herself arose before them, ere the sun or moon had risen, long before the time of cockcrow, or the chirping of a chicken. from five sheep she shore the fleeces, clipped the wool from off six lambkins, in her loom she wove the fleeces, and the whole with care she carded, long before the dawn of morning, long before the sun had risen. after this she washed the tables, swept the wide-extended flooring, with the broom of twigs all leafless, then with broom of leafy branches. then the sweepings she collected in the dustpan made of copper; out of doors she took the rubbish, to the field beyond the farmyard, to the field's extremest limit, where the lowest fence has opening. there she stood upon the sweepings, and she turned around, and listened. from the lake she heard a weeping, sounds of woe across the river. quickly then she hastened homeward, and she hurried to the parlour. as she came, she told her tidings, in such words as those which follow: "from the lake i hear a weeping, sounds of woe across the river." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, hastened forth into the farmyard, hurried to the fence's opening, where she bent her ear to listen, and she spoke the words which follow: "this is not like childhood's weeping nor like women's lamentation, but a bearded hero weeping; thus weep men whose chins are bearded." three planks high, the boat was builded, which she pushed into the water, and herself began to row it, and she rowed, and hastened onward to the spot where väinämöinen, where the hero was lamenting. there was väinämöinen weeping, there uvanto's swain lamented, by the dreary clumps of willow, by the tangled hedge of cherry. moved his mouth, his beard was shaking, but his lips he did not open. then did pohjola's old mistress, speak unto, and thus addressed him: "o thou aged man unhappy, thou art in a foreign country!" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, lifted up his head and answered in the very words that follow: "true it is, and well i know it, i am in a foreign country, absolutely unfamiliar. i was better in my country, greater in the home i came from." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "in the first place you must tell me, if i may make bold to ask you, from what race you take your lineage, and from what heroic nation?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "well my name was known aforetime, and in former days was famous, ever cheerful in the evening, ever singing in the valleys, there in väinölä's sweet meadows, and on kalevala's broad heathlands; but my grief is now so heavy that i know myself no longer." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "rise, o man, from out the marshes, hero, seek another pathway. tell me now of thy misfortunes, and relate me thy adventure." thus she made him cease his weeping, made the hero cease lamenting; and into her boat she took him, bade him at the stern be seated, and herself resumed the oars, and she then began to row him unto pohjola, o'er water, and she brought him to her dwelling. then she fed the famished stranger, and she dried his dripping garments, then she rubbed his limbs all stiffened, and she warmed him and shampooed him, till she had restored his vigour, and the hero had recovered. after this, she spoke and asked him, in the very words which follow: "why did'st weep, o väinämöinen, why lament, uvantolainen, in that miserable region, on the borders of the lakelet?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "cause enough have i for weeping, reason, too, for lamentation, in the sea i long was swimming, tossed about upon the billows, on the wide expanse of water, out upon the open ocean. "i must weep throughout my lifespan, and lament throughout my lifetime, that i swam beyond my country, left the country so familiar, and have come to doors i know not, and to hedge-gates that i know not, all the trees around me pain me, all the pine-twigs seem to pierce me, every birch-tree seems to flog me, every alder seems to wound me, but the wind is friendly to me, and the sun still shines upon me, in this unaccustomed country, and within the doors i know not." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "do not weep, o väinämöinen, nor lament, uvantolainen. here 'tis good for thee to sojourn, and to pass thy days in comfort. salmon you can eat at table, and beside it pork is standing." but the aged väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "foreign food i do not relish, in the best of strangers' houses. in his land a man is better, in his home a man is greater. grant me, jumala most gracious, o compassionate creator, once again to reach my country, and the land i used to dwell in! better is a man's own country, water from beneath the sabot, than in unfamiliar countries, mead to drink from golden goblets." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "what are you prepared to give me, if i send you to your country, to the borders of your cornfields, or the bath-house of your dwelling?" said the aged väinämöinen, "tell me then what i shall give you, if you send me to my country, to the borders of my cornfields, there to hear my cuckoo calling, and my birds so sweetly singing. will you choose a gold-filled helmet. or a hat filled up with silver?" louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "o thou wisest väinämöinen, thou the oldest of the sages, golden gifts i do not ask for, and i wish not for thy silver. gold is but a toy for children, silver bells adorn the horses, but if you can forge a sampo, weld its many-coloured cover, from the tips of swan's white wing-plumes, from the milk of barren heifer, from a single grain of barley, from a single fleece of ewe's wool, then will i my daughter give you, give the maiden as your guerdon, and will bring you to your country, there to hear the birds all singing, there to hear your cuckoo calling, on the borders of your cornfields." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "no, i cannot forge a sampo, nor can weld its pictured cover. only bring me to my country, and i'll send you ilmarinen, who shall forge a sampo for you, weld its many-coloured cover. he perchance may please the maiden, win your daughter's young affections. "he's a smith without an equal, none can wield the hammer like him, for 'twas he who forged the heaven, and who wrought the air's foundations, yet we find no trace of hammer, nor the trace of tongs discover." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "i will only yield my daughter, and my child i promise only to the man who welds a sampo with its many-coloured cover, from the tips of swan's white wing-plumes, from the milk of barren heifer, from a single grain of barley, from a single fleece of ewe's wool." thereupon the colt she harnessed, in the front she yoked the bay one, and she placed old väinämöinen in the sledge behind the stallion. and she spoke and thus addressed him, in the very words which follow: "do not raise your head up higher, turn it not to gaze about you, that the steed may not be wearied, till the evening shall have gathered. if you dare to raise your head up, or to turn to gaze around you, then misfortune will o'ertake you, and an evil day betide you." then the aged väinämöinen whipped the horse, and urged him onward, and the white-maned courser hastened noisily upon the journey, forth from pohjola's dark regions, sariola for ever misty. runo viii.--vÄinÄmÖinen's wound _argument_ on his journey väinämöinen encounters the magnificently-clad maiden of pohja, and makes advances to her ( - ). the maiden at length consents to his wishes if he will make a boat from the splinters of her spindle, and move it into the water without touching it ( - ). väinämöinen sets to work, but wounds his knee severely with his axe, and cannot stanch the flow of blood ( - ). he goes in search of some magic remedy and finds an old man who promises to stop the bleeding ( - ). lovely was the maid of pohja, famed on land, on water peerless, on the arch of air high-seated, brightly shining on the rainbow, clad in robes of dazzling lustre, clad in raiment white and shining. there she wove a golden fabric, interwoven all with silver, and her shuttle was all golden, and her comb was all of silver. from her hand flew swift the shuttle, in her hands the reel was turning, and the copper shafts they clattered, and the silver comb resounded, as the maiden wove the fabric, and with silver interwove it. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, thundered on upon his journey, from the gloomy land of pohja, sariola for ever misty. short the distance he had travelled, short the way that he had journeyed, when he heard the shuttle whizzing, high above his head he heard it. thereupon his head he lifted, and he gazed aloft to heaven, and beheld a glorious rainbow; on the arch the maiden seated as she wove a golden fabric. as the silver comb resounded. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, stayed his horse upon the instant. and he raised his voice, and speaking, in such words as these addressed her: "come into my sledge, o maiden, in the sledge beside me seat thee." then the maiden made him answer, and in words like these responded: "wherefore should the maiden join you, in the sledge beside you seated?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast. heard her words, and then responded: "therefore should the maiden join me, in the sledge beside me seat her; bread of honey to prepare me, and the best of beer to brew me, singing blithely on the benches, gaily talking at the window, when in väinölä i sojourn, at my home in kalevala." then the maiden gave him answer, and in words like these addressed him: "as i wandered through the bedstraws tripping o'er the yellow meadows, yesterday, in time of evening, as the sun was slowly sinking, in the bush a bird was singing, and i heard the fieldfare trilling, singing of the whims of maidens, and the whims of new-wed damsels. "thus the bird was speaking to me, and i questioned it in this wise: 'tell me o thou little fieldfare, sing thou, that my ears may hear it, whether it indeed is better, whether thou hast heard 'tis better, for a girl in father's dwelling, or in household of a husband?' "thereupon the bird made answer, and the fieldfare answered chirping: 'brilliant is the day in summer, but a maiden's lot is brighter. and the frost makes cold the iron, yet the new bride's lot is colder. in her father's house a maiden lives like strawberry in the garden, but a bride in house of husband, lives like house-dog tightly fettered. to a slave comes rarely pleasure; to a wedded damsel never.'" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "song of birds is idle chatter, and the throstle's, merely chirping; as a child a daughter's treated, but a maid must needs be married. come into my sledge, o maiden, in the sledge beside me seat thee. i am not a man unworthy, lazier not than other heroes." but the maid gave crafty answer, and in words like these responded: "as a man i will esteem you, and as hero will regard you, if you can split up a horsehair with a blunt and pointless knife-blade, and an egg in knots you tie me, yet no knot is seen upon it." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, then the hair in twain divided, with a blunt and pointless knife-blade, with a knife completely pointless, and an egg in knots he twisted, yet no knot was seen upon it. then again he asked the maiden in the sledge to sit beside him. but the maid gave crafty answer, "i perchance at length may join you, if you'll peel the stone i give you, and a pile of ice will hew me, but no splinter scatter from it, nor the smallest fragment loosen." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, did not find the task a hard one. from the stone the rind he severed, and a pile of ice he hewed her, but no splinters scattered from it, nor the smallest fragment loosened. then again he asked the maiden in the sledge to sit beside him. but the maid gave crafty answer, and she spoke the words which follow: "no, i will not yet go with you, if a boat you cannot carve me, from the splinters of my spindle, from the fragments of my shuttle, and shall launch the boat in water, push it out upon the billows, but no knee shall press against it, and no hand must even touch it; and no arm shall urge it onward, neither shall a shoulder guide it." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "none in any land or country, under all the vault of heaven, like myself can build a vessel, or so deftly can construct it." then he took the spindle-splinters, of the reel he took the fragments, and began the boat to fashion, fixed a hundred planks together, on a mount of steel he built it, built it on the rocks of iron. at the boat with zeal he laboured, toiling at the work unresting, working thus one day, a second, on the third day likewise working, but the rocks his axe-blade touched not, and upon the hill it rang not. but at length, upon the third day, hiisi turned aside the axe-shaft, lempo turned the edge against him, and an evil stroke delivered. on the rocks the axe-blade glinted, on the hill the blade rang loudly, from the rock the axe rebounded, in the flesh the steel was buried, in the victim's knee 'twas buried, in the toes of väinämöinen, in the flesh did lempo drive it, to the veins did hiisi guide it, from the wound the blood flowed freely, bursting forth in streaming torrents. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he, the oldest of magicians, uttered words like those which follow, and expressed himself in this wise: "o thou evil axe ferocious, with thy edge of gleaming sharpness, thou hast thought to hew a tree-trunk, and to strike upon a pine-tree, match thyself against a fir-tree, or to fall upon a birch-tree. 'tis my flesh that thou hast wounded, and my veins thou hast divided." then his magic spells he uttered, and himself began to speak them, spells of origin, for healing, and to close the wound completely. but he could not think of any words of origin of iron, which might serve to bind the evil, and to close the gaping edges of the great wound from the iron, by the blue edge deeply bitten. but the blood gushed forth in torrents, rushing like a foaming river, o'er the berry-bearing bushes, and the heath the ground that covered. there remained no single hillock, which was not completely flooded by the overflowing bloodstream, which came rushing forth in torrents from the knee of one most worthy, from the toes of väinämöinen. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, gathered from the rocks the lichen, from the swamps the moss collected, earth he gathered from the hillocks, hoping thus to stop the outlet of the wound that bled so freely, but he could not check the bleeding, nor restrain it in the slightest. and the pain he felt oppressed him, and the greatest trouble seized him. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, then began to weep full sorely. thereupon his horse he harnessed, in the sledge he yoked the chestnut, on the sledge himself he mounted, and upon the seat he sat him. o'er the horse his whip he brandished, with the bead-decked whip he lashed him. and the horse sped quickly onward. rocked the sledge, the way grew shorter, and they quickly reached a village, where the path in three divided. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, drove along the lowest pathway, to the lowest of the homesteads, and he asked upon the threshold, "is there no one in this household, who can cure the wounds of iron. who can soothe the hero's anguish, and can heal the wound that pains him?" on the floor a child was playing, by the stove a boy was sitting, and he answered him in this wise: "there is no one in this household who can heal the wounds of iron, who can soothe the hero's anguish, to the rock can fix it firmly, and can heal the wound that pains him. such may dwell in other houses: drive away to other houses." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, o'er the horse his whip then brandished, and the sledge went rattling onward. thus a little way he travelled, on the midmost of the pathways, to the midmost of the houses, and he asked upon the threshold, and beseeching at the window, "is there no one in this household, who can heal the wounds of iron, who can stanch the blood when flowing, and can check the rushing bloodstream?" 'neath the quilt a crone was resting, by the stove there sat a gossip, and she spoke and answered plainly, as her three teeth gnashed together, "there is no one in this household, who can heal the wounds of iron, none who knows efficient blood-spells, and can close the wound that pains you. such may dwell in other houses: drive away to other houses." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, o'er the horse his whip then brandished, and the sledge went rattling onward. thus a little way he travelled, on the highest of the pathways, to the highest of the houses, and he asked upon the threshold, calling from beside the doorpost, "is there any in this household, who can heal the wounds of iron, who can check this rushing bloodstream, and can stay the dark red torrent?" by the stove an old man rested, on the stove-bed lay a greybeard, from the stove the old man mumbled, and the greybeard cried in answer, "stemmed before were greater torrents, greater floods than this were hindered, by three words of the creator, by the mighty words primeval. brooks and streams were checked from flowing; mighty streams in cataracts falling, bays were formed in rocky headlands, tongues of land were linked together." runo ix.--the origin of iron _argument_ väinämöinen repeats to the old man the legend of the origin of iron ( - ). the old man reviles the iron and repeats spells for the stopping of blood, and the flow of blood is stayed ( - ). the old man directs his son to prepare a salve, and dresses and binds up the wound. väinämöinen is cured, and thanks jumala for his merciful assistance ( - ). then the aged väinämöinen in the sledge at once stood upright, from the sledge he sprang unaided, and courageously stood upright. to the room he hastened quickly, and beneath the roof he hurried. there they brought a silver beaker, and a golden goblet likewise, but they proved by far too little, holding but the smallest measure of the blood of aged väinö, from the hero's foot that spouted. from the stove the old man mumbled, cried the greybeard when he saw him, "who among mankind may'st thou be, who among the roll of heroes? seven large boats with blood are brimming, eight large tubs are overflowing from your knee, o most unhappy, on the floor in torrents gushing. other words i well remember, but the oldest i recall not, how the iron was first created, and the unworked ore was fashioned." then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words that follow: "well i know the birth of iron, and how steel was first created. air is the primeval mother, water is the eldest brother, iron is the youngest brother, and the fire in midst between them. "ukko, mightiest of creators, he, the god above in heaven, from the air the water parted, and the continents from water, when unborn was evil iron, uncreated, undeveloped. "ukko, god of realms supernal, rubbed his mighty hands together. both his hands he rubbed together, on his left knee then he pressed them, and three maidens were created, three fair daughters of creation, mothers of the rust of iron, and of blue-mouthed steel the fosterers. "strolled the maids with faltering footsteps on the borders of the cloudlets, and their full breasts were o'erflowing, and their nipples pained them sorely. down on earth their milk ran over, from their breasts' overflowing fulness, milk on land, and milk on marshes, milk upon the peaceful waters. "black milk from the first was flowing, from the eldest of the maidens, white milk issued from another, from the second of the maidens, red milk by the third was yielded, by the youngest of the maidens. "where the black milk had been dropping, there was found the softest iron, where the white milk had been flowing, there the hardest steel was fashioned, where the red milk had been trickling, there was undeveloped iron. "but a short time had passed over, when the iron desired to visit him, its dearest elder brother, and to make the fire's acquaintance. "but the fire arose in fury, blazing up in greatest anger, seeking to consume its victim, e'en the wretched iron, its brother. "then the iron sought out a refuge, sought for refuge and protection from the hands of furious fire, from his mouth, all bright with anger. "then the iron took refuge from him, sought both refuge and protection down amid the quaking marshes, where the springs have many sources, on the level mighty marshes, on the void and barren mountains, where the swans their eggs deposit, and the goose her brood is rearing. "in the swamps lay hid the iron, stretched beneath the marshy surface, hid for one year and a second, for a third year likewise hidden, hidden there between two tree-stumps, 'neath three roots of birch-trees hidden but it had not yet found safety from the fierce hands of the fire, and a second time it wandered to the dwelling of the fire, that it should be forged to weapons, and to sword-blades should be fashioned. "on the marshes wolves were running, on the heath the bears came trooping. 'neath the wolves' feet quaked the marshes, 'neath the bears the heath was shaken, thus was ore of iron uncovered, and the bars of steel were noticed, where the claws of wolves had trodden, and the paws of bears had trampled. "then was born smith ilmarinen, thus was born, and thus was nurtured, born upon a hill of charcoal, reared upon a plain of charcoal, in his hands a copper hammer, and his little pincers likewise. "ilmari was born at night-time, and at day he built his smithy, sought a place to build his smithy, where he could construct his bellows, in the swamp he found a land-ridge, and a small place in the marshes, so he went to gaze upon it, and examined the surroundings, and erected there his bellows, and his anvil there constructed. "then he hastened to the wolf-tracks, and the bear-tracks also followed, and the ore of iron he saw there, and the lumps of steel he found there, in the wolves' enormous footprints; where the bears' paws left their imprints. then he spoke the words which follow: "'o thou most unlucky iron, in an ill abode thou dwellest, in a very lowly station, 'neath the wolf-prints in the marshes, and the imprints of the bear-paws.' "then he pondered and reflected, 'what would be the upshot of it, if i cast it in the fire, and i laid it on the anvil?' "sore alarmed was hapless iron, sore alarmed, and greatly startled, when of fire it heard him speaking, speaking of the furious fire. "said the smith, said ilmarinen, 'but indeed it cannot happen; fire his friends will never injure, nor will harm his dear relations. if you seek the fire's red chamber, all illumined with its brightness, you will greatly gain in beauty, and your splendour greatly increase. fitted thus for men's keen sword-blades or as clasps for women's girdles.' "therefore when the day was ended, was the iron from out the marshes, delved from all the swampy places, carried homeward to the smithy. "then he cast it in the furnace, and he laid it on the anvil, blew a blast, and then a second, and he blew again a third time, till the iron was fully softened, and the ore completely melted, like to wheaten dough in softness, soft as dough for ryebread kneaded, in the furnace of the smithy, by the bright flame's softening power. "then exclaimed the iron unhappy, 'o thou smith, o ilmarinen, take me quickly from this furnace, from the red flames that torment me.' "said the smith, said ilmarinen, 'if i take you from the furnace, perhaps you might become outrageous, and commit some furious action. perhaps you might attack your brother, and your mother's child might injure.' "therefore swore the iron unhappy, by the oaths of all most solemn, by the forge and by the anvil, by the hammer and the mallet, and it said the words which follow, and expressed itself in this wise: 'give me trees that i can bite them, give me stones that i may break them, i will not assault my brother, nor my mother's child will injure. better will be my existence, and my life will be more happy, if i dwell among companions, as the tools of handicraftsmen, than to wound my own relations, and disgrace my own connections.' "then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he, the great primeval craftsman, from the fire removed the iron; laid it down upon the anvil, welded it till it was wearied, shaped it into pointed weapons, into spears, and into axes, into tools of all descriptions. still there was a trifle wanting, and the soft iron still defective, for the tongue of iron had hissed not, and its mouth of steel was formed not, for the iron was not yet hardened, nor with water had been tempered. "then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, pondered over what was needed, mixed a small supply of ashes, and some lye he added to it, to the blue steel's smelting mixture, for the tempering of the iron. "with his tongue he tried the liquid, tasted it if it would please him, and he spoke the words which follow: 'even yet it does not please me for the blue steel's smelting mixture, and perfecting of the iron.' from without a bee came flying, blue-winged from the grassy hillocks, hovering forwards, hovering backwards, hovering all around the smithy. "then the smith spoke up as follows: 'o thou bee, my nimble comrade, honey on thy wings convey me, on thy tongue from out the forest, from the summits of six flowerets, and from seven tall grass-stems bring it, for the blue steel's smelting mixture, and the tempering of the iron.' "but the hornet, bird of hiisi, looked around him, and he listened, gazing from beside the roof-tree, looking from below the birchbark, at the tempering of the iron, and the blue steel's smelting mixture. "thence he flew on whirring pinions, scattering all of hiisi's terrors, brought the hissing of the serpents, and of snakes the dusky venom, and of ants he brought the acid, and of toads the hidden poison, that the steel might thus be poisoned, in the tempering of the iron. "then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he, the greatest of the craftsmen, was deluded, and imagined that the bee returned already, and had brought the honey needed, brought the honey that he wanted, and he spoke the words which follow: 'here at last is what will please me, for the blue steel's smelting mixture, and the tempering of the iron,' "thereupon the steel he lifted, in he plunged the luckless iron, as from out the fire he took it, and he took it from the anvil. "then indeed the steel was angry, and the iron was seized with fury. and its oath the wretch has broken, like a dog has soiled its honour, brutally its brother bitten, striking at its own relations, let the blood rush forth in torrents, from the wound in torrents gushing." from the stove the old man mumbled, (shook his beard, his head he nodded) "now i know whence comes the iron, and of steel the evil customs. "o thou most unhappy iron, wretched iron, slag most worthless, steel thou art of evil witchcraft, thou hast been for nought developed, but to turn to evil courses, in the greatness of thy power. "once thou wast devoid of greatness; neither wast thou great nor little, neither noted for thy beauty, nor remarkable for evil, when as milk thou wast created, when the sweet milk trickled over from the breasts of youthful maidens, from the maidens' swelling bosoms, on the borders of the cloudland, 'neath the broad expanse of heaven. "thou wast then devoid of greatness, thou wast neither great nor little, when thou in the mud wast resting, sunk below the sparkling water, overspreading all the marshland, at the base of rocky mountains, and in loose earth thou wast altered, and to iron-ore converted. "thou wast still devoid of greatness, thou wast neither great nor little, when the elks were trampling o'er thee, and the reindeer, in the marshes, when the wolves' claws trod upon thee, and the bears' paws passed above thee. "thou wast still devoid of greatness, thou wast neither great nor little, when thou from the marsh wast gathered, from the ground with care uplifted, carried thence into the smithy, to the forge of ilmarinen. "thou wast still devoid of greatness, thou wast neither great nor little, when as ore thou there wast hissing, plunged amid the boiling water, or amid the fiery furnace, when the mighty oath thou sworest, by the forge and by the anvil, by the hammer and the mallet, where the smith himself was standing, on the flooring of the smithy. "now that thou hast grown to greatness, thou hast wrought thyself to frenzy, and thy mighty oath hast broken, like a dog hast soiled thy honour, for thy kinsman thou hast wounded, raised thy mouth against thy kinsman. "who hast led thee to this outrage, to this wickedness incited? perhaps thy father or thy mother, or the eldest of thy brothers, or the youngest of thy sisters, or some other near relation? "not thy father, not thy mother, nor the eldest of thy brothers, nor the youngest of thy sisters nor some other near relation. thou thyself hast wrought the evil, and hast done a deadly outrage. come thyself to see the mischief, and to remedy the evil. come, before i tell thy mother, and complain unto thy parents, more will be thy mother's trouble, great the anguish of thy parents, that their son had wrought this evil, and their son had wrought this folly. "hear me, blood, and cease thy flowing, o thou bloodstream, rush no longer, nor upon my head spirt further, nor upon my breast down-trickle. like a wall, o blood, arrest thee, like a fence, o bloodstream, stand thou, as a flag in lakelet standing, like a reed in moss-grown country, like the bank that bounds the cornfield, like a rock in raging torrent. "but thy own sense ought to teach thee how that thou should'st run more smoothly. in the flesh should'st thou be moving, with thy current smoothly flowing. in the body is it better, underneath the skin more lovely through the veins to trace thy pathway, with thy current smoothly flowing, than upon the earth rash downward, and among the dust to trickle. "flow not, milk, upon the flooring, soil thou not, o blood, the meadows, nor the grass, o crown of manhood, nor the hillocks, gold of heroes. in the heart should be thy dwelling, and among the lungs' dark cellars. thither then withdraw thou quickly, there withdraw upon the instant. do not issue like a river, nor as pond extend thy billows, trickling forth from out the marshes, nor to leak like boats when damaged. "therefore, dear one, cease thy flowing, crimson blood, drip down no longer, not impeded, but contented. dry were once the falls of tyrja, likewise tuonela's dread river, dry the lake and dry the heaven, in the mighty droughts of summer, in the evil times of bush-fires. "if thou wilt not yet obey me, still i know another method, and resort to fresh enchantments: and i call for hiisi's caldron, and will boil the blood within it all the blood that forth has issued, so that not a drop escapes me, that the red blood flows no longer, nor the blood to earth drops downward, and the blood no more may issue. "but if manly strength has failed me, nor is ukko's son a hero, who can stop this inundation, stem the swift arterial torrent, thou our father in the heavens, jumala, the clouds who rulest, thou hast manly strength sufficient, thou thyself the mighty hero, who shall close the blood's wide gateway, and shall stem the blood escaping. "ukko, o thou great creator, jumala, aloft in heaven, hither come where thou art needed, hither come where we implore thee, press thy mighty hands upon it, press thy mighty thumbs upon it, and the painful wound close firmly, and the door whence comes the evil, spread the tender leaves upon it, leaves of golden water-lily, thus to close the path of bleeding, and to stem the rushing torrent, that upon my beard it spirts not, nor upon my rags may trickle." thus he closed the bleeding opening, stemming thus the bloody torrent, sent his son into the smithy, to prepare a healing ointment from the blades of magic grasses, from the thousand-headed yarrow, and from dripping mountain-honey, falling down in drops of sweetness. then the boy went to the smithy, to prepare the healing ointment, on the way he passed an oak-tree, and he stopped and asked the oak-tree, "have you honey on your branches? and beneath your bark sweet honey?" and the oak-tree gave him answer, "yesterday, throughout the evening, dripped the honey on my branches, on my summit splashed the honey, from the clouds dropped down the honey, from the scattered clouds distilling." then he took the slender oak-twigs, from the tree the broken fragments, took the best among the grasses, gathered many kinds of herbage, herbs one sees not in this country; such were mostly what he gathered. then he placed them o'er the furnace, and the mixture brought to boiling; both the bark from off the oak-tree, and the finest of the grasses. thus the pot was boiling fiercely, three long nights he kept it boiling, and for three days of the springtime, while he watched the ointment closely, if the salve was fit for using, and the magic ointment ready. but the salve was still unfinished, nor the magic ointment ready; grasses to the mass he added, added herbs of many species, which were brought from other places, gathered on a hundred pathways, these were culled by nine magicians, and by eight wise seers discovered. then for three nights more he boiled it, and for nine nights in succession; took the pot from off the furnace, and the salve with care examined, if the salve was fit for using, and the magic ointment ready here there grew a branching aspen, on the borders of the cornfield, and in twain he broke the aspen, and the tree completely severed, with the magic salve he smeared it, carefully the ointment tested, and he spoke the words which follow: "as i with this magic ointment smear the injured crown all over, let no harm be left upon it, let the aspen stand uninjured, even as it stood aforetime." then at once was healed the aspen, even as it stood aforetime, and its crown was far more lovely, and the trunk below was healthy. then again he took the ointment, and the salve again he tested, and on broken stones he tried it, and on shattered rocks he rubbed it, and the stone with stone knit firmly, and the cracks were fixed together. from the forge the boy came homeward, when the salve was fit for using, with the ointment quite perfected, in the old man's hands he placed it. "here i bring a perfect ointment, and the magic salve is ready. it could fuse the hills together, in a single rock unite them." with his tongue the old man tried it, with his mouth the liquid tasted, and the ointment tasted perfect, and the salve was most efficient. this he smeared on väinämöinen, and with this he healed the sufferer; stroked him downward, stroked him upward, rubbed him also on the middle, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in this wise: "'tis not i who use my muscles, but 'tis the creator moves them; with my own strength do not labour, but with strength from the almighty. with my mouth i speak not to you; jumala's own mouth speaks with you, if my speech is sweet unto you, jumala's own speech is sweeter. even if my hands are lovely, the creator's hands are fairer." when the salve was rubbed upon him, and the healing ointment touched him, almost fainting with the anguish, väinämöinen writhed and struggled. turning this way, turning that way, seeking ease, but never finding. then the old man banned the suffering, far away he drove the anguish, to the central hill of tortures, to the topmost mount of suffering, there to fill the stones with anguish, and the slabs of rock to torture. then he took a silken fabric, and in strips he quickly cut it; from the edge he tore the fragments, and at once he formed a bandage; then he took the silken bandage, and with utmost care he wound it, round the knees he wound it deftly, round the toes of väinämöinen. then he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in this wise: "thus i use god's silken bandage, the creator's mantle wind i round the great knees of the patient, round the toes of one most noble. watch thou, jumala most gracious, give thy aid, o great creator, that we fall not in misfortune, that no evil may o'ertake us." then the aged väinämöinen felt he had regained his vigour, and that he was healed completely, and his flesh again was solid, and beneath it all was healthy. in his body he was painless, and his sides were quite uninjured, from above the wounds had vanished, stronger felt he than aforetime, better than in former seasons. on his feet he now was walking and could bend his knees in stamping; not the least of pain he suffered, not a trace remained of aching. then the aged väinämöinen, lifted up his eyes to heaven, gazing up to god most gracious, lifting up his head to heaven, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in this wise: "thence all mercy flows for ever, thence comes aid the most effective, from the heaven that arches o'er us, from the omnipotent creator. "praise to jumala most gracious, praise to thee, o great creator, that thy aid thou hast vouchsafed me, granted me thy strong protection, when my suffering was the greatest, from the edge of sharpest iron." then the aged väinämöinen further spoke these words of warning: "people, henceforth in the future on your present welfare build not, make no boat in mood of boasting, nor confide too much in boat-ribs. god foresees the course of by-ways, the creator orders all things; not the foresight of the heroes, nor the might of all the great ones." runo x.--the forging of the sampo _argument_ väinämöinen reaches home and urges ilmarinen to depart to woo the maiden of pohja, because he would be able to forge a sampo ( - ). ilmarinen refuses to go to pohjola, but väinämöinen conveys him thither without his consent by a stratagem ( - ). ilmarinen arrives in pohjola, where he is very well received, and promises to forge a sampo ( - ). he forges the sampo, and the mistress of pohjola conceals it in the rocky mountain of pohjola ( - ). ilmarinen asks for the maiden as his reward, but she makes excuses, saying that she is not yet ready to leave home ( - ). ilmarinen receives a boat, returns home, and informs väinämöinen that he has forged the sampo in pohjola ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, took his horse of chestnut colour, and between the shafts he yoked him, yoked before the sledge the chestnut, on the sledge himself he mounted, and upon the seat he sat him. quickly then his whip he flourished, cracked his whip, all bead-embroidered, quick he sped upon his journey, lurched the sledge, the way was shortened, loudly rang the birchwood runners, and the rowan cumber rattled. on he rushed with speed tremendous, through the swamps and open country, o'er the heaths, so wide extending. thus he drove a day, a second, and at length, upon the third day, reached the long bridge-end before him kalevala's extended heathlands, bordering on the field of osmo. then he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in this wise: "wolf, do thou devour the dreamer, seize the laplander, o sickness, he who said that i should never in my lifetime reach my homestead, nor again throughout my lifetime, nor as long as shines the moonlight, neither tread väinölä's meadows; kalevala's extended heathlands." then the aged väinämöinen, spoke aloud his songs of magic, and a flower-crowned birch grew upward, crowned with flowers, and leaves all golden, and its summit reached to heaven, to the very clouds uprising. in the air the boughs extended, and they spread themselves to heaven. then he sang his songs of magic, and he sang a moon all shining, on the pine-tree's golden summit; and the great bear in the branches. on he drove with speed tremendous, straight to his beloved homestead, head bowed down, and thoughts all gloomy, and his cap was tilted sideways, for the great smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, he had promised as his surety, that his own head he might rescue out of pohjola's dark regions, sariola for ever misty. presently his horse he halted at the new-cleared field of osmo, and the aged väinämöinen, in the sledge his head uplifted, heard the noise within the smithy, and the clatter in the coal-shed. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, then himself the smithy entered, and he found smith ilmarinen, wielding mightily his hammer. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "o thou aged väinämöinen, where have you so long been staying. where have you so long been living?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "there have i so long been staying, there have i so long been living, in the gloomy land of pohja, sariola for ever misty. long i coursed on lapland snowshoes, with the world-renowned magicians." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, answered in the words which follow: "o thou aged väinämöinen, thou the great primeval sorcerer. tell me of your journey thither; tell me of your homeward journey." said the aged väinämöinen, "much indeed have i to tell you: lives in pohjola a maiden, in that village cold a virgin, who will not accept a suitor, mocks the very best among them. half of all the land of pohja praises her surpassing beauty. from her temples shines the moonlight, from her breasts the sun is shining, and the great bear from her shoulders, from her back the starry seven. "thou thyself, smith ilmarinen, thou, the great primeval craftsman, go thyself to woo the maiden, and behold her shining tresses. if you can but forge a sampo, with its many-coloured cover, you will then receive the maiden, and the fair maid be your guerdon." said the smith, e'en ilmarinen, "o thou aged väinämöinen, you have perhaps already pledged me to the gloomy land of pohja, that your own head you might rescue, and might thus secure your freedom. not in course of all my lifetime, while the golden moon is shining, hence to pohjola i'll journey, huts of sariola so dreary, where the people eat each other, and they even drown the heroes." then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "there is wonder after wonder; there's a pine with flowery summit, flowery summit, leaves all golden, near where osmo's field is bordered. on the crown the moon is shining, in the boughs the bear is resting." said the smith, e'en ilmarinen, "this i never can believe in, if i do not go to see it, and my own eyes have not seen it." said the aged väinämöinen, "if you cannot then believe it, we will go ourselves, and witness whether true or false the story." then they both went forth to see it, view the pine with flowery summit, first walked aged väinämöinen, and smith ilmarinen second. when they reached the spot they sought for, on the edge of osmo's cornfield, then the smith his steps arrested, in amazement at the pine-tree, with the great bear in the branches, and the moon upon its summit. then the aged väinämöinen, spoke the very words which follow: "now thou smith, my dearest brother, climb and fetch the moon above us, bring thou, too, the great bear shining on the pine-tree's golden summit." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, climbed aloft into the pine-tree, up he climbed into the daylight, climbed to fetch the moon above him, and the great bear, shining brightly, on the pine-tree's golden summit. said the pine-tree's golden summit, said the widely-branching pine-tree, "mighty man, of all most foolish, o most thoughtless of the heroes! in my branches, fool, thou climbest, to my summit, as a boy might, and would'st grasp the moon's reflection, and the false stars thou beholdest!" then the aged väinämöinen, lifted up his voice in singing. as he sang uprose a tempest, and the wind rose wildly furious, and he spoke the words which follow. and expressed himself in thiswise: "in thy boat, o wind, convey him, in thy skiff, o breeze, convey him, bear him to the distant regions of the gloomy land of pohja." then there rose a mighty tempest, and the wind so wildly furious carried off smith ilmarinen, hurried him to distant regions, to the gloomy land of pohja, sariola for ever misty. then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, journeyed forth, and hurried onwards, on the tempest forth he floated, on the pathway of the breezes, over moon, and under sunray, on the shoulders of the great bear, till he reached the halls of pohja, baths of sariola the gloomy, yet the tailed-dogs were not barking, and the watch-dogs were not yelping. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, in the house she stood and listened, and at length she spoke as follows: "who then are you among mortals, who among the roll of heroes, on the tempest-path who comest, on the sledgeway of the breezes, yet the dogs ran forth not, barking, and the shaggy-tailed ones barked not." said the smith, e'en ilmarinen, "surely i have not come hither that the village dogs should shame me, or the shaggy-tailed ones hurt me, here behind these foreign portals, and behind these unknown fences." then did pohjola's old mistress question thus the new-come stranger: "have you ever on your travels, heard reports of, or encountered him, the great smith ilmarinen, most accomplished of the craftsmen? long have we been waiting for him, long been anxious for his coming here to pohjola's dark regions, that a sampo he might forge us." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, answered in the words which follow: "i have met upon my journey with the smith named ilmarinen; i myself am ilmarinen, and a most accomplished craftsman." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, hurried back into her dwelling, and she spoke the words which follow: "come my daughter, thou the youngest, thou the fairest of my children, robe thyself in choicest raiment, clothe thee in the brightest-coloured, in the finest of your dresses, brightest beads upon thy bosom, round thy neck the very finest, and upon thy temples shining. see thou that thy cheeks are rosy, and thy countenance is cheerful. here's the smith named ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, who will forge the sampo for us, with its brightly-pictured cover." then the lovely maid of pohja, famed on land, on water peerless, took the choicest of her dresses, and the brightest of her garments, and the fifth at last selected. then her head-dress she adjusted, and her copper belt girt round her, and her wondrous golden girdle. back she came from out the storeroom, dancing back into the courtyard, and her eyes were brightly shining. as she moved, her earrings jingled, and her countenance was charming, and her lovely cheeks were rosy. gold was shining on her bosom, on her head was silver gleaming. then did pohjola's old mistress, lead the smith named ilmarinen, into pohjola's great castle. rooms of sariola the gloomy. there she set a meal before him, gave the hero drink in plenty, and she feasted him profusely, and at length she spoke as follows: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, thou the great primeval craftsman, if you can but forge a sampo, with its many-coloured cover, from the tips of swans' white wing-plumes, from the milk of barren heifer, from a little grain of barley, from the wool of sheep of summer, will you then accept this maiden, as reward, my charming daughter?" then the smith named ilmarinen answered in the words which follow: "i will go to forge the sampo, weld its many-coloured cover, from the tips of swans' white wing-plumes, from the milk of barren heifer, from a little grain of barley, from the wool of sheep of summer, for 'twas i who forged the heavens, and the vault of air i hammered, ere the air had yet beginning, or a trace of aught was present." then he went to forge the sampo, with its many-coloured cover, sought a station for a smithy, and he needed tools for labour; but no place he found for smithy, nor for smithy, nor for bellows, nor for furnace, nor for anvil, not a hammer, nor a mallet. then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, spoke aloud the words which follow: "none despair, except old women, scamps may leave their task unfinished; not a man, how weak soever, not a hero of the laziest!" for his forge he sought a station, and a wide place for the bellows, in the country round about him, in the outer fields of pohja. so he sought one day, a second, and at length upon the third day found a stone all streaked with colours, and a mighty rock beside it. here the smith his search abandoned, and the smith prepared his furnace, on the first day fixed the bellows, and the forge upon the second. thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, heaped the fuel upon the fire, and beneath the forge he thrust it, made his servants work the bellows, to the half of all their power. so the servants worked the bellows, to the half of all their power. during three days of the summer, during three nights of the summer. stones beneath their heels were resting, and upon their toes were boulders. on the first day of their labour he himself, smith ilmarinen, stooped him down, intently gazing, to the bottom of the furnace, if perchance amid the fire something brilliant had developed. from the flames there rose a crossbow, golden bow from out the furnace; 'twas a gold bow tipped with silver, and the shaft shone bright with copper. and the bow was fair to gaze on, but of evil disposition, and a head each day demanded, and on feast-days two demanded. he himself, smith ilmarinen, was not much delighted with it, so he broke the bow to pieces, cast it back into the furnace, made his servants work the bellows, to the half of all their power. so again upon the next day, he himself, smith ilmarinen, stooped him down, intently gazing to the bottom of the furnace, and a boat rose from the furnace, from the heat rose up a red boat, and the prow was golden-coloured, and the rowlocks were of copper. and the boat was fair to gaze on, but of evil disposition; it would go to needless combat, and would fight when cause was lacking. therefore did smith ilmarinen take no slightest pleasure in it, and he smashed the boat to splinters, cast it back into the furnace; made his servants work the bellows, to the half of all their power. then upon the third day likewise, he himself, smith ilmarinen, stooped him down, intently gazing to the bottom of the furnace, and a heifer then rose upward, with her horns all golden-shining, with the bear-stars on her forehead; on her head appeared the sun-disc. and the cow was fair to gaze on, but of evil disposition; always sleeping in the forest, on the ground her milk she wasted. therefore did smith ilmarinen take no slightest pleasure in her, and he cut the cow to fragments, cast her back into the furnace, made his servants work the bellows, to the half of all their power. so again upon the fourth day, he himself, smith ilmarinen stooped him down, and gazed intently to the bottom of the furnace, and a plough rose from the furnace, with the ploughshare golden-shining, golden share, and frame of copper, and the handles tipped with silver. and the plough was fair to gaze on, but of evil disposition, ploughing up the village corn fields, ploughing up the open meadows. therefore did smith ilmarinen take no slightest pleasure in it. and he broke the plough to pieces, cast it back into the furnace, call the winds to work the bellows to the utmost of their power. then the winds arose in fury, blew the east wind, blew the west wind, and the south wind yet more strongly, and the north wind howled and blustered. thus they blew one day, a second, and upon the third day likewise. fire was flashing from the windows, from the door the sparks were flying and the dust arose to heaven; with the clouds the smoke was mingled. then again smith ilmarinen, on the evening of the third day, stooped him down, and gazed intently to the bottom of the furnace, and he saw the sampo forming, with its many-coloured cover. thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, welded it and hammered at it, heaped his rapid blows upon it, forged with cunning art the sampo, and on one side was a corn-mill, on another side a salt-mill, and upon the third a coin-mill. now was grinding the new sampo, and revolved the pictured cover, chestfuls did it grind till evening, first for food it ground a chestful, and another ground for barter, and a third it ground for storage. now rejoiced the crone of pohja, and conveyed the bulky sampo, to the rocky hills of pohja, and within the mount of copper, and behind nine locks secured it. there it struck its roots around it, fathoms nine in depth that measured, one in mother earth deep-rooted, in the strand the next was planted, in the nearest mount the third one. afterwards smith ilmarinen, asked the maiden as his guerdon, and he spoke the words which follow: "will you give me now the maiden, for the sampo is completed, with its beauteous pictured cover?" then the lovely maid of pohja answered in the words which follow: "who in years that this shall follow, for three summers in succession, who shall hear the cuckoo calling, and the birds all sweetly singing, if i seek a foreign country, as in foreign lands a berry? "if the dove had thus departed, and the maiden thus should wander, strayed away the mother's darling, likewise would the cranberries vanish, all the cuckoos vanish with them, and the nightingales would migrate, from the summit of this mountain, from the summits of these uplands. "not as yet can i abandon my delightful life as maiden, and my innocent employments in the glowing heat of summer. all unplucked the mountain-berries, and the lakeshore will be songless, and unvisited the meadows, and in woods i sport no longer." thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, sad, and with his head down-hanging, and his cap in grief thrust sideways, presently began to ponder, in his head long time debating how he now should journey homeward, to his own familiar country, from the gloomy land of pohja, sariola for ever misty. then said pohjola's old mistress, "o thou smith, o ilmarinen wherefore is thy mind so saddened, and thy cap in grief pushed sideways? are you thinking how to journey, homeward to your native country?" said the smith, e'en ilmarinen, "yes, my thoughts are there directed to my home that i may die there, and may rest in scenes familiar." then did pohjola's old mistress set both meat and drink before him, at the boat-stern then she placed him, there to work the copper paddle. and she bade the wind blow strongly, and the north wind fiercely bluster. thus it was smith ilmarinen he the great primeval craftsman, travelled homeward to his country, o'er the blue sea's watery surface. thus he voyaged one day, a second, and at length upon the third day, reached the smith his home in safety, in the land where he was nurtured. asked the aged väinämöinen, when he saw smith ilmarinen, "ilmarinen, smith and brother, thou the great primeval craftsman, hast thou forged a new-made sampo, with its many-coloured cover?" then replied smith ilmarinen, ready with a fitting answer, "grinds forth meal, the new-made sampo, and revolves the pictured cover, chestfuls does it grind till evening, first for food it grinds a chestful, and another grinds for barter, and a third it grinds for storage." runo xi.--lemminkainen and kyllikki _argument_ lemminkainen goes to seek a wife among the noble maidens of saari ( - ). at first they laugh at him, but afterwards become very friendly ( - ). but kyllikki, on whose account he has come, will not listen to him, and at length, he carries her off by force, drags her into his sledge, and drives away with her ( - ). kyllikki weeps, and especially reproaches lemminkainen with his fondness for war, and lemminkainen promises not to go to war if kyllikki promises never to go to the village dances, and both swear to observe these conditions ( - ). lemminkainen drives home, and mother rejoices in her young daughter-in-law ( - ). now 'tis time to speak of ahti, of that lively youth to gossip. ahti, dweller in the island, he the scapegrace son of lempi, in a noble house was nurtured, by his dear and much-loved mother where the bay spread out most widely. where the cape extended furthest, kauko fed himself on fishes, ahti was reared up on perches, and he grew a man most handsome, very bold and very ruddy, and his head was very handsome, and his form was very shapely, yet he was not wholly faultless, but was careless in his morals, passing all his time with women, wandering all around at night-time, when the maidens took their pleasure in the dance, with locks unbraided. kylli, beauteous maid of saari, saari's maiden, saari's flower, in a noble house was nurtured. and her stature grew most graceful, sitting in her father's dwelling, resting there in seat of honour. long she grew, and wide was famous: suitors came from distant regions, to the far-famed maiden's homestead, to the dwelling of the fair one. for his son, the sun had wooed her. but she would not go to sunland, where the sun is ever shining in the burning heats of summer. for his son, the moon had wooed her, but she would not go to moonland, where the moon is ever shining, in the realms of air to wander. for his son, a star had wooed her, but she would not go to starland, through the livelong night to glimmer, in the open skies of winter. many suitors came from viro, and from ingerland came others; none among them pleased the maiden, and she answered all as follows: "'tis for nought your gold you squander, and your silver waste for nothing. never will i go to viro, neither go, nor in the future row a boat through viro's waters, nor will move a punt from saari, nor will eat the fish of viro, nor the fish-soup eat of viro. "nor to ingerland i'll travel, nor its slopes and shores will visit. there is hunger, nought but hunger, want of trees, and want of timber, want of water, want of wheatfields, there is even want of ryebread." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, now resolved to make a journey and to woo the flower of saari, seek at home the peerless fair one, with her beauteous locks unbraided. but his mother would dissuade him, and the aged woman warned him: "do not seek, my son, my darling, thus to wed above your station. there are none would think you noble of the mighty race of saari." said the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "if my house is not as noble, nor my race esteemed so mighty, for my handsome shape they'll choose me, for my noble form will take me." but his mother still opposed her unto lemminkainen's journey, to the mighty race of saari, to the clan of vast possessions. "there the maidens all will scorn you, and the women ridicule you." little heeded lemminkainen, and in words like these he answered: "i will check the women's laughter, and the giggling of their daughters. sons i'll give unto their bosoms, children in their arms to carry; then they will no longer scorn me, thus i'll stop their foolish jesting." then his mother made him answer; "woe to me, my life is wretched. if you mock the saari women, bring to shame the modest maidens, you will bring yourself in conflict, and a dreadful fight will follow. all the noble youths of saari, full a hundred skilful swordsmen, all shall rush on thee unhappy, standing all alone amidst them." little heeded lemminkainen all the warnings of his mother; chose the best among his stallions. and the steed he quickly harnessed, and he drove away with clatter, to the village famed of saari, there to woo the flower of saari, she, the peerless maid of saari. but the women ridiculed him, and the maidens laughed and jeered him. in the lane he drove most strangely, strangely to the farm came driving, turned the sledge all topsy-turvy, at the gate he overturned it. then the lively lemminkainen mouth awry, and head downsunken, while his black beard he was twisting, spoke aloud the words which follow: "never aught like this i witnessed, never saw i, never heard i, that the women laughed about me, and the maidens ridiculed me." little troubled lemminkainen, and he spoke the words which follow: "is there not a place in saari, on the firm ground of the island, for the sport that i will show you, and for dancing on the greensward, with the joyous girls of saari, with their fair unbraided tresses?" then the saari maidens answered, spoke the maidens of the headland: "there is room enough in saari, on the firm ground of the island, for the sport that you shall show us, and for dancing on the greensward, for the milkmaids in the meadows, and the herd-boys in their dances; very lean are saari's children, but the foals are sleek and fattened." little troubled lemminkainen, but engaged himself as herd-boy, passed his days among the meadows, and his nights 'mid lively maidens, sporting with the charming maidens, toying with their unbound tresses. thus the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, ended soon the women's laughter, and the joking of the maidens. there was not a single daughter, not a maid, however modest, but he did not soon embrace her, and remain awhile beside her. one alone of all the maidens, of the mighty race of saari, would not list to any lover, not the greatest man among them; kyllikki, the fairest maiden, loveliest flower of all in saari. then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, wore a hundred boats to tatters, rowed in twain a hundred oars as he strove to win the maiden, kyllikki herself to conquer. kyllikki the lovely maiden answered him in words that follow: "wherefore wander here, o weakling. racing round me like a plover, always seeking for a maiden, with her tin-adorned girdle? i myself will never heed you till the stone is ground to powder. till the pestle's stamped to pieces, and the mortar smashed to atoms. "nought i care for such a milksop, such a milksop, such a humbug; i must have a graceful husband, i myself am also graceful; i must have a shapely husband, i myself am also shapely; and a well-proportioned husband, i myself am also handsome." but a little time thereafter, scarce had half a month passed over, on a certain day it happened. as was usual in the evenings, all the girls had met for pleasure, and the beauteous maids were dancing; in a grove near open country, on a lovely space of heathland. kyllikki was first among them, she the far-famed flower of saari. thither came the ruddy scoundrel, there drove lively lemminkainen, with the best among his horses, with the horse that he had chosen, right into the green arena where the beauteous maids were dancing. kyllikki he seized and lifted, then into the sledge he pushed her, and upon the bearskin sat her, that upon the sledge was lying. with his whip he lashed the stallion, and he cracked the lash above him, and he started on his journey, and he cried while driving onward: "o ye maidens, may ye never in your lives betray the secret, speak of how i drove among you. and have carried off the maiden. "but if you will not obey me, you will fall into misfortune; to the war i'll sing your lovers, and the youths beneath the sword-blades, that you hear no more about them, see them not in all your lifetime, either in the streets when walking. or across the fields when driving." kyllikki lamented sorely, sobbed the beauteous flower of saari: "let me but depart in safety, let the child depart in safety, set me free to journey homeward to console my weeping mother. "if you will not now release me, set me free to journey homeward, o then i have five strong brothers, and my uncle's sons are seven, who can run with hare-like swiftness, and will haste the maid to rescue." when she could not gain her freedom, she began to weep profusely, and she spoke the words which follow: "i, poor maid, was born for nothing, and for nought was born and fostered, and my life was lived for nothing, since i fall to one unworthy, in a worthless fellow's clutches, one for battle always ready, and a rude ferocious warrior." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "kyllikki, my dearest heart-core, thou my sweetest little berry, do not vex yourself so sorely, do not thus give way to sadness. i will cherish you when eating, and caress you on my journeys, whether sitting, whether standing, always near when i am resting. "wherefore then should you be troubled, wherefore should you sigh for sorrow? are you therefore grieved so sorely, therefore do you sigh for trouble, lest the cows or bread might fail you, or provisions be deficient? "do not vex yourself so sorely, i have cows enough and plenty, plenty are there, milk to yield me, some, muurikkis, in the marshes, some, mansikkis, on the hill-sides, some, puolukkas, on the clearing, sleek they are, although unfoddered. fine they are, although untended. in the evening none need bind them, in the evening none need loose them, no one need provide them fodder, nor give salt in morning hours. "or perchance are you lamenting, sighing thus so full of trouble, that i am not high descended, nor was born of noble lineage? "if i am not high descended, nor was born of noble lineage, yet have i a sword of keenness, gleaming brightly in the battle. this is surely high descended, and has come of noble lineage, for the blade was forged by hiisi and by jumala 'twas polished, thus am i so high descended. and i come of noblest lineage, with my sword so keenly sharpened gleaming brightly in the battle." but the maiden sighed with anguish, and in words like these made answer, "o thou ahti, son of lempi, if you would caress the maiden, keep her at your side for ever. dove-like in thy arms for ever, pledge thyself by oaths eternal, not again to join in battle, whether love of gold may lure you, or your wish is fixed on silver." then the lively lemminkainen answered in the words which follow: "here i swear, by oaths eternal, not again to join in battle, whether love of gold may lure me, or my wish is fixed on silver. but thyself on oath must pledge thee, not to wander to the village, whether for the love of dancing, or to loiter in the pathways." then they took the oaths between them, and with oaths eternal bound them, there in jumala's high presence, in the sight of the almighty, ahti should not go to battle, nor should kylli seek the village. then the lively lemminkainen whipped his steed to faster running, shook the reins to urge him onward, and he spoke the words which follow: "now farewell to saari's meadows, roots of pine, and trunks of fir-trees, where i wandered for a summer, where i tramped throughout the winter, and on cloudy nights took shelter, hiding from the stormy weather, while i waited for my dear one, and to bear away my darling." on he urged his prancing courser, till he saw his home before him, and the maiden spoke as follows, and in words like these addressed him: "lo, i see a hut before us, looking like a place of famine. tell me whose may be the cottage, whose may be this wretched dwelling?" then the lively lemminkainen answered in the words which follow: "do not grieve about the hovel, sigh not for the hut before you. we will build us other houses, and establish better dwellings, built of all the best of timber, with the very best of planking." thus the lively lemminkainen reached again his home in safety, finding there his dearest mother, she, his old and much-loved mother. and his mother spoke as follows, and expressed herself in thiswise: "long, my son, have you been absent, long in foreign lands been roaming." said the lively lemminkainen, and he spoke the words which follow: "i have brought to shame the women, with the modest girls have sported, and have well repaid the laughter, and the jests they heaped upon me. to my sledge the best i carried, and upon the rug i sat her, and between the runners laid her, and beneath the rug i hid her; thus repaid the laughing women, and the joking of the maidens. "o my mother, who hast borne me, o my mother, who hast reared me, i have gained what i have sought for, and have won what most i longed for. now prepare the best of bolsters, and the softest of the cushions, in my native land to rest me. with the young and lovely maiden." then his mother spoke as follows, and in words like these expressed her: "now to jumala be praises, praise to thee, o great creator for the daughter thou hast sent me, who can fan the flames up brightly, who can work at weaving deftly, and is skilful, too, in spinning, and accomplished, too, in washing, and can bleach the clothes to whiteness. "for thy own weal thank him also; good is won, and good brought homeward: good decreed by the creator, good that's granted by his mercy. on the snow is fair the bunting, fairer yet is she beside thee; white the foam upon the water, whiter yet this noble lady: on the lake the duck is lovely, lovelier yet thy cherished darling; brilliant is a star in heaven, brighter yet thy promised fair one. "let the floors be wide expanded, and the windows widened greatly, let new walls be now erected, all the house be greatly bettered, and the threshold new-constructed, place new doors upon the threshold, for the youthful bride beside you, she, of all the very fairest, she, the best of all the maidens, and the noblest in her lineage." runo xii.--lemminkainen's first expedition to pohjola _argument_ kyllikki forgets her oath and goes to the village, whereupon lemminkainen is enraged and resolves to divorce her immediately, and to set forth to woo the maiden of pohja ( - ). his mother does her utmost to dissuade him, telling him that he will very probably be killed. lemminkainen, who is brushing his hair, throws the brush angrily out of his hand and declares that blood shall flow from the brush if he should come to harm ( - ). he makes ready, starts on his journey, comes to pohjola, and sings all the men out of the homestead of pohjola; and only neglects to enchant one wicked cowherd ( - ). then did ahti lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukolainen live awhile a life of quiet with the young bride he had chosen, and he went not forth to battle, nor went kylli to the village. but at length one day it happened in the early morning hours, forth went ahti lemminkainen to the place where spawn the fishes, and he came not home at evening, and at nightfall he returned not. kyllikki then sought the village, there to dance with sportive maidens. who shall now the tidings carry, who will now convey a message? ainikki 'twas, ahti's sister, she it was who brought the tidings, she it was conveyed the message. "ahti, o my dearest brother, kyllikki has sought the village, entered there the doors of strangers, where the village girls are sporting, dancing with unbraided tresses." ahti then, for ever boyish, he the lively lemminkainen, grew both sorrowful and angry, and for long was wild with fury, and he spoke the words which follow: "o my mother, aged woman, wash my shirt, and wash it quickly in the black snake's deadly venom, dry it then, and dry it quickly that i may go forth to battle, and contend with youths of pohja, and o'erthrow the youths of lapland. kyllikki has sought the village, entered there the doors of strangers, there to dance with sportive maidens, with their tresses all unbraided." kyllikki made answer promptly, she his favoured bride responded: "ahti, o my dearest husband, do not now depart to battle! i beheld while i was sleeping, while my slumber was the deepest, from the hearth the flames were flashing, flashing forth with dazzling brightness, leaping up below the windows, to the furthest walls extending, then throughout the house blazed fiercely, like a cataract in its fury, o'er the surface of the flooring, and from window unto window." but the lively lemminkainen answered in the words which follow: "nought i trust in dreams of women, nor rely on woman's insight. o my mother who hast borne me, bring me here my war-shirt quickly, bring me, too, my mail for battle, for my inclination leads me hence to drink the beer of battle, and to taste the mead of combat." then his mother spoke in answer: "o my son, my dearest ahti, do thou not go forth to battle! in the house is beer in plenty, in the barrels made of alder. and behind the taps of oakwood. it is seasoned now for drinking, and all day canst thou be singing." said the lively lemminkainen, "but for home-brewed ale i care not, rather would i drink stream-water, from the end of tarry rudder, and this drink were sweeter to me than the beer in all our cellars. bring me here my war-shirt quickly, bring me, too, my mail for battle. i will seek the homes of pohja, and o'erthrow the youths of lapland, and for gold will ask the people, and i will demand their silver." then said lemminkainen's mother, "o my son, my dearest ahti, we ourselves have gold in plenty, silver plenty in the storeroom. only yesterday it happened, in the early hours of morning, ploughed the slave a field of vipers, full of twining, twisting serpents, and a chest-lid raised the ploughshare, and the chest was full of money. coins by hundreds there were hidden, thousands there were squeezed together, to our stores the chest was carried, in the loft we stored it safely." said the lively lemminkainen, "nought i care for home-stored treasures. i will win me marks in battle, treasures won by far are better, than the gold in all our storerooms, or the silver found in ploughing. bring me here my war-shirt quickly, bring me, too, my mail for battle, i will go to war in pohja, to destroy the sons of lapland. "there my inclination leads me and my understanding drives me, and my own ears shall inform me, and my own eyes show me truly, if in pohjola a maiden, in pimentola a maiden, is not longing for a lover, for the best of men desirous." then said lemminkainen's mother, "o my son, my dearest ahti, kyllikki at home is with thee, fairest she of all the housewives. strange it were to see two women in a bed beside one husband." said the lively lemminkainen, "kyllikki has sought the village. let her go to all the dances, let her sleep in all the houses, where the village girls are sporting, dancing with unbraided tresses." still his mother would dissuade him, and the aged woman warned him: "yet beware, my son, and go not unto pohjola's dread homestead, destitute of magic knowledge, destitute of all experience, there to meet the youths of pohja, and to conquer lapland's children! there the laplanders will sing you, and the turja men will thrust you, head in clay, and mouth in charcoal, with your arms where sparks are flying, and your hands in glowing embers, there upon the burning hearthstones." lemminkainen heard and answered: "once some sorcerers would enchant me, wizards charm, and snakes would blast me. as three laplanders attempted through the night in time of summer, on a rock all naked standing, wearing neither clothes nor waistband; not a rag was twisted round them, but they got what i could give them, like the miserable codfish, like the axe on stone that's battered, or against the rock the auger, or on slippery ice a sabot, or like death in empty houses. "otherwise indeed they threatened, otherwise events had happened, for they wanted to o'erthrow me, threatened they would sink me deeply in the swamp when i was walking, that in mire i might be sunken, in the mud my chin pushed downward, and my beard in filthy places. but indeed a man they found me, and they did not greatly fright me, i myself put forth my magic, and began my spells to mutter, sang the wizards with their arrows, and the archers with their weapons, sorcerers with their knives of iron, soothsayers with their pointed weapons, under tuoni's mighty cataract, where the surge is most terrific, underneath the highest cataract, 'neath the worst of all the whirlpools. there the sorcerers now may slumber, there repose beneath their blankets, till the grass may spring above them, through their heads and caps sprout upward, through the arm-pits of the sorcerers, piercing through their shoulder-muscles, while the wizards sleep in soundness, sleeping there without protection." still his mother would restrain him, hinder lemminkainen's journey, once again her son dissuaded, and the dame held back the hero. "do not go, o do not venture to that cold and dreary village, to the gloomy land of pohja. there destruction sure awaits you, evil waits for thee, unhappy, ruin, lively lemminkainen! hadst thou hundred mouths to speak with, even so, one could not think it, nor that by thy songs of magic lapland's sons would be confounded. for you know not turja's language, not the tongue they speak in lapland." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, as it chanced, his hair was brushing, and with greatest neatness brushed it. to the wall his brush then cast he, to the stove the comb flung after, and again he spoke and answered, in the very words which follow: "ruin falls on lemminkainen, evil waits for him unhappy, when the brush with blood is running, and the comb with blood is streaming." then went lively lemminkainen, to the gloomy land of pohja, 'spite the warnings of his mother, 'gainst the aged woman's counsel. first he armed him, and he girt him. in his coat of mail he clad him, with a belt of steel encompassed, and he spoke the words which follow: "stronger feels a man in armour, in the best of iron mail-coats, and of steel a magic girdle, as a wizard 'gainst magicians. then no trouble need alarm him, nor the greatest evil fright him." then he grasped his sword so trusty, took his blade, like flame that glittered, which by hiisi's self was whetted. and by jumala was polished. by his side the hero girt it, thrust in sheath with leather lining. how shall now the man conceal him, and the mighty hero hide him? there a little time he hid him, and the mighty one concealed him, 'neath the beam above the doorway, by the doorpost of the chamber. in the courtyard by the hayloft, by the gate of all the furthest. thus it was the hero hid him from the sight of all the women, but such art is not sufficient, and such caution would not serve him, for he likewise must protect him from the heroes of the people, there where two roads have their parting. on a blue rock's lofty summit, and upon the quaking marshes, where the waves are swiftly coursing, where the waterfall is rushing, in the winding of the rapids. then the lively lemminkainen spoke the very words which follow: "rise ye up from earth, o swordsmen, you, the earth's primeval heroes, from the wells arise, ye warriors, from the rivers rise, ye bowmen! with thy dwarfs arise, o woodlands forest, come with all thy people, mountain-ancient, with thy forces, water-hiisi, with thy terrors, water-mistress, with thy people, with thy scouts, o water-father, all ye maidens from the valleys, richly robed, among the marshes, come ye to protect a hero, comrades of a youth most famous, that the sorcerers' arrows strike not, nor the swords of the magicians, nor the knife-blades of enchanters, nor the weapons of the archers. "if this be not yet sufficient, still i know of other measures, and implore the very highest, even ukko in the heavens, he of all the clouds the ruler, of the scattered clouds conductor. "ukko, thou of gods the highest, aged father in the heavens, thou amidst the clouds who breathest, thou amid the air who speakest, give me here a sword of fire, by a sheath of fire protected, that i may resist misfortune, and i may avoid destruction, overthrow the powers infernal, overcome the water-sorcerers, that all foes that stand before me, and the foes who stand behind me, and above me and beside me, may be forced to own my power. crush the sorcerers, with their arrows, the magicians, with their knife-blades, and the wizards with their sword-blades, all the scoundrels with their weapons." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, from the bush his courser whistled, from the grass, the gold-maned courser. thereupon the horse he harnessed, in the shafts the fiery courser, in the sledge himself he seated, and the sledge began to rattle. o'er the horse his whip he flourished, cracked the whip, and urged him onward, started quickly on his journey. rocked the sledge, the way grew shorten and the silver sand was scattered, and the golden heather crackled. thus he drove one day, a second; drove upon the third day likewise, and at length upon the third day came the hero to a village. then the lively lemminkainen drove the rattling sledge straight onward forth along the furthest pathway. to the furthest of the houses, and he asked upon the thresholds speaking from behind the window: "is there some one in this household who can loose my horse's harness, and can sink the shaft-poles for me, and can loose the horse's collar?" from the floor a child made answer. and a boy from out the doorway: "there is no one in this threshold, who can loose your horse's harness, or can sink the shaft-poles for you. or can loose the horse's collar." little troubled lemminkainen, o'er the horse his whip he brandished, with the beaded whip he smote him, drove the rattling sledge straight onward, on the midmost of the pathways to the midmost of the houses, and he asked upon the threshold, and beneath the eaves he shouted: "is there no one in this household who will hold the horse-reins for me, and the chest-bands will unloosen, that the foaming steed may rest him?" from the stove a crone responded from the stove-bench cried a gossip: "there are plenty in this household who can hold the horse-reins for you, and the chest-bands can unloosen, and can sink the shaft-poles for you. perhaps ten men may be sufficient. or a hundred if you need them, who would raise their sticks against you, give you, too, a beast of burden, and would drive you homeward, rascal, to your country, wretched creature, to the household of your father, to the dwelling of your mother, to the gateway of your brother, to the threshold of your sister, ere this very day is ended, ere the sun has reached its setting." little heeded lemminkainen, and he spoke the words which follow: "may they shoot the crone, and club her, on her pointed chin, and kill her." then again he hurried onward, thundering on upon his journey, on the highest of the pathways, to the highest of the houses. then the lively lemminkainen reached the house to which he journeyed, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in thiswise: "stop the barker's mouth, o hiisi, and the dog's jaws close, o lempo, and his mouth securely muzzle, that his gagged teeth may be harmless, that he may not bark a warning when a man is passing by him." as he came into the courtyard, on the ground he slashed his whiplash, from the spot a cloud rose upward, in the cloud a dwarf was standing, and he quickly loosed the chest-bands, and the shafts he then let downward. then the lively lemminkainen listened with his ears attentive but no person there observed him, so that no one present knew it. out of doors he heard a singing, through the moss he heard them speaking, through the walls heard music playing, through the shutters heard a singing. in the house he cast his glances, gazed into the room in secret, and the house was full of wizards, and the benches full of singers, by the walls there sat musicians. seers were sitting in the doorway, on the upper benches sorcerers, by the hearth were soothsayers seated, there a lapland bard was singing, hoarsely singing songs of hiisi. then the lively lemminkainen thought it wise to change his figure, to another shape transformed him, left his hiding place, and entered, thrust himself into the chamber, and he spoke the words which follow; "fine a song may be when ended, grandest are the shortest verses, wisdom better when unspoken, than in midmost interrupted." then came pohjola's old mistress, on the floor advancing swiftly, till she reached the chamber's middle, and she spoke these words in answer: "once there was a dog among us, and a shaggy iron-haired puppy, eating flesh, of bones a biter, one who licked the blood when freshest. who among mankind may you be, who among the list of heroes, boldly thus the house to enter, pushing right into the chamber, yet the dogs have never heard you, nor have warned us with their barking?" said the lively lemminkainen, "surely i have not come hither, void of art and void of knowledge, void of strength and void of cunning, taught not magic by my father. and without my parents' counsel that the dogs should now devour me, and the barkers should attack me. "but it was my mother washed me, when a boy both small and slender, three times in the nights of summer. nine times in the nights of autumn, and she taught me all the pathways, and the knowledge of all countries, and at home sang songs of magic, likewise too in foreign countries." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, soon began his songs of magics all at once began his singing, fire flashed from his fur-cloak's borders, and his eyes with flame were shining, with the songs of lemminkainen, as he sang his spells of magic. sang the very best of singers to the worst of all the singers, and he fed their mouths with pebbles. and he piled up rocks above them. on the best of all the singers, and most skilful of magicians. then he sang the men thereafter both to one side and the other, to the plains, all bare and treeless. to the lands, unploughed for ever, to the ponds, devoid of fishes, where no perch has ever wandered, to the dreadful falls of rutja, and amid the roaring whirlpools, underneath the foaming river, to the rocks beneath the cataract, there to burn as if 'mid fire, and to scatter sparks around them. then the lively lemminkainen sang his songs against the swordsmen. sang the heroes with their weapons, sang the young men, sang the old men, and the men of age between them, and his songs spared one man only, and he was a wicked cowherd. old, with eyes both closed and sightless. markahattu then, the cowherd, spoke the very words which follow: "o thou lively son of lempi, thou hast banned the young and old men, banned the men of age between them, wherefore hast not banned me likewise?" said the lively lemminkainen, "therefore 'tis that i have spared thee, that thou dost appear so wretched, pitiful without my magic. in the days when thou wast younger, thou wast worst of all the cowherds, hast destroyed thy mother's children, and disgraced thy very sister, all the horses hast thou crippled, all the foals hast thou outwearied, in the swamps or stony places, plashing through the muddy waters." markahattu then, the cowherd, greatly vexed, and greatly angry, through the open door went quickly, through the yard to open country, ran to tuonela's deep river, to the dreadful river's whirlpool, waited there for kaukomieli, waited there for lemminkainen, till on his return from pohja, he should make his journey homeward. runo xiii.--hiisi's elk _argument_ lemminkainen asks the old woman of pohja for her daughter, but she demands that he should first capture the elk of hiisi on snowshoes ( - ). lemminkainen starts off in high spirits to hunt the elk, but it escapes, and he breaks his snowshoes and spear ( - ). then the lively lemminkainen said to pohjola's old mistress, "give me, old one, now your maiden, bring me here your lovely daughter, she the best of all among them, she the tallest of the maidens." then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words which follow: "nay, i will not give my maiden, and you shall not have my daughter, not the best or worst among them, not the tallest, not the shortest, for you have a wife already, long the mistress of your household." said the lively lemminkainen, "kylli in the town lies fettered, at the steps before the village, by the gate where strangers enter, so a better wife i wish for, therefore give me now your daughter, she the fairest of your daughters, lovely with unbraided tresses." then said pohjola's old mistress, "never will i give my daughter to a vain and worthless fellow, to a hero good for nothing. therefore you may woo my daughter, win the far-famed flower-crowned maiden, if you hunt the elk on snowshoes, in the distant field of hiisi." then the lively lemminkainen fixed the point upon his javelin. and his bowstring made of sinew, and with bone he tipped his arrows, and he said the words which follow: "now my javelin i have pointed, all my shafts with bone have pointed, and have strung my bow with sinew, not the snowshoe left put forward, nor the right one stamped behind it." then the lively lemminkainen pondered deeply and reflected how he should procure his snowshoes, how they best should be constructed. then to kauppi's house he hastened, and to lyylikki's forge hurried. "o thou wisest vuojalainen, thou the handsome lapland kauppi, make me snowshoes that will suit me, fitted with the finest leather; i must chase the elk of hiisi, in the distant field of hiisi." lyylikki then spoke as follows, kauppi gave him ready answer: "vainly goest thou, lemminkainen, forth to hunt the elk of hiisi; for a piece of rotten timber, only will reward your labour." little troubled lemminkainen, and he spoke the words which follow: "make a snowshoe left to run with, and a right one to put forward! i must chase the elk on snowshoes, in the distant field of hiisi." lyylikki, the smith of snowshoes, kauppi, maker of the snowshoes, in the autumn shaped the left one, in the winter carved the right one, and he fixed the frames on one day, fixed the rings upon another. now the left was fit to run with, and the right for wearing ready, and the frames were now completed, and the rings were also fitted. frames he lined with skins of otter, and the rings with ruddy foxskin. then he smeared with grease the snowshoes, smeared them with the fat of reindeer, and himself reflected deeply, and he spoke the words which follow: "can you, in this youthful frolic, you, a young and untried hero, forward glide upon the left shoe, and push forward with the right one?" said the lively lemminkainen, answered him the ruddy rascal: "yes, upon this youthful frolic of a young and untried hero, i can glide upon the left shoe, and push forward with the right one." on his back he bound his quiver. and his new bow on his shoulder, in his hands his pole grasped firmly, on the left shoe glided forward, and pushed onward with the right one, and he spoke the words which follow: "in god's world may there be nothing, underneath the arch of heaven, in the forest to be hunted, not a single four-foot runner, which may not be overtaken, and can easily be captured thus by kaleva's son with snowshoes, and with lemminkainen's snowshoes." but the boast was heard by hiisi, and by juutas comprehended; and an elk was formed by hiisi, and a reindeer formed by juutas, with a head of rotten timber, horns composed of willow-branches, feet of ropes the swamps which border, shins of sticks from out the marshes; and his back was formed of fence-stakes, sinews formed of dryest grass-stalks, eyes of water-lily flowers, ears of leaves of water-lily, and his hide was formed of pine-bark, and his flesh of rotten timber. hiisi now the elk instructed, thus he spoke unto the reindeer: "now rush forth thou elk of hiisi, on thy legs, o noble creature, to the breeding-place of reindeer, grassy plains of lapland's children, till the snowshoe-men are sweating; most of all, this lemminkainen!" then rushed forth the elk of hiisi, sped away the fleeing reindeer, rushing past the barns of pohja, to the plains of lapland's children, in the house the tubs kicked over, on the fire upset the kettles, threw the meat among the ashes, spilt the soup among the cinders. then arose a great commotion, on the plains of lapland's children, for the lapland dogs were barking, and the lapland children crying, and the lapland women laughing, and the other people grumbling. he, the lively lemminkainen, chased the elk upon his snowshoes, glided o'er the land and marshes, o'er the open wastes he glided. fire was crackling from his snowshoes, from his staff's end smoke ascending, but as yet the elk he saw not; could not see it; could not hear it. o'er the hills and dales he glided, through the lands beyond the ocean, over all the wastes of hiisi, over all the heaths of kalma, and before the mouth of surma, and behind the house of kalma. surma's mouth was quickly opened, down was bowed the head of kalma, that he thus might seize the hero, and might swallow lemminkainen; but he tried, and failed to reach him, failed completely in his effort. o'er all lands he had not skated, nor had reached the desert's borders, in the furthest bounds of pohja, in the distant realms of lapland, so he skated further onward, till he reached the desert's borders. when he reached this distant region, then he heard a great commotion, in the furthest bounds of pohja, on the plains of lapland's children. and he heard the dogs were barking, and the lapland children crying, and the lapland women laughing, and the other lapps were grumbling. then the lively lemminkainen skated on in that direction, where he heard the dogs were barking on the plains of lapland's children; and he said on his arrival, and he asked them on his coming: "wherefore are the women laughing, women laughing, children crying, and the older folks lamenting, and the grey dogs all are barking?" "therefore are the women laughing, women laughing, children crying, and the older folks lamenting, and the grey dogs all are barking. here has charged the elk of hiisi, with its hoofs all cleft and polished, in the house the tubs kicked over, on the fire upset the kettles, shaken out the soup within them, spilt it all among the ashes." thereupon the ruddy rascal, he the lively lemminkainen, struck his left shoe in the snowdrift, like an adder in the meadow, pushed his staff of pinewood forward, as it were a living serpent, and he said as he was gliding, grasping firm the pole he carried: "let the men who live in lapland, help me all to bring the elk home; and let all the lapland women set to work to wash the kettles; and let all the lapland children hasten forth to gather splinters; and let all the lapland kettles help to cook the elk when captured." then he poised himself and balanced, forward pushed, his strength exerting, and the first time he shot forward, from before their eyes he vanished. once again he speeded onward, and they could no longer hear him, but the third time he rushed onward, then he reached the elk of hiisi. then he took a pole of maple, and he made a birchen collar; hiisi's elk he tethered with it, in a pen of oak he placed it. "stand thou there, o elk of hiisi, here remain, o nimble reindeer!" then upon the back he stroked it, patted it upon the belly. "would that i awhile might tarry, and might sleep awhile and rest me, here beside a youthful maiden, with a dove of blooming beauty." then did hiisi's elk grow furious, and the reindeer kicked out wildly, and it spoke the words which follow: "lempo's self shall reckon with you, if you sleep beside a maiden, and beside a girl should tarry." then it gave a mighty struggle, and it snapped the birchen collar, and it broke the pole of maple, and the pen of oak burst open, and began to hurry forwards, and the elk rushed wildly onwards, over land and over marshes, over slopes o'ergrown with bushes, till the eyes no more could see it, and the ears no longer hear it. thereupon the ruddy rascal grew both sorrowful and angry, very vexed and very angry, and would chase the elk of hiisi, but as he was rushing forward, in a hole he broke his left shoe, and his snowshoe fell to pieces, on the ground he broke the right one, broke the tips from off his snowshoes, and the frames across the joinings. while rushed on the elk of hiisi, till its head he saw no longer. then the lively lemminkainen, bowed his head in deep depression, gazed upon the broken snowshoes, and he spoke the words which follow: "nevermore in all his lifetime may another hunter venture confidently to the forest, chasing hiisi's elk on snowshoes! since i went, o me unhappy, and have spoilt the best of snowshoes, and the splendid frames have shattered, and my spearpoint likewise broken." runo xiv.--lemminkainen's death _argument_ lemminkainen invokes the forest deities, and at length succeeds in capturing the elk, and brings it to pohjola ( - ). another task is given him, to bridle the fire-breathing steed of hiisi. he bridles it and brings it to pohjola ( - ). a third task is assigned him, to shoot a swan on the river of tuonela, lemminkainen comes to the river, but the despised cowherd, who is lying in wait for him, kills him, and casts his body into the cataract of tuoni. the son of tuoni then cuts his body to pieces ( - ). then the lively lemminkainen deeply pondered and reflected, on the path that he should follow, whither he should turn his footsteps, should he leave the elk of hiisi, and direct his journey homewards, should he make another effort. and pursue the chase on snowshoes, with the forest-queen's permission, and the favour of the wood-nymphs? then he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "ukko, thou of gods the highest, gracious father in the heavens, make me now two better snowshoes, leather snowshoes fit for sliding, that i glide upon them swiftly over land and over marshes, glide throughout the land of hiisi, and across the heaths of pohja, there to chase the elk of hiisi, and to catch the nimble reindeer. "in the wood alone i wander, toil without another hero, through the pathways of tapiola, and beside the home of tapio. welcome, wooded slopes and mountains, welcome to the rustling pinewoods, welcome to the grey head aspens, and to all who greet me, welcome! "be propitious wood and thicket, gracious tapio, do thou aid me, bring the hero to the islands, to the hills in safety lead him, where he can attain the quarry, whence he may bring back the booty. "nyyrikki, o son of tapio, thou the mighty red-capped hero, blaze the path across the country, and erect me wooden guide-posts, that i trace this evil pathway, and pursue the rightful roadway, while i seek my destined quarry, and the booty i am seeking. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, thou the mighty, fair-faced mother! let thy gold now wander onward, and thy silver set in motion, right before the man who seeks it, on the pathway of the seeker. "take the keys of gold, suspended by the ring that hangs beside thee, open thou the stores of tapio, and his castle in the forest, during this my hunting-season, while i hunt in distant regions. "if thyself thou wilt not trouble, strictly charge thy little maidens, send thy serving maidens to me, give thy orders to thy servants! if thou canst not be my hostess, do thou not forbid thy maidens, for thou hast a hundred maidens, and a thousand at thy orders, those on all thy herds attending, likewise all thy game protecting. "little maiden of the forest, tapio's girl, with mouth of honey, play upon thy flute of honey, whistle through thy pipe of honey, in thy noble mistress' hearing, gracious queen of all the forest, that she soon may hear the music, and from her repose may rouse her, for she does not hear at present, and she but awakens rarely, though i supplicate for ever, with my golden tongue imploring!" then the lively lemminkainen wandered on, but found no booty, glided through the plains and marshes, glided through the trackless forests, where has jumala his soot-hills, to the charcoal heaths of hiisi. thus he skated one day, two days, and at length upon the third day, came he to a lofty mountain, where he climbed a rock stupendous, and he turned his eyes to north-west, to the north across the marshes, and he saw the farms of tapio, with the doors all golden shining, to the north, across the marshes, on the slope among the thickets. then the lively lemminkainen quickly to the spot approaching, pushed his way through all obstructions, under tapio's very windows. and he looked while stooping forward, in the sixth among the windows. there were resting game-dispensers, matrons of the woods reposing, all were in their work-day garments, and with filthy rags were covered. said the lively lemminkainen, "wherefore, mistress of the forest, dost thou wear thy work-day garments, dirty ragged thresher's garments? you are very black to gaze on, and your whole appearance dreadful, for your breast is most disgusting, and your form is very bloated. "when before i tracked the forests, i beheld three castles standing. one was wooden, one a bone one, and the third of stone was builded. there were six bright golden windows on the sides of every castle, and if then i gazed within them, 'neath the wall as i was standing, saw the lord of tapio's household, and the mistress of his household; tellervo, the maid of tapio, and the rest of tapio's household, all in rustling golden garments, and parading there in silver, she herself, the forest-mistress, gracious mistress of the forest, on her wrists were golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, on her head a golden head-dress, and her hair adorned with ducats; in her ears were golden earrings, finest beads her neck encircling. "gracious mistress of the forest, of sweet metsola the matron! cast away thy hay-shoes from thee, and discard thy shoes of birchbark, cast thou off thy threshing garments, and thy wretched work-day garments, don thy garments of good fortune, and thy blouse for game-dispensing, in the days i track the forest, seeking for a hunter's booty. long and wearily i wander, wearily i track my pathway, yet i wander here for nothing, all the time without a quarry. if you do not grant me booty, nor reward me for my labour, long and sad will be the evening, long the day when game is wanting. "aged greybeard of the forest, with thy pine-leaf hat and moss-cloak, dress thou now the woods in linen, and the wilds a cloth throw over. all the aspens robe in greyness, and the alders robe in beauty, clothe the pine-trees all in silver, and with gold adorn the fir-trees. aged pine-trees belt with copper, belt the fir-trees all with silver, birch-trees with their golden blossoms, and their trunks with gold adornments. make it as in former seasons even when thy days were better, when the fir-shoots shone in moonlight, and the pine-boughs in the sunlight, when the wood was sweet with honey, and the blue wastes flowed with honey, smelt like malt the heathlands' borders, from the very swamps ran butter. "forest-maiden, gracious virgin, tuulikki, o tapio's daughter! drive the game in this direction, out into the open heathland. if it runs with heavy footsteps, or is lazy in its running, take a switch from out the bushes, or a birch-twig from the valley, switch the game upon the haunches, and upon the flanks, o whip it, drive it swiftly on before you, make it hasten quickly onward, to the man who here awaits it, in the pathway of the hunter. "if the game comes on the footpath, drive it forward to the hero, do thou put thy hands together, and on both sides do thou guide it, that the game may not escape me, rushing back in wrong direction. if the game should seek to fly me, rushing in the wrong direction, seize its ear, and drag it forward by the horns upon the pathway. "if there's brushwood on the pathway, drive it to the pathway's edges; if a tree should block the pathway, then the tree-trunk break asunder. "if a fence obstructs the pathway, thrust the fence aside before you, take five withes to hold it backward, and seven posts whereon to bind them. "if a river runs before thee, or a brook should cross the pathway, build thou then a bridge all silken, with a red cloth for a gateway; drive the game by narrow pathways, and across the quaking marshes, over pohjola's wide rivers, o'er the waterfalls all foaming. "master of the house of tapio, mistress of the house of tapio; aged greybeard of the forest, king of all the golden forest; mimerkki, the forest's mistress, fair dispenser of its treasures, blue-robed woman of the bushes, mistress of the swamps, red-stockinged, come, with me thy gold to barter, come, with me to change thy silver. i have gold as old as moonlight, silver old as is the sunlight, which i won in battle-tumult, in the contest of the heroes, useful in my purse i found it, where it jingled in the darkness; if thy gold thou wilt not barter, perhaps thou wilt exchange thy silver." thus the lively lemminkainen for a week on snowshoes glided, sang a song throughout the forest, there among the depths of jungle, and appeased the forest's mistress, and the forest's master likewise, and delighted all the maidens, pleasing thus the girls of tapio. then they hunted and drove onward from its lair the elk of hiisi, past the wooded hills of tapio, past the bounds of hiisi's mountain, to the man who waited for it, to the sorcerer in his ambush. then the lively lemminkainen lifted his lasso, and threw it o'er the elk of hiisi's shoulders, round the camel's neck he threw it, that it should not kick in fury, when upon its back he stroked it. then the lively lemminkainen spoke aloud the words which follow: "lord of woods, of earth the master, fairest creature of the heathlands; mielikki, the forest's mistress, loveliest of the game-dispensers! come to take the gold i promised, come ye now to choose the silver, on the ground lay down your linen, spreading out of flax the finest, underneath the gold that glitters, underneath the shining silver, that upon the ground it fall not, nor among the dirt is scattered." then to pohjola he journeyed, and he said on his arrival: "i have chased the elk of hiisi on the distant plains of hiisi. give me now, old dame, your daughter, give the youthful bride i seek for." louhi, pohjola's old mistress heard his words, and then made answer: "i will only give my daughter, give the youthful bride you seek for, if you rein the mighty gelding, he the chestnut steed of hiisi, he the foaming foal of hiisi, on the bounds of hiisi's meadow." then the lively lemminkainen took at once a golden bridle, took a halter all of silver, and he went to seek the courser, went to seek the yellow-maned one, on the bounds of hiisi's meadow. then he hastened on his journey, on his way went swiftly forward, through the green and open meadows, to the sacred field beyond them, and he sought there for the courser, seeking for the yellow-maned one. at his belt the bit he carried, and the harness on his shoulder. thus he sought one day, a second, and at length upon the third day came he to a lofty mountain, and upon a rock he clambered. and he turned his eyes to eastward, and he turned his head to sunwards. on the sand he saw the courser, 'mid the firs the yellow-maned one. from his hair the flame was flashing, from his mane the smoke was rising. thereupon prayed lemminkainen: "ukko, thou of gods the highest, ukko, thou of clouds the leader, of the scattered clouds conductor, open now thy clefts in heaven, and in all the sky thy windows, let the iron hail fall downwards, send thou down the frozen masses, on the mane of that good courser, on the back of hiisi's courser." ukko then, the great creator, jumala 'mid clouds exalted, heard and rent the air asunder, clove in twain the vault of heaven, scattered ice, and scattered iceblocks, scattered down the iron hailstones, smaller than a horse's head is, larger than a head of man is, on the mane of that good courser, on the back of hiisi's courser. then the lively lemminkainen, forward stepped to gaze about him, and advanced for observation, and he spoke the words which follow: "hiitola's most mighty courser, mountain foal, with mane all foam-flecked, give me now thy golden muzzle, stretch thou forth thy head of silver, push it in the golden bridle, with the bit of shining silver. i will never treat you badly, and i will not drive you harshly, and our way is but a short one, and 'tis but a little journey, unto pohjola's bleak homestead, to my cruel foster-mother. with a rope i will not flog you, with a switch i will not drive you, but with silken cords will lead you, with a strip of cloth will drive you." then the chestnut horse of hiisi, hiisi's horse, with mane all foam-flecked forward stretched his golden muzzle, forward reached his head of silver, to receive the golden bridle, with the bit of shining silver. thus did lively lemminkainen bridle hiisi's mighty courser, in his mouth the bit adjusted, on his silver head the bridle, on his broad back then he mounted, on the back of that good courser. o'er the horse his whip he brandished, with a willow switch he struck him, and a little way he journeyed hasting onward through the mountains, through the mountains to the northward. over all the snow-clad mountains, unto pohjola's bleak homestead. from the yard the hall he entered, and he said on his arrival, soon as pohjola he entered: "i have reined the mighty courser, brought the foal of hiisi bridled, from the green and open meadows, and the sacred field beyond them, and i tracked the elk on snowshoes, on the distant plains of hiisi. give me now, old dame, your daughter, give the youthful bride i seek for." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "i will only give my daughter, give the youthful bride you seek for, if the river-swan you shoot me, shoot the great bird on the river. there on tuoni's murky river, in the sacred river's whirlpool, only at a single trial, using but a single arrow." then the lively lemminkainen he the handsome kaukomieli, went and took his twanging crossbow, went away to seek the long-neck, forth to tuoni's murky river, down in manala's abysses. on with rapid steps he hastened, and he went with trampling footsteps, unto tuonela's broad river, to the sacred river's whirlpool, 'neath his arm a handsome crossbow, on his back his well-stored quiver. markahattu then, the cowherd, pohjola's old sightless greybeard, there by tuonela's broad river, by the sacred river's whirlpool, long had lurked, and long had waited, there for lemminkainen's coming. and at length one day it happened, came the lively lemminkainen hasting on, and swift approaching unto tuonela's deep river, to the cataract most terrific, to the sacred river's whirlpool. from the waves he sent a serpent, like a reed from out the billows; through the hero's heart he hurled it, and through lemminkainen's liver. through the arm-pit left it smote him, through the shoulder right it struck him. then the lively lemminkainen felt himself severely wounded, and he spoke the words which follow: "i have acted most unwisely, that i asked not information from my mother, she who bore me. two words only were sufficient, three at most might perhaps be needed, how to act, and live still longer, after this day's great misfortune. charm i cannot water-serpents, nor of reeds i know the magic. "o my mother who hast borne me, and hast nurtured me in sorrow, would that thou might'st know, and hasten to thy son, who lies in anguish. surely thou would'st hasten hither, to my aid thou then would'st hasten, to thy hapless son's assistance, at the point of death now lying, for indeed too young i slumber, and i die while still so cheerful." then did pohjola's blind greybeard, markahattu, he the cowherd, fling the lively lemminkainen, casting kaleva's own offspring into tuoni's murky river, in the worst of all the whirlpools. floated lively lemminkainen, down the thundering cataract floated, down the rushing stream he floated, unto tuonela's dread dwelling. then the bloodstained son of tuoni drew his sword, and smote the hero, with his gleaming blade he hewed him, while it shed a stream of flashes, and he hewed him in five fragments, and in pieces eight he hewed him, then in tuonela's stream cast them, where are manala's abysses. "thou may'st toss about for ever, with thy crossbow and thy arrows, shooting swans upon the river, water-birds upon its borders!" thus did lemminkainen perish, perished thus the dauntless suitor, down in tuoni's murky river, down in manala's abysses. runo xv.--lemminkainen's recovery and return home _argument_ one day blood begins to trickle from the hair-brush at lemminkainen's home, and his mother at once perceives that death has overtaken her son. she hastens to pohjola and inquires of louhi what has become of him ( - ). the mistress of pohjola at length tells her on what errand she has sent him, and the sun gives her full information of the manner of lemminkainen's death ( - ). lemminkainen's mother goes with a long rake in her hand under the cataract of tuoni, and rakes the water till she has found all the fragments of her son's body, which she joins together, and succeeds in restoring lemminkainen to life by charms and magic salves ( - ). lemminkainen then relates how he perished in the river of tuonela, and returns home with his mother ( - ). lemminkainen's tender mother in her home was always thinking, "where has lemminkainen wandered, whereabouts is kauko roaming, for i do not hear him coming from his world-extended journey?" ah, the hapless mother knew not, nor the hapless one imagined, where her own flesh now was floating, where her own blood now was flowing; if he tracked the fir-clad mountains, or among the heaths was roaming, or upon a lake was floating, out upon the foaming billows, or in some terrific combat, in the most tremendous tumult, with his legs with blood bespattered, to the knees with blood all crimsoned. kyllikki, the lovely housewife, wandered round and gazed about her, through the home of lemminkainen, and through kaukomieli's homestead; on the comb she looked at evening, on the brush she looked at morning, and at length one day it happened, in the early morning hours, blood from out the comb was oozing, from the brush was gore distilling. kyllikki, the lovely housewife, uttered then the words which follow: "lo, my husband has departed, and my handsome kauko wandered in a country void of houses, and throughout some trackless desert. blood from out the comb is oozing, gore is from the brush distilling." then did lemminkainen's mother see herself the comb was bleeding, and began to weep with sorrow. "o alas, my day is wretched, and my life is most unhappy, for my son has met misfortune, and my child all unprotected, on an evil day was nurtured. on the poor lad came destruction, lost is darling lemminkainen, from the comb the blood is trickling, and the brush with blood is dripping." in her hands her skirt she gathered, with her arms her dress she lifted, and at once commenced her journey, hurried on upon her journey. mountains thundered 'neath her footsteps, valleys rose and hills were levelled, and the high ground sank before her, and the low ground rose before her. thus to pohjola she journeyed, asking where her son had wandered, and she asked in words which follow: "tell me, pohjola's old mistress, whither sent you lemminkainen, whither has my son departed?" louhi, pohjola's old mistress, then replied in words which follow: "of your son i know no tidings, where he went, or where he vanished. in his sledge i yoked a stallion, chose him out a fiery courser. perhaps he sank in ice when rotten, o'er the frozen lake when driving, or among the wolves has fallen, or some dreadful bear devoured him." then said lemminkainen's mother, "this indeed is shameless lying, for no wolf would touch my offspring. not a bear touch lemminkainen! wolves he'd crush between his fingers, bears with naked hands would master. if you will not truly tell me, how you treated lemminkainen, i the malthouse doors will shatter, break the hinges of the sampo." then said pohjola's old mistress, "i have fed the man profusely, and i gave him drink in plenty, till he was most fully sated. in a boat's prow then i placed him, that he thus should shoot the rapids, but i really cannot tell you what befel the wretched creature; in the wildly foaming torrent, in the tumult of the whirlpool." then said lemminkainen's mother, "this indeed is shameless lying. tell me now the truth exactly, make an end of all your lying, whither sent you lemminkainen, where has kaleva's son perished? or most certain death awaits you, and you die upon the instant." then said pohjola's old mistress, "now at length i'll tell you truly. forth to chase the elks i sent him, and to struggle with the monsters, and the mighty beasts to bridle, and to put the foals in harness. then i sent him forth swan-hunting, seeking for the bird so sacred, but i really cannot tell you if misfortune came upon him, or what hindrance he encountered. nought i heard of his returning, for the bride that he demanded, when he came to woo my daughter." then the mother sought the strayed one, dreading what mischance had happened, like a wolf she tracked the marshes, like a bear the wastes she traversed, like an otter swam the waters, badger-like the plains she traversed, passed the headlands like a hedgehog, like a hare along the lakeshores, pushed the rocks from out her pathway, from the slopes bent down the tree-trunks, thrust the shrubs beside her pathway, from her track she cast the branches. long she vainly sought the strayed one, long she sought, but found him never. of her son the trees she questioned, for the lost one ever seeking. said a tree, then sighed a pine-tree, and an oak made answer wisely: "i myself have also sorrows, for your son i cannot trouble, for my lot's indeed a hard one, and an evil day awaits me, for they split me into splinters, and they chop me into faggots, in the kiln that i may perish, or they fell me in the clearing." long she vainly sought the strayed one, long she sought, but found him never, and whene'er she crossed a pathway, then she bowed herself before it. "o thou path whom god created, hast thou seen my son pass over; hast thou seen my golden apple, hast thou seen my staff of silver?" but the path made answer wisely, and it spoke and gave her answer: "i myself have also sorrows, for your son i cannot trouble, for my lot's indeed a hard one, and an evil day awaits me. all the dogs go leaping o'er me, and the horsemen gallop o'er me, and the shoes walk heavy on me, and the heels press hardly on me." long she vainly sought the strayed one, long she sought, but found him never. met the moon upon her pathway, and before the moon she bowed her. "golden moon, whom god created, hast thou seen my son pass by you; hast thou seen my golden apple, hast thou seen my staff of silver?" then the moon whom god created, made a full and prudent answer: "i myself have many sorrows, for your son i cannot trouble, for my lot's indeed a hard one, and an evil day awaits me, wandering lonely in the night-time, in the frost for ever shining, in the winter keeping vigil, but in time of summer waning." long she vainly sought the strayed one, long she sought, but found him never, met the sun upon her pathway, and before the sun she bowed her. "o thou sun, whom god created, hast thou seen my son pass by you, hast thou seen my golden apple, hast thou seen my staff of silver?" and the sun knew all about it, and the sun made answer plainly: "there has gone your son unhappy, he has fallen and has perished, down in tuoni's murky river, manala's primeval river, there in the tremendous cataract, where the torrent rushes downward, there on tuonela's dark frontier, there in manala's deep valleys." then did lemminkainen's mother, break out suddenly in weeping. to the craftsman's forge she wended: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, thou hast worked before, and yestreen. on this very day o forge me, forge a rake with copper handle, let the teeth of steel be fashioned, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and of fathoms five the handle." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, forged a rake with copper handle, and the teeth of steel he fashioned, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and of fathoms five the handle. then did lemminkainen's mother take the mighty rake of iron, and she rushed to tuoni's river, to the sun her prayer addressing: "o thou sun whom god created, brilliant work of the creator! shine an hour with heat excessive, shine again with sultry shimmering, and again with utmost vigour. lull to sleep the race of evil, and in manala the strong ones, weary out the power of tuoni!" then the sun whom god created, shining work of the creator, stooped upon a crooked birch-tree, sank upon a crooked alder, shone an hour with heat excessive, shone again with sultry shimmering, and again with utmost vigour, lulled to sleep the race of evil, and in manala the strong ones. slept the young on sword-hilt resting, and the old folks staff-supported, and the spear-men middle-aged. then again he hastened upward, sought again the heights of heaven, sought again his former station, to his first abode soared upward. then did lemminkainen's mother take the mighty rake of iron, and to seek her son was raking all amid the raging cataract, through the fiercely rushing torrent, and she raked, yet found she nothing. then she went and sought him deeper, ever deeper in the water, stocking-deep into the water, standing waist-deep in the water. thus she sought her son by raking all the length of tuoni's river, and she raked against the current, once and twice she raked the river, and his shirt at length discovered, found the shirt of him unhappy, and she raked again a third time, and she found his hat and stockings, found his stockings, greatly sorrowing, found his hat, with heart-wrung anguish. then she waded ever deeper, down in manala's abysses, raked once more along the river, raked again across the river, and obliquely through the water, and at length upon the third time, up she drew a lifeless carcass, with the mighty rake of iron. yet it was no lifeless carcass, but the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, sticking fast upon the rake-prongs, sticking by his nameless finger, and the toes upon his left foot. thus she fished up lemminkainen, kaleva's great offspring lifted, on the rake all shod with copper, to the light above the water. yet were many fragments wanting, half his head, a hand was wanting, many other little fragments, and his very life was wanting. as his mother pondered o'er it, thus she spoke while sorely weeping: "can a man from this be fashioned, and a hero new created?" but by chance a raven heard her, and he answered her in thiswise: "no man can from this be fashioned, not from what you have discovered, for his eyes the powan's eaten, and the pike has cleft his shoulders. cast the man into the water, back in tuonela's deep river, perhaps a cod may thence be fashioned, or a whale from thence developed." lemminkainen's mother would not cast her son into the water, but again began her raking, with the mighty rake of copper, all through tuonela's deep river, first along it, then across it, and his head and hand discovered, and the fragments of his backbone. then she found his ribs in pieces, likewise many other fragments, and her son she pieced together, shaped the lively lemminkainen. then the flesh to flesh she fitted, and the bones together fitted, and the joints together jointed, and the veins she pressed together. then she bound the veins together, all their ends she knit together, and with care their threads she counted, and she spoke the words which follow: "fairest goddess of the bloodveins, suonetar, o fairest woman, lovely weaver of the veinlets, working with thy loom so slender, with the spindle all of copper, and the wheel composed of iron, come thou here, where thou art needed, hasten hither, where i call thee, with a lapful of thy veinlets, and beneath thy arm a bundle, thus to bind the veins together, and to knit their ends together, where the wounds are gaping widely, and where gashes still are open. "if this is not yet sufficient, in the air there sits a maiden, in a boat adorned with copper, in a boat with stern of scarlet. from the air descend, o maiden, virgin from the midst of heaven, row thy boat throughout the veinlets, through the joints, both forth and backwards, through the broken bones, o steer thou, and throughout the joints when broken. "bind the veins together firmly, lay them in the right position, end to end the larger bloodveins, and the arteries fit together, duplicate the smaller bloodveins. join the ends of smallest veinlets. "take thou then thy finest needle, thread it next with silken fibre, sew thou with the finest needle, stitch thou with thy tin-made needle, sew the ends of veins together, bind them with thy silken fibre. "if this is not yet sufficient, help me, jumala, eternal, harness thou thy foal of swiftness, and equip thy mighty courser, in thy little sledge then drive thou through the bones and joints, o drive thou, through the flesh that all is mangled, back and forth, throughout the veinlets, in the flesh the bone then fasten, ends of veins knit firm together, 'twixt the bones, o fix thou silver, fix the veins with gold together. "where the skin is rent asunder, let the skin be brought together; where the veins have snapped asunder, let the veins be knit together; where through wounds the blood has issued, let the blood again be flowing; where the bones have broke to splinters, let the bones be fixed together; where the flesh is torn asunder, let the flesh be knit together, fix it in the right position, in its right position fix it, bone to bone and flesh to flesh fix, joint to joint unite thou firmly." thus did lemminkainen's mother form the man, and shape the hero to his former life restore him, to the form he wore aforetime. all the veins had now been counted, and their ends were knit together, but as yet the man was speechless, nor the child to speak was able. then she spoke the words which follow, and expressed herself in thiswise: "whence shall we obtain an ointment, whence obtain the drops of honey that i may anoint the patient and that i may cure his weakness, that the man his speech recovers, and again his songs is singing? "o thou bee, thou bird of honey, king of all the woodland flowerets, go thou forth to fetch me honey, go thou forth to seek for honey, back from metsola's fair meadows, tapiola, for ever cheerful, from the cup of many a flower. and the plumes of grasses many, as an ointment for the patient, and to quite restore the sick one." then the bee, the bird so active, flew away upon his journey, forth to metsola's fair meadows, tapiola, for ever cheerful, probed the flowers upon the meadows, with his tongue he sucked the honey from the tips of six bright flowers, from the plumes of hundred grasses, then came buzzing loud and louder, rushing on his homeward journey, with his wings all steeped in honey, and his plumage soaked with nectar. then did lemminkainen's mother, take from him the magic ointment, that she might anoint the patient, and she thus might cure his weakness, but from this there came no healing, and as yet the man was speechless. then she spoke the words which follow: "o thou bee, my own dear birdling, fly thou in a new direction, over nine lakes fly thou quickly till thou reach a lovely island, where the land abounds with honey, where is tuuri's new-built dwelling, palvonen's own roofless dwelling. there is honey in profusion, there is ointment in perfection, fit to bind the veins together, and to heal the joints completely. from the meadow bring this ointment, and the salve from out the meadow, for upon the wounds i'll spread it, and anoint the bruises with it." then the bee, that active hero, flew again on whirring pinions, and across nine lakes he travelled, half across the tenth he travelled, on he flew one day, a second, and at length upon the third day, never on the reeds reposing, nor upon a leaf reposing, came he to the lovely island, where the land abounds with honey, till he reached a furious torrent, and a holy river's whirlpool. in this spot was cooked the honey, and the ointment was made ready in the little earthen vessels, in the pretty little kettles, kettles of a thumb-size only, and a finger-tip would fill them. then the bee, that active hero, gathered honey in the meadow, and a little time passed over, very little time passed over, when he came on whirring pinions, coming with his mission finished, in his lap six cups he carried, seven upon his back he carried, brimming o'er with precious ointment, with the best of ointment brimming. then did lemminkainen's mother salve him with this precious ointment, with nine kinds of ointment salved him, and ten kinds of magic ointment; even yet there came no healing, still her toil was unavailing. then she spoke the words which follow, and expressed herself in thiswise: "o thou bee, thou bird aerial, fly thou forth again the third time, fly thou up aloft to heaven, and through nine heavens fly thou swiftly. there is honey in abundance, in the wood as much as needed, which was charmed by the creator, by pure jumala was breathed on, when his children he anointed, wounded by the powers of evil. in the honey dip thy pinions, soak thy plumage in the nectar, bring me honey on thy pinions, in thy mantle from the forest, as an ointment for the patient, and anoint the bruises with it." but the bee, the bird of wisdom. answered her in words that follow: "how can i perform thy bidding, i a man so small and helpless?" "thou canst rise on high with swiftness, fly aloft with easy effort, o'er the moon, below the daylight and amid the stars of heaven. flying windlike on the first day past the borders of orion, on the second day thou soarest even to the great bear's shoulders, on the third day soaring higher. o'er the seven stars thou risest, thence the journey is a short one, and the distance very trifling, unto jumala's bright dwelling, and the regions of the blessed." from the earth the bee rose swiftly, on his honeyed wings rose whirring, and he soared on rapid pinions, on his little wings flew upward. swiftly past the moon he hurried, past the borders of the sunlight, rose upon the great bear's shoulders, o'er the seven stars' backs rose upward, flew to the creator's cellars, to the halls of the almighty. there the drugs were well concocted, and the ointment duly tempered in the pots composed of silver, or within the golden kettles. in the midst they boiled the honey, on the sides was sweetest ointment, to the southward there was nectar, to the northward there was ointment. then the bee, that bird aerial, gathered honey in abundance, honey to his heart's contentment. and but little time passed over, ere the bee again came buzzing, humming loudly on his journey, in his lap of horns a hundred, and a thousand other vessels, some of honey, some of liquid, and the best of all the ointment. then did lemminkainen's mother raise it to her mouth and taste it, with her tongue the ointment tasted, with the greatest care she proved it. "'tis the ointment that i needed, and the salve of the almighty, used when jumala the highest, the creator heals all suffering." then did she anoint the patient, that she thus might cure his weakness, salved the bones along the fractures, and between the joints she salved him, salved his head and lower portions, rubbed him also in the middle, then she spoke the words which follow, and expressed herself in thiswise: "rise, my son, from out thy slumber, from thy dreams do thou awaken, from this place so full of evil, and a resting-place unholy." from his sleep arose the hero, and from out his dreams awakened, and at once his speech recovered. with his tongue these words he uttered: "woe's me, long have i been sleeping, long have i in pain been lying, and in peaceful sleep reposing, in the deepest slumber sunken." then said lemminkainen's mother. and expressed herself in thiswise: "longer yet hadst thou been sleeping, longer yet hadst thou been resting, but for thy unhappy mother, but for her in pain who bore thee. "tell me now, my son unhappy, tell me that my ears may hear it, who to manala has sent thee, there to drift in tuoni's river?" said the lively lemminkainen, and he answered thus his mother: "markahattu, he the cowherd, untamola's blind old rascal, down to manala has sent me, there to drift in tuoni's river; and he raised a water-serpent, from the waves a serpent lifted, sent it forth to me unhappy, but i could not guard against it, knowing nought of water-evil, nor the evils of the reed-beds." then said lemminkainen's mother, "mighty man of little foresight. boasting to enchant the sorcerers, and to ban the sons of lapland, knowing nought of water-evil, nor the evils of the reed-beds! "water-snakes are born in water, on the waves among the reed-beds, from the duck's brain springs the serpent, in the head of the sea-swallow. syöjätär spat in the water, cast upon the waves the spittle, and the water stretched it lengthwise. and the sunlight warmed and softened. and the wind arose and tossed it, and the water-breezes rocked it, on the shore the waves they drove it, and amid the breakers urged it." thus did lemminkainen's mother cause her son with all her efforts, to resume his old appearance, and ensured that in the future he should even be superior, yet more handsome than aforetime, and she asked her son thereafter was there anything he needed? said the lively lemminkainen, "there is something greatly needed, for my heart is fixed for ever, and my inclination leads me to the charming maids of pohja, with their lovely locks unbraided, but the dirty-eared old woman has refused to give her daughter, till i shoot the duck she asks for, and the swan shall capture for her, here in tuonela's dark river, in the holy river's whirlpool." then spoke lemminkainen's mother, and she answered him in thiswise: "leave the poor swans unmolested, leave the ducks a peaceful dwelling, here on tuoni's murky river, here amid the raging whirlpool! best it is to journey homeward with your most unhappy mother, praise thou now thy happy future, and to jumala be praises, that he granted his assistance, and has thus to life awaked thee, and from tuoni's paths hath led thee, and from mana's realms hath brought thee! i myself had never conquered, and alone had nought accomplished, but for jumala's compassion, and the help of the creator." then the lively lemminkainen, went at once his journey homeward, with his mother, she who loved him, homeward with the aged woman. here i part awhile with kauko, leave the lively lemminkainen, long from out my song i leave him, while i quickly change my subject, turn my song in new directions, and in other furrows labour. runo xvi.--vÄinÄmÖinen in tuonela _argument_ väinämöinen orders sampsa pellervoinen to seek for wood for boat-building. he makes a boat, but finds himself at a loss for want of three magic words ( - ). as he cannot otherwise obtain them, he goes to tuonela hoping to procure them there ( - ). väinämöinen finally escapes from tuonela, and after his return warns others not to venture there, and describes what a terrible place it is and the horrible abodes in which men dwell there ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval sorcerer, set to work a boat to build him, and upon a boat to labour, there upon the cloudy headland, on the shady island's summit. but the workman found no timber, boards to build the boat he found not. who shall seek for timber for him, and shall seek an oak-tree for him, for the boat of väinämöinen, and a keel to suit the minstrel? pellervoinen, earth-begotten, sampsa, youth of smallest stature, he shall seek for timber for him, and shall seek an oak-tree for him. for the boat of väinämöinen, and a keel to suit the minstrel. so upon his path he wandered through the regions to the north-east, through one district, then another, journeyed after through a third one, with his gold axe on his shoulder, with his axe, with copper handle, till he found an aspen standing, which in height three fathoms measured. so he went to fell the aspen, with his axe the tree to sever, and the aspen spoke and asked him, with its tongue it spoke in thiswise: "what, o man, desire you from me? tell your need, as far as may be." youthful sampsa pellervoinen, answered in the words which follow: "this is what i wish for from thee, this i need, and this require i, 'tis a boat for väinämöinen; for the minstrel's boat the timber." and the aspen said astounded, answered with its hundred branches: "as a boat i should be leaking, and would only sink beneath you, for my branches they are hollow. thrice already in this summer, has a grub my heart devoured, in my roots a worm has nestled." youthful sampsa pellervoinen wandered further on his journey, and he wandered, deeply pondering, in the region to the northward. there he found a pine-tree standing, and its height was full six fathoms, and he struck it with his hatchet, on the trunk with axe-blade smote it, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou pine-tree, shall i take thee, for the boat of väinämöinen, and as boatwood for the minstrel?" but the pine-tree answered quickly, and it cried in answer loudly, "for a boat you cannot use me, nor a six-ribbed boat can fashion, full of knots you'll find the pine-tree. thrice already in this summer, in my summit croaked a raven, croaked a crow among my branches." youthful sampsa pellervoinen further yet pursued his journey, and he wandered, deeply pondering, in the region to the southward, till he found an oak-tree standings fathoms nine its boughs extended. and he thus addressed and asked it: "o thou oak-tree, shall i take thee, for the keel to make a vessel, the foundation of a warship?" and the oak-tree answered wisely, answered thus the acorn-bearer: "yes, indeed, my wood is suited for the keel to make a vessel, neither slender 'tis, nor knotted, for within its substance hollow. thrice already in this summer, in the brightest days of summer, through my midst the sunbeams wandered. on my crown the moon was shining, in my branches cried the cuckoos. in my boughs the birds were resting." youthful sampsa pellervoinen took the axe from off his shoulder, with his axe he smote the tree-trunk, with the blade he smote the oak-tree. speedily he felled the oak-tree, and the beauteous tree had fallen. first he hewed it through the summit, all the trunk he cleft in pieces, after this the keel he fashioned, planks so many none could count them. for the vessel of the minstrel, for the boat of väinämöinen. then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval sorcerer, fashioned then the boat with wisdom, built with magic songs the vessel, from the fragments of an oak-tree, fragments of the shattered oak-tree. with a song the keel he fashioned, with another, sides he fashioned, and he sang again a third time. and the rudder he constructed, bound the rib-ends firm together, and the joints he fixed together. when the boat's ribs were constructed, and the sides were fixed together, still he found three words were wanting, which the sides should fix securely, fix the prow in right position, and the stern should likewise finish. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval minstrel, uttered then the words which follow: "woe to me, my life is wretched, for my boat unlaunched remaineth, on the waves the new boat floats not!" so he pondered and reflected how to find the words he needed, and obtain the spells of magic, from among the brains of swallows, from the heads of flocks of wild swans, from the shoulders of the goose-flocks. then he went the words to gather, and a flock of swans he slaughtered. and a flock of geese he slaughtered, and beheaded many swallows, but the spells he needed found not. not a word, not e'en a half one. so he pondered and reflected, "i shall find such words by hundreds, 'neath the tongue of summer reindeer, in the mouth of whitest squirrel." so he went the words to gather, that the spells he might discover, and a field he spread with reindeer, loaded benches high with squirrels. many words he thus discovered, but they all were useless to him. so he pondered and reflected, "i should find such words by hundreds in the dark abodes of tuoni, in the eternal home of mana." then to tuonela he journeyed, sought the words in mana's kingdom. and with rapid steps he hastened, wandered for a week through bushes, through bird-cherry for a second, and through juniper the third week, straight to manala's dread island. and the gleaming hills of tuoni. väinämöinen, old and steadfast. raised his voice, and shouted loudly there by tuonela's deep river, there in manala's abysses: "bring a boat, o tuoni's daughter, row across, o child of mana, that the stream i may pass over. and that i may cross the river." tuoni's short and stunted daughter. she the dwarfish maid of mana, at the time her clothes was washing, and her clothes she there was beating, at the river dark of tuoni, and in manala's deep waters. and she answered him in thiswise, and she spoke the words which follow: "hence a boat shall come to fetch you, when you shall explain the reason why to manala you travel. though disease has not subdued you. nor has death thus overcome you, nor some other fate o'erwhelmed you." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "it was tuoni brought me hither, mana dragged me from my country." tuoni's short and stunted daughter, she the dwarfish maid of mana, answered in the words which follow: "ay, indeed, i know the liar! if 'twas tuoni brought you hither, mana dragged you from your country, then would tuoni's self be with you, manalainen's self conduct you, tuoni's hat upon your shoulders. on your hands the gloves of mana. speak the truth, o väinämöinen; what to manala has brought you?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "iron to manala has brought me, steel to tuonela has dragged me." tuoni's short and stunted daughter she the dwarfish maid of mana, answered in the words which follow: "now, indeed, i know the liar! for if iron to mana brought you, steel to tuonela had dragged you. from your clothes the blood would trickle, and the blood would forth be flowing. speak the truth, o väinämöinen, for the second time speak truly." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "water has to mana brought me, waves to tuonela have brought me." tuoni's short and stunted daughter, she the dwarfish maid of mana, answered in the words which follow: "ay, indeed, i know the liar! if to mana water brought you, waves to manala had floated, from your clothes would water trickle, from the borders streaming downward. tell me true, without evasion, what to manala has brought you?" then the aged väinämöinen, gave again a lying answer. "fire to tuonela has brought me, flame to manala conveyed me." tuoni's short and stunted daughter. she the dwarfish maid of mana, once again replied in answer: "well indeed i know the liar! had the fire to tuoni brought you, flame to manala conveyed you, would your hair be singed and frizzled, and your beard be scorched severely. "o thou aged väinämöinen, if you wish the boat to fetch you, tell me true, without evasion, make an end at last of lying, why to manala you travel, though disease has not subdued you, nor has death thus overcome you, nor some other fate o'erwhelmed you." said the aged väinämöinen, "true it is i lied a little, and again i spoke a falsehood, but at length i answer truly. by my art a boat i fashioned, by my songs a boat i builded, and i sang one day, a second, and at length upon the third day, broke my sledge as i was singing, broke the shaft as i was singing, so i came for tuoni's gimlet. sought in manala a borer, that my sledge i thus might finish. and with this might form my song-sledge. therefore bring your boat to this side, ferry me across the water, and across the straight convey me, let me come across the river." tuonetar abused him roundly, mana's maiden scolded loudly: "o thou fool, of all most foolish, man devoid of understanding. tuonela, thou seekest causeless, com'st to mana free from sickness! better surely would you find it quickly to regain your country, many truly wander hither, few return to where they came from!" said the aged väinämöinen, "this might perhaps deter old women, not a man, how weak soever. not the laziest of heroes! bring the boat, o tuoni's daughter, row across, o child of mana!" brought the boat then, tuoni's daughter. and the aged väinämöinen quickly o'er the straight she ferried. and across the river rowed him, and she spoke the words which follow: "woe to thee, o väinämöinen, for thou com'st to mana living, com'st to tuonela undying!" tuonetar the noble matron, manalatar, aged woman, fetched some beer within a tankard, and in both her hands she held it, and she spoke the words which follow: "drink, o aged väinämöinen!" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, looked for long within the tankard, and within it frogs were spawning, at the sides the worms were wriggling, and he spoke the words which follow: "surely i have not come hither, thus to drink from mana's goblets, or to drink from tuoni's tankards. those who drink this beer are drunken, drinking from such cans they perish." then said tuonela's great mistress, "o thou aged väinämöinen, why to manala dost travel, why to tuonela hast ventured, though by tuoni never summoned, to the land of mana called not?" said the aged väinämöinen, "at my boat as i was working, while my new boat i was shaping, then i found three words were wanting, ere the stern could be completed, and the prow could be constructed, but as i could find them nowhere, in the world where'er i sought them, then to tuonela i travelled, journeyed to the land of mana, there to find the words i needed, there the magic words to study." then said tuonela's great mistress, and she spoke the words which follow: "ne'er the words will tuoni give you, nor his spells will mana teach you. never shall you leave these regions, never while your life remaineth, shall you ever journey homeward, to your country home returning." sank the weary man in slumber, and the traveller lay and slumbered, on the bed prepared by tuoni, there outstretched himself in slumber, and the hero thus was captured, lay outstretched, but quickly wakened. there's in tuonela a witch-wife, aged crone with chin projecting, and she spins her thread of iron, and she draws out wire of copper. and she spun of nets a hundred, and she wove herself a thousand, in a single night of summer, on the rock amid the waters. there's in tuonela a wizard, and three fingers has the old man, and he weaves his nets of iron, and he makes his nets of copper, and a hundred nets he wove him, and a thousand nets he plaited, in the selfsame night of summer, on the same stone in the water. tuoni's son with crooked fingers. crooked fingers hard as iron, took the hundred nets, and spread them right across the stream of tuoni, both across and also lengthwise, and in an oblique direction so that väinö should not 'scape him, nor should flee uvantolainen, in the course of all his lifetime, while the golden moon is shining, from the dread abode of tuoni, from the eternal home of mana. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words which follow: "may not rain overtake me, and an evil fate await me. here in tuonela's dark dwellings, in the foul abode of mana?" quickly then his shape transforming, and another shape assuming, to the gloomy lake he hastened; like an otter in the reed-beds, like an iron snake he wriggled, like a little adder hastened straight across the stream of tuoni, safely through the nets of tuoni. tuoni's son with crooked fingers, crooked fingers, hard as iron, wandered early in the morning to survey the nets extended, found of salmon-trout a hundred, smaller fry he found by thousands, but he found not väinämöinen, not the old uvantolainen. thus the aged väinämöinen made his way from tuoni's kingdom, and he said the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "never, jumala the mighty, never let another mortal, make his way to mana's country, penetrate to tuoni's kingdom! many there indeed have ventured. few indeed have wandered homeward; from the dread abode of tuoni, from the eternal home of mana." afterwards these words he added, and expressed himself in thiswise. to the rising generation, and to the courageous people: "sons of men, o never venture in the course of all your lifetime, wrong to work against the guiltless, guilt to work against the sinless, lest your just reward is paid you in the dismal realms of tuoni! there's the dwelling of the guilty, and the resting-place of sinners, under stones to redness heated, under slabs of stone all glowing, 'neath a coverlet of vipers, of the loathsome snakes of tuoni." runo xvii.--vÄinÄmÖinen and antero vipunen _argument_ väinämöinen goes to obtain magic words from antero vipunen, and wakes him from his long sleep under the earth ( - ). vipunen swallows väinämöinen, and the latter begins to torture him violently in his stomach ( - ). vipunen tries every means that he can think of to get rid of him by promises, spells, conjurations and exorcisms, but väinämöinen declares that he will never depart till he has obtained from vipunen the words which he requires to finish his boat ( - ). vipunen sings all his wisdom to väinämöinen, who then leaves his body, returns to his boat-building, and finishes his boat ( - : ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, had not found the words he wanted in the dark abode of tuoni, in the eternal realms of mana, and for evermore he pondered. in his head reflected ever. where the words he might discover, and obtain the charms he needed. once a shepherd came to meet him, and he spoke the words which follow: "you can find a hundred phrases, and a thousand words discover, known to antero vipunen only, in his monstrous mouth and body. and there is a path which leads there, and a cross-road must be traversed, not the best among the pathways, nor the very worst of any. firstly you must leap along it o'er the points of women's needles, and another stage must traverse o'er the points of heroes' sword-blades, and a third course must be traversed o'er the blades of heroes' axes." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, pondered deeply o'er the journey, to the smithy then he hastened, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, forge me straightway shoes of iron, forge me likewise iron gauntlets, make me, too, a shirt of iron, and a mighty stake of iron, all of steel, which i will pay for, lined within with steel the strongest, and o'erlaid with softer iron, for i go some words to seek for, and to snatch the words of power, from the giant's mighty body, mouth of antero vipunen wisest." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, answered in the words which follow: "vipunen has long since perished, long has antero departed from the nets he has constructed, and the snares that he has fashioned. words from him you cannot hope for; half a word you could not look for." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, started on his way, unheeding, and the first day speeded lightly o'er the points of women's needles, and the second day sprang nimbly o'er the points of heroes' sword-blades, and upon the third day speeded o'er the blades of heroes' axes. vipunen in songs was famous, full of craft the aged hero; with his songs he lay extended, outstretched with his spells of magic. on his shoulders grew a poplar, from his temples sprang a birch-tree, on his chin-tip grew an alder, on his beard a willow-thicket, on his brow were firs with squirrels, from his teeth sprang branching pine-trees. then at once did väinämöinen, draw his sword and free the iron from the scabbard formed of leather, from his belt of lambskin fashioned; fell the poplar from his shoulders, fell the birch-trees from his temples, from his chin the spreading alders, from his beard the willow-bushes, from his brow the firs with squirrels, from his teeth the branching pine-trees. then he thrust his stake of iron into vipunen's mouth he thrust it, in his gnashing gums he thrust it, in his clashing jaws he thrust it, and he spoke the words which follow: "rouse thyself, o slave of mortals, where beneath the earth thou restest, in a sleep that long has lasted." vipunen, in songs most famous, suddenly awoke from slumber, feeling he was roughly treated, and with pain severe tormented. then he bit the stake of iron, bit the outer softer iron, but the steel he could not sever, could not eat the inner iron. then the aged väinämöinen, just above his mouth was standing, and his right foot slipped beneath him, and his left foot glided onward. into vipunen's mouth he stumbled, and within his jaws he glided. vipunen, in songs most famous, opened then his mouth yet wider, and his jaws he wide extended, gulped the well-beloved hero, with a shout the hero swallowed, him the aged väinämöinen. vipunen, in songs most famous, spoke the very words which follow: "i have eaten much already, and on ewes and goats have feasted, and have barren heifers eaten, and have also swine devoured, but i ne'er had such a dinner, such a morsel never tasted." but the aged väinämöinen, uttered then the words which follow: "now destruction falls upon me, and an evil day o'ertakes me, prisoned here in hiisi's stable, here in kalma's narrow dungeon." so he pondered and reflected how to live and how to struggle. in his belt a knife had väinö, and the haft was formed of maple, and from this a boat he fashioned, and a boat he thus constructed, and he rowed the boat, and urged it back and forth throughout the entrails, rowing through the narrow channels, and exploring every passage. vipunen the old musician was not thus much incommoded; then the aged väinämöinen as a smith began to labour. and began to work with iron. with his shirt he made a smithy, with his shirt-sleeves made his bellows, with the fur he made the wind-bag, with his trousers made the air-pipe, and the opening with his stockings and he used his knee for anvil, and his elbow for a hammer. then he quick began to hammer, actively he plied his hammer, through the livelong night, unresting, through the day without cessation in the stomach of the wise one, in the entrails of the mighty. vipunen, in songs most famous, spoke aloud the words which follow: "who among mankind can this be, who among the roll of heroes? i have gulped a hundred heroes, and a thousand men devoured, but his like i never swallowed. in my mouth the coals are rising, on my tongue are firebrands resting, in my throat is slag of iron. "go thou forth to wander, strange one, pest of earth, at once depart thou, ere i go to seek thy mother, seek thy very aged mother. if i told it to thy mother, told the aged one the story, great would be thy mother's trouble, great the aged woman's sorrow, that her son should work such evil, and her child should act so basely. "still i hardly comprehend it, do not comprehend the reason, how thou, hiisi, here hast wandered, why thou cam'st, thou evil creature, thus to bite, and thus to torture, thus to eat, and thus to gnaw me. art thou some disease-created death that jumala ordains me, or art thou another creature, fashioned and unloosed by others, hired beforehand to torment me, or hast thou been bribed with money? "if thou art disease-created, death by jumala ordained me, then i trust in my creator, and to jumala resign me; for the good the lord rejects not, nor does he destroy the righteous. "if thou art another creature, and an evil wrought by others, then thy race would i discover, and the place where thou wast nurtured. "once before have ills assailed me, plagues from somewhere have attacked me, from the realms of mighty sorcerers, from the meadows of the soothsayers, and the homes of evil spirits, and the plains where dwell the wizards, from the dreary heaths of kalma, from beneath the firm earth's surface, from the dwellings of the dead men, from the realms of the departed, from the loose earth heaped in hillocks, from the regions of the landslips, from the loose and gravelly districts, from the shaking sandy regions, from the valleys deeply sunken, from the moss-grown swampy districts, from the marshes all unfrozen, from the billows ever tossing, from the stalls in hiisi's forest, from five gorges in the mountains, from the slopes of copper mountains, from their summits all of copper, from the ever-rustling pine-trees, and the rustling of the fir-trees, from the crowns of rotten pine-trees, and the tops of rotten fir-trees, from those spots where yelp the foxes, heaths where elk are chased on snowshoes, from the bear's own rocky caverns, from the caves where bears are lurking, from the furthest bounds of pohja, from the distant realms of lapland, from the wastes where grow no bushes, from the lands unploughed for ever, from the battle-fields extended, from the slaughter-place of heroes, from the fields where grass is rustling, from the blood that there is smoking, from the blue sea's watery surface, from the open sea's broad surface, from the black mud of the ocean, from the depth of thousand fathoms, from the fiercely rushing torrents, from the seething of the whirlpool, and from rutja's mighty cataract, where the waters rush most wildly, from the further side of heaven, where the rainless clouds stretch furthest, from the pathway of the spring-wind, from the cradle of the tempests. "from such regions hast thou journeyed thence hast thou proceeded, torment, to my heart of evil guiltless, to my belly likewise sinless, to devour and to torment me, and to bite me and to tear me? "pine away, o hound of hiisi, dog of manala the vilest, o thou demon, quit my body, pest of earth, o quit my liver, let my heart be undevoured, leave thou, too, my spleen uninjured, make no stoppage in my belly, and my lungs forbear to traverse, do not pierce me through the navel, and my loins forbear to injure, and my backbone do not shatter, nor upon my sides torment me. "if my strength as man should fail me, then will i invoke a greater, which shall rid me of the evil, and shall drive away the horror. "from the earth i call the earth-queen, from the fields, the lord primeval, from the earth i call all swordsmen, from the sands the hero-horsemen, call them to my aid and succour, to my help and aid i call them, in the tortures that o'erwhelm me, and amid this dreadful torment. "if you do not heed their presence, and you will not shrink before them, come, o forest, with thy people, junipers, bring all your army. come, o pinewoods, with your household, and thou pond with all thy children, with their swords a hundred swordsmen, and a thousand mail-clad heroes, that they may assail this hiisi, and may overwhelm this juutas! "if you do not heed their presence, and you will not shrink before them, rise thou up, o water-mother, raise thy blue cap from the billows, and thy soft robe from the waters, from the ooze thy form of beauty, for a powerless hero's rescue, for a weakly man's protection, lest i should be eaten guiltless, and without disease be slaughtered. "if you will not heed their presence, and you will not shrink before them, ancient daughter of creation, come in all thy golden beauty, thou the oldest of all women, thou the first of all the mothers, come to see the pains that rack me, and the evil days drive from me, that thy strength may overcome them, and perchance may free me from them. "but if this not yet should move you, and you will not yet draw backwards, ukko, in the vault of heaven, on the thundercloud's wide border, come thou here, where thou art needed, hasten here, where i implore thee, to dispel the works of evil, and destroy this vile enchantment, with thy sword of flame dispel it, with thy flashing sword-blade smite it. "go thou horror, forth to wander, curse of earth depart thou quickly, here no more shall be thy dwelling, and if thou such dwelling needest, elsewhere shalt thou seek thy dwellings, far from here a home shalt find thee, in the household of thy master, in the footsteps of thy mistress. "when you reach your destination, and your journey you have finished, in the realms of him who made you, in the country of your master, give a signal of your coming, let a lightning flash announce it, let them hear the roll of thunder, let them see the lightning flashing, and the yard-gate kick to pieces, pull a shutter from the window, then the house thou soon canst enter, rush into the room like whirlwind, plant thy foot within it firmly, and thy heel where space is narrow, push the men into the corner, and the women to the doorposts, scratch the eyes from out the masters, smash the heads of all the women, curve thou then to hooks thy fingers, twist thou then their heads all crooked. "or if this is not sufficient, fly as cock upon the pathway, or as chicken in the farmyard, with thy breast upon the dunghill, drive the horses from the stable, from the stalls the horned cattle, push their horns into the dungheap, on the ground their tails all scatter, twist thou then their eyes all crooked, and their necks in haste then break thou. "art thou sickness, tempest-carried, tempest-carried, wind-conducted, and a gift from wind of springtime, by the frosty air led hither, on the path of air conducted, on the sledgeway of the spring-wind, then upon the trees repose not, rest thou not upon the alders, hasten to the copper mountain, hasten to its copper summit, let the wind convey thee thither, guarded by the wind of springtide. "but if thou from heaven descended, from the rainless clouds' broad margins, then again ascend to heaven, once again in air arise thou, to the clouds where rain is falling, to the stars that ever twinkle, that thou there mayst burn like fire, and that thou mayst shine and sparkle on the sun's own path of splendour, and around the moon's bright circle. "if thou art some pest of water, hither drifted by the sea-waves, let the pest return to water, journey back amid the sea-waves, to the walls of muddy castles, to the crests of waves like mountains, there amid the waves to welter, rocking on the darkling billows. "cam'st thou from the heaths of kalma, from the realms of the departed, to thy home return thou quickly, to the dark abodes of kalma, to the land upheaved in hillocks, to the land that quakes for ever, where the people fall in battle, and a mighty host has perished. "if thou foolishly hast wandered from the depths of hiisi's forest, from the nest amid the pine-trees, from thy home among the fir-trees, then i drive thee forth and ban thee, to the depths of hiisi's forest, to thy home among the fir-trees, to thy nest among the pine-trees. there thou mayst remain for ever, till the flooring-planks have rotted, and the wooden walls are mildewed, and the roof shall fall upon you. "i will drive thee forth and ban thee, drive thee forth, o evil creature, forth unto the old bear's dwelling, to the lair of aged she-bear, to the deep and swampy valleys, to the ever-frozen marshes, to the swamps for ever quaking, quaking underneath the footsteps, to the ponds where sport no fishes, where no perch are ever noticed. "but if there thou find'st no refuge, further yet will i then ban thee, to the furthest bounds of pohja, to the distant plains of lapland, to the barren treeless tundras, to the country where they plough not, where is neither moon nor sunlight, where the sun is never shining. there a charming life awaits thee, there to roam about at pleasure. in the woods the elks are lurking. in the woods men hunt the reindeer, that a man may still his hunger, and may satisfy his craving. "even further yet i ban thee, banish thee, and drive thee onward, to the mighty falls of rutja, to the fiercely raging whirlpool, thither where the trees have fallen, and the fallen pines are rolling, tossing trunks of mighty fir-trees, wide-extended crowns of pine-trees. swim thou there, thou wicked heathen, in the cataract's foaming torrent, round to drive 'mid boundless waters, resting in the narrow waters. "but if there you find no refuge, further yet will i then ban you, to the river black of tuoni, to the eternal stream of mana, never in thy life escaping, never while thy life endureth, should i not consent to free thee, nor to ransom thee be able, come with nine sheep thee to ransom, which a single ewe has farrowed, and with bullocks, nine in number, from a single cow proceeding, and with stallions, nine in number, from a single mare proceeding. "need you horses for your journey, or there's aught you need for driving, horses i will give in plenty, plenty i can give for riding. hiisi has a horse of beauty, with a red mane, on the mountain. fire is flashing from his muzzle, and his nostrils brightly shining, and his hoofs are all of iron, and of steel are they constructed. he can climb upon a mountain, climb the sloping sides of valleys, if his rider mounts him boldly, urges him to show his mettle. "but if this is not sufficient, then may hiisi make thee snowshoes. take the alder-shoes of lempo, where the thick smoke is the foulest, skate thou to the land of hiisi, rushing through the woods of lempo, dashing through the land of hiisi, gliding through the evil country. if a stone impedes thy pathway, crash and scatter it asunder; lies a branch across thy pathway, break the branch in twain when passing; if a hero bar thy passage, drive him boldly from thy pathway. go thy way, thou lazy creature, go thou forth, thou man of evil, now, before the day is dawning, or the morning twilight glimmer, or as yet the sun has risen, or thou yet hast heard the cockcrow! thou delay'st too long to leave me, take thy flight, o evil creature, fare thee forth into the moonlight, wander forth amid its brightness. "if thou wilt not leave me quickly, o thou dog without a mother, i will take the eagles' talons and the claws of the blood-suckers, and of birds of prey the talons, and of hawks the talons likewise, that i thus may seize the demons, utterly o'ercome these wretches, that my head may ache no longer, nor my breathing more oppress me. "once did lempo's self flee from me, when he wandered from his mother, when was aid from jumala granted, gave his aid, the great creator. wander forth without thy mother, o thou uncreated creature, wretched dog without a master, forth, o whelp without a mother, even while the time is passing, even while the moon is waning." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "here i find a pleasant dwelling, here i dwell in much contentment, and for bread the liver serves me, and the fat with drink supplies me, and the lungs are good for cooking, and the fat is best for eating. "therefore will i sink my smithy in thy heart for ever deeper, and will strike my hammer harder, pounding on the tenderest places, that in all thy life thou never freedom from the ill may'st hope for, if thy spells thou dost not teach me, all thy magic spells shalt teach me, till thy spells i learn in fulness, and a thousand spells have gathered; till no spells are hidden from me, nor the spells of magic hidden, that in caves their power is lost not, even though the wizards perish." vipunen, in songs so famous, he the sage so old in wisdom, in whose mouth was mighty magic, power unbounded in his bosom, opened then his mouth of wisdom, of his spells the casket opened, sang his mighty spells of magic, chanted forth of all the greatest, magic songs of the creation, from the very earliest ages, songs that all the children sing not, even heroes understand not, in these dreary days of evil, in the days that now are passing. words of origin he chanted, all his spells he sang in order, at the will of the creator, at behest of the almighty, how himself the air he fashioned, and from air the water parted, and the earth was formed from water, and from earth all herbage sprouted. then he sang the moon's creation, likewise how the sun was fashioned, how the air was raised on pillars, how the stars were placed in heaven. vipunen, in songs the wisest, sang in part, and sang in fulness. never yet was heard or witnessed, never while the world existed, one who was a better singer, one who was a wiser wizard. from his mouth the words were flowing, and his tongue sent forth his sayings, quick as legs of foals are moving, or the feet of rapid courser. through the days he sang unceasing, through the nights without cessation. to his songs the sun gave hearing, and the golden moon stayed listening, waves stood still on ocean's surface, billows sank upon its margin, rivers halted in their courses, rutja's furious cataract halted, vuoksi's cataract ceased its flowing, likewise, too, the river jordan. when the aged väinämöinen unto all the spells had listened, and had learned the charms in fulness, all the magic spells creative, he prepared himself to travel from the widespread jaws of vipunen; from the belly of the wise one, from within his monstrous body. said the aged väinämöinen, "o thou antero vipunen hugest, open thou thy mouth gigantic, and thy jaws extend more widely. i would quit for earth thy body, and would take my journey homeward." vipunen then, in songs the wisest, answered in the words which follow: "much i've drunk, and much have eaten, and consumed a thousand dainties, but before i never swallowed aught like aged väinämöinen. good indeed has been thy coming, better 'tis when thou departest." then did antero vipunen open wide expanding gums grimacing, open wide his mouth gigantic, and his jaws extended widely, while the aged väinämöinen to his mouth made lengthened journey, from the belly of the wise one, from within his monstrous body. from his mouth he glided swiftly, o'er the heath he bounded swiftly, very like a golden squirrel, or a golden-breasted marten. further on his path he journeyed, till at length he reached the smithy. said the smith, e'en ilmarinen, "have you found the words you wanted, have you learned the spells creative, that the boat-sides you can fashion, spells to fix the stern together, and the bows to deftly fashion?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "spells a hundred have i gathered, and a thousand spells of magic, secret spells were opened to me, hidden charms were all laid open." to his boat he hastened quickly, and he set to work most wisely, set to work the boat to finish, and he fixed the sides together, and the stern he fixed together, and the bows he deftly fashioned, but the boat he built unhammered, nor a chip he severed from it. runo xviii.--vÄinÄmÖinen and ilmarinen travel to pohjola _argument_ väinämöinen sets sail in his new boat to woo the maiden of pohja ( - ). ilmarinen's sister sees him, calls to him from the shore, learns the object of his journey, and hastens to warn her brother that a rival has set forth to pohjola to claim the bride ( - ). ilmarinen makes ready, and rides on horseback to pohjola along the shore ( - ). the mistress of pohjola sees the suitors approaching, and advises her daughter to choose väinämöinen ( - ). but the daughter herself prefers ilmarinen, the forger of the sampo, and tells väinämöinen, who is first to arrive, that she will not marry him ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, pondered deeply and reflected how he best should woo the maiden, hasten to the long-haired maiden, in the gloomy land of pohja, sariola, for ever misty, she the far-famed maid of pohja, she the peerless bride of pohja. there the pale-grey boat was lying, and the boat with red he painted, and adorned the prow with gilding, and with silver overlaid it; then upon the morning after, very early in the morning, pushed his boat into the water, in the waves the hundred-boarded, pushed it from the barkless rollers, from the rounded logs of pine-tree. then he raised a mast upon it, on the masts the sails he hoisted, raised a red sail on the vessel, and another blue in colour, then the boat himself he boarded, and he walked upon the planking, and upon the sea he steered it, o'er the blue and plashing billows. then he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "enter, jumala, my vessel, enter here, o thorn most gracious, strengthen thou the hero's weakness, and the weakling do thou cherish, on these far-extending waters, on the wide expanse of billows. "breathe, o wind, upon the vessel, drive, o wave, the boat before thee, that i need not row with fingers, nor may thus disturb the waters, on the wide expanse of ocean, out upon the open ocean." annikki, the ever-famous, night's fair daughter, maid of twilight, long before the day had risen, early in the morn had wakened, and had washed her clothes and spread them, and had rinsed and wrung the clothing, where the red steps reach the furthest, where the planking is the broadest, out upon the misty headland, on the shady island's ending. then she turned and gazed around her, in the cloudless air surrounding, and she gazed aloft to heaven, and from shore across the water, and above the sun was shining, and below the waves were gleaming. o'er the waves her eyes were glancing, to the south her head was turning, to the mouth of suomi's river, where the stream of väinölä opens. on the sea a blotch she sighted, something blue among the billows. then she spoke the words which follow, and in terms like these expressed her: "what's this speck upon the ocean, what this blue upon the billows? if it be a flock of wild geese, or of other beauteous birdies, let them on their rushing pinions soar aloft amid the heavens. "if it be a shoal of salmon, or a shoal of other fishes, let them leap as they are swimming, plunging then beneath the water. "if it be a rocky island, or a stump amid the water, let the billows rise above it, or the waters drive it forward." now the boat came gliding onward, and the new boat sailed on swiftly forward to the misty headland, and the shady island's ending. annikki, the ever-famous, saw the vessel fast approaching, saw the hundred-boarded passing, and she spoke the words which follow: "if thou art my brother's vessels or the vessel of my father, then direct thy journey homeward, to the shore the prow directing, where the landing-stage is stationed, while the stern is pointing from it. if thou art a stranger vessel, may'st thou swim at greater distance, towards another stage then hasten, with the stern to this directed." 'twas no vessel of her household, nor a boat from foreign regions, but the boat of väinämöinen, built by him, the bard primeval, and the boat approached quite closely, onward sailed in hailing distance, till a word, and then a second, and a third were heard distinctly. annikki, the ever-famous, night's fair daughter, maid of twilight, hailed the boat as it approached her: "whither goest thou, väinämöinen, whither, hero of the waters, wherefore, pride of all the country?" then the aged väinämöinen from the boat made ready answer: "i am going salmon-fishing, where the salmon-trout are spawning, in the gloomy stream of tuoni, in the deep reed-bordered river." annikki, the ever-famous, answered in the words which follow: "tell me not such idle falsehoods! well i know the spawning season, for aforetime oft my father and my grandsire; too, before him, often went a salmon-fishing, and the salmon-trout to capture. in the boats the nets were lying, and the boats were full of tackle, here lay nets, here lines were resting, and the beating-poles beside them; and beneath the seats were tridents, in the stern, long staves were lying. whither goest thou, väinämöinen, wherefore, o uvantolainen?" said the aged väinämöinen, "forth in search of geese i wander, where the bright-winged birds are sporting, and the slimy fish are catching, in the deep sound of the saxons, where the sea is wide and open." annikki, the ever-famous, answered in the words which follow: "well i know who speaks me truly, and can soon detect the liar, for aforetime oft my father, and my grandsire, too, before him, went abroad the geese to capture, and to chase the red-beaked quarry, and his bow was great, and tight-strung, and the bow he drew was splendid, and a black dog leashed securely, in the stern was tightly tethered, on the strand the hounds were running, and the whelps across the shingle; speak the truth, o väinämöinen, whither do you take your journey?" said the aged väinämöinen, "wherefore take i not my journey, where a mighty fight is raging, there to fight among my equals, where the greaves with blood are spattered, even to the knees all crimsoned?" annikki again insisted, loudly cried the tin-adorned one: "well i know the ways of battle, for aforetime went my father where a mighty fight was raging, there to fight among his equals, and a hundred men were rowing, and a thousand men were standing. in the prow their bows were lying, and beneath the seats their sword-blades. speak the truth, and tell me truly, cease to lie, and speak sincerely. whither goest thou, väinämöinen, wherefore, o suvantolainen?" then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "come thou in my boat, o maiden, in my boat, o maiden seat thee, and the truth i then will tell thee, cease to lie, and speak sincerely." annikki, the tin-adorned one, cried aloud in indignation: "may the wind assail thy vessel, and the east wind fall upon it, may thy boat capsize beneath thee, and the prow sink down beneath thee, if you will not tell me truly where you mean to take your journey, if the truth you will not tell me, and at last will end your lying." then the aged väinämöinen, answered in the words which follow: "all the truth i now will tell you, though at first i lied a little. forth i fare to woo a maiden, seek the favour of a maiden, in the gloomy land of pohja, sariola, for ever misty, in the land where men are eaten, where they even drown the heroes." annikki, the ever-famous, night's fair daughter, maid of twilight, when she knew the truth for certain, all the truth, without evasion, down she threw her caps unwashen, and unrinsed she left the clothing, on the bench she left them lying, where the red bridge has its ending, in her hand her gown she gathered, in her hand the folds collecting, and began from thence to hasten, and with rapid pace she hurried, till at length she reached the smithy. to the forge at once she hastened. there she found smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman. and he forged a bench of iron, and adorned it all with silver. cubit-high his head was sooted, on his shoulders ash by fathoms. annikki the door then entered, and she spoke the words which follow: "smith and brother ilmarinen, thou the great primeval craftsman, forge me now a weaver's shuttle, pretty rings to deck my fingers, golden earrings, two or three pairs, five or six linked girdles make me, for most weighty truth i'll tell you, all the truth without evasion." said the smith, said ilmarinen, "if you tell me news important, then a shuttle will i forge you, pretty rings to deck your fingers, and a cross upon your bosom, and the finest head-dress forge you. if the words you speak are evil, all your ornaments i'll shatter, tear them off to feed the furnace, and beneath the forge will thrust them." annikki, the ever-famous, answered in the words which follow: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, do you still propose to marry her, the bride who once was promised, and as wife was pledged unto you? "while you weld and hammer always, ever working with your hammer, making horseshoes in the summer, iron horseshoes for the winter, working at your sledge at night-time, and its frame in daytime shaping, forth to journey to your wooing, and to pohjola to travel, one more cunning goes before you, and another speeds beyond you, and your own will capture from you, and your love will ravish from you, whom two years ago thou sawest, whom two years agone thou wooed'st. know that väinämöinen journeys o'er the blue waves of the ocean, in a boat with prow all golden, steering with his copper rudder, to the gloomy land of pohja, sariola, for ever misty." to the smith came grievous trouble. to the iron-worker sorrow. from his grasp the tongs slid downward, from his hand he dropped the hammer. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "annikki, my little sister, i will forge you now a shuttle. pretty rings to deck your fingers, golden earrings, two or three pairs, five or six linked girdles make you. warm for me the pleasant bathroom, fill the room with fragrant vapour, let the logs you burn be small ones, and the fire with chips be kindled, and prepare me too some ashes, and some soap in haste provide me, that i wash my head and cleanse it, and i may make white my body from the coal-dust of the autumn, from the forge throughout the winter." annikki, whose name was famous, heated secretly the bathroom, with the boughs the wind had broken, and the thunderbolt had shattered. stones she gathered from the river, heated them till they were ready, cheerfully she fetched the water, from the holy well she brought it, broke some bath-whisks from the bushes, charming bath-whisks from the thickets, and she warmed the honeyed bath-whisks, on the honeyed stones she warmed them, then with milk she mixed the ashes, and she made him soap of marrow, and she worked the soap to lather, kneaded then the soap to lather, that his head might cleanse the bridegroom, and might cleanse himself completely. then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, wrought the maiden what she wished for, and he wrought a splendid head-dress, while she made the bathroom ready, and she put the bath in order. in her hands he placed the trinkets, and the maiden thus addressed him: "now the bathroom's filled with vapour, and the vapour-bath i've heated, and have steeped the bath-whisks nicely, choosing out the best among them. bathe, o brother, at your pleasures, pouring water as you need it, wash your head to flaxen colour, till your eyes shine out like snowflakes." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, went to take the bath he needed, there he bathed himself at pleasure, and he washed himself to whiteness, washed his eyes until they sparkled, and his temples till they glistened, and his neck to hen's-egg whiteness, and his body all was shining. from the bath the room he entered, changed so much they scarcely knew him, for his face it shone with beauty, and his cheeks were cleansed and rosy. then he spoke the words which follow: "annikki, my little sister, bring me now a shirt of linen, and the best of raiment bring me, that i robe myself completely, and may deck me like a bridegroom." annikki, the ever-famous, brought him then a shirt of linen, for his limbs no longer sweating, for his body all uncovered. then she brought well-fitting trousers, which his mother had been sewing, for his hips, no longer sooty, and his legs were fully covered. then she brought him finest stockings, which, as maid, had wove his mother, and with these his shins he covered, and his calves were hidden by them. then she brought him shoes that fitted, best of saxon boots she brought him, and with these the stockings covered which his mother sewed as maiden; then a coat of blue she chose him, with a liver-coloured lining, covering thus the shirt of linen, which of finest flax was fashioned, then an overcoat of woollen, of four kinds of cloth constructed, o'er the coat of bluish colour, of the very latest fashion, and a new fur, thousand-buttoned, and a hundredfold more splendid, o'er the overcoat of woollen, and the cloth completely hiding; round his waist a belt she fastened, and the belt was gold-embroidered, which his mother wrought as maiden, wrought it when a fair-haired maiden, brightly-coloured gloves she brought him, gold-embroidered, for his fingers, which the lapland children fashioned; on his handsome hands he drew them, then a high-crowned hat she brought him (on his golden locks she placed it) which his father once had purchased, when as bridegroom he adorned him. thus the smith, e'en ilmarinen, clothed himself, and made him ready, robed himself, and made him handsome, and his servant he commanded: "yoke me now a rapid courser, in the sledge adorned so finely, that i start upon my journey, and to pohjola may travel." thereupon the servant answered, "horses six are in the stable, horses six, on oats that fatten; which among them shall i yoke you?" said the smith, e'en ilmarinen, "take the best of all the stallions, put the foal into the harness, yoke before the sledge the chestnut, then provide me with six cuckoos, seven blue birds at once provide me, that upon the frame they perch them, and may sing their cheerful music, that the fair ones may behold them, and the maidens be delighted. then provide me with a bearskin, that i seat myself upon it, and a second hide of walrus, that the bright-hued sledge is covered." thereupon the skilful servant, he the servant paid with wages, put the colt into the harness, yoked before the sledge the chestnut, and provided six fine cuckoos, seven blue birds at once provided, that upon the frame should perch them, and should sing their cheerful music; and a bearskin next provided, that his lord should sit upon it, and another hide of walrus, and with this the sledge he covered. then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, sent aloft his prayer to ukko, and he thus besought the thunderer: "scatter forth thy snow, o ukko, let the snowflakes soft be drifted, that the sledge may glide o'er snowfields, o'er the snow-drifts gliding swiftly." then the snow did ukko scatter, and the snowflakes soft were drifted, till the heath-stems all were covered, on the ground the berry-bushes. then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, in his sledge of iron sat him, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "on my reins attend good fortune, jumala my sledge protecting, that my reins good fortune fail not, nor my sledge may break, o jumala!" in one hand the reins he gathered, and the whip he grasped with other, o'er the horse the whip he brandished, and he spoke the words which follow: "whitebrow, speed thou quickly onward, haste away, o flaxen-maned one." on the way the horse sprang forward, on the water's sandy margin, by the shores of sound of sima, past the hills with alders covered. on the shore the sledge went rattling, on the beach the shingle clattered. in his eyes the sand was flying, to his breast splashed up the water. thus he drove one day, a second, drove upon the third day likewise, and at length upon the third day, overtook old väinämöinen, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "o thou aged väinämöinen, let us make a friendly compact, that although we both are seeking, and we both would woo the maiden, yet by force we will not seize her, nor against her will shall wed her." said the aged väinämöinen, "i will make a friendly compact, that we will not seize the maiden, nor against her will shall wed her. let the maiden now be given to the husband whom she chooses, that we nurse not long vexation, nor a lasting feud be fostered." further on their way they travelled, on the path that each had chosen; sped the boat, the shore re-echoed, ran the horse, the earth resounded. but a short time passed thereafter, very short the time elapsing, ere the grey-brown dog was barking, and the house-dog loudly baying, in the gloomy land of pohja, sariola, for ever cloudy, sooner still the dog was growling, but with less-continued growling, by the borders of the cornfield, 'gainst the ground his tail was wagging. then exclaimed the lord of pohja, "go, my daughter, to discover why the grey-brown dog is barking, and the long-eared dog is baying." but the daughter made him answer: "i have not the time, my father, i must clean the largest cowshed, tend our herd of many cattle, grind the corn between the millstones, through the sieve must sift the flour, grind the corn to finest flour, and the grinder is but feeble." gently barked the castle's hiisi, and again the dog was growling, and again said pohja's master: "go, old dame, and look about you, see why barks the grey-brown house-dog, why the castle-dog is growling." but the old dame made him answer: "this is not a time for talking, for my household cares are heavy, and i must prepare the dinner, and must bake a loaf enormous, and for this the dough be kneading, bake the loaf of finest flour, and the baker is but feeble." thereupon said pohja's master: "women they are always hurried, and the maidens always busy, when before the stove they roast them, when they in their beds are lying; son, go you, and look around you." thereupon the son made answer: "i've no time to look about me; i must grind the blunted hatchet, chop a log of wood to pieces, chop to bits the largest wood-pile, and to faggots small reduce it. large the pile, and small the faggots, and the workman of the weakest." still the castle-dog was barking, and the yard-dog still was barking, and the furious whelp was baying, and the island watch-dog howling, sitting by the furthest cornfield, and his tail was briskly wagging. then again said pohja's master, "not for nought the dog is barking, never has he barked for nothing, never growls he at the fir-trees." so he went to reconnoitre, and he walked across the courtyard, to the cornfield's furthest borders, to the path beyond the ploughed land. gazed he where the dog's snout pointed, where he saw his muzzle pointing, to the hill where storms are raging, to the hills where grow the alders, then he saw the truth most clearly, why the grey-brown dog was barking, and the pride of earth was baying, and the woolly-tailed one howling, for he saw a red boat sailing out amid the bay of lempi, and a handsome sledge was driving on the shore of sound of sima. after this the lord of pohja to the house returned directly, and beneath the roof he hastened, and he spoke the words which follow: "there are strangers swiftly sailing o'er the blue lake's watery surface, and a gaudy sledge is gliding on the shore of sound of sima; and a large boat is approaching to the shore of bay of lempi." then said pohjola's old mistress, "whence shall we obtain an omen why these strangers here are coming? o my little waiting-maiden, on the fire lay rowan-faggots. and the best log in its glowing. if the log with blood is flowing, then the strangers come for battle, if the log exudes clear water, then is peace abiding with us." then the little maid of pohja, she, the modest waiting-maiden, on the fire laid rowan-faggots, placed the best log in its glowing. from the log no blood was trickling, nor did water trickle from it; from the log there oozed forth honey, from the log dripped down the nectar. from the corner spoke suovakko, spoke the old dame 'neath the blankets: "from the log if oozes honey, from the log if drips the nectar, then the strangers who are coming, may be ranked as noble suitors." then did pohja's aged mistress, pohja's old dame, pohja's daughter, to the courtyard fencing hasten, hurry quick across the courtyard, and they gazed across the water, to the south their heads then turning, and they saw from thence approaching, swift a ship of novel fashion, of a hundred planks constructed, out upon the bay of lempi. underneath the boat looked bluish, but the sails of crimson colour. in the stern there sat a hero, at the copper rudder's handle, and they saw a stallion trotting with a red sledge strange of aspect, and the gaudy sledge was speeding on the shore of sound of sima, and they saw six golden cuckoos, perching on the frame, and calling, seven blue birds were likewise perching on the reins, and these were singing; and a stalwart hero, sitting in the sledge, the reins was holding. then said pohjola's old mistress, and she spoke the words which follow: "whom will you accept as husband, if they really come to woo you, as a life-companion woo you, dove-like in his arms to nestle? "he who in the boat is sailing, in the red boat fast approaching, out upon the bay of lempi, is the aged väinämöinen. in the boat he brings provisions, and of treasures brings a cargo. "he who in the sledge is driving, in the gaudy sledge is speeding, on the shore of sound of sima, is the smith named ilmarinen. he with empty hands is coming; filled his sledge with spells of magic. "therefore if the room they enter, bring them then the mead in tankard, in the two-eared tankard bring it, and in his hands place the tankard whom thou dost desire to follow; choose thou väinölä's great hero, he whose boat with wealth is loaded, and of treasures brings a cargo." but the lovely maid of pohja, thus made answer to her mother: "o my mother who hast borne me, o my mother who hast reared me, nothing do i care for riches, nor a man profound in wisdom, but a man of lofty forehead, one whose every limb is handsome. never once in former ages, gave a maid her life in thiswise. i, a maid undowered, will follow ilmarinen, skilful craftsman, he it was who forged the sampo, and the coloured cover welded." then said pohja's aged mistress, "o indeed, my child, my lambkin, if you go with ilmarinen, from whose brow the sweat falls freely, you must wash the blacksmith's aprons, and the blacksmith's head wash likewise." but the daughter gave her answer, in the very words which follow: "him from väinölä i choose not, nor an aged man will care for, for an old man is a nuisance, and an aged man would vex me." then did aged väinämöinen reach his journey's end the soonest, and he steered his crimson vessel, brought his boat of bluish colour to the rollers steel-constructed, to the landing-stage of copper. after this the house he entered, underneath the roof he hastened, and upon the floor spoke loudly, near the door beneath the rafters, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in thiswise: "wilt thou come with me, o maiden, evermore as my companion, wife-like on my knees to seat thee, in my arms as dove to nestle?" then the lovely maid of pohja, answered in the words which follow: "have you then the boat constructed, built the large and handsome vessel, from the splinters of my spindle, from the fragments of my shuttle?" then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "i have built a noble vessel and a splendid boat constructed, strongly built to face the tempests, and the winds its course opposing, as it cleaves the tossing billows, o'er the surface of the water, bladder-like amid the surges, as a leaf, by current drifted, over pohjola's wide waters, and across the foaming billows." then the lovely maid of pohja, answered in the words which follow: "nothing do i reck of seamen, heroes boasting of the billows! drives the wind their minds to ocean, and their thoughts the east wind saddens: therefore thee i cannot follow, never pledge myself unto thee, evermore as thy companion, in thy arms as dove to nestle, spread the couch whereon thou sleepest, for thy head arrange the pillows." runo xix.--the exploits and betrothal of ilmarinen _argument_ ilmarinen arrives at the homestead of pohjola, woos the daughter of the house, and perilous tasks are assigned to him ( - ). aided by the advice of the maiden of pohja he succeeds in performing the tasks successfully. firstly, he ploughs a field of serpent, secondly, he captures the bear of tuoni and the wolf of manala, and thirdly, he captures a large and terrible pike in the river of tuonela ( - ). the mistress of pohjola promises and betroths her daughter to ilmarinen ( - ). väinämöinen returns from pohjola in low spirits, and warns every one against going wooing in company with a younger man ( - ). then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, came himself into the chamber, and beneath the roof he hastened. brought the maid of mead a beaker, placed a can of drink of honey in the hands of ilmarinen, and the smith spoke out as follows: "never while my life is left me, long as shines the golden moonlight, will i taste the drink before me, till my own is granted to me, she for whom so long i waited, she for whom so long i pined for." then said pohjola's old mistress, in the very words which follow: "trouble great befalls the suitor, comes to her for whom he waiteth; one shoe still remains unfitted, and unfitted is the other; but the bride is waiting for you, and you may indeed receive her, if you plough the field of vipers, where the writhing snakes are swarming, but without a plough employing, and without a ploughshare guiding. once the field was ploughed by hiisi, lempo seamed it next with furrows, with the ploughshare formed of copper, with the plough in furnace smelted; but my own son, most unhappy, left the half untilled behind him." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, sought the maiden in her chamber, and he spoke the words which follow: "night's own daughter, twilight maiden, do you not the time remember, when i forged the sampo for you, and the brilliant cover welded, and a binding oath thou sweared'st, by the god whom all men worship, 'fore the face of him almighty, and you gave a certain promise unto me, the mighty hero, you would be my friend for ever, dove-like in my arms to nestle? nothing will your mother grant me, nor will she her daughter give me, till i plough the field of vipers, where the writhing snakes are swarming." then his bride assistance lent him, and advice the maiden gave him: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, thou the great primeval craftsman! forge thyself a plough all golden, cunningly bedecked with silver, then go plough the field of serpents, where the writhing snakes are swarming." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, laid the gold upon the anvil, worked the bellows on the silver, and he forged the plough he needed, and he forged him shoes of iron; greaves of steel he next constructed, and with these his feet he covered, those upon his shins he fastened; and he donned an iron mail-coat, with a belt of steel he girt him, took a pair of iron gauntlets, gauntlets like to stone for hardness; then he chose a horse of mettle, and he yoked the steed so noble, and he went to plough the acre, and the open field to furrow. there he saw the heads all rearing, saw the heads that hissed unceasing, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou snake, whom god created, you who lift your head so proudly, who is friendly and will hearken, rearing up your head so proudly, and your neck so proudly lifting; from my path at once remove you, creep, thou wretch, among the stubble, creeping down among the bushes, or where greenest grass is growing! if you lift your head from out it, ukko then your head shall shatter, with his sharp and steel-tipped arrows, with a mighty hail of iron." then he ploughed the field of vipers, furrowed all the land of serpents, from the furrows raised the vipers, drove the serpents all before him, and he said, returning homeward: "i have ploughed the field of vipers, furrowed all the land of serpents, driven before me all the serpents: will you give me now your daughter, and unite me with my darling?" then did pohjola's old mistress, answer in the words which follow: "i will only give the maiden, and unite you with my daughter, if you catch the bear of tuoni, bridle, too, the wolf of mana, far in tuonela's great forest, in the distant realms of mana. hundreds have gone forth to yoke them; never one returned in safety." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, sought the maiden in her chamber, and he spoke the words which follow: "now the task is laid upon me, manala's fierce wolves to bridle, and to hunt the bears of tuoni, far in tuonela's great forest, in the distant realms of mana." then his bride assistance lent him, and advice the maiden gave him. "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, thou the great primeval craftsman! forge thee bits, of steel the hardest, forge thee muzzles wrought of iron, sitting on a rock in water, where the cataracts fall all foaming. hunt thou then the bears of tuoni, and the wolves of mana bridle." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, forged him bits, of steel the hardest, forged him muzzles wrought of iron, sitting on a rock in water, where the cataracts fall all foaming. then he went the beasts to fetter, and he spoke the words which follow: "terhenetar, cloudland's daughter! with the cloud-sieve sift thou quickly, and disperse thy mists around me, where the beasts i seek are lurking, that they may not hear me moving, that they may not flee before me." then the wolf's great jaws he muzzled, and with iron the bear he fettered, on the barren heaths of tuoni, in the blue depths of the forest. and he said, returning homeward: "give me now your daughter, old one. here i bring the bear of tuoni, and the wolf of mana muzzled." then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words which follow: "i will give you first the duckling, and the blue-winged duck will give you, when the pike, so huge and scaly, he the fish so plump and floundering. you shall bring from tuoni's river, and from manala's abysses; but without a net to lift it, using not a hand to grasp it. hundreds have gone forth to seek it, never one returned in safety." then there came distress upon him, and affliction overwhelmed him, as he sought the maiden's chamber, and he spoke the words which follow: "now a task is laid upon me, greater still than all the former; for the pike, so huge and scaly, he the fish so plump and floundering, i must bring from tuoni's river, from the eternal stream of mana, but with neither snare nor drag-net, nor with help of other tackle." then his bride assistance lent him, and advice the maiden gave him. "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, do thou not be so despondent! forge thee now a fiery eagle. forge a bird of fire all flaming! this the mighty pike shall capture, drag the fish so plump and floundering, from the murky stream of tuoni, and from manala's abysses." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, deathless artist of the smithy, forged himself a fiery eagle, forged a bird of fire all flaming, and of iron he forged the talons, forged the claws of steel the hardest, wings like sides of boat constructed; then upon the wings he mounted, on the eagle's back he sat him, on the wing-bones of the eagle. then he spoke unto the eagle, and the mighty bird instructed: "o my eagle, bird i fashioned, fly thou forth, where i shall order, to the turbid stream of tuoni, and to manala's abysses: seize the pike, so huge and scaly, he the fish so plump and floundering." then the bird, that noble eagle, took his flight, and upward soarings, forth he flew the pike to capture, fish with teeth of size terrific, in the river-depths of tuoni, down in manala's abysses: to the water stretched a pinion, and the other touched the heavens; in the sea he dipped his talons, on the cliffs his beak he whetted. thus the smith, e'en ilmarinen, journeyed forth to seek his booty in the depths of tuoni's river, while the eagle watched beside him. from the water rose a kelpie and it clutched at ilmarinen, by the neck the eagle seized it, and the kelpie's head he twisted. to the bottom down he forced it, to the black mud at the bottom. then came forth the pike of tuoni, and the water-dog came onward. not a small pike of the smallest, nor a large pike of the largest; long his tongue as twain of axe-shafts, long his teeth as rake-shaft measures, wide his gorge as three great rivers, seven boats' length his back extended, and the smith he sought to seize on, and to swallow ilmarinen. but the eagle rushed against him, and the bird of air attacked him; not an eagle of the small ones, nor an eagle of the large ones. long his beak as hundred fathoms, wide his gorge as six great rivers, six spears' length his tongue extended, five scythes' length his talons measured and he saw the pike so scaly, saw the fish so plump and floundering. fiercely on the fish he darted, rushed against the fish so scaly. then the pike so large and scaly, he the fish so plump and floundering, tried to drag the eagle's pinions underneath the sparkling waters, but the eagle swift ascended, up into the air he raised him, from the grimy ooze he raised him, to the sparkling water o'er it. back and forth the eagle hovered, and again he made an effort, and he struck one talon fiercely in the pike's terrific shoulders, in the water-dog's great backbone, and he fixed the other talon firmly in the steel-hard mountain, in the rocks as hard as iron. from the stone slipped off the talon, slipped from off the rocky mountain, and the pike again dived downward, in the water slid the monster, slipped from off the eagle's talons, from the great bird's claws terrific, but his sides were scored most deeply, and his shoulders cleft asunder. once again, with iron talons, swooped again the furious eagle, with his wings all fiery glowing, and his eyes like flame that sparkled, seized the pike with mighty talons, grasped the water-dog securely, dragged the huge and scaly monster, raised him from the tossing water, from the depths beneath the billows, to the water's sparkling surface. then the bird with claws of iron made a third and final effort, brought the mighty pike of tuoni, he the fish so plump and floundering, from the river dark of tuoni, and from manala's abysses. scarce like water flowed the water from the great pike's scales stupendous; nor like air the air extended when the great bird flapped his pinions. thus the iron-taloned eagle bore the pike so huge and scaly, to the branches of an oak-tree, to a pine-tree's crown, wide spreading. there he feasted on the booty, open ripped the fish's belly, tore away the fish's breastbone, and the head and neck he sundered. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "o thou wicked, wicked eagle, what a faithless bird i find you, you have seized upon the quarry, and you have feasted on the booty, open ripped the fish's belly, torn away the fish's breastbone, and the head and neck have sundered." but the iron-taloned eagle rose and soared away in fury, high aloft in air he raised him, to the borders of the cloudland. fled the clouds, the heavens were thundering, and the props of air bowed downward: ukko's bow in twain was broken, in the moon the horns sharp-pointed. then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, took the pike's head, which he carried, to the old crone as a present, and he spoke the words which follow: "make of this a chair for ever, in the halls of lofty pohja." then he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "i have ploughed the field of serpents, furrowed all the land of serpents; bridled, too, the wolves of mana, and have chained the bears of tuoni; brought the pike so huge and scaly, he the fish so plump and floundering, from the river deep of tuoni, and from manala's abysses. will you give me now the maiden, and bestow your daughter on me?" then said pohjola's old mistress, "badly have you done your errand, thus the head in twain to sever, open rip the fish's belly, tear away the fish's breastbone, feasting thus upon the booty." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, answered in the words that follow: "never can you bring, undamaged, quarry from the best of regions. this is brought from tuoni's river, and from manala's abysses. is not yet the maiden ready, she for whom i longed and laboured?" then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words which follow: "yes, the maiden now is ready. she for whom you longed and laboured. i will give my tender duckling, and prepare the duck i cherished, for the smith, for ilmarinen, at his side to sit for ever, on his knee as wife to seat her, dove-like in his arms to nestle." on the floor a child was sitting, on the floor a child was singing: "to our room there came already, came a bird into our castle; from the north-east flew an eagle, through the sky a hawk came flying, in the air one wing was flapping, on the sea the other rested, with his tail he swept the ocean, and to heaven his head he lifted; and he gazed around, and turned him, back and forth the eagle hovered, perched upon the heroes' castle, and his beak he whetted on it, but the roof was formed of iron, and he could not pierce within it. "so he gazed around and turned him, back and forth the eagle hovered, perched upon the women's castle, and his beak he whetted on it, but the roof was formed of copper, and he could not pierce within it. "so he gazed around and turned him, back and forth the eagle hovered, perched upon the maidens' castle, and his beak he whetted on it, and the roof was formed of linen, and he forced his way within it. "then he perched upon the chimney, then upon the floor descended, pushed aside the castle's shutter, sat him at the castle window, near the wall, all green his feathers, in the room, his plumes a hundred. "then he scanned the braidless maidens, gazing on the long-haired maiden, on the best of all the maidens, fairest maid with hair unbraided, and her head with beads was shining, and her head with beauteous blossoms. "in his claws the eagle seized her, and the hawk with talons grasped her, seized the best of all the party, of the flock of ducks the fairest, she the sweetest-voiced and tenderest, she the rosiest and the whitest, she the bird of air selected, in his talons far he bore her, she who held her head the highest, and her form of all the shapeliest, and her feathers of the finest, and her plumage of the softest." then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words that follow: "wherefore dost thou know, my darling, or hast heard, my golden apple, how the maiden grew amongst us, and her flaxen hair waved round her? perhaps the maiden shone with silver, or the maiden's gold was famous. has our sun been shining on you, or the moon afar been shining?" from the floor the child made answer, and the growing child responded: "therefore did your darling know it, and your fostling learned to know it. in the far-famed maidens' dwelling, in the home where dwells the fair one; good report rejoiced the father, when he launched his largest vessel; but rejoices more the mother, when the largest loaf is baking, and the wheaten bread is baking, that the guests may feast profusely. "thus it was your darling knew it, far around the strangers knew it, how the young maid grew in stature, and how tall grew up the maiden. once i went into the courtyard, and i wandered to the storehouse, very early in the morning, in the earliest morning hours, and the soot in streaks ascended, and the smoke in clouds rose upward, from the far-famed maiden's dwelling, from the blooming maiden's homestead, and the maid herself was grinding, busy working at the handmill; rung the mill like call of cuckoo, and the pestle quacked like wild geese, and the sieve like bird was singing, and the stones like beads were rattling. "forth a second time i wandered, and into the field i wandered, in the meadow was the maiden, stooping o'er the yellow heather; working at the red-stained dye-pots, boiling up the yellow kettles. "when i wandered forth a third time sat the maid beneath the window, there i heard the maiden weaving, in her hands the comb was sounding, and i heard the shuttle flying, as in cleft of rock the ermine, and the comb-teeth heard i sounding, as the wooden shaft was moving, and the weaver's beam was turning, like a squirrel in the tree-tops." then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words which follow: "bravo, bravo, dearest maiden, have i not for ever told thee, not to sing among the pine-trees, not to sing amid the valleys, not to arch thy neck too proudly, nor thy white arms leave uncovered, nor thy young and beauteous bosom, nor thy shape so round and graceful? "i have warned thee all the autumn, and besought thee all the summer, likewise in the spring have cautioned, at the second springtide sowing, to construct a secret dwelling, with the windows small and hidden, where the maids may do their weaving, and may work their looms in safety, all unheard by suomi's gallants, suomi's gallants, country lovers." from the floor the child made answer, and the fortnight-old responded: "easily a horse is hidden in the stall, with fine-tailed horses; hard it is to hide a maiden, and to keep her long locks hidden. though you build of stone a castle, and amid the sea shall rear it, though you keep your maidens in it, and should rear your darlings in it, still the girls cannot be hidden, nor attain their perfect stature, undisturbed by lusty gallants, lusty gallants, country lovers. mighty men, with lofty helmets, men who shoe with steel their horses." then the aged väinämöinen head bowed down, and deeply grieving: wandered on his journey homeward, and he spoke the words which follow: "woe is me, a wretched creature, that i did not learn it sooner, that in youthful days one weddeth, and must choose a life-companion. all thing else a man may grieve for, save indeed an early marriage, when in youth already children, and a household he must care for." thus did warn old väinämöinen, cautioned thus suvantolainen, that old men against the younger, should not struggle for a fair one: warned them not to swim too proudly, neither try to race in rowing, nor to seek to woo a maiden, with a younger man contending. runo xx.--the great ox, and the brewing of the ale _argument_ an enormous ox is slaughtered in pohjola ( - ). they brew ale and prepare a feast ( - ). they dispatch messengers to invite the heroes to the wedding, but lemminkainen is expressly passed over ( - ). how shall we our song continue, and what legends shall we tell you? thus will we pursue our story; these the legends we will tell you; how in pohjola they feasted, and the drinking-bout was godlike. long prepared they for the wedding, for the feast provided all things, in the household famed of pohja, halls of sariola the misty. what provisions were provided, what did they collect together, for a lengthy feast at pohja, for the multitude of drinkers, for the feasting of the people, for the multitude of feasters? in carelia grew a bullock, fat the ox they reared in suomi, not a large one, not a small one, but a calf of middle stature. while he switched his tail in hame stooped his head to kemi's river, long his horns one hundred fathoms, muzzle broad as half a hundred, for a week there ran an ermine all along the yoke he carried, all day long there flew a swallow 'twixt the mighty ox's horn-tips, striving through the space to hasten, nor found resting-place between them; month-long ran a summer-squirrel from his neck unto his tail-end, nor did he attain the tail-tip, till a month had quite passed over. 'twas this calf of size stupendous, 'twas this mighty bull of suomi, whom they led forth from carelia till they reached the fields of pohja. by his horns, a hundred led him, and a thousand dragged his muzzle, and they led the ox still further, till to pohjola they brought him. on his road the ox proceeded by the sound of sariola strayed; browsed the grass in marshy places, while his back the clouds were touching; but they could not find a butcher, who could fell the country's marvel on the list of suomi's children, 'mid the mighty host of people, not among the youthful people, nor among the very aged. from afar an old man journeyed virokannas from carelia; and he spoke the words which follow: "wait thous wait, thou ox unhappy, while i go and fetch my mallet. if i strike you with my mallet on the skull, unhappy creature, never in another summer, would you turn about your muzzle, or your tail would jerk around you, here among the fields of pohja, by the sound of sariola stray." then the old man went to strike him, virokannas moved against him, went to slay the ox unhappy; but his head the ox was turning, and his black eyes he was blinking. to a pine-tree sprang the old man, virokannas in the bushes, in the scrubby willow-thicket. after this they sought a butcher, who the mighty ox could slaughter, from carelia's lovely country, from the vast expanse of suomi, from the peaceful land of russia, from the hardy land of sweden, from the regions wide of lapland, from the mighty land of turja, and they sought through tuoni's regions, in the depths of mana's kingdom, and they sought, but no one found they, long they searched; but vainly searched they. yet again they sought a butcher, sought again to find a slaughterer, on the ocean's shining surface, on the wide-extending billows. from the dark sea rose a hero, rose a hero from the sea-swell, from the shining surface rising, from the wide expanse of water. he was not among the greatest, but in nowise of the smallest. in a bowl would he lie sleeping, and beneath a sieve stand upright. 'twas an old man, iron-fisted, iron-coloured, too, to gaze on; on his head a stony helmet; shoes of stone his feet protected; in his hand a knife, gold-bladed, and the haft o'erlaid with copper. thus the people found a butcher, and at length they found a slaughterer, who should fell the bull of suomi, and should fell the country's marvel. scarce had he beheld the quarry, than at once his neck he shattered, on his knees he forced the bullock, and upon his side he threw him. did he yield them much provisions? not so very much he yielded. of his flesh a hundred barrels, and a hundred fathoms sausage; seven boat-loads of blood they gathered, six large casks with fat were loaded, all for pohjola's great banquet, feast of sariola the misty. then they built a house in pohja, built a house with hall enormous, fathoms nine its sides extended, and the breadth thereof was seven. if a cock crowed at the smoke-hole, underneath they could not hear it, if a dog at end was barking, at the door they did not hear it. then did pohjola's old mistress walk across the flooring's planking, to the middle of the chamber, and she pondered and reflected: "how shall i get ale sufficient, and shall brew the beer most wisely, to prepare it for the wedding, when the beer will much be needed? how to brew the beer i know not, nor how ale was first concocted." by the stove there sat an old man, from the stove spoke up the old man: "ale of barley is concocted, and the drink with hops is flavoured, yet they brew not save with water, and the aid of furious fire. "hop is called the son of revel; planted in the ground when little, with a plough they ploughed the region, like an ant, away they cast him close to kaleva's great well-spring, there where osmo's field is sloping; there the tender plant sprang upward, and the green shoot mounted quickly. up a little tree it mounted, rising to the leafy summit. "sowed, by chance, an old man barley, in the fresh-ploughed field of osmo, and the barley sprouted bravely, and it grew and flourished greatly, on the new-ploughed field of osmo, kaleva's descendant's cornland. "but a little time passed over, when the hops exclaimed from tree-top, and upon the field the barley, and in kaleva's well-water, 'when shall we be yoked together, each with other be united? life in solitude is weary; better two or three together.' "osmotar, the ale-constructer she, the maid who beer concocted, took, on this, the grains of barley, gathered six of grains of barley, seven hop-tassels next she gathered, and eight ladles took of water, then upon the fire she placed it, and allowed it there to simmer, and she boiled the ale of barley through the fleeting days of summer, out upon the cloudy headland, cape upon the shady island; poured it then in wooden barrels, and in tubs of birchwood stored it. "thus she brewed the ale and stored it, but the ale was not fermented, and she pondered and reflected, and she spoke the words which follow: 'what must now be added to it, what is needful to provide for, that the ale may be fermented, and the beer be brought to foaming?' "kalevatar, beauteous maiden, she the maid with slender fingers, which she ever moves so deftly, she whose feet are shod so lightly, felt about the seams of staving, groping all about the bottom, trying one and then the other, in the midst of both the kettles; found a splinter at the bottom, from the bottom took a splinter. "then she turned it and reflected: 'what might perhaps be fashioned from it, in the hands of lovely maiden, in the noble damsel's fingers, brought into the hands of maiden, to the noble damsel's fingers?' "in her hands the maiden took it, in the noble damsel's fingers, and she clapped her hands together, both her hands she rubbed together, rubbed them on her thighs together, and a squirrel white created. "then she gave her son directions, and instructed thus the squirrel: 'o thou squirrel, gold of woodlands, flower of woodlands, charm of country, speed then forth where i shall bid thee, where i bid thee and direct thee, forth to metsola's bright regions, and to tapiola's great wisdom. there a little tree upclimbing, heedful to the leafy summit, that the eagle may not seize thee, nor the bird of air may grasp thee. from the pine-tree bring me pine-cones, from the fir bring shoots of fir-tree, bring them to the hands of maiden, for the beer of osmo's daughter.' "knew the squirrel now his pathway, trailed his bushy tail behind him, and his journey soon accomplished, quickly through the open spaces, past one wood, and then a second, and a third he crossed obliquely, into metsola's bright regions, and to tapiola's great wisdom. "there he saw three lofty pine-trees, there he saw four slender fir-trees, climbed a pine-tree in the valley, on the heath he climbed a fir-tree, and the eagle did not seize him, nor the bird of air did grasp him. "from the pine he broke the pine-cones, from the fir the leafy tassels, in his claws he hid the pine-cones, and within his paws he rolled them, to the maiden's hands he brought them, to the noble damsel's fingers. "in the beer the maiden laid them, in the ale she placed them likewise, but the ale was not fermented, nor the fresh drink yet was working. "osmotar, the ale-preparer, she, the maid who beer concocted, pondered yet again the matter. 'what must now be added to it, that the ale shall be fermented, and the beer be brought to foaming?' "kalevatar, beauteous maiden, she, the maid with slender fingers, which she ever moves so deftly, she whose feet are shod so lightly, felt about the seams of staving, groping all about the bottom, trying one, and then the other, in the midst of both the kettles, found a chip upon the bottom, took the chip from off the bottom. "then she turned it and reflected, 'what might perhaps be fashioned from it, in the hands of lovely maiden, in the noble damsel's fingers, brought into the hands of maiden, to the noble damsel's fingers?' "in her hands the maiden took it in the noble damsel's fingers, and she clapped her hands together, both her hands she rubbed together, rubbed them on her thighs together, and she made a gold-breast marten. "thus the marten she instructed, thus the orphan child directed: 'o my marten, o my birdling, o my fair one, beauteous-hided! thither go, where i shall bid thee, where i bid thee, and direct thee, to the bear's own rocky cavern, where the forest bears are prowling, where the bears are always fighting, where they lurk in all their fierceness. with thy hands scrape foam together, in thy paws the foam then carry, to the maiden's hands convey it, and to osmo's daughter's shoulders.' "understood the way the marten, forth the golden-breasted hastened, and his journey soon accomplished, quickly through the open spaces, past one wood, and then a second, and a third he crossed obliquely, to the bear's own rocky cavern, to the caverns bear-frequented, where the bears are always fighting, where they lurk in all their fierceness, in the rocks as hard as iron, and among the steel-hard mountains. "from the bears' mouths foam was dropping, from their furious jaws exuding; in his hands the foam he gathered, with his paws the foam collected, to the maiden's hands he brought it, to the noble damsel's fingers. "in the ale the maiden poured it, in the beer she poured it likewise, but the ale was not fermented, nor the drink of men foamed over. "osmotar, the ale-preparer, she the maid who beer concocted, pondered yet again the matter, 'what must now be added to it, that the ale shall be fermented, and the beer be brought to foaming?' "kalevatar, beauteous maiden, she the maid with slender fingers, which she ever moves so deftly, she whose feet are shod so lightly felt about the seams of staving, groping all about the bottom, trying one and then the other, then the space between the kettles, and a mustard-pod she saw there; from the ground the pod she lifted. "then she turned it, and surveyed it, 'what might perhaps be fashioned from it, in the hands of lovely maiden, in the noble damsel's fingers, brought into the hands of maiden, to the noble damsel's fingers?' "in her hands the maiden took it, in the noble damsel's fingers, and she clapped her hands together, both her hands she rubbed together, rubbed them on her thighs together, and a bee she thus created. "and the bee she thus instructed, and the bee she thus directed: 'o thou bee, thou bird so nimble, king of all the flowery meadows, thither fly, where i shall bid thee, where i bid thee and direct thee, to an isle on ocean's surface, where the reefs arise from ocean. there a maiden lies in slumber, with her belt of copper loosened; by her side springs sweetest herbage, on her lap rest honey grasses, on thy wings bring sweetest honey, bring thou honey on thy clothing, from the fairest of the herbage, from the bloom of golden flowerets, to the maiden's hands convey it, and to osmo's daughter's shoulders.' "then the bee, that bird so nimble, flew away, and hastened onward, and his journey soon accomplished, speeding o'er the open spaces, first across the sea, along it, then in an oblique direction, to an isle on ocean's surface, where the reefs arise from ocean. there he saw the maiden sleeping, with a tin brooch on her bosom, resting in an unmowed meadow, all among the fields of honey; by her side grew golden grasses, at her belt sprang silver grasses. "then he soaked his wings with honey, plunged his plumes in liquid honey, from the brightest of the herbage, from the tips of golden flowerets; to the maiden's hands he brought it, to the noble damsel's fingers. "in the ale the maiden cast it, in the beer she poured it likewise, and the beer at length fermented, and the fresh drink now foamed upward, from within the new-made barrels, from within the tubs of birchwood, foaming upward to the handles, rushing over all the edges; to the ground it wished to trickle, and upon the floor ran downward. "but a little time passed over, very little time passed over, when the heroes flocked to drink it, chief among them lemminkainen. drunk was ahti, drunk was kauko, drunken was the ruddy rascal, with the ale of osmo's daughter, and the beer of kalevatar. "osmotar, the ale-preparer, she, the maid who beer concocted, uttered then the words which follow: 'woe is me, my day is wretched, for i brewed the ale so badly and the beer so ill concocted, that from out the tubs 'tis flowing, and upon the floor is gushing.' "from a tree there sang a bullfinch. from the roof-tree sang a throstle, 'no, the ale is not so worthless; 'tis the best of ale for drinking; if into the casks you pour it, and should store it in the cellar, store it in the casks of oakwood, and within the hoops of copper.' "thus was ale at first created, beer of kaleva concocted, therefore is it praised so highly, therefore held in greatest honour, for the ale is of the finest, best of drinks for prudent people; women soon it brings to laughter, men it warms into good humour, and it makes the prudent merry, but it brings the fools to raving." then did pohjola's old mistress, when she heard how ale was fashioned, water pour in tubs the largest, half she filled the new-made barrels, adding barley as 'twas needed, shoots of hop enough she added, and the ale began she brewing, and the beer began its working, in the new tubs that contained it, and within the tubs of birch wood. 'twas for months the stones were glowing, and for summers water boiling, trees were burning on the islands, water from the wells was carried. bare of trees they left the islands, and the lakes were greatly shrunken, for the ale was in the barrels, and the beer was stored securely for the mighty feast of pohja, for carousing at the mansion. from the island smoke was rising, on the headland fire was glowing; thick the clouds of smoke were rising, in the air there rose the vapour. for the fire was burning fiercely, and the fire was brightly glowing, half it filled the land of pohja, over all carelia spreading. all the people gazed upon it, gazed, and then they asked each other, "wherefore is the smoke arising, in the air the vapour rising? 'tis too small for smoke of battle, 'tis too large for herdsman's bonfire." then rose lemminkainen's mother, at the earliest dawn of morning, and she went to fetch some water. clouds of smoke she saw arising, up from pohjola's dominions, and she spoke the words which follow: "perhaps it is the smoke of combat, perhaps it is the fire of battle." ahti, dweller on the island, he the handsome kaukomieli, wandered round and gazed about him, and he pondered and reflected, "i must go and look upon it, from a nearer spot examine, whence the smoke is thus ascending filling all the air with vapour, if it be the smoke of combat, if it be the fire of battle." kauko went to gaze about him, and to learn whence smoke was rising, but it was not fire of battle, neither was it fire of combat, but 'twas fire where ale was brewing, likewise where the beer was brewing, near where sound of sariola spreads, out upon the jutting headland. then did kauko gaze around him, and one eye he rolled obliquely, and he squinted with the other, and his mouth he pursed up slowly, and at last he spoke, while gazing, and across the sound he shouted, "o my dearest foster-mother, pohjola's most gracious mistress! brew thou ale of extra goodness, brew thou beer the best of any, for carousing at the mansion, specially for lemminkainen, at my wedding, now preparing, with thy young and lovely daughter." now the ale was quite fermented, and the drink of men was ripened, and the red ale stored they safely, and the good beer stored securely. underneath the ground they stored it, stored it in the rocky cellars, in the casks of oak constructed, and behind the taps of copper. then did pohjola's old mistress all the food provide for feasting, and the kettles all were singing, and the stewpans all were hissing, and large loaves of bread were baking, and she stirred great pots of porridge, thus to feed the crowds of people, at the banquet at the mansion, at the mighty feast of pohja, the carouse at sariola dim. now the bread they baked was ready, and were stirred the pots of porridges, and a little time passed over, very little time passed over, when the ale worked in the barrels, and the beer foamed in the cellars, "now must some one come to drink me, now must some one come to taste me, that my fame may be reported, and that they may sing my praises." then they went to seek a minstrel, went to seek a famous singer, one whose voice was of the strongest, one who knew the finest legends. first to sing they tried a salmon, if the voice of trout was strongest; singing is not work for salmon, and the pike recites no legends. crooked are the jaws of salmon, and the teeth of pike spread widely. yet again they sought a singer, went to seek a famous singer, one whose voice was of the strongest, one who knew the finest legends, and they took a child for singer, thought a boy might sing the strongest. singing is not work for children. nor are splutterers fit for shouting. crooked are the tongues of children, and the roots thereof are crooked. then the red ale grew indignant, and the fresh drink fell to cursing, pent within the oaken barrels, and behind the taps of copper. "if you do not find a minstrel, do not find a famous singer, one whose voice is of the strongest, one who knows the finest legends, then the hoops i'll burst asunder, and among the dust will trickle." then did pohjola's old mistress send the guests their invitations, sent her messengers to journey, and she spoke the words which follow: "o my maid, of all the smallest, o my waiting-maid obedient, call the people all together, to the great carouse invite them, call the poor, and call the needy, call the blind, and call the wretched, call the lame, and call the cripples; in the boat row thou the blind men; bring the lame ones here on horseback, and in sledges bring the cripples. "ask thou all the folk of pohja, and of kaleva the people: ask the aged väinämöinen, greatest he of all the minstrels, only ask not lemminkainen, ask not ahti saarelainen." then the maid, of all the smallest, answered in the words which follow: "wherefore ask not lemminkainen, only ahti saarelainen?" then did pohjola's old mistress, in these very words make answer: "therefore ask not kaukomieli, not the reckless lemminkainen. he is always quick to quarrel, and to fight is always ready. and at weddings works he mischief, and at banquets grievous scandal, brings to shame the modest maidens, clad in all their festive garments." then the maid, of all the smallest, answered in the words which follow: "how shall i know kaukomieli that i leave him uninvited? for i know not ahti's dwelling, nor the house of kaukomieli." then did pohjola's old mistress, answer in the words which follow: "easy may you hear of kauko, learn of ahti saarelainen. ahti dwells upon an island, dwells the rascal near the water, where the bay outspreads the broadest, at the curve of kauko's headland." then the maid, of all the smallest, she the handmaid hired for money, bid the guests from six directions, and in eight the news she carried; all she asked of pohja's people, and of kaleva the people, of the householders the poorest, and the poorest clad amongst them, only not the youth named ahti, for she left him uninvited. runo xxi.--the wedding feast at pohjola _argument_ the bridegroom and his party are received at pohjola ( - ). the guests are hospitably entertained with abundance of food and drink ( - ). väinämöinen sings and praises the people of the house ( - ). then did pohjola's old mistress, crone of sariola the misty, sometimes out of doors employ her, sometimes in the house was busied; and she heard how whips were cracking, on the shore heard sledges rattling, and her eyes she turned to northward, towards the sun her head then turning, and she pondered and reflected, "wherefore are these people coming on my shore, to me unhappy? is it perhaps a hostile army?" so she went to gaze around her, and observe the portent nearer; it was not a hostile army, but of guests a great assembly, and her son-in-law amid them, with a mighty host of people. then did pohjola's old mistress, crone of sariola the misty, when she saw the bridegroom's party, speak aloud the words which follow: "as i thought, the wind was blowing and a faggot-stack overthrowing, on the beach the billows breaking, on the strand the shingle rattling. so i went to gaze around me, and observe the portent nearer; but i found no wind was blowing, nor the faggot-stack was falling, on the beach no waves were breaking, on the strand no shingle rattling. 'twas my son-in-law's assemblage, twice a hundred men in number. "how shall i detect the bridegroom in the concourse of the people? he is known among the people, as in clumps of trees the cherry, like an oak-tree in the thickets, or the moon, 'mid stars in heaven. "black the steed that he is driving; which a ravenous wolf resembles; or a raven, keen for quarry, or a lark, with fluttering pinions. six there are of golden song-birds, on his shafts all sweetly singing, and of blue birds, seven are singing sitting on the sledge's traces." from the road was heard a clatter, past the well the runners rattled, in the court arrived the bridegroom, in the yard the people with him, in the midst appeared the bridegroom, with the greatest of the party. he was not the first among them, but by no means last among them. "off, ye youths, and out ye heroes, to the court, o ye who loiter, that ye may remove the breastbands, and the traces ye may loosen, that the shafts may quick be lowered: lead into the house the bridegroom." then the bridegroom's horse sped onward, and the bright-hued sledge drew forward through the courtyard of the master, when said pohjola's old mistress: "o my man, whom i have hired, best among the village servants, take the horse that brought the bridegroom, with the white mark on his frontlet, from the copper-plated harness, from the tin-decked breastband likewise, from the best of reins of leather, and from harness of the finest, lead the courser of the bridegroom, and with greatest care conduct him by the reins, of silken fabric, by the bridle, decked with silver, to the softest place for rolling, where the meadow is the smoothest, where the drifted snow is finest, and the land of milky whiteness. "lead the bridegroom's horse to water, to the spring that flows the nearest, where the water all unfrozen, gushes forth; like milk the sweetest, 'neath the roots of golden pine-trees, underneath the bushy fir-trees. "fodder thou the bridegroom's courser, from the golden bowl of fodder, from the bow! adorned with copper, with the choicest meal of barley, and with well-boiled wheat of summer, and with pounded rye of summer. "then conduct the bridegroom's courser to the best of all the stables, to the best of resting-places, to the hindmost of the stables. tether there the bridegroom's courser, to the ring of gold constructed, to the smaller ring of iron, to the post of curving birchwood, place before the bridegroom's courser, next a tray with oats overloaded, and with softest hay another, and a third with chaff the finest. "curry then the bridegroom's courser, with the comb of bones of walrus, that the hair remain uninjured, nor his handsome tail be twisted; cover then the bridegroom's courser with a cloth of silver fabric, and a mat of golden texture, and a horse-wrap decked with copper. "now my little village laddies, to the house conduct the bridegroom, gently lift his hat from off him, from his hands his gloves take likewise. "i would fain see if the bridegroom presently the house can enter, ere the doors are lifted from it, and they have removed the doorposts, and have lifted up the crossbars, and the threshold has been sunken, and the nearer walls are broken, and the floor-planks have been shifted. "but the house suits not the bridegroom, nor the great gift suits the dwelling, till the doors are lifted from it, and they have removed the doorposts, and have lifted up the crossbars, and the threshold has been sunken, and the nearer walls been broken, and the flooring-planks been shifted, for the bridegroom's head is longer, and the bridegroom's ears are higher. "let the crossbars then be lifted, that his head the roof may touch not, let the threshold now be sunken, that his footsoles may not touch it, let them now set back the doorposts, that the doors may open widely, when at length the bridegroom enters, when the noble youth approaches. "praise, o jumala most gracious, for the bridegroom now has entered. i would now the house examine, cast my gaze around within it, see that washed are all the tables, and the benches swabbed with water, scoured the smooth planks of the boarding, and the flooring swept and polished. "now that i the house examine, 'tis so changed i scarcely know it, from what wood the room was fashioned, how the roof has been constructed, and the walls have been erected, and the flooring been constructed. "side-walls are of bones of hedgehog, hinder-walls of bones of reindeer, front-walls of the bones of glutton, and of bones of lamb the crossbar. all the beams are wood of apple, and the posts of curving birchwood, round the stove rest water-lilies, scales of bream compose the ceiling. "and one bench is formed of iron, others made from saxon timber, gold-inlaid are all the tables; floor o'erspread with silken carpets. "and the stove is bright with copper, and the stove-bench stone-constructed, and the hearth composed of boulders, and with kaleva's tree is boarded." then the house the bridegroom entered, hastened on beneath the roof-tree, and he spoke the words which follow: "grant, o jumala, thy blessing underneath this noble roof-tree, underneath this roof so splendid." then said pohjola's old mistress, "hail, all hail, to thee, who enters in this room of small dimensions, in this very lowly cottage, in this wretched house of firwood, in this house of pine constructed. "o my little waiting-maiden, thou the village maid i hired, bring a piece of lighted birchbark, to a tarry torch apply it, that i may behold the bridegroom, and the bridegroom's eyes examine, whether they are blue or reddish; whether they are white as linen." then the little waiting-maiden, she, the little village maiden, brought a piece of lighted birchbark, to a tarry torch applied it. "from the bark the flame springs spluttering, from the tar black smoke's ascending, so his eyes might perhaps be sooted, and his handsome face be blackened, therefore bring a torch all flaming, of the whitest wax constructed." then the little waiting-maiden, she the little village maiden, lit a torch, and brought it flaming, of the whitest wax constructed. white like wax the smoke was rising, and the flame ascended brightly, and the bridegroom's eyes were shining, and his face was all illumined. "now the bridegroom's eyes i gaze on! they are neither blue nor reddish, neither are they white like linen, but his eyes they shine like lake-foam, like the lake-reed are they brownish, and as lovely as the bulrush. "now my little village laddies, hasten to conduct the bridegroom to a seat among the highest, to a place the most distinguished, with his back towards the blue wall, with his face towards the red board, there among the guests invited, facing all the shouting people." then did pohjola's old mistress, feast her guests in noble fashion, feast them on the best of butter, and with cream-cakes in abundance; thus she served the guests invited, and among them first the bridegroom. on the plates was placed the salmon, at the sides the pork was stationed, dishes filled to overflowing, laden to the very utmost, thus to feast the guests invited; and among them first the bridegroom. then said pohjola's old mistress, "o my little waiting-maiden, bring me now the ale in measures, bring it in the jugs two-handled, for the guests we have invited, and the bridegroom chief among them." then the little waiting-maiden, she, the servant hired for money, brought the measures as directed, handed round the five-hooped tankards, till, with ale from hops concocted, all the beards with foam were whitened; all the beards of guests invited; and among them most the bridegroom's. what about the ale was spoken, of the ale in five-hooped tankards, when at length it reached the minstrel, reached the greatest of the singers, he the aged väinämöinen, first and oldest of the singers, he the minstrel most illustrious, he the greatest of the sages? first of all the ale he lifted, then he spoke the words which follow: "o thou ale, thou drink delicious, let the drinkers not be moody! urge the people on to singing, let them shout, with mouth all golden, till our lords shall wonder at it, and our ladies ponder o'er it, for the songs already falter, and the joyous tongues are silenced. when the ale is ill-concocted, and bad drink is set before us, then the minstrels fail in singing, and the best of songs they sing not, and our cherished guests are silent, and the cuckoos call no longer. "therefore who shall chant unto us, and whose tongue shall sing unto us, at the wedding feast of pohja, this carouse at sariola held? benches will not sing unto us, save when people sit upon them, nor will floors hold cheerful converse, save when people walk upon them, neither are the windows joyful, if the lords should gaze not from them, nor resound the table's edges, if men sit not round the tables, neither do the smoke-holes echo, if men sit not 'neath the smoke-holes." on the floor a child was sitting, on the stove-bench sat a milkbeard, from the floor exclaimed the infant, and the boy spoke from the stove-bench: "i am not in years a father, undeveloped yet my body, but however small i may be, if the other big ones sing not, and the stouter men will shout not, and the rosier cheeked will sing not, then i'll sing, although a lean boy, though a thin boy, i will whistle, i will sing, though weak and meagre, though my stomach is not rounded, that the evening may be cheerful, and the day may be more honoured." by the stove there sat an old man, and he spoke the words which follow: "that the children sing befits not, nor these feeble folk should carol. children's songs are only falsehoods, and the songs of girls are foolish. let the wisest sing among us, who upon the bench is seated." then the aged väinämöinen, answered in the words which follow: "are there any who are youthful, of the noblest of the people, who will clasp their hands together, hook their hands in one another, and begin to speak unto us, swaying back and forth in singing, that the day may be more joyful, and the evening be more blessed?" from the stove there spoke the old man, "never was it heard among us, never heard or seen among us, nor so long as time existed, that there lived a better minstrel, one more skilled in all enchantment, than myself when i was warbling, as a child when i was singing, singing sweetly by the water, making all the heath re-echo, chanting loudly in the firwood, talking likewise in the forest. "then my voice was loud and tuneful, and its tones were most melodious, like the flowing of a river, or the murmur of a streamlet, gliding as o'er snow the snowshoes, like a yacht across the billows; but 'tis hard for me to tell you how my wisdom has departed, how my voice so strong has failed me, and its sweetness has departed. now it flows no more like river, rising like the tossing billows, but it halts like rake in stubble, like the hoe among the pine-roots, like a sledge in sand embedded, or a boat on rocks when stranded." then the aged väinämöinen in such words as these expressed him: "if no other bard comes forward to accompany my singing, then alone my songs i'll carol, and will now commence my singing, for to sing was i created, as an orator was fashioned; how, i ask not in the village, nor i learn my songs from strangers." then the aged väinämöinen of the song the lifelong pillar, set him to the pleasant labour, girt him for the toil of singing, loud he sang his songs so pleasing, loud he spoke his words of wisdom. sang the aged väinämöinen, sang by turns, and spoke his wisdom, nor did words that suited fall him, neither were his songs exhausted, sooner stones in rocks were missing, or a pond lacked water-lilies. therefore thus sang väinämöinen through the evening for their pleasure, and the women all were laughing, and the men in high good-humour, while they listened and they wondered at the chants of väinämöinen, for amazement filled the hearers, wonder those who heard him singing. said the aged väinämöinen, when at length his song he ended, "this is what i have accomplished as a singer and magician, little can i thus accomplish, and my efforts lead me nowhere: but, if sang the great creator, speaking with his mouth of sweetness, he would sing his songs unto you, as a singer and magician. "he would sing the sea to honey, and to peas would sing the gravel, and to malt would sing the seasand, and to salt would sing the gravel, forest broad would sing to cornland, and the wastes would sing to wheatfields, into cakes would sing the mountains, and to hens' eggs change the mountains. "as a singer and magician, he would speak, and he would order, and would sing unto this homestead, cowsheds ever filled with cattle, lanes o'erfilled with beauteous blossoms, and the plains o'erfilled with milch-kine, full a hundred horned cattle, and with udders full, a thousand. "as a singer and magician, he would speak and he would order for our host a coat of lynxskin, for our mistress cloth-wrought dresses, for her daughters boots with laces, and her sons with red shirts furnish. "grant, o jumala, thy blessing, evermore, o great creator, unto those we see around us, and again in all their doings, here, at pohjola's great banquet, this carouse at sariola held, that the ale may stream in rivers, and the mead may flow in torrents, here in pohjola's great household, in the halls at sariola built, that by day we may be singing, and may still rejoice at evening long as our good host is living, in the lifetime of our hostess. "jumala, do thou grant thy blessing, o creator, shed thy blessing, on our host at head of table, on our hostess in her storehouse, on their sons, the nets when casting, on their daughters at their weaving. may they have no cause for trouble, nor lament the year that follows, after their protracted banquet, this carousal at the mansion!" runo xxii.--the tormenting of the bride _argument_ the bride is prepared for her journey and is reminded of her past life and of the altered life that now lies before her ( - ). she becomes very sorrowful ( - ). they bring her to weeping ( - ). she weeps ( - ). they comfort her ( - ). when the drinking-bout was ended, and the feast at length was over, at the festival at pohja, bridal feast held at pimentola, then said pohjola's old mistress, to the bridegroom, ilmarinen, "wherefore sit'st thou, highly-born one, waitest thou, o pride of country? sit'st thou here to please the father, or for love of mother waitest, or our dwelling to illumine, or the wedding guests to honour? "not for father's pleasure wait'st thou, nor for love thou bear'st the mother, nor the dwelling to illumine, nor the wedding guests to honour; here thou sit'st for maiden's pleasure, for a young girl's love delaying, for the fair one whom thou long'st for, fair one with unbraided tresses. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, wait a week, and yet another; for thy loved one is not ready, and her toilet is not finished. only half her hair is plaited, and a half is still unplaited. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, wait a week, and yet another, for thy loved one is not ready, and her toilet is not finished; one sleeve only is adjusted, and unfitted still the other. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, wait a week, and yet another, for thy loved one is not ready, and her toilet is not finished. for one foot is shod already, but unshod remains the other. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, wait a week, and yet another, for thy loved one is not ready, and her toilet is not finished. for one hand is gloved already, and ungloved is still the other. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, thou hast waited long unwearied; for thy love at length is ready, and thy duck has made her toilet. "go thou forth. o plighted maiden, follow thou, o dove new-purchased! near to thee is now thy union, nearer still is thy departure, he who leads thee forth is with thee, at the door is thy conductor, and his horse the bit is champing, and his sledge awaits the maiden. "thou wast fond of bridegroom's money reaching forth thy hands most greedy glad to take the chain he offered, and to fit the rings upon thee. now the longed-for sledge is ready, eager mount the sledge so gaudy, travel quickly to the village, quickly speeding on thy journey. "hast thou never, youthful maiden, on both sides surveyed the question, looked beyond the present moment, when the bargain was concluded? all thy life must thou be weeping, and for many years lamenting, how thou left'st thy father's household, and thy native land abandoned, from beside thy tender mother, from the home of she who bore thee. "o the happy life thou leddest, in this household of thy father! like a wayside flower thou grewest, or upon the heath a strawberry, waking up to feast on butter, milk, when from thy bed arising, wheaten-bread, from couch upstanding, from thy straw, the fresh-made butter, or, if thou could eat no butter, strips of pork thou then could'st cut thee. "never yet wast thou in trouble, never hadst thou cause to worry, to the fir-trees tossed thou trouble, worry to the stumps abandoned, care to pine-trees in the marshlands, and upon the heaths the birch-trees. like a leaflet thou wast fluttering, as a butterfly wast fluttering, berry-like in native soil, or on open ground a raspberry. "but thy home thou now art leaving, to another home thou goest, to another mother's orders, to the household of a stranger. different there from here thou'lt find it in another house 'tis different; other tunes the horns are blowing, other doors thou hearest jarring, other gates thou hearest creaking, other voices at the fishlines. "there the doors thou hardly findest, strange unto thee are the gateways, not like household daughter art thou, may not dare to blow the fire, nor the stove canst rightly heaten, so that thou canst please the master. "didst thou think, o youthful maiden, didst thou think, or didst imagine, only for a night to wander, in the morn again returning? 'tis not for one night thou goest, not for one night, not for two nights, for a longer time thou goest. thou for months and days hast vanished, lifelong from thy father's dwelling, for the lifetime of thy mother, and the yard will then be longer, and the threshold lifted higher, if again thou ever earnest, to thy former home returning." now the hapless girl was sighing, piteously she sighed and panted, and her heart was filled with trouble, in her eyes the tears were standing, and at length she spoke as follows: "thus i thought, and thus imagined, and throughout my life imagined, said throughout my years of childhood, thou art not as maid a lady in the wardship of thy parents, in the meadows of thy father, in thy aged mother's dwelling. thou wilt only be a lady when thy husband's home thou seekest, resting one foot on the threshold, in his sledge the other placing, then thy head thou liftest higher, and thy ears thou liftest higher. "this throughout my life i wished for, all my youthful days i hoped for, and throughout the year i wished it, like the coming of the summer. now my hope has found fulfilment; near the time of my departure; one foot resting on the threshold, in my husband's sledge the other, but i do not yet know rightly, if my mind has not been altered. not with joyful thoughts i wander nor do i depart with pleasure from the golden home beloved, where i passed my life in childhood, where i passed my days of girlhood, where my father lived before me. sadly i depart in sorrow, forth i go, most sadly longing, as into the night of autumn, as on slippery ice in springtime, when on ice no track remaineth, on its smoothness rests no footprint. "what may be the thoughts of others, and of other brides the feelings? do not other brides encounter, bear within their hearts the trouble, such as i, unhappy, carry? blackest trouble rests upon me, black as coal my heart within me, coal-black trouble weighs upon me. "such the feelings of the blessed, such the feelings of the happy; as the spring day at its dawning, or the sunny spring-day morning; but what thoughts do now torment me, and what thoughts arise within me? like unto a pond's flat margin, or of clouds the murky border; like the gloomy nights of autumn, or the dusky day of winter, or, as i might better say it, darker than the nights of autumn!" then an old crone of the household, in the house for long abiding, answered in the words which follow: "quiet, quiet, youthful maiden! dost remember, how i told thee, and a hundred times repeated, take no pleasure in a lover, in a lover's mouth rejoice not, do not let his eyes bewitch thee, nor his handsome feet admire? though his mouth speaks charming converse, and his eyes are fair to gaze on, yet upon his chin is lempo; in his mouth there lurks destruction. "thus i always counsel maidens, and to all their kind i counsel, though great people come as suitors, mighty men should come as wooers, yet return them all this answer; and on thy side speak unto them, in such words as these address them, and in thiswise speak unto them: 'not the least would it beseem me, not beseem me, or become me, as a daughter-in-law to yield me, as a slave to yield my freedom. such a pretty girl as i am, suits it not to live as slave-girl, to depart consent i never, to submit to rule of others. if another word you utter, i will give you two in answer, if you by my hair would pull me, and you by my locks would drag me, from my hair i'd quickly shake you, from my locks dishevelled drive you.' "but to this thou hast not hearkened, to my words thou hast not listened, wilfully thou sought'st the fire, in the boiling tar hast cast thee. now the fox's sledge awaits thee, to the bear's hug art thou going, and the fox's sledge will take thee, far away the bear convey thee, ever slave to other masters, ever slave of husband's mother. "from thy home to school thou goest, from thy father's house to suffering. hard the school to which thou goest, long the pain to which thou goest. reins for thee are bought already, iron fetters all in order, not for others are they destined, but alas, for thee, unhappy. "shortly wilt thou feel their harshness, helpless feel, and unprotected, for the father's chin is wagging, and the mother's tongue is stormy; and the brother's words are coldness, and the sister's harsh reproaches. "hear, o maiden, what i tell thee, what i speak, and what i tell thee, in thy home thou wast a floweret, and the joy of father's household, and thy father called thee moonlight, and thy mother called thee sunshine, and thy brother sparkling water, and thy sister called thee blue-cloth. to another home thou goest, there to find a stranger mother. never is a stranger mother like the mother who has borne thee: seldom does she give good counsel, seldom gives the right instructions. sprig the father shouts against thee, slut the mother calls unto thee, and the brother calls thee doorstep, and the sister, nasty creature. "now the best that could await thee, best the fate that could await thee, if as fog thou wert dispersing, from the house like smoke departing, blown like leaf away that flutters, as a spark away is drifted. "but a bird that flies thou art not, nor a leaf away that flutters, nor a spark in drafts that's drifting, nor the smoke from house ascending. "lack-a-day, o maid, my sister! changed hast thou, and what art changing! thou hast changed thy much-loved father for a father-in-law, a bad one; thou hast changed thy tender mother for a mother-in-law most stringent; thou hast changed thy noble brother for a brother-in-law so crook-necked, and exchanged thy gentle sister for a sister-in-law all cross-eyed; and hast changed thy couch of linen for a sooty hearth to rest on; and exchanged the clearest water for the muddy margin-water, and the sandy shore hast bartered for the black mud at the bottom; and thy pleasant meadow bartered for a dreary waste of heathland; and thy hills of berries bartered for the hard stumps of a clearing. "didst thou think, o youthful maiden, think, o dove, full-fledged at present, care would end and toil be lessened, with the party of this evening, when to rest thou shalt betake thee, and to sleep thou art conducted? "but to rest they will not lead thee, nor to sleep will they conduct thee; nought awaits thee now but watching, nought awaits thee now save trouble, heavy thoughts will come upon thee, saddened thoughts will overwhelm thee. "long as thou didst wear no head-dress, wert thou also free from trouble; when no linen veil waved round thee, thou wast also free from sorrow. now the head-dress brings thee trouble, heavy thoughts the linen fabric, and the linen veil brings sorrow, and the flax brings endless trouble. "how may live at home a maiden? maid in father's house abiding; like a monarch in his palace, only that the sword is wanting, but a son's wife's fate is dismal! with her husband she is living as a prisoner lives in russia, only that the jailor's wanting. "work she must in working season, and her shoulders stoop with weakness, and her body faints with weakness, and with sweat her face is shining. then there comes another hour when there's need to make the fire, and to put the hearth in order, she must force her hands to do it. "long must seek, this girl unhappy, long the hapless one must seek for, salmon's mind, and tongue of perchling, and her thoughts from perch in fishpond, mouth of bream, of chub the belly, and from water-hen learn wisdom. "'tis beyond my comprehension, nine times can i not imagine, to the mother's much-loved daughters, best beloved of all her treasures, whence should come to them the spoiler, where the greedy one was nurtured, eating flesh, and bones devouring, to the wind their hair abandoning, and their tresses wildly tossing, to the wind of springtime gives them. "weep thou, weep thou, youthful maiden, when thou weepest, weep thou sorely. weep thyself of tears a handful, fill thy fists with tears of longing, drop them in thy father's dwelling, pools of tears upon the flooring, till the room itself is flooded, and above the floor in billows! if thou weepest yet not freely thou shalt weep when thou returnest, when to father's house thou comest, and shalt find thy aged father suffocated in the bathroom, 'neath his arm a dried-up bath-whisk. "weep thou, weep thou, youthful maiden, when thou weepest, weep thou sorely; if thou weepest not yet freely, thou shalt weep when thou returnest, when to mother's house thou comest, and thou find'st thy aged mother suffocated in the cowshed, in her dying lap a straw-sheaf. "weep thou, weep thou, youthful maiden, when thou weepest, weep thou sorely. if thou weepest yet not freely, thou shalt weep when thou returnest, when to this same house thou comest, and thou find'st thy rosy brother fallen in the porch before it, in the courtyard helpless fallen. "weep thou, weep thou, youthful maiden, when thou weepest, weep thou sorely. if thou weepest yet not freely, thou shalt weep when thou returnest, when to this same house thou comest, and thou find'st thy gentle sister fallen down upon the pathway, and beneath her arm a mallet." then the poor girl broke out sobbing, and awhile she sobbed and panted, and she soon commenced her weeping, pouring forth her tears in torrents. then she wept of tears a handful, filled her fists with tears of longing, wet she wept her father's dwelling, pools of tears upon the flooring, and she spoke the words which follow, and expressed herself in thiswise: "o my sisters, dearest to me, of my life the dear companions, all companions of my childhood, listen now to what i tell you. 'tis beyond my comprehension why i feel such deep oppression, making now my life so heavy, why this trouble weighs upon me, why this darkness rests upon me; how i should express my sorrow. "otherwise i thought and fancied, wished it different, all my lifetime, thought to go as goes the cuckoo, crying 'cuckoo' from the hill-tops, now the day i have attained to, come the time that i had wished for; but i go not like the cuckoo, crying 'cuckoo' from the hill-tops, more as duck amid the billows, on the wide bay's open waters, swimming in the freezing water, shivering in the icy water. "woe, my father and my mother, woe, alas, my aged parents! whither would you now dismiss me, drive a wretched maid to sorrow, make me thus to weep for sorrow, overburdened thus with trouble, with distress so heavy-burdened, and with care so overloaded? "better, o unhappy mother, better, dearest who hast borne me. o thou dear one, who hast suckled, nurtured me throughout my lifetime, hadst thou swaddled up a tree-stump, and hadst bathed a little pebble, rather than have washed thy daughter, and have swaddled up thy darling, for this time of great affliction, and of this so grievous sorrow. "many speak unto me elsewise, many counsel me in thiswise: 'do not, fool, give way to sorrow, let not gloomy thoughts oppress thee.' do not, o ye noble people, do not speak to me in thiswise! far more troubles weigh upon me, than in a cascade are pebbles, than in swampy ground the willows, or the heath upon the marshland. never can a horse pull forward, and a shod horse struggle onward, and the sledge sway not behind him, and the collar shall not tremble. even thus i feel my trouble, and oppressed by dark forebodings." from the floor there sang an infant, from the hearth a growing infant. "wherefore dost thou weep, o maiden, yielding to such grievous sorrow? cast thy troubles to the horses, sorrow to the sable gelding. leave complaints to mouths of iron, lamentations to the thick-heads, better heads indeed have horses, better heads, and bones much harder, for their arching necks are firmer, all their frame is greatly stronger. "no, thou hast no cause for weeping, nor to yield to grievous sorrow; to the marsh they do not lead thee, push thee not into the ditches. leavest thou these fertile cornfields, yet to richer fields thou goest, though they take thee from the brewery, 'tis to where the ale's abundant. "if around thee now thou gazest, just beside thee where thou standest, there thy bridegroom stands to guard thee, by thy side thy ruddy husband. good thy husband, good his horses, all things needful fill his cellars, and the grouse are loudly chirping, on the sledge, as glides it onwards, and the thrushes make rejoicing, as they sing upon the traces, and six golden cuckoos likewise flutter on the horse's collar, seven blue birds are also perching, on the sledge's frame, and singing. "do not yield thee thus to trouble, o thou darling of thy mother! for no evil fate awaits thee, but in better case thou comest, sitting by thy farmer husband, underneath the ploughman's mantle, 'neath the chin of the bread-winner, in the arms of skilful fisher, warm from chasing elk on snowshoes, and from bathing after bear-hunt. "thou hast found the best of husbands, and hast won a mighty hero, for his bow is never idle, neither on the pegs his quivers; and the dogs in house he leaves not, nor in hay lets rest the puppies. "three times in this spring already, in the earliest hours of morning, has he stood before the fire, rising from his couch of bushes; three times in this spring already on his eyes the dew has fallen, and the shoots of pine-trees combed him, and the branches brushed against him. "all his people he exhorted, to increase his flocks in number, for indeed the bridegroom owneth flocks that wander through the birchwoods, tramp their way among the sandhills, seek for pasture in the valleys; hundreds of the horned cattle, thousands with their well-filled udders; on the plains are stacks in plenty, in the valley crops abundant, alder-woods for cornland suited, meadows where the barley's springing, stony land for oats that's suited, watered regions, fit for wheatfields. all rich gifts in peace await thee, pennies plentiful as pebbles." runo xxiii.--the instructing of the bride _argument_ the bride is instructed and directed how to conduct herself in her husband's house ( - ). an old vagrant woman relates the experiences of her life as a daughter, as a wife, and after her separation from her husband ( - ). now the girl must be instructed, and the bride be taught her duty, who shall now instruct the maiden, and shall teach the girl her duty? osmotar, experienced woman, kaleva's most beauteous maiden; she shall give the maid instruction, and shall teach the unprotected how to bear herself with prudence, and with wisdom to conduct her, in her husband's house with prudence, to his mother most obedient. so she spoke the words which follow, and in terms like these addressed her: "o thou bride, my dearest sister, thou my darling, best-beloved, listen now to what i tell thee, for a second time repeated. now thou goest, a flower transplanted, like a strawberry forward creeping, whisked, like shred of cloth, to distance, satin-robed, to distance hurried, from thy home, renowned so greatly, from thy dwelling-place so beauteous. to another home thou comest, to a stranger household goest; in another house 'tis different; otherwise in strangers' houses. walk thou there with circumspection, and prepare thy duties wisely not as on thy father's acres, or the lands of thine own mother. where they sing among the valleys, and upon the pathways shouting. "when from out this house thou goest, all thy doings must be different; three things leave at home behind thee, sleep indulged in in the daytime, counsels of thy dearest mother, and fresh butter from the barrels. "all thy thoughts must now be altered; leave thy sleepiness behind thee, leave it for the household maiden, by the stove so idly sitting. to the bench-end cast thy singing, joyous carols to the windows, girlish ways unto the bath-whisks, and thy pranks to blanket-edges, naughtinesses to the stove-bench, on the floor thy lazy habits, or renounce them to thy bridesmaid, and into her arms unload them, that she take them to the bushes, out upon the heath convey them. "other habits wait thy learning, and the old must be forgotten. father's love you leave behind you; learn to love thy husband's father; deeper now must thou incline thee, fitting language must thou utter. "other habits wait thy learning, and the old must be forgotten. mother's love thou leav'st behind thee; learn to love thy husband's mother. deeper now must thou incline thee; fitting language must thou utter. "other habits wait thy learning, and the old must be forgotten. brother's love thou leav'st behind thee; learn to love thy husband's brother; deeper now must thou incline thee; fitting language must thou utter. "other habits wait thy learning, and the old must be forgotten. sister's love thou leav'st behind thee, learn to love thy husband's sister. deeper now must thou incline thee, fitting language must thou utter. "never may'st thou in thy lifetime, while the golden moon is shining, seek a house of doubtful morals, with the worthless men consorting, for a house must needs be moral, and a house must needs be noble, and for sense a husband wishes, and desires the best behaviour. heedfulness will much be needed in a house of doubtful morals; steadiness will much be wanting in a man's of doubtful morals. "is the old man a wolf in corner, by the hearth the crone a she-bear, brother-in-law on step a viper, in the yard like nail the sister, equal honour must thou give them, deeper must thou then incline thee, than thou bowed before thy mother, in the house of thine own father, than thou bowed before thy father, or before thy dearest mother. "thou wilt always need in future ready wit and clear perception, and thy thoughts must all be prudent, firmly fixed thy understanding, eyes of keenness in the evening, that the fire is always brilliant, ears of sharpness in the morning, thus to listen for the cockcrow. if the cockcrow once has sounded, though the second has not sounded, it becomes the young to rouse them, though the old folk still are resting. "if the cock should not be crowing, nor the master's bird be crowing, let the moon for cockcrow serve thee, take the great bear for thy guidance. often thou should'st seek the open, often go the moon to gaze on, from the great bear seek instruction, and the distant stars to gaze on. "if you see the great bear clearly, with his front to south directed, and his tail extending northward, then 'tis time for thee to rouse thee from the side of thy young husband, leaving him asleep and ruddy, fire to seek among the ashes seeking for a spark in firebox, blowing then the fire discreetly, that from carelessness it spread not. "if no fire is in the ashes, and no spark is in the firebox, coax thou then thy dearest husband, and cajole thy handsome husband: 'light me now the fire, my dearest, just a spark, my darling berry!' "if you have a flint, a small one, and a little piece of tinder, strike a light as quick as may be, light the pine-chip in the holder, then go out to clear the cowshed, and the cattle do thou fodder, for the mother's cow is lowing, and the father's horse is neighing, and her chain the son's cow rattles, and the daughter's calf is lowing, that the soft hay should be thrown them, and the clover laid before them. "go thou stooping on the pathway, bend thou down among the cattle, gently give the cows their fodder, give the sheep their food in quiet, spread it straight before the cattle, drink unto the calves so helpless, to the foals give straw well-chosen, to the lambkins hay the softest, see that on the swine thou tread'st not, nor the hogs with foot thou spurnest, take thou to the swine the food-trough, set before the hogs the food-tray. "do not rest thee in the cowshed, do not loiter with the sheep-flock; when thou'st visited the cowshed, and hast looked to all the cattle, do thou quickly hasten homeward, home returning like a blizzard, for the baby there is crying, crying underneath the blanket, and the poor child still is speechless, and its tongue no words can utter, whether it is cold or hungry, or if something else annoys it, ere its well-known friend is coming, and the mother's voice it heareth. "when into the room thou comest, come thou fourth into the chamber; in thy hand a water-bucket, underneath thy arm a besom, and between thy teeth a pine-chip; thou art then the fourth among them. "sweep thou then the floor to cleanness, sweep thou carefully the planking, and upon the floor pour water, not upon the heads of babies. if you see a child there lying, though thy sister-in-law's the infant, up upon the bench then lift it, wash its eyes, and smooth its hair down, put some bread into its handies, and upon the bread spread butter, but if bread perchance be wanting, put a chip into its handies. "then the tables must be scoured, at the week-end at the latest; wash them, and the sides remember, let the legs be not forgotten; then the benches wash with water, sweep thou too the walls to cleanness, and the boards of all the benches, and the walls with all their corners. "if there's dust upon the tables, or there's dust upon the windows, dust them carefully with feathers, wipe them with a wetted duster, that the dust should not be scattered, nor should settle on the ceiling. "from the stove scrape all the rust off, from the ceiling wipe the soot off, and the ceiling-props remember, nor should'st thou forget the rafters, that the house be all in order, and a fitting place to live in. "hear, o maiden, what i tell thee, what i says and what i tell thee, do not go without thy clothing, nor without thy shift disport thee, move about without thy linen, or without thy shoes go shuffling: greatly shocked would be thy bridegroom, and thy youthful husband grumble. "in the yard there grows a rowan, thou with reverent care should'st tend it, holy is the tree there growing, holy likewise are its branches, on its boughs the leaves are holy, and its berries yet more holy, for a damsel may discover, and an orphan thence learn teaching, how to please her youthful husband, to her bridegroom's heart draw nearer. "let thy ears be keen as mouse-ears, let thy feet as hare's be rapid, and thy young neck proudly arching, and thy fair neck proudly bending, like the juniper uprising, or the cherry's verdant summit. "likewise hold thyself discreetly, always ponder and consider; never venture thou to rest thee on the bench at length extended, nor upon thy bed to rest thee, there to yield thee to thy slumbers. "comes the brother from his ploughing, or the father from the storehouse, or thy husband from his labour, he, thy fair one, from the clearing, haste to fetch the water-basin, hasten thou to bring a towel, bowing with respect before them, speaking words of fond affection. "comes the mother from the storehouse, in her arms the flour-filled basket, run across the yard to meet her, bowing with respect before her, take thou from her hands the basket, quickly to the house to bear it. "if you do not know your duty, do not comprehend it fully, what the work that waits the doing, where you should begin your labours, ask the old crone then in thiswise: 'o my mother-in-law beloved, how is this work to be managed, and arranged these household matters?' "and the old crone thus will answer, and your mother-in-law will tell you: 'thus this work is to be managed, and arranged these household matters, pounding thus, and grinding thiswise, and the handmill quickly turning. likewise do thou fetch the water, that the dough be fitly kneaded, carry logs into the bakehouse, and the oven heat thou fully, set thou then the loaves for baking, and the large cakes bake thou likewise, wash thou then the plates and dishes, likewise washing clean the meal-tubs.' "when thy work she thus has told thee, and thy mother-in-law has taught thee, from the stones the parched corn taking, hasten to the room for grinding; but when you at length have reached it, and the room for grinding entered, do not carol as thou goest, do not shout thy very loudest, leave it to the stones to carol, talking through the handmill's opening, neither do thou groan too loudly, let the handmill groan unto thee; lest thy father-in-law should fancy or thy mother-in-law imagine that with discontent thou groanest, and art sighing from vexation. lift the meal, and sift it quickly, to the room in dish convey it, bake thou there the loaves with pleasure, after thou with care hast kneaded, that the flour becomes not lumpy, but throughout is mixed most smoothly. "if you see the bucket leaning, take the bucket on your shoulder, on your arm the water-bucket. go thou then to fetch the water. carry thou the bucket nicely, on the yoke-end do thou fix it, like the wind returning quickly, like the wind of springtime rushing, by the water do not linger, by the well forbear to rest thee, lest thy father-in-law should fancy, or thy mother-in-law imagine that you wished to see your likeness, and your beauty to admire, rosy cheeks in water painted, in the well your charms reflected. "when you wander to the wood-pile, wander there to fetch the faggots, do not split them up at random, take some faggots of the aspen, lift thou up the faggots gently, make as little noise as may be, lest thy father-in-law should fancy, or thy mother-in-law imagine, that you pitch them down in crossness, and in temper make them clatter. "when you wander to the storehouse, thither go to fetch the flour, do not linger in the storehouse, do not long remain within it, lest thy father-in-law should fancy, or thy mother-in-law imagine, you were doling out the flour, sharing with the village women. "when you go to wash the dishes, and the pots and pans to scour, wash the jugs and wash the handles, and the rims of mugs for drinking, sides of cups with circumspection, handles of the spoons remembering, mind thou, too, the spoons and count them, look thou to the dishes also, lest the dogs should steal them from you, or the cats should take them from you, or the birds away should take them, or the children should upset them: for the village swarms with children, many little heads thou findest, who might carry off the dishes, and the spoons about might scatter. "when the evening bath is wanted, fetch the water and the bath-whisks, have the bath-whisks warm and ready, fill thou full with steam the bathroom. do not take too long about it, do not loiter in the bathroom, lest thy father-in-law should fancy, or thy mother-in-law imagine, you were lying on the bath-boards, on the bench your head reclining. "when the room again you enter, then announce the bath is ready: 'o my father-in-law beloved, now the bath is fully ready: water brought, and likewise bath-whisks, all the boards are cleanly scoured. go and bathe thee at thy pleasure, wash thou there as it shall please thee, i myself will mind the steaming, standing underneath the boarding.' "when the time has come for spinning, and the time has come for weaving, in the village seek not counsel, do not cross the ditch for teaching, seek it not in other households, nor the weaver's comb from strangers. "spin thyself the yarn thou needest, with thy fingers do thou spin it, let the yarn be loosely twisted, but the flaxen thread more closely. closely in a ball then wind it, on the winch securely twist it, fix it then upon the warp-beam, and upon the loom secure it, then the shuttle fling thou sharply, but the yarn do thou draw gently. weave the thickest woollen garments, woollen gowns construct thou likewise, from a single fleece prepare them, from a winter fleece construct them, from the wool of lamb of springtime, and the fleece of ewe of summer. "listen now to what i tell thee, and to what again i tell thee. thou must brew the ale of barley, from the malt the sweet drink fashion, from a single grain of barley, and by burning half a tree-trunk. when the malt begins to sweeten, take thou up the malt and taste it. with the rake disturb it never, do not use a stick to turn it, always use your hands to stir it, and your open hands to turn it. go thou often to the malthouse, do not let the sprout be injured, let the cat not sit upon it, or the tomcat sleep upon it. of the wolves have thou no terror, fear thou not the forest monsters, when thou goest to the bath-house, or at midnight forth must wander. "when a stranger pays a visit, be not angry with the stranger, for a well-appointed household, always has for guests provision: scraps of meat that are not needed, cakes of bread the very nicest. "ask the guest to sit and rest him, with the guest converse in friendship, with thy talk amuse the stranger, till the dinner shall be ready. "when the house the stranger's leaving, and he's taking his departure, do not thou go with the stranger any further than the housedoor, lest the husband should be angry, and thy darling should be gloomy. "if you e'er feel inclination to the village forth to wander, ask permission ere thou goest, there to gossip with the strangers. in the time that you are absent, speak thy words with heedful caution, do not grumble at your household, nor thy mother-in-law abuse thou. "if the village girls should ask you, any of the village women, 'does your mother-in-law give butter, as at home your mother gave you?' never do thou make the answer, 'no, she does not give me butter;' tell thou always that she gives it, gives it to you by the spoonful, though 'twas only once in summer, and another time in winter. "list again to what i tell thee, and again impress upon thee. when at length this house thou leavest, and thou comest to the other, do thou not forget thy mother, or despise thy dearest mother, for it was thy mother reared thee, and her beauteous breasts that nursed thee, from her own delightful body, from her form of perfect whiteness. many nights has she lain sleepless, many meals has she forgotten, while she rocked thee in thy cradle, watching fondly o'er her infant. "she who should forget her mother, or despise her dearest mother, ne'er to manala should travel, nor to tuonela go cheerful. there in manala is anguish, hard in tuonela the reckoning, if she has forgot her mother, or despised her dearest mother. tuoni's daughters come reproaching, mana's maidens all come mocking: 'why hast thou forgot thy mother, or despised thy dearest mother? great the sufferings of thy mother, great her sufferings when she bore thee, lying groaning in the bathroom, on a couch of straw extended, when she gave thee thy existence, giving birth to thee, the vile one!'" on the ground there sat an old crone, sat an old dame 'neath her mantle, wanderer o'er the village threshold, wanderer through the country's footpaths, and she spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed her: "to his mate the cock was singing, sang the hen's child to his fair one, and in march the crow was croaking, and in days of spring was chattering; rather let my singing fail me, let me rather check my singing, chattering in a house all golden, always near to one who loves me; but no love nor house is left me, and all love departed from me. "hear, o sister, what i tell thee, when thy husband's house thou seekest, follow not thy husband's notions, as was done by me unhappy. larks have tongues, and husbands notions; but a lover's heart is greater. "i was as a flower that flourished, as a wild rose in the thicket, and i grew as grows a sapling, grew into a slender maiden. i was beauteous as a berry, rustling in its golden beauty; in my father's yard a duckling, on my mother's floor a gosling, water-bird unto my brother, and a goldfinch to my sister. flowerlike walked i on the pathway, as upon the plain the raspberry, skipping on the sandy lakeshore, dancing on the flower-clad hillocks, singing loud in every valley, carolling on every hill-top, sporting in the leafy forests, in the charming woods rejoicing. "as the trap the fox-mouth seizes, and the tongue entraps the ermine, towards a man inclines a maiden, and the ways of other households. so created is the maiden, that the daughter's inclination leads her married, as step-daughter, as the slave of husband's mother. as a berry grows in marshland, and in other waters, cherry. like a cranberry sought i sorrow, like a strawberry exhortation. every tree appeared to bite me, every alder seemed to tear me, every birch appeared to scold me, every aspen to devour me. "as my husband's bride they brought me, to my mother-in-law they led me. here there were, as they had told me, waiting for the wedded maiden, six large rooms of pine constructed, and of bedrooms twice as many. barns along the forest-borders, by the roadside flowery gardens, by the ditches fields of barley, and along the heaths were oatfields, chests of corn threshed out already, other chests awaiting threshing, hundred coins received already, and a hundred more expected. "foolishly had i gone thither, recklessly my hand had given, for six props the house supported, seven small poles the house supported, and the woods were filled with harshness, and with lovelessness the forests, by the roadsides dreary deserts, in the woodlands thoughts of evil, chests containing spoilt provisions, other chests beside them spoiling; and a hundred words reproachful, and a hundred more to look for. "but i let it not distress me, hoping there to live in quiet, wishing there to dwell in honour, and a peaceful life to live there; but when first the room i entered, over chips of wood i stumbled. on the door i knocked my forehead, and my head against the doorposts. at the door were eyes of strangers: darksome eyes were at the entrance, squinting eyes in midst of chamber, in the background eyes most evil. from the mouths the fire was flashing, from beneath the tongues shot firebrands, from the old man's mouth malicious, from beneath his tongue unfriendly. "but i let it not distress me, in the house i dwelt unheeding, hoping still to live in favour, and i bore myself with meekness, and with legs of hare went skipping, with the step of ermine hurried, very late to rest retired, very early rose to suffering. but, unhappy, won no honour, mildness brought me only sorrow, had i tossed away the torrents, or the rocks in twain had cloven. "vainly did i grind coarse flour, and with pain i crushed its hardness, that my mother-in-law should eat it, and her ravenous throat devour it, at the table-end while sitting, from a dish with golden borders. but i ate, unhappy daughter, flour scraped up, to handmill cleaving, with my ladle from the hearthstone, with my spoon from off the pestle. "oft i brought, o me unhappy, i, the son's wife, to his dwelling, mosses from the swampy places, and as bread for me i baked it. water from the well i carried, and i drank it up in mouthfuls. fish i ate, o me unhappy, smelts i ate, o me unhappy, as above the net i leaned me, in the boat as i was swaying, for no fish received i ever from my mother-in-law neglectful, neither in a day of plenty, nor a day of double plenty. "fodder gathered i in summer, winter worked i with the pitchfork, even as a labourer toiling, even as a hired servant, and my mother-in-law for ever, evermore for me selected, worst of all the flails for threshing, heaviest mallet from the bathroom, from the beach the heaviest mallet, in the stall the largest pitchfork. never did they think me weary, nor my weakness e'er considered, though my work had wearied heroes, or the strength of foals exhausted. "thus did i, a girl unhappy, work at proper time for working, and my shoulders stooped with weakness; and at other times they ordered that the fire should now be kindled, with my hands that i should stir it. "to their hearts' desire they scolded, with their tongues they heaped reproaches on my spotless reputation, on my character, though stainless. evil words they heaped upon me, and abuse they showered upon me, like the sparks from furious fire, or a very hail of iron. "until then despaired i never, and had spent my life as erstwhile there to aid the harsh old woman, to her fiery tongue submitting: but 'twas this that brought me evil, this that caused me greatest anguish, when to wolf was changed my husband, to a growling bear converted, turned his side to me when eating, turned his back asleep or working. "i myself broke out in weeping, and i pondered in the storehouse, and my former life remembering, and my life in former seasons, in the homestead of my father, in my sweetest mother's dwelling. "then in words i spoke my feelings, and i spoke the words which follow: 'well indeed my dearest mother understood to rear her apple, and the tender shoot to cherish, but she knew not where to plant it, for the tender shoot is planted in a very evil station, in a very bad position, 'mid the hard roots of a birch-tree, there to weep while life remaineth, and to spend the months lamenting. "'surely, surely, i am worthy of a home than this much better, worthy of a larger homestead, and a floor more wide-extended, worthy of a better partner, and a husband far more handsome. with a birchbark shoe i'm fitted, with a slipshod shoe of birchbark, like a very crow's his body, with a beak like any raven, and his mouth like wolf's is greedy, and his form a bear resembles. "'such a one i might have found me, if i'd wandered to the mountains, picked from off the road a pine-stump, from the wood a stump of alder, for his face the turf resembles, and his beard the moss from tree-trunks, head of clay, and mouth all stony, and his eyes like coals of fire, knobs of birch his ears resemble, and his legs are forking willows.' "while my song i thus was singing, sighing in my grievous trouble, he, my husband, chanced to hear it, at the wall as he was standing. when i heard him then approaching, at the storehouse gate when standing, i was conscious of his coming, for i recognized his footstep. and his hair in wind was tossing, and his hair was all disordered, and his gums with rage were grinning, and his eyes with fury staring, in his hand a stick of cherry, 'neath his arm a club he carried, and he hurried to attack me, and upon the head he struck me. "when the evening came thereafter, and there came the time for sleeping, at his side a rod he carried, took from nail a whip of leather, not designed to flay another, but alas, for me, unhappy. "then when i myself retired, to my resting-place at evening, by my husband's side i stretched me, by my side my husband rested, when he seized me by the elbows, with his wicked hands he grasped me, and with willow rods he beat me, and the haft of bone of walrus. "from his cold side then i raised me, and i left the bed of coldness, but behind me ran my husband, from the door came wildly rushing. in my hair his hands he twisted, grasping it in all his fury, in the wind my hair he scattered, to the winds of spring abandoned. "what advice should now be followed, where had i to look for counsel? shoes of steel i put upon me, bands of copper put upon me, as i stood beyond the house-wall. in the street for long i listened, till the wretch should calm his fury, and his passion had subsided, but his anger never slumbered, neither for a time abated. "at the last the cold o'ercame me, in my hiding-place so dismal, where i stood beyond the house-wall, and without the door i waited, and i pondered and reflected: 'this i cannot bear for ever, nor can bear their hatred longer, longer can i not endure it, in this dreadful house of lempo, in this lair of evil demons.' "from the handsome house i turned me, and my pleasant home abandoned, and commenced my weary wanderings, through the swamps and through the lowlands, past the open sheets of water, past the cornfields of my brother. there the dry pines all were rustling, and the crowns of fir-trees singing, all the crows were croaking loudly, and the magpies all were chattering, "'here for thee no home remaineth, in the house thy birth which witnessed.' "but i let it not distress me, as i neared my brother's homestead, but the gates themselves addressed me, and the cornfields all lamented: "'wherefore hast thou thus come homeward, what sad news to hear, o wretched? long ago has died thy father, perished has thy sweetest mother, all estranged is now thy brother, and his wife is like a russian.' "but i let it not distress me, and at once the house i entered, at the door i grasped the handle, cold within my hand i felt it. "after, when the room i entered, in the doorway i was standing, and the mistress stood there proudly, but she did not come to meet me, nor to me her hand she offered. i myself was proud as she was, and i would not go to meet her, and my hand i would not offer. on the stove my hand i rested. cold i felt the very hearthstones, to the burning coals i reached it; in the stove the coals were frozen. "on the bench there lay my brother, lazy on the bench extended, on his shoulders soot by fathoms, and by spans upon his body, on his head glowed coals a yard high, and of hard-caked soot a quartful. "asked my brother of the stranger, of the guest he thus inquired: 'stranger, why hast crossed the water?' "and on this i gave him answer: 'dost thou then not know thy sister, once the daughter of thy mother? we are children of one mother, of one bird are we the nestlings: by one goose have we been nurtured, in one grouse's nest been fostered.' "then my brother broke out weeping, from his eyes the tears were falling. "to his wife then said my brother, and he whispered to his darling, 'bring some food to give my sister!' but with mocking eyes she brought me cabbage-stalks from out the kitchen, whence the whelp the fat had eaten, and the dog had licked the salt from, and the black dog had his meal of. "to his wife then said my brother, and he whispered to his darling, 'fetch some ale to give the stranger!' but with mocking eyes she carried water only for the stranger, but, instead of drinking water, water she had washed her face in, and her sister washed her hands in. "from my brother's house i wandered, left the house that i was born in, hurried forth, o me unhappy, wandered on, o me unhappy, wretched on the shores to wander, toiling on, for ever wretched, always to the doors of strangers, always to the gates of strangers, on the beach, with poorest children, sufferers of the village poorhouse. "there were many of the people, many were there who abused me, and with evil words attacked me, and with sharpest words repulsed me. few there are among the people who have spoken to me kindly, and with kindly words received me, and before the stove who led me, when i came from out the rainstorm, or from out the cold came shrinking, with my dress with rime all covered, while the snow my fur cloak covered. "in my youthful days i never, i could never have believed it, though a hundred told me of it, and a thousand tongues repeated such distress should fall upon me, such distress should overwhelm me, as upon my head has fallen, laid upon my hands such burdens." runo xxiv.--the departure of the bride and bridegroom _argument_ the bridegroom is instructed how he should behave towards his bride, and is cautioned not to treat her badly ( - ). an old beggar relates how he once brought his wife to reason ( - ). the bride remembers with tears that she is now quitting her dear birthplace for the rest of her life, and says farewell to all ( - ). ilmarinen lifts his bride into the sledge and reaches his home on the evening of the third day ( - ). now the girl had well been lectured, and the bride had been instructed; let me now address my brother, let me lecture now the bridegroom. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, thou the best of all my brothers, dearest of my mother's children, gentlest of my father's children, listen now to what i tell thee, what i speak and what i tell thee, of thy linnet who awaits thee, and the dove that thou hast captured. "bridegroom, bless thy happy fortune, for the fair one granted to thee, when thou praisest, praise thou loudly, loudly praise the good that's granted, loudly praise thou thy creator, for the gracious gift he granted, and her father praise thou also, even more her mother praise thou, they who reared their lovely daughter to the charming bride beside thee. "stainless sits the maid beside thee, maiden bright to thee united, pledged to thee in all her beauty, fair one under thy protection, charming girl upon thy bosom, at thy side so sweetly blushing, girl with strength to help in threshing, or to help thee in the hayfield, skilful, too, to do the washing, quick to bleach the clothes to whiteness, skilful, too, the thread in spinning, rapid, too, the cloth when weaving. "and i hear her loom resounding, as upon the hill the cuckoo, and i see her shuttle darting, as the ermine through a thicket, and the reel she twists as quickly as the squirrel's mouth a fir-cone. never sound has slept the village, nor the country people slumbered, for her loom's incessant clatter, and the whizzing of the shuttle. "o thou loved and youthful bridegroom, handsomest of all the people, forge thou now a scythe of sharpness, fix the best of handles on it, carve it, sitting in the doorway, hammer it upon a tree-stump. when there comes the time of sunshine, take thy young wife to the meadow, look thou where the grass is rustling, and the harder grass is crackling, and the reeds are gently murmuring, and the sorrel gently rustling, also note where stand the hillocks, and the shoots from stumps arising. "when another day is dawning, let her have a weaver's shuttle, and a batten that shall suit it, and a loom of best construction, and a treadle of the finest. make the weaver's chair all ready, for the damsel fix the treadle, lay her hand upon the batten. soon the shuttle shall be singing, and the treadle shall be thumping, till the rattling fills the village, and the noise is heard beyond it: and the crones will all perceive it, and the village women question, 'who is this we hear a-weaving?' and you thus must make them answer: ''tis my own, my darling, weaving, 'tis my loved one makes the clatter, shall she loosen now the fabric, and the shuttle cease from throwing?' "'let her not the fabric loosen, nor the shuttle cease from throwing. thus may weave the moon's fair daughters, thus may spin the sun's fair daughters, even thus the great bear's daughters. of the lovely stars the daughters.' "o thou loved and youthful bridegroom, handsomest of all the people, set thou forth upon thy journey, hasten to commence thy journey, bear away thy youthful maiden, bear away thy dove so lovely. from thy finch depart thou never, nor desert thy darling linnet; in the ditches do not drive her, nor against the hedge-stakes drive her, nor upset her on the tree-stumps, nor in stony places cast her. in her father's house she never, in her dearest mother's homestead, in the ditches has been driven, nor against the hedge-stakes driven, nor upset upon the tree-stumps, nor upset in stony places. "o thou loved and youthful bridegroom, handsomest of all the people, never may'st thou send the damsel, never may'st thou push the fair one in the corner there to loiter, or to rummage in the corner. in her father's house she never, never in her mother's household, went to loiter in the corner, or to rummage in the corner. always sat she at the window, in the room she sat, and rocked her, as her father's joy at evening, and her mother's love at morning. "never may'st thou, luckless husband, never may'st thou lead thy dovekin, where with arum-roots the mortar, stands, the rind to pound from off them, or her bread from straw prepare her, neither from the shoots of fir-trees. in her father's house she never, in her tender mother's household, needed thus to use the mortar, pounding thus the rind from marsh-roots, nor from straw her bread prepare her, neither from the shoots of fir-tree. "may'st thou always lead this dovekin to a slope with corn abundant, or to help her from the rye-bins, from the barley-bins to gather, whence large loaves of bread to bake her, and the best of ale to brew her, loaves of wheaten-bread to bake her, kneaded dough for cakes prepare her. "bridegroom, dearest of my brothers, never may'st thou make this dovekin, nor may'st cause our tender gosling, down to sit, and weep in sadness. if there comes an hour of evil, and the damsel should be dreary yoke thou in the sledge the chestnut, or the white horse do thou harness, drive her to her father's dwelling, to her mother's home familiar. "never may'st thou treat this dovekin, never may this darling linnet, ever be like slave-girl treated, neither like a hired servant, neither be forbid the cellar, nor the storehouse closed against her never in her father's dwelling, in her tender mother's household, was she treated like a slave-girl, neither like a hired servant, neither was forbid the cellar, nor the storehouse closed against her. always did she cut the wheatbread, and the hens' eggs also looked to, and she looked to all the milk-tubs, looked within the ale-casks likewise, in the morn the storehouse opened, locked it also in the evening. "o thou loved and youthful bridegroom, handsomest of all the people, if thou treatest well the damsel, thou wilt meet a good reception when thou seek'st her father's dwelling, visiting her much loved mother. thou thyself wilt well be feasted, food and drink be set before thee, and thy horse will be unharnessed, and be led into the stable, drink and fodder set before him, and a bowl of oats provided. "never surely, may our damsel, may our well-beloved linnet, be in hissing tones upbraided, that from no high race she springeth; for in very truth our damsel comes of great and famous lineage. if of beans you sow a measure one bean each, it yields her kinsfolk; if of flax you sow a measure, but a thread it yields to each one. "never may'st thou, luckless husband, badly treat this beauteous damsel, nor chastise her with the slave-whip, weeping 'neath the thongs of leather, 'neath the five-lashed whip lamenting, out beyond the barn lamenting. never was the maid aforetime, never in her father's dwelling, with the slave-whip e'er corrected, weeping 'neath the thongs of leather, 'neath the five-lashed whip lamenting, out beyond the barn lamenting. "stand thou like a wall before her, stand before her like a doorpost, do not let thy mother beat her, do not let thy father scold her, do not let the guests abuse her, do not let the neighbours blame her. drive the mob away with whipping, beat thou other people only, do thou not oppress thy darling, nor chastise thy heart's beloved, whom for three long years thou waitedst, she whom thou alone hast longed for. "bridegroom, give thy bride instruction, and do thou instruct thy apple, in the bed do thou instruct her, and behind the door advise her, for a whole year thus instruct her, thus by word of mouth advise her, with thine eyes the next year teach her, and the third year teach by stamping. "if to this she pays no heeding, nor concerns herself about it, choose a reed where reeds are growing, from the heath fetch thou some horse-tail, and with these correct the damsel, in the fourth year thus correct her, with the stalks then whip her lightly, with the rough edge of the sedges, but with whiplash do not strike her, neither with the rod correct her. "if to this she pays no heeding, nor concerns herself about it, bring a switch from out the thicket, in the dell select a birch-rod, underneath thy fur cloak hide it, that the neighbours may not know it, let the damsel only see it; threaten her, but do not touch her. "if to this she pays no heeding, nor concerns herself about it, with the switch correct the damsel, with the birch-rod do thou teach her, but within the room four-cornered, or within the hut moss-covered. do not beat her in the meadow, do not whip her in the cornfield, lest the noise should reach the village, and to other homes the quarrel, neighbours' wives should hear the crying, and the uproar in the forest. "always strike her on the shoulders, on her soft cheeks do thou strike her, on her eyes forbear to strike her, on her ears forbear to touch her; lumps would rise upon her temples, and her eyes with blue be bordered, and the brother-in-law would question, and the father-in-law perceive it, and the village ploughmen see it, and would laugh the village women: "'has she been among the spear-thrusts, has she marched into a battle, or the mouth of wolf attacked her, or the forest bear has mauled her, or was perhaps the wolf her husband, was the bear perchance her consort?'" by the stove there lay an old man, by the hearth there sat a beggar; from the stove there spoke the old man, from the hearth there spoke the beggar. "never may'st thou, luckless husband, listen to thy wife's opinion, tongue of lark, and whim of women, like myself, a youth unhappy, for both bread and meat i bought her, bought her butter, ale i bought her, every sort of fish i bought her, bought her all sorts of provisions, home-brewed ale the best i bought her, likewise wheat from foreign countries. "but she let it not content her, nor did it improve her temper, for one day the room she entered, and she grasped my hair, and tore it, and her face was quite distorted, and her eyes were wildly rolling, always scolding in her fury, to her heart's contentment scolding, heaping foul abuse upon me, roaring at me as a sluggard. "but i knew another method, knew another way to tame her, so i peeled myself a birch-shoot, when she came, and called me birdie; but when juniper i gathered, then she stooped, and called me darling; when i lifted rods of willow, on my neck she fell embracing." now the hapless girl was sighing, sighing much, and sobbing sadly; presently she broke out weeping, and she spoke the words which follow: "soon most now depart the others, and the time is fast approaching, but my own departure's nearer, swiftly comes my time for parting. mournful is indeed my going, sad the hour of my departure, from this far-renowned village, and this ever-charming homestead, where my face was ever joyful, and i grew to perfect stature, all the days that i was growing, while my childhood's years were passing. "until now i never pondered, nor believed in all my lifetime, never thought on my departure, realized my separation, from the precincts of this castle, from the hill where it is builded. now i feel i am departing, and i know that i am going. empty are the parting goblets, and the ale of parting finished, and the sledges all are waiting, front to fields, and back to homestead, with one side towards the stables, and the other to the cowhouse. "whence comes now my separation, whence my sadness at departure, how my mother's milk repay her. or the goodness of my father, or my brother's love repay him, or my sister's fond affection? "thanks to thee, my dearest father, for my former life so joyful, for the food of days passed over, for the best of all the dainties thanks to thee, my dearest mother, for my childhood's cradle-rocking, for thy tending of the infant, whom thou at thy breast hast nurtured. "also thanks, my dearest brother, dearest brother, dearest sister, happiness to all the household, all companions of my childhood, those with whom i lived and sported, and who grew from childhood with me. "may thou not, o noble father, may thou not, o tender mother, or my other noble kindred, or my race, the most illustrious, ever fall into affliction, or oppressed by grievous trouble, that i thus desert my country, that i wander to a distance. shines the sun of the creator, beams the moon of the creator, and the stars of heaven are shining, and the great bear is extended ever in the distant heavens, evermore in other regions, not alone at father's homestead, in the home where passed my childhood. "truly must i now be parted from the home i loved so dearly, from my father's halls be carried, from among my mother's cellars, leave the swamps and fields behind me, leave behind me all the meadows, leave behind the sparkling waters, leave the sandy shore behind me, where the village women bathe them, and the shepherd-boys are splashing. "i must leave the quaking marshes, and the wide-extending lowlands, and the peaceful alder-thickets, and the tramping through the heather, and the strolling past the hedgerows, and the loitering on the pathways, and my dancing through the farmyards, and my standing by the house-walls, and the cleaning of the planking, and the scrubbing of the flooring, leave the fields where leap the reindeer, and the woods where run the lynxes, and the wastes where flock the wild geese, and the woods where birds are perching. "now indeed i am departing, all the rest i leave behind me; in the folds of nights of autumn, on the thin ice of the springtime, on the ice i leave no traces, on the slippery ice no footprints, from my dress no thread upon it, nor in snow my skirt's impression. "if i should return in future, and again my home revisit, mother hears my voice no longer, nor my father heeds my weeping, though i'm sobbing in the corner, or above their heads am speaking, for the young grass springs already and the juniper is sprouting o'er the sweet face of my mother, and the cheeks of her who bore me. "if i should return in future to the wide-extended homestead, i shall be no more remembered, only by two little objects. at the lowest hedge are hedge-bands, at the furthest field are hedge-stakes, these i fixed when i was little, as a girl with twigs i bound them. "but my mother's barren heifer, unto which i carried water, and which as a calf i tended, she will low to greet my coming, from the dunghill of the farmyard, or the wintry fields around it; she will know me, when returning, as the daughter of the household. "then my father's splendid stallion, which i fed when i was little, which as girl i often foddered, he will neigh to greet my coming, from the dunghill of the farmyard, or the wintry fields around it; he will know me, when returning, as the daughter of the household. "then the dog, my brother's favourite which as child i fed so often, which i trained when in my girlhood, he will bark to greet my coming, from the dunghill of the farmyard, or the wintry fields around it; he will know me, when returning, as the daughter of the household. "but the others will not know me, to my former home returning, though my boats are still the old ones, as when here i lived aforetime, by the shores where swim the powans, and the nets are spread as usual. "now farewell, thou room beloved, thou my room, with roof of boarding; good it were for me returning, that i once again should scrub thee. "now farewell, thou hall beloved, thou my hall, with floor of boarding; good it were for me returning, that i once again should scrub thee. "now farewell, thou yard beloved, with my lovely mountain-ashtree; good it were for me returning, once again to wander round thee. "now farewell to all things round me, berry-bearing fields and forests, and the flower-bearing roadsides, and the heaths o'ergrown with heather, and the lakes with hundred islands, and the depths where swim the powans, and the fair hills with the fir-trees, and the swampy ground with birch-trees." then the smith, e'en ilmarinen, in the sledge the maiden lifted, with his whip he lashed the coursers, and he spoke the words which follow: "now farewell to all the lakeshores, shores of lakes, and slopes of meadows, all the pine-trees on the hill-sides, and the tall trees in the firwoods, and behind the house the alders, and the junipers by well-sides, in the plains, all berry-bushes, berry-bushes, stalks of grasses, willow-bushes, stumps of fir-trees, alder-leaves, and bark of birch-trees!" thus at length, smith ilmarinen forth from pohjola departed, with the children farewells singing, and they sang the words which follow: "hither flew a bird of blackness, through the wood he speeded swiftly, well he knew to lure our duckling, and entice from us our berry, and he took from us our apple, drew the fish from out the water, lured her with a little money, and enticed her with his silver. who will fetch us now the water, who will take us to the river? "now remain the buckets standing, and the yoke is idly rattling, and the floor unswept remaineth, and unswept remains the planking, empty now are all the pitchers, and the jugs two-handled dirty." but the smith, e'en ilmarinen, with the young girl hastened homeward, driving rattling on his journey, from the magic coast of pohja, by the shore of sound of sima. on he drove across the sandhills, shingle crashed, and sand was shaking, swayed the sledge, the pathway rattled, loudly rang the iron runners, and the frame of birch resounded, and the curving laths were rattling, shaking was the cherry collar, and the whiplash whistling loudly, and the rings of copper shaking, as the noble horse sprang forward, as the white-front galloped onward. drove the smith one day, a second, driving likewise on the third day; with one hand the horse he guided, and with one embraced the damsel, one foot on the sledge-side rested, underneath the rug the other. quick they sped, and fast they journeyed, and at length upon the third day just about the time of sunset, hove in sight the smith's fair dwelling and they came to ilma's homestead, and the smoke in streaks ascended, and the smoke rose thickly upward, from the house in wreaths arising, up amid the clouds ascending. runo xxv.--the home-coming of the bride and bridegroom _argument_ the bride, the bridegroom and their company are received at the home of ilmarinen ( - ). the company are hospitably entertained with food and drink: and väinämöinen sings the praises of the host, the hostess, the inviter, the bridesmaid, and the other wedding-guests ( - ). on the way back väinämöinen's sledge breaks down, but he repairs it, and drives home ( - ). long already 'twas expected, long expected and awaited, that the new bride soon would enter the abode of ilmarinen; and the eyes with rheum were dripping of the old folks at the windows, and the young folks' knees were failing as about the door they waited, and the children's feet were freezing, by the wall as they were standing, mid-aged folks their shoes were spoiling, as upon the beach they wandered. and at length upon a morning, just about the time of sunrise, from the wood they heard a rattling, as the sledge came rushing onward. lokka then the kindest hostess, kaleva's most handsome matron, uttered then the words which follow: "'tis my son's sledge now approaching, as from pohjola he cometh, and he brings the youthful damsel. straight he journeys to this country, to the homestead hastens onward, to the house his father gave him, which his parents had constructed." therefore thus did ilmarinen hasten forward to the homestead, to the house his father gave him, which his parents had constructed. hazel-grouse were twittering blithely on the collar formed of saplings, and the cuckoos all were calling, on the sledge's sides while sitting, and the squirrels leaped and frolicked on the shafts of maple fashioned. lokka then the kindest hostess, kaleva's most beauteous matron, uttered then the words which follow, and in words like these expressed her: "for the new moon waits the village, and the young await the sunrise, children search where grow the berries, and the water waits the tarred boat; for no half-moon have i waited, nor the sun have i awaited, but i waited for my brother, for my brother and step-daughter, gazed at morning, gazed at evening, knew not what had happened to them, if a child he had been rearing, or a lean one he had fattened, that he came not any sooner, though he faithfully had promised soon to turn his footsteps homeward, ere defaced had been his footprints. "ever gazed i forth at morning, and throughout the day i pondered, if my brother was not coming, nor his sledge was speeding onward swiftly to this little homestead, to this very narrow dwelling. though the horse were but a straw one, and the sledge were but two runners, yet a sledge i still would call it, and a sledge would still esteem it, if it homeward brought my brother, and another fair one with him. "thus throughout my life i wished it, this throughout the day i looked for, till my head bowed down with gazing, and my hair bulged up in ridges, and my bright eyes were contracted, hoping for my brother's coming swiftly to this little household, to this very narrow dwelling, and at length my son is coming, and in truth is coming swiftly, with a lovely form beside him, and a rose-cheeked girl beside him. "bridegroom, o my dearest brother, now the white-front horse unharness, do thou lead the noble courser to his own familiar pasture, to the oats but lately garnered; then bestow thy greetings on us, greet us here, and greet the others, all the people of the village. "when thou hast bestowed thy greetings, thou must tell us all thy story. did thy journey lack adventures, hadst thou health upon thy journey, to thy mother-in-law when faring, to thy father-in-law's dear homestead, there to woo and win the maiden, beating down the gates of battle, and the maiden's castle storming, breaking down the walls uplifted, stepping on her mother's threshold, sitting at her father's table? "but i see without my asking, and perceive without inquiry, he has prospered on his journey, with his journey well contented. he has wooed and won the gosling, beaten down the gates of battle, broken down the boarded castle, and the walls of linden shattered, when her mother's house he entered, and her father's home he entered. in his care is now the duckling, in his arms behold the dovekin, at his side the modest damsel, shining in her radiant beauty. "who has brought the lie unto us, and the ill report invented, that the bridegroom came back lonely, and his horse had sped for nothing? for the bridegroom comes not lonely, nor his horse has sped for nothing; perhaps the horse has brought back something, for his white mane he is shaking, for the noble horse is sweating, and the foal with foam is whitened, from his journey with the dovekin, when he drew the blushing damsel. "in the sledge stand up, o fair one, on its floor, o gift most noble, do thou raise thyself unaided, and do thou arise unlifted, if the young man tries to lift thee, and the proud one seeks to raise thee. "from the sledge do thou upraise thee, from the sledge do thou release thee, walk upon this flowery pathway, on the path of liver-colour, which the swine have trod quite even, and the hogs have trampled level, over which have passed the lambkins, and the horses' manes swept over. "step thou with the step of gosling, strut thou with the feet of duckling, in the yard that's washed so cleanly, on the smooth and level grassplot, where the father rules the household, and the mother holds dominion, to the workplace of the brother, and the sister's blue-flowered meadow. "set thy foot upon the threshold, then upon the porch's flooring, on the honeyed floor advance thou, next the inner rooms to enter, underneath these famous rafters, underneath this roof so lovely. "it was in this very winter, in the summer just passed over, sang the floor composed of duckbones, that thyself should stand upon it, and the golden roof resounded that thou soon should'st walk beneath it, and the windows were rejoicing, for thy sitting at the windows. "it was in this very winter, in the summer just passed over, often rattled the door-handles, for the ringed hands that should close them, and the stairs were likewise creaking for the fair one robed so grandly, and the doors stood always open, and their opener thus awaited. "it was in this very winter, in the summer just passed over, that the room around has turned it, unto those the room who dusted, and the hall has made it ready for the sweepers, when they swept it, and the very barns were chirping to the sweepers as they swept them. "it was in this very winter, in the summer just passed over, that the yard in secret turned it to the gatherer of the splinters, and the storehouses bowed downward, for the wanderer who should enter, rafters bowed, and beams bent downward to receive the young wife's wardrobe. "it was in this very winter, in the summer just passed over, that the pathways had been sighing for the sweeper of the pathways, and the cowsheds nearer drawing to the cleanser of the cowsheds; songs and dances were abandoned, till should sing and dance our duckling. "on this very day already, and upon the day before it, early has the cow been lowing, and her morning hay expecting, and the foal has loud been neighing that his truss of hay be cast him, and the lamb of spring has bleated, that its food its mistress bring it. "on this very day already, and upon the day before it, sat the old folks at the windows, on the beach there ran the children, by the wall there stood the women, in the porch-door youths were waiting, waiting for the youthful mistress, and the bride they all awaited. "hail to all within the household, likewise hail to all the heroes, hail, o barn, and all within thee, barn, and all the guests within thee, hail, o hall, and all within thee, birchbark roof, and all thy people, hail, o room, and all within thee, hundred-boards, with all thy children! hail, o moon, to thee, o monarch, and the bridal train so youthful! never was there here aforetime, never yesterday nor ever, was a bridal train so splendid: never were such handsome people. "bridegroom, o my dearest brother, let the red cloths now be loosened, laid aside the veils all silken; let us see thy cherished marten, whom for five long years thou wooed'st, and for eight years thou hast longed for. "hast thou brought whom thou hast wished for, hast thou brought with thee the cuckoo, from the land a fair one chosen, or a rosy water-maiden? "but i see without my asking, comprehend without inquiry, thou has really brought the cuckoo, hast the blue duck in thy keeping; greenest of the topmost branches, thou hast brought from out the greenwood, freshest of the cherry-branches, from the freshest cherry-thickets." on the floor there sat an infant, from the floor spoke out the infant: "o my brother, what thou bringest, is a tar-stump void of beauty, half as long as a tar-barrel, and as tall as is a bobbin. "shame, o shame, unhappy bridegroom, all thy life thou hast desired, vowed to choose from hundred maidens, and among a thousand maidens, bring the noblest of the hundred, from a thousand unattractive; from the swamp you bring a lapwing, from the hedge you bring a magpie, from the field you bring a scarecrow, from the fallow field a blackbird. "what has she as yet accomplished, in the summer just passed over, if the gloves she was not weaving, nor begun to make the stockings? empty to the house she cometh, to our household brings no presents, mice are squeaking in the baskets, long-eared mice are in the coppers." lokka, most accomplished hostess, kaleva's most handsome matron, heard these wondrous observations, and replied in words which follow: "wretched child, what art thou saying? to thy own disgrace thou speakest! thou may'st wonders hear of others, others may'st perchance disparage, but thou may'st not shame this damsel, nor the people of this household. "bad the words that thou hast uttered, bad the words that thou hast spoken, with the mouth of calf of night-time, with the head of day-old puppy. handsome is this noble damsel, noblest she of all the country, even like a ripening cranberry, or a strawberry on the mountain, like the cuckoo in the tree-top, little bird in mountain-ashtree, in the birch a feathered songster, white-breast bird upon the maple. "ne'er from saxony came ever, nor in viro could they fashion such a girl of perfect beauty, such a duck without an equal, with a countenance so lovely, and so noble in her stature, and with arms of such a whiteness, and with slender neck so graceful. "neither comes the damsel dowerless, furs enough she brought us hither, blankets, too, as gifts she brought us, cloths as well she carried with her. "much already has this damsel wrought by working with her spindle, on her own reel has she wound it, with her fingers much has finished. cloths of very brilliant lustre has she folded up in winter, in the spring days has she bleached them, in the summer months has dried them; splendid sheets the beds to spread on, cushions soft for heads to rest on, silken neckcloths of the finest, woollen mantles of the brightest. "noble damsel, fairest damsel, with thy beautiful complexion, in the house wilt thou be honoured, as in father's house the daughter, all thy life shalt thou be honoured, as in husband's house the mistress. "never will we cause thee trouble, never trouble bring upon thee. to the swamp thou wast not carried, nor from the ditch-side they brought thee, from the cornfields rich they brought thee, but to better fields they led thee, and they took thee from the ale-house, to a home where ale is better. "noble girl, and fairest damsel, one thing only will i ask thee, didst thou notice on thy journey shocks of corn that stood uplifted, ears of rye in shocks uplifted, all belonging to this homestead, from the ploughing of thy husband? he has ploughed and he has sown it. "dearest girl, and youthful damsel, this is what i now will tell thee, thou hast willed our house to enter: be contented with the household. here 'tis good to be the mistress, good to be a fair-faced daughter, sitting here among the milk-pans, butter-dishes at thy service. "this is pleasant for a damsel, pleasant for a fair-faced dovekin. broad the planking of the bathroom, broad within the rooms the benches, here the master's like thy father, and the mistress like thy mother, and the sons are like thy brothers, and the daughters like thy sisters. "if the longing e'er should seize thee, and the wish should overtake thee, for the fish thy father captured, or for grouse to ask thy brother, from thy brother-in-law ask nothing, from thy father-in-law ask nothing; best it is to ask thy husband, ask him to obtain them for thee. there are not within the forest any four-legged beasts that wander, neither birds in air that flutter two-winged birds with rushing pinions, neither in the shining waters swarm the best of all the fishes, which thy husband cannot capture; he can catch and bring them to thee. "here 'tis good to be a damsel, here to be a fair-faced dovekin; need is none to work the stone-mill; need is none to work the mortar; here the wheat is ground by water, and the rye by foaming torrents, and the stream cleans all utensils, and the lake-foam cleanses all things. "o thou lovely little village, fairest spot in all the country! grass below, and cornfields over, in the midst between the village. fair the shore below the village, by the shore is gleaming water, where the ducks delight in swimming, and the water-fowl are sporting." drink they gave the bridal party, food and drink they gave in plenty, meat provided in abundance, loaves provided of the finest, and they gave them ale of barley, spicy drink, from wheat concocted. roast they gave them in abundance, food and drink in all abundance, in the dishes red they brought it, in the handsomest of dishes. cakes were there, in pieces broken, likewise there were lumps of butter, powans too, to be divided, salmon too, to cut to pieces, with the knives composed of silver, and with smaller knives all golden. ale unpurchased there was flowing, mead for which you could not bargain; ale flowed from the ends of rafters, honey from the taps was oozing, ale around the lips was foaming, mead the mood of all enlivened. who among them should be cuckoo, who should sing a strain most fitting? väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval minstrel, he himself commenced his singings, set about composing verses, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in thiswise: "o my own beloved brethren, o most eloquent companions, o my comrades, ready talkers, listen now to what i tell you, rarely kiss the geese each other, rarely sisters gaze on sisters, rarely side by side stand brothers, side by side stand mother's children, in these desert lands so barren, in the wretched northern regions. "shall we give ourselves to singing, set about composing verses? none can sing except the singer, none can call save vernal cuckoo, none can paint, except sinetar, none can weave save kankahatar. "lapland's children, they are singing, and the hay-shod ones are chanting, as the elk's rare flesh they feast on, or the meat of smaller reindeer, wherefore then should i not carol, wherefore should our children sing not, while upon the ryebread feasting, or when eating is concluded? "lapland's children, they are singing, and the hay-shod ones are chanting, as they drink from water-pitchers, while they chew the bark of fir-tree. wherefore then should i not carol, wherefore should our children sing not, while the juice of corn we're drinking, and the best-brewed ale of barley? "lapland's children they are singing, and the hay-shod ones are chanting, even by the sooty fire, as they lay the coals upon it. wherefore then should i not carol, wherefore should our children sing not, underneath these famous rafters, underneath a roof so splendid? "good it is for men to dwell here, good for women to reside here, all among the barrels ale-filled, standing close beside the mead-tubs, near the sound where swarm the powans, near the place for netting salmon, where the food is never failing, and the drink is never stinted. "good it is for men to dwell here, good for women to reside here, here to eat by care untroubled, here to live without affliction, here to eat unvexed by trouble, and to live without a sorrow, long as lives our host among us, all the lifetime of our hostess. "which shall i first praise in singing, shall it be the host or hostess? always first they praise the heroes, therefore first i praise the master, he who first prepared the marshland, and along the shore who wandered, and he brought great stumps of fir-trees, and he trimmed the crowns of fir-trees, took them to a good position, firmly built them all together, for his race a great house builded, and he built a splendid homestead, walls constructed from the forest, rafters from the fearful mountains, laths from out the woods provided, boards from berry-bearing heathlands, bark from cherry-bearing uplands, moss from off the quaking marshes. "and the house is well-constructed, and the roof securely fastened. here a hundred men were gathered, on the house-roof stood a thousand, when this house was first constructed, and the flooring duly fitted. "be assured our host so worthy, in the building of this homestead, oft his hair exposed to tempest, and his hair was much disordered. often has our host so noble, on the rocks his gloves left lying, lost his hat among the fir-trees, in the marsh has sunk his stockings. "often has our host so noble in the early morning hours, when no others had arisen, and unheard by all the village, left the cheerful fire behind him, watched for birds in wattled wigwam, and the thorns his head were combing, dew his handsome eyes was washing. "thus receives our host so noble, in his home his friends around him; filled the benches are with singers, and with joyous guests the windows, and the floor with talking people, porches, too, with people shouting, near the walls with people standing, near the fence with people walking, through the yard are folks parading, children on the ground are creeping. "now i first have praised the master, i will praise our gracious hostess, she who has prepared the banquet, and has filled the table for us. "large the loaves that she has baked us, and she stirred us up thick porridge, with her hands that move so quickly, with her soft and tenfold fingers, and she let the bread rise slowly, and the guests with speed she feasted; pork she gave them in abundance, gave them cakes piled up in dishes, and the knives were duly sharpened, and the pointed blades pressed downward, as the salmon were divided, and the pike were split asunder. "often has our noble mistress, she the most accomplished housewife, risen up before the cockcrow, and before the hen's son hastened, that she might prepare the needful, that the work might all be finished, that the beer might be concocted, and the ale be ready for us. "well indeed our noble hostess, and this most accomplished housewife, best of ale for us concocted, and the finest drink set flowing. 'tis composed of malted barley, and of malt the very sweetest, and with wood she has not turned it, with a stake she has not moved it, only with her hands has raised it, only with her arms has turned it, in the bathroom filled with vapour, on the boarding, scoured so cleanly. "nor did she, our noble hostess, and this most accomplished mistress, let the germs mature them fully, while on ground the malt was lying. oft she went into the bathroom, went alone, at dead of midnight, fearing not the wolf should harm her, nor the wild beasts of the forest. "now that we have praised the hostess, let us also praise the inviter; who was chosen as inviter, and upon the road to guide us? best inviter of the village, best of guides in all the village. "there we look on our inviter, clad in coat from foreign countries; round his arms 'tis tightly fitted, neatly round his waist 'tis fitted. "there we look on our inviter, in a narrow cloak attired; on the sand the skirts are sweeping, on the ground the train is sweeping. of his shirt we see a little, only see a very little, as if kuutar's self had wove it, and the tin-adorned one wrought it. "here we look on our inviter, belted with a belt of woollen, woven by the sun's fair daughter, by her beauteous fingers broidered, in the times ere fire existed, and when all unknown was fire. "here we look on our inviter, with his feet in silken stockings, and with silk are bound his stockings, and his garters are of satin, and with gold are all embroidered. and are all adorned with silver. "here we look on our inviter, best of saxon shoes he's wearing, like the swans upon the river, or the ducks that swim beside them, or the geese among the thickets, birds of passage in the forests. "here we look on our inviter, with his golden locks all curling, and his golden beard is plaited, on his head a lofty helmet: up among the clouds it rises, through the forest's glancing summit; such a one you could not purchase for a hundred marks or thousand. "now that i have praised the inviter, i will also praise the bridesmaid. whence has come to us the bridesmaid, whence was she, the happiest, chosen? "thence has come to us the bridesmaid, thence was she, the happiest, chosen, where is tanikka's strong fortress, from without the new-built castle. "no, she came from other regions, not at all from such a region; thence has come to us the bridesmaid, thence was she, the happiest, chosen, brought to us across the water, and across the open ocean. "no, she came from other regions, not at all from such a region, grew like strawberry in the country, on the heaths where cranberries flourish, on the field of beauteous herbage, on the heath of golden flowerets, thence has come to us the bridesmaid, thence was she, the happiest, chosen. "and the bridesmaid's mouth is pretty, as the spindle used in suomi, and the bridesmaid's eyes are sparkling, as the stars that shine in heaven, gleaming are the damsel's temples, as upon the lake the moonlight. "here we look upon our bridesmaid; round her neck a chain all golden, on her head a golden head-dress, on her hands are golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, in her ears are golden earrings, loops of gold upon her temples, and her brows are bead-adorned. "and i thought the moon was shining, when her golden clasp was gleaming, and i thought the sun was shining, when i saw her collar gleaming, and i thought a ship was sailing, when i saw her head-dress moving. "now that i have praised the bridesmaid, i will glance at all the people; very handsome are the people, stately are the aged people, and the younger people pretty, and the householders are handsome. "i have gazed at all the people, and i knew them all already; but before it never happened, nor in future times will happen, that we meet so fine a household, or we meet such handsome people, where the old folks are so stately, and the younger people pretty. clothed in white are all the people, like the forest in the hoarfrost, under like the golden dawning: over like the morning twilight. "easy to obtain was silver, gold among the guests was scattered, in the grass were littered purses, in the lanes were bags of money, for the guests who were invited, for the guests most greatly honoured." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, of the song the mighty pillar, after this his sledge ascended, homeward drove upon his journey, and he sang his songs for ever, sang, and chanted spells of magic, sang a song, and sang a second, but, as he the third was singing, clashed against a rock the runners, crashed the shafts against a tree-stump, and the sledge broke off his chanting, and the runners stopped his singing, and the shafts in fragments shattered, and the boards broke all asunder. spoke the aged väinämöinen, in the very words which follow, "are there none among the youthful, of the rising generation, or perchance among the aged, of the sinking generation, who to tuonela can wander, and can go to mana's country, thence to fetch me tuoni's auger, bring me mana's mighty auger, that a new sledge i may fashion, or repair my sledge that's broken?" but said all the younger people, and the aged people answered: "there are none among the youthful, none at all among the aged, none of race so highly noble, none is such a mighty hero, as to tuonela to travel, journey to the land of mana, thence to bring you tuoni's auger, and from mana's home to bring it, that a new sledge you may fashion, or repair the sledge that's broken." then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval minstrel, went again to tuoni's country, journeyed to the home of mana, fetched from tuonela the auger, brought from mana's home the auger. then the aged väinämöinen sang a blue wood up before him, in the forest rose an oak-tree, and a splendid mountain-ashtree, and from these a sledge he fashioned, and he shaped his runners from them, and for shafts prepared them likewise, and the frame he thus constructed, made a sledge to suit his purpose, and a new sledge he constructed. in the shafts the horse he harnessed, yoked before the sledge the chestnut, in the sledge himself he seated, and upon the seat he sat him, and without the whip the courser, sped, by beaded whip unharassed, to his long-accustomed fodder, to the food that waited for him, and he brought old väinämöinen, he the great primeval minstrel, to his own door, widely open, to the threshold brought him safely. notes to runos i-xxv (these are by the translator, when not otherwise stated. k. k. indicates prof. kaarle krohn, and a. m. madame aino malmberg, for proper names, refer to the glossary at the end of vol. ii.) runo i . kulta, "golden," here rendered "dearest," is a term constantly applied in the _kalevala_ to anything dear or precious. . "pohja, the north, or pohjola, the north land, is chiefly used for the dark north, where the sun is hidden. poetically used for a homestead in the _kalevala_. occasionally it is used as synonymous with lapland." (k. k.) . when singing to the accompaniment of a harp, two finns clasp their hands together, and sway backwards and forwards, in the manner described in the text. compare acerbi's _travels to the north cape_, i., chaps. xx. and xxiii., and the illustration opposite his vol. i., p. . . probably the honey of humble-bees (_bombus_) is here meant, or the expression may be merely figurative. , . the metre allows the translation of the names of the cows to be inserted here. . ilmatar, the daughter of the air; --tar is the usual feminine suffix in finnish, and is generally to be understood to mean "daughter of ----." in the following passages we have the combined finnish version of the widespread cosmogonical myths of the divine spirit brooding over the waters of chaos; and the mundane egg. in the first recension of the _kalevala_ however, and in many finnish ballads, an eagle is said to have built her nest on the knees of väinämöinen after he was thrown into the sea by the laplander, and the creation-myth is thus transferred to him. - . in the scandinavian mythology the world was created in a similar manner by othin and his brothers from the body of the giant ymir. . vaka vanha väinämöinen--these are the usual epithets applied to väinämöinen in the kalevala. "vanha" means old; "vaka" is variously interpreted: i have used "steadfast" by prof. krohn's advice, though i think "lusty" might be a better rendering. . the ring-finger is usually called the "nameless finger" in finnish. runo ii . the bird cherry (_prunus padus_). . the mountain ash, or rowan tree, is a sacred tree in finland, as in scotland. . the great oak-tree is a favourite subject in finnish and esthonian ballads. . finnish, and esthonian water-heroes are sometimes described as entirely composed of copper. . compare the account of the breaking up of the sampo, and the dispersal of its fragments, in runo xliii. . the summer ermine is the stoat, which turns white in winter in the north, when it becomes the ermine. the squirrel also turns grey in the north in winter. . the cuckoo is regarded as a bird of good omen. runo iii . we here find väinämöinen, the primeval minstrel and culture-hero, the first-born of mortals, living in an already populated world. there seems to be a similar discrepancy in gen. iv. - . women were held in great respect in heroic times in most northern countries. . "i will bewitch him who tries to bewitch me." (k. k.) . a gold-adorned, or perhaps merely handsome, sledge. . probably another epithet for the seal. . the powan, or fresh-water herring (_coregonus_), of which there are several marine and fresh-water species. they are chiefly lake-fish of the northern hemisphere, and in the british islands are better known in scotland and ireland, and in the north of england, than in the south. . the word used here may also mean the elk or ox. . the arch of heaven in the _kalevala_ means the rainbow. , . the sun and moon are male deities in finnish, with sons and daughters. . the constellation of the great bear. . most of the heroes of the _kalevala_, except kullervo, have black hair, and the heroines, except the wife of ilmarinen, golden hair. , . a common ransom in finnish and esthonian stories. . the episode of aino is a great favourite in finland, and the name is in common use. the story often furnishes material to poets, sculptors, etc. . different stories are told of the origin of both väinämöinen and ilmarinen, and they are often called brothers. runo iv . bath-whisks are used to heighten the circulation after bathing. "the leaves are left on the stems. the bath-whisks for the winter are all made early in the summer, when the leaves are softest. of course they become quite dry, but before using, they are steeped in hot water till they become soft and fragrant." (a. m.) . "the storehouses where the peasant girls keep their clothes and ornaments are sometimes very pretty, and the girls always sleep there in summer. there are other storehouses for food." (a. m.) . according to speke, central african women are compelled to drink large quantities of milk, to make them inordinately fat, which is considered a great beauty. . _fuligala glacialis._ . prof. krohn thinks the sea and not a lake is here intended. . this passage is hardly intelligible. "i have heard some people suggest that aino perhaps took a birch branch, to be used as a bath-whisk." (a. m.) . there are many popular tales in finnish relating to animals, especially the bear, wolf, and fox, but this is the only illustration of the true "beast-epos" in the _kalevala_. . "the sauna, or bath-house, is always a separate building; and there finnish people take extremely hot baths almost every evening." (a. m.) it is also used for confinements. runo v . here a human mother, rather than ilmatar, seems to be ascribed to väinämöinen. visits to parents' graves for advice and assistance are common in scandinavian and esthonian literature. commentators have also quoted the story of achilles and thetis, but this is hardly a parallel case. runo vi . this passage is again inconsistent with the legend of väinämöinen being the son of ilmatar. runo vii . the word used here is "poika," which literally means a boy, or a son. , . the original admirably expresses the hovering motion of the bird: lenteleikse, liiteleikse, katseleikse, kaanteleikse. . in the original "the song of a cock's child." , . weeping appears no more disgraceful to the heroes of the _kalevala_ than to those of the _iliad_. still, väinämöinen not unfrequently plays a very undignified part when in difficulties. . louhi recognized him, though he would not mention his name. . "virsu is a shoe made of birch bark." (a. m.) . it appears that the magic mill called a sampo could only be forged by a competent smith, from materials which louhi alone possessed, and which, perhaps, she could not again procure. otherwise ilmarinen could have forged another for himself, and it would have been unnecessary for the heroes to steal it. the chain forged by the dwarfs, according to the prose edda, for binding the wolf fenrir, was also composed of materials which could not again be procured. "it was fashioned out of six things; to wit, the noise made by the footfall of a cat, the beards of women, the roots of stones, the sinews of bears, the breath of fish, and the spittle of birds." runo viii , . the daughter of louhi is never mentioned again in connection with the rainbow; and it is quite incorrect to call her the maiden of the rainbow, as some writers have done, for no such title is ever applied to her in the poem. . there are so many instances of maidens being carried off, or enticed into sledges, in the _kalevala_, that it seems almost to have been a recognized legal form of marriage by capture. . finnish magicians profess to understand the language of birds; but the passage in the text is probably intended only in jest. . in the icelandic saga of grettir, the hero mortally wounds himself in the leg while trying to chop up a piece of driftwood on which a witch had laid her curse. . the finns supposed that if the origin of any hostile agent was known, and could be recited to it, its power for evil was at an end. in denmark, the naming of any person or thing was an evil omen, and liable to bring about its destruction. , . finnish hamlets are sometimes built on a hillside in the manner described. runo ix , . here we seem to have an allusion to the first chapter of genesis. . the same epithet, luonnotar, is sometimes applied to ilmatar, and thus väinämöinen might literally be called the brother of iron. , . pallas athene sprang armed from the brain of zeus; karna, in india, the son of the sun, was born with armour and earrings; and mexitli in mexico was born with a spear in his hand. . hornets often build their nests under the eaves of houses. . both frogs and toads exude a more or less poisonous secretion from the skin. . honeydew seems to be meant here. , . an imaginary mountain to which the sorcerers professed to be able to banish pain and sickness. runo x . compare the account of the forging of the gold and silver bride in runo xxxvii. . "ilmarinen first employs ordinary servants, and then calls the winds to his assistance." (k. k.) . in the icelandic sagas, we read of the sword tyrfing, forged by dwarfs, which, if ever drawn, could not again be sheathed till it had slain at least one victim. . literally, "on best days." . in the story of ala ed-deen abush-shamat, in the _ nights_, we read of a magic bead with five facets, on which were engraved a camel, an armed horseman, a pavilion; a couch, etc., according to the use intended to be made of each facet. runo xi - . salme and linda are similarly wooed by the sun, the moon, and a star in the esthonian poem, kalevipoeg (see kirby's _hero of esthonia_ i., pp. - ). - . these names mean respectively blackies, strawberries, cranberries. "i think lemminkainen means that he has no cows, and only calls these different berries his cows." (a. m.) . lemminkainen appears to have been afraid that some one else might carry off his wife, if she showed herself in public (especially untamo, says prof. krohn). . the snow bunting (_plectrophanes nivalis_), a white bird more or less varied with black. runo xii . the meaning is a little uncertain. literally, "the only boy," as madame malmberg suggests. the commentary renders it, "the gallant youth." . the finns and lapps often hide money in the ground. the word used in l. is "penningin," from "penni," a word common to most teutonic and northern languages. , . such omens of death are common in fairy tales; as, for instance, the bleeding knives in the story of the envious sisters in the _ nights_. the bleeding trees in mediæval romance belong to rather a different category of ideas. . lemminkainen seems to have hidden himself to escape further remonstrances from his mother and kyllikki. . probably a creature like a kelpie or phooka. . we are not told how louhi escaped; but she seems to have come to no harm. runo xiii . the part played by hiisi in the _kalevala_ usually resembles that played by loki in the scandinavian mythology. . animals, etc., are often thus constructed in finnish, esthonian, and siberian mythology by gods, demons, and magicians. they do not seem able to create from nothing, but to manufacture what they please or what they can from pre-existing materials, however incongruous. . i suppose rushes are here intended. runo xiv . the word here translated "islands" properly means a wooded hill surrounded by marshland. , . mielikki's gold and silver are the spoils of the chase. . honey is sometimes used in the _kalevala_ for anything sweet and agreeable, just as golden is used for anything beautiful. , . it appears that the hunter's fortune in the chase was foretold by the rich or shabby garments worn by the forest-deities. . finnish women often wear a blouse over their other garments. . kuningas (king) is a teutonic word, which rarely occurs in the _kalevala_. the heroes are patriarchs, or chiefs of clans; not kings, as in homer. . there is often much confusion of terms in the _kalevala_. the creature here mentioned is generally called an elk, but often a reindeer, and in this line a camel-foal. . when the inferior deities are deaf or too weak, the heroes appeal to the higher gods. . the reference here seems to be to gen. vii. . "the whole passage is of christian origin." (k. k.) runo xv . compare homer, _iliad_, iii., - . . this episode slightly resembles the story of isis and osiris. . the constellation of orion is variously called by the finns, the moonshine, the sword of kaleva, and the scythe of väinämöinen. - . this conceit is common in fairy tales (especially in russian ones) in the case of heroes wakened from the dead. sometimes it takes a comic form; and sometimes, as in the present case, a pathetic one. . "dirty-nosed" is a common opprobrious expression in esthonia. runo xvi . the account of the boat-building in "hiawatha's sailing" is evidently imitated from this passage. . in roman times divination from birds was chiefly taken from their flight or feeding. runo xvii . roads of this description are thoroughly oriental in character. . in icelandic sagas we often find heroes roused from their graves, but this is usually attempted in order to obtain a sword which has been buried with them. - . hiawatha was also swallowed by the sturgeon nahma, but the circumstances were quite different. . note the resonance of the line: kuusista kuhisevista. . ahava, a dry cold wind that blows in march and april, probably corresponding to our cold spring east wind. , . vipunen here refers to himself as a little man, which i presume is to be understood figuratively, as i have rendered it. runo xviii . compare cuchullain's wooing of eimer in irish story. runo xix . this episode is very like the story of jason and medea. . "the wolf fenrir opens his enormous mouth; the lower jaw reaches to the earth, and the upper one to heaven, and would in fact reach still further were there space to admit of it." (prose edda.) . vetehinen, a water-spirit. . "ukko's bow" here means the rainbow, broken by the fiery eagle. it may be worth noting that in the scandinavian mythology, the sons of fire (muspell) are to ride over the rainbow, and break it to pieces, on their way to battle with the gods. . in the danish ballads there are several stories of children speaking in their cradles, but generally to vow vengeance against an enemy. runo xx . the great ox is a stock subject in finnish and esthonian ballad literature. runo xxi . the glutton or wolverine, a well-known animal in sub-arctic europe, asia, and america. - . these civilities sound very oriental. . this curious passage may have been partly suggested by the "coats of skin," and "the land flowing with milk and honey" of the old testament. runo xxii . the word used here for father is taatto, which curiously recalls the welsh tad. (english, dad.) . in the scandinavian mythology the giantess skadi was required to choose a husband from among the gods by looking at their feet only. runo xxiii . the usual word to express a long time is viikko, a week. , . these infernal damsels play various parts in the _kalevala_, as boat-women, death-bringers, etc., and here we find them in the character of furies. . the term "snowy month" is used for the period between feb. and march . i have rendered it march. - . perhaps this is only figurative, as in the case of the unpropitious forest-deities. runo xxiv . the roots of the marsh arum (_calla palustris_), not a british plant, though naturalized in a pond at ripley. the most usual substitute for more wholesome food in times of famine is bread composed of a mixture of fir-bark and rye. . slav peasant women are said sometimes to regard beating as a sign of affection on the part of their husbands, but this does not seem to be the case with the finns. in the _kalevala_ we read a good deal about wife-beating in theory, but find very little of it in practice; and even the licentious and violent lemminkainen never thinks of beating his wife when he quarrels with her. - . a similar story is told to the princess by her confidante olga, in the russian opera _rusalka_ (water-nymph), act iii. scene i. "and now i'd better sing a little song: as they passed in our street, a man besought his wife, 'why don't you look pleasant? you are my delight, darling mashenka.' "but the woman was obstinate, and averted her little head; 'oh, i don't want your caresses, nor your pretty speeches; i'm not very well, and i've got a headache.' "but under a birch tree the man taught his wife; 'wait a bit, my darling, i'll beat that tune out of you. in my own way.' "then the woman was sorry, bowed low as the waistband. 'don't frighten yourself, dearest, and do not be troubled, i find myself better, my headache has gone.'" , , . the commentary explains the word used here to mean "wander round thee," an alteration which i consider unnecessary except in the last line. . from the sarcastic tone of this speech, ilmarinen seems to have been quite tired and disgusted with all the fuss, in which most of our readers will probably sympathize with him. runo xxv . according to popular usage, a son is ennobled by being called a brother. . in some of the legends of sigurd and brynhilda, brynhilda is represented as lying asleep in a tower of glass, encompassed by a circle of fire, through which sigurd had to ride to wake her. in this story she is the prototype of the sleeping beauty. . we often read in russian folk-tales of revolving huts supported on fowls' legs. . the favourite weapon of the icelander skarphedin, the son of njal, was a bell which rang out shortly before any person was to be killed by it. . in the dales of yorkshire it used to be considered very inhospitable not to leave the door open at mealtimes. , . saxony and viro are germany and esthonia. . apparently a sort of master of the ceremonies at finnish weddings, corresponding to the russian svat, or matchmaker. . the scoter duck, (_oidemia nigra_). . brows; literally, eyelashes. . her shift-collar. , . the beautiful esthonian story of the dawn, the moon, and the morning and evening twilight will be found in jones and kropf's _folk-tales of the magyars_, pp. - , and in kirby's _hero of esthonia_, ii., pp. - . end of vol. i made at the temple press letchworth in great britain the kalevala the epic poem of finland into english by john martin crawford [ ] to dr. j.d. buck, an encouraging and unselfish friend, and to his affectionate family, these pages are gratefully inscribed. contents. preface proem rune i. birth of wainamoinen rune ii. wainamoinen's sowing rune iii. wainamoinen and youkahainen rune iv. the fate of aino rune v. wainamoinen's lamentation rune vi. wainamoinen's hapless journey rune vii. wainamoinen's rescue rune viii. maiden of the rainbow rune ix. origin of iron rune x. ilmarinen forges the sampo rune xi. lemminkainen's lament rune xii. kyllikki's broken vow rune xiii. lemminkainen's second wooing rune xiv. death of lemminkainen rune xv. lemminkainen's restoration rune xvi. wainainoinen's boat-building rune xvii. wainamoinen finds the lost word rune xviii. the rival suitors rune xix. ilmarinen's wooing rune xx. the brewing of beer rune xxi. ilmarinen's wedding-feast rune xxii. the bride's farewell rune xxiii. osmotar, the bride-adviser rune xxiv. the bride's farewell rune xxv. wainamoinen's wedding-songs rune xxvi. origin of the serpent rune xxvii. the unwelcome guest rune xxviii. the mother's counsel rune xxix. the isle of refuge rune xxx. the frost-fiend rune xxxi. kullerwoinen, son of evil rune xxxii. kullervo as a shepherd rune xxxiii. kullervo and the cheat-cake rune xxxiv. kullervo finds his tribe-folk rune xxxv. kullervo's evil deeds rune xxxvi. kullerwoinen's victory and death rune xxxvii ilmarinen's bride of gold rune xxxviii. ilmarinen's fruitless wooing rune xxxix. wainamoinen's sailing rune xl. birth of the harp rune xli. wainamoinen's harp-songs rune xlii. capture of the sampo rune xliii. the sampo lost in the sea rune xliv. birth of the second harp rune xlv. birth of the nine diseases rune xlvi. otso the honey-eater rune xlvii. louhi steals sun, moon, and fire rune xlviii. capture of the fire-fish rune xlix. restoration of the sun and moon rune l. mariatta--wainamoinen's departure epilogue preface. the following translation was undertaken from a desire to lay before the english-speaking people the full treasury of epical beauty, folklore, and mythology comprised in the kalevala, the national epic of the finns. a brief description of this peculiar people, and of their ethical, linguistic, social, and religious life, seems to be called for here in order that the following poem may be the better understood. finland (finnish, suomi or suomenmaa, the swampy region, of which finland, or fen-land is said to be a swedish translation,) is at present a grand-duchy in the north-western part of the russian empire, bordering on olenetz, archangel, sweden, norway, and the baltic sea, its area being more than , square miles, and inhabited by some , , of people, the last remnants of a race driven back from the east, at a very early day, by advancing tribes. the finlanders live in a land of marshes and mountains, lakes and rivers, seas, gulfs, islands, and inlets, and they call themselves suomilainen, fen-dwellers. the climate is more severe than that of sweden. the mean yearly temperature in the north is about °f., and about °f., at helsingfors, the capital of finland. in the southern districts the winter is seven months long, and in the northern provinces the sun disappears entirely during the months of december and january. the inhabitants are strong and hardy, with bright, intelligent faces, high cheek-bones, yellow hair in early life, and with brown hair in mature age. with regard to their social habits, morals, and manners, all travellers are unanimous in speaking well of them. their temper is universally mild; they are slow to anger, and when angry they keep silence. they are happy-hearted, affectionate to one another, and honorable and honest in their dealings with strangers. they are a cleanly people, being much given to the use of vapor-baths. this trait is a conspicuous note of their character from their earliest history to the present day. often in the runes of the kalevala reference is made to the "cleansing and healing virtues of the vapors of the heated bathroom." the skull of the finn belongs to the brachycephalic (short-headed) class of retzius. indeed the finn-organization has generally been regarded as mongol, though mongol of a modified type. his color is swarthy, and his eyes are gray. he is not inhospitable, but not over-easy of access; nor is he a friend of new fashions. steady, careful, laborious, he is valuable in the mine, valuable in the field, valuable oil shipboard, and, withal, a brave soldier on land. the finns are a very ancient people. it is claimed, too, that they began earlier than any other european nation to collect and preserve their ancient folk-lore. tacitus, writing in the very beginning of the second century of the christian era, mentions the fenni, as he calls them, in the th chapter of his de moribus germanoram. he says of them: "the finns are extremely wild, and live in abject poverty. they have no arms, no horses, no dwellings; they live on herbs, they clothe themselves in skins, and they sleep on the ground. their only resources are their arrows, which for the lack of iron are tipped with bone." strabo and the great geographer, ptolemy, also mention this curious people. there is evidence that at one time they were spread over large portions of europe and western asia. perhaps it should be stated here that the copper, so often mentioned in the kalevala, when taken literally, was probably bronze, or "hardened copper," the amount and quality of the alloy used being not now known. the prehistoric races of europe were acquainted with bronze implements. it may be interesting to note in this connection that canon isaac taylor, and professor sayce have but very recently awakened great interest in this question, in europe especially, by the reading of papers before the british philological association, in which they argue in favor of the finnic origin of the aryans. for this new theory these scholars present exceedingly strong evidence, and they conclude that the time of the separation of the aryan from the finnic stock must have been more than five thousand years ago. the finnish nation has one of the most sonorous and flexible of languages. of the cultivated tongues of europe, the magyar, or hungarian, bears the most positive signs of a deep-rooted similarity to the finnish. both belong to the ugrian stock of agglutinative languages, i.e., those which preserve the root most carefully, and effect all changes of grammar by suffixes attached to the original stein. grimin has shown that both gothic and icelandic present traces of finnish influence. the musical element of a language, the vowels, are well developed in finnish, and their due sequence is subject to strict rules of euphony. the dotted o; (equivalent to the french eu) of the first syllable must be followed by an e or an i. the finnish, like all ugrian tongues, admits rhyme, but with reluctance, and prefers alliteration. their alphabet consists of but nineteen letters, and of these, b, c, d, f, g, are found only in a few foreign words, and many others are never found initial. one of the characteristic features of this language, and one that is likewise characteristic of the magyar, turkish, mordvin, and other kindred tongues, consists in the frequent use of endearing diminutives. by a series of suffixes to the names of human beings, birds, fishes, trees, plants, stones, metals, and even actions, events, and feelings, diminutives are obtained, which by their form, present the names so made in different colors; they become more naive, more childlike, eventually more roguish, or humorous, or pungent. these traits can scarcely be rendered in english; for, as robert ferguson remarks: "the english language is not strong in diminutives, and therefore it lacks some of the most effective means for the expression of affectionate, tender, and familiar relations." in this respect all translations from the finnish into english necessarily must fall short of the original. the same might be said of the many emotional interjections in which the finnish, in common with all ugrian dialects, abounds. with the exception of these two characteristics of the ugrian languages, the chief beauties of the finnish verse admit of an apt rendering into english. the structure of the sentences is very simple indeed, and adverbs and adjectives are used sparingly. finnish is the language of a people who live pre-eminently close to nature, and are at home amongst the animals of the wilderness, beasts and birds, winds, and woods, and waters, falling snows, and flying sands, and rolling rocks, and these are carefully distinguished by corresponding verbs of ever-changing acoustic import. conscious of the fact that, in a people like the finns where nature and nature-worship form the centre of all their life, every word connected with the powers and elements of nature must be given its fall value, great care has been taken in rendering these finely shaded verbs. a glance at the mythology of this interesting people will place the import of this remark in better view. in the earliest age of suomi, it appears that the people worshiped the conspicuous objects in nature under their respective, sensible forms. all beings were persons. the sun, moon, stars, the earth, the air, and the sea, were to the ancient finns, living, self-conscious beings. gradually the existence of invisible agencies and energies was recognized, and these were attributed to superior persons who lived independent of these visible entities, but at the same time were connected with them. the basic idea in finnish mythology seems to lie in this: that all objects in nature are governed by invisible deities, termed haltiat, regents or genii. these haltiat, like members of the human family, have distinctive bodies and spirits; but the minor ones are somewhat immaterial and formless, and their existences are entirely independent of the objects in which they are particularly interested. they are all immortal, but they rank according to the relative importance of their respective charges. the lower grades of the finnish gods are sometimes subservient to the deities of greater powers, especially to those who rule respectively the air, the water, the field, and the forest. thus, pilajatar, the daughter of the aspen, although as divine as tapio, the god of the woodlands, is necessarily his servant. one of the most notable characteristics of the finnish mythology is the interdependence among the gods. "every deity", says castren, "however petty he may be, rules in his own sphere as a substantial, independent power, or, to speak in the spirit of the kalevala, as a self-ruling householder. the god of the polar-star only governs an insignificant spot in the vault of the sky, but on this spot he knows no master." the finnish deities, like the ancient gods of italy and greece, are generally represented in pairs, and all the gods are probably wedded. they have their individual abodes and are surrounded by their respective families. the primary object of worship among the early finns was most probably the visible sky with its sun, moon, and stars, its aurora-lights, its thunders and its lightnings. the heavens themselves were thought divine. then a personal deity of the heavens, coupled with the name of his abode, was the next conception; finally this sky-god was chosen to represent the supreme ruler. to the sky, the sky-god, and the supreme god, the term jumala (thunder-home) was given. in course of time, however, when the finns came to have more purified ideas about religion, they called the sky taivas and the sky-god ukko. the word, ukko, seems related to the magyar agg, old, and meant, therefore, an old being, a grandfather; but ultimately it came to be used exclusively as the name of the highest of the finnish deities. frost, snow, hail, ice, wind and rain, sunshine and shadow, are thought to come from the hands of ukko. he controls the clouds; he is called in the kalevala, "the leader of the clouds," "the shepherd of the lamb-clouds," "the god of the breezes," "the golden king," "the silvern ruler of the air," and "the father of the heavens." he wields the thunder-bolts, striking down the spirits of evil on the mountains, and is therefore termed, "the thunderer," like the greek zeus, and his abode is called, "the thunder-home." ukko is often represented as sitting upon a cloud in the vault of the sky, and bearing on his shoulders the firmament, and therefore he is termed, "the pivot of the heavens." he is armed as an omnipotent warrior; his fiery arrows are forged from copper, the lightning is his sword, and the rainbow his bow, still called ukkon kaari. like the german god, thor, ukko swings a hammer; and, finally, we find, in a vein of familiar symbolism, that his skirt sparkles with fire, that his stockings are blue, and his shoes, crimson colored. in the following runes, ukko here and there interposes. thus, when the sun and moon were stolen from the heavens, and hidden away in a cave of the copper-bearing mountain, by the wicked hostess of the dismal sariola, he, like atlas in the mythology of greece, relinquishes the support of the heavens, thunders along the borders of the darkened clouds, and strikes fire from his sword to kindle a new sun and a new moon. again, when lemminkainen is hunting the fire-breathing horse of piru, ukko, invoked by the reckless hero, checks the speed of the mighty courser by opening the windows of heaven, and showering upon him flakes of snow, balls of ice, and hailstones of iron. usually, however, ukko prefers to encourage a spirit of independence among his worshipers. often we find him, in the runes, refusing to heed the call of his people for help, as when ilmatar, the daughter of the air, vainly invoked him to her aid, that wainamoinen, already seven hundred years unborn, might be delivered. so also wainamoinen beseeches ukko in vain to check the crimson streamlet flowing from his knee wounded by an axe in the hands of hisi. ukko, however, with all his power, is by no means superior to the sun, moon, and other bodies dwelling in the heavens; they are uninfluenced by him, and are considered deities in their own right. thus, paeivae means both sun and sun-god; kun means moon and moon-god; and taehti and ottava designate the polar-star and the great bear respectively, as well as the deities of these bodies. the sun and the moon have each a consort, and sons, and daughters. two sons only of paeivae appear in the kalevala, one comes to aid wainamoinen in his efforts to destroy the mystic fire-fish, by throwing from the heavens to the girdle of the hero, a "magic knife, silver-edged, and golden-handled;" the other son, panu, the fire-child, brings back to kalevala the fire that bad been stolen by louhi, the wicked hostess of pohyola. from this myth castren argues that the ancient finns regarded fire as a direct emanation from the sun. the daughters of the sun, moon, great bear, polar-star, and of the other heavenly dignitaries, are represented as ever-young and beautiful maidens, sometimes seated on the bending branches of the forest-trees, sometimes on the crimson rims of the clouds, sometimes on the rainbow, sometimes on the dome of heaven. these daughters are believed to be skilled to perfection in the arts of spinning and weaving, accomplishments probably attributed to them from the fanciful likeness of the rays of light to the warp of the weaver's web. the sun's career of usefulness and beneficence in bringing light and life to northland is seldom varied. occasionally he steps from his accustomed path to give important information to his suffering worshipers. for example, when the star and the moon refuse the information, the sun tells the virgin mariatta, where her golden infant lies bidden. "yonder is thy golden infant, there thy holy babe lies sleeping, hidden to his belt in water, hidden in the reeds and rushes." again when the devoted mother of the reckless hero, lemminkainen, (chopped to pieces by the sons of nana, as in the myth of osiris) was raking together the fragments of his body from the river of tuoui, and fearing that the sprites of the death-stream might resent her intrusion, the sun, in answer to her entreaties, throws his powerful rays upon the dreaded shades, and sinks them into a deep sleep, while the mother gathers up the fragments of her son's body in safety. this rune of the kalevala is particularly interesting as showing the belief that the dead can be restored to life through the blissful light of heaven. among the other deities of the air are the luonnotars, mystic maidens, three of whom were created by the rubbing of ukko's hands upon his left knee. they forthwith walk the crimson borders of the clouds, and one sprinkles white milk, one sprinkles red milk, and the third sprinkles black milk over the hills and mountains; thus they become the "mothers of iron," as related in the ninth rune of the kalevala. in the highest regions of the heavens, untar, or undutar, has her abode, and presides over mists and fogs. these she passes through a silver sieve before sending them to the earth. there are also goddesses of the winds, one especially noteworthy, suvetar (suve, south, summer), the goddess of the south-wind. she is represented as a kind-hearted deity, healing her sick and afflicted followers with honey, which she lets drop from the clouds, and she also keeps watch over the herds grazing in the fields and forests. second only to air, water is the element held most in reverence by the finns and their kindred tribes. "it could hardly be otherwise," says castren, "for as soon as the soul of the savage began to suspect that the godlike is spiritual, super-sensual, then, even though he continues to pay reverence to matter, he in general values it the more highly the less compact it is. he sees on the one hand how easy it is to lose his life on the surging waves, and on the other, he sees that from these same waters he is nurtured, and his life prolonged." thus it is that the map of finland is to this day full of names like pyhojarvi (sacred lake) and pyhajoki (sacred river). some of the finlanders still offer goats and calves to these sacred waters; and many of the ugrian clans still sacrifice the reindeer to the river ob. in esthonia is a rivulet, vohanda, held in such reverence that until very recently, none dared to fell a tree or cut a shrub in its immediate vicinity, lest death should overtake the offender within a year, in punishment for his sacrilege. the lake, eim, is still held sacred by the esthonians, and the eim-legend is thus told by f. thiersch, quoted also by grimm and by mace da charda: "savage, evil men dwelt by its borders. they neither mowed the meadows which it watered, nor sowed the fields which it made fruitful, but robbed and murdered, insomuch that its clear waves grew dark with the blood of the slaughtered men. then did the lake him mourn, and one evening it called together all its fishes, and rose aloft with them into the air. when the robbers heard the sound, they exclaimed: 'eim hath arisen; let us gather its fishes and treasures.' but the fishes had departed with the lake, and nothing was found on the bottom but snakes, and lizards, and toads. and eim rose higher, and higher, and hastened through the air like a white cloud. and the hunters in the forest said: 'what bad weather is coming on!' the herdsmen said: 'what a white swan is flying above there!' for the whole night the lake hovered among the stars, and in the morning the reapers beheld it sinking. and from the swan grew a white ship, and from the ship a dark train of clouds; and a voice came from the waters: 'get thee hence with thy harvest, for i will dwell beside thee.' then they bade the lake welcome, if it would only bedew their fields and meadows; and it sank down and spread itself out in its home to the full limits. then the lake made all the neighborhood fruitful, and the fields became green, and the people danced around it, so that the old men grew joyous as the youth." the chief water-god is ahto, on the etymology of which the finnish language throws little light. it is curiously like ahti, another name for the reckless lemminkainen. this water-god, or "wave-host," as he is called, lives with his "cold and cruel-hearted spouse," wellamo, at the bottom of the sea, in the chasms of the salmon-rocks, where his palace, ahtola, is constructed. besides the fish that swim in his dominions, particularly the salmon, the trout, the whiting, the perch, the herring, and the white-fish, he possesses a priceless treasure in the sampo, the talisman of success, which louhi, the hostess of pohyola, dragged into the sea in her efforts to regain it from the heroes of kalevala. ever eager for the treasures of others, and generally unwilling to return any that come into his possession, ahto is not incapable of generosity. for example, once when a shepherd lad was whittling a stick on the bank of a river, he dropped his knife into the stream. ahto, as in the fable, "mercury and the woodman," moved by the tears of the unfortunate lad, swam to the scene, dived to the bottom, brought up a knife of gold, and gave it to the young shepherd. innocent and honest, the herd-boy said the knife was not his. then ahto dived again, and brought up a knife of silver, which he gave to the lad, but this in turn was not accepted. thereupon the wave-host dived again, and the third time brought the right knife to the boy who gladly recognized his own, and received it with gratitude. to the shepherd-lad ahto gave the three knives as a reward for his honesty. a general term for the other water-hosts living not only in the sea, but also in the rivers, lakes, cataracts, and fountains, is ahtolaiset (inhabitants of ahtola), "water-people," "people of the foam and billow," "wellamo's eternal people." of these, some have specific names; as allotar (wave-goddess), koskenneiti (cataract-maiden), melatar (goddess of the helm), and in the kalevala these are sometimes personally invoked. of these minor deities, pikku mies (the pigmy) is the most noteworthy. once when the far-outspreading branches of the primitive oak-tree shut out the light of the sun from northland, pikku mies, moved by the entreaties of wainamoinen, emerged from the sea in a suit of copper, with a copper hatchet in his belt, quickly grew from a pigmy to a gigantic hero, and felled the mighty oak with the third stroke of his axe. in general the water-deities are helpful and full of kindness; some, however, as wetehilien and iku-turso, find their greatest pleasure in annoying and destroying their fellow-beings. originally the finlanders regarded the earth as a godlike existence with personal powers, and represented as a beneficent mother bestowing peace and plenty on all her worthy worshipers. in evidence of this we find the names, maa-emae (mother-earth), and maan-emo (mother of the earth), given to the finnish demeter. she is always represented as a goddess of great powers, and, after suitable invocation, is ever willing and able to help her helpless sufferers. she is according to some mythologists espoused to ukko, who bestows upon her children the blessings of sunshine and rain, as ge is wedded to ouranos, jordh to odhin, and papa to rangi. of the minor deities of the earth, who severally govern the plants, such as trees, rye, flax, and barley, wirokannas only is mentioned in the kalevala. once, for example, this "green robed priest of the forest" abandoned for a time his presidency over the cereals in order to baptize the infant-son of the virgin mariatta. once again wirokannas left his native sphere of action, this time making a most miserable and ludicrous failure, when he emerged from the wilderness and attempted to slay the finnish taurus, as described in the runes that follow. the agricultural deities, however, receive but little attention from the finns, who, with their cold and cruel winters, and their short but delightful summers, naturally neglect the cultivation of the fields, for cattle-raising, fishing, and hunting. the forest deities proper, however, are held in high veneration. of these the chief is tapio, "the forest-friend," "the gracious god of the woodlands." he is represented as a very tall and slender divinity, wearing a long, brown board, a coat of tree-moss, and a high-crowned hat of fir-leaves. his consort is mielikki, "the honey-rich mother of the woodland," "the hostess of the glen and forest." when the hunters were successful she was represented as beautiful and benignant, her hands glittering with gold and silver ornaments, wearing ear-rings and garlands of gold, with hair-bands silver-tinseled, on her forehead strings of pearls, and with blue stockings on her feet, and red strings in her shoes. but if the game-bag came back empty, she was described as a hateful, hideous thing, robed in untidy rags, and shod with straw. she carries the keys to the treasury of metsola, her husband's abode, and her bountiful chest of honey, the food of all the forest-deities, is earnestly sought for by all the weary hunters of suomi. these deities are invariably described as gracious and tender-hearted, probably because they are all females with the exception of tapio and his son, nyrikki, a tall and stately youth who is engaged in building bridges over marshes and forest-streams, through which the herds must pass on their way to the woodland-pastures. nyrikki also busies himself in blazing the rocks and the trees to guide the heroes to their favorite hunting-grounds. sima-suu (honey-mouth), one of the tiny daughters of tapio, by playing on her sima-pilli (honey-flute), also acts as guide to the deserving hunters. hiisi, the finnish devil, bearing also the epithets, juntas, piru, and lempo, is the chief of the forest-demons, and is inconceivably wicked. he was brought into the world consentaneously with suoyatar, from whose spittle, as sung in the kalevala, he formed the serpent. this demon is described as cruel, horrible, hideous, and bloodthirsty, and all the most painful diseases and misfortunes that ever afflict mortals are supposed to emanate from him. this demon, too, is thought by the finlanders to have a hand in all the evil done in the world. turning from the outer world to man, we find deities whose energies are used only in the domain of human existence. "these deities," says castren, "have no dealings with the higher, spiritual nature of man. all that they do concerns man solely as an object in nature. wisdom and law, virtue and justice, find in finnish mythology no protector among the gods, who trouble themselves only about the temporal wants of humanity." the love-goddess was sukkamieli (stocking-lover). "stockings," says castren gravely, "are soft and tender things, and the goddess of love was so called because she interests herself in the softest and tenderest feelings of the heart." this conception, however, is as farfetched as it is modern. the love-deity of the ancient finns was lempo, the evil-demon. it is more reasonable therefore to suppose that the finns chose the son of evil to look after the feelings of the human heart, because they regarded love as an insufferable passion, or frenzy, that bordered on insanity, and incited in some mysterious manner by an evil enchanter. uni is the god of sleep, and is described as a kind-hearted and welcome deity. untamo is the god of dreams, and is always spoken of as the personification of indolence. munu tenderly looks after the welfare of the human eye. this deity, to say the least is an oculist of long and varied experience, in all probability often consulted in finland because of the blinding snows and piercing winds of the north. lemmas is a goddess in the mythology of the finns who dresses the wounds of her faithful sufferers, and subdues their pains. suonetar is another goddess of the human frame, and plays a curious and important part in the restoration to life of the reckless lemminkainen, as described in the following runes. she busies herself in spinning veins, and in sewing up the wounded tissues of such deserving worshipers as need her surgical skill. other deities associated with the welfare of mankind are the sinettaret and kankahattaret, the goddesses respectively of dyeing and weaving. matka-teppo is their road-god, and busies himself in caring for horses that are over-worked, and in looking after the interests of weary travellers. aarni is the guardian of hidden treasures. this important office is also filled by a hideous old deity named mammelainen, whom renwall, the finnish lexicographer, describes as "femina maligna, matrix serpentis, divitiarum subterranearum custos," a malignant woman, the mother of the snake, and the guardian of subterranean treasures. from this conception it is evident that the idea of a kinship between serpents and hidden treasures frequently met with in the myths of the hungarians, germans, and slavs, is not foreign to the finns. nowhere are the inconsistencies of human theory and practice more curiously and forcibly shown than in the custom in vogue among the clans of finland who are not believers in a future life, but, notwithstanding, perform such funereal ceremonies as the burying in the graves of the dead, knives, hatchets, spears, bows, and arrows, kettles, food, clothing, sledges and snow-shoes, thus bearing witness to their practical recognition of some form of life beyond the grave. the ancient finns occasionally craved advice and assistance from the dead. thus, as described in the kalevala, when the hero of wainola needed three words of master-magic wherewith to finish the boat in which he was to sail to win the mystic maiden of sariola, he first looked in the brain of the white squirrel, then in the mouth of the white-swan when dying, but all in vain; then he journeyed to the kingdom of tuoni, and failing there, he "struggled over the points of needles, over the blades of swords, over the edges of hatchets" to the grave of the ancient wisdom-bard, antero wipunen, where he "found the lost-words of the master." in this legend of the kalevala, exceedingly interesting, instructive, and curious, are found, apparently, the remote vestiges of ancient masonry. it would seem that the earliest beliefs of the finns regarding the dead centred in this: that their spirits remained in their graves until after the complete disintegration of their bodies, over which kalma, the god of the tombs, with his black and evil daughter, presided. after their spirits had been fully purified, they were then admitted to the kingdom of manala in the under world. those journeying to tuonela were required to voyage over nine seas, and over one river, the finnish styx, black, deep, and violent, and filled with hungry whirlpools, and angry waterfalls. like helheim of scandinavian mythology, manala, or tuonela, was considered as corresponding to the upper world. the sun and the moon visited there; fen and forest gave a home to the wolf, the bear, the elk, the serpent, and the songbird; the salmon, the whiting, the perch, and the pike were sheltered in the "coal-black waters of manala." from the seed-grains of the death-land fields and forests, the tuoni-worm (the serpent) had taken its teeth. tuoui, or mana, the god of the under world, is represented as a hard-hearted, and frightful, old personage with three iron-pointed fingers on each hand, and wearing a hat drawn down to his shoulders. as in the original conception of hades, tuoni was thought to be the leader of the dead to their subterranean home, as well as their counsellor, guardian, and ruler. in the capacity of ruler he was assisted by his wife, a hideous, horrible, old witch with "crooked, copper-fingers iron-pointed," with deformed head and distorted features, and uniformly spoken of in irony in the kalevala as "hyva emanta," the good hostess; she feasted her guests on lizards, worms, toads, and writhing serpents. tuouen poika, "the god of the red cheeks," so called because of his bloodthirstiness and constant cruelties, is the son and accomplice of this merciless and hideous pair. three daughters of tuoni are mentioned in the runes, the first of whom, a tiny, black maiden, but great in wickedness, once at least showed a touch of human kindness when she vainly urged wainamoinen not to cross the river of tuoui, assuring the hero that while many visit manala, few return, because of their inability to brave her father's wrath. finally, after much entreaty, she ferried him over the finnish styx, like charon, the son of erebus and nox, in the mythology of greece. the second daughter of tuoni is lowyatar, black and blind, and is described as still more malignant and loathsome than the first. through the east-wind's impregnation she brought forth the spirits of the nine diseases most dreaded by mankind, as described in the th rune of the kalevala: "colic, pleurisy, and fever. ulcer, plague, and dread consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer." the third daughter of tuoni combines the malevolent and repugnant attributes of her two sisters, and is represented as the mother and hostess of the impersonal diseases of mankind. the finns regarded all human ailments as evil spirits or indwelling devils, some formless, others taking the shapes of the most odious forms of animal life, as worms and mites; the nine, however, described above, were conceived to have human forms. where the three arms of the tuoni river meet a frightful rock arises, called kipu-kivi, or kipuvuori, in a dungeon beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. on this rock the third daughter of tuoui sits, constantly whirling it round like a millstone, grinding her subjects until they escape and go forth to torture and slay the children of men; as in hindu mythology, kali (black) sits in judgment on the dead. various other spiritual powers than gods and goddesses are held in high reverence by the finns. tontu is represented as a kind-hearted house-spirit, a sort of diminutive cyclops, and offerings of bread and broth are made to him every morning. putting a mare's collar on one's neck and walking nine times around a church is thought to be a certain means of attracting one to the place desired. para is a mystical, three-legged being, constructed in many ways, and which, according to castren, attains life and action when its possessor, cutting the little finger of his left hand, lets three drops of blood fall upon it, and at the same time pronouncing the proper magic word. the possessor, by whatever means, of this mystic being, is always supplied with abundance of milk and cheese. the maahiset are the dwarfs of finnish mythology. their abode is under stumps, trees, blocks, thresholds and hearth-stones. though exceedingly minute and invisible to man they have human forms. they are irritable and resentful, and they punish with ulcers, tetter, ringworms, pimples, and other cutaneous affections, all those who neglect them at brewings, bakings, and feastings. they punish in a similar manner those who enter new houses without making obeisance to the four corners, and paying them other kindly attentions; those who live in untidy houses are also likewise punished. the kirkonwaeki (church-folk) are little deformed beings living under the altars of churches. these misshapen things are supposed to be able to aid their sorrowing and suffering worshipers. certain beasts, and birds, and trees, are held sacred in finland. in the kalevala are evident traces of arctolatry, bear-worship, once very common among the tribes of the north, otso, the bear, according to finnish mythology, was born on the shoulders of otava, in the regions of the sun and moon, and "nursed by a goddess of the woodlands in a cradle swung by bands of gold between the bending branches of budding fir-trees." his nurse would not give him teeth and claws until he had promised never to engage in bloody strife, or deeds of violence. otso, however, does not always keep his pledge, and accordingly the hunters of finland find it comparatively easy to reconcile their consciences to his destruction. otso is called in the runes by many endearing titles as "the honey-eater," "golden light-foot," "the forest-apple," "honey-paw of the mountains," "thepride of the thicket," "the fur-robed forest-friend." ahava, the west-wind, and penitar, a blind old witch of sariola, are the parents of the swift dogs of finland, just as the horses of achilles, xanthos and belios, sprang from zephyros and the harpy podarge. as to birds, the duck, according to the kalevala, the eagle, according to other traditions, lays the mundane egg, thus taking part in the creation of the world. puhuri, the north-wind, the father of pakkanen (frost) is sometimes personified as a gigantic eagle. the didapper is reverenced because it foretells the approach of rain. linnunrata (bird-path) is the name given to the milky-way, due probably to a myth like those of the swedes and slavs, in which liberated songs take the form of snow-white dovelets. the cuckoo to this day is sacred, and is believed to have fertilized the earth with his songs. as to insects, honey-bees, called by the finns, mehilainen, are especially sacred, as in the mythologies of many other nations. ukkon-koiva (ukko's dog) is the finnish name for the butterfly, and is looked upon as a messenger of the supreme deity. it may be interesting to observe here that the bretons in reverence called butterflies, "feathers from the wings of god." as to inanimate nature, certain lakes, rivers, springs, and fountains, are held in high reverence. in the kalevala the oak is called pun jumalan (god's tree). the mountain-ash even to this day, and the birch-tree, are held sacred, and peasants plant them by their cottages with reverence. respecting the giants of finnish mythology, castren is silent, and the following notes are gleaned from the kalevala, and from grimm's teutonic mythology. "the giants," says grimm, "are distinguished by their cunning and ferocity from the stupid, good-natured monsters of germany and scandinavia." soini, for example a synonym of kullervo, the here of the saddest episode of the kalevala when only three days old, tore his swaddling clothes to tatters. when sold to a forgeman of karelia, he was ordered to nurse an infant, but he dug out the eyes of the child, killed it, and burned its cradle. ordered to fence the fields, he built a fence from earth to heaven, using entire pine-trees for fencing materials, and interweaving their branches with venomous serpents. ordered to tend the herds in the woodlands, he changed the cattle to wolves and bears, and drove them home to destroy his mistress because she had baked a stone in the centre of his oat-loaf, causing him to break his knife, the only keepsake of his people. regarding the heroes of the kalevala, much discussion has arisen as to their place in finnish mythology. the finns proper regard the chief heroes of the suomi epic, wainamoinen, ilmarinen, and lemminkainen, as descendants of the celestial virgin, ilmatar, impregnated by the winds when ilma (air), light, and water were the only material existences. in harmony with this conception we find in the kalevala, a description of the birth of wainamoinen, or vaino, as he is sometimes called in the original, a word probably akin to the magyar ven, old. the esthonians regard these heroes as sons of the great spirit, begotten before the earth was created, and dwelling with their supreme ruler in jumala. the poetry of a people with such an elaborate mythology and with such a keen and appreciative sense of nature and of her various phenomena, was certain, sooner or later, to attract the attention of scholars. and, in fact, as early as the seventeenth century, we meet men of literary tastes who tried to collect and interpret the various national songs of the finns. among these were palmskold and peter bang. they collected portions of the national poetry, consisting chiefly of wizard-incantations, and all kinds of pagan folk-lore. gabriel maxenius, however, was the first to publish a work on finnish national poetry, which brought to light the beauties of the kalevala. it appeared in , and bore the title: de effectibus naturalibus. the book contains a quaint collection of finnish poems in lyric forms, chiefly incantations; but the author was entirely at a loss how to account for them, or how to appreciate them. he failed to see their intimate connection with the religious worship of the finns in paganism. the next to study the finnish poetry and language was daniel juslenius, a celebrated bishop, and a highly-gifted scholar. in a dissertation, published as early as , entitled, aboa vetus et nova, he discussed the origin and nature of the finnish language; and in another work of his, printed in , he treated of finnish incantations, displaying withal a thorough understanding of the finnish folk-lore, and of the importance of the finnish language and national poetry. with great care he began to collect the songs of suomi, but this precious collection was unfortunately burned. porthan, a finnish scholar of great attainments, born in , continuing the work of juslenius, accumulated a great number of national songs and poems, and by his profound enthusiasm for the promotion of finnish literature, succeeded in founding the society of the fennophils, which to the present day, forms the literary centre of finland. among his pupils were e. lenquist, and chr. ganander, whose works on finnish mythology are among the references used in preparing this preface. these indefatigable scholars were joined by reinhold becker and others, who were industriously searching for more and more fragments of what evidently was a great epic of the finns. for certainly neither of the scholars just mentioned, nor earlier investigators, could fail to see that the runes they collected, gathered round two or three chief heroes, but more especially around the central figure of wainamoinen, the hero of the following epic. the kalevala proper was collected by two great finnish scholars, zacharias topelius and elias lonnrot. both were practicing physicians, and in this capacity came into frequent contact with the people of finland. topelius, who collected eighty epical fragments of the kalevala, spent the last eleven years of his life in bed, afflicted with a fatal disease. but this sad and trying circumstance did not dampen his enthusiasm. his manner of collecting these songs was as follows: knowing that the finns of russia preserved most of the national poetry, and that they came annually to finland proper, which at that time did not belong to russia, he invited these itinerant finnish merchants to his bedside, and induced them to sing their heroic poems, which he copied as they were uttered. and, when he heard of a renowned finnish singer, or minstrel, he did all in his power to bring the song-man to his house, in order that he might gather new fragments of the national epic. thus the first glory of collecting the fragments of the kalevala and of rescuing it from literary oblivion, belongs to topelius. in he published his first collections, and in his last. elias lonnrot, who brought the whole work to a glorious completion, was born april , . he entered the university of abo in , and in , received the degree of doctor of medicine from the university of helsingfors. after the death of castren in , lonnrot was appointed professor of the suomi (finnish) language and literature in the university, where he remained until , at which time he withdrew from his academical activity and devoted himself exclusively to the study of his native language, and its epical productions. dr. lonnrot had already published a scholarly treatise, in , on the chief hero of the kalevala, before he went to sava and karjala to glean the songs and parts of songs front the lips of the people. this work was entitled: de wainainoine priscorum fennorum numine. in the year , he travelled as far as kajan, collecting poems and songs of the finnish people, sitting by the fireside of the aged, rowing on the lakes with the fishermen, and following the flocks with the shepherds. in he published at helsingfors a work under the following title: kantele taikka suomee kansan sek vazhoja etta nykysempia runoja ja lauluja (lyre, or old and new songs and lays of the finnish nation). in another work edited in , written in swedish, entitled: om finnarues magiska medicin (on the magic medicine of the finns), he dwells on the incantations so frequent in finnish poetry, notably in the kalevala. a few years later he travelled in the province of archangel, and so ingratiated himself into the hearts of the simple-minded people that they most willingly aided him in collecting these songs. these journeys were made through wild fens, forests, marshes, and ice-plains, on horseback, in sledges drawn by the reindeer, in canoes, or in some other forms of primitive conveyance. the enthusiastic physician described his journeyings and difficulties faithfully in a paper published at helsingfors in swedish in . he had the peculiar good luck to meet an old peasant, one of the oldest of the runolainen in the russian province of wuokiniem, who was by far the most renowned minstrel of the country, and with whose closely impending death, numerous very precious runes would have been irrevocably lost. the happy result of his travels throughout finland, dr. lonnrot now commenced to arrange under the central idea of a great epic, called kalevala, and in february, , the manuscript was transmitted to the finnish literary society, which had it published in two parts. lonnrot, however, did not stop here; he went on searching and collecting, and, in , had brought together more than one thousand fragments of epical poetry, national ballads, and proverbs. these he published in two works, respectively entitled, kanteletar (lyre-charm), and the proverbs of the suomi people, the latter containing over proverbs, adages, gnomic sentences, and songs. his example was followed by many of his enthusiastic countrymen, the more prominent of whom are castren, europaeus, polen and reniholm. through the collections of these scholars so many additional parts of the epical treasure of finland were made public that a new edition of the kalevala soon became an imperative necessity. the task of sifting, arranging, and organizing the extensive material, was again allotted to dr. lonnrot, and in his second editions of the kalevala, which appeared in , the epic, embracing fifty runes and , lines, had reached its mature form. the kalevala was no sooner published than it attracted the attention of the leading scholars of europe. men of such world-wide fame as jacob grimm, steinthal, uhland, carrière and max müller hastened to acknowledge its surpassing value and intrinsic beauty. jacob grimm, in a separate treatise, published in his kleinere schriften, said that the genuineness and extraordinary value of the kalevala is easily proved by the fact that from its mythological ideas we can frequently interpret the mythological conceptions of the ancient germans, whereas the poems of ossian manifest their modern origin by their inability to clear up questions of old saxon or german mythology. grimm, furthermore, shows that both the gothic and icelandic literatures display unmistakable features of finnish influence. max müller places the kalevala on a level with the greatest epics of the world. these are his words: "from the mouths of the aged an epic poem has been collected equalling the iliad in length and completeness; nay, if we can forget for a moment, all that we in our youth learned to call beautiful, not less beautiful. a finn is not a greek, and wainamoinen was not a homer [achilles?]; but if the poet may take his colors from that nature by which he is surrounded, if he may depict the men with whom he lives, the kalevala possesses merits not dissimilar from those of the illiad, and will claim its place as the fifth national epic of the world, side by side with the ionian songs, with the mahabharata, the shalinameth, and the nibelunge." steinthal recognizes but four great national epics, viz., the iliad, kalevala, nibelunge and the roland songs. the kalevala describes finnish nature very minutely and very beautifully. grimm says that no poem is to be compared with it in this respect, unless it be some of the epics of india. it has been translated into several european languages; into swedish by alex. castren, in ; into french prose by l. leduc, in ; into german by anton schiefuer, in ; into hungarian by ferdinand barna, in ; and a very small portion of it--the legend of aino--into english, in , by the late prof. john a. porter, of yale college. it must remain a matter of universal regret to the english-speaking people that prof. porter's life could not have been spared to finish the great work he had so beautifully begun. some of the most convincing evidences of the genuineness and great age of the kalevala have been supplied by the hungarian translator. the hungarians, as is well known, are closely related to the finns, and their language, the magyar dialect, has the same characteristic features as the finnish tongue. barna's translation, accordingly, is the best rendering of the original. in order to show the genuineness and antiquity of the kalevala, barna adduces a hungarian book written by a certain peter bornemissza, in , entitled ordogi kisertetekrol (on satanic specters), the unique copy of which he found in the library of the university of budapest. in this book bornemissza collected all the incantations (raolvasasok) in use among hungarian country-people of his day for the expulsion of diseases and misfortunes. these incantations, forming the common stock of all ugrian peoples, of which the finns and hungarians are branches, display a most satisfactory sameness with the numerous incantations of the kalevala used for the same purpose. barna published an elaborate treatise on this subject; it appeared in the, transactions of the hungarian academy of sciences, philological department, for . again, in , twenty-two hungarian deeds, dating from - , were sent to the hungarian academy of sciences, as having been found in the hegyalja, where the celebrated wine of tokay is made. these deeds contained several contracts for the sale of vineyards, and at the end of each deed the customary cup of wine was said to have been emptied by both parties to the contract. this cup of wine, in the deeds, was termed, "ukkon's cup." ukko, however, is the chief god according to finnish mythology, and thus the coincidence of the magyar ukkon and the finnish ukko was placed beyond doubt. the kalevala (the land of heroes) relates the ever-varying contests between the finns and the "darksome laplanders", just as the iliad relates the contests between the greeks and the trojans. castren is of the opinion that the enmity between the finns and the lapps was sung long before the finns had left their asiatic birth-place. a deeper and more esoteric meaning of the kalevala, however, points to a contest between light and darkness, good and evil; the finns representing the light and the good, and the lapps, the darkness and the evil. like the niebelungs, the heroes of the finns woo for brides the beauteous maidens of the north; and the similarity is rendered still more striking by their frequent inroads into the country of the lapps, in order to possess themselves of the envied treasure of lapland, the mysterious sampo, evidently the golden fleece of the argonautic expedition. curiously enough public opinion is often expressed in the runes, in the words of an infant; often too the unexpected is introduced after the manner of the greek dramas, by a young child, or an old man. the whole poem is replete with the most fascinating folk-lore about the mysteries of nature, the origin of things, the enigmas of human tears, and, true to the character of a national epic, it represents not only the poetry, but the entire wisdom and accumulated experience of a nation. among others, there is a profoundly philosophical trait in the poem, indicative of a deep insight into the workings of the human mind, and into the forces of nature. whenever one of the heroes of the kalevala wishes to overcome the aggressive power of an evil force, as a wound, a disease, a ferocious beast, or a venomous serpent, he achieves his purpose by chanting the origin of the inimical force. the thought underlying this idea evidently is that all evil could be obviated had we but the knowledge of whence and how it came. the numerous myths of the poem are likewise full of significance and beauty, and the kalevala should be read between the lines, in order that the fall meaning of this great epic may be comprehended. even such a hideous impersonation as that of kullerwoinen, is rich with pointed meaning, showing as it does, the incorrigibility of ingrained evil. this legend, like all others of the poem, has its deep-running stream of esoteric interpretation. the kalevala, perhaps, more than any other, uses its lines on the surface in symbolism to point the human mind to the brighter gems of truth beneath. the three main personages, wainamoinen, the ancient singer, ilmarinen, the eternal forgeman, and lemminkainen, the reckless wizard, as mentioned above, are conceived as being of divine origin. in fact, the acting characters of the kalevala are mostly superhuman, magic beings. even the female actors are powerful sorceresses, and the hostess of pohyola, especially, braves the might of all the enchanters of wainola combined. the power of magic is a striking feature of the poem. here, as in the legends of no other people, do the heroes and demi-gods accomplish nearly everything by magic. the songs of wainamoinen disarm his opponents; they quiet the angry sea; they give warmth to the new sun and the new moon which his brother, ilmarinen, forges from the magic metals; they give life to the spouse of ilmarinen, which the "eternal metal-artist" forges from gold, silver, and copper. in fact we are among a people that endows everything with life, and with human and divine attributes. birds, and beasts, and fishes, and serpents, as well as the sun, the moon, the great bear, and the stars, are either kind or unkind. drops of blood find speech; men and maidens transform themselves into other shapes and resume again their native forms at will; ships, and trees, and waters, have magic powers; in short, all nature speaks in human tongues. the kalevala dates back to an enormous antiquity. one reason for believing this, lies in the silence of the kalevala about russians, germans, or swedes, their neighbors. this evidently shows that the poem must have been composed at a time when these nations had but very little or no intercourse with the finns. the coincidence between the incantations adduced above, proves that these witch-songs date from a time when the hungarians and the finns were still united as one people; in other words, to a time at least years ago. the whole poem betrays no important signs of foreign influence, and in its entire tenor is a thoroughly pagan epic. there are excellent reasons for believing that the story of mariatta, recited in the th rune, is an ante-christian legend. an additional proof of the originality and independent rise of the kalevala is to be found in its metre. all genuine poetry must have its peculiar verse, just as snow-flakes cannot exist without their peculiar crystalizations. it is thus that the iliad is inseparably united, and, as it were, immersed in the stately hexametre, and the french epics, in the graceful alexandrine verse. the metre of the kalevala is the "eight-syllabled trochaic, with the part-line echo," and is the characteristic verse of the finns. the natural speech of this people is poetry. the young men and maidens, the old men and matrons, in their interchange of ideas, unwittingly fall into verse. the genius of their language aids to this end, inasmuch as their words are strongly trochaic. this wonderfully versatile metre admits of keeping the right medium between the dignified, almost prancing hexameter, and the shorter metres of the lyrics. its feet are nimble and fleet, but yet full of vigor and expressiveness. in addition, the kalevala uses alliteration, and thus varies the rhythm of time with the rhythm of sound. this metre is especially fit for the numerous expressions of endearment in which the finnish epic abounds. it is more especially the love of the mother for her children, and the love of the children for their mother, that find frequent and ever-tender expression in the sonorous lines of the kalevala. the swedish translation by castren, the german, by schiefner, and the hungarian, by barna, as well as the following english translation, are in the original metre of the kalevala. to prove that this peculiar and fascinating style of verse is of very ancient origin, the following lines have been accurately copied from the first edition in finnish of the kalevala, collated by dr. lonnrot, and published in at helsingfors, the quotation beginning with the th line of the nd rune: louhi pohjolan emanta sanan wirkko, noin nimesi: "niin mita minulleannat, kun saatan omille maille, oman pellon pientarelle, oman pihan rikkasille?" sano wanha wainamoinen: "mitapa kysyt minulta, kun saatat omille maille, oman kaën kukkumille, oman kukon kukkluwille, oman saunan lampimille?" sano pohjolan emanta: "ohoh wiisas wainamoinen! taiatko takoa sammon, kirjokannen kirjaëlla, yhen joukkosen sulasta, yhen willan kylkyesta, yhen otrasen jywasta, yhen warttinan muruista." as to the architecture of the kalevala, it stands midway between the epical ballads of the servians and the purely epical structure of the iliad. though a continuous whole, it contains several almost independent parts, as the contest of youkahainen, the kullervo episode, and the legend of mariatta. by language-masters this epic of suomi, descending unwritten from the mythical age to the present day, kept alive from generation to generation by minstrels, or song-men, is regarded as one of the most precious contributions to the literature of the world, made since the time of milton and the german classics. acknowledgment is hereby made to the following sources of information used in the preparation of this work: to e. lenquist's de superstitione veterum fennorum theoretica et practica; to chr. ganander's mythologia fennica; to becker's de vainamoine; to max müller's oxford essays; to prof. john a. porter's selections from the kalevala; to the writings of the two grimms; to latham's native races of the russian empire; to the translations of the kalevala by alex. castren, anton schieffier, l. leduc and ferdinand barna; and especially to the excellent treatises on the kalevala, and on the mythology of the finns, by mace da charda and alex. castren; to prof. helena klingner, of cincinnati, a linguist of high rank, and who has compared very conscientiously the manuscript of the following pages with the german translation of the kalevala by anton schiefner; to dr. emil reich, a native hungarian, a close student of the ugrian tongues, who, in a most thorough manner, has compared this translation with the hungarian by ferdinand barna, and who, familiar with the habits, customs, and religious notions of the finns, has furnished much valuable material used in the preparation of this preface; and, finally, to prof. thomas c. porter, d.d., ll.d., of lafayette college, who has become an authority on the kalevala through his own researches for many years, aided by a long and intimate acquaintance with prof. a. f. soldan, a finn by birth, an enthusiastic lover of his country, a scholar of great attainments, acquainted with many languages, and once at the head of the imperial mint at helsingfors, the capital of finland. prof. porter has very kindly placed in the hands of the author of these pages, all the literature on this subject at his command, including his own writings; he has watched the growth of this translation with unusual interest; and, with the eye of a gifted poet and scholar, he has made two careful and critical examinations of the entire manuscript, making annotations, emendations, and corrections, by which this work has been greatly improved. with this prolonged introduction, this, the first english translation of the kalevala, with its many imperfections, is hesitatingly given to the public. john martin crawford. october , . the kalevala. proem. mastered by desire impulsive, by a mighty inward urging, i am ready now for singing, ready to begin the chanting of our nation's ancient folk-song handed down from by-gone ages. in my mouth the words are melting, from my lips the tones are gliding, from my tongue they wish to hasten; when my willing teeth are parted, when my ready mouth is opened, songs of ancient wit and wisdom hasten from me not unwilling. golden friend, and dearest brother, brother dear of mine in childhood, come and sing with me the stories, come and chant with me the legends, legends of the times forgotten, since we now are here together, come together from our roamings. seldom do we come for singing, seldom to the one, the other, o'er this cold and cruel country, o'er the poor soil of the northland. let us clasp our hands together that we thus may best remember. join we now in merry singing, chant we now the oldest folk-lore, that the dear ones all may hear them, that the well-inclined may hear them, of this rising generation. these are words in childhood taught me, songs preserved from distant ages, legends they that once were taken from the belt of wainamoinen, from the forge of ilmarinen, from the sword of kaukomieli, from the bow of youkahainen, from the pastures of the northland, from the meads of kalevala. these my dear old father sang me when at work with knife and hatchet these my tender mother taught me when she twirled the flying spindle, when a child upon the matting by her feet i rolled and tumbled. incantations were not wanting over sampo and o'er louhi, sampo growing old in singing, louhi ceasing her enchantment. in the songs died wise wipunen, at the games died lemminkainen. there are many other legends, incantations that were taught me, that i found along the wayside, gathered in the fragrant copses, blown me from the forest branches, culled among the plumes of pine-trees, scented from the vines and flowers, whispered to me as i followed flocks in land of honeyed meadows, over hillocks green and golden, after sable-haired murikki, and the many-colored kimmo. many runes the cold has told me, many lays the rain has brought me, other songs the winds have sung me; many birds from many forests, oft have sung me lays n concord waves of sea, and ocean billows, music from the many waters, music from the whole creation, oft have been my guide and master. sentences the trees created, rolled together into bundles, moved them to my ancient dwelling, on the sledges to my cottage, tied them to my garret rafters, hung them on my dwelling-portals, laid them in a chest of boxes, boxes lined with shining copper. long they lay within my dwelling through the chilling winds of winter, in my dwelling-place for ages. shall i bring these songs together from the cold and frost collect them? shall i bring this nest of boxes, keepers of these golden legends, to the table in my cabin, underneath the painted rafters, in this house renowned and ancient? shall i now these boxes open, boxes filled with wondrous stories? shall i now the end unfasten of this ball of ancient wisdom, these ancestral lays unravel? let me sing an old-time legend, that shall echo forth the praises of the beer that i have tasted, of the sparkling beer of barley. bring to me a foaming goblet of the barley of my fathers, lest my singing grow too weary, singing from the water only. bring me too a cup of strong-beer, it will add to our enchantment, to the pleasure of the evening, northland's long and dreary evening, for the beauty of the day-dawn, for the pleasure of the morning, the beginning of the new-day. often i have heard them chanting, often i have heard them singing, that the nights come to us singly, that the moon beams on us singly, that the sun shines on us singly; singly also, wainamoinen, the renowned and wise enchanter, born from everlasting ether of his mother, ether's daughter. rune i. birth of wainamoinen. in primeval times, a maiden, beauteous daughter of the ether, passed for ages her existence in the great expanse of heaven, o'er the prairies yet enfolded. wearisome the maiden growing, her existence sad and hopeless, thus alone to live for ages in the infinite expanses of the air above the sea-foam, in the far outstretching spaces, in a solitude of ether, she descended to the ocean, waves her coach, and waves her pillow. thereupon the rising storm-wind flying from the east in fierceness, whips the ocean into surges, strikes the stars with sprays of ocean till the waves are white with fervor. to and fro they toss the maiden, storm-encircled, hapless maiden; with her sport the rolling billows, with her play the storm-wind forces, on the blue back of the waters; on the white-wreathed waves of ocean, play the forces of the salt-sea, with the lone and helpless maiden; till at last in full conception, union now of force and beauty, sink the storm-winds into slumber; overburdened now the maiden cannot rise above the surface; seven hundred years she wandered, ages nine of man's existence, swam the ocean hither, thither, could not rise above the waters, conscious only of her travail; seven hundred years she labored ere her first-born was delivered. thus she swam as water-mother, toward the east, and also southward, toward the west, and also northward; swam the sea in all directions, frightened at the strife of storm-winds, swam in travail, swam unceasing, ere her first-born was delivered. then began she gently weeping, spake these measures, heavy-hearted: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! woe is me, in this my travail! into what have i now fallen? woe is me, that i unhappy, left my home in subtle ether, came to dwell amid the sea-foam, to be tossed by rolling billows, to be rocked by winds and waters, on the far outstretching waters, in the salt-sea's vast expanses, knowing only pain and trouble! better far for me, o ukko! were i maiden in the ether, than within these ocean-spaces, to become a water-mother! all this life is cold and dreary, painful here is every motion, as i linger in the waters, as i wander through the ocean. ukko, thou o god, up yonder, thou the ruler of the heavens, come thou hither, thou art needed, come thou hither, i implore thee, to deliver me from trouble, to deliver me in travail. come i pray thee, hither hasten, hasten more that thou art needed, haste and help this helpless maiden!" when she ceased her supplications, scarce a moment onward passes, ere a beauteous duck descending, hastens toward the water-mother, comes a-flying hither, thither, seeks herself a place for nesting. flies she eastward, flies she westward, circles northward, circles southward, cannot find a grassy hillock, not the smallest bit of verdure; cannot find a spot protected, cannot find a place befitting, where to make her nest in safety. flying slowly, looking round her, she descries no place for resting, thinking loud and long debating, and her words are such as follow: "build i in the winds my dwelling, on the floods my place of nesting? surely would the winds destroy it, far away the waves would wash it." then the daughter of the ether, now the hapless water-mother, raised her shoulders out of water, raised her knees above the ocean, that the duck might build her dwelling, build her nesting-place in safety. thereupon the duck in beauty, flying slowly, looking round her, spies the shoulders of the maiden, sees the knees of ether's daughter, now the hapless water-mother, thinks them to be grassy hillocks, on the blue back of the ocean. thence she flies and hovers slowly, lightly on the knee she settles, finds a nesting-place befitting, where to lay her eggs in safety. here she builds her humble dwelling, lays her eggs within, at pleasure, six, the golden eggs she lays there, then a seventh, an egg of iron; sits upon her eggs to hatch them, quickly warms them on the knee-cap of the hapless water-mother; hatches one day, then a second, then a third day sits and hatches. warmer grows the water round her, warmer is her bed in ocean, while her knee with fire is kindled, and her shoulders too are burning, fire in every vein is coursing. quick the maiden moves her shoulders, shakes her members in succession, shakes the nest from its foundation, and the eggs fall into ocean, dash in pieces on the bottom of the deep and boundless waters. in the sand they do not perish, not the pieces in the ocean; but transformed, in wondrous beauty all the fragments come together forming pieces two in number, one the upper, one the lower, equal to the one, the other. from one half the egg, the lower, grows the nether vault of terra: from the upper half remaining, grows the upper vault of heaven; from the white part come the moonbeams, from the yellow part the sunshine, from the motley part the starlight, from the dark part grows the cloudage; and the days speed onward swiftly, quickly do the years fly over, from the shining of the new sun from the lighting of the full moon. still the daughter of the ether, swims the sea as water-mother, with the floods outstretched before her, and behind her sky and ocean. finally about the ninth year, in the summer of the tenth year, lifts her head above the surface, lifts her forehead from the waters, and begins at last her workings, now commences her creations, on the azure water-ridges, on the mighty waste before her. where her hand she turned in water, there arose a fertile hillock; wheresoe'er her foot she rested, there she made a hole for fishes; where she dived beneath the waters, fell the many deeps of ocean; where upon her side she turned her, there the level banks have risen; where her head was pointed landward, there appeared wide bays and inlets; when from shore she swam a distance, and upon her back she rested, there the rocks she made and fashioned, and the hidden reefs created, where the ships are wrecked so often, where so many lives have perished. thus created were the islands, rocks were fastened in the ocean, pillars of the sky were planted, fields and forests were created, checkered stones of many colors, gleaming in the silver sunlight, all the rocks stood well established; but the singer, wainamoinen, had not yet beheld the sunshine, had not seen the golden moonlight, still remaining undelivered. wainamoinen, old and trusty, lingering within his dungeon thirty summers altogether, and of winters, also thirty, peaceful on the waste of waters, on the broad-sea's yielding bosom, well reflected, long considered, how unborn to live and flourish in the spaces wrapped in darkness, in uncomfortable limits, where he had not seen the moonlight, had not seen the silver sunshine. thereupon these words be uttered, let himself be heard in this wise: "take, o moon, i pray thee, take me, take me, thou, o sun above me, take me, thou o bear of heaven, from this dark and dreary prison, from these unbefitting portals, from this narrow place of resting, from this dark and gloomy dwelling, hence to wander from the ocean, hence to walk upon the islands, on the dry land walk and wander, like an ancient hero wander, walk in open air and breathe it, thus to see the moon at evening, thus to see the silver sunlight, thus to see the bear in heaven, that the stars i may consider." since the moon refused to free him, and the sun would not deliver, nor the great bear give assistance, his existence growing weary, and his life but an annoyance, bursts he then the outer portals of his dark and dismal fortress; with his strong, but unnamed finger, opens he the lock resisting; with the toes upon his left foot, with the fingers of his right hand, creeps he through the yielding portals to the threshold of his dwelling; on his knees across the threshold, throws himself head foremost, forward plunges into deeps of ocean, plunges hither, plunges thither, turning with his hands the water; swims he northward, swims he southward, swims he eastward, swims he westward, studying his new surroundings. thus our hero reached the water, rested five years in the ocean, six long years, and even seven years, till the autumn of the eighth year, when at last he leaves the waters, stops upon a promontory, on a coast bereft of verdure; on his knees he leaves the ocean, on the land he plants his right foot, on the solid ground his left foot, quickly turns his hands about him, stands erect to see the sunshine, stands to see the golden moonlight, that he may behold the great bear, that he may the stars consider. thus our hero, wainamoinen, thus the wonderful enchanter was delivered from his mother, ilmatar, the ether's daughter. rune ii. wainamoinen's sowing. then arose old wainamoinen, with his feet upon the island, on the island washed by ocean, broad expanse devoid of verdure; there remained be many summers, there he lived as many winters, on the island vast and vacant, well considered, long reflected, who for him should sow the island, who for him the seeds should scatter; thought at last of pellerwoinen, first-born of the plains and prairies, when a slender boy, called sampsa, who should sow the vacant island, who the forest seeds should scatter. pellerwoinen, thus consenting, sows with diligence the island, seeds upon the lands he scatters, seeds in every swamp and lowland, forest seeds upon the loose earth, on the firm soil sows the acorns, fir-trees sows he on the mountains, pine-trees also on the hill-tops, many shrubs in every valley, birches sows he in the marshes, in the loose soil sows the alders, in the lowlands sows the lindens, in the moist earth sows the willow, mountain-ash in virgin places, on the banks of streams the hawthorn, junipers in hilly regions; this the work of pellerwoinen, slender sampsa, in his childhood. soon the fertile seeds were sprouting, soon the forest trees were growing, soon appeared the tops of fir-trees, and the pines were far outspreading; birches rose from all the marshes, in the loose soil grew the alders, in the mellow soil the lindens; junipers were also growing, junipers with clustered berries, berries on the hawthorn branches. now the hero, wainamoinen, stands aloft to look about him, how the sampsa-seeds are growing, how the crop of pellerwoinen; sees the young trees thickly spreading, sees the forest rise in beauty; but the oak-tree has not sprouted, tree of heaven is not growing, still within the acorn sleeping, its own happiness enjoying. then he waited three nights longer, and as many days he waited, waited till a week had vanished, then again the work examined; but the oak-tree was not growing, had not left her acorn-dwelling. wainamoinen, ancient hero, spies four maidens in the distance, water-brides, he spies a fifth-one, on the soft and sandy sea-shore, in the dewy grass and flowers, on a point extending seaward, near the forests of the island. some were mowing, some were raking, raking what was mown together, in a windrow on the meadow. from the ocean rose a giant, mighty tursas, tall and hardy, pressed compactly all the grasses, that the maidens had been raking, when a fire within them kindles, and the flames shot up to heaven, till the windrows burned to ashes, only ashes now remaining of the grasses raked together. in the ashes of the windrows, tender leaves the giant places, in the leaves he plants an acorn, from the acorn, quickly sprouting, grows the oak-tree, tall and stately, from the ground enriched by ashes, newly raked by water-maidens; spread the oak-tree's many branches, rounds itself a broad corona, raises it above the storm-clouds; far it stretches out its branches, stops the white-clouds in their courses, with its branches hides the sunlight, with its many leaves, the moonbeams, and the starlight dies in heaven. wainamoinen, old and trusty, thought awhile, and well considered, how to kill the mighty oak-tree, first created for his pleasure, how to fell the tree majestic, how to lop its hundred branches. sad the lives of man and hero, sad the homes of ocean-dwellers, if the sun shines not upon them, if the moonlight does not cheer them is there not some mighty hero, was there never born a giant, that can fell the mighty oak-tree, that can lop its hundred branches? wainamoinen, deeply thinking, spake these words soliloquizing: "kape, daughter of the ether, ancient mother of my being, luonnotar, my nurse and helper, loan to me the water-forces, great the powers of the waters; loan to me the strength of oceans, to upset this mighty oak-tree, to uproot this tree of evil, that again may shine the sunlight, that the moon once more may glimmer." straightway rose a form from oceans, rose a hero from the waters, nor belonged he to the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest, long was he as man's forefinger, taller than the hand of woman; on his head a cap of copper, boots upon his feet were copper, gloves upon his hands were copper, and its stripes were copper-colored, belt around him made of copper, hatchet in his belt was copper; and the handle of his hatchet was as long as hand of woman, of a finger's breadth the blade was. then the trusty wainamoinen thought awhile and well considered, and his measures are as follow: "art thou, sir, divine or human? which of these thou only knowest; tell me what thy name and station. very like a man thou lookest, hast the bearing of a hero, though the length of man's first finger, scarce as tall as hoof of reindeer." then again spake wainamoinen to the form from out the ocean: "verily i think thee human, of the race of pigmy-heroes, might as well be dead or dying, fit for nothing but to perish." answered thus the pigmy-hero, spake the small one from the ocean to the valiant wainamoinen "truly am i god and hero, from the tribes that rule the ocean; come i here to fell the oak-tree, lop its branches with my hatchet." wainamoinen, old and trusty, answers thus the sea-born hero: "never hast thou force sufficient, not to thee has strength been given, to uproot this mighty oak-tree, to upset this thing of evil, nor to lop its hundred branches." scarcely had he finished speaking, scarcely had he moved his eyelids, ere the pigmy full unfolding, quick becomes a mighty giant. with one step he leaves the ocean, plants himself, a mighty hero, on the forest-fields surrounding; with his head the clouds he pierces, to his knees his beard extending, and his locks fall to his ankles; far apart appear his eyeballs, far apart his feet are stationed. farther still his mighty shoulders. now begins his axe to sharpen, quickly to an edge he whets it, using six hard blocks of sandstone, and of softer whetstones, seven. straightway to the oak-tree turning, thither stalks the mighty giant, in his raiment long and roomy, flapping in the winds of heaven; with his second step he totters on the land of darker color; with his third stop firmly planted, reaches he the oak-tree's branches, strikes the trunk with sharpened hatchet, with one mighty swing he strikes it, with a second blow he cuts it; as his blade descends the third time, from his axe the sparks fly upward, from the oak-tree fire outshooting; ere the axe descends a fourth time, yields the oak with hundred branches, shaking earth and heaven in falling. eastward far the trunk extending, far to westward flew the tree-tops, to the south the leaves were scattered, to the north its hundred branches. whosoe'er a branch has taken, has obtained eternal welfare; who secures himself a tree-top, he has gained the master magic; who the foliage has gathered, has delight that never ceases. of the chips some had been scattered, scattered also many splinters, on the blue back of the ocean, of the ocean smooth and mirrored, rocked there by the winds and waters, like a boat upon the billows; storm-winds blew them to the northland, some the ocean currents carried. northland's fair and slender maiden, washing on the shore a head-dress, beating on the rocks her garments, rinsing there her silken raiment, in the waters of pohyola, there beheld the chips and splinters, carried by the winds and waters. in a bag the chips she gathered, took them to the ancient court-yard, there to make enchanted arrows, arrows for the great magician, there to shape them into weapons, weapons for the skilful archer, since the mighty oak has fallen, now has lost its hundred branches, that the north may see the sunshine, see the gentle gleam of moonlight, that the clouds may keep their courses, may extend the vault of heaven over every lake and river, o'er the banks of every island. groves arose in varied beauty, beautifully grew the forests, and again, the vines and flowers. birds again sang in the tree-tops, noisily the merry thrushes, and the cuckoos in the birch-trees; on the mountains grew the berries, golden flowers in the meadows, and the herbs of many colors, many kinds of vegetation; but the barley is not growing. wainamoinen, old and trusty, goes away and well considers, by the borders of the waters, on the ocean's sandy margin, finds six seeds of golden barley, even seven ripened kernels, on the shore of upper northland, in the sand upon the sea-shore, hides them in his trusty pouches, fashioned from the skin of squirrel, some were made from skin of marten; hastens forth the seeds to scatter, quickly sows the barley kernels, on the brinks of kalew-waters, on the osma-hills and lowlands. hark! the titmouse wildly crying, from the aspen, words as follow: "osma's barley will not flourish, not the barley of wainola, if the soil be not made ready, if the forest be not levelled, and the branches burned to ashes." wainamoinen, wise and ancient, made himself an axe for chopping, then began to clear the forest, then began the trees to level, felled the trees of all descriptions, only left the birch-tree standing for the birds a place of resting, where might sing the sweet-voiced cuckoo, sacred bird in sacred branches. down from heaven came the eagle, through the air be came a-flying, that he might this thing consider; and he spake the words that follow: "wherefore, ancient wainamoinen, hast thou left the slender birch-tree, left the birch-tree only standing?" wainamoinen thus made answer: "therefore is the birch left standing, that the birds may liest within it, that the eagle there may rest him, there may sing the sacred cuckoo." spake the eagle, thus replying: good indeed, thy hero-judgment, that the birch-tree thou hast left us, left the sacred birch-tree standing, as a resting-place for eagles, and for birds of every feather, even i may rest upon it." quickly then this bird of heaven, kindled fire among the branches; soon the flames are fanned by north-winds, and the east-winds lend their forces, burn the trees of all descriptions, burn them all to dust and ashes, only is the birch left standing. wainamoinen, wise and ancient, brings his magic grains of barley, brings he forth his seven seed-grains, brings them from his trusty pouches, fashioned from the skin of squirrel, some were made from skin of marten. thence to sow his seeds he hastens, hastes the barley-grains to scatter, speaks unto himself these measures: "i the seeds of life am sowing, sowing through my open fingers, from the hand of my creator, in this soil enriched with ashes, in this soil to sprout and flourish. ancient mother, thou that livest far below the earth and ocean, mother of the fields and forests, bring the rich soil to producing, bring the seed-grains to the sprouting, that the barley well may flourish. never will the earth unaided, yield the ripe nutritious barley; never will her force be wanting, if the givers give assistance, if the givers grace the sowing, grace the daughters of creation. rise, o earth, from out thy slumber, from the slumber-land of ages, let the barley-grains be sprouting, let the blades themselves be starting, let the verdant stalks be rising, let the ears themselves be growing, and a hundredfold producing, from my plowing and my sowing, from my skilled and honest labor. ukko, thou o god, up yonder, thou o father of the heavens, thou that livest high in ether, curbest all the clouds of heaven, holdest in the air thy counsel, holdest in the clouds good counsel, from the east dispatch a cloudlet, from the north-east send a rain-cloud, from the west another send us, from the north-west, still another, quickly from the south a warm-cloud, that the rain may fall from heaven, that the clouds may drop their honey, that the ears may fill and ripen, that the barley-fields may rustle." thereupon benignant ukko, ukko, father of the heavens, held his counsel in the cloud-space, held good counsel in the ether; from the east, he sent a cloudlet, from the north-east, sent a rain-cloud, from the west another sent he, from the north-west, still another, quickly from the south a warm-cloud; joined in seams the clouds together, sewed together all their edges, grasped the cloud, and hurled it earthward. quick the rain-cloud drops her honey, quick the rain-drops fall from heaven, that the ears may quickly ripen, that the barley crop may rustle. straightway grow the seeds of barley, from the germ the blade unfolding, richly colored ears arising, from the rich soil of the fallow, from the work of wainamoinen. here a few days pass unnoted and as many nights fly over. when the seventh day had journeyed, on the morning of the eighth day, wainamoinen, wise and ancient, went to view his crop of barley, how his plowing, how his sowing, how his labors were resulting; found his crop of barley growing, found the blades were triple-knotted, and the ears he found six-sided. wainamoinen, old and trusty, turned his face, and looked about him, lo! there comes a spring-time cuckoo, spying out the slender birch-tree, rests upon it, sweetly singing: "wherefore is the silver birch-tree left unharmed of all the forest? " spake the ancient wainamoinen: "therefore i have left the birch-tree, left the birch-tree only growing, home for thee for joyful singing. call thou here, o sweet-voiced cuckoo, sing thou here from throat of velvet, sing thou here with voice of silver, sing the cuckoo's golden flute-notes; call at morning, call at evening, call within the hour of noontide, for the better growth of forests, for the ripening of the barley, for the richness of, the northland, for the joy of kalevala." rune iii. wainamoinen and youkahainen. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, passed his years in full contentment, on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala, singing ever wondrous legends, songs of ancient wit and wisdom, chanting one day, then a second, singing in the dusk of evening, singing till the dawn of morning, now the tales of old-time heroes, tales of ages long forgotten, now the legends of creation, once familiar to the children, by our children sung no longer, sung in part by many heroes, in these mournful days of evil, evil days our race befallen. far and wide the story travelled, far away men spread the knowledge of the chanting of the hero, of the song of wainamoinen; to the south were heard the echoes, all of northland heard the story. far away in dismal northland, lived the singer, youkahainen, lapland's young and reckless minstrel, once upon a time when feasting, dining with his friends and fellows, came upon his ears the story that there lived a sweeter singer, on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala, better skilled in chanting legends, better skilled than youkahainen, better than the one that taught him. straightway then the bard grew angry, envy rose within his bosom, envy of this wainamoinen, famed to be a sweeter singer; hastes he angry to his mother, to his mother, full of wisdom, vows that he will southward hasten, hie him southward and betake him to the dwellings of wainola, to the cabins of the northland, there as bard to vie in battle, with the famous wainamoinen. "nay," replies the anxious father, "do not go to kalevala." "nay," replies the fearful mother, "go not hence to wainamoinen, there with him to offer battle; he will charm thee with his singing will bewitch thee in his anger, he will drive thee back dishonored, sink thee in the fatal snow-drift, turn to ice thy pliant fingers, turn to ice thy feet and ankles." these the words of youkahainen: good the judgement of a father, better still, a mother's counsel, best of all one's own decision. i will go and face the minstrel, challenge him to sing in contest, challenge him as bard to battle, sing to him my sweet-toned measures, chant to him my oldest legends, chant to him my garnered wisdom, that this best of boasted singers, that this famous bard of suomi, shall be worsted in the contest, shall become a hapless minstrel; by my songs shall i transform him, that his feet shall be as flint-stone, and as oak his nether raiment; and this famous, best of singers, thus bewitched, shall carry ever, in his heart a stony burden, on his shoulder bow of marble, on his hand a flint-stone gauntlet, on his brow a stony visor." then the wizard, youkahainen, heeding not advice paternal, heeding not his mother's counsel, leads his courser from his stable, fire outstreaming from his nostrils, from his hoofs, the sparks outshooting, hitches to his sledge, the fleet-foot, to his golden sledge, the courser, mounts impetuous his snow-sledge, leaps upon the hindmost cross-bench, strikes his courser with his birch-whip, with his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled. instantly the prancing racer springs away upon his journey; on he, restless, plunges northward, all day long be onward gallops, all the next day, onward, onward, so the third from morn till evening, till the third day twilight brings him to the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala. as it happened, wainamoinen, wainamoinen, the magician, rode that sunset on the highway, silently for pleasure driving down wainola's peaceful meadows, o'er the plains of kalevala. youkahainen, young and fiery, urging still his foaming courser, dashes down upon the singer, does not turn aside in meeting, meeting thus in full collision; shafts are driven tight together, hames and collars wedged and tangled, tangled are the reins and traces. thus perforce they make a stand-still, thus remain and well consider; water drips from hame and collar, vapors rise from both their horses. speaks the minstrel, wainamoinen: "who art thou, and whence? thou comest driving like a stupid stripling, wainamoinen and youkahainen. careless, dashing down upon me. thou hast ruined shafts and traces; and the collar of my racer thou hast shattered into ruin, and my golden sleigh is broken, box and runners dashed to pieces." youkahainen then make answer, spake at last the words that follow: "i am youthful youkahainen, but make answer first, who thou art, whence thou comest, where thou goest, from what lowly tribe descended?" wainamolinen, wise and ancient, answered thus the youthful minstrel: "if thou art but youkahainen, thou shouldst give me all the highway; i am many years thy senior." then the boastful youkahainen spake again to wainamoinen: "young or ancient, little matter, little consequence the age is; he that higher stands in wisdom, he whose knowledge is the greater, he that is the sweeter singer, he alone shall keep the highway, and the other take the roadside. art thou ancient wainamoinen, famous sorcerer and minstrel? let us then begin our singing, let us sing our ancient legends, let us chant our garnered wisdom, that the one may hear the other, that the one may judge the other, in a war of wizard sayings." wainamoinen, wise and ancient, thus replied in modest accents: "what i know is very little, hardly is it worth the singing, neither is my singing wondrous: all my days i have resided in the cold and dreary northland, in a desert land enchanted, in my cottage home for ayes; all the songs that i have gathered, are the cuckoo's simple measures, some of these i may remember; but since thou perforce demandest, i accept thy boastful challenge. tell me now, my golden youngster, what thou knowest more than others, open now thy store of wisdom." thus made answer youkahainen, lapland's young and fiery minstrel: "know i many bits of learning this i know in perfect clearness: every roof must have a chimney, every fire-place have a hearth-stone; lives of seal are free and merry, merry is the life of walrus, feeding on incautious salmon, daily eating perch and whiting; whitings live in quiet shallows, salmon love the level bottoms; spawns the pike in coldest weather, and defies the storms of winter. slowly perches swim in autumn, wry-backed, hunting deeper water, spawn in shallows in the summer, bounding on the shore of ocean. should this wisdom seem too little, i can tell thee other matters, sing thee other wizard sayings: all the northmen plow with reindeer, mother-horses plow the southland, inner lapland plows with oxen; all the trees on pisa-mountain, know i well in all their grandeur; on the horna-rock are fir-trees, fir-trees growing tall and slender; slender grow the trees on mountains. three, the water-falls in number, three in number, inland oceans, three in number, lofty mountains, shooting to the vault of heaven. hallapyora's near to yaemen, katrakoski in karyala; imatra, the falling water, tumbles, roaring, into wuoksi." then the ancient wainimoinen: "women's tales and children's wisdom do not please a bearded hero, hero, old enough for wedlock; tell the story of creation, tell me of the world's beginning, tell me of the creatures in it, and philosophize a little." then the youthful youkahainen thus replied to wainamoinen: "know i well the titmouse-fountains, pretty birdling is the titmouse; and the viper, green, a serpent; whitings live in brackish waters; perches swim in every river; iron rusts, and rusting weakens; bitter is the taste of umber; boiling water is malicious; fire is ever full of danger; first physician, the creator; remedy the oldest, water; magic is the child of sea-foam; god the first and best adviser; waters gush from every mountain; fire descended first from heaven; iron from the rust was fashioned; copper from the rocks created; marshes are of lands the oldest; first of all the trees, the willow; fir-trees were the first of houses; hollowed stones the first of kettles." now the ancient wainamoinen thus addresses youkahainen: "canst thou give me now some wisdom, is this nonsense all thou knowest?" youkahainen thus made answer: "i can tell thee still a trifle, tell thee of the times primeval, when i plowed the salt-sea's bosom, when i raked the sea-girt islands, when i dug the salmon-grottoes, hollowed out the deepest caverns, when i all the lakes created, when i heaped the mountains round them, when i piled the rocks about them. i was present as a hero, sixth of wise and ancient heroes, seventh of all primeval heroes, when the heavens were created, when were formed the ether-spaces, when the sky was crystal-pillared, when was arched the beauteous rainbow, when the moon was placed in orbit, when the silver sun was planted, when the bear was firmly stationed, and with stars the heavens were sprinkled." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "thou art surely prince of liars, lord of all the host of liars; never wert thou in existence, surely wert thou never present, when was plowed the salt-sea's bosom, when were raked the sea-girt islands, when were dug the salmon-grottoes, when were hollowed out the caverns, when the lakes were all created, when were heaped the mountains round them, when the rocks were piled about them. thou wert never seen or heard of when the earth was first created, when were made the ether-spaces, when the air was crystal-pillared, when the moon was placed in orbit, when the silver sun was planted, when the bear was firmly stationed, when the skies with stars were sprinkled." then in anger youkahainen answered ancient wainamoinen: "then, sir, since i fail in wisdom, with the sword i offer battle; come thou, famous bard and minstrel, thou the ancient wonder-singer, let us try our strength with broadswords, let our blades be fully tested." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "not thy sword and not thy wisdom, not thy prudence, nor thy cunning, do i fear a single moment. let who may accept thy challenge, not with thee, a puny braggart, not with one so vain and paltry, will i ever measure broadswords." then the youthful youkahainen, mouth awry and visage sneering, shook his golden locks and answered: "whoso fears his blade to measure, fears to test his strength at broadswords, into wild-boar of the forest, swine at heart and swine in visage, singing i will thus transform him; i will hurl such hero-cowards, this one hither, that one thither, stamp him in the mire and bedding, in the rubbish of the stable." angry then grew wainamoinen, wrathful waxed, and fiercely frowning, self-composed he broke his silence, and began his wondrous singing. sang he not the tales of childhood, children's nonsense, wit of women, sang he rather bearded heroes, that the children never heard of, that the boys and maidens knew not known but half by bride and bridegroom, known in part by many heroes, in these mournful days of evil, evil times our race befallen. grandly sang wise wainamoinen, till the copper-bearing mountains, and the flinty rocks and ledges heard his magic tones and trembled; mountain cliffs were torn to pieces, all the ocean heaved and tumbled; and the distant hills re-echoed. lo! the boastful youkahainen is transfixed in silent wonder, and his sledge with golden trimmings floats like brushwood on the billows; sings his braces into reed-grass, sings his reins to twigs of willow, and to shrubs his golden cross-bench. lo! his birch-whip, pearl-enameled, floats a reed upon the border; lo! his steed with golden forehead, stands a statue on the waters; hames and traces are as fir-boughs, and his collar, straw and sea-grass. still the minstrel sings enchantment, sings his sword with golden handle, sings it into gleam of lightning, hangs it in the sky above him; sings his cross-bow, gaily painted, to a rainbow o'er the ocean; sings his quick and feathered arrows into hawks and screaming eagles; sings his dog with bended muzzle, into block of stone beside him; sings his cap from off his forehead, sings it into wreaths of vapor; from his hands he sings his gauntlets into rushes on the waters; sings his vesture, purple-colored, into white clouds in the heavens; sings his girdle, set with jewels, into twinkling stars around him; and alas! for youkahainen, sings him into deeps of quick-sand; ever deeper, deeper, deeper, in his torture, sinks the wizard, to his belt in mud and water. now it was that youkahainen comprehended but too clearly what his folly, what the end was, of the journey he had ventured, vainly he had undertaken for the glory of a contest with the grand, old wainamoinen. when at last young youkahainen, pohyola's old and sorry stripling, strives his best to move his right foot, but alas! the foot obeys not; when he strives to move his left foot, lo! he finds it turned to flint-stone. thereupon sad youkahainen, in the deeps of desperation, and in earnest supplication, thus addresses wainamoinen: "o thou wise and worthy minstrel, thou the only true, magician, cease i pray thee thine enchantment,. only turn away thy magic, let me leave this slough of horror, loose me from this stony prison, free me from this killing torment, i will pay a golden ransom." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "what the ransom thou wilt give me if i cease from mine enchantment, if i turn away my magic, lift thee from thy slough of horror, loose thee from thy stony prison, free thee from thy killing torment?" answered youthful youkahainen: "have at home two magic cross-bows, pair of bows of wondrous power, one so light a child can bend it, only strength can bend the other, take of these the one that pleases." then the ancient wainamoinen: "do not wish thy magic cross-bows, have a few of such already, thine to me are worse than useless i have bows in great abundance, bows on every nail and rafter, bows that laugh at all the hunters, bows that go themselves a-hunting." then the ancient wainamoinen sang alas! poor youkahainen deeper into mud and water, deeper in the slough of torment. youkahainen thus made answer: "have at home two magic shallops, beautiful the boats and wondrous; one rides light upon the ocean, one is made for heavy burdens; take of these the one that pleases." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "do not wish thy magic shallops, have enough of such already; all my bays are full of shallops, all my shores are lined with shallops, some before the winds are sailors, some were built to sail against them." still the wainola bard and minstrel sings again poor youkahainen deeper, deeper into torment, into quicksand to his girdle, till the lapland bard in anguish speaks again to wainamoinen: "have at home two magic stallions, one a racer, fleet as lightning, one was born for heavy burdens; take of these the one that pleases." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "neither do i wish thy stallions, do not need thy hawk-limbed stallions, have enough of these already; magic stallions swarm my stables, eating corn at every manger, broad of back to hold the water, water on each croup in lakelets." still the bard of kalevala sings the hapless lapland minstrel deeper, deeper into torment, to his shoulders into water. spake again young youkahainen: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, thou the only true magician, cease i pray thee thine enchantment, only turn away thy magic, i will give thee gold abundant, countless stores of shining silver; from the wars my father brought it, brought it from the hard-fought battles." spake the wise, old wainamoinen: "for thy gold i have no longing, neither do i wish thy silver, have enough of each already; gold abundant fills my chambers, on each nail hang bags of silver, gold that glitters in the sunshine, silver shining in the moonlight." sank the braggart, youkahainen, deeper in his slough of torment, to his chin in mud and water, ever praying, thus beseeching: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, greatest of the old magicians, lift me from this pit of horror, from this prison-house of torture; i will give thee all my corn-fields, give thee all my corn in garners, thus my hapless life to ransom, thus to gain eternal freedom." wainamoinen thus made answer: "take thy corn to other markets, give thy garners to the needy; i have corn in great abundance, fields have i in every quarter, corn in all my fields is growing; one's own fields are always richer, one's own grain is much the sweeter." lapland's young and reckless minstrel, sorrow-laden, thus enchanted, deeper sinks in mud and water, fear-enchained and full of anguish, in the mire, his beard bedrabbled, mouth once boastful filled with sea-weed, in the grass his teeth entangled, youkahainen thus beseeches: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, wisest of the wisdom-singers, cease at last thine incantations, only turn away thy magic, and my former life restore me, lift me from this stifling torment, free mine eyes from sand and water, i will give thee sister, aino, fairest daughter of my mother, bride of thine to be forever, bride of thine to do thy pleasure, sweep the rooms within thy cottage, keep thy dwelling-place in order, rinse for thee the golden platters, spread thy couch with finest linens, for thy bed, weave golden covers, bake for thee the honey-biscuit." wainamoinen, old and truthful, finds at last the wished-for ransom, lapland's young and fairest daughter, sister dear of youkahainen; happy he, that he has won him, in his age a beauteous maiden, bride of his to be forever, pride and joy of kalevala. now the happy wainamoinen, sits upon the rock of gladness, joyful on the rock of music, sings a little, sings and ceases, sings again, and sings a third time, thus to break the spell of magic, thus to lessen the enchantment, thus the potent charm to banish. as the magic spell is broken, youkahainen, sad, but wiser, drags his feet from out the quicksand, lifts his beard from out the water, from the rocks leads forth his courser, brings his sledge back from the rushes, calls his whip back from the ocean, sets his golden sledge in order, throws himself upon the cross-bench, snaps his whip and hies him homeward, hastens homeward, heavy-hearted, sad indeed to meet his mother, aino's mother, gray and aged. careless thus be hastens homeward, nears his home with noise and bustle, reckless drives against the pent-house, breaks the shafts against the portals, breaks his handsome sledge in pieces. then his mother, quickly guessing, would have chided him for rashness, but the father interrupted: "wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge, wherefore dash thy thills in fragments, wherefore comest home so strangely, why this rude and wild behavior?" now alas! poor youkahainen, cap awry upon his forehead, falls to weeping, broken-hearted, head depressed and mind dejected, eyes and lips expressing sadness, answers not his anxious father. then the mother quickly asked him, sought to find his cause for sorrow: "tell me, first-born, why thou weepest, why thou weepest, heavy-hearted, why thy mind is so dejected, why thine eyes express such sadness." youkahainen then made answer: "golden mother, ever faithful, cause there is to me sufficient, cause enough in what has happened, bitter cause for this my sorrow, cause for bitter tears and murmurs: all my days will pass unhappy, since, o mother of my being, i have promised beauteous aino, aino, thy beloved daughter, aino, my devoted sister, to decrepit wainamoinen, bride to be to him forever, roof above him, prop beneath him, fair companion at his fire-side." joyful then arose the mother, clapped her hands in glee together, thus addressing youkahainen: "weep no more, my son beloved, thou hast naught to cause thy weeping, hast no reason for thy sorrow, often i this hope have cherished; many years have i been praying that this mighty bard and hero, wise and valiant wainamoinen, spouse should be to beauteous aino, son-in-law to me, her mother." but the fair and lovely maiden, sister dear of youkahainen, straightway fell to bitter weeping, on the threshold wept and lingered, wept all day and all the night long, wept a second, then a third day, wept because a bitter sorrow on her youthful heart had fallen. then the gray-haired mother asked her: "why this weeping, lovely aino? thou hast found a noble suitor, thou wilt rule his spacious dwelling, at his window sit and rest thee, rinse betimes his golden platters, walk a queen within his dwelling." thus replied the tearful aino: "mother dear, and all-forgiving, cause enough for this my sorrow, cause enough for bitter weeping: i must loose my sunny tresses, tresses beautiful and golden, cannot deck my hair with jewels, cannot bind my head with ribbons, all to be hereafter hidden underneath the linen bonnet that the wife. must wear forever; weep at morning, weep at evening, weep alas! for waning beauty, childhood vanished, youth departed, silver sunshine, golden moonlight, hope and pleasure of my childhood, taken from me now forever, and so soon to be forgotten at the tool-bench of my brother, at the window of my sister, in the cottage of my father." spake again the gray-haired mother to her wailing daughter aino: "cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden, by thy tears thou art ungrateful, reason none for thy repining, not the slightest cause for weeping; everywhere the silver sunshine falls as bright on other households; not alone the moonlight glimmers through thy father's open windows, on the work-bench of thy brother; flowers bloom in every meadow, berries grow on every mountain; thou canst go thyself and find them, all the day long go and find them; not alone thy brother's meadows grow the beauteous vines and flowers; not alone thy father's mountains yield the ripe, nutritious berries; flowers bloom in other meadows, berries grow on other mountains, there as here, my lovely aino." rune iv. the fate of aino. when the night had passed, the maiden, sister fair of youkahainen, hastened early to the forest, birchen shoots for brooms to gather, went to gather birchen tassels; bound a bundle for her father, bound a birch-broom for her mother, silken tassels for her sister. straightway then she hastened homeward, by a foot-path left the forest; as she neared the woodland border, lo! the ancient wainamoinen, quickly spying out the maiden, as she left the birchen woodland, trimly dressed in costly raiment, and the minstrel thus addressed her: "aino, beauty of the northland, wear not, lovely maid, for others, only wear for me, sweet maiden, golden cross upon thy bosom, shining pearls upon thy shoulders; bind for me thine auburn tresses, wear for me thy golden braidlets." thus the maiden quickly answered: "not for thee and not for others, hang i from my neck the crosslet, deck my hair with silken ribbons; need no more the many trinkets brought to me by ship or shallop; sooner wear the simplest raiment, feed upon the barley bread-crust, dwell forever with my mother in the cabin with my father." then she threw the gold cross from her, tore the jewels from her fingers, quickly loosed her shining necklace, quick untied her silken ribbons, cast them all away indignant into forest ferns and flowers. thereupon the maiden, aino, hastened to her mother's cottage. at the window sat her father whittling on an oaken ax-helve: "wherefore weepest, beauteous aino, aino, my beloved daughter? "cause enough for weeping, father, good the reasons for my mourning, this, the reason for my weeping, this, the cause of all my sorrow: from my breast i tore the crosslet, from my belt, the clasp of copper, from my waist, the belt of silver, golden was my pretty crosslet." near the door-way sat her brother, carving out a birchen ox-bow: "why art weeping, lovely aino, aino, my devoted sister?" "cause enough for weeping, brother, good the reasons for my mourning therefore come i as thou seest, rings no longer on my fingers, on my neck no pretty necklace; golden were the rings thou gavest, and the necklace, pearls and silver!" on the threshold sat her sister, weaving her a golden girdle: "why art weeping, beauteous aino, aino, my beloved sister?" "cause enough for weeping, sister, good the reasons for my sorrow: therefore come i as thou seest, on my head no scarlet fillet, in my hair no braids of silver, on mine arms no purple ribbons, round my neck no shining necklace, on my breast no golden crosslet, in mine ears no golden ear-rings." near the door-way of the dairy, skimming cream, sat aino's mother. "why art weeping, lovely aino, aino, my devoted daughter?" thus the sobbing maiden answered; "loving mother, all-forgiving, cause enough for this my weeping, good the reasons for my sorrow, therefore do i weep, dear mother: i have been within the forest, brooms to bind and shoots to gather, there to pluck some birchen tassels; bound a bundle for my father, bound a second for my mother, bound a third one for my brother, for my sister silken tassels. straightway then i hastened homeward, by a foot-path left the forest; as i reached the woodland border spake osmoinen from the cornfield, spake the ancient wainamoinen: 'wear not, beauteous maid, for others, only wear for me, sweet maiden, on thy breast a golden crosslet, shining pearls upon thy shoulders, bind for me thine auburn tresses, weave for me thy silver braidlets.' then i threw the gold-cross from me, tore the jewels from my fingers, quickly loosed my shining necklace, quick untied my silken ribbons, cast them all away indignant, into forest ferns and flowers. then i thus addressed the singer: 'not for thee and not for others, hang i from my neck the crosslet, deck my hair with silken ribbons; need no more the many trinkets, brought to me by ship and shallop; sooner wear the simplest raiment, feed upon the barley bread-crust, dwell forever with my mother in the cabin with my father.'" thus the gray-haired mother answered aino, her beloved daughter: "weep no more, my lovely maiden, waste no more of thy sweet young-life; one year eat thou my sweet butter, it will make thee strong and ruddy; eat another year fresh bacon, it will make thee tall and queenly; eat a third year only dainties, it will make thee fair and lovely. now make haste to yonder hill-top, to the store-house on the mountain, open there the large compartment, thou will find it filled with boxes, chests and cases, trunks and boxes; open thou the box, the largest, lift away the gaudy cover, thou will find six golden girdles, seven rainbow-tinted dresses, woven by the moon's fair daughters, fashioned by the sun's sweet virgins. in my young years once i wandered, as a maiden on the mountains, in the happy days of childhood, hunting berries in the coppice; there by chance i heard the daughters of the moon as they were weaving; there i also heard the daughters of the sun as they were spinning on the red rims of the cloudlets, o'er the blue edge of the forest, on the border of the pine-wood, on a high and distant mountain. i approached them, drawing nearer, stole myself within their hearing, then began i to entreat them, thus besought them, gently pleading: 'give thy silver, moon's fair daughters, to a poor, but worthy maiden; give thy gold, o sun's sweet virgins, to this maiden, young and needy.' thereupon the moon's fair daughters gave me silver from their coffers; and the sun's sweet shining virgins gave me gold from their abundance, gold to deck my throbbing temples, for my hair the shining silver. then i hastened joyful homeward, richly laden with my treasures, happy to my mother's cottage; wore them one day, than a second, then a third day also wore them, took the gold then from my temples, from my hair i took the silver, careful laid them in their boxes, many seasons have they lain there, have not seen them since my childhood. deck thy brow with silken ribbon, trim with gold thy throbbing temples, and thy neck with pearly necklace, hang the gold-cross on thy bosom, robe thyself in pure, white linen spun from flax of finest fiber; wear withal the richest short-frock, fasten it with golden girdle; on thy feet, put silken stockings, with the shoes of finest leather; deck thy hair with golden braidlets, bind it well with threads of silver; trim with rings thy fairy fingers, and thy hands with dainty ruffles; come bedecked then to thy chamber, thus return to this thy household, to the greeting of thy kindred, to the joy of all that know thee, flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries, coming as thy father's sunbeam, walking beautiful and queenly, far more beautiful than moonlight." thus she spake to weeping aino, thus the mother to her daughter; but the maiden, little bearing, does not heed her mother's wishes; straightway hastens to the court-yard, there to weep in bitter sorrow, all alone to weep in anguish. waiting long the wailing aino thus at last soliloquizes: "unto what can i now liken happy homes and joys of fortune? like the waters in the river, like the waves in yonder lakelet, like the crystal waters flowing. unto what, the biting sorrow of the child of cold misfortune? like the spirit of the sea-duck, like the icicle in winter, water in the well imprisoned. often roamed my mind in childhood, when a maiden free and merry, happily through fen and fallow, gamboled on the meads with lambkins, lingered with the ferns and flowers, knowing neither pain nor trouble; now my mind is filled with sorrow, wanders though the bog and stubble, wanders weary through the brambles, roams throughout the dismal forest, till my life is filled with darkness, and my spirit white with anguish. better had it been for aino had she never seen the sunlight, or if born had died an infant, had not lived to be a maiden in these days of sin and sorrow, underneath a star so luckless. better had it been for aino, had she died upon the eighth day after seven nights had vanished; needed then but little linen, needed but a little coffin, and a grave of smallest measure; mother would have mourned a little, father too perhaps a trifle, sister would have wept the day through, brother might have shed a tear-drop, thus had ended all the mourning." thus poor aino wept and murmured, wept one day, and then a second, wept a third from morn till even, when again her mother asked her: "why this weeping, fairest daughter, darling daughter, why this grieving? thus the tearful maiden answered: therefore do i weep and sorrow, wretched maiden all my life long, since poor aino, thou hast given, since thy daughter thou hast promised to the aged wainamoinen, comfort to his years declining prop to stay him when he totters, in the storm a roof above him, in his home a cloak around him; better far if thou hadst sent me far below the salt-sea surges, to become the whiting's sister, and the friend of perch and salmon; better far to ride the billows, swim the sea-foam as a mermaid, and the friend of nimble fishes, than to be an old man's solace, prop to stay him when be totters, hand to aid him when he trembles, arm to guide him when he falters, strength to give him when he weakens; better be the whiting's sister and the friend of perch and salmon, than an old man's slave and darling." ending thus she left her mother, straightway hastened to the mountain? to the store-house on the summit, opened there the box the largest, from the box six lids she lifted, found therein six golden girdles, silken dresses seven in number. choosing such as pleased her fancy, she adorned herself as bidden, robed herself to look her fairest, gold upon her throbbing temples, in her hair the shining silver, on her shoulders purple ribbons, band of blue around her forehead, golden cross, and rings, and jewels, fitting ornaments to beauty. now she leaves her many treasures, leaves the store-house on the mountain, filled with gold and silver trinkets, wanders over field and meadow, over stone-fields waste and barren, wanders on through fen and forest, through the forest vast and cheerless, wanders hither, wanders thither, singing careless as she wanders, this her mournful song and echo: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! woe to aino, broken-hearted! torture racks my heart and temples, yet the sting would not be deeper, nor the pain and anguish greater, if beneath this weight of sorrow, in my saddened heart's dejection, i should yield my life forever, now unhappy, i should perish! lo! the time has come for aino from this cruel world to hasten, to the kingdom of tuoni, to the realm of the departed, to the isle of the hereafter. weep no more for me, o father, mother dear, withhold thy censure, lovely sister, dry thine eyelids, do not mourn me, dearest brother, when i sink beneath the sea-foam, make my home in salmon-grottoes, make my bed in crystal waters, water-ferns my couch and pillow." all day long poor aino wandered, all the next day, sad and weary, so the third from morn till evening, till the cruel night enwrapped her, as she reached the sandy margin, reached the cold and dismal sea-shore, sat upon the rock of sorrow, sat alone in cold and darkness, listened only to the music of the winds and rolling billows, singing all the dirge of aino. all that night the weary maiden wept and wandered on the border through the sand and sea-washed pebbles. as the day dawns, looking round her, she beholds three water-maidens, on a headland jutting seaward, water-maidens four in number, sitting on the wave-lashed ledges, swimming now upon the billows, now upon the rocks reposing. quick the weeping maiden, aino, hastens there to join the mermaids, fairy maidens of the waters. weeping aino, now disrobing, lays aside with care her garments, hangs her silk robes on the alders, drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore, on the aspen hangs her ribbons, on the rocks her silken stockings, on the grass her shoes of deer-skin, in the sand her shining necklace, with her rings and other jewels. out at sea a goodly distance, stood a rock of rainbow colors, glittering in silver sunlight. toward it springs the hapless maiden, thither swims the lovely aino, up the standing-stone has clambered, wishing there to rest a moment, rest upon the rock of beauty; when upon a sudden swaying to and fro among the billows, with a crash and roar of waters falls the stone of many colors, falls upon the very bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea. with the stone of rainbow colors, falls the weeping maiden, aino, clinging to its craggy edges, sinking far below the surface, to the bottom of the blue-sea. thus the weeping maiden vanished. thus poor aino sank and perished, singing as the stone descended, chanting thus as she departed: once to swim i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone or many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty son-bird. perished. never come a-fishing, father, to the borders of these waters, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest daughter aino. "mother dear, i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone of many colors, sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty song-bird perished. never mix thy bread, dear mother, with the blue-sea's foam and waters, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest daughter aino. brother dear, i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone of many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty song-bird perished. never bring thy prancing war-horse, never bring thy royal racer, never bring thy steeds to water, to the borders of the blue-sea, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest sister aino. "sister dear, i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone of many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty song-bird perished. never come to lave thine eyelids in this rolling wave and sea-foam, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest sister aino. all the waters in the blue-sea shall be blood of aino's body; all the fish that swim these waters shall be aino's flesh forever; all the willows on the sea-side shall be aino's ribs hereafter; all the sea-grass on the margin will have grown from aino's tresses." thus at last the maiden vanished, thus the lovely aino perished. who will tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings to the cottage of her mother, once the home of lovely aino? will the bear repeat the story, tell the tidings to her mother? nay, the bear must not be herald, he would slay the herds of cattle. who then tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings to the cottage of her father, once the home of lovely aino? shall the wolf repeat the story, tell the sad news to her father? nay, the wolf must not be herald, he would eat the gentle lambkins. who then tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings. to the cottage of her sister? 'will the fox repeat the story tell the tidings to her sister? nay, the fox must not be herald, he would eat the ducks and chickens. who then tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings to the cottage of her brother, once the home of lovely aino? shall the hare repeat the story, bear the sad news to her brother? yea, the hare shall be the herald, tell to all the cruel story. thus the harmless hare makes answer: "i will bear the evil tidings to the former home of aino, tell the story to her kindred." swiftly flew the long-eared herald, like the winds be hastened onward, galloped swift as flight of eagles; neck awry he bounded forward till he gained the wished-for cottage, once the home of lovely aino. silent was the home, and vacant; so he hastened to the bath-house, found therein a group of maidens, working each upon a birch-broom. sat the hare upon the threshold, and the maidens thus addressed him: "hie e there, long-legs, or we'll roast thee, hie there, big-eye, or we'll stew thee, roast thee for our lady's breakfast, stew thee for our master's dinner, make of thee a meal for aino, and her brother, youkahainen! better therefore thou shouldst gallop to thy burrow in the mountains, than be roasted for our dinners." then the haughty hare made answer, chanting thus the fate of aino: "think ye not i journey hither, to be roasted in the skillet, to be stewed in yonder kettle let fell lempo fill thy tables! i have come with evil tidings, come to tell the cruel story of the flight and death of aino, sister dear of youkahainen. with the stone of many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless waters, like a pretty song-bird perished; hung her ribbons on the aspen, left her gold-cross on the sea-shore, silken robes upon the alders, on the rocks her silken stockings, on the grass her shoes of deer-skin, in the sand her shining necklace, in the sand her rings and jewels; in the waves, the lovely aino, sleeping on the very bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, in the caverns of the salmon, there to be the whiting's sister and the friend of nimble fishes." sadly weeps the ancient mother from her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops, as in sad and wailing measures, broken-hearted thus she answers: "listen, all ye mothers, listen, learn from me a tale of wisdom: never urge unwilling daughters from the dwellings of their fathers, to the bridegrooms that they love not, not as i, inhuman mother, drove away my lovely aino, fairest daughter of the northland." sadly weeps the gray-haired mother, and the tears that fall are bitter, flowing down her wrinkled visage, till they trickle on her bosom; then across her heaving bosom, till they reach her garment's border; then adown her silken stockings, till they touch her shoes of deer-skin; then beneath her shoes of deer-skin, flowing on and flowing ever, part to earth as its possession, part to water as its portion. as the tear-drops fall and mingle, form they streamlets three in number, and their source, the mother's eyelids, streamlets formed from pearly tear-drops, flowing on like little rivers, and each streamlet larger growing, soon becomes a rushing torrent in each rushing, roaring torrent there a cataract is foaming, foaming in the silver sunlight; from the cataract's commotion rise three pillared rocks in grandeur; from each rock, upon the summit, grow three hillocks clothed in verdure; from each hillock, speckled birches, three in number, struggle skyward; on the summit of each birch-tree sits a golden cuckoo calling, and the three sing, all in concord: "love! o love! the first one calleth; sings the second, suitor! suitor! and the third one calls and echoes, "consolation! consolation!" he that "love! o love!" is calling, calls three moons and calls unceasing, for the love-rejecting maiden sleeping in the deep sea-castles. he that "suitor! suitor!" singeth, sings six moons and sings unceasing for the suitor that forever sings and sues without a hearing. he that sadly sings and echoes, "consolation! consolation!" sings unceasing all his life long for the broken-hearted mother that must mourn and weep forever. when the lone and wretched mother heard the sacred cuckoo singing, spake she thus, and sorely weeping: "when i hear the cuckoo calling, then my heart is filled with sorrow; tears unlock my heavy eyelids, flow adown my, furrowed visage, tears as large as silver sea pearls; older grow my wearied elbows, weaker ply my aged fingers, wearily, in all its members, does my body shake in palsy, when i hear the cuckoo singing, hear the sacred cuckoo calling." rune v. wainavoinen's lamentation. far and wide the tidings travelled, far away men heard the story of the flight and death of aino, sister dear of youkahainen, fairest daughter of creation. wainamoinen, brave and truthful, straightway fell to bitter weeping, wept at morning, wept at evening, sleepless, wept the dreary night long, that his aino had departed, that the maiden thus had vanished, thus had sunk upon the bottom of the blue-sea, deep and boundless. filled with grief, the ancient singer, wainamoinen of the northland, heavy-hearted, sorely weeping, hastened to the restless waters, this the suitor's prayer and question: "tell, untamo, tell me, dreamer, tell me, indolence, thy visions, where the water-gods may linger, where may rest wellamo's maidens?" then untamo, thus made answer, lazily he told his dreamings: "over there, the mermaid-dwellings, yonder live wellamo's maidens, on the headland robed in verdure, on the forest-covered island, in the deep, pellucid waters, on the purple-colored sea-shore; yonder is the home or sea-maids, there the maidens of wellamo, live there in their sea-side chambers, rest within their water-caverns, on the rocks of rainbow colors, on the juttings of the sea-cliffs." straightway hastens wainamoinen to a boat-house on the sea-shore, looks with care upon the fish-hooks, and the lines he well considers; lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets, places in a boat of copper, then begins he swiftly rowing to the forest-covered island, to the point enrobed in verdure, to the purple-colored headland, where the sea-nymphs live and linger. hardly does he reach the island ere the minstrel starts to angle; far away he throws his fish-hook, trolls it quickly through the waters, turning on a copper swivel dangling from a silver fish-line, golden is the hook he uses. now he tries his silken fish-net, angles long, and angles longer, angles one day, then a second, in the morning, in the evening, angles at the hour of noontide, many days and nights he angles, till at last, one sunny morning, strikes a fish of magic powers, plays like salmon on his fish-line, lashing waves across the waters, till at length the fish exhausted falls a victim to the angler, safely landed in the bottom of the hero's boat of copper. wainamoinen, proudly viewing, speaks these words in wonder guessing: "this the fairest of all sea-fish, never have i seen its equal, smoother surely than the salmon, brighter-spotted than the trout is, grayer than the pike of suomi, has less fins than any female, not the fins of any male fish, not the stripes of sea-born maidens, not the belt of any mermaid, not the ears of any song-bird, somewhat like our northland salmon from the blue-sea's deepest caverns." in his belt the ancient hero wore a knife insheathed with silver; from its case he drew the fish-knife, thus to carve the fish in pieces, dress the nameless fish for roasting, make of it a dainty breakfast, make of it a meal at noon-day, make for him a toothsome supper, make the later meal at evening. straightway as the fish he touches, touches with his knife of silver, quick it leaps upon the waters, dives beneath the sea's smooth surface, from the boat with copper bottom, from the skiff of wainamoinen. in the waves at goodly distance, quickly from the sea it rises on the sixth and seventh billows, lifts its head above the waters, out of reach of fishing-tackle, then addresses wainamoinen, chiding thus the ancient hero: "wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, do not think that i came hither to be fished for as a salmon, only to be chopped in pieces, dressed and eaten like a whiting make for thee a dainty breakfast, make for thee a meal at midday, make for thee a toothsome supper, make the fourth meal of the northland." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "wherefore didst thou then come hither, if it be not for my dinner?" thus the nameless fish made answer: "hither have i come, o minstrel, in thine arms to rest and linger, and thyself to love and cherish, at thy side a life-companion, and thy wife to be forever; deck thy couch with snowy linen, smooth thy head upon the pillow, sweep thy rooms and make them cheery, keep thy dwelling-place in order, build a fire for thee when needed, bake for thee the honey-biscuit, fill thy cup with barley-water, do for thee whatever pleases. "i am not a scaly sea-fish, not a trout of northland rivers, not a whiting from the waters, not a salmon of the north-seas, i, a young and merry maiden, friend and sister of the fishes, youkahainen's youngest sister, i, the one that thou dost fish for, i am aino whom thou lovest. "once thou wert the wise-tongued hero, now the foolish wainamoinen, scant of insight, scant of judgment, didst not know enough to keep me, cruel-hearted, bloody-handed, tried to kill me with thy fish-knife, so to roast me for thy dinner; i, a mermaid of wellamo, once the fair and lovely aino, sister dear of youkahainen." spake the ancient wainamoinen, filled with sorrow, much regretting: "since thou'rt youkahainen's sister, beauteous aino of pohyola, come to me again i pray thee!" thus the mermaid wisely answered; nevermore will aino's spirit fly to thee and be ill-treated." quickly dived the water-maiden from the surface of the billow to the many-colored pebbles, to the rainbow-tinted grottoes where the mermaids live and linger. wainamoinen, not discouraged, thought afresh and well reflected, how to live, and work, and win her; drew with care his silken fish-net, to and fro through foam and billow, through the bays and winding channels, drew it through the placid waters, drew it through the salmon-dwellings, through the homes of water-maidens, through the waters of wainola, through the blue-back of the ocean, through the lakes of distant lapland, through the rivers of youkola, through the seas of kalevala, hoping thus to find his aino. many were the fish be landed, every form of fish-like creatures, but be did not catch the sea-maid, not wellamo's water-maiden, fairest daughter of the northland. finally the ancient minstrel, mind depressed, and heart discouraged, spake these words, immersed in sorrow: "fool am i, and great my folly, having neither wit nor judgment; surely once i had some knowledge, had some insight into wisdom, had at least a bit of instinct; but my virtues all have left me in these mournful days of evil, vanished with my youth and vigor, insight gone, and sense departed, all my prudence gone to others! aino, whom i love and cherish, all these years have sought to honor, aino, now wellamo's maiden, promised friend of mine when needed, promised bride of mine forever, once i had within my power, caught her in wellamo's grottoes, led her to my boat of copper, with my fish-line made of silver; but alas! i could not keep her, did not know that i had caught her till too late to woo and win her; let her slip between my fingers to the home of water-maidens, to the kingdom of wellamo." wainamoinen then departed, empty-handed, heavy-hearted, straightway hastened to his country, to his home in kalevala, spake these words upon his journey: "what has happened to the cuckoo, once the cuckoo bringing gladness, in the morning, in the evening, often bringing joy at noontide? what has stilled the cuckoo's singing, what has changed the cuckoo's calling? sorrow must have stilled his singing, and compassion changed his calling, as i hear him sing no longer, for my pleasure in the morning, for my happiness at evening. never shall i learn the secret, how to live and how to prosper, how upon the earth to rest me, how upon the seas to wander! only were my ancient mother living on the face of northland, surely she would well advise me, what my thought and what my action, that this cup of grief might pass me, that this sorrow might escape me, and this darkened cloud pass over." in the deep awoke his mother, from her tomb she spake as follows: "only sleeping was thy mother, now awakes to give thee answer, what thy thought and what thine action, that this cup of grief may pass thee, that this sorrow may escape thee, and this darkened cloud pass over. hie thee straightway to the northland, visit thou the suomi daughters; thou wilt find them wise and lovely, far more beautiful than aino, far more worthy of a husband, not such silly chatter-boxes, as the fickle lapland maidens. take for thee a life-companion, from the honest homes of suomi, one of northland's honest daughters; she will charm thee with her sweetness, make thee happy through her goodness, form perfection, manners easy, every step and movement graceful, full of wit and good behavior, honor to thy home and kindred." rune vi. wainamoinen's hapless journey. wainamoinen, old and truthful, now arranges for a journey to the village of the northland, to the land of cruel winters, to the land of little sunshine, to the land of worthy women; takes his light-foot, royal racer, then adjusts the golden bridle, lays upon his back the saddle, silver-buckled, copper-stirruped, seats himself upon his courser, and begins his journey northward; plunges onward, onward, onward, galloping along the highway, in his saddle, gaily fashioned, on his dappled steed of magic, plunging through wainola's meadows, o'er the plains of kalevala. fast and far he galloped onward, galloped far beyond wainola, bounded o'er the waste of waters, till he reached the blue-sea's margin, wetting not the hoofs in running. but the evil youkahainen nursed a grudge within his bosom, in his heart the worm of envy, envy of this wainamoinen, of this wonderful enchanter. he prepares a cruel cross-bow, made of steel and other metals, paints the bow in many colors, molds the top-piece out or copper, trims his bow with snowy silver, gold he uses too in trimming, then he hunts for strongest sinews, finds them in the stag of hisi, interweaves the flax of lempo. ready is the cruel cross-bow, string, and shaft, and ends are finished, beautiful the bow and mighty, surely cost it not a trifle; on the back a painted courser, on each end a colt of beauty, near the curve a maiden sleeping near the notch a hare is bounding, wonderful the bow thus fashioned; cuts some arrows for his quiver, covers them with finest feathers, from the oak the shafts be fashions, makes the tips of keenest metal. as the rods and points are finished, then he feathers well his arrows from the plumage of the swallow, from the wing-quills of the sparrow; hardens well his feathered arrows, and imparts to each new virtues, steeps them in the blood of serpents, in the virus of the adder. ready now are all his arrows, ready strung, his cruel cross-bow. waiting for wise wainamoinen. youkahainen, lapland's minstrel, waits a long time, is not weary, hopes to spy the ancient singer; spies at day-dawn, spies at evening, spies he ceaselessly at noontide, lies in wait for the magician, waits, and watches, as in envy; sits he at the open window, stands behind the hedge, and watches in the foot-path waits, and listens, spies along the balks of meadows; on his back he hangs his quiver, in his quiver, feathered arrows dipped in virus of the viper, on his arm the mighty cross-bow, waits, and watches, and unwearied, listens from the boat-house window, lingers at the end of fog-point, by the river flowing seaward, near the holy stream and whirlpool, near the sacred river's fire-fall. finally the lapland minstrel, youkahainen of pohyola, at the breaking of the day-dawn, at the early hour of morning, fixed his gaze upon the north-east, turned his eyes upon the sunrise, saw a black cloud on the ocean, something blue upon the waters, and soliloquized as follows: "are those clouds on the horizon, or perchance the dawn of morning? neither clouds on the horizon, nor the dawning of the morning; it is ancient wainamoinen, the renowned and wise enchanter, riding on his way to northland; on his steed, the royal racer, magic courser of wainola." quickly now young youkahainen, lapland's vain and evil minstrel, filled with envy, grasps his cross-bow, makes his bow and arrows ready for the death of wainamoinen. quick his aged mother asked him, spake these words to youkahainen: "for whose slaughter is thy cross-bow, for whose heart thy poisoned arrows?" youkahainen thus made answer: "i have made this mighty cross-bow, fashioned bow and poisoned arrows for the death of wainamoinen, thus to slay the friend of waters; i must shoot the old magician, the eternal bard and hero, through the heart, and through the liver, through the head, and through the shoulders, with this bow and feathered arrows thus destroy my rival minstrel." then the aged mother answered, thus reproving, thus forbidding. do not slay good wainamoinen, ancient hero of the northland, from a noble tribe descended, he, my sister's son, my nephew. if thou slayest wainamoinen, ancient son of kalevala, then alas! all joy will vanish, perish all our wondrous singing; better on the earth the gladness, better here the magic music, than within the nether regions, in the kingdom of tuoni, in the realm of the departed, in the land of the hereafter." then the youthful youkahainen thought awhile and well considered, ere he made a final answer. with one hand he raised the cross-bow but the other seemed to weaken, as he drew the cruel bow-string. finally these words he uttered as his bosom swelled with envy: "let all joy forever vanish, let earth's pleasures quickly perish, disappear earth's sweetest music, happiness depart forever; shoot i will this rival minstrel, little heeding what the end is." quickly now he bends his fire-bow, on his left knee rests the weapon, with his right foot firmly planted, thus he strings his bow of envy; takes three arrows from his quiver, choosing well the best among them, carefully adjusts the bow-string, sets with care the feathered arrow, to the flaxen string he lays it, holds the cross-bow to his shoulder, aiming well along the margin, at the heart of wainamoinen, waiting till he gallops nearer; in the shadow of a thicket, speaks these words while he is waiting "be thou, flaxen string, elastic; swiftly fly, thou feathered ash-wood, swiftly speed, thou deadly missile, quick as light, thou poisoned arrow, to the heart of wainamoinen. if my hand too low should hold thee, may the gods direct thee higher; if too high mine eye should aim thee, may the gods direct thee lower." steady now he pulls the trigger; like the lightning flies the arrow o'er the head of wainamoinen; to the upper sky it darteth, and the highest clouds it pierces, scatters all the flock of lamb-clouds, on its rapid journey skyward. not discouraged, quick selecting, quick adjusting, youkahainen, quickly aiming shoots a second. speeds the arrow swift as lightning; much too low he aimed the missile, into earth the arrow plunges, pierces to the lower regions, splits in two the old sand mountain. nothing daunted, youkahainen, quick adjusting shoots a third one. swift as light it speeds its journey, strikes the steed of wainamoinen, strikes the light-foot, ocean-swimmer, strikes him near his golden girdle, through the shoulder of the racer. thereupon wise wainamoinen headlong fell upon the waters, plunged beneath the rolling billows, from the saddle of the courser, from his dappled steed of magic. then arose a mighty storm-wind, roaring wildly on the waters, bore away old wainamoinen far from land upon the billows, on the high and rolling billows, on the broad sea's great expanses. boasted then young youkahainen, thinking waino dead and buried, these the boastful words be uttered: "nevermore, old wainamoinen, nevermore in all thy life-time, while the golden moonlight glistens, nevermore wilt fix thy vision on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala; full six years must swim the ocean, tread the waves for seven summers, eight years ride the foamy billows, in the broad expanse of water; six long autumns as a fir-tree, seven winters as a pebble; eight long summers as an aspen." thereupon the lapland minstrel hastened to his room delighting, when his mother thus addressed him "hast thou slain good wainamoinen, slain the son of kalevala?" youkahainen thus made answer: "i have slain old wainamoinen, slain the son of kalevala, that he now may plow the ocean, that he now may sweep the waters, on the billows rock and slumber. in the salt-sea plunged he headlong, in the deep sank the magician, sidewise turned he to the sea-shore on his back to rock forever, thus the boundless sea to travel, thus to ride the rolling billows." this the answer of the mother: "woe to earth for this thine action, gone forever, joy and singing, vanished is the wit of ages! thou hast slain good wainamoinen. slain the ancient wisdom-singer, slain the pride of suwantala, slain the hero of wainola, slain the joy of kalevala." rune vii. wainioinen's rescue. wainamoinen, old and truthful, swam through all the deep-sea waters, floating like a branch of aspen, like a withered twig of willow; swam six days in summer weather, swam six nights in golden moonlight; still before him rose the billows, and behind him sky and ocean. two days more he swam undaunted, two long nights be struggled onward. on the evening of the eighth day, wainamoinen grew disheartened, felt a very great discomfort, for his feet had lost their toe-nails, and his fingers dead and dying. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, sad and weary, spake as follows: "woe is me, my old life fated! woe is me, misfortune's offspring! fool was i when fortune, favored, to forsake my home and kindred, for a maiden fair and lovely, here beneath the starry heavens, in this cruel waste of waters, days and nights to swim and wander, here to struggle with the storm-winds, to be tossed by heaving billows, in this broad sea's great expanses, in this ocean vast and boundless. "cold my life and sad and dreary, painful too for me to linger evermore within these waters, thus to struggle for existence! cannot know how i can prosper, how to find me food and shelter, in these cold and lifeless waters, in these days of dire misfortune. build i in the winds my dwelling? it will find no sure foundation. build my home upon the billows? surely would the waves destroy it." comes a bird from far pohyola, from the occident, an eagle, is not classed among the largest, nor belongs he to the smallest; one wing touches on the waters, while the other sweeps the heavens; o'er the waves he wings his body, strikes his beak upon the sea-cliffs, flies about, then safely perches, looks before him, looks behind him, there beholds brave wainamoinen, on the blue-back of the ocean, and the eagle thus accosts him: "wherefore art thou, ancient hero, swimming in the deep-sea billows? thus the water-minstrel answered: "i am ancient wainamoinen, friend and fellow of the waters i, the famous wisdom-singer; went to woo a northland maiden, maiden from the dismal darkland, quickly galloped on my journey, riding on the plain of ocean. i arrived one morning early, at the breaking of the day-dawn. at the bay of luotola, near youkola's foaming river, where the evil youkahainen slew my steed with bow and arrow, tried to slay me with his weapons. on the waters fell i headlong, plunged beneath the salt-sea's surface, from the saddle of the courser, from my dappled steed of magic. "then arose a mighty storm-wind, from the east and west a whirlwind, washed me seaward on the surges, seaward, seaward, further, further, where for many days i wandered, swam and rocked upon the billows, where as many nights i struggled, in the dashing waves and sea-foam, with the angry winds and waters. "woe is me, my life hard-fated! cannot solve this heavy problem, how to live nor how to perish in this cruel salt-sea water. build i in the winds my dwelling? it will find no sure foundation. build my home upon the waters? surely will the waves destroy it. must i swim the sea forever, must i live, or must i perish? what will happen if i perish, if i sink below the billows, perish here from cold and hunger?" thus the bird of ether answered "be not in the least disheartened, place thyself between my shoulders, on my back be firmly seated, i will lift thee from the waters, bear thee with my pinions upward, bear thee wheresoe'er thou willest. well do i the day remember where thou didst the eagle service, when thou didst the birds a favor. thou didst leave the birch-tree standing, when were cleared the osmo-forests, from the lands of kalevala, as a home for weary song-birds, as a resting-place for eagles." then arises wainamoinen, lifts his head above the waters, boldly rises from the sea-waves, lifts his body from the billows, seats himself upon the eagle, on the eagle's feathered shoulders. quick aloft the huge bird bears him, bears the ancient wainamoinen, bears him on the path of zephyrs, floating on the vernal breezes, to the distant shore of northland, to the dismal sariola, where the eagle leaves his burden, flies away to join his fellows. wainamoinen, lone and weary, straightway fell to bitter weeping, wept and moaned in heavy accents, on the border of the blue-sea. on a cheerless promontory, with a hundred wounds tormented, made by cruel winds and waters, with his hair and beard dishevelled by the surging of the billows. three long days he wept disheartened wept as many nights in anguish, did not know what way to journey, could not find a woodland foot-print, that would point him to the highway, to his home in kalevala, to his much-loved home and kindred. northland's young and slender maiden, with complexion fair and lovely, with the sun had laid a wager, with the sun and moon a wager, which should rise before the other, on the morning of the morrow. and the maiden rose in beauty, long before the sun had risen, long before the moon bad wakened, from their beds beneath the ocean. ere the cock had crowed the day-break, ere the sun had broken slumber she had sheared six gentle lambkins, gathered from them six white fleeces, hence to make the rolls for spinning, hence to form the threads for weaving, hence to make the softest raiment, ere the morning dawn had broken, ere the sleeping sun had risen. when this task the maid had ended, then she scrubbed the birchen tables, sweeps the ground-floor of the stable, with a broom of leaves and branches from the birches of the northland, scrapes the sweepings well together on a shovel made of copper, carries them beyond the stable, from the doorway to the meadow, to the meadow's distant border, near the surges of the great-sea, listens there and looks about her, hears a wailing from the waters, hears a weeping from the sea-shore, hears a hero-voice lamenting. thereupon she hastens homeward, hastens to her mother's dwelling, these the words the maiden utters: "i have heard a wail from ocean, heard a weeping from the sea-coast, on the shore some one lamenting." louhi, hostess of pohyola, ancient, toothless dame of northland, hastens from her door and court-yard, through the meadow to the sea-shore, listens well for sounds of weeping, for the wail of one in sorrow; hears the voice of one in trouble, hears a hero-cry of anguish. thus the ancient louhi answers: "this is not the wail of children, these are not the tears of women, in this way weep bearded heroes; this the hero-cry of anguish." quick she pushed her boat to water, to the floods her goodly vessel, straightway rows with lightning swiftness, to the weeping wainamoinen; gives the hero consolation, comfort gives she to the minstrel wailing in a grove of willows, in his piteous condition, mid the alder-trees and aspens, on the border of the salt-sea, visage trembling, locks dishevelled. ears, and eyes, and lips of sadness. louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus addresses wainamoinen: "tell me what has been thy folly, that thou art in this condition." old and truthful wainamoinen lifts aloft his bead and answers: "well i know that it is folly that has brought me all this trouble, brought me to this land of strangers, to these regions unbefitting happy was i with my kindred, in my distant home and country, there my name was named in honor." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus replied to wainamoinen: "i would gain the information, should i be allowed to ask thee, who thou art of ancient heroes, who of all the host of heroes? this is wainamoinen's answer: "formerly my name was mentioned, often was i heard and honored, as a minstrel and magician, in the long and dreary winters, called the 'singer of the northland, in the valleys of wainola, on the plains of kalevala; no one thought that such misfortune could befall wise wainamoinen." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus replied in cheering accents "rise, o hero, from discomfort, from thy bed among the willows; enter now upon the new-way, come with me to yonder dwelling, there relate thy strange adventures, tell the tale of thy misfortunes." now she takes the hapless hero, lifts him from his bed of sorrow, in her boat she safely seats him, and begins at once her rowing, rows with steady hand and mighty to her home upon the sea-shore, to the dwellings of pohyola. there she feeds the starving hero, rests the ancient wainamoinen, gives him warmth, and food, and shelter, and the hero soon recovers. then the hostess of pohyola questioned thus the ancient singer: "wherefore didst thou, wainamoinen, friend and fellow of the waters, weep in sad and bitter accents, on the border of the ocean, mid the aspens and the willows?" this is wainamoinen's answer: had good reason for my weeping, cause enough for all my sorrow; long indeed had i been swimming, had been buffeting the billows, in the far outstretching waters. this the reason for my weeping; i have lived in toil and torture, since i left my home and country, left my native land and kindred, came to this the land of strangers, to these unfamiliar portals. all thy trees have thorns to wound me, all thy branches, spines to pierce me, even birches give me trouble, and the alders bring discomfort, my companions, winds and waters, only does the sun seem friendly, in this cold and cruel country, near these unfamiliar portals." louhi thereupon made answer, weep no longer, wainamoinen, grieve no more, thou friend of waters, good for thee, that thou shouldst linger at our friendly homes and firesides; thou shalt live with us and welcome, thou shalt sit at all our tables, eat the salmon from our platters, eat the sweetest of our bacon, eat the whiting from our waters." answers thus old wainamoinen, grateful for the invitation: "never do i court strange tables, though the food be rare and toothsome; one's own country is the dearest, one's own table is the sweetest, one's own home, the most attractive. grant, kind ukko, god above me, thou creator, full of mercy, grant that i again may visit my beloved home and country. better dwell in one's own country, there to drink its healthful waters from the simple cups of birch-wood, than in foreign lands to wander, there to drink the rarest liquors from the golden bowls of strangers." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus replied to the magician: "what reward wilt thou award me, should i take thee where thou willest, to thy native land and kindred, to thy much-loved home and fireside, to the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala?" these the words of wainamoinen: "what would be reward sufficient, shouldst thou take me to my people, to my home and distant country, to the borders of the northland, there to hear the cuckoo singing, hear the sacred cuckoo calling? shall i give thee golden treasures, fill thy cups with finest silver?" this is louhi's simple answer: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, only true and wise magician, never will i ask for riches, never ask for gold nor silver; gold is for the children's flowers, silver for the stallion's jewels. canst thou forge for me the sampo, hammer me the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins? "i will give thee too my daughter, will reward thee through the maiden, take thee to thy much-loved home-land, to the borders of wainola, there to hear the cuckoo singing, hear the sacred cuckoo calling." wainamoinen, much regretting, gave this answer to her question: "cannot forge for thee the sampo, cannot make the lid in colors. take me to my distant country, i will send thee ilmarinen, he will forge for thee the sampo, hammer thee the lid in colors, he may win thy lovely maiden; worthy smith is ilmarinen, in this art is first and master; he, the one that forged the heavens. forged the air a hollow cover; nowhere see we hammer-traces, nowhere find a single tongs-mark." thus replied the hostess, louhi: "him alone i'll give my daughter, promise him my child in marriage, who for me will forge the sampo, hammer me the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers, from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins." thereupon the hostess louhi, harnessed quick a dappled courser, hitched him to her sledge of birch-wood, placed within it wainamoinen, placed the hero on the cross-bench, made him ready for his journey; then addressed the ancient minstrel, these the words that louhi uttered: "do not raise thine eyes to heaven, look not upward on thy journey, while thy steed is fresh and frisky, while the day-star lights thy pathway, ere the evening star has risen; if thine eyes be lifted upward, while the day-star lights thy pathway, dire misfortune will befall thee, some sad fate will overtake thee." then the ancient wainamoinen fleetly drove upon his journey, merrily he hastened homeward, hastened homeward, happy-hearted from the ever-darksome northland from the dismal sariola. rune viii. maiden of the rainbow. pohyola's fair and winsome daughter, glory of the land and water, sat upon the bow of heaven, on its highest arch resplendent, in a gown of richest fabric, in a gold and silver air-gown, weaving webs of golden texture, interlacing threads of silver; weaving with a golden shuttle, with a weaving-comb of silver; merrily flies the golden shuttle, from the maiden's nimble fingers, briskly swings the lathe in weaving, swiftly flies the comb of silver, from the sky-born maiden's fingers, weaving webs of wondrous beauty. came the ancient wainamoinen, driving down the highway homeward, from the ever sunless northland, from the dismal sariola; few the furlongs he had driven, driven but a little distance, when he heard the sky-loom buzzing, as the maiden plied the shuttle. quick the thoughtless wainamoinen lifts his eyes aloft in wonder, looks upon the vault of heaven, there beholds the bow of beauty, on the bow the maiden sitting, beauteous maiden of the rainbow, glory of the earth and ocean, weaving there a golden fabric, working with the rustling silver. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, quickly checks his fleet-foot racer, looks upon the charming maiden, then addresses her as follows: "come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge, by my side i wish thee seated." thus the maid of beauty answers: "tell me what thou wishest of me, should i join thee in the snow-sledge." speaks the ancient wainamoinen, answers thus the maid of beauty: "this the reason for thy coming: thou shalt bake me honey-biscuit, shalt prepare me barley-water, thou shalt fill my foaming beer-cups, thou shalt sing beside my table, shalt rejoice within my portals, walk a queen within my dwelling, in the wainola halls and chambers, in the courts of kalevala." thus the maid of beauty answered from her throne amid the heavens: "yesterday at hour of twilight, went i to the flowery meadows, there to rock upon the common, where the sun retires to slumber; there i heard a song-bird singing, heard the thrush simple measures, singing sweetly thoughts of maidens, and the minds of anxious mothers. "then i asked the pretty songster, asked the thrush this simple question: 'sing to me, thou pretty song-bird, sing that i may understand thee, sing to me in truthful accents, how to live in greatest pleasure, and in happiness the sweetest, as a maiden with her father, or as wife beside her husband.' "thus the song-bird gave me answer, sang the thrush this information: 'bright and warm are days of summer, warmer still is maiden-freedom; cold is iron in the winter, thus the lives of married women; maidens living with their mothers are like ripe and ruddy berries; married women, far too many, are like dogs enchained in kennel, rarely do they ask for favors, not to wives are favors given.'" wainamoinen, old and truthful, answers thus the maid of beauty: "foolish is the thrush thus singing, nonsense is the song-bird's twitter; like to babes are maidens treated, wives are queens and highly honored. come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, i am not despised as hero, not the meanest of magicians; come with me and i will make thee wife and queen in kalevala." thus the maid of beauty answered-- "would consider thee a hero, mighty hero, i would call thee, when a golden hair thou splittest, using knives that have no edges; when thou snarest me a bird's egg with a snare that i can see not." wainamoinen, skilled and ancient, split a golden hair exactly, using knives that had no edges; and he snared an egg as nicely with a snare the maiden saw not. "come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, i have done what thou desirest." thus the maiden wisely answered: "never enter i thy snow-sledge, till thou peelest me the sandstone, till thou cuttest me a whip-stick from the ice, and make no splinters, losing not the smallest fragment." wainamoinen, true magician, nothing daunted, not discouraged, deftly peeled the rounded sandstone, deftly cut from ice a whip-stick, cutting not the finest splinter, losing not the smallest fragment. then again be called the maiden, to a seat within his snow-sledge. but the maid or beauty answered, answered thus the great magician: i will go with that one only that will make me ship or shallop, from the splinters of my spindle, from the fragments of my distaff, in the waters launch the vessel, set the little ship a-floating, using not the knee to push it, using not the arm to move it, using not the hand to touch it, using not the foot to turn it, using nothing to propel it." spake the skilful wainamoinen, these the words the hero uttered: "there is no one in the northland, no one under vault of heaven, who like me can build a vessel, from the fragments of the distaff, from the splinters of the spindle." then he took the distaff-fragments, took the splinters of the spindle, hastened off the boat to fashion, hastened to an iron mountain, there to join the many fragments. full of zeal be plies the hammer, swings the hammer and the hatchet; nothing daunted, builds the vessel, works one day and then a second, works with steady hand the third day; on the evening of the third day, evil hisi grasps the hatchet, lempo takes the crooked handle, turns aside the axe in falling, strikes the rocks and breaks to pieces; from the rocks rebound the fragments, pierce the flesh of the magician, cut the knee of wainamoinen. lempo guides the sharpened hatchet, and the veins fell hisi severs. quickly gushes forth a blood-stream, and the stream is crimson-colored. wainamoinen, old and truthful, the renowned and wise enchanter, thus outspeaks in measured accents: "o thou keen and cruel hatchet, o thou axe of sharpened metal, thou shouldst cut the trees to fragments, cut the pine-tree and the willow, cut the alder and the birch-tree, cut the juniper and aspen, shouldst not cut my knee to pieces, shouldst not tear my veins asunder." then the ancient wainamoinen thus begins his incantations, thus begins his magic singing, of the origin of evil; every word in perfect order, makes no effort to remember, sings the origin of iron, that a bolt he well may fashion, thus prepare a look for surety, for the wounds the axe has given, that the hatchet has torn open. but the stream flows like a brooklet, rushing like a maddened torrent, stains the herbs upon the meadows, scarcely is a bit of verdure that the blood-stream does not cover as it flows and rushes onward from the knee of the magician, from the veins of wainamoinen. now the wise and ancient minstrel gathers lichens from the sandstone, picks them from the trunks of birches, gathers moss within the marshes, pulls the grasses from the meadows, thus to stop the crimson streamlet, thus to close the wounds laid open; but his work is unsuccessful, and the crimson stream flows onward. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, feeling pain and fearing languor, falls to weeping, heavy-hearted; quickly now his steed he hitches, hitches to the sledge of birch-wood, climbs with pain upon the cross-bench, strikes his steed in quick succession, snaps his whip above the racer, and the steed flies onward swiftly; like the winds he sweeps the highway, till be nears a northland village, where the way is triple-parted. wainamoinen, old and truthful, takes the lowest of the highways, quickly nears a spacious cottage, quickly asks before the doorway: "is there any one here dwelling, that can know the pain i suffer, that can heal this wound of hatchet. that can check this crimson streamlet?" sat a boy within a corner, on a bench beside a baby, and he answered thus the hero: "there is no one in this dwelling that can know the pain thou feelest, that can heal the wounds of hatchet, that can check the crimson streamlet; some one lives in yonder cottage, that perchance can do thee service." wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, whips his courser to a gallop, dashes on along the highway; only drives a little distance, on the middle of the highways, to a cabin on the road-side, asks one standing on the threshold, questions all through open windows, these the words the hero uses: "is there no one in this cabin, that can know the pain i suffer, that can heal this wound of hatchet, that can check this crimson streamlet?" on the floor a witch was lying, near the fire-place lay the beldame, thus she spake to wainamoinen, through her rattling teeth she answered. "there is no one in this cabin that can know the pain thou feelest, that can heal the wounds of hatchets, that can check the crimson streamlet; some one lives in yonder cottage, that perchance can do thee service." wainamoinen, nothing daunted, whips his racer to a gallop, dashes on along the highway; only drives a little distance, on the upper of the highways, gallops to a humble cottage, asks one standing near the penthouse, sitting on the penthouse-doorsill: "is there no one in this cottage, that can know the pain i suffer, that can heal this wound of hatchet, that can check this crimson streamlet?" near the fireplace sat an old man, on the hearthstone sat the gray-beard, thus he answered wainamoinen: "greater things have been accomplished, much more wondrous things effected, through but three words of the master; through the telling of the causes, streams and oceans have been tempered, river cataracts been lessened, bays been made of promontories, islands raised from deep sea-bottoms." rune ix. origin of iron. wainamoinen, thus encouraged, quickly rises in his snow-sledge, asking no one for assistance, straightway hastens to the cottage, takes a seat within the dwelling. come two maids with silver pitchers, bringing also golden goblets; dip they up a very little, but the very smallest measure of the blood of the magician, from the wounds of wainamoinen. from the fire-place calls the old man, thus the gray-beard asks the minstrel: "tell me who thou art of heroes, who of all the great magicians? lo! thy blood fills seven sea-boats, eight of largest birchen vessels, flowing from some hero's veinlets, from the wounds of some magician. other matters i would ask thee; sing the cause of this thy trouble, sing to me the source of metals, sing the origin of iron, how at first it was created." then the ancient wainamoinen made this answer to the gray-beard: "know i well the source of metals, know the origin of iron; f can tell bow steel is fashioned. of the mothers air is oldest, water is the oldest brother, and the fire is second brother, and the youngest brother, iron; ukko is the first creator. ukko, maker of the heavens, cut apart the air and water, ere was born the metal, iron. ukko, maker of the heavens, firmly rubbed his hands together, firmly pressed them on his knee-cap, then arose three lovely maidens, three most beautiful of daughters; these were mothers of the iron, and of steel of bright-blue color. tremblingly they walked the heavens, walked the clouds with silver linings, with their bosoms overflowing with the milk of future iron, flowing on and flowing ever, from the bright rims of the cloudlets to the earth, the valleys filling, to the slumber-calling waters. "ukko's eldest daughter sprinkled black milk over river channels and the second daughter sprinkled white milk over hills and mountains, while the youngest daughter sprinkled red milk over seas and oceans. whero the black milk had been sprinked, grew the dark and ductile iron; where the white milk had been sprinkled. grew the iron, lighter-colored; where the red milk had been sprinkled, grew the red and brittle iron. "after time had gone a distance, iron hastened fire to visit, his beloved elder brother, thus to know his brother better. straightway fire began his roarings, labored to consume his brother, his beloved younger brother. straightway iron sees his danger, saves himself by fleetly fleeing, from the fiery flame's advances, fleeing hither, fleeing thither, fleeing still and taking shelter in the swamps and in the valleys, in the springs that loudly bubble, by the rivers winding seaward, on the broad backs of the marshes, where the swans their nests have builded, where the wild geese hatch their goslings. "thus is iron in the swamp-lands, stretching by the water-courses, hidden well for many ages, hidden in the birchen forests, but he could not hide forever from the searchings of his brother; here and there the fire has caught him, caught and brought him to his furnace, that the spears, and swords, and axes, might be forged and duly hammered. in the swamps ran blackened waters, from the heath the bears came ambling, and the wolves ran through the marshes. iron then made his appearance, where the feet of wolves had trodden, where the paws of bears had trampled. "then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, came to earth to work the metal; he was born upon the coal-mount, skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields; in one hand, a copper hammer, in the other, tongs of iron; in the night was born the blacksmith, in the morn he built his smithy, sought with care a favored hillock, where the winds might fill his bellows; found a hillock in the swamp-lands, where the iron hid abundant; there he built his smelting furnace, there he laid his leathern bellows, hastened where the wolves had travelled, followed where the bears had trampled, found the iron's young formations, in the wolf-tracks of the marshes, in the foot-prints of the gray-bear. "then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, 'thus addressed the sleeping iron: thou most useful of the metals, thou art sleeping in the marshes, thou art hid in low conditions, where the wolf treads in the swamp-lands, where the bear sleeps in the thickets. hast thou thought and well considered, what would be thy future station, should i place thee in the furnace, thus to make thee free and useful?' "then was iron sorely frightened, much distressed and filled with horror, when of fire he heard the mention, mention of his fell destroyer. "then again speaks ilmarinen, thus the smith addresses iron: 'be not frightened, useful metal, surely fire will not consume thee, will not burn his youngest brother, will not harm his nearest kindred. come thou to my room and furnace, where the fire is freely burning, thou wilt live, and grow, and prosper, wilt become the swords of heroes, buckles for the belts of women.' "ere arose the star of evening, iron ore had left the marshes, from the water-beds had risen, had been carried to the furnace, in the fire the smith had laid it, laid it in his smelting furnace. ilmarinen starts the bellows, gives three motions of the handle, and the iron flows in streamlets from the forge of the magician, soon becomes like baker's leaven, soft as dough for bread of barley. then out-screamed the metal, iron: 'wondrous blacksmith, ilmarinen, take, o take me from thy furnace, from this fire and cruel torture.' "ilmarinen thus made answer: 'i will take thee from my furnace, 'thou art but a little frightened, thou shalt be a mighty power, thou shalt slay the best of heroes, thou shalt wound thy dearest brother.' "straightway iron made this promise, vowed and swore in strongest accents, by the furnace, by the anvil, by the tongs, and by the hammer, these the words he vowed and uttered: 'many trees that i shall injure, shall devour the hearts of mountains, shall not slay my nearest kindred, shall not kill the best of heroes, shall not wound my dearest brother; better live in civil freedom, happier would be my life-time, should i serve my fellow-beings, serve as tools for their convenience, than as implements of warfare, slay my friends and nearest. kindred, wound the children of my mother.' "now the master, ilmarinen, the renowned and skilful blacksmith, from the fire removes the iron, places it upon the anvil, hammers well until it softens, hammers many fine utensils, hammers spears, and swords, and axes, hammers knives, and forks, and hatchets, hammers tools of all descriptions. "many things the blacksmith needed, many things he could not fashion, could not make the tongue of iron, could not hammer steel from iron, could not make the iron harden. well considered ilmarinen, deeply thought and long reflected. then he gathered birchen ashes, steeped the ashes in the water, made a lye to harden iron, thus to form the steel most needful. with his tongue he tests the mixture, weighs it long and well considers, and the blacksmith speaks as follows: 'all this labor is for nothing, will not fashion steel from iron, will not make the soft ore harden.' "now a bee flies from the meadow, blue-wing coming from the flowers, flies about, then safely settles near the furnace of the smithy. "'thus the smith the bee addresses, these the words of ilmarinen: 'little bee, thou tiny birdling, bring me honey on thy winglets, on thy tongue, i pray thee, bring me sweetness from the fragrant meadows, from the little cups of flowers, from the tips of seven petals, that we thus may aid the water to produce the steel from iron.' "evil hisi's bird, the hornet, heard these words of ilmarinen, looking from the cottage gable, flying to the bark of birch-trees, while the iron bars were heating while the steel was being tempered; swiftly flew the stinging hornet, scattered all the hisi horrors, brought the blessing of the serpent, brought the venom of the adder, brought the poison of the spider, brought the stings of all the insects, mixed them with the ore and water, while the steel was being, tempered. "ilmarinen, skilful blacksmith, first of all the iron-workers, thought the bee had surely brought him honey from the fragrant meadows, from the little cups of flowers, from the tips of seven petals, and he spake the words that follow: 'welcome, welcome, is thy coming, honeyed sweetness from the flowers thou hast brought to aid the water, thus to form the steel from iron!' "ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, dipped the iron into water, water mixed with many poisons, thought it but the wild bee's honey; thus he formed the steel from iron. when he plunged it into water, water mixed with many poisons, when be placed it in the furnace, angry grew the hardened iron, broke the vow that he had taken, ate his words like dogs and devils, mercilessly cut his brother, madly raged against his kindred, caused the blood to flow in streamlets from the wounds of man and hero. this, the origin of iron, and of steel of light blue color." from the hearth arose the gray-beard, shook his heavy looks and answered: "now i know the source of iron, whence the steel and whence its evils; curses on thee, cruel iron, curses on the steel thou givest, curses on thee, tongue of evil, cursed be thy life forever! once thou wert of little value, having neither form nor beauty, neither strength nor great importance, when in form of milk thou rested, when for ages thou wert hidden in the breasts of god's three daughters, hidden in their heaving bosoms, on the borders of the cloudlets, in the blue vault of the heavens. "thou wert once of little value, having neither form nor beauty, neither strength nor great importance, when like water thou wert resting on the broad back of the marshes, on the steep declines of mountains, when thou wert but formless matter, only dust of rusty color. "surely thou wert void of greatness, having neither strength nor beauty, when the moose was trampling on thee, when the roebuck trod upon thee, when the tracks of wolves were in thee, and the bear-paws scratched thy body. surely thou hadst little value when the skilful ilmarinen, first of all the iron-workers, brought thee from the blackened swamp-lands, took thee to his ancient smithy, placed thee in his fiery furnace. truly thou hadst little vigor, little strength, and little danger, when thou in the fire wert hissing, rolling forth like seething water, from the furnace of the smithy, when thou gavest oath the strongest, by the furnace, by the anvil, by the tongs, and by the hammer, by the dwelling of the blacksmith, by the fire within the furnace. "now forsooth thou hast grown mighty, thou canst rage in wildest fury; thou hast broken all thy pledges, all thy solemn vows hast broken, like the dogs thou shamest honor, shamest both thyself and kindred, tainted all with breath of evil. tell who drove thee to this mischief, tell who taught thee all thy malice, tell who gavest thee thine evil! did thy father, or thy mother, did the eldest of thy brothers, did the youngest of thy sisters, did the worst of all thy kindred give to thee thine evil nature? not thy father, nor thy mother, not the eldest of thy brothers, not the youngest of thy sisters, not the worst of all thy kindred, but thyself hast done this mischief, thou the cause of all our trouble. come and view thine evil doings, and amend this flood of damage, ere i tell thy gray-haired mother, ere i tell thine aged father. great indeed a mother's anguish, great indeed a father's sorrow, when a son does something evil, when a child runs wild and lawless. "crimson streamlet, cease thy flowing from the wounds of wainamoinen; blood of ages, stop thy coursing from the veins of the magician; stand like heaven's crystal pillars, stand like columns in the ocean, stand like birch-trees in the forest, like the tall reeds in the marshes, like the high-rocks on the sea-coast, stand by power of mighty magic! "should perforce thy will impel thee, flow thou on thine endless circuit, through the veins of wainamoinen, through the bones, and through the muscles, through the lungs, and heart, and liver, of the mighty sage and singer; better be the food of heroes, than to waste thy strength and virtue on the meadows and the woodlands, and be lost in dust and ashes. flow forever in thy circle; thou must cease this crimson out-flow; stain no more the grass and flowers, stain no more these golden hill-tops, pride and beauty of our heroes. in the veins of the magician, in the heart of wainamoinen, is thy rightful home and storehouse. thither now withdraw thy forces, thither hasten, swiftly flowing; flow no more as crimson currents, fill no longer crimson lakelets, must not rush like brooks in spring-tide, nor meander like the rivers. "cease thy flow, by word of magic, cease as did the falls of tyrya, as the rivers of tuoni, when the sky withheld her rain-drops, when the sea gave up her waters, in the famine of the seasons, in the years of fire and torture. if thou heedest not this order, i shall offer other measures, know i well of other forces; i shall call the hisi irons, in them i shall boil and roast thee, thus to check thy crimson flowing, thus to save the wounded hero. "if these means be inefficient, should these measures prove unworthy, i shall call omniscient ukko, mightiest of the creators, stronger than all ancient heroes, wiser than the world-magicians; he will check the crimson out-flow, he will heal this wound of hatchet. "ukko, god of love and mercy, god and master of the heavens, come thou hither, thou art needed, come thou quickly i beseech thee, lend thy hand to aid thy children, touch this wound with healing fingers, stop this hero's streaming life-blood, bind this wound with tender leaflets, mingle with them healing flowers, thus to check this crimson current, thus to save this great magician, save the life of wainamoinen." thus at last the blood-stream ended, as the magic words were spoken. then the gray-beard, much rejoicing, sent his young son to the smithy, there to make a healing balsam, from the herbs of tender fibre, from the healing plants and flowers, from the stalks secreting honey, from the roots, and leaves, and blossoms. on the way he meets an oak-tree, and the oak the son addresses: "hast thou honey in thy branches, does thy sap run full of sweetness?" thus the oak-tree wisely answers: "yea, but last night dripped the honey down upon my spreading branches, and the clouds their fragrance sifted, sifted honey on my leaflets, from their home within the heavens." then the son takes oak-wood splinters, takes the youngest oak-tree branches, gathers many healing grasses, gathers many herbs and flowers, rarest herbs that grow in northland, places them within the furnace in a kettle made of copper; lets them steep and boil together, bits of bark chipped from the oak-tree, many herbs of healing virtues; steeps them one day, then a second, three long days of summer weather, days and nights in quick succession; then he tries his magic balsam, looks to see if it is ready, if his remedy is finished; but the balsam is unworthy. then he added other grasses, herbs of every healing virtue, that were brought from distant nations, many hundred leagues from northland, gathered by the wisest minstrels, thither brought by nine enchanters. three days more be steeped the balsam, three nights more the fire be tended, nine the days and nights be watched it, then again be tried the ointment, viewed it carefully and tested, found at last that it was ready, found the magic balm was finished. near by stood a branching birch-tree. on the border of the meadow, wickedly it had been broken, broken down by evil hisi; quick he takes his balm of healing, and anoints the broken branches, rubs the balsam in the fractures, thus addresses then the birch-tree: "with this balsam i anoint thee, with this salve thy wounds i cover, cover well thine injured places; now the birch-tree shall recover, grow more beautiful than ever." true, the birch-tree soon recovered, grew more beautiful than ever, grew more uniform its branches, and its bole more strong and stately. thus it was be tried the balsam, thus the magic salve he tested, touched with it the splintered sandstone, touched the broken blocks of granite, touched the fissures in the mountains, and the broken parts united, all the fragments grew together. then the young boy quick returning with the balsam he had finished, to the gray-beard gave the ointment, and the boy these measures uttered "here i bring the balm of healing, wonderful the salve i bring thee; it will join the broken granite, make the fragments grow together, heat the fissures in the mountains, and restore the injured birch-tree." with his tongue the old man tested, tested thus the magic balsam, found the remedy effective, found the balm had magic virtues; then anointed he the minstrel, touched the wounds of wainamoinen, touched them with his magic balsam, with the balm of many virtues; speaking words of ancient wisdom, these the words the gray-beard uttered: "do not walk in thine own virtue, do not work in thine own power, walk in strength of thy creator; do not speak in thine own wisdom, speak with tongue of mighty ukko. in my mouth, if there be sweetness, it has come from my creator; if my bands are filled with beauty, all the beauty comes from ukko." when the wounds had been anointed, when the magic salve had touched them, straightway ancient wainamoinen suffered fearful pain and anguish, sank upon the floor in torment, turning one way, then another, sought for rest and found it nowhere, till his pain the gray-beard banished, banished by the aid of magic, drove away his killing torment to the court of all our trouble, to the highest hill of torture, to the distant rocks and ledges, to the evil-bearing mountains, to the realm of wicked hisi. then be took some silken fabric, quick he tore the silk asunder, making equal strips for wrapping, tied the ends with silken ribbons, making thus a healing bandage; then he wrapped with skilful fingers wainamoinen's knee and ankle, wrapped the wounds of the magician, and this prayer the gray-beard uttered "ukko's fabric is the bandage, ukko's science is the surgeon, these have served the wounded hero, wrapped the wounds of the magician. look upon us, god of mercy, come and guard us, kind creator, and protect us from all evil! guide our feet lest they may stumble, guard our lives from every danger, from the wicked wilds of hisi." wainamoinen, old and truthful, felt the mighty aid of magic, felt the help of gracious ukko, straightway stronger grew in body, straightway were the wounds united, quick the fearful pain departed. strong and hardy grew the hero, straightway walked in perfect freedom, turned his knee in all directions, knowing neither pain nor trouble. then the ancient wainamoinen raised his eyes to high jumala, looked with gratitude to heaven, looked on high, in joy and gladness, then addressed omniscient ukko, this the prayer the minstrel uttered: "o be praised, thou god of mercy, let me praise thee, my creator, since thou gavest me assistance, and vouchsafed me thy protection, healed my wounds and stilled mine anguish, banished all my pain and trouble, caused by iron and by hisi. o, ye people of wainola, people of this generation, and the folk of future ages, fashion not in emulation, river boat, nor ocean shallop, boasting of its fine appearance, god alone can work completion, give to cause its perfect ending, never hand of man can find it, never can the hero give it, ukko is the only master." rune x. ilmarinen forges the sampo. wainamoinen, the magician, takes his steed of copper color, hitches quick his fleet-foot courser, puts his racer to the snow-sledge, straightway springs upon the cross-seat, snaps his whip adorned with jewels. like the winds the steed flies onward, like a lightning flash, the racer makes the snow-sledge creak and rattle, makes the highway quickly vanish, dashes on through fen and forest, over hills and through the valleys, over marshes, over mountains, over fertile plains and meadows; journeys one day, then a second, so a third from morn till evening, till the third day evening brings him to the endless bridge of osmo, to the osmo-fields and pastures, to the plains of kalevala; when the hero spake as follows: "may the wolves devour the dreamer, eat the laplander for dinner, may disease destroy the braggart, him who said that i should never see again my much-loved home-land, nevermore behold my kindred, never during all my life-time, never while the sunshine brightens, never while the moonlight glimmers on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala." then began old wainamoinen, ancient bard and famous singer, to renew his incantations; sang aloft a wondrous pine-tree, till it pierced the clouds in growing with its golden top and branches, till it touched the very heavens, spread its branches in the ether, in the ever-shining sunlight. now he sings again enchanting, sings the moon to shine forever in the fir-tree's emerald branches; in its top he sings the great bear. then be quickly journeys homeward, hastens to his golden portals, head awry and visage wrinkled, crooked cap upon his forehead, since as ransom he had promised ilmarinen, magic artist, thus to save his life from torture on the distant fields of northland in the dismal sariola. when his stallion he had halted on the osmo-field and meadow, quickly rising in his snow-sledge, the magician heard one knocking, breaking coal within the smithy, beating with a heavy hammer. wainamoinen, famous minstrel, entering the smithy straightway, found the blacksmith, ilmarinen, knocking with his copper hammer. ilmarinen spake as follows: "welcome, brother wainamoinen, old and worthy wainamoinen! why so long hast thou been absent, where hast thou so long been hiding?" wainamoinen then made answer, these the words of the magician: "long indeed have i been living, many dreary days have wandered, many cheerless nights have lingered, floating on the cruel ocean, weeping in the fens and woodlands of the never-pleasant northland, in the dismal sariola; with the laplanders i've wandered, with the people filled with witchcraft." promptly answers ilmarinen, these the words the blacksmith uses: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, famous and eternal singer, tell me of thy journey northward, of thy wanderings in lapland, of thy dismal journey homeward." spake the minstrel, wainamoinen: "i have much to tell thee, brother, listen to my wondrous story: in the northland lives a virgin, in a village there, a maiden, that will not accept a lover, that a hero's hand refuses, that a wizard's heart disdaineth; all of northland sings her praises, sings her worth and magic beauty, fairest maiden of pohyola, daughter of the earth and ocean. from her temples beams the moonlight, from her breast, the gleam of sunshine, from her forehead shines the rainbow, on her neck, the seven starlets, and the great bear from her shoulder. "ilmarinen, worthy brother, thou the only skilful blacksmith, go and see her wondrous beauty, see her gold and silver garments, see her robed in finest raiment, see her sitting on the rainbow, walking on the clouds of purple. forge for her the magic sampo, forge the lid in many colors, thy reward shall be the virgin, thou shalt win this bride of beauty; go and bring the lovely maiden to thy home in kalevala." spake the brother, ilmarinen: o thou cunning wainamoinen, thou hast promised me already to the ever-darksome northland, thy devoted head to ransom, thus to rescue thee from trouble. i shall never visit northland, shall not go to see thy maiden, do not love the bride of beauty; never while the moonlight glimmers, shall i go to dreary pohya, to the plains of sariola, where the people eat each other, sink their heroes in the ocean, not for all the maids of lapland." spake the brother, wainamoinen: "i can tell thee greater wonders, listen to my wondrous story: i have seen the fir-tree blossom, seen its flowers with emerald branches, on the osmo-fields and woodlands; in its top, there shines the moonlight, and the bear lives in its branches." ilmarinen thus made answer: "i cannot believe thy story, cannot trust thy tale of wonder, till i see the blooming fir-tree, with its many emerald branches, with its bear and golden moonlight." this is wainamoinen's answer: "wilt thou not believe my story? come with me and i will show thee if my lips speak fact or fiction." quick they journey to discover, haste to view the wondrous fir-tree; wainamoinen leads the journey, ilmarinen closely follows. as they near the osmo-borders, ilmarinen hastens forward that be may behold the wonder, spies the bear within the fir-top, sitting on its emerald branches, spies the gleam of golden moonlight. spake the ancient wainamoinen, these the words the singer uttered: climb this tree, dear ilmarinen, and bring down the golden moonbeams, bring the moon and bear down with thee from the fir-tree's lofty branches." ilmarinen, full consenting, straightway climbed the golden fir-tree, high upon the bow of heaven, thence to bring the golden moonbeams, thence to bring the bear of heaven, from the fir-tree's topmost branches. thereupon the blooming fir-tree spake these words to ilmarinen: "o thou senseless, thoughtless hero, thou hast neither wit nor instinct; thou dost climb my golden branches, like a thing of little judgment, thus to get my pictured moonbeams, take away my silver starlight, steal my bear and blooming branches." quick as thought old wainamoinen sang again in magic accents, sang a storm-wind in the heavens, sang the wild winds into fury, and the singer spake as follows: `take, o storm-wind, take the forgeman, carry him within thy vessel, quickly hence, and land the hero on the ever-darksome northland, on the dismal sariola." now the storm-wind quickly darkens, quickly piles the air together, makes of air a sailing vessel, takes the blacksmith, ilmarinen, fleetly from the fir-tree branches, toward the never-pleasant northland, toward the dismal sariola. through the air sailed ilmarinen, fast and far the hero travelled, sweeping onward, sailing northward, riding in the track of storm-winds, o'er the moon, beneath the sunshine, on the broad back of the great bear, till he neared pohyola's woodlands, neared the homes of sariola, and alighted undiscovered, was dot noticed by the hunters, was not scented by the watch-dogs. louhi, hostess of pohyola, ancient, toothless dame of northland, standing in the open court-yard, thus addresses ilmarinen, as she spies the hero-stranger: "who art thou of ancient heroes, who of all the host of heroes, coming here upon the storm-wind, o'er the sledge-path of the ether, scented not by pohya's watch-dogs? this is ilmarinen's answer: "i have surely not come hither to be barked at by the watch-dogs, at these unfamiliar portals, at the gates of sariola." thereupon the northland hostess asks again the hero-stranger: "hast thou ever been acquainted with the blacksmith of wainola, with the hero, ilmarinen, with the skilful smith and artist? long i've waited for his coming, long this one has been expected, on the borders of the northland, here to forge for me the sampo." spake the hero, ilmarinen: "well indeed am i acquainted with the blacksmith, ilmarinen, i myself am ilmarinen, i, the skilful smith and artist." louhi, hostess of the northland, toothless dame of sariola, straightway rushes to her dwelling, these the words that louhi utters: "come, thou youngest of my daughters, come, thou fairest of my maidens, dress thyself in finest raiment, deck thy hair with rarest jewels, pearls upon thy swelling bosom, on thy neck, a golden necklace, bind thy head with silken ribbons, make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, and thy visage fair and winsome, since the artist, ilmarinen, hither comes from kalevala, here to forge for us the sampo, hammer us the lid in colors." now the daughter of the northland, honored by the land and water, straightway takes her choicest raiment, takes her dresses rich in beauty, finest of her silken wardrobe, now adjusts her silken fillet, on her brow a band of copper, round her waist a golden girdle, round her neck a pearly necklace, shining gold upon her bosom, in her hair the threads of silver. from her dressing-room she hastens, to the hall she bastes and listens, full of beauty, full of joyance, ears erect and eyes bright-beaming, ruddy cheeks and charming visage, waiting for the hero-stranger. louhi, hostess of pohyola, leads the hero, ilmarinen, to her dwelling-rooms in northland, to her home in sariola, seats him at her well-filled table, gives to him the finest viands, gives him every needed comfort, then addresses him as follows: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, master of the forge and smithy, canst thou forge for me the sampo, hammer me the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers, from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins? thou shalt have my fairest daughter, recompense for this thy service." these the words of ilmarinen: "i will forge for thee the sampo, hammer thee the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers, from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins? since i forged the arch of heaven, forged the air a concave cover, ere the earth had a beginning." thereupon the magic blacksmith went to forge the wondrous sampo, went to find a blacksmith's workshop, went to find the tools to work with; but he found no place for forging, found no smithy, found no bellows, found no chimney, found no anvil, found no tongs, and found no hammer. then the-artist, ilmarinen. spake these words, soliloquizing: "only women grow discouraged, only knaves leave work unfinished, not the devils, nor the heroes, nor the gods of greater knowledge." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, sought a place to build a smithy, sought a place to plant a bellows, on the borders of the northland, on the pohya-hills and meadows; searched one day, and then a second; ere the evening of the third day, came a rock within his vision, came a stone with rainbow-colors. there the blacksmith, ilmarinen, set at work to build his smithy, built a fire and raised a chimney; on the next day laid his bellows, on the third day built his furnace, and began to forge the sampo. the eternal magic artist, ancient blacksmith, ilmarinen, first of all the iron-workers, mixed together certain metals, put the mixture in the caldron, laid it deep within the furnace, called the hirelings to the forging. skilfully they work the bellows, tend the fire and add the fuel, three most lovely days of summer, three short nights of bright midsummer, till the rocks begin to blossom, in the foot-prints of the workmen, from the magic heat and furnace. on the first day, ilmarinen downward bent and well examined, on the bottom of his furnace, thus to see what might be forming from the magic fire and metals. from the fire arose a cross-bow, "with the brightness of the moonbeams, golden bow with tips of silver; on the shaft was shining copper, and the bow was strong and wondrous, but alas! it was ill-natured, asking for a hero daily, two the heads it asked on feast-days. ilmarinen, skilful artist, was not pleased with this creation, broke the bow in many pieces, threw them back within the furnace, kept the workmen at the bellows, tried to forge the magic sampo. on the second day, the blacksmith downward bent and well examined, on the bottom of the furnace; from the fire, a skiff of metals, came a boat of purple color, all the ribs were colored golden, and the oars were forged from copper; thus the skiff was full of beauty, but alas! a thing of evil; forth it rushes into trouble, hastens into every quarrel, hastes without a provocation into every evil combat. ilmarinen, metal artist, is not pleased with this creation, breaks the skiff in many fragments, throws them back within the furnace, keeps the workmen at the bellows, thus to forge the magic sampo. on the third day, ilmarinen, first of all the metal-workers, downward bent and well examined, on the bottom of the furnace; there be saw a heifer rising, golden were the horns of kimmo, on her head the bear of heaven, on her brow a disc of sunshine, beautiful the cow of magic; but alas! she is ill-tempered, rushes headlong through the forest, rushes through the swamps and meadows, wasting all her milk in running. ilmarinen, the magician. is not pleased with this creation, cuts the magic cow in pieces, throws them in the fiery furnace, sets the workmen at the bellows, thus to forge the magic sampo. on the fourth day, ilmarinen downward bent and well examined, to the bottom of the furnace; there beheld a plow in beauty rising from the fire of metals, golden was the point and plowshare, and the beam was forged from copper, and the handles, molten silver, beautiful the plow and wondrous; but alas! it is ill-mannered, plows up fields of corn and barley, furrows through the richest meadows. ilmarinen, metal artist, is not pleased with this creation, quickly breaks the plow in pieces, throws them back within the furnace, lets the winds attend the bellows, lets the storm-winds fire the metals. fiercely vie the winds of heaven, east-wind rushing, west-wind roaring, south-wind crying, north-wind howling, blow one day and then a second, blow the third from morn till even, when the fire leaps through the windows, through the door the sparks fly upward, clouds of smoke arise to heaven; with the clouds the black smoke mingles, as the storm-winds ply the bellows. on the third night ilmarinen, bending low to view his metals, on the bottom of the furnace, sees the magic sampo rising, sees the lid in many colors. quick the artist of wainola forges with the tongs and anvil, knocking with a heavy hammer, forges skilfully the sampo; on one side the flour is grinding, on another salt is making, on a third is money forging, and the lid is many-colored. well the sampo grinds when finished, to and fro the lid in rocking, grinds one measure at the day-break, grinds a measure fit for eating, grinds a second for the market, grinds a third one for the store-house. joyfully the dame of northland, louhi, hostess of pohyola, takes away the magic sampo, to the hills of sariola, to the copper-bearing mountains, puts nine locks upon the wonder, makes three strong roots creep around it; in the earth they grow nine fathoms, one large root beneath the mountain, one beneath the sandy sea-bed, one beneath the mountain-dwelling. modestly pleads ilmarinen for the maiden's willing answer, these the words of the magician: "wilt thou come with me, fair maiden, be my wife and queen forever? i have forged for thee the sampo, forged the lid in many colors." northland's fair and lovely daughter answers thus the metal-worker: "who will in the coming spring-time, who will in the second summer, guide the cuckoo's song and echo? who will listen to his calling, who will sing with him in autumn, should i go to distant regions, should this cheery maiden vanish from the fields of sariola, from pohyola's fens and forests, where the cuckoo sings and echoes? should i leave my father's dwelling, should my mother's berry vanish, should these mountains lose their cherry, then the cuckoo too would vanish, all the birds would leave the forest, leave the summit of the mountain, leave my native fields and woodlands, never shall i, in my life-time, say farewell to maiden freedom, nor to summer cares and labors, lest the harvest be ungarnered, lest the berries be ungathered, lest the song-birds leave the forest, lest the mermaids leave the waters, lest i sing with them no longer." ilmarinen, the magician, the eternal metal-forger, cap awry and head dejected, disappointed, heavy-hearted, empty-handed, well considers, how to reach his distant country, reach his much-loved home and kinded, gain the meadows of wainola, from the never-pleasant northland, from the darksome sariola. louhi thus addressed the suitor: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, why art thou so heavy-hearted, why thy visage so dejected? hast thou in thy mind to journey from the vales and hills of pohya, to the meadows of wainola, to thy home in kalevala? this is ilmarinen's answer: "thitherward my mind is tending, to my home-land let me journey, with my kindred let me linger, be at rest in mine own country." straightway louhi, dame of northland, gave the hero every comfort, gave him food and rarest viands, placed him in a boat of copper, in a copper-banded vessel, called the winds to his assistance, made the north-wind guide him homeward. thus the skilful ilmarinen travels toward his native country, on the blue back of the waters, travels one day, then a second, till the third day evening brings him to wainola's peaceful meadows, to his home in kalevala. straightway ancient wainamoinen thus addresses ilmarinen: "o my brother, metal-artist, thou eternal wonder-worker, didst thou forge the magic sampo, forge the lid in many colors?" spake the brother, ilmarinen, these the words the master uttered: "yea, i forged the magic sampo, forged the lid in many colors; to and fro the lid in rocking grinds one measure at the day-dawn, grinds a measure fit for eating, grinds a second for the market, grinds a third one for the store-house. louhi has the wondrous sampo, i have not the bride of beauty." rune xi. lemminkainen's lament. this the time to sing of ahti, son of lempo, kaukomieli, also known as lemminkainen. ahti was the king of islands, grew amid the island-dwellings, at the site of his dear mother, on the borders of the ocean, on the points of promontories. ahti fed upon the salmon, fed upon the ocean whiting, thus became a mighty hero, in his veins the blood of ages, read erect and form commanding, growth of mind and body perfect but alas! he had his failings, bad indeed his heart and morals, roaming in unworthy places, staying days and nights in sequences at the homes of merry maidens, at the dances of the virgins, with the maids of braided tresses. up in sahri lived a maiden, lived the fair and winsome kulli, lovely as a summer-flower, from a kingly house descended, grew to perfect form and beauty, living in her father's cottage, home of many ancient heroes, beautiful was she and queenly, praised throughout the whole of ehstland; from afar men came to woo her, to the birthplace of the virgin, to the household of her mother. for his son the day-star wooes her, but she will not go to sun-land, will not shine beside the day-star, in his haste to bring the summer. for her son, the bright moon wooes her, but she will not go to moon-land, by the bright moon will not glimmer, will not run through boundless ether. for his son the night-star wooes her, but she will not go to star-land, will not twinkle in the starlight, through the dreary nights in winter. lovers come from distant ehstlaud, others come from far-off ingern, but they cannot win the maiden, this the answer that she gives them "vainly are your praises lavished vainly is your silver offered, wealth and praise are no temptation; never shall i go to ehstland, never shall i go a-rowing on the waters of the ingern, shall not cross the sahri-waters, never eat the fish of ehstland, never taste the ehstland viands. ingerland shall never see me, will not row upon her rivers, will not step within her borders; hunger there, and fell starvation, wood is absent, fuel wanting, neither water, wheat, nor barley, even rye is not abundant." lemminkainen of the islands, warlike hero, kaukomieli, undertakes to win the maiden, woo and win the sahri-flower, win a bride so highly honored, win the maid with golden tresses, win the sahri maid of beauty; but his mother gives him warning: "nay," replies his gray-haired mother, "do not woo, my son beloved, maiden of a higher station; she will never make thee happy with her lineage of sahri." spake the hero, lemminkainen, these the words of kaukomieli: "should i come from lowly station, though my tribe is not the highest, i shall woo to please my fancy, woo the maiden fair and lovely, choose a wife for worth and beauty." this the anxious mother's answer: "lemminkainen, son beloved, listen to advice maternal: do not go to distant sahri, to her tribe of many branches; all the maidens there will taunt thee, all the women will deride thee." lemminkainen, little hearing, answers thus his mother's pleading: "i will still the sneers of women, silence all the taunts of maidens, i will crush their haughty bosoms, smite the hands and cheeks of infants; surely this will check their insults, fitting ending to derision!" this the answer of' the mother: "woe is me, my son beloved! woe is me, my life hard-fated! shouldst thou taunt the sahri daughters. or insult the maids of virtue, shouldst thou laugh them to derision, there will rise a great contention, fierce the battle that will follow. all the hosts of sahri-suitors, armed in thousands will attack thee, and will slay thee for thy folly." nothing listing, lemminkainen, heeding not his mother's warning, led his war-horse from the stables, quickly hitched the fiery charger, fleetly drove upon his journey, to the distant sahri-village, there to woo the sahri-flower, there to win the bride of beauty. all the aged sahri-women, all the young and lovely maidens laughed to scorn the coming stranger driving careless through the alleys, wildly driving through the court-yard, now upsetting in the gate-way, breaking shaft, and hame, and runner. then the fearless lemminkainen, mouth awry and visage wrinkled, shook his sable locks and answered: "never in my recollection have i heard or seen such treatment, never have i been derided, never suffered sneers of women, never suffered scorn of virgins, not in my immortal life-time. is there any place befitting on the sahri-plains and pastures, where to join in songs and dances? is there here a hall for pleasure, where the sahri-maidens linger, merry maids with braided tresses?" thereupon the sahri-maidens answered from their promontory., "room enough is there in sahri, room upon the sahri-pastures, room for pleasure-halls and dances; sing and dance upon our meadows, be a shepherd on the mountains, shepherd-boys have room for dancing; indolent the sahri-children, but the colts are fat and frisky." little caring, lemminkainen entered service there as shepherd, in the daytime on the pastures, in the evening, making merry at the games of lively maidens, at the dances with the virgins, with the maids with braided tresses. thus it was that lemminkainen, thus the shepherd, kaukomieli, quickly hushed the women's laughter, quickly quenched the taunts of maidens, quickly silenced their derision. all the dames and sahri-daughters soon were feasting lemminkainen, at his side they danced and lingered. only was there one among them, one among the sahri-virgins, harbored neither love nor wooers, favored neither gods nor heroes, this the lovely maid kyllikki, this the sahri's fairest flower. lemminkainen, full of pleasure, handsome hero, kaukomieli, rowed a hundred boats in pieces, pulled a thousand oars to fragments, while he wooed the maid of beauty, tried to win the fair kyllikki. finally the lovely maiden, fairest daughter of the northland, thus addresses lemminkainen: "why dost linger here, thou weak one, why dost murmur on these borders, why come wooing at my fireside, wooing me in belt of copper? have no time to waste upon thee, rather give this stone its polish, rather would i turn the pestle in the heavy sandstone mortar; rather sit beside my mother in the dwellings of my father. never shall i heed thy wooing, neither wights nor whisks i care for, sooner have a slender husband since i have a slender body; wish to have him fine of figure, since perchance i am well-shapen; wish to have him tall and stately, since my form perchance is queenly; never waste thy time in wooing saliri's maid and favored flower." time had gone but little distance, scarcely had a month passed over, when upon a merry evening, where the maidens meet for dancing, in the glen beyond the meadow, on a level patch of verdure, came too soon the maid kyllikki, sahri's pride, the maid of beauty; quickly followed lemminkainen, with his stallion proudly prancing, fleetest racer of the northland, fleetly drives beyond the meadow, where the maidens meet for dancing, snatches quick the maid kyllikki, on the settle seats the maiden, quickly draws the leathern cover, and adjusts the brichen cross-bar, whips his courser to a gallop. with a rush, and roar, and rattle, speeds he homeward like the storm-wind, speaks these words to those that listen: "never, never, anxious maidens, must ye give the information, that i carried off kyllikki to my distant home and kindred. if ye do not heed this order, ye shall badly fare as maidens; i shall sing to war your suitors, sing them under spear and broadsword, that for months, and years, and ages, never ye will see their faces, never hear their merry voices, never will they tread these uplands, never will they join these dances, never will they drive these highways." sad the wailing of kyllikki, sad the weeping flower of sahri! listen to her tearful pleading: "give, o give me back my freedom, free me from the throes of thralldom, let this maiden wander homeward, by some foot-path let me wander to my father who is grieving, to my mother who is weeping; let me go or i will curse thee! if thou wilt not give me freedom, wilt not let me wander homeward, where my loved ones wait my coming, i have seven stalwart brothers, seven sons of father's brother, seven sons of mother's sister, who pursue the tracks of red-deer, hunt the hare upon the heather; they will follow thee and slay thee, thus i'll gain my wished-for freedom." lemminkainen, little heeding, would not grant the maiden's wishes, would not heed her plea for mercy. spake again the waiting virgin, pride and beauty of the northland: "joyful was i with my kindred, joyful born and softly nurtured merrily i spent my childhood, happy i, in virgin-freedom, in the dwelling of my father, by the bedside of my mother, with my lineage in sahri; but alas! all joy has vanished, all my happiness departed, all my maiden beauty waneth since i met thine evil spirit, shameless hero of dishonor, cruel fighter of the islands, merciless in civil combat." spake the hero, lemminkainen, these the words of kaukomieli: "dearest maiden, fair kyllikki, my sweet strawberry of pohya, still thine anguish, cease thy weeping, be thou free from care and sorrow, never shall i do thee evil, never will my hands maltreat thee, never will mine arms abuse thee, never will my tongue revile thee, never will my heart deceive thee. "tell me why thou hast this anguish, why thou hast this bitter sorrow, why this sighing and lamenting, tell me why this wail of sadness? banish all thy cares and sorrows, dry thy tears and still thine anguish, i have cattle, food, and shelter, i have home, and friends, and kindred, kine upon the plains and uplands, in the marshes berries plenty, strawberries upon the mountains i have kine that need no milking, handsome kine that need no feeding, beautiful if not well-tended; need not tie them up at evening, need not free them in the morning, need not hunt them, need not feed them, need not give them salt nor water. "thinkest thou my race is lowly, dost thou think me born ignoble, does my lineage agrieve thee? was not born in lofty station, from a tribe of noble heroes, from a worthy race descended; but i have a sword of fervor, and a spear yet filled with courage, surely these are well descended, these were born from hero-races, sharpened by the mighty hisi, by the gods were forged and burnished; therefore will i give thee greatness, greatness of my race and nation, with my broadsword filled with fervor, with my spear still filled with courage." anxiously the sighing maiden thus addresses lemminkainen: "o thou ahti, son of lempo, wilt thou take this trusting virgin, as thy faithful life-companion, take me under thy protection, be to me a faithful husband, swear to me an oath of honor, that thou wilt not go to battle, when for gold thou hast a longing, when thou wishest gold and silver?" this is lemminkainen's answer: i will swear an oath of honor, that i'll never go to battle, when for gold i feel a longing, when i wish for gold and silver. swear thou also on thine honor, thou wilt go not to the village, when desire for dance impels thee, wilt not visit village-dances." thus the two made oath together, registered their vows in heaven, vowed before omniscient ukko, ne'er to go to war vowed ahti, never to the dance, kyllikki. lemminkainen, full of joyance, snapped his whip above his courser, whipped his racer to a gallop, and these words the hero uttered: "fare ye well, ye sahri-meadows, roots of firs, and stumps of birch-trees. that i wandered through in summer, that i travelled o'er in winter, where ofttimes in rainy seasons, at the evening hour i lingered, when i sought to win the virgin, sought to win the maid of beauty, fairest of the sahri-flowers. fare ye well, ye sahri-woodlands, seas and oceans, lakes and rivers, vales and mountains, isles and inlets, once the home of fair kyllikki!" quick the racer galloped homeward, galloped on along the highway, toward the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala. as they neared the ahti-dwellings, thus kyllikki spake in sorrow: "cold and drear is thy cottage, seeming like a place deserted; who may own this dismal cabin, who the one so little honored?" spake the hero, lemminkainen, these the words that ahti uttered: "do not grieve about my cottage, have no care about my chambers; i shall build thee other dwellings, i shall fashion them much better, beams, and posts, and sills, and rafters, fashioned from the sacred birch-wood." now they reach the home of ahti, lemminkainen's home and birthplace, enter they his mother's cottage; there they meet his aged mother, these the words the mother uses: "long indeed hast thou been absent, long in foreign lands hast wandered, long in sahri thou hast lingered!" this is lemminkainen's answer: "all the host of sahri-women, all the chaste and lovely maidens, all the maids with braided tresses, well have paid for their derision, for their scorn and for their laughter, that they basely heaped upon me. i have brought the best among them in my sledge to this thy cottage; well i wrapped her in my fur-robes, kept her warm enwrapped in bear-skin, brought her to my mother's dwelling, as my faithful life-companion; thus i paid the scornful maidens, paid them well for their derision. "cherished mother of my being, i have found the long-sought jewel, i have won the maid of beauty. spread our couch with finest linen, for our heads the softest pillows, on our table rarest viands, so that i may dwell in pleasure with my spouse, the bride of honor, with the pride of distant sahri." this the answer of the mother: "be thou praised, o gracious ukko, loudly praised, o thou creator, since thou givest me a daughter, ahti's bride, my second daughter, who can stir the fire at evening, who can weave me finest fabrics, who can twirl the useful spindle, who can rinse my silken ribbons, who can full the richest garments. "son beloved, praise thy maker, for the winning of this virgin, pride and joy of distant sahri kind indeed is thy creator, wise the ever-knowing ukko! pure the snow upon the mountains, purer still thy bride of beauty; white the foam upon the ocean, whiter still her virgin-spirit; graceful on the lakes, the white-swan, still more graceful, thy companion: beautiful the stars in heaven, still more beautiful, kyllikki. larger make our humble cottage, wider build the doors and windows, fashion thou the ceilings higher, decorate the walls in beauty, now that thou a bride hast taken from a tribe of higher station, purest maiden of creation, from the meadow-lands of sahri, from the upper shores of northland." rune xii. kyllikki's broken vow. lemminkainen, artful husband, reckless hero, kaukomieli, constantly beside his young wife., passed his life in sweet contentment, and the years rolled swiftly onward; ahti thought not of the battles, nor kyllikki of the dances. once upon a time it happened that the hero, lemminkainen, went upon the lake a-fishing, was not home at early evening, as the cruel night descended; to the village went kyllikki, to the dance of merry maidens. who will tell the evil story, who will bear the information to the husband, lemminkainen? ahti's sister tells the story, and the sister's name, ainikki. soon she spreads the cruel tidings, straightway gives the information, of kyllikki's perjured honor, these the words ainikki utters: "ahti, my beloved brother, to the village went kyllikki, to the hall of many strangers, to the plays and village dances, with the young men and the maidens, with the maids of braided tresses, to the halls of joy and pleasure." lemminkainen, much dejected, broken-hearted, flushed with anger, spake these words in measured accents: "mother dear, my gray-haired mother, wilt thou straightway wash my linen in the blood of poison-serpents, in the black blood of the adder? i must hasten to the combat, to the camp-fires of the northland, to the battle-fields of lapland; to the village went kyllikki, to the play of merry maidens, to the games and village dances, with the maids of braided tresses." straightway speaks the wife, kyllikki: "my beloved husband, ahti, do not go to war, i pray thee. in the evening i lay sleeping, slumbering i saw in dream-land fire upshooting from the chimney, flames arising, mounting skyward, from the windows of this dwelling, from the summits of these rafters, piercing through our upper chambers, roaring like the fall of waters, leaping from the floor and ceiling, darting from the halls and doorways." but the doubting lemminkainen makes this answer to kyllikki: "i discredit dreams or women, have no faith in vows of maidens! faithful mother of my being, hither bring my mail of copper; strong desire is stirring in me for the cup of deadly combat, for the mead of martial conquest." this the pleading mother's answer: "lemminkainen, son beloved, do not go to war i pray thee; we have foaming beer abundant, in our vessels beer of barley, held in casks by oaken spigots; drink this beer of peace and pleasure, let us drink of it together." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "i shall taste no more the viands, in the home of false kyllikki; rather would i drink the water from the painted tips of birch-oars; sweeter far to me the water, than the beverage of dishonor, at my mother's home and fireside! "hither bring my martial doublet, bring me now the sword of battle, bring my father's sword of honor; i must go to upper northland, to the battle-fields of lapland, there to win me gold and silver." this the anxious mother's answer: "my beloved kaukomieli, we have gold in great abundance, gold and silver in the store-room; recently upon the uplands, in the early hours of morning, toiled the workmen in the corn-fields, plowed the meadows filled with serpents, when the plowshare raised the cover from a chest of gold and silver, countless was the gold uncovered, hid beneath the grassy meadow; this the treasure i have brought thee, take the countless gold in welcome." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "do not wish thy household silver, from the wars i'll earn my silver; gold and silver from the combat are to me of greater value than the wealth thou hast discovered. bring me now my heavy armor, bring me too my spear and broadsword; to the northland i must hasten, to the bloody wars of lapland, thither does my pride impel me, thitherward my heart is turning. "i have heard a tale of lapland, some believe the wondrous story, that a maid in pimentola lives that does not care for suitors, does not care for bearded heroes." this the aged mother's answer: "warlike athi, son beloved, in thy home thou hast kyllikki, fairest wife of all the islands; strange to see two wives abiding in the home of but one husband." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "to the village runs kyllikki; let her run to village dances, let her sleep in other dwellings, with the village youth find pleasure, with the maids of braided tresses." seeks the mother to detain him, thus the anxious mother answers: "do not go, my son beloved, ignorant of pohya-witchcraft, to the distant homes of northland till thou hast the art of magic, till thou hast some little wisdom do not go to fields of battle, to the fires of northland's children, to the slaughter-fields of lapland, till of magic thou art master. there the lapland maids will charm thee, turyalanders will bewitch thee, sing thy visage into charcoal, head and shoulders to the furnace, into ashes sing thy fore-arm, into fire direct thy footsteps." spake the warlike lemminkainen: wizards often have bewitched me, and the fascinating serpents; lapland wizards, three in number, on an eve in time of summer, sitting on a rock at twilight, not a garment to protect them, once bewitched me with their magic; this much they have taken from me, this the sum of all my losses: what the hatchet gains from flint-stone, what the auger bores from granite, what the heel chips from the iceberg, and what death purloins from tomb-stones. "horribly the wizards threatened, tried to sink me with their magic, in the water of the marshes, in the mud and treacherous quicksand, to my chin in mire and water; but i too was born a hero, born a hero and magician, was not troubled by their magic. "straightway i began my singing, sang the archers with their arrows, sang the spearmen with their weapons, sang the swordsmen with their poniards, sang the singers with their singing, the enchanters with their magic, to the rapids of the rivers, to the highest fall of waters, to the all-devouring whirlpool, to the deepest depths of ocean, where the wizards still are sleeping, sleeping till the grass shoots upward through the beards and wrinkled faces, through the locks of the enchanters, as they sleep beneath the billows." still entreats the anxious mother, still beseeches lemminkainen, trying to restrain the hero, while kyllikki begs forgiveness; this the language of the mother: "do not go, my son beloved, to the villages of northland, nor to lapland's frigid borders; dire misfortune will befall thee, star of evil settle o'er thee, lemminkainen's end, destruction. "couldst thou speak in tongues a hundred, i could not believe thee able, through the magic of thy singing, to enchant the sons of lapland to the bottom of the ocean, dost not know the tury-language, canst but speak the tongue of suomi, canst not win by witless magic." lemminkainen, reckless hero, also known as kaukomieli, stood beside his mother, combing out his sable locks and musing, brushing down his beard, debating, steadfast still in his decision, quickly hurls his brush in anger, hurls it to the wall opposing, gives his mother final answer, these the words that ahti uses: "dire misfortune will befall me, some sad fate will overtake me, evil come to lemminkainen, when the blood flows from that hair-brush, when blood oozes from those bristles." thus the warlike lemminkainen goes to never-pleasant lapland, heeding not his mother's warning, heeding not her prohibition. thus the hero, kaukomieli, quick equips himself for warfare, on his head a copper helmet, on his shoulders caps of copper, on his body iron armor, steel, the belt around his body; as he girds himself for battle, ahti thus soliloquizing: "strong the hero in his armor, strong indeed in copper helmet, powerful in mail of iron, stronger far than any hero on the dismal shores of lapland, need not fear their wise enchanters, need not fear their strongest foemen, need not fear a war with wizards." grasped he then the sword of battle, firmly grasped the heavy broadsword that tuoni had been grinding, that the gods had brightly burnished, thrust it in the leathern scabbard, tied the scabbard to his armor. how do heroes guard from danger, where protect themselves from evil? heroes guard their homes and firesides, guard their doors, and roofs, and windows, guard the posts that bold the torch-lights, guard the highways to the court-yard, guard the ends of all the gate-ways. heroes guard themselves from women, carefully from merry maidens; if in this their strength be wanting, easy fall the heroes, victims to the snares of the enchanters. furthermore are heroes watchful of the tribes of warlike giants, where the highway doubly branches, on the borders of the blue-rock, on the marshes filled with evil, near the mighty fall of waters, near the circling of the whirlpool, near the fiery springs and rapids. spake the stout-heart, lemminkainen: "rise ye heroes of the broadsword, ye, the earth's eternal heroes, from the deeps, ye sickle-bearers, from the brooks, ye crossbow-shooters, come, thou forest, with thine archers, come, ye thickets, with your armies, mountain spirits, with your powers, come, fell hisi, with thy horrors, water-mother, with thy dangers, come, wellamo, with thy mermaids, come, ye maidens from the valleys, come, ye nymphs from winding rivers, be protection to this hero, be his day-and-night companions, body-guard to lemminkainen, thus to blunt the spears of wizards, thus to dull their pointed arrows, that the spears of the enchanters, that the arrows of the archers, that the weapons of the foemen, may not harm this bearded hero. "should this force be insufficient, i can call on other powers, i can call the gods above me, call the great god of the heavens, him who gives the clouds their courses, him who rules through boundless ether, who directs the march of storm-winds. "ukko, thou o god above me, thou the father of creation, thou that speakest through the thunder, thou whose weapon is the lightning, thou whose voice is borne by ether, grant me now thy mighty fire-sword, give me here thy burning arrows, lightning arrows for my quiver, thus protect me from all danger, guard me from the wiles of witches, guide my feet from every evil, help me conquer the enchanters, help me drive them from the northland; those that stand in front of battle, those that fill the ranks behind me, those around me, those above me, those beneath me, help me banish,. with their knives, and swords, and cross-bows, with their spears of keenest temper, with their tongues of evil magic; help me drive these lapland wizards to the deepest depths of ocean, there to wrestle with wellamo." then the reckless lemminkainen whistled loudly for his stallion, called the racer from the hurdles, called his brown steed from the pasture, threw the harness on the courser, hitched the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge, leaped upon the highest cross-bench, cracked his whip above the racer, and the steed flies onward swiftly, bounds the sleigh upon its journey, and the golden plain re-echoes; travels one day, then a second, travels all the next day northward, till the third day evening brings him to a sorry northland village, on the dismal shores of lapland. here the hero, lemminkainen, drove along the lowest highway, through the streets along the border, to a court-yard in the hamlet, asked one standing in the doorway: "is there one within this dwelling, that can loose my stallion's breastplate, that can lift his heavy collar, that these shafts can rightly lower?" on the floor a babe was playing, and the young child gave this answer: "there is no one in this dwelling that can loose thy stallion's breastplate, that can lift his heavy collar, that the shafts can rightly lower." lemminkainen, not discouraged, whips his racer to a gallop, rushes forward through the village, on the middle of the highways, to the court-yard in the centre, asks one standing in the threshold, leaning on the penthouse door-posts: "is there any one here dwelling that can slip my stallion's bridle, that can loose his leathern breast-straps, that can tend my royal racer?" from the fire-place spake a wizard, from her bench the witch made answer: "thou canst find one in this dwelling, that can slip thy courser's bridle, that can loose his heavy breastplate, that can tend thy royal racer. there are here a thousand heroes that can make thee hasten homeward, that can give thee fleet-foot stallions, that can chase thee to thy country, reckless rascal and magician, to thy home and fellow minstrels, to the uplands of thy father, to the cabins of thy mother, to the work-bench of thy brother, to the dairy or thy sister, ere the evening star has risen, ere the sun retires to slumber." lemminkainen, little fearing, gives this answer to the wizard: "i should slay thee for thy pertness, that thy clatter might be silenced." then he whipped his fiery charger, and the steed flew onward swiftly, on the upper of the highways, to the court-yard on the summit. when the reckless lemminkainen had approached the upper court-yard, uttered he the words that follow: "o thou hisi, stuff this watch-dog, lempo, stuff his throat and nostrils, close the mouth of this wild barker, bridle well the vicious canine, that the watcher may be silent while the hero passes by him." then he stepped within the court-room, with his whip he struck the flooring, from the floor arose a vapor, in the fog appeared a pigmy, who unhitched the royal racer, from his back removed the harness, gave the weary steed attention. then the hero, lemminkainen, carefully advanced and listened. no one saw the strange magician, no one heard his cautious footsteps; heard he songs within the dwelling, through the moss-stuffed chinks heard voices. through the walls he beard them singing, through the doors the peals of laughter. then he spied within the court-rooms, lurking slyly in the hall-ways, found the court-rooms filled with singers, by the walls were players seated, near the doors the wise men hovered, skilful ones upon the benches, near the fires the wicked wizards; all were singing songs of lapland, singing songs of evil hisi. now the minstrel, lemminkainen, changes both his form and stature, passes through the inner door-ways, enters he the spacious court-hall, and these words the hero utters: "fine the singing quickly ending, good the song that quickly ceases; better far to keep thy wisdom than to sing it on the house-tops." comes the hostess of pohyola, fleetly rushing through the door-way, to the centre of the court-room, and addresses thus the stranger: formerly a dog lay watching, was a cur of iron-color, fond of flesh, a bone-devourer, loved to lick the blood of strangers. who then art thou of the heroes, who of all the host of heroes, that thou art within my court-rooms, that thou comest to my dwelling, was not seen without my portals, was not scented by my watch-dogs? spake the reckless lemminkainen: "do not think that i come hither having neither wit nor wisdom, having neither art nor power, wanting in ancestral knowledge, lacking prudence of the fathers, that thy watch-dogs may devour me. "my devoted mother washed me, when a frail and tender baby, three times in the nights of summer, nine times in the nights of autumn, that upon my journeys northward i might sing the ancient wisdom, thus protect myself from danger; when at home i sing as wisely as the minstrels of thy hamlet." then the singer, lemminkainen, ancient hero, kaukomieli, quick began his incantations, straightway sang the songs of witchcraft, from his fur-robe darts the lightning, flames outshooting from his eye-balls, from the magic of his singing from his wonderful enchantment. sang the very best of singers to the very worst of minstrels, filled their mouths with dust and ashes, piled the rocks upon their shoulders, stilled the best of lapland witches, stilled the sorcerers and wizards. then he banished all their heroes, banished all their proudest minstrels, this one hither, that one thither, to the lowlands poor in verdure, to the unproductive uplands, to the oceans wanting whiting, to the waterfalls of rutya, to the whirlpool hot and flaming, to the waters decked with sea-foam, into fires and boiling waters, into everlasting torment. then the hero, lemminkainen, sang the foemen with their broadswords? sang the heroes with their weapons, sang the eldest, sang the youngest, sang the middle-aged, enchanted; only one he left his senses, he a poor, defenseless shepherd, old and sightless, halt and wretched, and the old man's name was nasshut. spake the miserable shepherd: "thou hast old and young enchanted, thou hast banished all our heroes, why hast spared this wretched shepherd?" this is lemminkainen's answer: "therefore have i not bewitched thee: thou art old, and blind, and wretched feeble-minded thou, and harmless, loathsome now without my magic. thou didst, in thy better life-time, when a shepherd filled with malice, ruin all thy mother's berries, make thy sister, too unworthy, ruin all thy brother's cattle, drive to death thy father's stallions, through the marshes, o'er the meadows, through the lowlands, o'er the mountains, heeding not thy mother's counsel." thereupon the wretched nasshut, angry grew and swore for vengeance, straightway limping through the door-way, hobbled on beyond the court-yard, o'er the meadow-lands and pastures, to the river of the death-land, to the holy stream and whirlpool, to the kingdom of tuoni, to the islands of manala; waited there for kaukomieli, listened long for lemminkainen, thinking he must pass this river on his journey to his country, on. the highway to the islands, from the upper shores of pohya, from the dreary sariola. rune xiii. lemminikainen's second wooing. spake the ancient lemminkainen to the hostess of pohyola: "give to me thy lovely daughter, bring me now thy winsome maiden, bring the best of lapland virgins, fairest virgin of the northland." louhi, hostess of pohyola, answered thus the wild magician: "i shall never give my daughter, never give my fairest maiden, not the best one, nor the worst one, not the largest, nor the smallest; thou hast now one wife-companion, thou has taken hence one hostess, carried off the fair kyllikki." this is lemminkainen's answer: to my home i took kyllikki, to my cottage on the island, to my entry-gates and kindred; now i wish a better hostess, straightway bring thy fairest daughter, worthiest of all thy virgins, fairest maid with sable tresses." spake the hostess of pohyola: "never will i give my daughter to a hero false and worthless, to a minstrel vain and evil; therefore, pray thou for my maiden, therefore, woo the sweet-faced flower, when thou bringest me the wild-moose from the hisi fields and forests." then the artful lemminkainen deftly whittled out his javelins, quickly made his leathern bow-string, and prepared his bow and arrows, and soliloquized as follows: "now my javelins are made ready, all my arrows too are ready, and my oaken cross-bow bended, but my snow-shoes are not builded, who will make me worthy snow-shoes?" lemminkainen, grave and thoughtful, long reflected, well considered, where the snow-shoes could be fashioned, who the artist that could make them; hastened to the kauppi-smithy, to the smithy of lylikki, thus addressed the snow-shoe artist: "o thou skilful woyalander, kauppi, ablest smith of lapland, make me quick two worthy snow-shoes, smooth them well and make them hardy, that in tapio the wild-moose, roaming through the hisi-forests, i may catch and bring to louhi, as a dowry for her daughter." then lylikki thus made answer, kauppi gave this prompt decision: "lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, thou wilt hunt in vain the wild-moose, thou wilt catch but pain and torture, in the hisi fens and forests." little heeding, lemminkainen spake these measures to lylikki "make for me the worthy snow-shoes, quickly work and make them ready; go i will and catch the blue-moose where in tapio it browses, in the hisi woods and snow-fields." then lylikki, snow-shoe-maker, ancient kauppi, master artist, whittled in the fall his show-shoes, smoothed them in the winter evenings, one day working on the runners, all the next day making stick-rings, till at last the shoes were finished, and the workmanship was perfect. then he fastened well the shoe-straps, smooth as adder's skin the woodwork, soft as fox-fur were the stick-rings; oiled he well his wondrous snow-shoes with the tallow of the reindeer; when he thus soliloquizes, these the accents of lylikki: "is there any youth in lapland, any in this generation, that can travel in these snow-shoes, that can move the lower sections?" spake the reckless lemminkainen, full of hope, and life, and vigor: surely there is one in lapland. in this rising generation, that can travel in these snow-shoes, that the right and left can manage." to his back he tied the quiver, placed the bow upon his shoulder, with both hands he grasped his snow-cane, speaking meanwhile words as follow: "there is nothing in the woodlands, nothing in the world of ukko, nothing underneath the heavens, in the uplands, in the lowlands, nothing in the snow-fields running, not a fleet deer of the forest, that could not be overtaken with the snow-shoes of lylikki, with the strides of lemminkainen." wicked hisi heard these measures, juntas listened to their echoes; straightway hisi called the wild-moose, juutas fashioned soon a reindeer, and the head was made of punk-wood, horns of naked willow branches, feet were furnished by the rushes, and the legs, by reeds aquatic, veins were made of withered grasses, eyes, from daisies of the meadows, ears were formed of water-flowers, and the skin of tawny fir-bark, out of sappy wood, the muscles, fair and fleet, the magic reindeer. juutas thus instructs the wild-moose, these the words of wicked hisi: flee away, thou moose of juutas, flee away, thou hisi-reindeer, like the winds, thou rapid courser, to the snow-homes of the ranger, to the ridges of the mountains, to the snow-capped hills of lapland, that thy hunter may be worn out, thy pursuer be tormented, lemminkainen be exhausted." thereupon the hisi-reindeer, juutas-moose with branching antlers, fleetly ran through fen and forest, over lapland's hills and valleys, through the open fields and court-yards, through the penthouse doors and gate-ways, turning over tubs of water, threw the kettles from the fire-pole, and upset the dishes cooking. then arose a fearful uproar, in the court-yards of pohyola, lapland-dogs began their barking, lapland-children cried in terror, lapland-women roared with laughter, and the lapland-heroes shouted. fleetly followed lemminkainen, followed fast, and followed faster, hastened on behind the wild-moose, over swamps and through the woodlands, over snow-fields vast and pathless, over high uprising mountains, fire out-shooting from his runners, smoke arising from his snow-cane: could not hear the wild-moose bounding, could not sight the flying fleet-foot; glided on through field and forest, glided over lakes and rivers, over lands beyond the smooth-sea, through the desert plains of hisi, glided o'er the plains of kalma, through the kingdom of tuoni, to the end of kalma's empire, where the jaws of death stand open, where the head of kalma lowers, ready to devour the stranger, to devour wild lemminkainen; but tuoni cannot reach him, kalma cannot overtake him. distant woods are yet untraveled, far away a woodland corner stands unsearched by kaukomieli, in the north's extensive, borders, in the realm of dreary lapland. now the hero, on his snow-shoes, hastens to the distant woodlands, there to hunt the moose of piru. as he nears the woodland corner, there he bears a frightful uproar, from the northland's distant borders, from the dreary fields of lapland, hears the dogs as they are barking, hears the children loudly screaming, hears the laughter or the women, hears the shouting of the heroes. thereupon wild lemminkainen hastens forward on his snow-shoes, to the place where dogs are barking, to the distant woods of lapland. when the reckless kaukomieli had approached this hisi corner, straightway he began to question: "why this laughter or the women, why the screaming of the children, why the shouting of the heroes, why this barking of the watch-dogs? this reply was promptly given: "this the reason for this uproar, women laughing, children screaming, heroes shouting, watch-dogs barking hisi's moose came running hither, hither came the piru-reindeer, hither came with hoofs of silver, through the open fields and court-yards, through the penthouse doors and gate-ways, turning over tubs or water, threw the kettles from the fire-pole, and upset the dishes cooking." then the hero, lemminkainen, straightway summoned all his courage, pushed ahead his mighty snow-shoes, swift as adders in the stubble, levelled bushes in the marshes, like the swift and fiery serpents, spake these words of magic import, keeping balance with his snow-staff: come thou might of lapland heroes, bring to me the moose of juutas; come thou strength of lapland-women, and prepare the boiling caldron; come, thou might of lapland children, bring together fire and fuel; come, thou strength of lapland-kettles, help to boil the hisi wild-moose." then with mighty force and courage, lemminkainen hastened onward, striking backward, shooting forward; with a long sweep of his snow-shoe, disappeared from view the hero; with the second, shooting further, was the hunter out of hearing, with the third the hero glided on the shoulders of the wild-moose; took a pole of stoutest oak-wood, took some bark-strings from the willow, wherewithal to bind the moose-deer, bind him to his oaken hurdle. to the moose he spake as follows: "here remain, thou moose of juutas skip about, my bounding courser, in my hurdle jump and frolic, captive from the fields of piru, from the hisi glens and mountains." then he stroked the captured wild-moose, patted him upon his forehead, spake again in measured accents: "i would like awhile to linger, i would love to rest a moment in the cottage of my maiden, with my virgin, young and lovely." then the hisi-moose grew angry, stamped his feet and shook his antlers, spake these words to lemminkainen: "surely lempo soon will got thee, shouldst thou sit beside the maiden, shouldst thou linger by the virgin." now the wild-moose stamps and rushes, tears in two the bands of willow, breaks the oak-wood pole in pieces, and upturns the hunter's hurdle, quickly leaping from his captor, bounds away with strength of freedom, over hills and over lowlands, over swamps and over snow-fields, over mountains clothed in heather, that the eye may not behold him, nor the hero's ear detect him. thereupon the mighty hunter angry grows, and much disheartened, starts again the moose to capture, gliding off behind the courser. with his might he plunges forward; at the instep breaks his snow-shoe, breaks the runners into fragments, on the mountings breaks his javelins, in the centre breaks his snow-staff, and the moose bounds on before him, through the hisi-woods and snow-fields, out of reach of lemminkainen. then the reckless kaukomieli looked with bended head, ill-humored, one by one upon the fragments, speaking words of ancient wisdom: "northland hunters, never, never, go defiant to thy forests, in the hisi vales and mountains, there to hunt the moose of juutas, like this senseless, reckless hero; i have wrecked my magic snow-shoes, ruined too my useful snow-staff, and my javelins i have broken, while the wild-moose runs in safety through the hisi fields and forests." rune xiv. death of lemminkainen. lemminkainen, much disheartened, deeply thought and long considered, what to do, what course to follow, whether best to leave the wild-moose in the fastnesses of hisi, and return to kalevala, or a third time hunt the ranger, hoping thus to bring him captive, thus return at last a victor to the forest home of louhi, to the joy of all her daughters, to the wood-nymph's happy fireside. taking courage lemminkainen spake these words in supplication: "ukko, thou o god above me, thou creator of the heavens, put my snow-shoes well in order, and endow them both with swiftness, that i rapidly may journey over marshes, over snow-fields, over lowlands, over highlands, through the realms of wicked hisi, through the distant plains of lapland, through the paths of lempo's wild-moose, to the forest hills of juutas. to the snow-fields shall i journey, leave the heroes to the woodlands, on the way to tapiola, into tapio's wild dwellings. "greeting bring i to the mountains, greeting to the vales and uplands, greet ye, heights with forests covered, greet ye, ever-verdant fir-trees, greet ye, groves of whitened aspen, greetings bring to those that greet you, fields, and streams, and woods of lapland. bring me favor, mountain-woodlands, lapland-deserts, show me kindness, mighty tapio, be gracious, let me wander through thy forests, let me glide along thy rivers, let this hunter search thy snow-fields, where the wild-moose herds in numbers where the bounding reindeer lingers. "o nyrikki, mountain hero, son of tapio of forests, hero with the scarlet head-gear, notches make along the pathway, landmarks upward to the mountains, that this hunter may not wander, may not fall, and falling perish in the snow-fields of thy kingdom, hunting for the moose of hisi, dowry for the pride of northland. "mistress of the woods, mielikki, forest-mother, formed in beauty, let thy gold flow out abundant, let thy silver onward wander, for the hero that is seeking for the wild-moose of thy kingdom; bring me here thy keys of silver, from the golden girdle round thee; open tapio's rich chambers, and unlock the forest fortress, while i here await the booty, while i hunt the moose of lempo. "should this service be too menial give the order to thy servants, send at once thy servant-maidens, and command it to thy people. thou wilt never seem a hostess, if thou hast not in thy service, maidens ready by the hundreds, thousands that await thy bidding, who thy herds may watch and nurture, tend the game of thy dominions. "tall and slender forest-virgin, tapio's beloved daughter, blow thou now thy honey flute-notes, play upon thy forest-whistle, for the hearing of thy mistress, for thy charming woodland-mistress, make her hear thy sweet-toned playing, that she may arise from slumber. should thy mistress not awaken at the calling of thy flute-notes, play again, and play unceasing, make the golden tongue re-echo." wild and daring lemminkainen steadfast prays upon his journey, calling on the gods for succor, hastens off through fields and moorlands, passes on through cruel brush-wood, to the colliery of hisi, to the burning fields of lempo; glided one day, then a second, glided all the next day onward, till he came to big-stone mountain, climbed upon its rocky summit, turned his glances to the north-west, toward the northland moors and marshes; there appeared the tapio-mansion. all the doors were golden-colored, shining in the gleam of sunlight through the thickets on the mountains, through the distant fields of northland. lemminkainen, much encouraged, hastens onward from his station through the lowlands, o'er the uplands, over snow-fields vast and vacant, under snow-robed firs and aspens, hastens forward, happy-hearted, quickly reaches tapio's court-yards, halts without at tapio's windows, slyly looks into her mansion, spies within some kindly women, forest-dames outstretched before him, all are clad in scanty raiment, dressed in soiled and ragged linens. spake the stranger lemminkainen: "wherefore sit ye, forest-mothers, in your old and simple garments, in your soiled and ragged linen? ye, forsooth! are too untidy, too unsightly your appearance in your tattered gowns appareled. when i lived within the forest, there were then three mountain castles, one of horn and one of ivory, and the third of wood constructed; in their walls were golden windows, six the windows in each castle, through these windows i discovered all the host of tapio's mansion, saw its fair and stately hostess; saw great tapio's lovely daughter, saw tellervo in her beauty, with her train of charming maidens; all were dressed in golden raiment, rustled all in gold and silver. then the forest's queenly hostess, still the hostess of these woodlands, on her arms wore golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, in her hair were sparkling, jewels, on her bead were golden fillets, in her ears were golden ear-rings, on her neck a pearly necklace, and her braidlets, silver-tinselled. "lovely hostess of the forest, metsola's enchanting mistress, fling aside thine ugly straw-shoes, cast away the shoes of birch-bark, doff thy soiled and ragged linen, doff thy gown of shabby fabric, don the bright and festive raiment, don the gown of merry-making, while i stay within thy borders, while i seek my forest-booty, hunt the moose of evil hisi. here my visit will be irksome, here thy guest will be ill-humored, waiting in thy fields and woodlands, hunting here the moose of lempo, finding not the hisi-ranger, shouldst thou give me no enjoyment, should i find no joy, nor respite. long the eve that gives no pleasure, long the day that brings no guerdon! "sable-bearded god of forests, in thy hat and coat of ermine, robe thy trees in finest fibers, deck thy groves in richest fabrics, give the fir-trees shining silver, deck with gold the slender balsams, give the spruces copper belting, and the pine-trees silver girdles, give the birches golden flowers, deck their stems with silver fret-work, this their garb in former ages, when the days and nights were brighter, when the fir-trees shone like sunlight, and the birches like the moonbeams; honey breathed throughout the forest, settled in the glens and highlands spices in the meadow-borders, oil out-pouring from the lowlands. "forest daughter, lovely virgin, golden maiden, fair tulikki, second of the tapio-daughters, drive the game within these borders, to these far-extending snow-fields. should the reindeer be too sluggish, should the moose-deer move too slowly cut a birch-rod from the thicket, whip them hither in their beauty, drive the wild-moose to my hurdle, hither drive the long-sought booty to the hunter who is watching, waiting in the hisi-forests. "when the game has started hither, keep them in the proper highway, hold thy magic hands before them, guard them well on either road-side, that the elk may not escape thee, may not dart adown some by-path. should, perchance, the moose-deer wander through some by-way of the forest, take him by the ears and antlers, hither lead the pride of lempo. "if the path be filled with brush-wood cast the brush-wood to the road-side; if the branches cross his pathway, break the branches into fragments; should a fence of fir or alder cross the way that leads him hither. make an opening within it, open nine obstructing fences; if the way be crossed by streamlets, if the path be stopped by rivers, make a bridge of silken fabric, weaving webs of scarlet color, drive the deer-herd gently over, lead them gently o'er the waters, o'er the rivers of thy forests, o'er the streams of thy dominions. "thou, the host of tapio's mansion, gracious host of tapiola, sable-bearded god of woodlands, golden lord of northland forests, thou, o tapio's worthy hostess, queen of snowy woods, mimerkki, ancient dame in sky-blue vesture, fenland-queen in scarlet ribbons, come i to exchange my silver, to exchange my gold and silver; gold i have, as old as moonlight, silver of the age of sunshine, in the first of years was gathered, in the heat and pain of battle; it will rust within my pouches, soon will wear away and perish, if it be not used in trading." long the hunter, lemminkainen, glided through the fen and forest, sang his songs throughout the woodlands, through three mountain glens be sang them, sang the forest hostess friendly, sang he, also, tapio friendly, friendly, all the forest virgins, all of metsola's fair daughters. now they start the herds of lempo, start the wild-moose from his shelter, in the realms of evil hisi, tapio's highest mountain-region; now they drive the ranger homeward, to the open courts of piru, to the hero that is waiting, hunting for the moose of juutas. when the herd had reached the castle, lemminkainen threw his lasso o'er the antlers of the blue-moose, settled on the neck and shoulders of the mighty moose of hisi. then the hunter, kaukomieli, stroked his captive's neck in safety, for the moose was well-imprisoned. thereupon gay lemminkainen filled with joyance spake as follows: "pride of forests, queen of woodlands, metsola's enchanted hostess, lovely forest dame, mielikki, mother-donor of the mountains, take the gold that i have promised, come and take away the silver; spread thy kerchief well before me, spread out here thy silken neck-wrap, underneath the golden treasure, underneath the shining silver, that to earth it may not settle, scattered on the snows of winter." then the hero went a victor to the dwellings of pohyola, and addressed these words to louhi: "i have caught the moose of hisi, in the metsola-dominions, give, o hostess, give thy daughter, give to me thy fairest virgin, bride of mine to be hereafter." louhi, hostess of the northland, gave this answer to the suitor: "i will give to thee my daughter, for thy wife my fairest maiden, when for me thou'lt put a bridle on the flaming horse of hisi, rapid messenger of lempo, on the hisi-plains and pastures." nothing daunted, lemminkainen hastened forward to accomplish louhi's second test of heroes, on the cultivated lowlands, on the sacred fields and forests. everywhere he sought the racer, sought the fire-expiring stallion, fire out-shooting from his nostrils. lemminkainen, fearless hunter, bearing in his belt his bridle, on his shoulders, reins and halter, sought one day, and then a second, finally, upon the third day, went he to the hisi-mountain, climbed, and struggled to the summit; to the east he turned his glances, cast his eyes upon the sunrise, there beheld the flaming courser, on the heath among the far-trees. lempo's fire-expiring stallion fire and mingled smoke, out-shooting from his mouth, and eyes, and nostrils. spake the daring lemminkainen, this the hero's supplication: "ukko, thou o god above me, thou that rulest all the storm-clouds, open thou the vault of heaven, open windows through the ether, let the icy rain come falling, lot the heavy hailstones shower on the flaming horse of hisi, on the fire-expiring stallion." ukko, the benign creator, heard the prayer of lemminkainen, broke apart the dome of heaven, rent the heights of heaven asunder, sent the iron-hail in showers, smaller than the heads of horses, larger than the heads of heroes, on the flaming steed of lempo, on the fire-expiring stallion, on the terror of the northland. lemminkainen, drawing nearer, looked with care upon the courser, then he spake the words that follow: "wonder-steed of mighty hisi, flaming horse of lempo's mountain, bring thy mouth of gold, assenting, gently place thy head of silver in this bright and golden halter, in this silver-mounted bridle. i shall never harshly treat thee, never make thee fly too fleetly, on the way to sariola, on the tracks of long duration, to the hostess of pohyola, to her magic courts and stables, will not lash thee on thy journey; i shall lead thee gently forward, drive thee with the reins of kindness, cover thee with silken blankets." then the fire-haired steed of juutas, flaming horse of mighty hisi, put his bead of shining silver, in the bright and golden bead-stall, in the silver-mounted bridle. thus the hero, lemminkainen, easy bridles lempo's stallion, flaming horse of evil piru; lays the bits within his fire-mouth, on his silver head, the halter, mounts the fire-expiring courser, brandishes his whip of willow, hastens forward on his journey, bounding o'er the hills and mountains, dashing through the valleys northward, o'er the snow-capped hills of lapland, to the courts of sariola. then the hero, quick dismounting, stepped within the court of louhi, thus addressed the northland hostess: "i have bridled lempo's fire-horse, i have caught the hisi-racer, caught the fire-expiring stallion, in the piru plains and pastures, ridden him within thy borders; i have caught the moose of lempo, i have done what thou demandest; give, i pray thee, now thy daughter, give to me thy fairest maiden, bride of mine to be forever." louhi, hostess of pohyola, made this answer to the suitor: "i will only give my daughter, give to thee my fairest virgin, bride of thine to be forever, when for me the swan thou killest in the river of tuoni, swimming in the black death-river, in the sacred stream and whirlpool; thou canst try one cross-bow only, but one arrow from thy quiver." then the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, braved the third test of the hero, started out to hunt the wild-swan, hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer, in tuoni's coal-black river, in manala's lower regions. quick the daring hunter journeyed, hastened off with fearless footsteps, to the river of tuoni, to the sacred stream and whirlpool, with his bow upon his shoulder, with his quiver and one arrow. nasshut, blind and crippled shepherd, wretched shepherd of pohyola, stood beside the death-land river, near the sacred stream and whirlpool, guarding tuonela's waters, waiting there for lemminkainen, listening there for kaukomieli, waiting long the hero's coming. finally he hears the footsteps of the hero on his journey, hears the tread of lemminkainen, as he journeys nearer, nearer, to the river of tuoni, to the cataract of death-land, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. quick the wretched shepherd, nasshut, from the death-stream sends a serpent, like an arrow from a cross-bow, to the heart of lemminkainen, through the vitals of the hero. lemminkainen, little conscious, hardly knew that be was injured, spake these measures as he perished. "ah! unworthy is my conduct, ah! unwisely have i acted, that i did not heed my mother, did not take her goodly counsel, did not learn her words of magic. oh i for three words with my mother, how to live, and bow to suffer, in this time of dire misfortune, how to bear the stings of serpents, tortures of the reed of waters, from the stream of tuonela! "ancient mother who hast borne me, who hast trained me from my childhood, learn, i pray thee, where i linger, where alas! thy son is lying, where thy reckless hero suffers. come, i pray thee, faithful mother, come thou quickly, thou art needed, come deliver me from torture, from the death-jaws of tuoni, from the sacred stream and whirlpool." northland's old and wretched shepherd, nasshut, the despised protector of the flocks of sariola, throws the dying lemminkainen, throws the hero of the islands, into tuonela's river, to the blackest stream of death-land, to the worst of fatal whirlpools. lemminkainen, wild and daring, helpless falls upon the waters, floating down the coal-black current, through the cataract and rapids to the tombs of tuonela. there the blood-stained son of death-land, there tuoni's son and hero, cuts in pieces lemminkainen, chops him with his mighty hatchet, till the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks from the rocks within his chamber, chops the hero into fragments, into five unequal portions, throws each portion to tuoni, in manala's lowest kingdom, speaks these words when he has ended: "swim thou there, wild lemminkainen, flow thou onward in this river, hunt forever in these waters, with thy cross-bow and thine arrow, shoot the swan within this empire, shoot our water-birds in welcome!" thus the hero, lemminkainen, thus the handsome kaukomieli, the untiring suitor, dieth in the river of tuoni, in the death-realm of manala. rune xv. lemminkainen's restoration. lemminkainen's aged mother anxious roams about the islands, anxious wonders in her chambers, what the fate of lemminkainen, why her son so long has tarried; thinks that something ill has happened to her hero in pohyola. sad, indeed, the mother's anguish, as in vain she waits his coming, as in vain she asks the question, where her daring son is roaming, whether to the fir-tree mountain, whether to the distant heath-land, or upon the broad-sea's ridges, on the floods and rolling waters, to the war's contending armies, to the heat and din of battle, steeped in blood of valiant heroes, evidence of fatal warfare. daily does the wife kyllikki look about her vacant chamber, in the home of lemminkainen, at the court of kaukomieli; looks at evening, looks at morning, looks, perchance, upon his hair-brush, sees alas! the blood-drops oozing, oozing from the golden bristles, and the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. then the beauteous wife, kyllikki, spake these words in deeps of anguish: "dead or wounded is my husband, or at best is filled with trouble, lost perhaps in northland forests, in some glen unknown to heroes, since alas! the blood is flowing from the brush of lemminkainen, red drops oozing from the bristles." thereupon the anxious mother looks upon the bleeding hair-brush and begins this wail of anguish: "woe is me, my life hard-fated, woe is me, all joy departed! for alas! my son and hero, valiant hero of the islands, son of trouble and misfortune! some sad fate has overtaken my ill-fated lemminkainen! blood is flowing from his hair-brush, oozing from its golden bristles, and the drops are scarlet-colored." quick her garment's hem she clutches, on her arm she throws her long-robes, fleetly flies upon her journey; with her might she hastens northward, mountains tremble from her footsteps, valleys rise and heights are lowered, highlands soon become as lowlands, all the hills and valleys levelled. soon she gains the northland village, quickly asks about her hero, these the words the mother utters: "o thou hostess of pohyola, where hast thou my lemminkainen? tell me of my son and hero!" louhi, hostess of the northland, gives this answer to the mother: "nothing know i of thy hero, of the hero of the islands; where thy son may be i know not, cannot lend the information; once i gave thy son a courser, hitched the racer to his snow-sledge, this the last of lemminkainen; may perchance be drowned in wuhne, frozen in the icy ocean, fallen prey to wolves in hunger, in a bear's den may have perished." lemminkainen's mother answers: "thou art only speaking falsehoods, northland wolves cannot devour us, nor the bears kill kaukomieli; he can slay the wolves of pohya with the fingers of his left hand; bears of northland he would silence with the magic of his singing. "hostess of pohyola, tell me whither thou hast sent my hero; i shall burst thy many garners, shall destroy the magic sampo, if thou dost not tell me truly where to find my lemminkainen." spake the hostess of pohyola: "i have well thy hero treated, well my court has entertained him, gave him of my rarest viands, fed him at my well-filled tables, placed him in a boat of copper, thus to float adown the current, this the last of lemminkainen; cannot tell where he has wandered. whether in the foam of waters, whether in the boiling torrent, whether in the drowning whirlpool." lemminkainen's mother answers: thou again art speaking falsely; tell me now the truth i pray thee, make an end of thy deception, where is now my lemminkainen, whither hast thou sent my hero, young and daring son of kalew? if a third time thou deceivest, i will send thee plagues, unnumbered, i will send thee fell destruction, certain death will overtake thee." spake the hostess of pohyola: "this the third time that i answer, this the truth that i shall tell thee: i have sent the kalew-hero to the hisi-fields and forests, there to hunt the moose of lempo; sent him then to catch the fire-horse, catch the fire-expiring stallion, on the distant plains of juutas, in the realm of cruel hisi. then i sent him to the death-stream, in the kingdom of tuoni, with his bow and but one arrow, there to shoot the swan as dowry for my best and fairest daughter; have not heard about thy hero since he left for tuonela; may in misery have fallen, may have perished in manala; has not come to ask my daughter, has not come to woo the maiden, since he left to hunt the death-swan." now the mother seeks her lost one, for her son she weeps and trembles, like the wolf she bounds through fenlands, like the bear, through forest thickets, like the wild-boar, through the marshes, like the hare, along the sea-coast, to the sea-point, like the hedgehog like the wild-duck swims the waters, casts the rubbish from her pathway, tramples down opposing brush-wood, stops at nothing in her journey seeks a long time for her hero, seeks, and seeks, and does not find him. now she asks the trees the question, and the forest gives this answer: "we have care enough already, cannot think about thy matters; cruel fates have we to battle, pitiful our own misfortunes! we are felled and chopped in pieces, cut in blocks for hero-fancy, we are burned to death as fuel, no one cares how much we suffer." now again the mother wanders, seeks again her long-lost hero, seeks, and seeks, and does not find him. paths arise and come to meet her, and she questions thus the pathways: "paths of hope that god has fashioned, have ye seen my lemminkainen, has my son and golden hero travelled through thy many kingdoms?" sad, the many pathways answer: "we ourselves have cares sufficient, cannot watch thy son and hero, wretched are the lives of pathways, deep indeed our own misfortunes; we are trodden by, the red-deer, by the wolves, and bears, and roebucks, driven o'er by heavy cart-wheels, by the feet of dogs are trodden, trodden under foot of heroes, foot-paths for contending armies." seeks again the frantic mother, seeks her long-lost son and hero, seeks, and seeks, and does not find him; finds the moon within her orbit, asks the moon in pleading measures: "golden moon, whom god has stationed in the heavens, the sun's companion, hast thou seen my kaukomieli, hast thou seen my silver apple, anywhere in thy dominions? " thus the golden moon makes answer: "i have trouble all-sufficient, cannot watch thy daring hero; long the journey i must travel, sad the fate to me befallen, pitiful mine own misfortunes, all alone the nights to wander, shine alone without a respite, in the winter ever watching, in the summer sink and perish." still the mother seeks, and wanders, seeks, and does not find her hero, sees the sun in the horizon, and the mother thus entreats him: silver sun, whom god has fashioned, thou that giveth warmth and comfort, hast thou lately seen my hero, hast thou seen my lemminkainen, wandering in thy dominions?" thus the sun in kindness answers: "surely has thy hero perished, to ingratitude a victim; lemminkainen died and vanished in tuoni's fatal river, in the waters of manala, in the sacred stream and whirlpool, in the cataract and rapids, sank within the drowning current to the realm of tuonela, to manala's lower regions." lemminkainen's mother weeping, wailing in the deeps of anguish, mourns the fate of kaukomieli, hastens to the northland smithy, to the forge of ilmarinen, these the words the mother utters: "ilmarinen, metal-artist, thou that long ago wert forging, forging earth a concave cover, yesterday wert forging wonders, forge thou now, immortal blacksmith, forge a rake with shaft of copper, forge the teeth of strongest metal, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and five hundred long the handle." ilmarinen does as bidden, makes the rake in full perfection. lemminkainen's anxious mother takes the magic rake and hastens to the river of tuoni, praying to the sun as follows: "thou, o sun, by god created, thou that shinest on thy maker, shine for me in heat of magic, give me warmth, and strength, and courage, shine a third time full of power, lull to sleep the wicked people, still the people of manala, quiet all tuoni's empire." thereupon the sun of ukko, dearest child of the creator, flying through the groves of northland, sitting on a curving birch-tree, shines a little while in ardor, shines again in greater fervor, shines a third time full of power, lulls to sleep the wicked people in the manala home and kingdom, still the heroes with their broadswords, makes the lancers halt and totter, stills the stoutest of the spearmen, quiets tuoni's ghastly empire. now the sun retires in magic, hovers here and there a moment over tuoni's hapless sleepers, hastens upward to his station, to his jumala home and kingdom. lemminkainen's faithful mother takes the rake of magic metals, rakes the tuoni river bottoms, rakes the cataract and whirlpool, rakes the swift and boiling current of the sacred stream of death-land, in the manala home and kingdom. searching for her long-lost hero, rakes a long time, finding nothing; now she wades the river deeper, to her belt in mud and water, deeper, deeper, rakes the death-stream, rakes the river's deepest caverns, raking up and down the current, till at last she finds his tunic, heavy-hearted, finds his jacket; rakes again and rakes unceasing, finds the hero's shoes and stockings, sorely troubled, finds these relies; now she wades the river deeper, rakes the manala shoals and shallows, rakes the deeps at every angle; as she draws the rake the third time from the tuoni shores and waters, in the rake she finds the body of her long-lost lemminkainen, in the metal teeth entangled, in the rake with copper handle. thus the reckless lemminkainen, thus the son of kalevala, was recovered from the bottom of the manala lake and river. there were wanting many fragments, half the head, a hand, a fore-arm, many other smaller portions, life, above all else, was missing. then the mother, well reflecting, spake these words in bitter weeping: "from these fragments, with my magic, i will bring to life my hero." hearing this, the raven answered, spake these measures to the mother: "there is not in these a hero, thou canst not revive these fragments; eels have fed upon his body, on his eyes have fed the whiting; cast the dead upon the waters, on the streams of tuonela, let him there become a walrus, or a seal, or whale, or porpoise." lemminkainen's mother does not cast the dead upon the waters, on the streams of tuonela, she again with hope and courage, rakes the river lengthwise, crosswise, through the manala pools and caverns, rakes up half the head, a fore-arm, finds a hand and half the back-bone, many other smaller portions; shapes her son from all the fragments, shapes anew her lemminkainen, flesh to flesh with skill she places, gives the bones their proper stations, binds one member to the other, joins the ends of severed vessels, counts the threads of all the venules, knits the parts in apposition; then this prayer the mother offers: "suonetar, thou slender virgin, goddess of the veins of heroes, skilful spinner of the vessels, with thy slender, silver spindle, with thy spinning-wheel of copper, set in frame of molten silver, come thou hither, thou art needed; bring the instruments for mending, firmly knit the veins together, at the end join well the venules, in the wounds that still are open, in the members that are injured. "should this aid be inefficient; there is living in the ether, in a boat enriched with silver, in a copper boat, a maiden, that can bring to thee assistance. come, o maiden, from the ether, virgin from the belt of heaven, row throughout these veins, o maiden, row through all these lifeless members, through the channels of the long-bones, row through every form of tissue. set the vessels in their places, lay the heart in right position, make the pulses beat together, join the smallest of the veinlets, and unite with skill the sinews. take thou now a slender needle, silken thread within its eyelet, ply the silver needle gently, sew with care the wounds together. "should this aid be inefficient, thou, o god, that knowest all things, come and give us thine assistance, harness thou thy fleetest racer call to aid thy strongest courser, in thy scarlet sledge come swiftly, drive through all the bones and channels, drive throughout these lifeless tissues, drive thy courser through each vessel, bind the flesh and bones securely, in the joints put finest silver, purest gold in all the fissures. "where the skin is broken open, where the veins are torn asunder, mend these injuries with magic; where the blood has left the body, there make new blood flow abundant; where the bones are rudely broken, set the parts in full perfection; where the flesh is bruised and loosened, touch the wounds with magic balsam, do not leave a part imperfect; bone, and vein, and nerve, and sinew, heart, and brain, and gland, and vessel, heal as thou alone canst heal them." these the means the mother uses, thus she joins the lifeless members, thus she heals the death-like tissues, thus restores her son and hero to his former life and likeness; all his veins are knit together, all their ends are firmly fastened, all the parts in apposition, life returns, but speech is wanting, deaf and dumb, and blind, and senseless. now the mother speaks as follows: "where may i procure the balsam, where the drops of magic honey, to anoint my son and hero, thus to heal my lemminkainen, that again his month may open, may again begin his singing, speak again in words of wonder, sing again his incantations? "tiny bee, thou honey-birdling, lord of all the forest flowers, fly away and gather honey, bring to me the forest-sweetness, found in metsola's rich gardens, and in tapio's fragrant meadows, from the petals of the flowers, from the blooming herbs and grasses, thus to heal my hero's anguish, thus to heal his wounds of evil." thereupon the honey-birdling flies away on wings of swiftness, into metsola's rich gardens, into tapio's flowery meadows, gathers sweetness from the meadows, with the tongue distills the honey from the cups of seven flowers, from the bloom of countless grasses; quick from metsola returning, flying, humming darting onward, with his winglets honey-laden, with the store of sweetest odors, to the mother brings the balsam. lemminkainen's anxious mother takes the balm of magic virtues, and anoints the injured hero, heals his wounds and stills his anguish; but the balm is inefficient, for her son is deaf and speechless. then again out-speaks the mother: lemminkainen's restoration. "little bee, my honey-birdling, fly away in one direction, fly across the seven oceans, in the eighth, a magic island, where the honey is enchanted, to the distant turi-castles, to the chambers of palwoinen; there the honey is effective, there, the wonder-working balsam, this may heal the wounded hero; bring me of this magic ointment, that i may anoint his eyelids, may restore his injured senses." thereupon the honey-birdling flew away o'er seven oceans, to the old enchanted island; flies one day, and then a second, on the verdure does not settle, does not rest upon the flowers; flies a third day, fleetly onward, till a third day evening brings him to the island in the ocean, to the meadows rich in honey, to the cataract and fire-flow, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. there the honey was preparing, there the magic balm distilling in the tiny earthen vessels, in the burnished copper kettles, smaller than a maiden's thimble, smaller than the tips of fingers. faithfully the busy insect gathers the enchanted honey from the magic turi-cuplets in the chambers of palwoinen. time had gone but little distance, ere the bee came loudly humming flying fleetly, honey-laden; in his arms were seven vessels, seven, the vessels on each shoulder; all were filled with honey-balsam, with the balm of magic virtues. lemminkainen's tireless mother quick anoints her speechless hero, with the magic turi-balsam, with the balm of seven virtues; nine the times that she anoints him with the honey of palwoinen, with the wonder-working balsam; but the balm is inefficient, for the hero still is speechless. then again out-speaks the mother: "honey-bee, thou ether birdling, fly a third time on thy journey, fly away to high jumala, fly thou to the seventh heaven, honey there thou'lt find abundant, balsam of the highest virtue, only used by the creator, only made from the breath of ukko. god anoints his faithful children, with the honey of his wisdom, when they feel the pangs of sorrow, when they meet the powers of evil. dip thy winglets in this honey, steep thy plumage in his sweetness, hither bring the all-sufficient balsam of the great creator; this will still my hero's anguish, this will heal his wounded tissues, this restore his long-lost vision, make the northland hills re-echo with the magic of his singing, with his wonderful enchantment." thus the honey-bee made answer: "i can never fly to heaven, to the seventh of the heavens, to the distant home of ukko, with these wings of little virtue." lemminkainen's mother answered: "thou canst surely fly to heaven, to the seventh of the heavens, o'er the moon, beneath the sunshine, through the dim and distant starlight. on the first day, flying upward, thou wilt near the moon in heaven, fan the brow of kootamoinen; on the second thou canst rest thee on the shoulders of otava; on the third day, flying higher, rest upon the seven starlets, on the heads of hetewanè; short the journey that is left thee, inconsiderable the distance to the home of mighty ukko, to the dwellings of the blessed." thereupon the bee arising, from the earth flies swiftly upward, hastens on with graceful motion, by his tiny wings borne heavenward, in the paths of golden moonbeams, touches on the moon's bright borders, fans the brow of kootamoinen, rests upon otava's shoulders, hastens to the seven starlets., to the heads of hetewanè, flies to the creator's castle, to the home of generous ukko, finds the remedy preparing, finds the balm of life distilling, in the silver-tinted caldrons, in the purest golden kettles; on one side, heart-easing honey, on a second, balm of joyance, on the third, life-giving balsam. here the magic bee, selecting, culls the sweet, life-giving balsam, gathers too, heart-easing honey, heavy-laden hastens homeward. time had traveled little distance, ere the busy bee came humming to the anxious mother waiting, in his arms a hundred cuplets, and a thousand other vessels, filled with honey, filled with balsam, filled with the balm of the creator. lemminkainen's mother quickly takes them on her, tongue and tests them, finds a balsam all-sufficient. then the mother spake as follows: "i have found the long-sought balsam, found the remedy of ukko, where-with god anoints his people, gives them life, and faith, and wisdom, heals their wounds and stills their anguish, makes them strong against temptation, guards them from the evil-doers." now the mother well anointing, heals her son, the magic singer, eyes, and ears, and tongue, and temples, breaks, and cuts, and seams, anointing, touching well the life-blood centres, speaks these words of magic import to the sleeping lemminkainen: "wake, arise from out thy slumber, from the worst of low conditions, from thy state of dire misfortune!" slowly wakes the son and hero, rises from the depths of slumber, speaks again in magic accents, these the first words of the singer: "long, indeed, have i been sleeping, long unconscious of existence, but my sleep was full of sweetness, sweet the sleep in tuonela, knowing neither joy nor sorrow!" this the answer of his mother: "longer still thou wouldst have slumbered, were it not for me, thy, mother; tell me now, my son beloved, tell me that i well may hear thee, who enticed thee to manala, to the river of tuoni, to the fatal stream and whirlpool?" then the hero, lemminkainen, gave this answer to his mother: "nasshut, the decrepit shepherd of the flocks of sariola, blind, and halt, and poor, and wretched, and to whom i did a favor; from the slumber-land of envy nasshut sent me to manala, to the river of tuoni; sent a serpent from the waters, sent an adder from the death-stream, through the heart of lemminkainen; did not recognize the serpent, could not speak the serpent-language, did not know the sting of adders." spake again the ancient mother: "o thou son of little insight, senseless hero, fool-magician, thou didst boast betimes thy magic to enchant the wise enchanters, on the dismal shores of lapland, thou didst think to banish heroes, from the borders of pohyola; didst not know the sting of serpents, didst not know the reed of waters, nor the magic word-protector! learn the origin of serpents, whence the poison of the adder. "in the floods was born the serpent, from the marrow of the gray-duck, from the brain of ocean-swallows; suoyatar had made saliva, cast it on the waves of ocean, currents drove it outward, onward, softly shone the sun upon it, by the winds 'twas gently cradled, gently nursed by winds and waters, by the waves was driven shoreward, landed by the surging billows. thus the serpent, thing of evil, filling all the world with trouble, was created in the waters born from suoyatar, its maker." then the mother of the hero rocked her son to rest and comfort, rocked him to his former being, to his former life and spirit, into greater magic powers; wiser, handsomer than ever grew the hero of the islands; but his heart was full of trouble, and his mother, ever watchful, asked the cause of his dejection. this is lemminkainen's answer: "this the cause of all my sorrow; far away my heart is roaming, all my thoughts forever wander to the northland's blooming virgins, to the maids of braided tresses. northland's ugly hostess, louhi, will not give to me her daughter, fairest maiden of pohyola, till i kill the swan of mana, with my bow and but one arrow, in the river of tuoni. lemminkainen's mother answers, in the sacred stream and whirlpool. "let the swan swim on in safety, give the water-bird his freedom, in the river of manala, in the whirlpool of tuoni; leave the maiden in the northland., with her charms and fading beauty; with thy fond and faithful mother, go at once to kalevala, to thy native fields and fallows. praise thy fortune, all sufficient, praise, above all else, thy maker. ukko gave thee aid when needed, thou wert saved by thy creator, from thy long and hopeless slumber, in the waters of tuoni, in the chambers of manala. i unaided could not save thee, could not give the least assistance; god alone, omniscient ukko, first and last of the creators, can revive the dead and dying, can protect his worthy people from the waters of manala, . from the fatal stream and whirlpool, in the kingdom of tuoni." lemminkainen, filled with wisdom, with his fond and faithful mother, hastened straightway on his journey to his distant home and kindred, to the wainola fields and meadows, to the plains of kalevala. * * * * * here i leave my kaukomieli, leave my hero lemminkainen, long i leave him from my singing, turn my song to other heroes, send it forth on other pathways, sing some other golden legend. rune xvi. wainamoinen's boat-building. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, the eternal wisdom-singer, for his boat was working lumber, working long upon his vessel, on a fog-point jutting seaward, on an island, forest-covered; but the lumber failed the master, beams were wanting for his vessel, beams and scantling, ribs and flooring. who will find for him the lumber, who procure the timber needed for the boat of wainamoinen, for the bottom of his vessel? pellerwoinen of the prairies, sampsa, slender-grown and ancient, he will seek the needful timber, he procure the beams of oak-wood for the boat of wainamoinen, for the bottom of his vessel. soon he starts upon his journey to the eastern fields and forests, hunts throughout the northland mountain to a second mountain wanders, to a third he hastens, searching, golden axe upon his shoulder, in his hand a copper hatchet. comes an aspen-tree to meet him of the height of seven fathoms. sampsa takes his axe of copper, starts to fell the stately aspen, but the aspen quickly halting, speaks these words to pellerwoinen: "tell me, hero, what thou wishest, what the service thou art needing?" sampsa pellerwoinen answers: "this indeed, the needed service that i ask of thee, o aspen: need thy lumber for a vessel, for the boat of wainamoinen, wisest of the wisdom-singers." quick and wisely speaks the aspen, thus its hundred branches answer: "all the boats that have been fashioned from my wood have proved but failures; such a vessel floats a distance, then it sinks upon the bottom of the waters it should travel. all my trunk is filled with hollows, three times in the summer seasons worms devour my stem and branches, feed upon my heart and tissues." pellerwoinen leaves the aspen, hunts again through all the forest, wanders through the woods of northland, where a pine-tree comes to meet him, of the height of fourteen fathoms. with his axe he chops the pine-tree, strikes it with his axe of copper, as he asks the pine this question: "will thy trunk give worthy timber for the boat of wainamoinen, wisest of the wisdom-singers?" loudly does the pine-tree answer: "all the ships that have been fashioned from my body are unworthy; i am full of imperfections, cannot give thee needed timber wherewithal to build thy vessel; ravens live within ray branches, build their nests and hatch their younglings three times in my trunk in summer." sampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree, wanders onward, onward, onward, to the woods of gladsome summer, where an oak-tree comes to meet him, in circumference, three fathoms, and the oak he thus addresses: "ancient oak-tree, will thy body furnish wood to build a vessel, build a boat for wainamoinen, master-boat for the magician, wisest of the wisdom-singers?" thus the oak replies to sampsa: "i for thee will gladly furnish wood to build the hero's vessel; i am tall, and sound, and hardy, have no flaws within my body; three times in the months of summer, in the warmest of the seasons, does the sun dwell in my tree-top, on my trunk the moonlight glimmers, in my branches sings the cuckoo, in my top her nestlings slumber." now the ancient pellerwoinen takes the hatchet from his shoulder, takes his axe with copper handle, chops the body of the oak-tree; well he knows the art of chopping. soon he fells the tree majestic, fells the mighty forest-monarch, with his magic axe and power. from the stems he lops the branches, splits the trunk in many pieces, fashions lumber for the bottom, countless boards, and ribs, and braces, for the singer's magic vessel, for the boat of the magician. wainamoinen, old and skilful, the eternal wonder-worker, builds his vessel with enchantment, builds his boat by art of magic, from the timber of the oak-tree, from its posts, and planks, and flooring. sings a song, and joins the frame-work; sings a second, sets the siding; sings a third time, sets the row-locks; fashions oars, and ribs, and rudder, joins the sides and ribs together. when the ribs were firmly fastened, when the sides were tightly jointed, then alas! three words were wanting, lost the words of master-magic, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the boat's forecastle. then the ancient wainamoinen, wise and wonderful enchanter, heavy-hearted spake as follows: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! never will this magic vessel pass in safety o'er the water, never ride the rough sea-billows." then he thought and long considered, where to find these words of magic, find the lost-words of the master: "from the brains of countless swallows, from the heads of swans in dying, from the plumage of the gray-duck?" for these words the hero searches, kills of swans a goodly number, kills a flock of fattened gray-duck, kills of swallows countless numbers, cannot find the words of magic, not the lost-words of the master. wainamoinen, wisdom-singer, still reflected and debated: "i perchance may find the lost-words on the tongue of summer-reindeer, in the mouth of the white squirrel." now again he hunts the lost-words, hastes to find the magic sayings, kills a countless host of reindeer, kills a rafterful of squirrels, finds of words a goodly number, but they are of little value, cannot find the magic lost-word. long he thought and well considered: "i can find of words a hundred in the dwellings of tuoni, in the manala fields and castles." wainamoinen quickly journeys to the kingdom of tuoni, there to find the ancient wisdom, there to learn the secret doctrine; hastens on through fen and forest, over meads and over marshes, through the ever-rising woodlands, journeys one week through the brambles, and a second through the hazels, through the junipers the third week, when appear tuoni's islands, and the manala fields and castles. wainamoinen, brave and ancient, calls aloud in tones of thunder, to the tuonela deeps and dungeons, and to manala's magic castle: "bring a boat, tuoni's daughter, bring a ferry-boat, o maiden, that may bear me o'er this channel, o'er this black and fatal river." quick the daughter of tuoni, magic maid of little stature, tiny virgin of manala, tiny washer of the linen, tiny cleaner of the dresses, at the river of tuoni, in manala's ancient castles, speaks these words to wainamoinen, gives this answer to his calling: "straightway will i bring the row-boat, when the reasons thou hast given why thou comest to manala in a hale and active body." wainamoinen, old and artful., gives this answer to the maiden: "i was brought here by tuoni, mana raised me from the coffin." speaks the maiden of manala: "this a tale of wretched liars; had tuoni brought thee hither, mana raised thee from the coffin, then tuoni would be with thee, manalainen too would lead thee, with tuoni's hat upon thee, on thy hands, the gloves of mana; tell the truth now, wainamoinen, what has brought thee to manala?" wainamoinen, artful hero, gives this answer, still finessing: "iron brought me to manala, to the kingdom of tuoni." speaks the virgin of the death-land, mana's wise and tiny daughter: "well i know that this is falsehood, had the iron brought thee hither, brought thee to tuoni's kingdom, blood would trickle from thy vesture, and the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. speak the truth now, wainamoinen, this the third time that i ask thee." wainamoinen, little heeding, still finesses to the daughter: "water brought me to manala, to the kingdom of tuoui." this the tiny maiden's answer: "well i know thou speakest falsely; if the waters of manala, if the cataract and whirlpool, or the waves had brought thee hither, from thy robes the drops would trickle, water drip from all thy raiment. tell the truth and i will serve thee, what has brought thee to manala?" then the wilful wainamoinen told this falsehood to the maiden: "fire has brought me to manala, to the kingdom of tuoni." spake again tuoni's daughter: "well i know the voice of falsehood. if the fire had brought thee hither, brought thee to tuoni's empire, singed would be thy locks and eyebrows, and thy beard be crisped and tangled. o, thou foolish wainamoinen, if i row thee o'er the ferry, thou must speak the truth in answer, this the last time i will ask thee; make an end of thy deception. what has brought thee to manala, still unharmed by pain or sickness, still untouched by death's dark angel spake the ancient wainamoinen: "at the first i spake, not truly, now i give thee rightful answer: i a boat with ancient wisdom, fashioned with my powers of magic, sang one day and then a second, sang the third day until evening, when i broke the magic main-spring, broke my magic sledge in pieces, of my song the fleetest runners; then i come to mana's kingdom, came to borrow here a hatchet, thus to mend my sledge of magic, thus to join the parts together. send the boat now quickly over, send me, quick, tuoni's row-boat, help me cross this fatal river, cross the channel of manala." spake the daughter of tuoni, mana's maiden thus replying: "thou art sure a stupid fellow, foresight wanting, judgment lacking, having neither wit nor wisdom, coming here without a reason, coming to tuoni's empire; better far if thou shouldst journey to thy distant home and kindred; man they that visit mana, few return from maria's kingdom." spake the good old wainamoinen: "women old retreat from danger, not a man of any courage, not the weakest of the heroes. bring thy boat, tuoni's daughter, tiny maiden of manala, come and row me o'er the ferry." mana's daughter does as bidden, brings her boat to wainamoinen, quickly rows him through the channel, o'er the black and fatal river, to the kingdom of manala, speaks these words to the magician: "woe to thee! o wainamoinen! wonderful indeed, thy magic, since thou comest to manala, comest neither dead nor dying." tuonetar, the death-land hostess, ancient hostess of tuoni, brings him pitchers filled with strong-beer, fills her massive golden goblets, speaks these measures to the stranger: "drink, thou ancient wainamoinen, drink the beer of king tuoni!" wainamoinen, wise and cautious, carefully inspects the liquor, looks a long time in the pitchers, sees the spawning of the black-frogs, sees the young of poison-serpents, lizards, worms, and writhing adders, thus addresses tuonetar: "have not come with this intention, have not come to drink thy poisons, drink the beer of tuonela; those that drink tuoni's liquors, those that sip the cups of mana, court the devil and destruction, end their lives in want and ruin." tuonetar makes this answer: "ancient minstrel, wainamoinen, tell me what has brought thee hither, brought thee to the, realm of mana, to the courts of tuonela, ere tuoni sent his angels to thy home in kalevala, there to cut thy magic life-thread." spake the singer, wainamoinen: "i was building me a vessel, at my craft was working, singing, needed three words of the master, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the boat's forecastle. this the reason of my coming to the empire of tuoni, to the castles of manala: came to learn these magic sayings, learn the lost-words of the master." spake the hostess, tuonetar: "mana never gives these sayings, canst not learn them from tuoni, not the lost-words of the master; thou shalt never leave this kingdom, never in thy magic life-time, never go to kalevala, to wainola's peaceful meadows. to thy distant home and country." quick the hostess, tuonetar, waves her magic wand of slumber o'er the head of wainamoinen, puts to rest the wisdom-hero, lays him on the couch of mana, in the robes of living heroes, deep the sleep that settles o'er him. in manala lived a woman, in the kingdom of tuoni, evil witch and toothless wizard, spinner of the threads of iron, moulder of the bands of copper, weaver of a hundred fish-nets, of a thousand nets of copper, spinning in the days of summer, weaving in the winter evenings, seated on a rock in water. in the kingdom of tuoni lived a man, a wicked wizard, three the fingers of the hero, spinner he of iron meshes, maker too of nets of copper, countless were his nets of metal, moulded on a rock in water, through the many days of summer. mana's son with crooked fingers, iron-pointed, copper fingers, pulls of nets, at least a thousand, through the river of tuoni, sets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise, in the fatal, darksome river, that the sleeping wainamomen, friend and brother of the waters, may not leave the isle of mana, never in the course of ages, never leave the death-land castles, never while the moonlight glimmers on the empire of tuoni. wainamoinen, wise and wary, rising from his couch of slumber, speaks these words as he is waking: "is there not some mischief brewing, am i not at last in danger, in the chambers of tuoni, in the manala home and household?" quick he changes his complexion, changes too his form and feature, slips into another body; like a serpent in a circle, rolls black-dyed upon the waters; like a snake among the willows, crawls he like a worm of magic, like an adder through the grasses, through the coal-black stream of death-land, through a thousand nets of copper interlaced with threads of iron, from the kingdom of tuoni, from the castles of manala. mana's son, the wicked wizard, with his iron-pointed fingers, in the early morning hastens to his thousand nets of copper, set within the tuoni river, finds therein a countless number of the death-stream fish and serpents; does not find old wainamoinen, wainamoinen, wise and wary, friend and fellow of the waters. when the wonder-working hero had escaped from tuonela, spake he thus in supplication: "gratitude to thee, o ukko, do i bring for thy protection! never suffer other heroes, of thy heroes not the wisest, to transgress the laws of nature; never let another singer, while he lives within the body, cross the river of tuoni, as thou lovest thy creations. many heroes cross the channel, cross the fatal stream of mana, few return to tell the story, few return from tuonela, from manala's courts and castles." wainamoinen calls his people, on the plains of kalevala, speaks these words of ancient wisdom, to the young men, to the maidens, to the rising generation: "every child of northland, listen: if thou wishest joy eternal, never disobey thy parents, never evil treat the guiltless, never wrong the feeble-minded, never harm thy weakest fellow, never stain thy lips with falsehood, never cheat thy trusting neighbor, never injure thy companion, lest thou surely payest penance in the kingdom of tuoni, in the prison of manala; there, the home of all the wicked, there the couch of the unworthy, there the chambers of the guilty. underneath manala's fire-rock are their ever-flaming couches, for their pillows hissing serpents, vipers green their writhing covers, for their drink the blood of adders, for their food the pangs of hunger, pain and agony their solace; if thou wishest joy eternal, shun the kingdom of tuoui!" rune xvii. wainamoinen finds the lost-word. wainamoinen, old and truthful, did not learn the words of magic in tuoni's gloomy regions, in the kingdom of manala. thereupon he long debated, well considered, long reflected, where to find the magic sayings; when a shepherd came to meet him, speaking thus to wainamoinen: "thou canst find of words a hundred, find a thousand wisdom-sayings, in the mouth of wise wipunen, in the body of the hero; to the spot i know the foot-path, to his tomb the magic highway, trodden by a host of heroes; long the distance thou must travel, on the sharpened points of needles; then a long way thou must journey on the edges of the broadswords; thirdly thou must travel farther on the edges of the hatchets." wainamoinen, old and trustful, well considered all these journeys, travelled to the forge and smithy, thus addressed the metal-worker: "ilmarinen, worthy blacksmith, make a shoe for me of iron, forge me gloves of burnished copper, mold a staff of strongest metal, lay the steel upon the inside, forge within the might of magic; i am going on a journey to procure the magic sayings, find the lost-words of the master, from the mouth of the magician, from the tongue of wise wipunen." spake the artist, ilmarinen: "long ago died wise wipunen, disappeared these many ages, lays no more his snares of copper, sets no longer traps of iron, cannot learn from him the wisdom, cannot find in him the lost-words." wainamoinen, old and hopeful, little heeding, not discouraged, in his metal shoes and armor, hastens forward on his journey, runs the first day fleetly onward, on the sharpened points of needles; 'wearily he strides the second, on the edges of the broadswords swings himself the third day forward, on the edges of the hatchets. wise wipunen, wisdom-singer, ancient bard, and great magician, with his magic songs lay yonder, stretched beside him, lay his sayings, on his shoulder grew the aspen, on each temple grew the birch-tree, on his mighty chin the alder, from his beard grew willow-bushes, from his mouth the dark green fir-tree, and the oak-tree from his forehead. wainamoinen, coming closer, draws his sword, lays bare his hatchet from his magic leathern scabbard, fells the aspen from his shoulder, fells the birch-tree from his temples, from his chin he fells the alder, from his beard, the branching willows, from his mouth the dark-green fir-tree, fells the oak-tree from his forehead. now he thrusts his staff of iron through the mouth of wise wipunen, pries his mighty jaws asunder, speaks these words of master-magic: "rise, thou master of magicians, from the sleep of tuonela, from thine everlasting slumber!" wise wipunen, ancient singer, quickly wakens from his sleeping, keenly feels the pangs of torture, from the cruel staff of iron; bites with mighty force the metal, bites in twain the softer iron, cannot bite the steel asunder, opens wide his mouth in anguish. wainamoinen of wainola, in his iron-shoes and armor, careless walking, headlong stumbles in the spacious mouth and fauces of the magic bard, wipunen. wise wipunen, full of song-charms, opens wide his mouth and swallows wainamoinen and his magic, shoes, and staff, and iron armor. then outspeaks the wise wipunen: "many things before i've eaten, dined on goat, and sheep, and reindeer, bear, and ox, and wolf, and wild-boar, never in my recollection, have i tasted sweeter morsels!" spake the ancient wainamoinen: "now i see the evil symbols, see misfortune hanging o'er me, in the darksome hisi-hurdles, in the catacombs of kalma." wainamoinen long considered how to live and how to prosper, how to conquer this condition. in his belt he wore a poniard, with a handle hewn from birch-wood, from the handle builds a vessel, builds a boat through magic science; in this vessel rows he swiftly through the entrails of the hero, rows through every gland and vessel of the wisest of magicians. old wipunen, master-singer, barely feels the hero's presence, gives no heed to wainamoinen. then the artist of wainola straightway sets himself to forging, sets at work to hammer metals; makes a smithy from his armor, of his sleeves he makes the bellows, makes the air-valve from his fur-coat, from his stockings, makes the muzzle, uses knees instead of anvil, makes a hammer of his fore-arm; like the storm-wind roars the bellows, like the thunder rings the anvil; forges one day, then a second, forges till the third day closes, in the body of wipunen, in the sorcerer's abdomen. old wipunen, full of magic, speaks these words in wonder, guessing: "who art thou of ancient heroes, who of all the host of heroes? many heroes i have eaten, and of men a countless number, have not eaten such as thou art; smoke arises from my nostrils, from my mouth the fire is streaming, in my throat are iron-clinkers. "go, thou monster, hence to wander, flee this place, thou plague of northland, ere i go to seek thy mother, tell the ancient dame thy mischief; she shall bear thine evil conduct, great the burden she shall carry; great a mother's pain and anguish, when her child runs wild and lawless; cannot comprehend the meaning, nor this mystery unravel, why thou camest here, o monster, camest here to give me torture. art thou hisi sent from heaven, some calamity from ukko? art, perchance, some new creation, ordered here to do me evil? if thou art some evil genius, some calamity from ukko, sent to me by my creator, then am i resigned to suffer god does not forsake the worthy, does not ruin those that trust him, never are the good forsaken. if by man thou wert created, if some hero sent thee hither, i shall learn thy race of evil, shall destroy thy wicked tribe-folk. "thence arose the violation, thence arose the first destruction, thence came all the evil-doings: from the neighborhood of wizards, from the homes of the magicians, from the eaves of vicious spirits, from the haunts of fortune-tellers, from the cabins of the witches, from the castles of tuoni, from the bottom of manala, from the ground with envy swollen, from ingratitude's dominions, from the rocky shoals and quicksands, from the marshes filled with danger, from the cataract's commotion, from the bear-caves in the mountains, from the wolves within the thickets, from the roarings of the pine-tree, from the burrows of the fox-dog, from the woodlands of the reindeer, from the eaves and hisi-hurdles, from the battles of the giants, from uncultivated pastures, from the billows of the oceans, from the streams of boiling waters, from the waterfalls of rutya, from the limits of the storm-clouds, from the pathways of the thunders, from the flashings of the lightnings, from the distant plains of pohya, from the fatal stream and whirlpool, from the birthplace of tuoni. "art thou coming from these places? hast thou, evil, hastened hither, to the heart of sinless hero, to devour my guiltless body, to destroy this wisdom-singer? get thee hence, thou dog of lempo, leave, thou monster from manala, flee from mine immortal body, leave my liver, thing of evil, in my body cease thy forging, cease this torture of my vitals, let me rest in peace and slumber. "should i want in means efficient, should i lack the magic power to outroot thine evil genius, i shall call a better hero, call upon a higher power, to remove this dire misfortune, to annihilate this monster. i shall call the will of woman, from the fields, the old-time heroes? mounted heroes from the sand-hills, thus to rescue me from danger, from these pains and ceaseless tortures. "if this force prove inefficient, should not drive thee from my body, come, thou forest, with thy heroes, come, ye junipers and pine-trees, with your messengers of power, come, ye mountains, with your wood-nymphs, come, ye lakes, with all your mermaids, come, ye hundred ocean-spearmen, come, torment this son of hisi, come and kill this evil monster. "if this call is inefficient, does not drive thee from my vitals, rise, thou ancient water-mother, with thy blue-cap from the ocean, from the seas, the lakes, the rivers, bring protection to thy hero, comfort bring and full assistance, that i guiltless may not suffer, may not perish prematurely. "shouldst thou brave this invocation, kapè, daughter of creation, come, thou beauteous, golden maiden, oldest of the race of women, come and witness my misfortunes, come and turn away this evil, come, remove this biting torment, take away this plague of piru. "if this call be disregarded, if thou wilt not leave me guiltless, ukko, on the arch of heaven, in the thunder-cloud dominions, come thou quickly, thou art needed, come, protect thy tortured hero, drive away this magic demon, banish ever his enchantment, with his sword and flaming furnace, with his fire-enkindling bellows. "go, thou demon, hence to wander, flee, thou plague of northland heroes; never come again for shelter, nevermore build thou thy dwelling in the body of wipunen; take at once thy habitation to the regions of thy kindred, to thy distant fields and firesides; when thy journey thou hast ended, gained the borders of thy country, gained the meads of thy creator, give a signal of thy coming, rumble like the peals of thunder, glisten like the gleam of lightning, knock upon the outer portals, enter through the open windows, glide about the many chambers, seize the host and seize the hostess, knock their evil beads together, wring their necks and hurl their bodies to the black-dogs of the forest. "should this prove of little value, hover like the bird of battle, o'er the dwellings of the master, scare the horses from the mangers, from the troughs affright the cattle, twist their tails, and horns, and forelocks, hurl their carcasses to lempo. "if some scourge the winds have sent me, sent me on the air of spring-tide, brought me by the frosts of winter, quickly journey whence thou camest, on the air-path of the heavens, perching not upon some aspen, resting not upon the birch-tree; fly away to copper mountains, that the copper-winds may nurse thee, waves of ether, thy protection. "didst those come from high jumala, from the hems of ragged snow-clouds, quick ascend beyond the cloud-space, quickly journey whence thou camest, to the snow-clouds, crystal-sprinkled, to the twinkling stars of heaven there thy fire may burn forever, there may flash thy forked lightnings, in the sun's undying furnace. "wert thou sent here by the spring-floods, driven here by river-torrents? quickly journey whence thou camest, quickly hasten to the waters, to the borders of the rivers, to the ancient water-mountain, that the floods again may rock thee, and thy water-mother nurse thee. "didst thou come from kalma's kingdom, from the castles of the death-land? haste thou back to thine own country, to the kalma-halls and castles, to the fields with envy swollen, where contending armies perish. "art thou from the hisi-woodlands, from ravines in lempo's forest, from the thickets of the pine-wood, from the dwellings of the fir-glen? quick retrace thine evil footsteps to the dwellings of thy master, to the thickets of thy kindred; there thou mayest dwell at pleasure, till thy house decays about thee, till thy walls shall mould and crumble. evil genius, thee i banish, got thee hence, thou horrid monster, to the caverns of the white-bear, to the deep abysm of serpents, to the vales, and swamps, and fenlands, to the ever-silent waters, to the hot-springs of the mountains, to the dead-seas of the northland, to the lifeless lakes and rivers, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. "shouldst thou find no place of resting, i will banish thee still farther, to the northland's distant borders, to the broad expanse of lapland, to the ever-lifeless deserts, to the unproductive prairies, sunless, moonless, starless, lifeless, in the dark abyss of northland; this for thee, a place befitting, pitch thy tents and feast forever on the dead plains of pohyola. "shouldst thou find no means of living, i will banish thee still farther, to the cataract of rutya, to the fire-emitting whirlpool, where the firs are ever falling, to the windfalls of the forest; swim hereafter in the waters of the fire-emitting whirlpool, whirl thou ever in the current of the cataract's commotion, in its foam and boiling waters. should this place be unbefitting, i will drive thee farther onward, to tuoni's coal-black river, to the endless stream of mana, where thou shalt forever linger; thou canst never leave manala, should i not thy head deliver, should i never pay thy ransom; thou canst never safely journey through nine brother-rams abutting, through nine brother-bulls opposing through nine brother-stallions thwarting, thou canst not re-cross death-river thickly set with iron netting, interlaced with threads of copper. "shouldst thou ask for steeds for saddle, shouldst thou need a fleet-foot courser, i will give thee worthy racers, i will give thee saddle-horses; evil hisi has a charger, crimson mane, and tail, and foretop, fire emitting from his nostrils, as he prances through his pastures; hoofs are made of strongest iron, legs are made of steel and copper, quickly scales the highest mountains, darts like lightning through the valleys, when a skilful master rides him. "should this steed be insufficient, i will give thee lempo's snow-shoes, give thee hisi's shoes of elm-wood, give to thee the staff of piru, that with these thou mayest journey into hisi's courts and castles, to the woods and fields of juutas; if the rocks should rise before thee, dash the flinty rocks in pieces, hurl the fragments to the heavens; if the branches cross thy pathway, make them turn aside in greeting; if some mighty hero hail thee, hurl him headlong to the woodlands. "hasten hence, thou thing of evil, heinous monster, leave my body, ere the breaking of the morning ere the sun awakes from slumber, ere the sinning of the cuckoo; haste away, thou plague of northland, haste along the track of' moonbeams, wander hence, forever wander, to the darksome fields or pohya. "if at once thou dost not leave me, i will send the eagle's talons, send to thee the beaks of vultures, to devour thine evil body, hurl thy skeleton to hisi. much more quickly cruel lempo left my vitals when commanded, when i called the aid of ukko, called the help of my creator. flee, thou motherless offendant, flee, thou fiend of sariola, flee, thou hound without a master, ere the morning sun arises, ere the moon withdraws to slumber!" wainamoinen, ancient hero, speaks at last to old wipunen: "satisfied am i to linger in these old and spacious caverns, pleasant here my home and dwelling; for my meat i have thy tissues, have thy heart, and spleen, and liver, for my drink the blood of ages, goodly home for wainamoinen. "i shall set my forge and bellows deeper, deeper in thy vitals; i shall swing my heavy hammer, swing it with a greater power on thy heart, and lungs, and liver; i shall never, never leave thee till i learn thine incantations, learn thy many wisdom-sayings, learn the lost-words of the master; never must these words be bidden, earth must never lose this wisdom, though the wisdom-singers perish." old wipunen, wise magician, ancient prophet, filled with power, opens fall his store of knowledge, lifts the covers from his cases, filled with old-time incantations, filled with songs of times primeval, filled with ancient wit and wisdom; sings the very oldest folk-songs, sings the origin of witchcraft, sings of earth and its beginning sings the first of all creations, sings the source of good and evil sung alas! by youth no longer, only sung in part by heroes in these days of sin and sorrow. evil days our land befallen. sings the orders of enchantment. how, upon the will of ukko, by command of the creator, how the air was first divided, how the water came from ether, how the earth arose from water, how from earth came vegetation, fish, and fowl, and man, and hero. sings again the wise wipunen, how the moon was first created, how the sun was set in heaven, whence the colors of the rainbow, whence the ether's crystal pillars, how the skies with stars were sprinkled. then again sings wise wipunen, sings in miracles of concord, sings in magic tones of wisdom, never was there heard such singing; songs he sings in countless numbers, swift his notes as tongues of serpents, all the distant hills re-echo; sings one day, and then a second, sings a third from dawn till evening, sings from evening till the morning; listen all the stars of heaven, and the moon stands still and listens fall the waves upon the deep-sea, in the bay the tides cease rising, stop the rivers in their courses, stops the waterfall of rutya, even jordan ceases flowing, and the wuoksen stops and listens. when the ancient wainamoinen well had learned the magic sayings, learned the ancient songs and legends, learned the words of ancient wisdom, learned the lost-words of the master, well had learned the secret doctrine, he prepared to leave the body of the wisdom-bard, wipunen, leave the bosom of the master, leave the wonderful enchanter. spake the hero, wainamoinen: "o, thou antero wipunen, open wide thy mouth and fauces, i have found the magic lost-words, i will leave thee now forever, leave thee and thy wondrous singing, will return to kalevala, to wainola's fields and firesides." thus wipunen spake in answer: "many are the things i've eaten, eaten bear, and elk, and reindeer, eaten ox, and wolf, and wild-boar, eaten man, and eaten hero, never, never have i eaten such a thing as wainamoinen; thou hast found what thou desirest, found the three words of the master; go in peace, and ne'er returning, take my blessing on thy going." thereupon the bard wipunen opens wide his mouth, and wider; and the good, old wainamoinen straightway leaves the wise enchanter, leaves wipunen's great abdomen; from the mouth he glides and journeys o'er the hills and vales of northland, swift as red-deer or the forest, swift as yellow-breasted marten, to the firesides of wainola, to the plains of kalevala. straightway hastes he to the smithy of his brother, ilmarinen, thus the iron-artist greets him: hast thou found the long-lost wisdom, hast thou heard the secret doctrine, hast thou learned the master magic, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the ship's forecastle? wainamoinen thus made answer: "i have learned of words a hundred, learned a thousand incantations, hidden deep for many ages, learned the words of ancient wisdom, found the keys of secret doctrine, found the lost-words of the master." wainamoinen, magic-builder, straightway journeys to his vessel, to the spot of magic labor, quickly fastens in the ledges, firmly binds the stern together and completes the boat's forecastle. thus the ancient wainamoinen built the boat with magic only, and with magic launched his vessel, using not the hand to touch it, using not the foot to move it, using not the knee to turn it, using nothing to propel it. thus the third task was completed, for the hostess of pohyola, dowry for the maid of beauty sitting on the arch of heaven, on the bow of many colors. rune xviii. the rival suitors wainamoinen, old and truthful, long considered, long debated, how to woo and win the daughter of the hostess of pohyola, how to lead the bride of beauty, fairy maiden of the rainbow, to the meadows of wainola, from the dismal sariola. now he decks his magic vessel, paints the boat in blue and scarlet, trims in gold the ship's forecastle, decks the prow in molten silver; sings his magic ship down gliding, on the cylinders of fir-tree: now erects the masts of pine-wood, on each mast the sails of linen, sails of blue, and white, and scarlet, woven into finest fabric. wainamoinen, the magician, steps aboard his wondrous vessel, steers the bark across the waters, on the blue back of the broad-sea, speaks these words in sailing northward, sailing to the dark pohyola: "come aboard my ship, o ukko, come with me, thou god of mercy, to protect thine ancient hero, to support thy trusting servant, on the breasts of raging billows, on the far out-stretching waters. "rock, o winds, this wondrous vessel, causing not a single ripple; rolling waves, bear ye me northward, that the oar may not be needed in my journey to pohyola, o'er this mighty waste of waters." ilmarinen's beauteous sister, fair and goodly maid, annikki, of the night and dawn, the daughter, who awakes each morning early, rises long before the daylight, stood one morning on the sea-shore, washing in the foam her dresses, rinsing out her silken ribbons, on the bridge of scarlet color, on the border of the highway, on a headland jutting seaward, on the forest-covered island. here annikki, looking round her, looking through the fog and ether, looking through the clouds of heaven, gazing far out on the blue-sea, sees the morning sun arising, glimmering along the billows, looks with eyes of distant vision toward the sunrise on the waters, toward the winding streams of suomi, where the wina-waves were flowing. there she sees, on the horizon, something darkle in the sunlight, something blue upon the billows, speaks these words in wonder guessing: what is this upon the surges, what this blue upon the waters, what this darkling in the sunlight? 'tis perhaps a flock of wild-geese, or perchance the blue-duck flying; then upon thy wings arising, fly away to highest heaven. "art thou then a shoal of sea-trout, or perchance a school of salmon? dive then to the deep sea-bottom, in the waters swim and frolic. "art thou then a cliff of granite, or perchance a mighty oak-tree, floating on the rough sea-billows? may the floods then wash and beat thee break thee to a thousand fragments." wainamoinen, sailing northward, steers his wondrous ship of magic toward the headland jutting seaward, toward the island forest-covered. now annikki, goodly maiden, sees it is the magic vessel of a wonderful enchanter, of a mighty bard and hero, and she asks this simple question: "art thou then my father's vessel, or my brother's ship of magic? haste away then to thy harbor, to thy refuge in wainola. hast thou come a goodly distance? sail then farther on thy journey, point thy prow to other waters." it was not her father's vessel, not a sail-boat from the distance, 'twas the ship of wainamoinen, bark of the eternal singer; sails within a hailing distance, swims still nearer o'er the waters, brings one word and takes another, brings a third of magic import. speaks the goodly maid, annikki, of the night and dawn, the daughter, to the sailor of the vessel: "whither sailest, wainamoinen, whither bound, thou friend of waters, pride and joy of kalevala?" from the vessel wainamomen gives this answer to the maiden: "i have come to catch some sea-trout, catch the young and toothsome whiting, hiding in tbese-reeds and rushes." this the answer of annikki: "do not speak to me in falsehood, know i well the times of fishing; long ago my honored father was a fisherman in northland, came to catch the trout and whiting, fished within these seas and rivers. very well do i remember how the fisherman disposes, how he rigs his fishing vessel, lines, and gaffs, and poles, and fish-nets; hast not come a-fishing hither. whither goest, wainamoinen, whither sailest, friend of waters? spake the ancient wainamoinen: "i have come to catch some wild-geese, catch the hissing birds of suomi, in these far-extending borders, in the sachsensund dominions." good annikki gives this answer: "know i well a truthful speaker, easily detect a falsehood; formerly my aged father often came a-hunting hither, came to hunt the hissing wild-geese, hunt the red-bill of these waters. very well do i remember how the hunter rigs his vessel, bows, and arrows, knives, and quiver, dogs enchained within the vessel, pointers hunting on the sea-shore, setters seeking in the marshes, tell the truth now wainamoinen, whither is thy vessel sailing?" spake the hero of the northland: "to the wars my ship is sailing, to the bloody fields of battle, where the streams run scarlet-colored, where the paths are paved with bodies!' these the words of fair annikki: "know i well the paths to battle. formerly my aged father often sounded war's alarum, often led the hosts to conquest; in each ship a hundred rowers, and in arms a thousand heroes, oil the prow a thousand cross-bows, swords, and spears, and battle-axes; know i well the ship of battle. speak do longer fruitless falsehoods, whither sailest, wainamoinen, whither steerest, friend of waters? these the words of wainamoinen: "come, o maiden, to my vessel, in my magic ship be seated, then i'll give thee truthful answer." thus annikki, silver-tinselled, answers ancient wainamoinen: "with the winds i'll fill thy vessel, to thy bark i'll send the storm-winds and capsize thy ship of magic, break in pieces its forecastle, if the truth thou dost not tell me, if thou dost not cease thy falsehoods, if thou dost not tell me truly whither sails thy magic vessel." these the words of wainamoinen: "now i make thee truthful answer, though at first i spake deception: i am sailing to the northland to the dismal sariola, where the ogres live and flourish, where they drown the worthy heroes, there to woo the maid of beauty sitting on the bow of heaven, woo and win the fairy virgin, bring her to my home and kindred, to the firesides of walnola." then aunikki, graceful maiden, of the night and dawn, the daughter, as she heard the rightful answer, knew the truth was fully spoken, straightway left her coats unbeaten, left unwashed her linen garments, left unrinsed her silks and ribbons on the highway by the sea-shore, on the bridge of scarlet color on her arm she threw her long-robes, hastened off with speed of roebuck to the shops of ilmarinen, to the iron-forger's furnace, to the blacksmith's home and smithy, here she found the hero-artist, forging out a bench of iron, and adorning it with silver. soot lay thick upon his forehead, soot and coal upon his shoulders. on the threshold speaks annikki, these the words his sister uses: "ilmarinen, dearest brother, thou eternal artist-forger, forge me now a loom of silver, golden rings to grace my fingers, forge me gold and silver ear-rings, six or seven golden girdles, golden crosslets for my bosom, for my head forge golden trinkets, and i'll tell a tale surprising, tell a story that concerns thee truthfully i'll tell the story." then the blacksmith ilmarinen spake and these the words he uttered: "if thou'lt tell the tale sincerely, i will forge the loom of silver, golden rings to grace thy fingers, forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, six or seven golden girdles, golden crosslets for thy bosom, for thy head forge golden trinkets; but if thou shouldst tell me falsely, i shall break thy beauteous jewels, break thine ornaments in pieces, hurl them to the fire and furnace, never forge thee other trinkets." this the answer of annikki: "ancient blacksmith, ilmarinen, dost thou ever think to marry her already thine affianced, beauteous maiden of the rainbow, fairest virgin of the northland, chosen bride of sariola? shouldst thou wish the maid of beauty, thou must forge, and forge unceasing, hammering the days and nights through; forge the summer hoofs for horses, forge them iron hoofs for winter, in the long nights forge the snow-sledge, gaily trim it in the daytime, haste thou then upon thy journey to thy wooing in the northland, to the dismal sariola; thither journeys one more clever, sails another now before thee, there to woo thy bride affianced, thence to lead thy chosen virgin, woo and win the maid of beauty; three long years thou hast been wooing. wainamoinen now is sailing on the blue back of the waters, sitting at his helm of copper; on the prow are golden carvings, beautiful his boat of magic, sailing fleetly o'er the billows, to the never-pleasant northland, to the dismal sariola." ilmarinen stood in wonder, stood a statue at the story; silent grief had settled o'er him, settled o'er the iron-artist; from one hand the tongs descended, from the other fell the hammer, as the blacksmith made this answer: "good annikki, worthy sister, i shall forge the loom of silver, golden rings to grace thy fingers, forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, six or seven golden girdles, golden crosslets for thy bosom; go and heat for me the bath-room, fill with heat the honey-chambers, lay the faggots on the fire-place, lay the smaller woods around them, pour some water through the ashes, make a soap of magic virtue, thus to cleanse my blackened visage, thus to cleanse the blacksmith's body, thus remove the soot and ashes." then annikki, kindly sister, quickly warmed her brother's bath-room, warmed it with the knots of fir-trees, that the thunder-winds had broken; gathered pebbles from the fire-stream, threw them in the heating waters; broke the tassels from the birch-trees, steeped the foliage in honey, made a lye from milk and ashes, made of these a strong decoction, mixed it with the fat and marrow of the reindeer of the mountains, made a soap of magic virtue, thus to cleanse the iron-artist, thus to beautify the suitor, thus to make the hero worthy. ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, the eternal metal-worker, forged the wishes of his sister, ornaments for fair annikki, rings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops, forged for her six golden girdles, forged a weaving loom of silver, while the maid prepared the bath-room, set his toilet-room in order. to the maid he gave the trinkets, gave the loom of molten silver, and the sister thus made answer: "i have heated well thy bath-room, have thy toilet-things in order, everything as thou desirest; go prepare thyself for wooing, lave thy bead to flaxen whiteness, make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, lave thyself in love's aroma, that thy wooing prove successful." ilmarinen, magic artist, quick repairing to his bath-room, bathed his head to flaxen whiteness, made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy, laved his eyes until they sparkled like the moonlight on the waters; wondrous were his form and features, and his cheeks like ruddy berries. these the words of ilmarinen: "fair annikki, lovely sister, bring me now my silken raiment, bring my best and richest vesture, bring me now my softest linen, that my wooing prove successful." straightway did the helpful sister bring the finest of his raiment, bring the softest of his linen, raiment fashioned by his mother; brought to him his silken stockings, brought him shoes of marten-leather, brought a vest of sky-blue color, brought him scarlet-colored trousers, brought a coat with scarlet trimming, brought a red shawl trimmed in ermine fourfold wrapped about his body; brought a fur-coat made of seal-skin, fastened with a thousand bottons, and adorned with countless jewels; brought for him his magic girdle, fastened well with golden buckles, that his artist-mother fashioned; brought him gloves with golden wristlets, that the laplanders had woven for a head of many ringlets; brought the finest cap in northland, that his ancient father purchased when he first began his wooing. ilmarinen, blacksmith-artist, clad himself to look his finest, when he thus addressed a servant: "hitch for me a fleet-foot racer, hitch him to my willing snow-sledge, for i start upon a journey to the distant shores of pohya, to the dismal sariola." spake the servant thus in answer: "thou hast seven fleet-foot racers, munching grain within their mangers, which of these shall i make ready?" spake the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "take the fleetest of my coursers, put the gray steed in the harness, hitch him to my sledge of magic; place six cuckoos on the break-board, seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, thus to charm the northland maidens, thus to make them look and listen, as the cuckoos call and echo. bring me too my largest bear-skin, fold it warm about the cross-bench; bring me then my marten fur-robes, as a cover and protection." straightway then the trusty servant of the blacksmith, ilmarinen, put the gray steed in the harness, hitched the racer to the snow-sledge, placed six cuckoos on the break-board, seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, on the front to sing and twitter; then he brought the largest bear-skin, folded it upon the cross-bench; brought the finest robes of marten, warm protection for the master. ilmarinen, forger-artist, the eternal metal-worker, earnestly entreated ukko: "send thy snow-flakes, ukko, father, let them gently fall from heaven, let them cover all the heather, let them hide the berry-bushes, that my sledge may glide in freedom o'er the hills to sariola!" ukko sent the snow from heaven, gently dropped the crystal snow-flakes, lending thus his kind assistance to the hero, ilmarinen, on his journey to the northland. reins in hand, the ancient artist seats him in his metal snow-sledge, and beseeches thus his master: "good luck to my reins and traces, good luck to my shafts and runners! god protect my magic snow-sledge, be my safeguard on my journey to the dismal sariola!" now the ancient ilmarinen draws the reins upon the racer, snaps his whip above the courser, to the gray steed gives this order, and the charger plunges northward: "haste away, my flaxen stallion, haste thee onward, noble white-face, to the never-pleasant pohya, to the dreary sariola!" fast and faster flies the fleet-foot, on the curving snow-capped sea-coast, on the borders of the lowlands, o'er the alder-hills and mountains. merrily the steed flies onward, bluebirds singing, cuckoos calling, on the sea-shore looking northward, through the sand and falling snow-flakes blinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam, cloud the hero, ilmarinen, as he glides upon his journey, looking seaward for the vessel of the ancient wainamoinen; travels one day, then a second, travels all the next day northward, till the third day ilmarinen overtakes old wainamoinen, rails him in his magic vessel, and addresses thus the minstrel: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, let us woo in peace the maiden, fairest daughter or the northland, sitting on the bow of heaven, let each labor long to win her, let her wed the one she chooses, him selecting, let her follow." wainamoinen thus makes answer: "i agree to thy proposal, let us woo in peace the maiden, not by force, nor faithless measures, shall we woo the maid of beauty, let her follow him she chooses; let the unsuccessful suitor harbor neither wrath nor envy for the hero that she follows." thus agreeing, on they journey, each according to his pleasure; fleetly does the steed fly onward, quickly flies the magic vessel, sailing on the broad-sea northward; ilmarinen's fleet-foot racer makes the hills of northland tremble, as he gallops on his journey to the dismal sariola. wainamoinen calls the south-winds, and they fly to his assistance; swiftly sails his ship of beauty, swiftly plows the rough sea-billows in her pathway to pohyola. time had gone but little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, ere the dogs began their barking, in the mansions of the northland, in the courts of sariola, watch-dogs of the court of louhi; never had they growled so fiercely, never had they barked so loudly, never with their tails had beaten northland into such an uproar. spake the master of pohyola: "go and learn, my worthy daughter, why the watch-dogs have been barking, why the black-dog signals danger." quickly does the daughter answer: "i am occupied, dear father, i have work of more importance, i must tend my flock of lambkins, i must turn the nether millstone, grind to flour the grains of barley, run the grindings through the sifter, only have i time for grinding." lowly growls the faithful watch-dog, seldom does he growl so strangely. spake the master of pohyola: "go and learn, my trusted consort, why the northland dogs are barking, why the black-dog signals danger." thus his aged wife makes answer; "have no time, nor inclination, i must feed my hungry household, must prepare a worthy dinner, i must bake the toothsome biscuit, knead the dough till it is ready, only have i strength for kneading." spake the master of pohyola: "dames are always in a hurry, maidens too are ever busy, whether warming at the oven, or asleep upon their couches; go my son, and learn the danger, why the black-dog growls displeasure," quickly does the son give answer: "have no time, nor inclination, am in haste to grind my hatchet; i must chop this log to cordwood, for the fire must cut the faggots, i must split the wood in fragments, large the pile and small the fire-wood, only have i strength for chopping." still the watch-dog growls in anger, growl the whelps within the mansion, growl the dogs chained in the kennel, growls the black-dog on the hill-top, setting northland in an uproar. spake the master of pohyola: "never, never does my black-dog growl like this without a reason; never does he bark for nothing, does not growl at angry billows, nor the sighing of the pine-trees." then the master of pohyola went himself to learn the reason for the barking of the watch-dogs; strode he through the spacious court-yard, through the open fields beyond it, to the summit of the uplands. looking toward his black-dog barking, he beholds the muzzle pointed to a distant, stormy hill-top, to a mound with alders covered; there he learned the rightful reason, why his dogs had barked so loudly, why had growled the wool-tail bearer, why his whelps had signalled danger. at full sail, he saw a vessel, and the ship was scarlet-colored, entering the bay of lempo; saw a sledge of magic colors, gliding up the curving sea-shore, o'er the snow-fields of pohyola. then the master of the northland hastened straightway to his dwelling, hastened forward to his court-room, these the accents of the master: "often strangers journey hither, on the blue back of the ocean, sailing in a scarlet vessel, rocking in the bay of lempo; often strangers come in sledges to the honey-lands of louhi." spake the hostess of pohyola: how shall we obtain a token why these strangers journey hither? my beloved, faithful daughter, lay a branch upon the fire-place, let it burn with fire of magic if it trickle drops of scarlet, war and bloodshed do they bring us; if it trickle drops of water, peace and plenty bring the strangers." northland's fair and slender maiden, beautiful and modest daughter, lays a sorb-branch on the fire-place, lights it with the fire of magic; does not trickle drops of scarlet, trickles neither blood, nor water, from the wand come drops of honey. from the corner spake suowakko, this the language of the wizard: "if the wand is dripping honey, then the strangers that are coming are but worthy friends and suitors." then the hostess of the northland, with the daughter of the hostess, straightway left their work, and hastened from their dwelling to the court-yard; looked about in all directions, turned their eyes upon the waters, saw a magic-colored vessel rocking slowly in the harbor, having sailed the bay of lempo, triple sails, and masts, and rigging, sable was the nether portion, and the upper, scarlet-colored, at the helm an ancient hero leaning on his oars of copper; saw a fleet-foot racer running, saw a red sledge lightly follow, saw the magic sledge emblazoned, guided toward the courts of louhi; saw and heard six golden cuckoos sitting on the break-board, calling, seven bluebirds richly colored singing from the yoke and cross-bar; in the sledge a magic hero, young, and strong, and proud, and handsome, holding reins upon the courser. spake the hostess of pohyola: "dearest daughter, winsome maiden, dost thou wish a noble suitor? should these heroes come to woo thee, wouldst thou leave thy home and country, be the bride of him that pleases, be his faithful life-companion? "he that comes upon the waters, sailing in a magic vessel, having sailed the bay of lempo, is the good, old wainamoinen; in his ship are countless treasures, richest presents from wainola. "he that rides here in his snow-sledge in his sledge of magic beauty, with the cuckoos and the bluebirds, is the blacksmith, ilmarinen, cometh hither empty-handed, only brings some wisdom-sayings. when they come within the dwelling, bring a bowl of honeyed viands, bring a pitcher with two handles, give to him that thou wouldst follow give it to old wainamoinen, him that brings thee countless treasures, costly presents in his vessel, priceless gems from kalevala." spake the northland's lovely daughter, this the language of the maiden "good, indeed, advice maternal, but i will not wed for riches, wed no man for countless treasures; for his worth i'll choose a husband, for his youth and fine appearance, for his noble form and features; in the olden times the maidens were not sold by anxious mothers to the suitors that they loved not. i shall choose without his treasures ilmarinen for his wisdom, for his worth and good behavior, him that forged the wondrous sampo, hammered thee the lid in colors." spake the hostess of pohyola: "senseless daughter, child of folly, thus to choose the ancient blacksmith, from whose brow drips perspiration, evermore to rinse his linen, lave his hands, and eyes, and forehead, keep his ancient house in order; little use his wit and wisdom when compared with gold and silver." this the answer of the daughter: "i will never, never, never, wed the ancient wainamoinen with his gold and priceless jewels; never will i be a helpmate to a hero in his dotage, little thanks my compensation." wainamoinen, safely landing in advance of ilmarinen, pulls his gaily-covered vessel from the waves upon the sea-beach, on the cylinders of birch-wood, on the rollers copper-banded, straightway hastens to the guest-room of the hostess of pohyola, of the master of the northland, speaks these words upon the threshold to the famous maid of beauty: "come with me, thou lovely virgin, be my bride and life-companion, share with me my joys and sorrows, be my honored wife hereafter!" this the answer of the maiden: "hast thou built for me the vessel, built for me the ship of magic from the fragments of the distaff, from the splinters of the spindle?" wainamoinen thus replying: "i have built the promised vessel, built the wondrous ship for sailing, firmly joined the parts by magic; it will weather roughest billows, will outlive the winds and waters, swiftly glide upon the blue-back of the deep and boundless ocean it will ride the waves in beauty, like an airy bubble rising, like a cork on lake and river, through the angry seas of northland, through pohyola's peaceful waters." northland's fair and slender daughter gives this answer to her suitor: "will not wed a sea-born hero, do not care to rock the billows, cannot live with such a husband storms would bring us pain and trouble, winds would rack our hearts and temples; therefore thee i cannot follow, cannot keep thy home in order, cannot be thy life-companion, cannot wed old wainamoinen." rune xix. ilmarinen's wooing. ilmarinen, hero-blacksmith, the eternal metal-worker, hastens forward to the court-room of the hostess of pohyola, of the master of the northland, hastens through the open portals into louhi's home and presence. servants come with silver pitchers, filled with northland's richest brewing; honey-drink is brought and offered to the blacksmith of wainola, ilmarinen thus replying: "i shall not in all my life-time taste the drink that thou hast brought me, till i see the maid of beauty, fairy maiden of the rainbow; i will drink with her in gladness, for whose hand i journey hither." spake the hostess of pohyola: "trouble does the one selected give to him that wooes and watches; not yet are her feet in sandals, thine affianced is not ready. only canst thou woo my daughter, only canst thou win the maiden, when thou hast by aid of magic plowed the serpent-field of hisi, plowed the field of hissing vipers, touching neither beam nor handles. once this field was plowed by piru, lempo furrowed it with horses, with a plowshare made of copper, with a beam of flaming iron; never since has any hero brought this field to cultivation." ilmarinen of wainola straightway hastens to the chamber of the maiden of the rainbow, speaks these words in hesitation: "thou of night and dawn the daughter, tell me, dost thou not remember when for thee i forged the sampo, hammered thee the lid in colors? thou didst swear by oath the strougest, by the forge and by the anvil, by the tongs and by the hammer, in the ears of the almighty, and before omniscient ukko, thou wouldst follow me hereafter, be my bride, my life-companion, be my honored wife forever. now thy mother is exacting, will not give to me her daughter, till by means of magic only, i have plowed the field of serpents, plowed the hissing soil of hisi." the affianced bride of beauty gives this answer to the suitor: "o, thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal wonder-forger, forge thyself a golden plowshare, forge the beam of shining silver, and of copper forge the handles; then with ease, by aid of magic, thou canst plow the field of serpents, plow the hissing soil of hisi." ilmarinen, welcome suitor, straightway builds a forge and smithy, places gold within the furnace, in the forge he lays the silver, forges then a golden plowshare, forges, too, a beam of silver, forges handles out of copper, forges boots and gloves of iron, forges him a mail of metal, for his limbs a safe protection, safe protection for his body. then a horse of fire selecting, harnesses the flaming stallion, goes to plow the field of serpents, plow the viper-lands of hisi. in the field were countless vipers, serpents there of every species, crawling, writhing, hissing, stinging, harmless all against the hero, thus he stills the snakes of lempo: "vipers, ye by god created, neither best nor worst of creatures, ye whose wisdom comes from ukko, and whose venom comes from hisi, ukko is your greater master, by his will your heads are lifted; get ye hence before my plowing, writ-he ye through the grass and stubble, crawl ye to the nearest thicket, keep your heads beneath the heather, hunt our holes to mana's kingdom if your poison-heads be lifted, then will mighty ukko smite them 'with his iron-pointed arrows, with the lightning of his anger." thus the blacksmith, ilmarinen, safely plows the field of serpents, lifts the vipers in his plowing, buries them beneath the furrow, harmless all against his magic. when the task had been completed, ilmarinen, quick returning, thus addressed pohyola's hostess: "i have plowed the field of hisi, plowed the field of hissing serpents, stilled and banished all the vipers; give me, ancient dame, thy daughter, fairest maiden of the northland. spake the hostess of pohyola: "shall not grant to thee my daughter, shall not give my lovely virgin, till tuoni's bear is muzzled, till manala's wolf is conquered, in the forests of the death-land, in the boundaries of mana. hundreds have been sent to hunt him, so one yet has been successful, all have perished in manala." thereupon young ilmarinen to the maiden's chamber hastens, thus addresses his affianced: "still another test demanded, i must go to tuonela, bridle there the bear of mana, bring him from the death-land forests, from tuoni's grove and empire! this advice the maiden gives him: "o thou artist, ilmarinen, the eternal metal-worker, forge of steel a magic bridle, on a rock beneath the water, in the foaming triple currents; make the straps of steel and copper, bridle then the bear of mana, lead him from tuoni's forests." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, forged of steel a magic bridle, on a rock beneath the water, in the foam of triple currents; made the straps of steel and copper, straightway went the bear to muzzle, in the forests of the death-land, spake these words in supplication: "terhenetar, ether-maiden, daughter of the fog and snow-flake, sift the fog and let it settle o'er the bills and lowland thickets, where the wild-bear feeds and lingers, that he may not see my coming, may not hear my stealthy footsteps!" terhenetar hears his praying, makes the fog and snow-flake settle on the coverts of the wild-beasts; thus the bear he safely bridles, fetters him in chains of magic, in the forests of tuoni, in the blue groves of manala. when this task had been completed, ilmarinen, quick returning, thus addressed the ancient louhi: "give me, worthy dame, thy daughter, give me now my bride affianced, i have brought the bear of mana from tuoni's fields and forests." spake the hostess of pohyola to the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "i will only give my daughter, give to thee the maid of beauty, when the monster-pike thou catchest in the river of tuoni, in manala's fatal waters, using neither hooks, nor fish-nets, neither boat, nor fishing-tackle; hundreds have been sent to catch him, no one yet has been successful, all have perished in manala." much disheartened, ilmarinen hastened to the maiden's chamber, thus addressed the rainbow-maiden: "now a third test is demanded, much more difficult than ever; i must catch the pike of mana, in the river of tuoni, and without my fishing-tackle, hard the third test of the hero! this advice the maiden gives him: "o thou hero, ilmarinen, never, never be discouraged: in thy furnace, forge an eagle, from the fire of ancient magic; he will catch the pike of mana, catch the monster-fish in safety, from the death-stream of tuoni, from manala's fatal waters." then the suitor, ilmarinen, the eternal artist-forgeman, in the furnace forged an eagle from the fire of ancient wisdom; for this giant bird of magic forged he talons out of iron, and his beak of steel and copper; seats himself upon the eagle, on his back between the wing-bones, thus addresses he his creature, gives the bird of fire, this order: "mighty eagle, bird of beauty, fly thou whither i direct thee, to tuoni's coal-black river, to the blue deeps of the death-stream, seize the mighty fish of mana, catch for me this water-monster." swiftly flies the magic eagle, giant-bird of worth and wonder, to the river of tuoni, there to catch the pike of mana; one wing brushes on the waters, while the other sweeps the heavens; in the ocean dips his talons, whets his beak on mountain-ledges. safely landing, ilmarinen, the immortal artist-forger, hunts the monster of the death-stream, while the eagle hunts and fishes in the waters of manala. from the river rose a monster, grasped the blacksmith, ilmarinen, tried to drag him to his sea-cave; quick the eagle pounced upon him, with his metal-beak he seized him, wrenched his head, and rent his body, hurled him back upon the bottom of the deep and fatal river, freed his master, ilmarinen. then arose the pike of mana, came the water-dog in silence, of the pikes was not the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest; tongue the length of double hatchets, teeth as long as fen-rake handles, mouth as broad as triple streamlets, back as wide as seven sea-boats, tried to snap the magic blacksmith, tried to swallow ilmarinen. swiftly swoops the mighty eagle, of the birds was not the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest; mouth as wide as seven streamlets, tongue as long as seven javelins, like five crooked scythes his talons; swoops upon the pike of mana. quick the giant fish endangered, darts and flounders in the river, dragging down the mighty eagle, lashing up the very bottom to the surface of the river; when the mighty bird uprising leaves the wounded pike in water, soars aloft on worsted pinions to his home in upper ether; soars awhile, and sails, and circles, circles o'er the reddened waters, swoops again on lightning-pinions, strikes with mighty force his talons into the shoulder of his victim; strikes the second of his talons on the flinty mountain-ledges, on the rocks with iron hardened; from the cliffs rebound his talons, slip the flinty rocks o'erhanging, and the monster-pike resisting dives again beneath the surface to the bottom of the river, from the talons of the eagle; deep, the wounds upon the body of the monster of tuoni. still a third time soars the eagle, soars, and sails, and quickly circles, swoops again upon the monster, fire out-shooting from his pinoins, both his eyeballs flashing lightning; with his beak of steel and copper grasps again the pike of mana firmly planted are his talons in the rocks and in his victim, drags the monster from the river, lifts the pike above the waters, from tuoni's coal-black river, from the blue-back of manala. thus the third time does the eagle bring success from former failures; thus at last the eagle catches mana's pike, the worst of fishes, swiftest swimmer of the waters, from the river of tuoni; none could see manala's river, for the myriad of fish-scales; hardly could one see through ether, for the feathers of the eagle, relicts of the mighty contest. then the bird of copper talons took the pike, with scales of silver, to the pine-tree's topmost branches, to the fir-tree plumed with needles, tore the monster-fish in pieces, ate the body of his victim, left the head for ilmarinen. spake the blacksmith to the eagle: "o thou bird of evil nature, what thy thought and what thy motive? thou hast eaten what i needed, evidence of my successes; thoughtless eagle, witless instinct, thus to mar the spoils of conquest!" but the bird of metal talons hastened onward, soaring upward, rising higher into ether, rising, flying, soaring, sailing, to the borders of the long-clouds, made the vault of ether tremble, split apart the dome of heaven, broke the colored bow of ukko, tore the moon-horns from their sockets, disappeared beyond the sun-land, to the home of the triumphant. then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, took the pike-head to the hostess of the ever-dismal northland, thus addressed the ancient louhi: "let this head forever serve thee as a guest-bench for thy dwelling, evidence of hero-triumphs; i have caught the pike of mana, i have done as thou demandest, three my victories in death-land, three the tests of magic heroes; wilt thou give me now thy daughter, give to me the maid of beauty?" spake the hostess of pohyola: "badly is the test accomplished, thou has torn the pike in pieces, from his neck the head is severed, of his body thou hast eaten, brought to me this worthless relic! these the words of ilmarinen: "when the victory is greatest, do we suffer greatest losses! from the river of tuoni, from the kingdom of manala, i have brought to thee this trophy, thus the third task is completed. tell me is the maiden ready, wilt thou give the bride affianced? spake the hostess of pohyola: "i will give to thee my daughter, will prepare my snow-white virgin, for the suitor, ilmarinen; thou hast won the maid of beauty, bride is she of thine hereafter, fit companion of thy fireside, help and joy of all thy lifetime." on the floor a child was sitting, and the babe this tale related. "there appeared within this dwelling, came a bird within the castle, from the east came flying hither, from the east, a monstrous eagle, one wing touched the vault of heaven, while the other swept the ocean; with his tail upon the waters, reached his beak beyond the cloudlets, looked about, and eager watching, flew around, and sailing, soaring, flew away to hero-castle, knocked three times with beak of copper on the castle-roof of iron; but the eagle could not enter. "then the eagle, looking round him, flew again, and sailed, and circled, flew then to the mothers' castle, loudly rapped with heavy knocking on the mothers' roof of copper; but the eagle could not enter. "then the eagle, looking round him, flew a third time, sailing, soaring, flew then to the virgins' castle, knocked again with beak of copper, on the virgins' roof of linen, easy for him there to enter; flew upon the castle-chimney, quick descending to the chamber, pulled the clapboards from the studding, tore the linen from the rafters, perched upon the chamber-window, near the walls of many colors, on the cross-bars gaily-feathered, looked upon the curly-beaded, looked upon their golden ringlets, looked upon the snow-white virgins, on the purest of the maidens, on the fairest of the daughters, on the maid with pearly necklace, on the maiden wreathed in flowers; perched awhile, and looked, admiring, swooped upon the maid of beauty, on the purest of the virgins, on the whitest, on the fairest, on the stateliest and grandest, swooped upon the rainbow-daughter of the dismal sariola; grasped her in his mighty talons, bore away the maid of beauty, maid of fairest form and feature, maid adorned with pearly necklace, decked in feathers iridescent, fragrant flowers upon her bosom, scarlet band around her forehead, golden rings upon her fingers, fairest maiden of the northland." spake the hostess of pohyola, when the babe his tale had ended: "tell me bow, my child beloved, thou hast learned about the maiden, hast obtained the information, how her flaxen ringlets nestled, how the maiden's silver glistened, how the virgin's gold was lauded. shone the silver sun upon thee, did the moonbeams bring this knowledge?" from the floor the child made answer: "thus i gained the information, moles of good-luck led me hither, to the home, of the distinguished, to the guest-room of the maiden, good-name bore her worthy father, he that sailed the magic vessel; better-name enjoyed the mother, she that baked the bread of barley, she that kneaded wheaten biscuits, fed her many guests in northland. "thus the information reached me, thus the distant stranger heard it, heard the virgin had arisen: once i walked within the court-yard, stepping near the virgin's chamber, at an early hour of morning, ere the sun had broken slumber whirling rose the soot in cloudlets, blackened wreaths of smoke came rising from the chamber of the maiden, from thy daughter's lofty chimney; there the maid was busy grinding, moved the handles of the millstone making voices like the cuckoo, like the ducks the side-holes sounded, and the sifter like the goldfinch, like the sea-pearls sang the grindstones. "then a second time i wandered to the border of the meadow in the forest was the maiden rocking on a fragrant hillock, dyeing red in iron vessels, and in copper kettles, yellow. "then a third time did i wander to the lovely maiden's window; there i saw thy daughter weaving, heard the flying of her shuttle, heard the beating of her loom-lathe, heard the rattling of her treddles, heard the whirring of her yarn-reel." spake the hostess of pohyola: "now alas! beloved daughter, i have often taught this lesson: 'do not sing among the pine-trees, do not call adown the valleys, do not hang thy head in walking, do not bare thine arms, nor shoulders, keep the secrets of thy bosom, hide thy beauty and thy power.' "this i told thee in the autumn, taught thee in the summer season, sang thee in the budding spring-time, sang thee when the snows were falling: 'let us build a place for hiding, let us build the smallest windows, where may weave my fairest daughter, where my maid may ply her shuttle, where my joy may work unnoticed by the heroes of the northland, by the suitors of wainola.'" from the floor the child made answer, fourteen days the young child numbered; "easy 'tis to hide a war-horse in the northland fields and stables; hard indeed to hide a maiden, having lovely form and features! build of stone a distant castle in the middle of the ocean, keep within thy lovely maiden, train thou there thy winsome daughter, not long hidden canst thou keep her. maidens will not grow and flourish, kept apart from men and heroes, will not live without their suitors, will not thrive without their wooers; thou canst never hide a maiden, neither on the land nor water." now the ancient wainamoinen, head down-bent and heavy-hearted, wanders to his native country, to wainola's peaceful meadows, to the plains of kalevala, chanting as he journeys homeward: "i have passed the age for wooing, woe is me, rejected suitor, woe is me, a witless minstrel, that i did not woo and marry, when my face was young and winsome, when my hand was warm and welcome! youth dethrones my age and station, wealth is nothing, wisdom worthless, when a hero goes a-wooing with a poor but younger brother. fatal error that a hero does not wed in early manhood, in his youth does not be master of a worthy wife and household." thus the ancient wainamoinen sends the edict to his people: "old men must not go a-wooing, must not swim the sea of anger, must not row upon a wager, must not run a race for glory, with the younger sons of northland." rune xx. the brewing of beer. now we sing the wondrous legends, songs of wedding-feasts and dances, sing the melodies of wedlock, sing the songs of old tradition; sing of ilmarinen's marriage to the maiden of the rainbow, fairest daughter of the northland, sing the drinking-songs of pohya. long prepared they for the wedding in pohyola's halls and chambers, in the courts of sariola; many things that louhi ordered, great indeed the preparations for the marriage of the daughter, for the feasting of the heroes, for the drinking of the strangers, for the feeding of the poor-folk, for the people's entertainment. grew an ox in far karjala, not the largest, nor the smallest, was the ox that grew in suomi; but his size was all-sufficient, for his tail was sweeping jamen, and his head was over kemi, horns in length a hundred fathoms, longer than the horns his mouth was; seven days it took a weasel to encircle neck and shoulders; one whole day a swallow journeyed from one horn-tip to the other, did not stop between for resting. thirty days the squirrel travelled from the tail to reach the shoulders, but he could not gain the horn-tip till the moon had long passed over. this young ox of huge dimensions, this great calf of distant suomi, was conducted from karjala to the meadows of pohyola; at each horn a hundred heroes, at his head and neck a thousand. when the mighty ox was lassoed, led away to northland pastures, peacefully the monster journeyed by the bays of sariola, ate the pasture on the borders; to the clouds arose his shoulders, and his horns to highest heaven. not in all of sariola could a butcher be discovered that could kill the ox for louhi, none of all the sons of northland, in her hosts of giant people, in her rising generation, in the hosts of those grown older. came a hero from a distance, wirokannas from karelen, and these words the gray-beard uttered: "wait, o wait, thou ox of suomi, till i bring my ancient war-club; then i'll smite thee on thy forehead, break thy skull, thou willing victim! nevermore wilt thou in summer browse the woods of sariola, bare our pastures, fields, and forests; thou, o ox, wilt feed no longer through the length and breadth of northland, on the borders of this ocean!" when the ancient wirokannas started out the ox to slaughter, when palwoinen swung his war-club, quick the victim turned his forehead, flashed his flaming eyes upon him; to the fir-tree leaped the hero, in the thicket hid palwoinen, hid the gray-haired wirokannas. everywhere they seek a butcher, one to kill the ox of suomi, in the country of karelen, and among the suomi-giants, in the quiet fields of ehstland, on the battle-fields of sweden, mid the mountaineers of lapland, in the magic fens of turya; seek him in tuoni's empire, in the death-courts of manala. long the search, and unsuccessful, on the blue back of the ocean, on the far-outstretching pastures. there arose from out the sea-waves, rose a hero from the waters, on the white-capped, roaring breakers, from the water's broad expanses; nor belonged he to the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest; made his bed within a sea-shell, stood erect beneath a flour-sieve, hero old, with hands of iron, and his face was copper-colored; quick the hero full unfolded, like the full corn from the kernel. on his head a hat of flint-stone, on his feet were sandstone-sandals, in his hand a golden cleaver, and the blade was copper-handled. thus at last they found a butcher, found the magic ox a slayer. nothing has been found so mighty that it has not found a master. as the sea-god saw his booty, quickly rushed he on his victim, hurled him to his knees before him, quickly felled the calf of suomi, felled the young ox of karelen. bountifully meat was furnished; filled at least a thousand hogsheads of his blood were seven boatfuls, and a thousand weight of suet, for the banquet of pohyola, for the marriage-feast of northland. in pohyola was a guest-room, ample was the hall of louhi, was in length a hundred furlongs, and in breadth was nearly fifty; when upon the roof a rooster crowed at break of early morning, no one on the earth could hear him; when the dog barked at one entrance, none could hear him at the other. louhi, hostess of pohyola, hastens to the hall and court-room, in the centre speaks as follows: "whence indeed will come the liquor, who will brew me beer from barley, who will make the mead abundant, for the people of the northland, coming to my daughter's marriage, to her drinking-feast and nuptials? cannot comprehend the malting, never have i learned the secret, nor the origin of brewing." spake an old man from his corner: "beer arises from the barley, comes from barley, hops, and water, and the fire gives no assistance. hop-vine was the son of remu, small the seed in earth was planted, cultivated in the loose soil, scattered like the evil serpents on the brink of kalew-waters, on the osmo-fields and borders. there the young plant grew and flourished, there arose the climbing hop-vine, clinging to the rocks and alders. "man of good-luck sowed the barley on the osmo hills and lowlands, and the barley grew and flourished, grew and spread in rich abundance, fed upon the air and water, on the osmo plains and highlands, on the fields of kalew-heroes. "time had travelled little distance, ere the hops in trees were humming, barley in the fields was singing, and from kalew's well the water, this the language of the trio: 'let us join our triple forces, join to each the other's powers; sad alone to live and struggle, little use in working singly, better we should toil together.' "osmotar, the beer-preparer, brewer of the drink refreshing, takes the golden grains of barley, taking six of barley-kernels, taking seven tips of hop-fruit, filling seven cups with water, on the fire she sets the caldron, boils the barley, hops, and water, lets them steep, and seethe, and bubble brewing thus the beer delicious, in the hottest days of summer, on the foggy promontory, on the island forest-covered; poured it into birch-wood barrels, into hogsheads made of oak-wood. "thus did osmotar of kalew brew together hops and barley, could not generate the ferment. thinking long and long debating, thus she spake in troubled accents: 'what will bring the effervescence, who will add the needed factor, that the beer may foam and sparkle, may ferment and be delightful?' kalevatar, magic maiden, grace and beauty in her fingers, swiftly moving, lightly stepping, in her trimly-buckled sandals, steps upon the birch-wood bottom, turns one way, and then another, in the centre of the caldron; finds within a splinter lying from the bottom lifts the fragment, turns it in her fingers, musing: 'what may come of this i know not, in the hands of magic maidens, in the virgin hands of kapo, snowy virgin of the northland!' "kalevatar took the splinter to the magic virgin, kapo, who by unknown force and insight. rubbed her hands and knees together, and produced a snow-white squirrel; thus instructed she her creature, gave the squirrel these directions: 'snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel, flower of the field and forest, haste thee whither i would send thee, into metsola's wide limits, into tapio's seat of wisdom; hasten through the heavy tree-tops, wisely through the thickest branches, that the eagle may not seize thee, thus escape the bird of heaven. bring me ripe cones from the fir-tree, from the pine-tree bring me seedlings, bring them to the hands of kapo, for the beer of osmo's daughter.' quickly hastened forth the squirrel, quickly sped the nimble broad-tail, swiftly hopping on its journey from one thicket to another, from the birch-tree to the aspen, from the pine-tree to the willow, from the sorb-tree to the alder, jumping here and there with method, crossed the eagle-woods in safety, into metsola's wide limits, into tapio's seat of wisdom; there perceived three magic pine-trees, there perceived three smaller fir-trees, quickly climbed the dark-green branches, was not captured by the eagle, was not mangled in his talons; broke the young cones from the fir-tree, cut the shoots of pine-tree branches, hid the cones within his pouches, wrapped them in his fur-grown mittens brought them to the hands of kapo, to the magic virgin's fingers. kapo took the cones selected, laid them in the beer for ferment, but it brought no effervescence, and the beer was cold and lifeless. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, kapo, brewer of the liquor, deeply thought and long considered: 'what will bring the effervescence, who will lend me aid efficient, that the beer may foam and sparkle, may ferment and be refreshing?' "kalevatar, sparkling maiden, grace and beauty in her fingers, softly moving, lightly stepping, in her trimly-buckled sandals, steps again upon the bottom, turns one way and then another, in the centre of the caldron, sees a chip upon the bottom, takes it from its place of resting, looks upon the chip and muses 'what may come of this i know not, in the hands of mystic maidens, in the hands of magic kapo, in the virgin's snow-white fingers.' "kalevatar took the birch-chip to the magic maiden, kapo, gave it to the white-faced maiden. kapo, by the aid of magic, rubbed her hands and knees together, and produced a magic marten, and the marten, golden-breasted; thus instructed she her creature, gave the marten these directions. 'thou, my golden-breasted marten, thou my son of golden color, haste thou whither i may send thee, to the bear-dens of the mountain, to the grottoes of the growler, gather yeast upon thy fingers, gather foam from lips of anger, from the lips of bears in battle, bring it to the hands of kapo, to the hands of osmo's daughter.' "then the marten golden-breasted, full consenting, hastened onward, quickly bounding on his journey, lightly leaping through the distance leaping o'er the widest rivers, leaping over rocky fissures, to the bear-dens of the mountain, to the grottoes of the growler, where the wild-bears fight each other, where they pass a dread existence, iron rocks, their softest pillows, in the fastnesses of mountains; from their lips the foam was dripping, from their tongues the froth of anger; this the marten deftly gathered, brought it to the maiden, kapo, laid it in her dainty fingers. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, brewer of the beer of barley, used the beer-foam as a ferment; but it brought no effervescence, did not make the liquor sparkle. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, thought again, and long debated: 'who or what will bring the ferment, th at my beer may not be lifeless?' "kalevatar, magic maiden, grace and beauty in her fingers, softly moving, lightly stepping, in her trimly-buckled sandals, steps again upon the bottom, turns one way and then another, in the centre of the caldron, sees a pod upon the bottom, lifts it in her snow-white fingers, turns it o'er and o'er, and muses: 'what may come of this i know not, in the hands of magic maidens, in the hands of mystic kapo, in the snowy virgin's fingers?' "kalevatar, sparkling maiden, gave the pod to magic kapo; kapo, by the aid of magic, rubbed the pod upon her knee-cap, and a honey-bee came flying from the pod within her fingers, kapo thus addressed her birdling: 'little bee with honeyed winglets, king of all the fragrant flowers, fly thou whither i direct thee, to the islands in the ocean, to the water-cliffs and grottoes, where asleep a maid has fallen, girdled with a belt of copper by her side are honey-grasses, by her lips are fragrant flowers, herbs and flowers honey-laden; gather there the sweetened juices, gather honey on thy winglets, from the calyces of flowers, from the tips of seven petals, bring it to the hands of kapo, to the hands of osmo's daughter.' "then the bee, the swift-winged birdling, flew away with lightning-swiftness on his journey to the islands, o'er the high waves of the ocean; journeyed one day, then a second, journeyed all the next day onward, till the third day evening brought him to the islands in the ocean, to the water-cliffs and grottoes; found the maiden sweetly sleeping, in her silver-tinselled raiment, girdled with a belt of copper, in a nameless meadow, sleeping, in the honey-fields of magic; by her side were honeyed grasses, by her lips were fragrant flowers, silver stalks with golden petals; dipped its winglets in the honey, dipped its fingers in the juices of the sweetest of the flowers, brought the honey back to kapo, to the mystic maiden's fingers. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, placed the honey in the liquor; kapo mixed the beer and honey, and the wedding-beer fermented; rose the live beer upward, upward, from the bottom of the vessels, upward in the tubs of birch-wood, foaming higher, higher, higher, till it touched the oaken handles, overflowing all the caldrons; to the ground it foamed and sparkled, sank away in sand and gravel. "time had gone but little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, ere the heroes came in numbers to the foaming beer of northland, rushed to drink the sparkling liquor. ere all others lemminkainen drank, and grew intoxicated on the beer of osmo's daughter, on the honey-drink of kalew. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, kapo, brewer of the barley, spake these words in saddened accents: 'woe is me, my life hard-fated, badly have i brewed the liquor, have not brewed the beer in wisdom, will not live within its vessels, overflows and fills pohyola!' "from a tree-top sings the redbreast, from the aspen calls the robin: 'do not grieve, thy beer is worthy, put it into oaken vessels, into strong and willing barrels firmly bound with hoops of copper.' "thus was brewed the beer or northland, at the hands of osmo's daughter; this the origin of brewing beer from kalew-hops and barley; great indeed the reputation of the ancient beer of kalew, said to make the feeble hardy, famed to dry the tears of women, famed to cheer the broken-hearted, make the aged young and supple, make the timid brave and mighty, make the brave men ever braver, fill the heart with joy and gladness, fill the mind with wisdom-sayings, fill the tongue with ancient legends, only makes the fool more foolish." when the hostess of pohyola heard how beer was first fermented, heard the origin of brewing, straightway did she fill with water many oaken tubs and barrels; filled but half the largest vessels, mixed the barley with the water, added also hops abundant; well she mixed the triple forces in her tubs of oak and birch-wood, heated stones for months succeeding, thus to boil the magic mixture, steeped it through the days of summer, burned the wood of many forests, emptied all the, springs of pohya; daily did the, forests lesson, and the wells gave up their waters, thus to aid the hostess, louhi, in the brewing of the liquors, from the water, hops, and barley, and from honey of the islands, for the wedding-feast of northland, for pohyola's great carousal and rejoicings at the marriage of the malden of the rainbow to the blacksmith, ilmarinen, metal-worker of wainola. smoke is seen upon the island, fire, upon the promontory, black smoke rising to the heavens from the fire upon the island; fills with clouds the half of pohya, fills karelen's many hamlets; all the people look and wonder, this the chorus of the women: "whence are rising all these smoke-clouds, why this dreadful fire in northland? is not like the smoke of camp-fires, is too large for fires of shepherds!" lemminkainen's ancient mother journeyed in the early morning for some water to the fountain, saw the smoke arise to heaven, in the region of pohyola, these the words the mother uttered: "'tis the smoke of battle-heroes, from the beat of warring armies!" even ahti, island-hero, ancient wizard, lemminkainen, also known as kaukomieli, looked upon the scene in wonder, thought awhile and spake as follows: "i would like to see this nearer, learn the cause of all this trouble, whence this smoke and great confusion, whether smoke from heat of battle, or the bonfires of the shepherds." kaukomieli gazed and pondered, studied long the rising smoke-clouds; came not from the heat of battle, came not from the shepherd bonfires; heard they were the fires of louhi brewing beer in sariola, on pohyola's promontory; long and oft looked lemminkainen, strained in eagerness his vision, stared, and peered, and thought, and wondered, looked abashed and envy-swollen, "o beloved, second mother, northland's well-intentioned hostess, brew thy beer of honey-flavor, make thy liquors foam and sparkle, for thy many friends invited, brew it well for lemminkainen, for his marriage in pohyola with the maiden of the rainbow." finally the beer was ready, beverage of noble heroes, stored away in casks and barrels, there to rest awhile in silence, in the cellars of the northland, in the copper-banded vessels, in the magic oaken hogsheads, plugs and faucets made of copper. then the hostess of pohyola skilfully prepared the dishes, laid them all with careful fingers in the boiling-pans and kettles, ordered countless loaves of barley, ordered many liquid dishes, all the delicacies of northland, for the feasting of her people, for their richest entertainment, for the nuptial songs and dances, at the marriage of her daughter with the blacksmith, ilmarinen. when the loaves were baked and ready. when the dishes all were seasoned, time had gone but little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, ere the beer, in casks imprisoned, loudly rapped, and sang, and murmured: "come, ye heroes, come and take me, come and let me cheer your spirits, make you sing the songs of wisdom, that with honor ye may praise me, sing the songs of beer immortal!" straightway louhi sought a minstrel, magic bard and artist-singer, that the beer might well be lauded, might be praised in song and honor. first as bard they brought a salmon, also brought a pike from ocean, but the salmon had no talent, and the pike had little wisdom; teeth of pike and gills of salmon were not made for singing legends. then again they sought a singer, magic minstrel, beer-enchanter, thus to praise the drink of heroes, sing the songs of joy and gladness; and a boy was brought for singing; but the boy had little knowledge, could not praise the beer in honor; children's tongues are filled with questions, children cannot speak in wisdom, cannot sing the ancient legends. stronger grew the beer imprisoned in the copper-banded vessels, locked behind the copper faucets, boiled, and foamed, and sang, and murmured: "if ye do not bring a singer, that will sing my worth immortal, that will sing my praise deserving, i will burst these bands of copper, burst the heads of all these barrels; will not serve the best of heroes till he sings my many virtues." louhi, hostess of pohyola, called a trusted maiden-servant, sent her to invite the people to the marriage of her daughter, these the words that louhi uttered: "o my trusted, truthful maiden, servant-maid to me belonging, call together all my people, call the heroes to my banquet, ask the rich, and ask the needy, ask the blind and deaf, and crippled, ask the young, and ask the aged; go thou to the hills, and hedges, to the highways, and the by-ways, urge them to my daughter's wedding; bring the blind, and sorely troubled, in my boats upon the waters, in my sledges bring the halting, with the old, and sick, and needy; ask the whole of sariola, ask the people of karelen, ask the ancient wainamoinen, famous bard and wisdom-singer; but i give command explicit not to ask wild lemminkainen, not the island-dweller, ahti!" this the question of the servant: "why not ask wild lemminkainen, ancient islander and minstrel?" louhi gave this simple answer: "good the reasons that i give thee why the wizard, lemminkainen, must not have an invitation to my daughter's feast and marriage ahti courts the heat of battle, lemminkainen fosters trouble, skilful fighter of the virtues; evil thinking, acting evil, he would bring but pain and sorrow, he would jest and jeer at maidens in their trimly buckled raiment, cannot ask the evil-minded!" thus again the servant questions: "tell me how to know this ahti, also known as lemminkainen, that i may not ask him hither; do not know the isle of ahti, nor the home of kaukomieli spake the hostess of pohyola: "easy 'tis to know the wizard, easy find the ahti-dwelling: ahti lives on yonder island, on that point dwells lemminkainen, in his mansion near the water, far at sea his home and dwelling." thereupon the trusted maiden spread the wedding-invitations to the people of pohyola, to the tribes of kalevala; asked the friendless, asked the homeless asked the laborers and shepherds, asked the fishermen and hunters, asked the deaf, the dumb, the crippled, asked the young, and asked the aged, asked the rich, and asked the needy; did not give an invitation to the reckless lemminkainen, island-dweller of the ocean. rune xxi. ilmarinen's wedding-feast. louhi, hostess of the northland, ancient dame of sariola, while at work within her dwelling, heard the whips crack on the fenlands, heard the rattle of the sledges; to the northward turned her glances, turned her vision to the sunlight, and her thoughts ran on as follow: "who are these in bright apparel, on the banks of pohya-waters, are they friends or hostile armies?" then the hostess of the northland looked again and well considered, drew much nearer to examine, found they were not hostile armies, found that they were friends and suitors. in the midst was ilmarinen, son-in-law to ancient louhi. when the hostess of pohyola saw the son-in-law approaching she addressed the words that follow: "i had thought the winds were raging, that the piles of wood were falling, thought the pebbles in commotion, or perchance the ocean roaring; then i hastened nearer, nearer, drew still nearer and examined, found the winds were not in battle, found the piles of wood unshaken, found the ocean was not roaring, nor the pebbles in commotion, found my son-in-law was coming with his heroes and attendants, heroes counted by the hundreds. "should you ask of me the question, how i recognized the bridegroom mid the hosts of men and heroes, i should answer, i should tell you: 'as the hazel-bush in copses, as the oak-tree in the forest, as the moon among the planets; drives the groom a coal-black courser, running like the famished black-dog, flying like the hungry raven, graceful as the lark at morning, golden cuckoos, six in number, twitter on the birchen cross-bow; there are seven bluebirds singing on the racer's hame and collar." noises hear they in the court-yard, on the highway hear the sledges, to the court comes ilmarinen, with his body-guard of heroes; in the midst the chosen suitor, not too far in front of others, not too far behind his fellows. spake the hostess of pohyola: "hie ye hither, men and heroes, haste, ye watchers, to the stables, there unhitch the suitor's stallion, lower well the racer's breast-plate, there undo the straps and buckles, loosen well the shafts and traces, and conduct the suitor hither, give my son-in-law good welcome!" ilmarinen turned his racer into louhi's yard and stables, and descended from his snow-sledge. spake the hostess of pohyola: "come, thou servant of my bidding, best of all my trusted servants, take at once the bridegroom's courser from the shafts adorned with silver, from the curving arch of willow, lift the harness trimmed in copper, tie the white-face to the manger, treat the suitor's steed with kindness, lead him carefully to shelter by his soft and shining bridle, by his halter tipped with silver; let him roll among the sand-hills, on the bottoms soft and even, on the borders of the snow-banks, in the fields of milky color. "lead the hero's steed to water, lead him to the pohya-fountains, where the living streams are flowing, sweet as milk of human kindness, from the roots of silvery birches, underneath the shade of aspens. "feed the courser of the suitor, on the sweetest corn and barley, on the summer-wheat and clover, in the caldron steeped in sweetness; feed him at the golden manger, in the boxes lined with copper, at my manger richly furnished, in the warmest of the stables; tie him with a silk-like halter, to the golden rings and staples, to the hooks of purest silver, set in beams of birch and oak-wood; feed him on the hay the sweetest, feed him on the corn nutritious, give the best my barns can furnish. "curry well the suitor's courser with the curry-comb of fish-bone, brush his hair with silken brushes, put his mane and tail in order, cover well with flannel blankets, blankets wrought in gold and silver, buckles forged from shining copper. "come, ye small lads of the village, lead the suitor to my chambers, with your auburn locks uncovered, from your hands remove your mittens, see if ye can lead the hero through the door without his stooping, lifting not the upper cross-bar, lowering not the oaken threshold, moving not the birchen casings, great the hero who must enter. "ilmarinen is too stately, cannot enter through the portals, not the son-in-law and bridegroom, till the portals have been heightened; taller by a head the suitor than the door-ways of the mansion." quick the servants of pohyola tore away the upper cross-bar, that his cap might not be lifted; made the oaken threshold lower that the hero might not stumble; made the birch-wood portals wider, opened full the door of welcome, easy entrance for the suitor. speaks the hostess of the northland as the bridegroom freely passes through the doorway of her dwelling: "thanks are due to thee, o ukko, that my son-in-law has entered! let me now my halls examine; make the bridal chambers ready, finest linen on my tables, softest furs upon my benches, birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness, all my rooms in perfect order." then the hostess of pohyola visited her spacious dwelling, did not recognize her chambers; every room had been remodeled, changed by force of mighty magic; all the halls were newly burnished, hedge-hog bones were used for ceilings, bones of reindeer for foundations, bones of wolverine for door-sills, for the cross-bars bones of roebuck, apple-wood were all the rafters, alder-wood, the window-casings, scales of trout adorned the windows, and the fires were set in flowers. all the seats were made of silver, all the floors of copper-tiling, gold-adorned were all the tables, on the floor were silken mattings, every fire-place set in copper, every hearth-stone cut from marble, on each shelf were colored sea-shells, kalew's tree was their protection. to the court-room came the hero, chosen suitor from wainola, these the words of ilmarinen: "send, o ukko, health and pleasure to this ancient home and dwelling, to this mansion richly fashioned!" spake the hostess of pohyola: "let thy coming be auspicious to these halls of thee unworthy, to the home of thine affianced, to this dwelling lowly fashioned, mid the lindens and the aspens. "come, ye maidens that should serve me, come, ye fellows from the village, bring me fire upon the birch-bark, light the fagots of the fir-tree, that i may behold the bridegroom, chosen suitor of my daughter, fairy maiden of the rainbow, see the color of his eyeballs, whether they are blue or sable, see if they are warm and faithful." quick the young lads from the village brought the fire upon the birch-bark, brought it on the tips of pine-wood; and the fire and smoke commingled roll and roar about the hero, blackening the suitor's visage, and the hostess speaks as follows; "bring the fire upon a taper, on the waxen tapers bring it!" then the maidens did as bidden, quickly brought the lighted tapers, made the suitor's eyeballs glisten, made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy; made his eyes of sable color sparkle like the foam of waters, like the reed-grass on the margin, colored as the ocean jewels, iridescent as the rainbow. "come, ye fellows of the hamlet, lead my son-in-law and hero to the highest seat at table, to the seat of greatest honor, with his back upon the blue-wall, looking on my bounteous tables, facing all the guests of northland." then the hostess of pohyola served her guests in great abundance, richest drinks and rarest viands, first of all she, served the bridegroom on his platters, honeyed biscuit, and the sweetest river salmon, seasoned butter, roasted bacon, all the dainties of pohyola. then the helpers served the others, filled the plates of all invited with the varied food of northland. spake the hostess of pohyola: "come, ye maidens from the village, hither bring the beer in pitchers, in the urns with double handles, to the many guests in-gathered, ere all others, serve the bridegroom." thereupon the merry maidens brought the beer in silver pitchers from the copper-banded vessels, for the wedding-guests assembled; and the beer, fermenting, sparkled on the beard of ilmarinen, on the beards of many heroes. when the guests had all partaken of the wondrous beer of barley, spake the beer in merry accents through the tongues of the magicians, through the tongue of many a hero, through the tongue of wainamoinen, famed to be the sweetest singer of the northland bards and minstrels, these the words of the enchanter: "o thou beer of honeyed flavor, let us not imbibe in silence, let some hero sing thy praises, sing thy worth in golden measures; let the hostess start the singing, let the bridegroom sound thy virtues! have our songs thus quickly vanished, have our joyful tongues grown silent? evil then has been the brewing, then the beer must be unworthy, that it does not cheer the singer, does not move the merry minstrel, that the golden guests are joyless, and the cuckoo is not singing. never will these benches echo till the bench-guests chant thy virtues; nor the floor resound thy praises till the floor-guests sing in concord; nor the windows join the chorus till the window-guests have spoken; all the tables will keep silence till the heroes toast thy virtues; little singing from the chimney till the chimney-guests have chanted." on the floor a child was sitting, thus the little boy made answer: "i am small and young in singing, have perchance but little wisdom; be that as it may, my seniors, since the elder minstrels sing not, nor the heroes chant their legends, nor the hostess lead the singing, i will sing my simple stories, sing my little store of knowledge, to the pleasure of the evening, to the joy of the invited." near the fire reclined an old man, and the gray-beard thus made answer: "not the time for children's singing, children's wisdom is too ready, children's songs are filled with trifles, filled with shrewd and vain deceptions, maiden-songs are full of follies; leave the songs and incantations to the ancient wizard-singers; leave the tales of times primeval to the minstrel of wainola, to the hero of the northland, to the, ancient wainamoinen." thereupon osmoinen answered: "are there not some sweeter singers in this honored congregation, that will clasp their hands together, sing the ancient songs unbroken, thus begin the incantations, make these ancient halls re-echo for the pleasure of the evening, for the joy of the in-gathered?" from the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard "not a singer of pohyola, not a minstrel, nor magician, that was better skilled in chanting legends of the days departed, than was i when i was singing, in my years of vain ambition; then i chanted tales of heroes, on the blue back of the waters, sang the ballads of my people, in the vales and on the mountains, through the verdant fields and forests; sweet my voice and skilled my singing, all my songs were highly lauded, rippled like the quiet rivers, easy-flowing like the waters, easy-gliding as the snow-shoes, like the ship upon the ocean. "woe is me, my days are ended, would not recognize my singing, all its sweetness gone to others, flows no more like rippling waters, makes no more the hills re-echo! now my songs are full of discord, like the rake upon the stubble, like the sledge upon the gravel, like the boat upon the sea-shore!" then the ancient wainamoinen spake these words in magic measures: "since no other bard appeareth that will clasp my hand in singing, i will sing some simple legends, sing my, garnered store of wisdom, make these magic halls re-echo with my tales of ancient story, since a bard i was created, born an orator and singer; do not ask the ways of others, follow not the paths of strangers." wainamoinen, famous minstrel, song's eternal, wise supporter, then began the songs of pleasure, made the halls resound with joyance, filled the rooms with wondrous singing; sang the ancient bard-magician all the oldest wisdom-sayings, did not fail in voice nor legends, all the wisest thoughts remembered. thus the ancient wainamoinen sang the joy of all assembled, to the pleasure of the evening, to the merriment of maidens, to the happiness of heroes; all the guests were stilled in wonder at the magic of his singing, at the songs of the magician. spake again wise wainamoinen, when his wonder-tales had ended: "l have little worth or power, am a bard of little value, little consequence my singing, mine abilities as nothing, if but ukko, my creator, should intone his wisdom-sayings, sing the source of good and evil, sing the origin of matter, sing the legends of omniscience, sing his songs in full perfection. god could sing the floods to honey, sing the sands to ruddy berries, sing the pebbles into barley, sing to beer the running waters, sing to salt the rocks of ocean, into corn-fields sing the forests, into gold the forest-fruitage, sing to bread the hills and mountains, sing to eggs the rounded sandstones; he could touch the springs of magic, he could turn the keys of nature, and produce within thy pastures, hurdles filled with sheep and reindeer, stables filled with fleet-foot stallions, kine in every field and fallow; sing a fur-robe for the bridegroom, for the bride a coat of ermine, for the hostess, shoes of silver, for the hero, mail of copper. "grant o ukko, my creator, god of love, and truth, and justice, grant thy blessing on our feasting, bless this company assembled, for the good of sariola, for the happiness of northland! may this bread and beer bring joyance, may they come in rich abundance, may they carry full contentment to the people of pohyola, to the cabin and the mansion; may the hours we spend in singing, in the morning, in the evening, fill our hearts with joy and gladness! hear us in our supplications, grant to us thy needed blessings, send enjoyment, health, and comfort, to the people here assembled, to the host and to the hostess, to the bride and to the bridegroom, to the sons upon the waters, to the daughters at their weavings, to the hunters on the mountains, to the shepherds in the fenlands, that our lives may end in honor, that we may recall with pleasure ilmarinen's magic marriage to the maiden of the rainbow, snow-white virgin of the northland." rune xxii. the bride s farewell. when the marriage was completed, when the many guests had feasted, at the wedding of the northland, at the dismal-land carousal, spake the hostess of pohyola to the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "wherefore, bridegroom, dost thou linger, why art waiting, northland hero? sittest for the father's pleasure, for affection of the mother, for the splendor of the maidens, for the beauty of the daughter? noble son-in-law and brother, wait thou longer, having waited long already for the virgin, thine affianced is not ready, not prepared, thy life-companion, only are her tresses braided. "chosen bridegroom, pride of pohya, wait thou longer, having waited long already for the virgin, thy beloved is preparing, only is one hand made ready. "famous artist, ilmarinen, wait still longer, having waited long already for the virgin, thy beloved is not ready, only is one foot in fur-shoes," spake again the ancient louhi: "chosen suitor of my daughter, thou hast thrice in kindness waited, wait no longer for the virgin, thy beloved now is ready, well prepared thy life-companion, fairy maiden of the rainbow. "beauteous daughter, join thy suitor, follow him, thy chosen husband, very near is the uniting, near indeed thy separation. at thy hand the honored bridegroom, near the door he waits to lead thee, guide thee to his home and kindred; at the gate his steed is waiting, restless champs his silver bridle, and the sledge awaits thy presence. "thou wert anxious for a suitor, ready to accept his offer, wert in haste to take his jewels, place his rings upon thy fingers; now, fair daughter, keep thy promise; to his sledge, with happy footsteps, hie in haste to join the bridegroom, gaily journey to the village with thy chosen life-companion, with thy suitor, ilmarinen. little hast thou looked about thee, hast not raised thine eyes above thee, beauteous maiden of the northland, hast thou made a rueful bargain, full of wailing thine engagement, and thy marriage full of sorrow, that thy father's ancient cottage thou art leaving now forever, leaving also friends and kindred, for the, blacksmith, ilmarinen? "o how beautiful thy childhood, in thy father's dwelling-places, nurtured like a tender flower, like the strawberry in spring-time soft thy couch and sweet thy slumber, warm thy fires and rich thy table; from the fields came corn in plenty, from the highlands, milk and berries, wheat and barley in abundance, fish, and fowl, and hare, and bacon, from thy father's fields and forests. "never wert thou, child, in sorrow, never hadst thou grief nor trouble, all thy cares were left to fir-trees, all thy worry to the copses, all thy weeping to the willows, all thy sighing to the lindens, all thy thinking to the aspens and the birches on the mountains, light and airy as the leaflet, as a butterfly in summer, ruddy as a mountain-berry, beautiful as vernal flowers. "now thou leavest home and kindred, wanderest to other firesides, goest to another mother, other sisters, other brothers, goest to a second father, to the servant-folk of strangers, from thy native hills and lowlands. there and here the homes will differ, happier thy mother's hearth-stone; other horns will there be sounded, other portals there swing open, other hinges there be creaking; there the doors thou canst not enter like the daughters of wainola, canst not tend the fires and ovens as will please the minds of strangers. "didst thou think, my fairest maiden, thou couldst wed and on the morrow couldst return, if thou shouldst wish it, to thy father's court and dwelling? not for one, nor two, nor three days, wilt thou leave thy mother's chambers, leave thy sisters and thy brothers, leave thy father's hills and lowlands. long the time the wife must wander, many months and years must wander, work, and struggle, all her life long, even though the mother liveth. great, indeed, must be the changes when thou comest back to pohya, changed, thy friends and nearest kindred, changed, thy father's ancient dwellings, changed, the valleys and the mountains, other birds will sing thy praises!" when the mother thus had spoken, then the daughter spake, departing: "in my early days of childhood often i intoned these measures: 'art a virgin, yet no virgin, guided by an aged mother, in a brother's fields and forests, in the mansion of a father! only wilt become a virgin, only when thou hast a suitor, only when thou wedst a hero, one foot on the father's threshold, and the other for the snow-sledge that will speed thee and thy husband to his native vales and highlands!' "i have wished thus many summers, sang it often in my childhood, hoped for this as for the flowers, welcome as the birds of spring-time. thus fulfilled are all my wishes, very near is my departure, one foot on my father's threshold, and the, other for the journey with my husband to his people; cannot understand the reason that has changed my former feelings, cannot leave thee now with gladness, cannot go with great rejoicing from my dear, old home and kindred, where as maiden i have lingered, from the courts where i was nurtured, from my father's band and guidance, from my faithful mother's counsel. now i go, a maid of sorrow, heavy-hearted to the bridegroom, like the bride of night in winter, like the ice upon the rivers. "such is not the mind of others, other brides of northland heroes; others do not leave unhappy, have no tears, nor cares, nor sorrows, i alas! must weep and murmur, carry to my grave great sadness, heart as dark as death's black river. "such the feelings of the happy, such the minds of merry maidens: like the early dawn of spring-time, like the rising sun in summer no such radiance awaits me, with my young heart filled with terror; happiness is not my portion, like the flat-shore of the ocean, like the dark rift of the storm-cloud, like the cheerless nights of winter! dreary is the day in autumn, dreary too the autumn evening, still more dreary is my future!" an industrious old maiden, ever guarding home and kindred, spake these words of doubtful comfort: "dost thou, beauteous bride, remember, canst thou not recall my counsels? these the words that i have taught thee: 'look not joyfully for suitors, never heed the tongues of wooers, look not in the eyes of charmers, at their feet let fall thy vision. he that hath a mouth for sweetness, he that hath an eye for beauty, offers little that will comfort; lempo sits upon his forehead, in his mouth dwells dire tuoni.' "thus, fair bride, did i advise thee, thus advised my sister's daughter: should there come the best of suitors, noblest wooers, proudest lovers, give to all these wisdom-sayings, let thine answer be as follows: 'never will i think it wisdom, never will it be my pleasure, to become a second daughter, linger with my husband's mother; never shall i leave my father, never wander forth to bondage, at the bidding of a bridegroom: never shall i be a servant, wife and slave to any hero, never will i be submissive to the orders of a husband.' "fairest bride, thou didst not heed me, gav'st no thought to my advices, didst not listen to my counsel; wittingly thy feet have wandered into boiling tar and water, hastened to thy suitor's snow-sledge, to the bear-dens of thy husband, on his sledge to be ill-treated, carried to his native country, to the bondage of his people, there, a subject to his mother. thou hast left thy mother's dwelling, to the schooling of the master; hard indeed the master's teachings, little else than constant torture; ready for thee are his bridles, ready for thy bands the shackles, were not forged for any other; soon, indeed, thou'lt feel the hardness, feel the weight of thy misfortune, feel thy second father's censure, and his wife's inhuman treatment, hear the cold words or thy brother, quail before thy haughty sister. "listen, bride, to what i tell thee: in thy home thou wert a jewel, wert thy father's pride and pleasure, 'moonlight,' did thy father call thee, and thy mother called thee 'sunshine,' 'sea-foam' did thy brother call thee, and thy sister called thee 'flower.' when thou leavest home and kindred goest to a second mother, often she will give thee censure, never treat thee as her daughter, rarely will she give thee counsel, never will she sound thy praises. 'brush-wood,' will the father call thee, 'sledge of rags,' thy husband's mother, 'flight of stairs,' thy stranger brother, 'scare-crow,' will the sister call thee, sister of thy blacksmith-husband; then wilt think of my good counsels, then wilt wish in tears and murmurs, that as steam thou hadst ascended, that as smoke thy soul had risen, that as sparks thy life had vanished. as a bird thou canst not wander from thy nest to circle homeward, canst not fall and die like leaflets, as the sparks thou canst not perish, like the smoke thou canst not vanish. "youthful bride, and darling sister, thou hast bartered all thy friendships, hast exchanged thy loving father, thou hast left thy faithful mother for the mother of thy husband; hast exchanged thy loving brother, hast renounced thy gentle sister, for the kindred of thy suitor; hast exchanged thy snow-white covers for the rocky couch of sorrow; hast exchanged these crystal waters for the waters of wainola; hast renounced these sandy sea-shores for the muddy banks of kalew; northland glens thou hast forsaken for thy husband's barren meadows; thou hast left thy berry-mountains for the stubble-fields and deserts. "thou, o maiden, hast been thinking thou wouldst happy be in wedlock; neither work, nor care, nor sorrow, from this night would be thy portion, with thy husband for protection. not to sleep art thou conducted, not to happiness, nor joyance, wakefulness, thy night-companion, and thy day-attendant, trouble; often thou wilt drink of sorrow, often long for vanished pleasures. "when at home thou hadst no head-gear, thou hadst also little sadness; when thy couch was not of linen, no unhappiness came nigh thee; head-gear brings but pain and sorrow, linen breeds bad dispositions, linen brings but deeps of anguish, and the flax untimely mourning. "happy in her home, the maiden, happy at her father's fireside, like the master in his mansion, happy with her bows and arrows. 'tis not thus with married women; brides of heroes may be likened to the prisoners of moskva, held in bondage by their masters. "as a wife, must weep and labor, carry trouble on both shoulders; when the next hour passes over, thou must tend the fire and oven, must prepare thy husband's dinner, must direct thy master's servants. when thine evening meal is ready, thou must search for bidden wisdom in the brain of perch and salmon, in the mouths of ocean whiting, gather wisdom from the cuckoo, canst not learn it from thy mother, mother dear of seven daughters; cannot find among her treasures where were born the human instincts, where were born the minds of heroes, whence arose the maiden's beauty, whence the beauty of her tresses, why all life revives in spring-time. "weep, o weep, my pretty young bride. when thou weepest, weep sincerely, weep great rivers from thine eyelids, floods of tears in field and fallow, lakelets in thy father's dwelling; weep thy rooms to overflowing, shed thy tears in great abundance, lest thou weepest on returning to thy native hills and valleys, when thou visitest thy father in the smoke of waning glory, on his arm a withered tassel. "weep, o weep, my lovely maiden, when thou weepest, weep in earnest, weep great rivers from thine eyelids; if thou dost not weep sincerely, thou wilt weep on thy returning to thy northland home and kindred, when thou visitest thy mother old and breathless near the hurdles, in her arms a barley-bundle. "weep, o weep, sweet bride of beauty, when thou weepest, weep profusely; if thou dost not weep in earnest, thou wilt weep on thy returning to thy native vales and highlands, when thou visitest thy brother lying wounded by the way-side, in his hand but empty honors. "weep, o weep, my sister's daughter, weep great rivers from thine eyelids; if thou dost not weep sufficient, thou wilt weep on thy returning to the scenes of happy childhood, when thou visitest thy sister lying, prostrate in the meadow, in her hand a birch-wood mallet." when the ancient maid had ended, then the young bride sighed in anguish, straightway fell to bitter weeping, spake these words in deeps of sorrow: "o, ye sisters, my beloved, ye companions of my childhood, playmates of my early summers, listen to your sister's counsel: cannot comprehend the reason, why my mind is so dejected, why this weariness and sadness, this untold and unseen torture, cannot understand the meaning of this mighty weight of sorrow! differently i had thought it, i had hoped for greater pleasures, i had hoped to sing as cuckoos, on the hill-tops call and echo, when i had attained this station, reached at last the goal expectant; but i am not like the cuckoo, singing, merry on the hill-tops; i am like the songless blue-duck, as she swims upon the waters, swims upon the cold, cold ocean, icicles upon her pinions. "ancient father, gray-haired mother, whither do ye wish to lead me, whither take this bride, thy daughter, that this sorrow may pass over, where this heavy heart may lighten, where this grief may turn to gladness? better it had been, o mother, hadst thou nursed a block of birch-wood, hadst thou clothed the colored sandstone, rather than this hapless maiden, for the fulness of these sorrows, for this keen and killing trouble. many sympathizers tell me: 'foolish bride, thou art ungrateful, do not grieve, thou child of sorrow, thou hast little cause for weeping.' "o, deceive me not, my people, do not argue with me falsely, for alas! i have more troubles than the waterfalls have pebbles, than the ingerland has willows, than the suomi-hills have berries; never could the pohya plow-horse pull this mighty weight of sorrow, shaking not his birchen cross-bar, breaking not his heavy collar; never could the northland reindeer heavy shod and stoutly harnessed, draw this load of care and trouble." by the stove a babe was playing, and the young child spake as follows: "why, o fair bride, art thou weeping, why these tears of pain and sadness? leave thy troubles to the elk-herds, and thy grief to sable fillies, let the steeds of iron bridles bear the burden of thine anguish, horses have much larger foreheads, larger shoulders, stronger sinews, and their necks are made for labor, stronger are their bones and muscles, let them bear thy heavy burdens. there is little good in weeping, useless are thy tears of sorrow; art not led to swamps and lowlands, nor to banks of little rivers; thou art led to fields of flowers, led to fruitful trees and forests, led away from beer of pohya to the sweeter mead of kalew. at thy shoulder waits thy husband, on thy right side, ilmarinen, constant friend and life-protector, he will guard thee from all evil; husband ready, steed in waiting, gold-and-silver-mounted harness, hazel-birds that sing and flutter on the courser's yoke and cross-bar; thrushes also sing and twitter merrily on hame and collar, seven bluebirds, seven cuckoos, sing thy wedding-march in concord. "be no longer full of sorrow, dry thy tears, thou bride of beauty, thou hast found a noble husband, better wilt thou fare than ever, by the side of ilmarinen, artist husband, metal-master, bread-provider of thy table, on the arm of the fish-catcher, on the breast of the elk-hunter, by the side of the bear-killer. thou hast won the best of suitors, hast obtained a mighty hero; never idle is his cross-bow, on the nails his quivers hang not, neither are his dogs in kennel, active agents is his bunting. thrice within the budding spring-time in the early hours of morning he arises from his fare-couch, from his slumber in the brush-wood, thrice within the sowing season, on his eyes the deer has fallen, and the branches brushed his vesture, and his locks been combed by fir-boughs. hasten homeward with thy husband, where thy hero's friends await thee, where his forests sing thy welcome. "ilmarinen there possesses all the birds that fly in mid-air, all the beasts that haunt the woodlands, all that feed upon the mountains, all that graze on hill and valley, sheep and cattle by the thousands; sweet the grass upon his meadows, sweet the barley in his uplands, in the lowlands corn abundant, wheat upon the elm-wood fallows, near the streamlets rye is waving, waving grain on many acres, on his mountains gold and silver, rich his mines of shining copper, highlands filled with magic metals, chests of jewels in his store-house, all the wealth of kalevala." rune xxiii. osmotar the bride-adviser now the bride must be instructed, who will teach the maid of beauty, who instruct the rainbow-daughter? osmotar, the wisdom-maiden, kalew's fair and lovely virgin, osmotar will give instructions to the bride of ilmarinen, to the orphaned bride of pohya, teach her how to live in pleasure, how to live and reign in glory, win her second mother's praises, joyful in her husband's dwelling. osmotar in modest accents thus the anxious bride addresses; "maid of beauty, lovely sister, tender plant of louhi's gardens, hear thou what thy sister teaches, listen to her sage instructions: go thou hence, my much beloved, wander far away, my flower, travel on enwrapped in colors, glide away in silks and ribbons, from this house renowned and ancient, from thy father's halls and court-yards haste thee to thy husband's village, hasten to his mother's household; strange, the rooms in other dwellings, strange, the modes in other hamlets. "full of thought must be thy going, and thy work be well considered, quite unlike thy home in northland, on the meadows of thy father, on the high-lands of thy brother, singing through thy mother's fenlands, culling daisies with thy sister. "when thou goest from thy father thou canst take whatever pleases, only three things leave behind thee: leave thy day-dreams to thy sister, leave thou kindness for thy mother, to thy brother leave thy labors, take all else that thou desirest. throw away thine incantations, cast thy sighing to the pine-trees, and thy maidenhood to zephyrs, thy rejoicings to the couches, cast thy trinkets to the children, and thy leisure to the gray-beards, cast all pleasures to thy playmates, let them take them to the woodlands, bury them beneath the mountain. "thou must hence acquire new habits, must forget thy former customs, mother-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's mother, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "thou must hence acquire new habits, must forget thy former customs, father-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's father, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "thou must hence acquire new habits, must forget thy former customs, brother-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's brother, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "thou must hence acquire new habits must forget thy former customs, sister-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's sister, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "never in the course of ages, never while the moonlight glimmers, wickedly approach thy household, nor unworthily, thy servants, nor thy courts with indiscretion; let thy dwellings sing good manners, and thy walls re-echo virtue. after mind the hero searches. and the best of men seek honor, seek for honesty and wisdom; if thy home should be immoral, if thine inmates fail in virtue, then thy gray-beards would be black-dogs in sheep's clothing at thy firesides; all thy women would be witches, wicked witches in thy chambers, and thy brothers be as serpents crawling through thy husband's mansion; all thy sisters would be famous for their evil thoughts and conduct. "equal honors must be given to thy husband's friends and kindred; lower must thy head be bended, than within thy mother's dwelling, than within thy father's guest-room, when thou didst thy kindred honor. ever strive to give good counsel, wear a countenance of sunshine, bear a head upon thy shoulders filled with wise and ancient sayings; open bright thine eyes at morning to behold the silver sunrise, sharpen well thine ears at evening, thus to hear the rooster crowing; when he makes his second calling, straightway thou must rise from slumber, let the aged sleep in quiet; should the rooster fail to call thee, let the moonbeams touch thine eyelids, let the great bear be thy keeper often go thou and consult them, call upon the moon for counsel, ask the bear for ancient wisdom, from the stars divine thy future; when the great bear faces southward, when his tail is pointing northward, this is time to break with slumber, seek for fire within the ashes, place a spark upon the tinder, blow the fire through all the fuel. if no spark is in the ashes, then go wake thy hero-husband, speak these words to him on waking: 'give me fire, o my beloved, give a single spark, my husband, strike a little fire from flintstone, let it fall upon my tinder.' "from the spark, o bride of beauty, light thy fires, and heat thine ovens, in the holder, place the torch-light, find thy pathway to the stables, there to fill the empty mangers; if thy husband's cows be lowing, if thy brother's steeds be neighing, then the cows await thy coming, and the steeds for thee are calling, hasten, stooping through the hurdles, hasten through the yards and stables, feed thy husband's cows with pleasure, feed with care the gentle lambkins, give the cows the best of clover, hay, and barley, to the horses, feed the calves of lowing mothers, feed the fowl that fly to meet thee. "never rest upon the haymow, never sleep within the hurdles, when the kine are fed and tended, when the flocks have all been watered; hasten thence, my pretty matron, like the snow-flakes to thy dwelling, there a crying babe awaits thee, weeping in his couch neglected, cannot speak and tell his troubles, speechless babe, and weeping infant, cannot say that he is hungry, whether pain or cold distresses, greets with joy his mother's footsteps. afterward repair in silence to thy husband's rooms and presence, early visit thou his chambers, in thy hand a golden pitcher, on thine arm a broom of birch-wood, in thy teeth a lighted taper, and thyself the fourth in order. sweep thou then thy hero's dwelling, dust his benches and his tables, wash the flooring well with water. "if the baby of thy sister play alone within his corner, show the little child attention, bathe his eyes and smoothe his ringlets, give the infant needed comforts; shouldst thou have no bread of barley, in his hand adjust some trinket. "lastly, when the week has ended, give thy house a thorough cleansing, benches, tables, walls, and ceilings; what of dust is on the windows, sweep away with broom of birch-twigs, all thy rooms must first be sprinkled, at the dust may not be scattered, may not fill the halls and chambers. sweep the dust from every crevice, leave thou not a single atom; also sweep the chimney-corners, do not then forget the rafters, lest thy home should seem untidy, lest thy dwelling seem neglected. "hear, o maiden, what i tell thee, learn the tenor of my teaching: never dress in scanty raiment, let thy robes be plain and comely, ever wear the whitest linen, on thy feet wear tidy fur-shoes, for the glory of thy husband, for the honor of thy hero. tend thou well the sacred sorb-tree, guard the mountain-ashes planted in the court-yard, widely branching; beautiful the mountain-ashes, beautiful their leaves and flowers, still more beautiful the berries. thus the exiled one demonstrates that she lives to please her husband, tries to make her hero happy. "like the mouse, have ears for hearing, like the hare, have feet for running, bend thy neck and turn thy visage like the juniper and aspen, thus to watch with care thy goings, thus to guard thy feet from stumbling, that thou mayest walk in safety. "when thy brother comes from plowing, and thy father from his garners, and thy husband from the woodlands, from his chopping, thy beloved, give to each a water-basin, give to each a linen-towel, speak to each some pleasant greeting. "when thy second mother hastens to thy husband's home and kindred, in her hand a corn-meal measure, haste thou to the court to meet her, happy-hearted, bow before her, take the measure from her fingers, happy, bear it to thy husband. "if thou shouldst not see distinctly what demands thy next attention, ask at once thy hero's mother: 'second mother, my beloved, name the task to be accomplished by thy willing second daughter, tell me how to best perform it.' "this should be the mother's answer: 'this the manner of thy workings, thus thy daily work accomplish: stamp with diligence and courage, grind with will and great endurance, set the millstones well in order, fill the barley-pans with water, knead with strength the dough for baking, place the fagots on the fire-place, that thy ovens may be heated, bake in love the honey-biscuit, bake the larger loaves of barley, rinse to cleanliness thy platters, polish well thy drinking-vessels. "if thou hearest from the mother, from the mother of thy husband, that the cask for meal is empty, take the barley from the garners, hasten to the rooms for grinding. when thou grindest in the chambers, do not sing in glee and joyance, turn the grinding-stones in silence, to the mill give up thy singing, let the side-holes furnish music; do not sigh as if unhappy, do not groan as if in trouble, lest the father think thee weary, lest thy husband's mother fancy that thy groans mean discontentment, that thy sighing means displeasure. quickly sift the flour thou grindest, take it to the casks in buckets, bake thy hero's bread with pleasure, knead the dough with care and patience, that thy biscuits may be worthy, that the dough be light and airy. "shouldst thou see a bucket empty, take the bucket on thy shoulder, on thine arm a silver-dipper, hasten off to fill with water from the crystal river flowing; gracefully thy bucket carry, bear it firmly by the handles, hasten houseward like the zephyrs, hasten like the air of autumn; do not tarry near the streamlet, at the waters do not linger, that the father may not fancy, nor the ancient dame imagine, that thou hast beheld thine image, hast admired thy form and features, hast admired thy grace and beauty in the mirror of the fountain, in the crystal streamlet's eddies. "shouldst thou journey to the woodlands, there to gather aspen-fagots, do not go with noise and bustle, gather all thy sticks in silence, gather quietly the birch-wood, that the father may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, that thy calling came from anger, and thy noise from discontentment. "if thou goest to the store-house to obtain the flour of barley, do not tarry on thy journey, on the threshold do not linger, that the father may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, that the meal thou hast divided with the women of the village. "if thou goest to the river, there to wash thy birchen platters, there to cleanse thy pans and buckets, lest thy work be done in neatness, rinse the sides, and rinse the handles, rinse thy pitchers to perfection, spoons, and forks, and knives, and goblets, rinse with care thy cooking-vessels, closely watch the food-utensils, that the dogs may not deface them, that the kittens may not mar them, that the eagles may not steal them, that the children may not break them; many children in the village, many little heads and fingers, that will need thy careful watching, lest they steal the things of value. "when thou goest to thy bathing, have the brushes ready lying in the bath-room clean and smokeless; do not, linger in the water, at thy bathing do not tarry, that the father may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, thou art sleeping on the benches, rolling in the laps of comfort. "from thy bath, when thou returnest, to his bathing tempt the father, speak to him the words that follow: 'father of my hero-husband, clean are all the bath-room benches, everything in perfect order; go and bathe for thine enjoyment, pour the water all-sufficient, i will lend thee needed service.' "when the time has come for spinning, when the hours arrive for weaving, do not ask the help of others, look not in the stream for knowledge, for advice ask not the servants, nor the spindle from the sisters, nor the weaving-comb from strangers. thou thyself must do the spinning, with thine own hand ply the shuttle, loosely wind the skeins of wool-yarn, tightly wind the balls of flax-thread, wind them deftly in the shuttle fit the warp upon the rollers, beat the woof and warp together, swiftly ply the weaver's shuttle, weave good cloth for all thy vestments, weave of woolen, webs for dresses from the finest wool of lambkins, one thread only in thy weaving. "hear thou what i now advise thee: brew thy beer from early barley, from the barley's new-grown kernels, brew it with the magic virtues, malt it with the sweets of honey, do not stir it with the birch-rod, stir it with thy skilful fingers; when thou goest to the garners, do not let the seed bring evil, keep the dogs outside the brew-house, have no fear of wolves in hunger, nor the wild-beasts of the mountains, when thou goest to thy brewing, shouldst thou wander forth at midnight. "should some stranger come to see thee, do not worry for his comfort; ever does the worthy household have provisions for the stranger, bits of meat, and bread, and biscuit, ample for the dinner-table; seat the stranger in thy dwelling, speak with him in friendly accents, entertain the guest with kindness, while his dinner is preparing. when the stranger leaves thy threshold, when his farewell has been spoken, lead him only to the portals, do not step without the doorway, that thy husband may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, thou hast interest in strangers. "shouldst thou ever make a journey to the centre of the village, there to gain some needed object, while thou speakest in the hamlet, let thy words be full of wisdom, that thou shamest not thy kindred, nor disgrace thy husband's household. "village-maidens oft will ask thee, mothers of the hamlet question: 'does thy husband's mother greet thee as in childhood thou wert greeted, in thy happy home in pohya?' do not answer in negation, say that she has always given thee the best of her provisions, given thee the kindest greetings, though it be but once a season. "listen well to what i tell thee: as thou goest from thy father to thy husband's distant dwelling, thou must not forget thy mother, her that gave thee life and beauty, her that nurtured thee in childhood, many sleepless nights she nursed thee; often were her wants neglected, numberless the times she rocked thee; tender, true, and ever faithful, is the mother to her daughter. she that can forget her mother, can neglect the one that nursed her, should not visit mana's castle, in the kingdom of tuoni; in manala she would suffer, suffer frightful retribution, should her mother be forgotten; should her dear one be neglected, mana's daughters will torment her, and tuoni's sons revile her, they will ask her much as follows: 'how couldst thou forget thy mother, how neglect the one that nursed thee? great the pain thy mother suffered, great the trouble that thou gavest when thy loving mother brought thee into life for good or evil, when she gave thee earth-existence, when she nursed thee but an infant, when she fed thee in thy childhood, when she taught thee what thou knowest, mana's punishments upon thee, since thy mother is forgotten!'" on the floor a witch was sitting, near the fire a beggar-woman, one that knew the ways of people, these the words the woman uttered: "thus the crow calls in the winter: 'would that i could be a singer, and my voice be full of sweetness, but, alas! my songs are worthless, cannot charm the weakest creature; i must live without the singing leave the songs to the musicians, those that live in golden houses, in the homes of the beloved; homeless therefore i must wander, like a beggar in the corn-fields, and with none to do me honor.' "hear now, sister, what i tell thee, enter thou thy husband's dwelling, follow not his mind, nor fancies, as my husband's mind i followed; as a flower was i when budding, sprouting like a rose in spring-time, growing like a slender maiden, like the honey-gem of glory, like the playmates of my childhood, like the goslings of my father, like the blue-ducks of my mother, like my brother's water-younglings, like the bullfinch of my sister; grew i like the heather-flower, like the berry of the meadow, played upon the sandy sea-shore, rocked upon the fragrant upland, sang all day adown the valley, thrilled with song the hill and mountain, filled with mirth the glen and forest, lived and frolicked in the woodlands. "into traps are foxes driven by the cruel pangs of hunger, into traps, the cunning ermine; thus are maidens wooed and wedded, in their hunger for a husband. thus created is the virgin, thus intended is the daughter, subject to her hero-husband, subject also to his mother. "then to other fields i hastened, like a berry from the border, like a cranberry for roasting, like a strawberry for dinner; all the elm-trees seemed to wound me, all the aspens tried to cut me, all the willows tried to seize me, all the forest tried to slay me. thus i journeyed to my husband, thus i travelled to his dwelling, was conducted to his mother. then there were, as was reported, six compartments built of pine-wood, twelve the number of the chambers, and the mansion filled with garrets, studding all the forest border, every by-way filled with flowers streamlets bordered fields of barley, filled with wheat and corn, the islands, grain in plenty in the garners, rye unthrashed in great abundance, countless sums of gold and silver, other treasures without number. when my journey i had ended, when my hand at last was given, six supports were in his cabin, seven poles as rails for fencing. filled with anger were the bushes, all the glens disfavor showing, all the walks were lined with trouble, evil-tempered were the forests, hundred words of evil import, hundred others of unkindness. did not let this bring me sorrow, long i sought to merit praises, long i hoped to find some favor, strove most earnestly for kindness; when they led me to the cottage, there i tried some chips to gather, knocked my head against the portals of my husband's lowly dwelling. "at the door were eyes of strangers, sable eyes at the partition, green with envy in his cabin, evil heroes in the back-ground, from each mouth the fire was streaming, from each tongue the sparks out-flying, flying from my second father, from his eyeballs of unkindness. did not let this bring me trouble, tried to live in peace and pleasure, in the homestead of my husband in humility i suffered, skipped about with feet of rabbit, flew along with steps of ermine, late i laid my head to slumber, early rose as if a servant, could not win a touch of kindness, could not merit love nor honor, though i had dislodged the mountains, though the rocks had i torn open. "then i turned the heavy millstone, ground the flour with care and trouble, ground the barley-grains in patience, that the mother might be nourished, that her fury-throat might swallow what might please her taste and fancy,. from her gold-enamelled platters, from the corner of her table. "as for me, the hapless daughter, all my flour was from the siftings on the table near the oven, ate i from the birchen ladle; oftentimes i brought the mosses gathered in the lowland meadows, baked them into loaves for eating; brought the water from the river, thirsty, sipped it from the dipper, ate of fish the worst in northland, only smelts, and worthless swimmers, rocking in my boat of birch-bark never ate i fish or biscuit from my second mother's fingers. "blades i gathered in the summers, twisted barley-stalks in winter, like the laborers of heroes, like the servants sold in bondage. in the thresh-house of my husband, evermore to me was given flail the heaviest and longest, and to me the longest lever, on the shore the strongest beater, and the largest rake in haying; no one thought my burden heavy, no one thought that i could suffer, though the best of heroes faltered, and the strongest women weakened. "thus did i, a youthful housewife, at the right time, all my duties, drenched myself in perspiration, hoped for better times to follow; but i only rose to labor, knowing neither rest nor pleasure. i was blamed by all the household, with ungrateful tongues derided, now about my awkward manners, now about my reputation, censuring my name and station. words unkind were heaped upon me, fell like hail on me unhappy, like the frightful flash of lightning, like the heavy hail of spring-time. i did not despair entirely, would have lived to labor longer underneath the tongue of malice, but the old-one spoiled lay temper, roused my deepest ire and hatred then my husband grew a wild-bear, grew a savage wolf of hisi. "only then i turned to weeping, and reflected in my chamber, thought of all my former pleasures of the happy days of childhood, of my father's joyful firesides, of my mother's peaceful cottage, then began i thus to murmur: 'well thou knowest, ancient mother, how to make thy sweet bud blossom, how to train thy tender shootlet; did not know where to ingraft it, placed, alas! the little scion in the very worst of places, on an unproductive hillock, in the hardest limb of cherry, where it could not grow and flourish, there to waste its life, in weeping, hapless in her lasting sorrow. worthier had been my conduct in the regions that are better, in the court-yards that are wider, in compartments that are larger, living with a loving husband, living with a stronger hero. shoe of birch-bark was my suitor, shoe of laplanders, my husband; had the body of a raven, voice and visage like the jackdaw, mouth and claws were from the black-wolf, the remainder from the wild-bear. had i known that mine affianced was a fount of pain and evil, to the hill-side i had wandered, been a pine-tree on the highway, been a linden on the border, like the black-earth made my visage, grown a beard of ugly bristles, head of loam and eyes of lightning, for my ears the knots of birches, for my limbs the trunks of aspens.' "this the manner of my singing in the hearing of my husband, thus i sang my cares and murmurs thus my hero near the portals heard the wail of my displeasure, then he hastened to my chamber; straightway knew i by his footsteps, well concluded be was angry, 'knew it by his steps implanted; all the winds were still in slumber, yet his sable locks stood endwise, fluttered round his bead in fury, while his horrid mouth stood open; to and fro his eyes were rolling, in one hand a branch of willow, in the other, club of alder; struck at me with might of malice, aimed the cudgel at my forehead. "when the evening had descended, when my husband thought of slumber took he in his hand a whip-stalk, with a whip-lash made of deer-skin, was not made for any other, only made for me unhappy. "when at last i begged for mercy, when i sought a place for resting, by his side i courted slumber, merciless, my husband seized me, struck me with his arm of envy, beat me with the whip of torture, deer-skin-lash and stalk of birch-wood. from his couch i leaped impulsive, in the coldest night of winter, but the husband fleetly followed, caught me at the outer portals, grasped me by my streaming tresses, tore my ringlets from my forehead, cast in curls upon the night-winds to the freezing winds of winter. what the aid that i could ask for, who could free me from my torment? made i shoes of magic metals, made the straps of steel and copper, waited long without the dwelling, long i listened at the portals, hoping he would end his ravings, hoping he would sink to slumber, but he did not seek for resting, did not wish to still his fury. finally the cold benumbed me; as an outcast from his cabin, i was forced to walk and wander, when i, freezing, well reflected, this the substance of my thinking: 'i will not endure this torture, will not bear this thing forever, will not bear this cruel treatment, such contempt i will not suffer in the wicked tribe of hisi, in this nest of evil piru.' "then i said, 'farewell forever!' to my husband's home and kindred, to my much-loved home and husband; started forth upon a journey to my father's distant hamlet, over swamps and over snow-fields, wandered over towering mountains, over hills and through the valleys, to my brother's welcome meadows, to my sister's home and birthplace. "there were rustling withered pine-trees. finely-feathered firs were fading, countless ravens there were cawing, all the jackdaws harshly singing, this the chorus of the ravens: 'thou hast here a home no longer, this is not the happy homestead of thy merry days of childhood.' "heeding not this woodland chorus, straight i journeyed to the dwelling of my childhood's friend and brother, where the portals spake in concord, and the hills and valleys answered, this their saddened song and echo: 'wherefore dost thou journey hither, comest thou for joy or sorrow, to thy father's old dominions? here unhappiness awaits thee, long departed is thy father, dead and gone to visit ukko, dead and gone thy faithful mother, and thy brother is a stranger, while his wife is chill and heartless!' "heeding not these many warnings, straightway to my brother's cottage were my weary feet directed, laid my hand upon the door-latch of my brother's dismal cottage, but the latch was cold and lifeless. when i wandered to the chamber, when i waited at the doorway, there i saw the heartless hostess, but she did not give me greeting, did not give her hand in welcome; proud, alas! was i unhappy, did not make the first advances, did not offer her my friendship, and my hand i did not proffer; laid my hand upon the oven, all its former warmth departed! on the coal i laid my fingers, all the latent heat had left it. on the rest-bench lay my brother, lay outstretched before the fire-place, heaps of soot upon his shoulders, heaps of ashes on his forehead. thus the brother asked the stranger, questioned thus his guest politely: 'tell me what thy name and station, whence thou comest o'er the waters!' this the answer that i gave him: hast thou then forgot thy sister, does my brother not remember, not recall his mother's daughter we are children of one mother, of one bird were we the fledgelings, in one nest were hatched and nurtured.' "then the brother fell to weeping, from his eyes great tear-drops flowing, to his wife the brother whispered, whispered thus unto the housewife. 'bring thou beer to give my sister, quench her thirst and cheer her spirits.' "full of envy, brought the sister only water filled with evil, water for the infant's eyelids, soap and water from the bath-room. "to his wife the brother whispered, whispered thus unto the housewife: 'bring thou salmon for my sister, for my sister so long absent, thus to still her pangs of hunger.' "thereupon the wife obeying, brought, in envy, only cabbage that the children had been eating, and the house-dogs had been licking, leavings of the black-dog's breakfast. "then i left my brother's dwelling, hastened to the ancient homestead, to my mother's home deserted; onward, onward did i wander, hastened onward by the cold-sea, dragged my body on in anguish, to the cottage-doors of strangers, to the unfamiliar portals, for the care of the neglected, for the needy of the village, for the children poor and orphaned. "there are many wicked people, many slanderers of women, many women evil-minded, that malign their sex through envy. many they with lips of evil, that belie the best of maidens, prove the innocent are guilty of the worst of misdemeanors, speak aloud in tones unceasing, speak, alas! with wicked motives, spread the follies of their neighbors through the tongues of self-pollution. very few, indeed, the people that will feed the poor and hungry, that will bid the stranger welcome; very few to treat her kindly, innocent, and lone, and needy, few to offer her a shelter from the chilling storms of winter, when her skirts with ice are stiffened, coats of ice her only raiment! "never in my days of childhood, never in my maiden life-time, never would believe the story though a hundred tongues had told though a thousand voices sang it, that such evil things could happen, that such misery could follow, such misfortune could befall one who has tried to do her duty, who has tried to live uprightly, tried to make her people happy." thus the young bride was instructed, beauteous maiden of the rainbow, thus by osmotar, the teacher. rune xxiv. the bride's farewell. osmotar, the bride-instructor, gives the wedding-guests this counsel, speaks these measures to the bridegroom: "ilmarinen, artist-brother, best of all my hero-brothers, of my mother's sons the dearest, gentlest, truest, bravest, grandest, listen well to what i tell thee of the maiden of the rainbow, of thy beauteous life-companion bridegroom, praise thy fate hereafter, praise forever thy good fortune; if thou praisest, praise sincerely, good the maiden thou hast wedded, good the bride that ukko gives thee, graciously has god bestowed her. sound her praises to thy father, praise her virtues to thy mother, let thy heart rejoice in secret, that thou hast the bride of beauty, lovely maiden of the rainbow! "brilliant near thee stands the maiden, at thy shoulder thy companion, happy under thy protection, beautiful as golden moonlight, beautiful upon thy bosom, strong to do thy kindly bidding, labor with thee as thou wishest, rake the hay upon thy meadows, keep thy home in full perfection, spin for thee the finest linen, weave for thee the richest fabrics, make for thee the softest raiment, make thy weaver's loom as merry as the cuckoo of the forest; make the shuttle glide in beauty like the ermine of the woodlands; make the spindle twirl as deftly as the squirrel spins the acorn; village-maidens will not slumber while thy young bride's loom is humming, while she plies the graceful shuttle. "bridegroom of the bride of beauty, noblest of the northland heroes, forge thyself a scythe for mowing, furnish it with oaken handle, carve it in thine ancient smithy, hammer it upon thine anvil, have it ready for the summer, for the merry days of sunshine; take thy bride then to the lowlands, mow the grass upon thy meadows, rake the hay when it is ready, make the reeds and grasses rustle, toss the fragrant heads of clover, make thy hay in kalevala when the silver sun is shining. "when the time has come for weaving, to the loom attract the weaver, give to her the spools and shuttles, let the willing loom be worthy, beautiful the frame and settle; give to her what may be needed, that the weaver's song may echo, that the lathe may swing and rattle, ma y be heard within the village, that the aged may remark it, and the village-maidens question: 'who is she that now is weaving, what new power now plies the shuttle?' "make this answer to the question: 'it is my beloved weaving, my young bride that plies the shuttle.' "shall the weaver's weft be loosened, shall the young bride's loom be tightened? do not let the weft be loosened, nor the weaver's loom be tightened; such the weaving of the daughters of the moon beyond the cloudlets; such the spinning of the maidens of the sun in high jumala, of the daughters of the great bear, of the daughters of the evening. bridegroom, thou beloved hero, brave descendant of thy fathers, when thou goest on a journey, when thou drivest on the highway, driving with the rainbow-daughter, fairest bride of sariola, do not lead her as a titmouse, as a cuckoo of the forest, into unfrequented places, into copses of the borders, into brier-fields and brambles, into unproductive marshes; let her wander not, nor stumble on opposing rocks and rubbish. never in her father's dwelling, never in her mother's court-yard, has she fallen into ditches, stumbled hard against the fences, run through brier-fields, nor brambles, fallen over rocks, nor rubbish. "magic bridegroom of wainola, wise descendant of the heroes, never let thy young wife suffer, never let her be neglected, never let her sit in darkness, never leave her unattended. never in her father's mansion, in the chambers of her mother, has she sat alone in darkness, has she suffered for attention; sat she by the crystal window, sat and rocked, in peace and plenty, evenings for her father's pleasure, mornings for her mother's sunshine. never mayest thou, o bridegroom, lead the maiden of the rainbow to the mortar filled with sea-grass, there to grind the bark for cooking, there to bake her bread from stubble, there to knead her dough from tan-bark never in her father's dwelling, never in her mother's mansion, was she taken to the mortar, there to bake her bread from sea-grass. thou shouldst lead the bride of beauty to the garner's rich abundance, there to draw the till of barley, grind the flour and knead for baking, there to brew the beer for drinking, wheaten flour for honey-biscuits. "hero-bridegroom of wainola, never cause thy bride of beauty to regret her day of marriage; never make her shed a tear-drop, never fill her cup with sorrow. should there ever come an evening when thy wife shall feel unhappy, put the harness on thy racer, hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sled; take her to her father's dwelling, to the household of her mother; never in thy hero-lifetime, never while the moonbeams glimmer, give thy fair spouse evil treatment, never treat her as thy servant; do not bar her from the cellar, do not lock thy best provisions never in her father's mansion, never by her faithful mother was she treated as a hireling. honored bridegroom of the northland, proud descendant of the fathers, if thou treatest well thy young wife, worthily wilt thou be treated; when thou goest to her homestead, when thou visitest her father, thou shalt meet a cordial welcome. "censure not the bride of beauty, never grieve thy rainbow-maiden, never say in tones reproachful, she was born in lowly station, that her father was unworthy; honored are thy bride's relations, from an old-time tribe, her kindred; when of corn they sowed a measure, each one's portion was a kernel; when they sowed a cask of flax-seed, each received a thread of linen. never, never, magic husband, treat thy beauty-bride unkindly, teach her not with lash of servants, strike her not with thongs of leather; never has she wept in anguish from the birch-whip of her mother. stand before her like a rampart, be to her a strong protection, do not let thy mother chide her, let thy father not upbraid her, never let thy guests offend her; should thy servants bring annoyance, they may need the master's censure; do not harm the bride of beauty, never injure her thou lovest; three long years hast thou been wooing, hoping every mouth to win her. "counsel with the bride of heaven, to thy young wife give instruction, kindly teach thy bride in secret, in the long and dreary evenings, when thou sittest at the fireside; teach one year, in words of kindness, teach with eyes of love a second, in the third year teach with firmness. if she should not heed thy teaching, should not hear thy kindly counsel after three long years of effort, cut a reed upon the lowlands, cut a nettle from the border, teach thy wife with harder measures. in the fourth year, if she heed not, threaten her with sterner treatment, with the stalks of rougher edges, use not yet the thongs of leather, do not touch her with the birch-whip. if she does not heed this warning, should she pay thee no attention, cut a rod upon the mountains, or a willow in the valleys, hide it underneath thy mantle, that the stranger may not see it, show it to thy wife in secret, shame her thus to do her duty, strike not yet, though disobeying. should she disregard this warning, still refuse to heed thy wishes, then instruct her with the willow, use the birch-rod from the mountains in the closet of thy dwelling, in the attic of thy mansion; strike, her not upon the common, do not conquer her in public, lest the villagers should see thee, lest the neighbors hear her weeping, and the forests learn thy troubles. touch thy wife upon the shoulders, let her stiffened back be softened. do not touch her on the forehead, nor upon the ears, nor visage; if a ridge be on her forehead, or a blue mark on her eyelids, then her mother would perceive it, and her father would take notice, all the village-workmen see it, and the village-women ask her 'hast thou been in heat of battle, hast thou struggled in a conflict, or perchance the wolves have torn thee, or the forest-bears embraced thee, or the black-wolf be thy husband, and the bear be thy protector?'" by the fire-place lay a gray-beard, on the hearth-stone lay a beggar, and the old man spake as follows: "never, never, hero-husband, follow thou thy young wife's wishes, follow not her inclinations, as, alas! i did, regretful; bought my bride the bread of barley, veal, and beer, and best of butter, fish and fowl of all descriptions, beer i bought, home-brewed and sparkling, wheat from all the distant nations, all the dainties of the northland; all of this was unavailing, gave my wife no satisfaction, often came she to my chamber, tore my sable locks in frenzy, with a visage fierce and frightful, with her eyeballs flashing anger, scolding on and scolding ever, ever speaking words of evil, using epithets the vilest, thought me but a block for chopping. then i sought for other measures, used on her my last resources, cut a birch-whip in the forest, and she spake in tones endearing; cut a juniper or willow, and she called me 'hero-darling'; when with lash my wife i threatened, hung she on my neck with kisses." thus the bridegroom was instructed, thus the last advices given. then the maiden of the rainbow, beauteous bride of ilmarinen, sighing heavily and moaning, fell to weeping, heavy-hearted, spake these words from depths of sorrow: "near, indeed, the separation, near, alas! the time for parting, near the time for my departure; o the anguish of the parting, o the pain of separation, from these walls renowned and ancient, from this village of the northland, from these scenes of peace and plenty, where my faithful mother taught me, where my father gave instruction to me in my happy childhood, when my years were few and tender! as a child i did not fancy, never thought of separation from the confines of this cottage, from these dear old hills and mountains, but, alas! i now must journey, since i now cannot escape it; empty is the bowl of parting, all the farewell-beer is taken, and my husband's sledge is waiting, with the break-board looking southward, looking from my father's dwelling. "how shall i give compensation, how repay, on my departure, all the kindness of my mother, all the counsel of my father, all the friendship of my brother, all my sister's warm affection? gratitude to thee, dear father, for my former-life and blessings, for the comforts of thy table, for the pleasures of my childhood! gratitude to thee, dear mother, for thy tender care and guidance, for my birth and for my culture, nurtured by thy purest life-blood! gratitude to thee, dear brother, gratitude to thee, sweet sister, to the servants of my childhood, to my many friends and playmates! "never, never, aged father, never, thou, beloved mother, never, ye, my kindred spirits, never harbor care, nor sorrow, never fall to bitter weeping, since thy child has gone to others, to the distant home of strangers, to the meadows of wainola, from her father's fields and firesides. shines the sun of the creator, shines the golden moon of ukko, glitter all the stars of heaven, in the firmament of ether, full as bright on other homesteads; not upon my father's uplands, not upon my home in childhood, shines the star of joyance only. "now the time has come for parting from my father's golden firesides, from my brother's welcome hearth-stone, from the chambers of my sister, from my mother's happy dwelling; now i leave the swamps and lowlands, leave the grassy vales and mountains, leave the crystal lakes and rivers, leave the shores and sandy shallows, leave the white-capped surging billows, where the maidens swim and linger, where the mermaids sing and frolic; leave the swamps to those that wander, leave the corn-fields to the plowman, leave the forests to the weary, leave the heather to the rover, leave the copses to the stranger, leave the alleys to the beggar, leave the court-yards to the rambler, leave the portals to the servant, leave the matting to the sweeper, leave the highways to the roebuck, leave the woodland-glens to lynxes, leave the lowlands to the wild-geese, and the birch-tree to the cuckoo. now i leave these friends of childhood, journey southward with my husband, to the arms of night and winter, o'er the ice-grown seas of northland. "should i once again, returning, pay a visit to my tribe-folk, mother would not hear me calling, father would not see me weeping, calling at my mother's grave-stone, 'weeping o'er my buried father, on their graves the fragrant flowers, junipers and mournful willows, verdure from my mother's tresses, from the gray-beard of my father. "should i visit sariola, visit once again these borders, no one here would bid me welcome. nothing in these hills would greet me, save perchance a few things only, by the fence a clump of osiers, and a land-mark at the corner, which in early youth i planted, when a child of little stature. "mother's kine perhaps will know me, which so often i have watered, which i oft have fed and tended, lowing now at my departure, in the pasture cold and cheerless; sure my mother's kine will welcome northland's daughter home returning. father's steeds may not forget me, steeds that i have often ridden, when a maiden free and happy, neighing now for me departing, in the pasture of my brother, in the stable of my father; sure my father's steeds will know me, bid pohyola's daughter welcome. brother's faithful dogs may know me, that i oft have fed and petted, dogs that i have taught to frolic, that now mourn for me departing, in their kennels in the court-yard, in their kennels cold and cheerless; sure my brother's dogs will welcome pohya's daughter home returning. but the people will not know me, when i come these scenes to visit, though the fords remain as ever, though unchanged remain the rivers, though untouched the flaxen fish-nets on the shores await my coming. "fare thou well, my dear old homestead, fare ye well, my native bowers; it would give me joy unceasing could i linger here forever. now farewell, ye halls and portals, leading to my father's mansion; it would give me joy unceasing could i linger here forever. fare ye well, familiar gardens filled with trees and fragrant flowers; it would give me joy unceasing, could i linger here forever. send to all my farewell greetings, to the fields, and groves, and berries; greet the meadows with their daisies, greet the borders with their fences, greet the lakelets with their islands, greet the streams with trout disporting, greet the hills with stately pine-trees, and the valleys with their birches. fare ye well, ye streams and lakelets, fertile fields, and shores of ocean, all ye aspens on the mountains, all ye lindens of the valleys, all ye beautiful stone-lindens, all ye shade-trees by the cottage, all ye junipers and willows, all ye shrubs with berries laden, waving grass and fields of barley, arms of elms, and oaks, and alders, fare ye well, dear scenes of childhood, happiness of days departed!" ending thus, pohyola's daughter left her native fields and fallows, left the darksome sariola, with her husband, ilmarinen, famous son of kalevala. but the youth remained for singing, this the chorus of the children: "hither came a bird of evil' flew in fleetness from the forest, came to steal away our virgin, came to win the maid of beauty; took away our fairest flower, took our mermaid from the waters, won her with his youth and beauty, with his keys of ancient wisdom. who will lead us to the sea-beach, who conduct us to the rivers? now the buckets will be idle, on the hooks will rest the fish-poles, now unswept will lie the matting, and unswept the halls of birch-wood, copper goblets be unburnished, dark the handles of the pitchers, fare thou well, dear rainbow maiden." ilmarinen, happy bridegroom, hastened homeward with the daughter of the hostess of pohyola, with the beauty of the northland fleetly flew the hero's snow-sledge, loudly creaked, and roared, and rattled down the banks of northland waters, by the side of honey-inlet, on the back of sandy mountain. stones went rolling from the highway, like the winds the sledge flew onward, on the yoke rang hoops of iron, loud the spotted wood resounded, loudly creaked the bands of willow, all the birchen cross-bars trembled, and the copper-bells rang music, in the racing of the fleet-foot, in the courser's gallop homeward; journeyed one day, then a second, journeyed still the third day onward, in one hand the reins of magic, while the other grasped the maiden, one foot resting on the cross-bar, and the other in the fur-robes. merrily the steed flew homeward, quickly did the highways shorten, till at last upon the third day, as the sun was fast declining, there appeared the blacksmith's furnace, nearer, ilmarinen's dwelling, smoke arising high in ether, clouds of smoke to lofty heaven, from the village of wainola, from the suitor's forge and smithy, from the chimneys of the hero, from the home of the successful. the kalevala the epic poem of finland into english by john martin crawford [ ] book ii contents rune xxv. wainamoinen's wedding-songs rune xxvi. origin of the serpent rune xxvii. the unwelcome guest rune xxviii. the mother's counsel rune xxix. the isle of refuge rune xxx. the frost-fiend rune xxxi. kullerwoinen, son of evil rune xxxii. kullervo as a shepherd rune xxxiii. kullervo and the cheat-cake rune xxxiv. kullervo finds his tribe-folk rune xxxv. kullervo's evil deeds rune xxxvi. kullerwoinen's victory and death rune xxxvii ilmarinen's bride of gold rune xxxviii. ilmarinen's fruitless wooing rune xxxix. wainamoinen's sailing rune xl. birth of the harp rune xli. wainamoinen's harp-songs rune xlii. capture of the sampo rune xliii. the sampo lost in the sea rune xliv. birth of the second harp rune xlv. birth of the nine diseases rune xlvi. otso the honey-eater rune xlvii. louhi steals sun, moon, and fire rune xlviii. capture of the fire-fish rune xlix. restoration of the sun and moon rune l. mariatta--wainamoinen's departure epilogue the kalevala. rune xxv. wainamoinen's wedding-songs. at the home of ilmarinen long had they been watching, waiting, for the coming of the blacksmith, with his bride from sariola. weary were the eyes of watchers, waiting from the father's portals, looking from the mother's windows; weary were the young knees standing at the gates of the magician; weary grew the feet of children, tramping to the walls and watching; worn and torn, the shoes of heroes, running on the shore to meet him. now at last upon a morning of a lovely day in winter, heard they from the woods the rumble of a snow-sledge swiftly bounding. lakko, hostess of wainola, she the lovely kalew-daughter, spake these words in great excitement: "'tis the sledge of the magician, comes at last the metal-worker from the dismal sariola, by his side the bride of beauty! welcome, welcome, to this hamlet, welcome to thy mother's hearth-stone, to the dwelling of thy father, by thine ancestors erected!" straightway came great ilmarinen to his cottage drove the blacksmith, to the fireside of his father, to his mother's ancient dwelling. hazel-birds were sweetly singing on the newly-bended collar; sweetly called the sacred cuckoos from the summit of the break-board; merry, jumped the graceful squirrel on the oaken shafts and cross-bar. lakko, kalew's fairest hostess, beauteous daughter of wainola, spake these words of hearty welcome: "for the new moon hopes the village, for the sun, the happy maidens, for the boat, the swelling water; i have not the moon expected, for the sun have not been waiting, i have waited for my hero, waited for the bride of beauty; watched at morning, watched at evening, did not know but some misfortune, some sad fate had overtaken bride and bridegroom on their journey; thought the maiden growing weary, weary of my son's attentions, since he faithfully had promised to return to kalevala, ere his foot-prints had departed from the snow-fields of his father. every morn i looked and listened, constantly i thought and wondered when his sledge would rumble homeward, when it would return triumphant to his home, renowned and ancient. had a blind and beggared straw-horse hobbled to these shores awaiting, with a sledge of but two pieces, well the steed would have been lauded, had it brought my son beloved, had it brought the bride of beauty. thus i waited long, impatient, looking out from morn till even, watching with my head extended, with my tresses streaming southward, with my eyelids widely opened, waiting for my son's returning to this modest home of heroes, to this narrow place of resting. finally am i rewarded, for the sledge has come triumphant, bringing home my son and hero, by his side the rainbow maiden, red her cheeks, her visage winsome, pride and joy of sariola. "wizard-bridegroom of wainola, take thy-courser to the stable, lead him to the well-filled manger, to the best of grain and clover; give to us thy friendly greetings, greetings send to all thy people. when thy greetings thou hast ended, then relate what has befallen to our hero in his absence. hast thou gone without adventure to the dark fields of pohyola, searching for the maid of beauty? didst thou scale the hostile ramparts, didst thou take the virgin's mansion, passing o'er her mother's threshold, visiting the halls of louhi? "but i know without the asking, see the answer to my question: comest from the north a victor, on thy journey well contented; thou hast brought the northland daughter, thou hast razed the hostile portals, thou hast stormed the forts of louhi, stormed the mighty walls opposing, on thy journey to pohyola, to the village of the father. in thy care the bride is sitting, in thine arms, the rainbow-maiden, at thy side, the pride of northland, mated to the highly-gifted. who has told the cruel story, who the worst of news has scattered, that thy suit was unsuccessful, that in vain thy steed had journeyed? not in vain has been thy wooing, not in vain thy steed has travelled to the dismal homes of lapland; he has journeyed heavy laden, shaken mane, and tail, and forelock, dripping foam from lips and nostrils, through the bringing of the maiden, with the burden of the husband. "come, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge, come, descend thou from the cross-bench, do not linger for assistance, do not tarry to be carried; if too young the one that lifts thee, if too proud the one in waiting, rise thou, graceful, like a young bird, hither glide along the pathway, on the tan-bark scarlet- colored, that the herds of kine have evened, that the gentle lambs have trodden, smoothened by the tails of horses. haste thou here with gentle footsteps, through the pathway smooth and tidy, on the tiles of even surface, on thy second father's court-yard, to thy second mother's dwelling, to thy brother's place of resting, to thy sister's silent chambers. place thy foot within these portals, step across this waiting threshold, enter thou these halls of joyance, underneath these painted rafters, underneath this roof of ages. during all the winter evenings, through the summer gone forever, sang the tiling made of ivory, wishing thou wouldst walk upon it; often sang the golden ceiling, hoping thou wouldst walk beneath it, and the windows often whistled, asking thee to sit beside them; even on this merry morning, even on the recent evening, sat the aged at their windows, on the sea-shore ran the children, near the walls the maidens waited, ran the boys upon the highway, there to watch the young bride's coming, coming with her hero-husband. "hail, ye courtiers of wainola, with the heroes of the fathers, hail to thee, wainola's hamlet, hail, ye halls with heroes peopled, hail, ye rooms with all your inmates, hail to thee, sweet golden moonlight, hail to thee, benignant ukko, hail companions of the bridegroom! never has there been in northland such a wedding-train of honor, never such a bride of beauty. "bridegroom, thou beloved hero, now untie the scarlet ribbons, and remove the silken muffler, let us see the honey-maiden, see the daughter of the rainbow. seven years hast thou been wooing, hast thou brought the maid affianced, wainamoinen's wedding-songs. hast thou sought a sweeter cuckoo, sought one fairer than the moonlight, sought a mermaid from the ocean? but i know without the asking, see the answer to my question: thou hast brought the sweet-voiced cuckoo, thou hast found the swan of beauty plucked the sweetest flower of northland, culled the fairest of the jewels, gathered pohya's sweetest berry!" sat a babe upon the matting, and the young child spake as follows: "brother, what is this thou bringest, aspen-log or trunk of willow, slender as the mountain-linden? bridegroom, well dost thou remember, thou hast hoped it all thy life-time, hoped to bring the maid of beauty, thou a thousand times hast said it, better far than any other, not one like the croaking raven, nor the magpie from the border, nor the scarecrow from the corn-fields, nor the vulture from the desert. what has this one done of credit, in the summer that has ended? where the gloves that she has knitted, where the mittens she has woven? thou hast brought her empty-handed, not a gift she brings thy father; in thy chests the nice are nesting, long-tails feeding on thy vestments, and thy bride, cannot repair them." lakko hostess of wainola, she the faithful kalew-daughter, hears the young child's speech in wonder, speaks these words of disapproval: silly prattler, cease thy talking, thou last spoken in dishonor; let all others be astonished, reap thy malice on thy kindred, must not harm the bride of beauty, rainbow-daughter of the northland. false indeed is this thy prattle, all thy words are full or evil, fallen from thy tongue of mischief from the lips of one unworthy. excellent the hero's young bride, best of all in sariola, like the strawberry in summer, like the daisy from the meadow, like the cuckoo from the forest, like the bluebird from the aspen, like the redbreast from the heather, like the martin from the linden; never couldst thou find in ehstland such a virgin as this daughter, such a graceful beauteous maiden, with such dignity of carriage, with such arms of pearly whiteness, with a neck so fair and lovely. neither is she empty-handed, she has brought us furs abundant, brought us many silken garments, richest weavings of pohyola. many beauteous things the maiden, with the spindle has accomplished, spun and woven with her fingers dresses of the finest texture she in winter has upfolded, bleached them in the days of spring-time, dried them at the hour of noon-day, for our couches finest linen, for our heads the softest pillows, for our comfort woollen blankets, for our necks the silken ribbons." to the bride speaks gracious lakko: "goodly wife, thou maid of beauty, highly wert thou praised as daughter, in thy father's distant country; here thou shalt be praised forever by the kindred of thy husband; thou shalt never suffer sorrow, never give thy heart to grieving; in the swamps thou wert not nurtured, wert not fed beside the brooklets; thou wert born 'neath stars auspicious, nurtured from the richest garners, thou wert taken to the brewing of the sweetest beer in northland. "beauteous bride from sariola, shouldst thou see me bringing hither casks of corn, or wheat, or barley; bringing rye in great abundance, they belong to this thy household; good the plowing of thy husband. good his sowing and his reaping. "bride of beauty from the northland, thou wilt learn this home to manage, learn to labor with thy kindred; good the home for thee to dwell in, good enough for bride and daughter. at thy hand will rest the milk-pail, and the churn awaits thine order; it is well here for the maiden, happy will the young bride labor, easy are the resting-benches; here the host is like thy father, like thy mother is the hostess, all the sons are like thy brothers, like thy sisters are the daughters. "shouldst thou ever have a longing for the whiting of the ocean, for thy, father's northland salmon, for thy brother's hazel-chickens, ask them only of thy husband, let thy hero-husband bring them. there is not in all of northland, not a creature of the forest, not a bird beneath the ether, not a fish within the waters, not the largest, nor the smallests that thy husband cannot capture. it is well here for the maiden, here the bride may live in freedom, need not turn the heavy millstone, need not move the iron pestle; here the wheat is ground by water, for the rye, the swifter current, while the billows wash the vessels and the surging waters rinse them. thou hast here a lovely village, finest spot in all of northland, in the lowlands sweet the verdure, in the uplands, fields of beauty, with the lake-shore near the hamlet, near thy home the running water, where the goslings swim and frolic, water-birds disport in numbers." thereupon the bride and bridegroom were refreshed with richest viands, given food and drink abundant, fed on choicest bits of reindeer, on the sweetest loaves of barley, on the best of wheaten biscuits, on the richest beer of northland. many things were on the table, many dainties of wainola, in the bowls of scarlet color, in the platters deftly painted, many cakes with honey sweetened, to each guest was butter given, many bits of trout and whiting, larger salmon carved in slices, with the knives of molten silver, rimmed with gold the silver handles, beer of barley ceaseless flowing, honey-drink that was not purchased, in the cellar flows profusely, beer for all, the tongues to quicken, mead and beer the minds to freshen. who is there to lead the singing, lead the songs of kalevala? wainamoinen, old and truthful, the eternal, wise enchanter, quick begins his incantations, straightway sings the songs that follow. "golden brethren, dearest kindred, ye, my loved ones, wise and worthy ye companions, highly-gifted, listen to my simple sayings: rarely stand the geese together, sisters do not mate each other, not together stand the brothers, nor the children of one mother, in the countries of the northland. "shall we now begin the singing, sing the songs of old tradition? singers can but sing their wisdom, and the cuckoo call the spring-time, and the goddess of the heavens only dyes the earth in beauty; so the goddesses of weaving can but weave from dawn till twilight, ever sing the youth of lapland in their straw-shoes full of gladness, when the coarse-meat of the roebuck, or of blue-moose they have eaten. wherefore should i not be singing, and the children not be chanting of the biscuits of wainola, of the bread of kalew-waters? even sing the lads of lapland in their straw-shoes filled with joyance, drinking but a cup of water, eating but the bitter tan-bark. wherefore should i not be singing, and the children not be chanting of the beer of kalevala, brewed from barley in perfection, dressed in quaint and homely costume, as they sit beside their hearth-stones. wherefore should i not be singing, and the children too be chanting underneath these painted rafters, in these halls renowned and ancient? this the place for men to linger, this the court-room for the maidens, near the foaming beer of barley, honey-brewed in great abundance, very near, the salmon-waters, near, the nets for trout and whiting, here where food is never wanting, where the beer is ever brewing. here wainola's sons assemble, here wainola's daughters gather, here they never eat in trouble, here they live without regretting, in the life-time of the landlord, while the hostess lives and prospers. "who shall first be sung and lauded? shall it be the bride or bridegroom? let us praise the bridegroom's father, let the hero-host be chanted, him whose home is in the forest, him who built upon the mountains, him who brought the trunks of lindens, with their tops and slender branches, brought them to the best of places, joined them skilfully together, for the mansion of the nation, for this famous hero-dwelling, walls procured upon the lowlands, rafters from the pine and fir-tree, from the woodlands beams of oak-wood, from the berry-plains the studding, bark was furnished by the aspen, and the mosses from the fenlands. trimly builded is this mansion, in a haven warmly sheltered; here a hundred men have labored, on the roof have stood a thousand, as this spacious house was building, as this roof was tightly jointed. here the ancient mansion-builder, when these rafters were erected, lost in storms his locks of sable, scattered by the winds of heaven. often has the hero-landlord on the rocks his gloves forgotten, left his hat upon the willows, lost his mittens in the marshes; oftentimes the mansion-builder, in the early hours of morning, ere his workmen had awakened, unperceived by all the village, has arisen from his slumber, left his cabin the snow-fields, combed his locks among the branches, bathed his eyes in dews of morning. "thus obtained the pleasant landlord friends to fill his spacious dwelling, fill his benches with magicians, fill his windows with enchanters, fill his halls with wizard-singers, fill his floors with ancient speakers, fill his ancient court with strangers, fill his hurdles with the needy; thus the kalew-host is lauded. "now i praise the genial hostess, who prepares the toothsome dinner, fills with plenty all her tables, bakes the honeyed loaves of barley, kneads the dough with magic fingers, with her arms of strength and beauty, bakes her bread in copper ovens, feeds her guests and bids them welcome, feeds them on the toothsome bacon, on the trout, and pike, and whiting, on the rarest fish in ocean, on the dainties of wainola. "often has the faithful hostess risen from her couch in silence, ere the crowing of the watcher, to prepare the wedding-banquet, make her tables look attractive. brew the honey-beer of wedlock. excellently has the housewife, has the hostess filled with wisdom, brewed the beer from hops and barley, from the corn of kalevala, from the wheat-malt honey-seasoned, stirred the beer with graceful fingers, at the oven in the penthouse, in the chamber swept and polished. neither did the prudent hostess, beautiful, and full of wisdom, let the barley sprout too freely, lest the beer should taste of black-earth, be too bitter in the brewing, often went she to the garners, went alone at hour of midnight, was not frightened by the black-wolf, did not fear the beasts of woodlands. "now the hostess i have lauded, let me praise the favored suitor, now the honored hero-bridegroom, best of all the village-masters. clothed in purple is the hero, raiment brought from distant nations, tightly fitting to his body; snugly sets his coat of ermine, to the floor it hangs in beauty, trailing from his neck and shoulders, little of his vest appearing, peeping through his outer raiment, woven by the moon's fair daughters, and his vestment silver-tinselled. dressed in neatness is the suitor, round his waist a belt of copper, hammered by the sun's sweet maidens, ere the early fires were lighted, ere the fire had been discovered. dressed in richness is the bridegroom, on his feet are silken stockings, silken ribbons on his ankles, gold and silver interwoven. dressed in beauty is the bridegroom, on his feet are shoes of deer-skin, like the swans upon the water, like the blue-duck on the sea-waves, like the thrush among the willows, like the water-birds of northland. well adorned the hero-suitor, with his locks of golden color, with his gold-beard finely braided, hero-hat upon his forehead, piercing through the forest branches, reaching to the clouds of heaven, bought with countless gold and silver, priceless is the suitor's head-gear. "now the bridegroom has been lauded, i will praise the young bride's playmate, day-companion in her childhood, in the maiden's magic mansion. whence was brought the merry maiden, from the village of tanikka? thence was never brought the playmate, playmate of the bride in childhood. has she come from distant nations, from the waters of the dwina, o'er the ocean far-outstretching? not from dwina came the maiden, did not sail across the waters; grew as berry in the mountains, as a strawberry of sweetness, on the fields the child of beauty, in the glens the golden flower. thence has come the young bride's playmate, thence arose her fair companion. tiny are her feet and fingers, small her lips of scarlet color, like the maiden's loom of suomi; eyes that shine in kindly beauty like the twinkling stars of heaven; beam the playmate's throbbing temples like the moonlight on the waters. trinkets has the bride's companion, on her neck a golden necklace, in her tresses, silken ribbons, on her arms are golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, pearls are set in golden ear-rings, loops of gold upon her temples, and with pearls her brow is studded. northland thought the moon was shining when her jeweled ear-ringsglistened; thought the sun had left his station when her girdle shone in beauty; thought a ship was homeward sailing when her colored head-gear fluttered. thus is praised the bride's companion, playmate of the rainbow-maiden. "now i praise the friends assembled, all appear in graceful manners; if the old are wise and silent, all the youth are free and merry, all the guests are fair and worthy. never was there in wainola, never will there be in northland, such a company assembled; all the children speak in joyance, all the aged move sedately; dressed in white are all the maidens, like the hoar-frost of the morning, like the welcome dawn of spring-time, like the rising of the daylight. silver then was more abundant, gold among the guests in plenty, on the hills were money, pockets, money-bags along the valleys, for the friends that were invited, for the guests in joy assembled. all the friends have now been lauded, each has gained his meed of honor." wainamoinen, old and truthful, song-deliverer of northland, swung himself upon the fur-bench or his magic sledge of copper, straightway hastened to his hamlet, singing as he journeyed onward, singing charms and incantations, singing one day, then a second, all the third day chanting legends. on the rocks the runners rattled, hung the sledge upon a birch-stump, broke it into many pieces, with the magic of his singing; double were the runners bended, all the parts were torn asunder, and his magic sledge was ruined. then the good, old wainamoinen spake these words in meditation: "is there one among this number, in this rising generation, or perchance among the aged, in the passing generation, that will go to mana's kingdom, to the empire of tuoni, there to get the magic auger from the master of manala, that i may repair my snow-sledge, or a second sledge may fashion?" what the younger people answered was the answer of the aged: "not among the youth of northland, nor among the aged heroes, is there one of ample courage, that has bravery sufficient, to attempt the reckless journey to the kingdom of tuoni, to manala's fields and castles, thence to bring tuoni's auger, wherewithal to mend thy snow-sledge, build anew thy sledge of magic." thereupon old wainamoinen, the eternal wisdom-singer, went again to mana's empire, to the kingdom of tuoni, crossed the sable stream of deathland, to the castles of manala, found the auger of tuoni, brought the instrument in safety. straightway sings old wainamoinen, sings to life a purple forest, in the forest, slender birches, and beside them, mighty oak-trees, shapes them into shafts and runners, moulds them by his will and power, makes anew his sledge of magic. on his steed he lays the harness, binds him to his sledge securely, seats himself upon the cross-bench, and the racer gallops homeward, to the manger filled and waiting, to the stable of his master; brings the ancient wainamoinen, famous bard and wise enchanter, to the threshold of his dwelling, to his home in kalevala. rune xxvi. origin of the serpent. ahti, living on the island, near the kauko-point and harbor, plowed his fields for rye and barley, furrowed his extensive pastures, heard with quickened ears an uproar, heard the village in commotion, heard a noise along the sea-shore, heard the foot-steps on the ice-plain, heard the rattle of the sledges; quick his mind divined the reason, knew it was pohyola's wedding, wedding of the rainbow-virgin. quick he stopped in disappointment, shook his sable locks in envy, turned his hero-head in anger, while the scarlet blood ceased flowing through his pallid face and temples; ceased his plowing and his sowing, on the field he left the furrows, on his steed he lightly mounted, straightway galloped fleetly homeward to his well-beloved mother, to his mother old and golden, gave his mother these directions, these the words of lemminkainen: "my beloved, faithful mother, quickly bring me beer and viands, bring me food for i am hungry, food and drink for me abundant, have my bath-room quickly heated, quickly set the room in order, that i may refresh my body, dress myself in hero-raiment." lemminkainen's aged mother brings her hero food in plenty, beer and viands for the hungry, for her thirsting son and hero; quick she heats the ancient bath-room, quickly sets his bath in order. then the reckless lemminkainen ate his meat with beer inspiring, hastened to his bath awaiting; only was the bullfinch bathing, with the many-colored bunting; quick the hero laved his temples, laved himself to flaxen whiteness, quick returning to his mother, spake in haste the words that follow: "my beloved, helpful mother, go at once to yonder mountain, to the store-house on the hill-top, bring my vest of finest texture, bring my hero-coat of purple, bring my suit of magic colors, thus to make me look attractive, thus to robe myself in beauty." first the ancient mother asked him, asked her son this simple question: "whither dost thou go, my hero? dost thou go to hunt the roebuck, chase the lynx upon the mountains, shoot the squirrel in the woodlands?" spake the reckless lemminkainen, also known as kaukomieli: "worthy mother of my being, go i not to hunt the roebuck, chase the lynx upon the mountains, shoot the squirrel on the tree-tops; i am going to pohyola, to the feasting of her people. bring at once my purple vestments, straightway bring my nuptial outfit, let me don it for the marriage of the maiden of the northland." but the ancient dame dissented, and the wife forebade the husband; two of all the best of heroes, three of nature's fairest daughters, strongly urged wild lemminkainen not to go to sariola, to pohyola's great carousal, to the marriage-feast of northland, "since thou hast not been invited, since they do not wish thy presence." spake the reckless lemminkainen. these the words of kaukomieli: "where the wicked are invited, there the good are always welcome, herein lies my invitation; i am constantly reminded by this sword of sharpened edges, by this magic blade and scabbard, that pohyola needs my presence." lemminkainen's aged mother sought again to stay her hero: "do not go, my son beloved, to the feasting in pohyola; full of horrors are the highways, on the road are many wonders, three times death appears to frighten, thrice destruction hovers over!" spake the reckless lemminkainen, these the words of kaukomieli: "death is seen by aged people, everywhere they see perdition, death can never frighten heroes, heroes do not fear the spectre; be that as it may, dear mother, tell that i may understand thee, name the first of all destructions, name the first and last destroyers!" lemminkainen's mother answered: "i will tell thee, son and hero, not because i wish to speak it, but because the truth is worthy; i will name the chief destruction, name the first of the destroyers. when thou hast a distance journeyed, only one day hast thou travelled, comes a stream along the highway, stream of fire of wondrous beauty, in the stream a mighty fire-spout, in the spout a rock uprising, on the rock a fiery hillock, on the top a flaming eagle, and his crooked beak he sharpens, sharpens too his bloody talons, for the coming of the stranger, for the people that approach him." spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "women die beneath the eagle, such is not the death of heroes; know i well a magic lotion, that will heal the wounds of eagles; make myself a steed of alders, that will walk as my companion, that will stride ahead majestic; as a duck i'll drive behind him, drive him o'er the fatal waters, underneath the flaming eagle, with his bloody beak and talons. worthy mother of my being, name the second of destroyers." lemminkainen's mother answered: "this the second of destroyers: when thou hast a distance wandered, only two clays hast thou travelled, comes a pit of fire to meet thee, in the centre of the highway, eastward far the pit extending, stretches endless to the westward, filled with burning coals and pebbles, glowing with the heat of ages; hundreds has this monster swallowed, in his jaws have thousands perished, hundreds with their trusty broadswords, thousands on their fiery chargers." spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "never will the hero perish in the jaws of such a monster; know i well the means of safety, know a remedy efficient: i will make of snow a master, on the snow-clad fields, a hero, drive the snow-man on before me, drive him through the flaming vortex, drive him through the fiery furnace, with my magic broom of copper; i will follow in his shadow, follow close the magic image, thus escape the frightful monster, with my golden locks uninjured, with my flowing beard untangled. ancient mother of my being, name the last of the destructions, name the third of the destroyers." lemminkainen's mother answered: "this the third of fatal dangers: hast thou gone a greater distance, hast thou travelled one day longer, to the portals of pohyola, to the narrowest of gate-ways, there a wolf will rise to meet thee, there the black-bear sneak upon thee-, in pohyola's darksome portals, hundreds in their jaws have perished, have devoured a thousand heroes; wherefore will they not destroy thee, since thy form is unprotected?" spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "let them eat the gentle lambkins, feed upon their tender tissues, they cannot devour this hero; i am girded with my buckler, girded with my belt of copper, armlets wear i of the master, from the wolf and bear protected, will not hasten to untamo. i can meet the wolf of lempo, for the bear i have a balsam, for his mouth i conjure bridles, for the wolf, forge chains of iron; i will smite them as the willow, chop them into little fragments, thus i'll gain the open court-yard, thus triumphant end my journey." lemminkainen's mother answered: "then thy journey is not ended, greater dangers still await thee, great the wonders yet before thee, horrors three within thy pathway; three great dangers of the hero still await thy reckless footsteps, these the worst of all thy dangers: when thou hast still farther wandered, thou wilt reach the court of pohya, where the walls are forged from iron, and from steel the outer bulwark; rises from the earth to heaven, back again to earth returning; double spears are used for railings, on each spear are serpents winding, on each rail are stinging adders; lizards too adorn the bulwarks, play their long tails in the sunlight, hissing lizards, venomed serpents, jump and writhe upon the rampart, turn their horrid heads to meet thee; on the greensward lie the monsters, on the ground the things of evil, with their pliant tongues of venom, hissing, striking, crawling, writhing; one more horrid than the others, lies before the fatal gate-way, longer than the longest rafters, larger than the largest portals; hisses with the tongue of anger, lifts his head in awful menace, raises it to strike none other than the hero of the islands." spake the warlike lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "by such things the children perish, such is not the death of heroes; know i well the fire to manage, i can quench the flames of passion, i can meet the prowling wild-beasts, can appease the wrath of serpents, i can heal the sting of adders, i have plowed the serpent-pastures, plowed the adder-fields of northland; while my hands were unprotected, held the serpents in my fingers, drove the adders to manala, on my hands the blood of serpents, on my feet the fat of adders. never will thy hero stumble on the serpents of the northland; with my heel i'll crush the monsters, stamp the horrid things to atoms; i will banish them from pohya, drive them to manala's kingdom, step within pohyola's mansion, walk the halls of sariola!" lemminkainen's mother answered: "do not go, my son beloved, to the firesides of pohyola, through the northland fields and fallows; there are warriors with broadswords, heroes clad in mail of copper, are on beer intoxicated, by the beer are much embittered; they will charm thee, hapless creature, on the tips of swords of magic; greater heroes have been conjured, stronger ones have been outwitted." spake the reckless lemminkainen: "formerly thy son resided in the hamlets of pohyola; laplanders cannot enchant me, nor the turyalanders harm me i the laplander will conjure, charm him with my magic powers, sing his shoulders wide asunder, in his chin i'll sing a fissure, sing his collar-bone to pieces, sing his breast to thousand fragments." lemminkainen's mother answered: "foolish son, ungrateful wizard, boasting of thy former visit, boasting of thy fatal journey! once in northland thou wert living, in the homesteads of pohyola; there thou tried to swim the whirlpool, tasted there the dog-tongue waters, floated down the fatal current, sank beneath its angry billows; thou hast seen tuoni's river, thou hast measured mana's waters, there to-day thou wouldst be sleeping, had it not been for thy mother! what i tell thee well remember, shouldst thou gain pohyola's chambers, filled with stakes thou'lt find the court-yard, these to hold the heads of heroes; there thy head will rest forever, shouldst thou go to sariola." spake the warlike lemminkainen: "fools indeed may heed thy counsel, cowards too may give attention; those of seven conquest-summers cannot heed such weak advising. bring to me my battle-armor. bring my magic mail of copper, bring me too my father's broadsword, keep the old man's blade from rusting; long it has been cold and idle, long has lain in secret places, long and constantly been weeping, long been asking for a bearer." then he took his mail of copper, took his ancient battle-armor, took his father's sword of magic, tried its point against the oak-wood, tried its edge upon the sorb-tree; in his hand the blade was bended, like the limber boughs of willow, like the juniper in summer. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "there is none in pohya's hamlets, in the courts of sariola, that with me can measure broadswords, that can meet this blade ancestral." from the nail he took a cross-bow, took the strongest from the rafters, spake these words in meditation: "i shall recognize as worthy, recognize that one a hero that can bend this mighty cross-bow, that can break its magic sinews, in the hamlets of pohyola." lemminkainen, filled with courage, girds himself in suit of battle, dons his mighty mail of copper, to his servant speaks as follows: "trusty slave, and whom i purchased, whom i bought with gold and silver, quick prepare my fiery charger, harness well my steed of battle; i am going to the feasting, to the banquet-fields of lempo." quick obeys the faithful servant, hitches well the noble war-horse, quick prepares the fire-red stallion, speaks these words when all is i ready: "i have done what thou hast hidden, ready harnessed is the charger, waiting to obey his master." comes the hour of the departing of the hero, lemminkainen, right hand ready, left unwilling, all his anxious fingers pain him, till at last in full obedience, all his members give permission; starts the hero on his journey, while the mother gives him counsel, at the threshold of the dwelling, at the highway of the court-yard: "child of courage, my beloved, son of strength, my wisdom-hero, if thou goest to the feasting, shouldst thou reach the great carousal, drink thou only a half a cupful, drink the goblet to the middle, always give the half remaining, give the worse half to another, to another more unworthy; in the lower half are serpents, worms, and frogs, and hissing lizards, feeding on the slimy bottom." furthermore she tells her hero, gives her son these sage directions, on the border of the court-yard, at the portals farthest distant: "if thou goest to the banquet, shouldst thou reach the great carousal, occupy but half the settle, take but half a stride in walking, give the second half to others, to another less deserving; only thus thou'lt be a hero, thus become a son immortal; in the guest-rooms look courageous, bravely move about the chambers, in the gatherings of heroes, with the hosts of magic valor." thereupon wild lemminkainen quickly leaped upon the cross-bench of his battle-sledge of wonder, raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod, snapped his whip above his charger, and the steed flew onward fleetly, galloped on his distant journey. he had travelled little distance, when a flight of hazel-chickens quick arose before his coming, flew before the foaming racer. there were left some feathers lying, feathers of the hazel-chickens, lying in the hero's pathway. these the reckless lemminkainen gathered for their magic virtues, put them in his pouch of leather, did not know what things might happen on his journey to pohyola; all things have some little value, in a strait all things are useful. then he drove a little distance, galloped farther on the highway, when his courser neighed in danger, and the fleet-foot ceased his running. then the stout-heart, lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, rose upon his seat in wonder, craned his neck and looked about him found it as his mother told him, found a stream of fire opposing; ran the fire-stream like a river, ran across the hero's pathway. in the river was a fire-fall, in the cataract a fire-rock, on the rock a fiery hillock, on its summit perched an eagle, from his throat the fire was streaming to the crater far below him, fire out-shooting from his feathers, glowing with a fiery splendor; long he looked upon the hero, long he gazed on lemminkainen, then the eagle thus addressed him: "whither art thou driving, ahti, whither going, lemminkainen?" kaukomieli spake in answer: "to the feastings of pohyola, to the drinking-halls of louhi, to the banquet of her people; move aside and let me journey, move a little from my pathway, let this wanderer pass by thee, i am warlike lemminkainen." this the answer of the eagle, screaming from his throat of splendor: "though thou art wild lemminkainen, i shall let thee wander onward, through my fire-throat let thee journey, through these flames shall be thy passage to the banquet-halls of louhi, to pohyola's great carousal!" little heeding, kaukomieli thinks himself in little trouble, thrusts his fingers in his pockets, searches in his pouch of leather, quickly takes the magic feathers, feathers from the hazel-chickens, rubs them into finest powder, rubs them with his magic fingers whence a flight of birds arises, hazel-chickens from the feathers, large the bevy of the young birds. quick the wizard, lemminkainen, drives them to the eagle's fire-mouth, thus to satisfy his hunger, thus to quench the fire out-streaming. thus escapes the reckless hero, thus escapes the first of dangers, passes thus the first destroyer, on his journey to pohyola. with his whip he strikes his courser, with his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled; straightway speeds the fiery charger, noiselessly upon his journey, gallops fast and gallops faster, till the flying steed in terror neighs again and ceases running. lemminkainen, quickly rising, cranes his neck and looks about him, sees his mother's words were truthful, sees her augury well-taken. lo! before him yawned a fire-gulf, stretching crosswise through his pathway; far to east the gulf extending, to the west an endless distance, filled with stones and burning pebbles, running streams of burning matter. little heeding, lemminkainen cries aloud in prayer to ukko: "ukko, thou o god above me, dear creator, omnipresent, from the north-west send a storm-cloud, from the east, dispatch a second, from the south send forth a third one; let them gather from the south-west, sew their edges well together, fill thou well the interspaces, send a snow-fall high as heaven, let it fall from upper ether, fall upon the flaming fire-pit, on the cataract and whirlpool!" mighty ukko, the creator, ukko, father omnipresent, dwelling in the courts of heaven, sent a storm-cloud from the north-west, from the east he sent a second, from the south despatched a third one, let them gather from the south-west, sewed their edges well together, filled their many interspaces, sent a snow-fall high as heaven, from the giddy heights of ether, sent it seething to the fire-pit, on the streams of burning matter; from the snow-fall in the fire-pond, grows a lake with rolling billows. quick the hero, lemminkainen, conjures there of ice a passage from one border to the other, thus escapes his second danger, thus his second trouble passes. then the reckless lemminkainen raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod, snapped his whip above his racer, and the steed flew onward swiftly, galloped on his distant journey o'er the highway to pohyola; galloped fast and galloped faster, galloped on a greater distance, when the stallion loudly neighing, stopped and trembled on the highway, then the lively lemminkainen raised himself upon the cross-bench, looked to see what else had happened; lo i a wolf stands at the portals, in the passage-way a black-bear, at the high-gate of pohyola, at the ending of the journey. thereupon young lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, thrusts his fingers in his pockets, seeks his magic pouch of leather, pulls therefrom a lock of ewe-wool, rubs it firmly in his fingers, in his hands it falls to powder; breathes the breath of life upon it, when a flock of sheep arises, goats and sheep of sable color; on the flock the black-wolf pounces, and the wild-bear aids the slaughter, while the reckless lemminkainen rushes by them on his journey; gallops on a little distance, to the court of sariola, finds the fence of molten iron, and of steel the rods and pickets, in the earth a hundred fathoms, to the azure sky, a thousand, double-pointed spears projecting; on each spear were serpents twisted, adders coiled in countless numbers, lizards mingled with the serpents, tails entangled pointing earthward, while their heads were skyward whirling, writhing, hissing mass of evil. then the stout-heart, kaukomieli, deeply thought and long considered: "it is as my mother told me, this the wall that she predicted, stretching from the earth to heaven; downward deep are serpents creeping, deeper still the rails extending; high as highest flight of eagles, higher still the wall shoots upward." but the hero, lemminkainen, little cares, nor feels disheartened, draws his broadsword from its scabbard, draws his mighty blade ancestral, hews the wall with might of magic, breaks the palisade in pieces, hews to atoms seven pickets, chops the serpent-wall to fragments; through the breach he quickly passes to the portals of pohyola. in the way, a serpent lying, lying crosswise in the entry, longer than the longest rafters, larger than the posts of oak-wood; hundred-eyed, the heinous serpent, and a thousand tongues, the monster, eyes as large as sifting vessels, tongues as long as shafts of javelins, teeth as large as hatchet-handles, back as broad as skiffs of ocean. lemminkainen does not venture straightway through this host opposing, through the hundred heads of adders, through the thousand tongues of serpents. spake the magic lemminkainen: "venomed viper, thing of evil, ancient adder of tuoni, thou that crawlest in the stubble, through the flower-roots of lempo, who has sent thee from thy kingdom, sent thee from thine evil coverts, sent thee hither, crawling, writhing, in the pathway i would travel? who bestowed thy mouth of venom, who insisted, who commanded, thou shouldst raise thy head toward heaven, who thy tail has given action? was this given by the father, did the mother give this power, or the eldest of the brothers, or the youngest of the sisters, or some other of thy kindred? "close thy mouth, thou thing of evil, hide thy pliant tongue of venom, in a circle wrap thy body, coil thou like a shield in silence, give to me one-half the pathway, let this wanderer pass by thee, or remove thyself entirely; get thee hence to yonder heather, quick retreat to bog and stubble, hide thyself in reeds and rushes, in the brambles of the lowlands. like a ball of flax enfolding, like a sphere of aspen-branches, with thy head and tail together, roll thyself to yonder mountain; in the heather is thy dwelling, underneath the sod thy caverns. shouldst thou raise thy head in anger, mighty ukko will destroy it, pierce it with his steel-tipped arrows, with his death-balls made of iron!" hardly had the hero ended, when the monster, little heeding, hissing with his tongue in anger, plying like the forked lightning, pounces with his mouth of venom at the head of lemminkainen; but the hero, quick recalling, speaks the master-words of knowledge, words that came from distant ages, words his ancestors had taught him, words his mother learned in childhood, these the words of lemminkainen: "since thou wilt not heed mine order, since thou wilt not leave the highway, puffed with pride of thine own greatness, thou shall burst in triple pieces. leave thy station for the borders, i will hunt thine ancient mother, sing thine origin of evil, how arose thy head of horror; suoyatar, thine ancient mother, thing of evil, thy creator!" "suoyatar once let her spittle fall upon the waves of ocean; this was rocked by winds and waters, shaken by the ocean-currents, six years rocked upon the billows, rocked in water seven summers, on the blue-back of the ocean, on the billows high as heaven; lengthwise did the billows draw it, and the sunshine gave it softness, to the shore the billows washed it, on the coast the waters left it. "then appeared creation's daughters, three the daughters thus appearing, on the roaring shore of ocean, there beheld the spittle lying, and the daughters spake as follows: 'what would happen from this spittle, should the breath of the creator fall upon the writhing matter, breathe the breath of life upon it, give the thing the sense of vision? "the creator heard these measures, spake himself the words that follow: 'evil only comes from evil, this is the expectoration of fell suoyatar, its mother; therefore would the thing be evil, should i breathe a soul within it, should i give it sense of vision.' "hisi heard this conversation, ever ready with his mischief, made himself to be creator, breathed a soul into the spittle, to fell suoyatar's fierce anger. thus arose the poison-monster, thus was born the evil serpent, this the origin of evil. "whence the life that gave her action'? from the carbon-pile of hisi. whence then was her heart created? from the heart-throbs of her mother whence arose her brain of evil? from the foam of rolling waters. whence was consciousness awakened? from the waterfall's commotion. whence arose her head of venom? from the seed-germs of the ivy. whence then came her eyes of fury? from the flaxen seeds of lempo. whence the evil ears for hearing? from the foliage of hisi. whence then was her mouth created? this from suoyatar's foam-currents whence arose thy tongue of anger r from the spear of keitolainen. whence arose thy fangs of poison? from the teeth of mana's daughter. whence then was thy back created? from the carbon-posts of piru. how then was thy tail created? from the brain of the hobgoblin. whence arose thy writhing entrails? from the death-belt of tuoni. "this thine origin, o serpent, this thy charm of evil import, vilest thing of god's creation, writhing, hissing thing of evil, with the color of tuoni, with the shade of earth and heaven, with the darkness of the storm-cloud. get thee hence, thou loathsome monster, clear the pathway of this hero. i am mighty lemminkainen, on my journey to pohyola, to the feastings and carousals, in the halls of darksome northland." thereupon the snake uncoiling, hundred-eyed and heinous monster, crawled away to other portals, that the hero, kaukomieli, might proceed upon his errand, to the dismal sariola, to the feastings and carousals in the banquet-halls of pohya. rune xxvii. the unwelcome guest. i have brought young kaukomieli, brought the islander and hero, also known as lemminkainen, through the jaws of death and ruin, through the darkling deeps of kalma, to the homesteads of pohyola, to the dismal courts of louhi; now must i relate his doings, must relate to all my bearers, how the merry lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, wandered through pohyola's chambers, through the halls of sariola, how the hero went unbidden to the feasting and carousal, uninvited to the banquet. lemminkainen full of courage, full of life, and strength, and magic. stepped across the ancient threshold, to the centre of the court-room, and the floors of linwood trembled, walls and ceilings creaked and murmured. spake the reckless lemminkainen, these the words that ahti uttered: "be ye greeted on my coming, ye that greet, be likewise greeted! listen, all ye hosts of pohya; is there food about this homestead, barley for my hungry courser, beer to give a thirsty stranger? sat the host of sariola at the east end of the table, gave this answer to the questions: "surely is there in this homestead, for thy steed an open stable, never will this host refuse thee, shouldst thou act a part becoming, worthy, coming to these portals, waiting near the birchen rafters, in the spaces by the kettles, by the triple hooks of iron." then the reckless lemminkainen shook his sable locks and answered: "lempo may perchance come hither, let him fill this lowly station, let him stand between the kettles, that with soot he may be blackened. never has my ancient father, never has the dear old hero, stood upon a spot unworthy, at the portals near the rafters; for his steed the best of stables, food and shelter gladly furnished, and a room for his attendants, corners furnished for his mittens, hooks provided for his snow-shoes, halls in waiting for his helmet. wherefore then should i not find here what my father found before me?" to the centre walked the hero, walked around the dining table, sat upon a bench and waited, on a bench of polished fir-wood, and the kettle creaked beneath him. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "as a guest am i unwelcome, since the waiters bring no viands, bring no dishes to the stranger?" ilpotar, the northland hostess, then addressed the words that follow: "lemminkainen, thou art evil, thou art here, but not invited, thou hast not the look of kindness, thou wilt give me throbbing temples, thou art bringing pain and sorrow. all our beer is in the barley, all the malt is in the kernel, all our grain is still ungarnered, and our dinner has been eaten; yesterday thou shouldst have been here, come again some future season." whereupon wild lemminkainen pulled his mouth awry in anger, shook his coal-black locks and answered: "all the tables here are empty, and the feasting-time is over; all the beer has left the goblets, empty too are all the pitchers, empty are the larger vessels. o thou hostess of pohyola, toothless dame of dismal northland, badly managed is thy wedding, and thy feast is ill-conducted, like the dogs hast thou invited; thou hast baked the honey-biscuit, wheaten loaves of greatest virtue, brewed thy beer from hops and barley, sent abroad thine invitations, six the hamlets thou hast honored, nine the villages invited by thy merry wedding-callers. thou hast asked the poor and lowly, asked the hosts of common people, asked the blind, and deaf, and crippled, asked a multitude of beggars, toilers by the day, and hirelings; asked the men of evil habits, asked the maids with braided tresses, i alone was not invited. how could such a slight be given, since i sent thee kegs of barley? others sent thee grain in cupfuls, brought it sparingly in dippers, while i sent thee fullest measure, sent the half of all my garners, of the richest of my harvest, of the grain that i had gathered. even now young lemminkainen, though a guest of name and station has no beer, no food, no welcome, naught for him art thou preparing, nothing cooking in thy kettles, nothing brewing in thy cellars for the hero of the islands, at the closing of his journey." ilpotar, the ancient hostess, gave this order to her servants: "come, my pretty maiden-waiter, servant-girl to me belonging, lay some salmon to the broiling, bring some beer to give the stranger!" small of stature was the maiden, washer of the banquet-platters, rinser of the dinner-ladles, polisher of spoons of silver, and she laid some food in kettles, only bones and beads of whiting, turnip-stalks and withered cabbage, crusts of bread and bits of biscuit. then she brought some beer in pitchers, brought of common drink the vilest, that the stranger, lemminkainen, might have drink, and meat in welcome, thus to still his thirst and hunger. then the maiden spake as follows: "thou art sure a mighty hero, here to drink the beer of pohya, here to empty all our vessels!" then the minstrel, lemminkainen, closely handled all the pitchers, looking to the very bottoms; there beheld he writhing serpents, in the centre adders swimming, on the borders worms and lizards. then the hero, lemminkainen, filled with anger, spake as follows: get ye hence, ye things of evil, get ye hence to tuonela, with the bearer of these pitchers, with the maid that brought ye hither, ere the evening moon has risen, ere the day-star seeks the ocean! o thou wretched beer of barley, thou hast met with great dishonor, into disrepute hast fallen, but i'll drink thee, notwithstanding, and the rubbish cast far from me." then the hero to his pockets thrust his first and unnamed finger, searching in his pouch of leather; quick withdraws a hook for fishing, drops it to the pitcher's bottom, through the worthless beer of barley; on his fish-book hang the serpents, catches many hissing adders, catches frogs in magic numbers, catches blackened worms in thousands, casts them to the floor before him, quickly draws his heavy broad sword, and decapitates the serpents. now he drinks the beer remaining, when the wizard speaks as follows: "as a guest am i unwelcome, since no beer to me is given that is worthy of a hero; neither has a ram been butchered, nor a fattened calf been slaughtered, worthy food for lemminkainen." then the landlord of pohyola answered thus the island-minstrel: "wherefore hast thou journeyed hither, who has asked thee for thy presence? spake in answer lemminkainen: "happy is the guest invited, happier when not expected; listen, son of pohylander, host of sariola, listen: give me beer for ready payment, give me worthy drink for money!" then the landlord of pohyola, in bad humor, full of anger, conjured in the earth a lakelet, at the feet of kaukomieli, thus addressed the island-hero: "quench thy thirst from yonder lakelet, there, the beer that thou deservest!" little heeding, lemminkainen to this insolence made answer: "i am neither bear nor roebuck, that should drink this filthy water, drink the water of this lakelet." ahti then began to conjure, conjured he a bull before him, bull with horns of gold and silver, and the bull drank from the lakelet, drank he from the pool in pleasure. then the landlord of pohyola there a savage wolf created, set him on the floor before him to destroy the bull of magic, lemminkainen, full of courage, conjured up a snow-white rabbit, set him on the floor before him to attract the wolf's attention. then the landlord of pohyola conjured there a dog of lempo, set him on the floor before him to destroy the magic rabbit. lemminkainen, full of mischief, conjured on the roof a squirrel, that by jumping on the rafters he might catch the dog's attention. but the master of the northland conjured there a golden marten, and he drove the magic squirrel from his seat upon the rafters. lemminkainen, full of mischief, made a fox of scarlet color, and it ate the golden marten. then the master of pohyola conjured there a hen to flutter near the fox of scarlet color. lemminkainen, full of mischief, thereupon a hawk created, that with beak and crooked talons he might tear the hen to pieces. spake the landlord of pohyola, these the words the tall man uttered: "never will this feast be bettered till the guests are less in number; i must do my work as landlord, get thee hence, thou evil stranger, cease thy conjurings of evil, leave this banquet of my people, haste away, thou wicked wizard, to thine island-home and people! spake the reckless lemminkainen: "thus no hero will be driven, not a son of any courage will be frightened by thy presence, will be driven from thy banquet." then the landlord of pohyola snatched his broadsword from the rafters, drew it rashly from the scabbard, thus addressing lemminkainen: "ahti, islander of evil, thou the handsome kaukomieli, let us measure then our broadswords, let our skill be fully tested; surely is my broadsword better than the blade within thy scabbard." spake the hero, lemminkainen. "that my blade is good and trusty, has been proved on heads of heroes, has on many bones been tested; be that as it may, my fellow, since thine order is commanding, let our swords be fully tested, let us see whose blade is better. long ago my hero-father tested well this sword in battle, never failing in a conflict. should his son be found less worthy?" then he grasped his mighty broadsword, drew the fire-blade from the scabbard hanging from his belt of copper. standing on their hilts their broadswords, carefully their blades were measured, found the sword of northland's master longer than the sword of ahti by the half-link of a finger. spake the reckless lemminkainen. "since thou hast the longer broadsword, thou shalt make the first advances, i am ready for thy weapon." thereupon pohyola's landlord with the wondrous strength of anger, tried in vain to slay the hero, strike the crown of lemminkainen; chipped the splinters from the rafters, cut the ceiling into fragments, could not touch the island-hero. thereupon brave kaukomieli, thus addressed pohyola's master: "have the rafters thee offended? what the crimes they have committed, since thou hewest them in pieces? listen now, thou host of northland, reckless landlord of pohyola, little room there is for swordsmen in these chambers filled with women; we shall stain these painted rafters, stain with blood these floors and ceilings; let us go without the mansion, in the field is room for combat, on the plain is space sufficient; blood looks fairer in the court-yard, better in the open spaces, let it dye the snow-fields scarlet." to the yard the heroes hasten, there they find a monstrous ox-skin, spread it on the field of battle; on the ox-skin stand the swordsmen. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "listen well, thou host of northland, though thy broadsword is the longer, though thy blade is full of horror, thou shalt have the first advantage; use with skill thy boasted broadsword ere the final bout is given, ere thy head be chopped in pieces; strike with skill, or thou wilt perish, strike, and do thy best for northland." thereupon pohyola's landlord raised on high his blade of battle, struck a heavy blow in anger, struck a second, then a third time, but he could not touch his rival, could dot draw a single blood-drop from the veins of lemminkainen, skillful islander and hero. spake the handsome kaukomieli: "let me try my skill at fencing, let me swing my father's broadsword, let my honored blade be tested!" but the landlord of pohyola, does not heed the words of ahti, strikes in fury, strikes unceasing, ever aiming, ever missing. when the skillful lemminkainen swings his mighty blade of magic, fire disports along his weapon, flashes from his sword of honor, glistens from the hero's broadsword, balls of fire disporting, dancing, on the blade of mighty ahti, overflow upon the shoulders of the landlord of pohyola. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "o thou son of sariola, see! indeed thy neck is glowing like the dawning of the morning, like the rising sun in ocean!" quickly turned pohyola's landlord, thoughtless host of darksome northland, to behold the fiery splendor playing on his neck and shoulders. quick as lightning, lemminkainen, with his father's blade of battle, with a single blow of broadsword, with united skill and power, lopped the head of pohya's master; as one cleaves the stalks of turnips, as the ear falls from the corn-stalk, as one strikes the fins from salmon, thus the head rolled from the shoulders of the landlord of pohyola, like a ball it rolled and circled. in the yard were pickets standing, hundreds were the sharpened pillars, and a head on every picket, only one was left un-headed. quick the victor, lemminkainen, took the head of pohya's landlord, spiked it on the empty picket. then the islander, rejoicing, handsome hero, kaukomieli, quick returning to the chambers, crave this order to the hostess: "evil maiden, bring me water, wherewithal to cleanse my fingers from the blood of northland's master, wicked host of sariola." ilpotar, the northland hostess, fired with anger, threatened vengeance, conjured men with heavy broadswords, heroes clad in copper-armor, hundred warriors with their javelins, and a thousand bearing cross-bows, to destroy the island-hero, for the death of lemminkainen. kaukomieli soon discovered that the time had come for leaving, that his presence was unwelcome at the feasting of pohyola, at the banquet of her people. rune xxviii. the mother's counsel. ahti, hero of the islands, wild magician, lemminkainen, also known as kaukomieli, hastened from the great carousal, from the banquet-halls of louhi, from the ever-darksome northland, from the dismal sariola. stormful strode he from the mansion, hastened like the smoke of battle, from the court-yard of pohyola, left his crimes and misdemeanors in the halls of ancient louhi. then he looked in all directions, seeking for his tethered courser, anxious looked in field and stable, but he did not find his racer; found a black thing in the fallow, proved to be a clump of willows. who will well advise the hero, who will give him wise directions, guide the wizard out of trouble, give his hero-locks protection, keep his magic head from danger from the warriors of northland? noise is beard within the village, and a din from other homesteads, from the battle-hosts of louhi, streaming from the doors and window, of the homesteads of pohyola. thereupon young lemminkainen, handsome islander and hero, changing both his form and features, clad himself in other raiment, changing to another body, quick became a mighty eagle, soared aloft on wings of magic, tried to fly to highest heaven, but the moonlight burned his temples, and the sunshine singed his feathers. then entreating, lemminkainen, island-hero, turned to ukko, this the prayer that ahti uttered: "ukko, god of love and mercy, thou the wisdom of the heavens, wise director of the lightning, thou the author of the thunder, thou the guide of all the cloudlets, give to me thy cloak of vapor, throw a silver cloud around me, that i may in its protection hasten to my native country, to my mother's island-dwelling, fly to her that waits my coming, with a mother's grave forebodings." farther, farther, lemminkainen flew and soared on eagle-pinions, looked about him, backwards, forwards, spied a gray-hawk soaring near him, in his eyes the fire of splendor, like the eyes of pohyalanders, like the eyes of pohya's spearmen, and the gray-hawk thus addressed him: "ho! there! hero, lemminkainen, art thou thinking of our combat with the hero-heads of northland?" thus the islander made answer, these the words of kaukomieli: "o thou gray-hawk, bird of beauty, fly direct to sariola, fly as fast as wings can bear thee; when thou hast arrived in safety, on the plains of darksome northland, tell the archers and the spearmen, they will never catch the eagle, in his journey from pohyola, to his island-borne and fortress." then the ahti-eagle hastened straightway to his mother's cottage, in his face the look of trouble, in his heart the pangs of sorrow. ahti's mother ran to meet him, when she spied him in the pathway, walking toward her island-dwelling; these the words the mother uttered: "of my sons thou art the bravest, art the strongest of my children; wherefore then comes thine annoyance, on returning from pohyola? wert thou worsted at the banquet, at the feast and great carousal? at thy cups, if thou wert injured, thou shalt here have better treatment thou shalt have the cup thy father brought me from the hero-castle." spake the reckless lemminkainen: "worthy mother, thou that nursed me, if i had been maimed at drinking, i the landlord would have worsted, would have slain a thousand heroes, would have taught them useful lessons." lemminkainen's mother answered: "wherefore then art thou indignant, didst thou meet disgrace and insult, did they rob thee of thy courser? buy thou then a better courser with the riches of thy mother, with thy father's horded treasures." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "faithful mother of my being, if my steed had been insulted, if for him my heart was injured, i the landlord would have punished, would have punished all the horsemen, all of pohya's strongest riders." lemminkainen's mother answered: "tell me then thy dire misfortune, what has happened to my hero, on his journey to pohyola? have the northland maidens scorned thee, have the women ridiculed thee? if the maidens scorned thy presence. if the women gave derision, there are others thou canst laugh at, thou canst scorn a thousand women." said the reckless lemminkainen: "honored mother, fond and faithful, if the northland dames had scorned me or the maidens laughed derision, i the maidens would have punished, would have scorned a thousand women." lemminkainen's mother answered: "wherefore then are thou indignant, thus annoyed, and heavy-hearted, on returning from pohyola? was thy feasting out of season, was the banquet-beer unworthy, were thy dreams of evil import when asleep in darksome northland?" this is lemminkainen's answer: "aged women may remember what they dream on beds of trouble; i have seen some wondrous visions, since i left my island-cottage. my beloved, helpful mother, fill my bag with good provisions, flour and salt in great abundance, farther must thy hero wander, he must leave his home behind him, leave his pleasant island-dwelling, journey from this home of ages; men are sharpening their broadswords, sharpening their spears and lances, for the death of lemminkainen." then again the mother questioned, hurriedly she asked the reason: "why the men their swords were whetting, why their spears are being sharpened." spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "therefore do they whet their broadswords, therefore sharpen they their lances: it is for thy son's destruction, at his heart are aimed their lances. in the court-yard of pohyola, there arose a great contention, fierce the battle waged against me; but i slew the northland hero, killed the host of sariola; quick to arms rose louhi's people, all the spears and swords of northland were directed at thy hero; all of pohya turned against me, turned against a single foeman." this the answer of the mother: "i had told thee this beforehand, i had warned thee of this danger, and forbidden thee to journey to the hostile fields of northland. here my hero could have lingered, passed his life in full contentment, lived forever with his mother, with his mother for protection, in the court-yard with his kindred; here no war would have arisen, no contention would have followed. whither wilt thou go, my hero, whither will my loved one hasten, to escape thy fierce pursuers, to escape from thy misdoings, from thy sins to bide in safety, from thy crimes and misdemeanors, that thy head be not endangered, that thy body be not mangled, that thy locks be not outrooted?" spake the reckless lemminkainen: "know i not a spot befitting, do not know a place of safety, where to hide from my pursuers, that will give me sure protection from the crimes by me committed. helpful mother of my being, where to flee wilt thou advise me?" this the answer of the mother: "i do not know where i can send thee; be a pine-tree on the mountain, or a juniper in lowlands? then misfortune may befall thee; often is the mountain pine-tree cut in splints for candle-lighters; and the juniper is often peeled for fence-posts for the pastures. go a birch-tree to the valleys, or an elm-tree to the glenwood? even then may trouble find thee, misery may overtake thee; often is the lowland birch-tree cut to pieces in the ware-house; often is the elm-wood forest cleared away for other plantings. be a berry on the highlands, cranberry upon the heather, strawberry upon the mountains, blackberry along the fences? even there will trouble find thee, there misfortune overtake thee, for the berry-maids would pluck thee, silver-tinselled girls would get thee. be a pike then in the ocean, or a troutlet in the rivers? then would trouble overtake thee, would become thy life-companion; then the fisherman would catch thee, catch thee in his net of flax-thread, catch thee with his cruel fish-hook. be a wolf then in the forest, or a black-bear in the thickets? even then would trouble find thee, and disaster cross thy pathway; sable hunters of the northland have their spears and cross-bows ready to destroy the wolf and black-bear." spake the reckless lemminkainen: "know i well the worst of places, know where death will surely follow, where misfortune's eye would find me; since thou gavest me existence, gavest nourishment in childhood, whither shall i flee for safety, whither hide from death and danger? in my view is fell destruction, dire misfortune hovers o'er me; on the morrow come the spearmen, countless warriors from pohya, ahti's head their satisfaction." this the answer of the mother: "i can name a goodly refuge, name a land of small dimensions, name a distant ocean-island, where my son may live in safety. thither archers never wander, there thy head cannot be severed; but an oath as strong as heaven, thou must swear before thy mother; thou wilt not for sixty summers join in war or deadly combat, even though thou wishest silver, wishest gold and silver treasures." spake the grateful lemminkainen: "i will swear an oath of honor, that i'll not in sixty summers draw my sword in the arena, test the warrior in battle; i have wounds upon my shoulders, on my breast two scars of broadsword, of my former battles, relies, relies of my last encounters, on the battle-fields of northland, in the wars with men and heroes." lemminkainen's mother answered: "go thou, take thy father's vessel, go and bide thyself in safety, travel far across nine oceans; in the tenth, sail to the centre, to the island, forest-covered, to the cliffs above the waters, where thy father went before thee, where he hid from his pursuers, in the times of summer conquests, in the darksome days of battle; good the isle for thee to dwell in, goodly place to live and linger; hide one year, and then a second, in the third return in safety to thy mother's island dwelling, to thy father's ancient mansion, to my hero's place of resting." rune xxix. the isle of refuge. lemminkainen, full of joyance, handsome hero, kaukomieli, took provisions in abundance, fish and butter, bread and bacon, hastened to the isle of refuge, sailed away across the oceans, spake these measures on departing: "fare thee well, mine island-dwelling, i must sail to other borders, to an island more protective, till the second summer passes; let the serpents keep the island, lynxes rest within the glen-wood, let the blue-moose roam the mountains, let the wild-geese cat the barley. fare thee well, my helpful mother! when the warriors of the northland, from the dismal sariola, come with swords, and spears, and cross-bows, asking for my head in vengeance, say that i have long departed, left my mother's island-dwelling, when the barley had been garnered." then he launched his boat of copper, threw the vessel to the waters, from the iron-banded rollers, from the cylinders of oak-wood, on the masts the sails he hoisted, spread the magic sails of linen, in the stern the hero settled and prepared to sail his vessel, one hand resting on the rudder. then the sailor spake as follows, these the words of lemminkainen: "blow, ye winds, and drive me onward, blow ye steady, winds of heaven, toward the island in the ocean, that my bark may fly in safety to my father's place of refuge, to the far and nameless island!" soon the winds arose as bidden, rocked the vessel o'er the billows, o'er the blue-back of the waters, o'er the vast expanse of ocean; blew two months and blew unceasing, blew a third month toward the island, toward his father's isle of refuge. sat some maidens on the seaside, on the sandy beach of ocean, turned about in all directions, looking out upon the billows; one was waiting for her brother, and a second for her father, and a third one, anxious, waited for the coming of her suitor; there they spied young lemminkainen, there perceived the hero's vessel sailing o'er the bounding billows; it was like a hanging cloudlet, hanging twixt the earth and heaven. thus the island-maidens wondered, thus they spake to one another: "what this stranger on the ocean, what is this upon the waters? art thou one of our sea-vessels? wert thou builded on this island? sail thou straightway to the harbor, to the island-point of landing that thy tribe may be discovered." onward did the waves propel it, rocked his vessel o'er the billows, drove it to the magic island, safely landed lemminkainen on the sandy shore and harbor. spake he thus when he had landed, these the words that ahti uttered: "is there room upon this island, is there space within this harbor, where my bark may lie at anchor, where the sun may dry my vessel?" this the answer of the virgins, dwellers on the isle of refuge: "there is room within this harbor, on this island, space abundant, where thy bark may lie at anchor, where the sun may dry thy vessel; lying ready are the rollers, cylinders adorned with copper; if thou hadst a hundred vessels, shouldst thou come with boats a thousand, we would give them room in welcome." thereupon wild lemminkainen rolled his vessel in the harbor, on the cylinders of copper, spake these words when he had ended: "is there room upon this island, or a spot within these forests, where a hero may be hidden from the coming din of battle, from the play of spears and arrows? thus replied the island-maidens: "there are places on this island, on these plains a spot befitting where to hide thyself in safety, hero-son of little valor. here are many, many castles, many courts upon this island; though there come a thousand heroes, though a thousand spearmen follow, thou canst hide thyself in safety." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "is there room upon this island, where the birch-tree grows abundant, where this son may fell the forest, and may cultivate the fallow?" answered thus the island-maidens: "there is not a spot befitting, not a place upon the island, where to rest thy wearied members, not the smallest patch of birch-wood, thou canst bring to cultivation. all our fields have been divided, all these woods have been apportioned, fields and forests have their owners." lemminkainen asked this question, these the words of kaukomieli: "is there room upon this island, worthy spot in field or forest, where to sing my songs of magic, chant my gathered store of wisdom, sing mine ancient songs and legends?" answered thus the island-maidens: "there is room upon this island, worthy place in these dominions, thou canst sing thy garnered wisdom, thou canst chant thine ancient legends, legends of the times primeval, in the forest, in the castle, on the island-plains and pastures." then began the reckless minstrel to intone his wizard-sayings; sang he alders to the waysides, sang the oaks upon the mountains, on the oak-trees sang be branches, on each branch he sang an acorn, on the acorns, golden rollers, on each roller, sang a cuckoo; then began the cuckoos, calling, gold from every throat came streaming, copper fell from every feather, and each wing emitted silver, filled the isle with precious metals. sang again young lemminkainen, conjured on, and sang, and chanted, sang to precious stones the sea-sands, sang the stones to pearls resplendent, robed the groves in iridescence, sang the island full of flowers, many-colored as the rainbow. sang again the magic minstrel, in the court a well he conjured, on the well a golden cover, on the lid a silver dipper, that the boys might drink the water, that the maids might lave their eyelids. on the plains he conjured lakelets, sang the duck upon the waters, golden-cheeked and silver-headed, sang the feet from shining copper; and the island-maidens wondered, stood entranced at ahti's wisdom, at the songs of lemminkainen, at the hero's magic power. spake the singer, lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "i would sing a wondrous legend, sing in miracles of sweetness, if within some hall or chamber, i were seated at the table. if i sing not in the castle, in some spot by walls surrounded then i sing my songs to zephyrs, fling them to the fields and forests." answered thus the island-maidens: "on this isle are castle-chambers, halls for use of magic singers, courts complete for chanting legends, where thy singing will be welcome, where thy songs will not be scattered to the forests of the island, nor thy wisdom lost in ether." straightway lemminkainen journeyed with the maidens to the castle; there he sang and conjured pitchers on the borders of the tables, sang and conjured golden goblets foaming with the beer of barley; sang he many well-filled vessels, bowls of honey-drink abundant, sweetest butter, toothsome biscuit, bacon, fish, and veal, and venison, all the dainties of the northland, wherewithal to still his hunger. but the proud-heart, lemminkainen, was not ready for the banquet, did not yet begin his feasting, waited for a knife of silver, for a knife of golden handle; quick he sang the precious metals, sang a blade from purest silver, to the blade a golden handle, straightway then began his feasting, quenched his thirst and stilled his hunger, charmed the maidens on the island. then the minstrel, lemminkainen, roamed throughout the island-hamlets, to the joy of all the virgins, all the maids of braided tresses; wheresoe'er he turned his footsteps, there appeared a maid to greet him; when his hand was kindly offered, there his band was kindly taken; when he wandered out at evening, even in the darksome places, there the maidens bade him welcome; there was not an island-village where there were not seven castles, in each castle seven daughters, and the daughters stood in waiting, gave the hero joyful greetings, only one of all the maidens whom he did not greet with pleasure. thus the merry lemminkainen spent three summers in the ocean, spent a merry time in refuge, in the hamlets on the island, to the pleasure of the maidens, to the joy of all the daughters; only one was left neglected, she a poor and graceless spinster, on the isle's remotest border, in the smallest of the hamlets. 'then he thought about his journey o'er the ocean to his mother, to the cottage of his father. there appeared the slighted spinster, to the northland son departing, spake these words to lemminkainen: "o, thou handsome kaukomieli, wisdom-bard, and magic singer, since this maiden thou hast slighted, may the winds destroy thy vessel, dash thy bark to countless fragments on the ocean-rocks and ledges!" lemminkainen's thoughts were homeward, did not heed the maiden's murmurs, did not rise before the dawning of the morning on the island, to the pleasure of the maiden of the much-neglected hamlet. finally at close of evening, he resolved to leave the island, he resolved to waken early, long before the dawn of morning; long before the time appointed, he arose that he might wander through the hamlets of the island, bid adieu to all the maidens, on the morn of his departure. as he wandered hither, thither, walking through the village path-ways to the last of all the hamlets; saw he none of all the castle-, where three dwellings were not standing; saw he none of all the dwellings where three heroes were not watching; saw he none of all the heroes, who was not engaged in grinding swords, and spears, and battle-axes, for the death of lemminkainen. and these words the hero uttered: "now alas! the sun arises from his couch within the ocean, on the frailest of the heroes, on the saddest child of northland; on my neck the cloak of lempo might protect me from all evil, though a hundred foes assail me, though a thousand archers follow." then he left the maids ungreeted, left his longing for the daughters of the nameless isle of refuge, with his farewell-words unspoken, hastened toward the island-harbor, toward his magic bark at anchor; but he found it burned to ashes, sweet revenge had fired his vessel, lighted by the slighted spinster. then he saw the dawn of evil, saw misfortune hanging over, saw destruction round about him. straightway he began rebuilding him a magic sailing-vessel, new and wondrous, full of beauty; but the hero needed timber, boards, and planks, and beams, and braces, found the smallest bit of lumber, found of boards but seven fragments, of a spool he found three pieces, found six pieces of the distaff; with these fragments builds his vessel, builds a ship of magic virtue, builds the bark with secret knowledge, through the will of the magician; strikes one blow, and builds the first part, strikes a second, builds the centre, strikes a third with wondrous power, and the vessel is completed. thereupon the ship he launches, sings the vessel to the ocean, and these words the hero utters: "like a bubble swim these waters, like a flower ride the billows; loan me of thy magic feathers, three, o eagle, four, o raven, for protection to my vessel, lest it flounder in the ocean!" now the sailor, lemminkainen, seats himself upon the bottom of the vessel he has builded, hastens on his journey homeward, head depressed and evil-humored, cap awry upon his forehead, mind dejected, heavy-hearted, that he could not dwell forever in the castles of the daughters of the nameless isle of refuge. spake the minstrel, lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "leave i must this merry island, leave her many joys and pleasures, leave her maids with braided tresses, leave her dances and her daughters, to the joys of other heroes; but i take this comfort with me: all the maidens on the island, save the spinster who was slighted, will bemoan my loss for ages, will regret my quick departure; they will miss me at the dances, in the halls of mirth and joyance, in the homes of merry maidens, on my father's isle of refuge." wept the maidens on the island, long lamenting, loudly calling to the hero sailing homeward: "whither goest, lemminkainen, why depart, thou best of heroes? dost thou leave from inattention, is there here a dearth of maidens, have our greetings been unworthy?" sang the magic lemminkainen to the maids as he was sailing, this in answer to their calling: "leaving not for want of pleasure, do not go from dearth of women beautiful the island-maidens, countless as the sands their virtues. this the reason of my going, i am longing for my home-land, longing for my mother's cabins, for the strawberries of northland, for the raspberries of kalew, for the maidens of my childhood, for the children of my mother." then the merry lemminkainen bade farewell to all the island; winds arose and drove his vessel on the blue-back of the ocean, o'er the far-extending waters, toward the island of his mother. on the shore were grouped the daughters of the magic isle of refuge, on the rocks sat the forsaken, weeping stood the island-maidens, golden daughters, loud-lamenting. weep the maidens of the island while the sail-yards greet their vision, while the copper-beltings glisten; do not weep to lose the sail-yards, nor to lose the copper-beltings; weep they for the loss of ahti, for the fleeing kaukomieli guiding the departing vessel. also weeps young lemminkainen, sorely weeps, and loud-lamenting, weeps while he can see the island, while the island hill-tops glisten; does not mourn the island-mountains, weeps he only for the maidens, left upon the isle of refuge. thereupon sailed kaukomieli on the blue-back of the ocean; sailed one day, and then a second, but, alas! upon the third day, there arose a mighty storm-wind, and the sky was black with fury. blew the black winds from the north-west, from the south-east came the whirlwind, tore away the ship's forecastle, tore away the vessel's rudder, dashed the wooden hull to pieces. thereupon wild lemminkainen headlong fell upon the waters; with his head he did the steering, with his hands and feet, the rowing; swam whole days and nights unceasing, swam with hope and strength united, till at last appeared a cloudlet, growing cloudlet to the westward, changing to a promontory, into land within the ocean. swiftly to the shore swam ahti, hastened to a magic castle, found therein a hostess baking, and her daughters kneading barley, and these words the hero uttered: "o, thou hostess, filled with kindness, couldst thou know my pangs of hunger, couldst thou guess my name and station, thou wouldst hasten to the storehouse, bring me beer and foaming liquor, bring the best of thy provisions, bring me fish, and veal, and bacon, butter, bread, and honeyed biscuits, set for me a wholesome dinner, wherewithal to still my hunger, quench the thirst of lemminkainen. days and nights have i been swimming, buffeting the waves of ocean, seemed as if the wind protected, and the billows gave me shelter," then the hostess, filled with kindness, hastened to the mountain storehouse, cut some butter, veal, and bacon, bread, and fish, and honeyed biscuit, brought the best of her provisions, brought the mead and beer of barley, set for him a toothsome dinner, wherewithal to still his hunger, quench the thirst of lemminkainen. when the hero's feast had ended, straightway was a magic vessel given by the kindly hostess to the weary kaukomieli, bark of beauty, new and hardy, wherewithal to aid the stranger in his journey to his home-land, to the cottage of his mother. quickly sailed wild lemminkainen on the blue-back of the ocean; sailed he days and nights unceasing, till at last he reached the borders of his own loved home and country; there beheld he scenes familiar, saw the islands, capes, and rivers, saw his former shipping-stations, saw he many ancient landmarks, saw the mountains with their fir-trees, saw the pine-trees on the hill-tops, saw the willows in the lowlands; did not see his father's cottage, nor the dwellings of his mother. where a mansion once had risen, there the alder-trees were growing, shrubs were growing on the homestead, junipers within the court-yard. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "in this glen i played and wandered, on these stones i rocked for ages, on this lawn i rolled and tumbled, frolicked on these woodland-borders, when a child of little stature. where then is my mother's dwelling, where the castles of my father? fire, i fear, has found the hamlet, and the winds dispersed the ashes." then he fell to bitter weeping, wept one day and then a second, wept the third day without ceasing; did not mourn the ancient homestead, nor the dwellings of his father; wept he for his darling mother, wept he for the dear departed, for the loved ones of the island. then he saw the bird of heaven, saw an eagle flying near him, and he asked the bird this question: "mighty eagle, bird majestic, grant to me the information, where my mother may have wandered, whither i may go and find her!" but the eagle knew but little, only knew that ahti's people long ago together perished; and the raven also answered that his people had been scattered by the swords, and spears, and arrows, of his enemies from pohya. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "faithful mother, dear departed, thou who nursed me in my childhood, art thou dead and turned to ashes, didst thou perish for my follies, o'er thy head are willows weeping, junipers above thy body, alders watching o'er thy slumbers? this my punishment for evil, this the recompense of folly! fool was i, a son unworthy, that i measured swords in northland with the landlord of pohyola, to my tribe came fell destruction, and the death of my dear mother, through my crimes and misdemeanors." then the ministrel [sic] looked about him, anxious, looked in all directions, and beheld some gentle foot-prints, saw a pathway lightly trodden where the heather had been beaten. quick as thought the path he followed, through the meadows, through the brambles, o'er the hills, and through the valleys, to a forest, vast and cheerless; travelled far and travelled farther, still a greater distance travelled, to a dense and hidden glenwood, in the middle of the island; found therein a sheltered cabin, found a small and darksome dwelling built between the rocky ledges, in the midst of triple pine-trees; and within he spied his mother, found his gray-haired mother weeping. lemminkainen loud rejoices, cries in tones of joyful greetings, these the words that ahti utters: "faithful mother, well-beloved, thou that gavest me existence, happy i, that thou art living, that thou hast not yet departed to the kingdom of tuoni, to the islands of the blessed, i had thought that thou hadst perished, hadst been murdered by my foemen, hadst been slain with bows and arrows. heavy are mine eyes from weeping, and my checks are white with sorrow, since i thought my mother slaughtered for the sins i had committed!" lemminkainen's mother answered: "long, indeed, hast thou been absent, long, my son, hast thou been living in thy father's isle of refuge, roaming on the secret island, living at the doors of strangers, living in a nameless country, refuge from the northland foemen." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "charming is that spot for living, beautiful the magic island, rainbow-colored was the forest, blue the glimmer of the meadows, silvered were, the pine-tree branches, golden were the heather-blossoms; all the woodlands dripped with honey, eggs in every rock and crevice, honey flowed from birch and sorb-tree, milk in streams from fir and aspen, beer-foam dripping from the willows, charming there to live and linger, all their edibles delicious. this their only source of trouble: great the fear for all the maidens, all the heroes filled with envy, feared the coming of the stranger; thought that all the island-maidens, thought that all the wives and daughters, all the good, and all the evil, gave thy son too much attention; thought the stranger, lemminkainen, saw the island-maids too often; yet the virgins i avoided, shunned the good and shunned the evil, shunned the host of charming daughters, as the black-wolf shuns the sheep-fold, as the hawk neglects the chickens." rune xxx. the frost-fiend. lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, handsome hero, kaukomieli, hastens as the dawn is breaking, at the dawning of the morning, to the resting-place of vessels, to the harbor of the island, finds the vessels sorely weeping, hears the wailing of the rigging, and the ships intone this chorus: "must we wretched lie forever in the harbor of this island, here to dry and fall in pieces? ahti wars no more in northland, wars no more for sixty summers, even should he thirst for silver, should he wish the gold of battle." lemminkainen struck his vessels with his gloves adorned with copper, and addressed the ships as follows: "mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood, strong and hardy is your rigging, to the wars ye soon may hasten, hasten to the seas of battle; warriors may swarm your cabins ere to-morrow's morn has risen.!'" then the reckless lemminkainen hastened to his aged mother, spake to her the words that follow: "weep no longer, faithful mother, do not sorrow for thy hero, should he leave for scenes of battle, for the hostile fields of pohya; sweet revenge has fired my spirit, and my soul is well determined, to avenge the shameful insult that the warriors of northland gave to thee, defenseless woman." to restrain him seeks his mother, warns her son again of danger: "do not go, my son beloved, to the wars in sariola; there the jaws of death await thee, fell destruction lies before thee!" lemminkainen, little heeding, still determined, speaks as follows: "where may i secure a swordsman, worthy of my race of heroes, to assist me in the combat? often i have heard of tiera, heard of kura of the islands, this one i will take to help me, magic hero of the broadsword; he will aid me in the combat, will protect me from destruction." then he wandered to the islands, on the way to tiera's hamlet, these the words that ahti utters as he nears the ancient dwellings: dearest friend, my noble tiera, my beloved hero-brother, dost thou other times remember, when we fought and bled together, on the battle-fields of northland? there was not an island-village where there were not seven mansions, in each mansion seven heroes, and not one of all these foemen whom we did not slay with broadswords, victims of our skill and valor." near the window sat the father whittling out a javelin-handle; near the threshold sat the mother skimming cream and making butter; near the portal stood the brother working on a sledge of birch-wood near the bridge-pass were the sisters washing out their varied garments. spake the father from the window, from the threshold spake the mother, from the portals spake the brother, and the sisters from the bridge-pass: "tiera has no time for combat, and his broadsword cannot battle; tiera is but late a bridegroom, still unveiled his bride awaits him." near the hearth was tiera lying, lying by the fire was kura, hastily one foot was shoeing, while the other lay in waiting. from the hook he takes his girdle, buckles it around his body, takes a javelin from its resting, not the largest, nor the smallest, buckles on his mighty scabbard, dons his heavy mail of copper; on each javelin pranced a charger, wolves were howling from his helmet, on the rings the bears were growling. tiera poised his mighty javelin, launched the spear upon its errand; hurled the shaft across the pasture, to the border of the forest, o'er the clay-fields of pohyola, o'er the green and fragrant meadows, through the distant bills of northland. then great tiera touched his javelin to the mighty spear of ahti, pledged his aid to lemminkainen, as his combatant and comrade. thereupon wild kaukomieli pushed his boat upon the waters; like the serpent through the heather, like the creeping of the adder, sails the boat away to pohya, o'er the seas of sariola. quick the wicked hostess, louhi, sends the black-frost of the heavens to the waters of pohyola, o'er the far-extending sea-plains, gave the black-frost these directions: "much-loved frost, my son and hero, whom thy mother has instructed, hasten whither i may send thee, go wherever i command thee, freeze the vessel of this hero, lemminkainen's bark of magic, on the broad back of the ocean, on the far-extending waters; freeze the wizard in his vessel, freeze to ice the wicked ahti, that he never more may wander, never waken while thou livest, or at least till i shall free him, wake him from his icy slumber!" frost, the son of wicked parents, hero-son of evil manners, hastens off to freeze the ocean, goes to fasten down the flood-gates, goes to still the ocean-currents. as he hastens on his journey, takes the leaves from all the forest, strips the meadows of their verdure, robs the flowers of their colors. when his journey he had ended, gained the border of the ocean, gained the sea-shore curved and endless, on the first night of his visit, freezes he the lakes and rivers, freezes too the shore of ocean, freezes not the ocean-billows, does not check the ocean-currents. on the sea a finch is resting, bird of song upon the waters, but his feet are not yet frozen, neither is his head endangered. when the second night frost lingered, he began to grow important, he became a fierce intruder, fearless grew in his invasions, freezes everything before him; sends the fiercest cold of northland, turns to ice the boundless waters. ever thicker, thicker, thicker, grew the ice on sea and ocean, ever deeper, deeper, deeper, fell the snow on field and forest, froze the hero's ship of beauty, cold and lifeless bark of ahti; sought to freeze wild lemminkainen, freeze him lifeless as his vessel, asked the minstrel for his life-blood, for his ears, and feet, and fingers. then the hero, lemminkainen, angry grew and filled with magic, hurled the black-frost to the fire-god, threw him to the fiery furnace, held him in his forge of iron, then addressed the frost as follows: "frost, thou evil son of northland, dire and only son of winter, let my members not be stiffened, neither ears, nor feet, nor fingers, neither let my head be frozen. thou hast other things to feed on, many other beads to stiffen; leave in peace the flesh of heroes, let this minstrel pass in safety, freeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers, fens and forests, bills and valleys; let the cold stones grow still colder, freeze the willows in the waters, let the aspens freeze and suffer, let the bark peel from the birch-trees, let the pines burst on the mountains, let this hero pass in safety, do not let his locks be stiffened. "if all these prove insufficient, feed on other worthy matters; let the hot stones freeze asunder, let the flaming rocks be frozen, freeze the fiery blocks of iron, freeze to ice the iron mountains; stiffen well the mighty wuoksi, let imatra freeze to silence; freeze the sacred stream and whirlpool, let their boiling billows stiffen, or thine origin i'll sing thee, tell thy lineage of evil. well i know thine evil nature, know thine origin and power, whence thou camest, where thou goest, know thine ancestry of evil. thou wert born upon the aspen, wert conceived upon the willows, near the borders of pohyola, in the courts of dismal northland; sin-begotten was thy father, and thy mother was dishonor. "while in infancy who fed thee while thy mother could not nurse thee? surely thou wert fed by adders, nursed by foul and slimy serpents; north-winds rocked thee into slumber, cradled thee in roughest weather, in the worst of willow-marshes, in the springs forever flowing, evil-born and evil-nurtured, grew to be an evil genius, evil was thy mind and spirit, and the infant still was nameless, till the name of frost was given to the progeny of evil. "then the young lad lived in hedges, dwelt among the weeds and willows, lived in springs in days of summer, on the borders of the marshes, tore the lindens in the winter, stormed among the glens and forests, raged among the sacred birch-trees, rattled in the alder-branches, froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses, evened all the plains and prairies, ate the leaves within the woodlands, made the stalks drop down their blossoms, peeled the bark on weeds and willows. "thou hast grown to large proportions, hast become too tall and mighty; dost thou labor to benumb me, dost thou wish mine ears and fingers, of my feet wouldst thou deprive me? do not strive to freeze this hero, in his anguish and misfortune; in my stockings i shall kindle fire to drive thee from my presence, in my shoes lay flaming faggots, coals of fire in every garment, heated sandstones in my rigging; thus will hold thee at a distance. then thine evil form i'll banish to the farthest northland borders; when thy journey is completed, when thy home is reached in safety, freeze the caldrons in the castle, freeze the coal upon the hearthstone, in the dough, the hands of women, on its mother's lap, the infant, freeze the colt beside its mother. "if thou shouldst not heed this order, i shall banish thee still farther, to the carbon-piles of hisi, to the chimney-hearth of lempo, hurl thee to his fiery furnace, lay thee on the iron anvil, that thy body may be hammered with the sledges of the blacksmith, may be pounded into atoms, twixt the anvil and the hammer. "if thou shouldst not heed this order, shouldst not leave me to my freedom, know i still another kingdom, know another spot of resting; i shall drive thee to the summer, lead thy tongue to warmer climates, there a prisoner to suffer, never to obtain thy freedom till thy spirit i deliver, till i go myself and free thee." wicked frost, the son of winter, saw the magic bird of evil hovering above his spirit, straightway prayed for ahti's mercy, these the words the frost-fiend uttered: "let us now agree together, neither one to harm the other, never in the course of ages, never while the moonlight glimmers on the snow-capped hills of northland. if thou hearest that i bring thee cold to freeze thy feet and fingers, hurl me to the fiery furnace, hammer me upon the anvil of the blacksmith, ilmarinen; lead my tongue to warmer climates, banish me to lands of summer, there a prisoner to suffer, nevermore to gain my freedom." thereupon wild lemminkainen left his vessel in the ocean, frozen in the ice of northland, left his warlike boat forever, started on his cheerless journey to the borders of pohyola, and the mighty tiera followed in the tracks of his companion. on the ice they journeyed northward briskly walked upon the ice-plain, walked one day, and then a second, till the closing of the third day, when the hunger-land approached them, when appeared starvation-island. here the hardy lemminkainen hastened forward to the castle, this the hero's prayer and question; "is there food within this castle, fish or fowl within its larders, to refresh us on our journey, mighty heroes, cold and weary? when the hero, lemminkainen, found no food within the castle, neither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon, thus he cursed it and departed: "may the fire destroy these chambers, may the waters flood this dwelling, wash it to the seas of mana!" then they hastened onward, onward, hastened on through field and forest, over by-ways long untrodden, over unknown paths and snow-fields; here the hardy lemminkainen, reckless hero, kaukomieli, pulled the soft wool from the ledges, gathered lichens from the tree-trunks, wove them into magic stockings, wove them into shoes and mittens, on the settles of the hoar-frost, in the stinging cold of northland. then he sought to find some pathway, that would guide their wayward footsteps, and the hero spake as follows: "o thou tiera, friend beloved, shall we reach our destination, wandering for days together, through these northland fields and forests? kura thus replies to ahti: "we, alas! have come for vengeance, come for blood and retribution, to the battle-fields of northland, to the dismal sariola, here to leave our souls and bodies, here to starve, and freeze, and perish, in the dreariest of places, in this sun-forsaken country! never shall we gain the knowledge, never learn it, never tell it, which the pathway that can guide us to the forest-beds to suffer, to the pohya-plains to perish, in the home-land of the ravens, fitting food for crows and eagles. often do the northland vultures hither come to feed their fledgelings; hither bring the birds of heaven bits of flesh and blood of heroes; often do the beaks of ravens tear the flesh of kindred corpses, often do the eagle's talons carry bones and trembling vitals, such as ours, to feed their nestlings, in their rocky homes and ledges. "oh! my mother can but wonder, never can divine the answer, where her reckless son is roaming, where her hero's blood is flowing, whether in the swamps and lowlands whether in the heat of battle, or upon the waves of the ocean, or upon the hop-feld mountains, or along some forest by-way. nothing can her mind discover of the frailest of her heroes, only think that he has perished. thus the hoary-headed mother weeps and murmurs in her chambers: 'where is now my son beloved, in the kingdom of manala? sow thy crops, thou dread tuoni, harrow well the fields of kalma! now the bow receives its respite from the fingers of my tiera; bow and arrow now are useless, now the merry birds can fatten in the fields, and fens, and forests; bears may live in dens of freedom, on the fields may sport the elk-herds.'" spake the reckless lemminkainen: "thus it is, mine aged mother, thou that gavest me existence! thou hast reared thy broods of chickens, hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans all of them the winds have scattered, or the evil lempo frightened; one flew hither, and one thither, and a third one, lost forever! think thou of our former pleasures, of our better days together, when i wandered like the flowers, like the berry in the meadows. many saw my form majestic, many thought me well-proportioned. now is not as then with ahti, into evil days have fallen, since i see but storms and darkness! then my eyes beheld but sunshine, then we did not weep and murmur, did not fill our hearts with sorrow, when the maids in joy were singing, when the virgins twined their tresses; then the women joined in joyance, whether brides were happy-wedded, whether bridegrooms choose discreetly, whether they were wise or unwise. "but we must not grow disheartened, let the island-maidens cheer us; here we are not yet enchanted, not bewitched by magic singing, on the paths not left to perish, sink and perish on our journey. full of youth we should not suffer, strong, we should not die unworthy, whom the wizards have enchanted, have bewitched with songs of magic; sorcerers may charm and conquer, bury them within their dungeons, hide them spell-bound in their cabins. let the wizards charm each other, and bewitch their magic offspring, bring their tribes to fell destruction. never did my gray-haired father bow submission to a wizard, offer worship to magicians. these the words my father uttered, these the thoughts his son advances: 'guard us, thou o great creator, shield us, thou o god of mercy, with thine arms of grace protect us, help us with thy strength and wisdom, guide the minds of all thy heroes, keep aright the thoughts of women, keep the old from speaking evil, keep the young from sin and folly, be to us a help forever, be our guardian and our father, that our children may not wander from the ways of their creator, from the path that god has given!'" then the hero lemminkainen, made from cares the fleetest racers, sable racers from his sorrows, reins he made from days of evil, from his sacred pains made saddles. to the saddle, quickly springing, galloped he away from trouble, to his dear and aged mother; and his comrade, faithful tiera, galloped to his island-dwelling. now departs wild lemminkainen, brave and reckless kaukomieli, from these ancient songs and legends; only guides his faithful kura to his waiting bride and kindred, while these lays and incantations shall be turned to other heroes. rune xxxi. kullerwoinen son of evil. in the ancient times a mother hatched and raised some swans and chickens, placed the chickens in the brushwood, placed her swans upon the river; came an eagle, hawk, and falcon, scattered all her swans and chickens, one was carried to karyala, and a second into ehstland, left a third at home in pohya. and the one to ehstland taken soon became a thriving merchant; he that journeyed to karyala flourished and was called kalervo; he that hid away in pohya took the name of untamoinen, flourished to his father's sorrow, to the heart-pain of his mother. untamoinen sets his fish-nets in the waters of kalervo; kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets, takes the fish home in his basket. then untamo, evil-minded, angry grew and sighed for vengeance, clutched his fingers for the combat, bared his mighty arms for battle, for the stealing of his salmon, for the robbing of his fish-nets. long they battled, fierce the struggle, neither one could prove the victor; should one beat the other fiercely, he himself was fiercely beaten. then arose a second trouble; on the second and the third days, kalerwoinen sowed some barley near the barns of untamoinen; untamoinen's sheep in hunger ate the crop of kullerwoinen; kullerwoinen's dog in malice tore untamo's sheep in pieces; then untamo sorely threatened to annihilate the people of his brother, kalerwoinen, to exterminate his tribe-folk, to destroy the young and aged, to out-root his race and kingdom; conjures men with broadswords girded, for the war he fashions heroes, fashions youth with spears adjusted, bearing axes on their shoulders, conjures thus a mighty army, hastens to begin a battle, bring a war upon his brother. kalerwoinen's wife in beauty sat beside her chamber-window, looking out along the highway, spake these words in wonder guessing: "do i see some smoke arising, or perchance a heavy storm-cloud, near the border of the forest, near the ending of the prairie?" it was not some smoke arising, nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud, it was untamoinen's soldiers marching to the place of battle. warriors of untamoinen came equipped with spears and arrows, killed the people of kalervo, slew his tribe and all his kindred, burned to ashes many dwellings, levelled many courts and cabins, only, left kalervo's daughter, with her unborn child, survivors of the slaughter of untamo; and she led the hostile army to her father's halls and mansion, swept the rooms and made them cheery, gave the heroes home-attentions. time had gone but little distance, ere a boy was born in magic of the virgin, untamala, of a mother, trouble-laden, him the mother named kullervo, "pearl of combat," said untamo. then they laid the child of wonder, fatherless, the magic infant, in the cradle of attention, to be rocked, and fed, and guarded; but he rocked himself at pleasure, rocked until his locks stood endwise; rocked one day, and then a second, rocked the third from morn till noontide; but before the third day ended, kicks the boy with might of magic, forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards, kicks in miracles of power, bursts with might his swaddling garments creeping from beneath his blankets, knocks his cradle into fragments, tears to tatters all his raiment, seemed that he would grow a hero, and his mother, untamala, thought that be, when full of stature, when he found his strength and reason, would become a great magician, first among a thousand heroes. when three months the boy had thriven, he began to speak as follows: "when my form is full of stature, when these arms grow strong and hardy, then will i avenge the murder of kalervo and his people!" untamoinen bears the saying, speaks these words to those about him; "to my tribe he brings destruction, in him grows a new kalervo!" then the heroes well considered, and the women gave their counsel, how to kill the magic infant, that their tribe may live in safety. it appeared the boy would prosper; finally, they all consenting, he was placed within a basket, and with willows firmly fastened, taken to the reeds and rushes, lowered to the deepest waters, in his basket there to perish. when three nights had circled over, messengers of untamoinen went to see if he had perished in his basket in the waters; but the prodigy, was living, had not perished in the rushes; he had left his willow-basket, sat in triumph on a billow, in his hand a rod of copper, on the rod a golden fish-line, fishing for the silver whiting, measuring the deeps beneath him; in the sea was little water, scarcely would it fill three measures. untamoinen then reflected, this the language of the wizard: "whither shall we take this wonder, lay this prodigy of evil, that destruction may o'ertake him, where the boy will sink and perish?" then his messengers he ordered to collect dried poles of brushwood, birch-trees with their hundred branches, pine-trees full of pitch and resin, ordered that a pyre be builded, that the boy might be cremated, that kullervo thus might perish. high they piled the and branches, dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree, branches from a hundred fir-trees, knots and branches full of resign; filled with bark a thousand sledges, seasoned oak, a hundred measures; piled the brushwood to the tree-tops, set the boy upon the summit, set on fire the pile of brushwood, burned one day, and then a second, burned the third from morn till evening. when untamo sent his heralds to inspect the pyre and wizard, there to learn if young kullervo had been burned to dust and ashes, there they saw the young boy sitting on a pyramid of embers, in his band a rod of copper, raking coals of fire about him, to increase their heat and power; not a hair was burned nor injured, not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled. then untamo, evil-humored, thus addressed his trusted heralds: "whither shall the boy be taken, to what place this thing of evil, that destruction may o'ertake him. that the boy may sink and perish?" then they hung him to an oak-tree, crucified him in the branches, that the wizard there might perish. when three days and nights had ended, untamoinen spake as follows: "it is time to send my heralds to inspect the mighty oak-tree, there to learn if young kullervo lives or dies among the branches." thereupon he sent his servants, and the heralds brought this message: "young kullervo has not perished, has not died among the branches of the oak-tree where we hung him. in the oak he maketh pictures with a wand between his fingers; pictures hang from all the branches, carved and painted by kullervo; and the heroes, thick as acorns, with their swords and spears adjusted, fill the branches of the oak-tree, every leaf becomes a soldier." who can help the grave untamo kill the boy that threatens evil to untamo's tribe and country, since he will not die by water, nor by fire, nor crucifixion? finally it was decided that his body was immortal, could not suffer death nor torture. in despair grave untamoinen thus addressed the boy, kullervo: "wilt thou live a life becoming, always do my people honor, should i keep thee in my dwelling? shouldst thou render servant's duty, then thou wilt receive thy wages, reaping whatsoe'er thou sowest; thou canst wear the golden girdle, or endure the tongue of censure." when the boy had grown a little, had increased in strength and stature, he was given occupation, he was made to tend an infant, made to rock the infant's cradle. these the words of untamoinen: "often look upon the young child, feed him well and guard from danger, wash his linen in the river, give the infant good attention." young kullervo, wicked wizard, nurses one day then a second; on the morning of the third day, gives the infant cruel treatment, blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers; and when evening shadows gather, kills the young child while it slumbers, throws its body to the waters, breaks and burns the infant's cradle. untamoinen thus reflected: "never will this fell kullervo be a worthy nurse for children, cannot rock a babe in safety; do not know how i can use him, what employment i can give him!" then he told the young magician he must fell the standing forest, and kullervo gave this answer: "only will i be a hero, when i wield the magic hatchet; i am young, and fair, and mighty, far more beautiful than others, have the skill of six magicians." thereupon he sought the blacksmith, this the order of kullervo: "listen, o thou metal-artist, forge for me an axe of copper, forge the mighty axe of heroes, wherewith i may fell the forest, fell the birch, and oak, and aspen." this behest the blacksmith honors, forges him an axe of copper, wonderful the blade he forges. kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet, grinds his blade from morn till evening, and the next day makes the handle; then he hastens to the forest, to the upward-sloping mountain, to the tallest of the birches, to the mightiest of oak-trees; there he swings his axe of copper, swings his blade with might of magic, cuts with sharpened edge the aspen, with one blow he fells the oak-tree, with a second blow, the linden; many trees have quickly fallen, by the hatchet of kullervo. then the wizard spake as follows: "this the proper work of lempo, let dire hisi fell the forest!" in the birch he sank his hatchet, made an uproar in the woodlands, called aloud in tones, of thunder, whistled to the distant mountains, till they echoed to his calling, when kullervo spake as follows: "may the forest, in the circle where my voice rings, fall and perish, in the earth be lost forever! may no tree remain unlevelled, may no saplings grow in spring-time, never while the moonlight glimmers, where kullervo's voice has echoed, where the forest hears my calling; where the ground with seed is planted, and the grain shall sprout and flourish, may it never come to ripeness, mar the ears of corn be blasted!" when the strong man, untamoinen, went to look at early evening, how kullervo was progressing, in his labors in the forest; little was the work accomplished, was not worthy of a here; untamoinen thus reflected: "young kullervo is not fitted for the work of clearing forests, wastes the best of all the timber, to my lands he brings destruction; i shall set him making fences." then the youth began the building of a fence for untamoinen; took the trunks of stately fir-trees, trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts, cut the tallest in the woodlands, for the railing of his fences; made the smaller poles and cross-bars from the longest of the lindens; made the fence without a pass-way, made no wicket in his fences, and kullervo spake these measures. "he that does not rise as eagles, does not sail on wings through ether, cannot cross kullervo's pickets, nor the fences he has builded." untamoinen left his mansion to inspect the young boy's labors, view the fences of kullervo; saw the fence without a pass-way, not a wicket in his fences; from the earth the fence extended to the highest clouds of heaven. these the words of untamoinen: "for this work he is not fitted, useless is the fence thus builded; is so high that none can cross it, and there is no passage through it: he shall thresh the rye and barley." young kullervo, quick preparing made an oaken flail for threshing, threshed the rye to finest powder, threshed the barley into atoms, and the straw to worthless fragments. untamoinen went at evening, went to see kullervo's threshing, view the work of kullerwoinen; found the rye was ground to powder, grains of barley crushed to atoms, and the straw to worthless rubbish. untamoinen then grew angry, spake these words in bitter accents: "kullerwoinen as a workman is a miserable failure; whatsoever work he touches is but ruined by his witchcraft; i shall carry him to ehstland, in karyala i shall sell him to the blacksmith, ilmarinen, there to swing the heavy hammer." untamoinen sells kullervo, trades him off in far karyala, to the blacksmith, ilmarinen, to the master of the metals, this the sum received in payment: seven worn and worthless sickles, three old caldrons worse than useless, three old scythes, and hoes, and axes, recompense, indeed, sufficient for a boy that will not labor for the good of his employer. rune xxxii. kullervo as a shepherd. kullerwoinen, wizard-servant of the blacksmith, ilmarinen, purchased slave from untamoinen, magic son with sky-blue stockings, with a head of golden ringlets, in his shoes of marten-leather, waiting little, asked the blacksmith, asked the host for work at morning, in the evening asked the hostess, these the words of kullerwoinen: "give me work at early morning, in the evening, occupation, labor worthy of thy servant." then the wife of ilmarinen, once the maiden of the rainbow, thinking long, and long debating, how to give the youth employment, how the purchased slave could labor; finally a shepherd made him, made him keeper of her pastures; but the over-scornful hostess, baked a biscuit for the herdsman, baked a loaf of wondrous thickness, baked the lower-half of oat-meal, and the upper-half of barley, baked a flint-stone in the centre, poured around it liquid butter, then she gave it to the shepherd, food to still the herdsman's hunger; thus she gave the youth instructions: "do not eat the bread in hunger, till the herd is in the woodlands!" then the wife of ilmarinen sent her cattle to the pasture, thus addressing kullerwoinen: "drive the cows to yonder bowers, to the birch-trees and the aspens, that they there may feed and fatten, fill themselves with milk and butter, in the open forest-pastures, on the distant hills and mountains, in the glens among the birch-trees, in the lowlands with the aspens, in the golden pine-tree forests, in the thickets silver-laden. "guard them, thou o kind creator, shield them, omnipresent ukko, shelter them from every danger, and protect them from all evil, that they may not want, nor wander from the paths of peace and plenty. as at home thou didst protect them in the shelters and the hurdles, guard them now beneath the heavens, shelter them in woodland pastures, that the herds may live and prosper to the joy of northland's hostess, and against the will of lempo. "if my herdsman prove unworthy, if the shepherd-maids seem evil, let the pastures be their shepherds, let the alders guard the cattle, make the birch-tree their protector, let the willow drive them homeward, ere the hostess go to seek them, ere the milkmaids wait and worry. should the birch-tree not protect them, nor the aspen lend assistance, nor the linden be their keeper, nor the willow drive them homeward, wilt thou give them better herdsmen, let creation's beauteous daughters be their kindly shepherdesses. thou hast many lovely maidens, many hundreds that obey thee, in the ether's spacious circles, beauteous daughters of creation. "summer-daughter, magic maiden, southern mother of the woodlands, pine-tree daughter, kateyatar, pihlayatar, of the aspen, alder-maiden, tapio's daughter, daughter of the glen, millikki, and the mountain-maid, tellervo, of my herds be ye protectors, keep them from the evil-minded, keep them safe in days of summer, in the times of fragrant flowers, while the tender leaves are whispering, while the earth is verdure-laden. "summer-daughter, charming maiden, southern mother of the woodlands, spread abroad thy robes of safety, spread thine apron o'er the forest, let it cover all my cattle, and protect the unprotected, that no evil winds may harm them, may not suffer from the storm-clouds. guard my flocks from every danger, keep them from the hands of wild-beasts, from the swamps with sinking pathways, from the springs that bubble trouble, from the swiftly running waters, from the bottom of the whirlpool, that they may not find misfortune, may not wander to destruction, in the marshes sink and perish, though against god's best intentions, though against the will of ukko. "from a distance bring a bugle, bring a shepherd's horn from heaven, bring the honey-flute of ukko, play the music of creation, blow the pipes of the magician, play the flowers on the highlands, charm the hills, and dales, and mount charm the borders of the forest, fill the forest-trees with honey, fill with spice the fountain-borders. "for my herds give food and shelter, feed them all on honeyed pastures, give them drink at honeyed fountains feed them on thy golden grasses, on the leaves of silver saplings, from the springs of life and beauty, from the crystal-waters flowing, from the waterfalls of rutya, from the uplands green and golden, from the glens enriched in silver. dig thou also golden fountains on the four sides of the willow, that the cows may drink in sweetness, and their udders swell with honey, that their milk may flow in streamlets; let the milk be caught in vessels, let the cow's gift be not wasted, be not given to manala. "many are the sons of evil, that to mana take their milkings, give their milk to evil-doers, waste it in tuoni's empire; few there are, and they the worthy, that can get the milk from mana; never did my ancient mother ask for counsel in the village, never in the courts for wisdom; she obtained her milk from mana, took the sour-milk from the dealers, sweet-milk from the greater distance, from the kingdom of manala, from tuoni's fields and pastures; brought it in the dusk of evening, through the by-ways in the darkness, that the wicked should not know it, that it should not find destruction. "this the language of my mother, and these words i also echo: whither does the cow's gift wander, whither has the milk departed? has it gone to feed the strangers, banished to the distant village, gone to feed the hamlet-lover, or perchance to feed the forest, disappeared within the woodlands, scattered o'er the hills and mountains, mingled with the lakes and rivers? it shall never go to mana, never go to feed the stranger, never to the village-lover; neither shall it feed the forest, nor be lost upon the mountains, neither sprinkled in the woodlands, nor be mingled with the waters; it is needed for our tables, worthy food for all our children.' summer-daughter, maid of beauty, southern daughter of creation, give suotikki tender fodder, to watikki, give pure water, to hermikki milk abundant, fresh provisions to tuorikki, from mairikki let the milk flow, fresh milk from my cows in plenty, coming from the tips of grasses, from the tender herbs and leaflets, from the meadows rich in honey, from the mother of the forest, from the meadows sweetly dripping, from the berry-laden branches, from the heath of flower-maidens, from the verdure, maiden bowers, from the clouds of milk-providers, from the virgin of the heavens, that the milk may flow abundant from the cows that i have given to the keeping of kullervo. "rise thou virgin of the valley, from the springs arise in beauty, rise thou maiden of the fountain, beautiful, arise in ether, take the waters from the cloudlets, and my roaming herds besprinkle, that my cows may drink and flourish, may be ready for the coming of the shepherdess of evening. "o millikki, forest-hostess, mother of the herds at pasture, send the tallest of thy servants, send the best of thine assistants, that my herds may well be guarded, through the pleasant days of summer, given us by our creator. "beauteous virgin of the woodlands, tapio's most charming daughter, fair tellervo, forest-maiden, softly clad in silken raiment, beautiful in golden ringlets, do thou give my herds protection, in the metsola dominions, on the hills of tapiola; shield them with thy hands of beauty, stroke them gently with thy fingers, give to them a golden lustre, make them shine like fins of salmon, grow them robes as soft as ermine. "when the evening star brings darkness, when appears the hour of twilight, send my lowing cattle homeward, milk within their vessels coursing, water on their backs in lakelets. when the sun has set in ocean, when the evening-bird is singing, thus address my herds of cattle: "ye that carry horns, now hasten to the sheds of ilmarinen; ye enriched in milk go homeward, to the hostess now in waiting, home, the better place for sleeping, forest-beds are full of danger; when the evening comes in darkness, straightway journey to the milkmaids building fires to light the pathway on the turf enriched in honey, in the pastures berry-laden! "thou, o tapio's son, nyrikki, forest-son, enrobed in purple, cut the fir-trees on the mountains, cut the pines with cones of beauty, lay them o'er the streams for bridges, cover well the sloughs of quicksand, in the swamps and in the lowlands, that my herd may pass in safety, on their long and dismal journey, to the clouds of smoke may hasten, where the milkmaids wait their coming. if the cows heed not this order, do not hasten home at evening, then, o service-berry maiden, cut a birch-rod from the glenwood, from the juniper, a whip-stick, near to tapio's spacious mansion, standing on the ash-tree mountain, drive my wayward, lowing cattle, into metsola's wide milk-yards, when the evening-star is rising. "thou, o otso, forest-apple, woodland bear, with honeyed fingers, let us make a lasting treaty, make a vow for future ages, that thou wilt not kill my cattle, wilt not eat my milk-providers; that i will not send my hunters to destroy thee and thy kindred, never in the days of summer, the creator's warmest season. "dost thou hear the tones of cow-bells, hear the calling of the bugles, ride thyself within the meadow, sink upon the turf in slumber, bury both thine ears in clover, crouch within some alder-thicket climb between the mossy ledges, visit thou some rocky cavern, flee away to other mountains, till thou canst not hear the cow-bells, nor the calling of the herdsmen. "listen, otso of the woodlands, sacred bear with honeyed fingers, to approach the herd of cattle thou thyself art not forbidden, but thy tongue, and teeth, and fingers, must not touch my herd in summer, must not harm my harmless creatures. go around the scented meadows, amble through the milky pastures, from the tones of bells and shepherds. should the herd be on the mountain, go thou quickly to the marshes; should my cattle browse the lowlands, sleep thou then within the thicket; should they feed upon the uplands, thou must hasten to the valley; should the herd graze at the bottom, thou must feed upon the summit. "wander like the golden cuckoo, like the dove of silver brightness, like a little fish in ocean; ride thy claws within thy hair-foot, shut thy wicked teeth in darkness, that my herd may not be frightened, may not think themselves in danger. leave my cows in peace and plenty, let them journey home in order, through the vales and mountain by-ways, over plains and through the forest, harming not my harmless creatures. "call to mind our former pledges, at the river of tuoni, near the waterfall and whirlpool, in the ears of our creator. thrice to otso was it granted, in the circuit of the summer, to approach the land of cow-bells, where the herdsmen's voices echo; but to thee it was not granted, otso never had permission to attempt a wicked action, to begin a work of evil. should the blinding thing of malice come upon thee in thy roamings, should thy bloody teeth feel hunger, throw thy malice to the mountains, and thy hunger to the pine-trees, sink thy teeth within the aspens, in the dead limbs of the birches, prune the dry stalks from the willows. should thy hunger still impel thee, go thou to the berry-mountain, eat the fungus of the forest, feed thy hunger on the ant-hills, eat the red roots of the bear-tree, metsola's rich cakes of honey, not the grass my herd would feed on. or if metsola's rich honey should ferment before the eating, on the hills of golden color, on the mountains filled with silver, there is other food for hunger, other drink for thirsting otso, everlasting will the food be, and the drink be never wanting. "let us now agree in honor, and conclude a lasting treaty that our lives may end in pleasure, may be, merry in the summer, both enjoy the woods in common, though our food must be distinctive shouldst thou still desire to fight me, let our contests be in winter, let our wars be, on the snow-fields. swamps will thaw in days of summer, warm, the water in the rivers. therefore shouldst thou break this treaty, shouldst thou come where golden cattle roam these woodland hills and valleys, we will slay thee with our cross-bows; should our arrow-men be absent, we have here some archer-women, and among them is the hostess, that can use the fatal weapon, that can bring thee to destruction, thus will end the days of trouble that thou bringest to our people, and against the will of ukko. "ukko, ruler in the heavens, lend an ear to my entreaty, metamorphose all my cattle, through the mighty force of magic, into stumps and stones convert them, if the enemy should wander, near my herd in days of summer. "if i had been born an otso, i would never stride and amble at the feet of aged women; elsewhere there are hills and valleys, farther on are honey-pastures, where the lazy bear may wander, where the indolent may linger; sneak away to yonder mountain, that thy tender flesh may lessen, in the blue-glen's deep recesses, in the bear-dens of the forest, thou canst move through fields of acorns, through the sand and ocean-pebbles, there for thee is tracked a pathway, through the woodlands on the sea-coast, to the northland's farthest limits, to the dismal plains of lapland, there 'tis well for thee to lumber, there to live will be a pleasure. shoeless there to walk in summer, stockingless in days of autumn, on the blue-back of the mountain, through the swamps and fertile lowlands. "if thou canst not journey thither, canst not find the lapland-highway, hasten on a little distance, in the bear-path leading northward. to the grove of tuonela, to the honey-plains of kalma, swamps there are in which to wander, heaths in which to roam at pleasure, there are kiryos, there are karyos, and of beasts a countless number, with their fetters strong as iron, fattening within the forest. be ye gracious, groves and mountains, full of grace, ye darksome thickets, peace and, plenty to my cattle, through the pleasant days of summer, the creator's warmest season. "knippana, o king of forests, thou the gray-beard of the woodlands, watch thy dogs in fen and fallow, lay a sponge within one nostril, and an acorn in the other, that they may not scent my cattle; tie their eyes with silken fillets, that they may not see my herdlings, may not see my cattle grazing. "should all this seem inefficient, drive away thy barking children, let them run to other forests, let them hunt in other marshes, from these verdant strips of meadow, from these far outstretching borders, hide thy dogs within thy caverns, firmly tie thy yelping children, tie them with thy golden fetters, with thy chains adorned with silver, that they may not do me damage,' may not do a deed of mischief. should all this prove inefficient, thou, o ukko, king of heaven. wise director, full of mercy, hear the golden words i utter, hear a voice that breathes affection, from the alder make a muzzle, for each dog, within the kennel; should the alder prove too feeble, cast a band of purest copper; should the copper prove a failure, forge a band of ductile iron; should the iron snap asunder, in each nose a small-ring fasten, made of molten gold and silver, chain thy dogs in forest-caverns, that my herd may not be injured. then the wife of ilmarinen, life-companion of the blacksmith, opened all her yards and stables, led her herd across the meadow, placed them in the herdman's keeping, in the care of kullerwoinen. rune xxxiii. kullervo and the cheat-cake. thereupon the lad, kullervo, laid his luncheon in his basket, drove the herd to mountain-pastures, o'er the hills and through the marshes, to their grazings in the woodlands, speaking as he careless wandered: "of the youth am i the poorest, hapless lad and full of trouble, evil luck to me befallen! i alas! must idly wander o'er the hills and through the valleys, as a watch-dog for the cattle!" then she sat upon the greensward, in a sunny spot selected, singing, chanting words as follow: "shine, o shine, thou sun of heaven, cast thy rays, thou fire of ukko, on the herdsman of the blacksmith, on the head of kullerwoinen, on this poor and luckless shepherd, not in ilmarinen's smithy, nor the dwellings of his people; good the table of the hostess, cuts the best of wheaten biscuit, honey-cakes she cuts in slices, spreading each with golden butter; only dry bread has the herdsman, eats with pain the oaten bread-crusts,' filled with chaff his and biscuit, feeds upon the worst of straw-bread, pine-tree bark, the broad he feeds on, sipping water from the birch-bark, drinking from the tips of grasses i go, o sun, and go, o barley, haste away, thou light of ukko, hide within the mountain pine-trees, go, o wheat, to yonder thickets, to the trees of purple berries, to the junipers and alders, safely lead the herdsman homeward to the biscuit golden-buttered, to the honeyed cakes and viands!" while the shepherd lad was singing kullerwoinen's song and echo, ilmarinen's wife was feasting on the sweetest bread of northland, on the toothsome cakes of barley, on the richest of provisions; only laid aside some cabbage, for the herdsman, kullerwoinen; set apart some wasted fragments, leavings of the dogs at dinner, for the shepherd, home returning. from the woods a bird came flying, sang this song to kullerwoinen: "'tis the time for forest-dinners, for the fatherless companion of the herds to eat his viands, eat the good things from his basket!" kullerwoinen heard the songster, looked upon the sun's long shadow, straightway spake the words that follow: "true, the singing of the song-bird, it is time indeed for feasting, time to eat my basket-dinner." thereupon young kullerwoinen called his herd to rest in safety, sat upon a grassy hillock, took his basket from his shoulders, took therefrom the and oat-loaf, turned it over in his fingers, carefully the loaf inspected, spake these words of ancient wisdom: "many loaves are fine to look on, on the outside seem delicious, on the inside, chaff and tan-bark!" then the shepherd, kullerwoinen, drew his knife to cut his oat-loaf, cut the hard and arid biscuit; cuts against a stone imprisoned, well imbedded in the centre, breaks his ancient knife in pieces; when the shepherd youth, kullervo, saw his magic knife had broken, weeping sore, he spake as follows: "this, the blade that i bold sacred, this the one thing that i honor, relic of my mother's people! on the stone within this oat-loaf, on this cheat-cake of the hostess, i my precious knife have broken. how shall i repay this insult, how avenge this woman's malice, what the wages for deception?" from a tree the raven answered: "o thou little silver buckle, only son of old kalervo, why art thou in evil humor, wherefore sad in thy demeanor? take a young shoot from the thicket, take a birch-rod from the valley, drive thy herd across the lowlands, through the quicksands of the marshes; to the wolves let one half wander, to the bear-dens, lead the other; sing the forest wolves together, sing the bears down from the mountains, call the wolves thy little children, and the bears thy standard-bearers; drive them like a cow-herd homeward, drive them home like spotted cattle, drive them to thy master's milk-yards; thus thou wilt repay the hostess for her malice and derision." thereupon the wizard answered, these the words of kullerwoinen: "wait, yea wait, thou bride of hisi! do i mourn my mother's relic, mourn the keep-sake thou hast broken? thou thyself shalt mourn as sorely when thy, cows come home at evening!" from the tree he cuts a birch-wand, from the juniper a whip-stick, drives the herd across the lowlands, through the quicksands of the marshes, to the wolves lets one half wander, to the bear-dens leads the other; calls the wolves his little children, calls the bears his standard-bearers, changes all his herd of cattle into wolves and bears by magic. in the west the sun is shining, telling that the night is coming. quick the wizard, kullerwoinen, wanders o'er the pine-tree mountain, hastens through the forest homeward, drives the wolves and bears before him toward the milk-yards of the hostess; to the herd he speaks as follows, as they journey on together: "tear and kill the wicked hostess, tear her guilty flesh in pieces, when she comes to view her cattle, when she stoops to do her milking!" then the wizard, kullerwoinen, from an ox-bone makes a bugle, makes it from tuonikki's cow-horn, makes a flute from kiryo's shin-bone, plays a song upon his bugle, plays upon his flute of magic, thrice upon the home-land hill-tops, six times near the coming gate-ways. ilmarinen's wife and hostess long had waited for the coming of her herd with kullerwoinen, waited for the milk at evening, waited for the new-made butter, heard the footsteps in the cow-path, on the heath she beard the bustle, spake these joyous words of welcome: "be thou praised, o gracious ukko, that my herd is home returning! but i hear a bugle sounding, 'tis the playing of my herdsman, playing on a magic cow-horn, bursting all our ears with music!" kullerwoinen, drawing nearer, to the hostess spake as follows: "found the bugle in the woodlands, and the flute among the rushes; all thy herd are in the passage, all thy cows within the hurdles, this the time to build the camp-fire, this the time to do the milking!" ilmarinen's wife, the hostess, thus addressed an aged servant: "go, thou old one, to the milking, have the care of all my cattle, do not ask for mine assistance, since i have to knead the biscuit." kullerwoinen spake as follows: "always does the worthy hostess, ever does the wisdom-mother go herself and do the milking, tend the cows within the hurdles!" then the wife of ilmarinen built a field-fire in the passage, went to milk her cows awaiting, looked upon her herd in wonder, spake these happy words of greeting: "beautiful, my herd of cattle, glistening like the skins of lynxes, hair as soft as fur of ermine, peaceful waiting for the milk-pail!" on the milk-stool sits the hostess, milks one moment, then a second, then a third time milks and ceases; when the bloody wolves disguising, quick attack the hostess milking, and the bears lend their assistance, tear and mutilate her body with their teeth and sharpened fingers. kullerwoinen, cruel wizard, thus repaid the wicked hostess, thus repaid her evil treatment. quick the wife of ilmarinen cried aloud in bitter anguish, thus addressed the youth, kullervo: "evil son, thou bloody herdsman, thou hast brought me wolves in malice, driven bears within my hurdles! these the words of kullerwoinen: "have i evil done as shepherd, worse the conduct of the hostess; baked a stone inside my oat-cake, on the inside, rock and tan-bark, on the stone my knife, was broken, treasure of my mother's household, broken virtue of my people!" ilmarinen's wife made answer: "noble herdsman, kullerwoinen, change, i pray thee, thine opinion, take away thine incantations, from the bears and wolves release me, save me from this spell of torture i will give thee better raiment, give the best of milk and butter, set for thee the sweetest table; thou shalt live with me in welcome, need not labor for thy keeping. if thou dost not free me quickly, dost not break this spell of magic, i shall sink into the death-land, shall return to tuonela." this is kullerwoinen's answer: "it is best that thou shouldst perish, let destruction overtake thee, there is ample room in mana, room for all the dead in kalma, there the worthiest must slumber, there must rest the good and evil." ilmarinen's wife made answer: "ukko, thou o god in heaven, span the strongest of thy cross-bows, test the weapon by thy wisdom, lay an arrow forged from copper, on the cross-bow of thy forging; rightly aim thy flaming arrow, with thy magic hurl the missile, shoot this wizard through the vitals, pierce the heart of kullerwoinen with the lightning of the heavens, with thine arrows tipped with copper." kullerwoinen prays as follows: "ukko, god of truth and justice. do not slay thy magic servant, slay the wife of ilmarinen, kill in her the worst of women, in these hurdles let her perish, lest she wander hence in freedom, to perform some other mischief, do some greater deed of malice!" quick as lightning fell the hostess, quick the wife of ilmarinen fell and perished in the hurdles, on the ground before her cottage thus the death of northland's hostess, cherished wife of ilmarinen, once the maiden of the rainbow, wooed and watched for many summers, pride and joy of kalevala! rune xxxiv. kullervo finds his tribe-folk. kullerwoinen, young magician, in his beauteous, golden ringlets, in his magic shoes of deer-skin, left the home of ilmarinen wandered forth upon his journey, ere the blacksmith heard the tidings of the cruel death and torture of his wife and joy-companion, lest a bloody fight should follow. kullerwoinen left the smithy, blowing on his magic bugle, joyful left the lands of ilma, blowing blithely on the heather, made the distant hills re-echo, made the swamps and mountains tremble, made the heather-blossoms answer to the music of his cow-horn, in its wild reverberations, to the magic of his playing. songs were heard within the smithy, and the blacksmith stopped and listened, hastened to the door and window, hastened to the open court-yard, if perchance he might discover what was playing on the heather, what was sounding through the forest. quick he learned the cruel story, learned the cause of the rejoicing, saw the hostess dead before him, knew his beauteous wife had perished, saw the lifeless form extended, in the court-yard of his dwelling. thereupon the metal-artist fell to bitter tears and wailings, wept through all the dreary night-time, deep the grief that settled o'er him, black as night his darkened future, could not stay his tears of sorrow. kullerwoinen hastened onward, straying, roaming, hither, thither, wandered on through field and forest, o'er the hisi-plains and woodlands. when the darkness settled o'er him, when the bird of night was flitting, sat the fatherless at evening, the forsaken sat and rested on a hillock of the forest. thus he murmured, heavy-hearted: "why was i, alas! created, why was i so ill-begotten, since for months and years i wander, lost among the ether-spaces? others have their homes to dwell in, others hasten to their firesides as the evening gathers round them: but my home is in the forest, and my bed upon the heather, and my bath-room is the rain-cloud. "never didst thou, god of mercy, never in the course of ages, give an infant birth unwisely; wherefore then was i created, fatherless to roam in ether, motherless and lone to wander? thou, o ukko, art my father, thou hast given me form and feature; as the sea-gull on the ocean, as the duck upon the waters, shines the sun upon the swallow, shines as bright upon the sparrow, gives the joy-birds song and gladness, does not shine on me unhappy; nevermore will shine the sunlight, never will the moonlight glimmer on this hapless son and orphan; do not know my hero-father, cannot tell who was my mother; on the shore, perhaps the gray-duck left me in the sand to perish. young was i and small of stature, when my mother left me orphaned; dead, my father and my mother, dead, my honored tribe of heroes; shoes they left me that are icy, stockings filled with frosts of ages, let me on the freezing ice-plains fall to perish in the rushes; from the giddy heights of mountains let me tumble to destruction. "o, thou wise and good creator, why my birth and what my service? i shall never fall and perish on the ice-plains, in the marshes, never be a bridge in swamp-land, not while i have arms of virtue that can serve my honored kindred!" then kullervo thought to journey to the village of untamo, to avenge his father's murder, to avenge his mother's tortures, and the troubles of his tribe-folk. these the words of kullerwoinen: "wait, yea wait, thou untamoinen, thou destroyer of my people; when i meet thee in the combat, i will slay thee and thy kindred, i will burn thy homes to ashes!" came a woman on the highway, dressed in blue, the aged mother, to kullervo spake as follows: "whither goest, kullerwoinen, whither hastes the wayward hero? kullerwoinen gave this answer: "i have thought that i would journey to the far-off land of strangers, to the village of untamo, to avenge my father's murder, to avenge my mother's tortures, and the troubles of my tribe-folk." thus the gray-haired woman answered: "surely thou dost rest in error, for thy tribe has never perished, and thy mother still is living with thy father in the northland, living with the old kalervo." "o, thou ancient dame beloved, worthy mother of the woodlands, tell me where my father liveth, where my loving mother lingers!" "yonder lives thine aged father, and thy loving mother with him, on the farthest shore of northland, on the long-point of the fish-lake!" "tell me, o thou woodland-mother, how to journey to my people, how to find mine honored tribe-folk." "easy is the way for strangers: thou must journey through the forest, hasten to the river-border, travel one day, then a second, and the third from morn till even, to the north-west, thou must journey. if a mountain comes to meet thee, go around the nearing mountain, westward bold thy weary journey, till thou comest to a river, on thy right hand flowing eastward; travel to the river border, where three water-falls will greet thee; when thou comest to a headland, on the point thou'lt see a cottage where the fishermen assemble; in this cottage is thy father, with thy mother and her daughters, beautiful thy maiden sisters." kullerwoinen, the magician, hastens northward on his journey, walks one day, and then a second, walks the third from morn till evening; to the north-west walks kullervo, till a mountain comes to meet him, walks around the nearing mountain; westward, westward, holds his journey, till he sees a river coming; hastens to the river border, walks along the streams and rapids till three waterfalls accost him; travels till he meets a headland, on the point he spies a cottage, where the fishermen assemble. quick he journeys to the cabin, quick he passes through the portals of the cottage on the headland, where he finds his long-lost kindred; no one knows the youth, kullervo, no one knows whence comes the stranger, where his home, nor where he goeth. these the words of young kullervo: "dost thou know me not, my mother, dost thou know me not, my father? i am hapless kullerwoinen whom the heroes of untamo carried to their distant country, when my height was but a hand-breadth." quick the hopeful mother answers: "o my worthy son, beloved, o my precious silver-buckle, hast thou with thy mind of magic, wandered through the fields of northland searching for thy home and kindred? as one dead i long have mourned thee, had supposed thee, in manala. once i had two sons and heroes, had two good and beauteous daughters, two of these have long been absent, elder son and elder daughter; for the wars my son departed, while my daughter strayed and perished if my son is home returning, yet my daughter still is absent, kullerwoinen asked his mother: "whither did my sister wander, what direction did she journey? this the answer of the mother: "this the story of thy sister: went for berries to the woodlands, to the mountains went my daughter, where the lovely maiden vanished, where my pretty berry perished, died some death beyond my knowledge, nameless is the death she suffered. who is mourning for the daughter? no one mourns her as her mother, walks and wanders, mourns and searches, for her fairest child and daughter; therefore did the mother wander, searching for thy lovely sister, like the bear she roamed the forest, ran the glenways like the adder, searched one day and then a second, searched the third from morn till even, till she reached the mountain-summit, there she called and called her daughter, till the distant mountains answered, called to her who had departed: i where art thou, my lovely maiden, come my daughter to thy mother!' "thus i called, and sought thy sister, this the answer of the mountains, thus the hills and valleys echoed: 'call no more, thou weeping mother, weep no more for the departed; nevermore in all thy lifetime, never in the course of ages, will she join again her kindred, at her brother's landing-places, in her father's humble dwelling.'" rune xxxv. kullervo's evil deeds. kullerwionen, youthful wizard, in his blue and scarlet stockings, henceforth lingered with his parents; but he could not change his nature, could not gain a higher wisdom, could not win a better judgment; as a child he was ill-nurtured, early rocked in stupid cradles, by a nurse of many follies, by a minister of evil. to his work went kullerwoinen, strove to make his labors worthy; first, kullervo went a-fishing, set his fishing-nets in ocean; with his hands upon the row-locks, kullerwoinen spake as follows: "shall i pull with all my forces, pull with strength of youthful heroes, or with weakness of the aged?" from the stern arose a gray-beard, and he answered thus kullervo: "pull with all thy youthful vigor; shouldst thou row with magic power, thou couldst not destroy this vessel, couldst not row this boat to fragments." thereupon the youth, kullervo, rowed with all his youthful vigor, with the mighty force of magic, rowed the bindings from the vessel, ribs of juniper he shattered, rowed the aspen-oars to pieces. when the aged sire, kalervo, saw the work of kullerwoinen, he addressed his son as follows: "dost not understand the rowing; thou hast burst the bands asunder, bands of juniper and willow, rowed my aspen-boat to pieces; to the fish-nets drive the salmon, this, perchance, will suit thee better." thereupon the son, kullervo, hastened to his work as bidden, drove the salmon to the fish-nets, spake in innocence as follows: "shall i with my youthful vigor scare the salmon to the fish-nets, or with little magic vigor shall i drive them to their capture? spake the master of the fish-nets: "that would be but work of women, shouldst thou use but little power in the frighting of the salmon!" kullerwoinen does as bidden, scares the salmon with the forces of his mighty arms and shoulders, with the strength of youth and magic, stirs the water thick with black-earth, beats the scare-net into pieces, into pulp he beats the salmon. when the aged sire, kalervo, saw the work of kullerwoinen, to his son these words he uttered: "dost not understand this labor, for this work thou art not suited, canst not scare the perch and salmon to the fish-nets of thy father; thou hast ruined all my fish-nets, torn my scare-net into tatters, beaten into pulp the whiting, torn my net-props into fragments, beaten into bits my wedges. leave the fishing to another; see if thou canst pay the tribute, pay my yearly contribution; see if thou canst better travel, on the way show better judgment!" thereupon the son, kullervo, hapless youth in purple vestments, in his magic shoes of deer-skin, in his locks of golden color, sallied forth to pay the taxes, pay the tribute for his people. when the youth had paid the tribute, paid the yearly contribution, he returned to join the snow-sledge, took his place upon the cross-bench, snapped his whip above the courser, and began his journey homeward; rattled on along the highway, measured as he galloped onward wainamoinen's hills and valleys, and his fields in cultivation. came a golden maid to meet him, on her snow-shoes came a virgin, o'er the hills of wainamoinen, o'er his cultivated lowlands. quick the wizard-son, kullervo, checked the motion of his racer, thus addressed the charming maiden "come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, in my fur-robes rest and linger!" as she ran, the maiden answered: "let the death-maid sit beside thee, rest and linger in thy fur-robes!" thereupon the youth, kullervo, snapped his whip above the courser; fleet as wind he gallops homeward, dashes down along the highway; with the roar of falling waters, gallops onward, onward, onward, o'er the broad-back of the ocean, o'er the icy plains of lapland. comes a winsome maid to meet him, golden-haired, and wearing snow-shoes, on the far outstretching ice-plains; quick the wizard checks his racer, charmingly accosts the maiden, chanting carefully these measures: "come, thou beauty, to my snow-sledge, hither come, and rest, and linger! tauntingly the maiden answered: "take tuoni to thy snow-sledge, at thy side let manalainen sit with thee, and rest, and linger!" quick the wizard, kullerwoinen, struck his fiery, prancing racer, with the birch-whip of his father. like the lightning flew the fleet-foot, galloped on the highway homeward; o'er the hills the snow-sledge bounded, and the coming mountains trembled. kullerwoinen, wild magician, measures, on his journey homeward, northland's far-extending borders, and the fertile plains of pohya. comes a beauteous maid to meet him, with a tin-pin on her bosom, on the heather of pohyola, o'er the pohya-hills and moorlands. quick the wizard son, kullervo, holds the bridle of his courser, charmingly intones these measures: "come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge, in these fur-robes rest, and linger; eat with me the golden apples, eat the hazel-nut in joyance, drink with me the beer delicious, eat the dainties that i give thee." this the answer of the maiden with the tin-pin on her bosom: "i have scorn to give thy snow-sledge, scorn for thee, thou wicked wizard; cold is it beneath thy fur-robes, and thy sledge is chill and cheerless. thereupon the youth, kullervo, wicked wizard of the northland, drew the maiden to his snow-sledge, drew her to a seat beside him, quickly in his furs enwrapped her; and the tin-adorned made answer, these the accents of the maiden: "loose me from thy magic power, let me leave at once thy presence, lest i speak in wicked accents, lest i say the prayer of evil; free me now as i command thee, or i'll tear thy sledge to pieces, throw these fur-robes to the north-winds." straightway wicked kullerwoinen, evil wizard and magician, opens all his treasure-boxes, shows the maiden gold and silver, shows her silken wraps of beauty, silken hose with golden borders, golden belts with silver buckles, jewelry that dims the vision, blunts the conscience of the virgin. silver leads one to destruction, gold entices from uprightness. kullerwoinen, wicked wizard, flatters lovingly the maiden, one hand on the reins of leather, one upon the maiden's shoulder; thus they journey through the evening, pass the night in merry-making. when the day-star led the morning, when the second day was dawning, then the maid addressed kullervo, questioned thus the wicked wizard: "of what tribe art thou descended, of what race thy hero-father? tell thy lineage and kindred.` this, kullervo's truthful answer: "am not from a mighty nation, not the greatest, nor the smallest, but my lineage is worthy: am kalervo's son of folly, am a child of contradictions, hapless son of cold misfortune. tell me of thy race of heroes, tell thine origin and kindred." this the answer of the maiden: "came not from a race primeval, not the largest, nor the smallest, but my lineage is worthy; am kalervo's wretched daughter, am his long-lost child of error, am a maid of contradictions, hapless daughter of misfortune. "when a child i lived in plenty in the dwellings of my mother; to the woods i went for berries, went for raspberries to uplands, gathered strawberries on mountains, gathered one day then a second; but, alas! upon the third day, could not find the pathway homeward, forestward the highways led me, all the footpaths, to the woodlands. long i sat in bitter weeping, wept one day and then a second, wept the third from morn till even. then i climbed a. lofty mountain, there i called in wailing accents, and the woodlands gave this answer, thus the distant hills re-echoed: 'call no longer, foolish virgin, all thy calls and tears are useless; there is none to give thee answer, far away, thy home and people.' "on the third and on the fourth days, on the fifth, and sixth, and seventh, constantly i sought to perish; but in vain were all my efforts, could not die upon the mountains. if this wretched maid had perished, in the summer of the third year, she had fed earth's vegetation, she had blossomed as a flower, knowing neither pain nor sorrow." scarcely had the maiden spoken, when she bounded from the snow-sledge, rushed upon the rolling river, to the cataract's commotion, to the fiery stream and whirlpool. thus kullervo's lovely sister hastened to her own destruction, to her death by fire and water, found her peace in tuonela, in the sacred stream of mana. then the wicked kullerwoinen fell to weeping, sorely troubled, wailed, and wept, and heavy-hearted, spake these words in bitter sorrow: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! i have slain my virgin-sister, shamed the daughter of my mother; woe to thee, my ancient father! woe to thee, my gray-haired mother! wherefore was i born and nurtured, why this hapless child's existence? better fate to kullerwoinen, had he never seen the daylight, or, if born, had never thriven in these mournful days of evil! death has failed to do his duty, sickness sinned in passing by me, should have slain me in the cradle, when the seventh day had ended!" thereupon he slips the collar of his prancing royal racer, mounts the silver-headed fleet-foot, gallops like the lightning homeward; gallops only for a moment, when he halts his foaming courser at the cabin of his father. in the court-yard stood the mother, thus the wicked son addressed her: "faithful mother, fond and tender, hadst thou slain me when an infant, smoked my life out in the chamber, in a winding-sheet hadst thrown me to the cataract and whirlpool, in the fire hadst set my cradle, after seven nights had ended, worthy would have been thy service. had the village-maidens asked thee: 'where is now the little cradle, wherefore is the bath-room empty?' this had been a worthy answer: 'i have burned the wizard's cradle, cast the infant to the fire-dogs; in the bath-room corn is sprouting, from the barley malt is brewing.'" thereupon the aged mother asks her wizard-son these questions: "what has happened to my hero, what new fate has overcome thee? comest thou as from tuoni, from the castles of manala?" this, kullervo's frank confession: "infamous the tale i bring thee, my confession is dishonor: on the way i met a maiden, met thy long-lost, wayward daughter, did not recognize my sister, fatal was the sin committed! when the taxes had been settled, when the tribute had been gathered, came a matchless maid to meet me, whom i witless led to sorrow, this my mother's long-lost daughter. when she saw in me her brother, quick she bounded from the snow-sledge, hastened to the roaring waters, to the cataract's commotion, to the fiery stream and whirlpool, hastened to her full destruction. "now, alas! must i determine, now must find a spot befitting, where thy sinful son may perish; tell me, all-forgiving mother, where to end my life of trouble; let me stop the black-wolf's howling, let me satisfy the hunger of the vicious bear of northland; let the shark or hungry sea-dog be my dwelling-place hereafter!" this the answer of the mother: "do not go to stop the howling of the hungry wolf of northland; do not haste to still the black-bear growling in his forest-cavern; let not shark, nor vicious sea-dog be thy dwelling-place hereafter. spacious are the rooms of suomi, limitless the sawa-borders, large enough to hide transgression, man's misdeeds to hide for ages, with his sins and evil actions. six long years man's sins lie hidden in the border-land of kalma, even nine for magic heroes, till the years bring consolation, till they quiet all his mourning." kullerwoinen, wicked wizard, answers thus his grieving mother: "i can never hide from sorrow, cannot flee from my misconduct; to the jaws of death i hasten, to the open courts of kalma, to the hunting-grounds of pohya, to the battle-fields of heroes. untamoinen still is living, unmolested roams the wicked, unavenged my father's grievance, unavenged my mother's tortures, unavenged the wrongs i suffer!" rune xxxvi. kullerwoinen's victory and death. kullerwionen, wicked wizard, in his purple-colored stockings, now prepares himself for battle; grinds a long time on his broadsword, sharpens well his trusty weapon, and his mother speaks as follows: "do not go, my son beloved, go not to the wars, my hero, struggle not with hostile spearsmen. whoso goes to war for nothing, undertakes a fearful combat, undertakes a fatal issue; those that war without a reason will be slaughtered for their folly, easy prey to bows and arrows. go thou with a goat to battle, shouldst thou go to fight the roebuck, 'tis the goat that will be vanquished, and the roebuck will be slaughtered; with a frog thou'lt journey homeward, victor, with but little honor!" these the words of kullerwoinen: "shall not journey through the marshes, shall not sink upon the heather, on the home-land of the raven, where the eagles scream at day-break. when i yield my life forever, bravely will i fall in battle, fall upon the field of glory, beautiful to die in armor, and the clang and clash of armies, beautiful the strife for conquest! thus kullervo soon will hasten to the kingdom of tuoni, to the realm of the departed, undeformed by wasting sickness." this the answer of the mother: "if thou diest in the conflict, who will stay to guard thy father, who will give thy sire protection?" these the words of kullerwoinen: "let him die upon the court-yard, sleeping out his life of sorrow!" "who then will protect thy mother, be her shield in times of danger?" "let her die within the stable, or the cabin where she lingers!" "who then will defend thy brother, give him aid in times of trouble?" "let him die within the forest, sleep his life away unheeded!" "who will comfort then thy sister, who will aid her in affliction?" "let her sink beneath the waters, perish in the crystal fountain, where the brook flows on in beauty, like a silver serpent winding through the valley to the ocean!" thereupon the wild kullervo hastens from his home to battle, to his father speaks, departing: "fare thou well, my aged father! wilt thou weep for me, thy hero, when thou hearest i have perished, fallen from thy tribe forever, perished on the field of glory?" thus the father speaks in answer: "i shall never mourn the downfall of my evil son, kullervo; shall not weep when thou hast perished; shall beget a second hero that will do me better service, that will think and act in wisdom." kullerwoinen gives this answer: "neither shall i mourn thy downfall, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall make a second father, make the head from loam and sandstone, make the eyes from swamp-land berries, make the beard from withered sea-grass, make the feet from roots of willow, make the form from birch-wood fungus." thereupon the youth, kullervo, to his brother speaks as follows: "fare thou well, beloved brother! wilt thou weep for me departed, shouldst thou hear that i have perished, fallen on the field of battle?" this the answer of the brother: "i shall never mourn the downfall of my brother, kullerwoinen, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall find a second brother; find one worthier and wiser!" this is kullerwoinen's answer: "neither shall i mourn thy downfall, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall form a second brother, make the head from dust and ashes, make the eyes from pearls of ocean, make the beard from withered verdure, make the form from pulp of birch-wood." to his sister speaks kullervo: "fare thou well, beloved sister! surely thou wilt mourn my downfall, weep for me when i have perished, when thou hearest i have fallen in the heat and din of battle, fallen from thy race forever!" but the sister makes this answer: "never shall i mourn thy downfall, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall seek a second brother, seek a brother, purer, better, one that will not shame his sister!" kullerwoinen thus makes answer: "neither shall i mourn thee fallen, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall form a second sister, make the head from whitened marble, make the eyes from golden moonbeams, make the tresses from the rainbow, make the ears from ocean-flowers, and her form from gold and silver. "fare thou well, beloved mother, mother, beautiful and faithful! wilt thou weep when i have perished, fallen on the field of glory, fallen from thy race forever?" thus the mother speaks in answer: "canst not fathom love maternal, canst not smother her affection; bitterly i'll mourn thy downfall, i would weep if thou shouldst perish, shouldst thou leave my race forever; i would weep in court or cabin, sprinkle all these fields with tear-drops, weep great rivers to the ocean, weep to melt the snows of northland, make the hillocks green with weeping, weep at morning, weep at evening, weep three years in bitter sorrow o'er the death of kullerwoinen!" thereupon the wicked wizard went rejoicing to the combat; in delight to war he hastened o'er the fields, and fens, and fallows, shouting loudly on the heather, singing o'er the hills and mountains, rushing through the glens and forests, blowing war upon his bugle. time had gone but little distance, when a messenger appearing, spake these words to kullerwoinen: "lo! thine aged sire has perished, fallen from thy race forever; hasten home and do him honor, lay him in the lap of kalma." kullerwoinen inade this answer: "has my aged father perished, there is home a sable stallion that will take him to his slumber, lay him in the lap of kalma." then kullervo journeyed onward, calling war upon his bugle, till a messenger appearing, brought this word to kullerwoinen: "lo! thy brother too has perished, dead he lies within the forest, manalainen's trumpet called him; home return and do him honor, lay him in the lap of kalma." kullerwoinen thus replying: "has my hero-brother perished, there is home a sable stallion that will take him' to his slumber, lay him in the lap of kalma." young kullervo journeyed onward over vale and over mountain, playing on his reed of battle, till a messenger appearing brought the warrior these tidings: "lo! thy sister too has perished, perished in the crystal fountain, where the waters flow in beauty, like a silver serpent winding through the valley to the ocean; home return and do her honor, lay her in the lap of kalma." these the words of kullerwoinen: "has my beauteous sister perished, fallen from my race forever, there is home a sable filly that will take her to her resting, lay her in the lap of kalma." still kullervo journeyed onward, through the fens he went rejoicing, sounding war upon his bugle, till a messenger appearing brought to him these words of sorrow: "lo! thy mother too has perished, died in anguish, broken-hearted; home return and do her honor, lay her in the lap of kalma." these the measures of kullervo: "woe is me, my life hard-fated, that my mother too has perished, she that nursed me in my cradle, made my couch a golden cover, twirled for me the spool and spindle! lo! kullervo was not present when his mother's life departed; may have died upon the mountains, perished there from cold and hunger. lave the dead form of my mother in the crystal waters flowing; wrap her in the robes of ermine, tie her hands with silken ribbon, take her to the grave of ages, lay her in the lap of kalma. bury her with songs of mourning, let the singers chant my sorrow; cannot leave the fields of battle while untamo goes unpunished, fell destroyer of my people." kullerwoinen journeyed onward, still rejoicing, to the combat, sang these songs in supplication: "ukko, mightiest of rulers, loan to me thy sword of battle, grant to me thy matchless weapon, and against a thousand armies i will war and ever conquer." ukko, gave the youth his broadsword, gave his blade of magic powers to the wizard, kullerwoinen. thus equipped, the mighty hero slew the people of untamo, burned their villages to ashes; only left the stones and ovens, and the chimneys of their hamlets. then the conqueror, kullervo, turned his footsteps to his home-land, to the cabin of his father; to his ancient fields and forests. empty did he find the cabin, and the forests were deserted; no one came to give him greeting, none to give the hand of welcome; laid his fingers on the oven, but he found it cold and lifeless; then he knew to satisfaction that his mother lived no longer; laid his hand upon the fire-place, cold and lifeless were the hearth-stones; then he knew to satisfaction that his sister too had perished; then he sought the landing-places, found no boats upon the rollers; then he knew to satisfaction that his brother too had perished; then he looked upon the fish-nets, and he found them torn and tangled; and he knew to satisfaction that his father too had perished. bitterly he wept and murmured, wept one day, and then a second, on the third day spake as follows: "faithful mother, fond and tender, why hast left me here to sorrow in this wilderness of trouble? but thou dost not hear my calling, though i sing in magic accents, though my tear-drops speak lamenting, though my heart bemoans thine absence. from her grave awakes the mother, to kullervo speaks these measures: "thou has still the dog remaining, he will lead thee to the forest; follow thou the faithful watcher, let him lead thee to the woodlands, to the farthest woodland border, to the caverns of the wood-nymphs; kullerwoinen's victory and death there the forest maidens linger, they will give thee food and shelter, give my hero joyful greetings." kullerwoinen, with his watch-dog, hastens onward through the forest, journeys on through fields and fallows; journeys but a little distance, till he comes upon the summit where he met his long-lost sister; finds the turf itself is weeping, finds the glen-wood filled with sorrow, finds the heather shedding tear-drops, weeping are the meadow-flowers, o'er the ruin of his sister. kullerwoinen, wicked wizard, grasps the handle of his broadsword, asks the blade this simple question: "tell me, o my blade of honor, dost thou wish to drink my life-blood, drink the blood of kullerwoinen?" thus his trusty sword makes answer, well divining his intentions: why should i not drink thy life-blood, blood of guilty kullerwoinen, since i feast upon the worthy, drink the life-blood of the righteous?" thereupon the youth, kullervo, wicked wizard of the northland, lifts the mighty sword of ukko, bids adieu to earth and heaven; firmly thrusts the hilt in heather, to his heart he points the weapon, throws his weight upon his broadsword, pouring out his wicked life-blood, ere be journeys to manala. thus the wizard finds destruction, this the end of kullerwoinen, born in sin, and nursed in folly. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, as he hears the joyful tidings, learns the death of fell kullervo, speaks these words of ancient wisdom: "o, ye many unborn nations, never evil nurse your children, never give them out to strangers, never trust them to the foolish! if the child is not well nurtured, is not rocked and led uprightly, though he grow to years of manhood, bear a strong and shapely body, he will never know discretion, never eat. the bread of honor, never drink the cup of wisdom." rune xxxvii. ilmarinen's bride of gold. ilmarinen, metal-worker, wept one day, and then a second, wept the third from morn till evening, o'er the death of his companion, once the maiden of the rainbow; did not swing his heavy hammer, did not touch its copper handle, made no sound within his smithy, made no blow upon his anvil, till three months had circled over; then the blacksmith spake as follows: "woe is me, unhappy hero! do not know how i can prosper; long the days, and cold, and dreary, longer still the nights, and colder; i am weary in the evening, in the morning still am weary, have no longing for the morning, and the evening is unwelcome; have no pleasure in the future, all my pleasures gone forever, with my faithful life-companion slaughtered by the hand of witchcraft! often will my heart-strings quiver when i rest within my chamber, when i wake at dreamy midnight, half-unconscious, vainly searching for my noble wife departed." wifeless lived the mourning blacksmith, altered in his form and features; wept one month and then another, wept three months in full succession. then the magic metal-worker gathered gold from deeps of ocean, gathered silver from the mountains, gathered many heaps of birch-wood. filled with faggots thirty sledges, burned the birch-wood into ashes, put the ashes in the furnace, laid the gold upon the embers, lengthwise laid a piece of silver of the size of lambs in autumn, or the fleet-foot hare in winter; places servants at the bellows, thus to melt the magic metals. eagerly the servants labor, gloveless, hatless, do the workmen fan the flames within the furnace. ilmarinen, magic blacksmith, works unceasing at his forging, thus to mould a golden image, mould a bride from gold and silver; but the workmen fail their master, faithless stand they at the bellows. wow the artist, ilmarinen, fans the flame with force of magic, blows one day, and then a second, blows the third from morn till even; then he looks within the furnace, looks around the oven-border, hoping there to see an image rising from the molten metals. comes a lambkin from the furnace, rising from the fire of magic, wearing hair of gold and copper, laced with many threads of silver; all rejoice but ilmarinen at the beauty of the image. this the language of the blacksmith: "may the wolf admire thy graces; i desire a bride of beauty born from molten gold and silver!" ilmarinen, the magician, to the furnace threw the lambkin; added gold in great abundance, and increased the mass of silver, added other magic metals, set the workmen at the bellows; zealously the servants labor, gloveless, hatless, do the workmen fan the flames within the furnace. ilmarinen, wizard-forgeman, works unceasing with his metals, moulding well a golden image, wife of molten gold and silver; but the workmen fail their master, faithless do they ply the bellows. now the artist, ilmarinen, fans the flames by force of magic; blows one day, and then a second, blows a third from morn till evening, when he looks within the furnace, looks around the oven-border, hoping there, to see an image rising from the molten metals. from the flames a colt arises, golden-maned and silver-headed, hoofs are formed of shining copper. all rejoice but ilmarinen at the wonderful creation; this the language of the blacksmith; "let the bears admire thy graces; i desire a bride of beauty born of many magic metals." thereupon the wonder-forger drives the colt back to the furnace, adds a greater mass of silver, and of gold the rightful measure, sets the workmen at the bellows. eagerly the servants labor, gloveless, hatless, do the workmen fan the flames within the furnace. ilmarinen, the magician, works unceasing at his witchcraft, moulding well a golden maiden, bride of molten gold and silver; but the workmen fail their master, faithlessly they ply the bellows. now the blacksmith, ilmarinen, fans the flames with magic powers, blows one day, and then a second, blows a third from morn till even; then he looks within his furnace, looks around the oven-border, trusting there to see a maiden coming from the molten metals. from the fire a virgin rises, golden-haired and silver-headed, beautiful in form and feature. all are filled with awe and wonder, but the artist and magician. ilmarinen, metal-worker, forges nights and days unceasing, on the bride of his creation; feet he forges for the maiden, hands and arms, of gold and silver; but her feet are not for walking, neither can her arms embrace him. ears he forges for the virgin, but her ears are not for hearing; forges her a mouth of beauty, eyes he forges bright and sparkling; but the magic mouth is speechless, and the eyes are not for seeing. spake the artist, ilmarinen: "this, indeed, a priceless maiden, could she only speak in wisdom, could she breathe the breath of ukko!" thereupon he lays the virgin on his silken couch of slumber, on his downy place of resting. ilmarinen heats his bath-room, makes it ready for his service, binds together silken brushes, brings three cans of crystal water, wherewithal to lave the image, lave the golden maid of beauty. when this task had been completed, ilmarinen, hoping, trusting, laid his golden bride to slumber, on his downy couch of resting; ordered many silken wrappings, ordered bear-skins, three in number, ordered seven lambs-wool blankets, thus to keep him warm in slumber, sleeping by the golden image re had forged from magic metals. warm the side of ilmarinen that was wrapped in furs and blankets; chill the parts beside the maiden, by his bride of gold and silver; one side warm, the other lifeless, turning into ice from coldness. spake the artist, ilmarinen: "not for me was born this virgin from the magic molten metals; i shall take her to wainola, give her to old wainamoinen, as a bride and life-companion, comfort to him in his dotage." ilmarinen, much disheartened, takes the virgin to wainola, to the plains of kalevala, to his brother speaks as follows: "o, thou ancient wainamoinen, look with favor on this image; make the maiden fair and lovely, beautiful in form and feature, suited to thy years declining!" wainamoinen, old and truthful, looked in wonder on the virgin, on the golden bride of beauty, spake these words to ilmarinen: "wherefore dost thou bring this maiden, wherefore bring to wainamoinen bride of molten gold and silver? spake in answer ilmarinen: "wherefore should i bring this image, but for purposes the noblest? i have brought her as companion to thy life in years declining, as a joy and consolation, when thy days are full of trouble!" spake the good, old wainamoinen: "magic brother, wonder-forger, throw the virgin to the furnace, to the flames, thy golden image, forge from her a thousand trinkets. take the image into ehstland, take her to the plains of pohya, that for her the mighty powers may engage in deadly contest, worthy trophy for the victor; not for me this bride of wonder, neither for my worthy people. i shall never wed an image born from many magic metals, never wed a silver maiden, never wed a golden virgin." then the hero of the waters called together all his people, spake these words of ancient wisdom: "every child of northland, listen, whether poor, or fortune-favored: never bow before an image born of molten gold and silver: never while the sunlight brightens, never while the moonlight glimmers, choose a maiden of the metals, choose a bride from gold created cold the lips of golden maiden, silver breathes the breath of sorrow." rune xxxviii. ilmarinen's fruitless wooing. ilmarinen, the magician, the eternal metal-artist, lays aside the golden image, beauteous maid of magic metals; throws the harness on his courser, binds him to his sledge of birch-wood, seats himself upon the cross-bench, snaps the whip above the racer, thinking once again to journey to the mansions of pohyola, there to woo a bride in honor, second daughter of the northland. on he journeyed, restless, northward, journeyed one day, then a second, so the third from morn till evening, when he reached a northland-village on the plains of sariola. louhi, hostess of pohyola, standing in the open court-yard, spied the hero, ilmarinen, thus addressed the metal-worker: "tell me how my child is living, how the bride of beauty prospers, as a daughter to thy mother." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, head bent down and brow dejected, thus addressed the northland hostess: "o, thou dame of sariola, do not ask me of thy daughter, since, alas i in tuonela sleeps the maiden of the rainbow, sleeps in death the bride, of beauty, underneath the fragrant heather, in the kingdom of manala. come i for a second daughter, for the fairest of thy virgins. beauteous hostess of pohyola, give to me thy youngest maiden, for my former wife's compartments, for the chambers of her sister." louhi, hostess of the northland, spake these words to ilmarinen: "foolish was the northland-hostess, when she gave her fairest virgin, in the bloom of youth and beauty to the blacksmith of wainola, only to be led to mana, like a lambkin to the slaughter! i shall never give my daughter, shall not give my youngest maiden bride of thine to be hereafter, life-companion at thy fireside. sooner would i give the fair one to the cataract and whirlpool, to the river of manala, to the waters of tuoni!" then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, drew away his head, disdainful, shook his sable locks in anger, entered to the inner court-room, where the maiden sat in waiting, spake these measures to the daughter: "come with me, thou bright-eyed maiden, to the cottage where thy sister lived and lingered in contentment, baked for me the toothsome biscuit, brewed for me the beer of barley, kept my dwelling-place in order." on the floor a babe was lying, thus he sang to ilmarinen: "uninvited, leave this mansion, go, thou stranger, from this dwelling; once before thou camest hither, only bringing pain and trouble, filling all our hearts with sorrow. fairest daughter of my mother, do not give this suitor welcome, look not on his eyes with pleasure, nor admire his form and features. in his mouth are only wolf-teeth, cunning fox-claws in his mittens, in his shoes art only bear-claws, in his belt a hungry dagger; weapons these of blood and murder, only worn by the unworthy." then the daughter spake as follows to the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "follow thee this maid will never, never heed unworthy suitors; thou hast slain the bride of beauty, once the maiden of the rainbow, thou wouldst also slay her sister. i deserve a better suitor, wish a truer, nobler husband, wish to ride in richer sledges, have a better home-protection; never will i sweep the cottage and the coal-place of a blacksmith." then the hero, ilmarinen, the eternal metal-artist, turned his head away, disdainful, shook his sable locks in anger, quickly seized the trembling maiden, held her in his grasp of iron, hastened from the court of louhi to his sledge upon the highway. in his sleigh he seats the virgin, snugly wraps her in his far-robes, snaps his whip above the racer, gallops on the high-road homeward; with one hand the reins be tightens, with the other holds the maiden. speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping: we have reached the lowland-berries, here the herbs of water-borders; leave me here to sink and perish as a child of cold misfortune. wicked ilmarinen, listen! if thou dost not quickly free me, i will break thy sledge to pieces, throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds." ilmarinen makes this answer: "when the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge, all the parts are hooped with iron; therefore will the beauteous maiden never beat my sledge to fragments." then the silver-tinselled daughter wept and wailed in bitter accents, wrung her hands in desperation, spake again to ilmarinen: "if thou dost not quickly free me, i shall change to ocean-salmon, be a whiting of the waters." "thou wilt never thus escape me, as a pike i'll fleetly follow." then the maiden of pohyola wept and wailed in bitter accents, wrung her hands in desperation, spake again to ilmarinen; "if thou dost not quickly free me, i shall hasten to the forest, mid the rocks become an ermine!" "thou wilt never thus escape me, as a serpent i will follow." then the beauty of the northland, wailed and wept in bitter accents, wrung her hands in desperation, spake once more to ilmarinen: "surely, if thou dost not free me, as a lark i'll fly the ether, hide myself within the storm-clouds." "neither wilt thou thus escape me, as an eagle i will follow." they had gone but little distance, when the courser shied and halted, frighted at some passing object; and the maiden looked in wonder, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, spake these words to ilmarinen: who has run across our highway?" "'tis the timid hare", he answered. thereupon the stolen maiden sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow, heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "woe is me, ill-fated virgin! happier far my life hereafter, if the hare i could but follow to his burrow in the woodlands! crook-leg's fur to me is finer than the robes of ilmarinen." ilmarinen, the magician, tossed his head in full resentment, galloped on the highway homeward, travelled but a little distance, when again his courser halted, frighted at some passing stranger. quick the maiden looked and wondered, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, spake these measures to the blacksmith: who has crossed our snowy pathway?" "'tis a fox", replied the minstrel. thereupon the beauteous virgin moaned again in depths of anguish, sang these accents, heavy-hearted: "woe is me, ill-fated maiden! happier far my life hereafter, with the cunning fox to wander, than with this ill-mannered suitor; reynard's fur to me is finer than the robes of ilmarinen." thereupon the metal-worker shut his lips in sore displeasure, hastened on the highway homeward; travelled but a little distance, when again his courser halted. quick the maiden looked in wonder, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, spake these words to the magician: who again has crossed our pathway?" "'tis the wolf", said ilmarinen. thereupon the fated daughter fell again to bitter weeping, and intoned these words of sorrow: "woe is me, a hapless maiden! happier far my life hereafter, brighter far would be my future, if these tracks i could but follow; on the wolf the hair is finer than the furs of ilmarinen, faithless suitor of the northland." then the minstrel of wainola closed his lips again in anger, shook his sable locks, resentful, snapped the whip above the racer, and the steed flew onward swiftly, o'er the way to kalevala, to the village of the blacksmith. sad and weary from his journey, ilmarinen, home-returning, fell upon his couch in slumber, and the maiden laughed derision. in the morning, slowly waking, head confused, and locks dishevelled, spake the wizard, words as follow: "shall i set myself to singing magic songs and incantations? shall i now enchant this maiden to a black-wolf on the mountains, to a salmon of the ocean? shall not send her to the woodlands, all the forest would be frighted; shall not send her to the waters, all the fish would flee in terror; this my sword shall drink her life-blood, end her reign of scorn and hatred." quick the sword feels his intention, quick divines his evil purpose, speaks these words to ilmarinen: "was not born to drink the life-blood of a maiden pure and lovely, of a fair but helpless virgin." thereupon the magic minstrel, filled with rage, began his singing; sang the very rocks asunder, till the distant hills re-echoed; sang the maiden to a sea-gull, croaking from the ocean-ledges, calling from the ocean-islands, screeching on the sandy sea-coast, flying to the winds opposing. when his conjuring had ended, ilmarinen joined his snow-sledge, whipped his steed upon a gallop, hastened to his ancient smithy, to his home in kalevala. wainamoinen, old and truthful, comes to meet him on the highway, speaks these words to the magician: "ilmarinen, worthy brother, wherefore comest heavy-hearted from the dismal sariola? does pohyola live and prosper? spake the minstrel, ilmarinen: "why should not pohyola prosper? there the sampo grinds unceasing, noisy rocks the lid in colors; grinds one day the flour for eating, grinds the second flour for selling, grinds the third day flour for keeping; thus it is pohyola prospers. while the sampo is in northland, there is plowing, there is sowing, there is growth of every virtue, there is welfare never-ending." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "ilmarinen, artist-brother, where then is the northland-daughter, far renowned and beauteous maiden, for whose hand thou hast been absent? these the words of ilmarinen: "i have changed the hateful virgin to a sea-gull on the ocean; now she calls above the waters, screeches from the ocean-islands; on the rocks she calls and murmurs vainly calling for a suitor." rune xxxix. wainamoinen's sailing. wainamoinen, old and faithful, spake these words to ilmarinen: "o thou wonder-working brother, let us go to sariola, there to gain the magic sampo, there to see the lid in colors." ilmarinen gave this answer: "hard indeed to seize the sampo, neither can the lid be captured from the never-pleasant northland, from the dismal sariola. louhi took away the sampo, carried off the lid in colors to the stone-mount of pohyola; hid it in the copper mountain, where nine locks secure the treasure. many young roots sprout around it, grow nine fathoms deep in sand-earth, one great root beneath the mountain, in the cataract a second, and a third beneath the castle built upon the mount of ages." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "brother mine, and wonder-worker, let us go to sariola, that we may secure the sampo; let us build a goodly vessel, bring the sampo to wainola, bring away the lid in colors, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from the copper-bearing mountain. where the miracle lies anchored." ilmarinen thus made answer: "by the land the way is safer, lempo travels on the ocean, ghastly death upon his shoulder; on the sea the waves will drift us, and the storm-winds wreck our vessel; then our bands must do the rowing, and our feet must steer us homeward." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "safe indeed by land to journey, but the way is rough and trying, long the road and full of turnings; lovely is the ship on ocean, beautiful to ride the billows, journey easy o'er the waters, sailing in a trusty vessel; should the west-wind cross our pathway, will the south-wind drive us northward. be that as it may, my brother, since thou dost not love the water, by the land then let us journey. forge me now the sword of battle, forge for me the mighty fire-sword, that i may destroy the wild-beasts, frighten all the northland people, as we journey for the sampo to the cold and dismal village, to the never-pleasant northland, to the dismal sariola." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal forger-artist, laid the metals in the furnace, in the fire laid steel and iron, in the hot-coals, gold and silver, rightful measure of the metals; set the workmen at the furnace, lustily they plied the bellows. like the wax the iron melted, like the dough the hard steel softened, like the water ran the silver, and the liquid gold flowed after. then the minstrel, ilmarinen, the eternal wonder-forger, looks within his magic furnace, on the border of his oven, there beholds the fire-sword forming, sees the blade with golden handle; takes the weapon from the furnace, lays it on his heavy anvil for the falling of the hammer; forges well the blade of magic, well the heavy sword be tempers, ornaments the hero-weapon with the finest gold and silver. wainamoinen, the magician, comes to view the blade of conquest, lifts admiringly the fire-sword, then these words the hero utters: "does the weapon match the soldier, does the handle suit the bearer? yea, the blade and hilt are molded to the wishes of the minstrel." on the sword-point gleams the moonlight, on the blade the sun is shining, on the hilt the bright stars twinkle, on the edge a horse is neighing, on the handle plays a kitten, on the sheath a dog is barking. wainamoinen wields his fire-sword, tests it on the iron-mountain, and these words the hero utters: "with this broadsword i could quickly cleave in twain the mount of pohya, cut the flinty rocks asunder." spake the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "wherewith shall i guard from danger, how protect myself from evil, from the ills by land and water? shall i wear an iron armor, belt of steel around my body? stronger is a man in armor, safer in a mail of copper." now the time has come to journey to the never-pleasant northland; wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, and his brother, ilmarinen, hasten to the field and forest, searching for their fiery coursers, in each shining belt a bridle, with a harness on their shoulders. in the woods they find a race; in the glen a steed of battle, ready for his master's service. wainamoinen, old and trusty, and the blacksmith, ilmarinen, throw the harness on the courser, hitch him to the sledge of conquest, hasten on their journey northward; drive along the broad-sea's margin till they bear some one lamenting on the strand hear something wailing near the landing-place of vessels. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, speaks these words in wonder, guessing, "this must be some maiden weeping, some fair daughter thus lamenting; let us journey somewhat nearer, to discover whence this wailing." drew they nearer, nearer, nearer, hoping thus to find a maiden weeping on the sandy sea-shore. it was not a maiden weeping, but a vessel, sad, and lonely, waiting on the shore and wailing. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "why art weeping, goodly vessel, what the cause of thy lamenting? art thou mourning for thy row-locks, is thy rigging ill-adjusted? dost thou weep since thou art anchored on the shore in times of trouble?" thus the war-ship spake in answer: "to the waters would this vessel haste upon the well-tarred rollers, as a happy maiden journeys to the cottage of her husband. i, alas! a goodly vessel, weep because i lie at anchor, weep and wail because no hero sets me free upon the waters, free to ride the rolling billows. it was said when i was fashioned, often sung when i was building, that this bark should be for battle, should become a mighty war-ship, carry in my hull great treasures, priceless goods across the ocean. never have i sailed to conquest, never have i carried booty; other vessels not as worthy to the wars are ever sailing, sailing to the songs of battle. three times in the summer season come they home with treasures laden, in their hulls bring gold and silver; i, alas! a worthy vessel, many months have lain at anchor, i, a war-ship well constructed, am decaying in the harbor, never having sailed to conquest; worms are gnawing at my vitals, in my hull their dwelling-places, and ill-omened birds of heaven build their nests within my rigging; frogs and lizards of the forest play about my oars and rudder; three times better for this vessel were he but a valley birch-tree, or an aspen on the heather, with the squirrels in his branches, and the dogs beneath them barking!" wainamoinen, old and faithfull thus addressed the ship at anchor: "weep no more, thou goodly vessel, man-of-war, no longer murmur; thou shalt sail to sariola, sing the war-songs of the northland, sail with us to deadly combat. wert thou built by the creator, thou canst sail the roughest waters, sidewise journey o'er the ocean; dost not need the hand to touch thee, dost not need the foot to turn thee, needing nothing to propel thee." thus the weeping boat made answer: "cannot sail without assistance, neither can my brother-vessels sail unaided o'er the waters, sail across the waves undriven." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "should i lead thee to the broad-sea, wilt thou journey north unaided, sail without the help of rowers, sail without the aid of south-winds, sail without the b elm to guide thee? thus the wailing ship replying: cannot sail without assistance, neither can my brother-vessels sail without the aid of rowers, sail without the help of south-winds, nor without the helm to guide them." these the words of wainamoinen: "wilt thou run with aid of oarsmen when the south-winds give assistance, guided by a skillful pilot?" this the answer of the war-ship: "quickly can i course these waters, when my oars are manned by rowers, when my sails are filled with south-winds, all my goodly brother-vessels sail the ocean with assistance, when the master holds the rudder." then the ancient wainamoinen left the racer on the sea-side, tied him to the sacred birch-tree, hung the harness on a willow, rolled the vessel to the waters, sang the ship upon the broad-sea, asked the boat this simple question: "o thou vessel, well-appearing from the mighty oak constructed, art thou strong to carry treasures as in view thou art commanding? thus the goodly ship made answer: "strong am i to carry treasures, in my hull a golden cargo; i can bear a hundred oarsmen, and of warriors a thousand." wainamoinen, the magician, then began his wondrous singing. on one side the magic vessel, sang he youth with golden virtues, bearded youth with strength of heroes, sang them into mail of copper. on the other side the vessel, sang he silver-tinselled maidens, girded them with belts of copper, golden rings upon their fingers. sings again the great magician, fills the magic ship with heroes, ancient heroes, brave and mighty; sings them into narrow limits, since the young men came before them. at the helm himself be seated, near the last beam of the vessel, steered his goodly boat in joyance, thus addressed the willing war-ship: "glide upon the trackless waters, sail away, my ship of magic, sail across the waves before thee, speed thou like a dancing bubble, like a flower upon the billows!" then the ancient wainamoinen set the young men to the rowing, let the maidens sit in waiting. eagerly the youthful heroes bend the oars and try the row-locks, but the distance is not lessened. then the minstrel, wainamoinen, set the maidens to the rowing, let the young men rest in waiting. eagerly the merry maidens bend the aspen-oars in rowing, but the distance is not lessened. then the master, wainamoinen, set the old men to the rowing, let the youth remain in waiting. lustily the aged heroes bend and try the oars of aspen, but the distance is not lessened. then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, grasped the oars with master-magic, and the boat leaped o'er the surges, swiftly sped across the billows; far and wide the oars resounded, quickly was the distance lessened. with a rush and roar of waters ilmarinen sped his vessel, benches, ribs, and row-locks creaking, oars of aspen far resounding; flap the sails like wings of moor-cocks, and the prow dips like a white-swan; in the rear it croaks like ravens, loud the oars and rigging rattle. straightway ancient wainamoinen sitting by the bending rudder, turns his magic vessel landward, to a jutting promontory, where appears a northland-village. on the point stands lemminkainen, kaukomieli, black magician, ahti, wizard of wainola, wishing for the fish of pohya, weeping for his fated dwelling, for his perilous adventures, hard at work upon a vessel, on the sail-yards of a fish-boat, near the hunger-point and island, near the village-home deserted. good the ears of the magician, good the wizard's eyes for seeing; casts his vision to the south-east, turns his eyes upon the sunset, sees afar a wondrous rainbow, farther on, a cloudlet hanging; but the bow was a deception, and the cloudlet a delusion; 'tis a vessel swiftly sailing, 'tis a war-ship flying northward, o'er the blue-back of the broad-sea, on the far-extending waters, at the helm the master standing, at the oars a mighty hero. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "do not know this wondrous vessel, not this well-constructed war-ship, coming from the distant suomi, rowing for the hostile pohya." thereupon wild lemminkainen called aloud in tones of thunder o'er the waters to the vessel; made the distant hills re-echo with the music of his calling: "whence this vessel on the waters, whose the war-ship sailing hither?" spake the master of the vessel to the reckless lemminkainen: "who art thou from fen or forest, senseless wizard from the woodlands, that thou dost not know this vessel, magic war-ship of wainola? dost not know him at the rudder, nor the hero at the row-locks?" spake the wizard, lemminkainen: "well i know the helm-director, and i recognize the rower; wainamoinen, old and trusty, at the helm directs the vessel; ilmarinen does the rowing. whither is the vessel sailing, whither wandering, my heroes? spake the ancient wainamoinen: "we are sailing to the northland, there to gain the magic sampo, there to get the lid in colors, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from the copper-bearing mountain." spake the evil lemminkainen: "o, thou good, old wainamoinen, take me with thee to pohyola, make me third of magic heroes, since thou goest for the sampo, goest for the lid in colors; i shall prove a valiant soldier, when thy wisdom calls for fighting; i am skilled in arts of warfare!" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, gave assent to ahti's wishes; thereupon wild lemminkainen hastened to wainola's war-ship, bringing floats of aspen-timber, to the ships of wainamoinen. thus the hero of the northland speaks to reckless lemminkainen: "there is aspen on my vessel, aspen-floats in great abundance, and the boat is heavy-laden. wherefore dost thou bring the aspen to the vessel of wainola?" lemminkainen gave this answer: "not through caution sinks a vessel, nor a hay-stack by its proppings; seas abound in hidden dangers, heavy storms arise and threaten fell destruction to the sailor that would brave the angry billows." spake the good, old wainamoinen: "therefore is this warlike vessel built of trusty steel and copper, trimmed and bound in toughest iron, that the winds may, not destroy it, may not harm my ship of magic." rune xl. birth of the harp. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, onward steered his goodly vessel, from the isle of lemminkainen, from the borders of the village; steered his war-ship through the waters, sang it o'er the ocean-billows, joyful steered it to pohyola. on the banks were maidens standing, and the daughters spake these measures: "list the music on the waters! what this wonderful rejoicing, what this singing on the billows? far more beautiful this singing, this rejoicing on the waters, than our ears have heard in northland." wainamoinen, the magician, steered his wonder-vessel onward, steered one day along the sea-shore, steered the next through shallow waters, steered the third day through the rivers. then the reckless lemminkainen suddenly some words remembered, he had heard along the fire-stream near the cataract and whirlpool, and these words the hero uttered: "cease, o cataract, thy roaring, cease, o waterfall, thy foaming! maidens of the foam and current, sitting on the rocks in water, on the stone-blocks in the river, take the foam and white-capped billows in your arms and still their anger, that our ships may pass in safety! aged dame beneath the eddy, thou that livest in the sea-foam, swimming, rise above the waters, lift thy head above the whirlpool, gather well the foam and billows in thine arms and still their fury, that our ship may pass in safety! ye, o rocks beneath the current, underneath the angry waters, lower well your heads of danger, sink below our magic vessel, that our ship may pass in safety! "should this prayer prove inefficient, kimmo, hero son of kammo, bore an outlet with thine auger, cut a channel for this vessel through the rocks beneath the waters, that our ship may pass in safety! should all this prove unavailing, hostess of the running water, change to moss these rocky ledges, change this vessel to an air-bag, that between these rocks and billows it may float, and pass in safety! "virgin of the sacred whirlpool, thou whose home is in the river, spin from flax of strongest fiber, spin a thread of crimson color, draw it gently through the water, that the thread our ship may follow, and our vessel pass in safety! goddess of the helm, thou daughter of the ocean-winds and sea-foam, take thy helm endowed with mercy, guide our vessel through these dangers, hasten through these floods enchanted, passing by the house of envy, by the gates of the enchanters, that our ship may pass in safety! "should this prayer prove inefficient, ukko, ruler of creation, guide our vessel with thy fire-sword, guide it with thy blade of lightning, through the dangers of these rapids, through the cataract and whirlpool, that our ship may pass in safety!" thereupon old wainamoinen steered his boat through winds and waters, through the rocky chinks and channels, through the surges wildly tossing; and the vessel passed in safety through the dangers of the current, through the sacred stream and whirlpool. as it gains the open waters, gains at length the broad-lake's bosom, suddenly its motion ceases, on some object firmly anchored. thereupon young ilmarinen, with the aid of lemminkainen, plunges in the lake the rudder, struggles with the aid of magic; but he cannot move the vessel, cannot free it from its moorings. wainamoinen, old and truthful, thus addresses his companion: "o thou hero, lemminkainen, stoop and look beneath this war-ship, see on what this boat is anchored, see on what our craft is banging, in this broad expanse of water, in the broad-lake's deepest soundings, if upon some rock or tree-snag, or upon some other hindrance." thereupon wild lemminkainen looked beneath the magic vessel, peering through the crystal waters, spake and these the words be uttered: "does not rest upon a sand-bar, nor upon a rock, nor tree-snag, but upon the back and shoulders of the mighty pike of northland, on the fin-bones of the monster." wainamoinen, old and trusty, spake these words to lemminkainen: "many things we find in water, rocks, and trees, and fish, and sea-duck; are we on the pike's broad shoulders, on the fin-bones of the monster, pierce the waters with thy broadsword, cut the monster into pieces." thereupon wild lemminkainen, reckless wizard, filled with courage, pulls his broadsword from his girdle, from its sheath, the bone-divider, strikes with might of magic hero, headlong falls into the water; and the blacksmith, ilmarinen, lifts the wizard from the river, speaks these words to dripping ahti: "accidents will come to mortals, accidents will come to heroes, by the hundreds, by the thousands, even to the gods above us!" then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, drew his broadsword from his girdle, from its sheath his blade of honor, tried to slay the pike of northland with the weapon of his forging; but he broke his sword in pieces, did not harm the water-monster. wainamoinen, old and trusty, thus addresses his companions "poor apologies for heroes! when occasion calls for victors, when we need some great magician, need a hero filled with valor, then the arm that comes is feeble, and the mind insane or witless, strength and reason gone to others!" straightway ancient wainamoinen, miracle of strength and wisdom, draws his fire-sword from his girdle, wields the mighty blade of magic, strikes the waters as the lightning, strikes the pike beneath the vessel, and impales, the mighty monster; raises him above the surface, in the air the pike he circles, cuts the monster into pieces; to the water falls the pike-tail, to the ship the head and body; easily the ship moves onward. wainamoinen, old and faithful, to the shore directs his vessel, on the strand the boat he anchors, looks in every nook and corner for the fragments of the monster; gathers well the parts together, speaks these words to those about him: "let the oldest of the heroes slice for me the pike of northland, slice the fish to fitting morsels." answered all the men and heroes, and the maidens spake, assenting: "worthier the catcher's fingers, wainamoinen's hands are sacred!" thereupon the wise magician drew a fish-knife from his girdle, sliced the pike to fitting morsels, spake again to those about him: "let the youngest of the maidens cook for me the pike of northland, set for me a goodly dinner!" all the maidens quick responded, all the virgins vied in cooking; neither could outdo the other, thus the pike was rendered toothsome. feasted all the old magicians, feasted all the younger heroes, feasted all the men and maidens; on the rocks were left the fish-bones, only relics of their feasting. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, looked upon the pile of fragments, on the fish-bones looked and pondered, spake these words in meditation: "wondrous things might be constructed from the relies of this monster, were they in the blacksmith's furnace, in the hands of the magician, in the hands of ilmarinen." spake the blacksmith of wainola: "nothing fine can be constructed from the bones and teeth of fishes by the skillful forger-artist, by the hands of the magician." these the words of wainamoinen: "something wondrous might be builded from these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones; might a magic harp be fashioned, could an artist be discovered that could shape them to my wishes." but he found no fish-bone artist that could shape the harp of joyance from the relies of their feasting, from the jaw-bones of the monster, to the will of the magician. thereupon wise wainamoinen set himself at work designing; quick became a fish-bone artist, made a harp of wondrous beauty, lasting joy and pride of suomi. whence the harp's enchanting arches? from the jaw-bones of the monster. whence the necessary harp-pins? from the pike-teeth firmly fastened. whence the sweetly singing harp-strings? from the tail of lempo's stallion. thus was born the harp of magic from the mighty pike of northland, from the relies from the feasting of the heroes of wainola. all the young men came to view it, all the aged with their children, mothers with their beauteous daughters, maidens with their golden tresses; all the people on the islands came to view the harp of joyance, pride and beauty of the northland. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, let the aged try the harp-strings, gave it to the young magicians, to the dames and to their daughters, to the maidens, silver-tinselled, to the singers of wainola. when the young men touched the harp-strings, then arose the notes of discord; when the aged played upon it, dissonance their only music. spake the wizard, lemminkainen: "o ye witless, worthless children, o ye senseless, useless maidens, o ye wisdom-lacking heroes, cannot play this harp of magic, cannot touch the notes of concord! give to me this thing or beauty, hither bring the harp of fish-bones, let me try my skillful fingers." lemminkainen touched the harp-strings, carefully the strings adjusted, turned the harp in all directions, fingered all the strings in sequence, played the instrument of wonder, but it did not speak in concord, did not sing the notes of joyance. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "there is none among these maidens, none among these youthful heroes, none among the old magicians that can play the harp of magic, touch the notes of joy and pleasure. let us take the harp to pohya, there to find a skillful player that can touch the strings in concord." then they sailed to sariola, to pohyola took the wonder, there to find the harp a master. all the heroes of pohyola, all the boys and all the maidens, ancient dames, and bearded minstrels, vainly touched the harp of beauty. louhi, hostess of the northland, took the harp-strings in her fingers; all the youth of sariola, youth of every tribe and station, vainly touched the harp of fish-bone; could not find the notes of joyance, dissonance their only pleasure; shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds, all the tones wore harsh and frightful. in a corner slept a blind man, lay a gray-beard on the oven, rousing from his couch of slumber, murmured thus within his corner: "cease at once this wretched playing, make an end of all this discord; it benumbs mine ears for hearing, racks my brain, despoils my senses, robs me of the sweets of sleeping. if the harp of suomi's people true delight cannot engender, cannot bring the notes of pleasure, cannot sing to sleep the aged, cast the thing upon the waters, sink it in the deeps of ocean, take it back to kalevala, to the home of him that made it, to the bands of its creator." thereupon the harp made answer, to the blind man sang these measures: "shall not fall upon the waters, shall not sink within the ocean; i will play for my creator, sing in melody and concord in the fingers of my master." carefully the harp was carried to the artist that had made it to the hands of its creator, to the feet of wainamoinen. rune xli. wainamoinen's harp-songs. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, the eternal wisdom-singer, laves his hands to snowy whiteness, sits upon the rock of joyance, on the stone of song be settles, on the mount of silver clearness, on the summit, golden colored; takes the harp by him created, in his hands the harp of fish-bone, with his knee the arch supporting, takes the harp-strings in his fingers, speaks these words to those assembled: "hither come, ye northland people, come and listen to my playing, to the harp's entrancing measures, to my songs of joy and gladness." then the singer of wainola took the harp of his creation, quick adjusting, sweetly tuning, deftly plied his skillful fingers to the strings that he had fashioned. now was gladness rolled on gladness, and the harmony of pleasure echoed from the hills and mountains: added singing to his playing, out of joy did joy come welling, now resounded marvelous music, all of northland stopped and listened. every creature in the forest, all the beasts that haunt the woodlands, on their nimble feet came bounding, came to listen to his playing, came to hear his songs of joyance. leaped the squirrels from the branches, merrily from birch to aspen; climbed the ermines on the fences, o'er the plains the elk-deer bounded, and the lynxes purred with pleasure; wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands, bounded o'er the marsh and heather, and the bear his den deserted, left his lair within the pine-wood, settled by a fence to listen, leaned against the listening gate-posts, but the gate-posts yield beneath him; now he climbs the fir-tree branches that he may enjoy and wonder, climbs and listens to the music of the harp of wainamoinen. tapiola's wisest senior, metsola's most noble landlord, and of tapio, the people, young and aged, men and maidens, flew like red-deer up the mountains there to listen to the playing, to the harp, of wainamoinen. tapiola's wisest mistress, hostess of the glen and forest, robed herself in blue and scarlet, bound her limbs with silken ribbons, sat upon the woodland summit, on the branches of a birch-tree, there to listen to the playing, to the high-born hero's harping, to the songs of wainamoinen. all the birds that fly in mid-air fell like snow-flakes from the heavens, flew to hear the minstrel's playing, hear the harp of wainamoinen. eagles in their lofty eyrie heard the songs of the enchanter; swift they left their unfledged young ones, flew and perched around the minstrel. from the heights the hawks descended, from the clouds down swooped the falcon, ducks arose from inland waters, swans came gliding from the marshes; tiny finches, green and golden, flew in flocks that darkened sunlight, came in myriads to listen; perched upon the head and shoulders of the charming wainamoinen, sweetly singing to the playing of the ancient bard and minstrel. and the daughters of the welkin, nature's well-beloved daughters, listened all in rapt attention; some were seated on the rainbow, some upon the crimson cloudlets, some upon the dome of heaven. in their hands the moon's fair daughters held their weaving-combs of silver; in their hands the sun's sweet maidens grasped the handles of their distaffs, weaving with their golden shuttles, spinning from their silver spindles, on the red rims of the cloudlets, on the bow of many colors. as they hear the minstrel playing, hear the harp of wainamoinen, quick they drop their combs of silver, drop the spindles from their fingers, and the golden threads are broken, broken are the threads of silver. all the fish in suomi-waters heard the songs of the magician, came on flying fins to listen to the harp of wainamoinen. came the trout with graceful motions, water-dogs with awkward movements, from the water-cliffs the salmon, from the sea-caves came the whiting, from the deeper caves the bill-fish; came the pike from beds of sea-fern, little fish with eyes of scarlet, leaning on the reeds and rushes, with their heads above the surface; came to bear the harp of joyance, hear the songs of the enchanter. ahto, king of all the waters, ancient king with beard of sea-grass, raised his head above the billows, in a boat of water-lilies, glided to the coast in silence, listened to the wondrous singing, to the harp of wainamoinen. these the words the sea-king uttered: "never have i heard such playing, never heard such strains of music, never since the sea was fashioned, as the songs of this enchanter, this sweet singer, wainamoinen." satko's daughters from the blue-deep, sisters of the wave-washed ledges, on the colored strands were sitting, smoothing out their sea-green tresses with the combs of molten silver, with their silver-handled brushes, brushes forged with golden bristles. when they hear the magic playing, hear the harp of wainamoinen, fall their brushes on the billows, fall their combs with silver handles to the bottom of the waters, unadorned their heads remaining, and uncombed their sea-green tresses. came the hostess of the waters, ancient hostess robed in flowers, rising from her deep sea-castle, swimming to the shore in wonder, listened to the minstrel's playing, to the harp of wainamoinen. as the magic tones re-echoed, as the singer's song out-circled, sank the hostess into slumber, on the rocks of many colors, on her watery couch of joyance, deep the sleep that settled o'er her. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, played one day and then a second, played the third from morn till even. there was neither man nor hero, neither ancient dame, nor maiden, not in metsola a daughter, whom he did not touch to weeping; wept the young, and wept the aged, wept the mothers, wept the daughters wept the warriors and heroes at the music of his playing, at the songs of the magician. wainamoinen's tears came flowing, welling from the master's eyelids, pearly tear-drops coursing downward, larger than the whortle-berries, finer than the pearls of ocean, smoother than the eggs of moor-hens, brighter than the eyes of swallows. from his eves the tear-drops started, flowed adown his furrowed visage, falling from his beard in streamlets, trickled on his heaving bosom, streaming o'er his golden girdle, coursing to his garment's border, then beneath his shoes of ermine, flowing on, and flowing ever, part to earth for her possession, part to water for her portion. as the tear-drops fall and mingle, form they streamlets from the eyelids of the minstrel, wainamoinen, to the blue-mere's sandy margin, to the deeps of crystal waters, lost among the reeds and rushes. spake at last the ancient minstrel: "is there one in all this concourse, one in all this vast assembly that can gather up my tear-drops from the deep, pellucid waters?" thus the younger heroes answered, answered thus the bearded seniors: "there is none in all this concourse, none in all this vast assembly, that can gather up thy tear-drops from the deep, pellucid waters." spake again wise wainamoinen: "he that gathers up my tear-drops from the deeps of crystal waters shall receive a beauteous plumage." came a raven, flying, croaking, and the minstrel thus addressed him: "bring, o raven, bring my tear-drops from the crystal lake's abysses; i will give thee beauteous plumage, recompense for golden service." but the raven failed his master. came a duck upon the waters, and the hero thus addressed him: "bring o water-bird, my tear-drops; often thou dost dive the deep-sea, sink thy bill upon the bottom of the waters thou dost travel; dive again my tears to gather, i will give thee beauteous plumage, recompense for golden service." thereupon the duck departed, hither, thither, swam, and circled, dived beneath the foam and billow, gathered wainamoinen's tear-drops from the blue-sea's pebbly bottom, from the deep, pellucid waters; brought them to the great magician, beautifully formed and colored, glistening in the silver sunshine, glimmering in the golden moonlight, many-colored as the rainbow, fitting ornaments for heroes, jewels for the maids of beauty. this the origin of sea-pearls, and the blue-duck's beauteous plumage. rune xlii. capture of the sampo. wainamoinen, old and truthful, with the blacksmith, ilmarinen, with the reckless son of lempo, handsome hero, kaukomieli, on the sea's smooth plain departed, on the far-extending waters, to the village, cold and dreary, to the never-pleasant northland, where the heroes fall and perish. ilmarinen led the rowers on one side the magic war-ship, and the reckless lemminkainen led the rowers on the other. wainamoinen, old and trusty, laid his hand upon the rudder, steered his vessel o'er the waters, through the foam and angry billows to pohyola's place of landing, to the cylinders of copper, where the war-ships lie at anchor. when they had arrived at pohya, when their journey they had ended, on the land they rolled their vessel, on the copper-banded rollers, straightway journeyed to the village, hastened to the halls and hamlets of the dismal sariola. louhi, hostess of the northland, thus addressed the stranger-heroes: magic heroes of wainola, what the tidings ye are bringing to the people of my village?" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel. gave this answer to the hostess: "all the hosts of kalevala are inquiring for the sampo, asking for the lid in colors; hither have these heroes journeyed to divide the priceless treasure. thus the hostess spake in answer: "no one would divide a partridge, nor a squirrel, with three heroes; wonderful the magic sampo, plenty does it bring to northland; and the colored lid re-echoes from the copper-bearing mountains, from the stone-berg of pohyola, to the joy of its possessors." wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, thus addressed the ancient louhi: "if thou wilt not share the sampo, give to us an equal portion, we will take it to wainola, with its lid of many colors, take by force the hope of pohya." thereupon the northland hostess angry grew and sighed for vengeance; called her people into council, called the hosts of sariola, heroes with their trusted broadswords, to destroy old wainamoinen with his people of the northland. wainamoinen, wise and ancient, hastened to his harp of fish-bone, and began his magic playing; all of pohya stopped and listened, every warrior was silenced by the notes of the magician; peaceful-minded grew the soldiers, all the maidens danced with pleasure, while the heroes fell to weeping, and the young men looked in wonder. wainamoinen plays unceasing, plays the maidens into slumber, plays to sleep the young and aged, all of northland sleeps and listens. wise and wondrous wainamoinen, the eternal bard and singer, searches in his pouch of leather, draws therefrom his slumber-arrows, locks the eyelids of the sleepers, of the heroes of pohyola, sings and charms to deeper slumber all the warriors of the northland. then the heroes of wainola hasten to obtain the sampo, to procure the lid in colors from the copper-bearing mountains. from behind nine locks of copper, in the stone-berg of pohyola. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, then began his wondrous singing, sang in gentle tones of magic, at the entrance to the mountain, at the border of the stronghold; trembled all the rocky portals, and the iron-banded pillars fell and crumbled at his singing. ilmarinen, magic blacksmith, well anointed all the hinges, all the bars and locks anointed, and the bolts flew back by magic, all the gates unlocked in silence, opened for the great magician. spake the minstrel wainamoinen: "o thou daring lemminkainen, friend of mine in times of trouble, enter thou within the mountain, bring away the wondrous sampo, bring away the lid in colors!" quick the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, ever ready for a venture, hastens to the mountain-caverns, there to find the famous sampo, there to get the lid in colors; strides along with conscious footsteps, thus himself he vainly praises: "great am i and full of glory, wonder-hero, son of ukko, i will bring away the sampo, turn about the lid in colors, turn it on its magic hinges!" lemminkainen finds the wonder, finds the sampo in the mountain, labors long with strength heroic, tugs with might and main to turn it; motionless remains the treasure, deeper sinks the lid in colors, for the roots have grown about it, grown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth. lived a mighty ox in northland, powerful in bone and sinew, beautiful in form and color, horns the length of seven fathoms, mouth and eyes of wondrous beauty. lemminkainen, reckless hero, harnesses the ox in pasture, takes the master-plow of pohya, plows the roots about the sampo, plows around the lid in colors, and the sacred sampo loosens, falls the colored lid in silence. straightway ancient wainamoinen brings the blacksmith, ilmarinen, brings the daring lemminkainen, lastly brings the magic sampo, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from the copper-bearing mountain, hides it in his waiting vessel, in the war-ship of wainola. wainamoinen called his people, called his crew of men and maidens, called together all his heroes, rolled his vessel to the water, into billowy deeps and dangers. spake the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "whither shall we take the sampo, whither take the lid in colors, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from this evil spot of northland?" wainamoinen, wise and faithful, gave this answer to the question: "thither shall we take the sampo, thither take the lid in colors, to the fog-point on the waters, to the island forest-covered; there the treasure may be hidden, may remain in peace for ages, free from trouble, free from danger, where the sword will not molest it." then the minstrel, wainamoinen, joyful, left the pohya borders, homeward sailed, and happy-hearted, spake these measures on departing: "turn, o man-of-war, from pohya, turn thy back upon the strangers, turn thou to my distant country! rock, o winds, my magic vessel, homeward drive my ship, o billows, lend the rowers your assistance, give the oarsmen easy labor, on this vast expanse of waters! give me of thine oars, o ahto, lend thine aid, o king of sea-waves, guide as with thy helm in safety, lay thy hand upon the rudder, and direct our war-ship homeward; let the hooks of metal rattle o'er the surging of the billows, on the white-capped waves' commotion." then the master, wainamoinen, guided home his willing vessel; and the blacksmith, ilmarinen, with the lively lemminkainen, led the mighty host of rowers, and the war-ship glided homeward o'er the sea's unruffled surface, o'er the mighty waste of waters. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "once before i rode these billows, there were viands for the heroes, there was singing for the maidens; but to-day i hear no singing, hear no songs upon the vessel, hear no music on the waters." wainamoinen, wise and ancient, answered thus wild lemminkainen: "let none sing upon the blue-sea, on the waters, no rejoicing; singing would prolong our journey, songs disturb the host of rowers; soon will die the silver sunlight, darkness soon will overtake us, on this evil waste of waters, on this blue-sea, smooth and level." these the words of lemminkainen: "time will fly on equal pinions whether we have songs or silence; soon will disappear the daylight, and the night as quickly follow, whether we be sad or joyous." wainamoinen, the magician, o'er the blue backs of the billows, steered one day, and then a second, steered the third from morn till even, when the wizard, lemminkainen, once again addressed the master: "why wilt thou, o famous minstrel, sing no longer for thy people, since the sampo thou hast captured, captured too the lid in colors?" these the words of wainamoinen: "'tis not well to sing too early! time enough for songs of joyance when we see our home-land mansions, when our journeyings have ended!" spake the reckless lemminkainen: "at the helm, if i were sitting, i would sing at morn and evening, though my voice has little sweetness; since thy songs are not forthcoming listen to my wondrous singing!" thereupon wild lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, raised his voice above the waters, o'er the sea his song resounded; but his measures were discordant, and his notes were harsh and frightful. sang the wizard, lemminkainen, screeched the reckless kaukomieli, till the mighty war-ship trembled; far and wide was heard his singing, heard his songs upon the waters, heard within the seventh village, heard beyond the seven oceans. sat a crane within the rushes, on a hillock clothed in verdure, and the crane his toes was counting; suddenly he heard the singing of the wizard, lemminkainen; and the bird was justly frightened at the songs of the magician. then with horrid voice, and screeching, flew the crane across the broad-sea to the lakes of sariola, o'er pohyola's hills and hamlets, screeching, screaming, over northland, till the people of the darkness were awakened from their slumbers. louhi hastens to her hurdles, hastens to her droves of cattle, hastens also to her garners, counts her herds, inspects her store-house; undisturbed she finds her treasures. quick she journeys to the entrance to the copper-bearing mountain, speaks these words as she approaches: "woe is me, my life hard-fated, woe to louhi, broken-hearted! here the tracks of the destroyers, all my locks and bolts are broken by the hands of cruel strangers! broken are my iron hinges, open stand the mountain-portals leading to the northland-treasure. has pohyola lost her sampo?" then she hastened to the chambers where the sampo had been grinding; but she found the chambers empty, lid and sampo gone to others, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from behind nine locks of copper, in the copper-bearing mountain. louhi, hostess of the northland, angry grew and cried for vengeance; as she found her fame departing, found her-strength fast disappearing, thus addressed the sea-fog virgin: "daughter of the morning-vapors, sift thy fogs from distant cloud-land, sift the thick air from the heavens, sift thy vapors from the ether, on the blue-back of the broad-sea, on the far extending waters, that the ancient wainamoinen, friend of ocean-wave and billow, may not baffle his pursuers! "should this prayer prove unavailing, iku-turso, son of old-age, raise thy head above the billows, and destroy wainola's heroes, sink them to thy deep sea-castles, there devour them at thy pleasure; bring thou back the golden sampo to the people of pohyola! "should these words be ineffective, ukko, mightiest of rulers, golden king beyond the welkin, sitting on a throne of silver, fill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds, call thy fleetest winds about thee, send them o'er the seven broad-seas, there to find the fleeing vessel, that the ancient wainamoinen may not baffle his pursuers!" quick the virgin of the vapors breathed a fog upon the waters, made it settle on the war-ship of the heroes of the northland, held the minstrel, wainamoinen, anchored in the fog and darkness; bound him one day, then a second, then a third till dawn of morning, in the middle of the blue-sea, whence he could not flee in safety from the wrath of his pursuers. when the third night had departed, resting in the sea, and helpless, wainamoinen spake as follows, "not a man of strength and courage, not the weakest of the heroes, who upon the sea will suffer, sink and perish in the vapors, perish in the fog and darkness!" with his sword he smote the billows, from his magic blade flowed honey; quick the vapor breaks, and rises, leaves the waters clear for rowing; far extend the sky and waters, large the ring of the horizon, and the troubled sea enlarges. time had journeyed little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, when they heard a mighty roaring, heard a roaring and a rushing near the border of the vessel, where the foam was shooting skyward o'er the boat of wainamoinen. straightway youthful ilmarinen sank in gravest apprehension, from his cheeks the blood departed; pulled his cap down o'er his forehead, shook and trembled with emotion. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, casts his eyes upon the waters near the broad rim of his war-ship; there perceives an ocean-wonder with his head above the sea-foam. wainamoinen, brave and mighty, seizes quick the water-monster, lifts him by his ears and questions: "iku-turso, son of old-age, why art rising from the blue-sea? wherefore dost thou leave thy castle, show thyself to mighty heroes, to the heroes of wainola?" iku-turso, son of old-age, ocean monster, manifested neither pleasure, nor displeasure, was not in the least affrighted, did not give the hero answer. whereupon the ancient minstrel, asked the second time the monster, urgently inquired a third time: "iku-turso, son of old-age, why art rising from the waters, wherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea? iku-turso gave this answer: for this cause i left my castle underneath the rolling billows: came i here with the intention to destroy the kalew-heroes, and return the magic sampo to the people of pohyola. if thou wilt restore my freedom, spare my life, from pain and sorrow, i will quick retrace my journey, nevermore to show my visage to the people of wainola, never while the moonlight glimmers on the hills of kalevala!" then the singer, wainamoinen, freed the monster, iku-turso, sent him to his deep sea-castles, spake these words to him departing: "iku-turso, son of old-age, nevermore arise from ocean, nevermore let northland-heroes see thy face above the waters i nevermore has iku-turso risen to the ocean-level; never since have northland sailors seen the head of this sea-monster. wainamoinen, old and truthful, onward rowed his goodly vessel, journeyed but a little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, when the king of all creators, mighty ukko of the heavens, made the winds blow full of power, made the storms arise in fury, made them rage upon the waters. from the west the winds came roaring, from the north-east came in anger, winds came howling from the south-west, came the winds from all directions, in their fury, rolling, roaring, tearing branches from the lindens, hurling needles from the pine-trees, blowing flowers from the heather, grasses blowing from the meadow, tearing up the very bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea. roared the winds and lashed the waters till the waves were white with fury; tossed the war-ship high in ether, tossed away the harp of fish-bone, magic harp of wainamoinen, to the joy of king wellamo, to the pleasure of his people, to the happiness of ahto, ahto, rising from his caverns, on the floods beheld his people carry off the harp of magic to their home below the billows. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "i have lost what i created, i have lost the harp of joyance; now my strength has gone to others, all my pleasure too departed, all my hope and comfort vanished! nevermore the harp of fish-bone will enchant the hosts of suomi!" then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, sorrow-laden, spake as follows: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! would that i had never journeyed on these waters filled with dangers, on the rolling waste before me, in this war-ship false and feeble. winds and storms have i encountered, wretched days of toil and trouble, i have witnessed in the northland; never have i met such dangers on the land, nor on the ocean, never in my hero life-time!" then the ancient wainamoinen spake and these the words he uttered: "weep no more, my goodly comrades, in my bark let no one murmur; weeping cannot mend disaster, tears can never still misfortune, mourning cannot save from evil. "sea, command thy warring forces, bid thy children cease their fury! ahto, still thy surging billows! sink, wellamo, to thy slumber, that our boat may move in safety. rise, ye storm-winds, to your kingdoms, lift your heads above the waters, to the regions of your kindred, to your people and dominions; cut the trees within the forest, bend the lindens of the valley, let our vessel sail in safety!" then the reckless lemminkainen, handsome wizard, kaukomieli, spake these words in supplication: "come, o eagle, turyalander, bring three feathers from thy pinions, three, o raven, three, o eagle, to protect this bark from evil!" all the heroes of wainola call their forces to the rescue, and repair the sinking vessel. by the aid of master-magic, wainamoinen saved his war-ship, saved his people from destruction, well repaired his ship to battle with the roughest seas of northland; steers his mighty boat in safety through the perils of the whirlpool, through the watery deeps and dangers. rune xliii. the sampo lost in the sea. louhi, hostess of pohyola, called her many tribes together, gave the archers bows and arrows, gave her brave men spears and broadswords; fitted out her mightiest war-ship, in the vessel placed her army, with their swords a hundred heroes, with their bows a thousand archers; quick erected masts and sail-yards, on the masts her sails of linen hanging like the clouds of heaven, like the white-clouds in the ether, sailed across the seas of pohya, to re-take the wondrous sampo from the heroes of wainola. wainamoinen, old and faithful, sailed across the deep, blue waters, spake these words to lemminkainen: "o thou daring son of lempo, best of all my friends and heroes, mount the highest of the topmasts, look before you into ether, look behind you at the heavens, well examine the horizon, whether clear or filled with trouble." climbed the daring lemminkainen, ever ready for a venture, to the highest of the mastheads; looked he eastward, also westward, looked he northward, also southward, then addressed wise wainamoinen. "clear the sky appears before me, but behind a dark horizon; in the north a cloud is rising, and a longer cloud at north-west." wainamoinen thus made answer: art thou speaking truth or fiction? i am fearful that the war-ships of pohyola are pursuing; look again with keener vision." thereupon wild lemminkainen looked again and spake as follows: "in the distance seems a forest, in the south appears an island, aspen-groves with falcons laden, alders laden with the wood-grouse." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "surely thou art speaking falsehood; 'tis no forest in the distance, neither aspen, birch, nor alders, laden with the grouse, or falcon; i am fearful that pohyola follows with her magic armies; look again with keener vision." then the daring lemminkainen looked the third time from the topmast, spake and these the words be uttered: "from the north a boat pursues us, driven by a hundred rowers, carrying a thousand heroes!" knew at last old wainamoinen, knew the truth of his inquiry, thus addressed his fleeing people: "row, o blacksmith, ilmarinen, row, o mighty lemminkainen, row, all ye my noble oarsmen, that our boat may skim the waters, may escape from our pursuers!" rowed the blacksmith, ilmarinen, rowed the mighty lemminkainen, with them rowed the other heroes; heavily groaned the helm of birch-wood, loudly rattled all the row-locks; all the vessel shook and trembled, like a cataract it thundered as it plowed the waste of waters, tossing sea-foam to the heavens. strongly rowed wainola's forces, strongly were their arms united; but the distance did not widen twixt the boat and their pursuers. quick the hero, wainamoinen, saw misfortune hanging over, saw destruction in the distance heavy-hearted, long reflecting, trouble-laden, spake as follows: "only is there one salvation, know one miracle for safety!" then he grasped his box of tinder, from the box he took a flint-stone, of the tinder took some fragments, cast the fragments on the waters, spake these words of master-magic. "let from these arise a mountain from the bottom of the deep-sea, let a rock arise in water, that the war-ship of pohyola, with her thousand men and heroes, may be wrecked upon the summit, by the aid of surging billows." instantly a reef arises, in the sea springs up a mountain, eastward, westward, through the waters. came the war-ship of the northland, through the floods the boat came steering, sailed against the mountain-ledges, fastened on the rocks in water, wrecked upon the mount of magic. in the deep-sea fell the topmasts, fell the sails upon the billows, carried by the winds and waters o'er the waves of toil and trouble. louhi, hostess of pohyola, tries to free her sinking vessel, tries to rescue from destruction; but she cannot raise the war-ship, firmly fixed upon the mountain; shattered are the ribs and rudder, ruined is the ship of pohya. then the hostess of the northland, much disheartened, spake as follows: "where the force, in earth or heaven, that will help a soul in trouble?" quick she changes form and feature, makes herself another body; takes five sharpened scythes of iron, also takes five goodly sickles, shapes them into eagle-talons; takes the body of the vessel, makes the frame-work of an eagle; takes the vessel's ribs and flooring makes them into wings and breastplate; for the tail she shapes the rudder; in the wings she plants a thousand seniors with their bows and arrows; sets a thousand magic heroes in the body, armed with broadswords in the tail a hundred archers, with their deadly spears and cross-bows, thus the bird is hero-feathered. quick she spreads her mighty pinions, rises as a monster-eagle, flies on high, and soars, and circles with one wing she sweeps the heavens, while the other sweeps the waters. spake the hero's ocean-mother: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, turn thy vision to the north-east, cast thine eyes upon the sunrise, look behind thy fleeing vessel, see the eagle of misfortune!" wainamoinen turned as bidden, turned his vision to the north-east, cast his eyes upon the sunrise, there beheld the northland-hostess, wicked witch of sariola, flying as a monster-eagle, swooping on his mighty war-ship; flies and perches on the topmast, on the sail-yards firmly settles; nearly overturns the vessel of the heroes of wainola, underneath the weight of envy. then the hero, ilmarinen, turned to ukko as his refuge, thus entreated his creator: "ukko, thou o god in heaven, thou creator full of mercy, guard us from impending danger, that thy children may not perish, may not meet with fell destruction. hither bring thy magic fire-cloak, that thy people, thus protected, may resist pohyola's forces, well may fight against the hostess of the dismal sariola, may not fall before her weapons, may not in the deep-sea perish!" then the ancient wainamoinen thus addressed the ancient louhi: "o thou hostess of pohyola, wilt thou now divide the sampo, on the fog-point in the water, on the island forest-covered? thus the northland hostess answered: "i will not divide the sampo, not with thee, thou evil wizard, not with wicked wainamoinen!" quick the mighty eagle, louhi, swoops upon the lid in colors, grasps the sampo in her talons; but the daring lemminkainen straightway draws his blade of battle, draws his broadsword from his girdle, cleaves the talons of the eagle, one toe only is uninjured, speaks these magic words of conquest: "down, ye spears, and down, ye broadswords, down, ye thousand witless heroes, down, ye feathered hosts of louhi!" spake the hostess of pohyola, calling, screeching, from the sail-yards: "o thou faithless lemminkainen, wicked wizard, kaukomieli, to deceive thy trusting mother! thou didst give to her thy promise, not to go to war for ages, not to war for sixty summers, though desire for gold impels thee, though thou wishest gold and silver! wainamoinen, ancient hero, the eternal wisdom-singer, thinking he had met destruction, snatched the rudder from the waters, with it smote the monster-eagle, smote the eagle's iron talons, smote her countless feathered heroes. from her breast her hosts descended, spearmen fell upon the billows, from the wings descend a thousand, from the tail, a hundred archers. swoops again the bird of pohya to the bottom of the vessel, like the hawk from birch or aspen, like the falcon from the linden; grasps the sampo with one talon, drags the treasure to the waters, drops the magic lid in colors from the red rim of the war-ship to the bottom of the deep-sea, where the sampo breaks in pieces, scatters through the alue-waters, in the mighty deeps for ages, to increase the ocean's treasures, treasures for the hosts of ahto. nevermore will there be wanting richness for the ahto-nation, never while the moonlight brightens on the waters of the northland. many fragments of the sampo floated on the purple waters, on the waters deep and boundless, rocked by winds and waves of suomi, carried by the rolling billows to the sea-sides of wainola. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, saw the fragments of the treasure floating on the billows landward, fragments of the lid in colors, much rejoicing, spake as follows: "thence will come the sprouting seed-grain, the beginning of good fortune, the unending of resources, from the plowing and the sowing, from the glimmer of the moonlight, from the splendor of the sunshine, on the fertile plains of suomi, on the meads of kalevala." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus addressed old wainamoinen: "know i other mighty measures, know i means that are efficient, and against thy golden moonlight, and the splendor of thy sunshine, and thy plowing, and thy reaping; in the rocks i'll sink the moonbeams, hide the sun within the mountain, let the frost destroy thy sowings, freeze the crops on all thy corn-fields; iron-hail i'll send from heaven, on the richness of thine acres, on the barley of thy planting; i will drive the bear from forests, send thee otso from the thickets, that he may destroy thy cattle, may annihilate thy sheep-folds, may destroy thy steeds at pasture. i will send thee nine diseases, each more fatal than the other, that will sicken all thy people, make thy children sink and perish, nevermore to visit northland, never while the moonlight glimmers on the plains of kalevala!" thus the ancient bard made answer: "not a laplander can banish wainamoinen and his people; never can a turyalander drive my tribes from kalevala; god alone has power to banish, god controls the fate of nations, never trusts the arms of evil, never gives his strength to others. as i trust in my creator, call upon benignant ukko, he will guard my crops from danger drive the frost-fiend from my corn-fields, drive great otso to his caverns. "wicked louhi of pohyola, thou canst banish evil-doers, in the rocks canst hide the wicked, in thy mountains lock the guilty; thou canst never hide the moonlight, never bide the silver sunshine, in the caverns of thy kingdom. freeze the crops of thine own planting, freeze the barley of thy sowing, send thine iron-hail from heaven to destroy the lapland corn-fields, to annihilate thy people, to destroy the hosts of pohya; send great otso from the heather, send the sharp-tooth from the forest, to the fields of sariola, on the herds and flocks of louhi!" thus the wicked hostess answered: "all my power has departed, all my strength has gone to others, all my hope is in the deep-sea; in the waters lies my sampo!" then the hostess of pohyola home departed, weeping, wailing, to the land of cold and darkness; only took some worthless fragments of the sampo to her people; carried she the lid to pohya, in the blue-sea left the handle; hence the poverty of northland, and the famines of pohyola. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, hastened to the broad-sea's margin, stepped upon the shore in joyance; found there fragments of the sampo, fragments of the lid in colors, on the borders of the waters, on the curving sands and sea-sides; gathered well the sampo-relics from the waters near the fog-point, on the island forest-covered. spake the ancient wainamoinen, spake these words in supplication: "grant, o ukko, our creator, grant to us, thy needful children, peace, and happiness, and plenty, that our lives may be successful, that our days may end in honor, on the vales and hills of suomi, on the prairies of wainola, in the homes of kalevala! "ukko, wise and good creator, ukko, god of love and mercy, shelter and protect thy people from the evil-minded heroes, from the wiles of wicked women, that our country's plagues may leave us, that thy faithful tribes may prosper. be our friend and strong protector, be the helper of thy children, in the night a roof above them, in the day a shield around them, that the sunshine may not vanish, that the moonlight may not lessen, that the killing frosts may leave them, and destructive hail pass over. build a metal wall around us, from the valleys to the heavens; build of stone a mighty fortress on the borders of wainola, where thy people live and labor, as their dwelling-place forever, sure protection to thy people, where the wicked may not enter, nor the thieves break through and pilfer, never while the moonlight glistens, and the sun brings golden blessings to the plains of kalevala." rune xliv. birth of the second harp. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, long reflecting, sang these measures: "it is now the time befitting to awaken joy and gladness, time for me to touch the harp-strings, time to sing the songs primeval, in these spacious halls and mansions, in these homes of kalevala; but, alas! my harp lies hidden, sunk upon the deep-sea's bottom, to the salmon's hiding-places, to the dwellings of the whiting, to the people of wellamo, where the northland-pike assemble. nevermore will i regain it, ahto never will return it, joy and music gone forever! "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, forge for me a rake of iron, thickly set the teeth of copper, many fathoms long the handle; make a rake to search the waters, search the broad-sea to the bottom, rake the weeds and reeds together, rake them to the curving sea-shore, that i may regain my treasure, may regain my harp of fish-bow from the whiting's place of resting, from the caverns of the salmon, from the castles of wellamo." thereupon young ilmarinen, the eternal metal-worker, forges well a rake of iron, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and a thousand long the handle, thickly sets the teeth of copper. straightway ancient wainamoinen takes the rake of magic metals, travels but a little distance, to the cylinders of oak-wood, to the copper-banded rollers, where he finds two ships awaiting, one was new, the other ancient. wainamoinen, old and faithful, thus addressed the new-made vessel: "go, thou boat of master-magic, hasten to the willing waters, speed away upon the blue-sea, and without the hand to move thee; let my will impel thee seaward." quick the boat rolled to the billows on the cylinders of oak-wood, quick descended to the waters, willingly obeyed his master. wainamoinen, the magician, then began to rake the sea-beds, raked up all the water-flowers, bits of broken reeds and rushes, deep-sea shells and colored pebbles, did not find his harp of fish-bone, lost forever to wainola! thereupon the ancient minstrel left the waters, homeward hastened, cap pulled clown upon his forehead, sang this song with sorrow laden: "nevermore shall i awaken with my harp-strings, joy and gladness! nevermore will wainamoinen charm the people of the northland with the harp of his creation! nevermore my songs will echo o'er the hills of kalevala!" thereupon the ancient singer went lamenting through the forest, wandered through the sighing pine-woods, heard the wailing of a birch-tree, heard a juniper complaining; drawing nearer, waits and listens, thus the birch-tree he addresses: "wherefore, brother, art thou weeping, merry birch enrobed in silver, silver-leaved and silver-tasselled? art thou shedding tears of sorrow, since thou art not led to battle, not enforced to war with wizards? wisely does the birch make answer: "this the language of the many, others speak as thou, unjustly, that i only live in pleasure, that my silver leaves and tassels only whisper my rejoicings; that i have no cares, no sorrows, that i have no hours unhappy, knowing neither pain nor trouble. i am weeping for my smallness, am lamenting for my weakness, have no sympathy, no pity, stand here motionless for ages, stand alone in fen and forest, in these woodlands vast and joyless. others hope for coming summers, for the beauties of the spring-time; i, alas! a helpless birch-tree, dread the changing of the seasons, i must give my bark to, others, lose my leaves and silken tassels. men come the suomi children, peel my bark and drink my life-blood: wicked shepherds in the summer, come and steal my belt of silver, of my bark make berry-baskets, dishes make, and cups for drinking. oftentimes the northland maidens cut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,' bind my twigs and silver tassels into brooms to sweep their cabins; often have the northland heroes chopped me into chips for burning; three times in the summer season, in the pleasant days of spring-time, foresters have ground their axes on my silver trunk and branches, robbed me of my life for ages; this my spring-time joy and pleasure, this my happiness in summer, and my winter days no better! when i think of former troubles, sorrow settles on my visage, and my face grows white with anguish; often do the winds of winter and the hoar-frost bring me sadness, blast my tender leaves and tassels, bear my foliage to others, rob me of my silver raiment, leave me naked on the mountain, lone, and helpless, and disheartened!" spake the good, old wainamoinen: "weep no longer, sacred birch-tree, mourn no more, my friend and brother, thou shalt have a better fortune; i will turn thy grief to joyance, make thee laugh and sing with gladness." then the ancient wainamoinen made a harp from sacred birch-wood, fashioned in the days of summer, beautiful the harp of magic, by the master's hand created on the fog-point in the big-sea, on the island forest-covered, fashioned from the birch the archings, and the frame-work from the aspen. these the words of the magician: "all the archings are completed, and the frame is fitly finished; whence the hooks and pins for tuning, that the harp may sing in concord?" near the way-side grew an oak-tree, skyward grew with equal branches, on each twig an acorn growing, golden balls upon each acorn, on each ball a singing cuckoo. as each cuckoo's call resounded, five the notes of song that issued from the songster's throat of joyance; from each throat came liquid music, gold and silver for the master, flowing to the hills and hillocks, to the silvery vales and mountains; thence he took the merry harp-pins, that the harp might play in concord. spake again wise wainamoinen: "i the pins have well completed, still the harp is yet unfinished; now i need five strings for playing, where shall i procure the harp-strings?" then the ancient bard and minstrel journeyed through the fen and forest. on a hillock sat a maiden, sat a virgin of the valley; and the maiden was not weeping, joyful was the sylvan daughter, singing with the woodland songsters, that the eventide might hasten, in the hope that her beloved would the sooner sit beside her. wainamoinen, old and trusted, hastened, tripping to the virgin, asked her for her golden ringleta, these the words of the magician. "give me, maiden, of thy tresses, give to me thy golden ringlets; i will weave them into harp-strings, to the joy of wainamoinen, to the pleasure of his people." thereupon the forest-maiden gave the singer of her tresses, gave him of her golden ringlets, and of these he made the harp-strings. sources of eternal pleasure to the people of wainola. thus the sacred harp is finished, and the minstrel, wainamoinen, sits upon the rock of joyance, takes the harp within his fingers, turns the arch up, looking skyward; with his knee the arch supporting, sets the strings in tuneful order, runs his fingers o'er the harp-strings, and the notes of pleasure follow. straightway ancient wainamoinen, the eternal wisdom-singer, plays upon his harp of birch-wood. far away is heard the music, wide the harp of joy re-echoes; mountains dance and valleys listen, flinty rocks are tom asunder, stones are hurled upon the waters, pebbles swim upon the big-sea, pines and lindens laugh with pleasure, alders skip about the heather, and the aspen sways in concord. all the daughters of wainola straightway leave their shining needles, hasten forward like the current, speed along like rapid rivers, that they may enjoy and wonder. laugh the younger men and maidens, happy-hearted are the matrons flying swift to bear the playing, to enjoy the common pleasure, hear the harp of wainamoinen. aged men and bearded seniors, gray-haired mothers with their daughters stop in wonderment and listen. creeps the babe in full enjoyment as he hears the magic singing, hears the harp of wainamoinen. all of northland stops in wonder, speaks in unison these measures: "never have we heard such playing, never heard such strains of music, never since the earth was fashioned, as the songs of this magician, this sweet singer, wainamoinen!" far and wide the sweet tones echo, ring throughout the seven hamlets, o'er the seven islands echo; every creature of the northland hastens forth to look and listen, listen to the songs of gladness, to the harp of wainamoinen. all the beasts that haunt the woodlands fall upon their knees and wonder at the playing of the minstrel, at his miracles of concord. all the songsters of the forests perch upon the trembling branches, singing to the wondrous playing of the harp of wainamoinen. all the dwellers of the waters leave their beds, and eaves, and grottoes, swim against the shore and listen to the playing of the minstrel, to the harp of wainamoinen. all the little things in nature, rise from earth, and fall from ether, come and listen to the music, to the notes of the enchanter, to the songs of the magician, to the harp of wainamoinen. plays the singer of the northland, plays in miracles of sweetness, plays one day, and then a second, plays the third from morn till even; plays within the halls and cabins, in the dwellings of his people, till the floors and ceilings echo, till resound the roofs of pine-wood, till the windows speak and tremble, till the portals echo joyance, and the hearth-stones sing in pleasure. as he journeys through the forest, as he wanders through the woodlands, pine and sorb-tree bid him welcome, birch and willow bend obeisance, beech and aspen bow submission; and the linden waves her branches to the measure of his playing, to the notes of the magician. as the minstrel plays and wanders, sings upon the mead and heather, glen and hill his songs re-echo, ferns and flowers laugh in pleasure, and the shrubs attune their voices to the music of the harp-strings, to the songs of wainamoinen. rune xlv. birth of the nine diseases. louhi, hostess of the northland, heard the word in sariola, heard the dews with ears of envy, that wainola lives and prospers, that osmoinen's wealth increases, through the ruins of the sampo, ruins of the lid in colors. thereupon her wrath she kindled, well considered, long reflected, how she might prepare destruction for the people of wainola, for the tribes of kalevala. with this prayer she turns to ukko, thus entreats the god of thunder: "ukko, thou who art in heaven, help me slay wainola's people with thine iron-hail of justice, with thine arrows tipped with lightning, or from sickness let them perish, let them die the death deserving; let the men die in the forest, and the women in the hurdles!" the blind daughter of tuoni, old and wicked witch, lowyatar, worst of all the death-land women, ugliest of mana's children, source of all the host of evils, all the ills and plagues of northland, black in heart, and soul, and visage, evil genius of lappala, made her couch along the wayside, on the fields of sin and sorrow; turned her back upon the east-wind, to the source of stormy weather, to the chilling winds of morning. when the winds arose at evening, heavy-laden grew lowyatar, through the east-wind's impregnation, on the sand-plains, vast and barren. long she bore her weight of trouble, many morns she suffered anguish, till at last she leaves the desert, makes her couch within the forest, on a rock upon the mountain; labors long to leave her burden by the mountain-springs and fountains, by the crystal waters flowing, by the sacred stream and whirlpool, by the cataract and fire-stream; but her burden does not lighten. blind lowyatar, old and ugly, knew not where to look for succor, how to lose her weight of sorrow, where to lay her evil children. spake the highest from the heavens, these, the words of mighty ukko: "is a triangle in swamp-field, near the border of the ocean, in the never-pleasant northland, in the dismal sariola; thither go and lay thy burden, in pohyola leave thine offspring; there the laplanders await thee, there will bid thy children welcome." thereupon the blind lowyatar, blackest daughter of tuoni, mana's old and ugly maiden, hastened on her journey northward, to the chambers of pohyola, to the ancient halls of louhi, there to lay her heavy burdens, there to leave her evil offspring. louhi, hostess of the northland, old and toothless witch of pohya, takes lowyatar to her mansion; silently she leads the stranger to the bath-rooms of her chamber, pours the foaming beer of barley, lubricates the bolts and hinges, that their movements may be secret, speaks these measures to lowyatar: "faithful daughter of creation, thou most beautiful of women, first and last of ancient mothers, hasten on thy feet to ocean, to the ocean's centre hasten, take the sea-foam from the waters, take the honey of the mermaids, and anoint thy sacred members, that thy labors may be lightened. "should all this be unavailing, ukko, thou who art in heaven, hasten hither, thou art needed, come thou to thy child in trouble, help the helpless and afflicted. take thy golden-colored sceptre, charm away opposing forces, strike the pillars of the stronghold, open all resisting portals, that the great and small may wander from their ancient hiding-places, through the courts and halls of freedom." finally the blind lowyatar, wicked witch of tuonela, was delivered of her burden, laid her offspring in the cradle, underneath the golden covers. thus at last were born nine children, in an evening of the summer, from lowyatar, blind and ancient, ugly daughter of tuoni. faithfully the virgin-mother guards her children in affection, as an artist loves and nurses what his skillful hands have fashioned. thus lowyatar named her offspring, colic, pleurisy, and fever, ulcer, plague, and dread consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer. and the worst of these nine children blind lowyatar quickly banished, drove away as an enchanter, to bewitch the lowland people, to engender strife and envy. louhi, hostess of pohyola, banished all the other children to the fog-point in the ocean, to the island forest-covered; banished all the fatal creatures, gave these wicked sons of evil to the people of wainola, to the youth of kalevala, for the kalew-tribe's destruction. quick wainola's maidens sicken, young and aged, men and heroes, with the worst of all diseases, with diseases new and nameless; sick and dying is wainola. thereupon old wainamoinen, wise and wonderful enchanter, hastens to his people's rescue, hastens to a war with mana, to a conflict with tuoni, to destroy the evil children of the evil maid, lowyatar. wainamoinen heats the bath-rooms, heats the blocks of healing-sandstone with the magic wood of northland, gathered by the sacred river; water brings in covered buckets from the cataract and whirlpool; brooms he brings enwrapped with ermine, well the bath the healer cleanses, softens well the brooms of birch-wood; then a honey-heat be wakens, fills the rooms with healing vapors, from the virtue of the pebbles glowing in the heat of magic, thus he speaks in supplication: "come, o ukko, to my rescue, god of mercy, lend thy presence, give these vapor-baths new virtues, grant to them the powers of healing, and restore my dying people; drive away these fell diseases, banish them to the unworthy, let the holy sparks enkindle, keep this heat in healing limits, that it may not harm thy children, may not injure the afflicted. when i pour the sacred waters on the heated blocks of sandstone, may the water turn to honey laden with the balm of healing. let the stream of magic virtues ceaseless flow to all my children, from this bath enrolled in sea-moss, that the guiltless may not suffer, that my tribe-folk may not perish, till the master gives permission, until ukko sends his minions, sends diseases of his choosing, to destroy my trusting people. let the hostess of pohyola, wicked witch that sent these troubles, suffer from a gnawing conscience, suffer for her evil doings. should the master of wainola lose his magic skill and weaken, should he prove of little service to deliver from misfortune, to deliver from these evils, then may ukko be our healer, be our strength and wise physician. "omnipresent god of mercy, thou who livest in the heavens, hasten hither, thou art needed, hasten to thine ailing children, to observe their cruel tortures, to dispel these fell diseases, drive destruction from our borders. bring with thee thy mighty fire-sword, bring to me thy blade of lightning, that i may subdue these evils, that these monsters i may banish, send these pains, and ills, and tortures, to the empire of tuoni, to the kingdom of the east-winds, to the islands of the wicked, to the caverns of the demons, to the rocks within the mountains, to the hidden beds of iron, that the rocks may fall and sicken, and the beds of iron perish. rocks and metals do not murmur at the hands of the invader. "torture-daughter of tuoni, sitting on the mount of anguish, at the junction of three rivers, turning rocks of pain and torture, turn away these fell diseases through the virtues of the blue-stone; lead them to the water-channels, sink them in the deeps of ocean, where the winds can never find them, where the sunlight never enters. "should this prayer prove unavailing, o, health-virgin, maid of beauty come and heal my dying people, still their agonies and anguish, give them consciousness and comfort, give them healthful rest and slumber; these diseases take and banish, take them in thy copper vessel, to thy eaves within the mountains, to the summit of the pain-rock, hurl them to thy boiling caldrons. in the mountain is a touch-stone, lucky-stone of ancient story, with a hole bored through the centre, through this pour these pains and tortures, wretched feelings, thoughts of evil, human ailments, days unlucky, tribulations, and misfortunes, that they may not rise at evening, may not see the light of morning." ending thus, old wainamoinen, the eternal, wise enchanter, rubbed his sufferers with balsams, rubbed the tissues, red and painful, with the balm of healing flowers, balsams made of herbs enchanted, sprinkled all with healing vapors, spake these words in supplication. "ukko, thou who art in heaven, god of justice, and of mercy, send us from the east a rain-cloud, send a dark cloud from the north-west, from the north let fall a third one, send us mingled rain and honey, balsam from the great physician, to remove this plague of northland. what i know of healing measures, only comes from my creator; lend me, therefore, of thy wisdom, that i may relieve my people, save them from the fell destroyer, if my hands should fall in virtue, let the hands of ukko follow, god alone can save from trouble. come to us with thine enchantment, speak the magic words of healing, that my people may not perish; give to all alleviation from their sicknesses and sorrows; in the morning, in the evening, let their wasting ailments vanish; drive the death-child from wainola, nevermore to visit northland, never in the course of ages, never while the moonlight glimmers o'er the lakes of kalevala." wainamoinen, the enchanter, the eternal wisdom-singer, thus expelled the nine diseases, evil children or lowyatar, healed the tribes of kalevala, saved his people from destruction. rune xlvi. otso the honey-eater. came the tidings to pohyola, to the village of the northland, that wainola had recovered from her troubles and misfortunes, from her sicknesses and sorrows. louhi, hostess of the northland, toothless dame of sariola, envy-laden, spake these measures: "know i other means of trouble, i have many more resources; i will drive the bear before me, from the heather and the mountain, drive him from the fen and forest, drive great otso from the glen-wood on the cattle of wainola, on the flocks of kalevala." thereupon the northland hostess drove the hungry bear of pohya from his cavern to the meadows, to wainola's plains and pastures. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, to his brother spake as follows: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, forge a spear from magic metals, forge a lancet triple-pointed, forge the handle out of copper, that i may destroy great otso, slay the mighty bear of northland, that he may not eat my horses, nor destroy my herds of cattle, nor the flocks upon my pastures." thereupon the skillful blacksmith forged a spear from magic metals, forged a lancet triple-pointed, not the longest, nor the shortest, forged the spear in wondrous beauty. on one side a bear was sitting, sat a wolf upon the other, on the blade an elk lay sleeping, on the shaft a colt was running, near the hilt a roebuck bounding. snows had fallen from the heavens, made the flocks as white as ermine or the hare, in days of winter, and the minstrel sang these measures: "my desire impels me onward to the metsola-dominions, to the homes of forest-maidens, to the courts of the white virgins; i will hasten to the forest, labor with the woodland-forces. "ruler of the tapio-forests, make of me a conquering hero, help me clear these boundless woodlands. o mielikki, forest-hostess, tapio's wife, thou fair tellervo, call thy dogs and well enchain them, set in readiness thy hunters, let them wait within their kennels. "otso, thou o forest-apple, bear of honey-paws and fur-robes, learn that wainamoinen follows, that the singer comes to meet thee; hide thy claws within thy mittens, let thy teeth remain in darkness, that they may not harm the minstrel, may be powerless in battle. mighty otso, much beloved, honey-eater of the mountains, settle on the rocks in slumber, on the turf and in thy caverns; let the aspen wave above thee, let the merry birch-tree rustle o'er thy head for thy protection. rest in peace, thou much-loved otso, turn about within thy thickets, like the partridge at her brooding, in the spring-time like the wild-goose." when the ancient wainamoinen heard his dog bark in the forest, heard his hunter's call and echo, he addressed the words that follow: "thought it was the cuckoo calling, thought the pretty bird was singing; it was not the sacred cuckoo, not the liquid notes of songsters, 'twas my dog that called and murmured, 'twas the echo of my hunter at the cavern-doors of otso, on the border of the woodlands." wainamoinen, old and trusty, finds the mighty bear in waiting, lifts in joy the golden covers, well inspects his shining fur-robes; lifts his honey-paws in wonder, then addresses his creator: "be thou praised, o mighty ukko, as thou givest me great otso, givest me the forest-apple, thanks be paid to thee unending." to the bear he spake these measures: "otso, thou my well beloved, honey-eater of the woodlands, let not anger swell thy bosom; i have not the force to slay thee, willingly thy life thou givest as a sacrifice to northland. thou hast from the tree descended, glided from the aspen branches, slippery the trunks in autumn, in the fog-days, smooth the branches. golden friend of fen and forest, in thy fur-robes rich and beauteous, pride of woodlands, famous light-foot, leave thy cold and cheerless dwelling, leave thy home within the alders, leave thy couch among the willows, hasten in thy purple stockings, hasten from thy walks restricted, come among the haunts of heroes, join thy friends in kalevala. we shall never treat thee evil, thou shalt dwell in peace and plenty, thou shalt feed on milk and honey, honey is the food of strangers. haste away from this thy covert, from the couch of the unworthy, to a couch beneath the rafters of wainola's ancient dwellings. haste thee onward o'er the snow-plain, as a leaflet in the autumn; skip beneath these birchen branches, as a squirrel in the summer, as a cuckoo in the spring-time." wainamoinen, the magician, the eternal wisdom-singer, o'er the snow-fields hastened homeward, singing o'er the hills and mountains, with his guest, the ancient otso, with his friend, the famous light-foot, with the honey-paw of northland. far away was heard the singing, heard the playing of the hunter, heard the songs of wainamoinen; all the people heard and wondered, men and maidens, young and aged, from their cabins spake as follows: "hear the echoes from the woodlands, hear the bugle from the forest, hear the flute-notes of the songsters, hear the pipes of forest-maidens!" wainamoinen, old and trusty, soon appears within the court-yard. rush the people from their cabins, and the heroes ask these questions: "has a mine of gold been opened, hast thou found a vein of silver, precious jewels in thy pathway? does the forest yield her treasures, give to thee the honey-eater? does the hostess of the woodlands, give to thee the lynx and adder, since thou comest home rejoicing, playing, singing, on thy snow-shoes?" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, gave this answer to his people: "for his songs i caught the adder, caught the serpent for his wisdom; therefore do i come rejoicing, singing, playing, on my snow-shoes. not the mountain lynx, nor serpent, comes, however, to our dwellings; the illustrious is coming, pride and beauty of the forest, 'tis the master comes among us, covered with his friendly fur-robe. welcome, otso, welcome, light-foot, welcome, loved-one from the glenwood! if the mountain guest is welcome, open wide the gates of entry; if the bear is thought unworthy, bar the doors against the stranger." this the answer of the tribe-folk: "we salute thee, mighty otso, honey-paw, we bid thee welcome, welcome to our courts and cabins, welcome, light-foot, to our tables decorated for thy coming! we have wished for thee for ages, waiting since the days of childhood, for the notes of tapio's bugle, for the singing of the wood-nymphs, for the coming of dear otso, for the forest gold and silver, waiting for the year of plenty, longing for it as for summer, as the shoe waits for the snow-fields, as the sledge for beaten highways, as the maiden for her suitor, and the wife her husband's coming; sat at evening by the windows, at the gates have, sat at morning, sat for ages at the portals, near the granaries in winter, vanished, till the snow-fields warmed and till the sails unfurled in joyance, till the earth grew green and blossomed, thinking all the while as follows: "where is our beloved otso, why delays our forest-treasure? has he gone to distant ehstland, to the upper glens of suomi?" spake the ancient wainamoinen: "whither shall i lead the stranger, whither take the golden light-foot? shall i lead him to the garner, to the house of straw conduct him?" this the answer of his tribe-folk: "to the dining-hall lead otso, greatest hero of the northland. famous light-foot, forest-apple, pride and glory of the woodlands, have no fear before these maidens, fear not curly-headed virgins, clad in silver-tinselled raiment maidens hasten to their chambers when dear otso joins their number, when the hero comes among them." this the prayer of wainamoinen: "grant, o ukko, peace and plenty underneath these painted rafters, in this ornamented dweling; thanks be paid to gracious ukko!" spake again the ancient minstrel: "whither shall we lead dear otso, 'whither take the fur-clad stranger? this the answer of his people: "hither let the fur-robed light-foot be saluted on his coming; let the honey-paw be welcomed to the hearth-stone of the penthouse, welcomed to the boiling caldrons, that we may admire his fur-robe, may behold his cloak with joyance. have no care, thou much-loved otso, let not anger swell thy bosom as thy coat we view with pleasure; we thy fur shall never injure, shall not make it into garments to protect unworthy people." thereupon wise wainamoinen pulled the sacred robe from otso, spread it in the open court-yard, cut the members into fragments, laid them in the heating caldrons, in the copper-bottomed vessels-- o'er the fire the crane was hanging, on the crane were hooks of copper, on the hooks the broiling-vessels filled with bear-steak for the feasting, seasoned with the salt of dwina, from the saxon-land imported, from the distant dwina-waters, from the salt-sea brought in shallops. ready is the feast of otso; from the fire are swung the kettles on the crane of polished iron; in the centers of the tables is the bear displayed in dishes, golden dishes, decorated; of the fir-tree and the linden were the tables newly fashioned; drinking cups were forged from copper, knives of gold and spoons of silver; filled the vessels to their borders with the choicest bits of light-foot, fragments of the forest-apple. spake the ancient wainamoinen "ancient one with bosom golden, potent voice in tapio's councils metsola's most lovely hostess, hostess of the glen and forest, hero-son of tapiola, stalwart youth in cap of scarlet, tapio's most beauteous virgin, fair tellervo of the woodlands, metsola with all her people, come, and welcome, to the feasting, to the marriage-feast of otso! all sufficient, the provisions, food to eat and drink abundant, plenty for the hosts assembled, plenty more to give the village." this the question of the people: "tell us of the birth of otso! was he born within a manger, was he nurtured in the bath-room was his origin ignoble?" this is wainamoinen's answer: "otso was not born a beggar, was not born among the rushes, was not cradled in a manger; honey-paw was born in ether, in the regions of the moon-land, on the shoulders of otava, with the daughters of creation. "through the ether walked a maiden, on the red rims of the cloudlets, on the border of the heavens, in her stockings purple-tinted, in her golden-colored sandals. in her hand she held a wool-box, with a hair-box on her shoulder; threw the wool upon the ocean, and the hair upon the rivers; these are rocked by winds and waters, water-currents bear them onward, bear them to the sandy sea-shore, land them near the woods of honey, on an island forest-covered. "fair mielikki, woodland hostess, tapio's most cunning daughter, took the fragments from the sea-side, took the white wool from the waters, sewed the hair and wool together, laid the bundle in her basket, basket made from bark of birch-wood, bound with cords the magic bundle; with the chains of gold she bound it to the pine-tree's topmost branches. there she rocked the thing of magic, rocked to life the tender baby, mid the blossoms of the pine-tree, on the fir-top set with needles; thus the young bear well was nurtured, thus was sacred otso cradled on the honey-tree of northland, in the middle of the forest. "sacred otso grew and flourished, quickly grew with graceful movements, short of feet, with crooked ankles, wide of mouth and broad of forehead, short his nose, his fur-robe velvet; but his claws were not well fashioned, neither were his teeth implanted. fair mielikki, forest hostess, spake these words in meditation: 'claws i should be pleased to give him, and with teeth endow the wonder, would he not abuse the favor.' "swore the bear a promise sacred, on his knees before mielikki, hostess of the glen and forest, and before omniscient ukko, first and last of all creators, that he would not harm the worthy, never do a deed of evil. then mielikki, woodland hostess, wisest maid of tapiola, sought for teeth and claws to give him, from the stoutest mountain-ashes, from the juniper and oak tree, from the dry knots of the alder. teeth and claws of these were worthless, would not render goodly service. "grew a fir-tree on the mountain, grew a stately pine in northland, and the fir had silver branches, bearing golden cones abundant; these the sylvan maiden gathered, teeth and claws of these she fashioned in the jaws and feet of otso, set them for the best of uses. then she freed her new-made creature, let the light-foot walk and wander, let him lumber through the marshes, let him amble through the forest, roll upon the plains and pastures; taught him how to walk a hero, how to move with graceful motion, how to live in ease and pleasure, how to rest in full contentment, in the moors and in the marshes, on the borders of the woodlands; how unshod to walk in summer, stockingless to run in autumn; how to rest and sleep in winter in the clumps of alder-bushes underneath the sheltering fir-tree, underneath the pine's protection, wrapped securely in his fur-robes, with the juniper and willow. this the origin of otso, honey-eater of the northlands, whence the sacred booty cometh. thus again the people questioned: why became the woods so gracious, why so generous and friendly? why is tapio so humored, that he gave his dearest treasure, gave to thee his forest-apple, honey-eater of his kingdom? was he startled with thine arrows, frightened with the spear and broadsword?" wainamoinen, the magician, gave this answer to the question: "filled with kindness was the forest, glen and woodland full of greetings, tapio showing greatest favor. fair mielikki, forest hostess, metsola's bewitching daughter, beauteous woodland maid, tellervo, gladly led me on my journey, smoothed my pathway through the glen-wood. marked the trees upon the mountains, pointing me to otso's caverns, to the great bear's golden island. "when my journeyings had ended, when the bear had been discovered, had no need to launch my javelins, did not need to aim the arrow; otso tumbled in his vaulting, lost his balance in his cradle, in the fir-tree where he slumbered; tore his breast upon the branches, freely gave his life to others. "mighty otso, my beloved, thou my golden friend and hero, take thy fur-cap from thy forehead, lay aside thy teeth forever, hide thy fingers in the darkness, close thy mouth and still thine anger, while thy sacred skull is breaking. "now i take the eyes of otso, lest he lose the sense of seeing, lest their former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must these be taken. "now i take the ears of otso, lest he lose the sense of hearing, lest their former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must these be taken. "now i take the nose of otso, lest he lose the sense of smelling, lest its former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must this be taken. "now i take the tongue of otso, lest he lose the sense of tasting lest its former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must this be taken. "now i take the brain of otso, lest he lose the means of thinking, lest his consciousness should fail him, lest his former instincts weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must this be taken. "i will reckon him a hero, that will count the teeth of light-foot, that will loosen otso's fingers from their settings firmly fastened." none he finds with strength sufficient to perform the task demanded. therefore ancient wainamoinen counts the teeth of sacred otso; loosens all the claws of light-foot, with his fingers strong as copper, slips them from their firm foundations, speaking to the bear these measures: "otso, thou my honey-eater, thou my fur-ball of the woodlands, onward, onward, must thou journey from thy low and lonely dwelling, to the court-rooms of the village. go, my treasure, through the pathway near the herds of swine and cattle, to the hill-tops forest covered, to the high and rising mountains, to the spruce-trees filled with needles, to the branches of the pine-tree; there remain, my forest-apple, linger there in lasting slumber, where the silver bells are ringing, to the pleasure of the shepherd." thus beginning, and thus ending, wainamoinen, old and truthful, hastened from his emptied tables, and the children thus addressed him: "whither hast thou led thy booty, where hast left thy forest-apple, sacred otso of the woodlands? hast thou left him on the iceberg, buried him upon the snow-field? hast thou sunk him in the quicksand, laid him low beneath the heather?" wainamoinen spake in answer: "have not left him on the iceberg, have not buried him in snow-fields; there the dogs would soon devour him, birds of prey would feast upon him; have not hidden him in swamp-land, have not buried him in heather; there the worms would live upon him, insects feed upon his body. thither i have taken otso, to the summit of the gold-hill, to the copper-bearing mountain, laid him in his silken cradle in the summit of a pine-tree, where the winds and sacred branches rock him to his lasting slumber, to the pleasure of the hunter, to the joy of man and hero. to the east his lips are pointing, while his eyes are northward looking; but dear otso looks not upward, for the fierceness of the storm-winds would destroy his sense of vision." wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, touched again his harp of joyance, sang again his songs enchanting, to the pleasure of the evening, to the joy of morn arising. spake the singer of wainola: "light for me a torch of pine-wood, for the darkness is appearing, that my playing may be joyous and my wisdom-songs find welcome." then the ancient sage and singer, wise and worthy wainamoinen, sweetly sang and played, and chanted, through the long and dreary evening, ending thus his incantation: "grant, o ukko, my creator, that the people of wainola may enjoy another banquet in the company of light-foot; grant that we may long remember kalevala's feast with otso! "grant, o ukko, my creator, that the signs may guide our footsteps, that the notches in the pine-tree may direct my faithful people to the bear-dens of the woodlands; that great tapio's sacred bugle may resound through glen and forest; that the wood-nymph's call may echo, may be heard in field and hamlet, to the joy of all that listen! let great tapio's horn for ages ring throughout the fen and forest, through the hills and dales of northland o'er the meadows and the mountains, to awaken song and gladness in the forests of wainola, on the snowy plains of suomi, on the meads of kalevala, for the coming generations." rune xlvii. louhi steals sun, moon, and fire. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, touched again his magic harp-strings, sang in miracles of concord, filled the north with joy and gladness. melodies arose to heaven, songs arose to luna's chambers, echoed through the sun's bright windows and the moon has left her station, drops and settles in the birch-tree; and the sun comes from his castle, settles in the fir-tree branches, comes to share the common pleasure, comes to listen to the singing, to the harp of wainamoinen. louhi, hostess of pohyola, northland's old and toothless wizard, makes the sun and moon her captives; in her arms she takes fair luna from her cradle in the birch-tree, calls the sun down from his station, from the fir-tree's bending branches, carries them to upper northland, to the darksome sariola; hides the moon, no more to glimmer, in a rock of many colors; hides the sun, to shine no longer, in the iron-banded mountain; thereupon these words she utters: "moon of gold and sun of silver, hide your faces in the caverns of pohyola's dismal mountain; shine no more to gladden northland, till i come to give ye freedom, drawn by coursers nine in number, sable coursers of one mother!" when the golden moon had vanished, and the silver sun had hidden in the iron-banded caverns, louhi stole the fire from northland, from the regions of wainola, left the mansions cold and cheerless, and the cabins full of darkness. night was king and reigned unbroken, darkness ruled in kalevala, darkness in the home of ukko. hard to live without the moonlight, harder still without the sunshine; ukko's life is dark and dismal, when the sun and moon desert him. ukko, first of all creators, lived in wonder at the darkness; long reflected, well considered, why this miracle in heaven, what this accident in nature to the moon upon her journey; why the sun no more is shining, why has disappeared the moonlight. then great ukko walked the heavens, to the border of the cloudlets, in his purple-colored vestments, in his silver-tinselled sandals, seeking for the golden moonlight, looking for the silver sunshine. lightning ukko struck in darkness from the edges of his fire-sword; shot the flames in all directions, from his blade of golden color, into heaven's upper spaces, into ether's starry pastures. when a little fire had kindled, ukko hid it in the cloud-space, in a box of gold and silver, in a case adorned with silver, gave it to the ether-maidens, called a virgin then to rock it, that it might become a new-moon, that a second sun might follow. on the long-cloud rocked the virgin, on the blue-edge of the ether, rocked the fire of the creator, in her copper-colored cradle, with her ribbons silver-studded. lowly bend the bands of silver, loud the golden cradle echoes, and the clouds of northland thunder, low descends the dome of heaven, at the rocking of the lightning, rocking of the fire of ukko. thus the flame was gently cradled by the virgin of the ether. long the fair and faithful maiden stroked the fire-child with her fingers, tended it with care and pleasure, till in an unguarded moment it escaped the ether-virgin, slipped the hands of her that nursed it. quick the heavens are burst asunder, quick the vault of ukko opens, downward drops the wayward fire-child, downward quick the red-ball rushes, shoots across the arch of heaven, hisses through the startled cloudlets, flashes through the troubled welkin, through nine starry vaults of ether. then the ancient wainamoinen spake and these the words he uttered: "blacksmith brother, ilmarinen, let us haste and look together, what the kind of fire that falleth, what the form of light that shineth from the upper vault of heaven, from the lower earth and ocean. has a second moon arisen, can it be a ball of sunlight? thereupon the heroes wandered, onward journeyed and reflected, how to gain the spot illumined, how to find the sacred fire-child. came a river rushing by them, broad and stately as an ocean. straightway ancient wainamoinen there began to build a vessel, build a boat to cross the river. with the aid of ilmarinen, from the oak he cut the row-locks, from the pine the oars be fashioned, from the aspen shapes the rudder. when the vessel they had finished, quick they rolled it to the current, hard they rowed and ever forward, on the nawa-stream and waters, at the head of nawa-river. ilmatar, the ether-daughter, foremost daughter of creation, came to meet them on their journey, thus addressed the coming strangers: "who are ye of northland heroes, rowing on the nawa-waters?" wainamoinen gave this answer: "this the blacksmith, ilmarinen, i the ancient wainamoinen. tell us now thy name and station, whither going, whence thou comest, where thy tribe-folk live and linger? spake the daughter of the ether: "i the oldest of the women, am the first of ether's daughters, am the first of ancient mothers; seven times have i been wedded. to the heroes of creation. whither do ye strangers journey? answered thus old wainamoinen: "fire has left wainola's hearth-stones, light has disappeared from northland; have been sitting long in darkness, cold and darkness our companions; now we journey to discover what the fire that fell from heaven, falling from the cloud's red lining, to the deeps of earth and ocean." ilmatar returned this answer: "hard the flame is to discover, hard indeed to find the fire-child; has committed many mischiefs, nothing good has he accomplished; quick the fire-ball fell from ether, from the red rims of the cloudlets, from the plains of the creator, through the ever-moving heavens, through the purple ether-spaces, through the blackened flues of turi, to palwoinen's rooms uncovered. when the fire had reached the chambers of palwoinen, son of evil, he began his wicked workings, he engaged in lawless actions, raged against the blushing maidens, fired the youth to evil conduct, singed the beards of men and heroes. "where the mother nursed her baby, in the cold and cheerless cradle, thither flew the wicked fire-child, there to perpetrate some mischief; in the cradle burned the infant, by the infant burned the mother, that the babe might visit mana, in the kingdom of tuoni; said the child was born for dying, only destined for destruction, through the tortures of the fire-child. greater knowledge had the mother, did not journey to manala, knew the word to check the red-flame, how to banish the intruder through the eyelet of a needle, through the death-hole of the hatchet." then the ancient wainamoinen questioned ilmatar as follows: "whither did the fire-child wander, whither did the red-flame hasten, from the border-fields of turi, to the woods, or to the waters? straightway ilmatar thus answers: "when the fire had fled from turi, from the castles of palwoinen, through the eyelet of the needle, through the death-hole of the hatchet, first it burned the fields, and forests, burned the lowlands, and the heather; then it sought the mighty waters, sought the alue-sea and river, and the waters hissed and sputtered in their anger at the fire-child, fiery red the boiling alue! "three times in the nights of, summer, nine times in the nights of autumn, boil the waters to the tree-tops, roll and tumble to the mountain, through the red-ball's force and fury; hurls the pike upon the pastures, to the mountain-cliffs, the salmon, where the ocean-dwellers wonder, long reflect and well consider how to still the angry waters. wept the salmon for his grotto, mourned the whiting for his cavern, and the lake-trout for his dwelling, quick the crook-necked salmon darted, tried to catch the fire-intruder, but the red-ball quick escaped him; darted then the daring whiting, swallowed quick the wicked fire-child, swallowed quick the flame of evil. quiet grow the alue-waters, slowly settle to their shore-lines, to their long-accustomed places, in the long and dismal evening. "time had gone but little distance, when the whiting grow affrighted, fear befel the fire-devourer; burning pain and writhing tortures seized the eater of the fire-child; swam the fish in all directions, called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, swam one day, and then a second, swam the third from morn till even; swam she to the whiting-island, to the caverns of the salmon, where a hundred islands cluster; and the islands there assembled thus addressed the fire-devourer: 'there is none within these waters, in this narrow alue-lakelet, that will eat the fated fire-fish that will swallow thee in trouble, in thine agonies and torture from the fire-child thou hast eaten.' "hearing this a trout forth darting, swallowed quick as light the whiting, quickly ate the fire-devourer. time had gone but little distance, when the trout became affrighted, fear befel the whiting-eater; burning pain and writhing torment seized the eater of the fire-fish. swam the trout in all directions, called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, swam one day, and then a second, swain the third from morn till even; swam she to the salmon-island, swam she to the whiting-grottoes, where a thousand islands cluster, and the islands there assembled thus addressed the tortured lake-trout: 'there is none within this river, in these narrow alue-waters, that will eat the wicked fire-fish, that will swallow thee in trouble, in thine agonies and tortures, from the fire-fish thou hast eaten." hearing this the gray-pike darted, swallowed quick as light the lake-trout, quickly ate the tortured fire-fish. "time had gone but little distance, when the gray-pike grew affrighted, fear befel the lake-trout-eater; burning pain and writhing torment seized the reckless trout-devourer; swam the pike in all directions, called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, swam one day, and then a second, swam the third from morn till even, to the cave of ocean-swallows, to the sand-hills of the sea-gull, where a hundred islands cluster; and the islands there assembled thus addressed the fire-devourer: 'there is none within this lakelet, in these narrow alue-waters, that will eat the fated fire-fish, that will swallow thee in trouble, in thine agonies and tortures, from the fire-fish thou hast eaten.'" wainamoinen, wise and ancient, with the aid of ilmarinen, weaves with skill a mighty fish-net from the juniper and sea-grass; dyes the net with alder-water, ties it well with thongs of willow. straightway ancient wainamoinen called the maidens to the fish-net, and the sisters came as bidden. with the netting rowed they onward, rowed they to the hundred islands, to the grottoes of the salmon, to the caverns of the whiting, to the reeds of sable color, where the gray-pike rests and watches. on they hasten to the fishing, drag the net in all directions, drag it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise, and diagonally zigzag; but they did not catch the fire-fish. then the brothers went a-fishing, dragged the net in all directions, backwards, forwards, lengthwise, sidewise, through the homes of ocean-dwellers, through the grottoes of the salmon, through the dwellings of the whiting, through the reed-beds of the lake-trout, where the gray-pike lies in ambush; but the fated fire-fish came not, came not from the lake's abysses, came not from the alue-waters. little fish could not be captured in the large nets of the masters; murmured then the deep-sea-dwellers, spake the salmon to the lake-trout, and the lake-trout to the whiting, and the whiting to the gray-pike: have the heroes of wainola died, or have they all departed from these fertile shores and waters? where then are the ancient weavers, weavers of the nets of flax-thread, those that frighten us with fish-poles, drag us from our homes unwilling?" hearing this wise wainamoinen answered thus the deep-sea-dwellers: "neither have wainola's heroes died, nor have they all departed from these fertile shores and waters, two are born where one has perished; longer poles and finer fish-nets have the sons of kalevala!" rune xlviii. capture of the fire-fish. wainamoinen, the enchanter, the eternal wisdom-singer, long reflected, well considered, how to weave the net of flax-yarn, weave the fish-net of the fathers. spake the minstrel of wainola: "who will plow the field and fallow, sow the flax, and spin the flax-threads, that i may prepare the fish-net, wherewith i may catch the fire-pike, may secure the thing of evil?" soon they found a fertile island, found the fallow soil befitting, on the border of the heather, and between two stately oak-trees. they prepared the soil for sowing. searching everywhere for flax-seed, found it in tuoni's kingdom, in the keeping of an insect. then they found a pile of ashes, where the fire had burned a vessel; in the ashes sowed the seedlings near the alue-lake and border, in the rich and loamy fallow. there the seed took root and flourished, quickly grew to great proportions, in a single night in summer. thus the flax was sowed at evening, placed within the earth by moonlight; quick it grew, and quickly ripened, quick wainola's heroes pulled it, quick they broke it on the hackles, hastened with it to the waters, dipped it in the lake and washed it; quickly brought it borne and dried it. quickly broke, and combed, and smoothed it, brushed it well at early morning, laid it into laps for spinning quick the maidens twirl the spindles, spin the flaxen threads for weaving, in a single night in summer. quick the sisters wind and reel it, make it ready for the needle. brothers weave it into fish-nets, and the fathers twist the cordage, while the mothers knit the meshes, rapidly the mesh-stick circles; soon the fish-net is completed, in a single night in summer. as the magic net is finished, and in length a hundred fathoms, on the rim three hundred fathoms. rounded stones are fastened to it, joined thereto are seven float-boards. now the young men take the fish-net, and the old men cheer them onward, wish them good-luck at their fishing. long they row and drag the flax-seine, here and there the net is lowered; now they drag it lengthwise, sidewise, drag it through the slimy reed-beds; but they do not catch the fire-pike, only smelts, and luckless red-fish, little fish of little value. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, let us go ourselves a-fishing, let us catch the fish of evil!" to the fishing went the brothers, magic heroes of the northland, pulled the fish-net through the waters, toward an island in the deep-sea then they turn and drag the fish-net toward a meadow jutting seaward; now they drag it toward wainola, draw it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise, catching fish of every species, salmon, trout, and pike, and whiting, do not catch the evil fire-fish. then the master, wainamoinen, made additions to its borders, made it many fathoms wider, and a hundred fathoms longer, then these words the hero uttered "famous blacksmith, ilmarinen, let us go again a-fishing, row again the magic fish-net, drag it well through all the waters, that we may obtain the fire-pike!" thereupon the northland heroes go a second time a-fishing, drag their nets across the rivers, lakelets, seas, and bays, and inlets, catching fish of many species, but the fire-fish is not taken. wainamoinen, ancient singer, long reflecting, spake these measures: "dear wellamo, water-hostess, ancient mother with the reed-breast, come, exchange thy water-raiment, change thy coat of reeds and rushes for the garments i shall give thee, light sea-foam, thine inner vesture, and thine outer, moss and sea-grass, fashioned by the wind's fair daughters, woven by the flood's sweet maidens; i will give thee linen vestments spun from flax of softest fiber, woven by the moon's white virgins, fashioned by the sun's bright daughters fitting raiment for wellamo! "ahto, king of all the waters, ruler of a thousand grottoes, take a pole of seven fathoms, search with this the deepest waters, rummage well the lowest bottoms; stir up all the reeds and sea-weeds, hither drive a school of gray-pike, drive them to our magic fish-net, from the haunts in pike abounding, from the caverns, and the trout-holes, from the whirlpools of the deep-sea, from the bottomless abysses, where the sunshine never enters, where the moonlight never visits, and the sands are never troubled." rose a pigmy from the waters, from the floods a little hero, riding on a rolling billow, and the pigmy spake these measures: "dost thou wish a worthy helper, one to use the pole and frighten pike and salmon to thy fish-nets?" wainamoinen, old and faithful, answered thus the lake-born hero: "yea, we need a worthy helper, one to hold the pole, and frighten pike and salmon to our fish-nets." thereupon the water-pigmy cut a linden from the border, spake these words to wainamoinen: "shall i scare with all my powers, with the forces of my being, as thou needest shall i scare them?" spake the minstrel, wainamoinen: "if thou scarest as is needed, thou wilt scare with all thy forces, with the strength of thy dominions." then began the pigmy-hero, to affright the deep-sea-dwellers; drove the fish in countless numbers to the net of the magicians. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, drew his net along the waters, drew it with his ropes of flax-thread, spake these words of magic import: "come ye fish of northland waters to the regions of my fish-net, as my hundred meshes lower." then the net was drawn and fastened, many were the gray-pike taken by he master and magician. wainamoinen, happy-hearted, hastened to a neighboring island, to a blue-point in the waters, near a red-bridge on the headland; landed there his draught of fishes, cast the pike upon the sea-shore, and the fire-pike was among them, cast the others to the waters. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "may i touch thee with my fingers, using not my gloves of iron, using not my blue-stone mittens? this the sun-child hears and answers: "i should like to carve the fire-fish, i should like this pike to handle, if i had the knife of good-luck." quick a knife falls from the heavens, from the clouds a magic fish-knife, silver-edged and golden-headed, to the girdle of the sun-child; quick he grasps the copper handle, quick the hero carves the fire-pike, finds therein the tortured lake-trout; carves the lake-trout thus discovered. finds therein the fated whiting; carves the whiting, finds a blue-ball in the third cave of his body. he, the blue-ball quick unwinding, finds within a ball of scarlet; carefully removes the cover, finds the ball of fire within it, finds the flame from heaven fallen, from the heights of the seventh heaven, through nine regions of the ether. wainamoinen long reflected how to get the magic fire-ball to wainola's fireless hearth-stones, to his cold and cheerless dwellings. quick he snatched the fire of heaven from the fingers of the sun-child. wainamoinen's beard it singes, burns the brow of ilmarinen, burns the fingers of the blacksmith. rolling forth it hastens westward, hastens to the alue shore-lines, burns the juniper and alder, burns the and heath and meadow, rises to the lofty linden, burns the firs upon the mountains; hastens onward, onward, onward, burns the islands of the northland, burns the sawa fields and forests, burns the dry lands of karyala. straightway ancient wainamoinen hastens through the fields and fenlands, tracks the ranger to the glen-wood, finds the fire-child in an elm-tree, sleeping in a bed of fungus. thereupon wise wainamoinen wakes the child and speaks these measures: "wicked fire that god created, flame of ukko from the heavens, thou hast gone in vain to sea-caves, to the lakes without a reason; better go thou to my village, to the hearth-stones of my people; hide thyself within my chimneys, in mine ashes sleep and linger. in the day-time i will use thee to devour the blocks of birch-wood; in the evening i will hide thee underneath the golden circle." then he took the willing panu, took the willing fire of ukko, laid it in a box of tinder, in the punk-wood of a birch-tree, in a vessel forged from copper; carried it with care and pleasure to the fog-point in the waters, to the island forest covered. thus returned the fire to northland, to the chambers of wainola, to the hearths of kalevala. ilmarinen, famous blacksmith, hastened to the deep-sea's margin, sat upon the rock of torture, feeling pain the flame had given, laved his wounds with briny water, thus to still the fire-child's fury, thus to end his persecutions. long reflecting, ilmarinen thus addressed the flame of ukko: "evil panu from the heavens, wicked son of god from ether, tell me what has made thee angry, made thee burn my weary members, burn my beard, and face, and fingers, made me suffer death-land tortures? spake again young ilmarinen: "how can i wild panu conquer, how shall i control his conduct, make him end his evil doings? come, thou daughter from pohyola, come, white virgin of the hoar-frost, come on shoes of ice from lapland, icicles upon thy garments, in one band a cup of white-frost, in the other hand an ice-spoon; sprinkle snow upon my members, where the fire-child has been resting, let the hoar-frost fall and settle. "should this prayer be unavailing, come, thou son of sariola, come, thou child of frost from pohya, come, thou long-man from the ice-plains, of the height of stately pine-trees, slender as the trunks of lindens, on thy hands the gloves of hoar-frost, cap of ice upon thy forehead, on thy waist a white-frost girdle; bring the ice-dust from pohyola, from the cold and sunless village. rain is crystallized in northland, ice in pohya is abundant, lakes of ice and ice-bound rivers, frozen smooth, the sea of ether. bounds the hare in frosted fur-robe, climbs the bear in icy raiment, ambles o'er the snowy mountains. swans of frost descend the rivers, ducks of ice in countless numbers swim upon thy freezing waters, near the cataract and whirlpool. bring me frost upon thy snow-sledge, snow and ice in great abundance, from the summit of the wild-top, from the borders of the mountains. with thine ice, and snow, and hoar-frost cover well mine injured members where wild panu has been resting, where the child of fire has lingered. "should this call be ineffective, ukko, god of love and mercy, first and last of the creators, from the east send forth a snow-cloud, from the west despatch a second, join their edges well together, let there be no vacant places, let these clouds bring snow and lay the healing balm of ukko on my burning, tortured tissues, where wild panu has been resting." thus the blacksmith, ilmarinen, stills the pains by fire engendered, stills the agonies and tortures brought him by the child of evil, brought him by the wicked panu. rune xlix. restoration of the sun and moon. thus has fire returned to northland but the gold moon is not shining, neither gleams the silver sunlight in the chambers of wainola, on the plains of kalevala. on the crops the white-frost settled, and the cattle died of hunger, even birds grew sick and perished. men and maidens, faint and famished, perished in the cold and darkness, from the absence of the sunshine, from the absence of the moonlight. knew the pike his holes and hollows, and the eagle knew his highway, knew the winds the times for sailing; but the wise men of the northland could not know the dawn of morning, on the fog-point in the ocean, on the islands forest-covered. young and aged talked and wondered, well reflected, long debated, how to live without the moonlight, live without the silver sunshine, in the cold and cheerless northland, in the homes of kalevala. long conjectured all the maidens, orphans asked the wise for counsel. spake a maid to ilmarinen, running to the blacksmith's furnace: "rise, o artist, from thy slumbers, hasten from thy couch unworthy; forge from gold the moon for northland, forge anew the sun from silver cannot live without the moonlight, nor without the silver sunshine!" from his couch arose the artist, from his couch of stone, the blacksmith, and began his work of forging, forging sun and moon for northland. came the ancient wainamoinen, in the doorway sat and lingered, spake, these words to ilmarinen: "blacksmith, my beloved brother, thou the only metal-worker, tell me why thy magic hammer falls so heavy on thine anvil?" spake the youthful ilmarinen: "moon of gold and sun of silver, i am forging for wainola; i shall swing them into ether, plant them in the starry heavens." spake the wise, old wainamoinen: "senseless blacksmith of the ages, vainly dost thou swing thy hammer, vainly rings thy mighty anvil; silver will not gleam as sunshine, not of gold is born the moonlight!" ilmarinen, little heeding, ceases not to ply his hammer, sun and moon the artist forges, wings the moon of magic upward, hurls it to the pine-tree branches; does not shine without her master. then the silver sun he stations in an elm-tree on the mountain. from his forehead drip the sweat-drops, perspiration from his fingers, through his labors at the anvil while the sun and moon were forging; but the sun shone not at morning from his station in the elm-tree; and the moon shone not at evening from the pine-tree's topmost branches. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "let the fates be now consulted, and the oracles examined; only thus may we discover where the sun and moon lie hidden." thereupon old wainamoinen, only wise and true magician, cut three chips from trunks of alder, laid the chips in magic order, touched and turned them with his fingers, spake these words of master-magic: "of my maker seek i knowledge, ask in hope and faith the answer from the great magician, ukko: tongue of alder, tell me truly, symbol of the great creator, where the sun and moon are sleeping; for the moon shines not in season, nor appears the sun at midday, from their stations in the sky-vault. speak the truth, o magic alder, speak not words of man, nor hero, hither bring but truthful measures. let us form a sacred compact: if thou speakest me a falsehood, i will hurl thee to manala, let the nether fires consume thee, that thine evil signs may perish." thereupon the alder answered, spake these words of truthful import: "verily the sun lies hidden and the golden moon is sleeping in the stone-berg of pohyola, in the copper-bearing mountain." these the words of wainamoinen: "i shall go at once to northland, to the cold and dark pohyola, bring the sun and moon to gladden all wainola's fields and forests." forth he hastens on his journey, to the dismal sariola, to the northland cold and dreary; travels one day, then a second, so the third from morn till evening, when appear the gates of pohya, with her snow-clad hills and mountains. wainamoinen, the magician, at the river of pohyola, loudly calls the ferry-maiden: bring a boat, o pohya-daughter, bring a strong and trusty vessel, row me o'er these chilling waters, o'er this rough and rapid river!" but the ferry-maiden heard not, did not listen to his calling. thereupon old wainamoinen, laid a pile of well-dried brush-wood, knots and needles of the fir-tree, made a fire beside the river, sent the black smoke into heaven curling to the home of ukko. louhi, hostess of the northland, hastened to her chamber window, looked upon the bay and river, spake these words to her attendants: "why the fire across the river where the current meets the deep-sea, smaller than the fires of foemen, larger than the flames of hunters?" thereupon a pohyalander hastened from the court of louhi that the cause he might discover,' bring the sought-for information to the hostess of pohyola; saw upon the river-border some great hero from wainola. wainamoinen saw the stranger, called again in tones of thunder: "bring a skiff; thou son of northland, for the minstrel, wainamoinen! thus the pohyalander answered: "here no skiffs are lying idle, row thyself across the waters, use thine arms, and feet, and fingers, to propel thee o'er the river, o'er the sacred stream of pohya." wainamoinen, long reflecting, bravely thus soliloquizes: "i will change my form and features, will assume a second body, neither man, nor ancient minstrel, master of the northland waters!" then the singer, wainamoinen, leaped, a pike, upon the waters, quickly swam the rapid river, gained the frigid pohya-border. there his native form resuming, walked he as a mighty hero, on the dismal isle of louhi, spake the wicked sons of northland: come thou to pohyola's court-room." to pohyola's, court he hastened. spake again the sons of evil: come thou to the halls of louhi!" to pohyola's halls he hastened. on the latch he laid his fingers, set his foot within the fore-hall, hastened to the inner chamber, underneath the painted rafters, where the northland-heroes gather. there he found the pohya-masters girded with their swords of battle, with their spears and battle-axes, with their fatal bows and arrows, for the death of wainamoinen, ancient bard, suwantolainen. thus they asked the hero-stranger. "magic swimmer of the northland, son of evil, what the message that thou bringest from thy people, what thy mission to pohyola?" wainamoinen, old and truthful, thus addressed the hosts of louhi: "for the sun i come to northland, come to seek the moon in pohya; tell me where the sun lies hidden, where the golden moon is sleeping." spake the evil sons of pohya: "both the sun and moon are hidden in the rock of many colors, in the copper-bearing mountain, in a cavern iron-banded, in the stone-berg of pohyola, nevermore to gain their freedom, nevermore to shine in northland!" spake the hero, wainamoinen: "if the sun be not uncovered, if the moon leave not her dungeon, i will challenge all pohyola to the test of spear or broadsword, let us now our weapons measure!" quick the hero of wainola drew his mighty sword of magic; on its border shone the moonlight, on its hilt the sun was shining, on its back, a neighing stallion, on its face a cat was mewing, beautiful his magic weapon. quick the hero-swords are tested, and the blades are rightly measured wainamoinen's sword is longest by a single grain of barley, by a blade of straw, the widest. to the court-yard rushed the heroes, hastened to the deadly combat, on the plains of sariola. wainamoinen, the magician, strikes one blow, and then a second, strikes a third time, cuts and conquers. as the house-maids slice the turnips, as they lop the heads of cabbage, as the stalks of flax are broken, so the heads of louhi's heroes fall before the magic broadsword of the ancient wainamoinen. then victor from wainola, ancient bard and great magician, went to find the sun in slumber, and the golden moon discover, in the copper-bearing mountains, in the cavern iron-banded, in the stone-berg of pohyola. he had gone but little distance, when he found a sea-green island; on the island stood a birch-tree, near the birch-tree stood a pillar carved in stone of many colors; in the pillar, nine large portals bolted in a hundred places; in the rock he found a crevice sending forth a gleam of sunlight. quick he drew his mighty broadsword, from the pillar struck three colors, from the magic of his weapon; and the pillar fell asunder, three the number of the fragments. wainamoinen, old and faithful, through the crevice looked and wondered. in the center of the pillar, from a scarlet-colored basin, noxious serpents beer were drinking, and the adders eating spices. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "therefore has pohyola's hostess little drink to give to strangers, since her beer is drank by serpents, and her spices given to adders." quick he draws his magic fire-blade, cuts the vipers green in pieces, lops the heads off all the adders, speaks these words of master-magic: thus, hereafter, let the serpent drink the famous beer of barley, feed upon the northland-spices!" wainamoinen, the magician, the eternal wizard-singer, sought to open wide the portals with the hands and words of magic; but his hands had lost their cunning, and his magic gone to others. thereupon the ancient minstrel quick returning, heavy-hearted, to his native halls and hamlets, thus addressed his brother-heroes: "woman, he without his weapons, with no implements, a weakling! sun and moon have i discovered, but i could not force the portals leading to their rocky cavern in the copper bearing mountain. spake the reckless lemminkainen "o thou ancient wainamoinen, why was i not taken with thee to become, thy war-companion? would have been of goodly service, would have drawn the bolts or broken, all the portals to the cavern, where the sun and moon lie hidden in the copper-bearing mountain!" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, thus replied to lemminkainen: "empty words will break no portals, draw no bolts of any moment; locks and bolts are never broken. with the words of little wisdom! greater means than thou commandest must be used to free the sunshine, free the moonlight from her dungeon." wainamoinen, not discouraged, hastened to the forge and smithy, spake these words to ilmarinen: "o thou famous metal-artist, forge for me a magic trident, forge from steel a dozen stout-rings, master-keys, a goodly number, iron bars and heavy hammers, that the sun we may uncover in the copper-bearing mountain, in the stone-berg of pohyola." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal metal-worker, forged the needs of wainamoinen, forged for him the magic trident, forged from steel a dozen stout-rings, master-keys a goodly number, iron bars and heavy hammers, not the largest, nor the smallest, forged them of the right dimensions. louhi, hostess of pohyola, northland's old and toothless wizard, fastened wings upon her shoulders, as an eagle, sailed the heavens, over field, and fen, and forest, over pohya's many, waters, to the hamlets of wainola, to the forge of ilmarinen. quick the famous metal-worker went to see if winds were blowing; found the winds at peace and silent, found an eagle, sable-colored, perched upon his window-casement. spake the artist, ilmarinen: "magic bird, whom art thou seeking, why art sitting at my window?" this the answer of the eagle: "art thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal iron-forger, master of the magic metals, northland's wonder-working artist?" ilmarinen gave this answer: "there is nothing here of wonder, since i forged the dome of heaven, forged the earth a concave cover!" spake again the magic eagle: why this ringing of thine anvil, why this knocking of thy hammer, tell me what thy hands are forging?" this the answer of the blacksmith: "'tis a collar i am forging for the neck of wicked louhi, toothless witch of sariola, stealer of the silver sunshine, stealer of the golden moonlight; with this collar i shall bind her to the iron-rock of ehstland!" louhi, hostess of pohyola, saw misfortune fast approaching, saw destruction flying over, saw the signs of bad-luck lower; quickly winged her way through ether to her native halls and chambers, to the darksome sariola, there unlocked the massive portals where the sun and moon were hidden, in the rock of many colors, in the cavern iron-banded, in the copper-bearing mountain. then again the wicked louhi changed her withered form and features, and became a dove of good-luck; straightway winged the starry heavens, over field, and fen, and forest, to the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala, to the forge of ilmarinen. this the question of the blacksmith "wherefore comest, dove of good-luck, what the tidings that thou bringest?" thus the magic bird made answer: "wherefore come i to thy smithy? come to bring the joyful tidings that the sun has left his cavern, left the rock of many colors, left the stone-berg of pohyola; that the moon no more is hidden in the copper-bearing mountains, in the caverns iron-banded." straightway hastened ilmarinen to the threshold of his smithy, quickly scanned the far horizon, saw again the silver sunshine, saw once more the golden moonlight, bringing peace, and joy, and plenty, to the homes of kalevala. thereupon the blacksmith hastened to his brother, wainamoinen, spake these words to the magician: "o thou ancient bard and minstrel, the eternal wizard-singer see, the sun again is shining, and the golden moon is beaming from their long-neglected places, from their stations in the sky-vault!" wainamoinen, old and faithful, straightway hastened to the court-yard, looked upon the far horizon, saw once more the silver sunshine, saw again the golden moonlight, bringing peace, and joy, and plenty, to the people of the northland, and the minstrel spake these measures: "greetings to thee, sun of fortune, greetings to thee, moon of good-luck, welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight, golden is the dawn of morning! free art thou, o sun of silver, free again, o moon beloved, as the sacred cuckoo's singing, as the ring-dove's liquid cooings. "rise, thou silver sun, each morning, source of light and life hereafter, bring us, daily, joyful greetings, fill our homes with peace and plenty, that our sowing, fishing, hunting, may be prospered by thy coming. travel on thy daily journey, let the moon be ever with thee; glide along thy way rejoicing, end thy journeyings in slumber; rest at evening in the ocean, when the daily cares have ended, to the good of all thy people, to the pleasure of wainoloa, to the joy of kalevala!" rune l. mariatta--wainamoinen's departure. mariatta, child of beauty, grew to maidenhood in northland, in the cabin of her father, in the chambers of her mother, golden ringlets, silver girdles, worn against the keys paternal, glittering upon her bosom; wore away the father's threshold with the long robes of her garments; wore away the painted rafters with her beauteous silken ribbons; wore away the gilded pillars with the touching of her fingers; wore away the birchen flooring with the tramping of her fur-shoes. mariatta, child of beauty, magic maid of little stature, guarded well her sacred virtue, her sincerity and honor, fed upon the dainty whiting, on the inner bark of birch-wood, on the tender flesh of lambkins. when she hastened in the evening to her milking in the hurdles, spake in innocence as follows: "never will the snow-white virgin milk the kine of one unworthy!" when she journeyed over snow-fields, on the seat beside her father, spake in purity as follows: "not behind a steed unworthy will i ever ride the snow-sledge!" mariatta, child of beauty, lived a virgin with her mother, as a maiden highly honored, lived in innocence and beauty, daily drove her flocks to pasture, walking with the gentle lambkins. when the lambkins climbed the mountains, when they gamboled on the hill-tops, stepped the virgin to the meadow, skipping through a grove of lindens, at the calling of the cuckoo, to the songster's golden measures. mariatta, child of beauty, looked about, intently listened, sat upon the berry-meadow sat awhile, and meditated on a hillock by the forest, and soliloquized as follows: "call to me, thou golden cuckoo, sing, thou sacred bird of northland, sing, thou silver breasted songster, speak, thou strawberry of ehstland, tell bow long must i unmarried, as a shepherdess neglected, wander o'er these bills and mountains, through these flowery fens and fallows. tell me, cuckoo of the woodlands, sing to me how many summers i must live without a husband, as a shepherdess neglected!" mariatta, child of beauty, lived a shepherd-maid for ages, as a virgin with her mother. wretched are the lives of shepherds, lives of maidens still more wretched, guarding flocks upon the mountains; serpents creep in bog and stubble, on the greensward dart the lizards; but it was no serpent singing, nor a sacred lizard calling, it was but the mountain-berry calling to the lonely maiden: "come, o virgin, come and pluck me, come and take me to thy bosom, take me, tinsel-breasted virgin, take me, maiden, copper-belted, ere the slimy snail devours me, ere the black-worm feeds upon me. hundreds pass my way unmindful, thousands come within my hearing, berry-maidens swarm about me, children come in countless numbers, none of these has come to gather, come to pluck this ruddy berry." mariatta, child of beauty, listened to its gentle pleading, ran to pick the berry, calling, with her fair and dainty fingers,. saw it smiling near the meadow, like a cranberry in feature, like a strawberry in flavor; but be virgin, mariatta, could not pluck the woodland-stranger, thereupon she cut a charm-stick, downward pressed upon the berry, when it rose as if by magic, rose above her shoes of ermine, then above her copper girdle, darted upward to her bosom, leaped upon the maiden's shoulder, on her dimpled chin it rested, on her lips it perched a moment, hastened to her tongue expectant to and fro it rocked and lingered, thence it hastened on its journey, settled in the maiden's bosom. mariatta, child of beauty, thus became a bride impregnate, wedded to the mountain-berry; lingered in her room at morning, sat at midday in the darkness, hastened to her couch at evening. thus the watchful mother wonders: "what has happened to our mary, to our virgin, mariatta, that she throws aside her girdle, shyly slips through hall and chamber, lingers in her room at morning, hastens to her couch at evening, sits at midday in the darkness?" on the floor a babe was playing, and the young child thus made answer: "this has happened to our mary, to our virgin, mariatta, this misfortune to the maiden: she has lingered by the meadows, played too long among the lambkins, tasted of the mountain-berry." long the virgin watched and waited, anxiously the days she counted, waiting for the dawn of trouble. finally she asked her mother, these the words of mariatta: "faithful mother, fond and tender, mother whom i love and cherish, make for me a place befitting, where my troubles may be lessened, and my heavy burdens lightened." this the answer of the mother: "woe to thee, thou hisi-maiden, since thou art a bride unworthy, wedded only to dishonor!" mariatta, child of beauty, thus replied in truthful measures: "i am not a maid of hisi, i am not a bride unworthy, am not wedded to dishonor; as a shepherdess i wandered with the lambkins to the glen-wood, wandered to the berry-mountain, where the strawberry had ripened; quick as thought i plucked the berry, on my tongue i gently laid it, to and fro it rocked and lingered, settled in my heaving bosom. this the source of all my trouble, only cause of my dishonor!" as the mother was relentless, asked the maiden of her father, this the virgin-mother's pleading: o my father, full of pity, source of both my good and evil, build for me a place befitting, where my troubles may be lessened, and my heavy burdens lightened." this the answer of the father, of the father unforgiving: "go, thou evil child of hisi, go, thou child of sin and sorrow, wedded only to dishonor, to the great bear's rocky chamber, to the stone-cave of the growler, there to lessen all thy troubles, there to cast thy heavy burdens!" mariatta, child of beauty, thus made answer to her father: "i am not a child of hisi, i am not a bride unworthy, am not wedded to dishonor; i shall bear a noble hero, i shall bear a son immortal, who will rule among the mighty, rule the ancient wainamoinen." thereupon the virgin-mother wandered hither, wandered thither, seeking for a place befitting, seeking for a worthy birth-place for her unborn son and hero; finally these words she uttered "piltti, thou my youngest maiden, trustiest of all my servants, seek a place within the village, ask it of the brook of sara, for the troubled mariatta, child of sorrow and misfortune." thereupon the little maiden, piltti, spake these words in answer: "whom shall i entreat for succor, who will lend me his assistance? these the words of mariatta: "go and ask it of ruotus, where the reed-brook pours her waters." thereupon the servant, piltti, ever hopeful, ever willing, hastened to obey her mistress, needing not her exhortation; hastened like the rapid river, like the flying smoke of battle to the cabin of ruotus. when she walked the hill-tops tottered, when she ran the mountains trembled; shore-reeds danced upon the pasture, sandstones skipped about the heather as the maiden, piltti, hastened to the dwelling of ruotus. at his table in his cabin sat ruotus, eating, drinking, in his simple coat of linen. with his elbows on the table spake the wizard in amazement: "why hast thou, a maid of evil, come to see me in my cavern, what the message thou art bringing? thereupon the servant, piltti, gave this answer to the wizard: "seek i for a spot befitting, seek i for a worthy birth-place, for an unborn child and hero; seek it near the sara-streamlet, where the reed-brook pours her waters. came the wife of old ruotus, walking with her arms akimbo, thus addressed the maiden, piltti: "who is she that asks assistance, who the maiden thus dishonored, what her name, and who her kindred?" "i have come for mariatta, for the worthy virgin-mother." spake the wife of old ruotus, evil-minded, cruel-hearted: "occupied are all our chambers, all our bath-rooms near the reed-brook; in the mount of fire are couches, is a stable in the forest, for the flaming horse of hisi; in the stable is a manger fitting birth-place for the hero from the wife of cold misfortune, worthy couch for mariatta!" thereupon the servant, piltti, hastened to her anxious mistress, spake these measures, much regretting. "there is not a place befitting, on the silver brook of sara. spake the wife of old ruotus: 'occupied are all the chambers, all the bath-rooms near the reed-brook; in the mount of fire are couches, is a stable, in the forest, for the flaming horse of hisi; in the stable is a manger, fitting birth-place for the hero from the wife of cold misfortune, worthy couch for mariatta.'" thereupon the hapless maiden, mariatta, virgin-mother, fell to bitter tears and murmurs, spake these words in depths of sorrow: "i, alas! must go an outcast, wander as a wretched hireling, like a servant in dishonor, hasten to the burning mountain, to the stable in the forest, make my bed within a manger, near the flaming steed of hisi!" quick the hapless virgin-mother, outcast from her father's dwelling, gathered up her flowing raiment, grasped a broom of birchen branches, hastened forth in pain and sorrow to the stable in the woodlands, on the heights of tapio's mountains, spake these words in supplication: "come, i pray thee, my creator, only friend in times of trouble, come to me and bring protection to thy child, the virgin-mother, to the maiden, mariatta, in this hour of sore affliction. come to me, benignant ukko, come, thou only hope and refuge, lest thy guiltless child should perish, die the death of the unworthy!" when the virgin, mariatta, had arrived within the stable of the flaming horse of hisi, she addressed the steed as follows: "breathe, o sympathizing fire-horse, breathe on me, the virgin-mother, let thy heated breath give moisture, let thy pleasant warmth surround me, like the vapor of the morning; let this pure and helpless maiden find a refuge in thy manger!" thereupon the horse, in pity, breathed the moisture of his nostrils on the body of the virgin, wrapped her in a cloud of vapor, gave her warmth and needed comforts, gave his aid to the afflicted, to the virgin, mariatta. there the babe was born and cradled cradled in a woodland-manger, of the virgin, mariatta, pure as pearly dews of morning, holy as the stars in heaven. there the mother rocks her infant, in his swaddling clothes she wraps him, lays him in her robes of linen; carefully the babe she nurtures, well she guards her much-beloved, guards her golden child of beauty, her beloved gem of silver. but alas! the child has vanished, vanished while the mother slumbered. mariatta, lone and wretched, fell to weeping, broken-hearted, hastened off to seek her infant. everywhere the mother sought him, sought her golden child of beauty, her beloved gem of silver; sought him underneath the millstone, in the sledge she sought him vainly, underneath the sieve she sought him, underneath the willow-basket, touched the trees, the grass she parted, long she sought her golden infant, sought him on the fir-tree-mountain, in the vale, and hill, and heather; looks within the clumps of flowers, well examines every thicket, lifts the juniper and willow, lifts the branches of the alder. lo! a star has come to meet her, and the star she thus beseeches-. "o, thou guiding-star of northland, star of hope, by god created, dost thou know and wilt thou tell me where my darling child has wandered, where my holy babe lies hidden?" thus the star of northland answers: "if i knew, i would not tell thee; 'tis thy child that me created, set me here to watch at evening, in the cold to shine forever, here to twinkle in the darkness." comes the golden moon to meet her, and the moon she thus beseeches: "golden moon, by ukko fashioned, hope and joy of kalevala, dost thou know and wilt thou tell me where my darling child has wandered, where my holy babe lies hidden? speaks the golden moon in answer: "if i knew i would not tell thee; 'tis thy child that me created, here to wander in the darkness, all alone at eve to wander on my cold and cheerless journey, sleeping only in the daylight, shining for the good of others." thereupon the virgin-mother falls again to bitter weeping, hastens on through fen and forest, seeking for her babe departed. comes the silver sun to meet her, and the sun she thus addresses: "silver sun by ukko fashioned, source of light and life to northland, dost thou know and wilt thou tell me where my darling child has wandered, where my holy babe lies hidden?" wisely does the sun make answer: "well i know thy babe's dominions, where thy holy child is sleeping, where wainola's light lies hidden; 'tis thy child that me created, made me king of earth and ether, made the moon and stars attend me, set me here to shine at midday, makes me shine in silver raiment, lets me sleep and rest at evening; yonder is thy golden infant, there thy holy babe lies sleeping, hidden to his belt in water, hidden in the reeds and rushes." mariatta, child of beauty, virgin-mother of the northland, straightway seeks her babe in swamp-land, finds him in the reeds and rushes; takes the young child on her bosom to the dwelling of her father. there the infant grew in beauty, gathered strength, and light, and wisdom, all of suomi saw and wondered. no one knew what name to give him; when the mother named him, flower, others named him, son-of-sorrow. when the virgin, mariatta, sought the priesthood to baptize him, came an old man, wirokannas, with a cup of holy water, bringing to the babe his blessing; and the gray-beard spake as follows: "i shall not baptize a wizard, shall not bless a black-magician with the drops of holy water; let the young child be examined, let us know that he is worthy, lest he prove the son of witchcraft." thereupon old wirokannas called the ancient wainamoinen, the eternal wisdom-singer, to inspect the infant-wonder, to report him good or evil. wainamoinen, old and faithful, carefully the child examined, gave this answer to his people: "since the child is but an outcast, born and cradled in a manger, since the berry is his father; let him lie upon the heather, let him sleep among the rushes, let him live upon the mountains; take the young child to the marshes, dash his head against the birch-tree." then the child of mariatta, only two weeks old, made answer: "o, thou ancient wainamoinen, son of folly and injustice, senseless hero of the northland, falsely hast thou rendered judgment. in thy years, for greater follies, greater sins and misdemeanors, thou wert not unjustly punished. in thy former years of trouble, when thou gavest thine own brother, for thy selfish life a ransom, thus to save thee from destruction, then thou wert not sent to swamp-land to be murdered for thy follies. in thy former years of sorrow, when the beauteous aino perished in the deep and boundless blue-sea, to escape thy persecutions, then thou wert not evil-treated, wert not banished by thy people." thereupon old wirokannas, of the wilderness the ruler, touched the child with holy water, crave the wonder-babe his blessing, gave him rights of royal heirship, free to live and grow a hero, to become a mighty ruler, king and master of karyala. as the years passed wainamoinen recognized his waning powers, empty-handed, heavy-hearted, sang his farewell song to northland, to the people of wainola; sang himself a boat of copper, beautiful his bark of magic; at the helm sat the magician, sat the ancient wisdom-singer. westward, westward, sailed the hero o'er the blue-back of the waters, singing as he left wainola, this his plaintive song and echo: "suns may rise and set in suomi, rise and set for generations, when the north will learn my teachings, will recall my wisdom-sayings, hungry for the true religion. then will suomi need my coming, watch for me at dawn of morning, that i may bring back the sampo, bring anew the harp of joyance, bring again the golden moonlight, bring again the silver sunshine, peace and plenty to the northland." thus the ancient wainamoinen, in his copper-banded vessel, left his tribe in kalevala, sailing o'er the rolling billows, sailing through the azure vapors, sailing through the dusk of evening, sailing to the fiery sunset, to the higher-landed regions, to the lower verge of heaven; quickly gained the far horizon, gained the purple-colored harbor. there his bark be firmly anchored, rested in his boat of copper; but he left his harp of magic, left his songs and wisdom-sayings, to the lasting joy of suomi. epilogue. now i end my measured singing, bid my weary tongue keep silence, leave my songs to other singers. horses have their times of resting after many hours of labor; even sickles will grow weary when they have been long at reaping; waters seek a quiet haven after running long in rivers; fire subsides and sinks in slumber at the dawning of the morning therefore i should end my singing, as my song is growing weary, for the pleasure of the evening, for the joy of morn arising. often i have heard it chanted, often heard the words repeated: "worthy cataracts and rivers never empty all their waters." thus the wise and worthy singer sings not all his garnered wisdom; better leave unsung some sayings than to sing them out of season. thus beginning, and thus ending, do i roll up all my legends, roll them in a ball for safety, in my memory arrange them, in their narrow place of resting, lest the songs escape unheeded, while the lock is still unopened, while the teeth remain unparted, and the weary tongue is silent. why should i sing other legends, chant them in the glen and forest, sing them on the hill and heather? cold and still my golden mother lies beneath the meadow, sleeping, hears my ancient songs no longer, cannot listen to my singing; only will the forest listen, sacred birches, sighing pine-trees, junipers endowed with kindness, alder-trees that love to bear me, with the aspens and the willows. when my loving mother left me, young was i, and low of stature; like the cuckoo of the forest, like the thrush upon the heather, like the lark i learned to twitter, learned to sing my simple measures, guided by a second mother, stern and cold, without affection; drove me helpless from my chamber to the wind-side of her dwelling, to the north-side of her cottage, where the chilling winds in mercy carried off the unprotected. as a lark i learned to wander, wander as a lonely song-bird, through the forests and the fenlands quietly o'er hill and heather; walked in pain about the marshes, learned the songs of winds and waters, learned the music of the ocean, and the echoes of the woodlands. many men that live to murmur, many women live to censure, many speak with evil motives; many they with wretched voices curse me for my wretched singing, blame my tongue for speaking wisdom, call my ancient songs unworthy, blame the songs and curse the singer. be not thus, my worthy people, blame me not for singing badly, unpretending as a minstrel. i have never had the teaching, never lived with ancient heroes, never learned the tongues of strangers, never claimed to know much wisdom. others have had language-masters, nature was my only teacher, woods and waters my instructors. homeless, friendless, lone, and needy, save in childhood with my mother, when beneath her painted rafters, where she twirled the flying spindle, by the work-bench of my brother, by the window of my sister, in. the cabin of my father, in my early days of childhood. be this as it may, my people, this may point the way to others, to the singers better gifted, for the good of future ages, for the coming generations, for the rising folk of suomi. glossary. aar'ni (ar'ni). the guardian of hidden treasures. a-ha'va. the west-wind; the father of the swift dogs. ah'ti. the same as lemminkainen. ah'to. the great god of the waters. ah'to-la. the water-castle of ahto and his people. ah'to-lai'set. the inhabitants of ahtola. ai-nik'ki. a sister of ahti. ai'no (i'no). youkahainen's sister. an'te-ro. a goddess of the waves. ai'ue-lake. the lake into which the fire-child falls. an-nik'ki. ilmarinen's sister. an'te-ro. another name for wipanen, or antero wipunen. dus'ter-land. the northland; pimentola. et'e-le'tar. a daugter of the south-wind. fire-child. a synonym of panu. frost. the english for pakkanen. hal'lap-yo'ra. a lake in finland. hal'ti-a (plural haltiat). the genius of finnish mythology. het'e-wa'ne. the finnish name of the pleiades. hi'si (original hiisi). the evil principle; also called jutas, lempo, and piru. mon'ja-tar. the daughter of the pine-tree. hor'na. a sacred rock in finland. i'ku-tur'so. an evil giant of the sea. il'ma-ri'nem. the worker of the metals; a brother of wainamoinen. il'ma-tar. daughter of the air, and mother of wainamoinen. il'po-tar. believed to be the daughter of the snow flake; the same as louhi. im-a'tra. a celebrated waterfall near wiborg. in'ger-land. the present st. petersburg. ja'men (ya'men). a river of finland. jor'dan. curiously, the river of palestine. jou'ka-hai'nen (you-ka-hai'nen). a celebrated minstrel of pohyola. jou-ko'la (you-ko'la). the home or dwelling of youkahainen. ju-ma'la (you-ma'la). originally the heavens, then the god of the heavens, and finally god. ju'tas (yu'tas). the evil principle; hisi, piru, and lempo are synonyms, kai'to-lai'nen. a son of the god of metals; from his spear came the tongue of the serpent. ka-ler'vo. the father of kullervo. ka-le'va (kalewai'nen). the father of heroes; a hero in general. kal'e-va'la (kaleva, hero, and la, the place of). the land of heroes; the name of the epic poem of finland. kal'e-va'tar (kalewa'tar). daughter of kaleva. kal-e'vo. the same as kaleva. ka'lew. often used for kaleva. kal'ma. the god of death. kam'mo. the father of kimmo. kan'ka-hat'ta-ret. the goddesses of weaving. ka'pe. a synonym of ilmatar, the mother of wainamoinen. ka'po. a synonym of osmotar. ka-re'len. a province of finland. kar-ja'la, (karya'la). the seat of the waterfall, kaatrakoski. kat'e-ja'tar (kataya'tar). the daughter of the pine-tree. kat'ra-kos'ki (kaatrakos'ki). a waterfall in karjala. kau'ko. the same as kaukomieli. kau'ko-miel'li. the same as lemminkainen. kaup'pi. the snowshoe-builder; lylikki. ke'mi. a river of finland. kim'mo. a name for the cow; the daughter of kammo, the patron of the rocks. ki'pu-ki'vi. the name of the rock at hell-river, beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. kir'kon-woe'ki. church dwarfs living under altars. knik'ka-no. same as knippana. knip'pa-no. same as tapio. koot'a-moi'nen. the moon. kos'ken-nei'ti. the goddess of the cataract. kul-ler'vo. the vicious son of kalervo. kul'ler-woi'nen. the same as kullervo. kul'li. a beautiful daughter of sahri. kun. the moon, and the moon-god. kun'tar. one of the daughters of the moon. ku'ra (kuura). the hoar-frost; also called tiera, a ball of ice. kul-lik'ki (also kyl'li). the sahri-maiden whom lemminkainen kidnapped. lak'ka. mother of ilmarinen. lak-ko. the hostess of kalevala. lem'min-kai'nen. one of the brothers of wainamoinen; a son of lempi. lem'pi-bay. a bay of finland. lem'po. the evil principle; same as hisi, piru, and jutas. lin'nun-ra'ta (bird-way). the milky-way. lou'hi. the hostess of pohyola. low-ya'tar. tuoni's blind daughter, and the originator of the plagues. lu'on-no'tar. one of the mystic maidens, and the nurse of wainamoinen. lu'o-to'la. a bay of finland, named with joukola. ly-lik'ki (lyylik'ki). maker of the snow-shoe. maan-e'mo (man-e'mo). the mother of the earth. ma'hi-set (maa'hi-set). the invisibly small deities of finnish mythology. mam'me-lai'nen. the goddess of hidden treasures. ma'na. a synonym of tuoni, the god of death. man'a-lai'nen. the same as mana. masr'i-at'ta (marja, berry). the virgin mary of finnish mythology. mat'ka-tep'po. the road-god. meh'i-lai'nen. the honey-bee. mel'a-tar. the goddess of the helm. met'so-la. the same as tapiola, the abode of the god of the forest, mie-lik'ki. the hostess of the forest. mi-merk'ki. a synonym of mielikki. mosk'va. a province of suomi. mu-rik'ki (muurik'ki). the name of the cow. ne'wa. a river of finland. ny-rik'ki. a son of tapio. os'mo. the same as osmoinen. os-noi'nen. a synonym of wainola's hero. os'mo-tar. the daughter of osmo; she directs the brewing of the beer for ilmarinen's wedding-feast. o-ta'va. the great bear of the heavens. ot'so. the bear of finland. poe'ivoe. the sun, and the sun god. pai'va-tar. the goddess of the summer. pak'ka-nen. a synonym of kura. pal-woi'nen. a synonym of turi, and also of wirokannas. pa'nu. the fire-child, born from the sword of ukko. pa'ra. a tripod-deity, presiding over milk and cheese. pel'ler-woi'nen. the sower of the forests. pen'i-tar. a blind witch of pohyola; and the mother of the dog. pik'ku mies. the water-pigmy that felled the over-spreading oak-tree for wainamoinen. pil'a-ya'tar (pilaja'tar). the daughter of the aspen; and the goddess of the mountain-ash. pilt'ti. the maid-servant of mariatta. pi'men-to'la. a province of finland; another name for pohyola. pi'ru. the same as lempo, jutas, and hisi. pi'sa. a mountain of finland. poh'ya (poh'ja). an abbreviated form for pohyola. poh-yo'la (poh-jo'la). the northland; lapland. pok-ka'nen. the frost, the son of puhuri; a synonym of tiera. puh-hu'ri. the north-wind; the father of pokkanen. rem'men. the father of the hop-vine. re'mu. the same as remmen. ru-o'tus. a persecutor of the virgin mariatta. rut'ya (rut'ja). a waterfall of northland. sah'ri (saari). the home of kyllikki. sam'po. the jewel that ilmarinen forges from the magic metals; a talisman of success to the possessor; a continual source of strife between the tribes of the north. samp'sa. a synonym of pellerwoinen. sa'ra. the same as sariola. sar'i-o'la. the same as pohyola. sat'ka. a goddess of the sea. sa'wa (sa'wo). the eastern part of finland. sim'a pil'li (honey-flute). the flute of sima-suu. sim'a-suu. one of the maidens of tapio. sin'e-tar. the goddess of the blue sky. si-net'ta-ret. the goddesses of dyeing. suk'ka-mie'li. the goddess of love. suo'mi (swo'mi). the ancient abode of the finns. suo'ne-tar (swone-tar). the goddess of the veins. suo-wak'ko. an old wizard of pohyola. suo'ya-tar (syo'jatar). the mother of the serpent. su've-tar (suve, summer). goddess of the south-wind su-wan'to-lai'nen. another name for wainamoinen. taeh'ti. the polar star. ta-he'tar. the daughter of the stars. tai'vas. the firmament in general. ta-ni'ka. a magic mansion of pohja. ta'pi-o. the god of the forest. tel-le'rvo. a daughter of tapio. ter'he-ne'tar. daughter of the fog. tie'ra. same as kura; the hoar-frost. tont'tu. a little house-spirit. tu'a-me'tar. daughter of the alder-tree. tu-le'tar (tuule'tar). a goddess of the winds. tu-lik'ki (tuullk'ki). one of the daughters of tapio. tu'o-ne'la. the abode of tuoni. tuo'nen poi'ka. the son of tuoni. tu'o-ne'tar. the hostess of death-land; a daughter of tuoni. tu-o'ni. the god of death. tu'ri (tuuri). the god of the honey-land. turja (tur'ya). another name for pohya. tur'ya-lan'der. an epithet for one of the tribe of louhi. tur'ya (tyrja). a name for the waterfall of rutya. uk'ko. the great spirit of finnish mythology; his abode is in jumala. uk'on-koi'va (ukko's dog). the messenger of ukko; the butterfly. u'lap-pa'la. another term for the abode of tuoni. un'du-tar. goddess of the fog. u'ni. the god of sleep. un'ta-ma'la. a synonym for "the dismal sariola." un-ta'mo. the god of dreams; the dreamer; a brother of kalervo, and his enemy. un'tar. the same as undutar. un'to. the same as untamo. utu-tyt'to. the same as undutar. wai'nam-oi'nen (vainamoinen). the chief hero of the kalevala; the hero of wainola, whose mother, ilmatar, fell from the air into the ocean. wai'no (vai'no). the same as wainamoinen. wai-no'la. the home of wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of kalevala. wel-la'mo. the hostess of the waters. wet'e-hi'nen. an evil god of the sea. wi-pu'nen (vipu'nen). an old song-giant that swallowed wainamoinen searching for the "lost words." wi'ro-kan'nas (virokan'nas). ruler of the wilderness; the slayer of the huge bull of suomi; the priest that baptizes the son of mariatta. wo'ya-lan'der (vuojalan'der). an epithet for laplander. wuok'sen (vuo'ksen). a river in the east of finland. wuok'si. the same as wuoksen. the end. none {editor: this is an english only excerpt from the original book. to view the entire range of languages, stories behind each translation and photographs of the author's family, please download the full, original book, bblia .pdf. this pdf version will require a special viewer, adobe acrobat reader, which can be downloaded, free of charge, from http://www.adobe.com.} copyright (c) martinovitsné kutas ilona baron pál podmaniczky and the norwegian bible © , martinovitsné kutas ilona a short story about the lingual grandfather in languages and in runic script martinovitsné kutas ilona the english text was supervised by grace tinnell "first edition appeared in by the title the norwegian bible" preface my first, and until now, only short story has become a device with which i could make friends from all over the world and create new friendships. these old and new friends have translated my short story into european, asian and african languages. because of its lucidity, "the norwegian bible" short story has lended itself particularly well in representing the languages in europe and some outside of europe. as a basis for qualification and description of languages i used the book "lord�s prayer in european languages" in which the prayers were collected, compiled and the commentaries were written by zsigmond németh. all the translations are from a reliable source because they were written by persons who were writing in the language of their mother tongue. the only exceptions are the esperanto and the other artificial languages and english, because the english was written by me, a hungarian. the translation into classical greek, latin, turkish, croatian and gipsy was carried out by native speakers of hungarian. most friends speak english as a second language, so the language of our friendship was in many cases english. in some other cases the common language was hungarian, polish, german, russian or spanish. to some extent i wrote this book for my friends. they can get to know each other�s language from my book. if anyone wants to learn a language on the basis of the similarity and differences between grammatical structures and vocabulary of languages, they can use my book as a textbook. in addition i wrote this book for my students in the secondary school where i work as librarian and english teacher. they can use it as a reference about languages of the world. originally, the book was published in in languages. in the last years, the short story was translated into an additional languages. during this time, the th year anniversary of the death of my grandfather was celebrated at a memorial session in sopron and in budapest lutheran theology. i got to know even more about my grandfather from these presentations and came to treasure him more than i had previously. i began to appreciate what a precious treasury of jewels he left for us. i met there many theologians and pastors who were once educated by him, love him still and carry on teaching his nuggets of precious truths. i changed the theme of the "appendix" of the first edition of my book and have placed therein an essay which presents the life and work of baron pál podmaniczky, professor of lutheran theology, lover of god and the world of god. i also included two of his beloved hymns which were translated by him from finnish into hungarian, and which are, even today, sung often in hungarian lutheran and reformed protestant churches. in the appendix, i also submit an autobiography and a short sport story of mine. and hereby i should like to express my gratitude to mr. zsigmond németh for his kindly permission to quote the most peculiar features characterizing different languages described in his works published and forthcoming respectively the language collecting game continues and i ask you, the reader, once again, to translate the original short story into any language not present in this book, and send it to me. i would like to publish a new edition in the year with languages in it. thank you, dear reader, for your help. martinovitsné kutas ilona language collector reception of the short story. an essay on the many lives of "the norwegian bible" i hadn�t thought on that christmas day, when i addressed the envelopes containing "the norwegian bible" to my friends, that it was only then that the great play would begin. the small bilingual book began its own life. it became a mirror for me through which i could get to know my friends. they introduced themselves in the letters, telephone calls and private talks connected with my first "literary effort". their reactions to my short story began to give birth to a larger story about my friend�s characteristics, their way of thinking and about the ties that connected them to me. so here follows the many lives of "the norwegian bible": in the previous semester at the teachers training college we had a task of writing a short story in english. i wrote one about my experience while visiting norway. the short story follows below: the norwegian bible a short story by ilona kutas to my grandfather the discovery of the marvellous world of languages is the great experience of my life. the motivation for this sprang from family roots. my maternal grandfather, a theological professor, had mastered eighteen languages. language and religion were very important for him. he was not able to teach me german, hebrew, polish or english because i was only five when he died. i only feel somewhere in my genes that i should follow in his footsteps. as a member of a librarian delegation i spent a week in oslo. after the rich and interesting daily programmes i always ran back to my hotel room to spend the lonely evenings in the company of my new friend, an english�norwegian bilingual bible. i had found it on the night table on the first day when i entered the hotel room, my home for a week. perhaps it is common in the hotel rooms of christian countries to have a bible at the guest�s disposal. i experienced this custom for the first time in my life there in oslo. finding that bible brought to mind remembrances of my childhood as well. as a daughter of a protestant minister, living at the parsonage until the age of sixteen, i used to go to church and read the bible. during the next thirty years of my life, however, i had not even held a bible in my hand. a great game began. i read the english column of the page, compared it with the norwegian column and, with the help of my past knowledge about the bible, i began to understand the text and the norwegian words of mixed english and german origins at the same time. day by day the bible and i became closer and closer friends. i began to fear my impending separation from it. on the sixth day i felt a great desire to continue the game at home as well. i decided therefore to steal the bible. i packed it into my bag on the last evening after reading it. but after i switched off the lamp i could not fall asleep. in the darkness i watched the closed bag with my friend in it. a battle raged in my head. this battle raised the following questions: > how could i reconcile being the daughter of a minister and a thief at the same time? > moreover it was written in this bible in two beautiful languages: "thou shalt not steal!"? > what would my grandfather say if he knew that his granddaughter had stolen a bible? i think you can imagine the end of the story! in the morning i took the bible out of my bag, placed it back on the night table and, with bag in hand and a great calmness in my heart, i left the room. ............. i completed my work with a hungarian translation later on when i decided to send my short story as a christmas card to my friends. though some of them spoke no english, i hoped they would be happy to get the small bilingual book. after writing the short story in november, our next task was to analyse our own literary work. the first page of my self analysis as follows: the norwegian bible an analysis the writer begins her story--as classical authors of this genre--with an upbeat expression of the motivating power of the whole story in one sentence. "the discovery of the marvellous world of languages is the great experience of my life." this idea runs through the story and motivates the climax of the story, an attempt to steal the bilingual bible. the plot is very simple, the writer (the story is written in the first person singular) finds a bible, reads it, becomes attached to it, wants to steal it--but in the end she resists the temptation. the story is only the superficial message of the story. the real message is hidden between the lines. the storyline is less important. what is important is the frame of mind of the writer, the way she narrates the story. one of the characteristic features of the genre of the short story is that there must be a culminating point. the way to this point of this story is shown by explaining how important the bilingual bible becomes for the writer. although grandfather�s hobbies, memories, religious childhood, and his love of languages are mirrored in the story, the description of all this foreshadows the climax. ............ the next three or four pages of this analysis were lost. this loss too became a mirror. one of my professors at the teacher�s training college was introduced in this mirror. but i will write about this event later on! there was a big family meeting on the second day of christmas in my mother�s flat in budapest. i gave my present to my mother, sister, four brothers, an uncle, my husband, my two daughters and my son. some of the reactions: > my mother, daughter of a theology professor, wife of my minister father, mother of six children, grandmother of sixteen grandchildren and two great grandchildren, whose great aim, perhaps whose only task in her old age is to lead her relatives back to the church, to a religious life, to god. she organises religious summer camps for her grandchildren, summons everybody to church on sunday mornings and always presents us with protestant hymn books and psalms. her opinion: "i liked your english, the theme was interesting, i liked meeting my father�s--your grandfather�s spirit in it. but if you confess you haven�t learned the bible in your last years, please read it now and live on the basis of it in your next thirty years." > younger brother, a former speed skating trainer, who is now a businessman, living in vienna with his third wife and third and fourth children. he is the small benjamin of the family, the youngest child--who likes other brothers and sisters, our mother, his former wives and children, but does everything for his own good rather than that of others. having read my short story very quickly--(he had not much time, he was running after his next business!),--he began to laugh at me, "gee, ilus (my nickname in the family), you are a fool, aren�t you? why did you leave the bible there? i have got about fourteen or sixteen bibles from different hotel rooms in the different countries that i visited when i took part in skating competitions, the olympics, and the world championships. not to read them but to possess them." > other brother, husband of a rich business-woman. she is full of ideas and plans and has got the money for her good deeds. she promotes a young russian painter, an infant prodigy and helped to found an english theatre in budapest. she has a chain of clothing shops. my brother asked me: "don�t you need a publisher? we have just founded a publishing house." > my elder daughter, a student (her majors are: american studies and physical education) happily showed everyone her copy with my dedication in it: "to my schoolmate with love--your mummy". > a sixty-six year old uncle, a retired lawyer, very religious, who finished studying protestant theology two years ago. "now that you have met the bible again won�t you think of continuing this friendship at home in your life?" the same thought as my mother�s. they are cousins and have a common great-grandfather, a bishop and psalm writer. an inherited way of thinking, perhaps? three or four weeks after mailing the forty or fifty bilingual "norwegian bibles" as my christmas cards this year, my everyday post has grown. i got two or three letters weekly and a bible every month. > i begin with the last one. on the th march i got a postcard from a japanese penfriend of mine, an otolaryngologist. he has written: "thank you for your nice short story. i enjoyed �the norwegian bible� very much. i now understand you have inherited your multilingual ability from your ancestors, your grandparents. please write another version of this story. suppose you steal the bible. i am sure christ will be pleased. anyway, i think you have a great talent for story telling. please continue to write!" nice words, aren�t they? > a librarian colleague in the hungarian national library: "it�s a new fresh librarian writer. don�t you want to join our new founded international reading association? our first meeting will be on march th." > an old english speaking uncle from the u.s.a. he emigrated there seventy years ago with his parents. after getting my christmas card he posted an english bible: a copy of the revised english bible (oxford, ) immediately by courier post. i got it in three days time. i think he thought: "my poor niece, she has no bible to read, that�s why she has to steal one." > perhaps the same idea occurred to one of our finnish friends, an otolaryngologist, because he sent me a tri-lingual (finnish-swedish-english) new testament. > another otolaryngologist, an excellent professor, very intelligent, who has got a good sense of humour, sent a message. i like him very much. he falls too into the circle with whom i cultivate friendships through exchanging greeting cards on feasts of tabernacles. he operated on my ear: he did an ear drum transplant on my left ear. during my operation he sang a protestant psalm for me that i could hear through the veil of the partial sedation of the anesthesia. he cured my ear, so it became waterproof again. i wrote him a grateful card after finishing the lake balaton cross-swimming competition where i could cover the five kilometer without a swimming cap and earplugs. his remark on my book was the following: "why didn�t you steal it? it is not a sin to steal flowers, kisses and books." > an old country woman, our godson�s grandmother. her name is pap lászlóné pap emma. "pap" means minister in hungarian and both her maiden name and husband�s name is "pap". she wrote me: "dear iluska, although i am the daughter of a minister and the wife of a minister at the same time, i can not write such a nice short story. congratulations." > the last one in this list, another otolaryngologist, the fourth laryngologist, but the most important among them for me was my husband, a fifty-four year old marathon runner. he never praises me. the red bunch of roses, mentioned later, was the only one, the only time he presented me with flowers in my life. after eating my sunday dinner, which i cooked first of all for his taste, he never says: "it was marvellous", but he says: "it was edible". but he inspires me with his negative approval. his opinion about the short story: "don�t believe yourself to be a writer. it is the second novel or short story which makes the writer a real writer, because the first book is on his or her life--and everyone has a life. to discover the second story is the art. so i am waiting for your second short story." at the end of my essay i would like to write about a lost norwegian bible and one that was never sent. as i mentioned before, it was our assignment in the second year russian teacher�s retraining course to write a short story then to write a literary analysis on our own work. it is nice, interesting homework, isn�t it? all of the students in our group wrote interesting stories, then we read them aloud during the next lesson. we had to hand in the stories and the analyses to our professor who promised to correct them and give us a mark for them at the end of the semester. and besides all of these to give the stories to a jury consisting of teachers who were native speakers. the best three would be published in a library bulletin of the teacher�s training college. at the last lesson of the semester she gave all of us the best marks and said, "good bye". at that time we thought she had not even read our work and was not interested in our analyses and that nothing would come of the short-story-writing competition. in february i found an essay-writing competition in england, so i thought i needed my analysis because i wanted to collect materials connected with "the norwegian bible". i admit i am very untidy and disorderly. i found only the first page of my manuscript among my papers in the drawer. so i went to this professor to ask for my analysis if she did not need it. she told me that she had needed it because she gave it to one of the foreign professors but she did not remember to whom. i asked her to get it back so that i would be able to copy it. the week after, she said perhaps she had not given my papers to anybody as they did not remember it. the next week after that, i asked her again, but she said she was very busy. suddenly, it was clear to me that the journey of our short stories and analyses was very simple. after being collected in the classroom their final destination was the first waste-basket. yes, i could understand her. she was bored with our assignments. she was busy. but why did she promise? why did she not tell the truth? because it was her character? i believed the reflection i saw in the mirror. and now the last story: something about an unposted "the norwegian bible". there was a young man in my life. we were classmates in an english course many years ago. after each lesson we went out of the school together and almost every time we met my then boyfriend--(today he is my husband). he attended a german course in the same school, just after our lesson. we greeted each other every time and everyone continued on his or her own way. my future husband went to his class, and we, my classmate and i walked along the street. we talked about the english lesson, about my studies, about family, about childhood, about religion. he was very religious. he was very curious about my being a daughter of a minister and living without the daily reading of the bible. he gave me a bible with a dedication note in it. this inscription was a nine line "poem", a clever introduction to me. the first letters of the lines read vertically formed my name ilonkÁnak (to ilona). the nine letters were written in different colours, the rest of the text in blue ink. i still have his present, this bible. i preserved it in the same way mrs. morel preserved john field�s bible in d.h. lawrence�s novel "sons and lovers". but it is not a relic for me: it is used by my younger daughter in her everyday life at the convent school she attends. this classmate once invited me to ski and visit his family in a mountain village. i hesitated a little bit, but at last i refused the invitation. i had my boyfriend at that time whom i loved very much and did not want to give him up for another man. it was a little unpleasant for my boyfriend to meet me every monday and wednesday while i was chatting with this other man in a very friendly manner. i did not want to hurt my boyfriend nor did i want to lose him, so i refused the invitation, although i loved skiing. my boyfriend felt my hesitation because he knew how much i liked to ski. one evening he came to me with a big bunch of red roses and asked me not to go skiing. so i remained with him and we are still together, in love and in harmony. i thought about sending my former classmate a copy of "the norwegian bible", but i do not want to disturb this harmony, so i have not sent him one. so this is the story of the small short story up to now. and it will be going on i hope. perhaps the other twenty or thirty friends will answer my christmas card as well. i can say "thank you" to my absent-minded, unreliable professor, who gave us the assignment idea to write a short story. birth of a multi-lingual short story the essay is finished, but the story continues. in may my english pen-friend since corrected my essay grammatically and sent me a small white english new testament. there was a friendly smile that i have to mention. i got it as an appreciation for the essay from my son, a former water-polo player who is now a marathon runner and a folk dancer. he read the essay on the train to budapest. he did not say anything but laughed at me. i think he enjoyed the stories of mine and his father�s. instead of answering my christmas card my half-polish, half-slovakian pen-friend since sent me a copy of an article. he published my "norwegian bible" in "zivot", a newspaper of the slovaks living in poland and he wrote an article about our friendship, my grandfather of slovakian origin and about the short story. now i have my "norwegian bible" in three languages: english, hungarian and slovakian. the next move will be to translate it into another fifteen or more languages. i think i will ask my friends to do it. i can not master eighteen languages like my grandfather, but i would like to have the "norwegian bible" translated into eighteen or more languages. until now the "norwegian bible" served as a mirror. from now on it works as a magnet. it attracts languages, and through it gathers my foreign friends, unknown to each other into a team working for me, and with me on a multi-lingual short story. the essay continues on its own. > the half-hungarian half-jordanian son of my husband�s colleague visited us in summer and translated the text into arabic. he wrote it with very nice handwriting and later on, returning home he typed it as well. > i sent the text to subotica to our friend, a laryngologist. he is hungarian, but speaks serbo-croatian as well. he told me it would be better to ask one of his friends, a serbian by origin to make the translations. > my niece and her slovakian husband made the czech translation. > my husband ran the venice marathon with a danish runner, so i asked this man to translate "the norwegian bible" into danish. i took my story and the essay with me to canada where i took part in an english immersion course. i gave my work to some of our teachers and to some of my new friends. the responses were as follows: > i gave it to our professor of canadian literature, a writer. he corrected my essay, praised me and encouraged me to write more. i also had the pleasure of getting acquainted with his first novel "winter tulips" which had been recently published. > the teacher of linguistics was a canadian of "visible minority", a young lady from east india, who married a white canadian. i heard about the problems of being a visible minority first from her, a very authentic source. she promised to have my text translated into her mother language later on by her mother, because parents know the abandoned language better than the second generation. the same phenomenon occurred at other times during my quest for further languages. she sent me the translation, but she did not mention which language it was, and i could not identify it either. so it is the unknown member of my language company. > our teacher of canadian history read my short story and presented me with his article which also, was about languages, the role of bilingualism in the family. he had also written a book about native indians in canada, so i asked him to ask somebody to translate my story into an ancient indian language. he tried to organise it, sent my story to an indian cultural centre to a man who seemed interested. our teacher promised to make a small donation to the centre, sent the material and waited. and waited and waited. finally he called them to be told that the man was ill and that nobody else was able to do the translation. he expressed some surprise but in explanation he was told that indian (native people) languages are mainly an oral tradition. so i do not have a canadian indian translation, but this story is also an interesting contribution to the language map of the world as i try to describe it in my final paper. > there was a security guard in the college where we lived. he emigrated from ceylon many years ago. he began to translate my short story into tamil, but later on he asked his nephew to continue it. he told me he was a stationmaster at home and that his nephew was more educated, so the young man was able to make a better translation. > i visited my relatives in toronto. an international company was there at the party. i met a latvian woman who was already born in canada, but she promised me to ask her year old father to translate the text into latvian. > a great surprise awaited me in canada. i had a polish penfriend thirty years ago. she had visited us in budapest and i was with her on a student excursion in the polish carpathians. later on our friendship was broken off and i knew only that she left poland for america, but i did not have her address. during a sight-seeing trip to toronto while waiting for my colleagues, i found a telephone box with a directory in it. a quick idea came to my mind: "here i am in america, why not look for my friend. perhaps she lives somewhere here!" and i happened to find her name in the directory. what a big surprise! i phoned her at once. she, too, was so very happy. we met and had an all-day-long chat about our last years. naturally she became my polish translator. her friend helped her. for years they had lived there in america and had been speaking english. perhaps they could make a better polish translation together. i asked them to send me the translation, but i waited and waited in vain. it is possible she will be lost to me for the next thirty years ? so i asked another friend, my first publisher, to translate the text into polish, my beloved language. however instead of him, his friend did the translation. after arriving home i continued to collect languages. > my colleague at school translated the story into latin. > our friend, a painter, who emigrated to hungary from sub-carpahia, worked through the ukrainian, russian and ruthenian translations. > my husband�s colleague, who is of greek origin translated the text into modern greek and asked her friend�s father to write it down. she told me she was born in hungary, so her friend�s father knew modern greek better then she. the same situation exists in the east indian, the latvian and the spanish languages, that the elder generation speaks it better. it is remarkably opposite in rumanian and tamil, where the older generation thinks that the younger knows the language better. > i know a math teacher at the teacher�s training college whose hobby is speaking and teaching esperanto. let�s ask her! i will have one translation in an artificial language as well. > an other teacher at the college, a soloist of korean origin translated my text into this far east language. > we had a peace corps volunteer in the secondary school one year, who came from texas. his mother tongue was spanish, but he asked his mother to translate my story into spanish. > we have a friend, a member of the rumanian minority which have been living among hungarians for years. he told me that although his mother tongue was rumanian, his daughter attended a rumanian secondary school, so she translated the text into rumanian and later on as a christmas present, my friend sent me their newspaper with "the norwegian bible" in it. i got fts for the publication as well. > i asked one of our finnish friends to look for a lappish translator, and another, a woman, who is finnish-swedish bilingual, to translate the bible into swedish. not she, but her daughter did the job for me. > another finnish friend, a laryngologist translated the text into finnish. > a library director who hosted our librarian delegation in norway completed the norwegian translation. > i asked my cousin, another granddaughter of our eighteen-lingual grandfather, to translate it into french. she did it and her year old half-french half-hungarian daughter and her french husband helped her. > my english penfriend since , who sent me the white new testament has a wife of fijian origin. they promised me a translation into the language of that far away country. > an italian friend translated it into italian, > another friend into croat, > and one into slovenian > a friend of our friends into hebrew, > a librarian from dublin into irish, and > the japanese laryngologist into japanese. he drew a sketch of me and my bible to show that japanese write and read vertically. he wrote a long letter as well in which he described his language for my final paper and in addition he sent me the japanese lord�s prayer. > my daughter�s year old teacher of german, a nun translated my short story into german. she presented me with her book which has been recently published. she translated a german book into hungarian. "translating, playing with languages makes people young."--she told me and dedicated her book to me. if everybody follows through as promised, i will have my short story in languages. it is almost twice as many as my grandfather�s spoken languages. in may i handed in my final paper with languages in it, took the state exam and got my degree as teacher of english. but the collecting of languages didn�t stop and by christmas i had more languages. i began to look for a publisher and when i found one, i promised him a book with languages in it. the story of the later languages is as follows: > the wife of one of our painter friends, a bulgarian, who has been living in hungary since the age of , translated "the norwegian bible" into bulgarian. > there had been a congress of finno-ugric writers in eger in september . "so many languages in my town", i thought, "why not get acquaintance with some of them?" with the help of my somewhat forgotten but hastily refreshed russian knowledge, i spoke with the representatives of our hungarian language relatives. some of them promised to send me a translation after returning home. from that congress i have the following languages translated: karelian, udmurt, estonian, komi and nenets. at the congress, i met a livonian student who is a representative of a small group of people whose language is spoken by only people. he promised me the translation but has not sent it yet. he hasn�t even answered my second and third letter either. in my last letter i asked him to translate the text into lituanian as well as livonian. since he lives in riga, lithuania, i assume he is bilingual. i hope he will eventually respond as did my lappish translator after one and a half years. > one of our finnish friends had promised to look for a lappish translator. much time passed and i had given up all hope of ever getting that translation but now i do have it. > the next year venice marathon brought me two further languages. after my husband had run the marathon on sunday, we took a trip to verona on monday. on our way there, a group of four happy, talkative young people entered our compartment. the three sisters and a brother spoke an interesting sounding language, unknown to me. i asked them if they were swedish. smiling, they said, "no", but that i wasn�t the first to mistake their language for swedish. they were speaking swiss german. later on they changed to formal german, so we could understand them. they promised to translate my short story into their mother tongue. i received it in one month�s time. they wrote that at home they were sitting around the dinner table the same way that we sat in a round in the train compartment. and sentence by sentence they translated the text together. > the next day, our friend the italian translator took us on a trip into the alps. we passed a region where, he said, a small group of people speak friuli, a rheto romance language. he promised to ask one of his customers who lives there to make the friulian translation. > my eldest brother�s dutch art partner who organizes figure and medal exhibitions for him, translated the text into dutch. i wrote to a biology professor from belgium who i met some years ago in eger (my home town) and asked him to translate the text into flemish. i sent him the list of languages and translators as well, asking him to fill in his data, also. instead of the flemish translation i got a short letter in which he said he felt it not to be important to write a flemish translation since he saw i already had the text in dutch. these two languages are, as he wrote, similar in written form, and only in pronunciation are there some differences. > he did not make the translation, but some month later another belgian couple visited us. listening to my request they asked for a typing machine and immediately translated the short story into flemish. they also promised me a cashmirian translation because a cashmirian man lives in their village, they ask him to do the work. later on they wrote me it was told them that cashmirian is a spoken language only, they use hindi script while writing, but hindi i already have. instead of the chasmirian they organised an african language: another friend in their village, couple from zaire translated the short story into luba language. later, my short story continued its role as a magnet and brought me two new friends; two language fans. as i had begun to think about publishing a book, i had to look for and ask permission for copying the language descriptions from the writer of the "lord�s prayer in european languages". looking for his name in the budapest telephone book and finding four németh zsigmonds, i had the same good fortune as i did in my toronto search. the first number i dialed was his. he was very friendly. we met in budapest and went together to the indian embassy. i wanted to ask them about the herd of the indian language for which i have translation. he asked about some language problems pertaining to the preparation of his next book entitled, "asia�s languages shown through the lord�s prayer in different languages." he directed me to a new language at this time because he sent my story to: > a man who constructed a new artificial language, vikto. mr. németh brought me to a friend of his who became interested in me when she heard i had written about languages with hebrew among them. kató lomb studies hebrew at the budapest university. it is the th language she speaks. she is a synchron translator. she speaks in languages, but as she said in an interview, the number of languages by which she has already earned money is about . she wrote four books about languages, her language learning method, other multilingual people, and her journeys around the world as a translator. she autographed one of her books and gave it to me. i had brought two others with me and she autographed those as well. the fourth title i bought the next week in a secondhand book shop. in a week�s time i had read all four of the books with much enjoyment. the next month i invited this lovely pair to our secondary school. i wanted our students to have the pleasure of getting acquainted with these two language fans. mrs. kató lomb gave a lecture to the students about her language learning method, and another lecture for teachers about how language learning can make the retired person�s everyday life more interesting. mr. németh delivered a lecture about his trip to a far land to find a people who speak a language distantly relative to hungarian. he also showed a video film he made while visiting this hanti group in siberia. > i found someone, my husband�s patient, who studied and speaks turkish. > somebody else translated the text into hungarian gipsy language. > father of may daughter�s classmate translated the text into classic greek. > my eldest brother organised some more languages for me. i went to the netherlands and germany with him to collect his bronze figures from galleries there. he needed them for his great exhibition in budapest. we visited his friend, my dutch translator theo, the hollander and his wife. they were astonished while i told them i had translations in languages, they didn�t think there were so many languages in europe. but later on the wife took a book from the bookshelf in which we could read there were languages in the world and the number of dialects were - . so the languages i plan for my book is only a small slice of this rich world of languages. > theo wanted to enrich my collection so he promised to organise the west frisian translation for me, a language spoken in the netherlands by a minority group. > at my brother�s friend in hamburg i met a bilingual chinese man. he translated the short story into chinese. now i must finish collecting languages. i have about translations--the number i promised to my sponsor in publishing the book. or maybe not. perhaps i should leave this book open and ask my reader who may know any language not present here, to translate the short story into that language and send it to me, (address: eger, széchenyi u. . hungary). in the second edition i would like to present the other languages. story of the further languages the above appeal reached my readers and some of them joined into the game. with their help and suggestions from new and old friends, another languages came together in the last years. here you have the story of this collection: a retired chief of ophthalmology phoned me to say he had read my book, enjoyed it, liked the idea and had a lot of pen-friends around the world. he collected languages for me (afrikaans, chicheva, saxon in transylvania, portuguese, swahili, welsh, zulu and manx). we had a french guest and it came to light that he lived in bretagne and his neighbour�s mother-tongue is breton, so after returning home he sent me the breton translation. the hanti translation was promised me some years ago during the ugro-finn writer�s meeting in eger by a woman writer and she sent me the hanti translation by manuscript which i could hardly read and transliterate. i asked her in a letter to type it but she did not answer. later on i looked for somebody who knew hanti in budapest and szombathely but i was not successful in finding one. in the end i put this hardly legible text into the second edition. one of my dear library visitors in the school, jutka adorján liked my book and told me her cousin was of the ibo mother-tongue and asked him, the agriculture student, to translate the short story into this african language. i got to know fans of artificial languages as enthusiastic people. thanks to vilmos bõsz, the creator of the vikto language for allowing me to use it in the first edition of my book. he has a rather large pen- and language friend circle and through his efforts i received additional translations in more artificial languages. these languages (interlingua, volapük, glosa and unitario) came from budapest, germany and england. from lithuania i received the lithuanian translation which was interpreted by the wife and daughter of a man who wrote me an accompanying letter in interlingua. my eldest brother, a sculptor has an armenian sculptor friend who translated the armenian text. another sculptor friend of my brother, mihály bohn has trouble with his kidney so he has to go for dialysis times a week. there, in his hospital bed, pleaded with his nurse, a medical student, to translate the story into persian, his mother tongue. and again laryngologists. a colleague of my husband who knew about my language gathering enthusiasm discovered that a new laryngologist in the szeged hno clinic speaks two languages not yet present in my book. he asked this young doctor to translate the text into his mother�s and father�s language respectively. i got the azeri and the persian translation from him and when later on i got acquainted with him personally, he said he liked the idea of gathering more languages and he would like to put the norwegian bible short story onto the internet. perhaps then i would get more translations in additional languages. i already had the persian, but the azeri was new, so i put it happily into the second edition of my book. > my colleague, a teacher of latin who made the latin translation, requested a sardinian translation from his sardinian friend. > the sinhalese translation also come from canada as we spent one and a half months there on a scholarship trip. my colleague there visited his old family friend who is of sinhalese nationality. the sinhalese friend has finally sent me his translation after four years. > mongolian is also of hno origin. my husband operated on a mongolian young lady. dear my new translator! this short story is already translated into different languages. if you know of a language not presented in my list, would you please translate the short story into this language and send it to me. please write me the name of numbers - and in your language as well and please write me some words about your language in english. i kindly ask you to give me your name, job, town and country. send your translation by mail to me please. e-mail is not good for languages written with diacritical marks or with non latin letters. my address is: martinovitsné kutas ilona, eger, széchenyi u. . hungary. if you have some questions, do not hesitate to write me on e-mail. my e-mail address is: tenger@eszeg.sulinet.hu i made a book with the first languages in . in february a new book has been issued with languages in it. when i will have another languages, i would like to publish the third edition with languages in it in the year of . your translation can be involved in this book and naturally i will send you a complimentary copy in . another request to you or to the readers of the e-book version of my book (www.mek.iif.hu/porta/szint/human/szepirod/modern/martinov) : if you have the possibility to send me a computer and a scanner, please do it. i have a computer in my workplace, in a secondary school library, i wrote my two books on this computer in weekends and in afternoons, but in the next - year i will retire and i need a computer at home to continue this language collecting game. my final aim is to collect translations of my short story in all the languages of the world. my other problem is as follows: the second edition of my book was issued in private edition in february . as i have promised my translators, i would like to send a copy to each of them, (to about - addresses) but posting of a book costs forints. my husband does not give me more money (he paid the editing costs), so i need . forints (usd ) for the expenses of postage. my invoice number is as follows: otp eger here are the languages into which my short story has already been translated: . arikaans . armenian . arabic . azeri . breton . bulgarian . catalan . chichewa . chinese . ancient greek . croatian . czech . danish . english . esperanto . estonian . fijian . finnish . flemish . french . frisian . friuli . german . gipsy . glosa . hanti . hebrew . hindi . holland . hungarian . ibo . interlingua . irish . italian . japanese . karelian . komi-permiak or zyrian . korean . lapponic . latin . lettish . lithuanian . luba . manx . modern greek . mongol . nenets or jurak-samoyedic . norwegian . persian . polish . portuguese . romanian . runic script . russian . ruthenian . sard . saxon in transsylvania . serbian . sinhalez . slovakian . slovenian . spanish . swahili . swedish . swiss german . tamil . turkish . ukrainian . unitario . vikto . volapük . votyak or udmurt . welsh . zulu . bengali . malaj . azerbajani baron pál podmaniczky and the norwegian bible © , martinovitsné kutas ilona [illustration: cover of the corsair king] the corsair king (a kaloz kiraly) by maurus jókai author of "black diamonds," "manasseh," "the baron's sons," "pretty michal," etc. translated by mary j. safford [illustration] boston l. c. page & company mdcccci copyright, , by l. c. page & company (inc.) _all rights reserved_ the heintzemann press boston works of maurus jÓkai manasseh the baron's sons pretty michal the corsair king midst the wild carpathians l. c. page & company summer street, boston, mass. contents chapter page i. choosing a king ii. in hispaniola iii. revenge iv. retribution the corsair king chapter i choosing a king the storm had spent itself, the sea was calm again, and on its smooth surface tossed empty casks and shattered masts,--the monuments of shipwrecked vessels. the stormy petrels had vanished with the tempest, and the flying fish were now making their clumsy leaps from wave to wave,--a sign of fair weather. a brigantine which had outlived the gale was moving slowly over the almost unrippled surface of the water; all hands were engaged in repairing the damage occasioned by the storm; temporary masts were rigged, sails trimmed, the crew worked fairly hanging in the air; for the ship had heeled far over,--a proof that her ballast had shifted during the tempest. with the exception of the blows of the carpenter's hammer, and the creaking of the pumps, nothing was heard save the voice of the captain, who stood leaning against the mainmast trying to ascertain on a chart the place to which he had been driven by the storm. the movements of the needle were scrutinized more and more carefully, while from time to time, the voice of an officer taking soundings, echoed on the air. at last the captain's finger stopped on a group of islands and he said quietly: "we are off the ladrones." at the same moment a sailor on the mast-head shouted: "land!" without the slightest change of expression, the captain repeated: "the ladrones." then, folding the chart, he took out a small silver whistle and, blowing a signal, ordered the mate to summon the crew to investigate the occurrences of the preceding night. the isles of thieves were but a few miles distant, they had no cannon, their sails were tattered, yet the captain spoke as calmly in passing sentence upon his men as though he were sitting in the utmost security upon a jury bench. "by whose directions were the sick thrown overboard?" he asked, turning his stern face toward the crew. "the doctor ordered it," replied an old seaman. "you, scudamore?" inquired the captain, wheeling round to look a tall thin man in the face. the latter's countenance was one of those which, at the first glance, appear smooth and gentle, whose features when smiling are even captivating, until some expression of mockery or greed of vengeance suddenly transforms the winning glance into an image of horror. "you gave the order yourself, captain rolls," replied the surgeon, with a smiling face, and in a tone of marked gentleness, as if the subject under discussion were some very noble deed, which he declined to acknowledge merely from exaggerated modesty. "when the ship sprung a leak, you commanded that all the superfluous ballast should be thrown overboard. the men first cast out the heavy ballast; then you ordered them to add whatever else could be spared. then the cannon went, though it was a great pity, for we stand in need of them, especially when off the ladrones, but even this did not lighten the ship sufficiently. you again issued orders that everything superfluous must be cast into the sea. there was nothing left which could be dispensed with except the bars of silver and the sick. the crew began to discuss which should be thrown overboard. i answered: 'we shall not be asked for the _men_ when we reach london, but we shall be for the silver;' and, by my advice, the silver was saved and the ship weathered the storm." "dr. scudamore," said the captain, with cool deliberation, "for this inhuman deed you will be cashiered, kept in irons until we reach london, and there delivered up to justice." "sail in sight!" shouted the man at the helm, and several of the crew whispered in terror; "pirates!" scudamore fixed his green-gray eyes on the captain and, smiling contemptuously, said in tones which had suddenly grown hoarse. "i think it might be advisable to defer my punishment a few hours; you or some one else might need my services during the interval." "that is no affair of yours," returned the captain. "to die without a doctor or to be thrown into the sea by his orders is much the same thing." "ha! ha! ha! you see, it might have been better for you in the end, had you relieved the ship of the sick in the first place, instead of throwing your guns overboard. but that's _your_ affair." captain rolls silently nodded to the men to take the doctor below. then he gave orders that the bars of silver should be concealed in the hold, and that every man should go to his post to be prepared for any attack. he himself, taking his weapons, went to his usual station and, without changing the vessel's course in the least, ordered all sail to be set. meanwhile the pirate craft was dashing toward the brigantine. the black flag was already visible, and a cannon ball, whistling close by the brigantine's rigging, was the first message from the sea-robber. captain rolls had no cannon with which to answer. the silence was interpreted by the pirates as fear, and one of their number shouted in a tone of thunder through his speaking trumpet: "ship ahoy! a word with the captain." instantly a battle-flag fluttered from every mast-head on the brigantine. a terrible uproar arose on the pirate ship; a tall man, with a gray vest, girdled by a scarlet sash, appeared on deck, issuing orders in loud, hoarse tones, upon which half the sails were furled, and with a swift turn the light craft came round before the wind close by the brigantine, without firing a shot, evidently considering her a sure prey, which must be spared from harm. on the pirate's prow was carved a strange human figure, the symbol of the ship's name, the sea devil, and, which, the pirates humorously asserted, was the living image of their captain davis, whose face had been so disfigured by the bursting of a shell that it resembled a death's head. the pirates dashed with satanic recklessness toward the brigantine, whose defenders still awaited them in motionless silence. but just at the moment the grappling irons were thrown, rolls made a sign, and the thunder of the report of the sailors' arms followed; when the smoke dispersed, the two vessels were already fast locked together, the fire had killed several of the pirates; the others, pushing their comrades' bodies aside, were trying to climb to the brigantine's deck. in an instant the two crews were fighting man to man with sabres and knives. one furiously attacked, the other coolly defended; neither feared wounds or weapons. the sailors fought bravely. captain rolls remained in his place, with his eyes fixed on the pirate leader, who had already fired at him three times without making his foe even turn his head. "i'll see whether you are the devil or i!" davis at last shouted savagely. "follow me, you scoundrels," and seizing his sabre between his teeth, while swinging a huge hammer above his head with his right hand, he sprang on the deck of the brigantine, felling two of her crew at the same instant. the pirates, with deafening yells, rushed into the breach thus made, and the terrified sailors began to yield, more alarmed by the hideous face of the pirate leader than by the weight of his blows. rolls quietly drew a pistol from his belt. "you won't hit me!" yelled davis, gnashing his teeth and trying to startle the captain by rolling his eye-balls hideously. the latter fired, and whoever was looking at davis at the moment saw a bloody star on his forehead where the bullet entered. the pirate suddenly grasped the handle of his hammer with both hands and sank lifeless. bewildered by the loss of their leader, the corsairs were on the point of yielding their vantage ground, when one of their number shouted triumphantly: "hurrah, barthelemy!" and at that moment a fierce yell arose from the center of the brigantine. while the fight had been raging on one side, six pirates in a boat had rowed around her and crept noiselessly to her deck, which they reached just as their captain fell. these men, too, turned to fly, but one of their number, a young, slender fellow, with a bronzed face, thick curling locks, and sparkling eyes, sprang behind rolls, and, pinioning his arms, wrested his pistol from his hold and forced him to his knees. "let no one stir or you are all dead men!" shouted the young pirate in bold, ringing tones, and the sailors, disheartened by the capture of their commander, laid down their arms before the savage forms thronging on deck. the victory was barthelemy's; and his comrades' first act was to lift him on their shoulders, declare him their captain and, with terrible oaths, swear eternal fealty by death, hell, and the devil. a herculean fellow raised him aloft like a child, and, pointing to the figures lying weltering in their blood, shouted in a voice of thunder: "who deserves to be your leader better than robert barthelemy?" "no one! no one!" was the unanimous answer. "will you have him for your leader, captain, king?" "hurrah!" responded the crew. "stop!" cried barthelemy from the hercules' shoulder. "i heard some one shout 'no.'" "who was it?" roared the athlete; "does any one want to jest with death?" "don't rage, skyrme, don't rage, my brave giant. speech is free. come forward, lord simpson, you oppose my election. step forward, my valiant nobleman, and tell us your objection to me!" the pirates, amid rude laughter, pushed before barthelemy a tall, fair man, who, with his hands thrust into his pockets, eyed the new captain scornfully from head to foot. "speak fair, noble lord!" said skyrme, raising his sinewy hand, threateningly above simpson's head, "or you'll bite your own tongue." "i should do that without your telling me," replied simpson, nonchalantly, glancing at his comrades. "you know that my father was lord simpson?" "of course we do!" shouted the others. "my father was the sworn foe of jeffreys, who, after monmouth's fall, brought the brave english protestant nobles to the scaffold. my father suffered with them. since that time i have hated the papists, and do not want one even for a pirate chief. not even you, barthelemy, for you are a papist." instead of breaking the speaker's head, skyrme raised him on his arm and, amid the loud laughter of the pirates, drew him toward barthelemy, with whom he drained the cup of friendship, after barthelemy had assured him, on his honor as a pirate, that he had not entered a church since his christening, and had never been in a priest's presence during his entire life. the new captain was then formally given the leader's cap with its scarlet plume, and the whole band then proceeded to the work of distributing the booty. barthelemy sat on a cask turned upside down, holding on his knees a black book in which were written in red letters the names of the pirates, and read them one by one in a loud tone. often nobody answered and, at the end of a long pause, some one growled: "dead," and the name was instantly erased from the list. just then a pirate brought captain rolls, who had been bound hand and foot, to the mainmast, where he laid him flat on the deck. barthelemy raised his hat with the utmost courtesy. "pardon me, captain, that my men have placed you in so uncomfortable a position. you are a brave soldier and fought well. unbind this worthy man." "his hands too?" asked a pirate, casting a doubtful glance at his leader from under his shaggy brows. "yes, asphlant, especially if the captain will promise to do nothing against us." "i'll promise nothing," replied rolls. "well, no matter; i told you to unbind his hands at any rate, it will be our business to see that he doesn't break anybody's head. and now, captain, be kind enough to declare the contents of your vessel, which you have so bravely defended. no doubt you have a valuable cargo." "you have captured the ship, and can search every corner of her, i shall guide you nowhere." "right again. men, go below." the pirates instantly leaped down the hatchways and, after spending an hour in rummaging through every part of the ship, they returned to barthelemy with the sorrowful tidings that there was nothing in the whole vessel except a cask of biscuit and one of water. rolls could not help smiling at the fury of the disappointed men. "you could see that i had no guns, and therefore might have inferred that, if i had been in such straits that i was forced to throw them overboard, there would be no other ballast in the ship." "devil take it!" roared asphlant, throwing his cap on the deck, "have so many brave fellows eaten lead and drunk salt water for the sake of an empty box, full of rats? you are a cheat, captain. what had you to defend in this ship?" "my honor," replied rolls proudly. "which, when we have taken it from you, will be of no use to us," said the giant skyrme, laughing. "what do you say to that, moody?" the man addressed was a sullen, taciturn fellow, who was sitting on the bulwark, holding a short pipe between his teeth. the silver whistle hanging from his button-hole indicated that he was the pirate's boatswain. "what's the use of so much talk?" he rejoined. "bore a hole in the bottom of the ark and let the whole crew go under water with her." "for heaven's sake, gentlemen!" shrieked a voice among the captured sailors, and a man, with his hands tied behind his back, threw himself at barthelemy's feet and tried to kiss his boots, while his eyes rested despairingly on the face of the pirate chief. "for heaven's sake, you brave, valiant, worthy men! you heroes, you demi-gods! by heaven, hell, and all that is sacred to you, i beseech you not to murder me. kill all my comrades, the scoundrels deserve it for resisting you; but i have given you no offence, i never held a weapon in my hand; i was imprisoned during the whole fight and have just been brought out by these brave, excellent men." some of the pirates stared, others laughed. "gentleman, renowned heroes, worshipped sovereigns of our age, hear me, i entreat you, by all you hold sacred. i am dr. scudamore, a persecuted man; persecuted as you are; i have nothing to do with these people; i am the mortal enemy of captain rolls. i implore you to distinguish between me and these people, not to condemn me with them. oh, i beg you to be merciful and permit me, kissing the dust off your feet, to consider myself the humblest of your servants." skyrme averted his face with an expression of loathing, while moody kicked at the writhing figure, whom every one was eyeing with the deepest scorn. "captain rolls," said barthelemy, "it appears that you have condemned this fellow?" "only accused, not condemned. the judgment lies with the english courts." "oh, we won't go so far," said skyrme with a look of amusement; "make the charge; we'll represent the court of justice. barthelemy will be judge, we the sheriffs and constables. bring forward the complaint, the court is open." rolls coldly averted his eyes without answering a syllable. scudamore, who was scanning every face with the crafty glance of a man who fears for his life, hastily interposed. "you see, gentlemen, you see the contemptuous face with which he receives your offer, you see how proudly, how scornfully he looks down upon you, as if it would be a disgrace to him to recognize such worthy men as judges. oh, _i_ will submit to your sentence, i have no desire to stand before wiser, more just or more distinguished judges. i will tell with my own lips everything of which i am accused." "i forbid you to do so!" cried rolls vehemently. "there, you see for yourselves, gentlemen. he wants to command here still, here, where you are the rightful possessors. he will not even permit me to repeat the charge against me! very natural! he knows that he, and not i, will be condemned. so listen, gentlemen, listen, for what i have to tell is an important matter; my crime is that we were bringing huge bars of silver--" "ho! ho! that begins well," shouted asphlant, craning his neck to hear better. "on the way a storm rose, the ship sprung a leak, and the captain ordered all useless ballast to be thrown overboard. there was nothing left except the sick and the silver, and the question was which should be cast into the sea?" "well, and you, as the doctor, of course kept the sick," said skyrme. "no indeed, i kept the silver, and now captain rolls wants to punish me for it." barthelemy turned from the man in horror, while rolls glared at him with blazing eyes. "oho, captain," cried asphlant, "so there is silver on your ship! where did you hide it, eh?" "that i will not tell you." "you won't? oh, the thumb screw will find out. here, ropes, ropes!" "what do you mean?" cried barthelemy, boldly surveying his companions. "are we members of the inquisition, that we seek to learn truth by torture? no, my friends; let no one have the right to say that the pirates use the tools of the auto-da-fé! should not we, who call ourselves the heroes of the free sea, honor freedom? if captain rolls will not reveal the hiding-place in his vessel we will take her into port, pull every plank apart, and find the silver without committing a deed which would dishonor us." the pirates cheered their captain's speech, and began to fasten the brigantine to their ship. scudamore, who had refrained from disclosing the hiding-place merely that the pirates might wreak their vengeance on captain rolls, now, perceiving that the latter had escaped, said: "don't trouble yourselves, gentlemen. why should you drag this miserable craft after you? release me and promise to spare my life, and i'll take you to the spot where the silver is hidden." "loose the doctor's hands from the irons," said barthelemy signing to his men. "i'll promise that we will not harm a hair of your head. show us the hiding-place." scudamore, finding his hands at liberty, tried to shake hands with each one of the pirates in turn, but they angrily pushed him back. "hurry up!" cried asphlant, dealing him a blow, while another pirate, grasping him with both hands, dragged him along, scudamore protesting that he should feel under obligations to the whole company as long as he lived. the pirates soon returned, exultingly bearing the chests of silver on their shoulders. barthelemy ordered them to be placed on board their own vessel, while scudamore showed the utmost zeal in helping the men, calling each, meanwhile, his dear, kind friend, a compliment which they repaid with all sorts of abusive epithets and the command not to touch their property. the last to come on deck was asphlant, who said with great satisfaction: "we shall leave nothing here, captain! the ship is entirely empty. shall we bore a hole in her bottom? or will it be better to hang these fellows in a row on the mainyard, and let the vessel drift where she likes?" the loud laughter of the pirates showed their cordial approval of this proposal. the sailors gave no sign of emotion, while scudamore tried to lock arms with one after another of the pirates, constantly asserting that he had nothing to do with the other party. "silence!" ordered barthelemy sternly. "you will neither scuttle the ship nor hang the crew. that might do for miserable spanish privateers, pitiful tunisian cut-throats, but not for us, englishmen and frenchmen. are we to make ourselves ashamed of the name of pirate, admit that it has nothing in common with the word honor? were not the first inhabitants of rome also corsairs? our mission is to place the name of fillibuster in a new light. captain rolls, you and your whole ship's company are free to go wherever you desire." a fierce uproar arose among the robbers. many approved the captain's speech, some strove to oppose it. barthelemy stamped his foot violently. "is there any one who desires to contradict me?" "yes!" shrieked moody, stepping in front of him and thrusting the pipe he held between his teeth so close to the captain's face that it almost touched his eyes. "i say you are a fool, captain. you are acting against all the customs of pirates and, if you don't take back your order, i'll scuttle the ship myself." "do you think so?" said barthelemy. "skyrme! seize this fellow and bind him to the mainmast." the pirates shrank back, startled. moody was the oldest of the band, whom no captain had ever ventured to punish. barthelemy again motioned to skyrme, and the latter, rushing upon the chief mate, bound him, in spite of his struggles, to the mainmast, so that he clasped it with both arms, his back turned to the crew; but, while pouring forth a continuous torrent of oaths, he still kept his pipe in his mouth. "is there any one else who wishes to oppose me?" asked the young chief. a suppressed murmur ran through the ranks of the pirates, but no one raised his voice distinctly. barthelemy now turned to captain rolls and, taking from his pocket a piece of paper and a pencil he said: "captain rolls! i hope you will reach london with your ship in safety. it is true that you will return her to her owners empty, but that is no fault of yours, in proof of which i will give you the following certificate for your justification at home. we, free knights of fortune, bear witness in the presence of all whom it concerns, that rolls, captain of the brigantine neptune, was attacked by us on the pacific ocean, and, having just lost his guns and part of his rigging in a gale, defended himself against us in the bravest manner for an hour and a half, and did not yield until, after losing nine of our best men and our captain, we completely overwhelmed him and thereby alone obtained the silver entrusted to his care. captain robert barthelemy. "add," said rolls, "that you succeeded in securing the silver only through scudamore's treachery." "true," replied barthelemy, adding the sentence. "gentlemen!" interposed scudamore trembling, "what are you going to do with me?" "nothing," said barthelemy. "we promised that we would not harm a hair of your head." "yes," returned the other mournfully, "but if you release the captain, and me with him, what is to become of me?" "i don't know," returned the corsair-chief, shrugging his shoulders. skyrme laughed aloud. "that's a splendid joke!" "for heaven's sake! what shall i say to you?" stammered scudamore, throwing himself at barthelemy's feet. "oh, gentlemen, don't leave me in this man's power, he will have no mercy on me. he is a horrible villain." "ha! ha! ha!" cried skyrme. "don't spoil this joke, captain. when you set the commander of the brigantine free, let him take this fellow with him; what a fine lot of talk there will be when they call him to account at home for the service he has rendered us." "gentlemen! brave men!" shrieked scudamore clasping barthelemy's knees. "surely you are only jesting with me. it amuses you to drive me to desperation in this way, but you will not really ruin me. you cannot forget that i have rendered you an important service, and shall perform still more. i am a physician; you need one, take me with you. i will be just such a man, such a devil as all the rest, i'll be no disgrace to your band. you will never repent having made my acquaintance. i beseech, i implore you to say a good word to the captain for me. oh, you good, brave man, you leader with the face of a hero, give me your hand, that i may kiss it." "rise," said barthelemy curtly. "we _do_ need a surgeon, i'll take you." "what! a surgeon among us!" growled moody, who was still bound to the mast, "a surgeon who, whenever one of our band is wounded in the hand or foot, will cut it off? a living human saw? a poisoner, who won't let a man die in peace? i've no use for him. throw him out of the ship, or i'll kill him." "not another word, moody!" cried barthelemy. "it is my wish, and so it shall be. you manage the ropes and sails, but you need not trouble yourself about anything else." "i beg you, sir," said scudamore, "not to vex our valiant captain, you seem to be such a worthy man, i know i shall have the warmest regard for you." "come nearer, so that i can see you," said moody. and when scudamore approached near enough for him to reach him with his foot, he gave him such a kick that he nearly fell over backward. "men!" shouted barthelemy, "bring me the cat o' nine tails. give this man thirty blows on the back. whoever disobeys me must suffer for it." the nine-lashed scourge was instantly brought. "to work at once!" barthelemy commanded. "no one is exempt from punishment." moody's eyes fairly started from their sockets with rage, and when the man bearing the cat o' nine tails approached him, he began to throw himself frantically to the right and left, but thereby only caused the blows to fall on him haphazard, till at last one knocked the pipe from his mouth. barthelemy coolly awaited the end of the punishment, and then called scudamore to write his name in the list of pirates. scudamore seized the pen with eager joy, and wrote his signature with such horrible glee that even the robbers were startled, and then, turning to captain rolls, exclaimed scornfully: "when you reach london, inform the government of my new occupation." skyrme laid his huge hand on his shoulder and muttered between his teeth: "you scoundrel, you'll make a first-class devil." "at least as good as any of you." from that moment, scudamore felt perfectly at home in his new sphere, looking at the list with his name enrolled as if it were some diabolical patent of nobility, and eyeing captain rolls with the air of a newly appointed official surveying his former comrades. "now, captain rolls," said barthelemy, "you can take possession of your ship. but that we may not leave our mate here in exchange for your doctor, loose moody from the mast." two pirates obeyed the command, avoiding the feet of the chief mate, who was trying to deal them a severe kick. when he found his hands free, his first act was to give the nearest liberator a heavy blow, and the second to pick up his short pipe and put it between his lips. "moody!" said the captain, folding his arms, "i just punished you as your commander's subordinate; now that it is over we again stand man to man; if you feel that i have wronged you, take your weapons. i am ready to give you any satisfaction and, if you desire, will fight with you." moody did not utter a syllable in reply, but hastily threw off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, loosed his collar and, with sparkling eyes, eagerly looked about for a weapon. "give him arms," said barthelemy; "which will you have, pistol or sabre?" "give me a sword," gasped moody hoarsely, "we shall be nearer each other." "make room for this brave man, lads; keep out of the reach of his arm, for he'll strike at any one. excuse our fighting in your ship, captain rolls, but satisfaction must be given in the presence of those who witnessed the offence. well, moody, are you ready? give a signal, when you are ready." moody, however, required few preparations, and as soon as he seized the sword, with the flat of whose blade he dealt a severe blow on the back of the person who handed it, he began to strike furiously around him in every direction, so that had twelve men stood near he would have mowed them all down--only he failed to hit the one directly in front of him. barthelemy seemed to be merely toying with him. he scarcely moved his arm to parry the strokes which his adversary's fury did not suffer him to calculate. "take care--you are running directly upon my sword--moody, don't put your own eyes out. look, i am not standing where you are aiming. don't strike at me so fiercely, i shall think you want to kill me." it was a true robber-fray; for the rage of one adversary, the jests of the other, the rude laughter of the bystanders, the jeering, irritating remarks do not occur in duels between gentlemen. the loud laughter of the pirates enraged the chief mate still more, and he grew fairly frantic when, glancing aside, he saw among them dr. scudamore, who had spread out his surgical instruments on his knees, and was gazing at him with a look of diabolical pleasure in his green eyes. turning from the captain he rushed directly at the surgeon. "oho, my good fellow, don't run overboard," said barthelemy, barring his way, upon which moody, his face distorted by rage, again attacked him. barthelemy avoided the blow and pierced his right arm. the chief mate instantly picked up his sword with his left hand; the foes again confronted each other, breast to breast. then barthelemy, with a clever trick of fence, struck his antagonist's sword from his grasp and, setting his foot upon it, seized him by the throat and flung him among his companions. scudamore officiously ran forward to aid the wounded man. "don't come here!" roared moody hoarsely, "or i'll tear you to pieces and put you on my wounds, as the ourang outang does leaves." the chief mate would not allow his injuries to be bandaged, but though bleeding profusely, struggled with his companions till they bound one arm to a beam; and continued to strike about him with the injured one till that too, was bound, after which he kicked violently and when his feet were also tied, bit like a mad dog. they were obliged even to gag him before the doctor could bandage his wounds, and stanch the blood. "how bad the old gentleman's teeth are," said scudamore, with a malicious twinkle in his eyes. "we shall probably have to pull out some of them." moody could make no reply to this hideous threat except a roar like a wild beast's, and could not even bite the hand which the doctor passed over him. meanwhile barthelemy had had the brigantine's crew released and told them that they would find all their weapons in the mate's cabin, whose key he would give them when he left the neptune. with these words he approached rolls, bowed courteously, and held out his hand. after a short pause the latter clasped it, saying: "very well, i will take it, in the hope that we may meet again." "i hope this will happen soon. a presentiment tells me that some day i shall kill you in a victorious battle, captain rolls." "and one tells me that i shall get you hung, robert barthelemy." "i thank you for your kind intention. by the way, you have only one keg of biscuits and a cask of water--that will not supply you until you reach london. may i offer you some of my store of provisions?" "i will accept it, and trust that you will be fully repaid." "oh, it's not worth talking about. i would willingly lend you a few cannons, that you may not be captured on the way." "i advise you not to do so, for if i had even two guns, i would try to recover my stolen silver." "you are a good fellow. we shall meet again somewhere. till then, farewell." the two captains shook hands with each other. meanwhile the pirates had rolled several casks of biscuit and water from their vessel to the brigantine. barthelemy gave the sailors the key and, with a bound, reached the deck of his own ship, the pirates shoved off from the neptune and, with three cheers, set sail. half an hour later, two vessels were seen moving across the sea in opposite directions, widening the space between them every moment. chapter ii in hispaniola robert barthelemy's name became known everywhere on the high seas. holland and portuguese sailors trembled before him; for when they recognized his vessel and, after a desperate chase, gained the shelter of a harbor, he followed them, robbed them under the very guns of the port and, if attacked, ordered the town to be bombarded and its fortifications given to the flames. there was no end to the marvelous tales related about him. * * * * * on the southern coast of the beautiful island of hayti, in a pleasant valley, stands a small wooden house, whose front is covered with climbing vines, and whose windows are filled with flowers; doves coo softly on the gable-roof, and a white cat lies purring on the threshold. at both sides of the little house stretch cotton fields, whose green foliage charms the traveler's eye as, coming from the interior, he sees toward evening the little cottage in the quiet valley. who lived there? one evening just at twilight, a light boat containing three men was pulled to the shore. one left it, the two others remained. the youth who climbed the bank was a handsome fellow, with a bright, eager face; his complexion was bronzed by exposure to the weather and, as the wind tossed back his hair, the locks bared a high, broad forehead. he gazed around him with the joyous expression of one who, after a long absence, again treads his native soil, and to whom every tree and bush is familiar. a rough seaman's cape rested on his shoulders, his head was covered by a round straw hat, and his white shirt collar turned over a loosely tied scarf; he was probably a young sailor who, after a long voyage, had again come near his home and was permitted to pay it a short visit. the path was just as he had left it, perhaps a little more uneven than in the old days; the doves were cooing, and the white cat purred in the doorway just as of yore. the new-comer approached with noiseless tread, softly turned the handle of the door, and entered. a gray-haired woman sat inside in a large armchair. she was the young man's grandmother. with her were three girls--two were fair, the third was dark, with starry eyes and a face like the young dawn. all started at his entrance, exclaiming in one breath; "william!" the two sisters ran to meet him, the grandmother, unable to leave her chair, only held out her arms, his betrothed bride was the last to greet him that she might remain the longer in his embrace. there was great delight in the little circle, a hundred questions rained upon him. "it is a whole year since we saw you last," said the grandmother, with tears in her eyes. "a whole eternity," murmured his betrothed bride, laying her head on his shoulder. "you won't leave us again, will you?" asked his youngest sister, clinging to her brother's neck as if she could hold him at her side. "i can stay an hour. the ship is in the offing while the sailors are getting a supply of fresh water on shore." "must you still remain absent from us?" asked the gray-haired woman, sighing. "unfortunately, yes. i expected to attain my purpose in a shorter time, but fate is against me; whenever i have thought i was approaching my goal, i was thrust back. twice i have acquired some property, but ill-luck deprived me of it, and i was forced to begin anew." "ill luck?" asked the younger sister, "that means shipwreck and pirates, doesn't it?" "yes, shipwreck." "and not pirates? we have feared them most! how often we have said that they might capture or kill you, leaving us to weep for you forever." the young man smiled. "fear nothing from them, dear. they will not harm me. at the utmost, they will rob me of my property, and you would receive me kindly, were i to return penniless, would you not?" "ah, if only you would never go," whispered his beautiful fiancée. "nay, dearest, i cannot let you spend your life here; i wish to see you in splendor. i long to take you to some great, beautiful city, where you can have pleasant society, where the sun cannot scorch these fair features, nor toil roughen these little hands. you will see that it will yet come to pass." "add: with the help of god!" said the grandmother. "every enterprise must begin with god's favor, then it will end with it. do you still pray, william?" the young man sighed. "you once taught me many prayers, grandmother." "do not forget them. _we_ pray for you every day." "yes indeed," said the younger sister. "grandmother reads from the prayer-book, and then we repeat a long prayer, in which we name all the good things we entreat god to grant you and all the evil ones from which we beseech him to guard you: storms, sickness, shipwreck, hunger, thirst, sharks, savages, and above all, robert barthelemy." the young man gazed at her with a smile. "and why from robert barthelemy?" he asked. "because he is a wicked pirate, whom no one can resist, who is in league with the devil, and who either burns all whom he captures over a slow fire or else casts them into the sea." "that is not true, barthelemy never tortures any one." "oh, we remember him, too, in our daily prayer." "do you?" "yes indeed. every day, crossing ourselves three times, we entreat god to sink to the bottom of the sea the horrible monster, whom we hold in such fear for your sake." "so you all remember robert barthelemy at the end of your prayers?" asked the youth, embracing the girls in turn as they hung weeping and laughing around his neck. "julietta!" said one, "sing william the song you composed about him and the pirates." "you have composed a song about me and the pirates?" asked the youth. julietta flushed crimson and after withdrawing shyly from his embrace she sang in a sweet, tremulous voice: far, far away the white dove flies, in fierce pursuit the black hawk hies, the dove is my lover so dear, the hawk is the pirate i fear. oh, god, stretch forth thy mighty arm my absent lover shield from harm. wing the dove's flight, the black hawk smite; back to its nest let the white dove flee, whelm the black hawk beneath the sea. "do you understand?" asked the younger sister. "you are the dove, and the hawk is--robert barthelemy." the young man showered kisses upon the three beautiful girls, not one of whom suspected that the dear brother, the still dearer lover, whom they embraced was--robert barthelemy himself. yet it was even so. this quiet little house had sheltered his childhood, the gray-haired woman had taught him to pray, the merry girls to love. two families had emigrated to this island, one from ireland, the other from corsica; the parents of both speedily succumbed to the foreign climate, and the two families became united under one roof. julietta grew up as william's sister to become finally his affianced wife. they were poor, and it pierced the young man to the heart to witness their penury. he longed for a fairer fortune, and often stood on the threshold absorbed in watching some ship vanishing across the sea. he frequently met sailors who came on shore for fresh water, and heard of their wonderful adventures, of countries with golden sands, of the good luck of sailors, and when he returned home he brooded in gloomy silence for hours. one day he told his family that he was going to seek his fortune and, bidding them farewell, embarked on a slave ship. their tears at his departure, the memory of how they followed him, renewing their farewell, how his affianced wife, forgetting her maidenly shyness, convulsively embraced him, covering his face with tears and kisses, sinking unconscious on the shore as his boat tossed on the waves toward the ship--all these things remained forever engraved on william's heart, though fate in after days inscribed much more upon it. his industry and honesty made him popular upon the ship, first he became boatswain, then mate, and was already on his way home with the wages he had saved, already saw in imagination the home, the family for whom he intended to win a better fate, when the ship was attacked and captured by pirates. william fought single-handed against ten, but in vain, superior numbers prevailed. knives already glittered at his throat, when the captain's hoarse voice shouted: "the lad must not be hurt. bring him to me alive." the pirates seized the youth and bore him to their leader. william looked at him in horror. it was davis, the sea devil. "you are a good fighter," said davis in his shrill, piercing tones, "it's a pity that you became an ordinary sailor, you would have been a splendid pirate. boys, give him a drink." one of the pirates held his calabash filled with rum to william's lips, but he turned his head away in loathing. to drink from the pirates' cups means joining the band. "ha! ha!" cried the captain laughing, "you are an obstinate fellow. have you ever seen a man tied to the main-mast when the sun is hottest? or have you witnessed the jest of sewing a man naked in a raw hide and exposing him to the sun's rays till the skin on his body shrivels?" "you can torture me," william remarked quietly. "that is why i shall _not_," answered davis. "here, men, release this fellow and guard him well, for we shall yet make a man of him. since i turned pirate, this is the first rascal who has dared to defy me: take good care of him, he'll be my successor some day." william remained on the pirate ship, hoping that it would encounter a stronger vessel and he would thus be released. not a week passed without a fray, the pirates attacked every vessel that appeared on the horizon, even when it was larger than their own, and always conquered; the foe was vanquished or yielded, fortune favored the robbers. at last two ships of war pursued the sea devil. william now hoped confidently for liberation. the foe had eighty guns and two hundred men, while the pirate had thirty guns and a crew of sixty. when the pirates perceived that they could not fly, they boldly attacked one of the frigates and, at the first fire, sent a red hot ball into the enemy's powder magazine. the vessel was instantly blown into the air, her companion set sail and, with cowardly haste, fled from the pirates. "so that is the fate of honest folk!" thought william, as the pirates' shouts of victory echoed around him, and turning to his next neighbor, he said: "give me a drink from your calabash." the man was skyrme. "all right, my lad!" shouted the hercules, giving the youth a hearty slap on the shoulder, "i knew this would be the end." as he spoke he drew the young man to the captain and, before the eyes of the whole ship's company, he wrote in the black book the name: robert barthelemy. * * * * * sisters, betrothed bride, and grandmother had wept till their hearts were relieved. the hour had passed, william had returned. he could not give his family a single shilling, though his ship was full of treasure. but it was all stolen property, and william could bring nothing stained with crime beneath the roof where his dear ones dwelt--poor, but pure in heart. the gray-haired grandmother kissed and blessed him, her tears falling on his head, the girls went with him to the shore and, while julietta clung about his neck, the others lingered behind, in order not to disturb the sweet mysterious whispers of the lovers. "when shall you return?" asked the girl. "when i can make you happy." "your love alone can do that. you need not sail the sea for my happiness, it could be gained by seeing you always at my side." "that is what children think. i wish we could never outgrow the belief. but--in the hands of the poor everything is poor, even happiness." the young girl shook her head. meanwhile they reached a copse which concealed the shore, and here the young man stopped. "don't go any farther; my companions are rough sailors, i do not wish them to disturb our parting. turn back now. our grandmother is expecting you." the two sisters, with many kisses, embraces, and tears, turned back, but julietta still clung to her departing lover, whispering in stifled tones. "take me with you." the youth trembled from head to foot and gazed with a blanched face at the young girl, who still clasped him in a convulsive embrace. "what are you thinking of? you would come with me--to sea?" "i should be happy anywhere with you. i should not fear the storms, the sight of your face would give me courage. i should be happy if i might share with you every peril, every privation, which you must now encounter alone; and if it were not god's will that we should ever attain our goal, i could at least die with you." william's face clouded still more. what love! what self-sacrifice! a paradise opened before him. but at the portal of that paradise stood an angel with a flaming sword, saying: "back, your name is robert barthelemy." "i have often thought," said the girl trembling, "that some day when you return and ask, 'where is julietta? why doesn't she come to meet me?' they will lead you to a flowery mound and say: 'she waited long, waited until her heart broke, she faded away and now rests here'--will you not then say to yourself: 'why did i not take her with me?'" "do not talk so! do not talk so!" exclaimed the lover, in a voice choked with anguish. "what you ask is impossible. go back." the girl grew as white as a lily, her arms fell from her lover's neck, her beautiful head drooped upon her breast. he caught the fainting figure in his arms and laid it gently on the grass, pressed a kiss on the colorless face, and then rushed through the copse like a madman. * * * * * barthelemy thrust the scarlet plume in his hat and joined his men; no tears glittered in his eyes, which now flashed fire; he was once more the proud, bold, reckless corsair chief. the haughty carriage of his head, his steady glance and resolute movements all belied the gentle, dreamy lover of an hour before. the first look from his keen eyes noticed the dissatisfaction on the faces of the band. during his absence, their mood toward their leader had changed. some one had guessed its motive, and the rumor ran that their captain was entangled by a love affair. "what is the matter?" cried barthelemy, his eyes wandering from face to face. "why do you look so sullen? speak." the pirates drew back defiantly. moody thrust his hands into his pockets, puffed violently at his short pipe, and gazed at the clouds. "speak, old lucifer, what has happened to these fellows?" "h'm, captain," replied the pirate, folding his arms and leaning with his back against a beam, "don't you know the pirates' creed? the creed of loving no one and fearing no one." "i know it very well. do _i_ fear any one?" "but you love; and whoever loves, sighs, whoever loves, feels, and whoever feels is not fit for a pirate." "so you think that if i hold a woman dear, i may not be the equal of any among you?" "you could not, captain! whoever is in love, is always thinking of the future, and longing, sooner or later, to retire to some quiet nook where he can be happy, grow old, and die; he is always gaping at the moon, he scorns his comrades and wants to be better than they. such a man is not fit for us. captain, i never loved any one in my life, never, and these stout fellows around you have neither father, mother, wife, nor sweetheart. such men belong to the sea, men who, when tempests howl and bullets hiss, do not think of quiet homes and loving maidens. these flowers do not bloom for us. if a girl embraces and kisses you to-day, she will deceive and betray you to-morrow. once we thought of bringing a cargo of wives from paris. we chose them from the salpetrière; at least we had no cause to fear that we should fall in love with them. huh! even that didn't last long; pirate folk are not used to joking; when they are angered, instead of beating, they kill. at the end of a month, not more than two of the women were alive. such feelings demoralize pirates." "so you believe," replied barthelemy, looking him full in the face, "that your hearts are stouter than mine, because they expect nothing. you will have an opportunity to prove it at once. take heed. we shall meet to-night on the high seas a fleet of portuguese merchant vessels--forty-two ships under the convoy of two well-equipped men of war--from the islands of todos los santos, laden with gold and goods. if you want to see a venture that will fill half the world with admiration, come with me." "surely you won't assert that you'll conquer these forty-two ships?" asked skyrme. "no, but i will seize the one which has the richest cargo and, in full view of the whole fleet and the men of war, take her away with us from amid the forty-one other vessels." the pirates gazed doubtfully into barthelemy's face, uncertain whether he was jesting or in earnest. "this will afford an opportunity to show whose heart is boldest!" said barthelemy, "each one of us must cope with a hundred men, and each individual must perform every minute a miracle at which he himself will afterwards wonder." "captain," said asphlant, after a long pause, "that borders on the impossible." "a minute ago you were all boasting of your hard hearts; moody doesn't seem to have interpreted your feelings correctly when he said that the pirate should fear nothing. and _you_ want to teach _me_ courage. go! let whoever fears to accompany me, quit the ship--we are near land--and return to his mother! if i am left with but three men, i will still do what i have said, for i am brave, not only while drunk with rum, like you, but while my face is still wet with the tears of the woman i love." the pirates shrank back, shamed, yet perplexed, by the boundless audacity of their leader. barthelemy noted the effect of his speech and turned again to them with words of stirring encouragement. "are you afraid when i lead the way? if i should say: 'come with me to the bottom of the sea, we'll attack neptune and drag him by the beard to the sunlight, i will lead you!' would not you follow? if i should say: 'let us declare war against half the world, sail up the thames, and set fire to the tower, i will lead!' would you remain behind? if i should say: 'earthly strife is pitiful, come with me to heaven, come with me to hell!' would you not follow even there?" the pirates, in a frenzy of enthusiasm, roared: "we'll go with you!" and stretched their hands to barthelemy, who clasped them one by one. "there, my men, there! we are sons of fortune, and fortune favors the bold. the sea is our slave, the storm our playfellow, death our delight! what others dare not think, we do." "hurrah! long live robert barthelemy!" roared the whole band, tossing their caps into the air. twilight was gathering. in the cottage three angels, with clasped hands, were praying that god would bury in the depths of the ocean that evil monster, robert barthelemy, the terror of all travelers. * * * * * darkness had closed in, the myriad stars of night were reflected from the surface of the sea. forty-two ships, sailing at nearly equal distances from one another, appeared on the horizon. the wind was fair, the crews were sleeping quietly, the men watching from the mast-heads drowsily announced that a sail was in sight, the captains heard the words and turning over, fell asleep again. the approaching vessel tacked for some time, then steered straight toward one of the ships in the middle of the fleet, the triton. her captain was slumbering soundly in his hammock, when the mate entered and reported the approach of the craft. "salute him," said the commander, peevishly, drawing up the coverlet. the approaching vessel stopped, and a boat put off in which sat six men, who rowed with vigorous strokes to the triton. no one seemed disturbed by their approach. on their arrival, three men remained in their seats, while the three others climbed on deck. one of the party inquired for the captain, with whom he had urgent business. the cabin where he slept was pointed out, and the speaker entered, the other two men remaining at the door. "what is wanted now?" cried the captain angrily, leaning out of the hammock. to this question the stranger replied quietly: "not another word, sir. i am robert barthelemy." the captain was rigid with fright. the pirate placed no pistol at his breast, did not threaten him with death; he merely said: "i am robert barthelemy." "what do you desire?" asked the captain with chattering teeth. "nothing at all," answered the pirate, "except an answer to a single question: can you tell me which of these forty-two ships has the richest cargo?" "you ask which has the richest cargo?" "if it is against your principles to answer my question, i will take your own ship, and if you should make it compatible with honor to deceive me by false statements, you may rest assured that you shall eat steel and drink sea-water." the pirate's resolute language, the sight of the fierce fellows in the doorway, speedily brought the captain to terms and he promised to point out the vessel in question, especially as he felt perfectly sure that, if the pirates ventured to attack it, they would certainly be defeated. "dress yourself and come with us," said barthelemy. "what? to _your_ ship?" "that you may not betray us by a signal to the other ships. no excuses. i must have the _best_ cargo, unless you want me to content myself with yours. forward!" the captain yielded, threw on his clothes, and surrounded by the three pirates, without daring to attract the attention of his own men, he followed barthelemy and his companions into the boat, which returned to the ship. meanwhile the men on board of the other vessels in the fleet quietly witnessed the strange vessel's intercourse with the triton, without the slightest suspicion. on reaching the sea devil, the abducted captain pointed out to captain barthelemy the vessel he desired, assuring him, on his word of honor, that it possessed the most valuable cargo, but withholding the fact that it had forty guns and a crew of one hundred and fifty men. the sea devil instantly turned and steered toward the ship. she was a huge three-master of clumsy build; her elaborately ornamented prow, the shape of her decks, and her rigging all marked her as an old-fashioned merchantman. the pirate had come so near that one could shout from one ship to the other. the deepest silence reigned on board the former, the men stood motionless at their posts beside the ropes, oars, or guns. suddenly, when every eye was fixed upon the approaching ship, whose mate watched the craft with drowsy indifference, not feeling the slightest suspicion, the captured captain perceived that no one was watching him and, springing on the bulwark, shouted: "to arms, men!" threw himself into the sea, and swam rapidly back to his own ship. all this was done so quickly and unexpectedly that the pirates, in their surprise, did not know what course to pursue. the attention of the crew had been instantly roused by the captain's warning shout, and the pirates saw with astonishment the superior force that opposed them. some looked doubtfully at each other, and all thought that instant flight was their only refuge. barthelemy gazed scornfully around, and quietly folded his arms. "they are only portuguese," he said contemptuously. the corsairs burst into a loud roar of laughter and pressed closer to the ship, whose defenders, terrified by the sight of the fierce, laughing faces, discharged their guns without taking correct aim, not even doing the rigging of the sea devil the slightest damage. the grappling irons of the latter were already flung on her foe, and the next instant the savage pirates sprang on deck, so overwhelming the crew by their furious onslaught that, unheeding their officers' commands, they flung down their weapons and leaped into the sea. the battle continued on the deck of the merchantman, whose firing had alarmed the other forty-one vessels, which now also began to discharge their guns right and left, but without coming nearer, for they had no desire to mingle in the fray, and, in the very midst of the fleet, the pirates killed one half the portuguese sailors, while losing only two of their own number. barthelemy became master of the ship, and lashing it to the sea devil, sailed off with both vessels at a wonderful rate of speed. the two men-of-war that were guarding the fleet now appeared and gave chase to the pirate craft. barthelemy fled for a time and, after drawing the two ships far enough away, he suddenly turned, divided his crew between his own vessel and the prize, and sailed toward the pursuers. the latter seemed startled by this audacity, signalled to each other, and while the pirates were wondering what was to be the outcome of their clumsy manoeuvres, they stopped the chase and returned to the fleet, leaving the sea devil to sail joyously over the high seas with her booty. * * * * * the pirates landed on the coast of guiana in a very merry mood. they had plenty of money; for they had found in the captured ship eight thousand gold coins, strings of oriental pearls sent by the emperor of brazil as a gift to the queen of portugal, and whole chests of valuable goods. and was it their intention to put the money at interest, the costly fabrics in shops to be sold by the yard? no indeed, their custom was to drink till the last gold coin was squandered. whoever laid aside his share of the booty was a traitor, and whoever withdrew with his money to lead a respectable life, they killed. this habit of the pirates was well-known on shore. they came on land only when they had money and wanted to spend their treasure in the shortest possible time. on the sea men trembled before them, on shore they received them with open arms. there are documents proving that on the islands near surinam the highest officials vied with one another in their hospitality to the pirates. true the corsairs, in a single fortnight, spent eight thousand gold moidores, and the women of the city, from the highest lady to the lowest servant wench, were clad in silks and cashmeres, while the costly pearls destined for the fair neck of her majesty the queen of portugal clasped that of the regent's wife; indeed there were gala entertainments from the halls of the governor's residence to the lowest hut, and the pirates went from one to another, here a gentleman and there a lout, carousing, dancing, fighting, and love-making all day long. for an entire fortnight there was neither night nor day, only one continuous revel, a sea of pleasure whose depths no man could sound. then, when all joys were exhausted, that is, when the last moidore had slipped through their fingers, the pirates went back to their ships, rubbed their eyes, and looked about for more work. they received tidings of a richly laden brigantine which was approaching the coast. towards evening the helmsman saw the ship on the horizon. "caution!" warned barthelemy. "if they see us, they will have time to escape. let the two ships remain here under lieutenant kennedy's command, while forty picked men go on board the sloop with me. then we can approach the brigantine unsuspected." he himself chose his men, among them skyrme, scudamore, the mate henry glasby, asphlant, moody, and simpson, and felt so sure of capturing the brigantine before morning that, contrary to his custom, he did not see that the sloop was provided with a sufficient supply of provisions. the night was dark and all through the long hours the sloop fairly flew in the direction where they expected to find the brigantine. according to barthelemy's calculation, they would be within gunshot of her at dawn. and lo, when the sun rose and they gazed around the horizon, the brigantine was nowhere in sight. they tacked right and left, but not a sail was visible anywhere on the horizon. the brigantine had doubtless discovered them and vanished under cover of the darkness. barthelemy was furious, and, unwilling to return defeated, sought the brigantine by altering his course hither and thither. for a week he sailed the seas, constantly struggling with head winds and currents; on the eighth day his supply of provisions was exhausted and he was forced to anchor and send a small boat back to his ships for food and assistance. barthelemy and his companions remained on the sloop. according to the closest estimate the boat would need three days to reach the ships and the same time to return. so barthelemy must stay six days at one point in the ocean. a week before they were revelling in luxury, while wine flowed in rivers, now, under the rays of a scorching sun, they divided their last biscuit and longed for a drink of water. at last barthelemy thought of lashing some masts together into a raft, on which he sent two men with a cask to seek land. they were almost dying of thirst when the raft returned; the men had reached the shore and filled the cask with muddy water. they also brought a bunch of some plant which resembled a radish. miry water and radishes! a royal banquet for the pirates! but soon this, too, was exhausted, the six days had expired, the boat had not returned, and the adverse tide made it impossible for the raft to reach the shore a second time. the men grew desperate and began to murmur. "worthless fellows!" blustered moody. "degenerate pirates, who succumb to hunger after fasting only three days. the world is going to ruin. even pirates turn cowards. it wasn't so when i was young and olonais was captain. "for a whole week we ate nothing but dry roots, and then we got food from the governor's table in the heart of vera cruz." "and you ventured to fight on land?" asked asphlant, with an incredulous look. "the ground certainly didn't tremble under our feet as it does under yours when you go ashore; once, twenty of us, under olonais, pushed forward to the gates of havana." "i didn't hear that you ever captured the city." "we came within an ace of it. luckily for himself, the governor found out how few of us there were in the party before we got our hands on his throat." "so you returned whence you came." "it's easy enough for you to talk; the governor sent two hundred men after us in a warship, while we had only two boats. he also sent along an executioner to hang us to the trees on the coast when we were caught." "so you managed to escape." "we waited for them and, after having lured them far enough from havana, i and another dare-devil, who, however, did not live to grow old, like me, slipped overboard and, swimming under the ship with our augers, bored eight holes in her bottom. ho! ho! how quickly she sunk, how the soldiers roared for help, splashed about in the water and held out their hands for aid. then olonais went back with the boats and wherever a soldier's head rose out of the water he slashed it off with a huge sabre, all but the executioner, whom he recognized by his red cap and sent back to the governor with his compliments and the message that he did not need him." "your captain was a bold fellow, moody. what became of him?" "h'm! h'm! he had a strange end." "i suppose he was captured at last." "far stranger than that. in a fight with savages, he was wounded and taken prisoner. the scoundrels ate the poor man." "the boat!" suddenly shouted the man at the helm, and all left the old pirate and his stories to watch the approaching yawl, which they hailed with cheers, waving their caps aloft, while the returning men sat silent, as if they found the meeting less joyful than their comrades. skyrme was the captain of the boat. when he reached the sloop he stepped on her deck with a downcast, angry face, and answered the questions poured upon him from all sides: "have you rum, meat, biscuit?" with "nothing," and when, wondering at the reply, the men shook their heads, skyrme turned to barthelemy with quivering lips. "captain, we are deceived, betrayed, lost." "what do you mean?" "both the ships you intrusted to kennedy have disappeared." "impossible." "it is true. we searched two days without finding any trace of them; at last we learned from some fisherman that, as soon as we were out of sight, they crowded on all sail and went to sea." a roar of mingled fury and despair greeted these words; the cheated pirates, with knives uplifted, vowed to inflict a thousand tortures on the traitors. barthelemy was deadly pale. "we will meet them," he said hoarsely. "there is not a moment to lose. forward my lads." "where?" asked skyrme despairingly. "to sea!" answered barthelemy proudly, pointing to the offing. "yes, but in this plight, without a mouthful of bread, a drop of water." "the first ship will give us both. woe to those we encounter, they will fight with fiends." "but suppose we should meet no vessel for days?" "there are forty of us. if we meet no ship for two days, we will have a true pirate banquet; whoever draws the fatal lot will yield us his body for food, his blood for drink. we are supplied for forty days; those who survive will inherit our need of vengeance. forward!" the savage shouts of the pirates echoed far over the waves as they boldly steered toward the open sea, and that very day they met two well-armed sloops coming from the island of defrada. the buccaneers were thirsting for carnage. after a stubborn defence they captured both vessels, from which they took only the guns and provisions and then sunk them. again they sailed to and fro for several days without encountering any craft. their provisions ran out and, just as they had divided the last portion of water, they saw on the horizon a bristol vessel. the sloop instantly gave chase. the other tried to escape and the pirates pursued all day, crowding so much sail upon the sloop that she often buried her deck in the waves. towards evening the clumsy ship, finding escape impossible, yielded without resistance. the pirates were infuriated by the long pursuit, and the faces of many plainly revealed their desire to cool their vengeance by giving their captives a sea-bath. barthelemy climbed on deck, where the crew awaited him with uncovered heads. "where is your captain?" he shouted. the worthy man, who was by no means desirous of renown, had gone below to his cabin, from which he was dragged and brought before barthelemy, to whom he knelt. "stand up, don't kneel. lift him, that he may stand erect." two pirates were obliged to drag the captain from his knees by main force, but when he perceived that he would not be allowed to kneel on deck, he lifted up his feet and knelt in the air, a comical sight which turned the pirates' rage into laughter. "what is your ship's cargo?" asked barthelemy. the captain earnestly begged to be released, protesting that he could not speak while he was held in such a way, and then, trembling violently, said that his vessel was loaded with spanish wine. "that word saves you," returned barthelemy, as the pirates exultingly flung the captain into the air like a ball, and then ran down to the hold whence they speedily rolled up two or three iron-bound casks. the poor captain, sighing heavily, answered in reply to the buccaneers' query concerning the name of his wine, "malaga." the terrified man kept glancing anxiously toward one of the partitions in the ship, and the pirates, noticing his fear, broke down the door, behind which was carefully hidden a supply of the finest brain sausages, which they brought out hung around their necks like strings of beads. this captain was a great gourmand, who had provided himself with the choicest provisions. the pirates found large coops filled with pheasants and calcutta hens, which had been fed on nuts to give their flesh a better flavor. the rascals pulled out every one of the birds. "where's the barber?" they shouted, "here's something to bleed!" and they dragged scudamore forward to use his valuable surgical instruments to cut off the heads of the capons. scudamore gleefully beheaded the squawking fowl, each one of which the bristol captain seemed to mourn, and when he had dispatched the last, he suddenly seized the sighing sailor by the hair, put his knife to his throat, and would have sent him after the birds, had not skyrme dealt him such a blow that he fell headlong. "i supposed _these_ were to follow!" said the doctor with a fiendish laugh. meanwhile the pirates began to pluck the poultry, and then cut the fowl up clumsily, lacking the help of scudamore, who swore by all the imps of satan that he didn't enlist to kill animals, but men. the beautiful pheasants were flung into three large copper kettles, white pepper and cod-fish were added, and fires were lighted under the caldrons. "oh, what barbarians!" sighed the english captain, "to cook cod-fish with pheasants." as soon as the meat was half done they gathered around, flourishing their knives. the captain was invited to take his seat among them and share the meal, which he eagerly did, for on discovering that the birds could no longer be saved, he developed a laudable intention of devouring enough of them for three men. after the repast the wretches brought out the captain's preserved fruit, stored carefully away for his own use, and ate it before his eyes. the rude fellows, accustomed to coarse smoked meat, greedily swallowed the expensive pistachio nuts and preserved pineapples, while saying contemptuously that they would much rather have onions. and how they drank the noble wine! from the narrow-necked bottles in which it is usually sold! no, they knocked out the bottoms of the casks and dipped it up with their hats, or held their mouths under the cock and drank till they could scarcely rise. swiftly as the wine poured into their throats, songs and laughter poured out, the wildest shouts of revelry which buccaneers ever uttered; even the english captain was obliged to drink his own wine, and the more he swallowed, the more firmly he began to believe that he himself was the pirate chief who had captured and plundered a ship, and advised the men to hang each other, being affected in precisely the opposite manner from scudamore, who, under the influence of the wine, believed himself an honest man who had been taken prisoner by bandits; the result of which was that the two men had a violent scuffle, and as the captain proved to be the stronger, scudamore lost two of his teeth. the former then triumphantly resumed his seat among the pirates, and by singing several songs aloud, roused their enthusiasm to such a pitch that skyrme, starting up, vowed by a sea of wine to drink the bristol captain's health in a glass which no man had ever used. he kept his word, for, ordering a cask filled with malvoisie to be rolled up, he knocked out the head, sprang into it, and there drank the health of the captain, who almost died with laughter, thinking it vastly entertaining that a man should sit in the vessel from which he drank without being afraid of swallowing himself. * * * * * the carouse on the captured ship lasted uninterruptedly for three days and nights. on the third day the intoxicated pirates embraced the drunken captain and, rolling a few casks of wine upon their own sloop as a remembrance, took leave, urging him, when he reached barbadoes, to send them a few rich merchantmen, of which just now they were in great need. before he arrived there, however, the captain had entirely recovered from his intoxication and, remembering, doubtless, his slaughtered fowl and plundered wine, resolved to send a few ships in pursuit of the pirates. he went to the governor, related his misfortune, and induced him, in the absence of men-of-war, to fit up a merchant vessel with twenty-four guns and a sloop with ten, and despatch them under the command of captains rogers and graves in chase of the bold buccaneers who roved so daringly in waters so near port. the latter were not yet sober, for they still had their wine, and when they saw the approaching vessels, believing that they would prove rich prizes, tacked and stood toward them. the ship and sloop allowed them to come close, without answering the pirates' first fire. this made the latter still bolder and, shouting to them to haul down their flags and surrender, they steered directly toward them. but, at the instant they seized their grappling irons to throw on the ship, her guns suddenly thundered a warning and, instead of an easy prey, the buccaneers found themselves in the presence of a formidable foe, which attacked them on both sides with a terrible cannonade. the peril instantly sobered the pirates, their confused yells ceased and nothing was heard except the voice of barthelemy, who always felt strongest in the presence of the greatest danger. amid the most furious cannonade, he defended himself against both assailants, and as soon as a well-aimed broadside had caused momentary confusion on one of the vessels, he availed himself of it to run out between them, then, spreading all sail, fled with his foes in full chase. both were swift craft. it was impossible for barthelemy to escape. the cannonade continued, the sea devil fighting while flying, the other two trying, first from the right, then from the left, to sail across her bows. suddenly the pirate's fire ceased, barthelemy had thrown his guns overboard. the pirate sloop was instantly lightened and, at the very moment his foes believed him hopelessly lost, barthelemy's craft flew away as swiftly as a sea-gull, once more at liberty. the pursuers, left behind, at last gave up the chase and returned to port. off went the pirate, like a startled gadfly, to newfoundland. twenty-two ships were in the harbor. the buccaneers had neither guns nor powder, nothing but fury and knives. on reaching the port they beat their drums, blew their trumpets, ran up the black flag, and the crews of the twenty-two ships fled to the shore. the pirates chose the best vessel in the fleet, robbed the others, and set them on fire. the lesson received at barbadoes still rankled in their souls, they must have flames somewhere. so long as they remembered barbadoes, not a ship escaped them, and if one from that port fell into their hands they slaughtered even the mice. * * * * * luck changed, barthelemy's star was in the ascendant, every day brought treasures and victories. the whole sea was his taxpayer. at last he took nothing from the captured ships except coined money; and the crews did not even offer any resistance. with his splendid ship, on whose prow was a carved and gilded figure of fortuna, he visited every port in turn, levying taxes from the vessels anchored in them. they paid heavily; nay, if rumor could be trusted, safe-conducts could be purchased from him--in advance. the rulers of all countries forbade their subjects to furnish the pirates with provisions; but that was easily remedied. ships bound for africa sailed at regular intervals, laden with provisions, from the english colonies. these met the pirate by a concerted agreement, allowed themselves to be plundered, apparently by force, and yielded up one or two ships' cargoes. the buccaneers paid well for them. once the young pirate chief ran into the harbor of st. barthelemy and went on shore with his whole crew. the inhabitants illuminated their city, the governor came to meet him with a band of music and ordered fireworks in their honor, while the ladies gave them a ball. the buccaneers knew how to entertain. true, with them dancing was very apt to close with an orgy, and the orgy to end in a brawl; but fair women feared kisses as little as broken heads; for the pirates scattered gold with lavish hands in every direction. the pirates were gallants; they wore silk garments, gold lace, and plumed hats, the chains of two or three gold watches hung from their pockets, and diamonds and rubies flashed on their fingers. true, the gold lace was perfumed with rum and brandy, the breath of the flatterers reeked with the odor of onions and tobacco, pistols and blood-stained knives were carried in their pockets with the gold watches, and the hands on which diamonds glittered were black with the smoke of powder. but fair women did not shrink from these things, for they knew that the pirates never left a place until the last ring had vanished from their fingers and the last watch from their pockets. the buccaneer obtained nothing by cajolery, he paid cash for everything, and his hands were as full of gold as his lips of oaths. so why was it so great a marvel that the governors opened their doors, and those who ought to have led them to the gallows invited them to their tables. the governor of st. christopher tried to drive barthelemy out of his harbor--what did he gain by it? barthelemy burned his ships and bombarded his city; the governor of st. barthelemy was wiser, he introduced the corsair to his wife and became a rich man. there are as many customs as there are countries. we should think such proceedings very strange. * * * * * the governor's wife was a beautiful creole, whose eyes fired men's hearts. her face was pale, but when the sun of passion glowed upon it, her cheeks at first flushed faintly with the rose-hue of dawn, then deepened into crimson. to watch the alternation of these tints was the school of madness. everyone was affected by the contagion of this frenzy, save her husband--and no one more than the pirate chief barthelemy. the husband, a stout, placid man, sat beside barthelemy at the banquet, opposite to the fair creole. barthelemy was drunk with wine and love. "look at that woman," he said to the husband, extolling his wife: "what a face! what eyes! what a matchless figure! a goddess who has left her temple to come to west india! see those eyes! how they sparkle! what need have we of sun or stars so long as they shine upon us?" the husband, on the contrary, paid no heed, but apparently deemed it wiser to shut his eyes and nod sleepily. barthelemy shook him by the collar. "why are you not my foe, why don't i fling you into the sea, kill you at once? i would make myself a king to call your wife my queen." the husband neither saw nor heard; when barthelemy loosed his hold he fell back into his chair and snored. wild songs and the rattling of glasses echoed on all sides; each of the buccaneers had found a sweetheart, and the voices and laughter of women mingled with the oaths of the pirates; it seemed to be considered a special token of tenderness--and many of the corsairs bestowed it,--to fire their pistols in the room. barthelemy, with a trembling hand, held out his wine-glass to the creole who drained it to the health of the corsair king. when she set it down, he was kneeling at her feet. she had a fair round neck, and barthelemy could not bear to see it without an ornament, so snatching from his own a diamond chain worth ten thousand dollars he clasped it round the beautiful woman's throat. could he do so without pressing her head against his breast, and when it rested there, could he help kissing her? all the buccaneers joined in such a thundering cheer that the walls shook, pounded the tables with their fists, and fired salvos of shots. the husband slept on like a drowsy bear. barthelemy clasped the creole's slender waist. "come with me," he whispered beseechingly; "i'll buy you from your husband, i'll give him a million of gold in exchange. if he wants a fleet, i'll drive hundreds of ships here like a flock of sheep. come with me, i will rob satan of hades and transform it into a paradise for you. i will load you with treasures, overwhelm you with delights, come with me!" "ay, ay, captain," shouted moody from the corner where he sat surrounded by empty wine bottles, "drain the cup of joy and dash it against the wall." just at that moment a messenger entered, bringing dispatches for the governor. the pirates gave him no chance to speak. "don't wake him, don't you see how sweetly he is sleeping? you would better drink." the herald was soon completely intoxicated and, seeing the governor's wife whispering tenderly to barthelemy, in the bewilderment of a drunkard's ideas he carried the despatch to him. the latter was about to throw it down when, glancing at the address, his eye caught the name "hispaniola." the young leader's face suddenly darkened; he tore open the despatch and with blanched face, read the following lines. _sir_: the slaves in san domingo rebelled a few days ago, attacked the cotton plantations along the whole coast, burned and destroyed them, and pitilessly murdered the planters, sparing neither man, woman, nor child. there is not a single dwelling left standing on the northern coast of hispaniola. drops of cold perspiration stood on barthelemy's brow, his eyes stared fixedly into vacancy, his fingers clenched the paper convulsively; then, starting up, he flung the creole aside and dealt the table such a blow with his clenched fist that the pirates, to a man, instantly became silent and stared at him in wonder. "the carouse is over!" thundered their leader in a terrible voice. "hence to the ship, drop toying, and seize your weapons." the buccaneers could not yet recover from their bewilderment. the creole beauty, with sparkling eyes, pressed nearer to barthelemy and raised his hand to her glowing lips. barthelemy's eyes sought moody. the old pirate had drunk heavily, but was perfectly sober. "you told me to drain the cup of joy to the dregs and then shatter it," cried the young chief. "i will shatter it ere my lips have touched it." even while speaking, he wrenched his hand from the creole's clasp, and drawing his sword, cried: "forward to the coast of hispaniola." carried away by their leader's passion, the buccaneers joined in a terrible cheer, and throwing down their glasses, pressed after him with drunken enthusiasm from the joys of the banquet to wrestle with the fury of the tempests. * * * * * the ship reached the shore of hispaniola. barthelemy promised his men the treasures of a whole people, reserving for himself only their blood. he did not find a single ship in the harbor; there were only a few fisher-boats tossing on the waves, from whose owners he learned that the insurgent slaves, after ravaging the coast, had retired in large numbers to the interior of the island. barthelemy went on shore and rushed like a madman toward the cottage. he soon neared the hill which concealed the little valley, and continued his way slowly, with a throbbing heart, as if fearing to behold with his eyes what he already witnessed in his soul. the hill afforded a view of the cottage. here he had parted for the last time with his betrothed bride; here she had sobbed, "take me with you"; here she had predicted, "some day you will return and ask, 'where is julietta? why doesn't she come to meet me?'" his very heart shrank. one step more, and he would reach the hill-top--a weeping-willow obstructed the view and, bending the boughs apart, he gazed down into the valley. it was empty. bare yellow fields lay dry and withered in the place of the green plantation, and the site of the cottage was marked by a black spot. barthelemy stood motionless, with fixed eyes. no sigh escaped his lips, but he suddenly fell as if lifeless, with his face pressed against the grass. perhaps he might have passed into the eternal slumber, had not sad dreams come and forced him to witness the horrible bloody scenes enacted when the satanic band burst into the quiet, lonely cottage, where the three girls and their grandmother knelt in prayer; he saw the rabble rush in through door and windows, seizing their victims by the hair, the thin, gray locks of the poor old grandmother, the luxuriant raven ones, which he had so often kissed, of his worshipped julietta. if he had been lying in his grave, such a dream must have roused him. "ah!" shrieked the pirate struggling back to consciousness, like a person throwing off a deadly burden from his heart, and gazing around him, gasping for breath as he wiped the perspiration from his eyes and brow. "it is well that it was _only_ a dream," he faltered. then a glance into the valley proved that it was no delusion, but reality. springing to his feet he rushed wildly down into the valley to the ruins of the hut, called the names of his dear ones, stirred the ashes as if he might find them there, examined the footprints in the mire to see if he could discover among them any traces of those of the objects of his love. but he found nothing except the marks of clumsy negro feet, nowhere the imprint of the dear, fairy-like ones. they were lost. not a vestige of the cottage remained except the charred threshold. barthelemy embraced and kissed it, his eyes growing dim with tears. "ah!" he shouted, dashing them from his eyes, "not water, but oil on the flames! this is not the time to weep, but to avenge. a pirate's tears are drops of blood! i will avenge you, my murdered family, on mankind, on the whole world. earth, grant me no more rest. change the wine-cup to wormwood ere it reaches my lips, and every throb of my heart to hate. i had a single joy, my soul a single steadfast idea, which came to my remembrance whenever any one sued to me for mercy, and i granted it. that was joy. but it is forever torn from my heart, henceforward i will give quarter to no one. hear my vow, ye powers of hell, and tremble--i will send you as many black fiends as there are grains of dust in this handful of ashes which i scatter on my head." with a terrible imprecation, barthelemy flung into the air a handful of ashes which he had clutched and, as they floated slowly down upon his head, he sank on his knees and, sobbing convulsively, kissed the threshold. "my god, my god, if it was thy will to punish me, why didst thou not dash me against a cliff during the raging of a tempest, why didst thou not let me perish by arms, by hunger? why didst thou not make me mount the scaffold? why didst thou permit thy angels to atone for my crimes?" he sobbed bitterly, while the ashes he had scattered to bear witness to his vow, drifted slowly down upon his head. * * * * * a traveller, driving his mule before him, came through the path leading from the forest. barthelemy barred his way. the man started at sight of the fierce-looking stranger and began to appeal to his patron saint. "whence do you come?" asked the pirate. "from la vega. i bring good news. the insurgents are conquered and already hang along the coast." "bad news for me! have none of them escaped?" "a few hundred took refuge in a captured ship and fled to africa." "i thank you. you can go on." the messenger continued his journey, shaking his head; he could not understand why any one should regret that the rebels were conquered, or rejoice because a number of them had escaped. * * * * * "what has happened to you, captain?" asked moody, when barthelemy returned to the ship. "you are as pale as a corpse." "nothing," replied his commander in a hollow tone. "only my heart has died in my breast." the pirates asked no further questions. they knew all. whenever any one of them left the band, the others kept watch from a distance. they had seen barthelemy sitting despairingly beside the ruins of the hut, and all shrank in timid silence from the pallid man. barthelemy shut himself up in his cabin and, taking a chart, began to study the course to africa. his face was gloomy, but ever and anon his eyes flashed fiercely. suddenly he heard a knock at the door and angrily opened it. "who is disturbing me, now?" "i, captain," replied scudamore. "we need your judgment." "go until to-morrow. i will grant no favors to-day." "i want no favors from you, only the execution of the law. three members of the band took advantage of the time during which we were on shore to desert and take refuge in the interior of the island. but i sleep with my eyes open and, though i have but two of them, can watch the whole hundred men." "and me also?" "there can be no discrimination, captain, we need one another, whoever seeks to leave us is a traitor. we want no path for retreat, only for advance. whoever has once sworn faith, is ours forever, belongs to hell, no power can free him, and if he will not live with us he must die." "have you captured the fugitives?" "all three, they were only a mile from la vega when we overtook them." "bring them before me singly." scudamore went in search of the prisoners, with fiendish delight, and returned dragging the first one by the ear. he was a cowardly fellow whom the pirates had forced to join their band. "oh, captain!" he cried falling on his knees before barthelemy, "if you believe in god and the angels, let me leave this accursed place. you are all doomed to hell, permit me to save my soul from the flames of purgatory. oh! all you saints of heaven, have mercy on my sinful head." a horrible roar of laughter from the pirates greeted these imploring words. "you shall die," said barthelemy coldly, motioning to the men to lead him away. "captain! for heaven's sake, you won't let me die thus, without the sacrament or extreme unction, to the ruin and eternal perdition of my soul?" "wait, i'll confess you," said scudamore with a diabolical laugh, putting the rope around the doomed man's neck. "oh god, my creator, is there no one to say a prayer for me? alas, i once knew so many and have forgotten them all." the pirates, laughing loudly, dragged to the mast the unhappy man, who began to roar the air of a song whose words he had long since forgotten. a minute later the song ceased, the man was hanging above. the second prisoner was now brought forward. he, too, was only a common sailor. his companions were forced to bind him hand and foot in order to drag him before the captain, and he kept up a constant torrent of oaths. "yes, i ran away from you because i loathed this vile, roystering life, toiling and fighting every day and when, at the risk of death, one gained a little money, a man had to throw it away. i'll run from you a hundred times more." "not once," replied scudamore grinning. he apparently had far more taste for the hangman's trade than for the physician's. barthelemy silently waved his hand, and the pirate hung. the third prisoner now appeared, and barthelemy exclaimed in surprise, "that is henry glasby." the former captain of the fortuna was the third captive. glasby was a handsome young man, with a noble face, whom the pirates kept among them by force on account of his superior knowledge of seamanship; his gentle nature and kind heart were known to the whole band, for he protected all who fell into their hands, as far as lay in his power, frequently paying their ransom out of his own pocket; his entreaties had saved many a ship from burning, and he had always kept aloof from the bacchanalian orgies of his companions, for which reason they did not hold him in special regard, and always watched him with suspicious eyes. he had already made one attempt to escape, which had been pardoned, now he was certainly doomed. after the first expression of surprise, barthelemy's face had regained its cold, unmoved composure. scudamore awaited the verdict with greedy impatience. glasby stood before barthelemy with unquailing resolution. "you have already pronounced sentence upon two," he said fearlessly. "there is no reason why you should make me an exception. i have but one request; send this valueless locket containing my portrait to my mother,--she lives in norfolk. it also has a curl of hair belonging to my betrothed bride, whom i longed to see, and for whom i die." barthelemy trembled and gazed intently at glasby's face. "you have a betrothed bride whom you longed to see?" he said in a stifled voice, loosing the ropes from his wrists--"go back to her, i release you--" "captain! two are hanging already," shouted scudamore, furious as he saw the escape of the man whose death he most desired. "the third rope is waiting for its ornament." "it will pull up the man who dares to contradict my judgment!" answered barthelemy, gazing fiercely at the defiant faces, and closed the door of his cabin behind him. the whole band remained silent. from that moment barthelemy was completely transformed. his heart was stone, nothing touched it except a woman's sobs; then he fled, it was more than he could bear. to his men he was stern to the point of injustice, the most trivial offence did not escape his punishment, every evening he held a court of justice by which he had those who were accused imprisoned in the ship's hold, flogged, or shot. yet there was one person whom he never attacked, glasby. he spent whole nights in questioning him about his family life, his mother, and his betrothed bride, listening with eager attention to all the details for the hundredth time. he showed mercy to no one, burning or sinking the captured ships, unmoved by submission or entreaties, but if a vessel chanced to have a woman on board, and he heard her voice he would take nothing from the ship and let her pursue her way uninjured. * * * * * one day he assembled the crews of both pirate cruisers on the deck of the commodore. "my lads," he said, "life here is beginning to grow wearisome. fortune offers her favors in vain, there is no one on this side of the world whom we fear; we have plenty of booty, but no fame, for we encounter no foemen worthy of us. let us go farther. these dutch and portuguese merchantmen already fear us to such a degree that they almost love us. let us go where we are not known, among the english and french, whose troops sleep secure in their fortresses along the coast, where fortune is still a coy maiden who permits her favors to be grasped only by strong hands. let us win honor and fame in the places where the wise law-makers have written a hundred paragraphs against us in their code of laws, let us tear out the page, and place in its stead the words that there are no laws for the brave." barthelemy wished to fire his comrades' hearts as he had done in former days, but he was unsuccessful, the tones which had once thrilled them were dead; the fire in his soul, one spark of which had sufficed to kindle theirs, was extinct. now he could influence them only by his coldness. "pirates," he went on, folding his arms, "i promised you treasures, you promised me blood. let us both keep our word. our work here is beggarly. to plunder the ships of peaceful merchants, who surrender their goods without defence! and of what use are they? we merely give them away. i will take you to the home of treasures, the coasts of africa, where ships laden with gold-dust plough the sea, where the negro kings sleep on golden sand and the negro warriors fight with golden weapons. we will plunder _these_ ships, dig the golden sand from under the sleeping kings, and bury them in it, wrench the precious weapons from the negroes' hands and give them cheaper ones of iron in their hearts." this pleased the pirates who made up the commodore's crew, and they responded with murmurs of approval, but the fortuna's men remained silent, with sullen, defiant faces. barthelemy noted the different effect he had produced, and wrapping himself deliberately in his ample cloak, whose folds concealed his hands, he added: "perhaps there is some one who does not approve this plan, let him state what he has against it. he can speak freely, i will listen." the crew of the fortuna began to gather into groups and whisper together; at last two men came forward, hitching their trousers, and stood with resolute faces before the captain. "yes, we don't approve of your plan, captain," said one, and the other nodded assent, while their comrades murmured approval. "you don't approve of it, my children?" asked barthelemy in his sweetest tones, "and why?" "because we are not tired of having things go well with us and finding booty everywhere without danger," said one. "because we don't want to seek unknown risks in unknown gold regions," added the other. "where there are laws against us." "and where royal men-of-war protect commerce." "we don't care for fame, but prizes." "and we would rather stay here, where people fear us, than go where we must fear others." "if you want blood, we can shed as much here for you as you desire." "but we won't go a thousand miles and seek danger merely to avenge you on the negroes who killed your sweetheart." robert barthelemy's face blanched to a ghastly pallor. "you wish to stay here, my dear children," he replied in a tone of childlike blandness. "you like it here, and are afraid to go elsewhere. why, my dear children, just think it over a moment." "we have already thought of it," they answered defiantly. "very well," said barthelemy, suddenly throwing back his cloak, and the next instant he had sent a bullet through the heads of both. for a moment the others stood petrified with horror, then they turned furiously upon barthelemy, their eyes and knives flashing around him. "what! you dare to oppose, when i command! away with you, worthless rascals!" thundered their young leader in a voice which rose above the fray, and seizing a piece of stout rope he rushed among them, dealing blows right and left at the mutineers, who were so amazed by his daring that, forgetting their rage, they scattered. "put them all in irons. keep them in confinement on bread and water for three days! if any one utters a word against me, throw him into the sea," shouted barthelemy, and in a moment the fortuna's crew were disarmed by the commodore's men. "you are taking a great risk," glasby whispered to barthelemy. "oh, i fear neither man nor devil," replied the pirate defiantly. the ships sailed for africa that very day. the time of punishment of the fortuna's crew expired on the third, and barthelemy, to prevent any attempt at flight, removed all the nautical instruments and all the men who had any knowledge of navigation to the commodore. nevertheless the fortuna vanished one night when they were still four hundred miles from the african coast. as barthelemy predicted the ship ran on a sandbank in the first storm which overtook her, and her crew all perished. but the leader did not give up his plan; though his strength was diminished, his courage was unchanged. one morning at dawn he saw a mountain peak on the horizon--it was cape corso. "we have reached our destination," said barthelemy to the exulting pirates, and began to cruise up and down before the harbor. * * * * * at that time the french government had a monopoly of the india-rubber trade and, as the most venomous antidote of monopoly is smuggling, the coasts of cayenne were constantly watched by french men-of-war. two of them instantly noticed the suspicious craft and, believing it to be a smuggler, gave chase. barthelemy lured them too far from the shore for the battle to be seen, then, after a short conflict, conquered both, sank one and, keeping the other, manned it with part of his crew under the command of skyrme, and called it the fox-hound. from the french prisoners he learned that the two most formidable english war-ships, the weymouth and hirondelle had left the coast and would not return for several months, so they sailed boldly into the harbor. the onslow, the finest vessel of the anglo-african company was lying at anchor in the port. her captain and officers were on shore, where the governor was giving a ball in their honor. from the windows of his residence they could see the pirates assail their ship and, ere they could hasten back to it, the crew had surrendered. the captain of the onslow, fennimore gee, rowed alone to the pirate ship and, pistol in hand, demanded that barthelemy should restore his ship and fight with him like an honest man, instead of attacking by stealth. the novel proposition of returning a captured ship to its owner and then fighting for its possession so pleased barthelemy that he declared his willingness to accept it. his own men also accepted the challenge, but the onslow's crew refused to fight against barthelemy, and begged him to take them into his band. captain gee despairingly fired his pistols among the rascally throng, and appealed to barthelemy, if he had a drop of honorable blood in his body, not to stain his fame as a buccaneer by receiving into his band the worthless fellows who, in the hour of peril, had deserted their captain. "i'll tell you, my worthy captain," said robert gayly to his opponent, tossing in the little boat on the waves below. "you are so brave a man that i could not reconcile my conscience to leaving you without a ship. come, i'll give you, in exchange for the onslow, my own vessel, the commodore here. i can vouch for its being a good sailer and valuable, though i got it very cheap. but from sheer philanthropy, i can't give up your crew, you would decimate it; the soldiers, however, you shall have, i don't care what becomes of the land rats." so before the eyes of the whole harbor, he exchanged ships with the english captain, and after having the old name onslow effaced and royal fortune painted over it in large gilt letters, he set sail with both his vessels for calabar. by way of pastime, part of the pirates, under skyrme's command, made short expeditions on the fox-hound to search for any ships that might be crossing their path. one day the fox-hound returned to the royal fortune, with all sail set, and reported having noticed on the horizon two suspicious vessels, which instantly gave chase; they were probably men-of-war, and the fox-hound had escaped only by crowding on all sail, but they were still pursuing. "let them come," said barthelemy, sweeping the sea with his glass, and soon discovered on the horizon the two ships which, at that distance, resembled sea-gulls. "those are not men-of-war," cried barthelemy, "they look more like pirates, and are coming toward us with every inch of canvas spread. they will fare badly." "ha! ha!" laughed skyrme, "that's all we lack. we have conquered plenty of merchantmen and war-ships, now we must capture pirates to have the whole variety." the entire crew watched the approaching ships with eager curiosity, saying to one another, "they think they are attacking a government ship, how amazed they will be when they reach us!" moody was shading his eyes first with one hand and then the other, straining them till they fairly started from their sockets. suddenly he clapped his hands, threw up his hat, and throwing himself down on the deck laughed till he was red in the face. "moody! have you gone crazy?" asked barthelemy. "the man never laughed before in his whole life. what ails you, moody?" "don't you know those ships?" he asked, half raising himself, then flung himself back in another fit of laughter so uncontrollable that the men were obliged to seize and hold him before he grew quiet. "speak, old lunatic, what ails you?" "when i tell you, you'll all jump out of your skins. don't you see those two ships? don't you recognize them? they are the sea devil, and the dutch ship which ran away from us, left us starving on the sea, and now are coming straight into the jaws of our guns! isn't it enough to drive a man mad with joy?" the awful shout of delight from the pirates drowned moody's laughter; with bloodthirsty eagerness they rushed for their weapons, climbed on the yards to get a better view of the approaching vessels, and shook their fists at them. they had found the traitors who had left their comrades to meet the most terrible death by starvation, and who now voluntarily came to encounter their revenge. this thought moved even barthelemy so much that a burning flush crimsoned his pale face. his mute lips refused to give utterance to his feverish joy, but his countenance belied them. "calm yourselves!" he said to his men, "we'll let them come nearer; get behind the bulwarks, they must be an easy prey, and their hearts shall stop beating when they suddenly see our faces." the buccaneers quietly drew back; their foes came toward them with every sail spread. already they could see distinctly on the prow the hideous figure of the sea devil, and as the pirates recognized one man after another they whispered, gnashing their teeth: "there is so and so!" "keep your weapons ready," barthelemy commanded in a low tone. "we need no knives, we'll tear them to pieces with our nails," said asphlant. on arriving within gunshot range, the black flag suddenly fluttered from every masthead of the sea devil, and a bullet, hissing between the royal fortune's sails was the challenge to speak. the deepest silence reigned on barthelemy's ship. the sea devil sailed close up to it, the dutch consort remaining a little behind. "oho! where is your captain?" shouted some one on the sea devil. "that's kennedy's voice!" whispered barthelemy giving the signal to raise the black flag. at the moment when, to the horror of the men on the sea devil, the black flag floated from the royal fortune's mast, barthelemy sprang on the bulwark, shouting in stentorian tones: "i am here, you worthless traitors! do you still know robert barthelemy?" the assailants were instantly as silent as if death had stricken them; kennedy, in his terror, leaped into a boat and, pushing off from the ship tried to reach the dutch vessel, the others flung their weapons away like madmen and, in the insanity of terror, leaped into the waves. they were soon released from their trouble; two volleys poured at the same moment from the guns of the royal fortune and the fox hound shattered the sea devil which, amid frightful shrieks of despair, sank with every man on board. meanwhile kennedy and a few others had succeeded in reaching the dutch ship, which instantly spread every sail in a desperate effort to reach the land. barthelemy pursued with both his ships. the fugitive flung overboard all her ballast and finally even her guns, by which sacrifice she succeeded in reaching the shore before the other ships could interpose. a throng of calabrian negroes stood on the land watching the fight. kennedy hastily ordered his men into the boats and escaped to the shore. "not even that will save you," said barthelemy, ordering the largest boat to be lowered. he had eight guns placed in it, entered himself with forty of his men, and commanded them to row to the beach. kennedy saw that barthelemy intended to land and began to tell the negroes, with loud cries, that he was a monster who had come to conquer their land and burn their dwellings. they must on no account permit him to come ashore. the shouts of the negroes showed that the pirates had succeeded in exciting these savages against their former comrades, and the negroes soon began to greet the boat with a shower of arrows and stones. "so much the better," murmured barthelemy. "two at one blow: traitors and negroes. to-day vengeance will reap a harvest, this is the festival of death. fire among them." the guns of the boat roared, scattering death among the blacks, in whose ranks the bombs tore wide openings, and, amid this thunder, forty men landed in the face of ten thousand negroes. kennedy and his companions urged the calabrians to a desperate defence, and they rushed with bloodthirsty fury at the buccaneers, hurling a cloud of arrows and lances. only two or three fell wounded by these missiles, the others moved forward in close ranks, aiming at the most prominent leaders in the negro ranks. when the latter saw their strongest warriors, who in battle were equal to a hundred men, fall by invisible weapons sent from a distance before they could reach their assailants with their battle axes, they began to retreat in confusion, left their huts and, dragging kennedy and his men with them, climbed a steep hill, up which they could not be followed, and from which no efforts availed to draw them. barthelemy, with wild delight, walked over the battle-ground, counting the corpses. they had all been victims of his revenge for his murdered love. "this was blessed work," he murmured. "hell is blacker by eight hundred negroes." "captain," said scudamore, rousing him from his reverie, "our bitterest enemies have escaped under our eyes. there is but one way to reach and destroy them in the place where they have sought refuge." "what is it?" "it would be idle for me to show you, you would not use it, but give me authority to do as i please for half an hour and i promise to bring you the heads of all these traitors without sacrificing one of our men." "i should like to see that." "you will hear it. you need not witness it; it is a stratagem of war which you could not learn from me. go back to the ship and wait for my return." this bold language surprised barthelemy. a sort of intoxication arising from the bloodshed still held him in thrall, and he allowed himself to be persuaded to return to the royal fortune and let the doctor work his will. as soon as the captain was out of sight, scudamore ordered the pirates to go to the deserted cabins and murder the families of the fugitives. shouting exultingly, the fierce crew, thirsting for revenge, obeyed; from the lofty cliff the blacks saw their wives killed, their children slaughtered, and when all were slain, their homes set on fire and destroyed amid clouds of smoke that rose to their eyrie. then scudamore stepped forward and shouted: "now, you black scoundrels, you have seen how we served your families. the same fate awaits you, down to the last man, if you don't submit and surrender our friends, whom you dragged away with you." kennedy saw through the stratagem and protested violently. "don't believe a word he says, the whole thing is a fiendish plot, we are no friends of his, we don't know one another." "kennedy, don't be a coward," said scudamore reproachfully, "why should you deny that you agreed to lead these people astray so that they would run into the mouths of our guns? be bold, and with the help of your stout comrades throw them down on our knives; i, a pirate, am worth a hundred negroes; don't disown me." the negroes, with threatening gestures began to surround kennedy and his men, who in great terror, tried to defend themselves. "brave friends, don't believe the words of that devil, we never saw him; those men are our worst enemies." "oh, kennedy, you disgrace us, how can you disown us when you, too, sail under the black flag? if we had never seen each other how should i know that you have, on your left shoulder, the mark of a gallows, branded there when you were in the pillory?" the negroes instantly seized kennedy, stripped his coat from his shoulders and, as soon as they had convinced themselves that scudamore's words were true, they flung him down and one, raising his copper axe, set his foot upon his victim's neck. "don't hurt a hair of his head!" shouted scudamore, feigning fury. the next instant the axe fell, and kennedy's head was hurled over the cliff. the others followed. when the half hour expired, scudamore returned to barthelemy and, pointing to the boat, said: "there are the heads of the traitors!" chapter iii revenge the time of the monsoons had come. news of shipwrecks arrived daily. the elements of the air and sea were ceaselessly contending in a strife before which the petty quarrels of men were ended. nothing was heard at present of barthelemy. the english and dutch agencies were perfectly aware that his ships were anchored in the harbor of cape corso. who would venture to tempt providence by putting to sea in such weather? the heart of the boldest pirate trembles when he sees sky and water transformed into darkness, illumined only by flashes of lightning. it would be a devil and not a man who, amid this illumination, would risk a battle in the midst of peals of thunder and the howling of the gale. barthelemy was resting on the coast; his men were drinking, carousing and giving banquets. what else could they do in such terrible weather when, each morning, the sea flung fresh wrecks upon the strand? meanwhile the governments were quietly gathering their ships against the bold pirates who dared, single-handed, to assail a whole quarter of the globe; in the harbor of mydaw alone there were eleven ships waiting only for the king solomon with its eighty guns, and the swallow with its hundred and ten, to set sail in pursuit of robert barthelemy as soon as the monsoons were over. * * * * * the tempest was raging, the sea tossed wildly, the black clouds hung so low that it seemed as if they nearly touched the waves, and the surges tossed their white foam upward toward the clouds. the horizon was a dark violet blue, through which darted flashes of lightning. a ship was visible far away tossing on the billows, its closely furled sails and erect masts looking like black crosses. it was the king solomon, a proud warship, with three tiers of decks supplied with windows, which resembled a three-story house with wings; but windows and portholes were now tightly closed. the rain was pouring, black and white stormy petrels fluttered around the vessel, and ever and anon the waves tossed aloft one of the sharks swimming around the ship, which looked down greedily a moment, with its cold, fixed eyes, at the trembling sailors. every man had his hands full; in the midst stood captain trahern; the boldest of the crew were in the rigging, trying to secure the sails; others were attempting to rig a jury mast in place of one which had been carried away. another group toiled at the pumps, and four men were at the helm, straining every muscle whenever a wave stronger than usual dashed against the bow of the ship. in the intervals of rest the sailors at the helm talked with one another. "what a gale! it's impossible for us ever to reach port again." "we came near sticking fast in the clouds just now, the waves flung us up so high." "lord help us! the thunderbolts are falling like ripe pears, one of us will be hit presently." "hush, don't you see the st. elmo's fire yonder at the mast-head?" asked philip, the helmsman. "st. george preserve us!" whispered the others in horror. "that means evil. the st. elmo's fire usually appears only on ships devoted to destruction. see how it dances!" "mind your helm!" shouted the captain, but it was too late; while the men were staring at the electrical phenomena hovering around the mast-head, a huge wave approached the ship, a wave which resembled a transparent mountain-chain in motion. every effort to put the ship about proved futile, the vast surge, higher than the highest mast-head, rolled nearer, its top crested with foam. the men clung to the rigging and bulwarks. suddenly the king solomon rose more rapidly, tossed upward on the towering wave, and the next moment lay on her side with her masts in the water and wave after wave sweeping over her decks. in a few minutes the ship righted again, the water rolling from her as it drips from the plumage of a swan, and the crew, drenched to the skin, returned to their tasks. "see! the st. elmo's fire is still shining at the mast-head!" cried philip, "if it were not kindled by the devil, that flood of water would have put it out." "those stormy petrels suspect something wrong, too, they follow us everywhere." "jack says he saw the spectre ship last night." "is that true, jack?" "why should i say so, if i hadn't seen it? you were all asleep, i stood alone at the helm. suddenly, from the distance, the form of a ship moved toward us. it seemed scarcely to touch the water, and was sailing against the wind. shadows that looked like men were moving about her deck as if pulling on the ropes, and a misty shape, like the captain, glided to and fro. terrified, i hailed the apparition, and suddenly the whole vision vanished, but i heard distinctly, above the whistling of the wind and the plashing of the waves, the flapping of the ropes against the mast of the spectre ship." "that means mischief." the sailors gazed timidly at the cloud-veiled horizon, as they usually do when ghost stories are told in their presence. "look, look yonder!" said philip, suddenly pointing into the gray mist, "i swear by st. george, i see the spectre ship!" his messmates, panting for breath, followed the direction of his finger. the lightning flashed and they all made the sign of the cross. "there it is." "what do you see there?" called the captain, noticing the surprise of his men. "the spectre ship, sir," one of them answered at last, trembling. trahern began to scan the vessel through his spy-glass. "that's no spectre ship," he said after a short pause. "what else could she be, sir? would any mortal man carry sail in such a tempest? see how fast she approaches us! she does not heed the shock of the waves, but flies like a bird." "that is no spectre ship," the captain repeated, "they are pirates." "living devils," muttered philip. "it must be barthelemy," said trahern. "what a pity that we cannot approach him, we would capture him at once. but who could fight in such a storm?" the pirate swiftly approached the king solomon. from time to time the waves concealed it, but the next instant it rose on their crests, still advancing. "those crazy fellows actually seem to be trying to meet us," said trahern. "those are not men," replied philip. "if men tried to cut through the waves in that fashion their ship would be battered to pieces." the vessel really seemed to be pursuing the king solomon; approaching it on one tack, it made every effort to come alongside, but was constantly baffled by the force of the waves which, like a stronger power, constantly tossed the two ships apart, and if they were within gunshot of each other at one moment, separated them the next by half a mile. "honest men pray to god at such times," cried philip. "these do not even fear the gale. ha! how that lightning blazed between the ships. the very fires of heaven forbid approach." the pirate suddenly furled her sails, and the next instant the crew of the king solomon saw the large boat lowered. twenty pirates sprang in and rowed toward the king solomon. the man-of-war had two hundred men and eighty guns; trahern could not imagine what the object of these few people could be. the waves tossed the boat to and fro but, spite of wind and water, the oarstrokes of the twenty men gradually brought it nearer. then a gigantic figure stood erect, spite of the terrible tossing of the waves, and, raising a speaking trumpet to his lips, shouted in deep, ringing tones, "captain trahern, robert barthelemy hereby summons you to surrender at discretion the king solomon and her crew." the speaker was skyrme. trahern, indignant at the audacity of the pirates, which bordered on insolence, ordered his men to fire on them. his gunners replied that the cannon were wet. "that is a lie," shouted trahern, "they are under cover. take your weapons and crush these bold dogs." "what?" shrieked philip, "are these mortal men whom we can fight and kill? did any one ever see a devil die? i'll fight with no fiends." he flung down his arms as he spoke. "nor i, nor i!" shouted the rest of the crew, firing their weapons in the air and then throwing them down. trahern found himself abandoned. "and you will disgrace yourselves by surrendering to a force ten times smaller! men! come to your senses, these are no ghosts." but no power on earth could have induced them to attack the corsairs, who were already fastening their grappling irons to the ship. "then i will defend the vessel alone," said the captain despairingly and, seizing a carbine, he discharged it among the buccaneers. no one was hit, for his own men had struck up the weapon and would not let him aim at the assailants the second time. a moment later the pirates were masters of the king solomon. the crew dared not resist them; their reputation for being able to accomplish whatever they desired had spread so far that the trembling seamen fairly lost their senses when they found themselves in the presence of people whom they regarded as beings from another world, and, even when they outstripped them tenfold in numbers, did not venture to offer any resistance. if it were not for the existence of documents which prove it, no one would believe that twenty pirates, in a boat, amid the raging of a furious tempest, captured a man-of-war which had eighty guns, two hundred armed men, and a brave commander. * * * * * the eleven ships in the harbor of mydaw were only awaiting the cessation of the monsoons and the arrival of the king solomon to sail against barthelemy. the monsoons were still raging with the utmost fury when robert barthelemy entered the port, bringing the king solomon in tow. black flags fluttered from every mast of the royal fortune and between her sails was stretched a square banner, on which was a hideous picture, a skeleton transfixed by a lance, holding an hour-glass in one hand, with its legs crossed and a bleeding heart at its feet. the fox-hound's standard, on the contrary, bore a man in a scarlet coat of mail, holding in his hand a flaming sword on whose point was a skull. the flag of st. george floated at her mast-head. amid the howling of the gale echoed the diabolical beating of drums and blare of trumpets of the captured band of the king solomon, to whose accompaniment the pirates roared an ear-splitting song. so they sailed into the harbor. the eleven ships all surrendered at the first shot. barthelemy assembled all the captains on the royal fortune and gave them a magnificent banquet, to which, after some little hesitation, they sat down, with the exception of one man, fletcher, who positively declared that he would not sit at the pirates' table to eat and carouse with them. barthelemy permitted him to do as he pleased, and he turned his back upon them. toward the end of the entertainment, when the wine began to excite them, barthelemy became kindly disposed, and told the captains that they could redeem their ships by paying a ransom of eight pounds of gold dust. they instantly consented, with the exception of fletcher who again refused, saying that he would accept no favors from pirates, and would not purchase his ship at the cost of his honor; they might do with him whatever they chose. he spoke like a true englishman. barthelemy instantly gave orders to fire fletcher's ship and burn her with her whole cargo. asphlant undertook to execute the command, but soon returned to report that the ship's cargo consisted of eighty negro slaves and, as he did not know whether one could kindle negroes, he had come to ask what to do with them. barthelemy's eyes flashed with a fiendish delight. "negroes?" he asked, grinding his teeth, "throw them into the sea, they must learn to swim." asphlant did not utter a syllable in reply, but went to execute the order. the revellers continued their carouse. from time to time their conversation was interrupted by a blood-curdling death shriek, which silenced the bacchanalian songs for a moment and stopped the wine-cup on its way to their lips, but the next instant the talk was resumed. the orgy was closed by an illumination furnished by the flames consuming fletcher's ship, which lighted the whole harbor. the negroes were chained together in couples, and the harbor swarmed with sharks. whenever a pair was thrown into the sea the waves around were reddened; at each death shriek barthelemy drained a glass of wine, muttering: "that is for the cottage in hispaniola." the negroes were all murdered, but barthelemy was not yet drunk. the captains left him at a late hour, hoping that they might meet again. barthelemy gave each a receipt for the ransom money which, preserved among other documents in the government archives, ran as follows: we, the knights of fortune, hereby inform all whom it may concern, that we have received from captain ---- of the ship ---- eight pounds of gold dust as ransom money, for which we released the said ship. given under our hand and seal in the harbor of mydaw, on the th of january, . robert barthelemy (henry glasby). * * * * * the storm was subsiding. a calm night followed. the moon rose, shedding a magical lustre upon the sea. barthelemy stood on the deck of his ship with folded arms, gazing at the stars. how much wine and blood he had poured to intoxicate himself, but all in vain. neither wine nor blood gave him peace and forgetfulness. ah, he could win no forgetfulness, that sweet unconsciousness of the soul, but instead came memory, the anguish of recalling the past. the stars exert a magical power over the soul; whoever gazes at them long has it drawn whither it does not desire, whither it fears to go. what did barthelemy behold in those stars? he saw the years of his youth, painted in sweet, glimmering pictures, as unlike those of the present as if either the one or the other must be a dream. there were the three girlish figures sporting around him, weaving garlands for his head, fastening them on with kisses, amid merry laughter. how softly the palms were whispering! they sat together in the little house, the grandmother, in her armchair, telling marvelous, terrible tales of famous warriors; the young girls casting timid glances at the windows, where the darkness of the gathering night appeared, and the fire on the hearth died slowly, while william's heart began to swell with eager desire to battle with these unknown perils, and win for himself a name like those of the heroes glorified by tradition. how softly the palms were whispering! the moon shone brilliantly. the moonlight nights of the south are brighter than the days of the north. his julietta, clinging to him, murmured tenderly: "how i love you; we will live and die together." william's head sank on his breast, and he fancied he clasped in his arms the whole kingdom of heaven. how softly the palms were whispering! the young girl sat on the green shore; her white kerchief fluttered in the wind as she waited every evening for the ship on which her lover had sailed, waited with yearning and prayers. how her heart leaped when, on the distant horizon, she fancied she recognized the slender masts that appeared before her, and measured in her imagination, a hundred times over, the space which yawned between them. her bosom heaved, her soul burned with joy and, as it came nearer and nearer, she threw kisses-- * * * * * "what ship is that?" shouted moody's harsh, strident tones close beside barthelemy. roused from his waking dream, he cast a half startled, half angry glance at the speaker. "what ship do you mean?" "the one at which you have been looking steadily for half an hour, the sail appearing yonder on the horizon." barthelemy now, for the first time, noticed a vessel whose outlines had blended with the ship seen in his dream, and which seemed to be swiftly approaching. "oho! off with the fox-hound!" he cried. "forward, my lads!" "not to-night," shouted one of the crew from the other ship, "the royal fortune ought to go. you have drunk enough, we are sober; and even my grandfather's spook wouldn't fight sober." "what talk is this?" "the talk that came to us to-night from the rum and sugar, when even the fish got punch from the royal fortune." "you rascals, do i manufacture sugar and brandy that you ask me for it? when the supply is exhausted, get more. wherever a portuguese galleon appears on the horizon, you can find all the sugar you want. follow her and drink your fill." meanwhile the vessel had come so near that they could count all her sails in the bright moonbeams; then she tacked and began to recede. "follow her!" shouted barthelemy; "see, she has discovered us and wants to escape. skyrme, quick, don't let her elude us. up, up, to the chase my lads!" the fox-hound instantly unfurled every sail; the crew of the larger ship, greedy for prey, rushed on her deck and, aided by a favorable wind, the pursuit of the unknown ship began, which, overhauled more and more by the fox-hound, soon disappeared with it below the horizon. * * * * * the fugitive was the swallow, the formidable english man-of-war, commanded by two of the bravest captains, david oyle and--rolls. when barthelemy had captured all the ships that had been sent against him, the swallow sailed out alone to seek and conquer him. on reaching the harbor, they saw in the distance the pirate ships, which were easily recognized, and wanted to attack them at once, but were obliged first to sail around a large shoal known as the "french sand-bank," and the pirates, mistaking this circuit for flight, rushed in pursuit. the swallow merely sailed far enough out to sea to lure the fox-hound to a point where the cannonading could not be heard on land, and then allowed herself to be overtaken. suddenly the pirates, with loud shouts, ran up the black flag and dashed with the speed of an arrow toward the swallow. skyrme stood in the bow, holding his grappling iron ready. "barthelemy and death!" roared the whole band. at the same moment the cannon of the british ship, with a terrible thunder, sent a devastating volley upon the deck of the fox-hound, veiling her in a cloud of smoke. as soon as it lifted, the pirates were seen standing as if dazed by the thunderbolt which had fallen upon them. the deck was strewn with mangled corpses, the black flag was shot from the mast. skyrme alone had retained his presence of mind. "forward, you knaves!" he roared furiously, "what are you staring at? up with the flag again, and throw your grappling irons." the pirates quickly hauled up the flag, and skyrme's stentorian voice shouted: "forward!" a second volley thundered down upon them from the british cannon. the flag fell a second time, and with it skyrme, whose legs were torn off by a cannon ball. the pirates lost their self-control, and rushing to the man at the helm, forced him to turn and spread their sails for flight. "do not yield," roared skyrme, clinging to the mast. "shame and disgrace upon you! stick to the ship, and rush upon her decks. die the death of heroes!" the pirates, with a last outburst of daring, began to urge the fox-hound toward the swallow, and had almost succeeded in reaching it with their grappling irons, when a third volley echoed on the air. the main-mast was shattered and fell with all the rigging, into the sea. they were lost. they could fight no longer. "throw the flag into the water that it may not fall into the hands of the enemy!" gasped skyrme, only half of whose gigantic body remained. "go to the powder room and fire among the kegs!" five pirates, with loaded pistols, instantly leaped below, and at the end of a minute, with a roar like thunder, a cloud of smoke rose into the air; otherwise there was no harm done. there was not powder enough to shatter the ship. the five pirates lay in the hold, burnt and swearing, as black as if they had been transformed into devils in advance. the explosion threw the helmsman flat on the deck and, as if he had no other care on his mind, he screamed for his hat, which had gone overboard. the englishmen instantly took possession of the wreck, whose deck was strewn with the dead and wounded. the latter were raised and cared for. "don't touch me!" shrieked skyrme in a frenzy of rage, and seizing a sabre in each hand he began a desperate struggle. the bravest soldiers could scarcely succeed in disarming the mangled giant, who, when his huge hands were chained in order to bind up his wounds, tore off the bandages with his fetters and, by a last tremendous exertion of strength, burst them and--died. meanwhile, in order not to waste time, barthelemy captured a ship coming from india. her captain, jonathan hill, was a jovial fellow who, accepting the pirate's invitation, sat down to breakfast with him, became very friendly after his first glass of wine, and when the second was emptied, asked the company to drink for a wager, in which contest he vowed to land them all under the table. during this noble rivalry every man was called upon for his favorite song. hill had two or three. "now let us have _your_ favorite, barthelemy!" he said at last, turning to the pirate chief. "i cannot sing," replied barthelemy. "oho! but you ought at least to learn the one which is being sung everywhere about you; for instance this: "far, far away the white dove flies, in fierce pursuit the black hawk hies; the dove is my lover so dear, the hawk is the pirate i fear." barthelemy shuddered. "where did you hear that song?" "ha! ha! my friend, from a wonderfully beautiful girl, of whom your soul must not even dream; it's a pity that she was in love with someone else." "speak! when? where?" "well, it was a romantic adventure. i had just anchored off the coast of hispaniola when the negroes in san domingo rose against their masters. i had gone on shore with twenty men to get some fresh water, when i heard a shriek in the distance. 'let's go there!' i said to my companions, 'we'll help if there is need'; and seizing our guns we rushed toward the sound. three young girls came from behind the hill, pursued by three hundred negroes. the black rascals, shouting and yelling, were fast gaining upon them. the girls could not run fast enough, for they were dragging a large armchair in which sat an old woman. 'fire!' i shouted, and we sent a volley among the black devils. they scattered, and before they could gather again, we had seized the poor hunted women and rushed to our boats with them. the beautiful girl was as light as a bird, i can tell you. i could have carried her in my arms to the ends of the earth." "go on," whispered barthelemy in an almost unintelligible tone. "aha, you are interested in hearing of a beautiful girl? and she thought of you, too, but how? she wrote the song about you, which is not particularly flattering. it seems she had a lover, who had gone on a long voyage and, as she was constantly afraid you would do the poor fellow some mischief, she added whenever she prayed for him the entreaty that god would sink robert barthelemy in the depths of the sea. poor girl, how she loved that man! she asked every sailor we met if he had seen the ship on which william went. my heart ached for her. i left her in dublin. i don't know whether she has found her lover." barthelemy's face had gradually blanched to a corpse-like pallor, his eyes were fixed on vacancy and a strange smile rested on his ghastly face. "see how the captain is smiling, he has gone crazy!" whispered the pirates, starting up in alarm. "what has happened to you?" exclaimed hill, striking barthelemy on the shoulder. the latter started at the touch, and a look of profound, unutterable sadness drove the smile from his face. rising from the table, he grasped hill by the hand, drew him aside, slipped his arm into his, and walking forward to the bow of the ship, said in a stifled voice: "captain, this is the last day of my life! i feel, i know it. you must not ask why. that is my own affair. the pirate has his superstitions as well as the rest of the world. the sailor knows that he is doomed when he meets the spectre of the sea. my soul has such a spectre, and i encountered it to-day. i know not how or where, but i shall fall. in the hold of the captured king solomon there are ten thousand pounds sterling in gold dust; if i fall, take it--as compensation for your stolen property." hill gazed at him from head to foot, and then returned to the others. "your captain is so drunk that he doesn't know what he is talking about." an hour later most of the pirates lay intoxicated under the tables, only two or three remaining erect, disputing the wager with jonathan hill, when the man at the helm shouted: "sail in sight!" the cry sobered some of the pirates and, staggering forward, they recognized in the approaching vessel the ship seen the night before. a strange dread took possession of them all. they hastily shook their drunken messmates from their dreams, pointed to the ship, and hurried to barthelemy with the tidings. the latter noticed the terror in their faces, and said coldly: "that is certainly the portuguese sugar maker which fled from the fox-hound yesterday and, in trying to escape into some harbor, has now run between two fires." "that's no portuguese trader, sir," said one of the pirates in a trembling voice. "before i deserted to you, i served on that ship and know her well. it is the swallow." "well?" said barthelemy, smiling scornfully, "and suppose she is, would my men be too cowardly to meet her?" "she has one hundred and ten guns and is one of the best sailers in the navy." "that makes no difference. who are her captains?" "one is named david oyle--the other rolls." "rolls!" repeated barthelemy starting. "so my presentiment was true. up, my men! beat the drums, show the flags, spread every inch of canvas, prepare for the battle! fear nothing, the god of war is on our side." the buccaneers seized their weapons, the gunners went to their stations, and barthelemy withdrew for a few moments to his cabin. he soon reappeared, wearing on his head a broad-brimmed hat, with a long scarlet plume fastened with a ruby buckle; his costume, studded with gems, was girdled with a persian shawl; around his neck hung a broad gold chain, sustaining a glittering diamond cross, and in his belt were thrust pistols whose handles were set with pearls. so he came forth, haughty in bearing and magnificently clad, like a bridegroom going to his marriage banquet. the eyes of all the pirates were fixed upon him. every one had the firmest belief that nothing was impossible for barthelemy. the latter beckoned to moody and whispered in his ear: "old comrade, i need not tell you that this will be the hour of greatest peril which we have ever experienced. we must hold by each other. i have decided to approach the enemy with all sail set, receiving and returning his fire. if he dismasts us, we will try to escape to land; if that fails, we will grapple the enemy and blow both ships into the air." "very well," muttered the old pirate, clenching his pipe between his teeth. "one thing more, moody. if i should fall, throw my body into the sea. i want to rest on the bottom of the ocean." the pirate bent his head and growled: "very well." then each man went to his post. barthelemy drew his sword and, raising his head proudly, cried: "raise the anchors." the order was obeyed, the wind filled the sails, and the two ships, with their flags fluttering in the breeze, rapidly approached each other. on arriving within a certain distance, both turned suddenly. the swallow fired first, sixty guns thundering at the same instant. the royal fortune reserving her fire, did not lose a single sail, and only three of her men fell. "up and at them!" shouted barthelemy, "the advantage is ours"; and as he spoke his forty guns returned the volley of the swallow, which rocked heavily under the shock. just at that moment the report of a pistol echoed from the swallow's deck and barthelemy sank lifeless on a cannon. the bullet had pierced his heart. the man at the helm, stephenson, saw him fall and, not perceiving the wound, shouted: "don't lie down, captain, but look the danger boldly in the face and fight as beseems a man." even as he spoke a jet of blood gushed from barthelemy's breast. stephenson, seeing it, leaped from his post in despair, leaving his place at the helm, and throwing himself on barthelemy's body shouted, sobbing aloud: "he is dead!" the cry fairly paralyzed the pirates just at the critical moment; nameless terror filled their hearts, and all rushed to their captain's corpse. moody thrust them aside right and left till he reached the body, and hastily seizing it, he threw it over the bulwark into the sea. with barthelemy, the moving spirit of the pirates fled. throwing down their weapons, they surrendered. no man knew exactly what he was doing; they sank like a headless body. scudamore was the only one who thought of anything. he recognized rolls on the other ship and, seizing a lighted slow-match, rushed to the powder magazine, but met henry glasby standing with a drawn sword at the door. "what are you doing here?" he shrieked. "keeping you back," replied glasby, wrenching the match from his hand and stamping out the light. "oho! asphlant, moody, here!" shouted scudamore. "here is a traitor. help me break into the powder magazine." an uproar followed. some of the pirates wanted to blow up the ship, others opposed it, and while the two parties were contending glasby poured water into the kegs, so that the powder was useless. an hour after the whole crew were prisoners. chapter iv retribution the foaming wine is drained from the cup, nothing remains but the dregs, which we will also empty. during the battle captain hill released himself and his ship and, taking possession of the pirates' money, sailed away. the buccaneers, prisoners on board their own ship, were taken to cape corso, but not even this disaster could subdue them. the injured men would not allow their wounds to be bandaged, and when they were put in irons, beat their aching, bleeding wounds with their chains, and died uttering imprecations, reconciled neither to god nor man. the others sang wild buccaneer songs and irritated their guards with sneering jests. weighing the ration of bread in his hand one of them said, laughing: "you want us to dry up to save hemp; we shall get so thin on this fare that you can hang us by a thread of yarn." they were chained together in couples. one began to sing and pray; his companion gave him a violent thrust in the side. "what do you expect to gain by that?" he asked. "the kingdom of heaven," replied the other humbly. "you? the kingdom of heaven? you passed that port long ago with the rest of us. we're sailing for hell. the captain is already waiting for us, and we shall enter according to our rank, and when we run into harbor there we'll salute him with a salvo of thirteen shots. hurrah for barthelemy and his luck." the poor, penitent sinner did not stop singing and praying, spite of the oaths of his companion, till the latter, in all seriousness, begged the captain of the ship to relieve them from this fellow, whose howling disturbed the good-humor of the others, and who had proved himself unworthy of such distinguished company; or at any rate, for the maintenance of order, to take away his prayer-book. the most dangerous members of the pirate band were kept prisoners on the swallow, and among them were moody and asphlant. the latter formed a plot to escape from their confinement some night, kill both the captains, and form a still more powerful buccaneer crew. one of them, however, deemed it advisable to save himself at the expense of the others and betrayed the plan. the prisoners had already managed to file through their chains. afterwards they were watched day and night. scudamore had been left on the royal fortune, where he was permitted liberty to move about to care for the wounded pirates, so far as they would permit. one night scudamore instigated them to free themselves with his aid, and die fighting rather than be executed. the conspiracy was discovered at the moment of the outbreak and, that it might not be repeated, on reaching the land a trial was held at once in order to make short work of the pirates. they were divided into two classes, one containing the officers, the other the men; the former had ordered everything, the latter had merely executed their commands. the first was jestingly called the upper house. the trial of the upper house ended badly. all were condemned to death; among them moody, asphlant, simpson and scudamore. only one was acquitted--henry glasby. his noble character was known by reputation; many owed their lives and property to his intercession; he had often attempted, at the risk of his life, to escape from the pirates, but was always captured. the court released him. at last he could join his promised bride. * * * * * the end of the notorious band of pirates was noised abroad throughout the entire world. three young girls went in turn to every church in dublin, offering grateful thanks to heaven for having heard their petitions and sunk the terrible corsair king in the sea. then, in a whisper, they added: "and protect our beloved william, restore him to us." robert barthelemy lay a hundred fathoms beneath the waves amid the coral and sea-shells. the end [transcriber's note: the original edition of this text was typeset with unindented paragraphs, making it sometimes unclear whether a sentence begins a new paragraph or not. the following typographical errors present in the original text have been corrected. in chapter i, "scudaamore's treachery" was changed to "scudamore's treachery", and "we do need a surgeon" was changed to "we do need a surgeon". in chapter ii, "what eyes?" was changed to "what eyes!", a missing period was added after "cried the young chief", a quotation mark was added after "we can approach the brigantine unsuspected", "there can be no discrimination, captain, we need one another" was changed to "there can be no discrimination, captain, we need one another", and "to all the details for the hundreth time" was changed to "to all the details for the hundredth time". in chapter iii, a missing quotation mark was added after "it is the swallow."] the kalevala the epic poem of finland into english by john martin crawford [ ] book ii contents rune xxv. wainamoinen's wedding-songs rune xxvi. origin of the serpent rune xxvii. the unwelcome guest rune xxviii. the mother's counsel rune xxix. the isle of refuge rune xxx. the frost-fiend rune xxxi. kullerwoinen, son of evil rune xxxii. kullervo as a shepherd rune xxxiii. kullervo and the cheat-cake rune xxxiv. kullervo finds his tribe-folk rune xxxv. kullervo's evil deeds rune xxxvi. kullerwoinen's victory and death rune xxxvii ilmarinen's bride of gold rune xxxviii. ilmarinen's fruitless wooing rune xxxix. wainamoinen's sailing rune xl. birth of the harp rune xli. wainamoinen's harp-songs rune xlii. capture of the sampo rune xliii. the sampo lost in the sea rune xliv. birth of the second harp rune xlv. birth of the nine diseases rune xlvi. otso the honey-eater rune xlvii. louhi steals sun, moon, and fire rune xlviii. capture of the fire-fish rune xlix. restoration of the sun and moon rune l. mariatta--wainamoinen's departure epilogue the kalevala. rune xxv. wainamoinen's wedding-songs. at the home of ilmarinen long had they been watching, waiting, for the coming of the blacksmith, with his bride from sariola. weary were the eyes of watchers, waiting from the father's portals, looking from the mother's windows; weary were the young knees standing at the gates of the magician; weary grew the feet of children, tramping to the walls and watching; worn and torn, the shoes of heroes, running on the shore to meet him. now at last upon a morning of a lovely day in winter, heard they from the woods the rumble of a snow-sledge swiftly bounding. lakko, hostess of wainola, she the lovely kalew-daughter, spake these words in great excitement: "'tis the sledge of the magician, comes at last the metal-worker from the dismal sariola, by his side the bride of beauty! welcome, welcome, to this hamlet, welcome to thy mother's hearth-stone, to the dwelling of thy father, by thine ancestors erected!" straightway came great ilmarinen to his cottage drove the blacksmith, to the fireside of his father, to his mother's ancient dwelling. hazel-birds were sweetly singing on the newly-bended collar; sweetly called the sacred cuckoos from the summit of the break-board; merry, jumped the graceful squirrel on the oaken shafts and cross-bar. lakko, kalew's fairest hostess, beauteous daughter of wainola, spake these words of hearty welcome: "for the new moon hopes the village, for the sun, the happy maidens, for the boat, the swelling water; i have not the moon expected, for the sun have not been waiting, i have waited for my hero, waited for the bride of beauty; watched at morning, watched at evening, did not know but some misfortune, some sad fate had overtaken bride and bridegroom on their journey; thought the maiden growing weary, weary of my son's attentions, since he faithfully had promised to return to kalevala, ere his foot-prints had departed from the snow-fields of his father. every morn i looked and listened, constantly i thought and wondered when his sledge would rumble homeward, when it would return triumphant to his home, renowned and ancient. had a blind and beggared straw-horse hobbled to these shores awaiting, with a sledge of but two pieces, well the steed would have been lauded, had it brought my son beloved, had it brought the bride of beauty. thus i waited long, impatient, looking out from morn till even, watching with my head extended, with my tresses streaming southward, with my eyelids widely opened, waiting for my son's returning to this modest home of heroes, to this narrow place of resting. finally am i rewarded, for the sledge has come triumphant, bringing home my son and hero, by his side the rainbow maiden, red her cheeks, her visage winsome, pride and joy of sariola. "wizard-bridegroom of wainola, take thy-courser to the stable, lead him to the well-filled manger, to the best of grain and clover; give to us thy friendly greetings, greetings send to all thy people. when thy greetings thou hast ended, then relate what has befallen to our hero in his absence. hast thou gone without adventure to the dark fields of pohyola, searching for the maid of beauty? didst thou scale the hostile ramparts, didst thou take the virgin's mansion, passing o'er her mother's threshold, visiting the halls of louhi? "but i know without the asking, see the answer to my question: comest from the north a victor, on thy journey well contented; thou hast brought the northland daughter, thou hast razed the hostile portals, thou hast stormed the forts of louhi, stormed the mighty walls opposing, on thy journey to pohyola, to the village of the father. in thy care the bride is sitting, in thine arms, the rainbow-maiden, at thy side, the pride of northland, mated to the highly-gifted. who has told the cruel story, who the worst of news has scattered, that thy suit was unsuccessful, that in vain thy steed had journeyed? not in vain has been thy wooing, not in vain thy steed has travelled to the dismal homes of lapland; he has journeyed heavy laden, shaken mane, and tail, and forelock, dripping foam from lips and nostrils, through the bringing of the maiden, with the burden of the husband. "come, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge, come, descend thou from the cross-bench, do not linger for assistance, do not tarry to be carried; if too young the one that lifts thee, if too proud the one in waiting, rise thou, graceful, like a young bird, hither glide along the pathway, on the tan-bark scarlet- colored, that the herds of kine have evened, that the gentle lambs have trodden, smoothened by the tails of horses. haste thou here with gentle footsteps, through the pathway smooth and tidy, on the tiles of even surface, on thy second father's court-yard, to thy second mother's dwelling, to thy brother's place of resting, to thy sister's silent chambers. place thy foot within these portals, step across this waiting threshold, enter thou these halls of joyance, underneath these painted rafters, underneath this roof of ages. during all the winter evenings, through the summer gone forever, sang the tiling made of ivory, wishing thou wouldst walk upon it; often sang the golden ceiling, hoping thou wouldst walk beneath it, and the windows often whistled, asking thee to sit beside them; even on this merry morning, even on the recent evening, sat the aged at their windows, on the sea-shore ran the children, near the walls the maidens waited, ran the boys upon the highway, there to watch the young bride's coming, coming with her hero-husband. "hail, ye courtiers of wainola, with the heroes of the fathers, hail to thee, wainola's hamlet, hail, ye halls with heroes peopled, hail, ye rooms with all your inmates, hail to thee, sweet golden moonlight, hail to thee, benignant ukko, hail companions of the bridegroom! never has there been in northland such a wedding-train of honor, never such a bride of beauty. "bridegroom, thou beloved hero, now untie the scarlet ribbons, and remove the silken muffler, let us see the honey-maiden, see the daughter of the rainbow. seven years hast thou been wooing, hast thou brought the maid affianced, wainamoinen's wedding-songs. hast thou sought a sweeter cuckoo, sought one fairer than the moonlight, sought a mermaid from the ocean? but i know without the asking, see the answer to my question: thou hast brought the sweet-voiced cuckoo, thou hast found the swan of beauty plucked the sweetest flower of northland, culled the fairest of the jewels, gathered pohya's sweetest berry!" sat a babe upon the matting, and the young child spake as follows: "brother, what is this thou bringest, aspen-log or trunk of willow, slender as the mountain-linden? bridegroom, well dost thou remember, thou hast hoped it all thy life-time, hoped to bring the maid of beauty, thou a thousand times hast said it, better far than any other, not one like the croaking raven, nor the magpie from the border, nor the scarecrow from the corn-fields, nor the vulture from the desert. what has this one done of credit, in the summer that has ended? where the gloves that she has knitted, where the mittens she has woven? thou hast brought her empty-handed, not a gift she brings thy father; in thy chests the nice are nesting, long-tails feeding on thy vestments, and thy bride, cannot repair them." lakko hostess of wainola, she the faithful kalew-daughter, hears the young child's speech in wonder, speaks these words of disapproval: silly prattler, cease thy talking, thou last spoken in dishonor; let all others be astonished, reap thy malice on thy kindred, must not harm the bride of beauty, rainbow-daughter of the northland. false indeed is this thy prattle, all thy words are full or evil, fallen from thy tongue of mischief from the lips of one unworthy. excellent the hero's young bride, best of all in sariola, like the strawberry in summer, like the daisy from the meadow, like the cuckoo from the forest, like the bluebird from the aspen, like the redbreast from the heather, like the martin from the linden; never couldst thou find in ehstland such a virgin as this daughter, such a graceful beauteous maiden, with such dignity of carriage, with such arms of pearly whiteness, with a neck so fair and lovely. neither is she empty-handed, she has brought us furs abundant, brought us many silken garments, richest weavings of pohyola. many beauteous things the maiden, with the spindle has accomplished, spun and woven with her fingers dresses of the finest texture she in winter has upfolded, bleached them in the days of spring-time, dried them at the hour of noon-day, for our couches finest linen, for our heads the softest pillows, for our comfort woollen blankets, for our necks the silken ribbons." to the bride speaks gracious lakko: "goodly wife, thou maid of beauty, highly wert thou praised as daughter, in thy father's distant country; here thou shalt be praised forever by the kindred of thy husband; thou shalt never suffer sorrow, never give thy heart to grieving; in the swamps thou wert not nurtured, wert not fed beside the brooklets; thou wert born 'neath stars auspicious, nurtured from the richest garners, thou wert taken to the brewing of the sweetest beer in northland. "beauteous bride from sariola, shouldst thou see me bringing hither casks of corn, or wheat, or barley; bringing rye in great abundance, they belong to this thy household; good the plowing of thy husband. good his sowing and his reaping. "bride of beauty from the northland, thou wilt learn this home to manage, learn to labor with thy kindred; good the home for thee to dwell in, good enough for bride and daughter. at thy hand will rest the milk-pail, and the churn awaits thine order; it is well here for the maiden, happy will the young bride labor, easy are the resting-benches; here the host is like thy father, like thy mother is the hostess, all the sons are like thy brothers, like thy sisters are the daughters. "shouldst thou ever have a longing for the whiting of the ocean, for thy, father's northland salmon, for thy brother's hazel-chickens, ask them only of thy husband, let thy hero-husband bring them. there is not in all of northland, not a creature of the forest, not a bird beneath the ether, not a fish within the waters, not the largest, nor the smallests that thy husband cannot capture. it is well here for the maiden, here the bride may live in freedom, need not turn the heavy millstone, need not move the iron pestle; here the wheat is ground by water, for the rye, the swifter current, while the billows wash the vessels and the surging waters rinse them. thou hast here a lovely village, finest spot in all of northland, in the lowlands sweet the verdure, in the uplands, fields of beauty, with the lake-shore near the hamlet, near thy home the running water, where the goslings swim and frolic, water-birds disport in numbers." thereupon the bride and bridegroom were refreshed with richest viands, given food and drink abundant, fed on choicest bits of reindeer, on the sweetest loaves of barley, on the best of wheaten biscuits, on the richest beer of northland. many things were on the table, many dainties of wainola, in the bowls of scarlet color, in the platters deftly painted, many cakes with honey sweetened, to each guest was butter given, many bits of trout and whiting, larger salmon carved in slices, with the knives of molten silver, rimmed with gold the silver handles, beer of barley ceaseless flowing, honey-drink that was not purchased, in the cellar flows profusely, beer for all, the tongues to quicken, mead and beer the minds to freshen. who is there to lead the singing, lead the songs of kalevala? wainamoinen, old and truthful, the eternal, wise enchanter, quick begins his incantations, straightway sings the songs that follow. "golden brethren, dearest kindred, ye, my loved ones, wise and worthy ye companions, highly-gifted, listen to my simple sayings: rarely stand the geese together, sisters do not mate each other, not together stand the brothers, nor the children of one mother, in the countries of the northland. "shall we now begin the singing, sing the songs of old tradition? singers can but sing their wisdom, and the cuckoo call the spring-time, and the goddess of the heavens only dyes the earth in beauty; so the goddesses of weaving can but weave from dawn till twilight, ever sing the youth of lapland in their straw-shoes full of gladness, when the coarse-meat of the roebuck, or of blue-moose they have eaten. wherefore should i not be singing, and the children not be chanting of the biscuits of wainola, of the bread of kalew-waters? even sing the lads of lapland in their straw-shoes filled with joyance, drinking but a cup of water, eating but the bitter tan-bark. wherefore should i not be singing, and the children not be chanting of the beer of kalevala, brewed from barley in perfection, dressed in quaint and homely costume, as they sit beside their hearth-stones. wherefore should i not be singing, and the children too be chanting underneath these painted rafters, in these halls renowned and ancient? this the place for men to linger, this the court-room for the maidens, near the foaming beer of barley, honey-brewed in great abundance, very near, the salmon-waters, near, the nets for trout and whiting, here where food is never wanting, where the beer is ever brewing. here wainola's sons assemble, here wainola's daughters gather, here they never eat in trouble, here they live without regretting, in the life-time of the landlord, while the hostess lives and prospers. "who shall first be sung and lauded? shall it be the bride or bridegroom? let us praise the bridegroom's father, let the hero-host be chanted, him whose home is in the forest, him who built upon the mountains, him who brought the trunks of lindens, with their tops and slender branches, brought them to the best of places, joined them skilfully together, for the mansion of the nation, for this famous hero-dwelling, walls procured upon the lowlands, rafters from the pine and fir-tree, from the woodlands beams of oak-wood, from the berry-plains the studding, bark was furnished by the aspen, and the mosses from the fenlands. trimly builded is this mansion, in a haven warmly sheltered; here a hundred men have labored, on the roof have stood a thousand, as this spacious house was building, as this roof was tightly jointed. here the ancient mansion-builder, when these rafters were erected, lost in storms his locks of sable, scattered by the winds of heaven. often has the hero-landlord on the rocks his gloves forgotten, left his hat upon the willows, lost his mittens in the marshes; oftentimes the mansion-builder, in the early hours of morning, ere his workmen had awakened, unperceived by all the village, has arisen from his slumber, left his cabin the snow-fields, combed his locks among the branches, bathed his eyes in dews of morning. "thus obtained the pleasant landlord friends to fill his spacious dwelling, fill his benches with magicians, fill his windows with enchanters, fill his halls with wizard-singers, fill his floors with ancient speakers, fill his ancient court with strangers, fill his hurdles with the needy; thus the kalew-host is lauded. "now i praise the genial hostess, who prepares the toothsome dinner, fills with plenty all her tables, bakes the honeyed loaves of barley, kneads the dough with magic fingers, with her arms of strength and beauty, bakes her bread in copper ovens, feeds her guests and bids them welcome, feeds them on the toothsome bacon, on the trout, and pike, and whiting, on the rarest fish in ocean, on the dainties of wainola. "often has the faithful hostess risen from her couch in silence, ere the crowing of the watcher, to prepare the wedding-banquet, make her tables look attractive. brew the honey-beer of wedlock. excellently has the housewife, has the hostess filled with wisdom, brewed the beer from hops and barley, from the corn of kalevala, from the wheat-malt honey-seasoned, stirred the beer with graceful fingers, at the oven in the penthouse, in the chamber swept and polished. neither did the prudent hostess, beautiful, and full of wisdom, let the barley sprout too freely, lest the beer should taste of black-earth, be too bitter in the brewing, often went she to the garners, went alone at hour of midnight, was not frightened by the black-wolf, did not fear the beasts of woodlands. "now the hostess i have lauded, let me praise the favored suitor, now the honored hero-bridegroom, best of all the village-masters. clothed in purple is the hero, raiment brought from distant nations, tightly fitting to his body; snugly sets his coat of ermine, to the floor it hangs in beauty, trailing from his neck and shoulders, little of his vest appearing, peeping through his outer raiment, woven by the moon's fair daughters, and his vestment silver-tinselled. dressed in neatness is the suitor, round his waist a belt of copper, hammered by the sun's sweet maidens, ere the early fires were lighted, ere the fire had been discovered. dressed in richness is the bridegroom, on his feet are silken stockings, silken ribbons on his ankles, gold and silver interwoven. dressed in beauty is the bridegroom, on his feet are shoes of deer-skin, like the swans upon the water, like the blue-duck on the sea-waves, like the thrush among the willows, like the water-birds of northland. well adorned the hero-suitor, with his locks of golden color, with his gold-beard finely braided, hero-hat upon his forehead, piercing through the forest branches, reaching to the clouds of heaven, bought with countless gold and silver, priceless is the suitor's head-gear. "now the bridegroom has been lauded, i will praise the young bride's playmate, day-companion in her childhood, in the maiden's magic mansion. whence was brought the merry maiden, from the village of tanikka? thence was never brought the playmate, playmate of the bride in childhood. has she come from distant nations, from the waters of the dwina, o'er the ocean far-outstretching? not from dwina came the maiden, did not sail across the waters; grew as berry in the mountains, as a strawberry of sweetness, on the fields the child of beauty, in the glens the golden flower. thence has come the young bride's playmate, thence arose her fair companion. tiny are her feet and fingers, small her lips of scarlet color, like the maiden's loom of suomi; eyes that shine in kindly beauty like the twinkling stars of heaven; beam the playmate's throbbing temples like the moonlight on the waters. trinkets has the bride's companion, on her neck a golden necklace, in her tresses, silken ribbons, on her arms are golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, pearls are set in golden ear-rings, loops of gold upon her temples, and with pearls her brow is studded. northland thought the moon was shining when her jeweled ear-ringsglistened; thought the sun had left his station when her girdle shone in beauty; thought a ship was homeward sailing when her colored head-gear fluttered. thus is praised the bride's companion, playmate of the rainbow-maiden. "now i praise the friends assembled, all appear in graceful manners; if the old are wise and silent, all the youth are free and merry, all the guests are fair and worthy. never was there in wainola, never will there be in northland, such a company assembled; all the children speak in joyance, all the aged move sedately; dressed in white are all the maidens, like the hoar-frost of the morning, like the welcome dawn of spring-time, like the rising of the daylight. silver then was more abundant, gold among the guests in plenty, on the hills were money, pockets, money-bags along the valleys, for the friends that were invited, for the guests in joy assembled. all the friends have now been lauded, each has gained his meed of honor." wainamoinen, old and truthful, song-deliverer of northland, swung himself upon the fur-bench or his magic sledge of copper, straightway hastened to his hamlet, singing as he journeyed onward, singing charms and incantations, singing one day, then a second, all the third day chanting legends. on the rocks the runners rattled, hung the sledge upon a birch-stump, broke it into many pieces, with the magic of his singing; double were the runners bended, all the parts were torn asunder, and his magic sledge was ruined. then the good, old wainamoinen spake these words in meditation: "is there one among this number, in this rising generation, or perchance among the aged, in the passing generation, that will go to mana's kingdom, to the empire of tuoni, there to get the magic auger from the master of manala, that i may repair my snow-sledge, or a second sledge may fashion?" what the younger people answered was the answer of the aged: "not among the youth of northland, nor among the aged heroes, is there one of ample courage, that has bravery sufficient, to attempt the reckless journey to the kingdom of tuoni, to manala's fields and castles, thence to bring tuoni's auger, wherewithal to mend thy snow-sledge, build anew thy sledge of magic." thereupon old wainamoinen, the eternal wisdom-singer, went again to mana's empire, to the kingdom of tuoni, crossed the sable stream of deathland, to the castles of manala, found the auger of tuoni, brought the instrument in safety. straightway sings old wainamoinen, sings to life a purple forest, in the forest, slender birches, and beside them, mighty oak-trees, shapes them into shafts and runners, moulds them by his will and power, makes anew his sledge of magic. on his steed he lays the harness, binds him to his sledge securely, seats himself upon the cross-bench, and the racer gallops homeward, to the manger filled and waiting, to the stable of his master; brings the ancient wainamoinen, famous bard and wise enchanter, to the threshold of his dwelling, to his home in kalevala. rune xxvi. origin of the serpent. ahti, living on the island, near the kauko-point and harbor, plowed his fields for rye and barley, furrowed his extensive pastures, heard with quickened ears an uproar, heard the village in commotion, heard a noise along the sea-shore, heard the foot-steps on the ice-plain, heard the rattle of the sledges; quick his mind divined the reason, knew it was pohyola's wedding, wedding of the rainbow-virgin. quick he stopped in disappointment, shook his sable locks in envy, turned his hero-head in anger, while the scarlet blood ceased flowing through his pallid face and temples; ceased his plowing and his sowing, on the field he left the furrows, on his steed he lightly mounted, straightway galloped fleetly homeward to his well-beloved mother, to his mother old and golden, gave his mother these directions, these the words of lemminkainen: "my beloved, faithful mother, quickly bring me beer and viands, bring me food for i am hungry, food and drink for me abundant, have my bath-room quickly heated, quickly set the room in order, that i may refresh my body, dress myself in hero-raiment." lemminkainen's aged mother brings her hero food in plenty, beer and viands for the hungry, for her thirsting son and hero; quick she heats the ancient bath-room, quickly sets his bath in order. then the reckless lemminkainen ate his meat with beer inspiring, hastened to his bath awaiting; only was the bullfinch bathing, with the many-colored bunting; quick the hero laved his temples, laved himself to flaxen whiteness, quick returning to his mother, spake in haste the words that follow: "my beloved, helpful mother, go at once to yonder mountain, to the store-house on the hill-top, bring my vest of finest texture, bring my hero-coat of purple, bring my suit of magic colors, thus to make me look attractive, thus to robe myself in beauty." first the ancient mother asked him, asked her son this simple question: "whither dost thou go, my hero? dost thou go to hunt the roebuck, chase the lynx upon the mountains, shoot the squirrel in the woodlands?" spake the reckless lemminkainen, also known as kaukomieli: "worthy mother of my being, go i not to hunt the roebuck, chase the lynx upon the mountains, shoot the squirrel on the tree-tops; i am going to pohyola, to the feasting of her people. bring at once my purple vestments, straightway bring my nuptial outfit, let me don it for the marriage of the maiden of the northland." but the ancient dame dissented, and the wife forebade the husband; two of all the best of heroes, three of nature's fairest daughters, strongly urged wild lemminkainen not to go to sariola, to pohyola's great carousal, to the marriage-feast of northland, "since thou hast not been invited, since they do not wish thy presence." spake the reckless lemminkainen. these the words of kaukomieli: "where the wicked are invited, there the good are always welcome, herein lies my invitation; i am constantly reminded by this sword of sharpened edges, by this magic blade and scabbard, that pohyola needs my presence." lemminkainen's aged mother sought again to stay her hero: "do not go, my son beloved, to the feasting in pohyola; full of horrors are the highways, on the road are many wonders, three times death appears to frighten, thrice destruction hovers over!" spake the reckless lemminkainen, these the words of kaukomieli: "death is seen by aged people, everywhere they see perdition, death can never frighten heroes, heroes do not fear the spectre; be that as it may, dear mother, tell that i may understand thee, name the first of all destructions, name the first and last destroyers!" lemminkainen's mother answered: "i will tell thee, son and hero, not because i wish to speak it, but because the truth is worthy; i will name the chief destruction, name the first of the destroyers. when thou hast a distance journeyed, only one day hast thou travelled, comes a stream along the highway, stream of fire of wondrous beauty, in the stream a mighty fire-spout, in the spout a rock uprising, on the rock a fiery hillock, on the top a flaming eagle, and his crooked beak he sharpens, sharpens too his bloody talons, for the coming of the stranger, for the people that approach him." spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "women die beneath the eagle, such is not the death of heroes; know i well a magic lotion, that will heal the wounds of eagles; make myself a steed of alders, that will walk as my companion, that will stride ahead majestic; as a duck i'll drive behind him, drive him o'er the fatal waters, underneath the flaming eagle, with his bloody beak and talons. worthy mother of my being, name the second of destroyers." lemminkainen's mother answered: "this the second of destroyers: when thou hast a distance wandered, only two clays hast thou travelled, comes a pit of fire to meet thee, in the centre of the highway, eastward far the pit extending, stretches endless to the westward, filled with burning coals and pebbles, glowing with the heat of ages; hundreds has this monster swallowed, in his jaws have thousands perished, hundreds with their trusty broadswords, thousands on their fiery chargers." spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "never will the hero perish in the jaws of such a monster; know i well the means of safety, know a remedy efficient: i will make of snow a master, on the snow-clad fields, a hero, drive the snow-man on before me, drive him through the flaming vortex, drive him through the fiery furnace, with my magic broom of copper; i will follow in his shadow, follow close the magic image, thus escape the frightful monster, with my golden locks uninjured, with my flowing beard untangled. ancient mother of my being, name the last of the destructions, name the third of the destroyers." lemminkainen's mother answered: "this the third of fatal dangers: hast thou gone a greater distance, hast thou travelled one day longer, to the portals of pohyola, to the narrowest of gate-ways, there a wolf will rise to meet thee, there the black-bear sneak upon thee-, in pohyola's darksome portals, hundreds in their jaws have perished, have devoured a thousand heroes; wherefore will they not destroy thee, since thy form is unprotected?" spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "let them eat the gentle lambkins, feed upon their tender tissues, they cannot devour this hero; i am girded with my buckler, girded with my belt of copper, armlets wear i of the master, from the wolf and bear protected, will not hasten to untamo. i can meet the wolf of lempo, for the bear i have a balsam, for his mouth i conjure bridles, for the wolf, forge chains of iron; i will smite them as the willow, chop them into little fragments, thus i'll gain the open court-yard, thus triumphant end my journey." lemminkainen's mother answered: "then thy journey is not ended, greater dangers still await thee, great the wonders yet before thee, horrors three within thy pathway; three great dangers of the hero still await thy reckless footsteps, these the worst of all thy dangers: when thou hast still farther wandered, thou wilt reach the court of pohya, where the walls are forged from iron, and from steel the outer bulwark; rises from the earth to heaven, back again to earth returning; double spears are used for railings, on each spear are serpents winding, on each rail are stinging adders; lizards too adorn the bulwarks, play their long tails in the sunlight, hissing lizards, venomed serpents, jump and writhe upon the rampart, turn their horrid heads to meet thee; on the greensward lie the monsters, on the ground the things of evil, with their pliant tongues of venom, hissing, striking, crawling, writhing; one more horrid than the others, lies before the fatal gate-way, longer than the longest rafters, larger than the largest portals; hisses with the tongue of anger, lifts his head in awful menace, raises it to strike none other than the hero of the islands." spake the warlike lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "by such things the children perish, such is not the death of heroes; know i well the fire to manage, i can quench the flames of passion, i can meet the prowling wild-beasts, can appease the wrath of serpents, i can heal the sting of adders, i have plowed the serpent-pastures, plowed the adder-fields of northland; while my hands were unprotected, held the serpents in my fingers, drove the adders to manala, on my hands the blood of serpents, on my feet the fat of adders. never will thy hero stumble on the serpents of the northland; with my heel i'll crush the monsters, stamp the horrid things to atoms; i will banish them from pohya, drive them to manala's kingdom, step within pohyola's mansion, walk the halls of sariola!" lemminkainen's mother answered: "do not go, my son beloved, to the firesides of pohyola, through the northland fields and fallows; there are warriors with broadswords, heroes clad in mail of copper, are on beer intoxicated, by the beer are much embittered; they will charm thee, hapless creature, on the tips of swords of magic; greater heroes have been conjured, stronger ones have been outwitted." spake the reckless lemminkainen: "formerly thy son resided in the hamlets of pohyola; laplanders cannot enchant me, nor the turyalanders harm me i the laplander will conjure, charm him with my magic powers, sing his shoulders wide asunder, in his chin i'll sing a fissure, sing his collar-bone to pieces, sing his breast to thousand fragments." lemminkainen's mother answered: "foolish son, ungrateful wizard, boasting of thy former visit, boasting of thy fatal journey! once in northland thou wert living, in the homesteads of pohyola; there thou tried to swim the whirlpool, tasted there the dog-tongue waters, floated down the fatal current, sank beneath its angry billows; thou hast seen tuoni's river, thou hast measured mana's waters, there to-day thou wouldst be sleeping, had it not been for thy mother! what i tell thee well remember, shouldst thou gain pohyola's chambers, filled with stakes thou'lt find the court-yard, these to hold the heads of heroes; there thy head will rest forever, shouldst thou go to sariola." spake the warlike lemminkainen: "fools indeed may heed thy counsel, cowards too may give attention; those of seven conquest-summers cannot heed such weak advising. bring to me my battle-armor. bring my magic mail of copper, bring me too my father's broadsword, keep the old man's blade from rusting; long it has been cold and idle, long has lain in secret places, long and constantly been weeping, long been asking for a bearer." then he took his mail of copper, took his ancient battle-armor, took his father's sword of magic, tried its point against the oak-wood, tried its edge upon the sorb-tree; in his hand the blade was bended, like the limber boughs of willow, like the juniper in summer. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "there is none in pohya's hamlets, in the courts of sariola, that with me can measure broadswords, that can meet this blade ancestral." from the nail he took a cross-bow, took the strongest from the rafters, spake these words in meditation: "i shall recognize as worthy, recognize that one a hero that can bend this mighty cross-bow, that can break its magic sinews, in the hamlets of pohyola." lemminkainen, filled with courage, girds himself in suit of battle, dons his mighty mail of copper, to his servant speaks as follows: "trusty slave, and whom i purchased, whom i bought with gold and silver, quick prepare my fiery charger, harness well my steed of battle; i am going to the feasting, to the banquet-fields of lempo." quick obeys the faithful servant, hitches well the noble war-horse, quick prepares the fire-red stallion, speaks these words when all is i ready: "i have done what thou hast hidden, ready harnessed is the charger, waiting to obey his master." comes the hour of the departing of the hero, lemminkainen, right hand ready, left unwilling, all his anxious fingers pain him, till at last in full obedience, all his members give permission; starts the hero on his journey, while the mother gives him counsel, at the threshold of the dwelling, at the highway of the court-yard: "child of courage, my beloved, son of strength, my wisdom-hero, if thou goest to the feasting, shouldst thou reach the great carousal, drink thou only a half a cupful, drink the goblet to the middle, always give the half remaining, give the worse half to another, to another more unworthy; in the lower half are serpents, worms, and frogs, and hissing lizards, feeding on the slimy bottom." furthermore she tells her hero, gives her son these sage directions, on the border of the court-yard, at the portals farthest distant: "if thou goest to the banquet, shouldst thou reach the great carousal, occupy but half the settle, take but half a stride in walking, give the second half to others, to another less deserving; only thus thou'lt be a hero, thus become a son immortal; in the guest-rooms look courageous, bravely move about the chambers, in the gatherings of heroes, with the hosts of magic valor." thereupon wild lemminkainen quickly leaped upon the cross-bench of his battle-sledge of wonder, raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod, snapped his whip above his charger, and the steed flew onward fleetly, galloped on his distant journey. he had travelled little distance, when a flight of hazel-chickens quick arose before his coming, flew before the foaming racer. there were left some feathers lying, feathers of the hazel-chickens, lying in the hero's pathway. these the reckless lemminkainen gathered for their magic virtues, put them in his pouch of leather, did not know what things might happen on his journey to pohyola; all things have some little value, in a strait all things are useful. then he drove a little distance, galloped farther on the highway, when his courser neighed in danger, and the fleet-foot ceased his running. then the stout-heart, lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, rose upon his seat in wonder, craned his neck and looked about him found it as his mother told him, found a stream of fire opposing; ran the fire-stream like a river, ran across the hero's pathway. in the river was a fire-fall, in the cataract a fire-rock, on the rock a fiery hillock, on its summit perched an eagle, from his throat the fire was streaming to the crater far below him, fire out-shooting from his feathers, glowing with a fiery splendor; long he looked upon the hero, long he gazed on lemminkainen, then the eagle thus addressed him: "whither art thou driving, ahti, whither going, lemminkainen?" kaukomieli spake in answer: "to the feastings of pohyola, to the drinking-halls of louhi, to the banquet of her people; move aside and let me journey, move a little from my pathway, let this wanderer pass by thee, i am warlike lemminkainen." this the answer of the eagle, screaming from his throat of splendor: "though thou art wild lemminkainen, i shall let thee wander onward, through my fire-throat let thee journey, through these flames shall be thy passage to the banquet-halls of louhi, to pohyola's great carousal!" little heeding, kaukomieli thinks himself in little trouble, thrusts his fingers in his pockets, searches in his pouch of leather, quickly takes the magic feathers, feathers from the hazel-chickens, rubs them into finest powder, rubs them with his magic fingers whence a flight of birds arises, hazel-chickens from the feathers, large the bevy of the young birds. quick the wizard, lemminkainen, drives them to the eagle's fire-mouth, thus to satisfy his hunger, thus to quench the fire out-streaming. thus escapes the reckless hero, thus escapes the first of dangers, passes thus the first destroyer, on his journey to pohyola. with his whip he strikes his courser, with his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled; straightway speeds the fiery charger, noiselessly upon his journey, gallops fast and gallops faster, till the flying steed in terror neighs again and ceases running. lemminkainen, quickly rising, cranes his neck and looks about him, sees his mother's words were truthful, sees her augury well-taken. lo! before him yawned a fire-gulf, stretching crosswise through his pathway; far to east the gulf extending, to the west an endless distance, filled with stones and burning pebbles, running streams of burning matter. little heeding, lemminkainen cries aloud in prayer to ukko: "ukko, thou o god above me, dear creator, omnipresent, from the north-west send a storm-cloud, from the east, dispatch a second, from the south send forth a third one; let them gather from the south-west, sew their edges well together, fill thou well the interspaces, send a snow-fall high as heaven, let it fall from upper ether, fall upon the flaming fire-pit, on the cataract and whirlpool!" mighty ukko, the creator, ukko, father omnipresent, dwelling in the courts of heaven, sent a storm-cloud from the north-west, from the east he sent a second, from the south despatched a third one, let them gather from the south-west, sewed their edges well together, filled their many interspaces, sent a snow-fall high as heaven, from the giddy heights of ether, sent it seething to the fire-pit, on the streams of burning matter; from the snow-fall in the fire-pond, grows a lake with rolling billows. quick the hero, lemminkainen, conjures there of ice a passage from one border to the other, thus escapes his second danger, thus his second trouble passes. then the reckless lemminkainen raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod, snapped his whip above his racer, and the steed flew onward swiftly, galloped on his distant journey o'er the highway to pohyola; galloped fast and galloped faster, galloped on a greater distance, when the stallion loudly neighing, stopped and trembled on the highway, then the lively lemminkainen raised himself upon the cross-bench, looked to see what else had happened; lo i a wolf stands at the portals, in the passage-way a black-bear, at the high-gate of pohyola, at the ending of the journey. thereupon young lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, thrusts his fingers in his pockets, seeks his magic pouch of leather, pulls therefrom a lock of ewe-wool, rubs it firmly in his fingers, in his hands it falls to powder; breathes the breath of life upon it, when a flock of sheep arises, goats and sheep of sable color; on the flock the black-wolf pounces, and the wild-bear aids the slaughter, while the reckless lemminkainen rushes by them on his journey; gallops on a little distance, to the court of sariola, finds the fence of molten iron, and of steel the rods and pickets, in the earth a hundred fathoms, to the azure sky, a thousand, double-pointed spears projecting; on each spear were serpents twisted, adders coiled in countless numbers, lizards mingled with the serpents, tails entangled pointing earthward, while their heads were skyward whirling, writhing, hissing mass of evil. then the stout-heart, kaukomieli, deeply thought and long considered: "it is as my mother told me, this the wall that she predicted, stretching from the earth to heaven; downward deep are serpents creeping, deeper still the rails extending; high as highest flight of eagles, higher still the wall shoots upward." but the hero, lemminkainen, little cares, nor feels disheartened, draws his broadsword from its scabbard, draws his mighty blade ancestral, hews the wall with might of magic, breaks the palisade in pieces, hews to atoms seven pickets, chops the serpent-wall to fragments; through the breach he quickly passes to the portals of pohyola. in the way, a serpent lying, lying crosswise in the entry, longer than the longest rafters, larger than the posts of oak-wood; hundred-eyed, the heinous serpent, and a thousand tongues, the monster, eyes as large as sifting vessels, tongues as long as shafts of javelins, teeth as large as hatchet-handles, back as broad as skiffs of ocean. lemminkainen does not venture straightway through this host opposing, through the hundred heads of adders, through the thousand tongues of serpents. spake the magic lemminkainen: "venomed viper, thing of evil, ancient adder of tuoni, thou that crawlest in the stubble, through the flower-roots of lempo, who has sent thee from thy kingdom, sent thee from thine evil coverts, sent thee hither, crawling, writhing, in the pathway i would travel? who bestowed thy mouth of venom, who insisted, who commanded, thou shouldst raise thy head toward heaven, who thy tail has given action? was this given by the father, did the mother give this power, or the eldest of the brothers, or the youngest of the sisters, or some other of thy kindred? "close thy mouth, thou thing of evil, hide thy pliant tongue of venom, in a circle wrap thy body, coil thou like a shield in silence, give to me one-half the pathway, let this wanderer pass by thee, or remove thyself entirely; get thee hence to yonder heather, quick retreat to bog and stubble, hide thyself in reeds and rushes, in the brambles of the lowlands. like a ball of flax enfolding, like a sphere of aspen-branches, with thy head and tail together, roll thyself to yonder mountain; in the heather is thy dwelling, underneath the sod thy caverns. shouldst thou raise thy head in anger, mighty ukko will destroy it, pierce it with his steel-tipped arrows, with his death-balls made of iron!" hardly had the hero ended, when the monster, little heeding, hissing with his tongue in anger, plying like the forked lightning, pounces with his mouth of venom at the head of lemminkainen; but the hero, quick recalling, speaks the master-words of knowledge, words that came from distant ages, words his ancestors had taught him, words his mother learned in childhood, these the words of lemminkainen: "since thou wilt not heed mine order, since thou wilt not leave the highway, puffed with pride of thine own greatness, thou shall burst in triple pieces. leave thy station for the borders, i will hunt thine ancient mother, sing thine origin of evil, how arose thy head of horror; suoyatar, thine ancient mother, thing of evil, thy creator!" "suoyatar once let her spittle fall upon the waves of ocean; this was rocked by winds and waters, shaken by the ocean-currents, six years rocked upon the billows, rocked in water seven summers, on the blue-back of the ocean, on the billows high as heaven; lengthwise did the billows draw it, and the sunshine gave it softness, to the shore the billows washed it, on the coast the waters left it. "then appeared creation's daughters, three the daughters thus appearing, on the roaring shore of ocean, there beheld the spittle lying, and the daughters spake as follows: 'what would happen from this spittle, should the breath of the creator fall upon the writhing matter, breathe the breath of life upon it, give the thing the sense of vision? "the creator heard these measures, spake himself the words that follow: 'evil only comes from evil, this is the expectoration of fell suoyatar, its mother; therefore would the thing be evil, should i breathe a soul within it, should i give it sense of vision.' "hisi heard this conversation, ever ready with his mischief, made himself to be creator, breathed a soul into the spittle, to fell suoyatar's fierce anger. thus arose the poison-monster, thus was born the evil serpent, this the origin of evil. "whence the life that gave her action'? from the carbon-pile of hisi. whence then was her heart created? from the heart-throbs of her mother whence arose her brain of evil? from the foam of rolling waters. whence was consciousness awakened? from the waterfall's commotion. whence arose her head of venom? from the seed-germs of the ivy. whence then came her eyes of fury? from the flaxen seeds of lempo. whence the evil ears for hearing? from the foliage of hisi. whence then was her mouth created? this from suoyatar's foam-currents whence arose thy tongue of anger r from the spear of keitolainen. whence arose thy fangs of poison? from the teeth of mana's daughter. whence then was thy back created? from the carbon-posts of piru. how then was thy tail created? from the brain of the hobgoblin. whence arose thy writhing entrails? from the death-belt of tuoni. "this thine origin, o serpent, this thy charm of evil import, vilest thing of god's creation, writhing, hissing thing of evil, with the color of tuoni, with the shade of earth and heaven, with the darkness of the storm-cloud. get thee hence, thou loathsome monster, clear the pathway of this hero. i am mighty lemminkainen, on my journey to pohyola, to the feastings and carousals, in the halls of darksome northland." thereupon the snake uncoiling, hundred-eyed and heinous monster, crawled away to other portals, that the hero, kaukomieli, might proceed upon his errand, to the dismal sariola, to the feastings and carousals in the banquet-halls of pohya. rune xxvii. the unwelcome guest. i have brought young kaukomieli, brought the islander and hero, also known as lemminkainen, through the jaws of death and ruin, through the darkling deeps of kalma, to the homesteads of pohyola, to the dismal courts of louhi; now must i relate his doings, must relate to all my bearers, how the merry lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, wandered through pohyola's chambers, through the halls of sariola, how the hero went unbidden to the feasting and carousal, uninvited to the banquet. lemminkainen full of courage, full of life, and strength, and magic. stepped across the ancient threshold, to the centre of the court-room, and the floors of linwood trembled, walls and ceilings creaked and murmured. spake the reckless lemminkainen, these the words that ahti uttered: "be ye greeted on my coming, ye that greet, be likewise greeted! listen, all ye hosts of pohya; is there food about this homestead, barley for my hungry courser, beer to give a thirsty stranger? sat the host of sariola at the east end of the table, gave this answer to the questions: "surely is there in this homestead, for thy steed an open stable, never will this host refuse thee, shouldst thou act a part becoming, worthy, coming to these portals, waiting near the birchen rafters, in the spaces by the kettles, by the triple hooks of iron." then the reckless lemminkainen shook his sable locks and answered: "lempo may perchance come hither, let him fill this lowly station, let him stand between the kettles, that with soot he may be blackened. never has my ancient father, never has the dear old hero, stood upon a spot unworthy, at the portals near the rafters; for his steed the best of stables, food and shelter gladly furnished, and a room for his attendants, corners furnished for his mittens, hooks provided for his snow-shoes, halls in waiting for his helmet. wherefore then should i not find here what my father found before me?" to the centre walked the hero, walked around the dining table, sat upon a bench and waited, on a bench of polished fir-wood, and the kettle creaked beneath him. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "as a guest am i unwelcome, since the waiters bring no viands, bring no dishes to the stranger?" ilpotar, the northland hostess, then addressed the words that follow: "lemminkainen, thou art evil, thou art here, but not invited, thou hast not the look of kindness, thou wilt give me throbbing temples, thou art bringing pain and sorrow. all our beer is in the barley, all the malt is in the kernel, all our grain is still ungarnered, and our dinner has been eaten; yesterday thou shouldst have been here, come again some future season." whereupon wild lemminkainen pulled his mouth awry in anger, shook his coal-black locks and answered: "all the tables here are empty, and the feasting-time is over; all the beer has left the goblets, empty too are all the pitchers, empty are the larger vessels. o thou hostess of pohyola, toothless dame of dismal northland, badly managed is thy wedding, and thy feast is ill-conducted, like the dogs hast thou invited; thou hast baked the honey-biscuit, wheaten loaves of greatest virtue, brewed thy beer from hops and barley, sent abroad thine invitations, six the hamlets thou hast honored, nine the villages invited by thy merry wedding-callers. thou hast asked the poor and lowly, asked the hosts of common people, asked the blind, and deaf, and crippled, asked a multitude of beggars, toilers by the day, and hirelings; asked the men of evil habits, asked the maids with braided tresses, i alone was not invited. how could such a slight be given, since i sent thee kegs of barley? others sent thee grain in cupfuls, brought it sparingly in dippers, while i sent thee fullest measure, sent the half of all my garners, of the richest of my harvest, of the grain that i had gathered. even now young lemminkainen, though a guest of name and station has no beer, no food, no welcome, naught for him art thou preparing, nothing cooking in thy kettles, nothing brewing in thy cellars for the hero of the islands, at the closing of his journey." ilpotar, the ancient hostess, gave this order to her servants: "come, my pretty maiden-waiter, servant-girl to me belonging, lay some salmon to the broiling, bring some beer to give the stranger!" small of stature was the maiden, washer of the banquet-platters, rinser of the dinner-ladles, polisher of spoons of silver, and she laid some food in kettles, only bones and beads of whiting, turnip-stalks and withered cabbage, crusts of bread and bits of biscuit. then she brought some beer in pitchers, brought of common drink the vilest, that the stranger, lemminkainen, might have drink, and meat in welcome, thus to still his thirst and hunger. then the maiden spake as follows: "thou art sure a mighty hero, here to drink the beer of pohya, here to empty all our vessels!" then the minstrel, lemminkainen, closely handled all the pitchers, looking to the very bottoms; there beheld he writhing serpents, in the centre adders swimming, on the borders worms and lizards. then the hero, lemminkainen, filled with anger, spake as follows: get ye hence, ye things of evil, get ye hence to tuonela, with the bearer of these pitchers, with the maid that brought ye hither, ere the evening moon has risen, ere the day-star seeks the ocean! o thou wretched beer of barley, thou hast met with great dishonor, into disrepute hast fallen, but i'll drink thee, notwithstanding, and the rubbish cast far from me." then the hero to his pockets thrust his first and unnamed finger, searching in his pouch of leather; quick withdraws a hook for fishing, drops it to the pitcher's bottom, through the worthless beer of barley; on his fish-book hang the serpents, catches many hissing adders, catches frogs in magic numbers, catches blackened worms in thousands, casts them to the floor before him, quickly draws his heavy broad sword, and decapitates the serpents. now he drinks the beer remaining, when the wizard speaks as follows: "as a guest am i unwelcome, since no beer to me is given that is worthy of a hero; neither has a ram been butchered, nor a fattened calf been slaughtered, worthy food for lemminkainen." then the landlord of pohyola answered thus the island-minstrel: "wherefore hast thou journeyed hither, who has asked thee for thy presence? spake in answer lemminkainen: "happy is the guest invited, happier when not expected; listen, son of pohylander, host of sariola, listen: give me beer for ready payment, give me worthy drink for money!" then the landlord of pohyola, in bad humor, full of anger, conjured in the earth a lakelet, at the feet of kaukomieli, thus addressed the island-hero: "quench thy thirst from yonder lakelet, there, the beer that thou deservest!" little heeding, lemminkainen to this insolence made answer: "i am neither bear nor roebuck, that should drink this filthy water, drink the water of this lakelet." ahti then began to conjure, conjured he a bull before him, bull with horns of gold and silver, and the bull drank from the lakelet, drank he from the pool in pleasure. then the landlord of pohyola there a savage wolf created, set him on the floor before him to destroy the bull of magic, lemminkainen, full of courage, conjured up a snow-white rabbit, set him on the floor before him to attract the wolf's attention. then the landlord of pohyola conjured there a dog of lempo, set him on the floor before him to destroy the magic rabbit. lemminkainen, full of mischief, conjured on the roof a squirrel, that by jumping on the rafters he might catch the dog's attention. but the master of the northland conjured there a golden marten, and he drove the magic squirrel from his seat upon the rafters. lemminkainen, full of mischief, made a fox of scarlet color, and it ate the golden marten. then the master of pohyola conjured there a hen to flutter near the fox of scarlet color. lemminkainen, full of mischief, thereupon a hawk created, that with beak and crooked talons he might tear the hen to pieces. spake the landlord of pohyola, these the words the tall man uttered: "never will this feast be bettered till the guests are less in number; i must do my work as landlord, get thee hence, thou evil stranger, cease thy conjurings of evil, leave this banquet of my people, haste away, thou wicked wizard, to thine island-home and people! spake the reckless lemminkainen: "thus no hero will be driven, not a son of any courage will be frightened by thy presence, will be driven from thy banquet." then the landlord of pohyola snatched his broadsword from the rafters, drew it rashly from the scabbard, thus addressing lemminkainen: "ahti, islander of evil, thou the handsome kaukomieli, let us measure then our broadswords, let our skill be fully tested; surely is my broadsword better than the blade within thy scabbard." spake the hero, lemminkainen. "that my blade is good and trusty, has been proved on heads of heroes, has on many bones been tested; be that as it may, my fellow, since thine order is commanding, let our swords be fully tested, let us see whose blade is better. long ago my hero-father tested well this sword in battle, never failing in a conflict. should his son be found less worthy?" then he grasped his mighty broadsword, drew the fire-blade from the scabbard hanging from his belt of copper. standing on their hilts their broadswords, carefully their blades were measured, found the sword of northland's master longer than the sword of ahti by the half-link of a finger. spake the reckless lemminkainen. "since thou hast the longer broadsword, thou shalt make the first advances, i am ready for thy weapon." thereupon pohyola's landlord with the wondrous strength of anger, tried in vain to slay the hero, strike the crown of lemminkainen; chipped the splinters from the rafters, cut the ceiling into fragments, could not touch the island-hero. thereupon brave kaukomieli, thus addressed pohyola's master: "have the rafters thee offended? what the crimes they have committed, since thou hewest them in pieces? listen now, thou host of northland, reckless landlord of pohyola, little room there is for swordsmen in these chambers filled with women; we shall stain these painted rafters, stain with blood these floors and ceilings; let us go without the mansion, in the field is room for combat, on the plain is space sufficient; blood looks fairer in the court-yard, better in the open spaces, let it dye the snow-fields scarlet." to the yard the heroes hasten, there they find a monstrous ox-skin, spread it on the field of battle; on the ox-skin stand the swordsmen. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "listen well, thou host of northland, though thy broadsword is the longer, though thy blade is full of horror, thou shalt have the first advantage; use with skill thy boasted broadsword ere the final bout is given, ere thy head be chopped in pieces; strike with skill, or thou wilt perish, strike, and do thy best for northland." thereupon pohyola's landlord raised on high his blade of battle, struck a heavy blow in anger, struck a second, then a third time, but he could not touch his rival, could dot draw a single blood-drop from the veins of lemminkainen, skillful islander and hero. spake the handsome kaukomieli: "let me try my skill at fencing, let me swing my father's broadsword, let my honored blade be tested!" but the landlord of pohyola, does not heed the words of ahti, strikes in fury, strikes unceasing, ever aiming, ever missing. when the skillful lemminkainen swings his mighty blade of magic, fire disports along his weapon, flashes from his sword of honor, glistens from the hero's broadsword, balls of fire disporting, dancing, on the blade of mighty ahti, overflow upon the shoulders of the landlord of pohyola. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "o thou son of sariola, see! indeed thy neck is glowing like the dawning of the morning, like the rising sun in ocean!" quickly turned pohyola's landlord, thoughtless host of darksome northland, to behold the fiery splendor playing on his neck and shoulders. quick as lightning, lemminkainen, with his father's blade of battle, with a single blow of broadsword, with united skill and power, lopped the head of pohya's master; as one cleaves the stalks of turnips, as the ear falls from the corn-stalk, as one strikes the fins from salmon, thus the head rolled from the shoulders of the landlord of pohyola, like a ball it rolled and circled. in the yard were pickets standing, hundreds were the sharpened pillars, and a head on every picket, only one was left un-headed. quick the victor, lemminkainen, took the head of pohya's landlord, spiked it on the empty picket. then the islander, rejoicing, handsome hero, kaukomieli, quick returning to the chambers, crave this order to the hostess: "evil maiden, bring me water, wherewithal to cleanse my fingers from the blood of northland's master, wicked host of sariola." ilpotar, the northland hostess, fired with anger, threatened vengeance, conjured men with heavy broadswords, heroes clad in copper-armor, hundred warriors with their javelins, and a thousand bearing cross-bows, to destroy the island-hero, for the death of lemminkainen. kaukomieli soon discovered that the time had come for leaving, that his presence was unwelcome at the feasting of pohyola, at the banquet of her people. rune xxviii. the mother's counsel. ahti, hero of the islands, wild magician, lemminkainen, also known as kaukomieli, hastened from the great carousal, from the banquet-halls of louhi, from the ever-darksome northland, from the dismal sariola. stormful strode he from the mansion, hastened like the smoke of battle, from the court-yard of pohyola, left his crimes and misdemeanors in the halls of ancient louhi. then he looked in all directions, seeking for his tethered courser, anxious looked in field and stable, but he did not find his racer; found a black thing in the fallow, proved to be a clump of willows. who will well advise the hero, who will give him wise directions, guide the wizard out of trouble, give his hero-locks protection, keep his magic head from danger from the warriors of northland? noise is beard within the village, and a din from other homesteads, from the battle-hosts of louhi, streaming from the doors and window, of the homesteads of pohyola. thereupon young lemminkainen, handsome islander and hero, changing both his form and features, clad himself in other raiment, changing to another body, quick became a mighty eagle, soared aloft on wings of magic, tried to fly to highest heaven, but the moonlight burned his temples, and the sunshine singed his feathers. then entreating, lemminkainen, island-hero, turned to ukko, this the prayer that ahti uttered: "ukko, god of love and mercy, thou the wisdom of the heavens, wise director of the lightning, thou the author of the thunder, thou the guide of all the cloudlets, give to me thy cloak of vapor, throw a silver cloud around me, that i may in its protection hasten to my native country, to my mother's island-dwelling, fly to her that waits my coming, with a mother's grave forebodings." farther, farther, lemminkainen flew and soared on eagle-pinions, looked about him, backwards, forwards, spied a gray-hawk soaring near him, in his eyes the fire of splendor, like the eyes of pohyalanders, like the eyes of pohya's spearmen, and the gray-hawk thus addressed him: "ho! there! hero, lemminkainen, art thou thinking of our combat with the hero-heads of northland?" thus the islander made answer, these the words of kaukomieli: "o thou gray-hawk, bird of beauty, fly direct to sariola, fly as fast as wings can bear thee; when thou hast arrived in safety, on the plains of darksome northland, tell the archers and the spearmen, they will never catch the eagle, in his journey from pohyola, to his island-borne and fortress." then the ahti-eagle hastened straightway to his mother's cottage, in his face the look of trouble, in his heart the pangs of sorrow. ahti's mother ran to meet him, when she spied him in the pathway, walking toward her island-dwelling; these the words the mother uttered: "of my sons thou art the bravest, art the strongest of my children; wherefore then comes thine annoyance, on returning from pohyola? wert thou worsted at the banquet, at the feast and great carousal? at thy cups, if thou wert injured, thou shalt here have better treatment thou shalt have the cup thy father brought me from the hero-castle." spake the reckless lemminkainen: "worthy mother, thou that nursed me, if i had been maimed at drinking, i the landlord would have worsted, would have slain a thousand heroes, would have taught them useful lessons." lemminkainen's mother answered: "wherefore then art thou indignant, didst thou meet disgrace and insult, did they rob thee of thy courser? buy thou then a better courser with the riches of thy mother, with thy father's horded treasures." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "faithful mother of my being, if my steed had been insulted, if for him my heart was injured, i the landlord would have punished, would have punished all the horsemen, all of pohya's strongest riders." lemminkainen's mother answered: "tell me then thy dire misfortune, what has happened to my hero, on his journey to pohyola? have the northland maidens scorned thee, have the women ridiculed thee? if the maidens scorned thy presence. if the women gave derision, there are others thou canst laugh at, thou canst scorn a thousand women." said the reckless lemminkainen: "honored mother, fond and faithful, if the northland dames had scorned me or the maidens laughed derision, i the maidens would have punished, would have scorned a thousand women." lemminkainen's mother answered: "wherefore then are thou indignant, thus annoyed, and heavy-hearted, on returning from pohyola? was thy feasting out of season, was the banquet-beer unworthy, were thy dreams of evil import when asleep in darksome northland?" this is lemminkainen's answer: "aged women may remember what they dream on beds of trouble; i have seen some wondrous visions, since i left my island-cottage. my beloved, helpful mother, fill my bag with good provisions, flour and salt in great abundance, farther must thy hero wander, he must leave his home behind him, leave his pleasant island-dwelling, journey from this home of ages; men are sharpening their broadswords, sharpening their spears and lances, for the death of lemminkainen." then again the mother questioned, hurriedly she asked the reason: "why the men their swords were whetting, why their spears are being sharpened." spake the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "therefore do they whet their broadswords, therefore sharpen they their lances: it is for thy son's destruction, at his heart are aimed their lances. in the court-yard of pohyola, there arose a great contention, fierce the battle waged against me; but i slew the northland hero, killed the host of sariola; quick to arms rose louhi's people, all the spears and swords of northland were directed at thy hero; all of pohya turned against me, turned against a single foeman." this the answer of the mother: "i had told thee this beforehand, i had warned thee of this danger, and forbidden thee to journey to the hostile fields of northland. here my hero could have lingered, passed his life in full contentment, lived forever with his mother, with his mother for protection, in the court-yard with his kindred; here no war would have arisen, no contention would have followed. whither wilt thou go, my hero, whither will my loved one hasten, to escape thy fierce pursuers, to escape from thy misdoings, from thy sins to bide in safety, from thy crimes and misdemeanors, that thy head be not endangered, that thy body be not mangled, that thy locks be not outrooted?" spake the reckless lemminkainen: "know i not a spot befitting, do not know a place of safety, where to hide from my pursuers, that will give me sure protection from the crimes by me committed. helpful mother of my being, where to flee wilt thou advise me?" this the answer of the mother: "i do not know where i can send thee; be a pine-tree on the mountain, or a juniper in lowlands? then misfortune may befall thee; often is the mountain pine-tree cut in splints for candle-lighters; and the juniper is often peeled for fence-posts for the pastures. go a birch-tree to the valleys, or an elm-tree to the glenwood? even then may trouble find thee, misery may overtake thee; often is the lowland birch-tree cut to pieces in the ware-house; often is the elm-wood forest cleared away for other plantings. be a berry on the highlands, cranberry upon the heather, strawberry upon the mountains, blackberry along the fences? even there will trouble find thee, there misfortune overtake thee, for the berry-maids would pluck thee, silver-tinselled girls would get thee. be a pike then in the ocean, or a troutlet in the rivers? then would trouble overtake thee, would become thy life-companion; then the fisherman would catch thee, catch thee in his net of flax-thread, catch thee with his cruel fish-hook. be a wolf then in the forest, or a black-bear in the thickets? even then would trouble find thee, and disaster cross thy pathway; sable hunters of the northland have their spears and cross-bows ready to destroy the wolf and black-bear." spake the reckless lemminkainen: "know i well the worst of places, know where death will surely follow, where misfortune's eye would find me; since thou gavest me existence, gavest nourishment in childhood, whither shall i flee for safety, whither hide from death and danger? in my view is fell destruction, dire misfortune hovers o'er me; on the morrow come the spearmen, countless warriors from pohya, ahti's head their satisfaction." this the answer of the mother: "i can name a goodly refuge, name a land of small dimensions, name a distant ocean-island, where my son may live in safety. thither archers never wander, there thy head cannot be severed; but an oath as strong as heaven, thou must swear before thy mother; thou wilt not for sixty summers join in war or deadly combat, even though thou wishest silver, wishest gold and silver treasures." spake the grateful lemminkainen: "i will swear an oath of honor, that i'll not in sixty summers draw my sword in the arena, test the warrior in battle; i have wounds upon my shoulders, on my breast two scars of broadsword, of my former battles, relies, relies of my last encounters, on the battle-fields of northland, in the wars with men and heroes." lemminkainen's mother answered: "go thou, take thy father's vessel, go and bide thyself in safety, travel far across nine oceans; in the tenth, sail to the centre, to the island, forest-covered, to the cliffs above the waters, where thy father went before thee, where he hid from his pursuers, in the times of summer conquests, in the darksome days of battle; good the isle for thee to dwell in, goodly place to live and linger; hide one year, and then a second, in the third return in safety to thy mother's island dwelling, to thy father's ancient mansion, to my hero's place of resting." rune xxix. the isle of refuge. lemminkainen, full of joyance, handsome hero, kaukomieli, took provisions in abundance, fish and butter, bread and bacon, hastened to the isle of refuge, sailed away across the oceans, spake these measures on departing: "fare thee well, mine island-dwelling, i must sail to other borders, to an island more protective, till the second summer passes; let the serpents keep the island, lynxes rest within the glen-wood, let the blue-moose roam the mountains, let the wild-geese cat the barley. fare thee well, my helpful mother! when the warriors of the northland, from the dismal sariola, come with swords, and spears, and cross-bows, asking for my head in vengeance, say that i have long departed, left my mother's island-dwelling, when the barley had been garnered." then he launched his boat of copper, threw the vessel to the waters, from the iron-banded rollers, from the cylinders of oak-wood, on the masts the sails he hoisted, spread the magic sails of linen, in the stern the hero settled and prepared to sail his vessel, one hand resting on the rudder. then the sailor spake as follows, these the words of lemminkainen: "blow, ye winds, and drive me onward, blow ye steady, winds of heaven, toward the island in the ocean, that my bark may fly in safety to my father's place of refuge, to the far and nameless island!" soon the winds arose as bidden, rocked the vessel o'er the billows, o'er the blue-back of the waters, o'er the vast expanse of ocean; blew two months and blew unceasing, blew a third month toward the island, toward his father's isle of refuge. sat some maidens on the seaside, on the sandy beach of ocean, turned about in all directions, looking out upon the billows; one was waiting for her brother, and a second for her father, and a third one, anxious, waited for the coming of her suitor; there they spied young lemminkainen, there perceived the hero's vessel sailing o'er the bounding billows; it was like a hanging cloudlet, hanging twixt the earth and heaven. thus the island-maidens wondered, thus they spake to one another: "what this stranger on the ocean, what is this upon the waters? art thou one of our sea-vessels? wert thou builded on this island? sail thou straightway to the harbor, to the island-point of landing that thy tribe may be discovered." onward did the waves propel it, rocked his vessel o'er the billows, drove it to the magic island, safely landed lemminkainen on the sandy shore and harbor. spake he thus when he had landed, these the words that ahti uttered: "is there room upon this island, is there space within this harbor, where my bark may lie at anchor, where the sun may dry my vessel?" this the answer of the virgins, dwellers on the isle of refuge: "there is room within this harbor, on this island, space abundant, where thy bark may lie at anchor, where the sun may dry thy vessel; lying ready are the rollers, cylinders adorned with copper; if thou hadst a hundred vessels, shouldst thou come with boats a thousand, we would give them room in welcome." thereupon wild lemminkainen rolled his vessel in the harbor, on the cylinders of copper, spake these words when he had ended: "is there room upon this island, or a spot within these forests, where a hero may be hidden from the coming din of battle, from the play of spears and arrows? thus replied the island-maidens: "there are places on this island, on these plains a spot befitting where to hide thyself in safety, hero-son of little valor. here are many, many castles, many courts upon this island; though there come a thousand heroes, though a thousand spearmen follow, thou canst hide thyself in safety." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "is there room upon this island, where the birch-tree grows abundant, where this son may fell the forest, and may cultivate the fallow?" answered thus the island-maidens: "there is not a spot befitting, not a place upon the island, where to rest thy wearied members, not the smallest patch of birch-wood, thou canst bring to cultivation. all our fields have been divided, all these woods have been apportioned, fields and forests have their owners." lemminkainen asked this question, these the words of kaukomieli: "is there room upon this island, worthy spot in field or forest, where to sing my songs of magic, chant my gathered store of wisdom, sing mine ancient songs and legends?" answered thus the island-maidens: "there is room upon this island, worthy place in these dominions, thou canst sing thy garnered wisdom, thou canst chant thine ancient legends, legends of the times primeval, in the forest, in the castle, on the island-plains and pastures." then began the reckless minstrel to intone his wizard-sayings; sang he alders to the waysides, sang the oaks upon the mountains, on the oak-trees sang be branches, on each branch he sang an acorn, on the acorns, golden rollers, on each roller, sang a cuckoo; then began the cuckoos, calling, gold from every throat came streaming, copper fell from every feather, and each wing emitted silver, filled the isle with precious metals. sang again young lemminkainen, conjured on, and sang, and chanted, sang to precious stones the sea-sands, sang the stones to pearls resplendent, robed the groves in iridescence, sang the island full of flowers, many-colored as the rainbow. sang again the magic minstrel, in the court a well he conjured, on the well a golden cover, on the lid a silver dipper, that the boys might drink the water, that the maids might lave their eyelids. on the plains he conjured lakelets, sang the duck upon the waters, golden-cheeked and silver-headed, sang the feet from shining copper; and the island-maidens wondered, stood entranced at ahti's wisdom, at the songs of lemminkainen, at the hero's magic power. spake the singer, lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "i would sing a wondrous legend, sing in miracles of sweetness, if within some hall or chamber, i were seated at the table. if i sing not in the castle, in some spot by walls surrounded then i sing my songs to zephyrs, fling them to the fields and forests." answered thus the island-maidens: "on this isle are castle-chambers, halls for use of magic singers, courts complete for chanting legends, where thy singing will be welcome, where thy songs will not be scattered to the forests of the island, nor thy wisdom lost in ether." straightway lemminkainen journeyed with the maidens to the castle; there he sang and conjured pitchers on the borders of the tables, sang and conjured golden goblets foaming with the beer of barley; sang he many well-filled vessels, bowls of honey-drink abundant, sweetest butter, toothsome biscuit, bacon, fish, and veal, and venison, all the dainties of the northland, wherewithal to still his hunger. but the proud-heart, lemminkainen, was not ready for the banquet, did not yet begin his feasting, waited for a knife of silver, for a knife of golden handle; quick he sang the precious metals, sang a blade from purest silver, to the blade a golden handle, straightway then began his feasting, quenched his thirst and stilled his hunger, charmed the maidens on the island. then the minstrel, lemminkainen, roamed throughout the island-hamlets, to the joy of all the virgins, all the maids of braided tresses; wheresoe'er he turned his footsteps, there appeared a maid to greet him; when his hand was kindly offered, there his band was kindly taken; when he wandered out at evening, even in the darksome places, there the maidens bade him welcome; there was not an island-village where there were not seven castles, in each castle seven daughters, and the daughters stood in waiting, gave the hero joyful greetings, only one of all the maidens whom he did not greet with pleasure. thus the merry lemminkainen spent three summers in the ocean, spent a merry time in refuge, in the hamlets on the island, to the pleasure of the maidens, to the joy of all the daughters; only one was left neglected, she a poor and graceless spinster, on the isle's remotest border, in the smallest of the hamlets. 'then he thought about his journey o'er the ocean to his mother, to the cottage of his father. there appeared the slighted spinster, to the northland son departing, spake these words to lemminkainen: "o, thou handsome kaukomieli, wisdom-bard, and magic singer, since this maiden thou hast slighted, may the winds destroy thy vessel, dash thy bark to countless fragments on the ocean-rocks and ledges!" lemminkainen's thoughts were homeward, did not heed the maiden's murmurs, did not rise before the dawning of the morning on the island, to the pleasure of the maiden of the much-neglected hamlet. finally at close of evening, he resolved to leave the island, he resolved to waken early, long before the dawn of morning; long before the time appointed, he arose that he might wander through the hamlets of the island, bid adieu to all the maidens, on the morn of his departure. as he wandered hither, thither, walking through the village path-ways to the last of all the hamlets; saw he none of all the castle-, where three dwellings were not standing; saw he none of all the dwellings where three heroes were not watching; saw he none of all the heroes, who was not engaged in grinding swords, and spears, and battle-axes, for the death of lemminkainen. and these words the hero uttered: "now alas! the sun arises from his couch within the ocean, on the frailest of the heroes, on the saddest child of northland; on my neck the cloak of lempo might protect me from all evil, though a hundred foes assail me, though a thousand archers follow." then he left the maids ungreeted, left his longing for the daughters of the nameless isle of refuge, with his farewell-words unspoken, hastened toward the island-harbor, toward his magic bark at anchor; but he found it burned to ashes, sweet revenge had fired his vessel, lighted by the slighted spinster. then he saw the dawn of evil, saw misfortune hanging over, saw destruction round about him. straightway he began rebuilding him a magic sailing-vessel, new and wondrous, full of beauty; but the hero needed timber, boards, and planks, and beams, and braces, found the smallest bit of lumber, found of boards but seven fragments, of a spool he found three pieces, found six pieces of the distaff; with these fragments builds his vessel, builds a ship of magic virtue, builds the bark with secret knowledge, through the will of the magician; strikes one blow, and builds the first part, strikes a second, builds the centre, strikes a third with wondrous power, and the vessel is completed. thereupon the ship he launches, sings the vessel to the ocean, and these words the hero utters: "like a bubble swim these waters, like a flower ride the billows; loan me of thy magic feathers, three, o eagle, four, o raven, for protection to my vessel, lest it flounder in the ocean!" now the sailor, lemminkainen, seats himself upon the bottom of the vessel he has builded, hastens on his journey homeward, head depressed and evil-humored, cap awry upon his forehead, mind dejected, heavy-hearted, that he could not dwell forever in the castles of the daughters of the nameless isle of refuge. spake the minstrel, lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli: "leave i must this merry island, leave her many joys and pleasures, leave her maids with braided tresses, leave her dances and her daughters, to the joys of other heroes; but i take this comfort with me: all the maidens on the island, save the spinster who was slighted, will bemoan my loss for ages, will regret my quick departure; they will miss me at the dances, in the halls of mirth and joyance, in the homes of merry maidens, on my father's isle of refuge." wept the maidens on the island, long lamenting, loudly calling to the hero sailing homeward: "whither goest, lemminkainen, why depart, thou best of heroes? dost thou leave from inattention, is there here a dearth of maidens, have our greetings been unworthy?" sang the magic lemminkainen to the maids as he was sailing, this in answer to their calling: "leaving not for want of pleasure, do not go from dearth of women beautiful the island-maidens, countless as the sands their virtues. this the reason of my going, i am longing for my home-land, longing for my mother's cabins, for the strawberries of northland, for the raspberries of kalew, for the maidens of my childhood, for the children of my mother." then the merry lemminkainen bade farewell to all the island; winds arose and drove his vessel on the blue-back of the ocean, o'er the far-extending waters, toward the island of his mother. on the shore were grouped the daughters of the magic isle of refuge, on the rocks sat the forsaken, weeping stood the island-maidens, golden daughters, loud-lamenting. weep the maidens of the island while the sail-yards greet their vision, while the copper-beltings glisten; do not weep to lose the sail-yards, nor to lose the copper-beltings; weep they for the loss of ahti, for the fleeing kaukomieli guiding the departing vessel. also weeps young lemminkainen, sorely weeps, and loud-lamenting, weeps while he can see the island, while the island hill-tops glisten; does not mourn the island-mountains, weeps he only for the maidens, left upon the isle of refuge. thereupon sailed kaukomieli on the blue-back of the ocean; sailed one day, and then a second, but, alas! upon the third day, there arose a mighty storm-wind, and the sky was black with fury. blew the black winds from the north-west, from the south-east came the whirlwind, tore away the ship's forecastle, tore away the vessel's rudder, dashed the wooden hull to pieces. thereupon wild lemminkainen headlong fell upon the waters; with his head he did the steering, with his hands and feet, the rowing; swam whole days and nights unceasing, swam with hope and strength united, till at last appeared a cloudlet, growing cloudlet to the westward, changing to a promontory, into land within the ocean. swiftly to the shore swam ahti, hastened to a magic castle, found therein a hostess baking, and her daughters kneading barley, and these words the hero uttered: "o, thou hostess, filled with kindness, couldst thou know my pangs of hunger, couldst thou guess my name and station, thou wouldst hasten to the storehouse, bring me beer and foaming liquor, bring the best of thy provisions, bring me fish, and veal, and bacon, butter, bread, and honeyed biscuits, set for me a wholesome dinner, wherewithal to still my hunger, quench the thirst of lemminkainen. days and nights have i been swimming, buffeting the waves of ocean, seemed as if the wind protected, and the billows gave me shelter," then the hostess, filled with kindness, hastened to the mountain storehouse, cut some butter, veal, and bacon, bread, and fish, and honeyed biscuit, brought the best of her provisions, brought the mead and beer of barley, set for him a toothsome dinner, wherewithal to still his hunger, quench the thirst of lemminkainen. when the hero's feast had ended, straightway was a magic vessel given by the kindly hostess to the weary kaukomieli, bark of beauty, new and hardy, wherewithal to aid the stranger in his journey to his home-land, to the cottage of his mother. quickly sailed wild lemminkainen on the blue-back of the ocean; sailed he days and nights unceasing, till at last he reached the borders of his own loved home and country; there beheld he scenes familiar, saw the islands, capes, and rivers, saw his former shipping-stations, saw he many ancient landmarks, saw the mountains with their fir-trees, saw the pine-trees on the hill-tops, saw the willows in the lowlands; did not see his father's cottage, nor the dwellings of his mother. where a mansion once had risen, there the alder-trees were growing, shrubs were growing on the homestead, junipers within the court-yard. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "in this glen i played and wandered, on these stones i rocked for ages, on this lawn i rolled and tumbled, frolicked on these woodland-borders, when a child of little stature. where then is my mother's dwelling, where the castles of my father? fire, i fear, has found the hamlet, and the winds dispersed the ashes." then he fell to bitter weeping, wept one day and then a second, wept the third day without ceasing; did not mourn the ancient homestead, nor the dwellings of his father; wept he for his darling mother, wept he for the dear departed, for the loved ones of the island. then he saw the bird of heaven, saw an eagle flying near him, and he asked the bird this question: "mighty eagle, bird majestic, grant to me the information, where my mother may have wandered, whither i may go and find her!" but the eagle knew but little, only knew that ahti's people long ago together perished; and the raven also answered that his people had been scattered by the swords, and spears, and arrows, of his enemies from pohya. spake the hero, lemminkainen: "faithful mother, dear departed, thou who nursed me in my childhood, art thou dead and turned to ashes, didst thou perish for my follies, o'er thy head are willows weeping, junipers above thy body, alders watching o'er thy slumbers? this my punishment for evil, this the recompense of folly! fool was i, a son unworthy, that i measured swords in northland with the landlord of pohyola, to my tribe came fell destruction, and the death of my dear mother, through my crimes and misdemeanors." then the ministrel [sic] looked about him, anxious, looked in all directions, and beheld some gentle foot-prints, saw a pathway lightly trodden where the heather had been beaten. quick as thought the path he followed, through the meadows, through the brambles, o'er the hills, and through the valleys, to a forest, vast and cheerless; travelled far and travelled farther, still a greater distance travelled, to a dense and hidden glenwood, in the middle of the island; found therein a sheltered cabin, found a small and darksome dwelling built between the rocky ledges, in the midst of triple pine-trees; and within he spied his mother, found his gray-haired mother weeping. lemminkainen loud rejoices, cries in tones of joyful greetings, these the words that ahti utters: "faithful mother, well-beloved, thou that gavest me existence, happy i, that thou art living, that thou hast not yet departed to the kingdom of tuoni, to the islands of the blessed, i had thought that thou hadst perished, hadst been murdered by my foemen, hadst been slain with bows and arrows. heavy are mine eyes from weeping, and my checks are white with sorrow, since i thought my mother slaughtered for the sins i had committed!" lemminkainen's mother answered: "long, indeed, hast thou been absent, long, my son, hast thou been living in thy father's isle of refuge, roaming on the secret island, living at the doors of strangers, living in a nameless country, refuge from the northland foemen." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "charming is that spot for living, beautiful the magic island, rainbow-colored was the forest, blue the glimmer of the meadows, silvered were, the pine-tree branches, golden were the heather-blossoms; all the woodlands dripped with honey, eggs in every rock and crevice, honey flowed from birch and sorb-tree, milk in streams from fir and aspen, beer-foam dripping from the willows, charming there to live and linger, all their edibles delicious. this their only source of trouble: great the fear for all the maidens, all the heroes filled with envy, feared the coming of the stranger; thought that all the island-maidens, thought that all the wives and daughters, all the good, and all the evil, gave thy son too much attention; thought the stranger, lemminkainen, saw the island-maids too often; yet the virgins i avoided, shunned the good and shunned the evil, shunned the host of charming daughters, as the black-wolf shuns the sheep-fold, as the hawk neglects the chickens." rune xxx. the frost-fiend. lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, handsome hero, kaukomieli, hastens as the dawn is breaking, at the dawning of the morning, to the resting-place of vessels, to the harbor of the island, finds the vessels sorely weeping, hears the wailing of the rigging, and the ships intone this chorus: "must we wretched lie forever in the harbor of this island, here to dry and fall in pieces? ahti wars no more in northland, wars no more for sixty summers, even should he thirst for silver, should he wish the gold of battle." lemminkainen struck his vessels with his gloves adorned with copper, and addressed the ships as follows: "mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood, strong and hardy is your rigging, to the wars ye soon may hasten, hasten to the seas of battle; warriors may swarm your cabins ere to-morrow's morn has risen.!'" then the reckless lemminkainen hastened to his aged mother, spake to her the words that follow: "weep no longer, faithful mother, do not sorrow for thy hero, should he leave for scenes of battle, for the hostile fields of pohya; sweet revenge has fired my spirit, and my soul is well determined, to avenge the shameful insult that the warriors of northland gave to thee, defenseless woman." to restrain him seeks his mother, warns her son again of danger: "do not go, my son beloved, to the wars in sariola; there the jaws of death await thee, fell destruction lies before thee!" lemminkainen, little heeding, still determined, speaks as follows: "where may i secure a swordsman, worthy of my race of heroes, to assist me in the combat? often i have heard of tiera, heard of kura of the islands, this one i will take to help me, magic hero of the broadsword; he will aid me in the combat, will protect me from destruction." then he wandered to the islands, on the way to tiera's hamlet, these the words that ahti utters as he nears the ancient dwellings: dearest friend, my noble tiera, my, beloved hero-brother, dost thou other times remember, when we fought and bled together, on the battle-fields of northland? there was not an island-village where there were not seven mansions, in each mansion seven heroes, and not one of all these foemen whom we did not slay with broadswords, victims of our skill and valor." near the window sat the father whittling out a javelin-handle; near the threshold sat the mother skimming cream and making butter; near the portal stood the brother working on a sledge of birch-wood near the bridge-pass were the sisters washing out their varied garments. spake the father from the window, from the threshold spake the mother, from the portals spake the brother, and the sisters from the bridge-pass: "tiera has no time for combat, and his broadsword cannot battle; tiera is but late a bridegroom, still unveiled his bride awaits him." near the hearth was tiera lying, lying by the fire was kura, hastily one foot was shoeing, while the other lay in waiting. from the hook he takes his girdle, buckles it around his body, takes a javelin from its resting, not the largest, nor the smallest, buckles on his mighty scabbard, dons his heavy mail of copper; on each javelin pranced a charger, wolves were howling from his helmet, on the rings the bears were growling. tiera poised his mighty javelin, launched the spear upon its errand; hurled the shaft across the pasture, to the border of the forest, o'er the clay-fields of pohyola, o'er the green and fragrant meadows, through the distant bills of northland. then great tiera touched his javelin to the mighty spear of ahti, pledged his aid to lemminkainen, as his combatant and comrade. thereupon wild kaukomieli pushed his boat upon the waters; like the serpent through the heather, like the creeping of the adder, sails the boat away to pohya, o'er the seas of sariola. quick the wicked hostess, louhi, sends the black-frost of the heavens to the waters of pohyola, o'er the far-extending sea-plains, gave the black-frost these directions: "much-loved frost, my son and hero, whom thy mother has instructed, hasten whither i may send thee, go wherever i command thee, freeze the vessel of this hero, lemminkainen's bark of magic, on the broad back of the ocean, on the far-extending waters; freeze the wizard in his vessel, freeze to ice the wicked ahti, that he never more may wander, never waken while thou livest, or at least till i shall free him, wake him from his icy slumber!" frost, the son of wicked parents, hero-son of evil manners, hastens off to freeze the ocean, goes to fasten down the flood-gates, goes to still the ocean-currents. as he hastens on his journey, takes the leaves from all the forest, strips the meadows of their verdure, robs the flowers of their colors. when his journey he had ended, gained the border of the ocean, gained the sea-shore curved and endless, on the first night of his visit, freezes he the lakes and rivers, freezes too the shore of ocean, freezes not the ocean-billows, does not check the ocean-currents. on the sea a finch is resting, bird of song upon the waters, but his feet are not yet frozen, neither is his head endangered. when the second night frost lingered, he began to grow important, he became a fierce intruder, fearless grew in his invasions, freezes everything before him; sends the fiercest cold of northland, turns to ice the boundless waters. ever thicker, thicker, thicker, grew the ice on sea and ocean, ever deeper, deeper, deeper, fell the snow on field and forest, froze the hero's ship of beauty, cold and lifeless bark of ahti; sought to freeze wild lemminkainen, freeze him lifeless as his vessel, asked the minstrel for his life-blood, for his ears, and feet, and fingers. then the hero, lemminkainen, angry grew and filled with magic, hurled the black-frost to the fire-god, threw him to the fiery furnace, held him in his forge of iron, then addressed the frost as follows: "frost, thou evil son of northland, dire and only son of winter, let my members not be stiffened, neither ears, nor feet, nor fingers, neither let my head be frozen. thou hast other things to feed on, many other beads to stiffen; leave in peace the flesh of heroes, let this minstrel pass in safety, freeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers, fens and forests, bills and valleys; let the cold stones grow still colder, freeze the willows in the waters, let the aspens freeze and suffer, let the bark peel from the birch-trees, let the pines burst on the mountains, let this hero pass in safety, do not let his locks be stiffened. "if all these prove insufficient, feed on other worthy matters; lot the hot stones freeze asunder, let the flaming rocks be frozen, freeze the fiery blocks of iron, freeze to ice the iron mountains; stiffen well the mighty wuoksi, let imatra freeze to silence; freeze the sacred stream and whirlpool, let their boiling billows stiffen, or thine origin i'll sing thee, tell thy lineage of evil. well i know thine evil nature, know thine origin and power, whence thou camest, where thou goest, know thine ancestry of evil. thou wert born upon the aspen, wert conceived upon the willows, near the borders of pohyola, in the courts of dismal northland; sin-begotten was thy father, and thy mother was dishonor. "while in infancy who fed thee while thy mother could not nurse thee? surely thou wert fed by adders, nursed by foul and slimy serpents; north-winds rocked thee into slumber, cradled thee in roughest weather, in the worst of willow-marshes, in the springs forever flowing, evil-born and evil-nurtured, grew to be an evil genius, evil was thy mind and spirit, and the infant still was nameless, till the name of frost was given to the progeny of evil. "then the young lad lived in hedges, dwelt among the weeds and willows, lived in springs in days of summer, on the borders of the marshes, tore the lindens in the winter, stormed among the glens and forests, raged among the sacred birch-trees, rattled in the alder-branches, froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses, evened all the plains and prairies, ate the leaves within the woodlands, made the stalks drop down their blossoms, peeled the bark on weeds and willows. "thou hast grown to large proportions, hast become too tall and mighty; dost thou labor to benumb me, dost thou wish mine ears and fingers, of my feet wouldst thou deprive me? do not strive to freeze this hero, in his anguish and misfortune; in my stockings i shall kindle fire to drive thee from my presence, in my shoes lay flaming faggots, coals of fire in every garment, heated sandstones in my rigging; thus will hold thee at a distance. then thine evil form i'll banish to the farthest northland borders; when thy journey is completed, when thy home is reached in safety, freeze the caldrons in the castle, freeze the coal upon the hearthstone, in the dough, the hands of women, on its mother's lap, the infant, freeze the colt beside its mother. "if thou shouldst not heed this order, i shall banish thee still farther, to the carbon-piles of hisi, to the chimney-hearth of lempo, hurl thee to his fiery furnace, lay thee on the iron anvil, that thy body may be hammered with the sledges of the blacksmith, may be pounded into atoms, twixt the anvil and the hammer. "if thou shouldst not heed this order, shouldst not leave me to my freedom, know i still another kingdom, know another spot of resting; i shall drive thee to the summer, lead thy tongue to warmer climates, there a prisoner to suffer, never to obtain thy freedom till thy spirit i deliver, till i go myself and free thee." wicked frost, the son of winter, saw the magic bird of evil hovering above his spirit, straightway prayed for ahti's mercy, these the words the frost-fiend uttered: "let us now agree together, neither one to harm the other, never in the course of ages, never while the moonlight glimmers on the snow-capped hills of northland. if thou hearest that i bring thee cold to freeze thy feet and fingers, hurl me to the fiery furnace, hammer me upon the anvil of the blacksmith, ilmarinen; lead my tongue to warmer climates, banish me to lands of summer, there a prisoner to suffer, nevermore to gain my freedom." thereupon wild lemminkainen left his vessel in the ocean, frozen in the ice of northland, left his warlike boat forever, started on his cheerless journey to the borders of pohyola, and the mighty tiera followed in the tracks of his companion. on the ice they journeyed northward briskly walked upon the ice-plain, walked one day, and then a second, till the closing of the third day, when the hunger-land approached them, when appeared starvation-island. here the hardy lemminkainen hastened forward to the castle, this the hero's prayer and question; "is there food within this castle, fish or fowl within its larders, to refresh us on our journey, mighty heroes, cold and weary? when the hero, lemminkainen, found no food within the castle, neither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon, thus he cursed it and departed: "may the fire destroy these chambers, may the waters flood this dwelling, wash it to the seas of mana!" then they hastened onward, onward, hastened on through field and forest, over by-ways long untrodden, over unknown paths and snow-fields; here the hardy lemminkainen, reckless hero, kaukomieli, pulled the soft wool from the ledges, gathered lichens from the tree-trunks, wove them into magic stockings, wove them into shoes and mittens, on the settles of the hoar-frost, in the stinging cold of northland. then he sought to find some pathway, that would guide their wayward footsteps, and the hero spake as follows: "o thou tiera, friend beloved, shall we reach our destination, wandering for days together, through these northland fields and forests? kura thus replies to ahti: "we, alas! have come for vengeance, come for blood and retribution, to the battle-fields of northland, to the dismal sariola, here to leave our souls and bodies, here to starve, and freeze, and perish, in the dreariest of places, in this sun-forsaken country! never shall we gain the knowledge, never learn it, never tell it, which the pathway that can guide us to the forest-beds to suffer, to the pohya-plains to perish, in the home-land of the ravens, fitting food for crows and eagles. often do the northland vultures hither come to feed their fledgelings; hither bring the birds of heaven bits of flesh and blood of heroes; often do the beaks of ravens tear the flesh of kindred corpses, often do the eagle's talons carry bones and trembling vitals, such as ours, to feed their nestlings, in their rocky homes and ledges. "oh! my mother can but wonder, never can divine the answer, where her reckless son is roaming, where her hero's blood is flowing, whether in the swamps and lowlands whether in the heat of battle, or upon the waves of the ocean, or upon the hop-feld mountains, or along some forest by-way. nothing can her mind discover of the frailest of her heroes, only think that he has perished. thus the hoary-headed mother weeps and murmurs in her chambers: 'where is now my son beloved, in the kingdom of manala? sow thy crops, thou dread tuoni, harrow well the fields of kalma! now the bow receives its respite from the fingers of my tiera; bow and arrow now are useless, now the merry birds can fatten in the fields, and fens, and forests; bears may live in dens of freedom, on the fields may sport the elk-herds.'" spake the reckless lemminkainen: "thus it is, mine aged mother, thou that gavest me existence! thou hast reared thy broods of chickens, hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans all of them the winds have scattered, or the evil lempo frightened; one flew hither, and one thither, and a third one, lost forever! think thou of our former pleasures, of our better days together, when i wandered like the flowers, like the berry in the meadows. many saw my form majestic, many thought me well-proportioned. now is not as then with ahti, into evil days have fallen, since i see but storms and darkness! then my eyes beheld but sunshine, then we did not weep and murmur, did not fill our hearts with sorrow, when the maids in joy were singing, when the virgins twined their tresses; then the women joined in joyance, whether brides were happy-wedded, whether bridegrooms choose discreetly, whether they were wise or unwise. "but we must not grow disheartened, let the island-maidens cheer us; here we are not yet enchanted, not bewitched by magic singing, on the paths not left to perish, sink and perish on our journey. full of youth we should not suffer, strong, we should not die unworthy, whom the wizards have enchanted, have bewitched with songs of magic; sorcerers may charm and conquer, bury them within their dungeons, hide them spell-bound in their cabins. let the wizards charm each other, and bewitch their magic offspring, bring their tribes to fell destruction. never did my gray-haired father bow submission to a wizard, offer worship to magicians. these the words my father uttered, these the thoughts his son advances: 'guard us, thou o great creator, shield us, thou o god of mercy, with thine arms of grace protect us, help us with thy strength and wisdom, guide the minds of all thy heroes, keep aright the thoughts of women, keep the old from speaking evil, keep the young from sin and folly, be to us a help forever, be our guardian and our father, that our children may not wander from the ways of their creator, from the path that god has given!'" then the hero lemminkainen, made from cares the fleetest racers, sable racers from his sorrows, reins he made from days of evil, from his sacred pains made saddles. to the saddle, quickly springing, galloped he away from trouble, to his dear and aged mother; and his comrade, faithful tiera, galloped to his island-dwelling. now departs wild lemminkainen, brave and reckless kaukomieli, from these ancient songs and legends; only guides his faithful kura to his waiting bride and kindred, while these lays and incantations shall be turned to other heroes. rune xxxi. kullerwoinen son of evil. in the ancient times a mother hatched and raised some swans and chickens, placed the chickens in the brushwood, placed her swans upon the river; came an eagle, hawk, and falcon, scattered all her swans and chickens, one was carried to karyala, and a second into ehstland, left a third at home in pohya. and the one to ehstland taken soon became a thriving merchant; he that journeyed to karyala flourished and was called kalervo; he that hid away in pohya took the name of untamoinen, flourished to his father's sorrow, to the heart-pain of his mother. untamoinen sets his fish-nets in the waters of kalervo; kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets, takes the fish home in his basket. then untamo, evil-minded, angry grew and sighed for vengeance, clutched his fingers for the combat, bared his mighty arms for battle, for the stealing of his salmon, for the robbing of his fish-nets. long they battled, fierce the struggle, neither one could prove the victor; should one beat the other fiercely, he himself was fiercely beaten. then arose a second trouble; on the second and the third days, kalerwoinen sowed some barley near the barns of untamoinen; untamoinen's sheep in hunger ate the crop of kullerwoinen; kullerwoinen's dog in malice tore untamo's sheep in pieces; then untamo sorely threatened to annihilate the people of his brother, kalerwoinen, to exterminate his tribe-folk, to destroy the young and aged, to out-root his race and kingdom; conjures men with broadswords girded, for the war he fashions heroes, fashions youth with spears adjusted, bearing axes on their shoulders, conjures thus a mighty army, hastens to begin a battle, bring a war upon his brother. kalerwoinen's wife in beauty sat beside her chamber-window, looking out along the highway, spake these words in wonder guessing: "do i see some smoke arising, or perchance a heavy storm-cloud, near the border of the forest, near the ending of the prairie?" it was not some smoke arising, nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud, it was untamoinen's soldiers marching to the place of battle. warriors of untamoinen came equipped with spears and arrows, killed the people of kalervo, slew his tribe and all his kindred, burned to ashes many dwellings, levelled many courts and cabins, only, left kalervo's daughter, with her unborn child, survivors of the slaughter of untamo; and she led the hostile army to her father's halls and mansion, swept the rooms and made them cheery, gave the heroes home-attentions. time had gone but little distance, ere a boy was born in magic of the virgin, untamala, of a mother, trouble-laden, him the mother named kullervo, "pearl of combat," said untamo. then they laid the child of wonder, fatherless, the magic infant, in the cradle of attention, to be rocked, and fed, and guarded; but he rocked himself at pleasure, rocked until his locks stood endwise; rocked one day, and then a second, rocked the third from morn till noontide; but before the third day ended, kicks the boy with might of magic, forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards, kicks in miracles of power, bursts with might his swaddling garments creeping from beneath his blankets, knocks his cradle into fragments, tears to tatters all his raiment, seemed that he would grow a hero, and his mother, untamala, thought that be, when full of stature, when he found his strength and reason, would become a great magician, first among a thousand heroes. when three months the boy had thriven, he began to speak as follows: "when my form is full of stature, when these arms grow strong and hardy, then will i avenge the murder of kalervo and his people!" untamoinen bears the saying, speaks these words to those about him; "to my tribe he brings destruction, in him grows a new kalervo!" then the heroes well considered, and the women gave their counsel, how to kill the magic infant, that their tribe may live in safety. it appeared the boy would prosper; finally, they all consenting, he was placed within a basket, and with willows firmly fastened, taken to the reeds and rushes, lowered to the deepest waters, in his basket there to perish. when three nights had circled over, messengers of untamoinen went to see if he had perished in his basket in the waters; but the prodigy, was living, had not perished in the rushes; he had left his willow-basket, sat in triumph on a billow, in his hand a rod of copper, on the rod a golden fish-line, fishing for the silver whiting, measuring the deeps beneath him; in the sea was little water, scarcely would it fill three measures. untamoinen then reflected, this the language of the wizard: "whither shall we take this wonder, lay this prodigy of evil, that destruction may o'ertake him, where the boy will sink and perish?" then his messengers he ordered to collect dried poles of brushwood, birch-trees with their hundred branches, pine-trees full of pitch and resin, ordered that a pyre be builded, that the boy might be cremated, that kullervo thus might perish. high they piled the and branches, dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree, branches from a hundred fir-trees, knots and branches full of resign; filled with bark a thousand sledges, seasoned oak, a hundred measures; piled the brushwood to the tree-tops, set the boy upon the summit, set on fire the pile of brushwood, burned one day, and then a second, burned the third from morn till evening. when untamo sent his heralds to inspect the pyre and wizard, there to learn if young kullervo had been burned to dust and ashes, there they saw the young boy sitting on a pyramid of embers, in his band a rod of copper, raking coals of fire about him, to increase their heat and power; not a hair was burned nor injured, not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled. then untamo, evil-humored, thus addressed his trusted heralds: "whither shall the boy be taken, to what place this thing of evil, that destruction may o'ertake him. that the boy may sink and perish?" then they hung him to an oak-tree, crucified him in the branches, that the wizard there might perish. when three days and nights had ended, untamoinen spake as follows: "it is time to send my heralds to inspect the mighty oak-tree, there to learn if young kullervo lives or dies among the branches." thereupon he sent his servants, and the heralds brought this message: "young kullervo has not perished, has not died among the branches of the oak-tree where we hung him. in the oak he maketh pictures with a wand between his fingers; pictures hang from all the branches, carved and painted by kullervo; and the heroes, thick as acorns, with their swords and spears adjusted, fill the branches of the oak-tree, every leaf becomes a soldier." who can help the grave untamo kill the boy that threatens evil to untamo's tribe and country, since he will not die by water, nor by fire, nor crucifixion? finally it was decided that his body was immortal, could not suffer death nor torture. in despair grave untamoinen thus addressed the boy, kullervo: "wilt thou live a life becoming, always do my people honor, should i keep thee in my dwelling? shouldst thou render servant's duty, then thou wilt receive thy wages, reaping whatsoe'er thou sowest; thou canst wear the golden girdle, or endure the tongue of censure." when the boy had grown a little, had increased in strength and stature, he was given occupation, he was made to tend an infant, made to rock the infant's cradle. these the words of untamoinen: "often look upon the young child, feed him well and guard from danger, wash his linen in the river, give the infant good attention." young kullervo, wicked wizard, nurses one day then a second; on the morning of the third day, gives the infant cruel treatment, blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers; and when evening shadows gather, kills the young child while it slumbers, throws its body to the waters, breaks and burns the infant's cradle. untamoinen thus reflected: "never will this fell kullervo be a worthy nurse for children, cannot rock a babe in safety; do not know how i can use him, what employment i can give him!" then he told the young magician he must fell the standing forest, and kullervo gave this answer: "only will i be a hero, when i wield the magic hatchet; i am young, and fair, and mighty, far more beautiful than others, have the skill of six magicians." thereupon he sought the blacksmith, this the order of kullervo: "listen, o thou metal-artist, forge for me an axe of copper, forge the mighty axe of heroes, wherewith i may fell the forest, fell the birch, and oak, and aspen." this behest the blacksmith honors, forges him an axe of copper, wonderful the blade he forges. kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet, grinds his blade from morn till evening, and the next day makes the handle; then he hastens to the forest, to the upward-sloping mountain, to the tallest of the birches, to the mightiest of oak-trees; there he swings his axe of copper, swings his blade with might of magic, cuts with sharpened edge the aspen, with one blow he fells the oak-tree, with a second blow, the linden; many trees have quickly fallen, by the hatchet of kullervo. then the wizard spake as follows: "this the proper work of lempo, let dire hisi fell the forest!" in the birch he sank his hatchet, made an uproar in the woodlands, called aloud in tones, of thunder, whistled to the distant mountains, till they echoed to his calling, when kullervo spake as follows: "may the forest, in the circle where my voice rings, fall and perish, in the earth be lost forever! may no tree remain unlevelled, may no saplings grow in spring-time, never while the moonlight glimmers, where kullervo's voice has echoed, where the forest hears my calling; where the ground with seed is planted, and the grain shall sprout and flourish, may it never come to ripeness, mar the ears of corn be blasted!" when the strong man, untamoinen, went to look at early evening, how kullervo was progressing, in his labors in the forest; little was the work accomplished, was not worthy of a here; untamoinen thus reflected: "young kullervo is not fitted for the work of clearing forests, wastes the best of all the timber, to my lands he brings destruction; i shall set him making fences." then the youth began the building of a fence for untamoinen; took the trunks of stately fir-trees, trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts, cut the tallest in the woodlands, for the railing of his fences; made the smaller poles and cross-bars from the longest of the lindens; made the fence without a pass-way, made no wicket in his fences, and kullervo spake these measures. "he that does not rise as eagles, does not sail on wings through ether, cannot cross kullervo's pickets, nor the fences he has builded." untamoinen left his mansion to inspect the young boy's labors, view the fences of kullervo; saw the fence without a pass-way, not a wicket in his fences; from the earth the fence extended to the highest clouds of heaven. these the words of untamoinen: "for this work he is not fitted, useless is the fence thus builded; is so high that none can cross it, and there is no passage through it: he shall thresh the rye and barley." young kullervo, quick preparing made an oaken flail for threshing, threshed the rye to finest powder, threshed the barley into atoms, and the straw to worthless fragments. untamoinen went at evening, went to see kullervo's threshing, view the work of kullerwoinen; found the rye was ground to powder, grains of barley crushed to atoms, and the straw to worthless rubbish. untamoinen then grew angry, spake these words in bitter accents: "kullerwoinen as a workman is a miserable failure; whatsoever work he touches is but ruined by his witchcraft; i shall carry him to ehstland, in karyala i shall sell him to the blacksmith, ilmarinen, there to swing the heavy hammer." untamoinen sells kullervo, trades him off in far karyala, to the blacksmith, ilmarinen, to the master of the metals, this the sum received in payment: seven worn and worthless sickles, three old caldrons worse than useless, three old scythes, and hoes, and axes, recompense, indeed, sufficient for a boy that will not labor for the good of his employer. rune xxxii. kullervo as a shepherd. kullerwoinen, wizard-servant of the blacksmith, ilmarinen, purchased slave from untamoinen, magic son with sky-blue stockings, with a head of golden ringlets, in his shoes of marten-leather, waiting little, asked the blacksmith, asked the host for work at morning, in the evening asked the hostess, these the words of kullerwoinen: "give me work at early morning, in the evening, occupation, labor worthy of thy servant." then the wife of ilmarinen, once the maiden of the rainbow, thinking long, and long debating, how to give the youth employment, how the purchased slave could labor; finally a shepherd made him, made him keeper of her pastures; but the over-scornful hostess, baked a biscuit for the herdsman, baked a loaf of wondrous thickness, baked the lower-half of oat-meal, and the upper-half of barley, baked a flint-stone in the centre, poured around it liquid butter, then she gave it to the shepherd, food to still the herdsman's hunger; thus she gave the youth instructions: "do not eat the bread in hunger, till the herd is in the woodlands!" then the wife of ilmarinen sent her cattle to the pasture, thus addressing kullerwoinen: "drive the cows to yonder bowers, to the birch-trees and the aspens, that they there may feed and fatten, fill themselves with milk and butter, in the open forest-pastures, on the distant hills and mountains, in the glens among the birch-trees, in the lowlands with the aspens, in the golden pine-tree forests, in the thickets silver-laden. "guard them, thou o kind creator, shield them, omnipresent ukko, shelter them from every danger, and protect them from all evil, that they may not want, nor wander from the paths of peace and plenty. as at home thou didst protect them in the shelters and the hurdles, guard them now beneath the heavens, shelter them in woodland pastures, that the herds may live and prosper to the joy of northland's hostess, and against the will of lempo. "if my herdsman prove unworthy, if the shepherd-maids seem evil, let the pastures be their shepherds, let the alders guard the cattle, make the birch-tree their protector, let the willow drive them homeward, ere the hostess go to seek them, ere the milkmaids wait and worry. should the birch-tree not protect them, nor the aspen lend assistance, nor the linden be their keeper, nor the willow drive them homeward, wilt thou give them better herdsmen, let creation's beauteous daughters be their kindly shepherdesses. thou hast many lovely maidens, many hundreds that obey thee, in the ether's spacious circles, beauteous daughters of creation. "summer-daughter, magic maiden, southern mother of the woodlands, pine-tree daughter, kateyatar, pihlayatar, of the aspen, alder-maiden, tapio's daughter, daughter of the glen, millikki, and the mountain-maid, tellervo, of my herds be ye protectors, keep them from the evil-minded, keep them safe in days of summer, in the times of fragrant flowers, while the tender leaves are whispering, while the earth is verdure-laden. "summer-daughter, charming maiden, southern mother of the woodlands, spread abroad thy robes of safety, spread thine apron o'er the forest, let it cover all my cattle, and protect the unprotected, that no evil winds may harm them, may not suffer from the storm-clouds. guard my flocks from every danger, keep them from the hands of wild-beasts, from the swamps with sinking pathways, from the springs that bubble trouble, from the swiftly running waters, from the bottom of the whirlpool, that they may not find misfortune, may not wander to destruction, in the marshes sink and perish, though against god's best intentions, though against the will of ukko. "from a distance bring a bugle, bring a shepherd's horn from heaven, bring the honey-flute of ukko, play the music of creation, blow the pipes of the magician, play the flowers on the highlands, charm the hills, and dales, and mount charm the borders of the forest, fill the forest-trees with honey, fill with spice the fountain-borders. "for my herds give food and shelter, feed them all on honeyed pastures, give them drink at honeyed fountains feed them on thy golden grasses, on the leaves of silver saplings, from the springs of life and beauty, from the crystal-waters flowing, from the waterfalls of rutya, from the uplands green and golden, from the glens enriched in silver. dig thou also golden fountains on the four sides of the willow, that the cows may drink in sweetness, and their udders swell with honey, that their milk may flow in streamlets; let the milk be caught in vessels, let the cow's gift be not wasted, be not given to manala. "many are the sons of evil, that to mana take their milkings, give their milk to evil-doers, waste it in tuoni's empire; few there are, and they the worthy, that can get the milk from mana; never did my ancient mother ask for counsel in the village, never in the courts for wisdom; she obtained her milk from mana, took the sour-milk from the dealers, sweet-milk from the greater distance, from the kingdom of manala, from tuoni's fields and pastures; brought it in the dusk of evening, through the by-ways in the darkness, that the wicked should not know it, that it should not find destruction. "this the language of my mother, and these words i also echo: whither does the cow's gift wander, whither has the milk departed? has it gone to feed the strangers, banished to the distant village, gone to feed the hamlet-lover, or perchance to feed the forest, disappeared within the woodlands, scattered o'er the hills and mountains, mingled with the lakes and rivers? it shall never go to mana, never go to feed the stranger, never to the village-lover; neither shall it feed the forest, nor be lost upon the mountains, neither sprinkled in the woodlands, nor be mingled with the waters; it is needed for our tables, worthy food for all our children.' summer-daughter, maid of beauty, southern daughter of creation, give suotikki tender fodder, to watikki, give pure water, to hermikki milk abundant, fresh provisions to tuorikki, from mairikki let the milk flow, fresh milk from my cows in plenty, coming from the tips of grasses, from the tender herbs and leaflets, from the meadows rich in honey, from the mother of the forest, from the meadows sweetly dripping, from the berry-laden branches, from the heath of flower-maidens, from the verdure, maiden bowers, from the clouds of milk-providers, from the virgin of the heavens, that the milk may flow abundant from the cows that i have given to the keeping of kullervo. "rise thou virgin of the valley, from the springs arise in beauty, rise thou maiden of the fountain, beautiful, arise in ether, take the waters from the cloudlets, and my roaming herds besprinkle, that my cows may drink and flourish, may be ready for the coming of the shepherdess of evening. "o millikki, forest-hostess, mother of the herds at pasture, send the tallest of thy servants, send the best of thine assistants, that my herds may well be guarded, through the pleasant days of summer, given us by our creator. "beauteous virgin of the woodlands, tapio's most charming daughter, fair tellervo, forest-maiden, softly clad in silken raiment, beautiful in golden ringlets, do thou give my herds protection, in the metsola dominions, on the hills of tapiola; shield them with thy hands of beauty, stroke them gently with thy fingers, give to them a golden lustre, make them shine like fins of salmon, grow them robes as soft as ermine. "when the evening star brings darkness, when appears the hour of twilight, send my lowing cattle homeward, milk within their vessels coursing, water on their backs in lakelets. when the sun has set in ocean, when the evening-bird is singing, thus address my herds of cattle: "ye that carry horns, now hasten to the sheds of ilmarinen; ye enriched in milk go homeward, to the hostess now in waiting, home, the better place for sleeping, forest-beds are full of danger; when the evening comes in darkness, straightway journey to the milkmaids building fires to light the pathway on the turf enriched in honey, in the pastures berry-laden! "thou, o tapio's son, nyrikki, forest-son, enrobed in purple, cut the fir-trees on the mountains, cut the pines with cones of beauty, lay them o'er the streams for bridges, cover well the sloughs of quicksand, in the swamps and in the lowlands, that my herd may pass in safety, on their long and dismal journey, to the clouds of smoke may hasten, where the milkmaids wait their coming. if the cows heed not this order, do not hasten home at evening, then, o service-berry maiden, cut a birch-rod from the glenwood, from the juniper, a whip-stick, near to tapio's spacious mansion, standing on the ash-tree mountain, drive my wayward, lowing cattle, into metsola's wide milk-yards, when the evening-star is rising. "thou, o otso, forest-apple, woodland bear, with honeyed fingers, let us make a lasting treaty, make a vow for future ages, that thou wilt not kill my cattle, wilt not eat my milk-providers; that i will not send my hunters to destroy thee and thy kindred, never in the days of summer, the creator's warmest season. "dost thou hear the tones of cow-bells, hear the calling of the bugles, ride thyself within the meadow, sink upon the turf in slumber, bury both thine ears in clover, crouch within some alder-thicket climb between the mossy ledges, visit thou some rocky cavern, flee away to other mountains, till thou canst not hear the cow-bells, nor the calling of the herdsmen. "listen, otso of the woodlands, sacred bear with honeyed fingers, to approach the herd of cattle thou thyself art not forbidden, but thy tongue, and teeth, and fingers, must not touch my herd in summer, must not harm my harmless creatures. go around the scented meadows, amble through the milky pastures, from the tones of bells and shepherds. should the herd be on the mountain, go thou quickly to the marshes; should my cattle browse the lowlands, sleep thou then within the thicket; should they feed upon the uplands, thou must hasten to the valley; should the herd graze at the bottom, thou must feed upon the summit. "wander like the golden cuckoo, like the dove of silver brightness, like a little fish in ocean; ride thy claws within thy hair-foot, shut thy wicked teeth in darkness, that my herd may not be frightened, may not think themselves in danger. leave my cows in peace and plenty, let them journey home in order, through the vales and mountain by-ways, over plains and through the forest, harming not my harmless creatures. "call to mind our former pledges, at the river of tuoni, near the waterfall and whirlpool, in the ears of our creator. thrice to otso was it granted, in the circuit of the summer, to approach the land of cow-bells, where the herdsmen's voices echo; but to thee it was not granted, otso never had permission to attempt a wicked action, to begin a work of evil. should the blinding thing of malice come upon thee in thy roamings, should thy bloody teeth feel hunger, throw thy malice to the mountains, and thy hunger to the pine-trees, sink thy teeth within the aspens, in the dead limbs of the birches, prune the dry stalks from the willows. should thy hunger still impel thee, go thou to the berry-mountain, eat the fungus of the forest, feed thy hunger on the ant-hills, eat the red roots of the bear-tree, metsola's rich cakes of honey, not the grass my herd would feed on. or if metsola's rich honey should ferment before the eating, on the hills of golden color, on the mountains filled with silver, there is other food for hunger, other drink for thirsting otso, everlasting will the food be, and the drink be never wanting. "let us now agree in honor, and conclude a lasting treaty that our lives may end in pleasure, may be, merry in the summer, both enjoy the woods in common, though our food must be distinctive shouldst thou still desire to fight me, let our contests be in winter, let our wars be, on the snow-fields. swamps will thaw in days of summer, warm, the water in the rivers. therefore shouldst thou break this treaty, shouldst thou come where golden cattle roam these woodland hills and valleys, we will slay thee with our cross-bows; should our arrow-men be absent, we have here some archer-women, and among them is the hostess, that can use the fatal weapon, that can bring thee to destruction, thus will end the days of trouble that thou bringest to our people, and against the will of ukko. "ukko, ruler in the heavens, lend an ear to my entreaty, metamorphose all my cattle, through the mighty force of magic, into stumps and stones convert them, if the enemy should wander, near my herd in days of summer. "if i had been born an otso, i would never stride and amble at the feet of aged women; elsewhere there are hills and valleys, farther on are honey-pastures, where the lazy bear may wander, where the indolent may linger; sneak away to yonder mountain, that thy tender flesh may lessen, in the blue-glen's deep recesses, in the bear-dens of the forest, thou canst move through fields of acorns, through the sand and ocean-pebbles, there for thee is tracked a pathway, through the woodlands on the sea-coast, to the northland's farthest limits, to the dismal plains of lapland, there 'tis well for thee to lumber, there to live will be a pleasure. shoeless there to walk in summer, stockingless in days of autumn, on the blue-back of the mountain, through the swamps and fertile lowlands. "if thou canst not journey thither, canst not find the lapland-highway, hasten on a little distance, in the bear-path leading northward. to the grove of tuonela, to the honey-plains of kalma, swamps there are in which to wander, heaths in which to roam at pleasure, there are kiryos, there are karyos, and of beasts a countless number, with their fetters strong as iron, fattening within the forest. be ye gracious, groves and mountains, full of grace, ye darksome thickets, peace and, plenty to my cattle, through the pleasant days of summer, the creator's warmest season. "knippana, o king of forests, thou the gray-beard of the woodlands, watch thy dogs in fen and fallow, lay a sponge within one nostril, and an acorn in the other, that they may not scent my cattle; tie their eyes with silken fillets, that they may not see my herdlings, may not see my cattle grazing. "should all this seem inefficient, drive away thy barking children, let them run to other forests, let them hunt in other marshes, from these verdant strips of meadow, from these far outstretching borders, hide thy dogs within thy caverns, firmly tie thy yelping children, tie them with thy golden fetters, with thy chains adorned with silver, that they may not do me damage,' may not do a deed of mischief. should all this prove inefficient, thou, o ukko, king of heaven. wise director, full of mercy, hear the golden words i utter, hear a voice that breathes affection, from the alder make a muzzle, for each dog, within the kennel; should the alder prove too feeble, cast a band of purest copper; should the copper prove a failure, forge a band of ductile iron; should the iron snap asunder, in each nose a small-ring fasten, made of molten gold and silver, chain thy dogs in forest-caverns, that my herd may not be injured. then the wife of ilmarinen, life-companion of the blacksmith, opened all her yards and stables, led her herd across the meadow, placed them in the herdman's keeping, in the care of kullerwoinen. rune xxxiii. kullervo and the cheat-cake. thereupon the lad, kullervo, laid his luncheon in his basket, drove the herd to mountain-pastures, o'er the hills and through the marshes, to their grazings in the woodlands, speaking as he careless wandered: "of the youth am i the poorest, hapless lad and full of trouble, evil luck to me befallen! i alas! must idly wander o'er the hills and through the valleys, as a watch-dog for the cattle!" then she sat upon the greensward, in a sunny spot selected, singing, chanting words as follow: "shine, o shine, thou sun of heaven, cast thy rays, thou fire of ukko, on the herdsman of the blacksmith, on the head of kullerwoinen, on this poor and luckless shepherd, not in ilmarinen's smithy, nor the dwellings of his people; good the table of the hostess, cuts the best of wheaten biscuit, honey-cakes she cuts in slices, spreading each with golden butter; only dry bread has the herdsman, eats with pain the oaten bread-crusts,' filled with chaff his and biscuit, feeds upon the worst of straw-bread, pine-tree bark, the broad he feeds on, sipping water from the birch-bark, drinking from the tips of grasses i go, o sun, and go, o barley, haste away, thou light of ukko, hide within the mountain pine-trees, go, o wheat, to yonder thickets, to the trees of purple berries, to the junipers and alders, safely lead the herdsman homeward to the biscuit golden-buttered, to the honeyed cakes and viands!" while the shepherd lad was singing kullerwoinen's song and echo, ilmarinen's wife was feasting on the sweetest bread of northland, on the toothsome cakes of barley, on the richest of provisions; only laid aside some cabbage, for the herdsman, kullerwoinen; set apart some wasted fragments, leavings of the dogs at dinner, for the shepherd, home returning. from the woods a bird came flying, sang this song to kullerwoinen: "'tis the time for forest-dinners, for the fatherless companion of the herds to eat his viands, eat the good things from his basket!" kullerwoinen heard the songster, looked upon the sun's long shadow, straightway spake the words that follow: "true, the singing of the song-bird, it is time indeed for feasting, time to eat my basket-dinner." thereupon young kullerwoinen called his herd to rest in safety, sat upon a grassy hillock, took his basket from his shoulders, took therefrom the and oat-loaf, turned it over in his fingers, carefully the loaf inspected, spake these words of ancient wisdom: "many loaves are fine to look on, on the outside seem delicious, on the inside, chaff and tan-bark!" then the shepherd, kullerwoinen, drew his knife to cut his oat-loaf, cut the hard and arid biscuit; cuts against a stone imprisoned, well imbedded in the centre, breaks his ancient knife in pieces; when the shepherd youth, kullervo, saw his magic knife had broken, weeping sore, he spake as follows: "this, the blade that i bold sacred, this the one thing that i honor, relic of my mother's people! on the stone within this oat-loaf, on this cheat-cake of the hostess, i my precious knife have broken. how shall i repay this insult, how avenge this woman's malice, what the wages for deception?" from a tree the raven answered: "o thou little silver buckle, only son of old kalervo, why art thou in evil humor, wherefore sad in thy demeanor? take a young shoot from the thicket, take a birch-rod from the valley, drive thy herd across the lowlands, through the quicksands of the marshes; to the wolves let one half wander, to the bear-dens, lead the other; sing the forest wolves together, sing the bears down from the mountains, call the wolves thy little children, and the bears thy standard-bearers; drive them like a cow-herd homeward, drive them home like spotted cattle, drive them to thy master's milk-yards; thus thou wilt repay the hostess for her malice and derision." thereupon the wizard answered, these the words of kullerwoinen: "wait, yea wait, thou bride of hisi! do i mourn my mother's relic, mourn the keep-sake thou hast broken? thou thyself shalt mourn as sorely when thy, cows come home at evening!" from the tree he cuts a birch-wand, from the juniper a whip-stick, drives the herd across the lowlands, through the quicksands of the marshes, to the wolves lets one half wander, to the bear-dens leads the other; calls the wolves his little children, calls the bears his standard-bearers, changes all his herd of cattle into wolves and bears by magic. in the west the sun is shining, telling that the night is coming. quick the wizard, kullerwoinen, wanders o'er the pine-tree mountain, hastens through the forest homeward, drives the wolves and bears before him toward the milk-yards of the hostess; to the herd he speaks as follows, as they journey on together: "tear and kill the wicked hostess, tear her guilty flesh in pieces, when she comes to view her cattle, when she stoops to do her milking!" then the wizard, kullerwoinen, from an ox-bone makes a bugle, makes it from tuonikki's cow-horn, makes a flute from kiryo's shin-bone, plays a song upon his bugle, plays upon his flute of magic, thrice upon the home-land hill-tops, six times near the coming gate-ways. ilmarinen's wife and hostess long had waited for the coming of her herd with kullerwoinen, waited for the milk at evening, waited for the new-made butter, heard the footsteps in the cow-path, on the heath she beard the bustle, spake these joyous words of welcome: "be thou praised, o gracious ukko, that my herd is home returning! but i hear a bugle sounding, 'tis the playing of my herdsman, playing on a magic cow-horn, bursting all our ears with music!" kullerwoinen, drawing nearer, to the hostess spake as follows: "found the bugle in the woodlands, and the flute among the rushes; all thy herd are in the passage, all thy cows within the hurdles, this the time to build the camp-fire, this the time to do the milking!" ilmarinen's wife, the hostess, thus addressed an aged servant: "go, thou old one, to the milking, have the care of all my cattle, do not ask for mine assistance, since i have to knead the biscuit." kullerwoinen spake as follows: "always does the worthy hostess, ever does the wisdom-mother go herself and do the milking, tend the cows within the hurdles!" then the wife of ilmarinen built a field-fire in the passage, went to milk her cows awaiting, looked upon her herd in wonder, spake these happy words of greeting: "beautiful, my herd of cattle, glistening like the skins of lynxes, hair as soft as fur of ermine, peaceful waiting for the milk-pail!" on the milk-stool sits the hostess, milks one moment, then a second, then a third time milks and ceases; when the bloody wolves disguising, quick attack the hostess milking, and the bears lend their assistance, tear and mutilate her body with their teeth and sharpened fingers. kullerwoinen, cruel wizard, thus repaid the wicked hostess, thus repaid her evil treatment. quick the wife of ilmarinen cried aloud in bitter anguish, thus addressed the youth, kullervo: "evil son, thou bloody herdsman, thou hast brought me wolves in malice, driven bears within my hurdles! these the words of kullerwoinen: "have i evil done as shepherd, worse the conduct of the hostess; baked a stone inside my oat-cake, on the inside, rock and tan-bark, on the stone my knife, was broken, treasure of my mother's household, broken virtue of my people!" ilmarinen's wife made answer: "noble herdsman, kullerwoinen, change, i pray thee, thine opinion, take away thine incantations, from the bears and wolves release me, save me from this spell of torture i will give thee better raiment, give the best of milk and butter, set for thee the sweetest table; thou shalt live with me in welcome, need not labor for thy keeping. if thou dost not free me quickly, dost not break this spell of magic, i shall sink into the death-land, shall return to tuonela." this is kullerwoinen's answer: "it is best that thou shouldst perish, let destruction overtake thee, there is ample room in mana, room for all the dead in kalma, there the worthiest must slumber, there must rest the good and evil." ilmarinen's wife made answer: "ukko, thou o god in heaven, span the strongest of thy cross-bows, test the weapon by thy wisdom, lay an arrow forged from copper, on the cross-bow of thy forging; rightly aim thy flaming arrow, with thy magic hurl the missile, shoot this wizard through the vitals, pierce the heart of kullerwoinen with the lightning of the heavens, with thine arrows tipped with copper." kullerwoinen prays as follows: "ukko, god of truth and justice. do not slay thy magic servant, slay the wife of ilmarinen, kill in her the worst of women, in these hurdles let her perish, lest she wander hence in freedom, to perform some other mischief, do some greater deed of malice!" quick as lightning fell the hostess, quick the wife of ilmarinen fell and perished in the hurdles, on the ground before her cottage thus the death of northland's hostess, cherished wife of ilmarinen, once the maiden of the rainbow, wooed and watched for many summers, pride and joy of kalevala! rune xxxiv. kullervo finds his tribe-folk. kullerwoinen, young magician, in his beauteous, golden ringlets, in his magic shoes of deer-skin, left the home of ilmarinen wandered forth upon his journey, ere the blacksmith heard the tidings of the cruel death and torture of his wife and joy-companion, lest a bloody fight should follow. kullerwoinen left the smithy, blowing on his magic bugle, joyful left the lands of ilma, blowing blithely on the heather, made the distant hills re-echo, made the swamps and mountains tremble, made the heather-blossoms answer to the music of his cow-horn, in its wild reverberations, to the magic of his playing. songs were heard within the smithy, and the blacksmith stopped and listened, hastened to the door and window, hastened to the open court-yard, if perchance he might discover what was playing on the heather, what was sounding through the forest. quick he learned the cruel story, learned the cause of the rejoicing, saw the hostess dead before him, knew his beauteous wife had perished, saw the lifeless form extended, in the court-yard of his dwelling. thereupon the metal-artist fell to bitter tears and wailings, wept through all the dreary night-time, deep the grief that settled o'er him, black as night his darkened future, could not stay his tears of sorrow. kullerwoinen hastened onward, straying, roaming, hither, thither, wandered on through field and forest, o'er the hisi-plains and woodlands. when the darkness settled o'er him, when the bird of night was flitting, sat the fatherless at evening, the forsaken sat and rested on a hillock of the forest. thus he murmured, heavy-hearted: "why was i, alas! created, why was i so ill-begotten, since for months and years i wander, lost among the ether-spaces? others have their homes to dwell in, others hasten to their firesides as the evening gathers round them: but my home is in the forest, and my bed upon the heather, and my bath-room is the rain-cloud. "never didst thou, god of mercy, never in the course of ages, give an infant birth unwisely; wherefore then was i created, fatherless to roam in ether, motherless and lone to wander? thou, o ukko, art my father, thou hast given me form and feature; as the sea-gull on the ocean, as the duck upon the waters, shines the sun upon the swallow, shines as bright upon the sparrow, gives the joy-birds song and gladness, does not shine on me unhappy; nevermore will shine the sunlight, never will the moonlight glimmer on this hapless son and orphan; do not know my hero-father, cannot tell who was my mother; on the shore, perhaps the gray-duck left me in the sand to perish. young was i and small of stature, when my mother left me orphaned; dead, my father and my mother, dead, my honored tribe of heroes; shoes they left me that are icy, stockings filled with frosts of ages, let me on the freezing ice-plains fall to perish in the rushes; from the giddy heights of mountains let me tumble to destruction. "o, thou wise and good creator, why my birth and what my service? i shall never fall and perish on the ice-plains, in the marshes, never be a bridge in swamp-land, not while i have arms of virtue that can serve my honored kindred!" then kullervo thought to journey to the village of untamo, to avenge his father's murder, to avenge his mother's tortures, and the troubles of his tribe-folk. these the words of kullerwoinen: "wait, yea wait, thou untamoinen, thou destroyer of my people; when i meet thee in the combat, i will slay thee and thy kindred, i will burn thy homes to ashes!" came a woman on the highway, dressed in blue, the aged mother, to kullervo spake as follows: "whither goest, kullerwoinen, whither hastes the wayward hero? kullerwoinen gave this answer: "i have thought that i would journey to the far-off land of strangers, to the village of untamo, to avenge my father's murder, to avenge my mother's tortures, and the troubles of my tribe-folk." thus the gray-haired woman answered: "surely thou dost rest in error, for thy tribe has never perished, and thy mother still is living with thy father in the northland, living with the old kalervo." "o, thou ancient dame beloved, worthy mother of the woodlands, tell me where my father liveth, where my loving mother lingers!" "yonder lives thine aged father, and thy loving mother with him, on the farthest shore of northland, on the long-point of the fish-lake!" "tell me, o thou woodland-mother, how to journey to my people, how to find mine honored tribe-folk." "easy is the way for strangers: thou must journey through the forest, hasten to the river-border, travel one day, then a second, and the third from morn till even, to the north-west, thou must journey. if a mountain comes to meet thee, go around the nearing mountain, westward bold thy weary journey, till thou comest to a river, on thy right hand flowing eastward; travel to the river border, where three water-falls will greet thee; when thou comest to a headland, on the point thou'lt see a cottage where the fishermen assemble; in this cottage is thy father, with thy mother and her daughters, beautiful thy maiden sisters." kullerwoinen, the magician, hastens northward on his journey, walks one day, and then a second, walks the third from morn till evening; to the north-west walks kullervo, till a mountain comes to meet him, walks around the nearing mountain; westward, westward, holds his journey, till he sees a river coming; hastens to the river border, walks along the streams and rapids till three waterfalls accost him; travels till he meets a headland, on the point he spies a cottage, where the fishermen assemble. quick he journeys to the cabin, quick he passes through the portals of the cottage on the headland, where he finds his long-lost kindred; no one knows the youth, kullervo, no one knows whence comes the stranger, where his home, nor where he goeth. these the words of young kullervo: "dost thou know me not, my mother, dost thou know me not, my father? i am hapless kullerwoinen whom the heroes of untamo carried to their distant country, when my height was but a hand-breadth." quick the hopeful mother answers: "o my worthy son, beloved, o my precious silver-buckle, hast thou with thy mind of magic, wandered through the fields of northland searching for thy home and kindred? as one dead i long have mourned thee, had supposed thee, in manala. once i had two sons and heroes, had two good and beauteous daughters, two of these have long been absent, elder son and elder daughter; for the wars my son departed, while my daughter strayed and perished if my son is home returning, yet my daughter still is absent, kullerwoinen asked his mother: "whither did my sister wander, what direction did she journey? this the answer of the mother: "this the story of thy sister: went for berries to the woodlands, to the mountains went my daughter, where the lovely maiden vanished, where my pretty berry perished, died some death beyond my knowledge, nameless is the death she suffered. who is mourning for the daughter? no one mourns her as her mother, walks and wanders, mourns and searches, for her fairest child and daughter; therefore did the mother wander, searching for thy lovely sister, like the bear she roamed the forest, ran the glenways like the adder, searched one day and then a second, searched the third from morn till even, till she reached the mountain-summit, there she called and called her daughter, till the distant mountains answered, called to her who had departed: i where art thou, my lovely maiden, come my daughter to thy mother!' "thus i called, and sought thy sister, this the answer of the mountains, thus the hills and valleys echoed: 'call no more, thou weeping mother, weep no more for the departed; nevermore in all thy lifetime, never in the course of ages, will she join again her kindred, at her brother's landing-places, in her father's humble dwelling.'" rune xxxv. kullervo's evil deeds. kullerwionen, youthful wizard, in his blue and scarlet stockings, henceforth lingered with his parents; but he could not change his nature, could not gain a higher wisdom, could not win a better judgment; as a child he was ill-nurtured, early rocked in stupid cradles, by a nurse of many follies, by a minister of evil. to his work went kullerwoinen, strove to make his labors worthy; first, kullervo went a-fishing, set his fishing-nets in ocean; with his hands upon the row-locks, kullerwoinen spake as follows: "shall i pull with all my forces, pull with strength of youthful heroes, or with weakness of the aged?" from the stern arose a gray-beard, and he answered thus kullervo: "pull with all thy youthful vigor; shouldst thou row with magic power, thou couldst not destroy this vessel, couldst not row this boat to fragments." thereupon the youth, kullervo, rowed with all his youthful vigor, with the mighty force of magic, rowed the bindings from the vessel, ribs of juniper he shattered, rowed the aspen-oars to pieces. when the aged sire, kalervo, saw the work of kullerwoinen, he addressed his son as follows: "dost not understand the rowing; thou hast burst the bands asunder, bands of juniper and willow, rowed my aspen-boat to pieces; to the fish-nets drive the salmon, this, perchance, will suit thee better." thereupon the son, kullervo, hastened to his work as bidden, drove the salmon to the fish-nets, spake in innocence as follows: "shall i with my youthful vigor scare the salmon to the fish-nets, or with little magic vigor shall i drive them to their capture? spake the master of the fish-nets: "that would be but work of women, shouldst thou use but little power in the frighting of the salmon!" kullerwoinen does as bidden, scares the salmon with the forces of his mighty arms and shoulders, with the strength of youth and magic, stirs the water thick with black-earth, beats the scare-net into pieces, into pulp he beats the salmon. when the aged sire, kalervo, saw the work of kullerwoinen, to his son these words he uttered: "dost not understand this labor, for this work thou art not suited, canst not scare the perch and salmon to the fish-nets of thy father; thou hast ruined all my fish-nets, torn my scare-net into tatters, beaten into pulp the whiting, torn my net-props into fragments, beaten into bits my wedges. leave the fishing to another; see if thou canst pay the tribute, pay my yearly contribution; see if thou canst better travel, on the way show better judgment!" thereupon the son, kullervo, hapless youth in purple vestments, in his magic shoes of deer-skin, in his locks of golden color, sallied forth to pay the taxes, pay the tribute for his people. when the youth had paid the tribute, paid the yearly contribution, he returned to join the snow-sledge, took his place upon the cross-bench, snapped his whip above the courser, and began his journey homeward; rattled on along the highway, measured as he galloped onward wainamoinen's hills and valleys, and his fields in cultivation. came a golden maid to meet him, on her snow-shoes came a virgin, o'er the hills of wainamoinen, o'er his cultivated lowlands. quick the wizard-son, kullervo, checked the motion of his racer, thus addressed the charming maiden "come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, in my fur-robes rest and linger!" as she ran, the maiden answered: "let the death-maid sit beside thee, rest and linger in thy fur-robes!" thereupon the youth, kullervo, snapped his whip above the courser; fleet as wind he gallops homeward, dashes down along the highway; with the roar of falling waters, gallops onward, onward, onward, o'er the broad-back of the ocean, o'er the icy plains of lapland. comes a winsome maid to meet him, golden-haired, and wearing snow-shoes, on the far outstretching ice-plains; quick the wizard checks his racer, charmingly accosts the maiden, chanting carefully these measures: "come, thou beauty, to my snow-sledge, hither come, and rest, and linger! tauntingly the maiden answered: "take tuoni to thy snow-sledge, at thy side let manalainen sit with thee, and rest, and linger!" quick the wizard, kullerwoinen, struck his fiery, prancing racer, with the birch-whip of his father. like the lightning flew the fleet-foot, galloped on the highway homeward; o'er the hills the snow-sledge bounded, and the coming mountains trembled. kullerwoinen, wild magician, measures, on his journey homeward, northland's far-extending borders, and the fertile plains of pohya. comes a beauteous maid to meet him, with a tin-pin on her bosom, on the heather of pohyola, o'er the pohya-hills and moorlands. quick the wizard son, kullervo, holds the bridle of his courser, charmingly intones these measures: "come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge, in these fur-robes rest, and linger; eat with me the golden apples, eat the hazel-nut in joyance, drink with me the beer delicious, eat the dainties that i give thee." this the answer of the maiden with the tin-pin on her bosom: "i have scorn to give thy snow-sledge, scorn for thee, thou wicked wizard; cold is it beneath thy fur-robes, and thy sledge is chill and cheerless. thereupon the youth, kullervo, wicked wizard of the northland, drew the maiden to his snow-sledge, drew her to a seat beside him, quickly in his furs enwrapped her; and the tin-adorned made answer, these the accents of the maiden: "loose me from thy magic power, let me leave at once thy presence, lest i speak in wicked accents, lest i say the prayer of evil; free me now as i command thee, or i'll tear thy sledge to pieces, throw these fur-robes to the north-winds." straightway wicked kullerwoinen, evil wizard and magician, opens all his treasure-boxes, shows the maiden gold and silver, shows her silken wraps of beauty, silken hose with golden borders, golden belts with silver buckles, jewelry that dims the vision, blunts the conscience of the virgin. silver leads one to destruction, gold entices from uprightness. kullerwoinen, wicked wizard, flatters lovingly the maiden, one hand on the reins of leather, one upon the maiden's shoulder; thus they journey through the evening, pass the night in merry-making. when the day-star led the morning, when the second day was dawning, then the maid addressed kullervo, questioned thus the wicked wizard: "of what tribe art thou descended, of what race thy hero-father? tell thy lineage and kindred.` this, kullervo's truthful answer: "am not from a mighty nation, not the greatest, nor the smallest, but my lineage is worthy: am kalervo's son of folly, am a child of contradictions, hapless son of cold misfortune. tell me of thy race of heroes, tell thine origin and kindred." this the answer of the maiden: "came not from a race primeval, not the largest, nor the smallest, but my lineage is worthy; am kalervo's wretched daughter, am his long-lost child of error, am a maid of contradictions, hapless daughter of misfortune. "when a child i lived in plenty in the dwellings of my mother; to the woods i went for berries, went for raspberries to uplands, gathered strawberries on mountains, gathered one day then a second; but, alas! upon the third day, could not find the pathway homeward, forestward the highways led me, all the footpaths, to the woodlands. long i sat in bitter weeping, wept one day and then a second, wept the third from morn till even. then i climbed a. lofty mountain, there i called in wailing accents, and the woodlands gave this answer, thus the distant hills re-echoed: 'call no longer, foolish virgin, all thy calls and tears are useless; there is none to give thee answer, far away, thy home and people.' "on the third and on the fourth days, on the fifth, and sixth, and seventh, constantly i sought to perish; but in vain were all my efforts, could not die upon the mountains. if this wretched maid had perished, in the summer of the third year, she had fed earth's vegetation, she had blossomed as a flower, knowing neither pain nor sorrow." scarcely had the maiden spoken, when she bounded from the snow-sledge, rushed upon the rolling river, to the cataract's commotion, to the fiery stream and whirlpool. thus kullervo's lovely sister hastened to her own destruction, to her death by fire and water, found her peace in tuonela, in the sacred stream of mana. then the wicked kullerwoinen fell to weeping, sorely troubled, wailed, and wept, and heavy-hearted, spake these words in bitter sorrow: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! i have slain my virgin-sister, shamed the daughter of my mother; woe to thee, my ancient father! woe to thee, my gray-haired mother! wherefore was i born and nurtured, why this hapless child's existence? better fate to kullerwoinen, had he never seen the daylight, or, if born, had never thriven in these mournful days of evil! death has failed to do his duty, sickness sinned in passing by me, should have slain me in the cradle, when the seventh day had ended!" thereupon he slips the collar of his prancing royal racer, mounts the silver-headed fleet-foot, gallops like the lightning homeward; gallops only for a moment, when he halts his foaming courser at the cabin of his father. in the court-yard stood the mother, thus the wicked son addressed her: "faithful mother, fond and tender, hadst thou slain me when an infant, smoked my life out in the chamber, in a winding-sheet hadst thrown me to the cataract and whirlpool, in the fire hadst set my cradle, after seven nights had ended, worthy would have been thy service. had the village-maidens asked thee: 'where is now the little cradle, wherefore is the bath-room empty?' this had been a worthy answer: 'i have burned the wizard's cradle, cast the infant to the fire-dogs; in the bath-room corn is sprouting, from the barley malt is brewing.'" thereupon the aged mother asks her wizard-son these questions: "what has happened to my hero, what new fate has overcome thee? comest thou as from tuoni, from the castles of manala?" this, kullervo's frank confession: "infamous the tale i bring thee, my confession is dishonor: on the way i met a maiden, met thy long-lost, wayward daughter, did not recognize my sister, fatal was the sin committed! when the taxes had been settled, when the tribute had been gathered, came a matchless maid to meet me, whom i witless led to sorrow, this my mother's long-lost daughter. when she saw in me her brother, quick she bounded from the snow-sledge, hastened to the roaring waters, to the cataract's commotion, to the fiery stream and whirlpool, hastened to her full destruction. "now, alas! must i determine, now must find a spot befitting, where thy sinful son may perish; tell me, all-forgiving mother, where to end my life of trouble; let me stop the black-wolf's howling, let me satisfy the hunger of the vicious bear of northland; let the shark or hungry sea-dog be my dwelling-place hereafter!" this the answer of the mother: "do not go to stop the howling of the hungry wolf of northland; do not haste to still the black-bear growling in his forest-cavern; let not shark, nor vicious sea-dog be thy dwelling-place hereafter. spacious are the rooms of suomi, limitless the sawa-borders, large enough to hide transgression, man's misdeeds to hide for ages, with his sins and evil actions. six long years man's sins lie hidden in the border-land of kalma, even nine for magic heroes, till the years bring consolation, till they quiet all his mourning." kullerwoinen, wicked wizard, answers thus his grieving mother: "i can never hide from sorrow, cannot flee from my misconduct; to the jaws of death i hasten, to the open courts of kalma, to the hunting-grounds of pohya, to the battle-fields of heroes. untamoinen still is living, unmolested roams the wicked, unavenged my father's grievance, unavenged my mother's tortures, unavenged the wrongs i suffer!" rune xxxvi. kullerwoinen's victory and death. kullerwionen, wicked wizard, in his purple-colored stockings, now prepares himself for battle; grinds a long time on his broadsword, sharpens well his trusty weapon, and his mother speaks as follows: "do not go, my son beloved, go not to the wars, my hero, struggle not with hostile spearsmen. whoso goes to war for nothing, undertakes a fearful combat, undertakes a fatal issue; those that war without a reason will be slaughtered for their folly, easy prey to bows and arrows. go thou with a goat to battle, shouldst thou go to fight the roebuck, 'tis the goat that will be vanquished, and the roebuck will be slaughtered; with a frog thou'lt journey homeward, victor, with but little honor!" these the words of kullerwoinen: "shall not journey through the marshes, shall not sink upon the heather, on the home-land of the raven, where the eagles scream at day-break. when i yield my life forever, bravely will i fall in battle, fall upon the field of glory, beautiful to die in armor, and the clang and clash of armies, beautiful the strife for conquest! thus kullervo soon will hasten to the kingdom of tuoni, to the realm of the departed, undeformed by wasting sickness." this the answer of the mother: "if thou diest in the conflict, who will stay to guard thy father, who will give thy sire protection?" these the words of kullerwoinen: "let him die upon the court-yard, sleeping out his life of sorrow!" "who then will protect thy mother, be her shield in times of danger?" "let her die within the stable, or the cabin where she lingers!" "who then will defend thy brother, give him aid in times of trouble?" "let him die within the forest, sleep his life away unheeded!" "who will comfort then thy sister, who will aid her in affliction?" "let her sink beneath the waters, perish in the crystal fountain, where the brook flows on in beauty, like a silver serpent winding through the valley to the ocean!" thereupon the wild kullervo hastens from his home to battle, to his father speaks, departing: "fare thou well, my aged father! wilt thou weep for me, thy hero, when thou hearest i have perished, fallen from thy tribe forever, perished on the field of glory?" thus the father speaks in answer: "i shall never mourn the downfall of my evil son, kullervo; shall not weep when thou hast perished; shall beget a second hero that will do me better service, that will think and act in wisdom." kullerwoinen gives this answer: "neither shall i mourn thy downfall, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall make a second father, make the head from loam and sandstone, make the eyes from swamp-land berries, make the beard from withered sea-grass, make the feet from roots of willow, make the form from birch-wood fungus." thereupon the youth, kullervo, to his brother speaks as follows: "fare thou well, beloved brother! wilt thou weep for me departed, shouldst thou hear that i have perished, fallen on the field of battle?" this the answer of the brother: "i shall never mourn the downfall of my brother, kullerwoinen, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall find a second brother; find one worthier and wiser!" this is kullerwoinen's answer: "neither shall i mourn thy downfall, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall form a second brother, make the head from dust and ashes, make the eyes from pearls of ocean, make the beard from withered verdure, make the form from pulp of birch-wood." to his sister speaks kullervo: "fare thou well, beloved sister! surely thou wilt mourn my downfall, weep for me when i have perished, when thou hearest i have fallen in the heat and din of battle, fallen from thy race forever!" but the sister makes this answer: "never shall i mourn thy downfall, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall seek a second brother, seek a brother, purer, better, one that will not shame his sister!" kullerwoinen thus makes answer: "neither shall i mourn thee fallen, shall not weep when thou hast perished; i shall form a second sister, make the head from whitened marble, make the eyes from golden moonbeams, make the tresses from the rainbow, make the ears from ocean-flowers, and her form from gold and silver. "fare thou well, beloved mother, mother, beautiful and faithful! wilt thou weep when i have perished, fallen on the field of glory, fallen from thy race forever?" thus the mother speaks in answer: "canst not fathom love maternal, canst not smother her affection; bitterly i'll mourn thy downfall, i would weep if thou shouldst perish, shouldst thou leave my race forever; i would weep in court or cabin, sprinkle all these fields with tear-drops, weep great rivers to the ocean, weep to melt the snows of northland, make the hillocks green with weeping, weep at morning, weep at evening, weep three years in bitter sorrow o'er the death of kullerwoinen!" thereupon the wicked wizard went rejoicing to the combat; in delight to war he hastened o'er the fields, and fens, and fallows, shouting loudly on the heather, singing o'er the hills and mountains, rushing through the glens and forests, blowing war upon his bugle. time had gone but little distance, when a messenger appearing, spake these words to kullerwoinen: "lo! thine aged sire has perished, fallen from thy race forever; hasten home and do him honor, lay him in the lap of kalma." kullerwoinen inade this answer: "has my aged father perished, there is home a sable stallion that will take him to his slumber, lay him in the lap of kalma." then kullervo journeyed onward, calling war upon his bugle, till a messenger appearing, brought this word to kullerwoinen: "lo! thy brother too has perished, dead he lies within the forest, manalainen's trumpet called him; home return and do him honor, lay him in the lap of kalma." kullerwoinen thus replying: "has my hero-brother perished, there is home a sable stallion that will take him' to his slumber, lay him in the lap of kalma." young kullervo journeyed onward over vale and over mountain, playing on his reed of battle, till a messenger appearing brought the warrior these tidings: "lo! thy sister too has perished, perished in the crystal fountain, where the waters flow in beauty, like a silver serpent winding through the valley to the ocean; home return and do her honor, lay her in the lap of kalma." these the words of kullerwoinen: "has my beauteous sister perished, fallen from my race forever, there is home a sable filly that will take her to her resting, lay her in the lap of kalma." still kullervo journeyed onward, through the fens he went rejoicing, sounding war upon his bugle, till a messenger appearing brought to him these words of sorrow: "lo! thy mother too has perished, died in anguish, broken-hearted; home return and do her honor, lay her in the lap of kalma." these the measures of kullervo: "woe is me, my life hard-fated, that my mother too has perished, she that nursed me in my cradle, made my couch a golden cover, twirled for me the spool and spindle! lo! kullervo was not present when his mother's life departed; may have died upon the mountains, perished there from cold and hunger. lave the dead form of my mother in the crystal waters flowing; wrap her in the robes of ermine, tie her hands with silken ribbon, take her to the grave of ages, lay her in the lap of kalma. bury her with songs of mourning, let the singers chant my sorrow; cannot leave the fields of battle while untamo goes unpunished, fell destroyer of my people." kullerwoinen journeyed onward, still rejoicing, to the combat, sang these songs in supplication: "ukko, mightiest of rulers, loan to me thy sword of battle, grant to me thy matchless weapon, and against a thousand armies i will war and ever conquer." ukko, gave the youth his broadsword, gave his blade of magic powers to the wizard, kullerwoinen. thus equipped, the mighty hero slew the people of untamo, burned their villages to ashes; only left the stones and ovens, and the chimneys of their hamlets. then the conqueror, kullervo, turned his footsteps to his home-land, to the cabin of his father; to his ancient fields and forests. empty did he find the cabin, and the forests were deserted; no one came to give him greeting, none to give the hand of welcome; laid his fingers on the oven, but he found it cold and lifeless; then he knew to satisfaction that his mother lived no longer; laid his hand upon the fire-place, cold and lifeless were the hearth-stones; then he knew to satisfaction that his sister too had perished; then he sought the landing-places, found no boats upon the rollers; then he knew to satisfaction that his brother too had perished; then he looked upon the fish-nets, and he found them torn and tangled; and he knew to satisfaction that his father too had perished. bitterly he wept and murmured, wept one day, and then a second, on the third day spake as follows: "faithful mother, fond and tender, why hast left me here to sorrow in this wilderness of trouble? but thou dost not hear my calling, though i sing in magic accents, though my tear-drops speak lamenting, though my heart bemoans thine absence. from her grave awakes the mother, to kullervo speaks these measures: "thou has still the dog remaining, he will lead thee to the forest; follow thou the faithful watcher, let him lead thee to the woodlands, to the farthest woodland border, to the caverns of the wood-nymphs; kullerwoinen's victory and death there the forest maidens linger, they will give thee food and shelter, give my hero joyful greetings." kullerwoinen, with his watch-dog, hastens onward through the forest, journeys on through fields and fallows; journeys but a little distance, till he comes upon the summit where he met his long-lost sister; finds the turf itself is weeping, finds the glen-wood filled with sorrow, finds the heather shedding tear-drops, weeping are the meadow-flowers, o'er the ruin of his sister. kullerwoinen, wicked wizard, grasps the handle of his broadsword, asks the blade this simple question: "tell me, o my blade of honor, dost thou wish to drink my life-blood, drink the blood of kullerwoinen?" thus his trusty sword makes answer, well divining his intentions: why should i not drink thy life-blood, blood of guilty kullerwoinen, since i feast upon the worthy, drink the life-blood of the righteous?" thereupon the youth, kullervo, wicked wizard of the northland, lifts the mighty sword of ukko, bids adieu to earth and heaven; firmly thrusts the hilt in heather, to his heart he points the weapon, throws his weight upon his broadsword, pouring out his wicked life-blood, ere be journeys to manala. thus the wizard finds destruction, this the end of kullerwoinen, born in sin, and nursed in folly. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, as he hears the joyful tidings, learns the death of fell kullervo, speaks these words of ancient wisdom: "o, ye many unborn nations, never evil nurse your children, never give them out to strangers, never trust them to the foolish! if the child is not well nurtured, is not rocked and led uprightly, though he grow to years of manhood, bear a strong and shapely body, he will never know discretion, never eat. the bread of honor, never drink the cup of wisdom." rune xxxvii. ilmarinen's bride of gold. ilmarinen, metal-worker, wept one day, and then a second, wept the third from morn till evening, o'er the death of his companion, once the maiden of the rainbow; did not swing his heavy hammer, did not touch its copper handle, made no sound within his smithy, made no blow upon his anvil, till three months had circled over; then the blacksmith spake as follows: "woe is me, unhappy hero! do not know how i can prosper; long the days, and cold, and dreary, longer still the nights, and colder; i am weary in the evening, in the morning still am weary, have no longing for the morning, and the evening is unwelcome; have no pleasure in the future, all my pleasures gone forever, with my faithful life-companion slaughtered by the hand of witchcraft! often will my heart-strings quiver when i rest within my chamber, when i wake at dreamy midnight, half-unconscious, vainly searching for my noble wife departed." wifeless lived the mourning blacksmith, altered in his form and features; wept one month and then another, wept three months in full succession. then the magic metal-worker gathered gold from deeps of ocean, gathered silver from the mountains, gathered many heaps of birch-wood. filled with faggots thirty sledges, burned the birch-wood into ashes, put the ashes in the furnace, laid the gold upon the embers, lengthwise laid a piece of silver of the size of lambs in autumn, or the fleet-foot hare in winter; places servants at the bellows, thus to melt the magic metals. eagerly the servants labor, gloveless, hatless, do the workmen fan the flames within the furnace. ilmarinen, magic blacksmith, works unceasing at his forging, thus to mould a golden image, mould a bride from gold and silver; but the workmen fail their master, faithless stand they at the bellows. wow the artist, ilmarinen, fans the flame with force of magic, blows one day, and then a second, blows the third from morn till even; then he looks within the furnace, looks around the oven-border, hoping there to see an image rising from the molten metals. comes a lambkin from the furnace, rising from the fire of magic, wearing hair of gold and copper, laced with many threads of silver; all rejoice but ilmarinen at the beauty of the image. this the language of the blacksmith: "may the wolf admire thy graces; i desire a bride of beauty born from molten gold and silver!" ilmarinen, the magician, to the furnace threw the lambkin; added gold in great abundance, and increased the mass of silver, added other magic metals, set the workmen at the bellows; zealously the servants labor, gloveless, hatless, do the workmen fan the flames within the furnace. ilmarinen, wizard-forgeman, works unceasing with his metals, moulding well a golden image, wife of molten gold and silver; but the workmen fail their master, faithless do they ply the bellows. now the artist, ilmarinen, fans the flames by force of magic; blows one day, and then a second, blows a third from morn till evening, when he looks within the furnace, looks around the oven-border, hoping there, to see an image rising from the molten metals. from the flames a colt arises, golden-maned and silver-headed, hoofs are formed of shining copper. all rejoice but ilmarinen at the wonderful creation; this the language of the blacksmith; "let the bears admire thy graces; i desire a bride of beauty born of many magic metals." thereupon the wonder-forger drives the colt back to the furnace, adds a greater mass of silver, and of gold the rightful measure, sets the workmen at the bellows. eagerly the servants labor, gloveless, hatless, do the workmen fan the flames within the furnace. ilmarinen, the magician, works unceasing at his witchcraft, moulding well a golden maiden, bride of molten gold and silver; but the workmen fail their master, faithlessly they ply the bellows. now the blacksmith, ilmarinen, fans the flames with magic powers, blows one day, and then a second, blows a third from morn till even; then he looks within his furnace, looks around the oven-border, trusting there to see a maiden coming from the molten metals. from the fire a virgin rises, golden-haired and silver-headed, beautiful in form and feature. all are filled with awe and wonder, but the artist and magician. ilmarinen, metal-worker, forges nights and days unceasing, on the bride of his creation; feet he forges for the maiden, hands and arms, of gold and silver; but her feet are not for walking, neither can her arms embrace him. ears he forges for the virgin, but her ears are not for hearing; forges her a mouth of beauty, eyes he forges bright and sparkling; but the magic mouth is speechless, and the eyes are not for seeing. spake the artist, ilmarinen: "this, indeed, a priceless maiden, could she only speak in wisdom, could she breathe the breath of ukko!" thereupon he lays the virgin on his silken couch of slumber, on his downy place of resting. ilmarinen heats his bath-room, makes it ready for his service, binds together silken brushes, brings three cans of crystal water, wherewithal to lave the image, lave the golden maid of beauty. when this task had been completed, ilmarinen, hoping, trusting, laid his golden bride to slumber, on his downy couch of resting; ordered many silken wrappings, ordered bear-skins, three in number, ordered seven lambs-wool blankets, thus to keep him warm in slumber, sleeping by the golden image re had forged from magic metals. warm the side of ilmarinen that was wrapped in furs and blankets; chill the parts beside the maiden, by his bride of gold and silver; one side warm, the other lifeless, turning into ice from coldness. spake the artist, ilmarinen: "not for me was born this virgin from the magic molten metals; i shall take her to wainola, give her to old wainamoinen, as a bride and life-companion, comfort to him in his dotage." ilmarinen, much disheartened, takes the virgin to wainola, to the plains of kalevala, to his brother speaks as follows: "o, thou ancient wainamoinen, look with favor on this image; make the maiden fair and lovely, beautiful in form and feature, suited to thy years declining!" wainamoinen, old and truthful, looked in wonder on the virgin, on the golden bride of beauty, spake these words to ilmarinen: "wherefore dost thou bring this maiden, wherefore bring to wainamoinen bride of molten gold and silver? spake in answer ilmarinen: "wherefore should i bring this image, but for purposes the noblest? i have brought her as companion to thy life in years declining, as a joy and consolation, when thy days are full of trouble!" spake the good, old wainamoinen: "magic brother, wonder-forger, throw the virgin to the furnace, to the flames, thy golden image, forge from her a thousand trinkets. take the image into ehstland, take her to the plains of pohya, that for her the mighty powers may engage in deadly contest, worthy trophy for the victor; not for me this bride of wonder, neither for my worthy people. i shall never wed an image born from many magic metals, never wed a silver maiden, never wed a golden virgin." then the hero of the waters called together all his people, spake these words of ancient wisdom: "every child of northland, listen, whether poor, or fortune-favored: never bow before an image born of molten gold and silver: never while the sunlight brightens, never while the moonlight glimmers, choose a maiden of the metals, choose a bride from gold created cold the lips of golden maiden, silver breathes the breath of sorrow." rune xxxviii. ilmarinen's fruitless wooing. ilmarinen, the magician, the eternal metal-artist, lays aside the golden image, beauteous maid of magic metals; throws the harness on his courser, binds him to his sledge of birch-wood, seats himself upon the cross-bench, snaps the whip above the racer, thinking once again to journey to the mansions of pohyola, there to woo a bride in honor, second daughter of the northland. on he journeyed, restless, northward, journeyed one day, then a second, so the third from morn till evening, when he reached a northland-village on the plains of sariola. louhi, hostess of pohyola, standing in the open court-yard, spied the hero, ilmarinen, thus addressed the metal-worker: "tell me how my child is living, how the bride of beauty prospers, as a daughter to thy mother." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, head bent down and brow dejected, thus addressed the northland hostess: "o, thou dame of sariola, do not ask me of thy daughter, since, alas i in tuonela sleeps the maiden of the rainbow, sleeps in death the bride, of beauty, underneath the fragrant heather, in the kingdom of manala. come i for a second daughter, for the fairest of thy virgins. beauteous hostess of pohyola, give to me thy youngest maiden, for my former wife's compartments, for the chambers of her sister." louhi, hostess of the northland, spake these words to ilmarinen: "foolish was the northland-hostess, when she gave her fairest virgin, in the bloom of youth and beauty to the blacksmith of wainola, only to be led to mana, like a lambkin to the slaughter! i shall never give my daughter, shall not give my youngest maiden bride of thine to be hereafter, life-companion at thy fireside. sooner would i give the fair one to the cataract and whirlpool, to the river of manala, to the waters of tuoni!" then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, drew away his head, disdainful, shook his sable locks in anger, entered to the inner court-room, where the maiden sat in waiting, spake these measures to the daughter: "come with me, thou bright-eyed maiden, to the cottage where thy sister lived and lingered in contentment, baked for me the toothsome biscuit, brewed for me the beer of barley, kept my dwelling-place in order." on the floor a babe was lying, thus he sang to ilmarinen: "uninvited, leave this mansion, go, thou stranger, from this dwelling; once before thou camest hither, only bringing pain and trouble, filling all our hearts with sorrow. fairest daughter of my mother, do not give this suitor welcome, look not on his eyes with pleasure, nor admire his form and features. in his mouth are only wolf-teeth, cunning fox-claws in his mittens, in his shoes art only bear-claws, in his belt a hungry dagger; weapons these of blood and murder, only worn by the unworthy." then the daughter spake as follows to the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "follow thee this maid will never, never heed unworthy suitors; thou hast slain the bride of beauty, once the maiden of the rainbow, thou wouldst also slay her sister. i deserve a better suitor, wish a truer, nobler husband, wish to ride in richer sledges, have a better home-protection; never will i sweep the cottage and the coal-place of a blacksmith." then the hero, ilmarinen, the eternal metal-artist, turned his head away, disdainful, shook his sable locks in anger, quickly seized the trembling maiden, held her in his grasp of iron, hastened from the court of louhi to his sledge upon the highway. in his sleigh he seats the virgin, snugly wraps her in his far-robes, snaps his whip above the racer, gallops on the high-road homeward; with one hand the reins be tightens, with the other holds the maiden. speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping: we have reached the lowland-berries, here the herbs of water-borders; leave me here to sink and perish as a child of cold misfortune. wicked ilmarinen, listen! if thou dost not quickly free me, i will break thy sledge to pieces, throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds." ilmarinen makes this answer: "when the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge, all the parts are hooped with iron; therefore will the beauteous maiden never beat my sledge to fragments." then the silver-tinselled daughter wept and wailed in bitter accents, wrung her hands in desperation, spake again to ilmarinen: "if thou dost not quickly free me, i shall change to ocean-salmon, be a whiting of the waters." "thou wilt never thus escape me, as a pike i'll fleetly follow." then the maiden of pohyola wept and wailed in bitter accents, wrung her hands in desperation, spake again to ilmarinen; "if thou dost not quickly free me, i shall hasten to the forest, mid the rocks become an ermine!" "thou wilt never thus escape me, as a serpent i will follow." then the beauty of the northland, wailed and wept in bitter accents, wrung her hands in desperation, spake once more to ilmarinen: "surely, if thou dost not free me, as a lark i'll fly the ether, hide myself within the storm-clouds." "neither wilt thou thus escape me, as an eagle i will follow." they had gone but little distance, when the courser shied and halted, frighted at some passing object; and the maiden looked in wonder, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, spake these words to ilmarinen: who has run across our highway?" "'tis the timid hare", he answered. thereupon the stolen maiden sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow, heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "woe is me, ill-fated virgin! happier far my life hereafter, if the hare i could but follow to his burrow in the woodlands! crook-leg's fur to me is finer than the robes of ilmarinen." ilmarinen, the magician, tossed his head in full resentment, galloped on the highway homeward, travelled but a little distance, when again his courser halted, frighted at some passing stranger. quick the maiden looked and wondered, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, spake these measures to the blacksmith: who has crossed our snowy pathway?" "'tis a fox", replied the minstrel. thereupon the beauteous virgin moaned again in depths of anguish, sang these accents, heavy-hearted: "woe is me, ill-fated maiden! happier far my life hereafter, with the cunning fox to wander, than with this ill-mannered suitor; reynard's fur to me is finer than the robes of ilmarinen." thereupon the metal-worker shut his lips in sore displeasure, hastened on the highway homeward; travelled but a little distance, when again his courser halted. quick the maiden looked in wonder, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, spake these words to the magician: who again has crossed our pathway?" "'tis the wolf", said ilmarinen. thereupon the fated daughter fell again to bitter weeping, and intoned these words of sorrow: "woe is me, a hapless maiden! happier far my life hereafter, brighter far would be my future, if these tracks i could but follow; on the wolf the hair is finer than the furs of ilmarinen, faithless suitor of the northland." then the minstrel of wainola closed his lips again in anger, shook his sable locks, resentful, snapped the whip above the racer, and the steed flew onward swiftly, o'er the way to kalevala, to the village of the blacksmith. sad and weary from his journey, ilmarinen, home-returning, fell upon his couch in slumber, and the maiden laughed derision. in the morning, slowly waking, head confused, and locks dishevelled, spake the wizard, words as follow: "shall i set myself to singing magic songs and incantations? shall i now enchant this maiden to a black-wolf on the mountains, to a salmon of the ocean? shall not send her to the woodlands, all the forest would be frighted; shall not send her to the waters, all the fish would flee in terror; this my sword shall drink her life-blood, end her reign of scorn and hatred." quick the sword feels his intention, quick divines his evil purpose, speaks these words to ilmarinen: "was not born to drink the life-blood of a maiden pure and lovely, of a fair but helpless virgin." thereupon the magic minstrel, filled with rage, began his singing; sang the very rocks asunder, till the distant hills re-echoed; sang the maiden to a sea-gull, croaking from the ocean-ledges, calling from the ocean-islands, screeching on the sandy sea-coast, flying to the winds opposing. when his conjuring had ended, ilmarinen joined his snow-sledge, whipped his steed upon a gallop, hastened to his ancient smithy, to his home in kalevala. wainamoinen, old and truthful, comes to meet him on the highway, speaks these words to the magician: "ilmarinen, worthy brother, wherefore comest heavy-hearted from the dismal sariola? does pohyola live and prosper? spake the minstrel, ilmarinen: "why should not pohyola prosper? there the sampo grinds unceasing, noisy rocks the lid in colors; grinds one day the flour for eating, grinds the second flour for selling, grinds the third day flour for keeping; thus it is pohyola prospers. while the sampo is in northland, there is plowing, there is sowing, there is growth of every virtue, there is welfare never-ending." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "ilmarinen, artist-brother, where then is the northland-daughter, far renowned and beauteous maiden, for whose hand thou hast been absent? these the words of ilmarinen: "i have changed the hateful virgin to a sea-gull on the ocean; now she calls above the waters, screeches from the ocean-islands; on the rocks she calls and murmurs vainly calling for a suitor." rune xxxix. wainamoinen's sailing. wainamoinen, old and faithful, spake these words to ilmarinen: "o thou wonder-working brother, let us go to sariola, there to gain the magic sampo, there to see the lid in colors." ilmarinen gave this answer: "hard indeed to seize the sampo, neither can the lid be captured from the never-pleasant northland, from the dismal sariola. louhi took away the sampo, carried off the lid in colors to the stone-mount of pohyola; hid it in the copper mountain, where nine locks secure the treasure. many young roots sprout around it, grow nine fathoms deep in sand-earth, one great root beneath the mountain, in the cataract a second, and a third beneath the castle built upon the mount of ages." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "brother mine, and wonder-worker, let us go to sariola, that we may secure the sampo; let us build a goodly vessel, bring the sampo to wainola, bring away the lid in colors, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from the copper-bearing mountain. where the miracle lies anchored." ilmarinen thus made answer: "by the land the way is safer, lempo travels on the ocean, ghastly death upon his shoulder; on the sea the waves will drift us, and the storm-winds wreck our vessel; then our bands must do the rowing, and our feet must steer us homeward." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "safe indeed by land to journey, but the way is rough and trying, long the road and full of turnings; lovely is the ship on ocean, beautiful to ride the billows, journey easy o'er the waters, sailing in a trusty vessel; should the west-wind cross our pathway, will the south-wind drive us northward. be that as it may, my brother, since thou dost not love the water, by the land then let us journey. forge me now the sword of battle, forge for me the mighty fire-sword, that i may destroy the wild-beasts, frighten all the northland people, as we journey for the sampo to the cold and dismal village, to the never-pleasant northland, to the dismal sariola." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal forger-artist, laid the metals in the furnace, in the fire laid steel and iron, in the hot-coals, gold and silver, rightful measure of the metals; set the workmen at the furnace, lustily they plied the bellows. like the wax the iron melted, like the dough the hard steel softened, like the water ran the silver, and the liquid gold flowed after. then the minstrel, ilmarinen, the eternal wonder-forger, looks within his magic furnace, on the border of his oven, there beholds the fire-sword forming, sees the blade with golden handle; takes the weapon from the furnace, lays it on his heavy anvil for the falling of the hammer; forges well the blade of magic, well the heavy sword be tempers, ornaments the hero-weapon with the finest gold and silver. wainamoinen, the magician, comes to view the blade of conquest, lifts admiringly the fire-sword, then these words the hero utters: "does the weapon match the soldier, does the handle suit the bearer? yea, the blade and hilt are molded to the wishes of the minstrel." on the sword-point gleams the moonlight, on the blade the sun is shining, on the hilt the bright stars twinkle, on the edge a horse is neighing, on the handle plays a kitten, on the sheath a dog is barking. wainamoinen wields his fire-sword, tests it on the iron-mountain, and these words the hero utters: "with this broadsword i could quickly cleave in twain the mount of pohya, cut the flinty rocks asunder." spake the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "wherewith shall i guard from danger, how protect myself from evil, from the ills by land and water? shall i wear an iron armor, belt of steel around my body? stronger is a man in armor, safer in a mail of copper." now the time has come to journey to the never-pleasant northland; wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, and his brother, ilmarinen, hasten to the field and forest, searching for their fiery coursers, in each shining belt a bridle, with a harness on their shoulders. in the woods they find a race; in the glen a steed of battle, ready for his master's service. wainamoinen, old and trusty, and the blacksmith, ilmarinen, throw the harness on the courser, hitch him to the sledge of conquest, hasten on their journey northward; drive along the broad-sea's margin till they bear some one lamenting on the strand hear something wailing near the landing-place of vessels. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, speaks these words in wonder, guessing, "this must be some maiden weeping, some fair daughter thus lamenting; let us journey somewhat nearer, to discover whence this wailing." drew they nearer, nearer, nearer, hoping thus to find a maiden weeping on the sandy sea-shore. it was not a maiden weeping, but a vessel, sad, and lonely, waiting on the shore and wailing. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "why art weeping, goodly vessel, what the cause of thy lamenting? art thou mourning for thy row-locks, is thy rigging ill-adjusted? dost thou weep since thou art anchored on the shore in times of trouble?" thus the war-ship spake in answer: "to the waters would this vessel haste upon the well-tarred rollers, as a happy maiden journeys to the cottage of her husband. i, alas! a goodly vessel, weep because i lie at anchor, weep and wail because no hero sets me free upon the waters, free to ride the rolling billows. it was said when i was fashioned, often sung when i was building, that this bark should be for battle, should become a mighty war-ship, carry in my hull great treasures, priceless goods across the ocean. never have i sailed to conquest, never have i carried booty; other vessels not as worthy to the wars are ever sailing, sailing to the songs of battle. three times in the summer season come they home with treasures laden, in their hulls bring gold and silver; i, alas! a worthy vessel, many months have lain at anchor, i, a war-ship well constructed, am decaying in the harbor, never having sailed to conquest; worms are gnawing at my vitals, in my hull their dwelling-places, and ill-omened birds of heaven build their nests within my rigging; frogs and lizards of the forest play about my oars and rudder; three times better for this vessel were he but a valley birch-tree, or an aspen on the heather, with the squirrels in his branches, and the dogs beneath them barking!" wainamoinen, old and faithfull thus addressed the ship at anchor: "weep no more, thou goodly vessel, man-of-war, no longer murmur; thou shalt sail to sariola, sing the war-songs of the northland, sail with us to deadly combat. wert thou built by the creator, thou canst sail the roughest waters, sidewise journey o'er the ocean; dost not need the hand to touch thee, dost not need the foot to turn thee, needing nothing to propel thee." thus the weeping boat made answer: "cannot sail without assistance, neither can my brother-vessels sail unaided o'er the waters, sail across the waves undriven." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "should i lead thee to the broad-sea, wilt thou journey north unaided, sail without the help of rowers, sail without the aid of south-winds, sail without the b elm to guide thee? thus the wailing ship replying: cannot sail without assistance, neither can my brother-vessels sail without the aid of rowers, sail without the help of south-winds, nor without the helm to guide them." these the words of wainamoinen: "wilt thou run with aid of oarsmen when the south-winds give assistance, guided by a skillful pilot?" this the answer of the war-ship: "quickly can i course these waters, when my oars are manned by rowers, when my sails are filled with south-winds, all my goodly brother-vessels sail the ocean with assistance, when the master holds the rudder." then the ancient wainamoinen left the racer on the sea-side, tied him to the sacred birch-tree, hung the harness on a willow, rolled the vessel to the waters, sang the ship upon the broad-sea, asked the boat this simple question: "o thou vessel, well-appearing from the mighty oak constructed, art thou strong to carry treasures as in view thou art commanding? thus the goodly ship made answer: "strong am i to carry treasures, in my hull a golden cargo; i can bear a hundred oarsmen, and of warriors a thousand." wainamoinen, the magician, then began his wondrous singing. on one side the magic vessel, sang he youth with golden virtues, bearded youth with strength of heroes, sang them into mail of copper. on the other side the vessel, sang he silver-tinselled maidens, girded them with belts of copper, golden rings upon their fingers. sings again the great magician, fills the magic ship with heroes, ancient heroes, brave and mighty; sings them into narrow limits, since the young men came before them. at the helm himself be seated, near the last beam of the vessel, steered his goodly boat in joyance, thus addressed the willing war-ship: "glide upon the trackless waters, sail away, my ship of magic, sail across the waves before thee, speed thou like a dancing bubble, like a flower upon the billows!" then the ancient wainamoinen set the young men to the rowing, let the maidens sit in waiting. eagerly the youthful heroes bend the oars and try the row-locks, but the distance is not lessened. then the minstrel, wainamoinen, set the maidens to the rowing, let the young men rest in waiting. eagerly the merry maidens bend the aspen-oars in rowing, but the distance is not lessened. then the master, wainamoinen, set the old men to the rowing, let the youth remain in waiting. lustily the aged heroes bend and try the oars of aspen, but the distance is not lessened. then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, grasped the oars with master-magic, and the boat leaped o'er the surges, swiftly sped across the billows; far and wide the oars resounded, quickly was the distance lessened. with a rush and roar of waters ilmarinen sped his vessel, benches, ribs, and row-locks creaking, oars of aspen far resounding; flap the sails like wings of moor-cocks, and the prow dips like a white-swan; in the rear it croaks like ravens, loud the oars and rigging rattle. straightway ancient wainamoinen sitting by the bending rudder, turns his magic vessel landward, to a jutting promontory, where appears a northland-village. on the point stands lemminkainen, kaukomieli, black magician, ahti, wizard of wainola, wishing for the fish of pohya, weeping for his fated dwelling, for his perilous adventures, hard at work upon a vessel, on the sail-yards of a fish-boat, near the hunger-point and island, near the village-home deserted. good the ears of the magician, good the wizard's eyes for seeing; casts his vision to the south-east, turns his eyes upon the sunset, sees afar a wondrous rainbow, farther on, a cloudlet hanging; but the bow was a deception, and the cloudlet a delusion; 'tis a vessel swiftly sailing, 'tis a war-ship flying northward, o'er the blue-back of the broad-sea, on the far-extending waters, at the helm the master standing, at the oars a mighty hero. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "do not know this wondrous vessel, not this well-constructed war-ship, coming from the distant suomi, rowing for the hostile pohya." thereupon wild lemminkainen called aloud in tones of thunder o'er the waters to the vessel; made the distant hills re-echo with the music of his calling: "whence this vessel on the waters, whose the war-ship sailing hither?" spake the master of the vessel to the reckless lemminkainen: "who art thou from fen or forest, senseless wizard from the woodlands, that thou dost not know this vessel, magic war-ship of wainola? dost not know him at the rudder, nor the hero at the row-locks?" spake the wizard, lemminkainen: "well i know the helm-director, and i recognize the rower; wainamoinen, old and trusty, at the helm directs the vessel; ilmarinen does the rowing. whither is the vessel sailing, whither wandering, my heroes? spake the ancient wainamoinen: "we are sailing to the northland, there to gain the magic sampo, there to get the lid in colors, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from the copper-bearing mountain." spake the evil lemminkainen: "o, thou good, old wainamoinen, take me with thee to pohyola, make me third of magic heroes, since thou goest for the sampo, goest for the lid in colors; i shall prove a valiant soldier, when thy wisdom calls for fighting; i am skilled in arts of warfare!" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, gave assent to ahti's wishes; thereupon wild lemminkainen hastened to wainola's war-ship, bringing floats of aspen-timber, to the ships of wainamoinen. thus the hero of the northland speaks to reckless lemminkainen: "there is aspen on my vessel, aspen-floats in great abundance, and the boat is heavy-laden. wherefore dost thou bring the aspen to the vessel of wainola?" lemminkainen gave this answer: "not through caution sinks a vessel, nor a hay-stack by its proppings; seas abound in hidden dangers, heavy storms arise and threaten fell destruction to the sailor that would brave the angry billows." spake the good, old wainamoinen: "therefore is this warlike vessel built of trusty steel and copper, trimmed and bound in toughest iron, that the winds may, not destroy it, may not harm my ship of magic." rune xl. birth of the harp. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, onward steered his goodly vessel, from the isle of lemminkainen, from the borders of the village; steered his war-ship through the waters, sang it o'er the ocean-billows, joyful steered it to pohyola. on the banks were maidens standing, and the daughters spake these measures: "list the music on the waters! what this wonderful rejoicing, what this singing on the billows? far more beautiful this singing, this rejoicing on the waters, than our ears have heard in northland." wainamoinen, the magician, steered his wonder-vessel onward, steered one day along the sea-shore, steered the next through shallow waters, steered the third day through the rivers. then the reckless lemminkainen suddenly some words remembered, he had heard along the fire-stream near the cataract and whirlpool, and these words the hero uttered: "cease, o cataract, thy roaring, cease, o waterfall, thy foaming! maidens of the foam and current, sitting on the rocks in water, on the stone-blocks in the river, take the foam and white-capped billows in your arms and still their anger, that our ships may pass in safety! aged dame beneath the eddy, thou that livest in the sea-foam, swimming, rise above the waters, lift thy head above the whirlpool, gather well the foam and billows in thine arms and still their fury, that our ship may pass in safety! ye, o rocks beneath the current, underneath the angry waters, lower well your heads of danger, sink below our magic vessel, that our ship may pass in safety! "should this prayer prove inefficient, kimmo, hero son of kammo, bore an outlet with thine auger, cut a channel for this vessel through the rocks beneath the waters, that our ship may pass in safety! should all this prove unavailing, hostess of the running water, change to moss these rocky ledges, change this vessel to an air-bag, that between these rocks and billows it may float, and pass in safety! "virgin of the sacred whirlpool, thou whose home is in the river, spin from flax of strongest fiber, spin a thread of crimson color, draw it gently through the water, that the thread our ship may follow, and our vessel pass in safety! goddess of the helm, thou daughter of the ocean-winds and sea-foam, take thy helm endowed with mercy, guide our vessel through these dangers, hasten through these floods enchanted, passing by the house of envy, by the gates of the enchanters, that our ship may pass in safety! "should this prayer prove inefficient, ukko, ruler of creation, guide our vessel with thy fire-sword, guide it with thy blade of lightning, through the dangers of these rapids, through the cataract and whirlpool, that our ship may pass in safety!" thereupon old wainamoinen steered his boat through winds and waters, through the rocky chinks and channels, through the surges wildly tossing; and the vessel passed in safety through the dangers of the current, through the sacred stream and whirlpool. as it gains the open waters, gains at length the broad-lake's bosom, suddenly its motion ceases, on some object firmly anchored. thereupon young ilmarinen, with the aid of lemminkainen, plunges in the lake the rudder, struggles with the aid of magic; but he cannot move the vessel, cannot free it from its moorings. wainamoinen, old and truthful, thus addresses his companion: "o thou hero, lemminkainen, stoop and look beneath this war-ship, see on what this boat is anchored, see on what our craft is banging, in this broad expanse of water, in the broad-lake's deepest soundings, if upon some rock or tree-snag, or upon some other hindrance." thereupon wild lemminkainen looked beneath the magic vessel, peering through the crystal waters, spake and these the words be uttered: "does not rest upon a sand-bar, nor upon a rock, nor tree-snag, but upon the back and shoulders of the mighty pike of northland, on the fin-bones of the monster." wainamoinen, old and trusty, spake these words to lemminkainen: "many things we find in water, rocks, and trees, and fish, and sea-duck; are we on the pike's broad shoulders, on the fin-bones of the monster, pierce the waters with thy broadsword, cut the monster into pieces." thereupon wild lemminkainen, reckless wizard, filled with courage, pulls his broadsword from his girdle, from its sheath, the bone-divider, strikes with might of magic hero, headlong falls into the water; and the blacksmith, ilmarinen, lifts the wizard from the river, speaks these words to dripping ahti: "accidents will come to mortals, accidents will come to heroes, by the hundreds, by the thousands, even to the gods above us!" then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, drew his broadsword from his girdle, from its sheath his blade of honor, tried to slay the pike of northland with the weapon of his forging; but he broke his sword in pieces, did not harm the water-monster. wainamoinen, old and trusty, thus addresses his companions "poor apologies for heroes! when occasion calls for victors, when we need some great magician, need a hero filled with valor, then the arm that comes is feeble, and the mind insane or witless, strength and reason gone to others!" straightway ancient wainamoinen, miracle of strength and wisdom, draws his fire-sword from his girdle, wields the mighty blade of magic, strikes the waters as the lightning, strikes the pike beneath the vessel, and impales, the mighty monster; raises him above the surface, in the air the pike he circles, cuts the monster into pieces; to the water falls the pike-tail, to the ship the head and body; easily the ship moves onward. wainamoinen, old and faithful, to the shore directs his vessel, on the strand the boat he anchors, looks in every nook and corner for the fragments of the monster; gathers well the parts together, speaks these words to those about him: "let the oldest of the heroes slice for me the pike of northland, slice the fish to fitting morsels." answered all the men and heroes, and the maidens spake, assenting: "worthier the catcher's fingers, wainamoinen's hands are sacred!" thereupon the wise magician drew a fish-knife from his girdle, sliced the pike to fitting morsels, spake again to those about him: "let the youngest of the maidens cook for me the pike of northland, set for me a goodly dinner!" all the maidens quick responded, all the virgins vied in cooking; neither could outdo the other, thus the pike was rendered toothsome. feasted all the old magicians, feasted all the younger heroes, feasted all the men and maidens; on the rocks were left the fish-bones, only relics of their feasting. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, looked upon the pile of fragments, on the fish-bones looked and pondered, spake these words in meditation: "wondrous things might be constructed from the relies of this monster, were they in the blacksmith's furnace, in the hands of the magician, in the hands of ilmarinen." spake the blacksmith of wainola: "nothing fine can be constructed from the bones and teeth of fishes by the skillful forger-artist, by the hands of the magician." these the words of wainamoinen: "something wondrous might be builded from these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones; might a magic harp be fashioned, could an artist be discovered that could shape them to my wishes." but he found no fish-bone artist that could shape the harp of joyance from the relies of their feasting, from the jaw-bones of the monster, to the will of the magician. thereupon wise wainamoinen set himself at work designing; quick became a fish-bone artist, made a harp of wondrous beauty, lasting joy and pride of suomi. whence the harp's enchanting arches? from the jaw-bones of the monster. whence the necessary harp-pins? from the pike-teeth firmly fastened. whence the sweetly singing harp-strings? from the tail of lempo's stallion. thus was born the harp of magic from the mighty pike of northland, from the relies from the feasting of the heroes of wainola. all the young men came to view it, all the aged with their children, mothers with their beauteous daughters, maidens with their golden tresses; all the people on the islands came to view the harp of joyance, pride and beauty of the northland. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, let the aged try the harp-strings, gave it to the young magicians, to the dames and to their daughters, to the maidens, silver-tinselled, to the singers of wainola. when the young men touched the harp-strings, then arose the notes of discord; when the aged played upon it, dissonance their only music. spake the wizard, lemminkainen: "o ye witless, worthless children, o ye senseless, useless maidens, o ye wisdom-lacking heroes, cannot play this harp of magic, cannot touch the notes of concord! give to me this thing or beauty, hither bring the harp of fish-bones, let me try my skillful fingers." lemminkainen touched the harp-strings, carefully the strings adjusted, turned the harp in all directions, fingered all the strings in sequence, played the instrument of wonder, but it did not speak in concord, did not sing the notes of joyance. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "there is none among these maidens, none among these youthful heroes, none among the old magicians that can play the harp of magic, touch the notes of joy and pleasure. let us take the harp to pohya, there to find a skillful player that can touch the strings in concord." then they sailed to sariola, to pohyola took the wonder, there to find the harp a master. all the heroes of pohyola, all the boys and all the maidens, ancient dames, and bearded minstrels, vainly touched the harp of beauty. louhi, hostess of the northland, took the harp-strings in her fingers; all the youth of sariola, youth of every tribe and station, vainly touched the harp of fish-bone; could not find the notes of joyance, dissonance their only pleasure; shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds, all the tones wore harsh and frightful. in a corner slept a blind man, lay a gray-beard on the oven, rousing from his couch of slumber, murmured thus within his corner: "cease at once this wretched playing, make an end of all this discord; it benumbs mine ears for hearing, racks my brain, despoils my senses, robs me of the sweets of sleeping. if the harp of suomi's people true delight cannot engender, cannot bring the notes of pleasure, cannot sing to sleep the aged, cast the thing upon the waters, sink it in the deeps of ocean, take it back to kalevala, to the home of him that made it, to the bands of its creator." thereupon the harp made answer, to the blind man sang these measures: "shall not fall upon the waters, shall not sink within the ocean; i will play for my creator, sing in melody and concord in the fingers of my master." carefully the harp was carried to the artist that had made it to the hands of its creator, to the feet of wainamoinen. rune xli. wainamoinen's harp-songs. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, the eternal wisdom-singer, laves his hands to snowy whiteness, sits upon the rock of joyance, on the stone of song be settles, on the mount of silver clearness, on the summit, golden colored; takes the harp by him created, in his hands the harp of fish-bone, with his knee the arch supporting, takes the harp-strings in his fingers, speaks these words to those assembled: "hither come, ye northland people, come and listen to my playing, to the harp's entrancing measures, to my songs of joy and gladness." then the singer of wainola took the harp of his creation, quick adjusting, sweetly tuning, deftly plied his skillful fingers to the strings that he had fashioned. now was gladness rolled on gladness, and the harmony of pleasure echoed from the hills and mountains: added singing to his playing, out of joy did joy come welling, now resounded marvelous music, all of northland stopped and listened. every creature in the forest, all the beasts that haunt the woodlands, on their nimble feet came bounding, came to listen to his playing, came to hear his songs of joyance. leaped the squirrels from the branches, merrily from birch to aspen; climbed the ermines on the fences, o'er the plains the elk-deer bounded, and the lynxes purred with pleasure; wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands, bounded o'er the marsh and heather, and the bear his den deserted, left his lair within the pine-wood, settled by a fence to listen, leaned against the listening gate-posts, but the gate-posts yield beneath him; now he climbs the fir-tree branches that he may enjoy and wonder, climbs and listens to the music of the harp of wainamoinen. tapiola's wisest senior, metsola's most noble landlord, and of tapio, the people, young and aged, men and maidens, flew like red-deer up the mountains there to listen to the playing, to the harp, of wainamoinen. tapiola's wisest mistress, hostess of the glen and forest, robed herself in blue and scarlet, bound her limbs with silken ribbons, sat upon the woodland summit, on the branches of a birch-tree, there to listen to the playing, to the high-born hero's harping, to the songs of wainamoinen. all the birds that fly in mid-air fell like snow-flakes from the heavens, flew to hear the minstrel's playing, hear the harp of wainamoinen. eagles in their lofty eyrie heard the songs of the enchanter; swift they left their unfledged young ones, flew and perched around the minstrel. from the heights the hawks descended, from the clouds down swooped the falcon, ducks arose from inland waters, swans came gliding from the marshes; tiny finches, green and golden, flew in flocks that darkened sunlight, came in myriads to listen; perched upon the head and shoulders of the charming wainamoinen, sweetly singing to the playing of the ancient bard and minstrel. and the daughters of the welkin, nature's well-beloved daughters, listened all in rapt attention; some were seated on the rainbow, some upon the crimson cloudlets, some upon the dome of heaven. in their hands the moon's fair daughters held their weaving-combs of silver; in their hands the sun's sweet maidens grasped the handles of their distaffs, weaving with their golden shuttles, spinning from their silver spindles, on the red rims of the cloudlets, on the bow of many colors. as they hear the minstrel playing, hear the harp of wainamoinen, quick they drop their combs of silver, drop the spindles from their fingers, and the golden threads are broken, broken are the threads of silver. all the fish in suomi-waters heard the songs of the magician, came on flying fins to listen to the harp of wainamoinen. came the trout with graceful motions, water-dogs with awkward movements, from the water-cliffs the salmon, from the sea-caves came the whiting, from the deeper caves the bill-fish; came the pike from beds of sea-fern, little fish with eyes of scarlet, leaning on the reeds and rushes, with their heads above the surface; came to bear the harp of joyance, hear the songs of the enchanter. ahto, king of all the waters, ancient king with beard of sea-grass, raised his head above the billows, in a boat of water-lilies, glided to the coast in silence, listened to the wondrous singing, to the harp of wainamoinen. these the words the sea-king uttered: "never have i heard such playing, never heard such strains of music, never since the sea was fashioned, as the songs of this enchanter, this sweet singer, wainamoinen." satko's daughters from the blue-deep, sisters of the wave-washed ledges, on the colored strands were sitting, smoothing out their sea-green tresses with the combs of molten silver, with their silver-handled brushes, brushes forged with golden bristles. when they hear the magic playing, hear the harp of wainamoinen, fall their brushes on the billows, fall their combs with silver handles to the bottom of the waters, unadorned their heads remaining, and uncombed their sea-green tresses. came the hostess of the waters, ancient hostess robed in flowers, rising from her deep sea-castle, swimming to the shore in wonder, listened to the minstrel's playing, to the harp of wainamoinen. as the magic tones re-echoed, as the singer's song out-circled, sank the hostess into slumber, on the rocks of many colors, on her watery couch of joyance, deep the sleep that settled o'er her. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, played one day and then a second, played the third from morn till even. there was neither man nor hero, neither ancient dame, nor maiden, not in metsola a daughter, whom he did not touch to weeping; wept the young, and wept the aged, wept the mothers, wept the daughters wept the warriors and heroes at the music of his playing, at the songs of the magician. wainamoinen's tears came flowing, welling from the master's eyelids, pearly tear-drops coursing downward, larger than the whortle-berries, finer than the pearls of ocean, smoother than the eggs of moor-hens, brighter than the eyes of swallows. from his eves the tear-drops started, flowed adown his furrowed visage, falling from his beard in streamlets, trickled on his heaving bosom, streaming o'er his golden girdle, coursing to his garment's border, then beneath his shoes of ermine, flowing on, and flowing ever, part to earth for her possession, part to water for her portion. as the tear-drops fall and mingle, form they streamlets from the eyelids of the minstrel, wainamoinen, to the blue-mere's sandy margin, to the deeps of crystal waters, lost among the reeds and rushes. spake at last the ancient minstrel: "is there one in all this concourse, one in all this vast assembly that can gather up my tear-drops from the deep, pellucid waters?" thus the younger heroes answered, answered thus the bearded seniors: "there is none in all this concourse, none in all this vast assembly, that can gather up thy tear-drops from the deep, pellucid waters." spake again wise wainamoinen: "he that gathers up my tear-drops from the deeps of crystal waters shall receive a beauteous plumage." came a raven, flying, croaking, and the minstrel thus addressed him: "bring, o raven, bring my tear-drops from the crystal lake's abysses; i will give thee beauteous plumage, recompense for golden service." but the raven failed his master. came a duck upon the waters, and the hero thus addressed him: "bring o water-bird, my tear-drops; often thou dost dive the deep-sea, sink thy bill upon the bottom of the waters thou dost travel; dive again my tears to gather, i will give thee beauteous plumage, recompense for golden service." thereupon the duck departed, hither, thither, swam, and circled, dived beneath the foam and billow, gathered wainamoinen's tear-drops from the blue-sea's pebbly bottom, from the deep, pellucid waters; brought them to the great magician, beautifully formed and colored, glistening in the silver sunshine, glimmering in the golden moonlight, many-colored as the rainbow, fitting ornaments for heroes, jewels for the maids of beauty. this the origin of sea-pearls, and the blue-duck's beauteous plumage. rune xlii. capture of the sampo. wainamoinen, old and truthful, with the blacksmith, ilmarinen, with the reckless son of lempo, handsome hero, kaukomieli, on the sea's smooth plain departed, on the far-extending waters, to the village, cold and dreary, to the never-pleasant northland, where the heroes fall and perish. ilmarinen led the rowers on one side the magic war-ship, and the reckless lemminkainen led the rowers on the other. wainamoinen, old and trusty, laid his hand upon the rudder, steered his vessel o'er the waters, through the foam and angry billows to pohyola's place of landing, to the cylinders of copper, where the war-ships lie at anchor. when they had arrived at pohya, when their journey they had ended, on the land they rolled their vessel, on the copper-banded rollers, straightway journeyed to the village, hastened to the halls and hamlets of the dismal sariola. louhi, hostess of the northland, thus addressed the stranger-heroes: magic heroes of wainola, what the tidings ye are bringing to the people of my village?" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel. gave this answer to the hostess: "all the hosts of kalevala are inquiring for the sampo, asking for the lid in colors; hither have these heroes journeyed to divide the priceless treasure. thus the hostess spake in answer: "no one would divide a partridge, nor a squirrel, with three heroes; wonderful the magic sampo, plenty does it bring to northland; and the colored lid re-echoes from the copper-bearing mountains, from the stone-berg of pohyola, to the joy of its possessors." wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, thus addressed the ancient louhi: "if thou wilt not share the sampo, give to us an equal portion, we will take it to wainola, with its lid of many colors, take by force the hope of pohya." thereupon the northland hostess angry grew and sighed for vengeance; called her people into council, called the hosts of sariola, heroes with their trusted broadswords, to destroy old wainamoinen with his people of the northland. wainamoinen, wise and ancient, hastened to his harp of fish-bone, and began his magic playing; all of pohya stopped and listened, every warrior was silenced by the notes of the magician; peaceful-minded grew the soldiers, all the maidens danced with pleasure, while the heroes fell to weeping, and the young men looked in wonder. wainamoinen plays unceasing, plays the maidens into slumber, plays to sleep the young and aged, all of northland sleeps and listens. wise and wondrous wainamoinen, the eternal bard and singer, searches in his pouch of leather, draws therefrom his slumber-arrows, locks the eyelids of the sleepers, of the heroes of pohyola, sings and charms to deeper slumber all the warriors of the northland. then the heroes of wainola hasten to obtain the sampo, to procure the lid in colors from the copper-bearing mountains. from behind nine locks of copper, in the stone-berg of pohyola. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, then began his wondrous singing, sang in gentle tones of magic, at the entrance to the mountain, at the border of the stronghold; trembled all the rocky portals, and the iron-banded pillars fell and crumbled at his singing. ilmarinen, magic blacksmith, well anointed all the hinges, all the bars and locks anointed, and the bolts flew back by magic, all the gates unlocked in silence, opened for the great magician. spake the minstrel wainamoinen: "o thou daring lemminkainen, friend of mine in times of trouble, enter thou within the mountain, bring away the wondrous sampo, bring away the lid in colors!" quick the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, ever ready for a venture, hastens to the mountain-caverns, there to find the famous sampo, there to get the lid in colors; strides along with conscious footsteps, thus himself he vainly praises: "great am i and full of glory, wonder-hero, son of ukko, i will bring away the sampo, turn about the lid in colors, turn it on its magic hinges!" lemminkainen finds the wonder, finds the sampo in the mountain, labors long with strength heroic, tugs with might and main to turn it; motionless remains the treasure, deeper sinks the lid in colors, for the roots have grown about it, grown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth. lived a mighty ox in northland, powerful in bone and sinew, beautiful in form and color, horns the length of seven fathoms, mouth and eyes of wondrous beauty. lemminkainen, reckless hero, harnesses the ox in pasture, takes the master-plow of pohya, plows the roots about the sampo, plows around the lid in colors, and the sacred sampo loosens, falls the colored lid in silence. straightway ancient wainamoinen brings the blacksmith, ilmarinen, brings the daring lemminkainen, lastly brings the magic sampo, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from the copper-bearing mountain, hides it in his waiting vessel, in the war-ship of wainola. wainamoinen called his people, called his crew of men and maidens, called together all his heroes, rolled his vessel to the water, into billowy deeps and dangers. spake the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "whither shall we take the sampo, whither take the lid in colors, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from this evil spot of northland?" wainamoinen, wise and faithful, gave this answer to the question: "thither shall we take the sampo, thither take the lid in colors, to the fog-point on the waters, to the island forest-covered; there the treasure may be hidden, may remain in peace for ages, free from trouble, free from danger, where the sword will not molest it." then the minstrel, wainamoinen, joyful, left the pohya borders, homeward sailed, and happy-hearted, spake these measures on departing: "turn, o man-of-war, from pohya, turn thy back upon the strangers, turn thou to my distant country! rock, o winds, my magic vessel, homeward drive my ship, o billows, lend the rowers your assistance, give the oarsmen easy labor, on this vast expanse of waters! give me of thine oars, o ahto, lend thine aid, o king of sea-waves, guide as with thy helm in safety, lay thy hand upon the rudder, and direct our war-ship homeward; let the hooks of metal rattle o'er the surging of the billows, on the white-capped waves' commotion." then the master, wainamoinen, guided home his willing vessel; and the blacksmith, ilmarinen, with the lively lemminkainen, led the mighty host of rowers, and the war-ship glided homeward o'er the sea's unruffled surface, o'er the mighty waste of waters. spake the reckless lemminkainen: "once before i rode these billows, there were viands for the heroes, there was singing for the maidens; but to-day i hear no singing, hear no songs upon the vessel, hear no music on the waters." wainamoinen, wise and ancient, answered thus wild lemminkainen: "let none sing upon the blue-sea, on the waters, no rejoicing; singing would prolong our journey, songs disturb the host of rowers; soon will die the silver sunlight, darkness soon will overtake us, on this evil waste of waters, on this blue-sea, smooth and level." these the words of lemminkainen: "time will fly on equal pinions whether we have songs or silence; soon will disappear the daylight, and the night as quickly follow, whether we be sad or joyous." wainamoinen, the magician, o'er the blue backs of the billows, steered one day, and then a second, steered the third from morn till even, when the wizard, lemminkainen, once again addressed the master: "why wilt thou, o famous minstrel, sing no longer for thy people, since the sampo thou hast captured, captured too the lid in colors?" these the words of wainamoinen: "'tis not well to sing too early! time enough for songs of joyance when we see our home-land mansions, when our journeyings have ended!" spake the reckless lemminkainen: "at the helm, if i were sitting, i would sing at morn and evening, though my voice has little sweetness; since thy songs are not forthcoming listen to my wondrous singing!" thereupon wild lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, raised his voice above the waters, o'er the sea his song resounded; but his measures were discordant, and his notes were harsh and frightful. sang the wizard, lemminkainen, screeched the reckless kaukomieli, till the mighty war-ship trembled; far and wide was heard his singing, heard his songs upon the waters, heard within the seventh village, heard beyond the seven oceans. sat a crane within the rushes, on a hillock clothed in verdure, and the crane his toes was counting; suddenly he heard the singing of the wizard, lemminkainen; and the bird was justly frightened at the songs of the magician. then with horrid voice, and screeching, flew the crane across the broad-sea to the lakes of sariola, o'er pohyola's hills and hamlets, screeching, screaming, over northland, till the people of the darkness were awakened from their slumbers. louhi hastens to her hurdles, hastens to her droves of cattle, hastens also to her garners, counts her herds, inspects her store-house; undisturbed she finds her treasures. quick she journeys to the entrance to the copper-bearing mountain, speaks these words as she approaches: "woe is me, my life hard-fated, woe to louhi, broken-hearted! here the tracks of the destroyers, all my locks and bolts are broken by the hands of cruel strangers! broken are my iron hinges, open stand the mountain-portals leading to the northland-treasure. has pohyola lost her sampo?" then she hastened to the chambers where the sampo had been grinding; but she found the chambers empty, lid and sampo gone to others, from the stone-berg of pohyola, from behind nine locks of copper, in the copper-bearing mountain. louhi, hostess of the northland, angry grew and cried for vengeance; as she found her fame departing, found her-strength fast disappearing, thus addressed the sea-fog virgin: "daughter of the morning-vapors, sift thy fogs from distant cloud-land, sift the thick air from the heavens, sift thy vapors from the ether, on the blue-back of the broad-sea, on the far extending waters, that the ancient wainamoinen, friend of ocean-wave and billow, may not baffle his pursuers! "should this prayer prove unavailing, iku-turso, son of old-age, raise thy head above the billows, and destroy wainola's heroes, sink them to thy deep sea-castles, there devour them at thy pleasure; bring thou back the golden sampo to the people of pohyola! "should these words be ineffective, ukko, mightiest of rulers, golden king beyond the welkin, sitting on a throne of silver, fill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds, call thy fleetest winds about thee, send them o'er the seven broad-seas, there to find the fleeing vessel, that the ancient wainamoinen may not baffle his pursuers!" quick the virgin of the vapors breathed a fog upon the waters, made it settle on the war-ship of the heroes of the northland, held the minstrel, wainamoinen, anchored in the fog and darkness; bound him one day, then a second, then a third till dawn of morning, in the middle of the blue-sea, whence he could not flee in safety from the wrath of his pursuers. when the third night had departed, resting in the sea, and helpless, wainamoinen spake as follows, "not a man of strength and courage, not the weakest of the heroes, who upon the sea will suffer, sink and perish in the vapors, perish in the fog and darkness!" with his sword he smote the billows, from his magic blade flowed honey; quick the vapor breaks, and rises, leaves the waters clear for rowing; far extend the sky and waters, large the ring of the horizon, and the troubled sea enlarges. time had journeyed little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, when they heard a mighty roaring, heard a roaring and a rushing near the border of the vessel, where the foam was shooting skyward o'er the boat of wainamoinen. straightway youthful ilmarinen sank in gravest apprehension, from his cheeks the blood departed; pulled his cap down o'er his forehead, shook and trembled with emotion. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, casts his eyes upon the waters near the broad rim of his war-ship; there perceives an ocean-wonder with his head above the sea-foam. wainamoinen, brave and mighty, seizes quick the water-monster, lifts him by his ears and questions: "iku-turso, son of old-age, why art rising from the blue-sea? wherefore dost thou leave thy castle, show thyself to mighty heroes, to the heroes of wainola?" iku-turso, son of old-age, ocean monster, manifested neither pleasure, nor displeasure, was not in the least affrighted, did not give the hero answer. whereupon the ancient minstrel, asked the second time the monster, urgently inquired a third time: "iku-turso, son of old-age, why art rising from the waters, wherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea? iku-turso gave this answer: for this cause i left my castle underneath the rolling billows: came i here with the intention to destroy the kalew-heroes, and return the magic sampo to the people of pohyola. if thou wilt restore my freedom, spare my life, from pain and sorrow, i will quick retrace my journey, nevermore to show my visage to the people of wainola, never while the moonlight glimmers on the hills of kalevala!" then the singer, wainamoinen, freed the monster, iku-turso, sent him to his deep sea-castles, spake these words to him departing: "iku-turso, son of old-age, nevermore arise from ocean, nevermore let northland-heroes see thy face above the waters i nevermore has iku-turso risen to the ocean-level; never since have northland sailors seen the head of this sea-monster. wainamoinen, old and truthful, onward rowed his goodly vessel, journeyed but a little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, when the king of all creators, mighty ukko of the heavens, made the winds blow full of power, made the storms arise in fury, made them rage upon the waters. from the west the winds came roaring, from the north-east came in anger, winds came howling from the south-west, came the winds from all directions, in their fury, rolling, roaring, tearing branches from the lindens, hurling needles from the pine-trees, blowing flowers from the heather, grasses blowing from the meadow, tearing up the very bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea. roared the winds and lashed the waters till the waves were white with fury; tossed the war-ship high in ether, tossed away the harp of fish-bone, magic harp of wainamoinen, to the joy of king wellamo, to the pleasure of his people, to the happiness of ahto, ahto, rising from his caverns, on the floods beheld his people carry off the harp of magic to their home below the billows. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "i have lost what i created, i have lost the harp of joyance; now my strength has gone to others, all my pleasure too departed, all my hope and comfort vanished! nevermore the harp of fish-bone will enchant the hosts of suomi!" then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, sorrow-laden, spake as follows: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! would that i had never journeyed on these waters filled with dangers, on the rolling waste before me, in this war-ship false and feeble. winds and storms have i encountered, wretched days of toil and trouble, i have witnessed in the northland; never have i met such dangers on the land, nor on the ocean, never in my hero life-time!" then the ancient wainamoinen spake and these the words he uttered: "weep no more, my goodly comrades, in my bark let no one murmur; weeping cannot mend disaster, tears can never still misfortune, mourning cannot save from evil. "sea, command thy warring forces, bid thy children cease their fury! ahto, still thy surging billows! sink, wellamo, to thy slumber, that our boat may move in safety. rise, ye storm-winds, to your kingdoms, lift your heads above the waters, to the regions of your kindred, to your people and dominions; cut the trees within the forest, bend the lindens of the valley, let our vessel sail in safety!" then the reckless lemminkainen, handsome wizard, kaukomieli, spake these words in supplication: "come, o eagle, turyalander, bring three feathers from thy pinions, three, o raven, three, o eagle, to protect this bark from evil!" all the heroes of wainola call their forces to the rescue, and repair the sinking vessel. by the aid of master-magic, wainamoinen saved his war-ship, saved his people from destruction, well repaired his ship to battle with the roughest seas of northland; steers his mighty boat in safety through the perils of the whirlpool, through the watery deeps and dangers. rune xliii. the sampo lost in the sea. louhi, hostess of pohyola, called her many tribes together, gave the archers bows and arrows, gave her brave men spears and broadswords; fitted out her mightiest war-ship, in the vessel placed her army, with their swords a hundred heroes, with their bows a thousand archers; quick erected masts and sail-yards, on the masts her sails of linen hanging like the clouds of heaven, like the white-clouds in the ether, sailed across the seas of pohya, to re-take the wondrous sampo from the heroes of wainola. wainamoinen, old and faithful, sailed across the deep, blue waters, spake these words to lemminkainen: "o thou daring son of lempo, best of all my friends and heroes, mount the highest of the topmasts, look before you into ether, look behind you at the heavens, well examine the horizon, whether clear or filled with trouble." climbed the daring lemminkainen, ever ready for a venture, to the highest of the mastheads; looked he eastward, also westward, looked he northward, also southward, then addressed wise wainamoinen. "clear the sky appears before me, but behind a dark horizon; in the north a cloud is rising, and a longer cloud at north-west." wainamoinen thus made answer: art thou speaking truth or fiction? i am fearful that the war-ships of pohyola are pursuing; look again with keener vision." thereupon wild lemminkainen looked again and spake as follows: "in the distance seems a forest, in the south appears an island, aspen-groves with falcons laden, alders laden with the wood-grouse." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "surely thou art speaking falsehood; 'tis no forest in the distance, neither aspen, birch, nor alders, laden with the grouse, or falcon; i am fearful that pohyola follows with her magic armies; look again with keener vision." then the daring lemminkainen looked the third time from the topmast, spake and these the words be uttered: "from the north a boat pursues us, driven by a hundred rowers, carrying a thousand heroes!" knew at last old wainamoinen, knew the truth of his inquiry, thus addressed his fleeing people: "row, o blacksmith, ilmarinen, row, o mighty lemminkainen, row, all ye my noble oarsmen, that our boat may skim the waters, may escape from our pursuers!" rowed the blacksmith, ilmarinen, rowed the mighty lemminkainen, with them rowed the other heroes; heavily groaned the helm of birch-wood, loudly rattled all the row-locks; all the vessel shook and trembled, like a cataract it thundered as it plowed the waste of waters, tossing sea-foam to the heavens. strongly rowed wainola's forces, strongly were their arms united; but the distance did not widen twixt the boat and their pursuers. quick the hero, wainamoinen, saw misfortune hanging over, saw destruction in the distance heavy-hearted, long reflecting, trouble-laden, spake as follows: "only is there one salvation, know one miracle for safety!" then he grasped his box of tinder, from the box he took a flint-stone, of the tinder took some fragments, cast the fragments on the waters, spake these words of master-magic. "let from these arise a mountain from the bottom of the deep-sea, let a rock arise in water, that the war-ship of pohyola, with her thousand men and heroes, may be wrecked upon the summit, by the aid of surging billows." instantly a reef arises, in the sea springs up a mountain, eastward, westward, through the waters. came the war-ship of the northland, through the floods the boat came steering, sailed against the mountain-ledges, fastened on the rocks in water, wrecked upon the mount of magic. in the deep-sea fell the topmasts, fell the sails upon the billows, carried by the winds and waters o'er the waves of toil and trouble. louhi, hostess of pohyola, tries to free her sinking vessel, tries to rescue from destruction; but she cannot raise the war-ship, firmly fixed upon the mountain; shattered are the ribs and rudder, ruined is the ship of pohya. then the hostess of the northland, much disheartened, spake as follows: "where the force, in earth or heaven, that will help a soul in trouble?" quick she changes form and feature, makes herself another body; takes five sharpened scythes of iron, also takes five goodly sickles, shapes them into eagle-talons; takes the body of the vessel, makes the frame-work of an eagle; takes the vessel's ribs and flooring makes them into wings and breastplate; for the tail she shapes the rudder; in the wings she plants a thousand seniors with their bows and arrows; sets a thousand magic heroes in the body, armed with broadswords in the tail a hundred archers, with their deadly spears and cross-bows, thus the bird is hero-feathered. quick she spreads her mighty pinions, rises as a monster-eagle, flies on high, and soars, and circles with one wing she sweeps the heavens, while the other sweeps the waters. spake the hero's ocean-mother: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, turn thy vision to the north-east, cast thine eyes upon the sunrise, look behind thy fleeing vessel, see the eagle of misfortune!" wainamoinen turned as bidden, turned his vision to the north-east, cast his eyes upon the sunrise, there beheld the northland-hostess, wicked witch of sariola, flying as a monster-eagle, swooping on his mighty war-ship; flies and perches on the topmast, on the sail-yards firmly settles; nearly overturns the vessel of the heroes of wainola, underneath the weight of envy. then the hero, ilmarinen, turned to ukko as his refuge, thus entreated his creator: "ukko, thou o god in heaven, thou creator full of mercy, guard us from impending danger, that thy children may not perish, may not meet with fell destruction. hither bring thy magic fire-cloak, that thy people, thus protected, may resist pohyola's forces, well may fight against the hostess of the dismal sariola, may not fall before her weapons, may not in the deep-sea perish!" then the ancient wainamoinen thus addressed the ancient louhi: "o thou hostess of pohyola, wilt thou now divide the sampo, on the fog-point in the water, on the island forest-covered? thus the northland hostess answered: "i will not divide the sampo, not with thee, thou evil wizard, not with wicked wainamoinen!" quick the mighty eagle, louhi, swoops upon the lid in colors, grasps the sampo in her talons; but the daring lemminkainen straightway draws his blade of battle, draws his broadsword from his girdle, cleaves the talons of the eagle, one toe only is uninjured, speaks these magic words of conquest: "down, ye spears, and down, ye broadswords, down, ye thousand witless heroes, down, ye feathered hosts of louhi!" spake the hostess of pohyola, calling, screeching, from the sail-yards: "o thou faithless lemminkainen, wicked wizard, kaukomieli, to deceive thy trusting mother! thou didst give to her thy promise, not to go to war for ages, not to war for sixty summers, though desire for gold impels thee, though thou wishest gold and silver! wainamoinen, ancient hero, the eternal wisdom-singer, thinking he had met destruction, snatched the rudder from the waters, with it smote the monster-eagle, smote the eagle's iron talons, smote her countless feathered heroes. from her breast her hosts descended, spearmen fell upon the billows, from the wings descend a thousand, from the tail, a hundred archers. swoops again the bird of pohya to the bottom of the vessel, like the hawk from birch or aspen, like the falcon from the linden; grasps the sampo with one talon, drags the treasure to the waters, drops the magic lid in colors from the red rim of the war-ship to the bottom of the deep-sea, where the sampo breaks in pieces, scatters through the alue-waters, in the mighty deeps for ages, to increase the ocean's treasures, treasures for the hosts of ahto. nevermore will there be wanting richness for the ahto-nation, never while the moonlight brightens on the waters of the northland. many fragments of the sampo floated on the purple waters, on the waters deep and boundless, rocked by winds and waves of suomi, carried by the rolling billows to the sea-sides of wainola. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, saw the fragments of the treasure floating on the billows landward, fragments of the lid in colors, much rejoicing, spake as follows: "thence will come the sprouting seed-grain, the beginning of good fortune, the unending of resources, from the plowing and the sowing, from the glimmer of the moonlight, from the splendor of the sunshine, on the fertile plains of suomi, on the meads of kalevala." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus addressed old wainamoinen: "know i other mighty measures, know i means that are efficient, and against thy golden moonlight, and the splendor of thy sunshine, and thy plowing, and thy reaping; in the rocks i'll sink the moonbeams, hide the sun within the mountain, let the frost destroy thy sowings, freeze the crops on all thy corn-fields; iron-hail i'll send from heaven, on the richness of thine acres, on the barley of thy planting; i will drive the bear from forests, send thee otso from the thickets, that he may destroy thy cattle, may annihilate thy sheep-folds, may destroy thy steeds at pasture. i will send thee nine diseases, each more fatal than the other, that will sicken all thy people, make thy children sink and perish, nevermore to visit northland, never while the moonlight glimmers on the plains of kalevala!" thus the ancient bard made answer: "not a laplander can banish wainamoinen and his people; never can a turyalander drive my tribes from kalevala; god alone has power to banish, god controls the fate of nations, never trusts the arms of evil, never gives his strength to others. as i trust in my creator, call upon benignant ukko, he will guard my crops from danger drive the frost-fiend from my corn-fields, drive great otso to his caverns. "wicked louhi of pohyola, thou canst banish evil-doers, in the rocks canst hide the wicked, in thy mountains lock the guilty; thou canst never hide the moonlight, never bide the silver sunshine, in the caverns of thy kingdom. freeze the crops of thine own planting, freeze the barley of thy sowing, send thine iron-hail from heaven to destroy the lapland corn-fields, to annihilate thy people, to destroy the hosts of pohya; send great otso from the heather, send the sharp-tooth from the forest, to the fields of sariola, on the herds and flocks of louhi!" thus the wicked hostess answered: "all my power has departed, all my strength has gone to others, all my hope is in the deep-sea; in the waters lies my sampo!" then the hostess of pohyola home departed, weeping, wailing, to the land of cold and darkness; only took some worthless fragments of the sampo to her people; carried she the lid to pohya, in the blue-sea left the handle; hence the poverty of northland, and the famines of pohyola. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, hastened to the broad-sea's margin, stepped upon the shore in joyance; found there fragments of the sampo, fragments of the lid in colors, on the borders of the waters, on the curving sands and sea-sides; gathered well the sampo-relics from the waters near the fog-point, on the island forest-covered. spake the ancient wainamoinen, spake these words in supplication: "grant, o ukko, our creator, grant to us, thy needful children, peace, and happiness, and plenty, that our lives may be successful, that our days may end in honor, on the vales and hills of suomi, on the prairies of wainola, in the homes of kalevala! "ukko, wise and good creator, ukko, god of love and mercy, shelter and protect thy people from the evil-minded heroes, from the wiles of wicked women, that our country's plagues may leave us, that thy faithful tribes may prosper. be our friend and strong protector, be the helper of thy children, in the night a roof above them, in the day a shield around them, that the sunshine may not vanish, that the moonlight may not lessen, that the killing frosts may leave them, and destructive hail pass over. build a metal wall around us, from the valleys to the heavens; build of stone a mighty fortress on the borders of wainola, where thy people live and labor, as their dwelling-place forever, sure protection to thy people, where the wicked may not enter, nor the thieves break through and pilfer, never while the moonlight glistens, and the sun brings golden blessings to the plains of kalevala." rune xliv. birth of the second harp. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, long reflecting, sang these measures: "it is now the time befitting to awaken joy and gladness, time for me to touch the harp-strings, time to sing the songs primeval, in these spacious halls and mansions, in these homes of kalevala; but, alas! my harp lies hidden, sunk upon the deep-sea's bottom, to the salmon's hiding-places, to the dwellings of the whiting, to the people of wellamo, where the northland-pike assemble. nevermore will i regain it, ahto never will return it, joy and music gone forever! "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, forge for me a rake of iron, thickly set the teeth of copper, many fathoms long the handle; make a rake to search the waters, search the broad-sea to the bottom, rake the weeds and reeds together, rake them to the curving sea-shore, that i may regain my treasure, may regain my harp of fish-bow from the whiting's place of resting, from the caverns of the salmon, from the castles of wellamo." thereupon young ilmarinen, the eternal metal-worker, forges well a rake of iron, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and a thousand long the handle, thickly sets the teeth of copper. straightway ancient wainamoinen takes the rake of magic metals, travels but a little distance, to the cylinders of oak-wood, to the copper-banded rollers, where he finds two ships awaiting, one was new, the other ancient. wainamoinen, old and faithful, thus addressed the new-made vessel: "go, thou boat of master-magic, hasten to the willing waters, speed away upon the blue-sea, and without the hand to move thee; let my will impel thee seaward." quick the boat rolled to the billows on the cylinders of oak-wood, quick descended to the waters, willingly obeyed his master. wainamoinen, the magician, then began to rake the sea-beds, raked up all the water-flowers, bits of broken reeds and rushes, deep-sea shells and colored pebbles, did not find his harp of fish-bone, lost forever to wainola! thereupon the ancient minstrel left the waters, homeward hastened, cap pulled clown upon his forehead, sang this song with sorrow laden: "nevermore shall i awaken with my harp-strings, joy and gladness! nevermore will wainamoinen charm the people of the northland with the harp of his creation! nevermore my songs will echo o'er the hills of kalevala!" thereupon the ancient singer went lamenting through the forest, wandered through the sighing pine-woods, heard the wailing of a birch-tree, heard a juniper complaining; drawing nearer, waits and listens, thus the birch-tree he addresses: "wherefore, brother, art thou weeping, merry birch enrobed in silver, silver-leaved and silver-tasselled? art thou shedding tears of sorrow, since thou art not led to battle, not enforced to war with wizards? wisely does the birch make answer: "this the language of the many, others speak as thou, unjustly, that i only live in pleasure, that my silver leaves and tassels only whisper my rejoicings; that i have no cares, no sorrows, that i have no hours unhappy, knowing neither pain nor trouble. i am weeping for my smallness, am lamenting for my weakness, have no sympathy, no pity, stand here motionless for ages, stand alone in fen and forest, in these woodlands vast and joyless. others hope for coming summers, for the beauties of the spring-time; i, alas! a helpless birch-tree, dread the changing of the seasons, i must give my bark to, others, lose my leaves and silken tassels. men come the suomi children, peel my bark and drink my life-blood: wicked shepherds in the summer, come and steal my belt of silver, of my bark make berry-baskets, dishes make, and cups for drinking. oftentimes the northland maidens cut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,' bind my twigs and silver tassels into brooms to sweep their cabins; often have the northland heroes chopped me into chips for burning; three times in the summer season, in the pleasant days of spring-time, foresters have ground their axes on my silver trunk and branches, robbed me of my life for ages; this my spring-time joy and pleasure, this my happiness in summer, and my winter days no better! when i think of former troubles, sorrow settles on my visage, and my face grows white with anguish; often do the winds of winter and the hoar-frost bring me sadness, blast my tender leaves and tassels, bear my foliage to others, rob me of my silver raiment, leave me naked on the mountain, lone, and helpless, and disheartened!" spake the good, old wainamoinen: "weep no longer, sacred birch-tree, mourn no more, my friend and brother, thou shalt have a better fortune; i will turn thy grief to joyance, make thee laugh and sing with gladness." then the ancient wainamoinen made a harp from sacred birch-wood, fashioned in the days of summer, beautiful the harp of magic, by the master's hand created on the fog-point in the big-sea, on the island forest-covered, fashioned from the birch the archings, and the frame-work from the aspen. these the words of the magician: "all the archings are completed, and the frame is fitly finished; whence the hooks and pins for tuning, that the harp may sing in concord?" near the way-side grew an oak-tree, skyward grew with equal branches, on each twig an acorn growing, golden balls upon each acorn, on each ball a singing cuckoo. as each cuckoo's call resounded, five the notes of song that issued from the songster's throat of joyance; from each throat came liquid music, gold and silver for the master, flowing to the hills and hillocks, to the silvery vales and mountains; thence he took the merry harp-pins, that the harp might play in concord. spake again wise wainamoinen: "i the pins have well completed, still the harp is yet unfinished; now i need five strings for playing, where shall i procure the harp-strings?" then the ancient bard and minstrel journeyed through the fen and forest. on a hillock sat a maiden, sat a virgin of the valley; and the maiden was not weeping, joyful was the sylvan daughter, singing with the woodland songsters, that the eventide might hasten, in the hope that her beloved would the sooner sit beside her. wainamoinen, old and trusted, hastened, tripping to the virgin, asked her for her golden ringleta, these the words of the magician. "give me, maiden, of thy tresses, give to me thy golden ringlets; i will weave them into harp-strings, to the joy of wainamoinen, to the pleasure of his people." thereupon the forest-maiden gave the singer of her tresses, gave him of her golden ringlets, and of these he made the harp-strings. sources of eternal pleasure to the people of wainola. thus the sacred harp is finished, and the minstrel, wainamoinen, sits upon the rock of joyance, takes the harp within his fingers, turns the arch up, looking skyward; with his knee the arch supporting, sets the strings in tuneful order, runs his fingers o'er the harp-strings, and the notes of pleasure follow. straightway ancient wainamoinen, the eternal wisdom-singer, plays upon his harp of birch-wood. far away is heard the music, wide the harp of joy re-echoes; mountains dance and valleys listen, flinty rocks are tom asunder, stones are hurled upon the waters, pebbles swim upon the big-sea, pines and lindens laugh with pleasure, alders skip about the heather, and the aspen sways in concord. all the daughters of wainola straightway leave their shining needles, hasten forward like the current, speed along like rapid rivers, that they may enjoy and wonder. laugh the younger men and maidens, happy-hearted are the matrons flying swift to bear the playing, to enjoy the common pleasure, hear the harp of wainamoinen. aged men and bearded seniors, gray-haired mothers with their daughters stop in wonderment and listen. creeps the babe in full enjoyment as he hears the magic singing, hears the harp of wainamoinen. all of northland stops in wonder, speaks in unison these measures: "never have we heard such playing, never heard such strains of music, never since the earth was fashioned, as the songs of this magician, this sweet singer, wainamoinen!" far and wide the sweet tones echo, ring throughout the seven hamlets, o'er the seven islands echo; every creature of the northland hastens forth to look and listen, listen to the songs of gladness, to the harp of wainamoinen. all the beasts that haunt the woodlands fall upon their knees and wonder at the playing of the minstrel, at his miracles of concord. all the songsters of the forests perch upon the trembling branches, singing to the wondrous playing of the harp of wainamoinen. all the dwellers of the waters leave their beds, and eaves, and grottoes, swim against the shore and listen to the playing of the minstrel, to the harp of wainamoinen. all the little things in nature, rise from earth, and fall from ether, come and listen to the music, to the notes of the enchanter, to the songs of the magician, to the harp of wainamoinen. plays the singer of the northland, plays in miracles of sweetness, plays one day, and then a second, plays the third from morn till even; plays within the halls and cabins, in the dwellings of his people, till the floors and ceilings echo, till resound the roofs of pine-wood, till the windows speak and tremble, till the portals echo joyance, and the hearth-stones sing in pleasure. as he journeys through the forest, as he wanders through the woodlands, pine and sorb-tree bid him welcome, birch and willow bend obeisance, beech and aspen bow submission; and the linden waves her branches to the measure of his playing, to the notes of the magician. as the minstrel plays and wanders, sings upon the mead and heather, glen and hill his songs re-echo, ferns and flowers laugh in pleasure, and the shrubs attune their voices to the music of the harp-strings, to the songs of wainamoinen. rune xlv. birth of the nine diseases. louhi, hostess of the northland, heard the word in sariola, heard the dews with ears of envy, that wainola lives and prospers, that osmoinen's wealth increases, through the ruins of the sampo, ruins of the lid in colors. thereupon her wrath she kindled, well considered, long reflected, how she might prepare destruction for the people of wainola, for the tribes of kalevala. with this prayer she turns to ukko, thus entreats the god of thunder: "ukko, thou who art in heaven, help me slay wainola's people with thine iron-hail of justice, with thine arrows tipped with lightning, or from sickness let them perish, let them die the death deserving; let the men die in the forest, and the women in the hurdles!" the blind daughter of tuoni, old and wicked witch, lowyatar, worst of all the death-land women, ugliest of mana's children, source of all the host of evils, all the ills and plagues of northland, black in heart, and soul, and visage, evil genius of lappala, made her couch along the wayside, on the fields of sin and sorrow; turned her back upon the east-wind, to the source of stormy weather, to the chilling winds of morning. when the winds arose at evening, heavy-laden grew lowyatar, through the east-wind's impregnation, on the sand-plains, vast and barren. long she bore her weight of trouble, many morns she suffered anguish, till at last she leaves the desert, makes her couch within the forest, on a rock upon the mountain; labors long to leave her burden by the mountain-springs and fountains, by the crystal waters flowing, by the sacred stream and whirlpool, by the cataract and fire-stream; but her burden does not lighten. blind lowyatar, old and ugly, knew not where to look for succor, how to lose her weight of sorrow, where to lay her evil children. spake the highest from the heavens, these, the words of mighty ukko: "is a triangle in swamp-field, near the border of the ocean, in the never-pleasant northland, in the dismal sariola; thither go and lay thy burden, in pohyola leave thine offspring; there the laplanders await thee, there will bid thy children welcome." thereupon the blind lowyatar, blackest daughter of tuoni, mana's old and ugly maiden, hastened on her journey northward, to the chambers of pohyola, to the ancient halls of louhi, there to lay her heavy burdens, there to leave her evil offspring. louhi, hostess of the northland, old and toothless witch of pohya, takes lowyatar to her mansion; silently she leads the stranger to the bath-rooms of her chamber, pours the foaming beer of barley, lubricates the bolts and hinges, that their movements may be secret, speaks these measures to lowyatar: "faithful daughter of creation, thou most beautiful of women, first and last of ancient mothers, hasten on thy feet to ocean, to the ocean's centre hasten, take the sea-foam from the waters, take the honey of the mermaids, and anoint thy sacred members, that thy labors may be lightened. "should all this be unavailing, ukko, thou who art in heaven, hasten hither, thou art needed, come thou to thy child in trouble, help the helpless and afflicted. take thy golden-colored sceptre, charm away opposing forces, strike the pillars of the stronghold, open all resisting portals, that the great and small may wander from their ancient hiding-places, through the courts and halls of freedom." finally the blind lowyatar, wicked witch of tuonela, was delivered of her burden, laid her offspring in the cradle, underneath the golden covers. thus at last were born nine children, in an evening of the summer, from lowyatar, blind and ancient, ugly daughter of tuoni. faithfully the virgin-mother guards her children in affection, as an artist loves and nurses what his skillful hands have fashioned. thus lowyatar named her offspring, colic, pleurisy, and fever, ulcer, plague, and dread consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer. and the worst of these nine children blind lowyatar quickly banished, drove away as an enchanter, to bewitch the lowland people, to engender strife and envy. louhi, hostess of pohyola, banished all the other children to the fog-point in the ocean, to the island forest-covered; banished all the fatal creatures, gave these wicked sons of evil to the people of wainola, to the youth of kalevala, for the kalew-tribe's destruction. quick wainola's maidens sicken, young and aged, men and heroes, with the worst of all diseases, with diseases new and nameless; sick and dying is wainola. thereupon old wainamoinen, wise and wonderful enchanter, hastens to his people's rescue, hastens to a war with mana, to a conflict with tuoni, to destroy the evil children of the evil maid, lowyatar. wainamoinen heats the bath-rooms, heats the blocks of healing-sandstone with the magic wood of northland, gathered by the sacred river; water brings in covered buckets from the cataract and whirlpool; brooms he brings enwrapped with ermine, well the bath the healer cleanses, softens well the brooms of birch-wood; then a honey-heat be wakens, fills the rooms with healing vapors, from the virtue of the pebbles glowing in the heat of magic, thus he speaks in supplication: "come, o ukko, to my rescue, god of mercy, lend thy presence, give these vapor-baths new virtues, grant to them the powers of healing, and restore my dying people; drive away these fell diseases, banish them to the unworthy, let the holy sparks enkindle, keep this heat in healing limits, that it may not harm thy children, may not injure the afflicted. when i pour the sacred waters on the heated blocks of sandstone, may the water turn to honey laden with the balm of healing. let the stream of magic virtues ceaseless flow to all my children, from this bath enrolled in sea-moss, that the guiltless may not suffer, that my tribe-folk may not perish, till the master gives permission, until ukko sends his minions, sends diseases of his choosing, to destroy my trusting people. let the hostess of pohyola, wicked witch that sent these troubles, suffer from a gnawing conscience, suffer for her evil doings. should the master of wainola lose his magic skill and weaken, should he prove of little service to deliver from misfortune, to deliver from these evils, then may ukko be our healer, be our strength and wise physician. "omnipresent god of mercy, thou who livest in the heavens, hasten hither, thou art needed, hasten to thine ailing children, to observe their cruel tortures, to dispel these fell diseases, drive destruction from our borders. bring with thee thy mighty fire-sword, bring to me thy blade of lightning, that i may subdue these evils, that these monsters i may banish, send these pains, and ills, and tortures, to the empire of tuoni, to the kingdom of the east-winds, to the islands of the wicked, to the caverns of the demons, to the rocks within the mountains, to the hidden beds of iron, that the rocks may fall and sicken, and the beds of iron perish. rocks and metals do not murmur at the hands of the invader. "torture-daughter of tuoni, sitting on the mount of anguish, at the junction of three rivers, turning rocks of pain and torture, turn away these fell diseases through the virtues of the blue-stone; lead them to the water-channels, sink them in the deeps of ocean, where the winds can never find them, where the sunlight never enters. "should this prayer prove unavailing, o, health-virgin, maid of beauty come and heal my dying people, still their agonies and anguish, give them consciousness and comfort, give them healthful rest and slumber; these diseases take and banish, take them in thy copper vessel, to thy eaves within the mountains, to the summit of the pain-rock, hurl them to thy boiling caldrons. in the mountain is a touch-stone, lucky-stone of ancient story, with a hole bored through the centre, through this pour these pains and tortures, wretched feelings, thoughts of evil, human ailments, days unlucky, tribulations, and misfortunes, that they may not rise at evening, may not see the light of morning." ending thus, old wainamoinen, the eternal, wise enchanter, rubbed his sufferers with balsams, rubbed the tissues, red and painful, with the balm of healing flowers, balsams made of herbs enchanted, sprinkled all with healing vapors, spake these words in supplication. "ukko, thou who art in heaven, god of justice, and of mercy, send us from the east a rain-cloud, send a dark cloud from the north-west, from the north let fall a third one, send us mingled rain and honey, balsam from the great physician, to remove this plague of northland. what i know of healing measures, only comes from my creator; lend me, therefore, of thy wisdom, that i may relieve my people, save them from the fell destroyer, if my hands should fall in virtue, let the hands of ukko follow, god alone can save from trouble. come to us with thine enchantment, speak the magic words of healing, that my people may not perish; give to all alleviation from their sicknesses and sorrows; in the morning, in the evening, let their wasting ailments vanish; drive the death-child from wainola, nevermore to visit northland, never in the course of ages, never while the moonlight glimmers o'er the lakes of kalevala." wainamoinen, the enchanter, the eternal wisdom-singer, thus expelled the nine diseases, evil children or lowyatar, healed the tribes of kalevala, saved his people from destruction. rune xlvi. otso the honey-eater. came the tidings to pohyola, to the village of the northland, that wainola had recovered from her troubles and misfortunes, from her sicknesses and sorrows. louhi, hostess of the northland, toothless dame of sariola, envy-laden, spake these measures: "know i other means of trouble, i have many more resources; i will drive the bear before me, from the heather and the mountain, drive him from the fen and forest, drive great otso from the glen-wood on the cattle of wainola, on the flocks of kalevala." thereupon the northland hostess drove the hungry bear of pohya from his cavern to the meadows, to wainola's plains and pastures. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, to his brother spake as follows: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, forge a spear from magic metals, forge a lancet triple-pointed, forge the handle out of copper, that i may destroy great otso, slay the mighty bear of northland, that he may not eat my horses, nor destroy my herds of cattle, nor the flocks upon my pastures." thereupon the skillful blacksmith forged a spear from magic metals, forged a lancet triple-pointed, not the longest, nor the shortest, forged the spear in wondrous beauty. on one side a bear was sitting, sat a wolf upon the other, on the blade an elk lay sleeping, on the shaft a colt was running, near the hilt a roebuck bounding. snows had fallen from the heavens, made the flocks as white as ermine or the hare, in days of winter, and the minstrel sang these measures: "my desire impels me onward to the metsola-dominions, to the homes of forest-maidens, to the courts of the white virgins; i will hasten to the forest, labor with the woodland-forces. "ruler of the tapio-forests, make of me a conquering hero, help me clear these boundless woodlands. o mielikki, forest-hostess, tapio's wife, thou fair tellervo, call thy dogs and well enchain them, set in readiness thy hunters, let them wait within their kennels. "otso, thou o forest-apple, bear of honey-paws and fur-robes, learn that wainamoinen follows, that the singer comes to meet thee; hide thy claws within thy mittens, let thy teeth remain in darkness, that they may not harm the minstrel, may be powerless in battle. mighty otso, much beloved, honey-eater of the mountains, settle on the rocks in slumber, on the turf and in thy caverns; let the aspen wave above thee, let the merry birch-tree rustle o'er thy head for thy protection. rest in peace, thou much-loved otso, turn about within thy thickets, like the partridge at her brooding, in the spring-time like the wild-goose." when the ancient wainamoinen heard his dog bark in the forest, heard his hunter's call and echo, he addressed the words that follow: "thought it was the cuckoo calling, thought the pretty bird was singing; it was not the sacred cuckoo, not the liquid notes of songsters, 'twas my dog that called and murmured, 'twas the echo of my hunter at the cavern-doors of otso, on the border of the woodlands." wainamoinen, old and trusty, finds the mighty bear in waiting, lifts in joy the golden covers, well inspects his shining fur-robes; lifts his honey-paws in wonder, then addresses his creator: "be thou praised, o mighty ukko, as thou givest me great otso, givest me the forest-apple, thanks be paid to thee unending." to the bear he spake these measures: "otso, thou my well beloved, honey-eater of the woodlands, let not anger swell thy bosom; i have not the force to slay thee, willingly thy life thou givest as a sacrifice to northland. thou hast from the tree descended, glided from the aspen branches, slippery the trunks in autumn, in the fog-days, smooth the branches. golden friend of fen and forest, in thy fur-robes rich and beauteous, pride of woodlands, famous light-foot, leave thy cold and cheerless dwelling, leave thy home within the alders, leave thy couch among the willows, hasten in thy purple stockings, hasten from thy walks restricted, come among the haunts of heroes, join thy friends in kalevala. we shall never treat thee evil, thou shalt dwell in peace and plenty, thou shalt feed on milk and honey, honey is the food of strangers. haste away from this thy covert, from the couch of the unworthy, to a couch beneath the rafters of wainola's ancient dwellings. haste thee onward o'er the snow-plain, as a leaflet in the autumn; skip beneath these birchen branches, as a squirrel in the summer, as a cuckoo in the spring-time." wainamoinen, the magician, the eternal wisdom-singer, o'er the snow-fields hastened homeward, singing o'er the hills and mountains, with his guest, the ancient otso, with his friend, the famous light-foot, with the honey-paw of northland. far away was heard the singing, heard the playing of the hunter, heard the songs of wainamoinen; all the people heard and wondered, men and maidens, young and aged, from their cabins spake as follows: "hear the echoes from the woodlands, hear the bugle from the forest, hear the flute-notes of the songsters, hear the pipes of forest-maidens!" wainamoinen, old and trusty, soon appears within the court-yard. rush the people from their cabins, and the heroes ask these questions: "has a mine of gold been opened, hast thou found a vein of silver, precious jewels in thy pathway? does the forest yield her treasures, give to thee the honey-eater? does the hostess of the woodlands, give to thee the lynx and adder, since thou comest home rejoicing, playing, singing, on thy snow-shoes?" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, gave this answer to his people: "for his songs i caught the adder, caught the serpent for his wisdom; therefore do i come rejoicing, singing, playing, on my snow-shoes. not the mountain lynx, nor serpent, comes, however, to our dwellings; the illustrious is coming, pride and beauty of the forest, 'tis the master comes among us, covered with his friendly fur-robe. welcome, otso, welcome, light-foot, welcome, loved-one from the glenwood! if the mountain guest is welcome, open wide the gates of entry; if the bear is thought unworthy, bar the doors against the stranger." this the answer of the tribe-folk: "we salute thee, mighty otso, honey-paw, we bid thee welcome, welcome to our courts and cabins, welcome, light-foot, to our tables decorated for thy coming! we have wished for thee for ages, waiting since the days of childhood, for the notes of tapio's bugle, for the singing of the wood-nymphs, for the coming of dear otso, for the forest gold and silver, waiting for the year of plenty, longing for it as for summer, as the shoe waits for the snow-fields, as the sledge for beaten highways, as the maiden for her suitor, and the wife her husband's coming; sat at evening by the windows, at the gates have, sat at morning, sat for ages at the portals, near the granaries in winter, vanished, till the snow-fields warmed and till the sails unfurled in joyance, till the earth grew green and blossomed, thinking all the while as follows: "where is our beloved otso, why delays our forest-treasure? has he gone to distant ehstland, to the upper glens of suomi?" spake the ancient wainamoinen: "whither shall i lead the stranger, whither take the golden light-foot? shall i lead him to the garner, to the house of straw conduct him?" this the answer of his tribe-folk: "to the dining-hall lead otso, greatest hero of the northland. famous light-foot, forest-apple, pride and glory of the woodlands, have no fear before these maidens, fear not curly-headed virgins, clad in silver-tinselled raiment maidens hasten to their chambers when dear otso joins their number, when the hero comes among them." this the prayer of wainamoinen: "grant, o ukko, peace and plenty underneath these painted rafters, in this ornamented dweling; thanks be paid to gracious ukko!" spake again the ancient minstrel: "whither shall we lead dear otso, 'whither take the fur-clad stranger? this the answer of his people: "hither let the fur-robed light-foot be saluted on his coming; let the honey-paw be welcomed to the hearth-stone of the penthouse, welcomed to the boiling caldrons, that we may admire his fur-robe, may behold his cloak with joyance. have no care, thou much-loved otso, let not anger swell thy bosom as thy coat we view with pleasure; we thy fur shall never injure, shall not make it into garments to protect unworthy people." thereupon wise wainamoinen pulled the sacred robe from otso, spread it in the open court-yard, cut the members into fragments, laid them in the heating caldrons, in the copper-bottomed vessels-- o'er the fire the crane was hanging, on the crane were hooks of copper, on the hooks the broiling-vessels filled with bear-steak for the feasting, seasoned with the salt of dwina, from the saxon-land imported, from the distant dwina-waters, from the salt-sea brought in shallops. ready is the feast of otso; from the fire are swung the kettles on the crane of polished iron; in the centers of the tables is the bear displayed in dishes, golden dishes, decorated; of the fir-tree and the linden were the tables newly fashioned; drinking cups were forged from copper, knives of gold and spoons of silver; filled the vessels to their borders with the choicest bits of light-foot, fragments of the forest-apple. spake the ancient wainamoinen "ancient one with bosom golden, potent voice in tapio's councils metsola's most lovely hostess, hostess of the glen and forest, hero-son of tapiola, stalwart youth in cap of scarlet, tapio's most beauteous virgin, fair tellervo of the woodlands, metsola with all her people, come, and welcome, to the feasting, to the marriage-feast of otso! all sufficient, the provisions, food to eat and drink abundant, plenty for the hosts assembled, plenty more to give the village." this the question of the people: "tell us of the birth of otso! was he born within a manger, was he nurtured in the bath-room was his origin ignoble?" this is wainamoinen's answer: "otso was not born a beggar, was not born among the rushes, was not cradled in a manger; honey-paw was born in ether, in the regions of the moon-land, on the shoulders of otava, with the daughters of creation. "through the ether walked a maiden, on the red rims of the cloudlets, on the border of the heavens, in her stockings purple-tinted, in her golden-colored sandals. in her hand she held a wool-box, with a hair-box on her shoulder; threw the wool upon the ocean, and the hair upon the rivers; these are rocked by winds and waters, water-currents bear them onward, bear them to the sandy sea-shore, land them near the woods of honey, on an island forest-covered. "fair mielikki, woodland hostess, tapio's most cunning daughter, took the fragments from the sea-side, took the white wool from the waters, sewed the hair and wool together, laid the bundle in her basket, basket made from bark of birch-wood, bound with cords the magic bundle; with the chains of gold she bound it to the pine-tree's topmost branches. there she rocked the thing of magic, rocked to life the tender baby, mid the blossoms of the pine-tree, on the fir-top set with needles; thus the young bear well was nurtured, thus was sacred otso cradled on the honey-tree of northland, in the middle of the forest. "sacred otso grew and flourished, quickly grew with graceful movements, short of feet, with crooked ankles, wide of mouth and broad of forehead, short his nose, his fur-robe velvet; but his claws were not well fashioned, neither were his teeth implanted. fair mielikki, forest hostess, spake these words in meditation: 'claws i should be pleased to give him, and with teeth endow the wonder, would he not abuse the favor.' "swore the bear a promise sacred, on his knees before mielikki, hostess of the glen and forest, and before omniscient ukko, first and last of all creators, that he would not harm the worthy, never do a deed of evil. then mielikki, woodland hostess, wisest maid of tapiola, sought for teeth and claws to give him, from the stoutest mountain-ashes, from the juniper and oak tree, from the dry knots of the alder. teeth and claws of these were worthless, would not render goodly service. "grew a fir-tree on the mountain, grew a stately pine in northland, and the fir had silver branches, bearing golden cones abundant; these the sylvan maiden gathered, teeth and claws of these she fashioned in the jaws and feet of otso, set them for the best of uses. then she freed her new-made creature, let the light-foot walk and wander, let him lumber through the marshes, let him amble through the forest, roll upon the plains and pastures; taught him how to walk a hero, how to move with graceful motion, how to live in ease and pleasure, how to rest in full contentment, in the moors and in the marshes, on the borders of the woodlands; how unshod to walk in summer, stockingless to run in autumn; how to rest and sleep in winter in the clumps of alder-bushes underneath the sheltering fir-tree, underneath the pine's protection, wrapped securely in his fur-robes, with the juniper and willow. this the origin of otso, honey-eater of the northlands, whence the sacred booty cometh. thus again the people questioned: why became the woods so gracious, why so generous and friendly? why is tapio so humored, that he gave his dearest treasure, gave to thee his forest-apple, honey-eater of his kingdom? was he startled with thine arrows, frightened with the spear and broadsword?" wainamoinen, the magician, gave this answer to the question: "filled with kindness was the forest, glen and woodland full of greetings, tapio showing greatest favor. fair mielikki, forest hostess, metsola's bewitching daughter, beauteous woodland maid, tellervo, gladly led me on my journey, smoothed my pathway through the glen-wood. marked the trees upon the mountains, pointing me to otso's caverns, to the great bear's golden island. "when my journeyings had ended, when the bear had been discovered, had no need to launch my javelins, did not need to aim the arrow; otso tumbled in his vaulting, lost his balance in his cradle, in the fir-tree where he slumbered; tore his breast upon the branches, freely gave his life to others. "mighty otso, my beloved, thou my golden friend and hero, take thy fur-cap from thy forehead, lay aside thy teeth forever, hide thy fingers in the darkness, close thy mouth and still thine anger, while thy sacred skull is breaking. "now i take the eyes of otso, lest he lose the sense of seeing, lest their former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must these be taken. "now i take the ears of otso, lest he lose the sense of hearing, lest their former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must these be taken. "now i take the nose of otso, lest he lose the sense of smelling, lest its former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must this be taken. "now i take the tongue of otso, lest he lose the sense of tasting lest its former powers shall weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must this be taken. "now i take the brain of otso, lest he lose the means of thinking, lest his consciousness should fail him, lest his former instincts weaken; though i take not all his members, not alone must this be taken. "i will reckon him a hero, that will count the teeth of light-foot, that will loosen otso's fingers from their settings firmly fastened." none he finds with strength sufficient to perform the task demanded. therefore ancient wainamoinen counts the teeth of sacred otso; loosens all the claws of light-foot, with his fingers strong as copper, slips them from their firm foundations, speaking to the bear these measures: "otso, thou my honey-eater, thou my fur-ball of the woodlands, onward, onward, must thou journey from thy low and lonely dwelling, to the court-rooms of the village. go, my treasure, through the pathway near the herds of swine and cattle, to the hill-tops forest covered, to the high and rising mountains, to the spruce-trees filled with needles, to the branches of the pine-tree; there remain, my forest-apple, linger there in lasting slumber, where the silver bells are ringing, to the pleasure of the shepherd." thus beginning, and thus ending, wainamoinen, old and truthful, hastened from his emptied tables, and the children thus addressed him: "whither hast thou led thy booty, where hast left thy forest-apple, sacred otso of the woodlands? hast thou left him on the iceberg, buried him upon the snow-field? hast thou sunk him in the quicksand, laid him low beneath the heather?" wainamoinen spake in answer: "have not left him on the iceberg, have not buried him in snow-fields; there the dogs would soon devour him, birds of prey would feast upon him; have not hidden him in swamp-land, have not buried him in heather; there the worms would live upon him, insects feed upon his body. thither i have taken otso, to the summit of the gold-hill, to the copper-bearing mountain, laid him in his silken cradle in the summit of a pine-tree, where the winds and sacred branches rock him to his lasting slumber, to the pleasure of the hunter, to the joy of man and hero. to the east his lips are pointing, while his eyes are northward looking; but dear otso looks not upward, for the fierceness of the storm-winds would destroy his sense of vision." wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, touched again his harp of joyance, sang again his songs enchanting, to the pleasure of the evening, to the joy of morn arising. spake the singer of wainola: "light for me a torch of pine-wood, for the darkness is appearing, that my playing may be joyous and my wisdom-songs find welcome." then the ancient sage and singer, wise and worthy wainamoinen, sweetly sang and played, and chanted, through the long and dreary evening, ending thus his incantation: "grant, o ukko, my creator, that the people of wainola may enjoy another banquet in the company of light-foot; grant that we may long remember kalevala's feast with otso! "grant, o ukko, my creator, that the signs may guide our footsteps, that the notches in the pine-tree may direct my faithful people to the bear-dens of the woodlands; that great tapio's sacred bugle may resound through glen and forest; that the wood-nymph's call may echo, may be heard in field and hamlet, to the joy of all that listen! let great tapio's horn for ages ring throughout the fen and forest, through the hills and dales of northland o'er the meadows and the mountains, to awaken song and gladness in the forests of wainola, on the snowy plains of suomi, on the meads of kalevala, for the coming generations." rune xlvii. louhi steals sun, moon, and fire. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, touched again his magic harp-strings, sang in miracles of concord, filled the north with joy and gladness. melodies arose to heaven, songs arose to luna's chambers, echoed through the sun's bright windows and the moon has left her station, drops and settles in the birch-tree; and the sun comes from his castle, settles in the fir-tree branches, comes to share the common pleasure, comes to listen to the singing, to the harp of wainamoinen. louhi, hostess of pohyola, northland's old and toothless wizard, makes the sun and moon her captives; in her arms she takes fair luna from her cradle in the birch-tree, calls the sun down from his station, from the fir-tree's bending branches, carries them to upper northland, to the darksome sariola; hides the moon, no more to glimmer, in a rock of many colors; hides the sun, to shine no longer, in the iron-banded mountain; thereupon these words she utters: "moon of gold and sun of silver, hide your faces in the caverns of pohyola's dismal mountain; shine no more to gladden northland, till i come to give ye freedom, drawn by coursers nine in number, sable coursers of one mother!" when the golden moon had vanished, and the silver sun had hidden in the iron-banded caverns, louhi stole the fire from northland, from the regions of wainola, left the mansions cold and cheerless, and the cabins full of darkness. night was king and reigned unbroken, darkness ruled in kalevala, darkness in the home of ukko. hard to live without the moonlight, harder still without the sunshine; ukko's life is dark and dismal, when the sun and moon desert him. ukko, first of all creators, lived in wonder at the darkness; long reflected, well considered, why this miracle in heaven, what this accident in nature to the moon upon her journey; why the sun no more is shining, why has disappeared the moonlight. then great ukko walked the heavens, to the border of the cloudlets, in his purple-colored vestments, in his silver-tinselled sandals, seeking for the golden moonlight, looking for the silver sunshine. lightning ukko struck in darkness from the edges of his fire-sword; shot the flames in all directions, from his blade of golden color, into heaven's upper spaces, into ether's starry pastures. when a little fire had kindled, ukko hid it in the cloud-space, in a box of gold and silver, in a case adorned with silver, gave it to the ether-maidens, called a virgin then to rock it, that it might become a new-moon, that a second sun might follow. on the long-cloud rocked the virgin, on the blue-edge of the ether, rocked the fire of the creator, in her copper-colored cradle, with her ribbons silver-studded. lowly bend the bands of silver, loud the golden cradle echoes, and the clouds of northland thunder, low descends the dome of heaven, at the rocking of the lightning, rocking of the fire of ukko. thus the flame was gently cradled by the virgin of the ether. long the fair and faithful maiden stroked the fire-child with her fingers, tended it with care and pleasure, till in an unguarded moment it escaped the ether-virgin, slipped the hands of her that nursed it. quick the heavens are burst asunder, quick the vault of ukko opens, downward drops the wayward fire-child, downward quick the red-ball rushes, shoots across the arch of heaven, hisses through the startled cloudlets, flashes through the troubled welkin, through nine starry vaults of ether. then the ancient wainamoinen spake and these the words he uttered: "blacksmith brother, ilmarinen, let us haste and look together, what the kind of fire that falleth, what the form of light that shineth from the upper vault of heaven, from the lower earth and ocean. has a second moon arisen, can it be a ball of sunlight? thereupon the heroes wandered, onward journeyed and reflected, how to gain the spot illumined, how to find the sacred fire-child. came a river rushing by them, broad and stately as an ocean. straightway ancient wainamoinen there began to build a vessel, build a boat to cross the river. with the aid of ilmarinen, from the oak he cut the row-locks, from the pine the oars be fashioned, from the aspen shapes the rudder. when the vessel they had finished, quick they rolled it to the current, hard they rowed and ever forward, on the nawa-stream and waters, at the head of nawa-river. ilmatar, the ether-daughter, foremost daughter of creation, came to meet them on their journey, thus addressed the coming strangers: "who are ye of northland heroes, rowing on the nawa-waters?" wainamoinen gave this answer: "this the blacksmith, ilmarinen, i the ancient wainamoinen. tell us now thy name and station, whither going, whence thou comest, where thy tribe-folk live and linger? spake the daughter of the ether: "i the oldest of the women, am the first of ether's daughters, am the first of ancient mothers; seven times have i been wedded. to the heroes of creation. whither do ye strangers journey? answered thus old wainamoinen: "fire has left wainola's hearth-stones, light has disappeared from northland; have been sitting long in darkness, cold and darkness our companions; now we journey to discover what the fire that fell from heaven, falling from the cloud's red lining, to the deeps of earth and ocean." ilmatar returned this answer: "hard the flame is to discover, hard indeed to find the fire-child; has committed many mischiefs, nothing good has he accomplished; quick the fire-ball fell from ether, from the red rims of the cloudlets, from the plains of the creator, through the ever-moving heavens, through the purple ether-spaces, through the blackened flues of turi, to palwoinen's rooms uncovered. when the fire had reached the chambers of palwoinen, son of evil, he began his wicked workings, he engaged in lawless actions, raged against the blushing maidens, fired the youth to evil conduct, singed the beards of men and heroes. "where the mother nursed her baby, in the cold and cheerless cradle, thither flew the wicked fire-child, there to perpetrate some mischief; in the cradle burned the infant, by the infant burned the mother, that the babe might visit mana, in the kingdom of tuoni; said the child was born for dying, only destined for destruction, through the tortures of the fire-child. greater knowledge had the mother, did not journey to manala, knew the word to check the red-flame, how to banish the intruder through the eyelet of a needle, through the death-hole of the hatchet." then the ancient wainamoinen questioned ilmatar as follows: "whither did the fire-child wander, whither did the red-flame hasten, from the border-fields of turi, to the woods, or to the waters? straightway ilmatar thus answers: "when the fire had fled from turi, from the castles of palwoinen, through the eyelet of the needle, through the death-hole of the hatchet, first it burned the fields, and forests, burned the lowlands, and the heather; then it sought the mighty waters, sought the alue-sea and river, and the waters hissed and sputtered in their anger at the fire-child, fiery red the boiling alue! "three times in the nights of, summer, nine times in the nights of autumn, boil the waters to the tree-tops, roll and tumble to the mountain, through the red-ball's force and fury; hurls the pike upon the pastures, to the mountain-cliffs, the salmon, where the ocean-dwellers wonder, long reflect and well consider how to still the angry waters. wept the salmon for his grotto, mourned the whiting for his cavern, and the lake-trout for his dwelling, quick the crook-necked salmon darted, tried to catch the fire-intruder, but the red-ball quick escaped him; darted then the daring whiting, swallowed quick the wicked fire-child, swallowed quick the flame of evil. quiet grow the alue-waters, slowly settle to their shore-lines, to their long-accustomed places, in the long and dismal evening. "time had gone but little distance, when the whiting grow affrighted, fear befel the fire-devourer; burning pain and writhing tortures seized the eater of the fire-child; swam the fish in all directions, called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, swam one day, and then a second, swam the third from morn till even; swam she to the whiting-island, to the caverns of the salmon, where a hundred islands cluster; and the islands there assembled thus addressed the fire-devourer: 'there is none within these waters, in this narrow alue-lakelet, that will eat the fated fire-fish that will swallow thee in trouble, in thine agonies and torture from the fire-child thou hast eaten.' "hearing this a trout forth darting, swallowed quick as light the whiting, quickly ate the fire-devourer. time had gone but little distance, when the trout became affrighted, fear befel the whiting-eater; burning pain and writhing torment seized the eater of the fire-fish. swam the trout in all directions, called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, swam one day, and then a second, swain the third from morn till even; swam she to the salmon-island, swam she to the whiting-grottoes, where a thousand islands cluster, and the islands there assembled thus addressed the tortured lake-trout: 'there is none within this river, in these narrow alue-waters, that will eat the wicked fire-fish, that will swallow thee in trouble, in thine agonies and tortures, from the fire-fish thou hast eaten." hearing this the gray-pike darted, swallowed quick as light the lake-trout, quickly ate the tortured fire-fish. "time had gone but little distance, when the gray-pike grew affrighted, fear befel the lake-trout-eater; burning pain and writhing torment seized the reckless trout-devourer; swam the pike in all directions, called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, swam one day, and then a second, swam the third from morn till even, to the cave of ocean-swallows, to the sand-hills of the sea-gull, where a hundred islands cluster; and the islands there assembled thus addressed the fire-devourer: 'there is none within this lakelet, in these narrow alue-waters, that will eat the fated fire-fish, that will swallow thee in trouble, in thine agonies and tortures, from the fire-fish thou hast eaten.'" wainamoinen, wise and ancient, with the aid of ilmarinen, weaves with skill a mighty fish-net from the juniper and sea-grass; dyes the net with alder-water, ties it well with thongs of willow. straightway ancient wainamoinen called the maidens to the fish-net, and the sisters came as bidden. with the netting rowed they onward, rowed they to the hundred islands, to the grottoes of the salmon, to the caverns of the whiting, to the reeds of sable color, where the gray-pike rests and watches. on they hasten to the fishing, drag the net in all directions, drag it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise, and diagonally zigzag; but they did not catch the fire-fish. then the brothers went a-fishing, dragged the net in all directions, backwards, forwards, lengthwise, sidewise, through the homes of ocean-dwellers, through the grottoes of the salmon, through the dwellings of the whiting, through the reed-beds of the lake-trout, where the gray-pike lies in ambush; but the fated fire-fish came not, came not from the lake's abysses, came not from the alue-waters. little fish could not be captured in the large nets of the masters; murmured then the deep-sea-dwellers, spake the salmon to the lake-trout, and the lake-trout to the whiting, and the whiting to the gray-pike: have the heroes of wainola died, or have they all departed from these fertile shores and waters? where then are the ancient weavers, weavers of the nets of flax-thread, those that frighten us with fish-poles, drag us from our homes unwilling?" hearing this wise wainamoinen answered thus the deep-sea-dwellers: "neither have wainola's heroes died, nor have they all departed from these fertile shores and waters, two are born where one has perished; longer poles and finer fish-nets have the sons of kalevala!" rune xlviii. capture of the fire-fish. wainamoinen, the enchanter, the eternal wisdom-singer, long reflected, well considered, how to weave the net of flax-yarn, weave the fish-net of the fathers. spake the minstrel of wainola: "who will plow the field and fallow, sow the flax, and spin the flax-threads, that i may prepare the fish-net, wherewith i may catch the fire-pike, may secure the thing of evil?" soon they found a fertile island, found the fallow soil befitting, on the border of the heather, and between two stately oak-trees. they prepared the soil for sowing. searching everywhere for flax-seed, found it in tuoni's kingdom, in the keeping of an insect. then they found a pile of ashes, where the fire had burned a vessel; in the ashes sowed the seedlings near the alue-lake and border, in the rich and loamy fallow. there the seed took root and flourished, quickly grew to great proportions, in a single night in summer. thus the flax was sowed at evening, placed within the earth by moonlight; quick it grew, and quickly ripened, quick wainola's heroes pulled it, quick they broke it on the hackles, hastened with it to the waters, dipped it in the lake and washed it; quickly brought it borne and dried it. quickly broke, and combed, and smoothed it, brushed it well at early morning, laid it into laps for spinning quick the maidens twirl the spindles, spin the flaxen threads for weaving, in a single night in summer. quick the sisters wind and reel it, make it ready for the needle. brothers weave it into fish-nets, and the fathers twist the cordage, while the mothers knit the meshes, rapidly the mesh-stick circles; soon the fish-net is completed, in a single night in summer. as the magic net is finished, and in length a hundred fathoms, on the rim three hundred fathoms. rounded stones are fastened to it, joined thereto are seven float-boards. now the young men take the fish-net, and the old men cheer them onward, wish them good-luck at their fishing. long they row and drag the flax-seine, here and there the net is lowered; now they drag it lengthwise, sidewise, drag it through the slimy reed-beds; but they do not catch the fire-pike, only smelts, and luckless red-fish, little fish of little value. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, let us go ourselves a-fishing, let us catch the fish of evil!" to the fishing went the brothers, magic heroes of the northland, pulled the fish-net through the waters, toward an island in the deep-sea then they turn and drag the fish-net toward a meadow jutting seaward; now they drag it toward wainola, draw it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise, catching fish of every species, salmon, trout, and pike, and whiting, do not catch the evil fire-fish. then the master, wainamoinen, made additions to its borders, made it many fathoms wider, and a hundred fathoms longer, then these words the hero uttered "famous blacksmith, ilmarinen, let us go again a-fishing, row again the magic fish-net, drag it well through all the waters, that we may obtain the fire-pike!" thereupon the northland heroes go a second time a-fishing, drag their nets across the rivers, lakelets, seas, and bays, and inlets, catching fish of many species, but the fire-fish is not taken. wainamoinen, ancient singer, long reflecting, spake these measures: "dear wellamo, water-hostess, ancient mother with the reed-breast, come, exchange thy water-raiment, change thy coat of reeds and rushes for the garments i shall give thee, light sea-foam, thine inner vesture, and thine outer, moss and sea-grass, fashioned by the wind's fair daughters, woven by the flood's sweet maidens; i will give thee linen vestments spun from flax of softest fiber, woven by the moon's white virgins, fashioned by the sun's bright daughters fitting raiment for wellamo! "ahto, king of all the waters, ruler of a thousand grottoes, take a pole of seven fathoms, search with this the deepest waters, rummage well the lowest bottoms; stir up all the reeds and sea-weeds, hither drive a school of gray-pike, drive them to our magic fish-net, from the haunts in pike abounding, from the caverns, and the trout-holes, from the whirlpools of the deep-sea, from the bottomless abysses, where the sunshine never enters, where the moonlight never visits, and the sands are never troubled." rose a pigmy from the waters, from the floods a little hero, riding on a rolling billow, and the pigmy spake these measures: "dost thou wish a worthy helper, one to use the pole and frighten pike and salmon to thy fish-nets?" wainamoinen, old and faithful, answered thus the lake-born hero: "yea, we need a worthy helper, one to hold the pole, and frighten pike and salmon to our fish-nets." thereupon the water-pigmy cut a linden from the border, spake these words to wainamoinen: "shall i scare with all my powers, with the forces of my being, as thou needest shall i scare them?" spake the minstrel, wainamoinen: "if thou scarest as is needed, thou wilt scare with all thy forces, with the strength of thy dominions." then began the pigmy-hero, to affright the deep-sea-dwellers; drove the fish in countless numbers to the net of the magicians. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, drew his net along the waters, drew it with his ropes of flax-thread, spake these words of magic import: "come ye fish of northland waters to the regions of my fish-net, as my hundred meshes lower." then the net was drawn and fastened, many were the gray-pike taken by he master and magician. wainamoinen, happy-hearted, hastened to a neighboring island, to a blue-point in the waters, near a red-bridge on the headland; landed there his draught of fishes, cast the pike upon the sea-shore, and the fire-pike was among them, cast the others to the waters. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "may i touch thee with my fingers, using not my gloves of iron, using not my blue-stone mittens? this the sun-child hears and answers: "i should like to carve the fire-fish, i should like this pike to handle, if i had the knife of good-luck." quick a knife falls from the heavens, from the clouds a magic fish-knife, silver-edged and golden-headed, to the girdle of the sun-child; quick he grasps the copper handle, quick the hero carves the fire-pike, finds therein the tortured lake-trout; carves the lake-trout thus discovered. finds therein the fated whiting; carves the whiting, finds a blue-ball in the third cave of his body. he, the blue-ball quick unwinding, finds within a ball of scarlet; carefully removes the cover, finds the ball of fire within it, finds the flame from heaven fallen, from the heights of the seventh heaven, through nine regions of the ether. wainamoinen long reflected how to get the magic fire-ball to wainola's fireless hearth-stones, to his cold and cheerless dwellings. quick he snatched the fire of heaven from the fingers of the sun-child. wainamoinen's beard it singes, burns the brow of ilmarinen, burns the fingers of the blacksmith. rolling forth it hastens westward, hastens to the alue shore-lines, burns the juniper and alder, burns the and heath and meadow, rises to the lofty linden, burns the firs upon the mountains; hastens onward, onward, onward, burns the islands of the northland, burns the sawa fields and forests, burns the dry lands of karyala. straightway ancient wainamoinen hastens through the fields and fenlands, tracks the ranger to the glen-wood, finds the fire-child in an elm-tree, sleeping in a bed of fungus. thereupon wise wainamoinen wakes the child and speaks these measures: "wicked fire that god created, flame of ukko from the heavens, thou hast gone in vain to sea-caves, to the lakes without a reason; better go thou to my village, to the hearth-stones of my people; hide thyself within my chimneys, in mine ashes sleep and linger. in the day-time i will use thee to devour the blocks of birch-wood; in the evening i will hide thee underneath the golden circle." then he took the willing panu, took the willing fire of ukko, laid it in a box of tinder, in the punk-wood of a birch-tree, in a vessel forged from copper; carried it with care and pleasure to the fog-point in the waters, to the island forest covered. thus returned the fire to northland, to the chambers of wainola, to the hearths of kalevala. ilmarinen, famous blacksmith, hastened to the deep-sea's margin, sat upon the rock of torture, feeling pain the flame had given, laved his wounds with briny water, thus to still the fire-child's fury, thus to end his persecutions. long reflecting, ilmarinen thus addressed the flame of ukko: "evil panu from the heavens, wicked son of god from ether, tell me what has made thee angry, made thee burn my weary members, burn my beard, and face, and fingers, made me suffer death-land tortures? spake again young ilmarinen: "how can i wild panu conquer, how shall i control his conduct, make him end his evil doings? come, thou daughter from pohyola, come, white virgin of the hoar-frost, come on shoes of ice from lapland, icicles upon thy garments, in one band a cup of white-frost, in the other hand an ice-spoon; sprinkle snow upon my members, where the fire-child has been resting, let the hoar-frost fall and settle. "should this prayer be unavailing, come, thou son of sariola, come, thou child of frost from pohya, come, thou long-man from the ice-plains, of the height of stately pine-trees, slender as the trunks of lindens, on thy hands the gloves of hoar-frost, cap of ice upon thy forehead, on thy waist a white-frost girdle; bring the ice-dust from pohyola, from the cold and sunless village. rain is crystallized in northland, ice in pohya is abundant, lakes of ice and ice-bound rivers, frozen smooth, the sea of ether. bounds the hare in frosted fur-robe, climbs the bear in icy raiment, ambles o'er the snowy mountains. swans of frost descend the rivers, ducks of ice in countless numbers swim upon thy freezing waters, near the cataract and whirlpool. bring me frost upon thy snow-sledge, snow and ice in great abundance, from the summit of the wild-top, from the borders of the mountains. with thine ice, and snow, and hoar-frost cover well mine injured members where wild panu has been resting, where the child of fire has lingered. "should this call be ineffective, ukko, god of love and mercy, first and last of the creators, from the east send forth a snow-cloud, from the west despatch a second, join their edges well together, let there be no vacant places, let these clouds bring snow and lay the healing balm of ukko on my burning, tortured tissues, where wild panu has been resting." thus the blacksmith, ilmarinen, stills the pains by fire engendered, stills the agonies and tortures brought him by the child of evil, brought him by the wicked panu. rune xlix. restoration of the sun and moon. thus has fire returned to northland but the gold moon is not shining, neither gleams the silver sunlight in the chambers of wainola, on the plains of kalevala. on the crops the white-frost settled, and the cattle died of hunger, even birds grew sick and perished. men and maidens, faint and famished, perished in the cold and darkness, from the absence of the sunshine, from the absence of the moonlight. knew the pike his holes and hollows, and the eagle knew his highway, knew the winds the times for sailing; but the wise men of the northland could not know the dawn of morning, on the fog-point in the ocean, on the islands forest-covered. young and aged talked and wondered, well reflected, long debated, how to live without the moonlight, live without the silver sunshine, in the cold and cheerless northland, in the homes of kalevala. long conjectured all the maidens, orphans asked the wise for counsel. spake a maid to ilmarinen, running to the blacksmith's furnace: "rise, o artist, from thy slumbers, hasten from thy couch unworthy; forge from gold the moon for northland, forge anew the sun from silver cannot live without the moonlight, nor without the silver sunshine!" from his couch arose the artist, from his couch of stone, the blacksmith, and began his work of forging, forging sun and moon for northland. came the ancient wainamoinen, in the doorway sat and lingered, spake, these words to ilmarinen: "blacksmith, my beloved brother, thou the only metal-worker, tell me why thy magic hammer falls so heavy on thine anvil?" spake the youthful ilmarinen: "moon of gold and sun of silver, i am forging for wainola; i shall swing them into ether, plant them in the starry heavens." spake the wise, old wainamoinen: "senseless blacksmith of the ages, vainly dost thou swing thy hammer, vainly rings thy mighty anvil; silver will not gleam as sunshine, not of gold is born the moonlight!" ilmarinen, little heeding, ceases not to ply his hammer, sun and moon the artist forges, wings the moon of magic upward, hurls it to the pine-tree branches; does not shine without her master. then the silver sun he stations in an elm-tree on the mountain. from his forehead drip the sweat-drops, perspiration from his fingers, through his labors at the anvil while the sun and moon were forging; but the sun shone not at morning from his station in the elm-tree; and the moon shone not at evening from the pine-tree's topmost branches. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "let the fates be now consulted, and the oracles examined; only thus may we discover where the sun and moon lie hidden." thereupon old wainamoinen, only wise and true magician, cut three chips from trunks of alder, laid the chips in magic order, touched and turned them with his fingers, spake these words of master-magic: "of my maker seek i knowledge, ask in hope and faith the answer from the great magician, ukko: tongue of alder, tell me truly, symbol of the great creator, where the sun and moon are sleeping; for the moon shines not in season, nor appears the sun at midday, from their stations in the sky-vault. speak the truth, o magic alder, speak not words of man, nor hero, hither bring but truthful measures. let us form a sacred compact: if thou speakest me a falsehood, i will hurl thee to manala, let the nether fires consume thee, that thine evil signs may perish." thereupon the alder answered, spake these words of truthful import: "verily the sun lies hidden and the golden moon is sleeping in the stone-berg of pohyola, in the copper-bearing mountain." these the words of wainamoinen: "i shall go at once to northland, to the cold and dark pohyola, bring the sun and moon to gladden all wainola's fields and forests." forth he hastens on his journey, to the dismal sariola, to the northland cold and dreary; travels one day, then a second, so the third from morn till evening, when appear the gates of pohya, with her snow-clad hills and mountains. wainamoinen, the magician, at the river of pohyola, loudly calls the ferry-maiden: bring a boat, o pohya-daughter, bring a strong and trusty vessel, row me o'er these chilling waters, o'er this rough and rapid river!" but the ferry-maiden heard not, did not listen to his calling. thereupon old wainamoinen, laid a pile of well-dried brush-wood, knots and needles of the fir-tree, made a fire beside the river, sent the black smoke into heaven curling to the home of ukko. louhi, hostess of the northland, hastened to her chamber window, looked upon the bay and river, spake these words to her attendants: "why the fire across the river where the current meets the deep-sea, smaller than the fires of foemen, larger than the flames of hunters?" thereupon a pohyalander hastened from the court of louhi that the cause he might discover,' bring the sought-for information to the hostess of pohyola; saw upon the river-border some great hero from wainola. wainamoinen saw the stranger, called again in tones of thunder: "bring a skiff; thou son of northland, for the minstrel, wainamoinen! thus the pohyalander answered: "here no skiffs are lying idle, row thyself across the waters, use thine arms, and feet, and fingers, to propel thee o'er the river, o'er the sacred stream of pohya." wainamoinen, long reflecting, bravely thus soliloquizes: "i will change my form and features, will assume a second body, neither man, nor ancient minstrel, master of the northland waters!" then the singer, wainamoinen, leaped, a pike, upon the waters, quickly swam the rapid river, gained the frigid pohya-border. there his native form resuming, walked he as a mighty hero, on the dismal isle of louhi, spake the wicked sons of northland: come thou to pohyola's court-room." to pohyola's, court he hastened. spake again the sons of evil: come thou to the halls of louhi!" to pohyola's halls he hastened. on the latch he laid his fingers, set his foot within the fore-hall, hastened to the inner chamber, underneath the painted rafters, where the northland-heroes gather. there he found the pohya-masters girded with their swords of battle, with their spears and battle-axes, with their fatal bows and arrows, for the death of wainamoinen, ancient bard, suwantolainen. thus they asked the hero-stranger. "magic swimmer of the northland, son of evil, what the message that thou bringest from thy people, what thy mission to pohyola?" wainamoinen, old and truthful, thus addressed the hosts of louhi: "for the sun i come to northland, come to seek the moon in pohya; tell me where the sun lies hidden, where the golden moon is sleeping." spake the evil sons of pohya: "both the sun and moon are hidden in the rock of many colors, in the copper-bearing mountain, in a cavern iron-banded, in the stone-berg of pohyola, nevermore to gain their freedom, nevermore to shine in northland!" spake the hero, wainamoinen: "if the sun be not uncovered, if the moon leave not her dungeon, i will challenge all pohyola to the test of spear or broadsword, let us now our weapons measure!" quick the hero of wainola drew his mighty sword of magic; on its border shone the moonlight, on its hilt the sun was shining, on its back, a neighing stallion, on its face a cat was mewing, beautiful his magic weapon. quick the hero-swords are tested, and the blades are rightly measured wainamoinen's sword is longest by a single grain of barley, by a blade of straw, the widest. to the court-yard rushed the heroes, hastened to the deadly combat, on the plains of sariola. wainamoinen, the magician, strikes one blow, and then a second, strikes a third time, cuts and conquers. as the house-maids slice the turnips, as they lop the heads of cabbage, as the stalks of flax are broken, so the heads of louhi's heroes fall before the magic broadsword of the ancient wainamoinen. then victor from wainola, ancient bard and great magician, went to find the sun in slumber, and the golden moon discover, in, the copper-bearing mountains, in the cavern iron-banded, in the stone-berg of pohyola. he had gone but little distance, when he found a sea-green island; on the island stood a birch-tree, near the birch-tree stood a pillar carved in stone of many colors; in the pillar, nine large portals bolted in a hundred places; in the rock he found a crevice sending forth a gleam of sunlight. quick he drew his mighty broadsword, from the pillar struck three colors, from the magic of his weapon; and the pillar fell asunder, three the number of the fragments. wainamoinen, old and faithful, through the crevice looked and wondered. in the center of the pillar, from a scarlet-colored basin, noxious serpents beer were drinking, and the adders eating spices. spake the ancient wainamoinen: "therefore has pohyola's hostess little drink to give to strangers, since her beer is drank by serpents, and her spices given to adders." quick he draws his magic fire-blade, cuts the vipers green in pieces, lops the heads off all the adders, speaks these words of master-magic: thus, hereafter, let the serpent drink the famous beer of barley, feed upon the northland-spices!" wainamoinen, the magician, the eternal wizard-singer, sought to open wide the portals with the hands and words of magic; but his hands had lost their cunning, and his magic gone to others. thereupon the ancient minstrel quick returning, heavy-hearted, to his native halls and hamlets, thus addressed his brother-heroes: "woman, he without his weapons, with no implements, a weakling! sun and moon have i discovered, but i could not force the portals leading to their rocky cavern in the copper bearing mountain. spake the reckless lemminkainen "o thou ancient wainamoinen, why was i not taken with thee to become, thy war-companion? would have been of goodly service, would have drawn the bolts or broken, all the portals to the cavern, where the sun and moon lie hidden in the copper-bearing mountain!" wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, thus replied to lemminkainen: "empty words will break no portals, draw no bolts of any moment; locks and bolts are never broken. with the words of little wisdom! greater means than thou commandest must be used to free the sunshine, free the moonlight from her dungeon." wainamoinen, not discouraged, hastened to the forge and smithy, spake these words to ilmarinen: "o thou famous metal-artist, forge for me a magic trident, forge from steel a dozen stout-rings, master-keys, a goodly number, iron bars and heavy hammers, that the sun we may uncover in the copper-bearing mountain, in the stone-berg of pohyola." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal metal-worker, forged the needs of wainamoinen, forged for him the magic trident, forged from steel a dozen stout-rings, master-keys a goodly number, iron bars and heavy hammers, not the largest, nor the smallest, forged them of the right dimensions. louhi, hostess of pohyola, northland's old and toothless wizard, fastened wings upon her shoulders, as an eagle, sailed the heavens, over field, and fen, and forest, over pohya's many, waters, to the hamlets of wainola, to the forge of ilmarinen. quick the famous metal-worker went to see if winds were blowing; found the winds at peace and silent, found an eagle, sable-colored, perched upon his window-casement. spake the artist, ilmarinen: "magic bird, whom art thou seeking, why art sitting at my window?" this the answer of the eagle: "art thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal iron-forger, master of the magic metals, northland's wonder-working artist?" ilmarinen gave this answer: "there is nothing here of wonder, since i forged the dome of heaven, forged the earth a concave cover!" spake again the magic eagle: why this ringing of thine anvil, why this knocking of thy hammer, tell me what thy hands are forging?" this the answer of the blacksmith: "'tis a collar i am forging for the neck of wicked louhi, toothless witch of sariola, stealer of the silver sunshine, stealer of the golden moonlight; with this collar i shall bind her to the iron-rock of ehstland!" louhi, hostess of pohyola, saw misfortune fast approaching, saw destruction flying over, saw the signs of bad-luck lower; quickly winged her way through ether to her native halls and chambers, to the darksome sariola, there unlocked the massive portals where the sun and moon were hidden, in the rock of many colors, in the cavern iron-banded, in the copper-bearing mountain. then again the wicked louhi changed her withered form and features, and became a dove of good-luck; straightway winged the starry heavens, over field, and fen, and forest, to the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala, to the forge of ilmarinen. this the question of the blacksmith "wherefore comest, dove of good-luck, what the tidings that thou bringest?" thus the magic bird made answer: "wherefore come i to thy smithy? come to bring the joyful tidings that the sun has left his cavern, left the rock of many colors, left the stone-berg of pohyola; that the moon no more is hidden in the copper-bearing mountains, in the caverns iron-banded." straightway hastened ilmarinen to the threshold of his smithy, quickly scanned the far horizon, saw again the silver sunshine, saw once more the golden moonlight, bringing peace, and joy, and plenty, to the homes of kalevala. thereupon the blacksmith hastened to his brother, wainamoinen, spake these words to the magician: "o thou ancient bard and minstrel, the eternal wizard-singer see, the sun again is shining, and the golden moon is beaming from their long-neglected places, from their stations in the sky-vault!" wainamoinen, old and faithful, straightway hastened to the court-yard, looked upon the far horizon, saw once more the silver sunshine, saw again the golden moonlight, bringing peace, and joy, and plenty, to the people of the northland, and the minstrel spake these measures: "greetings to thee, sun of fortune, greetings to thee, moon of good-luck, welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight, golden is the dawn of morning! free art thou, o sun of silver, free again, o moon beloved, as the sacred cuckoo's singing, as the ring-dove's liquid cooings. "rise, thou silver sun, each morning, source of light and life hereafter, bring us, daily, joyful greetings, fill our homes with peace and plenty, that our sowing, fishing, hunting, may be prospered by thy coming. travel on thy daily journey, let the moon be ever with thee; glide along thy way rejoicing, end thy journeyings in slumber; rest at evening in the ocean, when the daily cares have ended, to the good of all thy people, to the pleasure of wainoloa, to the joy of kalevala!" rune l. mariatta--wainamoinen's departure. mariatta, child of beauty, grew to maidenhood in northland, in the cabin of her father, in the chambers of her mother, golden ringlets, silver girdles, worn against the keys paternal, glittering upon her bosom; wore away the father's threshold with the long robes of her garments; wore away the painted rafters with her beauteous silken ribbons; wore away the gilded pillars with the touching of her fingers; wore away the birchen flooring with the tramping of her fur-shoes. mariatta, child of beauty, magic maid of little stature, guarded well her sacred virtue, her sincerity and honor, fed upon the dainty whiting, on the inner bark of birch-wood, on the tender flesh of lambkins. when she hastened in the evening to her milking in the hurdles, spake in innocence as follows: "never will the snow-white virgin milk the kine of one unworthy!" when she journeyed over snow-fields, on the seat beside her father, spake in purity as follows: "not behind a steed unworthy will i ever ride the snow-sledge!" mariatta, child of beauty, lived a virgin with her mother, as a maiden highly honored, lived in innocence and beauty, daily drove her flocks to pasture, walking with the gentle lambkins. when the lambkins climbed the mountains, when they gamboled on the hill-tops, stepped the virgin to the meadow, skipping through a grove of lindens, at the calling of the cuckoo, to the songster's golden measures. mariatta, child of beauty, looked about, intently listened, sat upon the berry-meadow sat awhile, and meditated on a hillock by the forest, and soliloquized as follows: "call to me, thou golden cuckoo, sing, thou sacred bird of northland, sing, thou silver breasted songster, speak, thou strawberry of ehstland, tell bow long must i unmarried, as a shepherdess neglected, wander o'er these bills and mountains, through these flowery fens and fallows. tell me, cuckoo of the woodlands, sing to me how many summers i must live without a husband, as a shepherdess neglected!" mariatta, child of beauty, lived a shepherd-maid for ages, as a virgin with her mother. wretched are the lives of shepherds, lives of maidens still more wretched, guarding flocks upon the mountains; serpents creep in bog and stubble, on the greensward dart the lizards; but it was no serpent singing, nor a sacred lizard calling, it was but the mountain-berry calling to the lonely maiden: "come, o virgin, come and pluck me, come and take me to thy bosom, take me, tinsel-breasted virgin, take me, maiden, copper-belted, ere the slimy snail devours me, ere the black-worm feeds upon me. hundreds pass my way unmindful, thousands come within my hearing, berry-maidens swarm about me, children come in countless numbers, none of these has come to gather, come to pluck this ruddy berry." mariatta, child of beauty, listened to its gentle pleading, ran to pick the berry, calling, with her fair and dainty fingers,. saw it smiling near the meadow, like a cranberry in feature, like a strawberry in flavor; but be virgin, mariatta, could not pluck the woodland-stranger, thereupon she cut a charm-stick, downward pressed upon the berry, when it rose as if by magic, rose above her shoes of ermine, then above her copper girdle, darted upward to her bosom, leaped upon the maiden's shoulder, on her dimpled chin it rested, on her lips it perched a moment, hastened to her tongue expectant to and fro it rocked and lingered, thence it hastened on its journey, settled in the maiden's bosom. mariatta, child of beauty, thus became a bride impregnate, wedded to the mountain-berry; lingered in her room at morning, sat at midday in the darkness, hastened to her couch at evening. thus the watchful mother wonders: "what has happened to our mary, to our virgin, mariatta, that she throws aside her girdle, shyly slips through hall and chamber, lingers in her room at morning, hastens to her couch at evening, sits at midday in the darkness?" on the floor a babe was playing, and the young child thus made answer: "this has happened to our mary, to our virgin, mariatta, this misfortune to the maiden: she has lingered by the meadows, played too long among the lambkins, tasted of the mountain-berry." long the virgin watched and waited, anxiously the days she counted, waiting for the dawn of trouble. finally she asked her mother, these the words of mariatta: "faithful mother, fond and tender, mother whom i love and cherish, make for me a place befitting, where my troubles may be lessened, and my heavy burdens lightened." this the answer of the mother: "woe to thee, thou hisi-maiden, since thou art a bride unworthy, wedded only to dishonor!" mariatta, child of beauty, thus replied in truthful measures: "i am not a maid of hisi, i am not a bride unworthy, am not wedded to dishonor; as a shepherdess i wandered with the lambkins to the glen-wood, wandered to the berry-mountain, where the strawberry had ripened; quick as thought i plucked the berry, on my tongue i gently laid it, to and fro it rocked and lingered, settled in my heaving bosom. this the source of all my trouble, only cause of my dishonor!" as the mother was relentless, asked the maiden of her father, this the virgin-mother's pleading: o my father, full of pity, source of both my good and evil, build for me a place befitting, where my troubles may be lessened, and my heavy burdens lightened." this the answer of the father, of the father unforgiving: "go, thou evil child of hisi, go, thou child of sin and sorrow, wedded only to dishonor, to the great bear's rocky chamber, to the stone-cave of the growler, there to lessen all thy troubles, there to cast thy heavy burdens!" mariatta, child of beauty, thus made answer to her father: "i am not a child of hisi, i am not a bride unworthy, am not wedded to dishonor; i shall bear a noble hero, i shall bear a son immortal, who will rule among the mighty, rule the ancient wainamoinen." thereupon the virgin-mother wandered hither, wandered thither, seeking for a place befitting, seeking for a worthy birth-place for her unborn son and hero; finally these words she uttered "piltti, thou my youngest maiden, trustiest of all my servants, seek a place within the village, ask it of the brook of sara, for the troubled mariatta, child of sorrow and misfortune." thereupon the little maiden, piltti, spake these words in answer: "whom shall i entreat for succor, who will lend me his assistance? these the words of mariatta: "go and ask it of ruotus, where the reed-brook pours her waters." thereupon the servant, piltti, ever hopeful, ever willing, hastened to obey her mistress, needing not her exhortation; hastened like the rapid river, like the flying smoke of battle to the cabin of ruotus. when she walked the hill-tops tottered, when she ran the mountains trembled; shore-reeds danced upon the pasture, sandstones skipped about the heather as the maiden, piltti, hastened to the dwelling of ruotus. at his table in his cabin sat ruotus, eating, drinking, in his simple coat of linen. with his elbows on the table spake the wizard in amazement: "why hast thou, a maid of evil, come to see me in my cavern, what the message thou art bringing? thereupon the servant, piltti, gave this answer to the wizard: "seek i for a spot befitting, seek i for a worthy birth-place, for an unborn child and hero; seek it near the sara-streamlet, where the reed-brook pours her waters. came the wife of old ruotus, walking with her arms akimbo, thus addressed the maiden, piltti: "who is she that asks assistance, who the maiden thus dishonored, what her name, and who her kindred?" "i have come for mariatta, for the worthy virgin-mother." spake the wife of old ruotus, evil-minded, cruel-hearted: "occupied are all our chambers, all our bath-rooms near the reed-brook; in the mount of fire are couches, is a stable in the forest, for the flaming horse of hisi; in the stable is a manger fitting birth-place for the hero from the wife of cold misfortune, worthy couch for mariatta!" thereupon the servant, piltti, hastened to her anxious mistress, spake these measures, much regretting. "there is not a place befitting, on the silver brook of sara. spake the wife of old ruotus: 'occupied are all the chambers, all the bath-rooms near the reed-brook; in the mount of fire are couches, is a stable, in the forest, for the flaming horse of hisi; in the stable is a manger, fitting birth-place for the hero from the wife of cold misfortune, worthy couch for mariatta.'" thereupon the hapless maiden, mariatta, virgin-mother, fell to bitter tears and murmurs, spake these words in depths of sorrow: "i, alas! must go an outcast, wander as a wretched hireling, like a servant in dishonor, hasten to the burning mountain, to the stable in the forest, make my bed within a manger, near the flaming steed of hisi!" quick the hapless virgin-mother, outcast from her father's dwelling, gathered up her flowing raiment, grasped a broom of birchen branches, hastened forth in pain and sorrow to the stable in the woodlands, on the heights of tapio's mountains, spake these words in supplication: "come, i pray thee, my creator, only friend in times of trouble, come to me and bring protection to thy child, the virgin-mother, to the maiden, mariatta, in this hour of sore affliction. come to me, benignant ukko, come, thou only hope and refuge, lest thy guiltless child should perish, die the death of the unworthy!" when the virgin, mariatta, had arrived within the stable of the flaming horse of hisi, she addressed the steed as follows: "breathe, o sympathizing fire-horse, breathe on me, the virgin-mother, let thy heated breath give moisture, let thy pleasant warmth surround me, like the vapor of the morning; let this pure and helpless maiden find a refuge in thy manger!" thereupon the horse, in pity, breathed the moisture of his nostrils on the body of the virgin, wrapped her in a cloud of vapor, gave her warmth and needed comforts, gave his aid to the afflicted, to the virgin, mariatta. there the babe was born and cradled cradled in a woodland-manger, of the virgin, mariatta, pure as pearly dews of morning, holy as the stars in heaven. there the mother rocks her infant, in his swaddling clothes she wraps him, lays him in her robes of linen; carefully the babe she nurtures, well she guards her much-beloved, guards her golden child of beauty, her beloved gem of silver. but alas! the child has vanished, vanished while the mother slumbered. mariatta, lone and wretched, fell to weeping, broken-hearted, hastened off to seek her infant. everywhere the mother sought him, sought her golden child of beauty, her beloved gem of silver; sought him underneath the millstone, in the sledge she sought him vainly, underneath the sieve she sought him, underneath the willow-basket, touched the trees, the grass she parted, long she sought her golden infant, sought him on the fir-tree-mountain, in the vale, and hill, and heather; looks within the clumps of flowers, well examines every thicket, lifts the juniper and willow, lifts the branches of the alder. lo! a star has come to meet her, and the star she thus beseeches-. "o, thou guiding-star of northland, star of hope, by god created, dost thou know and wilt thou tell me where my darling child has wandered, where my holy babe lies hidden?" thus the star of northland answers: "if i knew, i would not tell thee; 'tis thy child that me created, set me here to watch at evening, in the cold to shine forever, here to twinkle in the darkness." comes the golden moon to meet her, and the moon she thus beseeches: "golden moon, by ukko fashioned, hope and joy of kalevala, dost thou know and wilt thou tell me where my darling child has wandered, where my holy babe lies hidden? speaks the golden moon in answer: "if i knew i would not tell thee; 'tis thy child that me created, here to wander in the darkness, all alone at eve to wander on my cold and cheerless journey, sleeping only in the daylight, shining for the good of others." thereupon the virgin-mother falls again to bitter weeping, hastens on through fen and forest, seeking for her babe departed. comes the silver sun to meet her, and the sun she thus addresses: "silver sun by ukko fashioned, source of light and life to northland, dost thou know and wilt thou tell me where my darling child has wandered, where my holy babe lies hidden?" wisely does the sun make answer: "well i know thy babe's dominions, where thy holy child is sleeping, where wainola's light lies hidden; 'tis thy child that me created, made me king of earth and ether, made the moon and stars attend me, set me here to shine at midday, makes me shine in silver raiment, lets me sleep and rest at evening; yonder is thy golden infant, there thy holy babe lies sleeping, hidden to his belt in water, hidden in the reeds and rushes." mariatta, child of beauty, virgin-mother of the northland, straightway seeks her babe in swamp-land, finds him in the reeds and rushes; takes the young child on her bosom to the dwelling of her father. there the infant grew in beauty, gathered strength, and light, and wisdom, all of suomi saw and wondered. no one knew what name to give him; when the mother named him, flower, others named him, son-of-sorrow. when the virgin, mariatta, sought the priesthood to baptize him, came an old man, wirokannas, with a cup of holy water, bringing to the babe his blessing; and the gray-beard spake as follows: "i shall not baptize a wizard, shall not bless a black-magician with the drops of holy water; let the young child be examined, let us know that he is worthy, lest he prove the son of witchcraft." thereupon old wirokannas called the ancient wainamoinen, the eternal wisdom-singer, to inspect the infant-wonder, to report him good or evil. wainamoinen, old and faithful, carefully the child examined, gave this answer to his people: "since the child is but an outcast, born and cradled in a manger, since the berry is his father; let him lie upon the heather, let him sleep among the rushes, let him live upon the mountains; take the young child to the marshes, dash his head against the birch-tree." then the child of mariatta, only two weeks old, made answer: "o, thou ancient wainamoinen, son of folly and injustice, senseless hero of the northland, falsely hast thou rendered judgment. in thy years, for greater follies, greater sins and misdemeanors, thou wert not unjustly punished. in thy former years of trouble, when thou gavest thine own brother, for thy selfish life a ransom, thus to save thee from destruction, then thou wert not sent to swamp-land to be murdered for thy follies. in thy former years of sorrow, when the beauteous aino perished in the deep and boundless blue-sea, to escape thy persecutions, then thou wert not evil-treated, wert not banished by thy people." thereupon old wirokannas, of the wilderness the ruler, touched the child with holy water, crave the wonder-babe his blessing, gave him rights of royal heirship, free to live and grow a hero, to become a mighty ruler, king and master of karyala. as the years passed wainamoinen recognized his waning powers, empty-handed, heavy-hearted, sang his farewell song to northland, to the people of wainola; sang himself a boat of copper, beautiful his bark of magic; at the helm sat the magician, sat the ancient wisdom-singer. westward, westward, sailed the hero o'er the blue-back of the waters, singing as he left wainola, this his plaintive song and echo: "suns may rise and set in suomi, rise and set for generations, when the north will learn my teachings, will recall my wisdom-sayings, hungry for the true religion. then will suomi need my coming, watch for me at dawn of morning, that i may bring back the sampo, bring anew the harp of joyance, bring again the golden moonlight, bring again the silver sunshine, peace and plenty to the northland." thus the ancient wainamoinen, in his copper-banded vessel, left his tribe in kalevala, sailing o'er the rolling billows, sailing through the azure vapors, sailing through the dusk of evening, sailing to the fiery sunset, to the higher-landed regions, to the lower verge of heaven; quickly gained the far horizon, gained the purple-colored harbor. there his bark be firmly anchored, rested in his boat of copper; but he left his harp of magic, left his songs and wisdom-sayings, to the lasting joy of suomi. epilogue. now i end my measured singing, bid my weary tongue keep silence, leave my songs to other singers. horses have their times of resting after many hours of labor; even sickles will grow weary when they have been long at reaping; waters seek a quiet haven after running long in rivers; fire subsides and sinks in slumber at the dawning of the morning therefore i should end my singing, as my song is growing weary, for the pleasure of the evening, for the joy of morn arising. often i have heard it chanted, often heard the words repeated: "worthy cataracts and rivers never empty all their waters." thus the wise and worthy singer sings not all his garnered wisdom; better leave unsung some sayings than to sing them out of season. thus beginning, and thus ending, do i roll up all my legends, roll them in a ball for safety, in my memory arrange them, in their narrow place of resting, lest the songs escape unheeded, while the lock is still unopened, while the teeth remain unparted, and the weary tongue is silent. why should i sing other legends, chant them in the glen and forest, sing them on the hill and heather? cold and still my golden mother lies beneath the meadow, sleeping, hears my ancient songs no longer, cannot listen to my singing; only will the forest listen, sacred birches, sighing pine-trees, junipers endowed with kindness, alder-trees that love to bear me, with the aspens and the willows. when my loving mother left me, young was i, and low of stature; like the cuckoo of the forest, like the thrush upon the heather, like the lark i learned to twitter, learned to sing my simple measures, guided by a second mother, stern and cold, without affection; drove me helpless from my chamber to the wind-side of her dwelling, to the north-side of her cottage, where the chilling winds in mercy carried off the unprotected. as a lark i learned to wander, wander as a lonely song-bird, through the forests and the fenlands quietly o'er hill and heather; walked in pain about the marshes, learned the songs of winds and waters, learned the music of the ocean, and the echoes of the woodlands. many men that live to murmur, many women live to censure, many speak with evil motives; many they with wretched voices curse me for my wretched singing, blame my tongue for speaking wisdom, call my ancient songs unworthy, blame the songs and curse the singer. be not thus, my worthy people, blame me not for singing badly, unpretending as a minstrel. i have never had the teaching, never lived with ancient heroes, never learned the tongues of strangers, never claimed to know much wisdom. others have had language-masters, nature was my only teacher, woods and waters my instructors. homeless, friendless, lone, and needy, save in childhood with my mother, when beneath her painted rafters, where she twirled the flying spindle, by the work-bench of my brother, by the window of my sister, in. the cabin of my father, in my early days of childhood. be this as it may, my people, this may point the way to others, to the singers better gifted, for the good of future ages, for the coming generations, for the rising folk of suomi. glossary. aar'ni (ar'ni). the guardian of hidden treasures. a-ha'va. the west-wind; the father of the swift dogs. ah'ti. the same as lemminkainen. ah'to. the great god of the waters. ah'to-la. the water-castle of ahto and his people. ah'to-lai'set. the inhabitants of ahtola. ai-nik'ki. a sister of ahti. ai'no (i'no). youkahainen's sister. an'te-ro. a goddess of the waves. ai'ue-lake. the lake into which the fire-child falls. an-nik'ki. ilmarinen's sister. an'te-ro. another name for wipanen, or antero wipunen. dus'ter-land. the northland; pimentola. et'e-le'tar. a daugter of the south-wind. fire-child. a synonym of panu. frost. the english for pakkanen. hal'lap-yo'ra. a lake in finland. hal'ti-a (plural haltiat). the genius of finnish mythology. het'e-wa'ne. the finnish name of the pleiades. hi'si (original hiisi). the evil principle; also called jutas, lempo, and piru. mon'ja-tar. the daughter of the pine-tree. hor'na. a sacred rock in finland. i'ku-tur'so. an evil giant of the sea. il'ma-ri'nem. the worker of the metals; a brother of wainamoinen. il'ma-tar. daughter of the air, and mother of wainamoinen. il'po-tar. believed to be the daughter of the snow flake; the same as louhi. im-a'tra. a celebrated waterfall near wiborg. in'ger-land. the present st. petersburg. ja'men (ya'men). a river of finland. jor'dan. curiously, the river of palestine. jou'ka-hai'nen (you-ka-hai'nen). a celebrated minstrel of pohyola. jou-ko'la (you-ko'la). the home or dwelling of youkahainen. ju-ma'la (you-ma'la). originally the heavens, then the god of the heavens, and finally god. ju'tas (yu'tas). the evil principle; hisi, piru, and lempo are synonyms, kai'to-lai'nen. a son of the god of metals; from his spear came the tongue of the serpent. ka-ler'vo. the father of kullervo. ka-le'va (kalewai'nen). the father of heroes; a hero in general. kal'e-va'la (kaleva, hero, and la, the place of). the land of heroes; the name of the epic poem of finland. kal'e-va'tar (kalewa'tar). daughter of kaleva. kal-e'vo. the same as kaleva. ka'lew. often used for kaleva. kal'ma. the god of death. kam'mo. the father of kimmo. kan'ka-hat'ta-ret. the goddesses of weaving. ka'pe. a synonym of ilmatar, the mother of wainamoinen. ka'po. a synonym of osmotar. ka-re'len. a province of finland. kar-ja'la, (karya'la). the seat of the waterfall, kaatrakoski. kat'e-ja'tar (kataya'tar). the daughter of the pine-tree. kat'ra-kos'ki (kaatrakos'ki). a waterfall in karjala. kau'ko. the same as kaukomieli. kau'ko-miel'li. the same as lemminkainen. kaup'pi. the snowshoe-builder; lylikki. ke'mi. a river of finland. kim'mo. a name for the cow; the daughter of kammo, the patron of the rocks. ki'pu-ki'vi. the name of the rock at hell-river, beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. kir'kon-woe'ki. church dwarfs living under altars. knik'ka-no. same as knippana. knip'pa-no. same as tapio. koot'a-moi'nen. the moon. kos'ken-nei'ti. the goddess of the cataract. kul-ler'vo. the vicious son of kalervo. kul'ler-woi'nen. the same as kullervo. kul'li. a beautiful daughter of sahri. kun. the moon, and the moon-god. kun'tar. one of the daughters of the moon. ku'ra (kuura). the hoar-frost; also called tiera, a ball of ice. kul-lik'ki (also kyl'li). the sahri-maiden whom lemminkainen kidnapped. lak'ka. mother of ilmarinen. lak-ko. the hostess of kalevala. lem'min-kai'nen. one of the brothers of wainamoinen; a son of lempi. lem'pi-bay. a bay of finland. lem'po. the evil principle; same as hisi, piru, and jutas. lin'nun-ra'ta (bird-way). the milky-way. lou'hi. the hostess of pohyola. low-ya'tar. tuoni's blind daughter, and the originator of the plagues. lu'on-no'tar. one of the mystic maidens, and the nurse of wainamoinen. lu'o-to'la. a bay of finland, named with joukola. ly-lik'ki (lyylik'ki). maker of the snow-shoe. maan-e'mo (man-e'mo). the mother of the earth. ma'hi-set (maa'hi-set). the invisibly small deities of finnish mythology. mam'me-lai'nen. the goddess of hidden treasures. ma'na. a synonym of tuoni, the god of death. man'a-lai'nen. the same as mana. masr'i-at'ta (marja, berry). the virgin mary of finnish mythology. mat'ka-tep'po. the road-god. meh'i-lai'nen. the honey-bee. mel'a-tar. the goddess of the helm. met'so-la. the same as tapiola, the abode of the god of the forest, mie-lik'ki. the hostess of the forest. mi-merk'ki. a synonym of mielikki. mosk'va. a province of suomi. mu-rik'ki (muurik'ki). the name of the cow. ne'wa. a river of finland. ny-rik'ki. a son of tapio. os'mo. the same as osmoinen. os-noi'nen. a synonym of wainola's hero. os'mo-tar. the daughter of osmo; she directs the brewing of the beer for ilmarinen's wedding-feast. o-ta'va. the great bear of the heavens. ot'so. the bear of finland. poe'ivoe. the sun, and the sun god. pai'va-tar. the goddess of the summer. pak'ka-nen. a synonym of kura. pal-woi'nen. a synonym of turi, and also of wirokannas. pa'nu. the fire-child, born from the sword of ukko. pa'ra. a tripod-deity, presiding over milk and cheese. pel'ler-woi'nen. the sower of the forests. pen'i-tar. a blind witch of pohyola; and the mother of the dog. pik'ku mies. the water-pigmy that felled the over-spreading oak-tree for wainamoinen. pil'a-ya'tar (pilaja'tar). the daughter of the aspen; and the goddess of the mountain-ash. pilt'ti. the maid-servant of mariatta. pi'men-to'la. a province of finland; another name for pohyola. pi'ru. the same as lempo, jutas, and hisi. pi'sa. a mountain of finland. poh'ya (poh'ja). an abbreviated form for pohyola. poh-yo'la (poh-jo'la). the northland; lapland. pok-ka'nen. the frost, the son of puhuri; a synonym of tiera. puh-hu'ri. the north-wind; the father of pokkanen. rem'men. the father of the hop-vine. re'mu. the same as remmen. ru-o'tus. a persecutor of the virgin mariatta. rut'ya (rut'ja). a waterfall of northland. sah'ri (saari). the home of kyllikki. sam'po. the jewel that ilmarinen forges from the magic metals; a talisman of success to the possessor; a continual source of strife between the tribes of the north. samp'sa. a synonym of pellerwoinen. sa'ra. the same as sariola. sar'i-o'la. the same as pohyola. sat'ka. a goddess of the sea. sa'wa (sa'wo). the eastern part of finland. sim'a pil'li (honey-flute). the flute of sima-suu. sim'a-suu. one of the maidens of tapio. sin'e-tar. the goddess of the blue sky. si-net'ta-ret. the goddesses of dyeing. suk'ka-mie'li. the goddess of love. suo'mi (swo'mi). the ancient abode of the finns. suo'ne-tar (swone-tar). the goddess of the veins. suo-wak'ko. an old wizard of pohyola. suo'ya-tar (syo'jatar). the mother of the serpent. su've-tar (suve, summer). goddess of the south-wind su-wan'to-lai'nen. another name for wainamoinen. taeh'ti. the polar star. ta-he'tar. the daughter of the stars. tai'vas. the firmament in general. ta-ni'ka. a magic mansion of pohja. ta'pi-o. the god of the forest. tel-le'rvo. a daughter of tapio. ter'he-ne'tar. daughter of the fog. tie'ra. same as kura; the hoar-frost. tont'tu. a little house-spirit. tu'a-me'tar. daughter of the alder-tree. tu-le'tar (tuule'tar). a goddess of the winds. tu-lik'ki (tuullk'ki). one of the daughters of tapio. tu'o-ne'la. the abode of tuoni. tuo'nen poi'ka. the son of tuoni. tu'o-ne'tar. the hostess of death-land; a daughter of tuoni. tu-o'ni. the god of death. tu'ri (tuuri). the god of the honey-land. turja (tur'ya). another name for pohya. tur'ya-lan'der. an epithet for one of the tribe of louhi. tur'ya (tyrja). a name for the waterfall of rutya. uk'ko. the great spirit of finnish mythology; his abode is in jumala. uk'on-koi'va (ukko's dog). the messenger of ukko; the butterfly. u'lap-pa'la. another term for the abode of tuoni. un'du-tar. goddess of the fog. u'ni. the god of sleep. un'ta-ma'la. a synonym for "the dismal sariola." un-ta'mo. the god of dreams; the dreamer; a brother of kalervo, and his enemy. un'tar. the same as undutar. un'to. the same as untamo. utu-tyt'to. the same as undutar. wai'nam-oi'nen (vainamoinen). the chief hero of the kalevala; the hero of wainola, whose mother, ilmatar, fell from the air into the ocean. wai'no (vai'no). the same as wainamoinen. wai-no'la. the home of wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of kalevala. wel-la'mo. the hostess of the waters. wet'e-hi'nen. an evil god of the sea. wi-pu'nen (vipu'nen). an old song-giant that swallowed wainamoinen searching for the "lost words." wi'ro-kan'nas (virokan'nas). ruler of the wilderness; the slayer of the huge bull of suomi; the priest that baptizes the son of mariatta. wo'ya-lan'der (vuojalan'der). an epithet for laplander. wuok'sen (vuo'ksen). a river in the east of finland. wuok'si. the same as wuoksen. the end proofreading team works of maurus jÓkai hungarian edition debts of honor _translated from the hungarian_ _by_ arthur b. yolland [illustration: publisher's logo] new york doubleday, page & company copyright, , by doubleday & mcclure co. translator's note in rendering into english this novel of dr. jókai's, which many of his countrymen consider his masterpiece, i have been fortunate enough to secure the collaboration of my friend, mr. zoltán dunay, a former colleague, whose excellent knowledge of the english language and literature marked him out as the most competent and desirable collaborator. arthur b. yolland. budapest, . contents chapter page i. the journal of desiderius ii. the girl substitute iii. my right honorable uncle iv. the atheist and the hypocrite v. the wild-creature's haunt vi. fruits prematurely ripe vii. the secret writings viii. the end of the beginning ix. aged at seventeen x. i and the demon xi. "parole d'honneur" xii. a glance into a pistol barrel xiii. which will convert the other xiv. two girls xv. if he loves, then let him love xvi. that ring xvii. the yellow-robed woman in the cards xviii. the finger-post of death xix. fanny xx. the fatal day! xxi. that letter xxii. the unconscious phantom xxiii. the day of gladness xxiv. the mad jest xxv. while the music sounds xxvi. the enchantment of love xxvii. when the nightingale sings xxviii. the night struggle xxix. the spider in the corner xxx. i believe...! xxxi. the bridal feast xxxii. when we had grown old debts of honor chapter i the journal of desiderius at that time i was but ten years old, my brother lorand sixteen; our dear mother was still young, and father, i well remember, no more than thirty-six. our grandmother, on my father's side, was also of our party, and at that time was some sixty years of age; she had lovely thick hair, of the pure whiteness of snow. in my childhood i had often thought how dearly the angels must love those who keep their hair so beautiful and white; and used to have the childish belief that one's hair grows white from abundance of joy. it is true, we never had any sorrow; it seemed as if our whole family had contracted some secret bond of unity, whereby each member thereof bound himself to cause as much joy and as little sorrow as possible to the others. i never heard any quarrelling in our family. i never saw a passionate face, never an anger that lasted till the morrow, never a look at all reproachful. my mother, grandmother, father, my brother and i, lived like those who understand each other's thoughts, and only strive to excel one another in the expression of their love. to confess the truth, i loved none of our family so much as i did my brother. nevertheless i should have been thrown into some little doubt, if some one had asked me which of them i should choose, if i must part from three of the four and keep only one for myself. but could we only have remained together, without death to separate us or disturb our sweet contentment, until ineffable eternity, in such a case i had chosen for my constant companion only my brother. he was so good to me. for he was terribly strong. i thought there could not be a stronger fellow in the whole town. his school-fellows feared his fists, and never dared to cross his path; yet he did not look so powerful; he was rather slender, with a tender girl-like countenance. even now i can hardly stop speaking of him. as i was saying, our family was very happy. we never suffered from want, living in a fine house with every comfort. even the very servants had plenty. torn clothes were always replaced by new ones and as to friends--why the jolly crowds that would make the house fairly ring with merry-making on name-days[ ] and on similar festive occasions proved that there was no lack of them. that every one had a feeling of high esteem for us i could tell by the respectful greetings addressed to us from every direction. [footnote : in hungary persons celebrate the name-day of the saint after whom they are called with perhaps more ceremony than their birthday.] my father was a very serious man; quiet and not talkative. he had a pale face, a long black beard, and thick eyebrows. sometimes he contracted his eyebrows, and then we might have been afraid of him; but his idea always was, that nobody should fear him; not more than once a year did it happen that he cast an angry look at some one. however, i never saw him in a good humor. on the occasion of our most festive banquets, when our guests were bursting into peals of laughter at sprightly jests, he would sit there at the end of the table as one who heard naught. if dear mother leaned affectionately on his shoulder, or lorand kissed his face, or if i nestled to his breast and plied him, in child-guise, with queries on unanswerable topics, at such a time his beautiful, melancholy eyes would beam with such inexpressible love, such enchanting sweetness would well out from them! but a smile came there never at any time, nor did any one cause him to laugh. he was not one of those men who, when wine or good humor unloosens their tongue, become loquacious, and tell all that lies hidden in their heart, speak of the past and future, chatter and boast. no, he never used gratuitous words. there was some one else in our family just as serious, our grandmother; she was just as taciturn, just as careful about contracting her thick eyebrows, which were already white at that time; just as careful about uttering words of anger; just as incapable of laughing or even smiling. i often remarked that her eyes were fixed unremittingly on his face; and sometimes i found myself possessed of the childish idea that my father was always so grave in his behavior because he knew that his mother was gazing at him. if afterward their eyes met by chance, it seemed as if they had discovered each other's thoughts--some old, long-buried thoughts, of which they were the guardians; and i often saw how my old grandmother would rise from her everlasting knitting, and come to father as he sat among us thus abstracted, scarce remarking that mother, lorand, and i were beside him, caressing and pestering him; she would kiss his forehead, and his countenance would seem to change in a moment: he would become more affectionate, and begin to converse with us; thereupon grandmother would kiss him afresh and return to her knitting. it is only now that i recall all these incidents. at that time i found nothing remarkable in them. one evening our whole family circle was surprised by the unusually good humor that had come over father. to each one of us he was very tender, very affectionate; entered into a long conversation with lorand, asked him of his school-work, imparted to him information on subjects of which as yet he had but a faulty knowledge; took me on his knee and smoothed my head; addressed questions to me in latin, and praised me for answering them correctly; kissed our dear mother more than once, and after supper was over related merry tales of the old days. when we began to laugh at them, he laughed too. it was such a pleasure to me to have seen my father laugh once. it was such a novel sensation that i almost trembled with joy. only our old grandmother remained serious. the brighter father's face became, the more closely did those white eyebrows contract. not for a single moment did she take her eyes off father's face; and, as often as he looked at her with his merry, smiling countenance, a cold shudder ran through her ancient frame. nor could she let father's unusual gayety pass without comment. "how good-humored you are to-day, my son!" "to-morrow i shall take the children to the country," he answered; "the prospect of that has always been a source of great joy to me." we were to go to the country! the words had a pleasant sound for us also. we ran to father, to kiss him for his kindness; how happy he had made us by this promise! his face showed that he knew it well. "now you must go to bed early, so as not to oversleep in the morning; the carriage will be here at daybreak." to go to bed is only too easy, but to fall asleep is difficult when one is still a child, and has received a promise of being taken to the country. we had a beautiful and pleasant country property, not far from town; my brother was as fond as i was of being there. mother and grandmother never came with us. why, we knew not; they said they did not like the country. we were indeed surprised at this. not to like the country--to wander in the fields, on flowery meadows; to breathe the precious perfumed air; to gather round one the beautiful, sagacious, and useful domestic animals? can there be any one in the world who does not love that? child, i know there is none. my brother was all excitement for the chase. how he would enter forest and reeds! what beautiful green-necked wild duck he would shoot. how many multi-colored birds' eggs he would bring home to me. "i will go with you, too," i said. "no; some ill might befall you. you can remain at home in the garden to angle in the brook, and catch tiny little fishes." "and we shall cook them for dinner." what a splendid idea! long, long we remained awake; first lorand, then i, was struck by some idea which had to be mentioned; and so each prevented the other from sleeping. oh! how great the gladness that awaited us on the morrow! late in the night a noise as of fire arms awoke me. it is true that i always dreamed of guns. i had seen lorand at the chase, and feared he would shoot himself. "what have you shot, lorand?" i asked half asleep. "remain quite still," said my brother, who was lying in the bed near me, and had risen at the noise. "i shall see what has happened outside." with these words he went out. several rooms divided our bedroom from that of our parents. i heard no sound except the opening of doors here and there. soon lorand returned. he told me merely to sleep on peacefully--a high wind had risen and had slammed to a window that had remained open; the glass was all broken into fragments; that had caused the great noise. and therewith he proceeded to dress. "why are you dressing?" "well, the broken window must be mended with something to prevent the draught coming in; it is in mother's bedroom. you can sleep on peacefully." then he placed his hand on my head, and that hand was like ice. "is it cold outside, lorand?" "no." "then why does your hand tremble so?" "true; it is very cold. sleep on, little desi." as he went out he left an intermediate door open for a moment; and in that moment the sound of mother's laughter reached my ears. that well-known ringing sweet voice, that indicates those _naïve_ women who among their children are themselves the greatest children. what could cause mother to laugh so loudly at this late hour of the night? because the window was broken? at that time i did not yet know that there is a horrible affliction which attacks women with agonies of hell, and amidst these heart-rending agonies forces them to laugh incessantly. i comforted myself with what my brother had said, and forcibly buried my head in my pillow that i might compel myself to fall asleep. it was already late in the morning when i awoke again. this time also my brother had awakened me. he was already quite dressed. my first thought was of our visit to the country. "is the carriage already here? why did you not wake me earlier? why, you are actually dressed!" i also immediately hastened to get up, and began to dress; my brother helped me, and answered not a word to my constant childish prattling. he was very serious, and often gazed in directions where there was nothing to be seen. "some one has annoyed you, lorand?" my brother did not reply, only drew me to his side and combed my hair. he gazed at me incessantly with a sad expression. "has some evil befallen you, lorand?" no sign, even of the head, of assent or denial; he merely tied my neckerchief quietly into a bow. we disputed over the coat i should wear; i wished to put on a blue one. lorand, on the contrary, wished me to wear a dark green one. i resisted him. "why, we are going to the country! there the blue doublet will be just the thing. why don't you give it to me? because you have none like it!" lorand said nothing; he merely looked at me with those great reproachful eyes of his. it was enough for me. i allowed him to dress me in the dark green coat. and yet i would continually grumble about it. "why, you are dressing me as if we were to go to an examination or to a funeral." at these words lorand suddenly pressed me to him, folding me in his embrace, then knelt down before me and began to weep, and sob so that his tears bedewed my hair. "lorand, what is the matter?" i asked in terror; but he could not speak for weeping. "don't weep, lorand. did i annoy you? don't be angry." long did he weep, all the time holding me in his arms. then suddenly he heaved a deep and terrifying sigh, and in a low voice stammered in my ear: "father--is--dead." i was one of those children who could not weep; who learn that only with manhood. at such a time when i should have wept, i only felt as if some worm were gnawing into my heart, as if some languor had seized me, which deprived me of all feeling expressed by the five senses--my brother wept for me. finally, he kissed me and begged me to recover myself. but i was not beside myself. i saw and heard everything. i was like a log of wood, incapable of any movement. it was unfortunate that i was not gifted with the power of showing how i suffered. but my mind could not fathom the depths of that thought. our father was dead! yesterday evening he was still talking with us; embracing and kissing us; he had promised to take us to the country, and to-day he was not: he was dead. quite incomprehensible! in my childhood i had often racked my brains with the question, "what is there beyond the world?" void. well, and what surrounds that void? many times this distracting thought drove me almost to madness. now this same maddening dilemma seized upon me. how could it be that my father was dead? "let us go to mother!" was my next thought. "we shall go soon after her. she has already departed." "whither?" "to the country." "but, why?" "because she is ill." "then why did she laugh so in the night?" "because she is ill." this was still more incomprehensible to my poor intellect. a thought then occurred to me. my face became suddenly brighter. "lorand, of course you are joking; you are fooling me. you merely wished to alarm me. we are all going away to the country to enjoy ourselves! and you only wished to take the drowsiness from my eyes when you told me father was dead." at these words lorand clasped his hands, and, with motionless, agonized face, groaned out: "desi, don't torture me; don't torture me with your smiling face." this caused me to be still more alarmed. i began to tremble, seized one of his arms, and implored him not to be angry. of course, i believed what he said. he could see that i believed, for all my limbs were trembling. "let us go to him, lorand." my brother merely gazed at me as if he were horrified at what i had said. "to father?" "yes. what if i speak to him, and he awakes?" at this suggestion lorand's two eyes became like fire. it seems as if he were forcibly holding back the rush of a great flood of tears. then between his teeth he murmured: "he will never awake again." "yet i would like to kiss him." "his hand?" "his hand and his face." "you may kiss only his hand," said my brother firmly. "why?" "because i say so," was his stern reply. the unaccustomed ring of his voice was quite alarming. i told him i would obey him; only let him take me to father. "well, come along. give me your hand." then taking my hand, he led me through two rooms.[ ] in the third, grandmother met us. [footnote : in hungary the houses are built so that one room always leads into the other; the whole house can often be traversed without the necessity of going into a corridor or passage.] i saw no change in her countenance; only her thick white eyebrows were deeply contracted. lorand went to her and softly whispered something to her which i did not hear; but i saw plainly that he indicated me with his eyes. grandmother quietly indicated her consent or refusal with her head; then she came to me, took my head in her two hands, and looked long into my face, moving her head gently. then she murmured softly: "just the way _he_ looked as a child." then she threw herself face foremost upon the floor, sobbing bitterly. lorand seized my hand and drew me with him into the fourth room. there lay the coffin. it was still open; only the winding-sheet covered the whole. even to-day i have no power to describe the coffin in which i saw my father. many know what that is; and no one would wish to learn from me. only an old serving-maid was in the chamber; no one else was watching. my brother pressed my head to his bosom. and so we stood there a long time. suddenly my brother told me to kiss my father's hand, and then we must go. i obeyed him; he raised the edge of the winding-sheet; i saw two wax-like hands put together; two hands in which i could not have recognized those strong muscular hands, upon the shapely fingers of which in my younger days i had so often played with the wonderful signet-rings, drawing them off one after the other. i kissed both hands. it was such a pleasure! then i looked at my brother with agonized pleading. i longed so to kiss the face. he understood my look and drew me away. "come with me. don't let us remain longer." and that was such terrible agony to me! my brother told me to wait in my room, and not to move from it until he had ordered the carriage which was to take us away. "whither?" i asked. "away to the country. remain here and don't go anywhere else." and to keep me secure he locked the door upon me. then i fell a-thinking. why should we go to the country now that our father was lying dead? why must i remain meanwhile in that room? why do none of our acquaintances come to see us? why do those who go about the house whisper so quietly? why do they not toll the bell when so great a one lies dead in the house? all this distracted my brain entirely. to nothing could i give myself an answer, and no one came to me from whom i could have demanded the truth. once, not long after (to me it seemed an age, though, if the truth be known, it was probably only a half-hour or so), i heard the old serving-maid, who had been watching in yonder chamber, tripping past the corridor window. evidently some one else had taken her place. her face was now as indifferent as it always was. her eyes were cried out; but i am sure i had seen her weep every day, whether in good or in bad humor; it was all one with her. i addressed her through the window: "aunt susie, come here." "what do you want, dear little desi?" "susie, tell me truly, why am i not allowed to kiss my father's face?" the old servant shrugged her shoulders, and with cynical indifference replied: "poor little fool. why, because--because he has no head, poor fellow." i did not dare to tell my brother on his return what i had heard from old susie. i told him it was the cold air, when he asked why i trembled so. thereupon he merely put my overcoat on, and said, "let us go to the carriage." i asked him if our grandmother was not coming with us. he replied that she would remain behind. we two took our seats in one carriage; a second was waiting before the door. to me the whole incident seemed as a dream. the rainy, gloomy weather, the houses that flew past us, the people who looked wonderingly out of the windows, the one or two familiar faces that passed us by, and in their astonished gaze upon us forgot to greet us. it was as if each one of them asked himself: "why has the father of these boys no head?" then the long poplar-trees at the end of the town, so bent by the wind as if they were bowing their heads under the weight of some heavy thought; and the murmuring waves under the bridge, across which we went, murmuring as if they too were taking counsel over some deep secret, which had so oft been intrusted to them, and which as yet no one had discovered--why was it that some dead people had no heads? something prompted me so, to turn with this awful question to my brother. i overcame the demon, and did not ask him. often children, who hold pointed knives before their eyes, or look down from a high bridge into the water, are told, "beware, or the devil will push you." such was my feeling in relation to this question. in my hand was the handle, the point was in my heart. i was sitting upon the brim, and gazing down into the whirlpool. something called upon me to thrust myself into the living reality, to lose my head in it. and yet i was able to restrain myself. during the whole journey neither my brother nor i spoke a word. when we arrived at our country-house our physician met us, and told us that mother was even worse than she had been; the sight of us would only aggravate her illness; so it would be good for us to remain in our room. our grandmother arrived two hours after us. her arrival was the signal for a universal whispering among the domestics, as if they would make ready for something extraordinary which the whole world must not know. then we sat down to dinner quite unexpectedly, far earlier than usual. no one could eat; we only gazed at each course in turn. after dinner my brother in his turn began to hold a whispered conference with grandmother. as far as i could gather from the few words i caught, they were discussing whether he should take his gun with him or not. lorand wished to take it, but grandmother objected. finally, however, they agreed that he should take gun and cartridges, but should not load the weapon until he saw a necessity for it. in the mean while i staggered about from room to room. it seemed as if everybody had considerations of more importance than that of looking after me. in the afternoon, however, when i saw my brother making him ready for a journey, despair seized hold of me: "take me with you." "why, you don't even know where i am going." "i don't mind; i will go anywhere, only take me with you; for i cannot remain all by myself." "well, i will ask grandmother." my brother exchanged a few words with my grandmother, and then came back to me. "you may come with me. take your stick and coat." he slung his gun on his shoulder and took his dog with him. once again this thought agonized me afresh: "father is dead, and we go for an afternoon's shooting, with grandmother's consent as if nothing had happened." we went down through the gardens, all along the loam-pits; my brother seemed to be choosing a route where we should meet with no one. he kept the dog on the leash to prevent its wandering away. we went a long way, roaming among maize-fields and shrubs, without the idea once occurring to lorand to take the gun down from his shoulder. he kept his eyes continually on the ground, and would always silence the dog, when the animal scented game. meantime we had left the village far behind us. i was already quite tired out, and yet i did not utter a syllable to suggest our returning. i would rather have gone to the end of the world than return home. it was already twilight when we reached a small poplar wood. here my brother suggested a little rest. we sat down side by side on the trunk of a felled tree. lorand offered me some cakes he had brought in his wallet for me. how it pained me that he thought i wanted anything to eat. then he threw the cake to the hound. the hound picked it up and, disappearing behind the bushes, we heard him scratch on the ground as he buried it. not even he wanted to eat. next we watched the sunset. our village church-tower was already invisible, so far had we wandered, and yet i did not ask whether we should return. the weather became suddenly gloomy; only after sunset did the clouds open, that the dying sun might radiate the heavens with its storm-burdened red fire. the wind suddenly rose. i remarked to my brother that an ugly wind was blowing, and he answered that it was good for us. how this great wind could be good for us, i was unable to discover. when later the heavens gradually changed from fire red to purple, from purple to gray, from gray to black, lorand loaded his gun, and let the hound loose. he took my hand. i must now say not a single word, but remain motionless. in this way we waited long that boisterous night. i racked my brain to discover the reason why we were there. on a sudden our hound began to whine in the distance--such a whine as i had never yet heard. some minutes later he came reeling back to us; whimpering and whining, he leaped up at us, licked our hands, and then raced off again. "now let us go," said lorand, shouldering his gun. hurriedly we followed the hound's track, and soon came out upon the high-road. in the gloom a hay-cart drawn by four oxen, was quietly making its way to its destination. "god be praised!" said the old farm-laborer, as he recognized my brother. "for ever and ever." after a slight pause my brother asked him if there was anything wrong? "you needn't fear, it will be all right." thereupon we quietly sauntered along behind the hay-wagon. my brother uncovered his head, and so proceeded on his way bareheaded; he said he was very warm. we walked silently for a distance until the old laborer came back to us. "not tired, master desi?" he asked; "you might take a seat on the cart." "what are you thinking of, john?" said lorand; "on this cart?" "true; true, indeed," said the aged servant. then he quietly crossed himself, and went forward to the oxen. when we came near the village, old john again came toward us. "it will be better now if the young gentlemen go home through the gardens; it will be much easier for me to get through the village alone." "do you think they are still on guard?" asked lorand. "of course they know already. one cannot take it amiss; the poor fellows have twice in ten years had their hedges broken down by the hail." "stupidity!" answered my brother. "may be," sighed the old serving-man. "still the poor man thinks so." lorand nudged the old retainer so that he would not speak before me. my brain became only more confused thereat. lorand told him that we would soon pass through the gardens; however, after john had advanced a good distance with the cart we followed in his tracks again, keeping steadily on until we came to the first row of houses beginning the village. here my brother began to thread his way more cautiously, and in the dark i heard distinctly the click of the trigger as he cocked his gun. the cart proceeded quietly before us to the end of the long village street. above the workhouse about six men armed with pitchforks met us. my brother said we must make our way behind a hedge, and bade me hold our dog's mouth lest he should bark when the others passed. the pitchforked guards passed near the cart, and advanced before us too. i heard how the one said to the other: "faith, _that_ is the reason this cursed wind is blowing so furiously!" "_that_" was the reason! what was the reason? as they passed, my brother took my hand and said: "now let us hasten, that we may be home before the wagon." therewith he ran with me across a long cottage-court, lifted me over a hedge, climbing after me himself; then through two or three more strange gardens, everywhere stepping over the hedges; and at last we reached our own garden. but, in heaven's name, had we committed some sin, that we ran thus, skulking from hiding-place to hiding-place? as we reached the courtyard, the wagon was just entering. three retainers waited for it in the yard, and immediately closed the gate after it. grandmother stood outside on the terrace and kissed us when we arrived. again there followed a short whispering between my brother and the domestics; whereupon the latter seized pitchforks and began to toss down the hay from the wain. could they not do so by daylight? grandmother sat down on a bench on the terrace, and drew my head to her bosom. lorand leaned his elbows upon the rail of the terrace and watched the work. the hay was tossed into a heap and the high wind drove the chaff on to the terrace, but no one told the servants to be more careful. this midnight work was, for me, so mysterious. only once i saw that lorand turned round as he stood, and began to weep; thereupon grandmother rose, and they fell each upon the other's breast. i clutched their garments and gazed up at them trembling. not a single lamp burned upon the terrace. "sh!" whispered grandmother, "don't weep so loudly," she was herself choking with sobs. "come, let us go." with that she took my hand, and, leaning upon my brother's arm, came down with us into the courtyard, down to the wagon, which stood before the garden gate. two or more heaps of straw hid _it_ from the eye; it was visible only when we reached the bottom of the wagon. on that wagon lay the coffin of my father. so this it was that in the dead of night we had stealthily brought into the village, that we had in so skulking a manner escorted, and had so concealed; and of which we had spoken in whispers. this it was that we had wept over in secret--my father's coffin. the four retainers lifted it from the wagon, then carried it on their shoulders toward the garden. we went after it, with bared heads and silent tongues. a tiny rivulet flowed through our garden; near this rivulet was a little round building, whose gaudy door i had never seen open. from my earliest days, when i was unable to rise from the ground if once i sat down, the little round building had always been in my mind. i had always loved it, always feared to be near it; i had so longed to know what might be within it. as a little knickerbockered child i would pick the colored gravel-stones from the mortar, and play with them in the dust; and if perchance one stone struck the iron door, i would run away from the echo the blow produced. in my older days it was again only around this building that i would mostly play, and would remark that upon its façade were written great letters, on which the ivy, that so actively clambered up the walls, scarcely grew. at that time how i longed to know what those letters could mean! when the first holiday after i had made the acquaintance of those letters came, and they took me again to our country-seat, one after another i spelled out the ancient letters of the inscription on that mysterious little house, and pieced them together in my mind. but i could not arrive at their meaning; for they were written in some foreign tongue. many, many times i wrote those words in the dust even before i understood them: "ne nos inducas in tentationem." i strove to reach one year earlier than my school-fellows the so-called "student class," where latin was taught. my most elementary acquaintance with the latin tongue had always for its one aim the discovery of the meaning of that saying. finally i solved the mystery-- "lead us not into temptation." it is a sentence of the lord's prayer, which i myself had repeated a thousand times; and now i knew its meaning still less than before. and still more began to come to me a kind of mysterious abhorrence of that building, above whose door was to be found the prayer that god might guard us against temptations. perhaps this was the very dwelling of temptations? we know what children understand by "temptations." to-day i saw this door open, and knew that this building was our family vault. this door, which hitherto i had only seen covered with ivy, was now swung open, and through the open porch glittered the light of a lamp. the two great virginia creepers which were planted before the crypt hid the glass so that it was not visible from the garden. the brightness was only for us. the four men set the coffin down on the steps; we followed after it. so this was that house where temptations dwell; and all our prayers were in vain; "lead us not into temptation." yet to temptation we were forced to come. down a few steps we descended, under a low, plastered arch, which glittered green from the moisture of the earth. in the wall were built deep niches, four on either side, and six of them were already filled. before them stood slabs of marble, with inscriptions telling of those who had fallen asleep. the four servants placed the coffin they had brought on their shoulders in the seventh niche; then the aged retainer clasped his hands, and with simple devotion repeated the lord's prayer; the other three men softly murmured after him: "amen. amen." then they left us to ourselves. grandmother all this while had without a word, without a movement, stood in the depth of the crypt, holding our hands within her own; but when we were alone, in a frenzy she darted to the coffined niche and flung herself to the ground before it. oh! i cannot tell what she said as she raved there. she wept and sobbed, flinging reproaches--at the dead! she scolded, as one reproves a child that has cut itself with a knife. she asked why he did _this_. and again she heaped grave calumny upon him, called him coward, wretch, threatened him with god, with god's wrath, and with eternal damnation;--then asked pardon of him, babbled out words of conciliation, called him back, called him dear, sweet, and good; related to him what a faithful, dear, loving wife waited at home, with his two sweet children,--how could he forget them? then with gracious, reverent words begged him to turn christian, to come to god, to learn to believe, to hope, to love; to trust to the boundless mercy; to take his rest in the paths of heaven. and then she uttered a scream, tore the tresses of her dove-white hair, and cursed god. methought it was the night of the last judgment. every fire-breathing monster of the revelation, the very disgorging of the dead from the rent earth, were as naught to me compared with the terror which that hour heaped upon my head. 'twas hither we had brought father, who died suddenly, in the prime of life. hither we had brought him, in stealth, and slinking; here we had concealed him without any christian ceremony, without psalm or toll of bell; no priest's blessing followed him to his grave, as it follows even the poorest beggar; and now here, in the house of the dead, grandmother had cursed the departed, and anathematized the other world, on whose threshold we stand, and in her mad despair was knocking at the door of the mysterious country as she beat upon the coffin-lid with her fist. now, in my mature age, when my head, too, is almost covered with winter's snow, i see that our presence there was essential; drop by drop we were to drain to the dregs this most bitter cup, which i would had never fallen to our lot! grandmother fell down before the niche and laid her forehead upon the coffin's edge; her long white hair fell trailing over her. long, very long, she lay, and then she rose; her face was no more distorted, her eyes no longer filled with tears. she turned toward us and said we should remain a little longer here. she herself sat down upon the lowest step of the stone staircase, and placed the lamp in front of her, while we two remained standing before her. she looked not at us, only peered intensely and continuously with her large black eyes into the light of the lamp, as if she would conjure therefrom something that had long since passed away. all at once she seized our hands, and drew us toward her to the staircase. "you are the scions of a most unhappy house, every member of which dies by his own hand." so this was that secret that hung, like a veil of mourning before the face of every adult member of our family! we continuously saw our elders so, as if some mist of melancholy moved between us; and this was that mist. "this was the doom of god, a curse of man upon us!" continued grandmother, now no longer with terrifying voice. besides, she spoke as calmly as if she were merely reciting to us the history of some strange family. "your great-grandfather. job Áronffy, he who lies in the first niche, bequeathed this terrible inheritance to his heirs; and it was a brother's hand that hurled this curse at his head. oh, this is an unhappy earth on which we dwell! in other happy lands there are murderous quarrels between man and man; brothers part in wrath from one another; the 'mine and thine,'[ ] jealousy, pride, envy, sow tares among them. but this accursed earth of ours ever creates bloodshed; this damned soil, which we are wont to call our 'dear homeland,' whose pure harvest we call love of home, whose tares we call treason, while every one thinks his own harvest the pure one, his brother's the tares, and, for that, brother slays brother! oh! you cannot understand it yet. [footnote : that is, the disputes as to the superiority of each other's possessions, or as to each other's right to possession.] "your great-grandfather lived in those days when great men thought that what is falling in decay must be built afresh. great contention arose therefrom, much knavery, much disillusion; finally the whole had to be wiped out. "job's parents educated him at academies in germany; there his soul became filled with foreign freedom of thought; he became an enthusiastic partisan of common human liberty. when he returned, this selfsame idea was in strife with an equally great one, national feeling. he joined his fortunes with the former idea, as he considered it the just one. in what patriots called relics of antiquity he saw only the vices of the departed. his elder brother stood face to face with him; they met on the common field of strife, and then began between them the unending feud. they had been such good brothers, never had they deserted each other in time of trouble; and on this thorn-covered field they must swear eternal enmity. your great-grandfather belonged to the victorious, his brother to the conquered army. but the victory was not sweet. "job gained a powerful, high position, he basked in the sunshine of power, but he lost that which was--nothing; merely the smiles of his old acquaintances. he was a seigneur, from afar they greeted him, but did not hurry to take his hand; and those who of yore at times of meeting would kiss his face from right and left, now after his change of dignity would stand before him, and bow their greetings askance with cold obeisance. then there was one man who did not even bow, but sought a meeting only that he might provoke him with his obstinate sullenness, and gaze upon him with his piercing eyes--his own brother. yet they were both honorable, good men, true christians, benefactors of the poor, the darlings of their family, and once so fond of each other! oh, this sorrowful earth here below us! "then this new order of things that had been built up for ten years, fell into ruins, and joseph ii. on his death-bed drew a red line through his whole life-work; what had happened till then faded into mere remembrance. "the earth re-echoed with the shouts of rejoicing--this earth, this bitter earth. job for his part wended his way to the turkish bath in buda, and, that he might meet with his brother no more, opened his arteries and bled to death. "yet they were both good christians; true men in life, faithful to honor, no evil-doers, no godless men; in heart and deed they worshipped god; but still the one brother took his own life, that he might meet no more with the other; and the other said of him: 'he deserved his fate.' "oh, this earth that is drenched with the flow of our tears!" here grandmother paused, as if she would collect in her mind the memories of a greater and heavier affliction. not a sound reached us down there--even the crypt door was closed; the moaning of the wind did not reach so far; no sound, only the beating of the hearts of three living beings. grandmother sought with her eyes the date written upon the arch, which the moisture that had sweated out from the lime had rendered illegible. "in this year they built this house of sorrow. job was the first inhabitant thereof. just as now, without priest, without toll of bell, hidden in a wooden chest of other form, they brought him here; and with him began that melancholy line of victims, whose legacy was that one should draw the other after him. the shedding of blood by one's own hand is a terrible legacy. that blood besprinkles children and brothers. that malicious tempter who directed the father's hand to strike the sharp knife home into his own heart stands there in ambush forever behind his successors' backs; he is ever whispering to them; 'thy father was a suicide, thy brother himself sought out death; over thy head, too, stands the sentence; wherever thou runnest from before it, thou canst not save thyself; thou carriest with thyself thy own murderer in thine own right hand.' he tempts and lures the undecided ones with blades whetted to brilliancy, with guns at full cock, with poison-drinks of awful hue, with deep-flowing streams. oh, it is indeed horrible! "and nothing keeps them back! they never think of the love, the everlasting sorrow of those whom they leave behind here to sorrow over their melancholy death. they never think of him whom they will meet there beyond the grave, and who will ask them: 'why did you come before i summoned you?' "in vain was written upon the front of this house of sorrow, 'lead us not into temptation.' you can see. seven have already taken up their abode here. all the seven have cast at the feet of providence that treasure, an account of which will be asked for in heaven. "job left three children: Ákos, gerö, and kálmán. Ákos was the eldest, and he married earliest. he was a good man, but thoughtless and passionate. one summer he lost his whole fortune at cards and was ruined. but even poverty did not drive him to despair. he said to his wife and children: 'till now we were our own masters; now we shall be the servants of others. labor is not a disgrace. i shall go and act as steward to some landowner.' the other two brothers, when they heard of their elder's misfortune, conferred together, went to him, and said: 'brother, still two-thirds of our father's wealth is left; come, let us divide it anew.' "and each of them gave him a third of his property, that they might be on equal terms again. "that night Ákos shot himself in the head. "the stroke of misfortune he could bear, but the kindness of his brothers set him so against himself that when he was freed from the cares of life he did not wish to know further the enjoyments thereof. "Ákos left behind two children, a girl and a boy. "the girl had lived some sixteen summers--very beautiful, very good. look! there is her tomb: 'struck down in her sixteenth year!' she loved; became unhappy; and died. "you cannot understand it yet! "so already three lay in the solitary vault. "gerö was your grandfather--my good, never-to-be-forgotten husband. no tear wells in my eyes as i think of him; every thought that leads me back to him is sweet to me; and i know that he was a man of high principles; that every deed of his--his last deed, too--was proper and right, it is as it should be. it happened before my very eyes; and i did not seize his hand to stay his action." how my old grandmother's eyes flashed in this moment! a glowing warmth, hitherto unknown to me, seemed to pervade my whole being; some glimmering ray of enthusiasm--i knew not what! how the dead can inspire one with enthusiasm! "your grandfather was the very opposite of his own father; as it is likely to happen in hundreds, nay, in thousands of cases that the sons restore to the east the fame and glory that their fathers gathered in the west. "but you don't understand that, either! "gerö was in union with those who, under the leadership of a priest of high rank, wished at the end of the last century, to prepare the country for another century. no success crowned their efforts; they fell with him--and fell without a head. one afternoon your grandfather was sitting in the family circle--it was toward the end of dinner--when a strange officer entered in the midst of us, and, with a face utterly incapable of an expression of remorse, informed gerö that he had orders to put him under guard. gerö displayed a calm face, merely begged the stranger to allow him to drink his black coffee. his request was granted without demur. my husband calmly stirred his coffee, and entered into conversation with the stranger, who did not seem to be of an angry disposition. indeed, he assured my husband that no harm would come of this incident. my husband peacefully sipped his coffee. "then having finished it, he put down his cup, wiped his beautiful long beard, turned to me, drew me to his breast, and kissed me on both cheeks, not touching my mouth. 'educate our boy well,' he stammered. then, turning to the stranger: 'sir, pray do not trouble yourself further on my account. i am a dead man; you will be welcome at my funeral.' "two minutes later he breathed his last. and i had clearly seen, for i sat beside him, how with his thumb he opened the seal of the ring he wore on his little finger, how he shook a white powder therefrom into the cup standing before him, how he stirred it slowly till it dissolved, and then sipped it up little by little; but i could not stay his hand, could not call to him, 'don't do it! cling to life!'" grandmother was staring before her, with the ecstatic smile of madness. oh! i was so frightened that even now my mind wanders at the remembrance. this smile of madness is so contagious! slowly nodding with her gray head, she again fell all in a heap. it was apparent that some time must elapse before this recollection, once risen in her mind, could settle to rest again. after what seemed to us hours she slowly raised herself again and continued her tragic narrative. "he was already the fourth dweller in this house of temptations. "after his death his brother kálmán came to join our circle. to the end he remained single; very early in life he was deceived, and from that moment became a hater of mankind. "his gloom grew year by year more incurable; he avoided every distraction, every gathering; his favorite haunt was this garden--this place here. he planted the beautiful juniper-trees before the door; such trees were in those days great rarities. "he made no attempt to conceal from us--in fact, he often declared openly to us that his end could be none other than his brothers' had been. "the pistol, with which Ákos had shot himself, he kept by him as a souvenir, and in sad jest declared it was his inheritance. "here he would wander for hours together in reverie, in melancholy, until the falling snow confined him to his room. he detested the winter greatly. when the first snowflake fell, his ill-humor turned to the agony of despair; he loathed the atmosphere of his rooms and everything to be found within the four walls. we so strongly advised him to winter in italy, that he finally gave in to the proposal. we carefully packed his trunks; ordered his post-chaise. one morning, as everything stood ready for departure, he said that, before going for this long journey, he would once again take leave of his brothers. in his travelling-suit he came down here to the vault, and closed the iron door after him, enjoining that no one should disturb him. so we waited behind; and, as hour after hour passed by and still he did not appear, we went after him. we forced open the closed door, and there found him lying in the middle of the tomb--he had gone to the country where there is no more winter. "he had shot himself in the heart, with the same pistol as his brother, as he had foretold. "only two male members of the family remained: my son and the son of Ákos. lörincz--that was the name of Ákos' son--was reared too kindly by his poor, good mother; she loved him excessively, and thereby spoiled him. the boy became very fastidious and sensitive. he was eleven years old when his mother noticed that she could not command his obedience. once the child played some prank, a mere trifle; how can a child of eleven years commit any great offence? his mother thought she must rebuke him. the boy laughed at the rebuke; he could not believe his mother was angry; then, in consequence, his mother boxed his ears. the boy left the room; behind the garden there was a fishpond; in that he drowned himself. "well, is it necessary to take one's life for such a thing? for one blow, given by the soft hand of a mother to a little child, to take such a terrible revenge! to cut the thread of life, which as yet he knew not; how many children are struck by a mother, and the next day received into her bosom, with mutual forgiveness and a renewal of reciprocal love? why, a blow from a mother is merely one proof of a mother's love. but it brought him to take his life." the cold perspiration stood out in beads all over me. that bitterness i, too, feel in myself. i also am a child, just as old as that other was; i have never yet been beaten. once my parents were compelled to rebuke me for wanton petulance; and from head to foot i was pervaded through and through by one raving idea: "if they beat me i should take my own life." so i am also infected with the hereditary disease--the awful spirit is holding out his hand over me; captured, accursed, he is taking me with him. i am betrayed to him! only instead of thrashing me, they had punished me with fasting fare; otherwise, i also should already be in this house. grandmother clasped her hands across her knees and continued her story. "your father was older at the time of this event--seventeen years of age. ever since his birth the world has been rife with discord and revolutions; all the nations of the world pursued a bitter warfare one against another. i scarce expected my only son would live to be old enough to join the army. thither, thither, where death with a scythe in both hands was cutting down the ranks of the armed warriors; thither, where the children of weeping mothers were being trampled on by horses' hoofs; thither, thither, where they were casting into a common grave the mangled remains of darling first-borns; only not hither, not into this awful house, into these horrible ranks of tempting spectres! yes, i rejoiced when i knew that he was standing before the foe's cannons; and when the news of one great conflict after another spread like a dark cloud over the country, with sorrowful tranquillity, i lay in wait for the lightning-stroke which, bursting from the cloud, should dart into my heart with the news: 'thy son is dead! they have slain him, as a hero is slain!' but it was not so. the wars ceased. my son returned. "no, it is not true; don't believe what i said,--'if only the news of his death had come instead!' "no; surely i rejoiced, surely i wept in my joy and happiness, when i could clasp him anew in my arms, and i blessed god for not having taken him away. yet, why did i rejoice? why did i triumph before the world, saying, 'see, what a fine, handsome son i have! a dauntless warrior, fame and honor he has brought home with him. my pride--my gladness? now they lie here! what did i gain with him--he, too, followed the rest! he, too! he, whom i loved best of all--he whose every paradise was here on earth!" my brother wept; i shivered with cold. then suddenly, like a lunatic, grandmother seized our hands, and leaped up from her sitting-place. "look yonder! there is still _one_ empty niche--room for _one_ coffin. look well at that place; then go forth into the world and think upon what the mouth of this dark hollow said. "i had thought of making you swear here never to forsake god, never to continue the misfortunes of this family; but why this oath? that some one should take with him to the other world one sin more, in that in the hour of his death he forswore himself? what oath would bind him who says: 'the mercy of god i desire not'? "but instead, i brought you here and related you the history of your family. later you shall know still more therefrom, that is yet secret and obscure before you. now look once more around you, and then--let us go out. "now you know what is the meaning of this melancholy house, whose door the ivy enters with the close of a man's life from time to time. you know that the family brings its suicides hither to burial, because elsewhere they have no place. but you know also that in this awful sleeping-room there is space for only _one_ person more, and the second will find no other resting-place than the grave-ditch!" with these words grandmother passionately thrust us both from her. in terror we fell into each other's arms before her frenzied gaze. then, with a shrill cry, she rushed toward us and embraced us both with all the might of a lunatic; wept and gasped, till finally she fainted utterly away. chapter ii the girl substitute[ ] [footnote : in former days it was the custom for a magyar and a german family to interchange children, with a view to their learning the two languages perfectly. so fanny fromm is interchanged with desiderius Áronffy.] a pleasant old custom was then in fashion in our town: the interchange of children,--perhaps it is in fashion still. in our many-tongued fatherland one town is german-speaking, the other magyar-speaking, and, being brothers, after all to understand each other was a necessity. germans must learn magyar and magyars, german. and peace is restored. so a method of temporarily exchanging children grew up: german parents wrote to magyar towns, magyar parents to german towns, to the respective school directors, to ask if there were any pupils who could be interchanged. in this manner one child was given for another, a kind, gentle, womanly thought! the child left home, father, mother, brother, only to find another home among strangers: another mother, other brothers and sisters, and his absence did not leave a void at home; child replaced child; and if the adopted mother devoted a world of tenderness to the pilgrim, it was with the idea that her own was being thus treated in the far distance; for a mother's love cannot be bought at a price but only gained by love. it was an institution that only a woman's thought could found: so different from that frigid system invented by men which founded nunneries, convents, and closed colleges for the benefit of susceptible young hearts where all memory of family life was permanently wiped out of their minds. after that unhappy day, which, like the unmovable star, could never go so far into the distance as to be out of sight, grandmother more than once said to us in the presence of mother, that it would not be good for us to remain in this town; we must be sent somewhere else. mother long opposed the idea. she did not wish to part from us. yet the doctors advised the same course. when the spasms seized her, for days we were not allowed to visit her, as it made her condition far worse. at last she gave her consent, and it was decided that we two should be sent to pressburg. my brother, who was already too old to be exchanged, went to the home of a privy councillor, who was paid for taking him in, and my place was to be taken by a still younger child than myself, by a little german girl, fanny, the daughter of henry fromm, baker. grandmother was to take us in a carriage--in those days in hungary we had only heard rumors of steamboats--and to bring the girl substitute back with her. for a week the whole household sewed, washed, ironed and packed for us; we were supplied with winter and summer clothing: on the last day provisions were prepared for our journey, as if we had intended to make a voyage to the end of the world, and in the evening we took supper in good time, that we might rise early, as we had to start before daybreak. that was my first departure from my home. many a time since then have i had to say adieu to what was dearest to me; many sorrows, more than i could express, have afflicted me: but that first parting caused me the greatest pain of all, as is proved by the fact that after so long an interval i remember it so well. in the solitude of my own chamber, i bade farewell separately to all those little trifles that surrounded me: god bless the good old clock that hast so oft awakened me. beautiful raven, whom i taught to speak and to say "lorand," on whom wilt thou play thy sportive tricks? poor old doggy, maybe thou wilt not be living when i return? forsooth old susie herself will say to me, "i shall never see you again master desi." and till now i always thought i was angry with susie; but now i remark that it will be hard to leave her. and my dear mother, the invalid, and grandmother, already so grey-haired! thus the bitter strains swept onward along the strings of my soul, from lifeless objects to living, from favorite animals to human acquaintances, and then to those with whom we were bound soul to soul, finally dragging one with them to the presence of the dead and buried. i was sorely troubled by the thought that we were not allowed to enter, even for one moment, that solitary house, round the door of which the ivy was entwining anew. we might have whispered "god be with thee! i have come to see thee!" i must leave the place without being able to say to him a single word of love. and perhaps he would know without words. perhaps the only joy of that poor soul, who could not lie in a consecrated chamber, who could not find the way to heaven because he had not waited till the guardian angel came for him, was when he saw that his sons love him still. "lorand, i cannot sleep, because i have not been able to take my leave of that house beside the stream." my brother sighed and turned in his bed. my whole life long i have been a sound sleeper (what child is not?) but never did it seem such a burden to rise as on the morning of our departure. two days later a strange child would be sleeping in that bed. once more we met together at breakfast, which we had to eat by candle-light as the day had not yet dawned. dear mother often rose from her seat to kiss and embrace lorand, overwhelmed him with caresses, and made him promise to write much; if anything happened to him, he must write and tell it at once, and must always consider that bad news would afflict two hearts at home. she only spoke to me to bid me drink my coffee warm, as the morning air would be chilly. grandmother, too, concerned herself entirely with lorand: they enquired whether he had all he required for the journey, whether he had taken his certificates with him--and a thousand other matters. i was rather surprised than jealous at all this, for as a rule the youngest son gets all the petting. when our carriage drove up we took our travelling coats and said adieu in turn to the household. mother, leaning on lorand's shoulder, came with us to the gate whispering every kind of tender word to him; thrice she embraced and kissed him. and then came my turn. she embraced me and kissed me on the cheek, then tremblingly whispered in my ear these words: "my darling boy,--take care of your brother lorand!" i take care of lorand? the child of the young man? the weak of the strong? the later born guide the elder. the whole journey long this idea distracted me, and i could not explain it to myself. of the impressions of the journey i retain no very clear recollections: i think i slept very much in the carriage. the journey to pressburg lasted from early morning till late evening; only as twilight came on did a new thought begin to keep me awake, a thought to which as yet i had paid no attention: "what kind of a child could it be, for whom i was now being exchanged? who was to usurp my place at table, in my bed-room, and in my mother's heart? was she small or large? beautiful or ugly? obedient or contrary? had she brothers or sisters, to whom i was to be a brother? was she as much afraid of me as i was of her?" for i was very much afraid of her. naturally, i dreaded the thought of the child who was meeting me at the cross-roads with the avowed intention of taking my place as my mother's child, giving me instead her own parents. were they reigning princes, still the loss would be mine. i confess that i felt a kind of sweet bitterness in the idea that my substitute might be some dull, malicious creature, whose actions would often cause mother to remember me. but if, on the contrary, she were some quiet, angelic soul, who would soon steal my mother's love from me! in every respect i trembled with fear of that creature who had been born that she might be exchanged for me. towards evening grandmother told us that the town which we were going to was visible. i was sitting with my back to the horses, and so i was obliged to turn round in order to see. in the distance i could see the four-columned white skeleton of a building, which was first apparent to the eye. "what a gigantic charnel-house," i remarked to grandmother. "it is no charnel-house, my child, but it is the ruin of the citadel of (pressburg) pozsony."[ ] [footnote : pozsony. a town in hungary is called by the germans pressburg.] a curious ruin it is. this first impression ever remained in my mind: i regarded it as a charnel-house. it was quite late when we entered the town, which was very large compared to ours. i had never seen such elegant display in shop-windows before and it astonished me as i noticed that there were paved sidewalks reserved for pedestrians. they must be all fine lords who live in this city. mr. fromm, the baker, to whose house i was to be taken, had informed us that we need not go to an hotel as he had room for all of us, and would gladly welcome us, especially as the expense of the journey was borne by us. we found his residence by following the written address. he owned a fine four-storied house in the fürsten allee,[ ] with his open shop in front on the sign of which peaceful lions were painted in gold holding rolls and cakes between their teeth. [footnote : princes avenue.] mr. fromm himself was waiting for us outside his shop door, and hastened to open the carriage door himself. he was a round-faced, portly little man, with a short black moustache, black eyebrows, and close-cropped, thick, flour-white hair. the good fellow helped grandmother to alight from the carriage: shook hands with lorand, and began to speak to them in german: when i alighted, he put his hand on my head with a peculiar smile: "iste puer?" then he patted me on the cheeks. "bonus, bonus." his addressing me in latin had two advantages; firstly, as i could not speak german, nor he magyar, this use of a neutral tongue removed all suspicions of our being deaf and dumb; secondly, it at once inspired me with a genuine respect for the honest fellow, who had dabbled in the sciences, and had, beyond his technical knowledge of his own business, some acquaintance with the language of cicero. mr. fromm made room for grandmother and lorand to pass before him up a narrow stone staircase, while he kept his hand continuously on my head, as if that were the part of me by which he could best hold me. "veni puer. hic puer secundus, filius meus." so there was a boy in the house, a new terror for me. "est studiosus." what, that boy! that was good news: we could go to school together. "meus filius magnus asinus." that was a fine acknowledgment from a father. "nescit pensum nunquam scit." then he discontinued to speak of the young student, and pantomimically described something, from which i gathered that "meus filius," on this occasion was condemned to starve, until he had learnt his lessons, and was confined to his room. this was no pleasant idea to me. well, and what about "mea filia?" i had never seen a house that was like mr. fromm's inside. our home was only one-storied, with wide rooms, and broad corridors, a courtyard and a garden: here we had to enter first by a narrow hall: then to ascend a winding stair, that would not admit two abreast. then followed a rapid succession of small and large doors, so that when we came out upon the balconied corridor, and i gazed down into the deep, narrow courtyard, i could not at all imagine how i had reached that point, and still less how i could ever find my way out. "father" fromm led us directly from the corridor into the reception room, where two candles were burning (two in our honor), and the table laid for "gouter." it seemed they had expected us earlier. two women were seated at the window, mrs. fromm and her mother. mrs. fromm was a tall slender person; she had grey curls (i don't know why i should not call them "schneckles," for that is their name) in front, large blue eyes, a sharp german nose, a prominent chin and a wart below her mouth. the "gross-mamma" was the exact counterpart of mrs. fromm, only about thirty years older, a little more slender, and sharper in feature: she had also grey "schneckles"--though i did not know until ten years later that they were not her own:--she too had that wart, though in her case it was on the chin. in a little low chair was sitting that certain personage with whom they wished to exchange me. fanny was my junior by a year:--she resembled neither father nor mother, with the exception that the family wart, in the form of a little brown freckle, was imprinted in the middle of her left cheek. during the whole time that elapsed before our arrival here i had been filled with prejudices against her, prejudices which the sight of her made only more alarming. she had an ever-smiling, pink and white face, mischievous blue eyes, and a curious snub-nose; when she smiled, little dimples formed in her cheeks and her mouth was ever ready to laugh. when she did laugh, her double row of white teeth sparkled; in a word she was as ugly as the devil. all three were busy knitting as we entered. when the door opened, they all put down their knitting. i kissed the hands of both the elder ladies, who embraced me in return, but my attention was entirely devoted to the little lively witch, who did not wait a moment, but ran to meet grandmother, threw herself upon her neck, and kissed her passionately; then, bowing and curtseying before us, kissed lorand twice, actually gazing the while into his eyes. a cold chill seized me. if this little snub-nosed devil dared to go so far as to kiss me, i did not know what would become of me in my terror. yet i could not avoid this dilemma in any way. the terrible little witch, having done with the others, rushed upon me, embraced me, and kissed me so passionately that i was quite ashamed; then twining her arm in mine, dragged me to the little arm-chair from which she had just risen, and compelled me to sit down, though we could scarcely find room in it for us both. then she told many things to me in that unknown tongue, the only result of which was to persuade me that my poor good mother would have a noisy baggage to take the place of her quiet, obedient little son; i felt sure her days would be embittered by that restless tongue. her mouth did not stop for one moment, yet i must confess that she had a voice like a bell. that was again a family peculiarity. mother fromm was endowed with an inexhaustible store of that treasure called eloquence: and a sharp, strong voice, too, which forbade the interruption of any one else, with a flow like that of the purling stream. the grandmamma had an equally generous gift, only she had no longer any voice: only every second word was audible, like one of those barrel-organs, in which an occasional note, instead of sounding, merely blows. our business was to listen quietly. for my part, that was all the easier, as i could not suspect what was the subject of this flow of barbarian words; all i understood was that, when the ladies spoke to me, they addressed me as "istok,"[ ] a jest which i found quite out of place, not knowing that it was the german for "why don't you eat?" for you must know the coffee was brought immediately, with very fine little cakes, prepared especially for us under the personal supervision of father fromm. [footnote : "issdoch," the german for "but eat." (why don't you eat?) while istok is a nickname for stephan in magyar.] even that little snub-nosed demon said "issdoch," seized a cake, dipped it in my coffee, and forcibly crammed it into my mouth, when i did not wish to understand her words. but i was not at all hungry. all kinds of things were brought onto the table, but i did not want anything. father fromm kept calling out continually in student guise "comedi! comedi!" a remark which called forth indignant remonstrances from mamma and grossmamma; how could he call his own dear "kugelhuff"[ ] a "comedy!!!" [footnote : a cake eaten everywhere in hungary.] fanny in sooth required no coaxing. at first sight anyone could see that she was the spoiled child of the family, to whom everything was allowed. she tried everything, took a double portion of everything and only after taking what she required did she ask "darf ich?"[ ]--and i understood immediately from the tone of her voice and the nodding of her head, that she meant to ask "if she might." [footnote : i. e., darf ich, "may i?"] then instead of finishing her share she had the audacity to place her leavings on my plate, an action which called forth rebuke enough from grossmamma. i did not understand what she said, but i strongly suspected that she abused her for wishing to accustom the "new child" to eating a great deal. generally speaking, i had brought from home the suspicion that, when two people were speaking german before me, they were surely hatching some secret plot against me, the end of which would be, either that i would not get something, or would not be taken somewhere, where i wished to go. i would not have tasted anything the little snub-nose gave me, if only for the reason that it was she who had given it. how could she dare to touch my plate with those dirty little hands of hers, that were just like cats-paws? then she gave everything i would not accept to the little kitten; however, the end of it all was, that she again turned to me, and asked me to play with the kitten. incomprehensible audacity! to ask me, who was already a school-student, to play with a tiny kitten. "shoo!" i said to the malicious creature; a remark which, notwithstanding the fact that it seemed to belong to some strange-tongued nationality, the animal understood, for it immediately leaped down off the table and ran away. this caused the little snub-nose to get angry with me, and she took her sensitive revenge upon me, by going across to my grandmother, whom she tenderly caressed, kissing her hand, and then nestled to her bosom, turning her back on me; once or twice she looked back at me, and if at the moment my eye was on her, sulkily flung back her head; as if that was any great misfortune to me. little imp! she actually occupied my place beside my grandmother--and before my eyes too. well, and why did i gaze at her, if i was so very angry with her? i will tell you truly; it was only that i might see to what extremes she would carry her audacity. i would far rather have been occupied in the fruitless task of attempting to discover something intelligent in a conversation that was being carried on before me in a strange tongue: an effort that is common to all men who have a grain of human curiosity flowing in their veins, and that, as is well-known, always remains unsuccessful. still one combination of mine did succeed. that name "henrik" often struck my ear. father fromm was called henrik, but he himself uttered the name: that therefore could not be other than his son. my grandmother spoke of him in pitiful tones, whereas father fromm assumed a look of inexorable severity, when he gave information on this subject; and as he spoke i gathered frequently the words "prosodia,"--"pensum"--"labor"--"vocabularium"--and many other terms common to dog-latin: among which words like "secunda"--"tertia"--"carcer" served as a sufficiently trustworthy compass to direct me to the following conclusion: my friend henrik might not put in an appearance to-day at supper, because he did not know his lessons, and was to remain imprisoned in the house until he could improve his standing by learning to repeat, in the language of a people long since dead, the names of a host of eatables. poor henrik! i never had any patience with the idea of anyone's starving, and moreover starving by way of punishment. i could understand anyone being done to death at once: but the idea of condemning anyone in cold blood to starve, to wrestle with his own body, to strive with his own heart and stomach, i always regarded as cruelty. i deemed that if i took one of those little cakes, which that audacious girl had piled up before me so forcibly, and put it in my pocket, it would not be wasted. i waited cautiously until nobody was looking my way, and then slipped the cake into my pocket without accident. without accident? i only remarked it, when that little snub-nose laughed to herself. just at that moment she had squinted towards me. but she immediately closed her mouth with her hand, giggling between her fingers, the while her malicious, deceitful eyes smiled into mine. what would she think? perhaps that i am too great a coward to eat at table, and too insatiable to be satisfied with what i received. oh! how ashamed i was before her! i would have been capable of any sacrifice to secure her secrecy, perhaps even of kissing her, if she would not tell anyone.... i was so frightened. my fright was only increased by the grandmother, who first looked at the cake-dish, and then looked at each plate on the table in turn, subsequently resetting her gaze upon that cake-dish; then she gazed up to the ceiling, as if making some calculation, which she followed up by considerable shaking of her head. who could not understand that dumb speech? she had counted the cakes; calculated how many each had devoured; how many had been put on the dish, had added and subtracted, with the result that one cake was missing: what had become of it? an inquisition would follow: the cake would be looked for, and found in my pocket, and then no water could ever wash away my shame. every moment i expected that little demoniacal curiosity to point to me with that never-resting hand of hers, and proclaim: "there in the new child's pocket is the cake." she was already by my side, and i saw that father, mother and grandmother fromm turned to me all with inquiring looks, and addressed some terrible "interpellatio" to me, which i did not understand, but could suspect what it was. and lorand and grandmother did not come to my aid to explain what it all meant. instead of which snub-nose swept up to me and, repeating the same question, explained it by pantomimic gestures; laying one hand upon the other, then placing her head upon them, gently closed her eyes. oh, she was asking, if i were sleepy? it was remarkable, how this insufferable creature could make me understand everything. never did that question come more opportunely. i breathed more freely. besides, i made up my mind never to call her "snub-nose devil" any more. grandmother allowed me to go: little fanny was to show me to my room: i was to sleep with henrik: i said good-night to all in turn, and so distracted was i that i kissed even fanny's hand. and the little bundle of malice did not prevent me, she merely laughed at me for it. this girl had surely been born merely to annoy me. she took a candle in her hand and told me to follow her: she would lead the way. i obeyed her. we had not quite reached the head of the corridor when the draught blew out the candle. we were in complete darkness, for there was no lamp burning here of an evening on the staircase, only a red glimmer, reflected probably from the bakery-chimney, lit up the darkness, and even that disappeared as we left the corridor. fanny laughed when the candle went out, and tried for a time to blow the spark into a flame: not succeeding, she put down the candle-stick, and leaning upon my arm assured me that she could show me the way in this manner too. then, without waiting for a remark from me, she took me with her into the pitchy darkness. at first she spoke, to encourage me, and then began to sing, perhaps to make me understand better; and felt with her hands for the doors, and with her feet for the steps of the staircase. meanwhile i continually reflected: "this terrible malicious trifler is plotting to lead me into some flour-bin, shut the door upon me, and leave me there till the morning: or to let me step in the darkness into some flue, where i shall fall up to my neck into the rising dough;--for of that everything is full." poor, kind, good fanny! i was so angry with you, i hated you so when i first saw you!... and now, as we grow old.... i should never have believed that anyone could lead me in such subterranean darkness through that winding labyrinth, where even in broad daylight i often entirely lost my whereabouts. i only wondered that this extraordinarily audacious girl could refrain from pulling my hair as she led me through that darkness, her arm in mine, though she had such a painful opportunity of doing so. yes, i quite expected her to do so. finally we reached a door, before which there was no need of a lamp to assure a man of the room he was seeking. through the door burst that most sorrowful of all human sounds, the sound of a child audibly wrestling with some unintelligible verse, twenty, fifty, a thousand times repeated anew, and anew, without becoming intelligible, while the verse had not yet taken its place in the child's head. through the boards sounded afar a spiral latin phrase. "his atacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem que facemque." then again: "his acatem, panacem, phylacem, coracem que facemque." and again the same. fanny placed her ear against the door and seized my hand as a hint to be quiet. then she laughed aloud. how can anyone find an amusing subject in a poor hard-brained "studiosus," who cannot grasp that rule, inevitable in every career in life, that the second syllable of dropax, antrax, climax "et caethra graeca" in the first case is long, in the second short--a rule extremely useful to a man later in life when he gets into some big scrape? but fanny found it extremely ridiculous. then she opened the door and nodded to me to follow her. it was a small room under the staircase. within were two beds, placed face to face; on one i recognized my own pillows which i had brought with me, so that must be my sleeping place. beside the window was a writing-table on which was burning a single candle, its wick so badly trimmed as to prove that he who should have trimmed it had been so deeply engaged in work that he had not remarked whether darkness or light surrounded him. weeping, his head buried in his hands, my friend henrik was sitting at that table; as the door opened he raised his head from the book over which he was poring. he greatly resembled his mother and grandmother: he had just such a pronounced nose; but he had bristly hair, like his father, only black and not so closely cropped. he, too, had the family wart, actually in the middle of his nose. as he looked up from his book, in a moment his countenance changed rapidly from fear to delight, from delight to suspicion. the poor boy thought he had gained a respite, and that the messenger had come with the white serviette to invite him to supper: he smiled at fanny entreating compassion, and then, when he saw me, became embarrassed. fanny approached him with an enquiring air, placed one hand on his thigh, with the other pointed to the open book, probably intending to ask him whether he knew his lessons. the great lanky boy rose obediently before his little confessor, who scarce reached to his shoulder, and proceeded to put himself to rights. he handed the book to fanny, casting a farewell glance at the disgusting, insufferable words; and with a great gulp by which he hoped to remove all obstacles from the way of the lines he had to utter, cleared his throat and began:-- "his abacem, phylacem ..." fanny shook her head. it was not good. henrik was frightened. he began again: "his abacem, coracem...." again it was wrong. the poor boy began over five or six times, but could not place those pagan words in the correct order, and as the mischievous girl shook her head each time he made a mistake, he finally became so confused that he could not even begin; then he reddened with anger, and, gnashing his teeth, tore the graceless book out of fanny's hand, threw it down upon the table and commenced an assault upon the heathen words, and with glaring eyes read the million-times repeated incantation: "his abacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem facemque," striking the back of his head with clinched fist at every word. fanny burst into uncontrollable laughter at this scene. i, however, was very sorry for my companion. my learning had been easy enough, and i regarded him with the air of a lord who looks from his coach window at the bare-footed passers-by. fanny was unmerciful to him. henrik looked up at her, and though i did not understand her words, i understood from his eyes that he was asking for something to eat. the strong-headed sister actually refused his request. i wished to prove my goodness of heart--my vanity also inclined me to inform this mischievous creature that i had not put away the bun for my own sake--so i stepped up to henrik and, placing my hand on his shoulder with condescending friendliness, pressed into his hand the cake i had reserved for him. henrik cast a glance at me like some wild beast which has an aversion to petting, then flung the bun under the table with such violence that it broke into pieces. "dummer kerl!"[ ] [footnote : "stupid fellow!"] i remember well, that was the first title of respect i received from him. planting his knuckles on the top of my head, he performed a tattoo with the same all over my head. that is called, in slang, "holz-birn."[ ] by this process of "knuckling" the larger boys showed their contempt for the smaller, and it belongs to that kind of teasing which no self-respecting boy ever would allow to pass unchallenged. and before this girl, too! [footnote : literally "wild-pear" (_wood-pear_) a method of "knuckling" down the younger boys.] henrik was taller than i, by a head, but i did not mind. i grasped him by the waist, and grappled with him. he wished to drag me in the direction of my bed, in order to throw me on to it, but with a quick movement i cast him on his own bed, and holding his two hands tight on his chest, cried to him: "pick up the bun immediately!" henrik kicked and snarled for a moment, then began to laugh, and to my astonishment begged me, in student tongue, to release him: "we should be good friends." i released him, we shook hands, and the fellow became quite lively. what astonished me most was that, at the time i was throwing her brother, fanny did not come to his aid nor tear out my eyes, she merely laughed, and screamed her approval. she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. after this we all three looked for the fragments of henrik's broken bun, which the good fellow with an expression of contentment dispatched on its natural way; then fanny produced a couple of secreted apples which she had "sneaked" for him. i found it remarkable beyond words that this impertinent child's thoughts ran in the same direction as my own. from that hour henrik and i were always fast friends; we are so to this day. when we got into bed i was curious as to the dreams i should have in the strange house. there is a widely-spread belief that what one dreams the first night in a new house will in reality come to pass. i dreamed of the little snub-nose. she was an angel with wings, beautiful dappled wings, such as i had read of not long since in the legend of vörösmarty.[ ] all around me she fluttered: but i could not move, my feet were so heavy, albeit there was something from which i ought to escape, until she seized my hand and then i could run so lightly that i did not touch the earth even with the tips of my feet. [footnote : a great hungarian poet who lived and died in the early part of this century. he wrote legends and made a remarkable translation of some of shakespeare's works.] how i worried over that dream! a snub-nosed angel-- what mocking dreams a man has, to be sure. the next day we were early astir; to me it seemed all the earlier, as the window of our little room looked out on to the narrow courtyard, where the day dawned so slowly, but márton, the principal assistant, was told off to brawl at the schoolboy's door, when breakfast was being prepared: "surgendum disciple!" i could not think what kind of an assault it was, that awoke me from my dream, when first i heard the clamorous clarion call. but henrik jumped to his feet at once, and roused me from my bed, explaining, half in student language, half by gesture, that we should go down now to the bakery to see how the buns and cakes were baked. there was no need to dress; we might go in our night clothes, as the bakers wear quite similar costumes. i was curious, and easily persuaded to do anything; we put on our slippers and went down together to the bakery. it was an agreeable place; from afar it betrayed itself by that sweet confectionery smell, which makes a man imagine that if he breathes it in long enough he will satisfy his hunger therewith. everything in the whole place was as white as snow; everything so clean; great bins full of flour; huge vessels full of swelling dough, from which six white-dressed, white-aproned assistants were forming every conceivable kind of cake and bun; piled upon the shelves of the gigantic white oven the first supply was gradually baking, filling the whole room with a most agreeable odor. master márton, when he caught sight of me, began to welcome me in a kind of broken hungarian "jo reggelt jo reggelt!"[ ] [footnote : good morning.] he had a curious knack of putting the whole of his scalp into motion whenever he moved his eyebrows up or down; a comical peculiarity of which he availed himself whenever he wished to make anyone laugh, and saw that his words did not have the desired effect. henrik set to work and competed with the baker's assistants; he was clever at making dainty little titbits of cakes quite as clever as anyone there; and pleasure beamed on his face when the old assistant praised his efforts. "you see," márton said to me, "what a ready assistant he would make! in two years he might be free. but the old man is determined he shall learn and study; he wants to make a councillor of him." with these words márton, by a movement of his eyebrows, sent the whole of the skin on his head to form a bunch on the crown, for all the world as if it had been a wig on springs. "councillor, indeed! a councillor who gnaws pens when he is hungry! thanks; not if they gave me the tower of st. michael. a councillor, who, with paper in hand and pen behind ear, goes to visit the bakers in turn, and weighs their loaves in the balance to see if they are correct weight." it seemed that márton did not take into consideration any other duties that a councillor might have besides the examining of bakers' loaves--and that one could hardly gain his approval. "yet, if you take a little pains for their sake, you will find them as gentle as lambs. give them a 'heitige striozts,'[ ] or all saints day, and you will secure your object. such is mr. dintenklek." at this point márton could not refrain from breaking out into an unmelodious "gassenhauer"[ ] the refrain of which was, "alas! mr. dintenklek." [footnote : a kind of dainty bit suitable to this "holy" occasion.] [footnote : a popular air sung in the streets.] two or three assistants joined in the refrain, of which i did not understand a word; but as márton uttered the final words, "alas mr. dintenklek," his gestures were such as to lead me to suspect that this mr. dintenklek must be some very ridiculous figure in the eye of baker's assistants. "why, of course, henrik must learn law. the old man says he, too, might have become a councillor if he had concluded his studies at school. what a blessing he did not. as it is, he almost murders us with his learning. he is always showing off how much latin he knows. yes, the old man latinizes." as he said this márton could scarcely control the skin of his head, so often did he have to twitch his eyebrows in order to express the above opinion, which he held about his master's pedantry. then with a sudden suspicion he turned to me: "you don't wish to be a councillor, i suppose?" i earnestly assured him that, on the contrary, i was preparing for a vacancy in the county. "oho! lieutenant-governor? that is different, quite another thing; travelling in a coach. no putting on of mud boots when it is muddy. that i allow." and, in order to show how deep a respect he bore towards my presumptive office position, he drew his eyebrows up so high that his cap fell back upon his neck. "enough of dough-kneading for the present, master henrik. go back to your room and write out your 'pensum,' for you will again be forbidden breakfast, if it is not ready." henrik did not listen to him, but worked away for all the world as if he was not being addressed. meanwhile márton was cutting a large piece of dough into bits of exactly equal size, out of which the "vienna" rolls were to be formed. this delicate piece of work needs an accurate eye to avoid cheating either one's master or the public. "you see, he is at home here; he does not want his books. and there is nothing more beautiful, more refined than our art; nothing more remunerative; we deal with the blessing of god, for we prepare the daily bread. the lord's prayer includes the baker, 'give us this day our daily bread.' is there any mention anywhere of butchers, of tailors or of cobblers? well, does anyone pray for meat, for coats, or for books? let me hear about him. but they do pray for their daily bread, don't they? and does the prayer-book say anything concerning councillors? what? who knows anything on that score?" some young assistant interrupted: "why, of course, 'but deliver us from the evil one.'" this caused everybody to laugh; it caused henrik to spoil his buns, which had to be kneaded afresh. he was annoyed by the idea that he had learned all he had merely in order to be ridiculed here in the bakery. "ha, yes," remarked master márton, smiling. "it is a great misfortune that a man is never asked how he wishes to die, but a still greater misfortune if he is not asked how he wishes to live. my father destined me to be a butcher. i learned the whole trade. then i suddenly grew tired of all that ox-slaughtering, and cow-skinning. i was always fascinated by these beautiful brown-backed rolls in the shop-window; whenever i passed before the confectionery window, the pleasant warm bread-odors just invited me in:--until at last i deserted my trade, and joined father fromm. at that time my moustache and beard were already sprouting, but i have never regretted my determination. whenever i look at my clean, white shirt, i am delighted at the idea that i have not to sprinkle it with blood, and wear the blood-stained garment the rest of the day. everyone should follow his own bent, should he not, henrik?" "true," muttered the youth in a tone of anger. "and yet the butcher's trade is as far above the councillor's as the weather-cock on st. michael's tower is above our own vane. i do not like blood on my hands, yet at least i could wash it off; but if a drop of ink gets on my finger from my pen, for three days no pumice stone would induce it to depart. yes, it is a glorious thing to be a baker's assistant." márton now busied himself in shovelling several dozen loaves of white bread into the heated oven. meantime the whole "ménage" commenced with one voice to sing a peculiar air, which i had already heard several times resounding through the bakers' windows. it runs as follows: "oh, the kneading trough is fine, very beautiful and fine. straight and crooked, round in form thin and long, three-legged too, here's a stork, and here's a 'ticker,' while here's a pair of snuffers too, stork and ticker, snuffers too, bottles, tipsy michael with them. bottles, tipsy michael with them, stork and ticker, snuffers too, thin and long, three-legged too, straight and crooked, round in form. oh! the kneading trough is fine, very beautiful and fine." they sang this air with such a passionate earnestness that, to this day i must believe, was caused, not by the beauty of the verses, or the corresponding melody, but rather by some superstitious feeling that their chanting would prevent the plague infecting the bread while it was baking, or perhaps the air served as an hour-glass telling them by its termination that now was the time to take the bread out of the oven. as they who are wont to use the lord's prayer for the boiling of eggs--god save the mark. henrik joined in. i saw he had no longer any idea of finishing his school tasks, and when the "oh, the kneading trough" began anew, i left him in the bakery, and went upstairs to our room. on the table lay henrik's unfortunate exercise-book open, full of corrections made in a different ink; of the new exercise only the first line had been begun. immediately i collected the words wanted from a dictionary, and wrote the translation down on a piece of paper. not till an hour later did he return from the scene of his operations, and even then did not know to what he should turn his hand first. great was his delight, then, to see the task already finished; he merely had to copy it. he gazed at me with a curious peevishness and said: "guter kerl."[ ] [footnote : good fellow.] from his countenance i could not gather what he had said but the word kerl made me prepare myself for a repetition of the struggle of yesterday, for which i did not feel the least inclination. scarcely was the copying ready when the steps of father fromm resounded on the staircase. henrik hastily thrust my writing into his pockets and was poring over the open book, when the old man halted before the door, so that when he opened it, such a noise resounded in the room as if henrik were trying to drive an army of locusts out of the country: "his abacem." "ergo, ergo; quomodo?" said the old man, placing the palm of his hand upon my head. i saw that this was his manner of showing affection. i ventured to utter my first german word, answering his query with a "guter morgen;"[ ] at which the old fellow shook his head and laughed. i could not imagine why. perhaps i had expressed myself badly, or had astonished him with my rapid progress? [footnote : correctly, "guten morgen" (wunsch ich): "i wish (you) (a) good morning."] he did not enlighten me on the subject; instead he turned with a severe confessorial face to henrik: "no ergo! quid ergo? quid seis? habes pensum? nebulo!" henrik tried whether he could move the skin of his head like master márton did, when he spoke of mr. fromm's latin. for the sake of greater security he first of all displayed the written exercise to his father, thinking it better to leave his weaker side until later. father fromm gazed at the deep learning with a critical eye, then graciously expressed his approval. "bonus, bonus." but the lesson? that bitter piece! even yesterday, when he had only to recite them to the little snub-nose, henrik did not know the verses, and to-day, the book was in the old man's hand! if he had merely taken the book in his hands! but with his disengaged hand he held a ruler with the evident intention of immediately pulling the boy up, if he made a mistake. poor henrik, of course, did not know a single word. he gazed ever askance at father fromm's ruler, and when he reached the first obstacle, as the old fellow raised the ruler, probably merely with the intention of striking henrik's mental capacity into action by startling him, henrik was no more to be seen; he was under the bed, where he had managed to hide his long body with remarkable agility; nor would he come forth until father fromm promised he would not hurt him, and would take him to breakfast. and father fromm kept the conditions of the armistice, only verbally denouncing the boy as he wriggled out of his fortress; i did not understand what he said, i only gathered by his grimaces and gestures that he was annoyed over the matter--by my presence. the morning was spent in visiting professors. the director was a strongly-built, bony-faced, moustached man, with a high, bald forehead, broad-chested, and when he spoke, he did not spare his voice, but always talked as if he were preaching. he was very well satisfied with our school certificates, and made no secret of it. he assured grandmother he would take care of us and deal severely with us. he would not allow us to go astray in this town. he would often visit us at our homes; that was his custom; and any student convicted of disorderliness would be punished. "are the boys musicians?" he asked grandmother in harsh tones. "oh, yes; the one plays the piano, the other the violin." the director struck the middle of the table with his fist: "i am sorry--but i cannot allow violin playing under any circumstances." lorand ventured to ask, "why not?" "why not, indeed? because that is the fountain-head of all mischief. the book, not the violin, is for the student. what do you wish to be? a gypsy, or a scholar? the violin betrays students into every kind of mischief. how do i know? why, i see examples of it every day. the student takes the violin under his coat, and goes with it to the inn, where he plays for other students who dance there till morning with loose girls. so i break into fragments every violin i find. i don't ask whether it was dear; i dash it to the ground. i have already smashed violins of high value." grandmother saw it would be wiser not to allow lorand to answer, so she hastened to anticipate him: "why, it is not the elder boy, sir, who plays the violin, but this younger one; besides, neither has been so trained as to wish to go to any undesirable place of amusement." "that does not matter. the little one has still less need of scraping. besides, i know the student; at home he makes saintly faces, as if he would not disturb water, but when once let loose, be it in an inn, be it in a coffee-house, there he will sit beside his beer, and join in a competition, to see who is the greatest tippler, shout and sing 'gaudeamus igitur.' that is why i don't allow students to carry violins under their top-coats to inns, under any circumstances. i break the violin in pieces, and have the top-coat cut into a covert-coat. a student with a top-coat! that's only for an army officer. then, i cannot suffer anyone to wear sharp-pointed boots which are especially made for dancing; flat-toed boots are for honest men; no one must come to my school in pointed boots, for i put his foot on the bench and cut away the points." grandmother hurried her visit to prevent lorand having an opportunity of giving answer to the worthy man, who carried his zeal in the defence of morality to such a pitch as to break up violins, have top-coats cut down, and cut off the points of pointed boots. it was a good habit of mine (long, long ago, in my childhood days), to regard as sacred anything a man, who had the right to my obedience, might say. when we came away from the director's presence, i whispered to lorand in a distressed tone: "your boots seem to me a little too pointed." "henceforward i shall have them made still more pointed," replied lorand,--an answer with which i was not at all satisfied. in my eyes every serious man was surrounded by a "nimbus" of infallibility; no one had ever enlightened me on the fact that serious-minded men had themselves once been young, and had learned the student jargon of heidelberg; that this director himself, after a noisy youth, had arrived at the idea that every young man has malicious propensities, and that what seems good in him is only make-believe, and so he must be treated with the severity of military discipline. then we proceeded to pay a visit to my class-master, who was the exact opposite of the director: a slight, many-cornered little man, with long hair brushed back, smooth shaved face, and such a thin, sweet voice that one might have taken every word of his as a supplication. and he was so familiar in his dealings with us. he received us in a dressing gown, but when he saw a lady was with us, he hastily changed that for a black coat, and asked pardon--why, i do not know. then he attempted to drive a host of little children out of his room, but without success. they clung to his hands and arms and he could not shake them off; he called out to some lady to come and help him. a sleepy face appeared at the other door, and suddenly withdrew on seeing us. finally, at grandmother's request, he allowed the children to remain. mr. schmuck was an excellent "paterfamilias," and took great care of children. his study was crammed with toys; he received us with great tenderness, and i remember well that he patted me on the head. grandmother immediately became more confident of this good man than she had been of his colleague, whom we had previously visited. for he was so fond of his own children. to him she related the secret that made her heart sad; explained why we were in mourning; told him that father was unfortunately dead, and that we were the sole hopes of our sickly mother; that up till now our behaviors had been excellent, and finally asked him to take care of me, the younger. the good fellow clasped his hands and assured grandmother that he would make a great man of me, especially if i would come to him privately; that he might devote particular attention to the development of my talents. this private tuition would not come to more than seven florins a month. and that is not much for the whetting of one's mind; as much might be paid even for the grinding of scissors. grandmother, her spirits depressed by the previous reception, timidly ventured to introduce the remark that i had a certain inclination for the violin, but she did not know whether it was allowed? the good man did not allow her to speak further. "of course, of course. music ennobles the soul, music calms the inclinations of the mind. even in the days of pythagoras lectures were closed by music. he who indulges in music is always in the society of good spirits. and here it will be very cheap; it will not cost more than six florins[ ] a month, as my children have a music-master of their own." [footnote : florin equals s english money or cents.] dear grandmother, seeing his readiness to acquiesce, thought it good to make some more requests (this is always the way with a discontented people, too, when it meets with ready acquiescence in the powers that be). she remarked that perhaps i might be allowed to learn dancing. "why, nothing could be more natural," was the answer of the gracious man. "dancing goes hand-in-hand with music; even in greek days it was the choral revellers that were accompanied by the harp. in the classics there is frequent mention of the dance. with the romans it belonged to culture, and according to tradition even holy david danced. in the world of to-day it is just indispensable, especially to a young man. an innocent enjoyment! one form of bodily exercise. it is indispensable that the young man of to-day shall step, walk, stand properly, and be able to bow and dance, and not betray at once, on his appearance, that he has come from some school of pedantry. and in this respect i obey the tendency of the age. my own children all learn to dance, and as the dancing-master comes here in any case my young friend may as well join my children; it will not cost more than five florins." grandmother was extraordinarily contented with the bargain; she found everything quite cheap. "by coöperation everything becomes cheap. a true mental 'ménage.' many learn together, and each pays a trifle. if you wish my young friend to learn drawing, it will not cost more than four florins; four hours weekly, together with the others. perhaps you will not find it superfluous, that our young friend should make acquaintance with the more important european languages; he can learn, under the supervision o£ mature teachers, english and french, at a cost of not more than three florins, three hours a week. and if my young friend has a few hours to spare, he cannot do better than spend them in the gymnasium; gymnastic exercise is healthy, it encourages the development of the muscles along with that of the brain, and it does not cost anything, only ten florins entrance fee." grandmother was quite overcome by this thoughtfulness. she left everything in order and paid in advance. i do not wish anyone to come to the conclusion, from the facts stated above, that in course of time i shall come to boast what a paganini i became in time, what a mezzofanti as a linguist, what a buonarotti in art, what a vestris in the dance, or what a michael toddy in fencing:--i hasten to remark that i do not even yet understand anything of all these things. i have only to relate how they taught them to me. when i went to my private lessons--"together with the others"--the professor was not at home; we indulged in an hour's wrestling. when i went to my dancing lessons--"together with the others"--the dancing master was missing: again an hour's wrestling. during the french lessons we again wrestled, and during the drawing and violin hours we spent our time exactly as we did during the other hours; so that when the gymnastic lessons came round we had no more heart for wrestling. i did just learn to swim,--in secret, seeing that it was prohibited, and truly without paying:--unless i may count as a forfeit penalty that mass of water i swallowed once, when i was nearly drowned in the danube. none even dared to acquaint the people at home with the fact; lorand saved me, but he never boasted of his feat. as we left the house of this very kind man, who quite overcame grandmother and us, with his gracious and amiable demeanors, lorand said: "from this hour i begin to greatly esteem the first professor: he is a noble, straight-forward fellow." i did not understand his meaning--that is, i did not wish to understand. perhaps he wished to slight "my" professor. according to my ethical principles it was purely natural that each student should admire and love that professor who was the director of his own class, and if one class is secretly at war with another, the only reason can be that the professor of one class is the opponent of the other. my kingdom is the foe of thy kingdom, so my soldiers are the enemies of thy soldiers. i began to look at lorand in the light of some such hostile soldier. fortunately the events that followed drove all these ideas out of my head. chapter iii my right honorable uncle we were invited to dine with the privy councillor bálnokházy, at whose house my brother was to take up his residence. he was some very distant relation of ours; however, he received a payment for lorand's board, seven hundred florins, a nice sum of money in those days. my pride was the greatest that my brother was living in a privy councillor's house, and, if my school-fellows asked me where i lived, i never omitted to mention the fact that "my brother was living with bálnokházy, p. c.," while i myself had taken up my abode merely with a baker. baker fromm was indeed very sorry that we were not dining "at home." at least they might have left me alone there. that he did not turn to stone as he uttered these words was not my fault; at least i fixed upon him such basilisk eyes as i was capable of. what an idea! to refuse a dinner with my p. c. uncle for his sake! grandmother, too, discovered that i also must be presented there. we ordered a carriage for : ; of course we could not with decency go to the p. c.'s on foot. grandmother fastened my embroidered shirt under my waistcoat, and i was vain enough to allow the little pugnose to arrange my tie. she really could make pretty bows, i thought. as i gazed at myself in the looking-glass, i found that i should be a handsome boy when i had put on my silver-buttoned attila.[ ] and if only my hair was curled! still i was completely convinced that in the whole town there did not exist any more such silver-buttoned attilas as mine. [footnote : the coat worn by the hussars, forming part, as it does, of all real magyar _levée_ dresses.] only it annoyed me to watch the little pugnose careering playfully round me. how she danced round me, without any attempt to conceal the fact that i took her fancy; and how that hurt my pride! at the bottom of the stairs the comical henrik was waiting for me, with a large brush in his hand. he assured me that my attila had become floury--surely from fanny's apron, for that was always floury--and that he must brush it off. i only begged him not to touch my collar with the hair brush; for that a silk brush was required, as it was velvet. i believe i set some store by the fact that the collar of my attila was velvet. from the arched doorway old márton, too, called after me, as we took our seats, "good appetite, master sheriff!" and five or six times moved his cap up and down on the top of his head. how i should have loved to break his nose! why is he compromising me here before my brother? he might know that when i am in full dress i deserve far greater respect from when he sees me before him in my night clothes.--but so it is with those whose business lies in flour. but let us speak no more of bakers; let us soar into higher regions. our carriage stopped somewhere in the neighborhood of the house of parliament, where there was a two-storied house, in which the p. c. lived. the butler--pardon! the chamberlain--was waiting for us downstairs at the gate (it is possible that it was not for us he was waiting). he conducted us up the staircase; from the staircase to the porch; from the porch to the anteroom; from the anteroom to the drawing-room, where our host was waiting to receive us. i used to think that at home we were elegant people--that we lodged and lived in style; but how poor i felt we were as we went through the rooms of the bálnokházys. the splendor only incited my admiration and wonder, which was abruptly terminated by the arrival of the host and hostess and their daughter, melanie, by three different doors. the p. c. was a tall, portly man, broad-shouldered, with black eyebrows, ruddy cheeks, a coal-black moustache curled upward; he formed the very ideal i had pictured to myself of a p. c. his hair also was of a beautiful black, fashionably dressed. he greeted us in a voice rich and stentorian; kissed grandmother; offered his hand to my brother, who shook it; while he allowed me to kiss his hand. what an enormous turquoise ring there was on his finger! then my right honorable aunt came into our presence. i can say that since that day i have never seen a more beautiful woman. she was then twenty-three years of age; i know quite surely. her beautiful face, its features preserved with the enamel of youth, seemed almost that of a young girl; her long blonde tresses waved around it; her lips, of graceful symmetry, always ready for a smile; her large, dark blue, and melancholy eyes shadowed by her long eyelashes; her whole form seemed not to walk--rather fluttered and glided; and the hand which she gave me to kiss was transparent as alabaster. my cousin melanie was truly a little angel. her first appearance, to me, was a phenomenon. methinks no imagination could picture anything more lovely, more ethereal than her whole form. she was not yet more than eight years of age, but her stature gave her the appearance of some ten years. she was slender, and surely must have had some hidden wings, else it were impossible she could have fluttered as she did upon those symmetrical feet. her face was fine and _distingué_, her eyes artful and brilliant; her lips were endowed with such gifts already--not merely of speaking four or five languages--such silent gifts as brought me beside myself. that child-mouth could smile enchantingly with encouraging calmness, could proudly despise, could pout with displeasure, could offer tacit requests, could muse in silent melancholy, could indulge in enthusiastic rapture--could love and hate. how often have i dreamed of that lovely mouth! how often seen it in my waking hours! how many horrible greek words have i learned while musing thereon! i could not describe that dinner at the bálnokházys to the end. melanie sat beside me, and my whole attention was directed toward her. how refined was her behavior! how much elegance there was in every movement of hers! i could not succeed in learning enough from her. when, after eating, she wiped her lips with the napkin, it was as if spirits were exchanging kisses with the mist. oh, how interminably silly and clumsy i was beside her! my hand trembled when i had to take some dish. terrible was the thought that i might perchance drop the spoon from my hand and stain her white muslin dress with the sauce. she, for her part, seemed not to notice me; or, on the contrary, rather, was quite sure of the fact that beside her was sitting now a living creature, whom she had conquered, rendered dumb and transformed. if i offered her something, she could refuse so gracefully; and if i filled her glass, she was so polite when she thanked me. no one busied himself very particularly with me. a young boy at my age is just the most useless article; too big to be played with, and not big enough to be treated seriously. and the worst of it is that he feels it himself. every boy of twelve years has the same ambition--"if only i were older already!" now, however, i say, "if i could only be twelve years old still!" yet at that time it was a great burden to me. and how many years have passed since then! only toward the end of dinner, when the younger generation also were allowed to sip some sweet wine from their tiny glasses, did i find the attention of the company drawn toward me; and it was a curious case. the butler filled my glass also. the clear golden-colored liquor scintillated so temptingly before me in the cut glass, my little neighbor would so enchantingly deepen the ruddiness of her lips with the liquor from her glass, that an extraordinarily rash idea sprang up within me. i determined to raise my glass, clink glasses with melanie, and say to her, "your health, dear cousin melanie." the blood rushed into my temples as i conceived the idea. i was already about to take my glass, when i cast one look at melanie's face, and in that moment she gazed upon me with such disheartening pride that in terror i withdrew my hand from my glass. it was probably this hesitating movement of mine that attracted the p. c.'s attention, for he deigned to turn to me with the following condescending remark (intended perhaps for an offer): "well, nephew, won't you try this wine?" with undismayed determination i answered: "no." "perhaps you don't wish to drink wine?" cato did not utter the phrase "victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa catoni," with more resolution than that with which i answered: "never!" "oho! you will never drink wine? we shall see how you keep your word in the course of time!" and that is why i kept my word. till to-day i have never touched wine. probably that first fit of obstinacy caused my determination; in a word, slighted in the first glass, i never touched again any kind of pressed, distilled, or burnt beverage. so perhaps my house lost in me an after-dinner celebrity. "don't be ashamed, nephew," encouragingly continued my uncle; "this wine is allowed to the young also, if they dip choice pressburg biscuits in it; it is a very celebrated biscuit, prepared by m. fromm." my blood rose to my cheeks. m. fromm! my host! immediately the conversation will turn upon him, and they will mention that i am living with him; furthermore, they will relate that he has a little pug-nosed daughter, that they are going to exchange me with her. i should sink beneath the earth for very shame before my cousin melanie! and surely, one has only to fear something and it will indeed come to pass. grandmother was thoughtless enough to discover immediately what i wished to conceal, with these words: "desiderius is going to live with that very man." "ha ha!" laughed uncle, in high humor (his laughter penetrated my very marrow). "with the celebrated 'zwieback'[ ] baker! why, he can teach my nephew to bake pressburg biscuits." [footnote : biscuit.] how i was scalded and reduced to nothing, how i blushed before melanie! the idea of my learning to bake biscuits from m. fromm! i should never be able to wash myself clean of that suspicion. in my despair i found myself looking at lorand. he also was looking at me. his gaze has remained lividly imprinted in my memory. i understood what he said with his eyes. he called me coward, miserable, and sensitive, for allowing the jests of great men to bring blushes to my cheeks. he was a democrat always! when he saw that i was blushing, he turned obstinately toward bálnokházy, to reply for me. but i was not the only one who read his thoughts in his eyes; another also read therein, and before he could have spoken, my beautiful aunt took the words out of his mouth, and with lofty dignity replied to her husband: "methinks the baker is just as good a man as the privy councillor." i shivered at the bold statement. i imagined that for these words the whole company would be arrested and thrown into prison. bálnokházy, with smiling tenderness, bent down to his wife's hand and, kissing it, said: "as a man, truly, just as good a man; but as a baker, a better baker than i." now it was lorand's turn to crimson. he riveted his eyes upon my aunt's face. my right honorable uncle hastened immediately to close the rencontre with a vanquishing kiss upon my aunt's snow-white hand, a fact which convinced me that their mutual love was endless. in general, i behaved with remarkable respect toward that great relation of ours, who lived in such beautiful apartments, and whose titles would not be contained in three lines. i was completely persuaded that bálnokházy, my uncle, had few superiors in celebrity in the world, for personal beauty (except, perhaps, my brother lorand) none; his wife was the most beautiful and happiest woman under the sun; and my cousin melanie such an angel that, if she did not raise me up to heaven, i should surely never reach those climes. and if some one had said to me then, "let us begin at the beginning; that rich hair on bálnokházy's head is but a wig," i should have demanded pardon for interrupting: i can find nothing of the least importance to say against the wearing of wigs. they are worn by those who have need of them; by those whose heads would be cold without them, who catch rheumatism easily with uncovered head. finally, it is nought else but a head-covering for one of æsthetic tastes; a cap made of hair. this is all true, all earnest truth; and yet i was greatly embittered against that some one who discovered to me for the first time that my uncle bálnokházy wore a wig, and painted his moustache (with some colored unguent, of course, nothing else). and i am still the enemy of that some one who repeated that before me. he might have left me in happy ignorance. even if some one had said that this showy wealth, which indicated a noble affluence, was also such a mere wig as the other, covering the baldness of his riches; if some one had said that these hand-kissing companions, in whose every word was melody when they spoke the one to the other, that they did not love, but hated and despised one another; if some one had said that this lovely, ideal angel of mine even--but no farther, not so much at once! at the end of dinner our noble relations were so gracious as to permit my cousin melanie to play the piano before us. she was only eight years old as yet, still she could play as beautifully as other girls of nine years. i had very rarely heard a piano; at home mother played sometimes, though she did not much care for it. lorand merely murdered the scales, which was not at all entertaining for me. my cousin melanie executed opera selections, and a french quadrille which excited my extremest admiration. my beautiful aunt laid stress upon the fact that she had only studied two years. a very intricate plan began to develop within me. melanie played the piano, i the violin. nothing could be more natural than that i should come here with my violin to play an obligato to melanie's piano; and if afterward we played violin and piano together perseveringly for eight or nine years, it would be impossible that we should not in the end reach the goal of life on that road. in consequence i strove to display my usefulness by turning over the leaves of the music for her; and my pride was greatly hurt by the fact that my noble relations did not ask grandmother how i understood how to read music. finally the end came to this, as to every good thing; my cousin melanie was not quite "up" in the remaining pieces, though i would have listened even to half-learned pieces, but my grandmother was getting ready to return to the fromms'. the bálnokházys asked her to spend the night with them, but she replied that she had been there before, and that i was there too; and she would remain with the younger. i detested myself so for the idea that i was a drag upon my good grandmother; why, i ought to have kissed the dust upon her feet for those words: "i shall remain with the younger." my brother i envied, who for his part was "at home" with the p. c. when i kissed my relations' hands at parting, bálnokházy thrust a silver dollar[ ] into my hand, adding with magnificent munificence: [footnote : thaler.] "for a little poppy-cake, you know." why, it is true, that in pressburg very fine poppy-biscuits are made; and it is also true, that many poppy-goodies might be bought, a few at a time, for a dollar; likewise i cannot deny that so much money had never been in my hand, as my very own, to spend as i liked. i would not have exchanged it for two other dollars, if it had not been given me before melanie. i felt that it degraded me in her eyes. i could not discover what to do with that dollar. i scarce dared to look at melanie when he departed; still i remarked that she did not look at me either when i left. at the door lorand seized my hand. "desi," said he severely, "that thing that the p. c. thrust into your hand you must give to the butler, when he opens the carriage door." i liked the idea. by that they would know who i was; and my eyes would no longer be downcast before cousin melanie. but, when i thrust the dollar into the butler's hand, i was so embarrassed by his matter-of-fact grandeur that any one who had seen us might have thought the butler had presented me with something. i hoped uncle would not exclude me from his house for that. long did that quadrille sound in my ears; long did that phenomenon-pianist haunt me; how long i cannot tell! she was the standard of my ambition, the prize of a long race, which must be won. in my imagination the whole world thronged before her. i saw the roads by which one might reach her. i too wished to be a man like them. i would learn diligently; i would be the first "eminence" in the school, my teacher would take pride in me, and would say at the public examination: "this will be a great man some day." i would pass my barrister's exams, with distinction; would serve my time under a sheriff; would court the acquaintance of great men of distinction; would win their favor by my gentle, humble conduct; i would be ready to serve; any work intrusted to me i would punctually perform; would not mix in evil company; would make my talent shine; would write odes of encomium, panegyrics, on occasions of note; till finally, i should myself, like my uncle, become "secretarius," "assessor," "septemvir," and "consiliarius." ha, ha, ha! when we returned to master fromm's, the delicate attention of little miss pugnose was indeed burdensome. she would prattle all kinds of nonsense. she asked of what the fine dinner consisted; whether it was true that the daughter of the "consiliarius" had a doll that danced, played the guitar, and nodded its head. ridiculous! as if people of such an age as melanie and i interested themselves in dolls! i told henrik to interpret this to her; i observed that it put her in a bad temper, and rejoiced that i had got rid of her. i remarked that i must go and study, and the lesson was long. so i went to my room and began to study. two hours later i observed that nothing of what i had learnt remained in my head; every place was full of that councillor's daughter. in the evening we again assembled in master fromm's dining-room. fanny again sat next to me, was again in good humor, treating me as familiarly as if we had been the oldest acquaintances; i was already frightened of her. it would be dreadful for the bálnokházys to suspect that one had a baker's daughter as an acquaintance, always ready to jump upon one's neck when she saw one. well, fortunately she would be taken away next day, and then would be far away, as long as i remained in the house; we should be like two opposite poles, that avoid each other. before bedtime grandmother came into the room once more. she gave me my effects, counted over my linen. she gave me pocket-money, promising to send me some every month with lorand's. "then i beg you," she whispered in my ear, "take care of lorand!" again that word! again that hint that i, the child, must take care of my brother, the young man! but the second time the meaning, which the first time i had not understood, burst at once clearly upon me; at first i thought, "perhaps some mistaken wisdom or serious conduct on my part has deserved this distinction of looking after my brother." now i discovered that the best guardian was eternal love; and mother and grandmother knew well that i loved lorand better than he loved himself. and indeed, what cause had they to fear for him? and from what could i defend him? was he not living in the best place in the world? and did i not live far from him? grandmother exacted from me a promise to write a diary of all that happened about us, and to send the same to her at the end of each month. i was to write all about lorand too; for he himself was a very bad letter-writer. i promised. then we kissed and took leave. they had to start early in the morning. but the next day, when the carriage stood at the door, i was waiting ready dressed for them. the whole fromm family came down to the carriage to say adieu to the travellers. that girl who was going to occupy my place was sad herself. methought she was much more winning, when sadness made her eyes downcast. one could see from her eyes that she had been weeping, that she was even now forcibly restraining herself from weeping. she spoke a few short words to me, and then disappeared behind grandmother in the carriage. the whip cracked, the horses started, and my substitute departed for my dear home, while i remained in her place. as i pondered for the first time over my great isolation, in a place where everybody was a stranger to me, and did not even understand my speech, at once all thought of the great man, the violin-virtuoso, the first eminence, the p. c., the heroic lover, disappeared from within me; i leaned my head against the wall, and would have wept could i have done so. chapter iv the atheist and the hypocrite let us leave for a while the journal of the student child, and examine the circumstances of the family circle, whose history we are relating. there was living at lankadomb an old heretic samuel topándy by name, who was related equally to the bálnokházy and Áronffy families; notwithstanding this, the latter would never visit him on account of his conspicuously bad habits. his surroundings were of the most unfortunate description, and in distant parts it was told of him that he was an atheist of the most pronounced type. but do not let any one think that the more modern freedom of thought had perhaps made topándy cling to things long past, or that out of mental rationalism he had attempted, as a philosopher, to place his mind far beyond the visible tenets of religion. he was an atheist merely for his own amusement, that, by his denial of god, he might annoy those people--priests and the powers that be--with whom he came in contact. for to annoy, and successfully annoy, has always been held as an amusement among frail humanity. and what can more successfully annoy than the ridiculing of that which a man worships? the county court had just put in a judicial "deed of execution," and had sent a magistrate, and a lawyer, supported by a posse of twelve armed gendarmes, for the purpose of putting an end, once for all, to those scandals, by which topándy had for years been arousing the indignation of the souls of the faithful, causing them to send complaint after complaint in to the court. topándy offered cigars to the official "bailiffs." the magistrate, michael daruszegi, a young man of thirty, appeared to be still younger from his fair face. they had sent the under, not the chief magistrate, because he was a new hand, and would be more zealous. there is more firmness in a young man, and firmness was necessary when face to face with the disbeliever in god. "we did not come here to smoke, sir," was the dry reply of the young officer. "we are on official business." "the devil take official business. don't 'sir' me, my dear fellow, but come, let us drink a 'chartreuse,' and then tell your business, in company with the lawyer, to my steward. if money is required, break open the granaries, take as much wheat as will settle your claims, then dine with me; there will be some more good fellows, who are coming for a little music. and to-morrow morning we can make out the report and enter it in the protocol." as he said this he kept continuous hold on the "bailiff's" wrist, and led him inward into the inner room: and as he was far stronger by nature than the latter, it practically amounted to the leader of the attacking force being taken prisoner. "i protest! i forbid every kind of confidence! this is serious business!" in vain did the magistrate protest against his enforced march. soon the second part of the "legale testimonium;" mr. francis butzkay, the lawyer, came to his aid with his stumpy, short-limbed figure: he had gazed for a time in passive inactivity at the fruitless struggle of his principal with the "in causam vocatus." "i hope the gentleman will not give cause for the use of force; for we shall fetter him hand and foot in such a manner that no better safeguard will be necessary." so saying, our friend the lawyer smiled complaisantly, all over his round face, looking, with his long moustache, for all the world like the moon, when a long cloud is crossing its surface. "fetters indeed!" topándy guffawed, "i should just like to see you! i beg you, pray put those fetters on me, merely for the sake of novelty, that i may be able to say: i also have had chains on me: at any rate on one of my legs, or one of my arms. it would be a damned fine amusement." "sir," exclaimed the magistrate, freeing his hand. "you must learn to respect in us the 'powers that be.' we are your judges, sent by the county court, entrusted with the task of putting an end to those scandals caused by you, which have filled every christian soul with righteous indignation." topándy raised his eyes in astonishment at the envoys of the "powers that be." "oho, so it is not a case of a 'deed of execution?'" "by no means. it is a far more important matter that is at stake. the court considers the atheistical irreligious 'attentats' have gone too far and therefore has sent us--" "--to preach me a sermon? no, sir magistrate, now you must really bring those irons, and put me in chains, and bind me, for unbound i will not listen to your sermon. hold me down if you wish to preach words of devotion to me, for otherwise i shall bite, like a wild animal." the magistrate retreated, in spite of his youthful daring; but the lawyer only smiled gently and did not even take his hands from behind his back. "really, sir, you must not get mad, or we shall have to take you to the rókus hospital,[ ] and put the strait-jacket on you." [footnote : a hospital in pest.] "the devil blight you!" roared topándy, making for the two judges, and then retiring before the undisturbed smiling countenance of the lawyer. "well, and what complaint has the court to make of me? have i stolen anything from anybody? have i committed incendiarism? have i committed a murder, that they come down so hard upon me?" the magistrate was a ready speaker: immediately he answered with: "certainly, you have committed a theft: you have stolen the welfare of others' souls. certainly you are an incendiary: you have set fire to the peace of faithful souls. certainly you are a murderer: you have murdered the souls entrusted to you!" topándy, seeing there was no escape, turned entreatingly to the gendarmes who accompanied the magistrate. "boys, cherubims without wings, two of you come here and seize me, that i may not run away." they obeyed him and laid hands on him. "well, my dear magistrate, fire away." the worthy magistrate was annoyed, that this sorry business could not in any way assume a serious aspect. "in the first place i come to see the execution of that judgment which the honorable court has passed upon you." "i bow my head,"--growled topándy in a tone of derisive subservience. "you have in your household youths and young girls growing up in various branches of service, who, born here, have never yet been baptized, thanks to your sinful neglect." "excuse me, the general drying up of wells...." "don't interrupt me," bawled the magistrate. "you should have produced your defence then and there, when and where you were accused; but as you did not appear at the appointed time, and obstinately procrastinated, you must listen to the sentence. all those boys and girls brought up within your premises must be taken into the country town and baptized according to the ordinances of religion." "could not the matter be finished here at once by the spring?" the magistrate was beside himself with anger. but the good lawyer only smiled and said: "pray, sir, show a little common sense. the county court compels none, against his will, to be a christian: still one must belong to some religion. so if your lordship will not take the trouble to go with his household to the 'pater,' well, we shall take him to the rabbi: that will do just as well." topándy laughingly shook a menacing fist at the lawyer. "you're a great gibbet! you always manage me. well, let us rather go to the 'pater' than to the rabbi; but at least let my servants keep their old names." "that is also inadmissible," answered the magistrate severely. "you have given your servants names, of a kind not usually borne by men. one is called pirók,[ ] another czinke:[ ] the name of one little girl--god save the mark--is beelzebub! who would register such names as these? they will all receive respectable names to be found in the christian calendar; and any one, who dares to call them by the names they have hitherto borne shall pay as great a fine as if he had purposely calumniated a fellow-man. how many are there whom you have kept back in this manner from the water of christianity?" [footnote : chaffinch.] [footnote : titmouse, names of birds given as pet names to these servants.] "four butlers, three maid-servants and two parrots." "perjurer! your every word is spittle in the face of the true believers." "oh, gag me. i beg you to save me from perjury." "kindly call the people in question." topándy turned round and called to his butler who stood behind him: "produce pirók, estergályos,[ ] seprünyél,[ ] then kakukfü,[ ] and macskaláb;[ ] comfort them with the news that they are going to enter heaven, and will receive a fur-coat, a pair of boots, and a good gourd, from which the wine will never fail: all the gift of the honorable county court." [footnote : turner.] [footnote : broom.] [footnote : thyme.] [footnote : catsfoot.] "for my part," said the young representative of the law, standing on tip-toe, "i must ask you seriously to answer, with the moderation due to our presence, have you hidden any one?" "whether i have stolen away someone on hell's account? no, my dear fellow, i don't court satan's acquaintance either: let him catch men for himself, if he can." "i have a mandatum for your examination on oath." "keep your mandatum in your pocket, and measure out thirty florins' worth of oats from my granary: that's the fine. for i don't intend to be examined on oath." "indeed?" "of course. if you bid me, i will swear: i'm a rare hand at it; i can swear for half an hour at a stretch without repeating myself." again the smiling lawyer intervened: "give us your word of honor, then, that besides those produced, there is no servant in your household who has not yet been baptized." "well, i give you my word of honor that there is not 'in my household' even a living creature who is a pagan." topándy's word of honor only just escaped being broken for that gypsy-girl, whom he had bought in her sixth year from encamping gypsies for two dollars and a sucking pig, now, ten years later, did not belong any more to the household, but presided at table when gentlefolk came to dinner. but she still bore that heathen name, which she had received in the reedy thicket. she was still called czipra. and the godless fellow had snatched her away from the water of christianity. "has the honorable court any other complaint to make against me?" "yes, indeed. not merely do you force your household to be pagan, but you are accused of disturbing in their religious services others who make no secret of their devout feelings." "for example?" "just opposite you is the courtyard of mr. nepomuk john sárvölgyi,[ ] who is a very righteous man." [footnote : mud-valley.] "as far as i know, quite the opposite: he is always praying, a fact which proves that his sins must be very numerous." "it is not your business to judge him. in our common world it is a merit, if someone dares to display to the public eye the fact that he still respects religion, and it is the duty of the law to protect him." "well, and how have i scandalized the good fellow?" "not long ago mr. sárvölgyi had a large saint nepomuk painted on the façade of his house, in oils on a sheet of bronze, and before the chief figure he was himself painted, in a kneeling position." "i know: i saw it." "from the lips of st. nepomuk was flowing down in 'lapidarig' letters to the kneeling figure the following latin saying: 'mi fili, ego te nunquam deseram.'" "i read the words." "an iron grating was placed before the picture, and covered the whole niche, that infamous hands might not be able to touch it." "a very wise idea." "one morning following a very stormy night, to the astonishment of all, the latin inscription had disappeared from the picture, and in its place there stood: 'soon thou wilt pass from before me, thou old hypocrite!'" "i can't help it, if the person in question changed his views." "why, certainly you can help it. the painter who prepared that picture, upon being cross-questioned, confessed and publicly affirmed that, in consideration of a certain sum of money paid by you, he had painted the latter inscription in oils, and over it, in water-colours, the former: so that the first shower washed off the upper surface from the picture, making the honest, zealous fellow an object of ridicule and contempt in his own house. do you believe, sir, that such practical jokes are not punished by the hand of justice?" "i am not in the habit of believing much." "among other things, however, you are bound to believe that justice will condemn you, first to pay a fine for blackmail; secondly, to pay for the repairs your tricks have made necessary." "i don't see an atom of plaintiff's counsel here." "because plaintiff left the amount due him to the pleasure of the court, to be devoted to charitable purposes." "good: then please break into the granaries." "that we shall not do," interrupted the lawyer: "later on we shall take it out of the 'regalia.'" topándy laughed. "my dear, good magistrate. do you believe all that is in the bible?" "i am a true christian." "then i appeal to your faith. in one place it stands that some invisible hand wrote, in the room of some pagan king--belshazzar, if the story be true,--the following words,'mene, tekel, upharsin.' if that hand could write then, why could it not now have written that second saying? and if it was the rain that washed away the righteous fellow's words, you must accuse the rain, for the fault lies there." "these are indeed very weighty counter-charges: and you might have declared them all before the court, to which you were summoned: you might have appealed even to the septemvirate, but as you did not appear then, you must bear the consequences of your obstinacy." "good; i shall pay the price," said topándy laughing:--"but it was a good joke on my part after all, wasn't it?" the magistrate showed an angry countenance. "there will be other good jokes, too. kindly wait until the end." "is the list of crimes still longer?" "a severe enquiry into the sources would never find an end. the gravest charge against you is the profanation of holy places." "i profane some holy place? why, for twenty years i have not been in the precincts even of a church steeple." "you desecrated a place used long ago for holy ceremonies by riotous revels." "oh, you mean that, do you? let us make distinctions, if you please. great is the difference between place and place. do you mean the convent of the red brothers? that is no church. the late emperor joseph drove them out, and their property was put up to auction by the state, together with all the buildings situate thereon. thus it was that i came into possession of the convent garden: i was there at the auction; i bid and it was knocked down to me. there were buildings on it, but whether any kind of church had been there i do not know, for they took away all the movables, and i found only bare walls. no kind of 'servitus' (engagement), as to what i would use the building for, had been included in the agreement of purchase. in this matter i know of others who were no more scrupulous. i know of a convent at maria-eich,[ ] where in place of the ancient altar stands the peasant-chimney, and here the swabian, into whose hands this honorable antiquity passed, keeps his maize; why, in a town beside the danube may be seen what was once a convent, the 'aerarium' of which has been turned into a hospital." [footnote : a place in austria where sacred relics exist.] "examples cannot help you. if the swabian peasant keeps 'the blessing of god' in that place, from which they had once prayed for it, that is not profanity: the 'aerarium' too is pursuing an office of righteousness, in nursing bodily sufferings in the place where once mental sufferings gained comfort; but you have had disgusting pictures painted all over the walls that have come into your possession." "i beg your pardon, the subjects are all chosen from classical literature: illustrations to the poems of beranger and lafontaine--'mon curé,' 'les clefs du paradis,' 'les capulier,' 'les cordeliers du catalogue,' etc. every subject a pious one." "i know: i am acquainted with the originals of them. you may cover the walls of your own rooms with them, if you please: but i have brought four stone-workers with me, who, according to the judgment of the court, are to erase all those pictures." "genuine iconoclasm!" guffawed topándy, who found great amusement in arousing a whole county against him by his caprices. "iconoclasts! picture-destroyers!" "there is something else we are going to destroy!" continued the magistrate. "in that place there was a crypt. what has become of it?" "it is a crypt still." "what is in it?" "what is usually in a crypt: dead men of hallowed memory, who are lying in wooden coffins and waiting for the great awakening." the magistrate made a face of doubt. he did not know whether to believe or not. "and when you and your revelling companions hold your bacchanalia there?" "i object to the word 'bacchanalia.'" "true, it is still more. i should have used a stronger expression for that riot, when in scandalous undress, carrying in front a steak on a spit, the whole company sings low songs such as 'megálljon kend'[ ] and 'hetes, nyloczas,'[ ] and in this guise makes scandalous processions from castle to cloister." [footnote : "stop (you)," "kend" being the pleasant abbreviation for "kegyed," one method of addressing (literally "your grace"), corresponding to our "you."] [footnote : "seven and eight," referring to the number on the playing cards: the austrian national hymn is sung by great patriots to these words: the "king" and "ace" being the highest two cards, come together; and this is in magyar király (king), diszno (ace); is also "swein."] "the authorities must indeed be greatly embittered against me, if they see anything scandalous in the fact that a body of good-humored men undress to the skin, when they are warm. as far as the so-called low songs are concerned, they have such innocent words, they might be printed in a book, while the melodies are very pious." "the scandal is just that, that you parody pious songs, setting them to trivial words. tell me what is the good of singing the eight cards of the pack[ ] as a hymn. and if you are in a good humor, why do you go with it to the crypt?" [footnote : in magyar cards the pack begins with the .] "you know we go there for a little mumony feast." "yes, for a little 'mumon,'" interrupted the lawyer. "that's just what i meant," said the atheist, laughing. "what?" roared the magistrate, who now began to understand the enigma of the dead lying in their wooden coffins: "perhaps that is a cellar?" "of course: i never had a better cellar than that." "and the dead, and the coffins?" "twenty-five round coffins, full of wine. come, my dear sir, taste them all. i assure you you won't regret it." the magistrate was now really in a fury: fury made a lion of him, so that he was quite capable of tearing his wrists by sheer force out of the imprisoning hands. "an end to all familiarity! you stand before the authority of the law, with whom you cannot trifle. give me the keys of the cloister, that i may clean the profaned place." "please break open the door." "would you not be sorry to ruin a patent lock?" suggested the lawyer. "well, promise me that you will taste at least 'one' brand: then i will open the door, for i don't intend to open any door under the title of 'cloister,' but any number under the title of 'cellar;' and in that case i shall pay in ready money." the worthy lawyer tugged at the magistrate's sleeve; prudence yielded, and there are bounds to severity, too. "very well, the lawyer will taste the wine, but i am no drinker." topándy whispered some words in his butler's ears, whereupon that worthy suddenly disappeared. "so you see, my dear fellow, we are agreed at last: now i should like to see the account of how much i owe to the county for my slight upon the brotherhood." "here is the calculation: two hundred florins with costs, which amount to three florins, thirty kreuzer." (this happened thirty years ago.) "further?" "further, the repair of the damage caused by you, the expenses of the present expedition, the daily pay and sustenance of the stone-masons aforesaid: making in all a sum total of two hundred and forty-three florins, forty kreuzers." "a large sum, but i shall produce it from somewhere." with the words topándy drew out from his chest a drawer, and carrying it bodily as it was, put it down on the great walnut table, before the authorities of the law. "here it is!" the interesting members of the law first drew back in alarm, and then commenced to roar with laughter. that drawer was filled with--i cannot express it in one word--but generally speaking--with paper. a great variety of aged bank notes, some before the depreciation of value, others of a late date, still in currency: long bank-notes, black bank-notes, red spotted bank-notes; then, old cards: hungarian, swiss, french; old theatre-tickets, market pictures, the well-known product of street-humor; the tailor riding on a goat, the devil taking off bad women, a portrait of the long-moustached mayor of nuremberg: a pile of envelopes, all heaped together in a huddle. that was topándy's savings bank. he would always spend silver and gold money, but money paid to him in bank-notes, which he had to accept, he would put by year by year among this collection of cards, funny pictures, and theatrical programmes; this heap of value was never disturbed except when, as at present, some enforced visit had to be put up with, some so-called "execution." "please, help yourselves." "what?" cried the magistrate. "must we pick out the value from the non-value in this rubbish?" "now i am not so well-informed an expert as to distinguish what is recalled from what is still in circulation. still my good friend is right, it is my duty to count out, yours to receive." then he plunged his hand into the treasure-heap, and counted over the bits of paper. "this is good, this is not. this is still new, this is surely torn. here's a five florin, here a ten florin note. this is the knave of hearts." a little discussion occurred when he counted a label that had been removed from an old champagne bottle, as a ten florin note. the gentlemen took exception to that: it must be thrown away. "what, is this not money? it must be money. it is a french bank-note. there is written on it ten florins. cliquot will pay if you take it to him." then he began to explain several comical pictures, and bargained with the authorities--how much would they give for them? he had paid a big price for them. finally the worthy lawyer had again to intervene: otherwise this liquidation might have lasted till the following evening; then, after a strict search in a critical manner, he withdrew two hundred and forty-three florins from the pile. "a little water if you please, i should like to wash my hands," said the lawyer after his work, feeling like one who has separated the raw wheat from the tares. "like pilate after passing judgment," jested topándy. "you shall have all you want at once. already there is an end to the legal manipulation: we are no longer 'legale testimonium' and 'incattus,' but guest and host." "god forbid," repudiated the magistrate retiring towards the door. "we did not come in that guise. we do not wish to trouble you any longer." "trouble indeed!" said the accused, guffawing. "what, do you think this matter has been any trouble to me?--on the contrary, the most exquisite amusement! this annoyance of the county against me i would not sell for a thousand florins. it was glorious. 'execution!' legally erased pictures! an investigation into my private behavior! i shall live for a year on this joke. and you will see, my friends, i shall do so again soon. i shall find out some plan for getting them to take me in irons to the court: a battalion of soldiers shall come for me, and they shall make me the son of the warden! ha! ha! may i be damned if i don't succeed in my project! if they would but put me in prison for a year, and make me saw wood in the courtyard of the county court, and clean the boots of the lieutenant governor. that is a capital idea! i shall not die until i reach that." in the meantime a butler arrived with the water, while a second opened another door and invited the guests with much ceremony to partake in the pleasure of the table. "her ladyship invites the honorable gentlemen's company at déjeuner." the magistrate looked in perplexity at the lawyer, who turned to the basin and hid his laughing face in his hands. "you are married?" the magistrate enquired of topándy. "oh dear no," he answered, "she is not my wife, but my sister." "but we are invited to dinner in the neighborhood." "by mr. sárvölgyi? that does not matter. if a man wishes to dine at sárvölgyi's, he will be wise to have déjeuner first. besides i have your word to drink a glass as a 'conditio sine qua non;' besides a chivalrous man cannot refuse the invitation of a lady." the last pretext was conclusive; it was impossible to refuse a lady's invitation, even if a man has armed force at his command. he is obliged to yield to the superior power. the magistrate allowed the third attempt to succeed, and was dragged by the arm into the dining-room. topándy audibly bade the butlers look after the wants of the gendarmes and stone-masons, and give them enough to eat and drink: and, when our friend, the magistrate, prepared to object, interrupted him with: "kindly remember the 'execution' is over, and consider that those good fellows are tearing off plaster from the cloister walls, and the paint-dust will go to their lungs: and it shall not be my fault if any harm touches the upholders of public security. this way, if you please: here comes my sister." through the opposite door came the above mentioned "ladyship." she could not have been taken for more than fifteen years old: she was wearing a pure white dress, trimmed with lace, according to the fashion of the time, and bound round her slender waist with a broad rose-colored riband; her complexion was brunette, and pale, in contrast to her ruddy round lips, which allowed to flash between their velvet surfaces the most lovely pearly set of teeth imaginable: her two thick eyebrows almost met on her brow, and below her long eyelashes two restless black eyes beamed forth: like coal, that is partly aglow. sir magistrate was surprised that topándy had such a young sister. "my guests," said topándy, presenting the servants of the law to her ladyship. "oh! i know," remarked the young lady in a gay light-hearted tone. "you have come to put in an 'execution' against his lordship. you did quite right: you ought to treat him so. you don't know the hundredth part of his godless dealings. for did you know, you would long since have beheaded him three times over." the magistrate found this sincere expression of sisterly opinion most remarkable; still, notwithstanding that he took his seat beside her ladyship. the table was piled with cold viands and old wines. her ladyship entertained the magistrate with conversation and tasty tit-bits, meanwhile the lawyer was quietly drinking his glasses with the host,--nor was it necessary to ask him to help himself. "believe me," remarked her ladyship: "if this man ever reaches hell, they will give him a special room, so great are his merits. i have already grown tired of trying to reform him." "has your ladyship been staying long in this house?" enquired the magistrate. "oh, ten years already." ("how old could the lady have been then?" the magistrate thought to himself: but he could not answer.) "just imagine what he does. a few days ago he put up an old saint among the vines as a scarecrow, with a broken hat on his head." the magistrate turned with a movement of scorn towards the accused. it would not be good for him if that, too, came to the ears of the court. "do not speak, for you do not understand what you're saying," replied topándy by way of explanation. "it was an ugly statue of pilate, a relic of the ancient calvary."[ ] [footnote : many such calvaries exist in hungary: they may be seen by the roadside, and are used as places of pilgrimage by pious peasants and others: there is always a picture of christ crucified or a figure of the same.] "well, and wasn't that holy?" enquired the flashing-eyed damsel. the magistrate began to rise from his chair. (her ladyship must have had a curious education if she did not even know who pilate was.) topándy broke out in unrestrained laughter. then, as if he desired by an earnest word to repair the insult his language had given, he said to the lady with a pious face: "well, if you are right, was it not a gracious act on my part to give a permanent occupation to such an honest fellow, who had been degraded from office; and as he was bare-headed i gave him a hat to protect him against changes of the weather. however, don't treat our friend to a series of incriminations, but rather to that deer-steak; you see he does not venture to taste it." her ladyship did as she was told. the magistrate was obliged to eat: in the first place because it was a beautiful woman that offered the viands to him, secondly because everything she offered was so good. he had to drink, too, because she kept filling his glass and calling on him to "clink" with her, herself setting the example. she drained that sparkling liquor from her glass just as if it had been pure water. and those wines were truly remarkably strong. the magistrate could not refuse the appeal of her ladyship's beautiful eyes. "forbidden fruit is sweet." the magistrate experienced the truth of the saying keenly, in so far as one may place among forbidden fruit the _déjeuner_ of which a man partakes in the house of a godless fellow, destroying his appetite for the ensuing dinner to which he is invited by a pious man. the courses seemed endless: cold viands were followed by hot, and the beautiful young damsel could offer so kindly, that the magistrate was powerless to resist. "just a little of this 'majoraine' sausage. i myself made it yesterday evening." the magistrate was astonished. her ladyship busied herself with such things? when the sausage had disappeared, he made a remark about it. "yet no one would imagine that these delicate hands could busy themselves with other things than sewing, piano-playing, and the turning over of gold-bordered leaves. have you read the almanacs of the parliament?" at this question topándy burst into loud laughter, while the lawyer covered his mouth with his napkin, the laughter stuck in his throat: the magistrate could not imagine what there could be to ridicule in this question. her ladyship answered quite unconsciously: "oh! there are some fine airs in it: i know them. if you will listen, i will sing them." the magistrate thought there must be some misunderstanding: still, if her ladyship cared to sing, he would be only too delighted to listen. "which do you want 'vienna town' or 'rose-bud?'" "both," said the host, "and into the bargain the latest parliamentary air, 'come down from the cross, and fly to the poplar-tree.' but let us go out of the dining-room to hear the songs; the forks and plates are rattling too much here: we'll go to my sister's room. there she will sing to the accompaniment of a magyar piano. have you ever seen a magyar piano, my friend?" "i don't remember having done so." "well, it is beautiful: you must hear it. my sister plays it wonderfully." the magistrate offered his arm to her ladyship, and the company entered the next room, which was the lady's apartment. it was an elegant, finely-decorated room, with mahogany and ebony furniture, richly carved and gilded, with huge glass-panelled chests, and heavy silk curtains yet there was a striking difference between this room and those of other ladies; all these expensive draperies, as far as their form and ordering was concerned, did not at all correspond with the usual appanage of a boudoir. in one corner stood a loom of mahogany, richly inlaid with ivory: it was still covered with some half-finished work, in which flowers, butterflies, and birds had been worked with remarkable refinement. "you see," said the lady, "this is my work-table. i am responsible also for that table-cloth on which we breakfasted to-day." indeed she had received an unusual education. beside the loom was a spinning wheel. "and this is my library," said the lady, pointing to the cupboards against the wall. through the glass panels was to be seen a host of every kind of culinary bottles. on the bottom shelf the great folios; every kind of vinegar that grows in hot-houses; the second row was full of preserved cucumbers; and then on the top shelf different sorts of confitures in brilliant perfection; last of all, a row of fruit extracts was visible, in colors as numerous as the bottles that contained them. "a magnificent library!" said the lawyer. but the magistrate could not yet clearly make out what kind of lady it might be, who called such things a library. the heavy velvet curtains, which made a kind of tent of the alcove, also had their secret: the young lady; raised the curtain and said naively, "this is my sleeping place." an embroidered quilt laid out on a plank, nothing more. indeed, a curious, most remarkable education. beside the bed stood a large copper cage. "this is my pet bird," said the fair lady, pointing at the creature within. it was a large black cock, which rose angrily as the strangers approached, and crowed in an agonized manner, shaking its red comb furiously. "you see, this is my old comrade, who takes care of me! and is at the same time my clock, waking me at daybreak." and the lady's look became quite tender, as she placed her hand on the wrathful creature. at her gentle touch the bird clucked his satisfaction. "when i go outside, he accompanies me, loose, like a dog." the black monster, as long as he saw strangers, only noted in quiet tones the fact that he had remarked their presence, but as soon as topándy stepped forward, he suddenly broke out into a clarion cry, as if he wished to arouse every hen-roost in the property to the fact that there was a fox in the garden. every feather on his neck stood bolt upright, like a spanish shirt-collar. "he will soon be quiet," the young lady assured the guests:--"for he will listen to music." so we are about to see the magyar piano? it was but a "czimbalom."[ ] it is true that it was a marvellous work of art, inlaid with ebony and mother-of-pearl; the nails on which the strings were stretched were of silver, the groundwork a mosaic of coloured woods; the two drumsticks lying upon the strings had handles of red coral; the stand on which the "czimbalom" rested was a marvellously perfected specimen of the carpenter's art, giving a strong tone to the instrument; and before it was a little, round, armless chair covered with red velvet, its feet golden tiger-claws. yet it was certainly strange that a young lady should play the "czimbalom," that country instrument which they are wont to carry under the covering of a ragged coat, and to place upon inn-tables, or up-turned barrels.--here it appeared among mahogany furniture, to serve as accompaniment to a young lady's voice, while she herself with her delicate fingers beat the melody out of the plaintive instrument for all the world as if she were seated beside a piano. incongruous enough, for we have always thought of the "czimbalom-artist" as a gawky bushy-bearded fellow with the indispensable short-stemmed clay-pipe--all burned out and being sucked only for its bitter taste. [footnote : the peculiar and characteristic magyar instrument which is indispensable to every gypsy orchestra, taking the place of harp and piano. it is in the form of a zither of large size, played with padded sticks, and forms the foundation of these wandering bands.] and the whole "czimbalom" playing is such a jest, so grotesque; the player's arms jerk and wave continuously; his whole shoulder and head are in perpetual motion; whereas, with the piano, the five fingers do all; the artist's relation to the piano is that of my lord to his children, whom he addresses from a far-off height; the czimbalom-player is "_per tu_" with his instrument. but the young lady had the grace of one born to the instrument. as she took the sticks in her hands and struck a chord upon the outstretched strings, her face assumed a new expression; so far, we must confess, there had been much "naiveté" in it, now she felt at home; this was her world. she sang two songs to the guests, both taken from what are called in our country "parliamentary airs;" they used to break forth in "juratus" coffee-houses, during the sitting of parliament, when there was more spirit in the youths of the country than now. the one had a fine impassioned refrain: "from vienna town, from west to east, the wind hath a cold blast." the end of it was that the danube water is bitter, for at pressburg many bitter tears have flowed into it, "which the great ones of our land have shed, because ragályi was not sent to be ambassador." now patriots are more sparing with their tears; but in those days much bitterness was expressed with the air of "vienna town." the other air was "rose-bud, laurel," which had also a pretty refrain; it is full of such expressions as "altars of freedom," "angels of freedom," "wreaths of freedom," and other such mythological things. how the strings responded to the young woman's touch, what expression was in her refrain! it was as if she felt the meaning of those beautiful "flosculi" best of all, and must suffer more than all for them. then she introduced a third parliamentary song, the contents of which were satirical; but the satire was purely local and personal, and would not be intelligible to people of modern days. topándy was inexpressibly pleased by it: he asked for it again. someone had ridiculed the priests in it, but in such a manner that no one, unless he had had it explained could understand it. the magistrate was quite enraptured by the simple instrument; he would never have believed that anyone could play it with such masterly skill. "tell me," he asked her ladyship, not being able any longer to conceal his astonishment, "where you learned to play this instrument." at these words her ladyship broke into such a fit of laughter, that, if she had not suddenly steadied herself with her feet against the czimbalom stand, she would have fallen over. as it was, her hair being, according to the fashion of the day, coiled up "à la giraffe" round a high comb, and the comb falling from her head, her two tresses of raven hair fell waving over her shoulders to the floor. at this the young lady discontinued laughing, and not succeeding at all in her efforts to place her dishevelled hair around the comb again, suddenly twisted it together on her head and fastened it with a spindle she snatched from the spinning wheel. then to recover her previous high spirits, she again took up the czimbalom sticks, and began to play some quiet melody on the instrument. it was no song, no variations on well-known airs; it was some marvellous reverie; a frameless picture, a landscape without horizon. a plaint, in a voice rather playful over something serious that is long past, and that can never come back again, avowed to no one by word of mouth, only handed down from generation to generation on the resounding strings--the song of the beggar who denies that he has ever been king:--the song of the wanderer, who denies that he ever had a home and yet remembers it, and the pain of the recollection is heard in the song. no one knows or understands, perhaps not even the player, who merely divines it and meditates thereon. it is the desert wind, of which no one knows whence it comes and whither it goes; the driving cloud, of which no one knows whence it arose, and whither it disappears. a homeless, unsubstantial, immaterial bitterness ... a flowerless, echoless, roadless desert ... full of mirages. the magistrate would have listened till evening, no matter what became of the neighbor's dinner, if topándy had not interrupted him with the sceptical remark that this lengthened steel wire has far more soul than a certain two-footed creature, who affirms that he was the image of god. and thus he again drew the attention of the worthy gentleman to the fact that he was in the home of a denier of god. then they heard the mid-day curfew, which made the black cock, with fluttering wings, begin his monotonous clarion, for all the world like the bugle call of some watch-tower, whose _taran-tara!_ gives the sign to its inhabitants. at this the lady's face suddenly lost its sad expression of melancholy; she put down the czimbalom-sticks, leaped up from her chair, and with natural sincerity asked, "it was a beautiful song, was it not?" "indeed it was. what is it?" "hush! that you may not ask." the lawyer had to call the magistrate's attention to the fact that it was already time to depart, as there was still another "entertainment" in store for them. at this they all laughed. "i am very sorry that it was my fortune to make your acquaintance, on such an occasion as the present," said the young officer of the law, as he bade farewell, and shook hands with his host. "but i rejoice at the honor, and i hope i may have the pleasure of seeing you again--on the occasion of the next 'execution'." then the magistrate turned to her ladyship, to thank her for her kind hospitality. to do so he sought the young lady's hand with intention to kiss it; but before he could fulfill his intention, her ladyship suddenly threw her arms around his neck and imprinted as healthy a kiss on his face as anyone could possibly wish for. the magistrate was rather frightened than rejoiced at this unexpected present. her ladyship had indeed peculiar habits. he scarcely knew how he arrived in the road; true, the wine had affected his head a little, for he was not used to it. from topándy's castle to sárvölgyi's residence one had to cross a long field of clover. the lawyer led his colleague as far as the gate of this field by the arm, sauntering along by his side. but, as soon as they were within the garden, mr. buczkay said to the magistrate: "please go in front, i will follow behind; i must remain behind a little to laugh myself out." thereupon he sat down on the ground, clasped his hands over his stomach, and commenced to guffaw; he threw himself flat upon the grass, kicking the earth with his feet, and shouting with merriment the while. the young officer of the law was beside himself with vexation, as he reflected: "this man is horribly tipsy; how can i enter the house of such a righteous man with a drunken fellow?" then when mr. buczkay had given satisfaction to the demands of his nature, according to which his merriment, repressed almost to the bursting point, was obliged to break loose in a due proportion of laughter, he rose again from the earth, dusted his clothes, and with the most serious countenance under the sun said, "well, we can proceed now." sárvölgyi's house was unlike magyar country residences, in that the latter had their doors night and day on the latch, with at most a couple of bulldogs on guard in the courtyard--and these were there only with the intention of imprinting the marks of their muddy paws on the coats of guests by way of tenderness. sárvölgyi's residence was completely encircled with a stone wall, like some town building: the gate and small door always closed, and the stone wall crowned with a continuous row of iron nails:--and,--what is unheard of in country residences--there was a bell at the door which he who desired to enter had to ring. the gentlemen rang for a good quarter of an hour at that door, and the lawyer was convinced that no one would come to open it; finally footsteps were heard in the hall, and a hoarse, shrill woman's voice began to make enquiries of those without. "who is there?" "we are." "who are 'we'?" "the guests." "what guests?" "the magistrate and the lawyer." thereupon the bolts were slipped back with difficulty, and the questioner appeared. she was, as far as age was concerned, a little "beyond the vintage." she wore a dirty white kitchen apron, and below that a second blue kitchen apron, and below that again a third dappled apron. it was this woman's custom to put on as many dirty aprons as possible. "good day, mistress boris," was the lawyer's greeting. "why, you hardly wished to let us in." "i crave your pardon. i heard the bell ring, but could not come at once. i had to wait until the fish was ready. besides, so many bad men are hereabouts, wandering beggars, 'arme reisenden,'[ ] that one must always keep the door closed, and ask 'who is there?'" [footnote : poor travellers.] "it is well, my dear boris. now go and look after that fish, that it may not burn; we shall soon find the master somewhere. has he finished his devotions?" "yes; but he has surely commenced anew. the bells are ringing the death-toll, and at such times he is accustomed to say one extra prayer for the departed soul. don't disturb him, i beg, or he will grumble the whole day." mistress boris conducted the gentlemen into a large room, which, to judge from the table ready laid, served as dining room, though the intruder might have taken it for an oratory, so full was it of pictures of those hallowed ones, whom we like to drag down to ourselves, it being too fatiguing to rise up to them. and in that idea there is much that is sublime. a picture of christ in the mourning widow's chamber; a "mater dolorosa," in the distracted mother's home; a "kerchief" of the holy virgin, spotlessly white, like the glorious spirit, above the bed of olden times, are surely elevating, and honorable presences, the recollections which lead us to them are holy and imperishable, as is the devotion which bows the knee before them. but a repugnant sight is the home of the pharisee, who surrounds himself with holy images that men may behold them. sárvölgyi allowed his guests to wait a long time, though they were, as it happened, not at all impatient. great ringing of bells announced his coming; this being a sign he was accustomed to give to the kitchen, that the dinner could be served. soon he appeared. he was a tall, dry man, of slight stature, and so small was his head that one could scarce believe it could serve for the same purposes as another man's. his smoothly shaven face did not betray his age; the skin of his cheeks was oil yellow, his mouth small, his shoulders rounded, his nose large, mal-formed and unpleasantly crooked. he shook hands very cordially with his guests; he had long had the honor of the lawyer's acquaintance, but it was his supreme pleasure to see the magistrate to-day for the first time. but he was extremely courteous, not a feature of his countenance betraying any emotion. the magistrate seemed determined not to say a word. so the brunt of the conversation fell on the lawyer. "we have happily concluded the 'execution'." that was naturally the most convenient topic for the commencement of the conversation. "i am sorry enough that it had to be so," sighed sárvölgyi. "apart from the fact that topándy is unceasingly persecuting me, i respect and like him very much. i only wish he would turn over a new leaf. he would be an excellent fellow. i know i made a great mistake when i accused him out of mere self-love. i am sorry i did so. i ought to have followed the command of scripture, 'if he smite thee on thy right cheek, offer him thy left cheek also.'" "under such circumstances there would be very few criminal processes for the courts to consider." "i confess i rejoiced this morning when the commission of execution arrived. i felt an inward happiness, due to the fact that this foe of mine had fallen, that he was trampled under my feet. i thought: he is now gnashing his teeth and snapping at the heels of justice that stamp upon his head. and i was glad if it. yet my gladness was sinful, for no one may rejoice at the destruction of the fallen, and the righteous cannot be glad at the danger of a fellow creature. it was a sin for which i must atone." the simplest atonement, thought the lawyer, would be for him to return the amount of the fine. "for this i have inflicted a punishment upon myself," said sárvölgyi, piously bowing his head. "oh, i have always punished myself for any misdemeanor, i now condemn myself to one day's fasting. my punishment will be, to sit here beside the table and watch the whole dinner, without touching anything myself." it will be very fine! thought the lawyer. he is determined to fast, while we have taken our fill yonder. so we shall all look at the whole dinner, without tasting anything,--and mistress boris will sweep us out of the house. "my friend the magistrate's head is doubtless aching after his great official fatigue!" sárvölgyi said, hitting the nail right on the head. "it is indeed true," remarked the lawyer assuringly. the young official was in need rather of rest than of feasting. there are good, blessed mortals, whom two glasses of wine immediately send to sleep, and to whom it is the most exquisite torture to be obliged to remain awake. "my suggestion is," said the lawyer, "that it would be good for the magistrate to repose in an armchair and rest himself, until the cleaning of the cloister is finished, and we can again take our seats in the carriage." "sleep is the gift of heaven," said the man of piety: "it would be a sin to steal it from a fellow-man. kindly make yourself comfortable at once in this room." it was an extremely difficult process to make oneself comfortable on that apology for an arm-chair; it seemed to have been prepared as a resting place for ascetics and body-torturers: still the magistrate sat down in it, craved pardon,--and fell asleep. and then he dreamed that he saw before him again that laid-out table, where one guest sat two yards from the other while all round holy pictures were hanging on the walls, with their faces turned away, as if they did not wish to gaze upon the scene. in the middle of the room there was hanging from the ceiling a heavy chandelier with twelve branches, and on it was swaying the host himself. what a cursed foolery is a dream! the host was actually sitting there vis-à-vis with the lawyer, at the other end of the long table; for mistress boris had so laid the places. and as the magistrate's place remained empty, host and guest sat so far apart that the one was incapable of helping the other. at last the door opened, with such a delicate creaking that the lawyer thought somebody was ringing to be admitted:--it was mistress boris bringing in the soup. the lawyer was determined to make some sacrifice, in order to maintain the dignity of the "legale testimonium," by dining a second time. he thought himself capable of this heroic deed. he was deceived. there is a peculiarity of the magyar which has not yet been the subject of song: his stomach will not stand certain things. this a stranger cannot understand: it is a "specificum." when vörösmarty sang that "in the great world outside there is no place for thee,"[ ] he found it unnecessary to add the reason for that, which every man knows without his telling them:--"in every land abroad they cook with butter." [footnote : from the celebrated szózat (appeal) calling on the hungarian to be true to his fatherland.] a magyar stomach detests what is buttery. he becomes melancholy and sickly from it; he runs away from the very mention of it, and if some sly housekeeper deceitfully gives him buttery things to eat, all his life long he considers that as an attempt upon his life, and will never again sit down to such a poison-mixer's table. you may place him where you like abroad, still he will long to return from the cursed butter-smelling world, and if he cannot he grows thin and fades away: and like the giraffe in the european climate, he cannot reproduce his kind in a foreign land. roughly speaking, all his neighbors cook with butter, oil and dripping: and "be harsh or kind, the hand of fate, here thou must live, here die."[ ] [footnote : also from the "szózat."] the lawyer was a true magyar of the first water. and when he perceived that the crab soup was made with butter, he put down his spoon beside his plate and said he could not eat crabs. since he had learned that the crab was nought else but a beetle living in water, and since a company had been formed in germany for making beetles into preserves for dessert, he had been unable to look with undismayed eye upon these retrograde monsters. "ach, take it away, boris," sighed the host. he himself was not eating, for was he not atoning for his sins? mistress boris removed the dish with an expression of violent anger. just imagine a housekeeper, whose every ambition is the kitchen, when her first dish is despatched away from the table without being touched. the second dish--eggs stuffed with sardines--suffered the same fate. the lawyer declared on his word of honor that they had buried his grandfather for tasting a dish of sardines, and that every female in the family immediately went into spasms from the smell of the same. he would rather eat a whale than a sardine. "take this away, too, mistress boris. no one will touch it." mistress boris began to mutter under her breath that it was absurd and affected to turn up one's nose at these respectable eatables, which were quite as good as those they had eaten in their grandfather's house. her last words were rather drowned by the creaking of the door as she went out. then followed some kind of salad, with bread crumbs. the lawyer had in his university days received such a dangerous fever from eating such stuff, that it would indeed be a fatal enterprise to tackle it now. this was too much for the housekeeper. she attacked mr. sárvölgyi: "didn't i tell you not to cook a fasting dinner? didn't i say so? you think everyone is as devout as you are in keeping friday? now you have it. now i am disgraced." "it is part of the punishment i have inflicted on myself," answered sárvölgyi, with humble acquiescence. "the devil take your punishment; it is me that will come in for ridicule if they hear about it yonder. you become more of a fool every day." "say what is on your tongue, my good boris; heaven will order you to do penance as well as me." mistress boris slammed the door after her, and cried outside in bitter disappointment. the lawyer swore to himself that he would eat whatever followed, even if it were poison. it was worse: it was fish. we have medical certificates to enable us to assert that whenever the lawyer ate fish he promptly had to go to bed. he was forced to say that if they chased him from the house with boiling water he could not venture to put his teeth into it. mistress boris said nothing now. she actually kept silent. as we all know, the last stage but one of a woman's anger is when she is silent, and cannot utter a word. there is one stage more, which was imminent. the lawyer thought the dinner was over, and with true sincerity begged mistress boris to prepare a little coffee for him and the magistrate. boris left the room without a word, placing the coffee machine before sárvölgyi himself; he did not allow anyone else to make it, and occupied himself with the preparations till mistress boris came back. the magistrate was just dreaming that that fellow swinging from the ceiling turned to him, and said "will you have a cup of coffee?" it did him good starting from his doze, to see his host, not on the chandelier, but sitting in a chair before him, saying: "will you have a cup of coffee?" the magistrate hastened to taste it, with a view to driving the sleepiness from his eyes, and the lawyer poured some out for himself. just at that moment mistress boris entered with a dish of omelette. mistress boris with a face betraying the last stage of anger, approached the lawyer:--she smiled tenderly. it is not the pleasantest sight in the world when a lady with a plate of omelette in her hand, smiles tenderly upon a man who is well aware of the fact that only a hair's breadth separates him from the catastrophe of having the whole dish dashed on his head. "kindly help yourself." the lawyer felt a cold shiver run down his back. "you will surely like this!--omelette." "i see, my dear woman, that it is omelette," whispered the lawyer; "but no one of my family could enjoy omelette after black coffee." the catastrophe had not yet arrived. the lawyer had his eyes already shut, waiting for the inevitable; but the storm, to his astonishment, passed over his head. there was something else to attract the thunderbolt. the magistrate had again taken his seat at the table, and was putting sugar in his coffee; he could not have any such excuse. "kindly help yourself ..." the magistrate's hair stood on end at her awful look. he saw that this relentless dragon of the apocalypse would devour him, if he did not stuff himself to death with the omelette. yet it was utterly impossible. he could not have eaten a morsel even if confronting the stake or the gallows. "pardon, a thousand pardons, my dear woman," he panted, drawing his chair farther away from the threatening horror: "i feel so unwell that i cannot take dinner." then the storm broke. mistress boris put the dish down on the table, placed her two hands on her thighs, and exploded: "no, of course not," she panted, her voice thick with rage. "of course you can't dine here, because you were simply crammed over yonder by--the gypsy girl." the hot coffee stuck in the throats of the two guests at these words! in the lawyer's from uncontrollable laughter, in the magistrate's from still more uncontrollable consternation. this woman had indeed wreaked a monstrous vengeance. the good magistrate felt like a boy thrashed at school, who fears that his folks at home may learn the whole truth. luckily the sergeant of gendarmes entered with the news that the unholy pictures had been already erased from the walls, and the carriages were waiting. he too "got it" outside, for, as he made inquiries after his masters, mistress boris told him severely to go to the depths of hell: "he too smelt of wine; of course, that gypsy girl had given him also to drink!" that gypsy girl! the magistrate, in spite of his crestfallen dejection, felt an actual sense of pleasure at being rid of this cursed house and district. only when they were well on their dusty way along the highroad did he address his companion: "well, my dear old man, that fine lady was only a gypsy girl after all." "surely, my dear fellow." "then why did you not tell me?" "because you did not ask me." "that is why you lay on your stomach and laughed, is it?" "naturally." the magistrate heaved a deep sigh. "at least, i implore you, don't tell my wife that the gypsy girl kissed me!" chapter v the wild creature's haunt in those days the tisza regulations did not exist--that plain around lankadomb where now turnips are hoed with four-bladed machines was at that time still covered by an impenetrable marsh, that came right up to topándy's garden, from which it was separated by a broad ditch. this ditch wound in a meandering, narrow course to the great waste of rushes, and in dry summer gave the appearance of a rivulet conveying the water of the marsh down to the tisza. when the heavy rains came, naturally the stream flowed back along the same route. the whole marsh covered some ten or twelve square miles. here after a heavy frost, they used to cut reeds, and on the occasion of great hunting matches[ ] they would drive up masses of foxes and wolves; and all the huntsmen of the neighborhood might lie in wait in its expanse for fowl from morn till eve, and if they pleased, might roam at will in a canoe and destroy the swarms of winged inhabitants of the fen: no one would interrupt them. [footnote : a hunting match in which the vassals of the landlord form a ring of great extent and advancing and narrowing the circle by degrees, drive the animals together towards a place where they can be conveniently shot. (walter scott.)] some ancestor of topándy had given the peasantry permission to cut peat in the bog, but the present proprietor had discontinued this industry, because it completely defiled the place: the ditches caused by the old diggings became swampy morasses, so that neither man nor beast could pass among them without danger. anyone with good eyes could still descry from the castle tower that enormous hay-rick which they had filled up ten or twelve years before in the middle of the marsh; it was just in the height of summer and they had mown the hillocks in the marsh; then followed a mild winter, and neither man nor sleigh could reach it. the hay was lost, it was not worth the trouble of getting; so they had left it there, and it was already brown, its top moss-covered and overgrown with weeds. topándy would often say to his hunting comrades, who, looking through a telescope, remarked the hay-rick in the marsh: "someone must be living in that rick; often of an evening have i seen smoke coming from it. it might be an excellent place for a dwelling. rain cannot penetrate it, in winter it keeps out the cold, in summer the heat. i would live in it myself." they often tried to reach it while out hunting; but every attempt was a failure; the ground about the rick was so clogged with turfy peat that to approach it by boat was impossible, and one who trusted himself on foot came so near being engulfed that his companions could scarcely haul him out of the bog with a rope. finally they acquiesced in the idea that here within distinct view of the castle, some wild creature, born of man, had made his dwelling among the wolves and other wild beasts; a creature whom it would be a pity to disturb, as he never interfered with anybody. the most enterprising hunter, therefore, even in broad daylight avoided the neighborhood of the suspicious hay-rick; who then would be so audacious as to dare to seek it out by night when the circled moon foretelling rain, was flooding the marsh-land with a silvery, misty radiance, adding a new terror to the face of the landscape; when the exhalations of the marsh were sluggishly spreading a vaporous heaviness over the lowland; while the eerie habitants of the bog (whose time of sleep is by day, their active life at night) the millions of frogs and other creatures were reëchoing their cries, announcing the whereabouts of the slimy pools, where foul gases are lord and master; when the he-wolf was howling to his comrades; and when, all at once, some mysterious-faced cloud drew out before the moon, and whispered to her something that made all nature tremble, so that for one moment all was silent, a death-like silence, more terrible than all the night voices speaking at once;--at such a time whose steps were those that sounded in the depths of the morass? a horseman was making his way by the moonlight, in solitude. his steed struggled along up to the hocks in the swamp which showed no paths at all; the tracks were immediately sucked up by the mud:--nothing lay before to show the way, save the broken reed. no sign remained that anyone had ever passed there before. the sagacious mare carefully noted the marks from time to time, instinctively scenting the route, that tracks trodden by wild beasts should not lead her astray; cleverly she picked out with her sharp eyes the places where the ground was still firm; at times she would leap from one clod of peat to another. the space between these spots might be overgrown by green grass, with yellow flowers dotted here and there, but the sagacious animal knew, felt, perhaps had even experienced, that the depth there was deceptive; it was one of those peat-diggings, filled in by mud and overgrown by the green of water-moss; he who stepped thereon would be swallowed up in an instant. then she trotted on picking her way among the dangerous places. and the rider? he was asleep. asleep on horseback, while his steed was going with him through an accursed spot: where to right and left were graves, where below was hell and around him the gloom of night. the horseman was sleeping, his head nodding backwards and forwards, swaying to and fro. sometimes he started, as those who travel in carriages are wont to do when the jolting is more pronounced than ordinary, and then settled down again. though asleep he kept his seat as if he had grown to the saddle. his hands seemed wide awake for all he held the reins in one and a double-barrelled gun in the other. by the light of the moon his dark face seemed even darker; his long, crisp, curly hair, his hat pressed down over his eyes, his black beard and moustache, his strongly aquiline nose, all proclaimed his gypsy origin. he wore a threadbare blue doublet, braided with cords, which were buttoned here and there at random, and over this was fastened some tattered lambskin covering. the rider was really fast asleep: surely he must have travelled at such a pace that he had no time, or thought for sleep, and now, strangely enough, he felt at home. here, where no one could pursue him, he bowed his head upon his horse's neck. and the horse seemed to know that his master was sleeping, for he did not shake himself once, even to rid himself of the crowds of biting, sucking insects that preyed upon his skin, knowing that such a motion would wake his master. as the mare broke through a clump of marsh-willows, in the darkness of the willow forest, little dancing fire-flies came before her in scores, leaping from grass to grass, from tree to tree, dissolving one into the other, then leaping apart and dancing alone; their flames assumed a pale, lustreless brilliance in the darkness, like some fire of mystery or the burning gases of some moldering corpses. the mare merely snorted at the sight of these flickering midnight flames; surely she had often met them, in journeys across the marsh, and already knew their caprices: how they lurked about the living animals, how they ran after her if she passed before them, how they fluttered around, how they danced beside her continuously, how they leaped across above her head, how they strove to lead her astray from the right path. there they were darting around the heads of horse and horseman as if they were burning night-moths; one lighted upon the horseman's hat, and swayed with it, as he nodded his head. the steed snorted and breathed hard upon those living lights. but the snorting awakened the rider. he gazed askance at his brilliant demon-companions, one of which was on the brim of his hat; he dug the spurs into the mare's flanks, to make her leap more speedily from among the jeering spirits of the night. when they came to a turn in the track, the crowd of graveyard mystery-lights parted in twain: most of them joined the rushing air-current, while some careful guardians remained constantly about the rider, now before, now behind him. darting from the willows, a cold breeze swept over the plain: before it every mystery-light fled back into the darkness, and still kept up its ghostly dance. who knows what kind of amusement that was to them? the horseman was sleeping again. the terrible hay-rick was now so near that one might have gone straight to it, but the steed knew better; instead, she went around the spot in a half-circle, until she reached a little lake that cut off the hay-rick. here she halted on the water's edge and began to toss her head, with a view to quietly awakening the rider from his sleep. the latter looked up, dismounted, took saddle and bridle off his horse, and patted her on the back. therewith the steed leaped into the water, which reached to her neck, and swam to the other side. why did she not cross over dry ground? why did she go only through the water? the horseman meanwhile squatted down among the broom, rested his gun upon his knee, made sure that it was cocked and that the powder had not fallen from the pan, and noiselessly crouched down, gazing after the retreating steed, as she reached the opposite bank. suddenly she drew in her tail, bristled her mane, pricked up her ears. her eyes flashed fire, her nostrils expanded. slowly and cautiously she stepped forward, so as to make no noise, bowed her head to the earth, like some scenting hound, and stopped to listen. on the southern side of the hay-rick,--the side away from the village,--there was a narrow entrance cut into the pile of hay: a plaited door of willow-twigs covered it, and the twigs were plaited together in their turn with sedges to make the color harmonize with that of the rick. this was done so perfectly that no one looking at it, even from a short distance, would have suspected anything. as the steed reached the vicinity of the door, she cautiously gazed upon it: below the willow-door there was an opening, through which something had broken in. the mare knew already what it was. she scented it. a she-wolf had taken up her abode there in the absence of the usual occupants, she had young ones with her, and was just now giving suck; otherwise she would have noticed the horse's approach; the whining of the whelps could be heard from the outside. the mare seized the door with her teeth, and suddenly wrenched it from its place. from the hollow of the hay-rick a lean, hungry wolf crept out. at first in wonder she raised her eyes, which shone in the green light, astonished at this disturbance of her repose; and she seemed to take counsel within herself, whether this was the continuation of her sweet dreams. the providential joint had come very opportunely to the mother of seven whelps. two or three of these were still clinging to her hanging udders, and left her only that she might prepare herself for the fight. the old animal merely yawned loudly,--in a man it would be called a laugh,--a yawn that declared her delight in robbery, and with her slatternly tail beat her lean, hollow sides. the mare, seeing that her foe was in no hurry for the combat, came nearer, bowed her head to the earth, and in this manner stepped slowly forward, sniffing at the enemy; when the wolf seemed in the act of springing on her neck she suddenly turned, and dealt a savage kick at the wolf's chin that broke one of its great front teeth. then the furious wild creature, snarling and hissing, darted upon the steed, which at the second attack kicked so viciously with both hind legs that the wolf turned a complete somersault in the air; but this only served to make it more furious: gnashing its teeth, its mouth foaming and bloody, it sprang a third time upon the mare, only to receive from the sharp hoof a long wound in its breast; but that was not all: before it could rise from the ground, the mare dealt another blow that crushed one of its fore paws. the wolf then gave up the battle. terrified, with broken teeth and feet, it hobbled off from the scene of the encounter, and soon appeared on the roof of the rick. the coward had sought a place of refuge from the victorious foe, whither that foe could not follow it. the steed galloped round the rick: she wished to deceive her enemy, who merely sat on the roof licking its broken leg, its bruised side, and bloody jaws. all at once the proud mare halted, with a haughtier look than man is capable of, as who might say: "you are not coming?" suddenly she seized one of the whelps in her teeth. they had slunk out of the hollow, whining after their mother. she shook it cruelly in the air, then dashed it to the ground violently so that in a moment its cries ceased. the mother-wolf hissed with agonized fury on the roof of the rick. the mare seized another one of the whelps and shook it in the air. as she grasped the third by the neck, the mother, mad with rage, leaped down upon her from the pile and, with the energy of despair, made so fierce an assault that her claws reached the steed's neck; but her crushed leg could take no hold, and she fell in a heap at the mare's feet; the triumphant foe then trampled to death first the old mother, then all the whelps. at last, proudly whinnying, she galloped in frisky triumph around the rick, and then quickly swam back to the place where she had left her master. "well, farao, is there anything the matter?" said the horseman, embracing his horse's head. the horse replied to the question with a familiar neigh, and rubbed her nose against her master's hip. the horseman thereupon tied saddle and bridle together into one bundle, and leaped upon his steed's back, who then, without harness of any kind, readily swam with him to the place she had already visited, and halted before the opening in the rick. the master dismounted. the steed, thus freed, rolled on the grass, neighing and whinnying, then leaped up, shook herself, and with great delight grazed in the rich swampy pasture. the gypsy was not surprised to see the bloody signs of the late struggle. he had many a time discovered dead wolves in the track of his grazing horse. "this will serve splendidly for a skin-cloak, as the old one is torn." then something occurred to him. "this was a female: so the male must be here somewhere--i know where." the rick was surrounded by wolf-ditches in double rows, so made that the inner ditch corresponded to the space left between the two outer ones: the whole crafty work of defence was covered over with thin brush and reeds, which had been overgrown by process of time by moss, so that even a man might have been deceived by their appearance. here was the reason why the steed had not approached the rick in a straight line. this was a fortified place, and the only entrance to the stronghold was that lake which lay before it: that was the gate. the she-wolf, too, had undoubtedly come across the water, but the male had not been so prudent and had entrapped himself in one of the ditches. the gypsy at once noticed that one ditch had been broken in, and, as he gazed down into the depths, two blazing blood-red eyes told him that what he was looking for was there. "well, you are in a fine position, old fellow: in the morning i shall come for you: and i'll ask for your skin, if you'll give it to me. if you give, you give; if you don't give, i take. that is the order of things in the world. i have none, you have: i want it, you don't. one of us must die for the other's sake: that one must be you." then it occurred to him to remove the skin of the she-wolf at once, for, if he left it to cool, the work would be more difficult. he stretched the fur on poles and left it to dry in the moonlight; the carcass he dragged to the end of the rick and buried it there; then he made a fire of rushes, took his seven days' old bread and rancid bacon from his greasy wallet and ate. as the darting flames threw a flickering light upon his face, he looked no more peaceful than that wild creature, whose hollow he had usurped. it was just a sagacious, courageous, wily, resolute--_animal_ face. "either you eat me, or i eat you." that was its meaning. "you have, i have not; i want, you don't:--if you give, you give; if you don't, i take." at every bite with his brilliant white teeth into the bread and bacon, you could see it in his face; his gnashing teeth, and ravenous eyes declared it. that bacon, and bread, had surely cost something, if not money. money? how could the gypsy purchase for money? why, when he took that bright dollar from his knapsack, people would ask him where he got it. should he show one of those red-eyed bank-notes, they would at once arrest, imprison him: whom had he murdered to obtain them? yet he has dollars and bank-notes in plenty. he gathers them from his leathern purse with his hands, and scatters them around him on the grass. bright silver and gold coins glitter around him in the firelight. he gazes at the curious notes of the imperial banks, and fears within himself that he cannot make out the worth of any of them. then he sweeps them all together in one heap, along with snail shells and rush-seeds. after a while the man enters the hollow interior of the rick, and draws from the hay a large, sooty copper vessel, partly moldy with the mold of money. he pours the new pile in with two full hands. then he raises the cauldron to see how much heavier it has become. is he satisfied with his work? he buries his treasure once more in the depths of the rick; he himself knows not how much there might be. then he attacks anew the hard, stale bread, the rancid bacon, and devours it to the last morsel. perhaps some ready-prepared banquet awaited him on the morrow. or perhaps he is accustomed to feasting only every third day. at last he stretches himself out on the grass, and calls to farao. "come here, graze about my head, let me hear you crunch the grass." and quickly he fell asleep beside her, as it were one whose brain was of the quietest and his conscience the most peaceful. chapter vi "fruits prematurely ripe" at first i was invited to my p. c. uncle's every sunday to dinner: later i went without invitation. as soon as i was let out of school, i hastened thither. i persuaded myself that i went to visit my brother. i found an excuse, too, in the idea that i must make progress in art, and that it was in any case an excellent use of time, and a very good "entrée" to art, if i played waltzes and quadrilles of an afternoon from five to eight on the violin to melanie's accompaniment on the piano, while the rest of the company danced to our music. for the bálnokházys had company every day. such a change of faces that i could scarcely remember who and what they all were. gay young men and ladies they were, who loved to enjoy themselves: every day there was a dance there. sometimes others would change places with melanie at the piano: a piece of good fortune for me, for she was able to then have a dance--with me. i have never seen any one dance more beautifully than she; she fluttered above the floor, and could make the waltz more agreeable than any one else before or after her. that was my favorite dance. i was exclusively by her side at such times, and we could not gaze except into each other's eyes. i did not like the quadrille so well: in that one is always taking the hands of different persons, and changing partners; and what interest had i in those other lady-dancers? and i thought melanie, too, rejoiced at the same thing that pleased me. and, if by chance--a very rare event--the p. c. had no company, we still had our dance. there were always two gentlemen and two lady dancers in the house party; the beautiful wife of the p. c. and fraülein matild, the governess: lorand and pepi[ ] gyáli. [footnote : a nickname for joseph.] pepi was the son of a court agent at vienna, and his father was a very good friend of bálnokházy; his mother had once been ballet-dancer at the vienna opera--a fact i only learned later. pepi was a handsome young fellow "en miniature;" he was a member of the same class as lorand, a law student in the first year, yet he was no taller than i. every feature of his face was fine and tender, his mouth, small, like that of a girl, yet never in all my life have i met one capable of such backbiting as was he with his pretty mouth. how i envied that little mortal his gift for conversation, his profound knowledge, his easy gestures, his freedom of manners, that familiarity with which he could treat women! his beauty was plastic! i felt within myself that such ought a man to be in life, if he would be happy. the only thing i did not like in him was that he was always paying compliments to melanie: he might have desisted from that. he surely must have remarked on what terms i was with her. his custom was, in the quadrille, when the solo-dancing gentlemen returned to their lady partners, to anticipate me and dance the turn with melanie. he considered it a very good joke, and i scowled at him several times. but once, when he wished to do the same, i seized his arm, and pushed him away; i was only a grammar-school boy, and he was a first-year law student; still i did push him away. with this heroic deed of mine not only myself but my cousin melanie also was contented. that evening we danced right up till nine o'clock. i always with melanie, and lorand with her mother. when the company dispersed, we went down to lorand's room on the ground floor, pepi accompanying us. i thought he was going to pick a quarrel with me, and vowed inwardly i would thrash him. but instead he merely laughed at me. "only imagine," he said, throwing himself on lorand's bed, "this boy is jealous of me." my brother laughed too. it was truly ridiculous: one boy jealous of another. yes, i was surely jealous, but chivalrous too. i think i had read in some novel that it was the custom to reply in some such manner to like ridicule: "sir, i forbid you to take that lady's name in vain." they laughed all the more. "why, he is a delightful fellow, this desi," said pepi. "see, lorand, he will cause you a deal of trouble. if he learns to smoke, he will be quite an othello." this insinuation hit me on a sensitive spot. i had never yet tasted that ambrosia, which was to make me a full-grown man; for as every one knows, it is the pipe-stem which is the dividing line between boyhood and manhood; he who could take that in his mouth was a man. i had already often been teased about that. i must vindicate myself. on my brother's table stood the tobacco-box full of turkish tobacco, so by way of reply i went and filled a church warden, lit and began to smoke it. "now, my child, that will be too strong," sneered pepi, "take it away from him, lorand. look how pale he is getting: remove it from him at once." but i continued smoking: the smoke burned and bit the skin of my tongue; still i held the stem between my teeth, until the tobacco was burned out. that was my first and last pipe. "at any rate, drink a glass of water," lorand said. "no thank you." "well, go home, for it will soon be dark." "i am not afraid in the streets." yet i felt like one who is a little tipsy. "have you any appetite?" inquired pepi scornfully. "just enough to eat a gingerbread-hussar like you." lorand laughed uncontrollably at this remark of mine. "gingerbread-hussar! you have got it from him, pepi." i was quite flushed with pride at being able to make lorand laugh. but pepi, on the contrary, became quite serious. "ho, ho, old fellow," (when he spoke seriously to me he always addressed me "old fellow," and on other occasions as "my child"). "never be afraid of me; now lorand might have reason to be: we both want what is ready; we do not court your little girl, but her mother. if the old wigged councillor is not jealous of us, don't you be so." i expected lorand to smite that fair mouth for this despicable calumny. instead of which he merely said, half muttering: "don't; before the child..." pepi did not allow himself to be called to order. "it is true, my dear desi: and i can tell you that you will have a far more grateful part to play around melanie, if she marries someone else." then indeed i went home. this cynicism was something quite new to my mind. not only my stomach, but my whole soul turned sick. how could i measure the bitterness of the idea that lorand was paying court to a married woman? such a thing was not to be seen in the circle in which we had been brought up. such a case had been mentioned in our town, perhaps, as the scandal of the century, but only in whispers that the innocent might not hear: neither the man nor the woman could have shown their faces in our street. surely no one would have spoken another word to them. and lorand had been so confused when pepi uttered this foul thing to his face before me. he did not deny it, nor was he angry. i arrived at home in an agony of shame. the street-door was already closed: so i had to pass in by the shop door. i wished to open it softly that the bell should not betray my coming, but father fromm was waiting for me. he was extremely angry: he stopped my way. "discipulus negligens! do you know 'quote hora?' decem. every day to wander out of doors till after nine, hoc non pergit.--scio, scio, what you wish to say. you were at the p. c.'s. that is 'unum et idem' for me. the other 'asinus' has been learning his lessons ever since midday, so much has he to do, while you have not even so much as glanced at them; do you wish to be a greater 'asinus' than he? now i say 'semel propter semper,' 'finis' to the carnival! don't go any more a-dancing; for if you stay out once more, 'ego tibi umsicabo.' now 'pergus, dixi.'" old márton during this well-deserved drubbing kept moving the scalp of his head back and forth in assent, and then came after me with a candle, to light me along the corridor to the door of my room, singing behind me these jesting verses: "hab i ti nid gsagt komm um halbe acht? und du kummst mir jetzt um halbe naini jetzt ist de vater z'haus, kannst nimmer aini."[ ] [footnote : "did i not tell thee, 'come at half-past seven?' and thou comest now at half-past eight? now the father is at home, thou canst no more come in."] and after me he called out "prosit, sir lieutenant-governor." i had no desire to be angry with him. i felt too sad to quarrel with any one. henrik was indeed slaving away at the table, and the candle, burnt to the end, proved that he had been at it a long time. "welcome, desi," he said good humoredly. "you come late; a terrible amount of 'labor' awaits you to-morrow. i have finished mine: you will be behind with yours, so i have written the exercises in your place. look and see if it is good." i was humbled. that heavy-headed boy, on whom i had been wont to look down from such a height, whose work i had prepared in play, work which he would have broken his head over, had now in my place finished the work i had neglected. what had become of me? "i waited for you with a little pleasant surprise," said henrik, taking from his drawer something which he held in his hand before me. "now guess what it is." "i don't care what it is." i was in a bad humor, i longed to lay my head on the bed. "of course you care. fanny has written a letter from her new home. she has written to you in magyar, about your dear mother." these words roused me from my lethargy. "show me: give it me to read." "you see, you are delighted after all." i tore the letter from him. first fanny wrote to her parents in german, on the last page in magyar to me. she had already made such progress. she wrote that they often spoke of me at home; i was a bad boy not to write mother a letter: she was very ill and it was her sole delight to be able to speak of me. as often as her parents or brother wrote to fanny, she would add a few lines after opening the letter, in my name, then take it to my mother and read it to her, as if i had written. how delighted she was! she did not know my german writing, so she readily believed it was i who had written. but i must be a good boy and write myself, for some day mother and grandmother would discover the deceit and would be angry. my heart was almost bursting. i pored over the letter i had read, and sobbed bitterly as i had never before done in my life. my dear only mother! thou saint, thou martyr! who sufferest, weepest, and anguishest so much for my sake, while i mix in a society where they mock women, and mothers! canst thou forgive me? when i had cried myself out, my face was covered with tears. henrik raised me from my seat upon the floor. "give me this letter," i panted; and i kissed him for giving it to me. many great historical documents have been torn up since then, but that letter is still in my possession. "now i cannot go to bed. i will stay up until morning and finish the work i have neglected. i thank you for what you have written in my stead, but i cannot accept it. i shall do it myself. i shall do everything in which i am behindhand." "good, desi, my boy, but you see our candle has burned down; and grandmother is already asleep, so i cannot ask her for one. still, if you do wish to sit up, go down to the bakehouse, they are working all night, as to-morrow is saturday: take your ink, paper, and books with you. there you can write and learn your lessons." i did so. i descended to the court, washed my head beside the fountain, then took my books and writing material and descended to the bakehouse, begging márton to allow me to work there by lamp-light. márton irritated me the whole night with his satire, the assistants jostled me, and drove me from my place; they sang the "kneading-trough" air, and many other street-songs: and amid all these abominations i studied till morning; what is more, i finished all my work. that night, i know, was one of the turning-points in my life. two days later came sunday: i met pepi in the street. "well, old fellow: are you not coming to-day to see little melanie? there will be a great dance-rehearsal." "i cannot: i have too much to do." pepi laughed loudly. "very well, old fellow." his laughter did not affect me in the least. "but when you have learned all there is to learn will you come again?" "no. for then i shall write a letter to my mother." some good spirit must have whispered to this fellow not to laugh at these words, for he could not have anticipated the box on the ears i would have given him, because he could not for an instant forget that i was a grammar-school boy, and he a first-year law student. chapter vii the secret writings one evening lorand came to me and laid before me a bundle of papers covered with fine writing. "copy this quite clearly by to-morrow morning. don't show the original to any one, and, when you have finished, lock it up in your trunk with the copy, until i come for it." i set to work in a moment and never rose from my task until i had completed it. next morning lorand came for it, read it through, and said: "very good," handing me two pieces of twenty. "what do you mean?" "take it," he said, "it is not my gift, but the gift of someone else: in fact, it is not a gift, but a fixed contract-price. honorable work deserves honorable payment. for every installment[ ] you copy, you get two pieces of twenty. it is not only you that are doing it: many of your school-fellows are occupied in the same work." [footnote : _i. e._, a printed sheet of sixteen pages.] then i was pleased with the two pieces of twenty. my uneasiness at receiving money from anybody except my parents, who alone were entitled to make me presents, was only equalled by my pleasure at the possession of my first earnings, the knowledge that i was at last capable of earning something, that at last the tree of life was bearing fruit, which i might reach and pluck for myself. i accepted the work and its reward. every second day, punctually at seven o'clock in the evening, lorand would come to me, give me the matter to be copied, 'matter written, as i recognized, in his own hand writing,' and next day in the morning would come for the manuscript. i wrote by night, when henrik was already asleep: but, had he been awake, he could not have known what i was writing, for it was in magyar. and what was in these secret writings? the journal of the house of parliament. it was the year . speeches held in parliament could not be read in print; the provisional censor ruled the day, and a few scarecrow national papers fed their reading public on stories of the zummalacarregu type. so the public helped itself. in those days shorthand was unknown in our country; four or five quick-fingered young men occupied a bench in the gallery of the house, and "skeletonized" the speeches they heard. at the end of a sitting they pieced their fragments together: in one would be found what was missing in the other: thus they made the speeches complete. they wrote the result out themselves four times, and then each one provided for the copying forty times, of his own copy. the journals of parliament, thus written, were preserved by the patriots, who were members at that time,--and are probably still in preservation. the man of to-day, who sighs after the happy days of old, will not understand how dangerous an enterprise, was the attempt made by certain young men "in the glorious age of noble freedom," to make the public familiar, through their handwriting, with the speeches delivered in parliament. these writings had a regenerating influence upon me. an entirely new world opened out before me: new ideas, new impulses arose within my mind and heart. the name of that world which opened out before me was "home." it was marvellous to listen for the first time to the full meaning of "home." till then i had had no idea of "home:" now every day i passed my nights with it:--the lines, which i wrote down night after night, were imprinted upon those white pages, that are left vacant in the mind of a child. nor was i the only one impressed. there is still deeply engraved on my memory that kindling influence, by which the spirit of the youth of that age was transformed through the writing of those pages. one month later i had no more dreams of becoming privy-councillor:--then i knew not how i could ever approach my cousin melanie. all at once the school authorities discovered where the parliamentary speeches were reproduced. it was done by the school children, that hundred-handed typesetting machine. the danger had already spread far; finding no ordinary outlet, it had found its way through twelve-year-old children: hands of children supplied the deficiency of the press. great was the apprehension. the writing of some (among them mine) was recognized. we were accused before the school tribunal. i was in that frame of mind that i could not fear. the elder boys they tried to frighten with greater things, and yet they did not give way: i would at least do no worse. i was able to grasp it all with my child's mind, the fact that we, who had merely copied for money, could not be severely punished. probably we never understood what might be in those writings lying before us. we merely piled up letter after letter. but the gravest danger threatened those who had brought those original writings before us. twenty-two of the students of the college were called up for trial. on that day armed soldiers guarded the streets that led to the council-chamber, because the rumor ran that the young members of parliament wished to free the culprits. on the day in question there were no lessons--merely the accused and their judges were present in the school building. it is curious that i did not fear, even when under the surveillance of the pedellus,[ ] i had to wait in the ante-room of the school tribunal. and i knew well what was threatening. they would exclude either me or lorand from the school. [footnote : warden of the school.] that idea was terrible for me. i had heard thrilling stories of expelled students. how, at such times, they rang that cracked bell, which was used only to proclaim, to the whole town, that an expelled student was being escorted by his fellows out of the town, with songs of penitence. how the poor student became thenceforth a wanderer his whole lifetime through, whom no school would receive, who dared not return to his father's house. now i merely shrugged my shoulders when i thought of it. at other times the least rebuke would break my spirit, and drive me to despair; now--i was resolved not even to ask for pardon. as i waited in the ante-room, i met the professors, one after another, as they passed through into the council-chamber. fittingly i greeted them. some of them did not so much as look at me. as mr. schmuck passed by he saw me, came forward, and very tenderly addressed me:-- "well, my child, and you have come here too. don't be afraid: only look at me always. i shall do all i can for you, as i promised to your dear, good grandmother. oh how your devoted grandmother would weep if she knew in what a position you now stand. well, well, don't cry: don't be afraid. i intend to treat you as if you were my own child: only look at me always." i was glad when he went away. i was angry that he wished to soften me. i must be strong to-day. the director also noticed me, and called out in harsh tones: "well, famous fiddler: now you can show us what kind of a gypsy[ ] you are." [footnote : the czigány (gypsy) is celebrated for his sneaking cowardice, and his fiddle playing, he being a naturally gifted musician, as any one who has heard czigány music in budapest can testify.] that pleased me better. i would be no gypsy! the examination began: my school-fellows, the greater part of whom were unknown to me, as they were students of a higher class, were called in one by one into the tribunal chamber, and one by one they were dismissed; then the pedellus led them into another room, that they might not tell those without what they had been asked, and what they had answered. i had time enough to scrutinize their faces as they came out. each one was unusually flushed, and brought with him the impression of what had passed within. one looked obstinate, another dejected. some smiled bitterly: others could not raise their eyes to look at their fellows. each one was suffering from some nervous perturbation which made his face a glaring contrast to the gaping, frozen features without. i was greatly relieved at not seeing lorand among the accused. they did not know one of the chief leaders of the secret-writing conspiracy. but when they left me to the last, i was convinced they were on the right track; the copyers one after another had confessed from whom they had received the matter for copying. i was the last link in the chain, and behind me stood lorand. but the chain would snap in two, and after me they would not find lorand. for that one thing i was prepared. at last, after long waiting, my turn came. i was as stupefied, as benumbed, as if i had already passed through the ordeal. no thought of mother or grandmother entered my head; merely the one idea that i must protect lorand with body and soul: and then i felt as if that thought had turned me to stone: let them beat themselves against that stone. "desiderius Áronffy," said the director, "tell us whose writing is this?" "mine," i answered calmly. "it is well that you have confessed at once: there is no necessity to compare your writing, to equivocate, as was the case with the others.--what did you write it for?" "for money." one professor-judge laughed outright, a second angrily struck his fist upon the table, a third played with his pen. mr. schmuck sat in his chair with a sweet smile, and putting his hands together twirled his thumbs. "i think you did not understand the question, my son," said the director in a harsh dry voice. "it is not that i wished to know for how much you wrote that trash: but with what object." "i understood well, and answered accordingly. they gave me writings to copy, they paid me for them: i accepted the payment because it was honorable earnings." "you did not know they were secret writings?" "i could not know it was forbidden to write what it was permitted to say for the hearing of the whole public, in the presence of the representative of the king and the prince palatine." at this answer of mine one of the younger professors uttered a sound that greatly resembled a choked laugh. the director looked sternly at him, rebuked with his eyes the sympathetic demonstration, and then bawled angrily at me:-- "don't play the fool!" the only result of this was that i gazed still more closely at him, and was already resolved not to move aside, even if he drove a coach and four at me. i had trembled before him when he had rebuked me for my violin-playing; but now, when real danger threatened me, i did not wince at his gaze. "answer me, who gave into your hands that writing, which you copied?" i clenched my teeth. i would not answer. he might cut me in two without finding within me what he sought. "well, won't you answer my question?" indeed, what would have been easier than to relate how some gentleman, whom i did not know, came to me; he had a beard that reached to his knees, wore spectacles, and a green overcoat: they must then try to find the man, if they could:--but then--i could not any longer have gazed into the questioning eyes. no! i would not lie: nor would i play the traitor. "will you answer?" the director cried at me for the third time. "i cannot answer." "ho ho, that is a fine statement. perhaps you don't know the man?" "i know, but will not betray him." i thought that, at this answer of mine, the director would surely take up his inkstand and hurl it at my head. but he did not: he took a pinch of snuff from his snuff-box, and looked askance at his neighbor, schmuck, as much as to say, "it is what i expected from him." thereupon mr. schmuck ceased to twirl his thumbs and turning to me with a tender face he addressed me with soothing tones:-- "my dear desider, don't be alarmed without cause: don't imagine that some severe punishment awaits you or him from whom you received the writing. it was an error, surely, but not a crime, and will only become a crime in case you obstinately hold back some of the truth. believe me, i shall take care that no harm befall you; but in that case it is necessary you should answer our questions openly." these words of assurance began to move me from my purpose. they were said so sweetly, i began to believe in them. but the director suddenly interrupted:-- "on the contrary! i am forced to contradict the honored professor, and to deny what he has brought forward for the defence of these criminal young men. grievous and of great moment is the offence they have committed, and the chief causers thereof shall be punished with the utmost rigor of the law." these words were uttered in a voice of anger and of implacable severity; but all at once it dawned upon me, that this severe man was he who wished to save us, while that assuring, tender paterfamilias was just the one who desired to ruin us. mr. schmuck continued to twirl his thumbs. the director then turned again to me. "why will you not name the man who entrusted you with that matter for copying?" i gave the only answer possible. "when i copied these writings i could not know i was engaged on forbidden work. now it has been told me that it was a grievous offence, though i cannot tell why. still i must believe it. i have no intention of naming the man who entrusted that work to me, because the punishment of me who did not know its object, will be far lighter than that of him, who knew." "but only think, my dear child, what a risk you take upon your own shoulders," said mr. schmuck in gracious tones; "think, by your obduracy you make yourself the guilty accomplice in a crime, of which you were before innocent." "sir," i answered, turning towards him: "did you not teach me the heroic story of mucius scævola? did you not yourself teach me to recite 'romanus sum civis?' "do with me what you please: i shall not prove a traitor: if the romans had courage, so have i to say 'longus post me ordo idem petentium decus.'" "get you hence," brawled the director; and the pedellus led me away. two hours afterwards they told me i might go home; i was saved. just that implacable director had proved himself the best in his efforts to rescue us. one or two "primani," who had amused the tribunal with some very broad lies, were condemned to a few days' lock-up. that was all. i thought that was the end of the joke. when they let me go i hurried to lorand. i was proudly conscious of my successful attempt to rescue my elder brother. chapter viii the end of the beginning her ladyship, the beautiful wife of bálnokházy, was playing with her parrot, when her husband entered her chamber. the lady was very fond of this creature--i mean of the parrot. "well, my dear," said bálnokházy, "has kokó learned already to utter lorand's name?" "not yet." "well, he will soon learn. by the bye, do you know that parliament is dissolved. mr. bálnokházy may now take his seat in peace beside his wife." "as far as i am concerned, it may dissolve." "well, perhaps you will be interested so far; the good dancers will now go home. the young men of parliament will disperse to their several homes." "i don't wish to detain them." "of course not. why, lorand will remain here. but even lorand will with difficulty be able to remain here. he must fly." "what do you say?" "what i ought not to say out. nor would i tell anyone other than you, my dear, as we agreed. do you understand?" "partly. you are referring to the matter of secret journalism?" "yes, my dear, and to other matters which i have heard from you." "yes, from me. i told you frankly, what lorand related to me in confidence, believing that i shared his enthusiastic ideas. i told you that you might use your knowledge for your own elevation. they were gifts of honor, as far as you are concerned, but i bound you not to bring any disgrace upon him from whom i learned the facts, and to inform me if any danger should threaten him." bálnokházy bent nearer to his wife and whispered in her ear: "to-night arrests will take place." "whom will they arrest?" "several leaders of the parliamentary youths, particularly those responsible for the dissemination of the written newspaper." "how can that affect lorand? he has burned every writing; no piece of paper can be found in his room. the newspaper fragments, if they have come into strange hands, cannot be compared with his handwriting. if hitherto he wrote with letters leaning forwards, he will now lean them backwards: no one will be able to find any similarity in the handwritings. his brother, who copied them, has confessed nothing against him." "true enough; but i am inclined to think that he has not destroyed everything he has written in this town. once he wrote some lines in the album of a friend. a poem or some such stupidity; and that album has somehow come into the hands of justice." "and who gave it over?" enquired the lady passionately. "as it happens, the owner of the album himself." "gyáli?" "the same, my dear. he too thought that one must use a good friend's shoulders to elevate himself." madam bálnokházy bit her pretty lips until blood came. "can you not help lorand further?" she inquired, turning suddenly to her husband. "why, that is just what i am racking my brain to do." "will you save him?" "that i cannot do, but i shall allow him to escape." "to escape?" "surely there is no other choice, than either to let himself be arrested, or to escape secretly." "but in this matter we have made no agreement. it was not this you promised me." "my darling, don't place any confidence in great men's promises. the whole world over, diplomacy consists of deceit: you deceive me, i deceive you: you betrayed lorand's confidence, and lorand deserved it: why did he confide in you so? you cannot deny that i am the most polite husband in the world. a young man pays his addresses to my wife: i see it, and know it; i am not angry; i do not make him leap out of the window, i do not point my pistol at him: i merely slap him on the shoulder with perfect nonchalance, and say, 'my dear boy, you will be arrested to-night in your bed.'" bálnokházy could laugh most jovially at such sallies of humor. the whole of his beautiful white teeth could be seen as he roared with laughter--(even the gold wire that held them in place.) my lady hermine rose from beside him, and seemed to be greatly irritated. "you are only playing the innocent before me, but i know quite surely that you put gyáli up to handing over the album to the treasury." "you only wish to make yourself believe that, my dear, so that when lorand disappears from the house, you may not be compelled to be angry with gyáli, but with me; for of course somebody must remain in the house." "your insults cannot hurt me." "i did not wish to hurt you. my every effort was and always will be to make your life, my dear, ever more agreeable. have i ever showed jealousy? have i not behaved towards you like a father to a daughter about to be married?" "don't remind me of that, sir. that is your most ungracious trait. it is true that you yourself have introduced into our house young men of every class of society. it is true that you have never guarded me against them:--but then in a short time, when you began to remark that i felt some affection towards some of them, you discovered always choice methods to make me despise and abhor them. had you shut me up and guarded me with the severity of a convent, you would have shown me more consideration. but you are playing a dangerous game, sir: maybe the time will come when i shall not cast out him whom i have hated!" "well, that will be your own business, my dear. but the first business is to tell our relation lorand that by ten o'clock this evening he must not be found here: for at that hour they will come to arrest him." hermine walked up and down her room in anger. "and it is all your work: it is useless for you to defend yourself," said she, tossing away her husband's hat from the arm-chair, and then throwing herself in a spiritless manner into it. "why, i have no intention of defending myself," said bálnokházy, good-humoredly picking up his rolling hat. "of course i had a little share in it: why, you know it well enough, my dear. a man's first business is to create a career. i have to rise: you approve of that yourself; it is a man's duty to make use of every circumstance that comes to hand. had i not done so, i should be a mere magistrate, somewhere in szabolcs, who at the end of every three years kisses the hands of all the 'powers that be,' that they may not turn him out of office.[ ] the present chancellor, adam reviczky, was one class ahead of me in the school. he too was the head of his class, as i was of mine. every year i took his place: at every desk, where i sat in the first place, i found his name carved, and always carved, it out, putting mine in its place. he reached the height of the 'parabola,' and is now about to descend. who knows what may happen next? at such times we must not mind if we make celebrated men of a few lads, whom at other times we did not remark." [footnote : every three years new magistrates and officials were elected to the various posts in the counties.] "but consider, lorand is a relation of ours." "that only concerns me, not you." "it is, notwithstanding, terrible to ruin the career of a young man." "what will happen to him? he will fly away to the country to some friend of his, where no one will search for him. at most he will be prohibited from being 'called to the bar.' but it will not prevent him from being elected lawyer to the county court at the first renovation.[ ] besides, lorand is a handsome fellow: and the harm the persecution of men has done him will soon be repaired by the aid of women." [footnote : as explained above.] "leave me to myself. i shall think about the matter." "i shall be deeply obliged to you. but, remember, please, ten o'clock this evening must not find here--the dear relation." hermine hastened to her jewel-case with ostentation. bálnokházy, as he turned in the doorway, could see with what feverish anxiety she unlocked it and fumbled among her jewels. with a smile on his face the husband went away. it is a fine instance of the irony of fate, when a woman is obliged to pawn her jewels in order to help someone escape whom she has loved, and whom she would love still to see about her,--to send him a hundred miles from her side. hermine did indeed collect her jewels, and threw them into a travelling-bag. then she sat down at her writing-table, and very hurriedly wrote something on some lilac-coloured letter paper on which the initials of her name had been stamped; this she folded up, sealed it and sent it by her butler to lorand's room. lorand had not yet stirred from the house that day; he did not know that part of the parliamentary youth, gaining an inkling of the movement against them, had hurried to depart. when he had read the letter of the p. c.'s wife, he begged the butler to go to mr. gyáli and ask him in his name to pay him a visit at once: he must speak a few words to him without fail. when the butler had gone, lorand began to walk swiftly up and down his room. he was in search of something which he could not find, an idea. he sat again, driving his fist into his hand: then sprang up anew and hastened to the window, as if in impatient expectation of the new-comer. suddenly a thought came to him: he began to put on gloves, fine, white kid gloves. then he tried to clench his fist in them without tearing them. perhaps he does not wish to touch, with uncovered hands, him for whom he is waiting! at last the street door opened, and steps made direct for his door. only let him come! but he, whom he expected did not come alone: the first to open his door was not pepi gyáli, but his brother, desiderius. by chance they had met. lorand received his brother in a very spiritless manner. it was not he whom he wished to see now. yet he rushed to embrace lorand with a face beaming triumph. "well, and what has happened, that you are beaming so?" "the school tribunal has acquitted me: yet i drew everything on myself and did not throw any suspicion on you." "i hope you would be insulted if i praised you for it. every ordinary man of honor would have done the same. it is just as little a merit not to be a traitor as it is a great ignominy to be one. am i not right? pepi,--my friend?" pepi gyáli decided that lorand could not have heard of his treachery and would not know it until he was placed in some safe place. he answered naturally enough that no greater disgrace existed on earth than that of treachery. "but why did you summon me in such haste," he enquired, offering his hand confidently to lorand; the latter allowed him to grasp his hand--on which was a glove. "i merely wished to ask you if you would take my vis-à-vis in the ball to-night following my farewell banquet?" "with the greatest pleasure. you need not even have asked me. where you are, i must be also." "go upstairs, desi, to the governess and ask her whether she intends to come to the ball to-night, or if the lady of the house is going alone." desiderius listlessly sauntered out of the room. he thought that to-day was scarcely a suitable day to conclude with a ball; still he did go upstairs to the governess. the young lady answered that she was not going for melanie had a difficult "cavatina" to learn that evening, but her ladyship was getting ready, and the stout aunt was going with her. as desiderius shut the door after him, lorand stood with crossed arms before the dandy, and said: "do you know what kind of dance it is, in which i have invited you to be my vis-à-vis?" "what kind?" asked pepi with a playful expression. "a kind of dance at which one of us must die." therewith he handed him the lilac-coloured letter which hermine had written to him: "read that." gyáli read these lines: "gyáli handed over the album-leaf you wrote on. all is betrayed." the dandy smiled, and placed his hands behind him. "well, and what do you want with me?" he enquired with cool assurance. "what do you think i want?" "do you want to abuse me? we are alone, no one will hear us. if you wish to be rough with me, i shall shout and collect a crowd in the street: that will also be bad for you." "i intend to do neither. you see i have put gloves on, that i may not befoul myself by touching you. yet you can imagine that it is not customary to make a present of such a debt." "do you wish to fight a duel with me?" "yes, and at once: i shall not allow you out of my sight until you have given me satisfaction." "don't expect that. because you are a hercules, and i a titmouse, don't think i am overawed by your knitted eyebrows. if you so desire, i am ready." "i like that." "but you know that as the challenged, i have the right to choose weapons and method." "do so." "and you will find it quite natural that i have no intention of being pummelled into a loaf of bread and devoured by you. i recommend the american duel. let us put our names into a hat and he whose name is drawn is compelled to shoot himself." lorand was staggered. he recalled that night in the crypt. "one of us must die; you said so yourself," remarked gyáli. "good, i am not afraid of it. let us draw lots, and then he whom fate chooses, must die." lorand gazed moodily before him, as if he were regarding things happening miles away. "i understand your hesitation: there are others whom you would spare. well, let us fix a definite time for dying. how long can those, of whom you are thinking, live? let us say ten years. he, whose name is drawn must shoot himself--to-day ten years." "oh," cried lorand in a tone of vexation, "this is merely a cowardly subterfuge by which you wish to escape." "brave lion, you will fall just as soon, if you die, as the mouse. your whole valor consists in being able to pin, with a round pin, a tiny little fly to the bottom of a box, but if you find an opponent, like yourself, you draw back before him." "i shall not draw back," said lorand irritated; and there appeared before his soul all those figures, which, pointing their fingers threateningly, rose before him from the depths of the earth. headless phantoms returned to the seven cold beds; and the eighth was bespoken. "be it so," sighed lorand: "let us write our names." therewith he began to look for paper. but not a morsel was there in his room: all had been burned, clean paper too, that the water mark might not betray him. at last he came across hermine's note. there was no other alternative. tearing it in two,--one part he threw to gyáli, on the other he inscribed his own name. then they folded the pieces of paper and put them into a hat. "who shall draw?" "you are the challenger." "but you proposed the method." "wait a moment. let us entrust the drawing of lots to a third party." "to whom?" "there is your brother, desi." "desi?"--lorand felt a twitching pain at his heart:--"that one's own brother should draw one's death warrant!" "as yet his hand is innocent. nor shall he know for what he is drawing. i will tell him some tale. and so both of us may be tranquil during the drawing of lots." just at that moment desiderius opened the door. he related that the governess was not going, but the stout aunt was to accompany "auntie" to the ball. and the "fraülein" had sent lorand a written dance-programme, which desiderius had torn up on the way. he tore it up because he was angry that other people were in so frivolous a mood at a time when he felt so exalted. for that reason he had no intention of handing over the programme. hearing of the stout aunt, pepi laughed and then began to feign horror. "great heavens, lorand: the seven fat kine of the old testament will be there in one: and one of us must dance with this monster. one of us will have to move from its place that mountain, which even mahomet could not induce to stir, and waltz with it. please undertake it for my sake." lorand was annoyed by the ill-timed jest which he did not understand. "well, to be sure i cannot make the sacrifice: it must be either you or i. i don't mind, let's draw lots for it, and see who must dance this evening with the tower of st. stephen's." "very well,"--lorand now understood what the other wanted. "desi will draw lots for us." "of course. just step outside a moment, desi, that you may not see on which paper which of our names was written." desiderius stepped outside. "he must not see that the tickets are already prepared," murmured lorand:---- "you may come in now." "in this hat are both our names," said gyáli, holding the hat before desiderius: "draw one of them out: open it, read it, and then put both names into the fire. the one whose name you draw will do the honors to the cochin-china emperor's white elephant." the two foes turned round toward the window. lorand gazed out, while gyáli played with his watch-chain. the child unsuspectingly stepped up to the hat that served as the "urna sortis," and drew out one of the pieces of paper. he opened it and read the name, "lorand Áronffy." "put them in the fire," said gyáli. desiderius threw two pieces of lilac paper into the fire. they were cold may days; outside the face of nature had been distorted, and it was freezing; in lorand's fire-place a fire was blazing. the two pieces of paper were at once burnt up. only they were not those on which the two young men had written their names. desiderius, without being noticed, had changed them for the dance programme, which he had cast into the fire. he kept the two fatal signatures to himself. he had a very good reason for doing so, and a still better reason for saying nothing about it. lorand said: "thank you, desi." he thanked him for drawing that lot. pepi gyáli took up his hat and said to lorand in playful jesting: "the white elephant is yours. good night." and he went away unharmed. "and now, my dear desi, you must go home," said lorand, gently grasping his brother's hand. "why i have only just come." "i have much to do, and it must be done to-day." "do it: i will sit down in a corner, and not say a word; i came to see you. i will be silent and watch you." lorand took his brother in his arms and kissed him. "i have to pay a visit somewhere where you could not come with me." desiderius listlessly felt for his cap. "yet i did so want to be with you this evening." "to-morrow will do as well." lorand was afraid that the officers of justice might come any moment for him. for his part he did not mind: but he did not wish his brother to be present. desiderius sorrowfully returned home. lorand remained by himself. by himself? oh no. there around him were the others--seven in number: those headless dead. well, fate is inevitable. family misfortune is inherited. one is destroyed by the family disease, another by the hereditary curse. and again the cause is the "sorrowful soil beneath them." from that there is no escape. a terrible inheritance is the self-shed blood, which besprinkles the heads of sons and grandsons! and his inheritance was--the pistol, with which his father had killed himself. it were vain for the whole heaven to be here on earth. he must leave it, must go, where the others had gone. the eighth niche was still empty, but was already bespoken. for later comers there was room only in the ditch of the graveyard. and there were still ten years left to think thereon! but ten years is a long time. meanwhile that field might open where an honourable death, grasping a scythe in its two hands, cuts a way through the ranks of armed warriors:--where the children of weeping mothers are trampled to death by the hoofs of horses:--where they throw the first-born's mangled remains into the common burying-pit: perhaps there the son will find what the father sought in vain:--those who fled from before the resting-chamber of that melancholy house, on the façade of which was to be read the inscription, covered by the creepers since days long gone by. "ne nos inducas in tentationem." chapter ix aged at seventeen how beautiful it is to be young! how fair is the spring! yours is life, joy, hope; the meadows lavish flowers upon you; the earth's fair halo of love surrounds you with glory: a nation, a fatherland, mankind entrusts to you its future; old men are proud of you; women love you: every brightening day of heaven is yours. oh, how i love the spring! how i love youth! in spring i see the fairest work of god, the earth, take new life; in youth i see the fairest work of man, his nation, reviving. "in those days" i did not yet belong to the "youth:" i was a child. never do i remember a brighter promise of spring, than in that year; never were the eyes of the old men gladdened by the sight of a more spirited "youth" than was that of those days. spring began very early: even at the end of february the fields were green, parks hastened to bedeck themselves in their leafy wings, the blossoms hastened to bloom and fall; the opening days of may saw fruit on the apple-trees; and prematurely ripe cherries were "hawked" in the streets, beside bouquets of late blooming violets. of the "youths" of that year the historian has written: "these youths were in general very serious, very lavish in patriotic feeling, fiery and spirited in the defence of freedom and national dignity. the new tendency which manifested itself so vividly in our country was reflected by their impetuous and susceptible natures with all its noble yearnings, its virtues and excesses exaggerated. the frivolous pastimes, the senseless or dissolute amusements that were so fashionable in those days were abandoned for serious reading, gathering of information and investigation of current events. they had already opinions of their own, which not rarely they could utter with striking audacity."--i could only envy these lines of gold; not one word of them had any reference to me: for i was still but a child. during a night that followed a lovely may day, the weather suddenly changed: winter, who was during the days of his dominion, watching how the warm breezes played with the flower-bells of the trees, all at once returned: with the full vigor of vengeance he came, and in three days destroyed everything, in which man happened to delight. to the last leaf everything was frozen off the trees. on this most inclement of the three wintry may evenings lorand was standing alone at his window, and gazing abstractedly at the street through the ice-flower pattern of the window-panes. just such ice-flowers lay frozen before his soul. the lottery of fate has appointed his time: ten years his life would last; then he must die. from seventeen to twenty-seven is just the fairest part of life. many had made their whole earthly career during that period. and what awaits him? his ardent yearning for freedom, his audacious plans, his misplaced confidence; friends' treason, and the consequent freezing rigor, where were they leading to?... every leaf had fallen from the trees. only ten years to live: the decree was unalterable. from the opponent, whom he despised, it is not possible even to accept as a present, that to which chance has once given him the right. and these ten years, with what will they begin? perhaps with a long imprisonment? the time which is so short--(ten years are light!) will seem so long _there_! (ten years are heavy!) would it not be better not to wait for the first day? to say: if it is time, take it away: let me not take the days on lease from thee! the hateful, freezing days. why, when nature dies in this wise, man himself would love to die after her. if only there were not that weeping face at home, that white-haired head, mother and grandmother. in vain fate is inevitable. the eighth bed was already made;--but _that_ no one must know for ten years. should someone learn, he might perpetrate the outrage of occupying earlier the eighth niche in the family vault; and then his successor would have nothing left but the church-yard grave. what a thought, a youthful spring with these frozen leaves! he did not think for the next few moments. is it worth while to try to avoid the fate, which is certain? let it come. the keystone of the arch had been removed, the downfall of the whole must follow. his room was already in darkness, but he did not light a lamp. the dancing flames of the fire-place gazed out sometimes above the embers, in curiosity, as if they would know whether any living being were there: and still he did not stir. in this dim twilight lorand was thinking upon those who had passed away before him. that bony-faced figure, whose death face he was painting,--his ordinary physiognomy was terrible enough: those empty eye-sockets, into which he fears to gaze:--suppose between these two hollows a third was darkling, the place of the bullet that pierced his forehead! lorand now knew what torture must have been theirs, who had left him this sorrowful bequest, before they could make up their minds to raise their own hands against their own lives! with what power of god they must have struggled, with what power of devils have made a compact! oh, if they would only come for him now! who? those who picked the fruit that dared so early to ripen? yes, rather those, than these quiet, bloodless faces, in their bloody robes. rather those who come with clank of arms, tearing open the door with drawn sword, than those who with inaudible step steal in, gently open the door, whisperingly speak and tremblingly pronounce your name. "lorand." "ha! who is that?" not one of the dead, though her robe is white: one far worse than they:--a beautiful woman. it was hermine who opened the door and entered lorand's room so silently, with inaudible steps. her ball-robe was on her: she had dressed for the dance in her room above, and thus dressed had descended. "are you ready now, lorand?" "oh, good evening: pardon me. i will light a candle in a moment." "never mind about that," whispered the woman. "it is quite light enough as it is. to-day no candle may burn in this room." "you are going to a ball," said lorand, masking the sorrow of his soul by a display of good spirits: "and you wish me to accompany you?" "fancy the thought of dancing coming into my head just now!" replied hermine, coming so close to lorand that she could whisper in his ear. "did you get my letter?" "yes, thank you. don't be alarmed, there is no danger." "indeed there is. i know it well. the danger is in the hands of bálnokházy: therefore certain." "what great harm can happen to me?" hermine placed her hand on lorand's shoulder and tremblingly hissed: "they will arrest you to-night." "they may do so." "oh no, they may not, kind heaven! that they shall not do. you must escape, immediately, this hour." "is it sure they will arrest me?" "believe me, yes." "then just for that reason i shall not stir from my place." "what are you saying? why? why not?" "because i should be ashamed, if they who wanted me should draw me out from under my bed in my mother's house, like a child who has played some mischief." "who is speaking now of your mother's house? you must fly far: away to foreign lands." "why?" asked lorand coldly. "why? my god, what questions you put. i don't know how to answer! can you not see that i am in despair, that every limb of my body trembles for my fear on your account? believe me, i cannot possibly allow them to take you away from before my eyes, to imprison you for years, so that i shall never see you again." to appeal the more to lorand's feelings, and to show him how her hands trembled she tore off her beautiful ball gloves, and grasped his hands in her own and then sobbed before him. as she touched him lorand began to feel, instead of his previous tomblike chillness, a kind of agitating heat as if the cold bony hand of death had given over his hand to some other unknown demon. "what shall i do in a foreign country? i have no one, nothing, no way there. everyone i love is here, in this land. there i should go mad." "you will not be alone there, because the one who loves you best on earth, who worships you above all, who loves you better than her health, her soul, better than heaven itself, goes with you and will never leave you." the young man could make no mistake as to whom she meant: hermine encircled his young neck with her beautiful arms and overwhelmed his face with kisses. lorand was no longer his own. in one hour he lost his home, his fortune, and his heart. chapter x i and the demon it was already late in the evening when bálnokházy's butler brought me a letter, and then hurriedly departed, before i could read it. it was lorand's writing. the message was short: "my dear brother:--i have been betrayed and must escape: comfort our dear parents. good-bye." i leaped up from my bed:--i had already gone to bed that i might get up early on the morrow:--and hastened to dress. my first idea was to go to bálnokházy. he was my uncle and relation, and was extremely fond of us: besides, he was very influential; he could accomplish anything he wished, i would tell him everything frankly, and beg him to do for my brother what he was capable of doing: to prevent his prosecution and arrest, or, if he was convicted, to secure his pardon. why, to such a great man nothing could be impossible. i begged old márton to open the door for me. "what! discipulus negligens! to slip out of the house at night is not proper. he who wanders about at night can be no lieutenant governor--at most a night-watchman." "no joking now; they are prosecuting my brother! i must go and help him." "why didn't you tell me at once? prosecute indeed? you should have told me that. who? perhaps the butcher clerks? if so, let us all six go with clubs to his aid." "no, they are not butcher clerks. what are you thinking of?" "why, in past years the law-students were continually having brawls with butcher clerks." "they want to arrest him," i whispered to him, "to put him in prison, because he was one of the 'parliamentary youth' lot." "aha," said márton, "that's where we are is it? that is beyond my assistance. and, what can you do?" "i must go to my uncle bálnokházy at once and ask him to interfere." "that's surely a wise thing to do. under those circumstances i shall go with you. not because i think you would be afraid to go by yourself at night, but that i may be able to tell the old man by-and-bye that you were not in mischief." the old fellow put on a coat in a moment, and a pair of boots, then accompanied me to the bálnokházys. he did not wish to come in, but told me that, on my way back, i should look for him at the corner beer-house, where he would wait for me. i hurried up stairs. i was greatly disappointed to find my brother's door closed: at other times that had always been my first place of retreat. i heard the piano in the "salon": so i went in there. melanie was playing with the governess. they did not seem surprised that i came at so late an hour; i only noticed that they behaved a little more stiffly towards me than on other occasions. melanie was deeply engrossed in studying the notes. i enquired whether i could speak with my uncle. "he has not yet come home from the club," said the governess. "and her ladyship." "she has gone to the ball." that annoyed me a little. "and when do they come home?" "the privy councillor at eleven o'clock, he usually plays whist till that hour; her ladyship probably not until after midnight. do you wish to wait?" "yes, until my uncle returns." "then you can take supper with us." "thank you, i have already had supper." "do they have supper so early at the baker's?" "yes." i then sat down beside the piano, and thought for a whole hour what a stupid instrument the piano was; a man's head may be full of ideas, and it will drive them all out. yet i had so much to ponder over. what should i say to my uncle when he came. with what should i begin? how could i tell him what i knew? what should i ask from him? but how was it possible that neither was at home at such a critical time? surely they must have been informed of such a misfortune. i did not dare to introduce lorand's name before the governess. who knows what others are? besides, i had no sympathy for her. for me a governess seemed always a most frivolous creature. in the room there was a large clock that caused me most annoyance. how long it took for those hands to reach ten o'clock! then, when it did strike, its tone was of that aristocratic nasal quality that it must have acquired from the voices of the people around it. sometimes the governess laughed, when melanie made some curious mistake; melanie, too, laughed and peeped from behind her music to see if i was smiling. i had not even noticed it. then my pretty cousin poutingly tossed back her curly hair, as if she were annoyed that i too was beginning to play a part of indifference towards her. at last the street-door bell rang. from the footsteps i knew my uncle had come. they were so dignified. soon the butler entered and said i could speak with his lordship, if i so desired. trembling all over, i took my hat, and wished the ladies good-night. "are you not coming back, to hear the end of the cavatina;" inquired melanie. "i cannot," i answered, and left them there. my uncle's study was on the farther side of the hall; the butler lighted my way with a lamp, then he put it down on a chest, that i might find my way back. "well, my child, what do you want?" inquired my uncle, in that gay, playful tone, which we are wont to use in speaking to children to express that we are quite indifferent as to their affairs. i answered languidly, as if some gravestone were weighing upon my breast, "dear uncle, lorand has left us." "you know already?" he asked, putting on his many colored embroidered dressing-gown. "you know too?" i exclaimed, taken aback. "what, that lorand has run away?" remarked my uncle, coolly buttoning together the silken folds of his dressing gown; "why i know more than that:--i know also that my wife has run away with him, and all my wife's jewels, not to mention the couple of thousand florins that were at home--all have run away with your brother lorand." how i reached the street after those words; whether they opened the door for me; whether they led me out or kicked me out, i assure you i do not know. i only came to myself, when márton seized my arm in the street and shouted at me: "well sir lieutenant-governor, you walk right into me without even seeing me. i got tired of waiting in the beer-house and began to think that they had run you in too. well, what is the matter? how you stagger." "oh! márton," i stammered, "i feel very faint." "what has happened?" "i cannot tell anyone that." "not to anyone? no! not to mr. brodfresser,[ ] nor to mr. commissioner:--but to márton, to old márton? has old márton ever let out anything? old márton knows much that would be worth his while to tell tales about: have you ever heard of old márton being a gossip? has old márton ever told tales against you or anyone else? and if i could help you in any way?" [footnote : the name given to desiderius' professor ("bread devourer").] there was a world of frank good-heartedness in these reproaches; besides i had to catch after the first straw to find a way of escape. "well, and what did my old colleague say?--you know the reason i call him 'colleague,' is that my hair always acts as if it were a wig, while his wig always acts as it if were hair." "he said," i answered tremblingly, hanging on to his arm, "he knew more than i. lorand has not merely run away, but has stolen my uncle's wife." at these words márton commenced to roar with laughter. he pressed his hands upon his stomach and just roared, then turned round, as if he wished to give the further end of the street a taste of his laughter; then he remarked that it was a splendid joke, at which remark i was sufficiently scandalized. "and then he said--that lorand had stolen his money." at this márton straightened himself and raised his head very seriously. "that is bad. that is 'a mill,' as father fromm would say. well, and what do you think of it, sir?" "i think, it cannot be true; and i want to find my brother, no matter what has become of him. "and when you have found him?" "then, if that woman is holding him by one hand, i shall seize the other and we shall see which of us will be the stronger." márton gave me a sound slap on the back, saying "teufelskerl.[ ] what are you thinking of?--would other children mind, if a beautiful woman ran away with their brother? but this one wishes to stand between them. excellent. well, shall we look for master lorand? how will you begin?" [footnote : devil's fellow: _i. e._, devil of a fellow.] "i don't know." "let me see; what have you learned at school? what can you do, if you are suddenly thrown back on your own resources? which way will you start? right or left: will you cry in the street, 'who has seen my brother?'" indeed i did not know how to begin. "well,--you shall see that you can at times make use of that old fellow márton. trust yourself to me. listen to me now, as if i were mr. brodfresser. if two of them ran away together, surely they must have taken a carriage. the carriage was a fiacre. madame has always the same coachman, number . i know him well. so first of all we must find móczli: that is coachman no. . he lives in the zuckermandel. it's a cursed long way, but that's all the better, for by the time we get to his house we shall be all the surer to find him at home." "if he was the one who took them." "don't play the fool now, sir studiosus. i know what cab-horses are. they could not take anyone as far as the border; at most as far as some wayside inn, where speedy country horses can be found: there the runaways are waiting while the fiacre is returning." in astonishment i asked what made him surmise all this: when it seemed to me that with speedy country horses they might already be far beyond the frontier. "sir lieutenant-governor," was márton's hasty reproof; "how could you have such ideas? you expect to become lieutenant-governor some day, yet you don't know that he who wishes to pass the frontiers must be supplied with a passport. no one can go without a pass from pressburg to vienna; madame has quite surely despatched móczli back to bring to her the gentleman with whose 'pass' they are to escape farther." "what gentleman?" "an actor from the theatre here, who will arrange that the young gentleman shall pass the frontier with his passport." "how can you figure it all out?" márton paused for a moment, made an ugly mouth, closed his left eye, and hissed through his teeth, as if he would express by all this pantomime that there are things which cannot be held under children's noses. "well, never mind; you do wish to be a county officer or something of the kind. so you must know about such things sooner or later, when you will have to examine people on such questions. i will tell you--i know because móczli once told me just such a story about madame." "once before?" "certainly," said márton chuckling wickedly. "ha ha! madame is a cute little woman. but then no one knows of it--only móczli and i; and madame's husband. her husband has already pardoned her for it: móczli was well paid; and what business is it of márton's? all three of us hold our tongues, like a broiled fish. but it is not the first time it has happened." i do not know why, but this discovery somehow relieved my bitterness. i began to surmise that lorand was not the most deeply implicated in the crime. "well, let us go first of all to móczli," said márton; "but i have a promise to exact from you. don't say a word yourself; leave the talking to me. for he is a cursed fellow, this móczli; if he finds that we wish to get information out of him, he will lie like a book: but i will suddenly drive in upon him, so that he will not know whether to turn to the right or to the left. i will spring something on him as if i knew all about it, that will scare him out of his wits and then i'll press him close, so that it'll take his breath away, and before he knows it i'll have that secret squeezed out of him to the very last drop. you must observe how it is done, so that you can make use of similar methods in the future when in the position of lieutenant-governor you will have to cross-question some suspicious rascal in order to wring the truth out of him!" by this time we had started at a brisk pace along the banks of the danube. i wasn't dressed for such a dismal night, and old márton was doing his best to shield me with the wing of his coat against the chilling gusts that rushed against us from the river. at the same time he made every effort to make me believe that what we were engaged in was one of the finest jokes he had ever taken a hand in, and that our recollections of it will afford us no end of amusement in the future. at the foot of the castle-hill, along the banks of the danube was a group of tottering houses; tottering because in spring, when the ice broke up, the danube roared and dashed among them. here lived the fiacre drivers. here were the cab-horses in tumble-down stables. it was a ball-night: in the windows of the tumble-down houses candles were burning, for the cabmen were waiting till midnight, when they would again harness their horses and return to fetch their patrons from the ball-room. márton looked in at one window so lighted; he had to climb up on something to do so, for the ground floor was built high, in order that the water might not enter at the windows. "he is at home," he remarked, as he stepped down, "but he is evidently preparing to go out again, for he has his top-coat on." the gate was open; the carriage was in the courtyard, the horses in the shafts, covered with rugs. their harness had not even been taken off: they must have just arrived and had to start again at once. márton motioned to me to follow him at his heels while he made his way into the house. the door we ran up against could not be opened unless one knew the tricks that made it yield. márton seemed to be well acquainted with the peculiarities of the entrance to móczli's den: first he pressed down on the door knob and raised the whole door bracing against it with his shoulder, then turning the knob and giving the door a severe kick it flew open and in the next moment we found ourselves in a dingy, narrow hole of a room smelling horribly of axle-grease, tallow and tobacco-smoke. on a table, which was leaning against the wall with the side where a leg was broken, stood a burning tallow-dip stuck into the mouth of an empty beer-jug, and by its dim light móczli was seated eating--no, devouring his supper. with incredible rapidity he was piling in and ramming down, as it were, enormous slices of blood-sausage in turn with huger chunks of salted bread. his many-collared coat was thrown over his huge frame, and his broad-brimmed hat that was pressed over his eyes was still covered with hoar-frost that had no chance of thawing in that cold, damp room, the wall of which glistened like the sides of some dripping cave. móczli was a well-fed fellow, with strongly protruding eyes, which seemed almost to jump out of their sockets as he stared at us for bursting in upon him without knocking. "well, where does it 'burn?'" were his first words to márton. "gently, old fellow; don't make a noise. there is other trouble! you are betrayed and they will pinch the young gentleman at the frontier." móczli was really scared for a moment. a tremendous three-cornered chunk of bread that he had just thrust in his mouth stuck there staring frightenedly at us like móczli himself and looking for all the world as if a second nose was going to grow on his face; however he soon came to himself, continued the munching process, gulped it all down, and then drank a huge draught out of a monstrous glass, his protruding eyes being all the while fixed on me. "i surely thought there was a fire somewhere, and i must go for a fire-pump again with my horses.--i must always go for the pump, if a fire breaks out anywhere. even if there is a fire in the mill quarter, it is only me they drive out: why does not the town keep horses of her own?" "do you hear, móczli," márton interrupted, "don't talk to me now of the town pumps don't sprinkle your throat either, for it's not there that it is burning, but your back will be burning immediately, if you don't listen to me. her ladyship's husband learned all. they will forestall the young gentleman at the frontier, and bring him back." móczli endeavored to display a calm countenance, though his eyes belied him. "what 'young gentleman' do you mean, and what 'ladyship?'" márton bent over him and whispered, "móczli, you don't want to make a fool of yourself before me, surely. was it not you that took away bálnokházy's wife in the company of a young gentleman? your number is on your back: do you think no one can see it?" "if i did take them off, where did i drive them to? why to the ball." "a fine ball, indeed. you know they want to arrest the 'juratus.' he will find one for you soon where they play better music. here is his younger brother, just come from seeing his lordship, who told him his wife had eloped with the young gentleman whom they would search for in every direction." móczli was at this moment deeply engaged in picking his teeth. first with his tongue, then with his fingers, until he found a wisp of straw with which to clean them, and at which, like drowning people, he clutched to save himself. "well, do you think i care: anyone may send for anyone else for all i mind. i have seen no one, have taken no one away. and if i did take someone, what business of mine is it to know what the one is doing with the other? and even if i did know that someone has eloped with someone else's wife, what business is it of mine? i am no 'syndic' that i should bother my head to ask questions about it: i carry woman or man, who pays, according to the tariff of fares. otherwise i know absolutely nothing." "well, good-bye, and god bless you, móczli," said márton hastily. "if you don't know about it, someone else must know about it. however, we didn't come here to gaze into your dreamy eyes, but to free this young gentleman's brother: we shall search among the other fiacres, until we find the right one, for it is a critical business: and if we find that fiacre in which the young fellow came to harm and cannot manage to secure his escape, i would not like to be in his shoes." "in whose shoes?" inquired móczli, terrified. "in the young gentleman's not at all, but still less in the fiacre-driver's. well, good-night, móczli." at these words móczli leaped up from his chair and sprang after márton. "wait a moment: don't be a fool. come with me. take your seats in my fiacre. but the devil take me if i have seen, heard or said anything." therewith he removed the rugs from his horses, placed me inside the carriage, covering me with a rug, took márton beside him on the box, and drove desperately along the bank of the danube. long did i see the lamps of the bridge glittering in the water; then suddenly the road turned abruptly, and, to judge by the almost intolerable shaking of the carriage and the profound darkness, we had entered one of those alleys, the paving of which is counted among the curses of civilization, the street-lamps being entrusted to the care of future generations. the carriage suddenly proceeded more heavily: perhaps we were ascending a hill: the whip was being plied more vigorously every moment on the horses' backs: then suddenly the carriage stopped. móczli commenced to whistle as if to amuse himself, at which i heard the creaking of a gate, and we drove into some courtyard. when the carriage stopped, the coachman leaped off the box, and addressed me through the window. "we are here: at the end of the courtyard is a small room; a candle is burning in the window. the young gentleman is there." "is the woman with him too?" i inquired softly. "no. she is at the 'white wolf,' waiting with the speedy peasant cart, until i bring the gentleman with whom she must speak first." "he cannot come yet, for the performance is not yet over." móczli opened his eyes still further. "you know that too?" i hastened across the long dark courtyard and found the door of the little room referred to. a head was to be seen at the lighted window. lorand was standing there melting the ice on the panes with his breath, that he might see when the person he was expecting arrived. oh how he must have loved her. what a desperate struggle awaited me! when he saw me from the window, he disappeared from it, and hurried to meet me. at the door we met and in astonishment he asked: "how did you get here?" i said nothing, but embraced him, and determined that even if he cut me in pieces, i would never part from him. "why did you come after me? how did you find your way hither?" i saw he was annoyed. he was displeased that i had come. "those, who saw you take your seat in a carriage, directed me." he visibly shuddered. "who saw me?" "don't be afraid. someone who will not betray you." "but what do you want? why did you come after me?" "you know, dear lorand, when we left home mother whispered in my ear, 'take care of lorand,' when grandmother left us here, she whispered in my ear, 'take care of your brother.' they will ask me to give account of how i loved you. and what shall i tell them, if they ask me 'where were you when lorand stood in direst danger?'" lorand was touched; he pressed me close to his heart, saying:-- "but, how can you help me?" "i don't know. i only know that i shall follow you, wherever you go." this very naive answer roused lorand to anger. "you will go to hell with me! do i want irons on my feet to hinder my steps when i scarce know myself whither i shall fly? i know not how to rescue myself, and must i rescue you too?" lorand was in a violent rage and strove to shake me off from him. yet i would not leave go of him. "what if i intend to rescue you?" "you?" he said, looking at me, and thrusting his hands in his pockets. "what part of me will you defend?" "your honor, lorand." lorand drew back at these words. "my honor?" "and mine:--you know that father left us one in common, one we cannot divide--his unsullied name. it is entirely mine, just as it is entirely yours." lorand shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "let it be yours entirely: i give over my claim." this indifference towards the most sacred ideas quite embittered me. i was beside myself, i must break out. "yes, because you wish to take the name of a wandering actor, and to elope with a woman who has a husband." "who told you?" lorand exclaimed, standing before me with clenched fists. i was far from being afraid of anyone: i answered coolly. "that woman's husband." lorand was silent and began to walk feverishly up and down the narrow, short, little room. suddenly he stopped, and half aside addressed me, always in the same passionate tones. "desi, you are still a child." "i know." "there are things which cannot yet be explained to you." "on such subjects you may hold your peace." "you have spoken with that woman's husband?" "he said, you had eloped with his wife." "and that is why you came after me?" "yes." "now what do you want?" "i want you to leave that woman." "have you lost your senses?" "mine? not yet." "you wish perhaps to hint that i have lost mine: it is possible, very possible." therewith he sat down beside the table, and leaning his chin on his hands, began to gaze abstractedly into the candle-flames like some real lunatic. i stepped up to him, and laid my head on his shoulder. "dear lorand, you are angry with me." "no. only tell me what else you know." "if you wish i will leave you here and return." "do as you wish." "and what shall i tell dear mother, if she asks questions about you?" lorand dispiritedly turned his head away from me. "you wrote to me to cheer and comfort mother and grandmother:--tell me then, what shall i write to them, if they enquire after you?" lorand answered defiantly, "write that lorand is dead." at his answer the blood boiled within me. i seized my brother's hands and cried to him: "lorand, till now the fathers were suicides in our family: do you wish that the mothers should continue the list?" it was a pitiless remark of mine, i knew. lorand commenced to shiver, i felt it. he stood up before me and became so pale. i wished i had addressed him more gently. "my dear brother lorand, could you bear to become responsible for a mother, who left her child, and for another who died for her child?" lorand clasped his hands and bowed his head. "if you only knew what you are saying to me now?" he said with such bitter reproach that i can never forget it. "but i have not yet told you all i know." "what do you know? as yet you are happy--your life mere play--passion does not yet trouble you. but i am already lost, through what, you have no idea, and may you never have!" how he must love that woman! it would have cost me few words to make him hate and despise her, but i did not wish to break his heart. i had other means with which to steel his heart, that he might wake up, as from a delirious dream, to another life. i too had had visions about my piano-playing beauty: but i had forgotten that ideal for ever and ever, for being able to play, after she knew her mother had run away.--but that was mere childish love, a child's thought---there is something, however, in the heart which is awakened earlier, and dies later than passion, that is a feeling of honor, and i had as much of that as lorand: let us see whose was the stronger. "lorand, i don't know what enchantment it was, with which this woman could lure you after her. but i know that i too have a magic word, which will tear you from her." "your magic word?--do you wish to speak of mother? do you wish to stand in my way with her name?--do so.--the only effect you will produce, by worrying me very much, will be that i shall blow my brains out here before you: but from that woman you can never tear me." "i have no intention to speak of poor mother. it is a different subject i have in mind." "something, or someone else." "it is bálnokházy, for whose sake you are going to leave this woman." lorand shrugged his shoulders. "do you think i am afraid of bálnokházy's prosecution?" "he has no intention of prosecuting you. he has been very considerate to his wife in similar cases. well, don't knit your eyebrows so; i am not saying a word about his wife. i have no business with women. bálnokházy will not prosecute you, he will merely tell the world what has happened to him." lorand, with a bitter smile of scorn, asked me: "what will he relate to the world?" "that his wife broke open his safe, stole his jewels, and his ready money, and eloped with a young man." lorand turned abruptly to me like one whom a snake has bitten, "what did he say?" "that his faithless wife in company with a young man, whom he had treated like his own child, has stolen his money, and then run away, like a thief--with her companion in theft!" lorand clutched at the table for support. "don't, don't say any more." "i shall. i have seen the safes, empty, in which the family treasures were wont to be piled. i heard from the cabman, who handed in her travelling bag after her that 'it must have been full of gold, it was so heavy.'" lorand's face was burning now like the clouds of a storm-swept sky at sunset. "did you have the bag in your hands?" i asked him. "not a word more!" lorand cried, pressing my arm so that it pained me. "that woman shall never see me again." then he sank upon the table and sobbed. how glad i felt that i had been able to move him. soon he raised his tear-stained face, stood up, came to me, embraced and kissed me. "you have conquered!--now tell me what else you want with me?" i was incapable of uttering a word, so oppressed was my heart in my delight, my anguish. it was no child's play, this. fate is not wont to entrust such a struggle to a child's hands. "brother, dear!" more i could not say: i felt as he must have when he brought me up from the bottom of the danube. "you will not allow anyone," he whispered, "to utter such a calumny against me." "you may be sure of that." "you will not let them degrade me before mother?" "i shall defend you. you see that after all i am capable of defending you.--but time is precious:--they are prosecuting you for another crime too, you know, from which to escape is a duty. there is not a moment to lose. fly!" "whither? i cannot take new misfortunes to mother's house." "i have an idea. we have a relation of whom we have heard much, far off in the interior of the country, where they will never look for you, since we were never on good terms with him, uncle topándy." "that infidel?" exclaimed lorand; then he added bitterly, "it was a good idea of yours, indeed: i shall have a very good place in the house of an atheist, who lives at enmity with the whole earth, and with heaven besides." "there you will be well hidden." "well and for ever." "don't say that. this danger will pass away." "listen to me, desi," said lorand severely. "i shall abide by what you say: i shall go away, without once looking behind: i shall bury myself, but on one condition, which you must accept, or i shall go to the nearest police station and report myself." "what do you wish?" "that you shall never tell either mother or grandmother, where i have gone to." "never?" i inquired, frightenedly. "no, only after ten years, ten years from to-day." "why?" "don't ask me: only give me your word of honor to keep my secret. if you do not do so, you will inflict a heavy sorrow on me, and on all our family." "but if circumstances change?" "i said, not for ten years. and, if the whole world should dance with delight, still keep peace and don't call for me, or put my mother on my tracks. i have a special reason for my desire, and that reason i cannot tell you." "but if they ask me, if they weep before me?" "tell them nothing ails me, i am in a good place. i shall take another name, [ ]bálint tátray. topándy also shall know me under that name. i shall find my way to his place as bailiff, or servant, whichever he will accept me as, and then i shall write to you once every month. you will tell my loved ones at home what you know of me. and they will love you twice as well for it: they will love you in place of me." [footnote : a name peculiarly magyar.] i hesitated. it was a difficult promise. "if you love me, you must undertake it for my sake." i clung to him and said i would undertake to keep the secret. for ten years i would not say before mother or grandmother where their dearest son had gone. would they reach the end of those ten years? "you undertake that--on your word of honor?" said lorand, gazing deeply into my eyes; "on that honor by which you just now so proudly appealed to me? look, the whole Áronffy name is borne by you alone. do you undertake it for the honor of that whole name, not to mention this secret before mother or grandmother?" "i do--on my word of honor." he grasped my hand. he trusted so much to that word! "well, now be quick. the carriage is waiting." "carriage? with that i cannot travel far. besides it is unnecessary. i have two good legs, they will carry me, if necessary, to the end of the world, without demanding payment afterwards." i took a little purse, on the outside of which mother had worked a design, from my pocket, and wished to slip it into lorand's side-pocket without attracting attention. he discovered it. "what is this?" "a little money. i thought you might want it for the journey." "how did you come by it?" enquired my brother in astonishment. "why, you know, you yourself paid me two twenties a sheet, when i copied those writings." "and you have kept it?"--lorand opened the purse, and saw within it about twenty florins. he began to laugh. how glad i was to see him laugh now, i cannot tell you, his laughter infected me too, then i do not know why, but we laughed together, very good-spiritedly. now as i write these words the tears stand in my eyes--and i did laugh so heartily. "why, you have made a millionaire of me." then cheerfully he put my purse into his pocket. and i did not know what to do in my delight at lorand's accepting my money. "now comrade mine, i could go to the end of the world. i don't have to play 'armen reisender'[ ] on the way." [footnote : poor traveller.] when we stepped out again through the low door into the narrow dark courtyard, márton and móczli were standing in astonishment before us. anyone could see they could not comprehend what they had seen by peeping through the window. "i am here," said móczli, touching the brim of his hat, "where shall i drive, sir?" "just drive where you were told to," said lorand, "take him for whom you were sent, to her who sent you for him.--i am going in another direction." at these words márton grasped my arm so savagely i almost cried out with pain. it was his peculiar method of showing his approval. "very good, sir," said móczli, without asking any further questions, and clambering up onto the box. "stop a moment," lorand exclaimed, taking out his purse. "let no one say that you were paid for any services you did me with other people's money." "wha-at?" roughly grumbled móczli. "pay me? am i a 'hanák fuvaros'[ ] that someone should pay me for helping a 'juratus' to escape? that has never happened yet." [footnote : a slavonian coachman who hires out his coach and carriages.] with that he whipped up his horses, and drove out of the courtyard. "that's the trump for you," said márton, "that's móczli. i know móczli, he's a sharp fellow, without him we should never have found our way here. well, sir, and whither now?" this remark was made to lorand. my brother was acquainted with the jesting old fellow, and had often heard his humorous anecdotes, when he came to see me. "at all events away from pressburg, old man." "but which way? i think the best would be over the bridge, through the park." "but very many people pass there. someone might recognize me." "then straight along the danube, down-stream; by morning you will reach the ferry at mühlau, where they will ferry you over for two kreuzers. have you some change? you must always have that. men on foot must always pay in copper, or they will be suspected. it's a pity i didn't know sooner, i could have lent you a passport. you might have travelled as a baker's assistant." "i shall travel as a 'legátus.'[ ]" [footnote : a travelling preacher. a kind of missionary sent out by the "legatio."] "that will do finely." meantime we reached the end of the street. lorand wished to bid us farewell. "oho!" said márton, "we shall accompany you to the outskirts of the town; we cannot leave you alone until you are in a secure place, on the high-road. do you know what? you two go on in advance and i shall remain close behind, pretending to be a little drunk. patrols are in the street. if i sing loudly they will waste their attention on me, and will not bother you. if necessary, i shall pitch into them, and while they are running me in, you can go on. to you, master lorand, i give my stick for the journey. it's a good, honest stick. i have tramped all over germany with it. well, god bless you." the old fellow squeezed lorand's hand. "i have a mind to say something. but i shall say nothing. it is well just as it is,--i shall say nothing. god bless you, sir." therewith the old man dropped back, and began to brawl some yodling air in the street, and to thump the doors with his fists, in accompaniment, like some drunken reveller. "hai-dia-do." taking each other's hand we hastened on. the streets were already very dark here. at the end of the town are barracks, before which we had to pass: the cry of the sentinel sounded in the distance. "who goes there? guard out!" and soon behind our backs we heard the squadron of horsemen clattering on the pavement. márton did just as he had said. he pitched into the guard. soon we heard a dream-disturbing uproar, as he fell into a noisy discussion with the armed authorities. "i am a citizen! a peaceful, harmless citizen! fugias mathias (this to us)! ten glasses of beer are not the world! i am a citizen, fugias mathias is my name! i will pay for every thing. if i have broken any bottles i will pay for them. who says i am shouting? i am singing. 'hai-dia-do;' let any one who doesn't like it try to sing more beautifully himself!" we were already outside of the town, and still we heard the terrible noise which he made in his self-sacrifice for our sakes. as we came out into the open, we were both able to breathe more freely; the starry sky is a good shelter. the cold, too, compelled us to hasten. we had walked a good half-hour among the vineyards, when suddenly something occurred to lorand. "how long do you wish to accompany me?" "until day breaks. in this darkness i should not dare to return to the town alone." now he became anxious for me too. what could he do with me? should he let me go home alone at midnight through these clusters of houses in that suburb of ill-repute. or should he take me miles on his way with him? from there i should have to return alone in any case. at that moment a carriage approached rapidly, and as it passed before us, somebody leaped down upon us from the back seat, and laughing came where we were beside the hedge. in him we recognized old márton. "i have found you after all," said the old fellow, smiling. "what a fine time i have had. they really thought i was drunk. i quarrelled with them. that was the 'gaude!' they tugged and pulled, and beat my back with the flat of their sabres: it was something glorious!" "well, how did you escape?" i asked, not finding that entertainment to the accompaniment of sabre-blows so glorious. "when i saw a carriage approaching, i leaped out from their midst and climbed up behind:--nor did they give me a long chase. i soon got away from them." the good old man was quite content with the fine amusement which he had procured for himself. "but now we must really say adieu, master lorand. don't go the same way as the carriage went: cut across the road here in the hills to the lower road; you can breakfast at the first inn you come to: you will reach it by dawn. then go in the direction of the sunrise." we embraced each other. we had to part. and who knew for how long? márton was nervous. "let us go! let lorand too hurry on _his_ way." why, ten years is a very long way. by that time we should be growing old. "love mother in my place. then remember your word of honor." lorand whispered these words. then he kissed me and in a few moments had disappeared from my sight down the lower road among the hills. who knew when i should see him again? márton's laugh awoke me from my reverie. "you know--" he inquired with a voice that showed his inclination to laugh--"you know ha! ha--you know why i told master lorand not to go in the same direction as the carriage?" "no." "did you not recognize the coachman? it was móczli." "móczli?" "do you know who was inside the carriage?--guess!--well, it was madame." "bálnokházy's wife?" "the same--with that certain actor." "with whose passport lorand was to have eloped?" "well if one is on his way to elope--it is all the same:--one must have a companion, if not the one, then the other.'" it was all a fable to me. but such a mysterious fable that it sent a cold chill all over me. "but where could they go?" "where?--well, as far as the frontier, perhaps. anyhow, as far as the contents of that bag, which móczli handed into the carriage after her ladyship, will last.--hai-dia-do." now it was really exuberance of spirits that made old márton sing in tyrolese manner, that refrain, "hai-hai-dia-hia-do." he actually danced on the dusty road--a galop. was it possible? that madonna face, than which i have never seen a more beautiful, more enchanting--either before or since that day! chapter xi "parole d'honneur" two days after lorand's disappearance a travelling coach stopped before mr. fromm's house. from the window i recognized coach-horses and coachman: it was ours. some one of our party had arrived. i hastened down into the street, where father fromm was already trying very excitedly to turn the leather curtain that was fastened round the coach.... no, not "some one!" the whole family was here! all who had remained at home. mother, grandmother, and the fromms' fanny. actually mother had come: poor mother! we had to lift her from the carriage: she was utterly broken down. she seemed ten years older than when i had last seen her. when she had descended, she leaned upon fanny on the one side, on the other upon me. "only let us go in, into the house!" grandmother urged us on, convinced that poor mother would collapse in the street. all who had arrived were very quiet: they scarcely answered me, when i greeted them. we led mother up into the room, where we had had our first reception. mother fromm and grandmother fromm were not knitting stockings on this occasion; it seemed they were prepared for this appearance. they too received my parents very quietly and solemnly: as if everyone were convinced that the first word addressed by anyone to this broken-down, propped up figure would immediately reduce it to ashes, as the story goes about some figures they have found in old tombs. and yet she had come on this long, long journey. she had not waited for the weather to grow warmer. she had started in the teeth of a raw, freezing spring wind, when she heard that lorand was gone. oh, is there any plummet to sound the depths of a mother's love? poor mother did try so hard to appear strong. it was so evident, that she was struggling to combat with her nervous attacks, just in the very moment which awoke every memory before her mind. "quietly, my daughter--quietly," said grandmother. "you know what you promised: you promised to be strong. you know there is need of strength. don't give yourself over. sit down." mother sat down near the table where they led her, then let her head fall on her two arms, and, as she had promised not to weep--she did not weep. it was piteous to see her sorrowful figure as, in this strange house, she was leaning over the table with her face buried in her hands in mute despair; determined, however, not to cry, for so she had promised. everyone kept at a distance from her: great sorrow commands great respect. only one person ventured to remain close to her, one of whom i had not even taken notice as yet,--fanny. when she had taken off her travelling cloak i found she was dressed entirely in blue. once that had been my mother's favorite color; father too had been exceedingly fond of it. she stood at mother's side and whispered something into her ear, at which mother raised her head and, like one who returns from the other world, sighed deeply, seemed to come to herself, and said with a peaceful smile, turning to the host and hostess: "pardon me, i was exceedingly abstracted." merely to hear her speak agonized me greatly. then she turned to fanny, embraced her, kissed her forehead twice, and said to the fromms, "you will agree, will you not, to fanny's staying a little longer with me? she is already like a child of my own." i was no longer jealous of fanny. i saw how happy she made mother, if she could embrace her. fanny again whispered something in mother's ear, at which mother rose, and seemed quite herself again: she approached mrs. fromm resolutely, with no faltering steps, and grasping both her hands, said, "i thank you," and once again repeated whisperingly, "i thank you." all this i regarded speechlessly from a corner. i feared my mother's gaze inexpressibly. then grandmother interrupted, "we have no time to lose, my daughter. if you are capable of coming at once, come." mother nodded assent with her head, and gazed continually upon fanny. "meanwhile fanny remains here," added grandmother. "but desiderius comes with us." at these words mother looked at me, as if it had only just occurred to her that i too was here, still it was fanny's fair curls only that she continued stroking. father fromm hurriedly sent henrik for a cab. not a soul asked us where we were going. everyone wondered, where, and why? what purpose? but, only i knew what would be the end of to-day's journey. i did not distress myself about it. i waited merely until my turn should come. i knew nothing could happen without me. the cab was there, and the fromms led mother down the steps. they set her down first of all, and, when we were all seated; father fromm called to the cabman: "to the house of bálnokházy!" he knew well that we must go there now. during the whole journey there we did not exchange a single word: what could those two have said to me? when we stopped before bálnokházy's residence, it seemed to me, my mother was endowed with a quite youthful strength; she went before us, her face burning, her step elastic, her head carried on high. i don't know whether it was our good fortune, or whether my parents' arrival had been announced previously, but the p. c. was at home, when we came to look for him. i was curious to see with what countenance he would receive us. i knew already much about him, that i ought never to have known. as we stepped into his room, he came to meet us, with more courtesy than pleasure apparent on his countenance. some kind of displeasure strove to display itself thereon, but it was just as if he had studied the expression for hours in the mirror; it seemed to be an artificial, affected, calculated displeasure. mother straightway hastened to him, and taking both his hands, impetuously introduced the conversation with these words: "where is my son lorand?" my right honorable uncle shrugged his shoulders, and with gracious mien answered this mother's passionate outburst: "my dear lady cousin, it is i who ought to urge that question; for it is my duty to prosecute your son. and if i answer that i do not know where he is, i think thereby i shall display the most kinsmanlike feeling." "why prosecute my son?" said mother, tremblingly. "is it possible to eternally ruin anyone for a mere schoolboy escapade?" "not one but many 'schoolboy escapades' justify me in my action: it is not merely in my official capacity that i am bound to prosecute him." as he said this, bálnokházy fixed his eyes sharply upon me: i did not wince before him. i knew i had the right and the power to withstand his gaze. soon my turn would come. "what?" asked mother. "what reason could you have to prosecute him?" bálnokházy shrugged his shoulders more than ever, bitterly smiling. "i scarcely know, in truth, how to tell you this story, if you don't know already. i thought you were acquainted with all the facts. he who told you the news of the young man's disappearance, wrote to you also the reasons for it." "yes," said mother, "i know all. the misfortune is great: but there is no ignominy." "indeed?" interrupted bálnokházy, drawing his shoulders derisively together: "i did not know that such conduct was not considered ignominious in the provinces. indeed i did not. a young man, a law student, a mere stripling, shows his gratitude for the fatherly thoughtfulness of a man of position,--who had received him into his house as a kinsman, treating him as one of the family,--by seducing and eloping with his wife, and helping her to break open his money-chest, and steal his jewelry, disappearing with the shameless woman beyond the confines of the country. oh, really, i did not know that they did not consider that a crime deserving of prosecution!" poor mother was shattered at this double accusation, as if she had been twice struck by thunder-bolts, and deadly pale clutched at grandmother's hand. the latter had herself in this moment grown as white as her grizzled hair. she took up the conversation in mother's place, for mother was no longer capable of speaking. "what do you say? lorand a seducer of women?" "to my sorrow, he is. he has eloped with my wife." "and thief?" "a harsh word, but i can give him no other name." "for god's sake, gently, sir!" "well, you can see that hitherto i have behaved very quietly. i have not even made a noise about my loss: yet, besides the destruction of my honor, i have other losses. "this faithless deed has robbed me and my daughter of , florins.[ ] if the matter only touched me, i would disdain to notice it: but that sum was the savings of my little daughter." [footnote : above £ --$ , .] "sir, that sum shall be repaid you," said grandmother, "but i beg you not to say another word on the subject before this lady. you can see you are killing her with it." as she was speaking, bálnokházy gazed intently at me, and in his gaze were many questions, all of which i could very well have answered. "i am surprised," he said at last, "that these revelations are entirely new to you. i thought that the same person who had acquainted you with lorand's disappearance, had unfolded to you therewith all those critical circumstances, which caused his disappearance, seeing that i related all myself to that person." now mother and grandmother too turned their gaze upon me. grandmother addressed me: "you did not write a word about all this to us." "no." "nor did you mention a word about it here when we arrived." "yet i told it all myself to my nephew." "why don't you answer?" queried my grandmother impetuously. mother could not speak: she merely wrung her hands. "because i had certain information that this accusation was groundless." "oho! you young imp!" exclaimed bálnokházy in proud, haughty tones. "from beginning to end groundless," i repeated calmly; although every muscle of mine was trembling from excitement. but you should have seen, how mother and grandmother rushed into my arms: how they grasped one my right, the other my left hand, as drowning men clutch at the rescuer's hands, and how that proud angry man stood before me with flashing eyes. all sobriety had left the three, together they cried to me in voices of impetuousity, of anger, of madness, of hope, of joy: "speak! tell us what you know." "i will tell you.--when his lordship acquainted me with these two terrible charges against lorand, i at once started off to find my brother. two honorable poor men came in my way to help me find him: two poor workmen, who left their work to help me to save a lost life. the same will be my witness that what i relate is all true and happened just as i tell you: one is márton braun, the baker's man, the other matthias fleck." "my wife's coachman," interrupted the p. c. "yes. he conducted me to where lorand was temporarily concealed. he related to me that her ladyship was elsewhere. he had taken her ladyship across the frontier--without lorand. my brother started at the same time on foot, without money, towards the interior of hungary: márton and i accompanied him into the hills, and my pocket money, which he accepted from me, was the only money he had with him, and márton's walking stick was the only travelling companion that accompanied him further." i noticed that mother kneeled beside me and kissed me. that kiss i received for lorand's sake. "it is not true!" yelled bálnokházy; "he disappeared with my wife. i have certain information that this woman passed the frontier with a young smooth-faced man and arrived with him in vienna. that was lorand." "it was not lorand, but another." "who could it have been?" "is it possible that you should not know? well, i can tell you. that smoothed-faced man who accompanied her ladyship to vienna was the german actor bleissberg;--and not for the first time." ha, ha! i had stabbed him to the heart: right to the middle of the liver, where pride dwells. i had thrust such a dart into him, as he would never be able to draw out. i did not care if he slew me now. and he looked as if he felt very much like doing it--but who would have dared touch me and face the wrath of those two women--no--lionesses, standing next to me on either side! they seemed ready to tear anyone to pieces who ventured as much as lay a finger on me. "let us go," said mother, pressing my hand. "we have nothing more to do here."--mother passed out first: they took me in the middle and grandmother, turning back addressed a categorical "adieu" to bálnokházy, whom we left to himself. my cousin melanie was playing that cavatina even now, though now i did not care to stop and listen to it. that piano was a good idea after all; quarrels and disputes in the house were prevented thereby from being heard in the street. when we were again seated in the cab, mother pressed me passionately to her, and smothered me with kisses. oh, how i feared her kisses! she kissed me because she would soon ask questions about lorand. and i could not answer them. "you were obedient: you took care of your poor brother: you helped him: my dear child." thus she kept whispering continually to me. i dared not be affected. "tell me now, where is lorand?" i had known she would ask that. in anguish i drew away from her and kept looking around me. "where is lorand?" grandmother remarked my anguish. "leave him alone," she hinted to mother. "we are not yet in a sufficiently safe place: the driver might hear. wait until we get home." so i had time until we arrived home. what would happen there? how could i avoid answering their questions. scarcely had we returned to master fromm's house, scarce had fanny brought us into a room which had been prepared for my parents, when my poor mother again fell upon my neck, and with melancholy gladness asked me: "you know where lorand is?" how easy it would have been for me to answer "i know not!" but what should i have gained thereby? had i done so, i could never have told her what lorand wrote from a distance, how he greeted and kissed them a thousand times! "i know, mother dear." "tell me quickly, where he is." "he is in a safe place, mother dear," said i encouragingly, and hastened to tell all i might relate. "lorand is in his native land in a safe place, where he has nothing to fear: with a relation of ours, who will love and protect him." "but when will you tell us where he is?" "one day, soon, mother dear." "but when? when? why not at once? when?" "soon,--in ten years."--i could scarce utter the words. both were horrified at my utterance. "desi, do you wish to play some joke upon us?" "if it were only a joke? it is true: a very heavy truth! i promised lorand to tell neither mother nor grandmother, for ten years, where he is living." grandmother seemed to understand it all: she hinted with a look to fanny to leave us alone: she thought that i did not wish to reveal it before fanny. "don't go fanny," i said to her. "even in your absence i cannot say more than i have already said." "are you in your senses then?" grandmother sternly addressed me thinking harsh words might do much with me. "do you wish to play mysteries with us: surely you don't think we shall betray him?" "desi," said mother, in that quiet, sweet voice of hers. "be good." so, they were deceived in me. i was no longer that good child, who could be frightened by strong words, and tamed by a sweet tongue,--i had become a hard, cruel unfeeling boy:--they could not force me to confession. "that i cannot tell you." "why not? not even to us?" they asked both together. "why not? that i do not know myself. but not even to you can i tell it. lorand made me give him my word of honor, not to betray his whereabouts--not to his mother and grandmother. he said he had a great reason to ask this, and said any neglect of my promise would produce great misfortune. i gave him my word, and that word i must keep." poor mother fell on her knees before me, embraced me, showered kisses upon me, and begged me so to tell her where lorand was. she called me her dear "only" son: then burst into tears: and i,--could be so cruel as to answer to her every word, "no--no--no." i cannot describe this scene. i am incapable of reflecting thereupon. at last mother fainted, grandmother cursed me, and i left the room, and leaned against the door post. during this indescribable scene the whole household hastened to nurse my mother, who was suffering terrible pain; then they came to me one by one, and tried in turn their powers of persuasion upon me. first of all came mother fromm, to beg me very kindly to say that one word that would cure my mother at once; then came grandmother fromm with awful threats: then father fromm, who endeavored to persuade me with sage reasoning, declaring that my honor would really be greatest if i should now break my word! it was all quite useless. surely no one knew how to beg, as my mother begged kneeling before me! no one could curse as my terrible grandmother had done, and no one knew the wickedness of my character as well as i did myself. let them only give me peace! i could not tell them. last of all fanny came to me: leaned upon my shoulder, and began to stroke my hair. "dear desi." i jerked my shoulder to be rid of her. "'dear desi,' indeed!--call me 'wicked, bad, cursed desi!'--that is what i am." "but why?" "because no other name is possible. i promised because i was _obliged_ to promise: and now i am keeping my word, because i promised." "your poor mother says she will die, if you do not tell her where lorand is." "and lorand told me he will die if i do tell her. he told me that, when i discovered his whereabouts to mother or grandmother, he will either report himself at the nearest military station, or will shoot himself, according as he feels inclined. and in our family such promises are not wont to dissolve in thin air." "what might have been his reason for exacting such a promise from you?" "i do not know. but i know he would not have done it without cause. i beg you to leave me." "wait a moment," said fanny, standing before me. "you said lorand made you swear not to tell your mother or grandmother where he had gone to. he did not forbid you to tell another?" "naturally not," i answered with irritated pride. "he knew all along that there has not yet been born into the world that other who could force the truth out of me with red-hot pincers." "but that other has been born," interrupted fanny with wild earnestness. "just twelve years, eight months and five days ago." i looked at her. "i should tell you? is that what you think?" i admired her audacity. "certainly, me. for your parole forbids you to speak only to your mother and grandmother. you can tell me: and i shall tell them. you will not have told anybody anything, and they still will know it." "well, and are you 'nobody?'" fanny gazed into my eyes, became serious, and with trembling lips said: "if you wish it--i am nobody. as if i had never been born." from that moment fanny began to be "someone," in my eyes. her little sophism pleased me. perhaps on these terms we might come to an agreement. "you have asked something very difficult of me, fanny; but it is not impossible. only you must wait a little: give me time to think it over. until i have done so, be our go-between. go in and tell grandmother what you have recommended to me, and that i said in answer, 'it is well.'" i was cunning. i was dissembling. i thought in that moment, that, if fanny should burst in childish glee into the neighboring room, and in triumphant voice proclaim the concession she had wrung out of me, i might tell her on her return the name of some place that did not exist, and so throw the responsibility off my own shoulders. but she did not do that. she went back quietly, and waited long, until her friends had retired by the opposite door: then she came and whispered:-- "i have been long: but i did not wish to speak before my mother. now your parents are alone: go and speak." "something more first. go back, fanny, and say that i can tell them the truth, only on the condition that mother and grandmother promise not to seek him out, until i show them a letter from lorand, in which he invites them to come to him: nor to send others in search of him: and, if they wish to send a letter to him, they must first give it to me, that i may send it off to him, and they never show, even by a look, to anyone that they know aught of lorand's whereabouts." fanny nodded assent, and returned into the neighboring room. a few minutes later she came out again, and held open the door before me. "come in." i went in. she shut the door after me, and then, taking my hand, led me to mother's bedside. poor dear mother was now quiet, and pale as death. she seemed to beckon me to her with her eyes. i went to her side, and kissed her hand. fanny bent over me, and held her face near my lips, that i might whisper in her ear what i knew. i told her all in a few words. she then bent over mother's pillow and whispered in her ear what she had heard from me. mother sighed and seemed to be calmed. then grandmother bent over dear mother, that she might learn from her all that had been said. as she heard it, her grey-headed figure straightened, and clasping her two hands above her head, she panted in wild prophetic ecstasy: "o lord god! who entrustest thy will to children: may it come to pass, as thou hast ordained!" then she came to me and embraced me. "did you counsel lorand to go there?" "i did." "did you know what you were doing? it was the will of god. every day you must pray now for your brother." "and you must keep silent for him. for when he is discovered, my brother will die and i cannot live without him." the storm became calm: they again made peace with me. mother, some minutes later, fell asleep, and slumbered sweetly. grandmother motioned to fanny and to me to leave her to herself. we let down the window-blinds and left the room. as we stepped out, i said to fanny: "remember, my honor has been put into your hands." the girl gazed into my eyes with ardent enthusiasm and said: "i shall guard it as i guard mine own." that was no child's answer, but the answer of a maiden. chapter xii a glance into a pistol-barrel the weather changed very rapidly, for all the world as if two evil demons were fighting for the earth: one with fire, the other with ice. it was the middle of may; it had become so sultry that the earth, which last week had been frozen to dry bones, now began to crack. the wanderer who disappeared from our sight we shall find on that plain of lower hungary, where there are as many high roads as cart-ruts. it is evening, but the sun had just set, and left a cloudless ruddy sky behind it. on the horizon two or three towers are to be seen so far distant that the traveller who is hurrying before us cannot hope to reach any one of them by nightfall. the dust had not so overlaid him, nor had the sun so tanned his face that we cannot recognize in these handsome noble features the pride of the youth of pressburg, lorand. the long journey he has accomplished has evidently not impaired the strength of his muscles, for the horseman who is coming behind him, has to ride hard to overtake him. the latter leaned back in his shortened stirrups, after the manner of hussars, and wore a silver-buttoned jacket, a greasy hat, and ragged red trousers. thrown half over his shoulders was a garment of wolf-skins; around his waist was a wide belt from which two pistol-barrels gleamed, while in the leg of one of his boots a silver-chased knife was thrust. the horse's harness was glittering with silver, just as the ragged, stained garments of its master. the rider approached at a trot, but the traveller had not yet thought it worth while to look back and see who was coming after him. presently he came up to the solitary figure, trudging along, doggedly. "good evening, student." lorand looked up at him. "good evening, gypsy." at these words the horseman drew aside his skin-mantle that the student might see the pistol-barrels, and consider that even if he were a gypsy, he was something more than a mere musician. but lorand did not betray the slightest emotion: he did not even take down from his shoulder the stick, on which he was carrying his boots. he was walking bare-footed. it was cheaper. "oh, you are proud of your red boots!" sneered the rider, looking down at lorand's bare-feet. "it's easy for you to say so," was lorand's sharp reply; "sitting on that hack." but "hack" means a kind of four-footed animal which this rider found no pleasure in hearing mentioned.[ ] [footnote : the magyar word has a double meaning; besides a horse it means a peculiar whipping-bench with which gypsies used to be particularly well acquainted.] "my own training," he said proudly, as if in self-defence against this cutting remark. "i know. i knew that even in my scapegrace days." "well, and where are you hobbling to now, student?" "i am going to csege, gypsy, to preach." "what do you get from the 'legatio' for that, student?" "twenty silver florins, gypsy." "do you know what, student? i have an idea--don't go just yet to csege, but turn aside here to the shepherd's where you see that fold. wait there for me till to-morrow, when i shall come back, and preach your sermon to me: i have never yet heard anything of the kind, and i'll give you forty florins for it." "oh no, gypsy; do you turn aside to yonder fold. don't go just now to the farm, but wait a week for me; when i shall come back; then you can fiddle my favorite tune, and i'll give you ten florins for it." "i am no musician," replied the horseman, extending his chest. "what's that rural fife doing at your side?" the gypsy roared at the idea of calling his musket a "rural fife!" many had paid dearly so as not to hear its notes! "you student, you are a deuce of a fellow. take a draught from my 'noggin.'" "no, thanks, gypsy; it isn't spiritual enough to go with my sermon."[ ] [footnote : lorand really quoted a sentence from a popular ditty, but it is impossible in such cases to do proper justice to the original. the whole passage between lorand and the gypsy is full of allusions intelligible only to hungarians, _in hungarian_, a proper rendering of which, in my opinion, baffles all attempts. of course the force of the original is lost, but it is unavoidable.] the gypsy laughed still more loudly. "well, good night, student." he drove his spurs into his horse and galloped on along the high-road. then the evening drew in quietly. lorand reached a grassy mound, shaded by juniper bushes. this spot he chose for his night-camp in preference to the wine-reeking, stenching rooms of the way-side inns. putting on his boots, he drew from his wallet some bread and bacon, and commenced eating. he found it good: he was hungry and young. scarcely had he finished his repast when, along the same road on which the horseman had come, rapidly approached a five-in-hand. the three leaders were supplied with bells and their approach could be heard from afar off. lorand called out to the coachman, "stop a moment, fellow-countryman." the coachman pulled up his horses. "quickly," he said to lorand, with a hoarse voice, "get up at once, sir 'legatus,' beside me. the horses will not stand." "that was not what i wanted to say," remarked lorand. "i did not want to ask you to take me up, but to tell you to be on your guard, for a highwayman has just gone on in front, and it would be ill to meet with him." "have you much money?" "no." "nor have i. then why should we fear the robber?" "perhaps those who are sitting inside the carriage?" "her ladyship is sitting within and is now asleep. if i awake her and frighten her, and then we don't find the highwayman she will break the whip over my back. get up here. it will be good to travel as far as lankadomb in a carriage, 'sblood.'" "do you live at lankadomb?" asked lorand in a tone of surprise. "yes. i am topándy's servant. he is a very fine fellow, and is very fond of people who preach." "i know him by reputation." "well, if you know him by reputation, you will do well to make his personal acquaintance, too. get up, now." lorand put the meeting down as a lucky chance. topándy's weakness was to capture men of a priestly turn of mind, keep them at his house and annoy them. that was just what he wanted, a pretext for meeting him. he clambered up beside the coachman and under the brilliance of the starry heaven, the five steeds, with merry tinkling of bells, rattled the carriage along the turfy road. the coachman told him they had come from debreczen: they wished to reach lankadomb in the morning, but on the way they would pass an inn, where the horses would receive feed, while her ladyship would have some cold lunch: and then they would proceed on their journey. her ladyship always loved to travel by night, for then it was not so hot: besides she was not afraid of anything. it was about midnight when the carriage drew up at the inn mentioned. lorand leaped down from the box, and hastened first into the inn, not wishing to meet the lady who was within the carriage. his heart beat loudly, when he caught a glimpse of that silver-harnessed horse in the inn-yard, saddled and bridled. the steed was not fastened up, but quite loose, and it gave a peculiar neigh as the coach arrived, at which there stepped out from a dark door the same man whom lorand had met on the plain. he was utterly astonished to see lorand. "you are here already, student?" "you can see it with your own eyes, gypsy." "how did you come so quickly?" "why, i ride on a dragon: i am a necromancer." by this time the occupants of the carriage had entered: her ladyship and a plump, red-faced maid-servant. the former was wrapped in a thick fur cloak, her head bound with a silken kerchief; the latter wore a short red mantle, fastened round her neck with a kerchief of many colors, while her hair was tied with ribbons. her two hands were full of cold viands. "so that was it, eh?" said the rider, as he perceived them. "they brought you in their carriage." then, he allowed the new-comers to enter the parlor peacefully, while he himself took his horse, and, leading it to the pump, pumped some water into the trough. lorand began to think he was not the rascal he thought him, and he now proceeded into the parlor. her ladyship threw back her fur cloak, took off the silken kerchief and put two candles before her. she trimmed them both, like one who "loves the beautiful." you might have called her face very beautiful: she had lively, sparkling eyes, strong brown complexion, rosy lips, and arched eyebrows: it was right that such light as there was in the room should burn before her. in the darkness, on the long bench at the other end of the table, sat lorand, who had ordered a bottle of wine, rather to avoid sitting there for nothing, than to drink the sour vintage of the lowland. beside the bar, on a straw mattress, was sleeping a slavonian pedler of holy images, and a wandering jack-of-all-trades; at the bar the bushy-headed host grinned with doubtful pleasure over such guests, who brought their own eatables and drinkables with them, and only came to show their importance. lorand had time enough calmly to take in this "ladyship," in whose carriage he had come so far, and under whose roof he would probably live later. she must be a lively, good-natured creature. she shared every morsel with her servant, and sent what remained to the coachman. perhaps if she had known she had another nameless travelling companion, she would have invited him to the repast. as she ate she poured some rye-whiskey into her tin plate; to this she added figs, raisins and sugar, and then lighted it. this beverage is called in our country "krampampuli." it must be very healthy on a night journey for a healthy stomach. when the repast was over, the door leading to the courtyard opened: and there entered the rogue who had been left outside, his hat pressed over his eyes, and in his hand one of his pistols that he had taken from his girdle. "under the table! under the bed! all whose lives are dear to them!" he cried, standing in the doorway. at these terrible words the slavonian and the other who were sleeping on the floor clambered up into the chimney-place, the host disappeared into the cellar, banging the door after him, while the servant hid herself under the bench; then the robber stepped up to the table and extinguished both candles with his hat, so that there remained no light on the table save that of the burning spirit. the latter gave a weird light. when sugar burns in spirits, a sepulchral light appears on everything: living faces look like faces of the dead; all color disappears from them, the ruddiness of the countenance, the brilliance of the lips, the glitter of the eyes,--all turn green. it is as if phantoms rose from the grave and were gazing at one another. lorand watched the scene in horror. this gay, smiling woman's face became at once like that of one raised from the tomb; and that other who stood face to face with her, weapon in hand, was like death himself, with black beard and black eyelids. yet for one moment it seemed to lorand as if both were laughing--the face of the dead and the face of death, but it was only for a moment; and perhaps, too, that was merely an illusion. then the robber addressed her in a strong, authoritative voice: "your money, quickly!" the woman took her purse, and without a word threw it down on the table before him. the robber snatched it up and by the light of the spirit began to examine its contents. "what is this?" he asked wrathfully. "money," replied the lady briefly, beginning to make a tooth-pick from a chicken bone with her silver-handled antique knife. "money! but how much?" bawled the thief. "four hundred florins." "four hundred florins," he shrieked, casting the purse down on the table. "did i come here for four hundred florins? have i been lounging about here a week for four hundred florins? where is the rest?" "the rest?" said the lady. "oh, that is being made at vienna." "no joking, now. i know there were two thousand florins in this purse." "if all that has ever been in that purse were here now, it would be enough for both of us." "the devil take you!" cried the thief, beating the table with his fist so that the spirit flame flickered in the plate. "i don't understand jokes. in this purse just now there were two thousand florins, the price of the wool you sold day before yesterday at debreczen. what has become of the rest?" "come here, i'll give you an account of it," said the lady, counting on her fingers with the point of the knife. "two hundred i gave to the furrier--four hundred to the saddler--three hundred to the grocer--three hundred to the tailor:--two hundred i spent in the market: count how much remains." "none of your arithmetic for me. i only want money, much money! where is much money?" "as i said already, at körmöcz, in the mint." "enough of your foolery!" threatened the highwayman. "for if i begin to search, you won't thank me for it." "well, search the carriage over; all you find in it is yours." "i shan't search the coach, but you, too, to your skin." "what?" cried the woman, in a passion; and at that moment her face, with her knitted eyebrows, became like that of a mythical fury. "try it,"--with these words dashing the knife down into the table, which it pierced to the depth of an inch. the thief began to speak in a less presumptuous tone. "what else will you give me?" "what else, indeed?" said the lady, throwing herself defiantly back in her chair. "the devil and his son." "you have a bracelet on your arm." "there you are!" said the woman, unclasping the emerald trinket from her arm, and dashing it on the table. the thief began to look at it critically. "what is it worth?" "i received it as a present: you can get a drink of wine for it in the nearest inn you reach." "and there is a beautiful ring sparkling on your finger." "let it sparkle." "i don't believe it cannot come off." "it will not come off, for i shall not give it." at this moment the thief suddenly grasped the woman's hand in which she held the knife, seizing it by the wrist, and while she was writhing in desperate struggle against the iron grip, with his other hand thrust the end of his pistol in her mouth. this awful scene had till now made upon lorand the impression of the quarrel of a tipsy husband with his obstinate wife, who answers all his provocations with jesting: the lady seemed incapable of being frightened, the thief of frightening. some unnatural indifference seemed to give the lie to that scene, which youthful imagination would picture so differently. the meeting of a thief with an unprotected lady, at night, in an inn on the plain! it was impossible that they should speak so to one another. but as the robber seized the lady's hand, and leaning across the table, drew her by sheer force towards him, continually threatening the screaming woman with a pistol, the young man's blood suddenly boiled up within him. he leaped forward from the darkness, unnoticed by the thief, crept toward him and seized the rascal's right hand, in which he held the pistol, while with his other hand he tore the second pistol from the man's belt. the highwayman, like some infuriated beast, turned upon his assailant, and strove to free his arm from the other's grip. he felt he had to do with one whose wrist was as firm as his own. "student!" he snarled, with lips tightly drawn like a wolf, and gnashing his gleaming white teeth. "don't stir," said lorand, pointing the pistol at his forehead. the thief saw plainly that the pistol was not cocked: nor could lorand have cocked it in this short time. lorand, as a matter of fact, in his excitement had not thought of it. so the highwayman suddenly ducked his head and like a wall-breaking, battering ram, dealt such a blow with his head to lorand, that the latter fell back on to the bench, and while he was forced to let go of the rascal with his left, he was obliged with his armed right hand to defend himself against the coming attack. then the robber pointed the barrel of the second pistol at his forehead. "now it is my turn to say, 'don't stir,' student." in that short moment, as lorand gazed into the barrel of the pistol that was levelled at his forehead, there flashed through his mind this thought: "now is the moment for checkmating the curse of fate and avoiding the threatened suicide. he who loses his life in the defence of persecuted and defenceless travellers dies as a man of honor. let us see this death." he rose suddenly before the levelled weapon. "don't move or you are a dead man," the thief cried again to him. but lorand, face to face with the pistol levelled within a foot of his head calmly put his finger to the trigger of the weapon he himself held and drew it back. at this the thief suddenly sprang back and rushed to the door, so alarmed that at first he attempted to open it the wrong way. lorand took careful aim at him. but as he stretched out his arm, the lady sprang up from the table, crept to him and seized his arm, shrieking: "don't kill him, oh, don't!" lorand gazed at her in astonishment. the beautiful woman's face was convulsed in a torture of terror: the staring look in her beautiful eyes benumbed the young man's sinews. as she threw herself upon his bosom and held down his arms, the embrace quite crippled him. the highwayman, seeing he could escape, after much fumbling undid the bolt of the door. when he was at last able to open it, his gypsy humor returned to take the place of his fear. he thrust his dishevelled head in at the half-opened door, and remarked in that broken voice which is peculiarly that of the terrified man: "a plague upon you, you devil's cur of a student: student, inky-fingered student. had my pistol been loaded, as the other was, which was in your hand, i would have just given you a pass to hell. just fall into my hands again! i know that...." then he suddenly withdrew his head, affording a very humorous illustration to his threat: and like one pursued he ran out into the court. a few moments later a clatter of hoofs was heard--the robber was making his escape. when he reached the road he began to swear godlessly, reproaching and cursing every student, legatus, and hound of a priest, who, instead of praising god at home, prowled about the high-roads, and spoiled a hard working man's business. even after he was far down the road his loud cursing could still be heard. for weeks that swearing would fill the air in the bog of lankadomb, where he had made himself at home in the wild creature's unapproachable lair. to lorand this was all quite bewildering. the arrogant, almost jesting, conversation, by the light of that mysterious flame, between a murderous robber and his victim:--the inexplicable riddle that a night-prowling highwayman should have entered a house with an empty pistol, while in his belt was another, loaded:--and then that woman, that incomprehensible figure, who had laughed at a robber to his face, who had threatened him with a knife as he pressed her to his bosom, and who, could she have freed herself, would surely have dealt him such a blow as she had dealt the table:--that she, when her rescuer was going to shoot her assailant, should have torn aside his hand in terror and defended the miscreant with her own body! what could be the solution of such a riddle? meanwhile the lady had again lighted the candles: again a gentle light was thrown on all things. lorand gazed at her. in place of her previous green-blue face, which had gazed on him with the wild look of madness, a smiling, good-humored countenance was presented. she asked in a humorous tone: "well, so you are a student, what kind of student? where did you come from?" "i came with you, sitting beside the coachman." "do you wish to come to lankadomb?" "yes." "perhaps to sárvölgyi's? he loves prayers." "oh no. but to mr. topándy." "i cannot advise that: he is very rude to such as you. you are accustomed to preach. don't go there." "still i am going there: and if you don't care to let me sit on the box, i shall go on foot, as i have done until to-day." "do you know what? what you would get there would not be much. the money, which that man left here, you have by you as it is. keep it for yourself: i give it to you. then go back to the college." "madame, i am not accustomed to live on presents," said lorand, proudly refusing the proffered purse. the woman was astonished. this is a curious legatus, thought she, who does not live by presents. her ladyship began to perceive that in this young man's dust-stained features there was something of that which makes distinctions between man. she began to be surprised at this proud and noble gaze. perhaps she was reflecting as to what kind of phenomenon it could be, who with unarmed hand had dared to attack an armed robber, in order to free from his clutch a strange woman in whom he had no interest, and then refused to accept the present he had so well deserved. lorand saw that he had allowed a breach to open in his heart through which anyone could easily see the secret of his character. he hastened to cover his error. "i cannot accept a present, your ladyship, because i wish more. i am not a preaching legatus, but an expelled school-boy. i am in search of a position where i can earn my living by the work of my hands. when i protected your ladyship it occurred to me, 'this lady may have need for some farm steward or bailiff. she may recommend me to her husband.' i shall be a faithful servant, and i have given a proof of my faithfulness, for i have no written testimonials." "you wish to be topándy's steward? do you know what a godless man he is?" "that is why i am in search of him. i started direct for him. they expelled me from school for my godlessness. we cannot accuse each other of anything." "you have committed some crime, then, and that is why you avoid the eyes of the world? confess what you have done. murdered? confess. i shall not be afraid of you for it, nor shall i tell any one. i promise that you shall be welcomed, whatever the crime may be. i have said so. have you committed murder?" "no." "beaten your father or mother?" "no, madame:--my crime is that i have instigated the youth against their superiors." "what superiors? against the magistrate?" "even superior to the magistrate." "perhaps against the priest. well, topándy will be delighted. he is a great fool in this matter." the woman uttered these words laughingly; then suddenly a dark shadow crossed her face. with wandering glance she stepped up to the young man, and, putting her hand gently on his arm, asked him in a whisper: "do you know how to pray?" lorand looked at her, aghast. "to pray from a book--could you teach some one to pray from a book? would it require a long time?" lorand looked with ever-increasing wonder at the questioner. "very well--i did not say anything! come with us. the coachman is already cracking his whip. will you sit inside with us, or do you prefer to sit outside beside the coachman in the open? it is better so; i should prefer it myself. well, let us go." the servant, who had crawled out from under the bench, had already collected the silver and crockery; her ladyship paid mine host, and they soon took their seats again in the carriage:--and both thought deeply the whole way. the young man, of that woman, who playfully defied a thief, and struggled for a ring; then of that robber, who came with an empty pistol, and again of that woman, who when he spoke of the powers that be, understood nothing but a magistrate, and had inquired whether he knew how to pray from a book;--and who meanwhile wore golden bracelets, ate from silver, was dressed in silk and carried the fire of youth in her eyes. while the woman thought of that young man who could fight like a hero; was ready to work like a day laborer, to throw money away like a noble, to fascinate women like an angel, and to blaspheme the powers that be like a devil! chapter xiii which will convert the other? in the morning the coach rolled into the courtyard of the castle of lankadomb.[ ] [footnote : _i. e._, orchard-hill.] topándy was waiting on the terrace, and ran to meet the young lady, helped her out of the coach and kissed her hand very courteously. at lorand, who descended from his seat beside the coachman, he gazed with questioning wonder. the lady answered in his place: "i have brought an expelled student, who desires to be steward on your estate. you must accept him." then, trusting to the hurrying servants to bring her travelling rugs and belongings after her, she ascended into the castle, without further waste of words, leaving lorand alone with topándy. topándy turned to the young fellow with his usual satirical humor. "well, fellow, you've got a fine recommendation! an expelled student; that's saying a good deal. you want to be steward, or bailiff, or præfectus here, do you? it's all the same; choose which title you please. have you a smattering of the trade?" "i was brought up to a farm life: it is surely no hieroglyphic to me." "bravo! so i shall tell you what my steward has to do. can you plough with a team of four? can you stack hay, standing on the top of the sheaves? can you keep order among a dozen reapers? can you...?" lorand was not taken aback by his questions. he merely replied to each one, "yes." "that's splendid," said topándy. "many renowned and well-versed gentlemen of business have come to me, to recommend themselves as farm bailiffs, in buckled shoes; but when i asked them if they could heap dung on dung carts, they all ran away. i am pleased my questions about that did not knock you over. do you know what the 'conventio'[ ] will be?" [footnote : the payment. the honorarium.] "yes." "but how much do _you_ expect?" "until i can make myself useful, nothing; afterwards, as much as is required from one day to the next." "well said; but have you no claims to bailiff's lodgings, office, or something else? that shall be left entirely to your own discretion. on my estate, the steward may lodge where he likes--either in the ox-stall, in the cow-shed, or in the buffalo stable. i don't mind; i leave it entirely to your choice." topándy looked at him with wicked eyes, as he waited for the answer. lorand, however, with the most serious countenance, merely answered that his presence would be required most in the ox-stall, so he would take up his quarters there. "so on that point we are agreed," said topándy, with a loud laugh. "we shall soon see on what terms of friendship we shall stand. i accept the terms; when you are tired of them, don't trouble to say so. there is the gate." "i shall not turn in that direction." "good! i admire your determination. now come with me; you will receive at once your provisions for five days--take them with you. the shepherd will teach you how to cook and prepare your meals." lorand did not make a single grimace at these peculiar conditions attached to the office of steward; he acquiesced in everything, as if he found everything most correct. "well, come with me, sir bailiff!" so he led him into the castle, without even so much as inquiring his name. he thought that in any case he would disappear in a day or two. her ladyship was just in the ante-room, where breakfast was usually served. while topándy was explaining to lorand the various quarters from which he might choose a bedroom, her ladyship had got the coffee ready, for déjeuner, and had laid the fine tablecloth on the round table, on which had been placed three cups, and just so many knives, forks and napkins. as topándy stepped into the room, letting lorand in after him, her ladyship was engaged in pouring out the coffee from the silver pot into the cups, while the rich buffalo milk boiled away merrily on the glittering white tripod before her. topándy placed himself in the nearest seat, leaving lorand to stand and wait until her ladyship had time to weigh out his rations for him. "that is not your place!" exclaimed the fair lady. topándy sprang up suddenly. "pardon. whose place is this?" "that gentleman's!" she answered, and nodded at lorand, both her hands being occupied. "please take a seat, sir," said topándy, making room for lorand. "you will always sit there," said the lady, putting down the coffee-pot and pointing to the place which had been laid on her left. "at breakfast, at dinner, at supper." this had a different sound from what the gentleman of the house had said. rather different from garlic and black bread. "this will be your room here on the right," continued the lady. "the butler's name is george; he will be your servant. and john is the coachman, who will stand at your orders." lorand's wonder only increased. he wished to make some remark, but he did not know himself what he wanted to say. topándy, however, burst into a homeric laugh, in which he quite lost himself. "why, brother, didn't you tell me you had already arranged matters with the lady? you would have saved me so much trouble. if matters stand so, sleep on my sofa, and drink from my glass!" lorand wished to play the proud beggar. he raised his head defiantly. "i shall sleep in the hay, and shall drink from----" "i advise you to do as i tell you," said the lady, making both men wince with the flash of her gaze. "surely, brother," continued topándy, "i can give you no better counsel than that. well, let us sit down, and drink 'brotherhood' with a glass of cognac." lorand thought it wise to give way before the commanding gaze of the lady, and to accept the proffered place, while the latter laughed outright in sudden good-humor. she was so lovable, so natural, so pleasant, when she laughed like that, topándy could not forbear from kissing her hands. the lady laughingly, and with jesting prudery, extended the other hand toward lorand. "well, the other too! don't be bashful!" lorand kissed the other hand. upon this, she clapped her hands over her head, and burst into laughter. "see, see! i have brought you a letter from town," said the lady, drawing out her purse. "it's a good thing the thief left me this, or your letter would have been lost as well." "thief?" asked topándy earnestly. "what thief?" "why, at the 'skull-smasher' inn, where we stopped to water our horses, a thief attacked us, and then wanted to empty our pockets. i threw him my money and my bracelet, but he wanted to tear this ring from my finger, too. that i would not give up. then he caught hold of my hand, and to prevent my screaming, thrust the butt-end of his pistol into my mouth--the fool!" the lady related all this with such an air of indifference that topándy could not make out whether she was joking or not. "what fable is this?" "fable indeed!" was the exclamation that greeted him on two sides, on the one from her ladyship, on the other from the neat little maid, the latter crying out how much she had been frightened; that she was still all of a tremble; the former turned back her sleeve and held out her arm to topándy. "see how my arm got scratched by the grasp of the robber! and look here, how bruised my mouth is from the pistol," said she, parting her rosy lips, behind which two rows of pearly teeth glistened. "it's a good thing he didn't knock out my teeth." "well, that would have been a pity. but how did you get away from him," asked topándy, in an anxious tone. "well, i don't know whether you would ever have seen me again, if this young man had not dashed to our assistance; for he sprang forward and snatched the pistol from the hand of the robber,--who immediately took to his heels and ran away." topándy again shook his head, and said it was hard to believe. "no doubt he still has the pistol in his pocket." "give it to me." "but don't fool with it; it might go off and hurt somebody." lorand handed the pistol in question to topándy. the barrel was of bronze, highly chased in silver. "curious!" exclaimed topándy, examining the ornamentation. "this pistol bears the sárvölgyi arms." without another word he put the weapon in his pocket, and shook hands with lorand across the table. "my boy, you are a fine fellow. i honor you for so bravely defending my people. now i have the more reason in agreeing to your living henceforward under the same roof with me; unless you fear it may, through fault of mine, fall in upon you. what was the robber like?" he said, turning again to the women. "we could not see him, because he put out the candle and ran away." lorand was struck by the fact that the woman did not seem inclined to recall the robber's features, which she must, however have been able to see by the help of the spirit-lamp; he noticed, too, that she did not utter a word about the robber's being a gypsy. "i don't know what he was like," she repeated, with a meaning look at lorand. "neither of us could see, for it was dark. for the same reason our deliverer could not shoot at him, because it was difficult to aim in the dark. if he had missed him, the robber might have murdered us all." "a fine adventure," muttered topándy. "i shall not allow you to travel alone at night another time. i shall go armed myself. i shall not put up with the existence of that den in the marsh any longer or it will always be occupied by such as mean to harm us. as soon as the tisza overflows, i shall set fire to the reeds about the place, when the stack will catch fire, too." during this conversation the woman had produced the letter. "there it is," she cried, handing it to topándy. "a lady's handwriting!" exclaimed topándy, glancing at the direction. "what, you can tell by the letters whether it is the writing of a man or a woman?" queried the beautiful lady, throwing a curious glance at the writing. lorand looked at it, too, and it seemed to him as if he had seen the writing before, but he could not remember where. it was a strange hand; the characters did not resemble the writing of any of his lady acquaintances, and yet he must have seen it somewhere. you may cast about and reflect long, lorand, before you discover whose writing it is. you never thought of her who wrote this letter. you never even noticed her existence! it is the writing of fanny, of the jolly little exchange-girl. it was desi who once showed you that handwriting for a moment, when your mother sent her love in fanny's letter. now the unknown hand had written to topándy to the effect that a young man would appear before him, bespattered and ragged. he was not to ask whence he came, or whither he went; but he was to look well at the noble face, and he would know from it that the youth was not obliged to avoid persecution of the world for some base crime. topándy gazed long at the youthful face before him. could this be the one she meant? the story of the parliamentary society of the young men was well known to him. he asked no questions. * * * * * after the first day lorand felt himself quite at home in topándy's home. topándy treated him as a duke would treat his only son, whom he was training to be his heir; lorand's conduct toward topándy was that of a poor man's son, learning to make himself useful in his father's home. each found many extraordinary traits in the other, and each would have loved to probe to the depths of the other's peculiarities. lorand remarked in his uncle a deep, unfathomable feeling underlying his seeming godlessness. topándy, on his side, suspected that some dark shadow had prematurely crossed the serenity of the young man's mind. each tried to pierce the depths of the other's soul--but in vain. her ladyship had on the first day confided her life secret to lorand. when he endeavored to pay her the compliment of kissing her hand after supper, she withdrew her hand and refused to accept this mark of respect. "my dear boy, don't kiss my hand, or 'my ladyship' me any more. i am but a poor gypsy girl. my parents, were simple camp-folk; my name is czipra. i am a domestic servant here, whom the master has dressed up, out of caprice, in silks and laces, and he makes the servants call me 'madame,' on which account they subsequently mock me,--of course, only behind my back, for if they did it to my face i should strike them; but don't you laugh at me behind my back. i am an orphan gypsy girl, and my master picked me up out of the gutter. he is very kind to me, and i would die for him, if fate so willed. that's how matters stand, do you understand?" the gypsy girl glanced with dimmed eyes at topándy, who smilingly listened to her frank confession, as though he approved of it. then, as if she had gained her master's consent, she turned again to lorand: "so call me simply 'czipra.'" "all right, czipra, my sister," said lorand, holding out his hand. "well now, that is nice of you to add that;" upon which she pressed lorand's hand, and left the men to themselves. topándy turned the conversation, and spoke no more to lorand of czipra. he first of all wished to find out what impression the discovery would make upon the young man. the following days enlightened him. lorand, from that day, far from showing more familiarity, manifested greater deference towards the reputed lady of the house. since she had confessed her true position to him, moreover he treated her as one who knew well that the smallest slight would doubly hurt one who was not in a position to complain. he was kind and attentive to the woman, who, beneath the appearance of happiness, was wretched, though innocent. to the uninitiated, she was the lady of the house; to the better informed, she was the favorite of her master, and that was nought but a maiden in the disguise of wife, and lorand was able to read the riddle aright. if topándy watched him, he in his turn observed topándy; he saw that topándy did not watch, nor was jealous of the girl. he consented to her traveling alone, confided the greater part of his fortune to her, overwhelmed her with presents, but beyond this did not trouble about her. still he showed a certain affection which did not arise from mere habit. he would not brook the least harm to her from anybody, making the whole household fear her as much as the master, and if by chance they hesitated as to their duty to one or the other, it was always czipra who had a prior claim on their services. topándy at once perceived that lorand did not run after a fair face, nor after the face of any woman, who was not difficult to conquer, because she was not guarded, and who might be easily got rid of, being but a gypsy girl. his heart was either fully occupied by one object only, or it was an infinite void which nothing could fill. topándy led a boisterous life, when he fell in with his chums, but when alone he was quite another man. to fathom nature's mysteries was a passion with him. in a corner of the basement of the castle there was a chemical laboratory, where he passed his time with making physical experiments; he labored with instruments, he probed the secrets of the stars, and of the earth; at such times he only cared to have lorand at his side; in him he found a being capable of sharing his scientific researches, though he did not share in his doubts. "all is matter!" such had for centuries been the motto of the naturalist, and therefore the naturalist had ever found a kindred spirit in the agnostic. often did czipra come upon the two men at their quiet pursuits and watch them for hours together; and though she did not understand what in this higher science went beyond her comprehension, yet she could take pleasure in observing cartesius' diving imps; she dared to sit upon the insulators, and her joy was boundless when lorand at such a time, approaching her with his finger, called forth electric sparks from her dress or hands. she found enjoyment, too, in peering through the great telescopes at the heavenly wonders. lorand was always ready to answer her questions; but the poor girl was far from understanding all. yet how rapturous the thought of knowing all! once when lorand was explaining to her the properties of the sun-spectrum, the girl sighed and, suddenly bending down to lorand, whispered blushingly: "teach me to read." lorand looked at her in amazement. topándy, looking over his shoulder, asked her: "tell me, what would be the use of teaching you to read?" the girl clasped her hands to her bosom: "i should like to learn to pray." "what? to pray? and what would you pray for? is there anything that you cannot do without?" "there is." "what can it be?" "that is what i should like to know by praying." "and you do not know yourself what it is?" "i cannot express what it is." "and do you know anybody who could give it you?" the girl pointed to the sky. topándy shrugged his shoulders at her. "bah! you goose, reading is not for girls. women are best off when they know nothing." then he laughed in her face. czipra ran weeping out of the laboratory. lorand pitied the poor creature, who, dressed in silks and finery, did not know her letters, and who was incapable of raising her voice to god. he was in a mood, through long solitude, for pitying others; under a strange name, known to nobody, separated from the world, he was able to forget the lofty dreams to which a smooth career had pointed, and which fate, at his first steps, had mocked. he had given up the idea that the world should acknowledge this title: "a great patriot, who is the holder of a high office." he who does not desire this should keep to the ploughshare. ambition should only have well-regulated roads, and success should only begin with a lower office in the state. but he whose hobby it is to murmur, will find a fine career in field labor; and he who wishes to bury himself, will find himself supplied, in life, with a beautiful, romantic, flowery wheat-covered cemetery by the fields, from the centre of which the happy dead creatures of life cheerfully mock at those who weary themselves and create a disturbance--with the idea that they are doing something, whereas their end is the same as that of the rest of mankind. lorand was even beginning to grow indifferent to the awful obligation that lay before him at the end of the appointed time. it was still afar off. before then a man might die peacefully and quietly; perhaps that other who guarded the secret might pass away ere then. and perhaps the years at the plough would harden the skin of a man's soul, as it did of his face and hands, so that he would come to ridicule a wager, which in his youthful over-enthusiasm he would have fulfilled; a wager the refusal to accept which would merely win the commendation of everybody. and if any one could say the reverse, how could he find him to say it to his face? as regards his family at home, he was fairly at his ease. he often received letters from dezsö (desiderius), under another address; they were all well at home, and treated the fate of the expelled son with good grace. he also learned that madame bálnokházy had not returned to her husband, but had gone abroad with that actor with whom she had previously been acquainted. this also he had wiped out from his memory. his whole mind was a perfect blank in which there was room for other people's misfortunes. it was impossible not to remark how czipra became attached to him in her simplicity. she had a feeling which she had never felt before, a feeling of shame, if some impudent jest was made at her expense by one of topándy's guests, in the presence of lorand. once, when topándy and lorand were amusing themselves at greater length with optical experiments in the lonely scientific apartment, lorand took the liberty of introducing the subject. "is it true that that girl has grown up without any knowledge whatever?" "surely; she knows neither god nor alphabet." "why don't you allow the poor child to learn to know them?" "what, her alphabet? because in my eyes it is quite superfluous. a mad idea once occurred to me of picking some naked gypsy child out of the streets, with the intention of making a happy being therefrom. what is happiness in the world? ease and ignorance. had i a child of my own, i should do the same with it. the secret of life is to have a good appetite, sound sleep, and a good heart. if i reflect what bitternesses have been my lot my whole life, i find the cause of each one was what i have learned. many a night did i lie awake in agonized distraction, while my servants were snoring in peace. i desired to see before me a person as happy as it was my ideal to be; a person free from those distressing tortures, which the civilized world has discovered for the persecution of man by man. well, i have begun by telling you why i did not teach czipra her alphabet." "and god?" topándy took his eyes off the telescope, with which he had just been gazing at the starry sky. "i don't know him myself." lorand turned from him with a distressed air. topándy remarked it. "my dear boy, my dear twenty-year-old child, probably you know more than i do; if you know him, i beg you to teach me." lorand shrugged his shoulders, then began to discuss scientific subjects. "does dollond's telescope show stars in the milky way?" "yes, a million twinkling stars o'erspread the milky way, each several star a sun." "does it dissipate the mist in the head of the northern hound?" "the mist remains as it was before--a round cloudy mass with a ring of mist around it." "perhaps gregory's telescope, just arrived from vienna, magnifies better?" "bring it here. since its arrival there has been no clear weather, to enable us to make experiments with it." topándy gazed at the heavens through the new telescope with great interest. "ah," he remarked in a tone of surprise. "this is a splendid instrument; the star-mist thins, some tiny stars appear out of the ring." "and the mass itself?" "that remains mist. not even this telescope can disperse its atoms." "well, shall we not experiment with chevalier's microscope now?" "that is a good idea; get it ready." "what shall we put under it? a rhinchites?" "that will do." lorand lit the spirit-lamp, which threw light on the subject under the magnifying glass; then he first looked into it himself, to find the correct focus. enraptured, he cried out: "look here! that fabled armor of homer's _iliad_ is not to be compared with this little insect's wing-shields. they are nothing but emerald and enamelled gold." "indeed it is so." "and now listen to me: between the two wings of this little insect there is a tiny parasite or worm, which in its turn has two eyes, a life, and life-blood flowing in its veins, and in this worm's stomach other worms are living, impenetrable to the eye of this microscope." "i understand," said the atheist, glancing into lorand's eyes. "you are explaining to me that the immensity of the world of creation reaching to awful eternity is only equalled by the immensity of the descent to the shapeless nonentity; and that is your god!" the sublime calm of lorand's face indicated that that was his idea. "my dear boy," said topándy, placing his two hands on lorand's shoulder, "with that idea i have long been acquainted. i, too, fall down before immensity, and recognize that we represent but one class in the upward direction towards the stars, and one degree in the descent to the moth and rust that corrupt; and perhaps that worm, that i killed in order to take rapt pleasure in its wings, thought itself the middle of eternity round which the world is whirling like plato's featherless two-footed animals; and when at the door of death it uttered its last cry, it probably thought that this cry for vengeance would be noted by some one, as when at warsaw four thousand martyrs sang with their last breath, 'all is not yet lost.'" "that is not my faith, sir. the history of the ephemeral insect is the history of a day,--that of a man means a whole life; the history of nations means centuries, that of the world eternity; and in eternity justice comes to each one in irremediable and unalterable succession." "i grant that, my boy; and i allow, too, that the comets are certainly claimants to the world whose suits have been deferred to this long justice, who one day will all recover their inheritances, from which some tyrant sun has driven them out; but you must also acknowledge, my child, that for us, the thoughtful worms, or stars, if you like, which can express their thoughts in spirited curses, providence has no care. for everything, everything there is a providence: be it so, i believe it. but for the living kind there is none, unless we take into account the rare occasions when a plague visits mankind, because it is too closely spread over the earth and requires thinning." "sir, many misfortunes have i suffered on earth, very many, and such as fate distributes indiscriminately; but it has never destroyed--my faith." "no misfortune has ever attacked me. it is not suffering that has made me sceptical. my life has always been to my taste. should some one divide up his property in reward for prayer, i should not benefit one crumb from it.--it is hypocrites who have forcibly driven me this way. perhaps, were i not surrounded by such, i should keep silence about my unbelief, i should not scandalize others with it, i should not seek to persecute the world's hypocrites with what they call blasphemy. believe me, my boy, of a million men, all but one regard providence as a rich creditor, from whom they may always borrow--but when it is a question of paying the interest, then only that one remembers it." "and that one is enough to hallow the ideal!" "that one?--but you will not be that one!" lorand, astonished, asked: "why not?" "because, if you remain long in my vicinity, you must without fail turn into such a universal disbeliever as i am." lorand smiled to himself. "my child," said topándy, "you will not catch the infection from me, who am always sneering and causing scandals, but from that other who prays to the sound of bells." "you mean sárvölgyi?" "whom else could i mean? you will meet this man every day. and in the end you will say just as i do--'if one must go to heaven in this wise, i had rather remain here?'" "well, and what is this sárvölgyi?" "a hypocrite, who lies to all the saints in turn, and would deceive the eyes of the archangels if they did not look after themselves." "you have a very low opinion of the man." "a low opinion? that is the only good thing in my heart, that i despise the fellow." "simply because he is pious? in the world of to-day, however, it is a kind of courage to dare to show one's piety outwardly before a world of scepticism and indifference. i should like to defend him against you." "would you? very well. let us start at once. draw up a chair and listen to me. i shall be the devil's advocate. i shall tell you a story concerning this fellow; i was merely a simple witness to the whole. the man never did me any harm. i tell you once again that i have no complaint to make either against mankind or against any beings that may exist above or below. sit beside me, my boy." lorand first of all stirred up the fire in the fire-place, and put out the spirit lamp of the microscope, so that the room was lighted only by the red glare of the log-fire and the moon, which was now rising above the horizon and shed her pale radiance through the window. "in my younger days i had a very dear friend, a relation, with whom i had always gone to school and such fast comrades were we that even in the class-room we sat always side by side. my comrade was unapproachably first in the class, and i came next; sometime between us like a dividing wall came this fellow sárvölgyi, who was even then a great flatterer and sneak, and in this way sometimes drove me out of my place--and young schoolboys think a great deal of their own particular places. of course i was even then so godless that they could not make sufficient complaints against me. later, during the french war, as the schools suffered much, we were both sent together to heidelberg. the devil brought sárvölgyi after us. his parents were parvenues. what our parents did they were always bound to imitate. they might have sent their boy to jena, berlin, or nineveh; but he must come just where we were." "you have never mentioned your friend's name," said lorand, who had listened in anguish to the commencement of the story. "indeed?--why there's really no need for the name. he was a friend of mine. as far as the story is concerned it doesn't matter what they called him. still that you may not think i am relating a fable, i may as well tell you his name. it was lörincz Áronffy." a cold numbness seized lorand when he heard his father's name. then his heart began suddenly to beat at a furious pace. he felt he was standing before the crypt door, whose secret he had so often striven to fathom. "i never knew a fairer figure, a nobler nature, a warmer heart than he had," continued topándy. "i admired and loved him, not merely as my relation, but as the ideal of the young men of the day. the common knowledge of all kinds of little secrets, such as only young people understand among themselves, united us more closely in that bond of friendship which is usually deferred until later days. at that time there broke out all over europe those liberal political views, which had such a fascinating influence generally on young men. here too there was an awakening of what is called national feeling; great philosophers even turned against one another with quite modern opposition in public as well as in private life. all this made more intimate the relations which had till then been mere childish habit. "we were two years at the academy; those two years were passed amidst enough noise and pleasure. had we money, we spent it together; had we none, we starved together. for one another we went empty-handed, for one another, we fought, and were put in prison. then we met sárvölgyi very seldom; the academy is a great forest and men are not forced together as on the benches of a grammar-school. "just at the very climax of the french war, the idea struck us to edit a written newspaper among ourselves." (lorand began to listen with still greater interest.) "we travestied with humorous score in our paper all that the 'augsburger' delivered with great pathos: those who read laughed at it. "however, there came an end to our amusement, when one fine day we received the 'consilium abeundi.' "i was certainly not very much annoyed. so much transcendental science, so much knowledge of the world had been driven into me already, that i longed to go home to the company of the village sexton, who, still believed that anecdotes and fables were the highest science. "only two days were allowed us at heidelberg to collect our belongings and say adieu to our so-called 'treasures.' during these two days i only saw Áronffy twice: once on the morning of the first day, when he came to me in a state of great excitement, and said, 'i have the scoundrel by the ear who betrayed us!--if i don't return, follow in my tracks and avenge me.' i asked him why he did not choose me for his second, but he replied: 'because you also are interested and must follow me.' and then on the evening of the second day he came home again, quite dispirited and out of sorts! i spoke to him; he would scarcely answer; and when i finally insisted: 'perhaps you killed someone?' he answered determinedly, 'yes.'" "and who was that man?" inquired lorand, taken aback. "don't interrupt me. you shall know soon," topándy muttered. "from that day Áronffy was completely changed. the good-humored, spirited young fellow became suddenly a quiet, serious, sedate man, who would never join us in any amusement. he avoided the world, and i remarked that in the world he did his best to avoid me. "i thought i knew why that was. i thought i knew the secret of his earnestness. he had murdered a man whom he had challenged to a duel. that weighed upon his mind. he could not be cold-blooded enough to drive even such a bagatelle from his head. other people count it a 'bravour,' or at most suffer from the persecutions of others--not of themselves. he would soon forget it, i thought, as he grew older. "yet my dear friend remained year by year a serious-minded man, and when later on i met him, his society was for me so unenjoyable that i never found any pleasure in frequenting it. "still, as soon as he returned home, he got married. even before our trip to heidelberg he had become engaged to a very pleasant, pretty, and quiet young girl. they were in love with each other. still Áronffy remained always gloomy. in the first year of his marriage a son was born to him. later another. they say both the sons were handsome, clever boys. yet that never brightened him. immediately after the honeymoon he went to the war, and behaved there like one who thinks the sooner he is cut off the better. later, all the news i received of him confirmed my idea that Áronffy was suffering from an incurable mental disease.--does a man, the candle of whose life we have snuffed out deserve that?" "what was the name of the man he murdered?" demanded lorand with renewed disquietude. "as i have told you, you shall know soon: the story will not run away from me! only listen further. "one day--it might have been twelve years since the day we shook off the dust of the heidelberg school from our boots--i received a parcel from heidelberg, from the local council, which informed me that a certain dr. stoppelfeld had left me this packet in his will. "stoppelfeld? i racked my brains to discover who it might be that from beyond the border had left me something in his testament. finally it occurred to me that a long light-haired medical student, who was famous in his days among the drinking clubs, had attended the same lectures as we had. if i was not deceived, we had drunk together and fought a duel. "i undid the packet, and found within it a letter addressed to me. "i have that letter still, but i know every word by heart so often have i read it. its contents were as follows: "'my dear comrade: "'you may remember that, on the day before your departure from heidelberg, one of our young colleagues, lörincz Áronffy, looked among his acquaintances for seconds in some affair of honor. as it happened i was the first he addressed. i naturally accepted the invitation, and asked his reason and business. as you too know them--he told me so--i shall not write them here. he informed me, too, why he did not choose you as his second, and at the same time bound me to promise, if he should fall in the duel, to tell you that you might follow the matter up. i accepted, and went with him to the challenged. i explained that in such a case a duel was customary, and in fact necessary; if he wished to avoid it, he would be forced to leave the academy. the challenged did not refuse the challenge, but said that as he was of weak constitution, shortsighted and without practice with any kind of weapons, he chose the american duel of drawing lots!'" ... topándy glanced by chance at lorand's face, and thought that the change of color he saw on his countenance was the reflection of the flickering flame in the fire-place. "the letter continued: "'at our academy at that time there was a great rage for that stupid kind of duel, where two men draw lots and the one whose name comes out, must blow his brains out after a fixed time. asses! at that time i had already enough common sense, when summoned to act as second in such cases, to try to persuade the principals to fix a longer period, calculating quite rightly that within ten or twelve years the bitterest enemies would become reconciled, and might even become good friends: the successful principal might be magnanimous, and give his opponent his life, or the unsuccessful adversary might forget in his well-being, such a ridiculous obligation. "'in this case i arranged a period of sixteen years between the parties. i knew my men: sixteen years were necessary for the education of the traitorous schoolfox[ ] into a man of honor, or for his proud, upright young adversary to reach the necessary pitch of _sang froid_ that would make a settlement of their difference feasible. [footnote : _i. e._, schoolfox, a term of contempt.] "'Áronffy objected at first: "at once or never!" but he had finally to accept the decision of the seconds: and we drew lots. "'Áronffy's name came out.'" ... lorand was staring at the narrator with fixed eyes, and had no feeling for the world outside, as he listened in rapt awe to this story of the past. "'the name that was drawn out we gave to the successful party, who had the right to send this card, after sixteen years were passed, to his adversary, in order if the latter deferred the fulfilment of his obligation, to remind him thereof. "'then we parted company, you went home and i thought we should forget the matter as many others have done. "'but i was deceived. to this, the hour of my death, it has always remained in my memory, has always agonized and persecuted me. i inquired of my acquaintances in hungary about the two adversaries, and all i learned only increased my anguish. Áronffy was a proud and earnest man. it is surely stupidity for a man to kill himself, when he is happy and faring well: yet a proud man would far rather the worms gnawed his body than his soul, and could not endure the idea of giving up to a man, whom yesterday he had the right to despise, of his own accord, that right of contempt. he can die, but he cannot be disgraced. he is a fool for his pains: but it is consistent.'" lorand was shuddering all over. "'i am in my death-struggles,' continued stoppelfeld's letter: 'i know the day, the hour in which i shall end all; but that thought does not calm me so much, seeing that i cannot go myself and seek that man, who holds Áronffy in his hands, to tell him: "sir, twelve years have passed. your opponent has suffered twelve years already because of a terrible obligation: for him every pleasure of life has been embittered, before him the future eternity has been overclouded; be contented with that sacrifice, and do not ask for the greatest too. give back one man to his family, to his country, and to god--" but i cannot go. i must sit here motionless and count the beats of my pulse, and reckon how many remain till the last. "'and that is why i came to you: you know both, and were a good friend to one: go, speak, and act. perhaps i am a ridiculous fool: i am afraid of my own shadow; but it agonizes and horrifies me; it will not let me die. take this inheritance from me. let me rest peacefully in my ashes. so may god bless you! the man who has Áronffy's word, as far as i know, is a very gracious man, it will be easy for you to persuade him--his name is sárvölgyi.'" ... at these words topándy rose from his seat and went to the window, opening both sides of it: so heavy was the air within the room. the cold light of the moon shone on lorand's brow. topándy, standing then at the window, continued the thrilling story he had commenced. he could not sit still to relate it. nor did he speak as if his words were for lorand alone, but as if he wished the dumb trees to hear it too, and the wondering moon, and the shivering stars and the shooting meteors that they might gainsay if possible the earthy worm who was speaking. "i at once hurried across to the fellow. i was now going with tender, conciliatory countenance to a man whose threshold i had never crossed, whom i had never greeted when we met. i first offered him my hand that there might be peace between us. i began to appraise his graciousness, his virtues. i begged him to pardon the annoyances i had previously caused him; whatever atonement he might demand from me i would be glad to fulfill. "the fellow received me with gracious obeisance, and grasped my hand. he said, upon his soul, he could not recall any annoyance he had ever suffered from me. on the contrary he calculated how much good i had done him in my life, beginning from his school-boy years:--i merely replied that i certainly could not remember it. "i hastened to come straight to the point. i told him that i had been brought to his home by an affair the settlement of which i owed to a good old friend, and asked him to read the letter that i had received that day. "sárvölgyi read the letter to the end. i watched his face all the time he was reading it. he did not cease for a moment that stereotyped smile of tenderness which gives me the shivers whenever i see it in my recollections. "when he was through with the letter, he quietly folded it and gave it back. "'have you not discovered,' he said to me with pious face, 'that the man who wrote that letter is--mad?' "'mad?' i asked, aghast. "'without doubt,' answered sárvölgyi; 'he himself writes that he has a disease of the nerves, sees visions, and is afraid of his shadow. the whole story is--a fable. i never had any conflict with our friend Áronffy, which would have given occasion for an american or even a chinese duel. from beginning to end it is--a poem.' "i knew it was no poem: Áronffy had had a duel, but i had never known with whom. i had never asked him about it any more after he had, to my question, 'perhaps you have murdered someone?' answered, 'yes.' plainly he had meant himself. i tried to penetrate more deeply into that man's heart. "'sir, neighbor, friend,--be a man! be the christian you wish to be thought: consider that this fellow-man of ours has a dearly-loved family. if you have that card which the seconds gave you twelve years ago, don't agonize or terrify him any more; write to him that "the account is settled," and give over to him that horrible deed of contract. i shall honor you till my death for it. i know that in any case you will do it one day before it is too late. you will not take advantage of that horrible power which blind fate has delivered into your hand, by sending him his card empty to remind him that the time is up. you would pardon him then too. but do so now. this man's life during its period of summer, has been clouded by this torturing obligation, which has hung continuously above his happiness; let the autumn sunbeams shine upon his head. give, give him a hand of reconciliation now, at once!' "sárvölgyi insisted that he had never had any kind of 'cartell': how could i imagine that he would have the heart to maintain his revenge for years? his past and present life repudiated any such charge. he had never had any quarrel with Áronffy, and, had there been one, he would long ago have been reconciled to him. "i did not yet let the fellow out of my hands. i told him to think what he was doing. Áronffy had once told me that, should he perish in this affair, i was to continue the matter. i too knew a kind of duel, which surpassed even the american, because it destroyed a man by pin-pricks. so take care you don't receive for your eternal adversary the neighboring heathen in exchange for the pious, quiet and distant Áronffy. "sárvölgyi swore he knew nothing of the affair. he called god and all the saints to witness that he had not the very remotest share in Áronffy's danger. "'well, and why is Áronffy so low-spirited?' "'--as if you should not know that,' said the pharisee, making a face of surprise: 'not know anything about it? "'well i will whisper it to you in confidence. Áronffy has not been happy in his family life. you know, of course, that when he came home he married, and immediately joined the rebel army. with a corps of volunteers he fought till the end of the war, and returned again to his family. but he has still that worm in his soul.'" it was well that the fire had already died out:--well that a dark cloud rolled up before the moon:--well that the narrator could not see the face of his listener, when he said that: "and i was fool enough to believe him. i credited the calumny with which the good fame of the angelically pure wife of an honorable man had been defiled. yes, i allowed myself to be deceived in this underhand way! i allowed myself to rest calm in the belief that there is many a sad man on the earth, whose wife is beautiful. "still, once i met by chance Áronffy's mother, and produced before her the letter which had been accredited a fable. her ladyship was very grateful, but begged me not to say a word about it to Áronffy. "i believe that from that day she paid great attention to her son's behavior. "four years i had managed to keep myself at a respectful distance from sárvölgyi's person. "but there came a day in the year, marked with red in my calendar, the anniversary of our departure from heidelberg. "three days after that sixteenth anniversary i received a letter, which informed me that Áronffy had on that red-letter day killed himself in his family circle." the narrator here held silence, and, hanging down his hands, gazed out into the brilliant night; profound silence reigned in the room, only the large "grandfather's clock" ticked the past and future. "i don't know what i should have done, had i met the hypocrite then: but just at that time he was away on a journey: he left behind a letter for me, in which he wrote that he, too, was sorry our unfortunate friend--our friend indeed!--had met with such a sad end: certainly family circumstances had brought him to it. he pitied his weakness of mind, and promised to pray for his soul! "how pious. "he killed a man in cold blood, after having tortured him for sixteen years! sent him the sentence of death in a letter! forced the gracious, quiet, honorable man and father to cut short his life with his own hand! "with a cold, smiling countenance he took advantage of the fiendish power which fate and the too sensitive feeling of honor of a lofty soul had given into his hand; and then shrugged his shoulders, clasped his hands, turned his eyes to heaven, and said 'there is no room for the suicide with god.' "who is he, who gives a true man into the hands of the deceiver, that he may choke with his right hand his breath, with his left his soul. "well, philosopher, come; defend this pious man against me! tell me what you have learned." but the philosopher did not say what he had learned. half dead and wholly insensible he lay back in his chair while the moon shone upon his upturned face with its full brilliance. chapter xiv two girls eight years had passed. the young man who buried himself on the plains had become a man, his face had lengthened, his beard grown round it; few of his old acquaintances would have recognized him. even he himself had long ago become accustomed to his assumed name. in topándy's house the old order of things continued: czipra did the honors, presiding at the head of the table: lorand managed the farm, living in the house, sitting at the table, speaking to the comrades who came and went "per tu";[ ] with them he drank and amused himself. [footnote : a sign of intimacy--addressing a person as "thou."] drank and amused himself! what else should a young man do, who has no aim in life? with czipra, tête-à-tête, he spoke also "per tu;" before others he miladyed her. once at supper topándy said to czipra and lorand: "children, in a few days another child will come to the house. the devil has carried off a very dear relation of mine with whom i was on such excellent terms that we never spoke to one another. i should not, logically, believe there is a devil in the world, should i? but for the short period during which he had carried that fellow away, i am willing to acquiesce in his existence. to-day i have received a lamentable letter from his daughter, written in a beautiful tone of sorrow; the poor child writes that immediately after her father's death the house was swooped down upon by those sadducees who trample all piety under foot, the so-called creditors. they have seized everything and put it under seals; even her own piano; they have even put up at auction the pictures she drew with her own hand; and have actually sold the 'gedenkbuch,'[ ] in which so many clever and famous men had written so much absurdity: the tobacconist bought it for ten florins for the sake of its title-page. the poor girl has hitherto been educated by the nuns, to whom three quarters' payment is due, and her position is such that she has no roof except her parasol beneath which she may take shelter. she has a mother in name, but her company she cannot frequent, for certain reasons; she has tried her other relations and acquaintances in turn, but they have all well-founded reasons for not undertaking to burden their families in this manner; she cannot go into service, not having been educated to it. well, it occurred to her that she had, somewhere in the far regions of asia, a half-mad relation--that is your humble servant: it would be a good plan to find him out at once, and take up her abode with him as a princess. i entirely indorse my niece's argument: and have already sent her the money necessary for the journey, have paid the fees due, and have enabled her to appear among us in the style befitting her rank." [footnote : an album in which one writes something "as a souvenir."] topándy laughed loudly at his own production. it was only himself that laughed: the others did not share in it. "well, there will be one more young lady in the house: a refined, graceful, sentimental woman-in-white, before whom people must take great care what they say, and who will probably correct the behavior of all of us." czipra pushed her chair back angrily from the table. "oh, don't be afraid. she will not correct you. you may be sure of that. you have absolute authority in the house, as you know already: what you command or order is accomplished, and against your will not even a cat comes to our table. you remain what you were: mistress of life and death in the house. when you wish it, there is washing in the house, and everybody is obliged to render an account even of his last shirt; what you do not like in the place, you may throw out of the window, and you can buy what you wish. the new young lady will not take away from you a single one of those keys which hang on that silver chain dangling from your red girdle; and if only she does not entice away our young friend, she will be unable to set up any opposition against you. and even in that event i shall defend you." czipra shrugged her shoulders defiantly. "let her do as she pleases." "and we two shall do as we please, shall we not?" "you," said czipra, looking sharply at topándy with her black eyes. "you will soon be doing what that young lady likes. i foresee it all. as soon as she puts her foot in, everybody will do as she does. when she smiles, everybody will smile at her in return. if she speaks german, the whole house will use that language; if she walks on her tip-toes, the whole house will walk so; if her head aches, everybody in the house will speak in whispers; not as when poor czipra had a burning fever and nine men came to her bed to sing a funeral song, and offered her brandy." topándy laughed still more loudly at these invectives: the poor gypsy girl fixed her two burning eyes on lorand's face and kept them there till they turned into two orbs swimming in water. then she sprang up, threw down her chair and fled from the room. topándy calmly picked up the overthrown chair and put it in its place, then he went after czipra and a minute later brought her back on his arm into the dining-room, with an exceedingly humorous expression, and a courtesy worthy of a spanish grandee, which the poor foolish gypsy girl did not understand in the least. so readily did she lose her temper, and so readily did she recover it again. she sat down again in her place, and jested and laughed,--always and continuously at the expense of the finely-educated new-comer. lorand was curious to know the name of the new member of the family. "the daughter of one bálnokházy, p. c." said topándy, "melanie, if i remember well." lorand was perplexed. a face from the past! how strange that he should meet her there? still it was so long since they had seen each other, that she would probably not recognize him. melanie was to arrive to-morrow evening. early in the morning czipra visited lorand in his own room. she found the young man before his looking-glass. "oho!" she said laughing, "you are holding counsel with your glass to see whether you are handsome enough? handsome indeed you are: how often must i say so? believe me for once." but lorand was not taking counsel with his glass on that point: he was trying to see if he had changed enough. "come now," said czipra with a certain indifference. "i will make you pretty myself: you must be even more handsome, so that young lady's eyes may not be riveted upon me. sit down, i will arrange your hair." lorand had glorious chestnut-brown curls, smooth as silk. madame bálnokházy had once fallen madly in love with those locks and czipra was wont to arrange them every morning with her own hands: it was one of her privileges, and she understood it so well. lorand was philosopher enough to allow others to do him a service, and permitted czipra's fine fingers the privilege of playing among his locks. "don't be afraid: you will be handsome to-day!" said czipra, in naive reproach to the young fellow. lorand jestingly put his arm round her waist. "it will be all of no avail, my dear czipra, because we have to thrash corn to-day, and my hair will all be full of dust. rather, if you wish to do me a favor, cut off my hair." czipra was ready for that, too. she was lorand's "friseur" and topándy's "coiffeur." she found it quite natural. "well, and how do you wish your hair? short? shall i leave the curls in front?" "give me the scissors: i will soon show you," said lorand, and, taking them from czipra's hand, he gathered together the locks upon his forehead with one hand and with the other cropped them quite short, throwing what he had cut to the ground.--"so with the rest." czipra drew back in horror at this ruthless deed, feeling as pained as if those scissors had been thrust into her own body. those beautiful silken curls on the ground! and now the rest must of course be cut just as short. lorand sat down before her in a chair, from which he could look into the glass, and motioned to her to commence. czipra could scarcely force herself to do so. so to destroy the beauty of that fair head, over which she had so often stealthily posed in a reverie! to crop close that thick growth of hair, which, when her fingers had played among its electric curls, had made her always feel as if her own soul were wrapt together with it. and she was to close-crop it like the head of some convict! yet there was a kind of satisfaction in the thought that another would not so readily take notice of him. she would make him so ugly that he would not quickly win the heart of the new-comer. away with that samsonian strength, down to the last solitary hair! this thought lent a merciless power to her scissors. and when lorand's head was closely shaven, he was indeed curious to see. it looked so very funny that he laughed at himself when he turned to the glass. the girl too laughed with him. she could not prevent herself from laughing to his face; then she turned away from him, leaned out of the window, and burst into another fit of laughter. really it would have been difficult to distinguish whether she was laughing or crying. "thank you, czipra, my dear," said lorand, putting his arm round the girl's waist. "don't wait with dinner for me to-day, for i shall be outside on the threshing-floor." thereupon he left the room. czipra, left to herself, before anyone could have entered, kneeled down on the floor, and swept up from the floor with her hands the curls she had cut off. every one: not a single hair must remain for another. then she hid the whole lovely cluster in her bosom. perhaps she would never take them out again.... with that instinct, which nature has given to women only, czipra felt that the new-comer would be her antagonist, her rival in everything, that the outcome would be a struggle for life and death between them. the whole day long she worried herself with ideas about the new adversary's appearance. perhaps she was some doll used to proud and noble attitudinising: let her come! it would be fine to take her pride down. an easy task, to crush an oppressed mind. she would steal away from the house, or fall into sickness by dint of much annoyance, and grow old before her time. or perhaps she was some spoiled, sensitive, fragile chit, who came here to weep over her past, who would find some hidden reproach in every word, and would feel her position more and more unendurable day by day. such a creature, too, would droop her head in shame--so that every morning her pillow would be bedewed with tears. for she need not reckon on pity! or perhaps she would be just the opposite: a light-hearted, gay, sprightly bird, who would find herself at home in every position. if only to-day were cheerful, she would not weep for yesterday, or be anxious for the morrow. care would be taken to clip the wings of her good humor: a far greater triumph would it be to make a weeping face of a smiling one. or perhaps a languid, idle, good-for-nothing domestic delicacy, who liked only to make toilettes, to sit for hours together before the mirror, and in the evening read novels by lamp-light. what a jest it would be to mock her, to make her stare at country work, to spoil her precious hands in the skin-roughening house-keeping work, and to laugh at her clumsiness. be she what she might, she might be quite sure of finding an adversary who would accept no cry for mercy. oh, it was wise to beware of czipra! czipra had two hearts, one good, the other bad: with the one she loved, with the other she hated, and the stronger she loved with the one, the stronger she hated with the other. she could be a very good, quiet, blessed creature, whose faults must be discovered and seen through a magnifying-glass: but if that other heart were once awakened, the old one would never be found again. every drop of czipra's blood wished that every drop of "that other's" blood should change to tears. this is how they awaited melanie at lankadomb. evening had not yet drawn in, when the carriage, which had been sent for melanie to tiszafüred station, arrived. the traveler did not wait till some one came to receive her; she stepped out of the carriage unaided and found the verandah alone. topándy met her in the doorway. they embraced, and he led her into the lobby. czipra was waiting for her there. the gypsy girl was wearing a pure white dress, white apron, and no jewels at all. she had done her best to be simple, that she might surprise that town girl. of course, she might have been robed in silk and lace, for she had enough and to spare. yet she ought to have known that the new-comer could not be stylishly dressed, for she was in mourning. melanie had on the most simple black dress, without any decoration, only round her neck and wrists were crochet lace trimmings. she was just as simple as czipra. her beautiful pale face, with its still childish features, her calm quiet look,--all beamed sympathy around her. "my daughter, czipra," said topándy, introducing them. melanie, with that graciousness which is the mark of all ladies, offered her hand to the girl, and greeted her gently. "good evening, czipra." czipra bitterly inquired: "a foolish name, is it not?" "on the contrary, the name of a goddess, czipra." "what goddess? pagan?"--the idea did not please czipra: she knit her eyebrows and nodded in disapproval. "a holy woman of the bible was called by this name, zipporah,[ ] the wife of moses." [footnote : this play upon names is really only feasible in magyar, where zipporah-czippora.] "of the bible?" the gypsy girl caught at the word, and looked with flashing eyes at topándy, as who would say "do you hear that?"--only then did she take melanie's hand, but after that she did not release her hold of it any more. "we must know much more of that holy woman of the bible! come with me. i will show you your room." czipra remarked that they had kissed each other. topándy shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and let them go alone. the newly arrived girl did not display the least embarrassment in her dealing with czipra: on the contrary, she behaved as if they had been friends from childhood. she at once addressed czipra in the greatest confidence, when the latter had taken her to the room set apart for her use. "you will have much trouble with me, my dear czipra, at first, for i am very clumsy. i know now that i have learned nothing, with which i can do good to myself or others. i am so helpless. but you will be all the cleverer, i know: i shall soon learn from you. oh, you will often find fault with me, when i make mistakes; but when one girl reproaches another it does not matter. you will teach me housekeeping, will you not?" "you would like to learn?" "of course. one cannot remain for ever a burden to one's relations; only in case i learn can i be of use, if some poor man takes me as his wife; if not i must take service with some stranger, and must know these things anyhow." there was much bitterness in these words; but the orphan of the ruined gentleman said them with such calm, such peace of mind, that every string of czipra's heart was relaxed as when a damp mist affects the strings of a harp. meanwhile they had brought melanie's travelling-trunk: there was only one, and no bonnet-boxes--almost incredible! "very well,--so begin at once to put your own things in order. here are the wardrobes for your robes and linen. keep them all neat. the young lady, whose stockings the chamber-maid has to look for, some in one room, some in another, will never make a good housekeeper." melanie drew her only trunk beside her and opened it: she took out her upper-dresses. there were only four, one of calico, one of batiste, then one ordinary, and one for special occasions. "they have become a little crumpled in packing. please have them bring me an iron; i must iron them before i hang them up." "do you wish to iron them yourself?" "naturally. there are not many of them: those i must make respectable--the servant can heat the iron. oh, they must last a long time." "why haven't you brought more with you?" melanie's face for a moment flushed a full rose--then she answered this indiscreet inquiry calmly: "simply, my dear czipra, because the rest were seized by our creditors, who claimed them as a debt." "couldn't you have anticipated them?" melanie clasped her hands on her breast, and said with the astonishment of moral aversion: "how? by doing so i should have swindled them." czipra recollected herself. "true; you are right." czipra helped melanie to put her things in the cupboards. with a woman's critical eye, she examined everything. she found the linen not fine enough, though the work on it pleased her well. that was melanie's own handiwork. as regards books, there was only one in the trunk, a prayer-book. czipra opened it and looked into it. there were steel plates in it. the portrait of a beautiful woman, seven stars round her head, raising her tear-stained eyes to heaven: and the picture of a kneeling youth, round the fair bowed head of whom the light of heaven was pouring. long did she gaze at the pictures. who could those figures be? there were no jewels at all among the new-comer's treasures. czipra remarked that melanie's ear-rings were missing. "you have left your earrings behind too?" she asked, hiding any want of tenderness in the question by delivering it in a whisper. "our solicitor told me," said melanie, with downcast eyes, "that those earrings also were paid for by creditors' money:--and he was right. i gave them to him." "but the holes in your ears will grow together; i shall give you some of mine." therewith she ran to her room, and in a few moments returned with a pair of earrings. melanie did not attempt to hide her delight at the gift. "why, my own had just such sapphires, only the stones were not so large." and she kissed czipra, and allowed her to place the earrings in her ears. with the earrings came a brooch. czipra pinned it in melanie's collar, and her eyes rested on the pretty collar itself: she tried it, looked at it closely and could not discover "how it was made." "don't you know that work? it is crochet, quite a new kind of fancy-work, but very easy. come, i will show you right away." thereupon she took out two crochet needles and a reel of cotton from her work-case, and began to explain the work to czipra: then she gave it to her to try. her first attempt was very successful. czipra had learned something from the new-comer, and remarked that she would learn much more from her. czipra spent an hour with melanie and an hour later came to the conclusion that she was only now beginning--to be a girl. at supper they appeared with their arms round each other's necks. the first evening was one of unbounded delight to czipra. this girl did not represent any one of those hateful pictures she had conjured up in the witches' kettle of her imagination. she was no rival; she was not a great lady, she was a companion, a child of seventeen years, with whom she could prattle away the time, and before whom she must not choose her words so nicely, seeing that she was not so sensitive to insult. and it seemed that melanie liked the idea of there being a girl in the house, whose presence threw a gleam of pleasure on the solitude. czipra might also be content with melanie's conduct towards lorand. her eyes never rested on the young man's face, although they did not avoid his gaze. she treated him indifferently, and the whole day only exchanged words with him when she thanked him for filling her glass with water. and indeed lorand had reduced his external advantages to such a severe simplicity by wearing his hair closely cropped, and his every movement was marked by that languid, lazy stooping attitude which is usually the special peculiarity of those who busy themselves with agricultural work, that melanie's eyes had no reason to be fixed specially upon him. oh, the eyes of a young girl of seventeen summers cannot discover manly beauty under such a dust-stained, neglected exterior. lorand felt relieved that melanie did not recognize him. not a single trace of surprise showed itself on her face, not a single searching glance betrayed the fact that she thought of the original of a well-known countenance when she saw this man who had met her by chance far away from home. lorand's face, his gait, his voice, all were strange to her. the face had grown older, the gait was that of a farmer, the old beautiful voice had deepened into a perfect baritone. nor did they meet often, except at dinner, supper and breakfast. melanie passed the rest of the day without a break, by czipra's side. czipra was six years her senior, and she made a good protectress; that continuous woman's chattering, of which topándy had said, that, if one hour passed without its being heard, he should think he had come to the land of the dead:--a man grew to like that after awhile. and side by side with the quick-handed, quick-tongued maiden, whose every limb was full of electric springiness, was that charming clumsiness of the neophyte,--such a contrast! how they laughed together when melanie came to announce that she had forgotten to put yeast in the cake, both her hands covered with sticky leaven, for all the world as if she were wearing winter gloves; or when, at cizpra's command, she tried to take a little yellow downy chicken from the cold courtyard to a warm room, keeping up the while a lively duel with the jealous brood-hen, till finally melanie was obliged to run. how much two girls can laugh together over a thousand such humorous nothings! and how they could chatter over a thousand still more humorous nothings, when of an evening, by moonlight, they opened the window looking out on the garden, and lying on the worked window-cushions, talked till midnight, of all the things in which no one else was interested? melanie could tell many new things to czipra which the latter delighted to hear. there was one thing which they had touched on once or twice jestingly, and which czipra would have particularly loved to extract from her. melanie, now and again forgetting herself, would sigh deeply. "did that sigh speak to someone afar off?" or when at dinner she left the daintiest titbit on her plate. "did some one think just now of some one far away, who is perhaps famishing?" "oh, that 'some one' is not famishing"--whispered melanie in answer. so there was "somebody" after all. that made czipra glad. that evening during the conversation she introduced the subject. "who is that 'some one?'" "he is a very excellent youth: and is on close terms with many foreign princes. in a short time he won himself great fame. everyone exalts him. he came often to our house during papa's life-time, and they intended me to be his bride even in my early days." "handsome?" inquired czipra. that was the chief thing to know. melanie answered this question merely with her eyes. but czipra might have been content with the answer. he was at any rate as handsome a man in melanie's eyes as lorand was in hers. "shall you be his wife?" at this question melanie held up her fine left hand before czipra, raising the fourth finger higher than the rest. on it was a ring. czipra drew the ring off her finger and looked closely at it. she saw letters inside it. if she only knew those! "is this his name?" "his initials." "he is called?" "joseph gyáli." czipra put the ring on again. she was very contented with this discovery. the ring of an old love, who was a handsome man, excellent, and celebrated, was there on her finger. peace was hallowed. now she believed thoroughly in melanie, she believed that the indifference melanie showed towards lorand was no mere pretence. the field was already occupied by another. but if she was quite at rest as regards melanie, she could be less assured as to the peaceful intentions of lorand's eyes. how those eyes feasted themselves every day on melanie's countenance! of course, who could be indignant if men's eyes were attracted by the "beautiful?" it has ever been their privilege. but it is the marvellous gift of woman's eyes to be able to tell the distinction between look and look. through the prism of jealousy the eye-beam is refracted to its primary colors; and this wonderful optical analysis says: this is the twinkle of curiosity, that the coquettish ogle, this the fire of love, that the dark-blue of abstraction. czipra had not studied optics, but this optical analysis she understood very well. she did not seem to be paying attention; it seemed as if she did not notice, as if her eyes were not at work; yet she saw and knew everything. lorand's eyes feasted upon the beautiful maiden's figure. every time he saw her, they dwelt upon her: as the bee feasts upon the invisible honey of the flower, and slowly a suspicion dawned upon czipra. every glance was a home-returning bee who brings home the honey of love to a humming heart. besides, czipra might have known it from the fact that lorand, ever since melanie came to the house, had been more reserved towards her. he had found his presence everywhere more needful, that he might be so much less at home. czipra could not bear the agony long. once finding lorand alone, she turned to him in wanton sarcasm. "it is certain, my friend bálint," (that was lorand's alias) "that we are casting glances at that young girl in vain, for she has a fiancé already." "indeed?" said lorand, caressing the girl's round chin, for all the world as if he was touching some delicate flower-bud. "why all this tenderness at once? if i were to look so much at a girl, i would long ago have taken care to see if she had a ring on her finger:--it is generally an engagement ring." "well, and do i look very much at that girl?" enquired lorand in a jesting tone. "as often as i look at you." that was reproach and confession all in one. czipra tried to dispose of the possible effect of this gentle speech at once, by laughing immediately. "my friend bálint! that young lady's fiancé is a very great man. the favorite of foreign princes, rides in a carriage, and is called 'my lord.' he is a very handsome man, too: though not so handsome as you. a fine, pretty cavalier." "i congratulate her!" said lorand, smiling. "of course it is true; melanie herself told me.--she told me his name, too--joseph gyáli." "ha, ha, ha!" lorand, smilingly and good-humoredly pinching czipra's cheek, went on his way. he smiled, but with the poisonous arrow sticking in his heart! oh, czipra did herself a bad turn when she mentioned that name before lorand! chapter xv if he loves, then let him love! lorand's whole being revolted at what czipra had told him. that girl was the bride of that fatal adversary! of that man for whose sake he was to die! and that man would laugh when they stealthily transferred him, the victim too sensible of honor, to the crypt, when he would dance with his newly won bride till morning dawned, and delight in the smile of that face, which could not even weep for the lost one. that thought led to eternal damnation. no, no: not to damnation: further than that, there and back again, back to that unspeakable circle, where feelings of honor remain in the background, and moral insensibility rules the day. that thought was able to drive out of lorand's heart the conviction, that when an honorable man has given his life or his honor into the hands of an adversary, of the two only the latter can be chosen. from that hour he pursued quite a different path of life. now the work in the fields might go on without his supervision: there was no longer such need of his presence. he had far more time for staying at home. nor did he keep himself any farther away from the girls: he went after them and sought them; he was spirited in conversation, choice in his dress, and that he might display his shrewdness, he courted both girls at the same time, the one out of courtesy, the other for love. topándy watched them smilingly. he did not mind whatever turn the affair took. he was as fond of czipra as he was of melanie, and fonder of the boy than either. of the three there would be only one pair; he would give his blessing to whichever two should come together. it was a lottery! heaven forbid that a strange hand should draw lots for one. but czipra was already quite clear about everything, it was not for her sake that lorand stayed at home. she herself was forced to acknowledge the important part which melanie played in the house, with her thoughtful, refined, modest behavior; she was so sensible, so clever in everything. in the most delicate situation she could so well maintain a woman's dignity, while side by side she displayed a maiden's innocence. when his comrades were at the table, topándy strove always by ambiguous jokes, delivered in his cynical, good humor, to bring a blush to the cheeks of the girls, who were obliged to do the honors at table; on such occasions czipra noisily called him to order, while melanie cleverly and spiritedly avoided the arrow-point of the jest, without opposing to it any foolish prudery, or cold insensibility;--and how this action made her queen of every heart! without doubt she was the monarch of the house: the dearest, most beautiful, and cleverest;--hers was every triumph. and on such occasions czipra was desperate. "yet all in vain! for, however clever, and beautiful, and enchanting that other, i am still the real one. i feel and know it:--but i cannot prove it! if we could only tear out our hearts and compare them;--but that is impossible." czipra was forced to see that everybody sported with her, while they behaved seriously with that other. and that completely poisoned her soul. without any mental refinement, supplied with only so much of the treasure of moral reserve, as nature and instinct had grafted into her heart, with only a dreamy suspicion about the lofty ideas of religion and virtue, this girl was capable of murdering her whom they loved better than herself. murder, but not as the fabled queen murdered the fairy hófehérke,[ ] because the gnomes whispered untiringly in her ear "thou art beautiful, fair queen: but hófehérke is still more beautiful." czipra wished to murder her but not so that she might die and then live again. [footnote : little snow-white, the step-daughter of the queen, who commanded her huntsman to bring her the eyes and liver of hófehérke, thinking she would thus become the most beautiful of all, but he brought her those of a wild beast. the queen thought her rival was dead, but her magic mirror told her she was living still beyond hill and sea.] she was a gypsy girl, a heathen, and in love. inherited tendencies, savage breeding, and passion had brought her to a state where she could have such ideas. it was a hellish idea, the counsel of a restless devil who had stolen into a defenceless woman's heart. once it occurred to her to turn the rooms in the castle upside down; she found fault with the servants, drove them from their ordinary lodgings, dispersed them in other directions, chased the gentlemen from their rooms, under the pretext that the wall-papers were already very much torn: then had the papers torn off and the walls re-plastered. she turned everything so upside down that topándy ran away to town, until the rooms should be again reduced to order. the castle had four fronts, and therefore there were two corridors crossing through at right angles: the chief door of the one opened on the courtyard, that of the other led into the garden. the rooms opened right and left from the latter corridor. during this great disorder czipra moved lorand into one of the vis-à-vis rooms. the opposite room she arranged as melanie's temporary chamber. of course it would not last long; the next day but one, order would be restored, and everyone could go back to his usual place. and then it was that wicked thoughts arose in her heart: "if he loves, then let him love!" at supper only three were sitting at table. lorand was more abstracted than usual, and scarcely spoke a word to them: if czipra addressed him, there was such embarrassment in his reply, that it was impossible not to remark it. but czipra was in a particularly jesting mood to-day. "my friend bálint, you are sleepy. yet you had better take care of us at night, lest someone steal us." "lock your door well, my dear czipra, if you are afraid." "how can i lock my door," said czipra smiling light-heartedly, "when those cursed servants have so ruined the lock of every door at this side of the house that they would fly open at one push." "very well, i shall take care of you." therewith lorand wished them good night, took his candle and went out. czipra hurried melanie too to depart. "let us go to bed in good time, as we must be early afoot to-morrow." this evening the customary conversation at the window did not take place. the two girls shook hands and wished each other good night. melanie departed to her room. czipra was sleeping in the room next to hers. when melanie had shut the door behind her, czipra blew out the candle in her own room, and remained in darkness. with her clothes on she threw herself on her bed, and then, resting her head on her elbow, listened. suddenly she thought the opposite room door gently opened. the beating of her heart almost pierced through her bosom. "if he loves, then let him love." then she rose from her bed, and, holding her breath, slipped to the door and looked through the keyhole into melanie's room.[ ] [footnote : this was of course through the door that communicated between the rooms of melanie and czipra.] the candle was still burning there. but from her position she could not see melanie. from the rustling of garments she suspected that melanie was taking off her dress. now with quiet steps she approached the table, on which the candle was burning. she had a white dressing-gown on, her hair half let down, in her hand that little black book, in which czipra had so often admired those "glory" pictures without daring to ask what they were. melanie reached the table, and laying the little prayer-book on the shelf of her mirror, kneeled down, and, clasping her two hands together, rested against the corner of the table and prayed. in that moment her whole figure was one halo of glory. she was beautiful as a praying seraph, like one of those white phantoms who rise with their airy figures to heaven, palm-branches of glory in their hands. czipra was annihilated. she saw now that there was some superhuman phenomenon, before which every passion bowed the knee, every purpose froze to crystals;--the figure of a praying maiden! he who stole a look at that sight lost every sinful emotion from his heart. czipra beat her breast in dumb agony. "she can fly, while i can only crawl on the ground." when the girl had finished her prayer she opened the book to find those two glory-bright pictures, which she kissed several times in happy rapture:--as the sufferer kisses his benefactor's hands, the orphan his father's and mother's portraits, the miserable defenceless man the face of god, who defends in the form of a column of cloud him who bows his head under its shadow. czipra tore her hair in her despair and beat her brow upon the floor, writhing like a worm. at the noise she made melanie darted up and hastened to the door to see what was the matter with czipra. as soon as she noticed melanie's approach, czipra slunk away from her place and before melanie could open the door and enter, dashed through the other door into the corridor. here another shock awaited her. in the corner of the corridor she found lorand sitting beside a table. on the table a lamp was burning; before lorand lay a book, beside him, resting against his chair, a "tomahawk."[ ] [footnote : the magyar weapon is the so-called "fokos," which is much smaller than a tomahawk, but is set on a long handle like a walking stick, and only to be used with the hand in dealing blows, not for throwing purposes.] "what are you doing here?" inquired czipra, starting back. "i am keeping guard over you," answered lorand. "as you said your doors cannot be locked, i shall stay here till morning lest some one break in upon you." czipra slunk back to her room. she met melanie, who, candle in hand, hastened towards her, and asked what was the matter. "nothing, nothing. i heard a noise outside. it frightened me." no need of simulation, for she trembled in every limb. "you afraid?" said melanie, surprised. "see, i am not afraid. it will be good for me to come to you and sleep with you to-night." "yes, it will," assented czipra. "you can sleep on my bed." "and you?" "i?" czipra inquired with a determined glance. "oh, just here!" and therewith she threw herself on the floor before the bed. melanie, alarmed, drew near to her, seized her arm, and tried to raise her. she asked her: "czipra, what is the matter with you? tell me what has happened?"--czipra did not answer, did not move, did not open her eyes. melanie seeing she could not reanimate her, rose in despair, and, clasping her hands, panted: "great heavens! what has happened?"--then czipra suddenly started up and began to laugh. "ha ha! now i just managed to frighten you." therewith rolling uncontrolledly on the floor, she laughed continuously like one who has succeeded in playing a good joke on her companion. "how startled i was!" panted melanie, pressing her hands to her heaving breast. "sleep in my bed," czipra said. "i shall sleep here on the floor. you know i am accustomed to sleep on the ground, covered with rugs. "'my mother was a gypsy maid she taught me to sleep on the ground, in winter to walk with feet unbound; in a ragged tent my home was made.'" she sang melanie this bizarre song twice in her peculiar melancholy strain, and then suddenly threw around her the rug which lay on the bed, put one arm under her head, and remained quite motionless; she would not reply any longer to a single word of melanie's. the next day topándy returned from town; scarce had he taken off his traveling-cloak, when czipra burst in upon him. she seized his hand violently, and gazing wildly into his eyes, said: "sir, i cannot live longer under such conditions. i shall kill myself. teach me to pray." topándy looked at her in astonishment and shrugged his shoulders sarcastically. "whatever possessed you to break in so upon me? do you think i come from some pilgrimage to bodajk,[ ] all my pockets full of saints' fiddles, of beads, and of gingerbread-saints? or am i a levite? am i a 'monk' that you look to me for prayer?" [footnote : a place visited by pilgrims, like lourdes, etc., it is in fehérmegye (white county).] "teach me to pray. i have long enough besought you to do so, and i can wait no longer." "go and don't worry me. i don't know myself where to find what you want." "it is not true. you know how to read. you have been taught everything. you only deny knowledge of god, because you are ashamed before him; but i long to see his face! oh, teach me to pray!" "i know nothing, my dear, except the soldier's prayer."[ ] [footnote : _i. e._, blasphemy.] "very well. i shall learn that." "i can recite it to you." "well, tell it to me." czipra acted as she had seen melanie do: she kneeled down before the table: clasping her hands devotedly and resting against the edge of the table. topándy turned his head curiously: she was taking the matter seriously. then he stood before her, put his two hands behind him, and began to recite to her the soldier's prayer. "adjon isten három 'b'-ét, három 'f'-ét, három 'p'-ét. bort, búzát, békességet, fát, füvet, feleséget, pipát, puskát, patrontást, es egy butykos pálinkát! ikétum, pikétum, holt! berdo! vivát!"[ ] [footnote : "god grant three 'b-s,' three 'f-s,' and three 'p-s.' wine, wheat, peace, wood, grass, wife, pipe, rifle, cartridge-case, and a little cask of brandy.... hurrah! hurrar!" it is quite impossible to render the verse into english in any manner that would reproduce the original, so i have given the original magyar with a literal translation.] the poor little creature muttered the first sentences with such pitiable devotion after that godless mouth:--but, when the thing began to take a definitely jesting turn, she suddenly leaped up from her knees in a rage, and before topándy could defend himself, dealt him such a healthy box on the ears that it made them sing; then she darted out and banged the door after her. topándy became like a pillar of salt in his astonishment. he knew that czipra had a quick hand, but that she would ever dare to raise that tiny hand against her master and benefactor, because of a mere trifling jest, he was quite incapable of understanding. she must be in some great trouble. though he never said a word, nor did czipra, about the blow he had received, and though when next they met they were the same towards one another as they had ever been, topándy ventured to make a jest at table about this humorous scene, saying to lorand: "bálint, ask czipra to repeat that prayer which she has learned from me: but first seize her two hands." "oho!" threatened czipra, her face burning red. "just play some more of your jokes upon me. your lives are in my hands: one day i shall put belladonna in the food, and poison us all together." topándy smilingly drew her towards him, smoothing her head; czipra sensitively pressed her master's hand to her lips, and covered it with kisses;--then put him aside and went out into the kitchen,--to break plates, and tear the servants' hair. chapter xvi that ring the tenth year came: it was already on the wane. and lorand began to be indifferent to the prescribed fatal hour. he was in love. this one thought drove all others from his mind. weariness of life, atheism, misanthropy,--all disappeared from his path like will-o'-the-wisps before the rays of the sun. and melanie liked the young fellow in return. she had no strong passions, and was a prudent girl, yet she confessed to herself that this young man pleased her. his features were noble, his manner gentle, his position secure enough to enable him to keep a wife. many a time did she walk with lorand under the shade of the beautiful sycamores, while czipra sat alone beside her "czimbalom" and thrashed out the old souvenirs of the plain,--alone. lorand found it no difficult task to remark that melanie gladly frequented the spots he chose, and listened cheerfully to the little confessions of a sympathetic heart. yet he was himself always reserved.--and that ring was always there on her finger. if only that magic band might drop down from there! two years had already passed since her father's death had thrown her into mourning; she had long since taken off black dresses; nor could she complain against "the bread of orphanhood." for topándy supplied her with all that a woman holds dear, just as if she had been his own child. one afternoon lorand found courage enough to take hold of melanie's hand. they were standing on a bridge that spanned the brook which was winding through the park, and, leaning upon its railing, were gazing at the flowers floating on the water--or perhaps at each other's reflection in the watery mirror. lorand grasped melanie's hand and asked: "why are you always so sad? whither do those everlasting sighs fly?" melanie looked into the youth's face with her large, bright eyes, and knew from his every feature that heart had dictated that question to heart. "you see, i have enough reason for being sad in that no one has ever asked me that question; and that had someone asked me i could never have answered it." "perhaps the question is forbidden?" "i have allowed him, whom i allowed to remark that i have a grief, also to ask me the reason of it. you see, i have a mother, and yet i have none." the girl here turned half aside. lorand understood her well:--but that was just the subject about which he desired to know more; why, his own fate was bound up with it. "what do you mean, melanie?" "if i tell you that, you will discover that i can have no secret any more in this world from you." lorand said not a word, but put his two hands together with a look of entreaty. "about ten years have passed since mother left home one evening, never to return again. public talk connected her departure with the disappearance of a young man, who lived with us, and who, on account of some political crime, was obliged to fly the same evening." "his name?" inquired lorand. "lorand Áronffy, a distant relation of ours. he was considered very handsome." "and since then you have heard no news of your mother?" "never a word. i believe she is somewhere in germany under a false name, as an actress, and is seeking the world, in order to hide herself from the world." "and what became of the young man? she is no longer with him?" "as far as i know he went away to the east indies, and from thence wrote to his brother desiderius, leaving him his whole fortune--since that time he has never written any news of himself. probably he is dead." lorand breathed freely again. nothing was known of him. people thought he had gone to india. "in a few weeks will come again the anniversary of that unfortunate day on which i lost my mother, my mother who is still living: and that day always approaches me veiled: feelings of sorrow, shame, and loneliness involuntarily oppress my spirit. you now know my most awful secret, and you will not condemn me for it?" lorand gently drew her delicate little hand towards his lips, and kissed its rosy finger-tips, while all the time he fixed his eyes entreatingly on that ring which was on one of her fingers. melanie understood the inquiry which had been so warmly expressed in that eloquent look. "you ask me, do you not, whether i have not some even more awful secret?" lorand tacitly answered in the affirmative. melanie drew the ring off her finger and held it up in her hand. "it is true--but it is for me no longer a living secret. i am already dead to the person to whom this secret once bound me. when he asked my hand, i was still rich, my father was a man of powerful influence. now i am poor, an orphan and alone. such rings are usually forgotten." at that moment the ring fell out of her hand and missing the bridge dropped into the water, disappearing among the leaves of the water-lilies. "shall i get it out?" inquired lorand. melanie gazed at him, as if in reverie, and said: "leave it there...." lorand, beside himself with happiness, pressed to his lips the beautiful hand left in his possession, and showered hot kisses, first on the hand, then on its owner. from the blossoming trees flowers fluttered down upon their heads, and they returned with wreathed brows like bride and bridegroom. lorand spoke that day with topándy, asking him whether a long time would be required to build the steward's house, which had so long been planned. "oho!" said topándy, smiling, "i understand. it may so happen that the steward will marry, and then he must have a separate lodging where he may take his wife. it will be ready in three weeks." lorand was quite happy. he saw his love reciprocated, and his life freed from its dark horror. melanie had not merely convinced him that in him she recognized lorand Áronffy no more, but also calmed him by the assurance that everyone believed the lorand Áronffy of yore to be long dead and done for: no one cared about him any longer; his brother had taken his property, with the one reservation that he always sent him secretly a due portion of the income. besides that one person, no one knew anything. and he would be silent for ever, when he knew that upon his further silence depended his brother's life. love had stolen the steely strength of lorand's mind away. he had become quite reconciled to the idea that to keep an engagement, which bound anyone to violate the laws of god, of man, and of nature, was mere folly. who could accuse him to his face if he did not keep it? who could recognize him again? in this position, with this face, under this name,--was he not born again? was that not a quite different man whose life he was now leading? had he not already ended that life which he had played away _then_? he would be a fool who carried his feeling of honor to such extremes in relations with dishonorable men; and, finally, if there were the man who would say "it is a crime," was there no god to say "it was virtue?" he found a strong fortress for this self-defence in the walls of their family vault, in the interior of which his grandmother had uttered such an awful curse against the last inhabitant. why, that implied an obligation upon him too. and this obligation was also strong. two opposing obligations neutralize each other. it was his duty rather to fulfil that which he owed to a parent, than that which he owed to his murderer. these are all fine sophisms. lorand sought in them the means of escape. and then in those beautiful eyes. could he, on whom those two stars smiled, die? could he wish for annihilation, at the very gate of heaven? and he found no small joy in the thought that he was to take that heaven away from the opponent, who would love to bury him down in the cold earth. lorand began to yield himself to his fate. he desired to live. he began to suspect that there was some happiness in the world. calm, secret happiness, only known to those two beings who have given it to each other by mutual exchange. we often see this phenomenon in life. a handsome cavalier, who was the lion of society, disappears from the perfumed drawing-room world, and years after can scarcely be recognized in the country farmer, with his rough appearance and shabby coat. a happy family life has wrought this change in him. it is not possible that this same happy feeling which could produce that out of the brilliant, buttoned dress-coat, could let down the young man's pride of character, and give him in its stead an easy-going, wide and water-proof work-a-day blouse, could give him towards the world indifference and want of interest? let his opponent cry from end to end of the country with mocking guffaws that lorand Áronffy is no cavalier, no gentleman; the smile of his wife will be compensation for his lost pride. now the only thing he required was the eternal silence of the one man, who was permitted to know of his whereabouts, his brother. should he make everything known to him?--give entirely into his hands the duel he had accepted, his marriage and the power that held sway over his life, that he might keep off the threatening terror which had hitherto kept him far from brother and parents? it was a matter that must be well considered and reflected upon. lorand became very meditative some days later. once after dinner czipra grasped his hand and said playfully: "you are thinking very deeply about something. you are pale. come, i will tell you your fortune." "my fortune?" "of course: i shall read the cards for you: you know "'a gypsy woman was my mother, taught me to read the cards of fortune, in that surpassing many wishes.'" "very well, my dear czipra: then tell me my fortune." czipra was delighted to be able to see lorand once more alone in her strange room. she made him sit down on the velvet camp-stool, took her place on the tiger-skin and drew her cards from her pocket. for two years she had always had them by her. they were her sole counsellors, friends, science, faith, worship--the sooth-saying cards. a person, especially a woman, must believe something! at first she shuffled the cards, then, placing them on her hand offered them to lorand. "here they are, cut them: the one, whose future is being told, must cut. not with the left hand, that is not good. with the right hand, towards you." lorand did so, to please her. czipra piled the cards in packs before her. then, resting her elbows on her knees and laying her beautiful sun-goldened face upon her hand she very carefully examined the well-known picture-cards. the knave of hearts came just in the middle. "some journey is before you," the gypsy girl began to explain, with a serious face. "you will meet the mourning woman. great delight. the queen of hearts is in the same row:--well met. but the queen of jealousy[ ] and the murderer[ ] stand between them and separate them. the dog[ ] means faithfulness, the cat[ ] slyness. the queen of melancholy stands beside the dog.--take care of yourself, for some woman, who is angered, wishes to kill you." [footnote : these prophecies are made with magyar cards and the gypsy girl pointing at certain cards, gives an interpretation of her own to them.] lorand looked with such a pitying glance at czipra that she could not help reading the young man's thoughts. she too replied tacitly. she pressed three fingers to her bosom, and silently intimated that she was not "that" girl. the yellow-robed woman, the queen of jealousy in the cards, was some one else. she placed her pointing fingers to the green-robed--that queen of melancholy. and lorand remarked that czipra had long been wearing a green robe, like the green-robed lady in the fortune-telling cards. czipra suddenly mixed the cards together: "let us try once more. cut three times in succession. that is right." she placed the cards out again in packs. lorand noticed that as the cards came side by side, czipra's face suddenly flushed; her eyes began to blaze with unwonted fire. "see, the queen of melancholy is just beside you, on the far side the murderer. the queen of jealousy and the queen of hearts are in the opposite corner. on the other side the old lady. above your head a burning house. beware of some great misfortune. some one wishes to cause you great sorrow, but some one will defend you." lorand did not wish to embitter the poor girl by laughing in her face at her simplicity. "get up now, czipra, enough of this play." czipra gathered the cards up sadly. but she did not accept lorand's proffered hand, she rose alone. "well, what shall i do, when i don't understand anything else?" "come, play my favorite air for me on the czimbalom. it is such a long time since i heard it." czipra was accustomed to acquiesce: she immediately took her seat beside her instrument, and began to beat out upon it that lowland reverie, of which so many had wonderingly said that a poet's and an artist's soul had blended therein. at the sound of music topándy and melanie came in from the adjoining rooms. melanie stood behind czipra; topándy drew a chair beside her, and smoked furiously. czipra struck the responsive strings and meantime remarked that lorand all the while fixed his eyes in happy rapture upon the place where she sat; though not upon her face, but beyond, above, upon the face of that girl standing behind her. suddenly the czimbalom-sticks fell from her hand. she covered her face with her two hands and said panting: "ah--this pipe-smoke is killing me." for answer topándy blew a long mouthful playfully into the girl's face.--she must accustom herself to it: and then he hinted to lorand that they should leave that room and go where unlimited freedom ruled. but czipra began to put the strings of the czimbalom out of tune with her tuning-key. "why did you do that?" inquired melanie. "because i shall never play on this instrument again." "why not?" "you will see it will be so: the cards always foretell a coffin for me; if you do not believe me, come and see for yourself." therewith she spread the cards again out on the table, and in sad triumph pointed to the picture portrayed by the cards. "see, now the coffin is here under the girl in green." "why, that is not you," said melanie, half jestingly, half encouragingly, "but you are here." and she pointed with her hand to the queen of hearts. but czipra--saw something other than what had been shown her. she suddenly seized melanie's tender wrist with her iron-strong right hand, and pointed with her ill-foreboding first finger to that still whiter blank circle remaining on the white finger of her white hand. "where has _that_ ring gone to?" melanie's face flushed deeply at these words, while czipra's turned deathly pale. the black depths of hell were to be seen in the gypsy girl's wide-opened eyes. chapter xvii the yellow-robed woman in the cards lorand deferred as long as possible the time for coming to an agreement with desiderius as to what they should both do, when the fatal ten years had passed by. his mother and grandmother would be sure to press the latter, when the defined period was over, to tell them of lorand's whereabouts. but if they learned the story and sought him out, there would be an end to his saving alias: the happy man who was living in the person of bálint tátray would be obliged to yield place to lorand Áronffy who would have to choose between death and the sneers of the world. when he had made desiderius undertake, ten years before, not to betray his whereabouts to his parents, he had always calculated and intended to fulfil his fatal obligation. desiderius alone would be acquainted with the end, and would still keep from the two mothers the secret history of his brother. they had during this time become accustomed to knowing that he was far from them, and his brother would, to the day of their death, always put them under the happy delusion that their son would once again knock at the door, and would show them the letters his brother had written; while he would in reality long have gone to the place, from whence men bring no messages back to the light of the sun. yet the good peaceful mothers would every day lay a place at table for the son they expected, when the glass had long burst of its own accord. in place of this cold, clean, transparent dream is now that hot chaos. what should he do now that he wished to live, to enjoy life, to see happy days? wherever he would go, in the street, in the field, in the house, everywhere he would feel himself walking in that labyrinth; everywhere that endless chain would clank after him, which began again where it had ended. he did not even notice, when some one passed him, whether he greeted him or not. to escape, to exchange his word of honor for his life, to shut out the whole world from his secret--what has pride to say to that?--what the memory of the father who in a like case bowed before his self-pride and cast his life and happiness as a sacrifice before the feet of his honor? what would the tears of the two mothers say?--how could tender-handed love fight alone against so strong adversaries? how could bálint tátray shake off from himself that whole world which cleaved like a sea of mud to lorand Áronffy? as he proceeded in deep reflection beside the village houses, his hat pressed firmly down over his eyes, he did not even notice that from the other direction a lady was crossing the rough road, making straight for him, until as she came beside him she addressed him with affected gaiety: "good day, lorand." the young fellow, startled at hearing his name, looked up amazed and gazed into the speaker's face. she, with the cheery smile of undoubted recognition, grasped his hand. "yes, yes! i recognized you again after so long a time had passed, though you know me no more, my dear lorand." oh! lorand knew her well enough! and that woman--was madame bálnokházy.... her face still possessed the beautiful noble features of yore; only in her manner the noblewoman's graceful dignity had given way to a certain unpleasant freedom which is the peculiarity of such women as are often compelled to save themselves from all kinds of delicate situations by humorous levity. she was dressed for a journey, quite fashionably, albeit a little creased. "you here?" inquired lorand, astonished. "certainly: quite by accident. i have just left my carriage at the sárvölgyi's. i have won a big suit in chancery, and have come to the 'old man' to see if i could sell him the property, which he said he was ready to purchase. then i shall take my daughter home with me." "indeed?" "of course--poor thing, she has lived long enough in orphan state in the house of a half-madman. but be so kind as to give me your arm to lean on: why i believe you are still afraid of me: it is so difficult, you know, for some one who is not used to it, to walk along these muddy rough country roads.--i am going to sell my property which i have won, because we must go to live in vienna." "indeed?" "because melanie's intended lives there too." "indeed?" "perhaps you would know him too,--you were once good friends--pepi gyáli!" "indeed?" "oh, he has made a great career! an extraordinarily famous man. quite a wonder, that young man!" "indeed?" "but you only taunt me with your series of 'indeeds.' tell me how you came here. how have i found you?" "i am steward here on mr. topándy's estate!" "steward! ha ha! to your kinsman?" "he does not know i am his kinsman." "so you are incognito? ever since _then_? just like me: i have used six names since that day. that is famous. and now we meet by chance. so much the better; at least you can lead me to topándy's house: the atheist's dogs will not tear me to pieces if i am under your protection.--but after that you must help again to defend me." lorand was displeased by the fact that this woman turned into jest those memories in which the shame of both lay buried. topándy was on the verandah of the castle in company with the girls when lorand led in the strange lady. lorand went first to melanie: "here is the one you have so often sighed after," ... then turning to topándy--"madame bálnokházy." for a moment melanie was taken aback. she merely stared in astonishment at the new arrival, as if it were difficult to recognize her at once, while her mother, with a passion quite dramatic, rushed towards her, embraced her, clasped her to her bosom, and covered her with kisses. she sobbed and kneeled before her; as one may see times without number in the closing scene of the fifth act of any pathetic drama. "how beautiful you have become! what an angel! my darling, only, beloved melanie!--for whom i prayed every day, of whom every day i dreamed.--well, tell me, have you thought sometimes of me?" melanie whispered in her mother's ear: "later, when we are alone." the woman understood that well ("later when we are alone, we can talk of cold, prosaic things: but when they see us, let us weep, faint, and embrace.") this scene of meeting was going to begin anew, only topándy was good enough to kindly request her ladyship to step into the room, where space was confined, and circumstances are more favorable to dramatic episodes. madame bálnokházy then became gay and talkative. she thanked topándy (the old atheistical fool) thousands, millions of times, for giving a place of refuge to her child, for guarding her only treasure. then she looked around to see whom else she had to thank. she saw czipra. "why," she said to lorand, "you have not yet introduced me to your wife." everybody became embarrassed--with the exception of topándy, who answered with calm humor: "she is my ward, and has been so many years." "oh! a thousand apologies for my clumsiness. i certainly thought she was already married." madame bálnokházy had time to remark that czipra's eyes, when they looked upon lorand, seemed like the eyes of faithfulness: and she had a delicious opportunity of cutting to the heart two, if not three people. "well, it seems to me what is not may be, may it not, 'lorand?'" "lorand!" cried three voices in one. "there we are! well i have betrayed you now. but what is the ultimate good of secrecy here between good friends and relations? yes, he is lorand Áronffy, a dear relation of ours. and you had not yet recognized him, melanie?" melanie turned as white as the wall. lorand answered not a word. instead of answering he stepped nearer to topándy, who grasped his hand, and drew him towards him. madame bálnokházy did not allow anyone else to utter a word. "i shall not be a burden long, my dear uncle. i have taken up my residence here in the neighborhood, with mr. sárvölgyi, who is going to buy our property; we have just won an important suit in chancery." "indeed?" madame bálnokházy did not explain the genesis of the suit in chancery any further to topándy, who had himself now fallen into that bad habit of saying, "indeed" to everything, as lorand did. "for that purpose i must enjoy myself a few days here." "indeed?" "i hope, dear uncle, you will not deny me the pleasure of being able to have melanie all this time by my side. i should surely have found it much more proper to take up my quarters directly here in your house, if sárvölgyi had not been kind enough to previously offer his hospitality." "indeed?" (topándy knew sometimes how to say very mocking "indeeds.") "so please don't offer any objections to my request that i may take melanie to myself for these few days. later on i shall bring her back again, and leave her here until fortune desires you to let us go forever." at this point madame bálnokházy put on an extremely matronly face. she wished him to understand what she meant. "i find your wish very natural," said topándy briefly, looking again in the woman's face as one who would say "what else do you know for our amusement?" "till then i render you endless thanks for taking the part of my poor deserted orphan. heaven will reward you for your goodness." "i didn't do it for payment." madame bálnokházy laughed modestly, as though in doubt whether to understand a joke when the inhabitants of higher spheres were under consideration. "dear uncle, you are still as jesting as ever in certain respects." "as godless--you wished to say, did you not? indeed i have changed but little in my old age." "oh we know you well!" said the lady in a voice of absolute grace: "you only show that outwardly, but everyone knows your heart." "and runs before it when he can, does he not?" "oh, no: quite the contrary," said madame apologetically, "don't misinterpret our present departures to prove how much we all think of that beneficial public life which you are leading. i shall whisper one word to you, which will convince you of our most sincere respect for you." that one word she did whisper to topándy, resting her gloved hand on his shoulder--: "i wish to ask my dear uncle to give melanie away, when heaven brings round the happy day." at these words topándy smiled: and, putting madame bálnokházy's hand under his arm, said: "with pleasure. i will do more. if on that certain day of heaven the sun shines as i desire it, this my godless hand shall make two people happy. but if that day of heaven be illumined otherwise than i wish, i shall give 'quantum satis' of blessing, love congratulatory verses, long sighs and all that costs nothing. so what i shall answer to this question depends upon that happy day." madame bálnokházy clasped topándy's hand to her heart and with eyes upturned to heaven, prayed that providence might bless so good a relation's choice with good humor, and then drew melanie too towards him, that she might render thanks to her good uncle for the gracious care he had bestowed upon her. lorand gazed at the group dispiritedly, while czipra, unnoticed, escaped from the room. "and now perhaps lorand will be so kind as to accompany us to sárvölgyi's house." "as far as the gate." "where is your dear friend, melanie, that beautiful dear creature? take a short leave of her. but where has she gone to?" lorand did not move a muscle to go and look for czipra. "well we shall meet the dear child again soon," said madame bálnokházy, noticing that they were waiting in vain. "give me your arm, lorand." she leaned on lorand's right arm, and motioned to melanie to take her position on the other side; but the girl did not do so. instead she clasped her mother's arm, and so they went along the street, the mother waving back affectionately to topándy, who gazed after them out of the window. melanie did not utter a single word the whole way. "the old fellow, it seems, is on bad terms with sárvölgyi?" "yes." "is he still as iconoclastic, as godless, as ever?" "yes." "and you have been able to stand it so long?" "yes." "and yet you were always so pious, so god-fearing; are you still?" "yes." "so topándy and sárvölgyi are living on terms of open enmity?" "yes." "yet you will visit us several times, while we are here?" "no." "heaven be praised that once i hear a 'no' from you! that heap of _yes's_ began already to make me nervous. then you too are among _his_ opponents?" "yes." meantime they had reached the gate of sárvölgyi's house. here lorand stopped and would proceed no further. madame bálnokházy clasped melanie's hand that she might not go in front. "well, my dear lorand, and are you not going to take leave of us even?" lorand gazed at melanie, who did not even raise her eyes. "good-bye, madame," said lorand briefly. he raised his hat and was gone. madame bálnokházy cast one glance after him with those beautiful expressive eyes.--those beautiful expressive eyes just then were full to the brim of relentless hatred. when lorand reached home czipra was waiting for him at the door. raising her first finger, she whispered in his ear: "that was the yellow-robed woman!" yet she had nothing yellow on her. chapter xviii the finger-post of death lorand threw himself exhausted into his arm-chair. there was an end to every attempt at escape. he had been recognized by the very woman who ought to detest him more bitterly than anyone in the world. nemesis! the liberal hand of everlasting justice! he had deserted that woman in the middle of the road, on which they were flying together passionately into degradation, and now that he wished to return to life, that woman blocked his way. there was no hope of pity. besides, who would accept it--from such a hand? at such a price? such a present must be refused, were it life itself. farewell calm happy life! farewell, intoxicating love! there was only one way, a direct one--to the opened tomb. they would laugh over the fallen, but at least not to his face. the father had departed that way, albeit he had a loving wife, and growing children:--but he was alone in the world. he owed nobody any duty. there were two enfeebled, frail shadows on earth, to which he owed a duty of care; but they would soon follow him, they had no very long course to run. fate must be accomplished. the father's blood besprinkled the sons. one spirit drew the other after it by the hand, till at last all would be there at home together. only a few days more remained. these few days he must be gay and cheerful: must deceive every eye and heart, that followed attentively him who approached the end of his journey,--that no one might suspect anything. there was still one more precaution to be taken. desiderius might arrive before the fatal day. in his last letter he had hinted at it. that must be prevented. the meeting must be arranged otherwise. he hurriedly wrote a letter to his brother to come to meet him at szolnok on the day before the anniversary, and wait for him at the inn. he gave as his reason the cynicism of topándy. he did not wish to introduce him as a discord in that tender scene. then they could meet, and from there could go together to visit their parents. the plan was quite intelligible and natural. lorand at once despatched the letter to the post. so does the cautious traveler drive from his route at the outset, the obstacles which might delay him. scarcely had he sent the letter off when topándy entered his room. lorand went to meet him. topándy embraced and kissed him. "i thank you that you chose my home as a place of refuge from your prosecutors, my dear lorand; but there is no need longer to keep in hiding. later events have long washed out what happened ten years ago, and you may return to the world without being disturbed." "i have known that long since: why, we read the newspapers; but i prefer to remain here. i am quite satisfied with this world." "you have a mother and a brother from whom you have no reason to hide." "i only wish to meet them when i can introduce myself to them as a happy man." "that depends on yourself." "a few days will prove it." "be as quick as you can with it. let only one thought possess your mind: melanie is now in sárvölgyi's house. the great spiritual delight it will afford me to think of the hypocrite's death-face which that pharisee will make when that trivial woman discloses to him that the young man, who is living in the neighborhood, is lörincz Áronffy's son, can only be surpassed by my anxiety for you, caused by his knowledge of the fact. for, believe me, he will leave no stone unturned to prevent you, who will remind him of that night when we spoke of great and little things, from being able to strike root in this world. he will even talk melanie over." lorand, shrugging his shoulders, said with light-hearted indifference: "melanie is not the only girl on this earth." "well said. i don't care. you are my son: and she whom you bring here is my daughter. only bring her; the sooner the better." "it will not take a week." "better still. if you want to act, act quickly. in such cases, either quickly or not at all; either courageously or never." "there will be no lack of courage." topándy spoke of marriage, lorand of a pistol. "well in a week's time i shall be able to give my blessing on your choice." "certainly." topándy did not wish to dive further into lorand's secret. he suspected the young fellow was choosing between two girls, and did not imagine that he had already chosen a third:--the one with the down-turned torch.[ ] lorand during the following days was as cheerful as a bridegroom during the week preceding his marriage--so cheerful!--as his father had been the evening before his death. [footnote : the torch, which should have been held upright for the marriage festivities, would be held upside down for the festivities of death, just as the life would be reversed.] the last day but one came: may again, but not so chilly as ten years before. the air in the park was flower-perfumed, full of lark trills, and nightingale ditties. czipra was chasing butterflies on the lawn. ever since melanie had left the house, czipra's sprightly mood had returned. she too played in the lovely spring, with the playful birds of song. lorand allowed her to draw him into her circle of playmates: "how does this hyacinth look in my hair?" "it suits you admirably, czipra." the gypsy girl took off lorand's hat, and crowned it with a wreath of leaves, then put it back again, changing its position again and again until she found out how it suited him best. then she pressed his hand under her arm, laid her burning face upon his shoulder, and thus strolled about with him. poor girl! she had forgotten, forgiven everything already! six days had passed since that ruling rival had left the house: lorand was not sad, did not pine after her, he was good-humored, witty, and playful; he enjoyed himself. czipra believed their stars were once more approaching each other. lorand, the smiling and gay lorand, was thinking that he had but one more day to live; and then--adieu to the perfumed fields, adieu to the songster's echo, adieu to the beautiful, love-lorn gypsy girl! they went arm-in-arm across the bridge, that little bridge that spanned the brook. they stopped in the middle of the bridge and leaning upon the railing looked down into the water;--in the self same place where melanie's engagement ring fell into the water. they gazed down into the water-mirror, and the smooth surface reflected their figures; the gypsy girl still wore a green dress, and a rose-colored sash, but lorand still saw melanie's face in that mirror. in this place her hand had been in his: in that place she had said of the lost ring "leave it alone:" in that place he had clasped her in his arms! and to-morrow even that would cause no pain! topándy now joined them. "do you know what, lorand?" said the old manichean cheerily: "i thought i would accompany you this afternoon to szolnok. we must celebrate the day you meet your brother: we must drink to it!" "will you not take me with you?" inquired czipra half in jest. "no!" was the simultaneous reply from both sides. "why not?" "because it is not fit for you _there_.--there is no room for you _there_!" both replied the same. topándy meant "you cannot take part in men's carousals; who knows what will become of you?" while lorand--meant something else. "well, and when will lorand return?" inquired czipra eagerly. "he must first return to his parents," answered topándy. (--"thither indeed" thought lorand, "to father and grandfather"--) "but he will not remain _there_ forever?" at that both men laughed loudly. what kind of expression was that word "forever" in one's mouth? is there a measure for time? "what will you bring me when you return?" inquired the girl childishly. lorand was merciless enough to jest: he tore down a leaf which was round, like a small coin; placing that on the palm of her hand, he said: "something no greater than the circumference of this leaf." two understood that he meant "a ring," but what he meant was a "bullet" in the centre of his forehead. how pitiless are the jests of a man ready for death. their happy dalliance was interrupted by the butler who came to announce that a young gentleman was waiting to speak with master lorand. lorand's heart beat fast! it must be desi! had he not received the letter? had he not acceded to his brother's request? he had after all come one day sooner than his deliberate permission had allowed. lorand hastened up to the castle. topándy called after him: "if it is a good friend of yours bring him down here into the park: he must dine with us." "we shall wait here by the bridge," czipra added: and there she remained on the bridge, she did not herself know why, gazing at those plants on the surface of the water, that were hiding melanie's ring. lorand hastened along the corridors in despondent mood: if his brother had really come, his last hours would be doubly embittered. that simulation, that comedy of cynical frivolity, would be difficult to play before him. the new arrival was waiting for him in the reception room. when lorand opened the door and stood face to face with him, an entirely new surprise awaited him. the young cavalier who had thus hastened to find him was not his brother desi, but--pepi gyáli. pepi was no taller, no more manly-looking than he had been ten years before; he had still that childish face, those tiny features, the same refined movements. he was still as strict an adherent to fashion: and if time had wrought a change in him, it was only to be seen in a certain, distinguished bearing,--that of those who often have the opportunity of playing the protector toward their former friends. "good day, dear lorand," he said in a gay tone, anticipating lorand. "do you still recognize me?" ("ah," thought lorand: "you are here as the finger-post of death.") "i did not want to avoid you: as soon as i knew from the bálnokházys that you were here, i came to find you." after all it was "_she_" that had put him on lorand's track! "i have business here with sárvölgyi in madame bálnokházy's interest--a legal agreement." lorand's only thought, while gyáli was uttering these words, was--how to behave himself in the presence of this man. "i hope," said the visitor tenderly extending his hand to lorand, "that that old wrangle which happened ten years ago has long been forgotten by you--as it has by me." ("he wishes to make me recollect it, if perchance i had forgotten.") "and we shall again be faithful comrades and true." one thought ran like lightning in a moment through lorand's brain. "if i kick this fellow out now as would be my method, everyone would clearly understand the origin of the catastrophe, and take it as satisfaction for an insult. no, they must have no such triumph: this wretch must see that the man who is gazing into the face of his own death is in no way behind him, who burns to persecute him to the end with exquisiteness, in cheerful mood." so lorand did not get angry, did not show any sullenness or melancholy, but, as he was wont to do in student days of yore, slapped the dandy's open hand and grasped it in manly fashion. "so glad to see you, pepi. why the devil should i not have recognised you? only i imagined that you would have aged as much as i have since that time, and now you stand before me the same as ever. i almost asked you what we had to learn for to-morrow?" "i am glad of that! nothing has caused me any displeasure in my life except the fact that we parted in anger--we, the gay comrades!--and quarrelled!--why? for a dirty newspaper! the devil take them all!--taken all together they are not worth a quarrel between two comrades. well, not a word more about it!" "well, my boy, very well, if your intentions are good. in any case we are country fellows who can stand a good deal from one another. to-day we calumniate each other, to-morrow we carouse together." ha, ha, ha! "but you must introduce me to the old man. i hear he is a gay old fool. he does not like priests. why i can tell him enough tales about priests to keep him going for a week. come, introduce me. i know his mouth will never cease laughing, once i begin upon him." "naturally it is understood that you will remain here with us." "of course. old sárvölgyi, as it is, had made sour faces enough at the unusual invasion of guests: and he has a cursedly sullen housekeeper. besides it is disagreeable always to have to say nice things to the two ladies: that's not why a fellow comes to the country. _a propos_, i hear you have a beautiful gypsy girl here." "you know that too, already?" "i hope you are not jealous of her?" "what, the devil! of a gypsy girl?" ("well just try it with her," thought lorand, "at any rate you will get 'per procura,' that box on the ears which i cannot give you.") "ha, ha! we shall not fight a duel for a gypsy girl, shall we, my boy?" "nor for any other girl." "you have become a wise man like me: i like that. a woman is only a woman. among others, what do you say to madame bálnokházy? i find she is still more beautiful than her daughter. _ma foi_, on my word of honor! those ten years on the stage have only done her good. i believe she is still in love with you." "that's quite natural," said lorand in jesting scorn. in the meantime they had reached the park; they found topándy and czipra by the bridge. lorand introduced pepi gyáli as his old school-fellow. that name fairly magnetized czipra.--melanie's fiancé!--so the lover had come after his bride. what a kind fellow this pepi gyáli was! a really most amiable young man! gyáli quite misunderstood the favorable impression his name and appearance made on czipra: he was ready to attribute it to his irresistible charms. after briefly making the acquaintance of the old man, he very rapidly took over the part of courtier, which every cavalier according to the rules of the world is bound to do; besides, she was a gypsy girl, and--lorand was not jealous. "you have in one moment explained to me something over which i have racked my brains a whole day." "what can that be?" inquired czipra curiously. "how it is that some one can prefer fried fish and fried rolls at sárvölgyi's to cabbage at topándy's?" "who may that someone be?" "why, i could not understand that miss melanie was able to persuade herself to change this house for that; now i know: she must have put up with a great persecution here." "persecution?" said czipra, astonished:--the gentlemen too stared at the speaker.--"who would have persecuted her?" "who? why these eyes!" said gyáli, gazing flatteringly into czipra's eyes. "the poor girl could not stand the rivalry. it is quite natural that the moon, however sweet and poetic a phenomenon, always flees before the sun." to czipra this speech was very surprising. there are many who do not like overburdened sweetness. "ah, melanie is far more beautiful than i," she said, casting her eyes down, and growing very serious. "well it is my bounden duty to believe in that, as in all the miracles of the apostles: but i cannot help it, if you have made a heretic of me." czipra turned her head aside and gazed down into the water with eyes of insulted pride: while lorand, who was standing behind gyáli, thought within himself: ("if i take you by the neck and drown you in that water, you would deserve it, and it will do good to my soul: but i should know i had murdered you: and no one should ever be able to boast of _that_? my name shall never be connected with yours in death.") for lorand might well have known that gyáli's appearance on that day had no other object than that of reminding lorand of his awful obligation. "my dear boy," said lorand patting gyáli's shoulder playfully, "i must show what a general i should have made. i have an important journey this afternoon to szolnok." "well, go; don't bother yourself on my account. do exactly as you please." "that's not how matters lie, pepi: you must not stay here in the meantime." "the devil! perhaps you will turn me out?" "oh dear no! to-night we shall have a glorious carnival at szolnok, in honor of my regeneration. all the gay fellows of the neighborhood are invited to it. you must come with us too." "ha! your regeneration carnival!" cried gyáli, in a voice of ecstasy, the while gazing at czipra apologetically. "albeit other magnets draw me hither with overpowering force--i must go there without fail. i must deliver a 'toast' at your 'regeneration' festival, lorand." "my brother desi will also be there." "oho! little desi? that little rebel. well all the better. we shall have much in common with him; of old he was an amusing boy, with his serious face. well i shall go with you. i sacrifice myself. i capitulate. well we shall go to szolnok to-night." why, anyone might have seen plainly--had he not come that day just to revel in the agony of lorand? "yes, pepi," lorand assured him, "we shall be gay as we were once ten years ago. much hidden joy awaits us: we shall break in suddenly upon it. well, you are coming with us." "without fail: only be so good as to send some one next door for my traveling-cloak. i shall go with you to your 'regeneration' fête!" and once again he grasped lorand's hand tenderly, as one who was incapable of expressing in words all the good wishes with which his heart was brimming over. "you see i should have been a good general after all," said lorand smiling. "how beautifully i captured the besieging army." "oh, not at all; the blockade is still being kept up." "but starvation will be a difficult matter where the garrison is well nourished." the poor gypsy girl did not understand a word of all this jesting, which was uttered for her edification: and if she had understood it, was she not a gypsy girl, just to be sported with in this manner? were not topándy and his comrades wont to jest with her after this manner. but czipra did not laugh over these jests as much as she had done at other times. it exercised a distasteful influence upon her heart, when this young dandy spoke so lightly of melanie, and even slighted her before the eyes of another girl. did all men speak so of their loved ones? and do men speak so of every girl? topándy turned the conversation. he knew his man at the first glance: he had many weak sides. he began to "my lord" him, and made inquiries about those foreign princes, whose plenipotentiary minister m. gyáli was pleased to be. that had its effect. gyáli became at once a different person: he strove to maintain an imposing bearing with a view to raising his dignity, for all the world as if he had swallowed a poker; he straightened his eyebrows, put his hands behind him under the tails of his lilac-colored dress-coat and formed his mouth into the true diplomatic shape. it was a supreme opportunity for being able to display his grandiose achievements. let that other see how high he had flown, while others had remained fastened to the earth. "i have just concluded a splendid business for his excellency, the prince of hohenelm-weitbreitstein." "a ruling prince, of course?" inquired topándy, in naïve wonder. "why, you know that." "of course, of course. his possessions lie just where the corners of the great principalities of lippedetmold, schwarzburg-sondershausen and reuss-major meet." oh, gyáli must have been very full of self-confidence when he answered to the old magistrate's peculiar geographical definition, "yes." "your lordship has already doubtless found an excellent situation in the principality?" "i have an order and a title, the gift of his excellency." "of course it may lead to more." "oh yes. in return for my winning his excellency's domains, which he inherited on his mother's side, he will settle on me , acres of land." "in hohenelm-weitbreitstein?" "no: here in the magyar country." "i thought in hohenelm-weitbreitstein: for that is a beautiful country." gyáli began to see that it was after all something more than simplicity that could give utterance to such easily recognized exaggeration; and when the old man began to inform him, in which section of which chapter of the corpus juris would be found inscribed his excellency's magyar "indigenatus," etc., etc., gyáli began to feel exceedingly uncomfortable, and began to again change the course of the conversation. he chattered on about his excellency being a fine, free-thinking man, related a hundred anecdotes about him, how he turned out the jesuits from his possessions, what jokes he had played on the monks, how he persecuted the pietists, and other such things as might be very inconvenient incumbrances to the principality of hohenelm-weitbreitstein,--in the case of any such principality existing in the world. the theme lasted the whole of dinner time. czipra wanted to do all she could to-day for herself. for the farewell-dinner she sought out all that she had found lorand liked, and lorand was ungrateful enough to allow gyáli the field of compliment to himself: he could not say one good word to her. yet who knew when he would sit at that table again? dinner over, lorand spent a few minutes in running over the house: to give instructions to every servant as to what was to be done in the fields, the garden and the forest before his return in two weeks' time. he gave everyone a tip to drink to his health; for to-morrow he was to celebrate a great festival. topándy, too, was looking over the preparations for the journey. czipra was the lady of the house: it was her task, as it had always been, to amuse the guest who remained alone. topándy never troubled himself to amuse anyone, for whose entertainment he was responsible. czipra was there, he must listen to what she had to say. in the meantime the butler, who had been sent to sárvölgyi's to bring gyáli's traveling cloak, came back. he brought also a letter from the young lady for lorand. "from the young lady?" lorand took the letter from him and told him to take the cloak up to the guest's room. he himself hastened to his own room. as he passed through the saloon, gyáli met him, coming from czipra's room. the dandy's face was peculiarly flurried. "my dear friend," he said to lorand, "that gypsy girl of yours is a regular female panther, and you have trained her well, i can tell you.--where is there a looking-glass?" "yes she is," replied lorand. he scarcely knew why he said it: he heard, but only unconsciously. only that letter! melanie's letter! he was in such a hurry to reach his room with it. once there and alone, he shut the door, kissed the fine rose-colored note, and its azure-blue letters, the red seal upon it; and clasped it to his breast, as if he would find out from his heart what was in it. well, and what could be in it? lorand put the letter down before him and laid his fist heavily upon it. "must i know what is in that letter? "suppose she writes that she loves me, and awaits happiness from me, that her love can outbalance a whole lost world, that she is ready to follow me across the sea, beyond the mocking sneers of acquaintances, and to disappear with me among the hosts of forgotten figures! "no. i shall not break open this letter. "my last step shall not be hesitating. "and if what seems such a chance meeting is nought but a well planned revenge? if they have all along been agreed and have only come here together that they may force me to confess that i am humiliated, that i beg for happiness, for love, that i am afraid of death because i am in love with the smiling faces of life; and when i have confessed that, they will laugh in my face, and will leave me to the contempt of the whole world, of my own self.... "let them marry each other!" lorand took the beautiful note and locked it up in the drawer of his table, unopened, unread. his last thought must be that perhaps he had been loved, and that last thought would be lightened by the uncertainty: only "perhaps." and now to prepare for that journey. it was lorand's wont to carry two good pistols on a journey. these he carefully loaded afresh, then hid them in his own traveling trunk. he left his servant to pack in the trunk as much linen as would be enough for two weeks, for they were going to journey farther. topándy had two carriages ready, his traveling coach and a wagon. when the carriages drove up, lorand put on his traveling cloak, lit his pipe and went down into the courtyard. czipra was arranging all matters in the carriages, the trunks were bound on tightly and the wine-case with its twenty-four bottles of choice wine, packed away in a sure place. "you are a good girl after all, czipra," said lorand, tenderly patting the girl's back. "after all?" was he really so devoted to that pipe that he could not take it from his mouth for one single moment? yet she had perhaps deserved a farewell kiss. "sit with my uncle in the coach, pepi," said lorand to the dandy, "with me you might risk your life. i might turn you over into the ditch somewhere and break your neck. and it would be a pity for such a promising youth." lorand sprang up onto the seat and took the reins in his hands. "well, adieu, czipra!"--the coach went first, the wagon following. czipra stood at the street-door and gazed from there at the disappearing youth, as long as she could see him, resting her head sadly against the doorpost. but he did not glance back once. he was going at a gallop towards his doom. and when evening overtakes the travelers, and the night's million lights have appeared, and the tiny glowworms are twinkling in the ditches and hedges, the young fellow will have time enough to think on that theme: that eternal law rules alike over the worlds and the atoms--but what is the fate of the intermediate worms? that of the splendid fly? that of ambitious men and nations struggling for their existence? "fate gives justice into the two hands of the evil one, that while with the right he extinguishes his life, with the left he may stifle the soul." chapter xix fanny some wise man, who was a poet too, once said: "the best fame for a woman is to have no fame at all." i might add: "the best life history is that, which has no history." such is the romance of fanny's life and of mine. eight years had passed since they brought a little girl from fürsten-allee to take my place: the little girl had grown into a big girl,--and was still occupying my place. how i envied her those first days, when i had to yield my place to her, that place veiled with holy memories in our family's mourning circle, in mother's sorrowing heart; and how i blessed fate, that i was able to fill that place with her. my career led me to distant districts, and every year i could spend but a month or two at home; mother would have aged, grandmother have grown mad from the awful solitude had heaven not sent a guardian angel into their midst. how much i have to thank fanny for. for every smile of mother's face, for every new day of grandmother's life--i had only fanny to thank. every year when i returned for the holidays i found long-enduring happy peace at home. where everyone had so much right every day madly to curse fate, mankind, the whole world; where sorrow should have ruled in every thought;--i found nothing but peace, patience, and hope. it was she who assured them that there was a limit to suffering, she who encouraged them with renewed hopes, she who allured them by a thousand possible variations on the theme of chance gladness, that might come to-morrow or perhaps the day after. and she did everything for all the world as if she never thought of herself. what a sacrifice it must be for a fair lively girl to sacrifice the most brilliant years of her youth to the nursing of two sorrow-laden women, to suffering with them, to enduring their heaviness of disposition. yet she was only a substitute girl in the house. when i left pressburg and the fromm's house her parents wished to take her home; but fanny begged them to leave her there one year longer, she was so fond of that poor suffering mother. and then every year she begged for another year; so she remained in our small home until she was a full-grown maiden. yes pressburg is a gay, noisy town. the fromm's house was open before the world and the flower ought to open in spring--the young girl has a right to live and enjoy life. fanny voluntarily shut herself off from life. there was no merriment in our house. my parents often assured her they would take her to some entertainments, and would go with her. "for my sake? you would go to amusements that i might enjoy myself? would that be an amusement for me? let us stay at home.--there will be time for that later." and when she victimized herself, she did it so that no one could see she was a victim. there are many good patient-hearted girls, whose lips never complain, but hollow eyes, pale faces, and clouded dispositions utter silent complaints and give evidence of buried ambitions. fanny's face was always rosy and smiling: her eyes cheerful and fiery, her disposition always gay, frank and contented; her every feature proved that what she did she did from her heart and her heart was well pleased. her happy ever-gay presence enlightened the while gloomy circle around her, as when some angel walks in the darkness, with a halo of glory around his figure. from year to year i found matters so at home when i returned for the holidays: and from year to year one definite idea grew and took shape in our minds mutually. we never spoke of it: but we all knew. she knew--i knew, her parents knew and so did mine; nor did we think anything else could happen. it was only a question of time. we were so sure about it that we never spoke of it. after finishing my course of studies, i became a lawyer; and, when i received my first appointment in a treasury office, one day i drew fanny's hand within mine, and said to her: "fanny dear, you remember the story of jacob in the bible?" "yes." "do you not think jacob was an excellent fellow, in that he could serve seven years to win his wife?" "i cannot deny that he was." "then you must acknowledge that i am still more excellent for i have already served eight years--to win you." fanny looked up at me with those eyes of the summer-morning smile, and with childish happiness replied: "and to prove your excellence still further, you must wait two years more." "why?" i asked, downcast. "why?" she said with quiet earnestness. "do you not know there is a vacant place at our table; and until that is filled, there can be no gladness in this house. could you be happy, if you had to read every day in your mother's eyes the query, 'where is that other?' all your gladness would wound that suffering heart, and every dumb look she gave would be a reproach for our gladness. oh, desi, no marriage is possible here, as long as mourning lasts." and as she said this to prevent me loving her, she only forced me to love her the more. "how far above me you are!" "why those two short years will fly away, as the rest. our thoughts for each other do not date from yesterday, and, as we grow old, we shall have time enough to grow happy. i shall wait, and in this waiting i have enough gladness." oh how i would have loved to kiss her for those words: but that face was so holy before me, i should have considered it a sacrilege to touch it with my lips. "we remain then as we were." "very well." "not a word of it for two years yet, when you are released from your word of honor you gave to lorand, and may discover his whereabouts. why this long secrecy? that i cannot understand. i have never had any ambition to dive more deeply into your secret than you yourselves have allowed me to: but if you made a promise, keep it; and if by this promise you have thrown your family, yourself, and me into ten years' mourning, let us wear it until it falls from us." i grasped the dear girl's hand, i acknowledged how terribly right she was; then with her gay, playful humor she hurried back to mother, and no one could have fancied from her face, that she could be serious for a moment. i risked one more audacious attempt in this matter. i wrote to lorand, putting before him that the horizon all round was already so clear, that he might march round the country to the sound of trumpets, announcing that he is so and so, without finding anyone to arrest him, as it was the same whether it was ten years or eight, he might let us off the last two years, and admit us to him. lorand wrote back these short lines in answer: "we do not bargain about that for which we gave our word of honor." it was a very brief refusal. i troubled him no more with that request. i waited and endured, while the days passed.... ah, lorand, for your sake i sacrificed two years of heaven on earth! chapter xx the fatal day! it had come at last! we had already begun to count the days that remained. one week before the final day, i received a letter from lorand, in which he begged me not to go to meet him at lankadomb, but rather to give a rendezvous in szolnok: he did not wish the scene of rapture to be spoiled by the sarcasms of topándy. i was just as well pleased. for days all had been ready for the journey. i hunted up everything in the way of a souvenir which i had still from those days ten years before when i had parted from lorand, even down to that last scrap of paper,[ ] which now occupied my every thought. [footnote : the paper of madame bálnokházy's letter which was used for the fatal lot-drawing.] it would have been labor lost on my part to tell the ladies how bad the roads in the lowlands are at that time of year, that in any case lorand would come to them a day later. nor indeed did i try to dissuade them from making the journey. which of them would have remained home at such a time? which of them would have given up a single moment of that day, when she might once more embrace lorand? they both came to me. we arrived at szolnok one day before lorand: i only begged them to remain in their room until i had spoken with lorand. they promised and remained the whole day in one room of the inn, while i strolled the whole day about the courtyard on the watch for every arriving carriage. an unusual number of guests came on that day to the inn: gay companions of topándy from the neighborhood, to whom lorand had given a rendezvous there. some i knew personally, the others by reputation; the latter's acquaintance too was soon made. it struck me as peculiar that lorand had written to me that he did not wish the elegiac tone of our first gathering to be disturbed by the voice of the stoics of lankadomb, yet he had invited the whole epicurean alliance here--a fact which was likely to give a dithyrambic tone to our meeting. well, amusement there must be. i like fellows who amuse themselves. it was late evening when a five-horsed coach drove into the courtyard--in the first to get out i recognized gyáli. what did he want among us? after him stepped out a brisk old man whose moustache and eyebrows i remembered of old. it was my uncle, topándy. remarkable! topándy came straight towards me. so serious was his face, when, as he reached me, he grasped my hand, that he made me feel quite confused. "you are desiderius Áronffy?" he said: and with his two hands seized my shoulders, that he might look into my eyes. "though you do not say so, i recognize you. it is just as if i saw your departed father before me. the very image!" many had already told me that i was very like what my father had been in his young days. topándy embraced me feelingly. "where is lorand?" i inquired. "has he not come?" "he is coming behind us in a wagon," he answered, and his voice betrayed the greatest emotion. "he will soon be here. he does not like a coach. remain here and wait for him." then he turned to his comrades who were buzzing around him. "let us go and wait inside, comrades. let us leave these young fellows to themselves when they meet. you know that such a scene requires no audience. well, right about face, quick march!" therewith he drove all the fellows from the corridor: indeed did not give gyáli time to say how glad he was to meet me again. the gathering became all the more unintelligible to me. why, if topándy himself knew best what there was to be felt in that hour, what necessity had we to avoid him? now the wagon could be heard! the two steeds galloped into the courtyard at a smart pace with the light road-cart. he was driving himself. i scarcely recognized him. his great whiskers, his closely-cropped hair, his dust-covered face made quite a different figure before me from that which i had been wont to draw in my album,--as i had thought to see, as mother or grandmother directed me, saying "that is missing, that feature is other, that is more, that is less, that is different," times without number we had amused ourselves with that. lorand was unlike any portrait of him i had drawn. he was a muscular, powerful, rough country cavalier. as he leaped out of the wagon, we hastened to each other. the centre of the courtyard was not the place to play an impassioned scene in. besides neither of us like comedy playing. "good evening, old fellow." "good evening, brother." that was all we said to each other: we shook hands, kissed each other, and hurried in from the courtyard, straight to the room filled with roysterers. they received lorand with wall-shaking "hurrahs," and lorand greeted them all in turn. some embittered county orator wished to deliver a speech in his honor, but lorand told him to keep that until wine was on the table: dry toasts were not to his taste. then he again returned to my side and took my face in his hands. "by jove! old fellow, you have quite grown up! i thought you were still a child going to school. you are half a head taller than i am. why i shall live to see you married without my knowing or hearing anything about it." i took lorand's arm and drew him into a corner. "lorand, mother and grandmother are here too." he wrenched his arm out of my hand. "who told you to do that?" he growled irritatedly. "quietly, my dear lorand. i have committed no blunder even in formalities. it will be ten years to-morrow since you told me i might in ten years tell mother where you are. then you wrote to me to be at szolnok to-day. i have kept my promise to mother as regards telling her to-morrow and to you by my appearance here. szolnok is two days distant from our home:--so i had to bring them here in order to do justice to both my promises." lorand became unrestrainedly angry. "a curse upon every pettifogger in the world! you have swindled me out of my most evident right." "but, dear lorand, are you annoyed that the poor dear ones can see you one day earlier?" "that's right, begin like that.--fool, we wanted to have a jolly evening all to ourselves, and you have spoilt it." "but you can enjoy yourselves as long as you like." "indeed? 'as long as we like,' and i must go in a tipsy drunken state to introduce myself to mother?" "it is not your habit to be drunk." "what do you know? i'm fairly uproarious once i begin at it. it was a foolish idea of yours, old fellow." "well, do you know what? put the meeting first, after that the carousal." "i have told you once for all that we shall make no bargains, sir advocate. no transactions here, sir advocate!" "don't 'sir advocate' me!" "wait a moment. if you could be so cursedly exact in your calculation of days, i shall complete your astronomical and chronological studies. take out your watch and compare it with mine. it was just : by the convent clock in pressburg, when you gave me your word. to-morrow evening at : you are free from your obligation to me: then you can do with me what you like." i found his tone very displeasing and turned aside. "well don't be dispirited," said lorand, drawing me towards him and embracing me. "let us not be angry with each other: we have not been so hitherto. but you see the position i am in. i have gathered together a pack of dissolute scamps and atheists, not knowing you would bring mother with you, and they have been my faithful comrades ten years. i have passed many bad, many good days with them: i cannot say to them 'go, my mother is here.' nor can i sit here among them till morning with religious face. in the morning we shall all be 'soaked.' even if i conquer the wine, my head will be heavy after it. i have need of the few hours i asked you for to collect myself, before i can step into my dear ones' presence with a clear head. explain to them how matters stand." "they know already, and will not ask after you until to-morrow." "very well. there is peace between us, old fellow." when the company saw we had explained matters to each other, they all crowded round us, and such a noise arose that i don't know even now what it was all about. i merely know that once or twice pepi gyáli wished to catch my eye to begin some conversation, and that at such times i asked the nearest man, "how long do you intend to amuse yourselves in this manner?" "how are you?" and similar surprising imbecilities. meanwhile the long table in the middle of the room had been laid: the wines had been piled up, the savory victuals were brought in; outside in the corridors a gypsy band was striking up a lively air, and everybody tried to get a seat. i had to sit at the head of the table, near lorand. on lorand's left sat topándy, on his right, beside me, pepi gyáli. "well, old fellow, you too will drink with us to-day?" said lorand to me playfully, putting his arms familiarly round my neck. "no, you know i never drink wine." "never? not to-day either? not even to my health?" i looked at him. why did he wish to make me drink to-day especially? "no, lorand. you know i am bound by a promise not to drink wine, and a man of honor always keeps his promises, however absurd." i shall never forget the look which lorand gave me at these words. "you are right, old fellow:" and he grasped my hand. "a man of honor keeps his promises, however absurd...." and as he said so, he was so serious, he gazed with such alarming coldness into the eyes of gyáli, who sat next to him. but pepi merely smiled. he could smile so tenderly with those handsome girlish round lips of his. lorand patted him on the shoulder. "do you hear, pepi? my brother refused to drink wine, because a man of honor keeps his promises. you are right, desi. let him who says something keep his word." then the banquet began. it is a peculiar study for an abstainer to look on at a midnight carousal, with a perfectly sober head, and to be the only audience and critic at this "divina comedia" where everyone acts unwittingly. the first act commenced with the toasts. he to whom god had given rhetorical talent raises his glass, begs for silence,--which at first he receives and later not receiving tries to assure for himself by his stentorian voice;--and with a very serious face, utters very serious phrases:--one is a master of grace, another of pathos: a third quotes from the classics, a fourth humorizes, and himself laughs at his success, while everybody finishes the scene with clinking of glasses, and embraces, to the accompaniment of clarion "hurrahs." later come more fiery declamations, general outbursts of patriotic bitterness. brains become more heated, everyone sits upon his favorite hobby-horse, and makes it leap beneath him; the socialist, the artist, the landlord, the champion of order, everyone begins to speak of his own particular theme--without keeping to the strict rules of conversation that one waits until the other has finished: rather they all talk at once, one interrupting the other, until finally he who has commenced some thrilling refrain hands over the leadership to all: the song becomes general, and each one is convinced from hearing his own vocal powers, that nowhere on earth can more lovely singing be heard. and meantime the table becomes covered with empty bottles. then the paroxysm grows by degrees to a climax. he who previously delivered an oration now babbles, comes to a standstill, and, cuts short his discomfiture by swearing; there sits one who had already three times begun upon some speech, but his bitterness, mourning for the past, so effectually chokes his over-ardent feelings that he bursts into tears, amidst general laughter. another who has already embraced all his comrades in turn, breaks in among the gypsies and kisses them one after the other, swearing brotherhood to the bass fiddler and the clarinetist. at the farther end of the table sits a choleric fellow, whose habit it is always to end in riotous fights, and he begins his freaks by striking the table with his fist, and swearing he will kill the man who has worried him. luckily he does not know with whom he is angry. the gay singer is not content with giving full play to his throat, helping it out with his hands and feet: he begins to dash bottles and plates against the wall, and is delighted that so many smashed bottles give evidence of his triumph. with a half crushed hat he dances in the middle of the room quite alone, in the happy conviction that everybody is looking at him, while a blessed comrade had come to the pass of dropping his head back upon the back of his chair, only waking up when they summon him to drink with him--though he does not know whether he is drinking wine or tanner's ooze. but the fever does not increase indefinitely. like other attacks of fever, it has a crisis, beyond which a turn sets in! after midnight the uproarious clamor subsided. the first heating influence of the wine had already worked itself out. one or two who could not fight with it, gave in and lay down to sleep, while the others remained in their places, continuing the drinking-bout, not for the sake of inebriety, merely out of principle, that they might show they would not allow themselves to be overcome by wine. this is where the real heroes' part begins, of those whom the first glass did not loosen, nor the tenth tie their tongues. now they begin to drink quietly and to tell anecdotes between the rounds. one man does not interrupt another, but when one has finished his story, another says, "i know one still better than that," and begins: "the matter happened here or there, i myself being present." the anecdotes at times reached the utmost pitch of obscenity and at such times i was displeased to hear lorand laugh over such jokes as expressed contempt for womankind. i was only calmed by the thought that "our own" were long in bed--it was after midnight--and so it were impossible for mother or someone else out of curiosity to be listening at the keyhole, waiting for lorand's voice. all at once lorand took over the lead in the conversation. he introduced the question "which is the most celebrated drinking nation in the world?" he himself for his part immediately said he considered the germans were the most renowned drinkers. this assertion naturally met with great national opposition. they would not surrender the magyar priority in this respect either. two peacefully-inclined spirits interfered, trying to produce a united feeling by accepting the englishman, then the servian as the first in drinking matters--a proviso which naturally did not satisfy either of the disputing parties. lorand, alone against the united opinion of the whole company, had the audacity to assert that the germans were the greatest drinkers in the world. he produced celebrated examples to prove his theory. "listen to me! once prince batthyány sent two barrels of old göncz wine to the brothers of hybern. but the duty to be paid on good magyar wine beyond the lajta[ ] was terrible. the recipients would have had to pay for the wine twenty gold pieces[ ]--a nice sum. so the brothers, to avoid paying and to prevent the wine being lost, drank the contents of the two barrels outside the frontier." [footnote : a river near pressburg, the boundary between austria and hungary.] [footnote : probably florins.] ah, they could produce drinkers three times or four times as great, this side of the lajta! but lorand would not give in. "well, your namesake, pépó henneberg," related lorand, turning to gyáli, "introduced the custom of drawing a string through the ears of his guests, who sat down at a long table with him, and compelled them all to drain their beakers to the dregs, whenever he drank, under penalty of losing the ends of their ears." "with us that is impossible, for we have no holes bored in our ears!" cried one. "we drink without compulsion!" replied another. "the magyar does all a german can do!" that assertion, loudly shouted, was general. "even draining glasses as they did at wartburg?" cried lorand. "what the devil was the custom at wartburg?" "the revellers at wartburg, when they were in high spirits used to load a pistol, and then to fill the barrel to the brim with wine: then they cocked the trigger, and drained this curious glass one after another for friendship's sake." (i see you, lorand!) "well, which of you is inclined to follow the german cavaliers' example?" topándy interrupted. "i for one am not, and heaven forbid you should be." "i am." --which remark came from gyáli, not lorand. i looked at him. the fellow had remained sober. he had only tasted the wine, while others had drunk it. "if you are inclined, let us try," said lorand. "with pleasure, only you must do it first." "i shall do so, but you will not follow me." "if you do it, i shall too. but i think you will not do it before me." one idea flashed clearly before me and chilled my whole body. i saw all: i understood all now: the mystery of ten years was no longer a secret to me: i saw the refugee, i saw the pursuer, and i had both in my hand, in such an iron grip, as if god had lent me for the moment the hand of an archangel. you just talk away. lorand's face was a feverish red. "well, well, you scamp! let us bet, if you like." "what?" "twenty bottles of champagne, which we shall drink too." "i accept the wager." "whoever withdraws from the jest loses the bet." "here's the money!" both took their purses and placed each a hundred florins on the table. i too produced my purse and took a crumpled paper out of it:--but it was no banknote. lorand cried to the waiter. "take my pistols out of my trunk." the waiter placed both before him. "are they really loaded?" inquired gyáli. "look into the barrels, where the steel head of the bullets are smiling at you." gyáli found it wiser to believe than to look into the pistol barrels. "well, the bet stands; whichever of us cannot drink out his portion pays for the champagne." lorand seized his glass to pour the red wine that was in it into the pistol-barrel. the whole company was silent: some agonized restraint ruled their intoxicated nerves: every eye was rested on lorand as if they wished to check the mad jest before its completion. on topándy's forehead heavy beads of sweat glistened. i quietly placed my hand on lorand's, in which he held the weapon and amid profound silence asked: "would it not be good to draw lots to see who shall do it first?" both looked at me in confusion when i mentioned drawing lots. could their secret have been discovered? "only if you draw lots about it," i continued quietly, "don't omit to be quite sure about the writing of each other's name, lest there be a repetition of that farce which took place ten years ago, when you drew lots as to who was to dance with the white elephant." i saw gyáli turn as white as paper. "what farce?" he panted, beginning to rise from his chair. "you always were a jesting boy, pepi: at that time you made me draw lots for you, and told me to put both the one i had drawn and the other in the grate: but instead of doing so i threw the dance programme in the fire, and put those papers aside and kept them. you, instead of your own, wrote my brother's name on the paper, and so whichever was drawn, lorand Áronffy must have come out of the hat. look, the two lottery tickets are still in my possession, those same two pieces of paper, a sheet of note paper torn in two, both with the same name on them, and on the other side the writing of madame bálnokházy." gyáli rose from his seat like one who had seen a ghost, and gazed at me with a look of stone. yet i had not threatened him. i had merely playfully jested with him. i smilingly spread out the two pieces of lilac-colored papers, which so exactly fitted together. but lorand with flashing eyes glared at him, and as the dignified upright figure stood opposite him, threw the contents of the glass he held in his hand into the fellow's face, so that the red wine splashed all over his laced white waistcoat. gyáli with his serviette wiped from his face the traces of insult and with dignified coldness said: "with men in such a condition no dispute is possible. we cannot answer the taunts of drunken men." therewith he began to back towards the door. everybody, in amazement at this scene, allowed him to go: for all the world as if everyone had suddenly begun to be sober, and at the first surprise no one knew how to think what should now happen. but i ... i was not drunk. i had no need to become sober. i leaped up from my place, with one bound came up to the departing man, and seized him before he could reach the door, just as a furious tiger fastens up a miserable dormouse. "i am not drunk! i have never drunk wine, you know," i cried losing all self-restraint, and pressing him against the wall so that he shivered like a bat.--"i shall be the one to throw that cursed forgery in your face, miserable wretch!" and i know well that that single blow would have been the last chapter in his life--which would have been a great pity, not as far as he was concerned, but for my own sake--had not heaven sent a guardian angel to check me in my wickedness. suddenly someone behind seized the hand raised to strike. i looked back, and my arm dropped useless at my side. it was fanny who had seized my arm. "desi," cried my darling in a frightened voice: "this hand is mine: you must not defile it." i felt she was right. i allowed my uncontrollable anger to be overcome; with my left hand i threw the trembling wretch out of the door--i do not know where he fell--and then i turned round to clasp fanny to my breast. already mother and grandmother were in the room. the poor women had spent the whole evening of agony in the neighboring room, keeping perfectly still, so as not to betray their presence there, with the intention of listening for lorand's voice: and they had trembled through that last awful scene, of which they could hear every word. when they heard my cry of rage, they could restrain themselves no longer, but rushed in, and threw themselves among the revellers with a cry of "my son, my son." everyone rose at their honored presence: this solemn picture, two kneeling women embracing a son snatched from the jaws of death. the surprising horror had reduced everyone to soberness: all tipsiness, all winy drowsiness, had passed away. "lorand, lorand," sobbed mother, pressing him frantically to her breast, while grandmother, unable to speak or to weep, clutched his hand. "oh lorand, dear...." but lorand grasped the two ladies' hands and led them towards me. "it is him you must embrace, not me: his is the triumph." then he caught sight of that sweet angel bowed upon my shoulder, who was still holding my hand in hers: he recollected those words with which fanny a moment before had betrayed our secret. "this hand is mine"--and he smiled at me. "is that the way matters stand? then you have your reward in your hands, ... and you can leave these two weeping women to me." therewith he threw himself on his face upon the floor before them, and embracing their feet kissed the dust beneath them. "oh, my darlings! my loved ones." chapter xxi that letter what those who had so long waited, spoke and thought during that night cannot be written down. these are sacred matters, not to be exposed to the public gaze. lorand confessed all, and was pardoned for all. and he was as happy in that pardon as a child who had been again received into favor. lorand indeed felt as if he were beginning his life now at the point where ten years before it had been interrupted, and as if all that happened during ten years had been merely a dream, of which only the heavy beard of manhood remained. it was very late in the morning when he and desiderius woke. sleep had proved very pleasant for once. sleep--and in place of death too. "well old fellow," said lorand to his brother, "i owe you one more adventurous joke, with which i wish to surprise you." the threat was uttered so good-humoredly that desiderius had no cause to be frightened, but he said quietly: "tell me what it is." lorand laughed. "i shall not go home with you now." "well, and what shall you do?" inquired desiderius quite as astonished as lorand had expected. "i shall escape from you," he said, shaking his head good-humoredly. "ah, that is an audacious enterprise! but tell me, where are you going to escape to?" "ha, ha! i shall not merely tell you where i am going, but i shall take you with me to look after me henceforward as you have done hitherto." "you are very wise to do so.--may i know whither?" "back to lankadomb." "to lankadomb? perhaps you have lost something there?" "yes, my senses.--well don't look at me so curiously as if you wished to ask whether i ever had any. you and this little girl quite understand each other. i see that mother and grandmother too are sufficiently in love with her to give her to you: but my blessing has yet to come, old man--that you have not received yet." "hope assures me that perhaps i have softened your hard heart." "not all at once. i shall tell you something." "i am all ears." "in my will i passed over all my worldly wealth to you: the sealed letter is in your possession. as far as i know you, i believe i shall cause you endless joy by asking back my will from you, and telling you that you will now be poorer by half your wealth, for the other half i require." "i know that without waiting for you to teach me. but what has your old testament to do with the gospel of my heart?" "oh your head must be very dense, old fellow, if you don't understand yet. then listen to my ultimatum. i refuse to give my consent to your marrying--before me." desiderius threw himself on lorand's neck; he understood now. "there is somebody you love?" lorand assented with a smile. "of course there is. but--you know how that blackguard (by jove, you gave him a powerful shaking!) confused my calculation for an entire life. i could not make her understand about that of which the continuation begins only to-day. still, all the more reason for hastening. a half hour is necessary to tell another all about it, half an hour in a carriage: they will remain here meanwhile. we shall fly to topándy at lankadomb: by evening we shall have finished all, and to-morrow we shall be here again, like two flying madmen, who are striving to see which can carry the other off more rapidly towards the goal--where happiness awaits him. i shall drive the horses to lankadomb, you can drive them back." "poor horses!" desiderius did not dare to go himself with these glad tidings to his mother. he entrusted fanny to prepare her for them--perhaps so much delight would have killed her. they told her lorand had official business which called him to lankadomb for one day; and they started together with topándy. topándy was let into the secret, and considered it his duty to go with lorand--he might be required to give the bride away. the world around lorand had changed--at least so he thought, but the change in reality was within him. he was indeed born again: he had become quite a different man from the lorand of yesterday. the noisy good-humor of yesterday badly concealed the resolve that despised death, just as the dreaminess of to-day openly betrayed the happiness that filled his heart. the whole way desiderius could scarcely get one word from him, but he might easily read in his face all upon which he was meditating: and if he did utter once or twice encomiums on the beautiful may fields, desiderius could see that his heart too felt spring within it. how beautiful it was to live again, to be happy and gay, to have hopes, expect good in the future, to love and be proud in one's love, to go with head erect, to be all in all to someone! at noon they arrived at lankadomb. czipra ran out to meet them and clapped her hands. "you were driven away; how did you get back so soon? well no one expected you to dinner." lorand was the first to leap off the cart, and tenderly offered his hand to the girl. "we have arrived, my dear czipra. even if you did not expect us to dinner, you can give us some of your own." "oh, no," said the girl in a whisper, blushing at the same time, "i have been accustomed to eat at the servant's table, when you were not at home, and you have brought a guest too. who is that gentleman?" "my brother, desi, a very good fellow. kiss him, czipra." czipra did not wait to be told twice, and desiderius returned the kiss. "now give him a room: to-day we shall stay here. send up water to my room, we have got very dusty on the way, although we wished to be handsome to-day." "indeed?"--czipra took desiderius' hand, and as she led him to his room, asked him the whole history of his life: where he lived: why he had not visited lorand sooner: was he married already, and would he ever come back there again? desiderius had learned from lorand's letters about czipra that he might readily answer any question the poor girl might ask, and might at first sight tell her every secret of his heart. czipra was delighted. lorand, however, did not wait for topándy, who was coming behind, but rushed to his room. that letter, that letter!--it had been on his mind the whole way. his first duty was to take it out of the closed drawer and read it over. he did not deliberate long now whether to break the seal or not: and the envelope tore in his hand, as the seal would not yield. and then he read the following words: "sir: "that minute, in which i learned your name, raised a barrier for ever between us. the recollections which are a burden upon you, cannot be continued by an alliance between us. you who dragged my mother down into misfortune, and then faithlessly deserted her, cannot insure me happiness, or expect faithfulness from me. i shall weep over bálint tátray, as my departed to whom my dream gave being, and whom cold truth has buried; but lorand Áronffy i do not know. it is my duty to tell you so, and if you are, as i believe, a man of honor, you will consider it your duty, should we ever meet in life, never again to make mention of what was bálint tátray. good-bye, "melanie." lorand fell back in his chair broken-hearted. that was the contents of the letter he had kissed--the letter which, on the threshold of the house of death he had not dared to open, lest the happiness which would beam upon him should shake the firmness of his tread. ah, they wished to make death easy for him! to write such a letter to him! to utter such words to one she had loved!... "why, she is right. i was not the joseph of the bible: but does not love begin with pardon? did i blame her for the possession of that ring she let fall in the water? and from whom could she know that my crime was worse than that which hung round that ring? "and if i were steeped in that crime with which she charges me, how can an angel, who may know nothing of what happens in hell, put such a thought in these cold-blooded words. "they wished to kill me. "they wished to close the door behind me, as johanna of naples did to her husband, when he was struggling with his assassins. "and they wished to wash clean the murderer's hands, throwing upon me the charge of having killed myself because my love was despised. "they knew everything well, they calculated all with cold mercilessness. they waited for the hour to come, and whetted the knife before i took it in my hands. "and yet i can never hate her! she has plunged the dagger into my heart, and i remember only the kiss she gave...." that moment he felt a quiet pressure on his shoulder. confused, he looked up. czipra was standing behind him. the poor gypsy girl could not allow anyone else to wait on lorand: she had herself brought him the water. the girl's face betrayed a tender fear: she might long have been observing him, unknown to him. "what is the matter?" she asked in trembling anxiety. lorand could not speak. he merely showed her the letter he had read. czipra could not understand the writing. she did not know how one could poison another with dumb letters, could wound his heart to its depths, and murder it. she merely saw that the letter made lorand ill. she recognized that rose-colored paper, those fine characters. "melanie wrote that." by way of reply lorand in bitter inexpressible pain turned his gaze towards the letter. and the gypsy girl knew what that gaze said, knew what was written in that letter: with a wild beast's passion she tore it from lorand's hand and passionately shred it into fragments and cast it on the ground, then trampled upon its pieces, as one tramples upon running spiders. thereupon she hid her face in her hands and wept in lorand's stead. lorand went towards her and taking her hand, said sadly: "you see, such are not the gypsy girls whose faces are brown, who are born under tents, and who cut cards, and make that their religion." then with czipra's hand in his he walked long up and down his room without a word. neither knew what to say to the other. they merely reflected how they could comfort each other's sorrow--and could not find a way. this melancholy reverie was interrupted by topándy's arrival. "now i beg you, czipra, if you love me--" said lorand. if she loved him? "to say not a single word to anybody of what you have seen. nothing has happened to me.--if from this moment you ever see me sad, ask me 'what is the matter?' and i shall confess to you. but _that_ pale face shall never be among those for which i mourn." czipra was rejoiced at these words. "let us show cheerful faces before my uncle and brother. let us be good-humored. no one shall see the sting within us." "and who knows, perhaps the bee will die for it--" czipra departed with a cheery face as she said that. at the door she turned back once more: "the cards told me all that last night. till midnight i kept cutting them. but the murderer always threatens you albeit the green-robed girl always defends you.--see, i am so mad--but there is nothing else in which i can believe." "there will be something else, czipra," said lorand. "now i am going away with my brother to celebrate his marriage, then i shall return again." thereupon there was no more need to insist on czipra's being good-humored the whole day. her good-humor came voluntarily. poor girl, so little was required to make her happy. lorand, as soon as czipra was gone, collected from the floor the torn, trampled paper fragments, carefully put them together on the table, until the note was complete, then read it over once again. before the door of his room he heard steps, and gay talk intermingled with laughter. topándy and desiderius had come to see him. lorand blew the fragments off the table: they flew in all directions: he opened the door and joined the group, a third smiling figure. chapter xxii the unconscious phantom what were they laughing at so much? "do you know what counsel czipra gave us?" said topándy. "as she did not expect us to dinner, she advised us to go to sárvölgyi's, where there will be a great banquet to-day. they are expecting somebody." "who will probably not arrive in time for dinner," added desiderius. czipra joined the conversation from the extreme end of the corridor. "the old housekeeper from sárvölgyi's was here to visit me. she asked for the loan of a pie-dish and ice: for mr. gyáli is expected to arrive to-day from szolnok." "bravo!" was topándy's remark. "and as i see you have left the young gentleman behind, just go yourselves to taste mistress boris's pies, or she will overwhelm me again with curses." "we shall go, czipra," said lorand: "yes, yes, don't laugh at the idea. get your hat, desi: you are well enough dressed for a country call: let us go across to sárvölgyi's." "to sárvölgyi's?" said czipra, clasping her hands, and coming closer to lorand. "you will go to sárvölgyi's?" "not just for sárvölgyi's sake," said lorand very seriously,--"who is in other respects a very righteous pious fellow; but for the sake of his guests, who are old friends of desi's.--why, i have not yet told you, desi. madame bálnokházy and her daughter are staying here with sárvölgyi on a matter of some legal business. you cannot overlook them, if you are in the same village with them." "i might go away without seeing them," replied desiderius indifferently; "but i don't mind paying them a visit, lest they should think i had purposely avoided them. have you spoken with them already?" "oh yes. we are on very good terms with one another." lorand sacrificed the caution he had once exercised in never writing a word to desiderius about melanie. it seemed desi did not run after her either; what had his childish ideal come to? another ideal had taken its place. "besides, seeing that gyáli is the ladies' solicitor, and seeing that you, my dear friend, have '_manupropria_' despatched gyáli out of szolnok--he immediately took the post-chaise and is already in pest, or perhaps farther--it is your official duty to give an explanation to those who are waiting for their solicitor and to tell them where you have put their man--if you have courage enough to do so." desiderius at first drew back, but later his calm confidence and courage immediately confirmed his resolution. "what do you say,--if i have courage? you shall soon see. and you shall see, too, what a lawyer-like defence i am able to improvise. i wager that if i put the case before them, they will give the verdict in our favor." "do so, i beseech you," said lorand, soliciting his brother with humorously clasped hands. "i shall do so." "well be quick: get your hat, and let us go." desiderius with determined steps went in search of his hat. czipra laughed after him. she saw how ridiculous it would be. he was going to calumniate the bridegroom before the bride. with what words she herself did not know: but she gathered from the gentlemen's talk that gyáli had been driven from the company the night before for some flagrant dishonor. since two days she too had detested that fellow. lorand meanwhile gazed after his brother with eyes flashing with a desire for vengeance. topándy grasped lorand's hand. "if i believed in cherubim, i should say: a persecuting angel had taken up his abode in you, to whisper that idea to you. do you know, desiderius is the very double of what your father was when he came home from the academy: the same face, figure, depth of voice, the same lightning fire in his eyes, and that same murderous frown, and you are now going to take that boy before sárvölgyi that he may relate an awful story of a man who wished to murder a good friend in the most devilish manner, just as he did!" "hush! desi of that knows not a word." "so much the better. a living being, who does not suspect that to the man whom he is visiting, he is the most horrible phantom from the other world! the murdered father, risen up in the son!--it will make me acknowledge one of the ideas i have hitherto denied--the existence of hell." desiderius returned. "look at us, my dear czipra," said lorand to the girl, who was always fluttering around him: "are we handsome enough? will the eyes of the beautiful rest upon us?" "go," answered czipra, pushing lorand in playful anger, "as if you didn't know yourselves! rather take care you don't get lost there. such handsome fellows are readily snapped up." "no, czipra, we shall return to you," said lorand, pressing czipra so tenderly to him, that desiderius considered as superfluous any further questions as to why lorand had brought him there. he approved his brother's choice: the girl was beautiful, natural, good-humored and, so it seemed, in love with him. what more could be required?--"don't be afraid, czipra; nobody's beautiful blue eyes shall detain us there." "i was not afraid for your sakes of beautiful eyes," replied czipra, "but of mistress boris's pies:--such pies cannot be got here." thereat all three laughed--finally desiderius too, though he did not know what kind of mythological monster such a sadly bewitched cake might be, which came from mistress boris's hand. topándy embraced the two young fellows. he was sorry he could not accompany them, but begged lorand notwithstanding to remain as long as he liked. czipra followed them to the door. lorand there grasped her hand, and tenderly kissed it. the girl did not know whether to be ashamed or delighted. thrice did lorand turn round, before they reached sárvölgyi's home, to wave his hand to czipra. desiderius did not require any further enlightenment on that point. he thought he understood all quite well. * * * * * mistress boris meanwhile had a fine job at her house. "he was a fool who conceived the idea of ordering a banquet for an indefinite time:--not to know whether he, for whom one must wait, will come at one, at two, at three,--in the evening, or after midnight." twenty times she ran out to the door to see whether he was coming already or not. every sound of carriage wheels, every dog-bark enticed her out into the road, from whence she returned each time more furious, pouring forth invectives over the spoiling of all her dishes. "perhaps that gypsy girl again! devil take the gypsy girl! she is quite capable of giving this guest a breakfast there first, and then letting him go. it would be madness surely, seeing that the town gentleman is the fiancé of the young lady here: but the gypsy girl too has cursed bright eyes. besides she is very cunning, capable of bewitching any man. the damned gypsy girl,--her spells make her cakes always rise beautifully, while mine wither away in the boiling fat--although they are made of the same flour, and the same yeast." it would not have been good for any one of the domestics to show herself within sight of mistress borcsa[ ] at that moment. [footnote : boris.] "well, my master has again burdened me with a guest who thinks the clock strikes midday in the evening. it was a pity he did not invite him for yesterday, in that case he might have turned up to-day. why, i ought to begin cooking everything afresh. "i may say, he is a fine bridegroom for a young lady, who lets people wait for him. if i were the bridegroom of such a beautiful young lady, i should come to dinner half a day earlier, not half a day later. there will be nice scenes, if he has his cooking ever done at home. but of course at vienna that is not the case, everybody lives on restaurant fare. there one may dine at six in the afternoon. at any rate, what midday diners leave is served up again for the benefit of later comers:--thanks, very much." finally the last bark which mistress boris did not deign even to notice from the kitchen, heralded the approach of manly footsteps in the verandah: and when in answer to the bell mistress boris rushed to the door, to her great astonishment she beheld, not the gentleman from vienna, but the one from across the way, with a strange young gentleman. "may i speak with the master?" inquired lorand of the fiery amazon. "of course. he is within. haven't you brought the gentleman from vienna?" "he will only come after dinner," said lorand, who dared to jest even with mistress boris. then they went in, leaving mistress boris behind, the prey of doubt. "was it real or in jest? what do _they_ want here? why did they not bring him whom they took away? will they remain here long?" the whole party had gathered in the grand salon. they too thought that the steps they heard brought the one they were expecting--and very impatiently too. gyáli had informed them he would take a carriage and return, as soon as he could escape from the revelry at szolnok. melanie and her mother were dressed in silk: on melanie's wavy curls could be seen the traces of a mother's careful hand: and madame bálnokházy herself made a very impressive picture, while sárvölgyi had put on his very best. they must have prepared for a very great festival here to-day! but when the door opened before the three figures that courteously hastened to greet the new-comer, and the two brothers stepped in, all three smiling faces turned to expressions of alarm. "you still dare to approach me?"--that was melanie's alarm. "you are not dead yet?" inquired madame bálnokházy's look of lorand. "you have risen again?" was the question to be read in sárvölgyi's fixed stare that settled on desiderius' face. "my brother, desiderius,"--said lorand in a tone of unembarrassed confidence, introducing his brother. "he heard from me of the ladies being here, so perhaps mr. sárvölgyi will pardon us, if, in accordance with my brother's request, we steal a few moments' visit." "with pleasure: please sit down. i am very glad to see you," said sárvölgyi, in a husky tone, as if some invisible hand were choking his throat. "desiderius has grown a big boy, has he not?" said lorand, taking a seat between madame bálnokházy and melanie, while desiderius sat opposite sárvölgyi, who could not take his eyes off the lad. "big and handsome," affirmed madame bálnokházy. "how small he was when he danced with melanie!" "and how jealous he was of certain persons!" at these words three people hinted to lorand not to continue, madame bálnokházy, melanie and desiderius. how indiscreet these country people are! desiderius found his task especially difficult, after such a beginning. but lorand was really in a good humor. the sight of his darling of yesterday, dressed in such magnificence to celebrate the day on which her poor wretched cast-off lover was to blow his brains out, roused such a joy in his heart that it was impossible not to show it in his words. so he continued: "yes, believe me: the lively scamp was actually jealous of me. he almost killed me--yet we are very true to our memories." desiderius could not comprehend what madness had come over his brother, that he wished to bring him and melanie together into such a false position. perhaps it would be good to start the matter at once and interrupt the conversation. on madame bálnokházy's face could be read a certain contemptuous scorn, when she looked at lorand, as if she would say: "well, after all, prose has conquered the poetry of honor, a man may live after the day of his death, if he has only the phlegm necessary thereto. flight is shameful but useful,--yet you are as good as killed for all that." this scorn would soon be wiped away from that beautiful face. "mesdames," said desiderius in cold tranquillity. "beyond paying my respects, i have another reason which made it my duty to come here. i must explain why your solicitor has not returned to-day, and why he will not return for some time." "great heavens! no misfortune has befallen him?" cried madame bálnokházy in nervous trepidation. "on that point you may be quite reassured, madame: he is hale and healthy; only a slight change in his plans has taken place: he is just now flying west instead of east." "what can be the reason?" "i am the cause, which drove him away, i must confess." "you?" said madame bálnokházy, astonished. "if you will allow me, and have the patience for it, i will go very far back in history to account for this peculiar climax." lorand remarked that melanie was not much interested to hear what they were saying of gyáli. she was indifferent to him: why, they were already affianced. so he began to say pretty things to her: went into raptures about her beautiful curls, her blooming complexion, and various other things which it costs nothing to praise. as long as he had been her lover, he had never told her how beautiful she was. she might have understood his meaning. those whom we flatter we no longer love. desiderius continued the story he had begun. "just ten years have passed since they began to prosecute the young men of the parliament in pressburg on account of the publication of the parliamentary journal. there was only one thing they could not find out, viz:--who it was that originally produced the first edition to be copied: at last one of his most intimate friends betrayed the young man in question." "that is ancient history already, my dear boy," said madame bálnokházy in a tone of indifference. "yet its consequences have an influence even to this day; and i beg you kindly to listen to my story to the end, and then pass a verdict on it. you must know your men." (what an innocent child desiderius was! why, he did not seem even to suspect that the man of whom he spoke was the designated son-in-law of madame bálnokházy.) "the one, who was betrayed by his friend, was my brother lorand, and the one who betrayed his friend, was gyáli." "that is not at all certain," said madame. "in such cases appearances and passion often prove deceptive mirrors. it is possible that someone else betrayed mr. Áronffy, perhaps some fickle woman, to whom he babbled of all his secrets and who handed it on to her ambitious husband as a means of supporting his own merits." "i know positively that my assertion is correct," answered desiderius, "for a magnanimous lady, who guarded my brother with her fairy power, hearing of this betrayal from her influential husband, informed lorand thereof in a letter written by her own hand." madame bálnokházy bit her lips. the undeserved compliment smote her to the heart. she was the magnanimous fairy, of whom desiderius spoke, and that fickle woman of whom she had spoken herself. the barrister was a master of repartee. melanie, fortunately, did not hear this, for lorand just then entertained her with a wonderful story: how that, curiously enough, when the young lady had been at topándy's, the hyacinths had been covered with lovely clusters of fairy bells, and how, one week later, their place had been taken by ugly clusters of berries. how could flowers change so suddenly? "very well," said madame bálnokházy, "let us admit that when gyáli and Áronffy were students together, the one played the traitor on the other. what happened then?" "i only learned last night what really happened. that evening i was on a visit to lorand, and found gyáli there. they appeared to be joking. they playfully disputed as to who, at the farewell dance, was to be the partner of that very honorable lady, who may often be seen in your company. the two students disputed in my presence as to who was to dance with the 'aunt.'" "of course, as a piece of unusual good fortune." "naturally. as neither wished to give the other preference, they finally decided to entrust the verdict to lot; on the table was a small piece of paper, the only writing material to be found in lorand's room after a careful rummaging, as all the rest had just been burned. this piece of lilac-colored paper was torn in two, and both wrote one name: these two pieces they put in a hat and called upon me to draw out one. i did so and read out lorand's name." "do you intend to relate how your brother enjoyed himself at that dance?" melanie had not heard anything. "i have no intention of saying a single word more about that day--and i shall at once leap over ten years. but i must hasten to explain that the drawing had nothing to do with dancing with the 'aunt' but was the lottery of an 'american duel' caused by a conflict between gyáli and lorand." desiderius did not remark how the coppery spots on sárvölgyi's face swelled at the words "american duel," and then how they lost their color again. "one moment, my dear boy," interrupted madame bálnokházy. "before you continue: allow me to ask one question: is it customary to speak in society of duels that have not yet taken place?" "certainly, if one of the principals has by his cowardly conduct made the duel impossible." "cowardly conduct?" said madame bálnokházy, darting a piercing side glance at lorand. "that applies to you." but lorand was just relating to melanie how the day-before-yesterday, when the beautiful moonlight shone upon the piano, which had remained open as the young lady had left it, soft fairy voices began suddenly to rise from it. though that was surely no spirit playing on the keys, but czipra's tame white weasel that, hunting night moths, ran along them. "yes," said desiderius in answer to the lady. "one of the principals who accepted the condition gave evidence of such conduct on that occasion as must shut him out from all honorable company. gyáli wrote in forged writing on that ticket the name of lorand instead of his own." madame bálnokházy incredulously pursed her lips. "how can you prove that?" "i did not cast into the fire, as gyáli bade me, the two tickets, but in their stead the dance programme i had brought with me, the two tickets i put away and have kept until to-day, suspecting that perhaps there might be some rather important reason for this calculating slyness." "pardon me; but a very serious charge is being raised against an absent person, who cannot defend himself, and to defend whom is therefore the duty of the next and nearest person, even at the price of great indulgence. have you any proof, any authentic evidence, that either one of the tickets you have kept is forged?" madame bálnokházy had gone to great extremes in doubting the faithfulness and truth-telling of a man,--but rather too far. she had to deal with a barrister. "the similarity admits of no doubt, madame. since these two slips are nothing but two halves that fit together, of that same letter in which lorand's good-hearted fairy informed him of gyáli's treachery; on the opposite side of the slips is still to be seen the handwriting of that deeply honored lady: the date and watermark are still on them." madame's bosom heaved with anger. this youth of twenty-three had annihilated her just as calmly, as he would have burnt that piece of paper of which they were speaking. desiderius quietly produced his pocket-book and rummaged for the fatal slips of paper. "never mind. i believe it," panted madame bálnokházy, whose face in that moment was like a furious medusa head. "i believe what you say. i have no doubts about it:" therewith she rose from her seat and turned to the window. desiderius too rose from his chair, seeing the sitting was interrupted, but could not resist the temptation of pouring out the overflowing bitterness of his heart before somebody; and, as madame was displeased and melanie was chatting with lorand of trifles, he was obliged to address his words directly to his only hearer, to sárvölgyi, who remained still sitting, like one enchanted, while his gaze rested ever upon desiderius' face. this face, drunken with rage and terror, could not tear itself from the object of its fears. "and this fellow has allowed his dearest friend to go through life for ten years haunted with the thought of death, has allowed him to hide himself in strangers' houses, avoiding his mother's embraces. it did not occur to him once to say 'live on; don't persecute yourself; we were children, we have played together. i merely played a joke on you.'..." sárvölgyi turned livid with a deathly pallor. "sir, you are a christian, who believes in god, and in those who are saints: tell me, is there any torture of hell that could be punishment enough for so ruining a youth?" sárvölgyi tremblingly strove to raise himself on his quivering hand. he thought his last hour had come. "there is none!" answered desiderius to himself. "this fellow kept his hatred till the last day, and when the final anniversary came, he actually sought out his victim to remind him of his awful obligation. oh, sir, perhaps you do not know what a terrible fatality there is in this respect in our family? so died grandfather, so it was that our dearly loved father left us; so good, so noble-hearted, but who in a bitter moment, amidst the happiness of his family turned his hand against his own life. at night we stealthily took him out to burial. without prayer, without blessing, we put him down into the crypt, where he filled the seventh place; and that night my grandmother, raving, cursed him who should occupy the eighth place in the row of blood-victims." sárvölgyi's face became convulsed like that of a galvanized corpse. desiderius thought deep sympathy had so affected the righteous man and continued all the more passionately: "that fellow, who knew it well, and who was acquainted with our family's unfortunate ill-luck, in cold blood led his friend to the eighth coffin, to the cursed coffin--with the words 'lie down there in it!'" sárvölgyi's lips trembled as if he would cry "pity: say nothing more!" "he went with him down to the gate of death, opened the dark door before him, and asked him banteringly 'is the pistol loaded?' and when lorand took his place amid the revellers: bade him fulfil his obligation--the perjured hound called him to his obligation!" sárvölgyi, all pale, rose at this awful scene:--for all the world as if lörincz Áronffy himself had come to relate the history of his own death to his murderer. "then i seized lorand's arm with my one hand, and with the other held before the wretch's eyes the evidence of his cursed falseness. his evil conscience bade him fly. i reached him, seized his throat...." sárvölgyi in abject terror sank back in his chair, while madame bálnokházy, rushing from the window, passionately cried "and killed him?" desiderius, gazing haughtily at her, answered calmly: "no, i merely cast him out from the society of honorable men." to lorand it was a savage pleasure to look at those three faces, as desiderius spoke. the dumb passion which inflamed madame bálnokházy's face, the convulsive terror on the features of the fatal adversary, strove with each other to fill his heart with a great delight. and melanie? what had she felt during this narration, which made such an ugly figure of the man to whom fate allotted her? lorand's eyes were intent upon her face too. the young girl was not so transfixed by the subject of the tale as by the speaker. desiderius in the heat of passion, was twice as handsome as he was otherwise. his every feature was lighted with noble passion. who knows--perhaps the beautiful girl was thinking it would be no very pleasant future to be the bride of gyáli after such a scandal! perhaps there returned to her memory some fragments of those fair days at pressburg, when she and desiderius had sighed so often side by side. that boy had been very much in love with his beautiful cousin. he was more handsome and more spirited than his brother. perhaps her thoughts were such. who knows? at any rate, it is certain that when desiderius answered madame's question with such calm contempt--"i cast him out, i did not kill him,"--on melanie's face could be remarked a certain radiance, though not caused by delight that her fiancé's life had been spared. lorand remarked it, and hastened to spoil the smile. "certainly you would have killed him, desi, had not your good angel, your dear fanny, luckily for you, intervened, and grasped your arm, saying 'this hand is mine. you must not defile it.'" the smile disappeared from melanie's face. "and now," said desiderius, addressing his remarks directly to sárvölgyi; "be my judge, sir. what had a man, who with such sly deception, with such cold mercilessness, desired to kill, to destroy, to induce a heart in which the same blood flows as in mine--to commit a crime against the living god, what, i ask, had such a man deserved from me? have i not a right to drive that man from every place, where he dares to appear in the light of the sun, until i compel him to walk abroad at night when men do not see him, among strangers who do not know him;--to destroy him morally with just as little mercy as he displayed towards lorand?--would that be a crime?" "great heavens! something has happened to mr. sárvölgyi," cried madame bálnokházy suddenly. and indeed sárvölgyi was very pale, his limbs were almost powerless, but he did not faint. he put his hands behind him, lest they should remark how they trembled, and strove to smile. "sir," he said in a hesitating voice, which often refused to serve him: "although i have nothing to say against it, yet you have told your story at an unfortunate time and in an ill-chosen place:--this young lady is mr. gyáli's fiancée and to-day we had prepared for the wedding." "i am heartily glad that i prevented it," said desiderius, without being in the least disturbed at this discovery. "i think i am doing my relations a good service by staying them at the point where they would have fallen over a precipice." "you are a master-hand at that," said madame bálnokházy with scornful bitterness. she remembered how he had done her a service by a similar intervention--just ten years ago. "well, as you have succeeded so perfectly in rescuing us from the precipice, perhaps we may hope for the honor of your presence at the friendly conclusion of this spoiled matrimonial banquet?" madame bálnokházy's wandering life had whetted her cynicism. it was a direct hint for them to go. "we are very much obliged for the kind invitation," replied lorand courteously, paying her back in the same coin of sweetness, "but they are expecting us at home." "hearts too, which one may not trifle with," continued desiderius. "then, of course, we should not think of stealing you away," continued madame bálnokházy, touched to the quick. "kindly greet, in our names, dear czipra and dear fanny. we are very fond indeed of the good girls, and wish you much good fortune with them. the arms of Áronffy, too, find an explanation therein: the half-moon will in one case mean a horse-shoe, in the other a bread-roll. adieu, dear lorand! adieu, dear desi!" then arm-in-arm they departed and hurried home to topándy's house. madame's last outburst had thrown desiderius into an entirely good humor. that was the first thing about which he began to converse with topándy. madame bálnokházy had congratulated the Áronffy arms on the possession of a "horse-shoe" and a "roll," a gypsy girl and a baker's daughter! but lorand did not laugh at it:--what a fathomless deep hatred that woman must treasure in her heart against him, that she could break out so! and was she not right that woman who had desired the young man to embrace her, and thus embracing her to rush on to the precipice, into shame and death, and damnation, if he could love really:--had she no right to scorn, him who had fled before the romantic crimes of passion and had allowed her to fall alone? at dinner desiderius related to topándy what he had said at sárvölgyi's. his face beamed like that of some young student who was glorying in his first duel. but he could not understand the effect his narration had caused. topándy's face became suddenly more determined, more serious; he gazed often at lorand. once desiderius too looked up at his brother, who was wiping his tear-stained eyes with his handkerchief. "you are weeping?" inquired desiderius. "what are you thinking of? i was only wiping my brow. continue your story." when they rose from table topándy called lorand aside. "this young fellow knows nothing of what i related to you?" "absolutely nothing." "so he has not the slightest suspicion that in that moment he plunged the knife into the heart of his father's murderer?" "no. nor shall he ever know it. a double mission has been entrusted to us, to be happy and to wreak vengeance. neither of us can undertake both at once. he has started to be happy, his heart is full of sweetness, he is innocent, unsuspicious, enthusiastic: let him be happy: god forbid his days should be poisoned by such agonizing thoughts as will not let me rest!--i am enough myself for revenge, embittered as i am from head to foot. the secret is known only to us, to grandmother and the pharisee himself. we shall complete the reckoning without the aid of happy men." chapter xxiii the day of gladness "let us go back at once to your darling," said lorand next morning to his brother. "my affair is already concluded." desiderius did not ask "how concluded?" but thought it easy to account for this speech. it could easily be concluded between topándy and lorand, as the former was the girl's adopted father: lorand had only to disclose to him everything about which it had been his melancholy duty to keep silence until the day of the catastrophe, which he was awaiting, had arrived. nor could desiderius suspect that the word "concluded" referred to the visit they had paid together to sárvölgyi. how could he have imagined that melanie, who had been introduced to him as gyáli's fiancée, had one week before filled lorand's whole soul with a holy light. and that light had indeed been extinguished forever. even if they had not succeeded in murdering lorand they had made a dead man of him, such a dead man as walks, throws himself into the affairs of the world, enjoys himself and laughs--who only knows himself the day of his death. desiderius ventured to ask "when?" he always thought of czipra. lorand answered lightly: "when we return." "whence?" "from your wedding." "why, you said yours must precede mine." "you are again playing the advocate!" retorted lorand. "i referred not to the execution, but to the arrangements. my banns have been called before yours; that was my desire. now it is your business to carry your affair through before i do mine. your affair of the heart can easily be concluded in three days." "an excellent explanation! and your marriage requires longer preparations?" "much longer." "what obstacle can czipra present?" "an obstacle which you know very well: czipra is still--a heathen. now the first requisite here for marriage is the birth-certificate. you know well that topándy has hitherto brought the poor girl up in an uncivilized manner. i cannot present her to mother in this state. she must learn to know the principles of religion, and just so much of the alphabet as is necessary for a country lady--and you must realize that several weeks are necessary for that. that is what we must wait for." desiderius had to acknowledge that lorand's excuse was well-grounded. and perhaps lorand was not jesting? perhaps he thought the poor girl loved him with her whole soul, and would be happy to possess these fragments of a broken heart. yet he had not told her anything. czipra had seen him in desperation over that letter: as far as the faithful, loving girl was concerned, it would have been merely an insult, if the idol of her heart had offered her his hand the next moment, out of mere offended pride; and, while she offered him impassioned love, given her merely cold revenge in return. this feeling of revenge must soften. every impulse guided to the old state of things. meantime the marriage of desiderius would be a good influence. he was marrying fanny. the young couple would, during their honeymoon, visit lankadomb: true love was an education in itself: and then--even cemeteries grow verdant in spring. the two young men reached szolnok punctually at noon. and thence they returned home. home, sweet home! at home in a beloved mother's house. a man visits many gay places where people enjoy themselves: finds himself at times in glorious palaces; builds himself a nest, and rears a house of his own:--but even then some sweet enchantment overcomes his heart when he steps over the threshold of that quiet dwelling where a loving mother's guardian hand has protected every souvenir of his childhood,--so that he finds everything as he left it long ago, and sees and feels that, while he has lived through the changing events of a period in his life, that loving heart has still clung to that last moment, and that the intervening time has been but as the eternal remembrance of one hour spent within those walls. there are his childhood's toys piled up; he would love to sit down once more among them, and play with them: there are the books that delighted his childhood's days; he would love to read them anew, and learn again what he had long forgotten, what was in those days such great knowledge. lorand spent a happy week at home, in the course of which mrs. fromm took fanny back to pressburg. as desiderius had asked for fanny's hand, it was only proper that he should take his bride away from her parents' house. one week later the whole Áronffy family started to fetch the bride; only desiderius' mother remained at home. in the little house in prince's avenue the same old faces all awaited them, only they were ten years older. old márton hastened, as erstwhile, to open the carriage door; only his moving crest was as white as that of a cockatoo. father fromm, too, was waiting at the door, but could no longer run to meet his guests, for his left arm and leg were paralyzed: he leaned upon a long bony young man, who had spent much pains in trying to twist into a moustache by the aid of cunning unguents the few hairs on his upper lip, that would not under any circumstances consent to grow. it was easy to recognize henrik in the young fellow who would have loved so much to smile, only that cursed waxed moustache would not allow his mouth to open very far. "welcome, welcome," sounded from all sides. father fromm opened his arms to receive the grandmother: henrik leaped on to desiderius' neck, while old márton slouched up to lorand, and, nudging him with his elbows, said with a humorous smile, "well, no harm came of it, you see." "no, old fellow. and i have to thank this good stick for it," said lorand, producing from under his coat márton's walking stick, for which he had had made a beautiful silver handle in place of the previous dog's-foot. the old fellow was beside himself with delight that they thought so much of his relics. "is it true," he asked, "that you fought two highwaymen with this stick? master desiderius wrote to say so." "no, only one." "and you knocked him down?" "it was impossible for he ran away. now i have done my walking, and give back the stick with thanks." but it was not the silver handle that delighted márton so. he took the returned stick into the shop, like some trophy, and related to the assistants, how master lorand had, with that alone, knocked down three highwaymen. he would not have surrendered that stick for a whole mecklenburg full of every kind of cane. old grandmother fromm, too, was still alive and counted it a great triumph that she had just finished the hundredth pair of stockings for fanny's trousseau. and last, but not least, fanny, even more beautiful, even more amiable!--as if she had not seen desiderius and his grandmother for an eternity! "well, you will be our daughter!" and they all loved desiderius so. "what a handsome man he has grown," complimented grandmother fromm. "what a good fellow!"--remarked mother fromm. "what a clever fellow! how learned!" was father fromm's encomium. "and what a muscular rascal!" said henrik, overcome with astonishment that another boy too had grown as large as he. "do you remember how one evening you threw me on to the bed? how angry i was with you then!" "do you remember how the first evening you put away the cake for henrik?" said grandmamma. "how you blushed then!" "do you remember," interrupted father fromm, "the first time you addressed me in german? how i laughed at you then!" "well, and do you remember me?" said fanny playfully, putting her hand on her fiancé's arm. "when first you kissed me here," retorted desiderius, looking into her beaming eyes. "how you feared me then!" "well, and do you remember," said the young fellow in a voice void of feeling, "when i stood resting against the doorpost, and you came to drag my secret out of me. how i loved you then!" lorand stepped up to them, and laying his hands on their shoulders, said with a sigh: "forgive me for standing so long in your path!" at that everyone's eyes filled with tears, everyone knew why. father fromm, deeply moved, exclaimed: "how happy i am,--my god!" and then as if he considered his happiness too great, he turned to henrik, "if only you were otherwise! but look, my dear boy: nothing has come of him! _fuit negligens_. if he too had learned, he would already be an '_archivarius_!' that is what i wanted to make of him. what a fine title! an '_archivarius_!' but what has become of him? an '_asinus_!' _quantus asinus_! i ought to have made a baker of him. he did not wish to be other, the fool: the '_perversus homo_.' now he is nothing but a '_pistor_.'" at this grievous charge poor henrik would have longed to sink into the earth for very shame, a longing which would have met with opposition, not only from the ground-floor inhabitants, but also from the assistants working in the underground cellars. lorand took henrik's part. "never mind, henrik. at any rate in both families there is a good-for-nothing who can do nothing except produce bread: i am the peasant, you the baker: i thresh the wheat, you bake bread of it: let the high and mighty feast on their pride." then the common good-humor of the high and mighty put a good tone on the conversation. father fromm actually made peace though slowly with fate, and agreed that it was just as well henrik could continue his father's business. he might find some respite in the fact that at least his second child would become a "lady." desiderius had a joy in store for him in that he was to meet his erstwhile rector,[ ] who was to give away the bride. the old fellow had still the same military mien, the same harsh voice, and was still as sincerely fond of desiderius and the two families as ever. [footnote : the director of the school when he was educated at pressburg.] lorand was to be desiderius' best man. in this official position he was obliged to stand on the bridegroom's left, while the latter swore before the altar, to provide for the bride's happiness "till death us do part," receiving in trust a faithful hand which even in death would not loosen its hold on his. he was the first to praise the bride for repeating after the minister so courageously and clearly those words, at which the voices of girls are wont to tremble. he was the first to raise his glass to the happy couple's health: he opened the ball with the bride: and one day later, it was he who took her back on his arm to his mother's home, saying: "dear sister-in-law, step into the house from which your calm face has driven all signs of mourning: embrace her who awaits you--the good mother who has to-day for the first time exchanged her black gown for that blue one in which we knew her in days of happiness. never has bride brought a richer dowry to a bridegroom's home, than you have to ours. god bless you for it." and even lorand did not know how much that hand which pressed his so gently had done for him. it is the fate of such deeds to succeed and remain obscure. "let the children spend their happy honeymoon in the country," was the opinion of the elder lady. "they must grow accustomed to being their own masters, too." but the idea met with the most strenuous opposition from desiderius' mother and fanny. the mother's prayers were so beautiful, the bride so irresistible, that the other two, the grandmother and lorand, finally allowed themselves to be persuaded, and agreed that the mother should stay with desiderius. "but we two must leave," whispered grandmother to lorand. she had already noticed that lorand's face was not fit to be present in that peaceful life. his gaiety was only for others: a grandmother's eyes could not be deceived. while the others were engaged with their own happiness, the old lady took lorand's hand and, without a word of "whither," they went down together to the garden, to the stream flowing beside the garden: to the melancholy house built on the bank of the stream. ten years had passed and the creeper had again crawled over the crypt door: the green leaves covered the motto. the two juniper trees had bowed their green branches together over the cupola. they stayed there, her head leaning on his bosom. how much they must have said to one another, tacitly, without a single word! how they must have understood each other's unspoken thoughts! deep silence reigned around: but within, inside the closed, rusted, creeper-covered door, it seemed as if someone beckoned with invisible finger, saying to the elder boy, "one great debt is not yet paid." one hour later they returned to the house, where they were welcomed by boisterous voices of noisy gladness--master and servant were all merry and rejoicing. "i must hasten on my way," said lorand to his mother. "whither?" "back to lankadomb." "you will bring me a new joy." "yes, a new joy for you, mother,--and for you, too," he said pressing his grandmother's hand. she understood what that handclasp meant. the murderer lived still.--the account was not yet balanced! lorand kissed his happy relations. the old lady accompanied him to the carriage, where she kissed his forehead. "go." and in that kiss there was the weight of a blessing that urged him to his difficult duty. "go--and wreak vengeance." chapter xxiv the mad jest let us leave the happy ones to rejoice. let us follow that other youth, in whom all that sweet strength for action, which might have brought a mutually-loving heart into the ecstasy of happiness, had changed into a bitter passion, capable of driving a mutually-hating soul to destruction. it was evening when he reached lankadomb. topándy was already very impatient. czipra informed him she would not give lorand even time to rest himself, but took him at once with her to the laboratory, where they had been wont to be together, to study alone the mysteries of mankind and nature. the old fellow seemed to be in an extraordinarily good humor, which in his case was generally a sign of excitement. "well, my dear boy," he said, "i have succeeded in getting myself tangled up in a mess. i will explain it to you. i have always desired to make the acquaintance of the county prison by reason of some meritorious stupidity; so finally i have committed something which will aid my purpose." "indeed?" "yes, indeed:--for two years at least. ha ha! i have perpetrated such a mad jest that i am myself entirely contented. of course they will imprison me, but that does not matter." "what have you done now, uncle?" "just listen, it is a long story. first i must begin by saying that melanie is already married." "so much the better." "i only hope it is for her--for me it is. but it is the turning-point of my fate too: so just listen to the end, to all the little trifling incidents of the tale--as mistress boris related them to czipra, and czipra to me. they all belong to the complete picture." "i am all ears," said lorand, sitting down, and determining to show a very indifferent face when they related before him the tale of melanie's marriage. "well, after you left here, they knowing nothing of your departure, madame bálnokházy said to her daughter: 'just for mere obstinacy's sake you must marry gyáli: let these men see how much we care for their fables!'--therewith she wrote a letter herself to gyáli to come back immediately to lankadomb, and show himself: they were awaiting him with open arms. he must not be afraid of the brothers Áronffy. he must look into their faces as behooved a man of dignity. to provide against any possible insults, he must protect himself with a couple of pocket-pistols: such things he must always carry in his pocket, to display beneath the nose of anyone who attempted to frighten him with his gigantic stature!--gyáli shortly appeared in the village again, and very ostentatiously drove up and down before my window, driving the horses himself with the ladies sitting behind, as if he hoped to take the greatest revenge upon me in this way. i merely said: 'if you are satisfied with him, it is nothing to me.' it seems that in the world of to-day the ladies like the man, upon whom others have spat, whom others have insulted and kicked out!--they know all--well, i had no wish to quarrel with their taste. "i determined just for that reason not to do anything mad. i would be clever. i would look down upon the world's madness with contemplative philosophy, and merely carry out the clever jest of annulling my previous will in which i had made melanie my heiress, and which had been stored away in the county archive room, making another which i shall keep here at home, in which not a single mention is made of my niece. "the wedding was solemnized with great pomp. "sárvölgyi did not complain of the expense incurred. he thought to revenge himself on me. he collected all the friends he could from the vicinity: i too received a lithographed invitation. look at that!" topándy took the vellum from his pocket-book and handed it to lorand. dear mr. topÁndy: it will give me great pleasure if you and your nephew lorand Áronffy will accept our invitation to the wedding of my daughter melanie and joseph gyáli, at mr. sárvölgyi's house. emilia bÁlnokhÁzy. "keep half for yourself." "thanks: i don't want even the whole." "well, it just happened to be sunday. sárvölgyi chose that day, because it would cost so much less to array the village folk in holiday garb. he had the bells rung, so did the vicar: every window and door was full of curious on-lookers. i too took my seat on the verandah to see the sight. "the long line of carriages started. first the bridegroom with sárvölgyi, after them the bride, dressed in a white lawn robe, and wearing, if i am not mistaken, many theatrical jewels." lorand interrupted impatiently: "you evidently think, uncle, that i shall write all this for some fashion-paper, as you are telling me in such detail about the costumes." "i have learned it from english novel-writers: if a man wants to convince his hearers that something is true history and no fable, he must describe externals in detail, that they may see what an eye-witness he was.--well, i shall leave out all description of the horses' trappings. "as the long convoy proceeded up the street, a carriage drawn by four horses clattered up from the opposite end, a county court official beside the coachman, behind, two gentlemen, one lean, the other thickset. "when this equipage met the wedding procession, the lean gentleman stopped his carriage and called out to sárvölgyi's coachman to bring his coach to a standstill. "the lean man leaped down from his carriage, the stout man after him, the official following them, and stepped up to the bridegroom. "'are you joseph gyáli?' inquired the lean man, without any prefix. "'i am,' he said, looking at the dust-covered man with angry hauteur, not comprehending by what right anyone could dare to stop him at such a time and to address him so curtly. "but the lean man seized the door of the carriage and said to the bridegroom: "'well, sir, have you any soul?' "our dear friend could not comprehend what new form of greeting it was, to ask a man on the road whether he had a soul. "but the lean man seemed to wish to know that at any cost. "'sir, have you any soul?' "'what?' "have you any soul, that you can lead an innocent maiden to the altar, in the position in which you are?' "'who are you? and how dare you to address me?' "'i am miklós daruszegi, county court magistrate, and have come to arrest you, in consequence of a proclamation of the high court of justice in vienna, which has sent us instructions to arrest you wherever you may be found on the charge of several forgeries and deceits, _in flagrante_, and not to accept bail!' "'but, sir--!' "'there is no chance for resistance. you knew already in vienna to what charge you were liable, and you came directly to hungary in the hope that if you could ally yourself with some propertied lady, your honorable person might be defended, thus practising fresh deceit against others. and now again i ask you, whether you have the soul to wish, on the prison's threshold, to drag an innocent maiden with you?'" "poor melanie!"--whispered lorand. "poor melanie naturally fainted, and the poor p. c.'s widow was beside herself with rage: poor sárvölgyi wept like a child: all the guests fled back to the house, and the bridegroom was compelled to descend from the bridal coach, and take his place in the magistrate's muddy chaise, still wearing his costume covered with decorations: they supplied him with a rug, it is true, to cover himself with, but the heron-plumed hat remained on his head for the public wonder. "i truly sympathised with the poor creatures! still it seems i have survived that pain too.--if only it had not happened in the street! before the eyes of so many men! if i at least had not seen it! if only i might give a romantic version of the catastrophe. but such a prosaic ending! a bridegroom arrested for the forgery of documents at the church door!--his tragedy is surely over!" "but according to that, melanie did not become his wife?" said lorand. "melanie has not been married at all." topándy shook his head. "you are an impatient audience, nephew. still i shall not hurry the performance. you must wait till i send a glass of absinthe down my throat, for my stomach turns at the very thought of what i am about to relate." and he was not joking: he looked among the many chemicals for the bottle bearing the label "absynthium," and drank a small glass of it. then he poured one out for lorand. "you must drink too." "i could not drink it, uncle," said lorand, full of other thoughts. "but drink this glass, i tell you: until you do i shall not continue. what i am going to say is strong poison, and this is the antidote." so lorand drank, that he might hear what happened. "well, my dear boy. you must dispense with the idea that melanie is not a wife: melanie two days ago married--sárvölgyi!" "oh, that is only a jest!" exclaimed lorand incredulously. "of course it is a jest: only a very mad one. who could take such things seriously? sárvölgyi was jesting when he said to madame bálnokházy: 'madame, there is a scandal--your daughter is neither a miss nor a mrs. she is burdened both by loss and contempt. you cannot appear any more before the world after such a scandal. i have a good idea: we are trying to agree now about a property; let us shake hands, and the bargain's made, the property and the price of purchase remain in the same hands.'--madame bálnokházy too was jesting when she said to her daughter: 'my dear melanie, we have fallen up to our necks in the mire, we cannot be very particular about the hand that is to drag us out. lorand will never come back again, gyáli has deceived us; but only tit for tat,--for we deceived him with that tale of the regained property in which only one man believes,--honorable sárvölgyi. if you accept his offer, you will be a lady of position, if not, you can come with me as a wandering actress. we can take our revenge upon them, for they hate sárvölgyi too. and after all sárvölgyi is a very pleasant fellow.'--and surely melanie was jesting when two days later she said to the priest before the altar that in the whole world there was only one man whom she could deem worthy of her love, and he was sárvölgyi.--i believe it was all a jest--but so it happened." lorand covered his face with his hands. "a jest indeed, a fine jest fit to stir one's blood," topándy angrily burst out. "that girl, whom i so loved, whom i treated as my child, who was to me an image of what they call womanly purity, throws herself away upon my most detested enemy, a loathsome corpse, whose body, soul, and spirit had already decayed. why if she had returned broken-hearted to me, and said, 'i have erred,' i should have still received her with open arms: she should not thus have prostituted the feeling which i held for her. "oh, my friend, there is nothing more repulsive in this round world, than a woman who can make herself thus loathed." lorand's silence gave assent to this sentence. "and now follows the madness i committed. "i said: if you jest, let me jest too. my house was at that moment full of gay companions, who were helping me to curse. but what is the value of curses? a mad idea occurred to me. i said: 'if you are holding a marriage feast yonder, i shall hold one here.' you remember there was an old mangled-eared ass, used by the shepherd to carry the hides of slaughtered oxen, called by my servants, out of ridicule, sárvölgyi. then there was a beautiful thoroughbred colt, which melanie chose betimes to bear her name. i dressed the ass and foal up as bridegroom and bride, one of the drunken revellers dressed as a 'monk' and at the same time that sárvölgyi and melanie went to their wedding, here, in my courtyard, i parodied the holy ceremony in the persons of those two animals." lorand was horror stricken. "it was a mad idea: i acknowledge it," continued topándy. "to ridicule religious ceremonies! that will cost me two years at least in the county prison: i shall not defend myself--i have deserved it. i shall put up with it. i knew it when i carried out this raving jest--i knew what the outcome would be. but if they had promised me all the good things that lie between the guardian of the northern dog-star and the emerald wings of the vine-dresser beetle, or if they had threatened me with all that exists down to the middle of the earth, down to hell, i should have done it, when once i had thought it out. i wanted a hellish revenge, and there it was. how hellish it was you may imagine from the fact that the jovial fellows at once sobered, disappeared from the house; and since then one or two have written to beg me not to betray their presence here on that occasion. i am only pleased you were not here then." "and i am sorry i was not. had i been, it would not have happened." "don't say that, my dear boy. don't think too well of yourself. you don't know what you would have felt, had you seen pass before you in a carriage her whom we had idolized with him whom we detest so. it destroyed my reason. and even now i feel a terrible void in my soul. that girl occupied such a large place therein. i feel it is still more painful for me that i perpetrated such a trivial jest in her name, in her memory.--still, it has happened and we cannot recall it. we have begun the campaign of hatred, and don't know ourselves where it will end. now let us speak of other things. during my imprisonment you will take over the farm and remain here." "yes." "but you have still another difficult matter to get through first." "i know." "oh dear no. why do you always wish to discover my thoughts? you cannot know of what i am thinking." "czipra...." "that is not quite it. though it did occur to me to ask how could i leave a young man and a young girl here all alone. yet in that matter i have my own logic: the young man either has a heart or none at all. if he has a heart, he will either keep his distance from the girl, or, if he has loved her, he will not ask who her father and mother were or what her dowry is. he will estimate her at her own value for her own self--a faithful woman. if he has no heart, the girl must see to having more: she must defend herself. if neither has a heart,--well a daily occurrence will occur once more. who has ever grieved over it? i have nothing to say in the matter. he who knows himself to be an animal, nothing more, is right: he who considers himself a higher being, a man, a noble man, is right too: and he who wishes to be an angel, is only vain. whether you make the girl your mistress or your wife, is the affair of you two: it all depends which category of the physical world you desire to belong to. the one says, 'i, a male ass, wish to graze with you, a female-ass, on thistles;' or, 'i, a man, wish to be your god, woman, to care for you.' it is, as i say, a matter of taste and ideas. i entrust it to you. but i have matter for serious anxiety here. have you not remarked that here, round lankadomb, an enormous number of robberies take place?" "perhaps not more than elsewhere: only we do not know about the misfortunes of others." "oh, dear, no; our neighborhood is in reality the home of a far-reaching robber-band, whose dealings i have long followed with great attention. these marshes here around us afford excellent shelter to those who like to avoid the world." "that is so everywhere. fugitive servants, marauding shepherds, bandits, who visit country houses to ask a drink of wine, bacon and bread,--i have met them often enough: i gave them from my purse as much as i pleased, and they went on their way peacefully." "here we have to deal with quite a different lot. czipra might know more about it, if she chose to speak. that tent-dwelling army, out of whose midst i took her to myself, is lurking around us, and is more malicious than report says. they conceal their deeds splendidly, they are very cunning and careful. they are not confined to human society, they can winter among the reeds, and so are more difficult to get at than the mounted highwaymen, who hasten to enjoy the goods they have purloined in the inns. they have never dared to attack me at home, for they know i am ready to receive them. still, they have often indirectly laid me under obligation. they have often robbed czipra, when she went anywhere alone. you were yourself a witness to one such event. i suspect that the robber-chief who strove with czipra in the inn was czipra's own father." "heavens! i wonder if that can be so." "czipra always closed their mouths with a couple of hundred florins, and then they remained quiet. perhaps she threatened them in case they annoyed me. it may be that up to the present they have not molested us in order to please her. but it may be, too, that they have another reason for making lankadomb their centre of operations. do you remember that on the pistol you wrenched from that robber were engraved the arms of sárvölgyi?" "what are you hinting at, uncle?" "i think sárvölgyi is the chieftain of the whole highwayman-band." "what brought you to that idea?" "the fact that he is such a pious man. still, let us not go into that now. the gist of the matter is, that i would like to relieve our district of this suspicious guest, before i begin my long visit." "how?" "we must burn up that old hay-rick, of which i have said so many times that it has inhabitants summer and winter." "do you think that will drive them from our neighborhood?" "i am quite sure of it. this class is cowardly. they will soon turn out of any place where war is declared against them: they only dare to brawl as long as they find people are afraid of them: wolf-like they tear to pieces only those they find defenceless: but one wisp of burning straw will annihilate them. we must set the rick on fire." "we could have done so already; but it is difficult to reach it, on account of the old peat-quarries." "which our dangerous neighbors have covered with wolf traps, so that one cannot approach the rick within rifle-shot." "i often wished to go there, but you would not allow me." "it would have been an unreasonable audacity. those who dwell there could shoot down, from secure hiding-places, any who approached it, before the latter could do them any harm. i have a simpler plan: we two shall take our seats in the punt, row down the dyke, and when we come against the rick, we shall set it on fire with explosive bullets. the rick is mine, no longer rented: all whom it may concern must seek lodging elsewhere." lorand said it was a good plan: whatever topándy desired he would agree to. he might declare war against the bandits, for all he cared. that evening, guided by moonlight, they poled their way to the centre of the marsh: lorand himself directed the shots, and was lucky enough to lodge his first shell in the side of the rick. soon the dry mass of hay was flaming like a burning pyramid in the midst of the morass. the two besiegers had reached home long before the blazing rick had time to light up the district far. as they watched, all at once the flame scattered, exploding millions of sparks up to heaven, and the fragments of the burning rick were strewed on the water's surface by the wind. surely hidden gunpowder had caused that explosion. at that moment no one was at home in this barbarous dwelling. not a single voice was heard during the burning, save the howling of the terrified wolves round about. chapter xxv while the music sounds at lankadomb the order of things had changed. after the famous scandal, topándy's dwelling was very quiet--no guest crossed its threshold: while at sárvölgyi's house there was an entertainment every evening, sounds of music until dawn of day. they wished to show that they were in a gay mood. sárvölgyi began to win fame among the gypsies. these wandering musicians began to reckon his house among one of their happy asylums, so that even the bands of neighboring towns came to frequent it, one handing on the news of it to the other. the young wife loved amusement, and her husband was glad if he could humor her--perhaps he had other thoughts, too? sárvölgyi himself did not allow his course of life to be disturbed: after ten o'clock he regularly left the company, going first to devotions and these having been attended to, to sleep. his spouse remained under the care of her mother--in very good hands. and, after all, sárvölgyi was no intolerable husband: he did not persecute his young wife with signs of tenderness or jealousy. in reality he acted as one who merely wished, under the guise of marriage to save a victim, to free an innocent, caluminated, unfortunate girl in the most humane way from desperation. it was a good deed,--friendship, nothing more. sárvölgyi's bedroom was separated from the rest of the dwelling house by a kind of corridor, bricked in, where the musicians were usually placed, for the obvious reason that the sun-burnt artists are passionately fond of chewing tobacco. this mistaken arrangement was the cause of two evils: firstly, the master of the house, lying on his bed, could hear all night long the beautiful waltzes and mazurkas to which his wife was dancing; secondly, being obliged to pass through the gypsies on his way from the ball-room to his bedroom, he came in for so many expressions of gratitude on their part that his quiet retirement gave rise to a most striking uproar, disagreeable alike to himself, to his wife, and his guests. he called the brown worthies to order often enough: "don't express your gratitude, don't kiss my hand. i am not going away anywhere:" but they would not allow themselves to be cheated of their opportunity for grateful speeches. one night in particular an old, one-eyed czimbalom-player, whose sole remaining eye was bound up--he had only joined the band that day--would not permit himself to be over-awed: he seized the master's hand, kissed every finger of it in turn, then every nail: "god recompense you for what you intend to give, multiply your family like the sparrows in the fields: may your life be like honey...." "all right, foolish daddy," interrupted sárvölgyi. "a truce to your blessings. get you gone. mistress borcsa will give you a glass of wine as a reward." but the gypsy would not yield: he hobbled after the master into his bedroom, opening the door vigorously, and thrusting in his shaggy head. "but if god call from the world of shadows..." "go to hell: enough of your gratitude." but the czimbalom-player merely closed the door from the inside and followed his righteous benefactor. "golden-winged angels in a wagon of diamonds...." "get out this moment!" cried sárvölgyi, hastily looking for a stick to drive the flatterer out of his room. but at that moment the gypsy sprang upon him like a panther, grasping his throat with one hand and placing a pointed knife against his chest with the other. "oh!"--panted the astonished sárvölgyi. "who are you? what do you want?" "who am i?" murmured the fiend in reply, looking like the panther when it has set its teeth in its victim's neck. "i am kandur,[ ] the mad kandur. have you ever seen a mad kandur? that is what i am. don't you know me now?" [footnote : tom-cat.] "what do you want?" "what do i want? your bones and your skin: your black blood. you highwayman! you robber!" so saying, he tore the bandage from his eye: there was nothing amiss with that eye. "do you know me now, herdsman?" it would have been in vain to scream. outside the most uproarious music could be heard: no one would have heard the cry for help. besides the assailed had another reason for holding his peace. "well, what do you want with me? what have i done to you? why do you attack me?" "what have you done?" said the gypsy, gnashing his teeth so that sárvölgyi shivered--this gnashing of human teeth is a terrible sound. "what have you done? you ask that? have you not robbed me? eh?" "i robbed you? don't lose your senses. let go of my throat. you see, i am in your hands anyhow. talk sense. what has happened to you?" "what has happened to me? oh yes--act as if you had not seen that beautiful illumination the day before yesterday evening--that's right--when the rick was burned down, and then the gunpowder dispersed the fire, so that nothing but a black pit remained for mad kandur." "i saw it." "that was your work," cried the fiend, raising high the flashing knife. "now, kandur, have some sense. why should _i_ have set it on fire?" "because no one else could have known that my money was stored away there. who else would have dreamed i had money, but you? you who always changed my bank-note into silver and gold, giving me one silver florin for a small bank-note, and one gold piece for a large one. how do i know what was the value of each?--you knew i collected money. you knew how i collected, and why--for i told you. my daughter is in a certain gentleman's house; they are making a fool of her there. they are bringing her up like a duchess, until they have plucked her blossoms,--and then they will throw her away like a wash-rag. i wished to buy her off! i had already a pot of silver and a milk-pail of gold. i wanted to take her away with me to turkey, to tartary, where heathens dwell; and she would be a real duchess, a gypsy duchess! i shall murder, rob, and break into houses until i have a pot full of silver, and a pail full of gold. the gypsy girl will want it as her dowry. i shall not leave her for you, you white-faced porcelain tribe! i shall take her away to some place where they will not say 'away gypsy! off gypsy! kiss my hand, eat carrion, gypsy, gypsy!'--give me my money." "kandur." "don't gape, or tire your mouth. give me a pot of silver, and a pail of gold." "all right, kandur, you shall get your money--a pot of silver and a pail of gold. but now let me have my say. it was not i who took your money, not i who set the rick on fire." "who then?" "why those people yonder." "topándy, and the young gentleman?" "certainly. the day before yesterday evening i saw them in a punt on the moat, starting for the morass, and i saw them when they returned again--the rick was then already burning. each of them had a gun: but i did not hear a single shot, so they were not after game." "the devil and all his hell-hounds destroy them!" "why, kandur, your daughter was mad after that young gentleman--she certainly confessed to him that her father was collecting treasures: so the young gentleman took off daughter and money too--he will shortly return the empty pot." "then i shall kill him." "what did you say, kandur?" "i shall kill him, even if he has a hundred souls. long ago i promised him, when first we met. but now i wish to drink of his blood. did you see whether the old mastiff too was there at the robbing?" "topándy? a plague upon my eyes, if i did not see him. there were two of them, they took no one with them, not even a dog: they rowed along here beside the gardens. i looked long after them, and waited till they should return. may every saint be merciless to me, if i don't speak the truth!" "then i shall murder both." "but be careful: they go armed." "what?--if i wish i can have a whole host. if i wish i can ravish the whole village in broad daylight. you do not yet know who kandur is." "i know well who you are, kandur," said sárvölgyi, carefully studying the robber's browned face. "why we are old acquaintances. it is not you who are responsible for the deeds you have done, but society. humankind rose up against you, you merely defended yourself as best you could. that is why i always took your part, kandur." "no nonsense for me now," interrupted the robber hastily. "i don't mind what i am. i am a highwayman. i like the name." "you had no ignoble pretext for robbing,--but the saving of your daughter from the whirlpool of crime. the aim was a laudable one, kandur: besides you were particular as to whom you fleeced." "don't try to save me--you'll have enough to do to save yourself soon in hell, before the devil's tribunal--you may lie his two eyes out, if you want. i have been a highwayman, have killed and robbed--even clergymen. i want to kill now, too." "i shall pray for your soul." "the devil! man, do you think i care? prayer is just about as potent with you as with me. better give a pile of money to enable me to collect a band. my men must have money." "all right, kandur: don't be angry, kandur:--you know i'm awfully fond of you. i have not persecuted you like others. i have always spoken gently to you and have always sheltered you from your persecutors. no one ever dared to look for you in my house." "no more babbling--just give over the money." "very well, kandur. hold your cap." sárvölgyi stepped up to a very strong iron safe, and unfastening the locks one by one, raised its heavy door--placing the candle on a chair beside him. the robber's eyes gleamed. sufficient silver to fill many pots was piled up there. "which will you have? silver or bank-notes?" "silver," whispered the robber. "then hold your cap." kandur held his lamb-skin cap in his two hands like a pouch, and placed his knife between his teeth. sárvölgyi dived deeply into the silver pile with his hand, and when he drew it back, he held before the robber's nose a double-barrelled pistol, ready cocked. it was a fine precaution--a pistol beautifully covered up by a heap of coins. the robber staggered back, and forgot to withdraw the knife from his mouth. and so he stood before sárvölgyi, a knife between his teeth, his eyes wide opened, and his two hands stretched before him in self-defence. "you see," said sárvölgyi calmly, "i might shoot you now, did i wish. you are entirely in my power. but see, i spoke the truth to you.--hold your cap and take the money." he put the pistol down beside him and took out a goodly pile of dollars. "a plague upon your jesting eyes!" hissed the robber through the knife. "why do you frighten a fellow? the darts of heaven destroy you!" he was still trembling, so frightened had he been. the loaded weapon in another's hand had driven away all his courage. the robber could only be audacious, not courageous. "hold your cap." sárvölgyi shovelled the heap of silver coins into the robber's cap. "now perhaps you can believe it is not fear that makes me confide in you?" "a plague upon you. how you alarmed me!" "well, now collect your wits and listen to me." the robber stuffed the money into his pockets and listened with contracted eyebrows. "you may see it was not i who stole your money; for, had i done so, i should just now have planted two bullets in your carcass, one in your heart, the other in your skull. and i should have got one hundred gold pieces by it, that being the price on your head." the robber smiled bashfully, like one who is flattered. he took it as a compliment that the county had put a price of one hundred gold pieces on his head. "you may be quite sure that it was not i, but those folks yonder, who took away your money." "the highwaymen!" "you are right--highwaymen:--worse even than that. atheists! the earth will be purified if they are wiped out. he who kills them is doing as just an action as the man that shoots a wolf or a hawk." "true, true;" kandur nodded assent. "this rogue who stole away your daughter laid a snare for another innocent creature. he must have two, one for his right hand, the other for his left. and when the persecuted innocent girl escaped from the deceiver to my house and became my wife, those folks yonder swore deadly revenge against me. because i rescued an innocent soul from the cave of crime, they thrice wished to slay me. once they poured poison into my drinking-well. fortunately the horses drank of the water first and all fell sick from it. then they drove mad dogs out in the streets, when i was walking there, to tear me to pieces. they sent me letters, which, had i opened them, would have gone off in my hands and blown me to pieces. these malicious fellows wish to kill me." "i understand." "that young stripling thinks that if he succeeds he can carry off my wife too, so as to have her for his mistress one day, czipra, your daughter, the next." "you make my anger boil within me!" "they acknowledge neither god nor law. they do as they please. when did you last see your daughter?" "two weeks ago." "did you not see how worn she is? that cursed fellow has enchanted her and is spoiling her." "i'll spoil his head!" "what will you do with him?" kandur showed, with the knife in his hand, what he would do--bury that in his heart and twist it round therein. "how will you get at him? he has always a gun in the daytime: he acts as if he were going a-shooting. at night the castle is strongly locked, and they are always on the lookout for an attack,--they too are audacious fellows." "just leave it to me. don't have any fears. what kandur undertakes is well executed. crick, crick: that's how i shall break both the fellows' necks." "you are a clever rascal. you showed that in your way of getting at me! you may do the same there, by dressing your men as fiddlers and clarinet-players." "oh ho! don't think of it. kandur doesn't play the same joke twice. i shall find the man i want." "i've still something to say. it would be good if you could have them under control before they die." "i know--make them confess where they have put my money which they stole?" "don't begin with that. supposing they will not confess?" "have no fears on that score. i know how to drive screws under finger-nails, to strap up heads, so that a man would even confess to treasures hidden in his father's coffin." "listen to me. do what i say. don't try long to trace your stolen money: it's not much--a couple of thousand florins. if you don't find it, i shall give you as much--as much as you can carry in your knapsack. you can, however, find something else there." "what?" "a letter, sealed with five black seals." "a letter? with five black seals?" "and to prevent them making a fool of you, and blinding you with some other letter which you cannot read, note the arms on the respective seals. on the first is a fish-tailed mermaid, holding a half-moon in her hand--those are the Áronffy arms:--on the second a stork, three ears of corn in its talons--those are the high sheriff's arms: on the third a semi-circle, from which a unicorn is proceeding,--those are the nyárády arms; the fourth is a crown in a hand holding a sword--those are the lawyer's arms. the fifth, which must be in the middle, bears topándy's arms,--a crowned snake." the robber reckoned after him on his fingers: "mermaid with half moon--stork with ears of corn--a half circle with unicorn--crown with sword-hand--snake with crown. i shall not forget. and what do you want the letter for?" "that too i shall explain to you, that you may see into the innermost depths of my thoughts and may judge how seriously i long to see the completion of that which i have entrusted to you. that letter is topándy's latest will. while my wife was living with him, topándy, believing she would wed his nephew, left his fortune to his niece and her future husband, and handed it in to the county court to be guarded. but when his niece became my wife, he wrote a new will, and had all those, whose arms i have mentioned, sign it; then he sealed it but did not send it to the court like the former one; he kept it here to make the jest all the greater, thinking we stand by the former will. then, the latter will comes to light, making void the former--and excluding my wife from all." "aha! i see now what a clever fellow you are!" "well, could that five-sealed letter come into my hands, and old topándy die by chance, without being able to write another will--well, you know what that little paper might be worth in my hands?" "of course. castle, property, everything. all that would fall to you--the old will would give it you. i understand: i see--now i know what a wise fellow you are!" "do you believe now that if you come to me with that letter...." the robber bent nearer confidingly, and whispered in his ear: "and with the news that your neighbors died suddenly and could not write another." "then you need have no fear as to how much money you will get in place of what they stole. you may go off with your daughter to tartary, where no one will prosecute you." "excellent--couldn't be better. leave the rest to me. two days later kandur will have no need to indulge in such work." then he began to count on his fingers, as if he were reckoning to himself. "well, in the first place, i get money--in the second, i have my revenge--in the third, i take away czipra,--in the fourth, i shall have my fill of human blood,--in the fifth, i get money again.--it shall be done." the two shook hands on the bargain. the robber left by the same door through which he had entered; sárvölgyi went to bed, like one who has done his business well; and in the corridor the gypsies still played the newest waltz, which melanie and madame bálnokházy were enjoying with flushed faces amidst the gay assembly. chapter xxvi the enchantment of love how many secrets there are under the sun, awaiting discovery! books have been written about the superstitions of nations long since passed away: men of science have collected the enchantments of people from all quarters of the globe: yet of one thing they have not spoken yet: of that unending myth, which lives unceasingly and is born again in woman's heart and in the heated atmosphere of love. sweet are the enchantments of love! "if i drink unseen from thy glass, and thou dost drain it after me:--thou drinkest love therefrom, and shalt pine for me, darling, as i have pined for thee. "if at night i awake in dreams of thee and turn my pillow under my head: thou too wilt have as sweet dreams of me, as i of thee, my darling. "if i bind my ring to a lock of thy hair thou hast given me, and cast the same into a glass, as often as it beats against the side of the glass, so many years wilt thou love me, darling. "if i can sew a lock of my hair into the edge of thy linen garment, thy heart will pine for me, as often as thou puttest the same on, my darling. "if, in thinking of thee, i pricked my finger, thou wert then faithless to me, darling. "if the door opens of itself, thou wert then thinking of me, and thy sigh opened the door, my darling. "if a star shoots in the sky, and i suddenly utter thy name as it shoots, thou must then at once think of me, darling. "if my ear tingles, i hear news of thee: if my cheeks burn, thou art speaking of me, my darling. "if my scissors fall down and remain upright, i shall see thee soon, darling. "if the candle runs down upon me, then thou dost love another, my darling. "if my ring turns upon my finger, then thou wilt be the cause of my death, darling." in every object, in every thought lives the mythology of love, like the old-world deities with which poets personified grass, wood, stream, ocean and sky. the petals of the flowers speak of it, ask whether he loves or not: the birds of song on the house-tops: everything converses of love: and what maiden is there who does not believe what they say? poor maidens! if they but knew how little men deserved that the world of prose should receive its polytheism of love from them! poor czipra! what a slave she was to her master! her slavery was greater than that of the creole maiden whose every limb grows tired in the service of her master:--every thought of hers served her lord. from morn till even, nothing but hope, envy, tender flattery, trembling anxiety, the ecstasy of delight, the bitterness of resignation, the burning ravings of passion, and cold despair, striving unceasingly with each other, interchanging, gaining new sustenance from every word, every look of the youth she worshipped. and then from twilight till dawn ever the same struggle, even in dreams. "if i were thy dog, you would not treat me so." that is what she once said to lorand. and why? perhaps because he passed her without so much as shaking hands with her. and at another time: "were i in heaven, i could not be happier." perhaps a fleeting embrace had made her happy again. how little is enough to bring happiness or sorrow to poor maidens. one day an old gypsy woman came by chance into the courtyard. in the country it is not the custom to drive away these poor vagrants: they receive corn, and scraps of meat: they must live, too. then they tell fortunes. who would not wish to have his fortune so cheaply. and the gypsy woman's deceitful eye very soon finds out whose fortune to tell, and how to tell it. but czipra was not glad to see her. she was annoyed at the idea that the woman might recognize her by her red-brown complexion, and her burning black eyes, and might betray her origin before the servants. she tried to escape notice. but the gypsy woman did remark the beautiful girl and addressed her as "my lady." "i kiss your dear little feet, my lady." "my lady? don't you see i am a servant, and cook in the kitchen: my sleeves are tucked up and i wear an apron." "but surely not. a serving maid does not hold her head so upright and cannot show her anger so. if your ladyship frowns on me i feel like hiding in the corner, just to escape from the anger in your eyes." "well if you know so much, you must also know that i am married, fool!" the gypsy woman slyly winked. "i am no fool: my eyes are not bad. i know the wild dove from the tame. you are no married woman, young lady: you are still a maiden. i have looked into the eyes of many girls and women: i know which is which. a girl's eye lurks beneath the eyelids, as if she were looking always out of an ambuscade, as if she were always afraid somebody would notice her. a woman's eye always flashes as if she were looking for somebody. when a girl says in jest 'i am a married woman,' she blushes: if she were a woman, she would smile. you are certainly still unmarried, young lady." czipra was annoyed at having opened a conversation with her. she felt that her face was really burning. she hastened to the open fire-place, driving the servant away that she might put her burning face down to the flaming fire. the gypsy woman became more obtrusive, seeing she had put the girl to confusion. she sidled up to her. "i see more, beautiful young lady. the girl that blushes quickly has much sorrow and many desires. your ladyship has joy and sorrow too." "oh, away with you!" exclaimed czipra hastily. it is not so easy to get rid of a gypsy woman, once she has firmly planted her foot. "yet i know a very good remedy for that." "i have already told you to be off." "which will make the bridegroom as tame as a lamb that always runs after its mistress." "i don't want your remedies." "it is no potion i am talking of, merely an enchantment." "throw her out!" czipra commanded the servants. "you won't throw me out, girls: rather listen to what i say. which of you would like to know what you must do to enchant the young fellows so that even if every particle of them were full of falsity, they could not deceive you in their affection. well, susie: i see you're laughing at it. and you, kati? why, i saw your joseph speaking to the bailiff's daughter at the fence: this spell would do him no harm." all the grinning serving-maids, instead of rescuing czipra from the woman, only assisted the latter in her siege. they surrounded her and even cut off czipra's way, waiting curiously for what the gypsy would say. "it is a harmless remedy, and costs nothing." the gypsy woman drew nearer to czipra. "when at midnight the nightingale sings below your window, take notice on what branch it sat. go out bare-footed, break down that branch, set it in a flower-pot, put it in your window, sprinkle it with water from your mouth: before the branch droops, your lover will return, and will never leave you again." the girls laughed loudly at the gypsy woman's enchantment. the woman held her hand out before czipra in cringing supplication. "dear, beautiful young lady, scorn not to reward me with something for the blessing of god." czipra's pocket was always full of all kinds of small coins, of all values, according to the custom of those days--when one man had to be paid in coppers, another in silver. czipra filled her hand and began to search among the mass for the smallest copper, a kreutzer,[ ] as the correct alms for a beggar. [footnote : one-half of a penny.] "golden lady," the gypsy woman thanked her. "i have just such a girl at home for sale, not so beautiful as you, but just as tall. she too has a bridegroom, who will take her off as soon as he can." czipra now began to choose from the silver coins. "but he cannot take her, for we have not money enough to pay the priest." czipra picked out the largest of the silver coins and gave it to the gypsy woman. the latter blessed her for it. "may god reward you with a handsome bridegroom, true in love till death!" then she shuffled on her way from the house. czipra reflectingly hummed to herself the refrain: "a gypsy woman was my mother." and czipra meditated. how prettily thought speaks! if only the tongue could utter all the dumb soul speaks to itself! "why art thou what thou art? "whether another's or mine, if only i had never seen thee! "either love me in return, or do not ask me to love thee at all. "be either cold or warm, but not lukewarm. "if in passing me, thou didst neither look at me, nor turn away, that would be good too: if sitting beside me thou shouldst draw me to thee, thou wouldst make me happy:--thou comest, smilest into mine eyes, graspest my hand, speakest tenderly to me, and then passest by. "a hundred times i think that, if thou dost not address me, i shall address thee: if thou dost not ask me, i shall look into thine eyes, and shall ask thee: "'dost thou love me?' "if thou lovest, love truly. "why, i do not ask thee to bring down the moon from the heavens to me: merely, to pluck the rose from the branch. "if thou pluckest it, thou canst tear it, and scatter its leaves upon the earth, thou must not wear it in thy hat, and answer with blushes, if they ask thee who gave it thee. thou canst destroy it and tear it. a gypsy girl gave it. "if thou lovest, why dost thou not love truly? if thou dost not love me, why dost thou follow me? "if thou knewest thou didst not love me, why didst thou decoy me into thy net? "he has cast a spell upon me: yet i would be of the race of witches. "i know nothing. i am no wizard, my eye has no power. "if i address him once, i kill him and myself. "or perhaps only myself. "and shall i not speak?" the poor girl's heart was full of reverie, but her eyes, her mouth, and her hand were busy with domestic work: she did not sit to gaze at the stars, to mourn over her instrument: she looked to her work, and they said "she is an enthusiastic housekeeper." "good day, czipra." she had even observed that lorand was approaching her from behind, when she was whipping out cream in the corridor, and he greeted her very tenderly. she expected him at least to stop as long as at other times to ask what she was cooking; and she would have answered with another question: "tell me now, what do you like?" but he did not even stop: he had come upon her quite by chance, and as he could not avoid her, uttered a mere "good day:" then passed by. he was looking for topándy. topándy was waiting for him in his room and was busy reading a letter he had just opened. "well, my boy," he said, handing lorand the letter, "that is the overture of the opera." lorand took the letter, which began: "i offer my respects to mr. ----" "this is a summons?" "you may see from the greeting. the high sheriff informs me that to-morrow morning he will be here to hold the legal inquiry: you must give orders to the servants for to-morrow." "sir, you still continue to take it as a joke." "and a curious joke too. how well i shall sweep the streets! ha, ha!" "ah!" "in chains too. i always mocked my swine-herd, who for a year and a half wore out the county court's chains. ever since he walks with a shambling step, as if one leg was always trying to avoid knocking the other with the chain. now we can both laugh at each other." "it would be good to engage a lawyer." "it will certainly be better to send a sucking pig to the gaoler. against such pricks, my boy, there is no kicking. this is like a cold bath: if a man enters slowly, bit by bit, his teeth chatter: if he springs in at once, it is even pleasant. let us talk of more serious matters." "i just came because i wish to speak to my uncle about a very serious matter." "well, out with it." "i intend to marry czipra." topándy looked long into the young fellow's face, and then said coldly, "why will you marry her?" "because she is an honest, good girl." topándy shook his head. "that is not sufficient reason for marrying her." "and is faithful to me. i owe her many debts of gratitude. when i was ill, no sister could have nursed me more tenderly: if i was sad, her sorrow exceeded my own." "that is not sufficient reason, either." "and because i am raised above the prejudices of the world." "aha! magnanimity! liberal ostentation? that is not sufficient reason either for taking czipra to wife. the neighboring count took his housekeeper to wife, just in order that people might speak of him: you have not even the merit of originality. still not sufficient reason for marrying her." "i shall take her to wife, because i love her...." topándy immediately softened: his usual strain of sarcastic scorn gave way to a gentler impulse. "that's another thing. that is the only reason that can justify your marriage with her. how long have you loved her?" "i cannot count the days. i was always pleased to see her: i always knew i loved her like a good sister. the other i worshipped as an angel: and as soon as she ceased to be an angel for me, as a mere woman i felt none of the former fire towards her: nothing remained, not even smoke nor ashes. but this girl, whose every foible i know, whose beauty was enhanced by no reverie, whom i only saw as she really is,--i love her now, as a faithful woman, who repays love in true coin: and i shall marry her--not out of gratitude, but because she has filled my heart." "if that is all you want, you will find that. what shall you do first?" "i shall first write to my mother, and tell her i have found this rough diamond whom she must accept as her daughter: then i shall take czipra to her, and she shall stay there until she is baptized and i take her away again." "i am very thankful that you will take all the burden of this ceremony off my shoulders. what must be done by priests, do without my seeing it. when shall you tell czipra?" "as soon as mother's answer comes back." "and if your mother opposes the marriage?" "i shall answer for that." "still it is possible. she may have other aims for you. what should you do then?" "then?" said lorand reflectively: after a long pause he added: "poor mother has had so much sorrow on my account." "i know that." "she has pardoned me all." "she loves you better than her other son." "and i love her better than i loved my father." "that is a hard saying." "but if she said 'you must give up forever either this girl or me,' i would answer her, and my heart would break, 'mother, tear me from your heart, but i shall go with my wife.'" topándy offered his hand to lorand. "that was well said." "but i have no anxiety about it. mountebank pride never found a place in our family: we have sought for happiness, not for vain connections, and czipra belongs to those girls whom women love even better than men. i have a good friend at home, my brother, and my dear sister-in-law will use her influence in my favor." "and you have an advocate elsewhere, in one who, despite all his godlessness, has a man's feelings, and will say: 'the girl has no name; here is mine, let her take that.'" topándy did not try to prevent lorand from kissing his hand. * * * * * poor czipra! why did she not hear this? chapter xxvii when the nightingale sings the night following upon this day was a sleepless one for czipra. every door of the castle was already closed: it was lorand's custom to look for himself and see that the bolts were firmly fastened. then he would knock at czipra's door and bid her good-night; czipra reciprocated the good wish, and lorand turned into his room. the last creaking door was silent. "good night! good night! but who gives the good night?" every day czipra felt more strongly what an interminable void can exist in a heart which lacks--god. if it sorrows, to whom shall it complain?--if it has aspirations to whom can it pray? if terrors threaten it, to whom shall it appeal for help and courage? if in despair, from whom shall it ask hope? when the heavy beating of her heart prevents a poor girl from closing her eyes, she tosses sleeplessly where she lies, agonised with unknown suspicions, and there is no one before her mind, from whom she can ask, "lord, is this a presentiment of my approaching death, or my approaching health? what annoys, what terrifies, what allures, what fills my heart with a sweet thrill? oh, lord, be with me." the poor neglected girl only felt this, but could not express it. she knelt on her bed, clasped her hands on her breast, raised her face, and collected every thought of her heart--how ought one to pray? what may be that word, which should bring god nearer? what sayings, what enchantments could bring the great being, the all-powerful, down from the heavens? what philosophy was that, which all men concealed from one another and only spoke of to each other in secret, in the form of letters, which opened to erring humanity the road leading to the home of an invisible being? how did it begin? how end? what an awful heart-agony, not to know how to pray,--just to kneel so with a heart full of crying aspirations, and dumb lips! how weak the voice of a sobbing sigh, how terribly far the starry heavens--who could hear there? yet there is one who hears! and there is one who notes the unexpressed prayer of the silent suppliant, one who hears the unuttered words. poor girl! she did not imagine that this feeling, this exaltation, was prayer--not the words, not the sermon, not addresses, not the amens. he who sees into hearts--reads from hearts, does not estimate the elegance of words. in the same hour that the suffering girl knelt thus dumbly before the lord of all happiness, that man whom she had worshipped in her heart so long, whom she must worship forever, was sitting just as sleeplessly beside his writing-table, separated from her only by two walls, and was thinking and writing about her, and often wiped his eyes that filled betimes with tears. he was writing to his mother about his engagement. about the poor gypsy girl. * * * * * in the dim light of the beautiful starry night twelve horsemen were following in each others' tracks among the reeds of the morass. kandur was leading them. each man had a gun on his shoulder, a pistol in his girdle. along the winding road the mare farao, treading lightly, led them: she too seemed to hasten, and sometimes broke through the reeds, making a short cut, as if she too were goaded on by some thirst for vengeance. among the willows, wills-o'-the-wisps were dancing. they surrounded the horsemen, and followed their movements. kandur smote at them with his lash. "on the return journey we shall be two more!" he muttered between his teeth. when they reached the lair there was merely a black stubbled ground left where the hay-rick stood before. in all directions shapeless burnt masses lay about. these were the ruins of the highwaymen's palace. and the tears flow from their eyes, as they see their haunt thus destroyed. all twelve had reached the burnt dwelling. "see what the robbers have made of it," said kandur to his comrades. "they have stolen all we had collected, the riches we were to take with us to another land, and then they have set the dwelling on fire. they came here in a boat: they found out the way to our palace. we shall now return the visit. are you all here?" "yes," muttered the comrades. "we are all here." "dismount. now for the punts." the robbers dismounted. "no need to tether the horses, they cannot get away anywhere. one man may remain here to guard them. who wishes to stay?" all were silent. "some one must guard the horses, lest the wolves attack them while we are away." to which an old robber answered: "then you should have brought a herd-boy with you, for we didn't come here to guard horses." "very well, mate, i only wished to know whether anyone of us would like to remain behind. whether anyone's 'sandal-strap was unloosed.' does each one know his own business? come up one by one, and let me tell each one his duty once more. kanyó and fosztó."[ ] [footnote : pilferer.] two of the men stepped forward. "you two will guard the two doors of the servants' quarter when we arrive. death to him who tries to escape by door or window." "we know." "csutor[ ] and disznós.[ ] you will be in ambush before the hunting-box, and anyone who attempts to come out to the rescue, must be killed." [footnote : nightshade.] [footnote : swinish.] "very well." "bogrács![ ] you will occupy the street-door, and if any peasant dares to approach you must shoot him: you alone are sufficient to keep peasants off." [footnote : kettle.] "quite sufficient!" said the robber with great self-reliance. "korvé[ ] and pofók.[ ] you must take your stand opposite the first verandah, near the well, and if anyone wishes to escape by the first door, fire at him. but don't waste powder.--you others, vasgyúró,[ ] hentes,[ ] piócza,[ ] agyaras,[ ] will come with me through the garden, and will stay behind in the bushes until i give the sign. if i whistle once, that's for you. if i can get in quietly, by craft, without being obliged to fire a shot, that will be the best. i have planned the way. i think it will succeed. so three will come with me, one will remain in the doorway. have the halters ready, to throw upon his neck, drag him to the ground and bind him. the black-bearded strong man must be dealt with suddenly, with the butt of your gun on his head, if not otherwise. but we must take the old man alive, for we shall make him confess." [footnote : blub-cheeked.] [footnote : bully.] [footnote : butcher.] [footnote : leech.] [footnote : wild-boar.] "just leave him to me," said a fellow with a pox-pitted face, in a tone of entire confidence. "i shall be there too," continued kandur: "and if we cannot enter the castle stealthily, if some one should make a noise, if those within wake up, then the first whistle is for you four: two come with me to break open the garden door. have you got the 'jimmies'?" "yes," said a robber, displaying the crowbars. "piócza, and agyaras, your business is to answer any fire of people from the windows.--if i whistle twice, that means that something's up, then you must run from all sides to help me. if i cannot break open the door, or if those robbers defend themselves well, set the roof on fire over their heads and give them a dose of singeing. that will do just as well. don't forget the tarred hay." "ha ha! the gentlemen will be warm." "well pofók, perhaps you're cold? you'll soon get warm. hither with the canteen. let's drink a little dutch courage first. begin. hentes. a long draught of brandy is, you know, good before a feast." the tin went round and returned to kandur almost empty. "look, i have hardly left you any," said the last drinker in a tone of apologetic modesty. "to-day i don't drink brandy. the private must drink that he may be blind when he receives orders, but the general must not drink, that he may see to give orders. i shall drink something else when it is all over. now look to the masking." they understood what that meant. each one took off his sheepskin jacket, reversed it and put it on again. then dipping their hands in the strewn ashes, they blackened their faces, making themselves unrecognizable. only kandur did not mask himself. "let them recognize me. and anyone who does not recognize me, shall learn from my own lips, 'i am kandur, the mad kandur, who will drink thy blood, and tear out thy entrails. know who i am!' how i shall look into their eyes! how i shall gnash upon them with my teeth, when they are bound. how tenderly i shall say to the young gentleman: 'well, my boy, my gypsy child, were you in the garden? did you see a wolf? were you afraid of it? shoo! shoo!'"[ ] [footnote : a favorite child-verse in hungary.] farao was impatiently pawing the scorched grass. "you too are looking for what is no more, farao," the robber said, patting his horse's neck. "don't grieve. to-morrow you shall stand up to your knees in provender, and then you shall carry your master on your back. don't grieve, farao." the robbers had completed their disguises. "now take up the boats." hidden among the reeds lay two skiffs, light affairs, each cut out of a piece of tree trunk: just such as would hold two men, and such as two men could carry on their shoulders over dry ground. the robber-band put the skiffs into the water and started one after the other on their way; they went down until they reached the stream leading to the great dyke, by which they could punt down to the park of lankadomb, just where the shooting-box was. it was about midnight when they reached it. on the right of lankadomb the dogs were baying restlessly, but the hounds of the castle watchman did not answer them. they were sleeping. some vagrant gypsy woman had fed them well that evening on poisoned swine-flesh. the robbers reached the castle courtyard noiselessly, unnoticed, and each one at once took the place allotted to him, as kandur had directed. the silence of deep sleep reigned in the house. when everyone was in his place, kandur crept on his stomach among the bushes, which formed a grove under czipra's window that looked on to the garden, and putting an acacia leaf into his mouth, began to imitate the song of the nightingale. it was an artistic masterpiece which the wild son of the plains had, with the aid of a leaf, stolen from the mouth of the sweetest of song-birds. all those fairy warblings, those plaintive challenging tones, those enchanting trills, which no one has ever written down, he could imitate so faithfully, so naturally, that he deceived even his lurking comrades. "cursed bird," they muttered, "it too has turned to whistling." * * * * * czipra was sleeping peacefully. that invisible hand, which she had sought, had closed her eyes and sent sweet dreams to her heart. perhaps, had she been able to sleep that sleep through undisturbed, she would have awakened to a happy day. the nightingale was warbling under her window. the nightingale! the song-bird of love! why was it entrusted with singing at night when every other bird is sitting on its nest, and hiding its head under its wing. who had sent it, saying, "rise and announce that love is always waking?" who had entrusted it to awake the sleepers? why, even the popular song says: "sleep is better far than love for sleep is tranquillity; love is anguish of the heart." fly away, bird of song! czipra tried to sleep again. the bird's song did not allow her. she rose, leaned upon her elbows and continued to listen. and there came back to her mind that old gypsy woman's enchantment,--the enchantment of love. "at midnight--the nightingale ... barefooted--... plant it in a flower-pot ... before it droops, thy lover will return, and will never leave thee." ah! who would walk in the open at night? the nightingale continued: "go out bare-footed and tear down the branch." no, no. how ridiculous it would be! if somebody should see her, and tell others, they would laugh at her for her pains. the nightingale began its song anew. malicious bird, that will not allow sleep! yet how easy it would be to try: a little branch in a flower-pot. who could know what it was? a girl's innocent jest, with which she does harm to no one. love's childish enchantment. it would be easy to attempt it. and if it were true? if there were something in it? how often people say, "this or that woman has given her husband something to make him love her so truly, and not even see her faults?" if it were true? how often people wondered, how two people could love each other? with what did they enchant each other? if it were true? suppose there were spirits that could be captured with a talisman, which would do all one bade them? czipra involuntarily shuddered: she did not know why, but her whole body trembled and shivered. "no, not so," she said to herself. "if he does not give heart for heart,--mine must not deceive him. if he cannot love me because i deserve it, he must not love me for my spells. if he does not love, he must not despise me. away, bird of song, i do not want thee." then she drew the coverlet over her head and turned to the wall. but sleep did not return again: the trembling did not pass: and the singing bird in the bushes did not hold his peace. it had come right under the window; it sang, "come, come." sometimes it seemed as if the song of the nightingale contained the words "czipra, czipra, czipra!" the warm mist of passion swept away the maiden's reason. her heart beat so, it almost burst her bosom, and her every limb trembled. she was no longer mistress of her mind. she left her bed, and therewith left that magic circle which the inspiration of the lord forms around those who fly to him for protection, and which guards them so well from all apparitions of the lower world. "go bare-footed!" why it was only a few steps from the door to the bushes. who could see her? what could happen in so short a time? it was merely the satisfaction of an innocent desire. it was no deed of darkness. every nerve was trembling. she was merely going to break a little branch, and yet she felt as if she was about to commit the most heinous crime, for which she needed the shield of a sleepless night. she opened the door very quietly so that it should not creak. lorand was sleeping in the room vis-à-vis: perhaps he might hear something. she darted with bare feet before lorand's door, she carefully undid the bolt of the door leading into the garden and turned the key with such precaution that it did not make a sound. noiselessly she opened the door and peered out. it was a quiet night of reveries: the stars, as is their wont when seen through falling dew, were changing their colors, flashing green and red. the nightingale was now cooing in the bushes, as it does when it has found its mate. czipra looked around her. it was a deep slumbering night: no one could see her now. yet she drew her linen garment closer round her, and was ashamed to show her bare feet to the starry night. ah! it would last only a minute. the grass was warm and soft, wet with dew as far as the bushes: no sharp pebble would hurt her feet, no cracking stick betray her footsteps. she stepped out into the open, and left the door ajar behind her. she trembled so, she feared she would fall, and looked around her: for all the world like someone bent on thieving. she crept quietly towards the bushes. the nightingale was warbling there in the thickest part. she must pierce farther in, must quietly put the leaves aside, to see on which branch the bird was singing. she could not see. again she listened: the warbling lured her further. it must be near to her: it was warbling there, perhaps she could grasp it with her hand. but as she bent the bough, a fierce figure sprang up before her and grasped the hand she had stretched out. chapter xxviii the night-struggle the dark figure, which seized czipra's hand so suddenly, stared with a blood-thirsty grin into his victim's face, whose every limb shuddered with terror at her assailant. "what do you want?" panted the girl in a choking, scarcely audible voice. "what do i want?" he hissed in answer. "i want to cut your gander's throat, you goose! do you want a nightingale?" then he whistled a shrill whistle. his mates leaped out suddenly from their ambush at the sound of the whistle. at that moment czipra recovered her self control in sheer despair: she suddenly tore her hand from the robber's grasp, and in three bounds, like a terrified deer, reached the threshold of the door she had left open. but the wolf had followed in her tracks and reached her at the door. the girl had no time to close it in his face. "don't whine!" hissed kandur, seizing the girl's arm with one hand, with the other attempting to close her mouth. but terror had made czipra frantic: tearing down the robber's hand from her mouth, she pushed him back from the door, and with shrill cries awoke the echoes of the night. "lorand, help! robbers!" "silence, you dog, or i'll stab you!" thundered the robber, pointing a knife at the girl's breast. the knife did not frighten czipra: as she struggled unceasingly and desperately with the robber, she cried "lorand! lorand! murder! help!" "damn you!" exclaimed the robber thrusting his knife into the maiden's bosom. czipra suddenly seized the knife with her two hands. at that moment lorand appeared beside her. at the first cry he had rushed from his room and, unarmed, hastened to czipra's aid. the girl was still struggling with the robber, holding him back, by sheer force, from entering the door. lorand sprang towards her, and dealt the intruder such a blow with his fist in the face, that two of his teeth were broken. two shots rang out, followed by a heavy fall and a cry of cursing. topándy had fired from the window and one of the four robbers fell on his face mortally wounded, while another, badly hit, floundered and collapsed near the corridor. the two shots, the noise behind his back, and the unexpected blow confused kandur; he retreated from the door, leaving his knife in czipra's hand. lorand quickly utilized this opportunity to close the door, fasten the chain, and draw the bolt. the next moment the robbers' vehement attack could be heard, as they fell upon the door with crowbars. "come, let us get away," said lorand, taking czipra's hand. the girl faintly answered. "oh! i cannot walk. i am fainting." "are you wounded?" asked lorand, alarmed. it was dark, he could not see. the girl fell against the wall. lorand at once took her in his arms and carried her into his room. the lamp was still burning: he had just finished his letters. he laid the wounded girl upon his bed. he was terrified to see her covered with blood. "are you badly wounded?" "oh, no," said the girl: "see, the knife only went in so deep." and she displayed the robber's knife, showing on the blade how far it had penetrated. lorand clasped his hands in despair. "here is a kerchief, press it on the wound to prevent the blood flowing." "go, go!" panted the girl. "look after your own safety. they want to kill you. they want to murder you." "aha! let the wretches come! i shall face them without running!" said lorand, whose only care was for czipra: he quickly tried to stem the flow of blood from the wound in the girl's breast with a handkerchief. "lie quiet. put your head here. here, here, not so high. is it very painful?" on the girl's neck was a chain made of hair: this was in the way, so he wished to tear it off. "no, no, don't touch it," panted the girl, "that must remain there as long as i live. go, get a weapon, and defend yourself." the blows of the crowbars redoubled in force, and the bullets that broke through the closed windows dislodged the plaster from the walls; shot followed shot. lorand had no other care than to see if the wounded girl's pillows were well arranged. "lorand," said the girl breathlessly. "leave me. they are numerous. escape. put the lamp out, and when everything is dark--then leave me alone." certainly it would be good to extinguish the lamp, because the robbers were aiming into that room on account of it. "lorand! where are you? lorand," topándy's voice sounded in the corridor. at that sound lorand began to realize the danger that threatened the whole household. "come and take your gun!" said the old man standing in the doorway. his face was just as contemptuous as ever. there was not the least trace of excitement, fright or anger upon it. lorand rose from his kneeling posture beside the bed. "don't waste time putting your boots on!" bawled the old fellow. "our guests are come. we must meet them. where is czipra? she can load our weapons while we fire." "czipra cannot, for she is wounded." topándy then discovered for the first time that czipra was lying there. "a shot?" he asked of lorand. "a knife thrust." "only a knife thrust? that will heal. czipra can stand that, can't you, my child? we'll soon repay the wretches. remain here, czipra, quietly, and don't move. we two will manage it. bring your weapon and ammunition, lorand. bring the lamp out into the corridor. here they can spy directly upon us. luckily the brigands are not used to handle guns; they only waste powder." "but can we leave czipra here alone?" asked lorand anxiously. czipra clasped her hands and looked at him. "go," she panted. "go away: if you don't i shall get up from here and look out for myself." "don't be afraid. they cannot come here," said topándy; then, lifting the lamp from the table himself, and taking lorand's hand, he drew him out from the room. in the corridor they halted to decide on a plan of action. "the villains are still numerous," said topándy: "yet i've accounted for two of them already. i have been round the rooms, and see that every exit is barred. they cannot enter, for the doors have been made just for such people, and the windows are protected by bolts and shutters. i have eight charges myself: even if they break in, before anyone can come this far, there will be no one left.--but something else may happen. if the wretches see we are defending ourselves well they will set the house on fire over us and so compel us to rush into the open. then the advantage is theirs. so your business is to take a double-barrelled gun and ascend to the roof. my butler and the cook have hidden themselves away and i cannot entice them out: if they were here i should send one of them with you." the robbers were beating the door angrily with their crowbars. "in a moment!" exclaimed topándy jokingly.--"the rogues seem to be impatient." "and what shall i do on the roof?" asked lorand. "wait patiently! i shall tell you in good time. no turk is chasing you.--you go up and make your exit upon the roof by means of the attic window: then you crawl round on all fours along the gutter, without trying to shoot: leave them to pound upon all four doors. i shall join in the serenade, when necessary. but if you see they are beginning to strike lights and set straw on fire, you must put a stop to it. the gutter will defend you against their fire, they cannot see you, but when they start a blaze, you can accurately aim at each one. that is what i wanted to say." "very well," said lorand, taking his cartridges from his gun-case. "you'd better use shot instead of bullets," remarked topándy. "it's easier to hit with shot when one is shooting in the dark, especially in the case of a large company. a little _sang froid_, my boy--you know: all of life is a play." lorand grasped the old man's hand and hurried up to the garret. there in the dark he could only feel his way. for a long time he wandered aimlessly about, striking matches to discover his whereabouts, until he came upon the attic window, which he raised with his head and so came out on the roof. then he slid down softly on his stomach as far as the gutter. below him the ball was in progress. the thunder of crowbars, the cracking of panels, the strong blows dealt to the tune of oaths; fresh oaths, thunder, pole-axe blows upon the wall. the robbers, unable to break in the doors, were trying to dislodge their posts. and in the distance no noise, no sign of help. the cowardly neighbors, shutting themselves in, were crouching in their own houses: nor could one blame unarmed men for not coming to the rescue. a gun is a terrible menace. silence reigned in the servants' hall. they too dared not come out. courage is not for poor men. in the whole courtyard there were but two men who had stout hearts in their bosoms. the third courageous heart was that of a girl, who lay wounded. as he thought of this, lorand became the victim of an excited passion. he felt his head swimming: he felt that he could not remain there, for sooner or later he must leap down. leap down! an idea occurred to him. a difficult feat, but once thought out, it could be accomplished. he scrambled up the roof again: cut away one of those long dry ropes which in the garrets of many houses stretch from one rafter to another, tied to one end of it the weight of an old clock lying idle in the attic, and returned again to the roof. not far from the house there stood an old sycamore tree: one of its spreading branches bent so near to the house that lorand could certainly reach it by a cast of the rope. the lead-weighted rope, like a lasso, swung over and around the branch and fastened itself on it firmly. lorand looped the other end of the rope round a rafter. then, throwing his gun over his shoulder, and seizing the rope with both his hands, he leaned his whole weight on it, to see if it would hold. when he was convinced that the rope would bear his weight, he began to clamber over from the roof to the sycamore tree, suspended in the air, on the slender rope. those below could not see him as they were under the verandah, nor could they notice the noise because of their own efforts: the little disturbance caused by the shaking of a branch and the dropping of a figure from the tree was drowned by the shaking of doors, and the discharge of firearms. lorand reached the ground without mishap. the sycamore tree stood at a corner of the castle, about thirty paces from the besieged door. lorand could not see the robbers from this position: the northern side of the verandah was overgrown with creepers which covered the windows. he must get nearer to them. the bushes under czipra's window offered him a suitable position, being about ten paces from the door, which was plainly visible from them. lorand cocked both triggers, and started alone with one gun against the whole robber-band. when he reached the bushes he could see the rascals well. they were four in number. two were trying the effect of the "jimmy" on the heavy iron-bound door, while a third, the wounded one, though he could no longer stand, still took part in the siege, notwithstanding his wounds. he put the barrel of his gun into the breaches made and fired over and over, so as to prevent the people inside from defending the door. sometimes single shots answered him from within, but without hitting anybody or anything. the fourth robber, crowbar in hand, was striving to break down the door-supports. that was vasgyúró. on the other side of the courtyard lorand saw two armed figures keeping guard over the servants' hall. it was six to one. and there were still more than that altogether. the door was very shaky already: the hinges were breaking. lorand thought he heard his name called from within. "now, all together," thundered the robbers in self-encouragement, exerting all their united force on the crowbars. "more force! more!" lorand calmly raised his gun to his shoulder and fired twice among them in quick succession. no cry of pain followed the two shots--merely the thud of two heavy bodies. they were so thoroughly killed, they had no time to complain. the one in whose hands the crowbar remained dropped it behind him, as he darted away. the man who had been previously wounded began to cry for assistance. "don't shout," exclaimed the fifth robber. "you'll alarm the others." then putting two fingers in his mouth he whistled shrilly twice. lorand saw that at this double whistle the two robbers running hastily came in his direction, while the din that arose on the farther side of the castle informed him of an attack from that side too. so he was between three fires. he did not lose his presence of mind. before the new-comers arrived he had just time to load both barrels:--the bushes hid him from anyone who might even stand face to face, so that he could take no sure aim. haste, care and courage! lorand had often read stories of famous lion-hunters, but had been unable to believe them: unable to imagine how a lonely man in a wild waste, far from every human aid, defended only by a bush, could be courageous enough to cover the oldest male among a group of lions seeking their prey, and at a distance of ten paces fire into his heart. not to hit his heart meant death to the hunter. but he is sure he will succeed, and sure, too, that the whole group will flee, once his victim has fallen. what presence of mind was required for that daring deed! what a strong heart, what a cool hand! now in this awful moment lorand knew that all this was possible. a man feels the extent of his manliness, left all to himself in the midst of danger. he too was hunting, matched against the most dangerous of all beasts of prey--the beasts called "men." two he had already laid low. he had found his mark as well as the lion-hunter had found his. he heard steps of the animals he was hunting approaching his ambuscade on two sides: and the leader of all stood there under cover, leaning against a pillar of the verandah, ready to spring, ten paces away. he had only two charges, with which he had to defend himself against attack from three sides. dangerous sport! one of the robbers who hurried from the servants' hall disappeared among the trees in the garden, while the other remained behind. lorand quietly aimed at the first: he had to aim low for fear of firing above him in the dark. it was well that he had followed his uncle's advice to use shot instead of bullets. the shot lamed both the robber's legs: he fell in his flight and stumbled among the bushes. the one who followed was alarmed, and standing in the distance fired in lorand's direction. lorand, after his shot, immediately fell on his knees: and it was very lucky he did so, for in the next moment kandur discharged both his barrels from beside the pillar, and the aim was true, as lorand discovered from the fact that the bullets dislodged leaves just above his head, that came fluttering down upon him. then he turned to the third side. there had come from that direction at the call of the whistle korvé, pofók, and bogrács, who had been guarding the street-door and the other exit from the castle. at the moment they turned into the garden their comrade fosztó, seeing kanyó fall, stood still and fired his double-barrelled gun and pistols in the direction of lorand's hiding-place. it was quite natural they should think some aid had arrived from the shooting-box, for the bullets whistled just over their heads: so they began to fire back: fosztó, alarmed, and not understanding this turn of affairs, fled. old kandur's hoarse voice could not attract their attention amidst the random firing. he cried furiously: "don't shoot at one another, you asses!" they did not understand, perhaps did not hear at all in the confusion. lorand hastened to enlighten them. taking aim at the three villains, who were firing wildly into the night, he sent his second charge into their midst from the bushes, whence they least expected it. this shot had a final effect. perhaps several were wounded, one at any rate reeled badly, and the other two took to flight: then, finding their comrade could not keep up with them, they picked him up and dragged him along, disappearing in a moment in the thickest part of the park. only the old lion remained behind, alone, old kandur, the robber, burning with rage. he caught a glimpse of lorand's face by the flash of the second discharge, recognized in him the man he sought, whom he hated, whose blood he thirsted after: that foe, whom he remembered with curses, whom he had promised to tear to pieces, to torture to death, who was here again in his way, and had with his unaided power broken up the whole opposing army, for all the world like the archangel himself. kandur knew well he must not allow him time to load again. it was not a moment for shooting:--but for a pitched battle, hand to hand. nor did the robber load his weapon: he rushed unarmed from his ambuscade as he saw lorand standing before him, and threw himself in foaming passion upon the youth. lorand saw that here, among the bushes, he had no further use for his gun, so he threw it away, and received his foe unarmed. now it was face to face! as they clutched each other their eyes met. "you devil!" muttered kandur, gnashing his teeth; "you have stolen my gold, and my girl. now i shall repay you." lorand now knew that the robber was czipra's father. he had tried to murder his own daughter. this idea excited such rage in lorand's heart that he brought the robber to his knees with one wrench. but the other was soon on his feet again. "oho! you are strong too? you gentlemen live well: you have strength. the ox is also strong, and yet the wolf pulls him down." and with renewed passion he threw himself on lorand. but lorand did not allow him to come close enough to grasp his wrist. he was a practised wrestler, and was able to keep his opponent an arm's length away. "so you won't let me come near you? you won't let me kiss you, eh? won't let me bite out a little piece of your beautiful face?" the wild creature stretched out his neck in his effort to get at lorand. the struggle was desperate. lorand was aided by the freshness of his youthful strength, his _sang froid_, and practised skill: the robber's strength was redoubled by passion, his muscles were tough, and his attacks impetuous, unexpected, and surprising like those of some savage beast. neither uttered a sound. lorand did not call for help, thinking his cries might bring the robbers back: and kandur was afraid the house party might come out. or perhaps neither thought of any such thing: each was occupied with the idea of overthrowing his opponent with his own hand. kandur merely muttered through his teeth, though his passion did not deter his devilish humor. lorand did not say a single word. the place was ill-adapted for such a struggle. amid the hindering bushes they stumbled hither and thither; they could not move freely, nor could they turn much, each one fearing that to turn would be fatal. "come, come away," muttered kandur, dragging lorand away from the bushes. "come onto the grass." lorand agreed. they passed out into the open. there the robber madly threw himself upon lorand again. he tried no more to throw him, but to drag him after him, with all his might. lorand did not understand what his foe wished. always further, further:-- lorand twice threw him, but the robber clung to him and scrambled up again, dragging him always further away. suddenly lorand perceived what his opponent's intention was. a few weeks previously he had told his uncle that a steward's house was required: and topándy had dug a lime-pit in the garden, where it would not be in the way. only yesterday they had filled it to the brim with lime. the robber wished to drag lorand with him into it. the young fellow planted his feet firmly and held back with all his might. kandur's eyes flashed with the stress of passion, when he saw in his opponent's terrified face that he knew what his intention was. "well, how do you like the dance, young gentleman? this will be the wedding-dance now! the bridegroom with the bride--together into the lime-pit. come, come with me! there in the slacked lime the skin will leave our bodies: i shall put on yours, you mine: how pretty we two shall be!" the robber laughed. lorand gathered all his strength to resist the mad attempt. kandur suddenly caught lorand's right arm with both of his, clung to him like a leech, and with a devilish smile said, "come now, come along!"--and drew lorand nearer, nearer to the edge of the pit. a couple of blows which lorand dealt with his disengaged fist upon his skull were unnoticed: it was as hard as iron. they had reached the edge of the pit. then lorand suddenly put his left arm round the robber's waist, raised him in the air, then screwing him round his right arm, flung him over his head. this acrobatic feat required such an effort that he himself fell on his back--but it succeeded. the robber, feeling himself in the air, lost his head, and left hold of lorand's arm for a moment, with the intention of gripping his hair; in that moment he was thrown off and fell alone into the lime-pit. lorand leaped up at once from the ground and, tired out, leaned against the trunk of a tree, searching for his opponent everywhere, and not finding him. a minute later from amidst the white lime-mud there rose an awful figure which clambered out on the opposite side of the pit, and with a yell of pain rushed away into the courtyard and out into the street. lorand, exhausted and half dazed, listened to that beast-like howl gradually diminishing in the distance. chapter xxix the spider in the corner that day about noon the old gypsy woman who told czipra her fortune had shuffled into sárvölgyi's courtyard, and finding the master out on the terrace, thanked him that he did not set his dogs upon her--did not tear her to pieces. "i wish you a very good day, sir, and every blessing that is on earth or in heaven." mistress borcsa looked out from the kitchen. "well, it's just lucky you didn't wish what is in hell! and what is in the water! gypsy, don't leave us a blessing without fish to go with it, for fish is wanted here twice a week." "don't listen to mistress boris' jokes." "good day, my daughter," said the master gently. "well he actually calls the ragged gypsy woman 'my daughter,'" grumbled the old housekeeper. "blood is thicker than water." "well, what have you brought, marcsa?" "csicsa sent to say he will come with his twelve musicians this evening: he begs you to pay him in advance as the musicians must hire a conveyance--then," she continued, dropping her voice to a tone of jesting flattery,--"a little suckling pig for supper, if possible." "very well, marcsa," said sárvölgyi, with polite gentility. "everything shall be in order. come here towards evening. you shall get payment and sucking pig too." yet this overflowing magnanimity was not at all in conformity with the well-established habits of the devotee. close-fisted niggardliness displayed itself in his every feature and warred against this unnatural outbreak. the gypsy woman kissed his hand and thanked him. but mistress boris saw the moment had arrived for a ministerial process against this abuse of royal prerogative; so she came out from the kitchen, a pan in one hand, a cooking-spoon in the other. she began her invective with the following magyar "_quousque tandem_!" "the devil take your insatiable stomachs! when were they ever full? when did i ever hear you say 'i've eaten well, i'm satisfied!' i don't know what has come over the master, that, ever since he became a married man, he has nothing better to do with his income than to stuff gypsies with it!" "don't listen to her, marcsa," said the pious man softly, "that's a way she has. come this evening, and you shall have your sucking pig." "sucking pig!" exclaimed mistress boris. "i should like to know where they'll find a sucking pig hereabouts. as if all those the two sows had littered were not already devoured!" "there is one left," said sárvölgyi coolly, "one that is continually in the way all over the place." "yes, but that one i shall not give," protested mistress boris. "i shan't give it up for all the gypsies in the world. my little tame sucking pig which i brought up on milk and breadcrumbs. they shan't touch that. i won't give up that!" "it is enough if i give it," said sárvölgyi, harshly. "what, you will make a present of it? didn't you present me with it in its young days, when it was the size of a fist? and now you want to take it back?" "don't make a noise. i'll give you two of the same size in place of it." "i don't want any larger one, or any other one: i am no trader. i want my own sucking pig; i won't give it up for a whole herd,--the little one i brought up myself on milk and bread-crumbs! it is so accustomed to me now that it always answers my call, and pulls at my apron: it plays with me. as clever, as a child, for all the world as if it were no pig at all, but a human being." mistress borcsa burst into tears. she always had her pet animals, after the fashion of old servants, who, being on good terms with nobody in the world, tame some hen or other animal set aside for eating purposes, and defend its life cleverly and craftily; not allowing it to be killed; until finally the merciless master passes the sentence that the favorite too must be killed. how they weep then! the poor, old maid-servants cannot touch a morsel of it. "stop whining, borcsa!" roared sárvölgyi, frowning. "you will do what i order. the pig must be caught and given to marcsa." the pig, unsuspicious of danger, was wandering about in the courtyard. "well, _i_ shall not catch it," whimpered mistress boris. "marcsa'll do that." the gypsy woman did not wait to be told a second time: but, at once taking a basket off her arms, squatted down and began to shake the basket, uttering some such enticing words as "_pocza, poczo, net, net!_" nor was mistress borcsa idle: as soon as she remarked this device, she commenced the counteracting spell. "shoo! shoo!"--and with her pan and cooking-spoon she tried to frighten her _protêgé_ away from the vicinity of the castle, despite the stamping protests of sárvölgyi, who saw open rebellion in this disregard for his commands. then the two old women commenced to drive the pig up and down the yard, the one enticing, the other "shooing," and creating a delightful uproar. but, such is the ingratitude of adopted pigs! the foolish animal, instead of listening to its benefactor's words and flying for protection among the beds of spinach, greedily answered to the call of the charmer, and with ears upright trotted towards the basket to discover what might be in it. the gypsy woman caught its hind legs. mistress borcsa screamed, marcsa grunted, and the pig squealed loudest of all. "kill it at once to stop its cries!" cried sárvölgyi. "what a horrible noise over a pig!" "don't kill it! don't make it squeal while i am listening," exclaimed borcsa in a terrified passion: then she ran back into the kitchen, and stopped her ears lest she should hear them killing her favorite pig. she came out again as soon as the squeals of her _protêgé_ had ceased, and with uncontrollable fury took up a position before sárvölgyi. the gypsy woman smilingly pointed to the murdered innocent. mistress borcsa then said in a panting rage to sárvölgyi: "miser who gives one day, and takes back--a curse upon such as you!" "zounds! good-for-nothing!" bawled the righteous fellow. "how dare you say such a thing to me?" "from to-day i am no longer your servant," said the old woman, trembling with passion. "here is the cooking-spoon, here the pan: cook your own dinner, for your wife knows less about it than you do. my husband lives in the neighboring village: i left him in his young days because he beat me twice a day; now i shall go back to the honest fellow, even if he beat me thrice a day." mistress borcsa was in reality not jesting, and to prove it she at once gathered up her bed, brought out her trunks, piled all her possessions onto a barrow, and wheeled them out without saying so much as "good bye." sárvölgyi tried to prevent this wholesale rebellion forcibly by seizing mistress borcsa's arm to hold her back. "you shall remain here: you cannot go away. you are engaged for a whole year. you will not get a kreutzer if you go away." but mistress borcsa proved that she was in earnest, as she forcibly tore her arm from sárvölgyi's grasp. "i don't want your money," she said, wheeling her barrow further. "what you wish to keep back from my salary may remain for the master's--coffin-nails." "what, you cursed witch!" exclaimed sárvölgyi. "what did you dare to say to me?" mistress borcsa was already outside the gate. she thrust her head in again, and said: "i made a mistake. i ought to have said that the money you keep from me may remain--to buy a rope." sárvölgyi, enraged, ran to his room to fetch a stick, but before he came out with it, mistress borcsa was already wheeling her vehicle far away on the other side of the street, and it would not have been fitting for a gentleman to scamper after her before the eyes of the whole village, and to commence a combat of doubtful issue in the middle of the street with the irritated amazon. the nearest village was not far from lankadomb; yet before she reached it, mistress borcsa's soul was brimming over with wrath. every man would consider it beneath his dignity to submit tamely to such a dishonor. as she reached the village of her birth, she made straight for the courtyard of her former husband's house. old kólya recognized his wife as she came up trundling the squeaking barrow, and wondering thrust his head out at the kitchen door. "is that you, boris?" "it is: you might see, if you had eyes." "you've come back?" instead of replying mistress boris bawled to her husband. "take one end of this trunk and help me to drag it in. take hold now. do you think i came here to admire your finely curled moustache?" "well, why else did you come, boris?" said the old man very phlegmatically, without so much as taking his hand from behind his back. "you want to quarrel with me again, i see; well, let's be over with it quickly: take a stick and beat me, then let us talk sense." at this kólya took pity on his wife and helped her to drag the trunk in. "i am no longer such a quarreller, boris," he answered. "ever since i became a man with a responsible position i have never annoyed anyone. i am a watchman." "so much the better: if you are an official, i can at any rate tell you what trouble brought me here." "so it was only trouble drove you here?" "certainly. they robbed and stole from me. they have taken away my yellow-flowered calico kerchief, a red 'home-sweet-home' handkerchief, which i had intended for you, a silver-crossed string of beads, twelve dollars, ten gold pieces, twenty-two silver buttons, four pairs of silver buckles, and a scolloped-eared, pi-bald, eight-week-old pig...." "whew!" exclaimed kólya as he heard of so much loss. "this is a pretty business. well, who stole them?" "no one else than the cursed gypsy woman marcsa, who lives here in this village." "we shall call her to account as soon as she appears." "naturally. she went there while i was weeding in the garden; she prowled about and stole." "well i'll soon have her by the ears, only let her come here." not a word of the whole story of the theft was true: but mistress boris reasoned as follows: "you must come here first, gypsy woman, with that scolloped-eared pig: if they find it in your possession, they will put you in jail, and ask you what you did with the rest. whether your innocence is proved or not, the pig-joint will in the meanwhile become uneatable, and won't come into your stomachs. you may say you got it as a present,--no one will believe you, and the magistrate will not order such a gentleman as sárvölgyi to come here and witness in your favor." kólya allowed himself to be made a participant in his wife's anger, and went at once to inform the servants of the magistrate, who was sitting in the village. towards evening kólya, in ambush at the end of the village, spied the gypsy woman as she came sauntering by lankadomb, carrying on her arm a large basket as if it were some great weight. kólya said nothing to her, he merely let her pass before him, and followed her on the other side of the street, until she reached the middle of the market-place, where many loiterers sauntered and listened to the tales of his wife. "halt, marcsa!" cried kólya, standing in the gypsy woman's way. "what do you want?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders. "what have you in your basket?" "what should i have? a pig which you shall not taste, is in it." "of course. has not the pig scolloped ears?" "suppose it has?" "you speak lightly. let me look at the pig." "well look--then go blind. have you never seen such an animal? have a look at it." the gypsy woman uncovered the basket, in which lay the unhappy victim, reposing on its stomach, its scolloped ears still standing up straight. a crowd began to collect round the disputants. mistress boris burst in among them. "there it is! that was my pig!" "as much as the shadow of the turkish sultan's horse was yours. off with you: don't look at it so hard, else you will be bewitched by it and your child will be like it." the loiterers began to laugh at that; they were always ready to laugh at any rough jest. the laughter enraged kólya: he seized the much-discussed pig's hind legs and before the gypsy woman could prevent him, had torn it out of the basket. but the pig was heavier than such animals are wont to be at that age, so that kólya bumped the noble creature's nose against the ground. as he did so a dollar rolled out of the pig's mouth. "oho!--the thalers are here too!" at these words the gypsy woman took up her basket and began to run away. when they seized her, she scratched and bit, and tried her best to escape, till finally they bound her hands behind her. kólya was beside himself with astonishment. there was quite a heap of silver money sewn into that pig. loads of silver. mistress boris herself did not understand it. this must be reported to the magistrate. kólya, accompanied by a large crowd, conducted marcsa to the magistrate's house, where the clerks, pending that official's arrival, took the accused in charge, and shut her up in a dark cell, which had only one narrow window looking out on the henyard. when the magistrate returned towards midnight, only the vacant cell was there without the gypsy woman. she had been able to creep out through the narrow opening, and had gone off. the magistrate, when he saw the "_corpus delicti_," was himself of the opinion that the pig was in reality mistress boris's property, while the money that had been hidden in its inside must have come also from sárvölgyi's house. there might be some great robbery in progress yonder. he immediately gave orders for three mounted constables to start off for lankadomb; he ordered a carriage for himself, and a few minutes after the departure of the constables, was on his way in their tracks with his solicitor and servant. * * * * * the spider was already sitting in its web. as night fell, sárvölgyi hastened the ladies off to bed, for they were going to leave for pest and so had to wake early. when all was quiet in the house, he himself went round the yard and locked the doors: then he closed the door of each room separately. finally he piled his arms on his table--two guns, two pistols, and a hunting-knife. he was loath to believe the old gossip. suppose kandur should, in the course of his feast of blood be whetted for more slaughter, and wish to slice up betrayer after betrayed? in the presence of twelve robbers, he could not even trust an ally. the night watchman had already called "eleven." sárvölgyi was sitting beside his window. the windows were protected on the street side by iron shutters, with a round slit in the middle, through which one could look out into the street. sárvölgyi opened the casements in order to hear better, and awaited the events to which the night should give birth. it was a still warm evening towards the end of spring. all nature seemed to sleep; no leaf moved in the warm night air: only at times could be heard a faint sound, as if wood and field had shuddered in their dreams, and a long-drawn sigh had rustled the tops of the poplars, dying away in the reed-forest. then, suddenly, the hounds all along the village began to bay and howl. the bark of a hound is generally a soothing sound; but when the vigilant house-guard has an uneasy feeling, and changes his bark to a long whining howl, it inspires disquietude and anxiety. only the spider in the web rejoiced at the sound of danger! they were coming! the hounds' uproar lasted long: but finally it too ceased; and there followed the dreamy, quiet night, undisturbed by even a breath of wind. only the nightingales sang, those sweet fanciful songsters of the night, far and near in the garden bushes. sárvölgyi listened long--but not to the nightingale's song. what next would happen? then the stillness of the night was broken by an awful cry as when a girl in the depth of night meets her enemy face to face. a minute later again that cry--still more horrible, more anguished. as if a knife had been thrust into the maiden's breast. then two shots resounded:--and a volley of oaths. all these midnight sounds came from above topándy's castle. then a sound of heavy firing, varied by noisy oaths. the spider in the web started. the web had been disturbed. the stealthy attack had not succeeded. yet they were many--they could surely overcome two. the peasants did not dare to aid where bullets whistled. then the firing died away: other sounds were heard: blows of crowbars on the heavy door: the thunder of the pole-axe on the stone wall, here and there a single shot, the flash of which could not be seen in the night. certainly they were firing in at doors and out through windows. that was why no flash could be seen. but how long it lasted! a whole eternity before they could deal with those two men! from the roots of sárvölgyi's sparse hair hot beads of sweat were dripping down. not in yet? why cannot they break in the door? suddenly the light of two brilliant flashes illuminated the night for a moment: then two deafening reports, that could be produced only by a weapon of heavy calibre. so easy to pick out the dull thunder roar from those other crackling splutterings that followed at once. what was that? could they be fighting in the open? could they have come out into the courtyard? could they have received aid from some unexpected quarter? the crack of fire-arms lasted a few minutes longer. twice again could be heard that particular roar, and then all was quiet again. were they done for already? for a long time no sound, far or near. sárvölgyi looked and listened in restless impatience. he wished to pierce the night with his eyes, he wished to hear voices through this numbing stillness. he put his ear to the opening in the iron shutter. some one knocked at the shutter from without. startled, he looked out. the old gypsy woman was there: creeping along beside the wall she had come this far unnoticed. "sárvölgyi," said the woman in a loud whisper: "sárvölgyi, do you hear? they have seized the money: the magistrate has it. take care!" then she disappeared as noiselessly as she had come. in a moment the sweat on sárvölgyi's body turned to ice. his teeth chattered from fever. what the gypsy woman had said was, for him, the terror of death. the most evident proof was in the hands of the law: before the awful deed had been accomplished, the hand that directed it had been betrayed. and perhaps the terrible butchery was now in its last stage. they were torturing the victims! pouring upon them the hellish vengeance of wounded wild beasts! tearing them limb from limb! looking with their hands that dripped with blood among the documents for the letter with five seals. already all was betrayed! fever shook his every limb. why that great stillness outside? what secret could this monstrous night hide that it kept such silence as this? suddenly the silence was broken by a wild creature's howl. no it was no animal. only a man could howl so, when agony had changed him to a mad beast, who in the fury of his pain had forgotten human voice. the noise sounded first in the distance, beyond the garden of the castle, but presently approached, and a figure of horror ran howling down the street. a figure of horror indeed! a man, white from head to foot. all his clothes, every finger of his hand, was white: every hair of his head, his beard, moustache, his whole face was white, glistening, shining white, and as he ran he left white footsteps behind him. was it a spirit? the horror rushed up to sárvölgyi's door, rattling the latch and in a voice of raving anger began to howl as he shook the door. "let me in! let me in! i am dying!" sárvölgyi's face, in his agony of terror, became like that of a damned soul. that was kandur's voice! that was kandur's figure. but so white! perhaps the naked soul of one on the way to hell? the horrible figure thundered continuously at the door and cried: "let me in! give me to drink! i am burning! bathe me in oil! help me to undress! i am dying! i am in hell! help! drag me out of it!" all through the street they could hear his cries. then the damned soul began to curse, and beat the door with his fist, because they would not open to him. "a plague upon you, cursed accomplice. you shut me out and won't let me in? thrust me into the tanpit of hell and leave me there? my skin is peeling off! i am going blind! an ulcer upon your soul!" the writhing figure tore off his clothes, which burned his limbs like a shirt of nessus, and while so doing the hidden silver coins he had received from sárvölgyi fell to the ground. "devil take you, money and all!" he shouted, dashing the coins against the door. "here's your cursed money! pick it up!" then he staggered on, leaning against the railing and howling in pain: "help! help! a fortune for a glass of water! only let me live until i can drag that fellow with me! help, man, help!" a deathly numbness possessed sárvölgyi. if that figure of horror were no "spirit," he must hasten to make him so. he would betray all. that was the greatest danger. he must not live. he could not see him from the window. perhaps if he opened the shutters, he could fire at him. he was a highwayman: who could call sárvölgyi to account for shooting him? he had done it in self-defence. if only his hands would not tremble so! it was impossible to hit him with a pistol except by placing the barrel to his forehead. should he go out to him? who would dare to go out to meet that demon face to face? could the spider leave its web? while he hesitated, while he struggled to measure the distance from door to window and back, a new sound was heard in the street:--three horsemen came trotting up from the end of the village, and in them sárvölgyi recognized, from their uniforms, the country police. then the bell began to ring, and the peasants came out of their doors, armed with pitchforks and clubs: noisy crowds collected. in their midst were one or two bound figures whom they drove forward with blows: they had seized the robbers. the battle was irremediably lost. the chief criminal saw the toils closing in on him but had no time to make his escape. chapter xxx i believe....! day was dawning. topándy had not left czipra since she had been wounded. he sat alone beside her bed. servants and domestics had other things to do now: they were standing before the magistrate, face to face with the captured robbers. the magisterial inquiry demanded the presence of them all. topándy was alone with the wounded girl. "where is lorand?" whispered czipra. "he drove over to the neighboring village to bring a doctor for you." "no harm has come to him?" "you might have heard his voice through the window, when all was over. he could not come in, because the door was closed. his first care was to bring a surgeon for you." the girl sighed. "if he comes too late...." "don't fret about that. your wound is not fatal; only be calm." "i know better," said the girl in a flush of fever. "i feel that i shall not live." "don't worry, czipra, you will get better," said topándy, taking the girl's hand. and then the girl locked her five fingers in those of topándy, so that they were clasped like two hands in prayer. "sir, i know i am standing on the brink of the grave. i have now grasped your hand. i have clasped it, as people at prayer are wont to clasp their hands. can you let me go down to the grave without teaching me one prayer. this night the murderer's knife has pierced my heart to liberate yours. does not my heart deserve the accomplishment of its last wish? does not that god, who this night has liberated us both, me from life, you from death, deserve our thanks?" topándy was moved. he said: "repeat after me." and he said to her the lord's prayer. the girl devoutly and between gasps repeated it after him. how beautiful it is! what great words those are! first she repeated it after him, then again said it over, sentence by sentence, asking "what does this or that phrase mean?" "why do we say 'our father?' what is meant by 'thy kingdom?' will he forgive us our trespasses, if we forgive them that trespass against us? will he deliver us from every evil? what power there is in that 'amen!'"--then a third time she repeated it alone before topándy, without a single omission. "now i feel easier," she said, her face beaming with happiness. the atheist turned aside and wept. the shutters let in the rays of the sun through the holes the bullets had made. "is that sunset?" whispered the girl. "no, my child, it is sunrise." "i thought it was evening already." topándy opened one shutter that czipra might see the morning light of the sun. then he returned to the sick girl, whose face burned with fever. "lorand will be here immediately," he assured her gently. "i shall soon be far away," sighed the girl with burning lips. it seemed so long till lorand returned! the girl asked no more questions about him: but she was alert at the opening of every door or rattling of carriages in the street, and each time became utterly despondent, when it was not he after all. how late he was! yet lorand had come as quickly as four fleet-footed steeds could gallop. fever made the girl's imagination more irritable. "if some misfortune should befall him on the way? if he should meet the defeated robbers? if he should be upset on one of the rickety bridges?" pictures of horror followed each other in quick succession in her feverish brain. she trembled for lorand. then it occurred to her that he could defend himself against terrors. why, he knew how to pray. she clasped her hands across her breast and closed her eyes. as she said "amen" to herself she heard the rattling of wheels in the courtyard, and then the well-known steps approaching along the corridor. what a relief that was! she felt that her prayer had been heard. how happy are those who believe in it! the door opened and the youth she worshipped stepped in, hastening to her bed and taking her hand. "you see, i was lucky: i found him on the road. that is a good sign." czipra smiled. her eyes seemed to ask him, "nothing has happened to you?" the surgeon examined the wound, bandaged it and told the girl to be quiet, not to move or talk much. "is there any hope?" asked lorand in a whisper. "god and nature may help." the doctor had to leave to look after the wounded robbers. lorand and his uncle remained beside czipra. lorand sat on the side of her bed and held her hand in his. the doctor had brought some cooling draught for her, which he gave the sufferer himself. how czipra blessed the knife that had given her that wound! she alone knew how far it had penetrated. the others thought such a narrow little wound was not enough to cut a life in two. topándy was writing a letter on lorand's writing-table: and when asked "to whom?" he said "to the priest." yet he was not wont to correspond with such. czipra thought this too was all on her account. why, she had not yet been christened. what a mysterious house it was, the door of which was now to open before her! perhaps a whole palace, in the brilliant rooms of which the eye was blinded, as it looked down them? soon steps were heard again outside. perhaps the clergyman was coming. she was mistaken. in the new-comer she recognized a figure she had seen long before--mr. buczkay, the lawyer. despite the customary roundness of that official's face, there were traces of pity on it, pity for the young girl, victim of so dreadful a crime. he called topándy aside and began to whisper to him. czipra could not hear what they were saying: but a look which the two men cast in her direction, betrayed to her the subject of their discourse. the judges were here and were putting the law into force upon the guilty.--they were examining into the events, from beginning to end.--they must know all.--they had taken the depositions of the others already: now it was her turn.--they would come with their documents, and ask her "where did you walk? why did you leave your room at night? why did you open the house-door? whom were you looking for outside in the garden?" what could she answer to those terrible questions? should she burden her conscience with lies, before the eyes of god whom she would call as a witness from heaven, and to whom she would raise her supplicating hands for pity, when the day of reckoning came? or should she confess all? should she tell how she had loved him: how mad she was: how she started in search of a charm, with which she wished to overcome the heart of her darling? she could not confess that! rather the last drop of blood from her heart, than that secret. or should she maintain an obdurate silence? that, however, would create suspicion that she, the robber's daughter, had opened the door for her robber father, and had plotted with workers of wickedness. what a desperate situation! and then again it occurred to her that she too could defend herself against terrors: she knew now how to pray. so she took refuge in the sanctuary of the great lord, and, embracing the pillars of his throne, prayed, and prayed, and prayed. scarce a quarter of an hour after the lawyer's departure, some one else came. it was michael daruszegi, the magistrate. the girl trembled as she saw him. the confessor had come! topándy sprang up from his seat and went to meet him. czipra plainly heard what he said in a subdued voice. "the doctor has forbidden her to speak: in her present condition you cannot cross-question her." czipra breathed freely again. he was defending her! "in any case i can answer for her, for i was present from the very beginning," said lorand to the magistrate. "czipra heard the noise in the garden, and was daring enough, as was her wont, to go out and see what was the matter. at the door she met the robber face to face: she barred his way, and immediately cried out for me: then she struggled with him until i came to her help." how pleased czipra was at that explanation, all the more because she saw by lorand's face that he really believed it. "i have no more questions to ask the young lady," said daruszegi. "this matter is really over in any case." "over?" asked topándy astonished. "yes, over: explained, judged, and executed." "how?" "the robber chief, kandur, before he died in agony, made such serious and perfectly consistent confessions as, combined with other circumstances, compromised your neighbor in the greatest measure." "sárvölgyi?" inquired topándy with glistening eyes. "yes.--so far indeed that i was compelled to extend the magisterial inquiry to his person too. i started with my colleague to find him. we found the two ladies in a state of the greatest consternation. they came before us, and expressed their deep anxiety at not finding sárvölgyi anywhere in the house: they had discovered his room open and unoccupied. his bedroom we did indeed find empty, his weapons were laid out on the table, the key of his money-chest was left in it, and the door of the room open.--what could have become of him?--we wanted to enter the door of the dining-room opposite. it was locked. the ladies declared that room was generally locked. the key was inside in the lock. that room has two other doors, one opening on to the kitchen, one on to the verandah. we looked at them too. in both cases the key was inside, in the lock. some one must be in the room! i called upon the person within, in the name of the law to open the door to us. no answer came. i repeated the command, but the door was not opened: so i was compelled to have it finally broken open by force; and when the sunlight burst through into the dark room, what horrible sight do you think met our startled gaze? the lord of the house was hanging there above the table in the place of the chandelier: the chair under his feet that he had kicked away proved that he had taken his own life...." topándy at these words raised his hands in ecstasy above his head. "there is a god of justice in heaven! he has smitten him with his own hand." then he clasped his hands together with emotion and slipped towards the head of czipra's bed. "come, my child, say: 'i believe in god'--i shall say it first." the doctor had not forbidden that. czipra devoutly waited for the words of wonder. what a great, what a comforting world of thoughts. a god who is a father, a mother who is a maiden. a god who will be man for man's sake, and who suffered at man's hands, who died and rose again promises true justice, forgiveness for sins, resurrection, life eternal! "what is that life eternal?" if only some one could have answered! the atheist was kneeling down beside the girl's bed when the priest arrived. he did not rise, was not embarrassed at his presence. "see, reverend sir, here is a neophyte, waiting for the baptismal water: i have just taught her the 'credo.'" the girl gave him a look full of gratitude. what happiness glittered in those eyes of ecstasy! "who will be the god-parents?" asked the clergyman. "one, the magistrate,--if he will be so kind: the other, i." czipra looked appealingly, first at topándy, then at lorand. topándy understood the unspoken question. "lorand cannot be. in a few minutes you shall know why." the minister performed the ceremony with that briefness which consideration for a wounded person required. when it was over, topándy shook hands with the minister. "if my hand has sinned at times against yours, i now ask your pardon." "the debt has been paid by that clasp of your hand," said the priest. "your hand must now pronounce a blessing on us." "willingly." "i do not ask it for myself: i await my punishment: i am going before my judge and shall not murmur against him. i want the blessing for those whom i love. this young fellow yesterday asked of me this maiden's hand. they have long loved each other, and deserve each other's love:--give them the blessing of faith, father. do you agree, czipra?" the poor girl covered her burning face with her two hands, and, when lorand stepped towards her and took her hand, began to sob violently. "don't you love me? will you not be my wife?" czipra turned her head on one side. "ah, you are merely jesting with me. you want to tease, to ridicule a wretched creature who is nothing but a gypsy girl." lorand drew the girl's hand to his heart when she accused him of jesting with her. something within told him the girl had a right to believe that, and the thought wrung his heart. "how could you misunderstand me? do you think i would play a jest upon you--and now?" topándy interrupted kindly. "how could i jest with god now, when i am preparing to enter his presence?" "how could i jest with your heart?" said lorand. "and with a dying girl," panted czipra. "no, no, you will not die, you will get well again, and we shall be happy." "you say that now when i am dying," said the girl with sad reproach. "you tell me the whole beautiful world is thine, now, when of that world i shall have nothing but the clod of earth, which you will throw upon me." "no, my child," said topándy, "lorand asked your hand of me yesterday evening, and was only awaiting his mother's approval to tell you yourself his feelings towards you." a quick flash of joy darted over the girl's face, and then it darkened again. "why, i know," she said brushing aside her tangled curls from her face, "i know your intentions are good. you are doing with me what people do with sick children. 'get well! we'll buy you beautiful clothes, golden toys, we'll take you to places of amusement, for journeys--we shall be good-humored--will never annoy you:--only get well.' you want to give the poor girl pleasure, to make her better, i thank you for that too." "you will not believe me," said lorand, "but you will believe the minister's word. see last night i wrote a letter to mother about you: it lies sealed on my writing-table. reverend sir, be so kind as to open and read it before her. she will believe you if you tell her we are not cajoling her." the minister opened the letter, while czipra, holding lorand's hand, listened with rapt attention to the words that were read: "my dear mother: "after the many sorrows and pains i have continuously caused throughout my life to the tenderest of mothers' hearts, to-day i can send you news of joy. "i am about to marry. "i am taking to wife one who has loved me as a poor, nameless, homeless youth, for myself alone, and whom i love for her faithful heart, her soul pure as tried gold, still better than she loves me. "my darling has neither rank nor wealth: her parents were gypsies. "i shall not laud her to you in poetic phrases: these i do not understand. i can only feel, but not express my feelings. "no other letter of recommendation can be required of you, save that i love her. "our love has hitherto only caused both of us pain: now i desire happiness for both of us. "your blessing will make the cup of this happiness full. "you are good. you love me, you rejoice in my joy. "you know me. you know what lessons life has taught me. "you know that fate always ordained wisely and providentially for me. "no miracle is needed to make you, my mother, the best of mothers, who love me so, and are calm and peaceful in god, clasp together those hands of blessing which from my earliest days you have never taken off my head. "include in your prayer, beside my name, the name of my faithful darling, czipra, too. "i believe in your blessing as in every word of my religion, as in the forgiveness of sins, as in the world to come. "but if you are not what god made you,--quiet and loving, a mother always ready to give her blessing with the halo of eternal love round your brow,--if you are cold, quick to anger, a woman of vengeance, proud of the coronet of a family blazon, one who wishes herself to rule fate, and if the curses of such a merciless lady burden the girl whom i love, then so much the worse, i shall take her to wife with her dowry of curses--for i love her. "... god intercede between our hearts. "your loving son, "lorand." as the minister read, czipra at each sentence pressed lorand's hand closer to her heart. she could neither speak nor weep: it was more than her spirit could bear. every line, every phrase opened a paradise before her, full of gladness of the other world: her soul's idol loved her: loved her for love's sake: loved her for herself: loved her because she made him happy: raised her to his own level: was not ashamed of her wretched origin: could understand a heart's sensitiveness: commended her name to his mother's prayers: and was ready to maintain his love amidst his mother's curses. a heart cannot bear such glory! she did not care about anything now: about her wound: about life, or death: she felt only that glow of health which coursed through every sinew of her body and possessed every thought of her soul. "i believe!" she said in rapture, rising where she lay: and in those words was everything: everything in which people are wont to believe, from the love of god to the love of man. she did not care about anything now. she had no thought for men's eyes or men's words: but, as she uttered these words, she fell suddenly on lorand's neck, drew him with the force of delight to her heart, and covered him with her kisses. the wound reopened in her breast, and as the girl's kisses covered the face of the man she loved, her blood covered his bosom. each time her impassioned lips kissed him, a fresh gush of blood spurted from that faithful heart, which had always been filled with thoughts of him only, which had beat only for him, which had, to save him, received the murderer's knife:--the poor "green-robed" faithful girl. and as she pressed her last kiss upon the lips of her darling, ... she knew already what was the meaning of eternity.... chapter xxxi the bridal feast "poor czipra! i thought you would bury us all, and now it is i that must give you that one clod of earth the only gift you asked from the whole beautiful world." topándy himself saw after the sad arrangements. lorand could not speak: he was beside himself with grief. he merely said he would like to have his darling embalmed and to take her to his family property, there to bury her. this wish of his must be fulfilled. it would be a sad surprise for his mother, to whom topándy only the day before had written that her son was bringing home a new daughter-in-law. when lorand had asked topándy for czipra's hand, he immediately wrote to mrs. Áronffy, thinking that what lorand himself wrote to his mother would be in a proud strain. he anticipated his nephew's letter, told his mother quietly and restrainedly in order that lorand's letter might be no surprise to her. now he must write again to her, telling that the bride was coming, and the family vault must be ready for her reception. and curiously topándy felt no pain in his heart as he thought over it. "death is after all the best solution of life!" he did not shed a single tear upon the letter he wrote: he sealed it and looked for a servant to despatch it. but other thoughts occupied him. he sought the magistrate. "my dear sir, when do you want to lock me up?" "when you like, sir." "would you not take me to gaol immediately?" "with pleasure, sir." "how many years have they given me?" "only two." "i expected more. well, then i can take this letter myself into the town." "will mr. Áronffy remain here?" "no. he will take his dead love home to the country. i have asked the doctor to embalm her, and i have a lead casket which i prepared for myself with the intention of continuing my opposition to the ordinance of god within it: now i have no need of it. i will lend it to czipra. that is her dowry." an hour later he went in search of lorand, who was still guarding his dead darling. the magistrate was there too. "my dear sir," he said to the officer. "i am not going to the gaol now." "not yet?" inquired daruszegi. "very well." "not now, nor at any other time. a greater master has given me orders--in a different direction." they began to look at him in astonishment. his face was much paler than usual: but still that good-humored irony and light-hearted smile was there. "lorand, my boy, there will be two funerals here." "who is the second dead person?" asked daruszegi. "i am." then he drew from his breast his left hand which he had hitherto held thrust in his coat. "an hour ago i wrote a letter to your mother. as i was sealing it the hot wax dripped onto my nail, and see how my hand has blackened since." the tips of his left hand were blue and swollen. "the doctor, quickly," cried daruszegi to his servant. "never mind. it is already unnecessary," said topándy, falling languidly into an arm-chair. "in two hours it is over. i cannot live more than two hours. in twenty minutes this swelling will reach my shoulder, and the way from thence to the heart is short." the doctor, who hastened to appear, confirmed topándy's opinion. "there is nothing to be done," he said. lorand, horror-stricken, hastened to take care of his uncle: the old fellow embraced the neck of the youth kneeling beside him. "you philosopher, you were right after all, you see. there is one who takes thought for two-legged featherless animals too. if i had known,--'knock and it shall be opened unto you:' i should long have knocked at the door and cried, 'o lord, let me in!'" topándy would not allow himself to be undressed and put to bed. "draw my chair beside czipra. let me learn from her how a dead man must behave. my death will not be so fine as hers: i shall not breathe my soul into the soul of my loved one: yet i shall be a gay travelling-companion." pain interrupted his words. when it ceased, he laughed at himself. "how a foolish mass of flesh protests! it will not allow itself to be overlorded. yet we were only guests here! '_animula, vagula, blandula. hospes comesque corporis. quae nunc adibis loca? frigidula, palidula, undula! nec, ut soles, dabis jocos._' certainly you will be '_extra dominium_' immediately. and my lord stomach, his grace, and my lord heart, his excellency, and my lord head, his royal highness all must resign office." the doctor declared he must be suffering terrible agony all the time he was jesting and laughing; and he laughed when other people would have gnashed their teeth and cried aloud. "we have disputed often, lorand," said the old man, always in a fainter voice, "about that german savant who asserted that the inhabitants of other planets are much nobler men than we here on earth. if he asks what has become of me, tell him i have advanced. i have gone to a planet where there are no peasants: barons clean earls' boots. don't laugh at me, i beg, if i am talking foolishly.--but death dictates very curious verses." the hand-grasp with which he greeted lorand, proved that it was his last. after that his hand drooped, his eyes languished, his face became ever more and more yellow. once again he raised his eyes. they met lorand's gaze. he wished to smile: in a whisper, straining desperately he said: "immediately now ... i shall know--what is--in the foggy spots of the northern dog-star:--and in the eyeless worm's----entrails." then, suddenly, with a forced final spasmodic effort, he seized the arms of his chair, and rose, lifted up his right arm, and turned to the magistrate. "sir," he cried in a strong full-toned voice, "i have appealed." he fell back in the arm-chair. some minutes later every wrinkle disappeared from his face, it became as smooth as marble, and calm, as those of dead persons are wont to be. lorand was standing there with clasped hands between his two dear dead ones. * * * * * on the morrow at dawn lorand rose for his journey and stepped into the cart with a closed lead coffin. so he took home his dead bride. the second letter which topándy had written to his mother, the sealing of which had sealed his own fate, had not been posted, and could not have prepared them for his coming. at home they had received only the first letter. when that letter of good tidings arrived it caused feelings of intoxicated delight and triumph throughout the whole house. after all they loved him still best of all. he was the favorite child of his mother and grandmother. no word of desiderius is required for his heart was already united to his darling: and good fanny was doubly happy in the idea that she would not be the only happy woman in the house. with what joy they awaited him! could he ever have doubted that the one he loved would be loved by all?--no need to speak of her virtues: everybody knew them: all he need say was "i love her." it was certainly very well he did not send his mother that letter, in which he had written of czipra and requested his mother's blessing:--well that he had not wounded the dearest mother's heart with those final words--"but if you curse her whom i love--" curse her whom he loves! why should they do so? that letter brought a holiday to the house. they arranged the country dwelling afresh: desiderius took up his residence in the town, handing over to his elder brother his birthright. the eldest lady put off her mourning. lorand's bride must not see anything that could recall sad thoughts. everything sad was buried under the earth. desiderius could relate so much that was pleasant of the gypsy girl: lorand's letters during the past ten years of silence always spoke of the poor despised diamond, whose faithful attachment had been the sunny side of lorand's life. they read the bundles of letters again and again: it was a study for the two mothers. where lorand had been giving merely a passing hint, they could make great explanations, all pointing to czipra. providence had ordered it so! after the first meeting in the inn, it had all been ordained that lorand should save czipra from the murderer's knife, in order to be happy with her later. ... why the gypsy girl was happy already. topándy's letter informed them that, immediately after the despatch of the letter, lorand would wed czipra, and they would come home together to the house of his parents. so the day was known, they might even reckon the hour when they would arrive. desiderius remained in town to await lorand. he promised to bring them out, however late they came, even in the night. the ladies waited up until midnight. they waited outside under the verandah. it was a beautiful warm moonlit night. the good grandmother, embracing fanny's shoulder, related to her how many, many years ago they had waited one night for the two brothers to come, but that was a very awful night, and the waiting was very sorrowful. the wind howled among the acacias, clouds chased each other across the sky, hounds howled in the village, a hay-wain rattled in at the gate--and in it was hidden the coffin.--and the populace was very suspicious: they thought the ice would break its bounds, if a dead man were taken over it. but now it was quite a different world. the air was still, not a breath of air: man and beast sleeps, only those are awake who await a bride. how different the weather! then, all at once, a wain had stood at the gate: the servants hastened to open it. a hay-wain now rattled in at the gate, as it did then. and after the wain, on foot, the two brothers, hand in hand. the women rushed to meet them, lorand was the first whom everyone embraced and kissed. "and your wife?" asked every lip. lorand pointed speechlessly to the wain, and could not tell them. desiderius answered in his place. "we have brought his wife here in her coffin." chapter xxxii when we had grown old seventeen years have passed since lorand returned home again. what old people we have become since then! besides, seventeen years is a long time:--and seventeen heavy years! i have rarely seen people grow old so slowly as did our contemporaries. we live in a time when we sigh with relief as each day passes by--only because it is now over! and we will not believe that what comes after it will bring still worse days. we descend continuously further and further down, in faith, in hope, in charity towards one another: our wealth is dissipated, our spirits languish, our strength decays, our united life falls into disunion: it is not indifference, but "ennui" with which we look at the events of the days. one year to the day, after poor czipra's death lorand went with his musket on his shoulder to a certain entertainment where death may be had for the asking. i shall not recall the fame of those who are gone--why should i? very few know of it. lorand was a good soldier. that he would have been in any case, he had naturally every attribute required for it: heroic courage, athletic strength, hot blood, a soul that never shrank. war would in any case have been a delight for him:--and in his present state of mind! broken-hearted and crushed, his first love contemptuously trampling him in the dust, his second murdered in the fervor of her passion, his soul weighed with the load of melancholia, and that grievous fate which bore down and overshadowed his family: always haunted by that terrible foreboding that, sooner or later, he must still find his way to that eighth resting-place, that empty niche. when the wars began his lustreless spirit burst into brilliance. when he put on his uniform, he came to me, and, grasping my hand, said with flashing eyes: "i am bargaining in the market where a man may barter his worn-out life at a profit of a hundred per cent." yet he did not barter his. rumor talked of his boldness, people sang of his heroic deeds, he received fame and wreaths, only he could not find what he sought: a glorious death. of the regiment which he joined, in the end only a tenth part remained. he was among those who were not even wounded. yet how many bullets had swept over his head! how he looked for those whistling heralds of death, how he waited for the approach of those whirring missiles to whom the transportation of a man to another world in a moment is nothing! they knew him well already and did not annoy him. these buzzing bees of the battlefield, like the real bees, whir past the ear of him who walks undaunted among them, and sting him who fears them. once a bullet pierced his helmet. how often i heard him say: "why not an inch lower?" finally, in one battle a piece of an exploded shell maimed his arm, and when he fell from his horse, disabled by a sword-cut, a cossack pierced him through with his lance. yet even that did not kill him. for weeks he lay unconscious in the public hospital, under a tent, until i came to fetch him home. fanny nursed him. he recovered. when he was better again, the war was over. how many times i heard him say: "what bad people you are, for loving me so! what a bad turn you did me, when you brought me away from the scene of battle, brother! how merciless you were fanny, to watch beside me! what a vain task it was on your part to keep me alive! how angry i am with you: what detestable people you are!--just for loving me so!" yet we still loved him. and then we grew old peacefully. we buried kind grandmother, and then dear mother too: we remained alone together, and never parted. lorand always lived with us: as long as we lived in town he did not leave the house sometimes for weeks together. the new order of things compelled me to give up the career which father had held to be the most brilliant aim of life. i threw over my yearning for diplomacy, and went to the plough. i became a good husbandman. i am that still. then too lorand remained with us. his was no longer a life, merely a counting of days. it was piteous to know it and to see him. a strapping figure, whose calling was to be a hero! a warm heart, that might have been a paradise on earth to some woman! a refined, fiery temperament that might have been the leading spirit of some country. who quietly without love or happiness, faded leaf by leaf and did not await anything from the morrow. yet he feared the coming days. often he chided me for wanting to brick up the door of that lonely building there beside the brook. lest my children should ask, "what can dwell within it?" lest they try to discover the meaning of that hidden inscription as i had tried in my childish days. lorand did not agree with the idea. "there is still one lodging vacant in it." and that was a horror to us all. to him, to us too. every evening we parted as if saying a last adieu. nothing in life gave him pleasure. he took part in nothing which interested other men. he did not play cards, or drink wine: he was ever sober and of unchanging mood. he read nothing but mathematical books. i could never persuade him to take a newspaper in his hand. "the whole history of the world is one lie." every day, winter and summer, early in the morning, before anyone had risen, he walked out to the cemetery, to where czipra lay "under the perfumed herb-roots:" spent some minutes there and then returned, bringing in summer a blade of living grass, in winter of dried grass from her grave. he had a diary, in which nought was written, except the date: and pinned underneath, in place of writing, was the dry blade of grass. the history of a life contained in thousands of grass-blades, each blade representing a day. could there be a sadder book? the only things that interested him, were fruit trees and bees. animals and plants do not deceive him who loves them. the whole day long he guarded his trees and his saplings, and waged war against the insects: and all day long he learned the philosophy of life from those grand constitutional monarchists, the bees. there are many men, particularly to-day, in our country, who know how to kill time: lorand merely struggled with time, and every day as it passed was a defeat for him. he never went shooting, he said it was not good for him to take a loaded gun in his hand. at night one of my children always slept in his room. "i am afraid of myself," he confessed to me. he was afraid of himself and of that quiet house, down there beside the brook. "i would love to sleep there under the perfumed herb-roots." a life wasted! one beautiful summer afternoon my little son rushed to me with the news that his uncle lorand was lying on the floor in the middle of the room, and would not rise. with the worst suspicions, i hastened to his side. when i entered his room, he was lying, not on the floor, but on the bed. he lay face downward on the bed. "what is the matter?" i asked, taking his hand. "nothing at all:--only i am dying slowly." "great heavens! what have you done?" "don't be alarmed. it was not my hand." "then what is the matter?" "a bee-sting. laugh at me--i shall die from it." in the morning he had said that robber bees had attacked his hives, and he was going to destroy them. a strange bee had stung him on the temple. "but not there ... not there ..." he panted, breathing feverishly: "not into the eighth resting-place--out yonder under the perfumed herb-roots. there let us lie in the dust one beside the other. brick up that door. good night." then he closed his eyes and never opened them again. before i could call fanny to his side he was dead. the valiant hero who had struggled single-handed against whole troops, the man of iron whom neither the sword nor the lance could kill, in ten minutes perished from the prick of a tiny little insect. god moves among us! when the last moment of temptation had come, when weariness of life was about to arm his hand with the curse of his forefathers, he had sent the very tiniest of his flying minions, and had carried him up on the wings of a bee to the place where the happy ones dwell. * * * * * and we are still growing older: who knows how long it will last? finis works of maurus jÓkai hungarian edition the poor plutocrats _translated from the hungarian_ _by_ r. nisbet bain new york doubleday, page & company copyright, , by doubleday & mcclure co. preface "szegény gazdagok" is, perhaps, the most widely known of all maurus jókai's masterpieces. it was first published at budapest, in , in four volumes, and has been repeatedly translated into german, while good swedish, danish, dutch and polish versions sufficiently testify to its popularity on the continent. essentially a tale of incident and adventure, it is one of the best novels of that inexhaustible type with which i am acquainted. it possesses in an eminent degree the quality of vividness which r. l. stevenson prized so highly, and the ingenuity of its plot, the dramatic force of its episodes, and the startling unexpectedness of its _dénouement_ are all in the hungarian master's most characteristic style. i know of no more stirring incident in contemporary fiction than the terrible wrestling match between strong juon the goatherd and the supple bandit fatia negra in the presence of two trembling, defenceless women, who can do nothing but look on, though their fate depends upon the issue of the struggle,--and we must go back to the pages of that unsurpassed master of the weird and thrilling sheridan le fanu to find anything approaching the terror of poor henrietta's awful midnight vigil in the deserted _csárda_ upon the lonely heath when, at the very advent of her mysterious peril, she discovers, to her horror, that her sole companion and guardian, the brave old squire, cannot be aroused from his drugged slumbers. there is naturally not so much scope for the display of jókai's peculiar and delightful humour, in a novel of incident like the present tale as there is in that fine novel of manners: "a hungarian nabob." yet even in "szegény gazdagok," many of the minor characters (e.g., the parasite margari, the old miser demetrius, the hungarian miggs, clementina, the frivolous countess kengyelesy), are not without a mild dickensian flavour, while in that rugged but good-natured and chivalrous nimrod, mr. gerzson, the hungarian novelist has drawn to the life one of the finest types we possess of the better sort of sporting magyar squires. finally, this fascinating story possesses in an eminent degree the charm of freshness and novelty, a charm becoming rarer every year in these globe-trotting days, when the ubiquitous tourist boasts that he has been everywhere and seen everything. yet it may well be doubted whether even he has penetrated to the heart of the wild, romantic, sylvan regions of the wallachian and transylvanian alps, which is the theatre of the exploits of that prince of robber chieftains, the mighty and mysterious fatia negra, and the home of those picturesque roumanian peasants whom jókai loves to depict and depicts so well. r. nisbet bain. contents chapter i. boredom ii. a new mode of duelling iii. an amiable man iv. childish nonsense v. she is not for you vi. bringing home the bride vii. the cavern of lucsia viii. strong juon ix. the geina maid-market x. the black jewelry xi. two tales, of which only one is true xii. the soirÉes at arad xiii. tit for tat xiv. the mikalai csÁrda xv. who it was that recognized fatia negra xvi. leander baberossy xvii. mr. margari xviii. the undiscoverable lady xix. the shaking hand xx. the fight for the gold xxi. the hunted beast xxii. the sight of terror xxiii. the accommodation xxiv. conclusion poor plutocrats chapter i boredom "was it you who yawned so, clementina?" nobody answered. the questioner was an old gentleman in his eightieth year or so, dressed in a splendid flowered silk kaftan, with a woollen night-cap on his head, warm cotton stockings on his feet, and diamond, turquoise, and ruby rings on his fingers. he was reclining on an atlas ottoman, his face was as wooden as a mummy's, a mere patch-work of wrinkles, he had a dry, thin, pointed nose, shaggy, autumnal-yellow eyebrows, and his large prominent black eyes protected by irritably sensitive eyelids, lent little charm to his peculiar cast of countenance. "well! will nobody answer? who yawned so loudly behind my back just now?" he asked again, with an angry snort. "will nobody answer?" nobody answered, and yet there was a sufficient number of people in the room to have found an answer between them. in front of the hearth was sitting a young woman about thirty or thirty-five, with just such a strongly-pronounced pointed nose, with just such high raised eyebrows as the old gentleman's, only her face was still red (though the favour of nature had not much to do with that perhaps) and her eyebrows were still black; but her thin lips were just as hermetically sealed as the old man's, when she was not speaking. this young woman was playing at patience. in one of the windows sat a young girl of sixteen, a delicate creature of rapid growth, whose every limb and feature seemed preternaturally thin and fragile. she was occupied with some sort of sewing. at another little sewing-table, immediately opposite to her, was a red-cheeked damsel with a frightful mop of light hair and a figure which had all the possibilities of stoutness before it. she was a sort of governess, and was supposed to be english, though they had only her word for it. she was reading a book. on the silk ottoman behind lay the already-mentioned clementina, who ought to have confessed to the sin of yawning. she was a spinster already far advanced in the afternoon of life, and had cinder-coloured ringlets around her temples and a little bit of beard on her chin. she was no blood relation of the family but, as an ancient companion to a former mistress of the house, had long eaten the bread of charity under that roof. she was now engaged upon some eye-tormenting, fine fancy work which could not have afforded the poor creature very much amusement. the old gentleman on the sofa used to divert himself the whole day by assembling as many human beings around him as possible and driving them to desperation by his unendurable nagging and chiding; they, on the other hand, had by this time discovered that the best defence against this domestic visitation was never to answer so much as a word. "of course! of course!" continued the old gentleman with stinging sarcasm. "i know what a bore it is to be near me and about me. i see through it all. yes, i _know_ that i am an unendurable old fellow on whom not a single word should be wasted. i know well enough that you are not sitting here beside me because you like to be here. who compels you to? i certainly shall not prevent anybody's petticoat from going away by laying hold of it. the gate is not closed. nothing easier than to be off. yet nobody likes the idea, eh? ah-ha! it is possible that when the eye of old lapussa no longer sees, the heart of old lapussa may no longer remember. besides, nobody can tell exactly when the old man may die. indeed they are waiting for his death every hour--he is beyond eighty already. a most awful bore certainly. ah ha! the old fool is unable to get up any more, he is not even able to strike anybody. if he cries out, nobody is afraid of him; but, at any rate, he has strength enough to pull the bell-rope, send for his steward, tell him to go to the office of the _alispán_[ ] there ferret out and bring back his last will and testament--and then he can dictate another will to his lawyer quite cosily at his ease." [footnote : vice-lieutenant of the county.] and in order to emphasize his words more terribly, he there and then gave a tug at the bell-rope. yet for all that nobody turned towards him; the lady kept dealing out the cards, the young girl continued working beads into her sampler, the governess went on reading, and the old spinster was still intent upon some delicate operation with her needle--just as if nobody had spoken a word. in answer to the bell an ancient serving-man appeared in the doorway, and the old gentleman, after waiting a little to see from the countenances of those present (he could observe them in the mirror opposite) whether his allusion to his will had produced any effect, and finding no notice taken of it whatever, said in a sharp, petulant voice: "louis!" the servant approached the sofa and then stood still again. "my dinner!" this was the end of the awe-inspiring threat. the old gentleman observed, or rather, suspected, some slight amusement in the company present. "miss kleary!" he observed irritably, "don't you observe that henrietta is looking out of the window again? i am bound, miss, to direct your attention to the fact that i consider such a thing decidedly unbecoming in a young lady." "dear grandpapa.....!" began the accused. "silence! i did not speak to henrietta, i spoke to miss kleary. miss henrietta is still a child who understands nothing. i neither address her nor attempt to explain anything to her. but i keep miss kleary in this house, i pay miss kleary a princely salary, in order that i may have some one at hand to whom i can explain my educational ideas. now my educational ideas are good; nay, miss, i think i may even say that they are very good. i will therefore beg you to do me the favour to stick to them. i know what ought and what ought not to be allowed young girls; i know that....." the young girl's face blushed beneath the reproachful look of the old tyrant, whilst the governess rose defiantly from her place, and in order that she might wreak her anger upon some one, industriously proceeded to pick holes in henrietta's sewing and effectually spoil her whole day's work. thus, it will be perceived, only one person had the right to speak; the only right the other people had was not to listen to him. but there was someone else in the background who had better rights than anybody, and this someone now began to hammer with his fists on the door, that very door at which the oldest and most trusty domestics hardly dared to tap--began, i say, to hammer with his fists and kick with his heels till everyone was downright scared. this was the little grandson, the old gentleman's spoiled darling little maksi. "why don't you let in little maksi?" cried the old gentleman, when he heard him. "open the door for little maksi; don't you know that he is not tall enough to reach the door-handle? why don't you let him come to me when he wants to come?" at that moment the footman opened the door and the little family prince bounded in. it was a pale little mouldy sort of flower, with red eyes and a cornerless mouth like a carp, but with the authentic family nose and the appurtenances thereof, which took up so much room as to seriously imperil the prospects of the rest of the head growing in proportion. the little favourite was wearing a complete uhlan costume, even the four-cornered chako was stuck on the side of his head; he was flourishing a zinc sword and grumbling bitterly. "what's the matter with little maksi? has anybody been annoying him?" grandpapa succeeded at last in making out that on running out maksi had tripped over his sword, that his tutor had wanted to take it away, that maksi had thereupon drawn his weapon and made the aggressor's hand smart with it, and that finally he had fled for refuge to grandpapa's room as the only place where he was free from the persecutions of his instructors. grandpapa, in a terrible to do, began to question him: "come here! where did you hit yourself? on the head, eh! let us see! why, it is swollen up--quite red in fact! put some opodeldoc on it! clementina, do you hear?--some opodeldoc for maksi!" so the family medicament had to be fetched at once; but maksi, snatching it from the worthy spinster's hand, threw it violently to the ground, so that the whole carpet was bespattered with it. nobody was allowed to scold him for this, however, as grandpapa was instantly ready with an excuse: "maksi must not be vexed," said he. "does not maksi wear a sword by his side already? maksi will be a great soldier one of these days!" "yes," replied the lad defiantly, "i'll be a general!" "yes, maksi shall be a general; nothing less than a general, of course. but come, my boy, take your finger out of your mouth." the english governess here thought she saw an opportunity of insinuating a professional remark. "he who would be a general, must, first of all, learn a great deal." "i don't want to learn. i mean to know everything without learning it. i say, grandpapa, if you've lots of money, you will know everything at once without learning it, won't you?" the old man looked around him triumphantly. "now that i call genius, wit!" cried he. and with that he tenderly pressed the little urchin's head to his breast and murmured: "ah! he is my very grandson, my own flesh and blood." he was well aware how aggravated all the others would be at these words. meanwhile the footman was laying a table. this table was of palisander wood and supported by the semblance of a swan. it could be placed close beside the ottoman and was filled with twelve different kinds of dishes. all these meats were cold, for the doctor forbade his patient hot food. the old gentleman tasted each one of the dishes with the aid of his finger-tips, and not one of them pleased him. this was too salt, that was too sweet, a third was burnt, a fourth was tainted. he threatened to discharge the cook, and bitterly complained that as he did not die quickly enough for them, they were conspiring to starve him. they might have replied that he had ordered all these things himself yesterday; but nobody took the trouble to contradict him any longer, so gradually the storm died away of its own accord and the old man, turning towards maksi, tenderly invited him to partake of the disparaged dishes. "come and eat with me, maksi, my darling." "that i will," cried the little horror, grabbing at everything simultaneously with both hands. "oh, fie, fie!" said grandpapa gently. "take maksi out for a ride and let the lacquey go with him instead of his tutor!" the old gentleman then pushed the little round table aside and signalled to the footman that he was to put all the dishes carefully away, as he should want to see them again on the morrow. the footman conscientiously obeyed this command--which was given regularly every day--and locked up all the dishes well aware that he would get a sound jacketting if he failed to produce a single one of them when required to do so. the old man knew well enough that there was not a servant in the house who, for any reward on earth, would think of touching any food that had ever lain on his table; indeed, they held it in such horror that they used regularly to distribute it among the poor. in order therefore that the very beggars might have nothing to thank him for, he had the food kept till it was almost rotten before he let them have it. as for his own family, he had not dined at the same table with them for ten years. it was certainly not a sociable family. for example, the old gentleman's widowed daughter, red-cheeked madame langai, did not exchange a single word with her father for weeks at a time. at first he had expected her to remain in the same room with him till nine o'clock every evening, dealing out cards for him or boring herself to death in some other way for his amusement. she endured it for a whole month without a word; but at last, one evening, at seven o'clock, she appeared before him in evening dress and said that she was going to the theatre. old lapussa glared at her with all his eyes. "to the theatre?" cried he. "yes, i have ordered a box." "really? well, i hope you will enjoy yourself!" the lady quitted him with a shrug. she knew that from that moment she would inherit a million less than her elder brother; but nevertheless she went to the theatre regularly every day, and never stirred from her box so long as there was any one on the stage who had a word to say. the lapussa family was of too recent an origin for the great world to take much notice of it, and the fame of its fabulous wealth went hand in hand with the rumour of a sordid avarice which was not a recommendable quality in the eyes of the true gentry. the lapussas were, in fact, not of gentle blood at all, but simply rich. madame langai's elder brother, john, was notoriously the greatest bore in the town, whom nobody, from the members of his own family down to his coffee-house acquaintances, could endure for a moment. only his father made much of him. for all his great wealth, he was very stingy and greedy; he even lent money at usury to his best friends. our amusing little friend maksi was this man's son. the slender, fanciful damsel, henrietta, who appeared in that family like an errant angel specially sent there to be tormented for the sins of her whole race, was the orphan daughter of another son of old lapussa, who had lost father and mother at the same time in the most tragical manner; they had both been drowned by the capsizing of a small boat on the danube. henrietta herself had only been saved with the utmost difficulty. she was only twelve years old at the time, and the catastrophe had had such an effect upon her nerves that ever afterwards she collapsed at the least sign of anger, and often fell a weeping for no appreciable cause. since the death of her parents, who had loved her dearly, henrietta had been obliged to live at her grandfather's house, where nobody loved anybody. but no, i am mistaken. she had a brother, koloman by name, who was a somewhat simple but thoroughly good-natured youth. he used to appear very rarely among his relations because they always fell foul of him. the poor fellow's sole fault was that he was in the habit of regularly selling his new clothes. still, i am doubtful, after all, whether this can fairly be imputed to him as a fault at all, for although it was always being dinned into his ears that his family was immensely rich, he was never blessed with a penny to spend in amusing himself with his comrades, and therefore had to do the best he could to raise the wind. another failing of koloman's was that he would not learn latin, and in consequence thereof he had to suffer many things. old lapussa and his son john indeed had no notion whatever of the latin tongue. the former in his youthful days had never gone to school at all, because he was occupied in building up a business. the latter had not gone to school in _his_ youth because by that time his people were already rich and he considered it beneath him. the consequence was that neither father nor son had a proper idea on the simplest subjects, except what they picked up on their travels. still that was no reason why koloman should not learn, but as the tutor had his hands full already with little maksi, koloman was obliged to go to the national school in order to become a wiser man than his forbears. poor henrietta often slaved away for hours at a time with her younger brother sitting at the table by her side, helping him to struggle through the genders, declensions, conjugations, or whatever else the infernal things were called; and the end of it all was that, at last, she learnt to know latin better than koloman, and secretly translated all his exercises from cornelius nepos and the bucolics of virgil for him. but we must not linger any longer over these latin lessons, for a much more important event claims our attention--mr. john is coming home, and we must hasten forward to admire him. mr. john lapussa was a perfect prototype of the whole family. his extraordinarily lanky pinched figure seemed even lankier than it was by nature because he always carried his head so high: he peered down from that elevation upon humanity at large as if there was something the matter with his eyes which prevented him from properly raising the lids. in him the dimensions of the family nose were made still more remarkable by an inordinately tiny chin and thin compressed lips. his moustache was shaved down to the very corners of his mouth, only a little mouse-tail sort of arrangement being left on each side, which was twisted upwards and dyed black with infinite skill. his costume was elegant and ultra-refined, and only differed from the fashion in being extra stiff and tight-fitting. moreover, all the buttons of his shirt and his waistcoat were precious stones, and he had a plenitude of rings on his fingers which he delighted to show off by ostentatiously adjusting his cravat in the course of conversation, or softly stroking the surface of his superfine coat. mr. john entered the room without looking at a soul, and paced up and down it with his hands behind his back. then he suddenly caught sight of his father, kissed his hand and resumed his dignified saunter. it was evident that he was bursting for some one to speak and ask him what was the matter. clementina was the first to speak. "your honour!" said she. "what is it?" he asked, lifting his head still higher. "i have finished the embroidery for your shirt front which your honour was pleased to command." his honour with a haughty curl of the lip condescended to glance down upon the proffered embroidery. i am afraid clementina was a poor physiognomist, she might have noticed from his face how utterly indifferent he was to her and her embroidery, which he regarded with puckered eyes and screwed-up mouth. "no good. those flowers are too big; it is the sort of thing the wallachian peasants stitch on to their shirts." and with that he took up clementina's scissors from the work-table and deliberately snipped into little bits the whole of the difficult piece of work which the worthy woman had been slaving away at for a week and more, finally pitching it away contemptuously while she sat there and stared at him dumfoundered. "john, john!" said the old man in mild remonstrance. "to show me such rubbish when i am mad! when i am wroth! when i am beside myself with fury!" "why are you angry, and with whom?" john went on as if he did not mean to tell the cause of his anger. he flung himself into an armchair, crossed his legs, plunged his hands into the depths of his pockets and then, starting up, began to pace the room again. "i am furious." "then what's the matter?" enquired the old man anxiously. john again flung himself into an armchair and cocked one leg over the arm of the chair: "it is all that good-for-nothing hátszegi!" he cried. "the fellow is a villain, a scoundrel, a robber!" "what has he done?" "what has he done?" cried john, leaping to his feet again, "i'll tell you. yesterday he sent word to me by his broker that he would like to buy those houses of ours in the szechenyi square which i have offered for sale. wishing to save broker's expenses i went to see him myself at twelve o'clock. surely that is the most convenient time for paying business calls. at least i have always supposed so. i entered his ante-chamber and there stood a flunkey. he told me i must wait! told _me_ forsooth--_me_, john lapussa--that i must cool my heels in an ante-chamber, at an inn, to please that wretched hátszegi. very well. i waited. i sent him a message that i _would_ wait. meanwhile i found i could not sit down anywhere, for the rascal had piled dirty boots and brushes on all the chairs. presently the rascal of a servant came back and told me that his master could not see me then, would i come back again in the afternoon--i, john lapussa, forsooth! absolutely would not speak to me, but told me to come again another time! thou dog, thou wretched rascal! but wait, i say, that's all!" at this the old man also grew excited. "why did you not box his ears?" cried he. "i'll do it, and do it well. i'll not stand it. what! send a lapussa packing! it cannot be overlooked. i shall immediately go and find two seconds and challenge him to a duel." "nay, john, don't do that! don't even box his ears in the street, but give a street-porter ten shillings to cudgel him well as he comes out of the theatre; that will be best!" "no, i will kill him. i will shed his blood. he who insults me in a gentlemanly manner must be shown that i can revenge myself like a gentleman. i will wipe off the score with pistols--with pistols i say." the old man and the female members of the family were duly impressed by this bragging, or rather all except madame langai, who was getting ready for the theatre and took no notice of the general conversation. mr. john was much put out by her indifference. "matilda," he asked, "what do _you_ say? ought i not to fight, after such an insult?" madame langai answered the unavoidable question with a cold smile: "i would only say that if anyone angers you another time you had better expend your wrath upon him before dinner, for if you nurse your wrath till after dinner you spoil the whole thing." mr. john listened to her in silence and then resumed his promenade with his hands behind his back snorting furiously. suddenly he snatched up his cap and rushed out. "john, john, what are you going to do?" the old man called after him in a supplicating voice. "you'll very soon see, i'll warrant you," and he banged the door behind him. the old man turned reproachfully towards madame langai. "why did you irritate him when he was mad enough already?" he cried. "what will you gain by his death? he has a son who will inherit everything, you know. yes, everything will belong to little maksi." madame langai calmly went on tying her bonnet strings. "i know what fiery blood he has," mumbled the old man. "when he is angry he will listen to nobody, and is capable of facing a whole army. we must prevent this duel somehow. and you are actually preparing to go to the theatre when things have come to such a pass? you are actually going to see a comedy!" "the actor ladislaus plays just the same parts on the stage as john does off the stage," replied madame langai bitterly. "and i am as little afraid of john's rhodomontade as i am of the result of stage duels. don't be afraid! he'll come to no harm." a lacquey now entered to announce that the coach was ready, and madame langai, adjusting her mantilla, went to the playhouse where the actors were, at least, amusing. chapter ii a new mode of duelling old lapussa always liked to have under his eye, night and day, some one or other whom he could plague and worry. till eight o'clock every evening he was fully occupied in tormenting the whole family. then madame langai went to the theatre and henrietta and the governess had to sit down at the piano in the large drawing-room till it was time to put the child to bed. but when clementina and the domestics had had supper and there was no longer anybody else with him, the turn of the night nurse began. the duties of a night nurse are never very enviable or diverting at the best of times, yet penal servitude for life was a fate almost preferable to being the nocturnal guardian of old demetrius lapussa. the unhappy wretch who was burdened with this heavy charge had to sit at mr. lapussa's bed from nine o'clock at night till early the following morning and read aloud to him all sorts of things the whole time. old demetrius was a very bad sleeper. the whole night long he scarcely slept more than an hour at a time. his eyes would only close when the droaning voice of some one reading aloud made his head dizzy, and then he would doze off for a short time. but at the slightest pause he would instantly awake and angrily ask the reader why he left off, and urge him on again. the reader in question was a student more than fifty years old, who, time out of mind, had been making a living by fair-copying all sorts of difficult manuscripts. he was an honest, simple creature who, in his time, had tried hard to push his way into every conceivable business and profession without ever succeeding till, at last, when he was well over fifty, he was fortunate enough to fall in with an editor who happened to know that demetrius lapussa wanted a reader, and recommended the poor devil for the post. he knew hungarian, latin, and slovack well enough to mix them all up together; german he could read, though he did not understand it, but this was not necessary, for he was not expected to read for his own edification. this worthy man, then, grew prematurely old in reading, year out year in, aloud to mr. demetrius, one after another, all the german translations of french novels procurable at robert lempel's circulating library without understanding a single word of them. mr. demetrius had, naturally, no library of his own, for reading to him, in his condition, was pretty much the same as medicine, and who would ever think of keeping a dispensary on his own premises? i may add that the reader received free board and lodging and ten florins a month pocket-money for his services. on that particular night when mr. john flung out of the house in such a violent rage, mr. demetrius was particularly sleepless. i know not whether monte cristo, the first volume of which honest margari happened to be reading just then, was the cause of this, or whether it was due to the old man's nervousness about the terrible things john was likely to do, but the fact remains that poor margari on this occasion got no respite from his labours. at other times margari did manage to get a little relief. whenever he observed that mr. demetrius was beginning to draw longer breaths than usual he would let his head sink down on his book and fall asleep immediately till the awakened tyrant roused him out of his slumbers and made him go on again. but now he was not suffered to have a moment's peace. monte cristo had already been sitting in his dungeon for some time when madame langai's carriage returned from the theatre. then mr. demetrius rang up the porters to inquire whether mr. john had also returned home. no, was the answer. at eleven o'clock mr. john had still not returned. meanwhile monte cristo's neighbour had traced the figure on the floor of the dungeon. mr. demetrius here demanded a fuller explanation of the circumstances. "how was that, margari?" he enquired. "i humbly beg your honour's pardon, but i don't understand." "very well, proceed!" every time a door below was opened or shut, mr. demetrius rang up the porter to enquire whether mr. john had come in, to the intense aggravation of the porter, who appeared in the door of the saloon with a surlier expression and his hair more and more ruffled on each occasion, inwardly cursing the fool of a student who had not even wit enough to send an old man asleep, and envying the other servants who at least were able to sleep at night without interruption. and still margari went on reading. by this time monte cristo had had himself sewn up in a sack and flung into the sea as a corpse. "would you have dared to have that done to you, margari?" interrupted mr. demetrius. "if i had a lot of money i might, begging your honour's pardon, but a poor devil like me is only too glad to live at any price," replied margari, whose answer naturally had no relation whatever to the text, not a word of which he understood. "you are a simple fellow, margari; but go on, go on!" margari gaped violently, he would have liked to have stretched himself too, but he bethought him in time that his coat had already burst beneath his armpits, and he had no wish to make the rent still larger, so he let it alone and proceeded with his bitter labour. by the time monte cristo had swum back to dry land, margari's eyelids were almost glued to his eyes and still the old gentleman showed no sign of drowsiness. mr. john's threat had kept mr. demetrius awake all night, and consequently had kept poor margari awake too. once or twice an unusually interesting episode excited the old man's attention, and for the time he forgot all about john's duel--for example, when monte cristo discovered the enormous treasure on the island--and he would then rouse up margari and make him go and find a map and point out the exact position of monte cristo's island. margari searched every corner of the sea for it, and at last looked for it on the dry land also without finding it. tiring at length with the fruitless search he proposed, as the best way out of the difficulty, that he should write on the afternoon of the following day to monsieur alexander dumas himself to explain to his honour where the island used to be and whether it still existed. "what a blockhead you are," said the old man, "but go on, go on!" margari gave a great sigh and looked at the clock on the wall, but, alas! it was still a long way from six o'clock. at last, however, while he was still reading, the clock _did_ strike six. margari instantly stood up in the middle of a sentence, marked the passage with his thumb-nail so as to know at what word to begin again on the following evening, turned down the leaf and closed the book. "well! is that the end of it?" enquired mr. demetrius in angry amazement. "i humbly beg your honour's pardon," said margari with meek intrepidity, "there's nothing about reading _after six_ in our agreement"--and off he went. mr. demetrius thereupon flew into a violent rage, cursed and swore, vowed that he would dismiss his reader on the spot, and as the morning grew lighter fell into a deep, death-like, narcotic sleep from which he would not have awakened if the house had come tumbling about his ears. when he did awake, about ten o'clock, his first care was to make enquiries about mr. john. then he sent the porter to the police station to inform the authorities that his son and mr. hátszegi, who were both staying at the queen of england inn, were going to fight a duel, which should be prevented at all hazards. a police constable, at this announcement, flung himself into a hackney-coach and set off at full speed to make enquiries. half an hour later a heyduke was sent back to the porter to tell him that either the whole affair must be a hoax, as nothing was known of a duel, or else that the two combatants must already be dead and buried, as not a word could be heard of either of them. luckily, towards the afternoon, mr. john himself arrived in a somewhat dazed condition, like one who has been up drinking all night. the members of the family were all sitting together as usual in mr. demetrius's room, listening in silence to his heckling, when the tidings of mr. john's arrival reached him. demetrius immediately summoned him. he sent back word at first that he was lying down to try to sleep, which was an absurd excuse for even the richest man to give in the forenoon; on being summoned a second time he threatened to box the porter's ears; only the third time, when clementina was sent with the message that if he did not come at once, his sick father would come and fetch him, did he respond to the call and appear before them in a pet. "well, thou bloodthirsty man, what has happened? what was the end of it?" "what has happened?" repeated john with monstrously dilated eyes. "what marvel do you expect me to relate?" "clementina, miss kleary, henrietta, retire," cried the old man; "retire, go into the next room. these are not the sort of things that children should hear." when they had all withdrawn except madame langai, demetrius again questioned his son: "now then, what about this affair, this _rencontre_ with hátszegi; did you challenge him, did you meet him?" "eh? oh--yes! naturally. of course i sought him out, i have only just come from him. we have been making a night of it together at the queen of england. i can honestly say that he is a splendid fellow, a gallant, charming gentleman. he has really noble qualities. i am going to bring him here this afternoon. you shall all see him. even you will like him, matilda. but now, adieu, i must really have a little sleep, we were drinking champagne together all night. oh, he is a magnificent, a truly magnificent character." mr. demetrius said not a word in reply, but he compressed his thin lips and wagged his head a good deal. nobody made any observation. mr. john was allowed to go to bed according to his desire. a little time after he had withdrawn, however, the old man said to madame langai: "what are you doing matilda?" "i am trying to guess a rebus which has just appeared in 'the iris.'" "don't you think that what john has just said is rather odd?" "i have not troubled my head about it one way or the other." "i can see through it though. john wants to pay off hátszegi in his own coin. he has invited him here this afternoon in order to keep him waiting in the ante-chamber, and then send him word that he can't see him till to-morrow. oh! jack is a sly lad, a very sly lad, but i can see through him. i can see through him." * * * * * mr. john passed the whole afternoon in his father's room; he did not even go to his club. no doubt he was awaiting his opportunity for revenge. he amused himself by sitting down beside his niece, stroking her hand, admiring the whiteness of her skin, and, drawing the governess into the conversation, enquired how henrietta was getting on with her studies, whether she had still much to learn in english and french, and whether she was not, by this time, quite a virtuoso at the piano. he insinuated at the same time that it would be just as well, perhaps, if she made haste to learn all that was necessary as soon as possible, because she was no longer a child, and when once a woman is married she has not very much time for study. "by the way, henrietta," he added suddenly, "have you chosen a lover yet?" henrietta was too much afraid of him even to blush at this question, she only glanced at him with timid, suspicious eyes and said nothing. "don't be afraid, sisterkin," continued mr. john encouragingly. "i'll bring you such a nice bridegroom that even your grandpapa, when he sees him, will snatch up his crutches in order to go and meet him half-way." here the old man growled something which john smothered with a laugh. "yes, and if he won't give you up we'll carry you off by force." henrietta shuddered once or twice at her uncle's blandishments, like one who has to swallow a loathsome medicine and has caught a whiff of it beforehand. the porter interrupted this cheerful family chat by announcing that his lordship baron hátszegi wished to pay his respects to mr. lapussa. mr. demetrius immediately raised himself on his elbows to read from mr. john's features what he was going to do. would he tell the lacqueys to turn hátszegi out of the house? or would he send him word to wait in the ante-chamber, as he himself had waited at hátszegi's, and then put him off till the morrow? oh! john would be sure to do something of the sort, for a very proud fellow was john. but, so far from doing any of these things, mr. john rushed to the door to meet the arriving guest and greeted him aloud from afar in the most obliging, not to say obsequious, terms, bidding him come in without ceremony and not make a stranger of himself. and with that he passed his arm through the arm of his distinguished guest and, radiant with joy, drew him into the midst of the domestic sanctum sanctorum and presenting him in a voice that trembled with emotion: "his lordship, baron leonard hátszegi, my very dear friend!" and then he was guilty of the impropriety of introducing his guest first of all to his father and his niece, simply because they happened to be the nearest, only afterward he bethought him of turning towards matilda to introduce her, whereupon matilda's face assumed a stony expression like that of the marble maiden in zampa, to the great confusion of john, who felt bound to enquire in a half-whisper: "why, what's the matter?" "you dolt," she whispered back, "have you not learnt yet that the lady of the house should be introduced to her guests not last, but first?" john's first impulse was to be shocked, his second was to be furious, but finally he thought it best to turn with a smile to baron hátszegi, who courteously helped him out of his embarrassment by observing: "it is my privilege to be able to greet your ladyship as an old acquaintance already. many a time have i had the opportunity of secretly admiring you in your box at the theatre." "pray be seated, sir...!" chapter iii an amiable man baron hátszegi was certainly a very amiable man. he had a handsome face full of manly pride, sparkling eyes, and a powerful yet elegant figure. he moved and spoke with graceful ease, bore himself nobly, picked his words--in short, was a perfect gentleman. mr. demetrius was quite taken with him, although hátszegi hardly exchanged a word with him, naturally devoting himself principally to the widowed lady who played the part of hostess. what the conversation was really about nobody distinctly recollected--the usual commonplaces no doubt, balls, soirees, horse-racing. henrietta took no part in the talk; mr. john, on the other hand, had a word to say on every subject, and, although nobody paid any attention to him, he enjoyed himself vastly. when hátszegi had departed, john, with a beaming face, asked madame langai what she thought of the young man. instead of replying, madame langai asked what had induced him to bring him there. "well, but he's a splendid fellow, isn't he?" "you said yesterday that he was a vagabond." "i said so, i know, but it is not true." "you said, too, that he was a robber." "what! i said that? impossible. i didn't say that." old demetrius here intervened as a peacemaker. "you said it, john, you did indeed; but you were angry, and at such times a man says more than he means." "so far from being a robber or a vagabond," replied john, "he is one of the principal landowners in the hátszegi district. how _could_ i have said such things! he has a castle that is like a fortress. he is like a prince, a veritable prince in his own domains. he is just like a petty sovereign. i must have been downright mad to call him a vagabond. . . ." "yet, yesterday, you would have called him out," continued madame langai teasingly. "yes, i was angry with him then, but there are circumstances which may reconcile a couple of would-be duellists, are there not?" "oh, certainly, if a man is a man of business before all things, or has perhaps a valuable house or two on his hands." "this has nothing to do with business or selling houses. if you must know," he continued, lowering his voice, "it is about something entirely different, but of the very greatest importance." "indeed?" returned madame langai, "a new alexander the great, i suppose, who has gone forth to conquer, and who has come to look not for a house, but for a house and home perhaps?" she thought to herself that it was some adventurer whom her brother john would palm off upon her as a husband so as to get her away from the old man. "something of the sort," replied john. "yes, you have guessed half--but the wrong half." "i am glad to hear it." "ah!" put in the old man sarcastically, "matilda will never marry again, i'm sure; she loves her old dad too much and feels far too happy at home to do that." "ho, ho, ho!" laughed john scornfully, "i did not mean matilda, i was not thinking of her. ho, ho, ho! madame langai imagines that _she_ is the only person in the house whose hand can be wooed and won." dame langai, with a shrug, looked incredulously round the room to see if there was anybody else who could possibly become the object of the baron's sighs. all at once her eyes accidentally encountered those of henrietta, and immediately she knew even more than her brother john did. for she now clearly understood three things: the first was that henrietta had taken in john's meaning more quickly than she had done, the second was that john had brought the suitor to the house on henrietta's account, and the third was that henrietta loathed the man. she at once bade miss kleary give henrietta an extra lesson on the piano in the adjoining room, and when they had taken her at her word and disappeared, she said to john in her usual quiet, mincing tone: "you surely do not mean to give henrietta to that man?" "why not, pray?" "because she is still a mere child, a mere schoolgirl; five years hence it will be quite time enough to provide her with a husband." "but the girl is sixteen if she is a day." "yes, and delicate, sickly, and nervous." "she will soon be well enough when she is married." "and who, may i ask, _is_ this suitor of yours. is it not your duty, demetrius lapussa, as the girl's grandfather, to make the fullest enquiries about any man who may sue for your grand-daughter's hand? is it not your duty, i say, to find out who and what he is and everything relating to him? for brother john may be very much mistaken in fancying his dear friend to be a wealthy and amiable nobleman. whether he be amiable or not does not concern you personally, i know; but you ought certainly to know how he stands, for he may have castles and mansions and yet be up to the very ears in debt. in such a case if he is a nobleman so much the worse for you: for he will then have all the greater claim upon you. it may cost you dearly to admit a ruined baron into the bosom of your family." john grew yellow with rage: "how dare you talk like that of anyone you do not know?" he cried. "then, do you know him any better?" but here the old man intervened: "you're a fool, john," said he. "matilda is right. i will send for my lawyer, mr. sipos. he understands all about such things and will advise us in the matter. we _must_ find out how the baron stands." chapter iv childish nonsense meanwhile hátszegi continued to call every day, dividing his attention equally between the widow and henrietta; and at the end of a fortnight everyone was charmed with his personal qualities. it could not be denied that he was a delightful companion, always merry, lively, frank, and entertaining. he even made the old gentleman laugh aloud more than once; in fact demetrius lapussa grew quite impatient if hátszegi was five minutes late. mr. john was more delighted with him than ever. they took walks together, invariably drove in the same carriage to the park, and john was to be seen every night in the baron's box at the theatre, talking at the top of his voice so that everybody might become aware of the fact. nay, he succeeded, through the courtesy of his new friend, in making the acquaintance of one or two magnates who subsequently lifted their hats to john in the street and thus gratified the dearest desire of his heart. the enquiries made about hátszegi also proved extremely satisfactory. he was certainly sound and solid financially, had never had a bill dishonoured, had no dealings with usurers, always paid cash and was never even in temporary embarrassment, as is so often the case with most landed proprietors when the crops fail. in fact, he seemed to have unlimited funds constantly at his disposal and to be scarcely less wealthy than old lapussa himself. so far then, everything was as it should be, and everyone was enchanted with him personally. but what of henrietta, the intended bride? oh! she was not even consulted in the matter; it is not usual, and besides she had neither mind nor will enough to have a voice in so important a matter as the disposal of her hand. nay, she was not even told that she was going to be married. she only got an inkling of it from various phenomena that struck her from time to time, such as the polite attentions of the baron, the whispering of the domestics, the altered attitude towards her of the various members of the family--who now addressed her in the tone you employ when speaking to a baroness that is to be. and then there was clementina's chatter! clementina was now for ever talking of all the sewing and stitching that had to be done for the young lady, and of the frightful quantities of linen and lace and silk that were being made up into dresses and other garments. six seamstresses were hard at work, she said, and she was helping them and yet they had to make night into day in order to get the necessary things ready in time. so gradually they accustomed her to the idea of it, till at last one day madame langai took her aside and lectured her solemnly as to the duties of women in general and of women of rank in particular, pointing out at the same time how much such women owed to their own families for looking after and providing for them and expressing the hope that henrietta would be duly grateful to the end of her days to _her_ family--from all which she was able to gather that any opposition on her part would not be tolerated for a moment. the day was already fixed for the exchange of the bridal rings, but the night before that day, henrietta suddenly fell ill, and, what is more, dangerously ill, so that they had to run off for the family physician incontinently. the doctor was much struck by the symptoms of the illness and the first thing he did was to make the patient swallow a lot of milk and oil. then he drove the servants headlong to the chemist's, and descending into the kitchen closely examined every copper vessel there by candle light, scolded the cook and the scullery maids till they were in tears, and terrified clementina by telling her she was the cause of it all to the speechless confusion of the innocent creature. not content with this, he made his way at once to mr. demetrius's room and there cross-examined everyone with the acerbity of an old bailey judge. what had the young lady been in the habit of eating and drinking? they must fetch what had been left over from her meals, he must see and examine everything. what had she eaten yesterday evening? preserves? then what sort of sugar was used, and where was the spoon? he insisted on seeing everything. "but doctor," whined old lapussa, "you surely don't mean to say that the child has been poisoned?" "i do indeed, and with copper oxide too." "how is that possible?" "why, simply because some of her food, preserve, for instance, has been allowed to stand too long in a copper or silver vessel and copperas has been developed." the old man did not know enough of chemistry to understand how copperas could be developed from silver, but he was seriously alarmed. "i hope there's no danger?" said he. "it is a good job you sent for me when you did," replied the doctor, "for otherwise she would have been dead before morning. copperas is a very dangerous poison, and if it gets into one's food in large quantities there is practically no antidote. a vigorous constitution, indeed, has a good chance of throwing it off; but, taking into consideration the state of the young lady's nerves and her general debility, i should say that her case was downright dangerous; anyhow she will be ailing for some time." "oh, doctor, doctor! and we all love hetty so much, she is the very light of our eyes! i cannot tell you how anxious i am, on her account i should be so glad, doctor, if you could stay with her night and day and never leave the house. i would richly recompense you." "i will do all i can, though i can't do that, and unless any unforeseen accident arise, i think i can answer for the result. but one thing i must insist upon, all these copper and silver vessels of yours must go to the devil. i'll come to-morrow and examine thoroughly the whole lot of them by daylight. the health of the family must not be endangered by such recklessness. and let me tell your honour something else. are you aware that your honour's business-man, mr. sipos, who is only a lawyer and, therefore, can ill afford to do so in comparison with your honour, are you aware, i say, that he has on this very occasion sent all his copper vessels to the lumber-room?" "on this occasion! what do you mean?" enquired the old man eagerly. "i mean that i have just come from him and a similar case has happened in his house. his assistant--a fine young fellow, you know him, perhaps?--has also been poisoned by copperas. i have only this instant quitted him." "what an odd coincidence." "very odd, indeed. two exactly similar cases of poisoning at the same time and all because copper vessels were used and not properly cleaned." "and how is the young man progressing? is he out of danger?" "fortunately; although at the outset his was an even worse case than the young lady's. but then he is so much stronger. well, good-bye! i will look in again to-morrow." "but i should be so much easier, doctor, if you never left my grandchild's side." "i would willingly do even that if i had not other patients in the town to attend to." "could you not entrust them to someone else?" "impossible. my reputation would be at stake. besides i do not often have the chance of studying two such interesting parallel cases of poisoning at the same time." "very well, doctor. all i ask of you is to cure our little one." "i hope to save the pair of them. and now i'll go up and have a look at her, and then i must return to mr. sipos's house. but i shall be here again in an hour or so." and with that the old man had to be content. during the whole course of henrietta's illness he sent to enquire after his grandchild every hour. clementina and an old maid-servant took it in turns to watch by her bedside. it was strictly forbidden to leave henrietta alone for an instant, and mr. demetrius gave special orders that her brother koloman was not to be allowed to approach within six paces of her bed because he was sure to bring cold air into the room, or convey to her surreptitiously something which she ought not to have and behave like a blockhead generally. so he was obliged to keep his distance. at last when weeks and weeks had flown by, god and blessed nature helped the doctor to triumph over the effects of the poison. henrietta slowly began to mend. she was still very weak, but the doctor assured them that she was quite out of danger and that the little capricious fancies of convalescence might now be safely humoured. madame langai, in the doctor's presence, asked the sick girl whether there was anything in particular she would like, any food she fancied, any pastime she preferred. the pale, delicate-looking child languidly cast down her eyes as if she would say: "i should like to lie in the grave--deep, deep, down." but what she really did say was: "i should like to read something. i feel so dull." "that i cannot allow," said the doctor, "it would make your head ache, but i have no objection to someone reading to you some nice, amusing novel, dickens's "pickwick papers," for instance, or a story of marryat's, something light and amusing, i mean, which will not excite you too much." "i should like that," said henrietta and the choice fell on the "pickwick papers." but as the english governess complained that she could never read aloud for ten minutes at a time without growing hoarse and clementina's eyes were too weak for any such office, it was suggested that margari should be asked to submit to this extra sacrifice, and clementina succeeded in persuading him to do so by promising him a liberal reward. so she brought him back with her and seated him behind a curtain so that he could not see the invalid (that would have been scarcely proper), and put the book into his hand. but scarcely had margari struggled through a few lines when henrietta again became fidgety and said she longed for something to eat. the good-natured clementina jumped with joy at this sign of returning appetite, and asked her what she would like and how she would like it. henrietta thereupon directed her to have prepared a soup of such a complicated character (only the morbid imagination of an invalid could have conceived such a monstrosity), that clementina felt obliged to descend to the kitchen herself to superintend its concoction herself, for it was certain that any servant would have forgotten half the ingredients before she could get down stairs. scarcely had clementina shut the door behind her when henrietta interrupted margari's elocution. "for heaven's sake, come nearer to me," she said, "i want to speak to you." the worthy man was so frightened by this unexpected summons that he had half a mind to rush out and call for assistance. he fancied that the young lady had become delirious--it was such an odd thing to ask him to draw nearer. but the sick girl, pressing together her trembling hands, looked at him so piteously that he could hesitate no longer but approached her bedside. henrietta did not scruple to seize the hand of the embarrassed gentleman. "for god's sake, help me, my good margari," she whispered. "i am plagued by an anxiety which prevents me from closing my eyes. even here when i sleep it follows me into my dreams. you can free me from it. in you alone have i confidence. you suffer in this house as much as i do. you have no cause to torment or persecute me. will you do what i ask you, my dear, good margari?" it occurred to margari that the young lady was wandering in her mind, so to humour her, he promised to do whatever she asked him without hesitation. "i will be very good to you, i will never forget all my life long the kindness you are about to do me." "your humble servant, miss! but you have always been good to me. as far as i can remember, while the others took a delight in vexing me, you were the only one who always took my part. i don't forget that either. command me! i will go through fire and water for you." "look, then!" said the girl, drawing from her bosom a little key attached to a black cord, "this is the key of my toilet casket. open it and you will find a bundle of documents tied together with a blue ribbon, take them. all through my illness i trembled at the thought that they might ransack my things and find them, and when i came to myself i was worrying myself with the idea that i might perhaps have spoken about these papers in my delirium. oh! it would have been frightful if my relations had seized them. take them, quickly, before clementina returns. i must conceal everything, even from her." margari accomplished the task with tolerable dexterity. he only broke the looking-glass while he was opening the casket, and that was little enough for him. there the documents were right enough, nicely tied together. and then henrietta seized his hand and pressed it so warmly and looked at him with her lovely, piteous, imploring eyes--a very lunatic might have been healed by such a look. "i know you for an honourable man," continued she, "promise me not to look at these papers, but give them to my brother koloman, he will know what to do with them. you will do this for my sake, dear margari, will you not? it is just as though one of the dead were to come back to you from the world beyond the grave and implore you, with desperate supplications, to free its soul from a thought which rested upon it like a curse and would not let it rest in the grave." margari shuddered at these words. a corpse that returns from the world beyond the grave! this young gentlewoman certainly had a terrifying imagination. nevertheless he swore by his hope of salvation that he would not bestow a glance upon the papers, but would give them to young koloman. "hide them, pray!" and indeed it was high time that he should bestow them in the well-like pocket of his long coat, for clementina's steps were already audible in the adjoining chamber. when she appeared, however, he was sitting behind the curtain again, reading away as if nothing had happened. when the clock struck four, at which time koloman usually returned from school, henrietta said to margari that she had had enough of romance-reading for that day, but thanked him for his kindness and asked him to come again on the morrow if he would be so good. margari protested that he should consider it the highest honour, the greatest joy. he would willingly read even english to her, if she liked, and without any special honorarium either, and then off he went to seek young koloman. now it so happened that young koloman did not come home at the usual time that day, and margari after looking for him in vain became very curious as to the contents of the packet entrusted to him. what sort of mysterious letters could they be which miss henrietta was afraid of falling into the hands of her family. hum! how nice it would be to find out! the packet was tied up--naturally! but it was possible to undo and then retie the knots in just the same way as before, so that nobody would be any the wiser. to an honourable man, indeed, the mere knowledge that another's secret was concealed therein which he was bidden to guard would have been as invincible an impediment as unbreakable bolts and bars; but the worthy fellow reassured himself with the reflection that, after all, he was not going to tell anybody the contents of these documents, and he so very much longed to know what it could be that miss henrietta was so anxious to hide away, and old lapussa would so much like to find out. as if he would ever betray the secret of such a nice, kindly creature to such an old dragon! why, he would rather have his tongue torn out than betray it!--but know it he must and would! so he locked himself up in his little room on the third storey, and very cautiously opened the bundle which was enwrapped in i know not how many folds of paper and greedily devoured the contents of the various documents. but how great was his fury when, instead of the expected secrets, he found nothing but dull latin exercises, wearisome rhetorical commonplaces on such subjects as the charms of spring and summer, the excellence of agriculture, the advantages of knowledge, the danger of the passions, and similar interesting themes. he was just about to tie the bundle up again, when it occurred to him to read one of these tiresome dissertations to the end, just to see what sort of style the young scholar affected. and now a great surprise awaited him, for he found that after the first five or six lines the theme suddenly broke off and there followed something altogether different, which though also written in the latin tongue had nothing whatever to do, either with the beauties of spring or the excellencies of agriculture, but was, nevertheless, of the most interesting and engrossing character. now, indeed, he read every one of the exercises from beginning to end, and, when he had done so, he clearly perceived that if old demetrius lapussa had very particular reasons for ferreting out these things, miss henrietta had still greater reason for concealing them. after having neatly tied up the packet again, he bethought him what he had better do next. miss henrietta had confided the secret to his safe-keeping, but mr. demetrius had commanded him to keep an eye upon koloman and his latin exercises--which of them had the best right to command in that house? but was it right to divulge a secret? ah! that was another question. it is true that, as a general rule, it is wrong to betray secrets; yet, it is nevertheless true, that to betray a secret that ought to be known is at least justifiable. moreover, was it not a christian duty to let the grandfather know as soon as possible what extraordinary things his granddaughter was turning over in her noddle? and finally--there was money in it!--good solid cash! if old lapussa did not choose to pay a price for it, and a liberal price too, he should be told nothing at all and margari would show the old miser that he had a man of character to deal with. for after all poor margari had to live, and this was worth as much as a thousand florins to him or its equivalent anyhow. surely miss henrietta could not be so unreasonable as to expect poor margari to chuck such a piece of good fortune out of the window, especially as she had given him nothing herself. at that moment someone knocked at the door and enquired whether mr. margari was there. margari was so frightened that he bawled out: "no, i am not!"--so of course he was obliged to open the door, but he concealed the packet of letters in his pocket first. it was the lacquey who came to ask whether mr. margari was aware that it was past seven o'clock; he must come and read to the old gentleman. margari could not endure to hear the domestics speaking to him familiarly. "seven o'clock! what do you mean?" said he. "am i bound to know when it is seven o'clock? am i a clockmaker or a bell-ringer? if your master wants me to know what a clock it is, let him send me, not a lacquey, but a gold repeater watch!" and salving his wounded dignity with these and similar effusions, margari trotted alongside the lacquey to the room of mr. demetrius, to whom he immediately notified the change in the situation by sinking down into a soft and cosey arm-chair instead of sitting down on the edge of the hard leather-chair, expressly provided for him. demetrius measured him from head to foot with his terrible eagle eyes and observed in an even more stridently moral voice than usual: "well, margari, when are we going to have our novel reading?" "we will have our reading presently, but it won't be a novel to-day." "what do you mean, sir?" "i humbly beg to remind your honour that you were pleased to commission me to lay hands upon certain latin exercises of your grandson koloman. i humbly beg to inform you that they are now in my possession." "oh!" said old lapussa, with a forced assumption of _sang froid_, "you may give them to me to-morrow, i will look them through." "crying your honour's pardon, they are in latin." "well, i can get someone to look them through for me." "i beg humbly to represent that it would not be well to put them into anybody's hands, for strange things are contained therein." "what!" cried the old man angrily, "you don't mean to say _you_ have looked into them?" "yes, i have read them all through." "i did not tell you to do that." "no, but you were graciously pleased _not_ to forbid me to do so. now, i know everything. i know the cause of the young lady's illness. i know why she does not wish to become the wife of count hátszegi. nay, i even know what will happen in case she does. i know all that i say--and here it is in my pocket." "and what presumption on your part to read other people's letters!" "i beg your honour's pardon, but it is not presumption; i only wanted to know the value of the wares i have obtained for your honour. i wanted to know whether they were worth one florin, two florins, a hundred florins, a thousand florins, lest you should do me the favour to say to me: 'look, ye, margari, my son, here are some coppers, go and drink my health!'--and so get the better of me." "you are becoming impertinent! do you want me to ring for the footman?" "pray do not give yourself the trouble! if you are determined to take the documents away from me by force i will fling them into the fire that is burning there on the hearth before the footman can come in and there will be an end to them." "then it is money you want, eh? how much?" this question made margari still more bumptious. "how much do i want? a good deal, a very good deal, i can tell you. in fact i cannot tell at present how much." but then he suddenly reassumed his obsequious cringing mien and added: "i tell you what, your honour, procure me some petty office at count hátszegi's. i don't care what it is, so long as i get a life-long sinecure--suppose we say his bailiff, or his librarian, or his secretary? a single word from your honour would do it." an idea suddenly occurred to mr. demetrius. "very good, margari, very good. so it shall be. i give you my word upon it--you shall be hátszegi's secretary." "but it must be life-long. i humbly beg of you, it must be till the term not of his but of my natural life." "yes, yes, till the term of your natural life." "but if he won't have it?" "i'll pay you myself. you shall receive your regular salary from me without including whatever you may get over and above from him. will you be satisfied with a yearly salary of three hundred florins with your board and keep?" at these words margari's breath failed him. it was not without difficulty that he put the rapacious question: "will your honour do me the favour to give me this promise in writing?" "certainly! bring writing materials and i will dictate it to you on the spot." and so an agreement was duly drawn up whereby mr. margari, in consideration of a yearly salary of florins to be punctually sent to him at the beginning of every quarter, undertook in his capacity of secretary to baron hátszegi, to keep his honour demetrius lapussa informed of all that he saw and heard at the residence of that gentleman, henrietta's future husband, and this obligation of maintaining margari was to be transferred on the death of mr. demetrius to his son john. and no doubt mr. demetrius knew very well what he was about. this document signed and sealed, mr. margari, with the greatest alacrity, produced the latin exercises in question, first of all, however, respectfully kissing the hand of his patron. it took till midnight to read and translate all these documents one by one. mr. demetrius was very well satisfied with the result, that is to say so far as concerned the fidelity of the translation,--with the tenor of the original text he had not the slightest reason to be pleased. when, shortly after midnight, these revelations were concluded, mr. demetrius commanded margari to go up into his room and have a complete translation of all this latin rigmarole written down in honest hungarian by the morning and to encourage him in his task he gave him two guldens and an order on the butler for as much punch as he could drink. by the morning all the punch was drunk, but the translation also was finished, to the tune of bacchanalian songs which margari kept up with great spirit all night long. * * * * * next day, punctually at the appointed hour, the lawyer, mr. sipos, appeared at the house of the lapussas, with the necessary documents neatly tied up with tape, under his arm as usual; he was not like our modern lawyers who carry their masterpieces in portfolios as if they are ashamed of them. the only persons in the reception room besides the old man, were madame langai and mr. john. henrietta, still an invalid, had been allowed to take a stroll to the woods near the town in order to visit her favourite flowers once more and possibly take leave of them for ever. she had received no invitation-card for this lecture. why, indeed, should a bride know anything of her bridegroom's biography before marriage! the lawyer took his place at the table, untied his pile of documents and began to read. it appeared from these documents that the founder of the hátszegi family, the great grandfather of the present baron, was one mustafa, who had been a defterdar[ ] at stamboul, and had used his unrivalled opportunities for making money so well that he found it expedient to fly from jassy to transylvania, where he made haste to get baptized and naturalized. his son, now an hungarian nobleman, cut a fine figure at court and gallantly distinguished himself in the turkish wars against his former compatriots, his exploits winning for him the estate of hidvár and the title of baron. his son again was a miser of the first water who could be enticed neither to court nor into the houses of his neighbours. he was continually scraping money together and was not over particular in the choice of his scraper. by adroit chicanery he acquired possession of the gold mines of verespatak, which he exploited with immense advantage, and by means of money lending and mortgages got into his hands the vast estate of hátszegi in the counties of hunyad and feher, so that when he died it took thirty heavy wagons to convey his ready money in gold and silver alone from the vadormi caverns, where he had concealed it to the castle of hidvár, which his only son, leonard, chose as his residence after his father's death. all these details were certified by unimpeachable documents in schedules b. c. and d. [footnote : the chief of the financial department in the turkish vilagets.] moreover, the blood of many nationalities circulated in the veins of baron leonard. the defterdar himself was a turk of roumelian origin, whose only son was the child of his hindu concubine. he again married the daughter of a polish countess at the court of vienna. the wife of baron leonard's father was a wallachized hungarian lady, whom he married for her wealth. it was not wonderful, therefore, if the noble baron possessed the qualities of five distinct races. thus he had something of the voluptuousness of the turk, the ostentation of the hindu, the flightiness of the pole, the foolhardiness of the hungarian, and the obstinacy of the wallach. "for, i speak of his faults first," the lawyer proceeded, "because i consider that they outweigh his good qualities. that the baron is a rich man is evident from the accounts and inventories classed under schedule e; that the baron is a handsome man is evident from the photograph under schedule h; that the baron is physically sound is clear from the certificates annexed to schedules i and k, one of which is supplied by his physician and the other by his hunting comrades. those who require nothing from a man save health, wealth, strength, and beauty, will of course consider him fit and proper to make a woman happy. yet having regard to the following facts ( ) that the aforesaid baron is not merely unstable in love affairs but capricious to the verge of eccentricity, and a winebibber and gourmand to boot; ( ) that he is as vain as an indian prince who takes unto him a wife for the mere pomp and show of the thing; ( ) that he is violent and brutal, sparing nobody in his sudden fits of passion and, as the documents testify, has frequently inflicted mortal injuries on those who have come in his way while he was in an ill-humour; ( ) that he has an odd liking for rowdy adventures, which do not reflect much credit upon him; and ( ) that, according to the whispers of those nearest to him there is a strange mystery pervading his whole life, inasmuch as mysterious disappearances, which nobody can make head or tail of, occupy an incalculable number of his days and weeks which remain unaccounted for, and make a pretty considerable hiatus in every year of his life--taking all these things into consideration, i am constrained to give it as my opinion that i do not consider such a man a fit and proper husband for such a tender, sympathetic young lady as the miss henrietta in question, and let the world if it likes consider such a match as the greatest piece of good fortune imaginable, i, for my part, would nevertheless call it a calamity to be avoided at any price. and now would you do me the honour to examine the original documents i have brought with me as exhibits in corroboration of my statements--though i would mention," he quickly added, perceiving that madame langai had greedily clutched hold of them, "that among those documents there are sundry by no means suited for a lady's perusal." "when i come across any such i will pass them over," said she. of course these were the very passages she proceeded to search for straight away. meanwhile mr. demetrius also had drawn a packet of papers from underneath the cushions of his sofa and handed them to mr. sipos. "then you do not advise me to give henrietta to baron hátszegi to wife? good! and now, perhaps, while we run through the exhibits and schedules, perhaps you'll be so good as to cast your eye over these papers. i don't think they will bore you." these documents, by the way, were the latin documents discovered by mr. margari--_in natura_. mr. john was marching pettishly up and down the room, and madame langai was reading her documents with the greatest attention so that nobody observed the surprise, the confusion reflected in the countenance of the lawyer as he looked through the fatal latin manuscripts. he kept shaking his head and twisting his moustache right and left, fidgeted in his armchair, and the beads of perspiration which stood out on his forehead gave him enough to do to wipe them away with his pocket-handkerchief; at last he had read the papers, and then he laid the whole bundle on the table and stared silently before him like one whose reason for the moment had no counsel to give him. just about the same time madame langai had completed the perusal of _her_ documents, and now she too seemed to be in an extreme state of agitation. during the course of her reading, she had been unable to restrain herself from exclaiming at intervals: "the monster! the scoundrel!" mr. demetrius had been amusing himself all this time by carefully observing the various mutations of expression in the faces of the readers, which certainly afforded considerable entertainment to an onlooker with any sense of humour. when every document had produced its expression, he remarked in a soft gentle voice: "well, my daughter, what do _you_ think of the affair?" madame langai clapped to her eyeglass and, with the air of one who had made up his mind once for all, replied instantly: "i would not allow a decent chambermaid to become baron hátszegi's wife, let alone a henrietta lapussa." "and what is your opinion, mr. lawyer?" enquired the old man turning to mr. sipos. "i?" replied the honest man, visibly perturbed, with a voice full of emotion: "i would advise that the young lady should be married to the baron as quickly as possible." madame langai regarded him with wide-open eyes. "what! after all that is in these papers?" "no, after all that is in those other documents." "what are they?" cried madame langai pouncing upon them incontinently and extremely vexed, the next moment, to find them all written in latin. she perceived that they were koloman's exercises, and that was all. she did not understand their connection with the case in point. "i'll take those documents back please," said old demetrius, stretching out a skinny hand towards them. "they will be of use to us though i have a translation of them besides. then, you think, mr. lawyer, it will be as well to marry henrietta to the baron, eh? very well! let me add that on the day when henrietta goes to the altar with baron leonard, i will make you a present of all this scribble. till then i shall require them. do you understand?" mr. sipos was completely beaten; you might have knocked him down with a feather. he had never been so badly worsted in his professional capacity. madame langai would have besieged him with questions, but he avoided her, put on his hat and departed. madame langai thereupon turned to her father: "what is the cause of this wondrous change?" she cried. "what secrets do those miraculous papers contain?" mr. demetrius tucked the documents in question well beneath him and replied: "they contain secrets the discovery whereof will be a great misfortune and yet a great benefit to the parties concerned." "have they any connection with henrietta's wedding?" "they have a direct bearing thereupon, and, indeed, necessitate it!" "poor girl!" sighed madame langai. * * * * * mr. sipos passed by his own dwelling three times before he knew that he had reached home, so confused was he by what he had just learnt. when he _did_ get inside the house he walked for a long time up and down his consulting room as if he were trying to find a beginning for a business he would very much have liked to be at the end of. at last he gave the bellrope a very violent pull and told the clerk who answered the bell to send him his assistant, mr. szilard, at once. szilard appeared on the very heels of the messenger. his was one of those faces which women never forget. there was ardent passion in every feature and the large flaming black eyes, which spoke of courage and high enthusiasm, harmonized so well with the wan hue of the pallid face. "well, my dear fellow, do you feel quite well again now?" asked mr. sipos in a tone of friendly familiarity; "did the doctor call to see you to-day?" "i have no need of him, there's nothing the matter with me." "nay, nay! not so reckless! you have been working again, i see. you know the doctor has forbidden it." "i only work to distract my thoughts." "you should seek amusement rather. why don't you mix in society like other young men? why don't you frequent the coffee-houses and go to a dance occasionally? why, you slave away like a street-porter! young blood needs relaxation." "oh, i am all right. my dear uncle, you are very kind, but you worry about me more than i deserve." "that is my duty, my dear nephew. don't you know that your poor father confided you to my care on his death-bed, bade me be a father to you. don't you remember?" "i do," replied the young man, and catching hold of his guardian's hand he pressed it, murmuring in a scarcely audible voice: "you have indeed been a second father to me!" but mr. sipos tore his hand passionately from the young man's grasp and said in a somewhat rougher tone: "but suppose your dead father were to say: 'that is not true! you have _not_ watched over my son as a father should! you have lightly left him to himself. he was in danger and you were unaware of it. he hovered on the edge of the abyss and you were blind and saw nothing. and if god and my dead hand had not defended him, he would have become a suicide and you knew it not--wherefore?'"-- the young man trembled at these words, he grew even paler than before and gazed with a look of stupefaction at his chief. then the old man approached him, and took him by the hand as if he would say: "i am going to scold you, but fear nothing. i am on your side." "my dear szilard," said he, "don't you recollect that when you were a little child and did anything you should not have done, and your father questioned you about it, did he not always say to you: 'when you have done wrong and are ashamed to confess it, keep silence! press your teeth together! but don't lie, don't deny it, never think of taking refuge behind any false excuse, for your name is szilard,[ ] and cowardice does not become the bearer of such a name!' you understood him. you acted as he would have had you act. and now i also would remind you once more that you were christened szilard and i ask you therefore to listen calmly to what i am about to say to you. don't interrupt, don't attempt to deceive me. if you don't want to answer my questions, simply shake your head! and now sit down, my son! you are still barely convalescent. your head is weak and what i have to say to you might very well make it reel again." [footnote : strong, firm.] then the old lawyer tenderly pressed the youth into a chair and sighing deeply, thus continued: "you fell in love with the daughter of a great family and she with you. you got acquainted at a dance and the intimacy did not stop there. every conceivable obstacle intervened between you, but love is artful and inventive and you found a way. the rich girl had a neglected brother whom his relations sent to the grammar school and the rascal frequently took refuge with me, the family attorney, when he was ill-treated at home, and here you came across him. you cared for him and explained to him the difficulties in his lessons which he was unable to do for himself. the boy grew very fond of you. he spoke to you of your beloved, and he spoke to her of you, and he was always praising each of you to the other. the grandfather, the uncle, the aunt, the governess, the domestics who never took their eyes off the girl for an instant, had no idea that she was already involved in a love affair. but amazing is the ingenuity of love and lovers! you knew that none of the older members of the family understood the classical language of the orators, and the girl loved so dearly that she did not consider it too great a labour to learn a dead tongue which could be of no further use to her in order to be able to say to her beloved: _ego te in aeternum amabo!_ one must admit that that was a great and noble sacrifice. every day you corresponded with each other. before school time the girl dictated his lessons to her young brother, beginning with the usual scholastic flowers of rhetoric but ending in the passionate voice of love, and after school was over, you, in your turn dictated a similar lesson for the lad to carry back with him. naturally, _this_ lesson book he _never_ took to school with him; you kept the other here, the genuine one which he had to show to his masters. and this ingenious smuggling was carried on beneath the very eyes of the family without their perceiving it. yet at last it _was_ discovered. this very day, only an hour ago, the old head of the family placed these papers in my hands that i might read them, informing me at the same time that he had already read a translation of them. terrible were the things i discovered in these papers. the appearance of a rich and noble suitor who, according to the notions of the world, was just made for the girl, frustrated all your plans of waiting patiently for better times. the family forced this union upon the girl. you, in your despair, racked your brain as to what you should do. at first you resolved upon an elopement, but the redoubled vigilance with which every step of the young girl was watched made this impossible. then a black and terrible thought occurred to you both. you resolved to kill yourselves--it was your one remaining means of deliverance. yes, you resolved to kill yourselves at once, on the self-same day, in the self-same manner. for many days you deliberated together as to the best way of accomplishing your design. great caution was necessary. you had to pick your words lest the little brother who wrote them down from dictation should have guessed your intentions. the girl asked you, at last, to send her a book on natural science. you sent it to her. she, with the help of it tried to find out what sorts of poisons could be most easily procured. for two whole days you deliberated together as to the best way of obtaining matches, the phosphorus of which is the most efficacious of poisons. but in vain. in great houses only the domestics have charge of the matches, it was impossible to get any. at last the girl hit on an expedient. she discovered that if you put a copper coin in a glass dish and pour strong vinegar over it, verdegris will be formed and verdegris is poison. your minds were at once made up. the girl prepared poison for herself and taught you to do the same. . . . merciful heaven! what notions children do get into their heads to be sure." chapter v she is not for you up to this moment the youth had listened to the lecture in silence, but now he arose and said in a calm clear voice: "'tis all true; it is so!" "i should say it was all very bad, very bad indeed!" said the lawyer vehemently, as if completing a broken sentence. "what! children to meditate suicide because things in this world don't go exactly according to their liking! have you never regarded the affair from its practical side? did you imagine that the girl's relations would support you? and would you yourself endure to be their pensioner, their butt, the scorn of the very domestics, for a poor son-in-law is the standing jest of the very flunkeys--you ought to know that!" szilard's face burned like fire at these words, but the old man hastened to soothe him. "no, you could never reconcile yourself to that, i am sure. but you thought, perhaps, that the girl might descend to your level and share your poverty. there are in the world many a poor lad and lass who endow one another with nothing but their ardent love and yet make happy couples enough. so, no doubt, you argued, and herein lies the fallacy that has deceived you. if you had been enamoured of a poor girl, i should have said: it is rather early to think of marriage, but if it be god's will, take her! work and fight your way through the world where there is room enough for every one. the lass, too, is used to deprivation, and you are also. she will be content with little. she can sew, she will do your cooking for you, and, if need be, your washing likewise! she can make one penny go as far as two. when there is a lot to do she will sing to make the work lighter, and when your supper is slender, her good humour and her loving embraces will make it more. but my dear boy! how are you going to make a poor housewife out of a girl who has been rich? how can she ever feel at home in a wretched, out-of-the-way shanty, where she will not even have you always by her side, for you will have to be looking after your daily bread? she will say nothing, she will make no complaint, but you will perceive that she misses something. she will not ask you for a new dress, but you will see that the one she wears is shabby and it would break your heart to reflect that you have fettered the girl you love to your step-motherly destiny, and your manly pride would one day blush for the recklessness which led you to drag her down with you." "my dear guardian," said szilard, "to prove to you that i did think of all these things let me tell you that i have put by from my salary and commissions enough to enable us to live comfortably for at least a twelvemonth. for a whole year i have lived on two pence a day in order to save, and during all that time i am sure you have not heard from me one word of complaint." mr. sipos was horrified. it was an even worse case than he had imagined. what! to live for a whole year on two pence a day in order to scrape together a small capital for one's beloved! it would be very difficult to cure a madness which took such a practical turn as this! "but my dear boy!" he resumed, "what is the good of it all? what can you do now that your secrets are discovered? it would have served you right if the girl's parents had proceeded against you on a charge of murder, for you were an accomplice in this poisoning business; but i am pretty sure they will only threaten to do so in case she refuses the baron. and what, pray, can you do in case they thus compel her to become his wife?" "whoever the baron may be," rejoined szilard, "i suppose he is at least a gentleman; and if a woman looks him straight in the face on the wedding day and says to him: 'i cannot love you because i love another and always will love another,'--i cannot think he will be so devoid of feeling as to make her his wife notwithstanding." "and if she does not say this, but voluntarily gives him her hand in order to save you from the persecutions of her family, what then?" "hearken, my dear guardian! she may be compelled to write to me that she loves me no more and i must forget her, but i shall not believe it till she pronounces or writes down a word the meaning of which only we two understand and nobody else in the world can discover. so long as this one word does not get into the possession of a third person, i shall know that she has not broken with me and no power in this world shall tear her from my heart. she may be silent, because she is not free to speak; she may speak because she is commanded to speak; yet, for all that, this religiously guarded word tells me what she really feels--and what no other human intelligence can understand. if you like, my dear guardian, you may betray this confession of mine to henrietta's relatives and they will torment the girl till they get her to pronounce the mysterious word which once pronounced will burst the bonds that unite us. she will be driven to say something. but oh! women who love are very crafty. the word they will report to me will not be the right one. it is possible, too, that they may take her far away from me. let them guard her well i say, let those who watch over her never close an eye. and if they give her a husband, they had best pray for his life for they know not what a fated thing it is to give away in marriage a girl who bears about in her heart the secret of a third person." "my dear young friend, i see that we shall not come to an understanding with each other. you are bent upon plunging into ruin a poor defenceless girl in the name of what you call love, and will not renounce, though you have not the slightest hope of winning her--that i do not understand. i, on the other hand, am the legal adviser of the young lady's family, and, in that capacity, i considered it my duty to protest very energetically against the match in question. but when they placed those precious papers in my hands, i said at once that they must marry her to this man in any case. otherwise they would have fancied i was advocating your crazy hopes, that i was an interested party and simply opposed the family candidate in order to smuggle in a kinsman of my own in his stead. that idea i was determined to knock out of their heads, happen what would. but that of course you do not understand. and now you had better return to your room. destiny will one day explain to all of us what we do not understand now." * * * * * at about the same hour the second act of this drama was proceeding in the torture-chamber of the lapussa family. henrietta had returned home from her little tour laden with flowers, when old demetrius sent word to her that he would like to see her in his room. he had taken the precaution of sending madame langai away shortly before and mr. john was absent at the corn exchange. "my little maid, hetty, come nearer to me," said the old gentleman, turning sideways on his couch and ferreting out from beneath his pillows a concave snuff-box, "pray do not be angry with me for putting you to inconvenience. bear with me for the little time i have still to live. but if you find living under the same roof with me unendurable, all the greater reason for you to seize the opportunity of releasing yourself as quickly as possible." henrietta was too much used to these choleric outbursts to think of replying to them. "pray, put your hand beneath my pillow. you will find a packet of papers there. take them out and look at them." henrietta did with stolid indifference what the old man bade her and drew forth from this peculiar repository--which served as a sort of lair for snuff-boxes, pill-boxes and odd bits of pastry--a large bundle of manuscripts which she recognized at the first glance. the apprehended papers, which during her illness had prevented her from sleeping, which had made it impossible for her to get well, were now in the possession of him from whom she had been most anxious to conceal them. the criminal stood face to face with the witness whose damning evidence was to condemn her. there was no escape, no defence. "my little maid," said the old man, exultantly stuffing his eagle nose full of that infernal heating material which goes by the name of snuff, "don't be angry with me for directing your attention to this scribble. i don't want to make any use of it. i know quite enough of it already, but be so good as to listen to me!" henrietta absolutely could not look away from her grandfather's blood-shot eyes; it seemed to her as if those eyes must gradually bore through to her very heart. "you won't marry an eminent and wealthy man who bestows an honour upon your family by asking for your hand, and yet you would run away with a worthless fellow who does not even know why he was put into the world, and when your family steps in to prevent it, you would violently put yourself to death in order to die with him, to our eternal shame and dishonour. that was not nice of you. but sit down. i see you are all of a tremble. i would fetch you a chair myself if it was not for this infernal gout of mine." henrietta accepted the invitation and sat down, otherwise she must have collapsed. "now look ye, my dear little girl! if you had to deal with an unmerciful, austere old fellow, a veritable old tiger, in fact, as i have no doubt you fancy i am, he would make no bones about it but pack you straight off to a nunnery and so cut you off from the world for ever." henrietta sighed. such a threat as that sounded to her like a consolation. "in the second place, an old tyrant, such as i am imagining, would have sent that rip of a brother of yours, who is not ashamed to lend a hand in the seduction of his own sister, would have sent him, i say, to a reformatory. i may tell you there are several such institutions, celebrated for their rigour, whither it is usual to send precocious and incorrigible young scapegraces. and richly he would have deserved it, too." "poor koloman!" thought the little sister. they were tenderly devoted to each other. "in the third place, our old tiger would have prosecuted at law that reckless youth who had a share in this fine suicide project of yours. for death, my dear, is no plaything and jests with poison are strictly forbidden. he would certainly be condemned to hard labour for five or six years, which would be a very wholesome lesson for him." "grandfather!" screamed the tortured child. this last allusion dissolved her voice in tears. she fell down on her knees before him and shed innocent tears enough on his hand to wash out all the old specks and stains on it. "i am glad to see those tears, my dear little girl, they show that you have confidence in me. i am not a tiger who eats little children, what i have said _might_ happen but i don't say it necessarily _must_. i don't want to be cruel and vindictive. i don't want to recollect anything of the insults showered upon me in that scribble of yours, all i ask of you is that you will not stand in your own way. get up and don't cry any more or you will be ill again. go up into your own room and ponder deeply what you ought to do! in two hours' time i shall send for you again, and in the meantime make up your mind about it. you have the choice between accepting as your husband an honourable gentleman of becoming rank and at the same time renouncing and forgetting a fellow who will never be able to raise himself to your level, or of taking the veil and bidding good-bye to this world. in the latter case, however, your brother will be sent to a reformatory and an action will be commenced against your accomplice. it is for you to choose. you have two whole hours to turn the matter over in your mind. in the meantime i shall send for my lawyer and, according to your decision, i shall get him to draw up a marriage contract or a summons to the criminal court. it all depends upon you. and now put back those documents beneath my head. remember that you will only receive them back from me as a bridal gift. go now to your own room and reflect. for two hours nobody shall disturb you." the girl mechanically complied with his commands. she put back the ominous documents in their receptacle and withdrew to her room. there she stood in front of a vase of flowers and regarded their green leaves for an hour without moving. in the vase was a fine specimen of one of those wondrous tropical plants whose leaves never fall off, one of those plants which the seasons leave unchanged and which, therefore, is such a beautiful emblem of constancy. this beautiful plant has a peculiar property. if one of its compact shining leaves be planted in the earth it takes root and grows into a shrub whose fragrant wax-like flowers diffuse an enchanting perfume. three years before at a jurists' ball, when henrietta and szilard met for the first time, he had given her a bouquet, among the flowers of which was one of these green-gold leaves, and when she got home she had planted it in a jar and it had taken root, spread its shoots abroad and grown larger and larger every year. and henrietta had called it szilard and watched over its growth and cared for it as if it had been a living human creature. for a long time she stood before this flowering plant as if she would have spoken to it and taken counsel of it. at last she turned away and with her hands behind her head, she walked slowly up and down the room, and as often as she paused before the vase, she behaved like one whose heart is breaking. but time was hastening on, an hour is so short when one would have it stay. alas! nowhere was there any help, any refuge. she was abandoned. she had nothing in the world but this one flowering plant which she called szilard. and the moments swiftly galloping after one another called for a decision. there must be an end to it. once more she approached her darling plant and kissed all the leaves of its beautiful flowers one by one. and now there came a knock at the door. mr. demetrius's messenger had come and a cold shudder ran through the girl's tender frame. "i am coming!" she cried. the next moment not a tear was to be seen on her face, nay, not a trace of sorrow, or fear, but only snow-white tranquillity. all the members of the family were assembled together again in grandpapa's room. mr. sipos was also present, he had been told all about the business. "well my dear little grandchild," said mr. demetrius, motioning henrietta to take her place at the table with the others, "have you made up your mind?" "i have." "veil or myrtle wreath?" "i will be married." "to the baron?" "yes," replied the girl in a strangely calm and courageous tone, "but i also have my conditions to impose." "let us hear them." "in the first place i must be sure that my brother koloman will not be persecuted. i suppose you will not let him come with me?" "no, that one thing cannot be allowed." "but i cannot let him remain here. send him to some other town. you are always talking of your rank and riches, give him an education to correspond." the child in those two hours had grown older by ten years, she now spoke to the other members of the family with the air of a matron. "agreed!" cried mr. demetrius. "besides it will be much better if we do not see him." "my second request is that i may take the furniture i have been used to and my flowers along with me to the place where i have to go." "granted, a harmless feminine caprice. be it so!" "in the third place i should like the papers grandfather knows of to be given back to him whom it most concerns." "certainly," said mr. demetrius, "i promised, did i not, that it should form part of your marriage portion. mr. sipos, would you be so good as to place these documents in the hands--of the proper person?" mr. sipos bowed and promised to carry out the mournful commission. "and now, my girl, the marriage-contract is before you, the baron has already signed it and awaits your decision in the adjoining room. show us what a nice hand you can write." and henrietta did show it. she signed her name there in such pretty little delicately rounded letters that it looked as if some fairy had breathed a spell upon the page. "and just one thing more, my dear young lady," put in mr. sipos politely, "while the pen is still in your hand, would you be so good as to write down on the cover of the returned documents a particular word, that particular word, i mean, which is known only to yourself and one other person in the world, as a proof that your renunciation is genuine and irrevocable." the girl fixed her mysterious black eyes for a long time on those of the lawyer. it was in her power to deceive him if she would and he knew it well. at last she gently stooped over the bundle of papers and pressing down the pen with unusual firmness she wrote that barbarously sounding name of a beautiful bright star: "mesarthim" and then quietly laid down the pen. there was not the slightest sign of agitation in her face. could it be the right word? "and now the bridegroom can come in and the necessary pre-nuptial legal formalities can be carried out." * * * * * when mr. sipos got home he went straight up to the room of his young protegé. "my dear fellow," said he, "i have brought you some medicine. as you know, medicine is generally nasty and bitter, but perhaps none the worse on that account. as i said beforehand, the young lady reconsidered her position, chose the better way and consented to the marriage with the baron. the betrothal is an accomplished fact and they signed the marriage contract before my eyes." "doubtless," returned szilard coldly. "my friend, the girl did not make such a sour face over it as you are doing. she was strong-minded and decided. i was amazed at the composure with which she addressed her family, she was like the capitulating commandant of a fortress dictating the terms of surrender. not a tear did she shed in their presence and yet i believe she suffered." "oh, she has lots of courage." "i wish you had as much. here is your absurd scribble, its surrender was one of the conditions imposed. i am glad these mischievous exercises are safely in our hands again. don't bother your head about them any more! the girl is going away, you will remain here, in a year's time you will have forgotten each other." szilard smiled frostily. "and that word which binds us together or tears us asunder?" said he. "yes, i thought of that, too. she looked me straight in the eyes for a long time when i asked for it and i told her i wanted the real, the genuine word. she has written it on the back of these papers, look!" szilard stretched forth a tremulous hand towards the papers, seized them, turned them round, and cast one look at the word written there and then fell at full length on the floor, striking his head against the corner of the table so that the blood flowed. mr. sipos, cursing the whole stupid business and wishing the papers at the bottom of the sea, raised the young man tenderly and bathed his head with cold water. he did not call for assistance (why should the whole world be taken into his confidence?), but when the youth came to again, he soothed and consoled him with loving words. and szilard, unable to contain himself any longer, hid his head in the good old man's bosom, pressed his lips to his hand and wept long and bitterly. * * * * * a fortnight later the marriage of baron hátszegi and henrietta lapussa was solemnized with great pomp and befitting splendour. the bride bore herself bravely throughout the ceremony, and they tell me that her lace and her diamonds were fully described in all the fashionable papers. chapter vi bringing home the bride in those days there were no railways in hungary. it took a whole week to travel post from pest to the depths of transylvania, with relays of horses provided beforehand at every station. on the very day after the wedding the young bride set out on her journey. she had only stipulated that they should set off very early before anyone was up and stirring. they travelled in two carriages. in the first sat the bride and clementina, who had begged and prayed so urgently to be allowed to accompany the young lady that to get rid of her they had at last consented. the poor thing fancied she would better her position thereby: it was not from pure love of henrietta that she had been so importunate. in the second carriage sat the baron and margari. margari was just the sort of man the baron wanted. he was a scholar who could be converted into a domestic buffoon whenever one was required. now-a-days it is difficult to catch such specimens, all our servants have become so stuck-up. henrietta did not dare to ask how far they were going, or where they were to pass the night, she felt so strange amidst her new surroundings. her husband was very obliging and polite towards her,--in fact he gave her no trouble at all. towards the evening they stopped at a village to water the horses and there hátszegi got out of his carriage and, approaching his wife's, spoke to her through the window: "we shall rest in an hour," said he. "we shall put up for the night at the castle of an old friend of mine, gerzson satrakovich. he has been duly apprised of our coming and expects us." but the promised hour turned out to be nearly two hours. the roads were very bad here and it was as much as the carriage wheels could do to force their way through the marshy sand. the monotonous _bucskak_[ ] which extended desolately, like a billowy sandy ocean, to the very horizon, were overgrown with dwarf firs that looked more like shrubs than trees. not a village, not a hut was anywhere to be seen. from the roadside sedges, flocks of noisy wild-geese, from time to time, flew across the sky which the setting sun coloured yellow. at last a great clattering and rattling gave those sitting in the carriage to understand that they were passing into a courtyard and the carriage door was opened. henrietta got out. the young wife looked around with the same sort of curiosity which a robber condemned to a long term of imprisonment and conveyed to a distant jail might feel on first surveying his new environment. [footnote : sand hills.] in the midst of a spacious courtyard, surrounded by stone walls, stood an old-fashioned mansion with a verandah in front of it, resting on quadrangular columns which one ascended by a staircase whose brick parapet served as a lounge both for the gentlemen guests and their heydukes whenever they wanted to take their ease,--though, of course, the gentlemen occupied one end of it and the heydukes the other. a couple of favourite dogs were also accommodated with a place there. but when the carriages stopped in front of the verandah, every one instantly quitted this favourite sun-lit resting place and rushed down to meet them--host, guests, heydukes, and dogs. the first to reach the carriage door was a peculiar looking man, a more repulsively mutilated creature it was impossible to imagine. he might have been fifty, but it was difficult to read his age from his face. his features were scarred with ancient scars and a piece of his mouth was missing--and perhaps a tooth or two as well, if one could have seen through his thick grizzled moustache. an eye was missing on the same side, and half his face was tattooed with little black points as if from an exploded musket. his nose was bent sideways and quite flattened at the top, doubtless owing to a heavy fall. he had only three whole fingers on the right hand, the other two were fearfully mutilated. as for the left arm it was horribly distorted from its natural position, the elbow being twisted right round and the joint immovable. add to this that one of his legs was shorter than the other. yet, in spite of everything, this fraction of a man was so agile that he anticipated all the others and was the first to courteously kiss the hand of the descending lady, who shrank back horror-stricken at the contact of those crippled fingers. "my wife--my friend gerzson," said hátszegi hastening to introduce them to each other. the master of the house professed himself delighted at his good fortune; pressed his friend's hand with his third remaining finger and presented his arm, the stiff one, to the lady who touched it as gingerly as if she was afraid of hurting it. the master of the house laughed aloud at her misgivings. "lean on it hard your ladyship!" cried he, "it won't break, it is as strong as iron. down fecske, down sir!" (this to a dog who had expressed his joy at the sight of henrietta by jumping on her shoulder.) "i rejoice that i have the felicity to welcome your ladyship. i have arranged a great fox hunt in your ladyship's honour for to-morrow. we are all fox hunters here. i hope your ladyship will take part in it?" "i don't know how to ride," replied the child-wife simply. "oh! that's nothing, we will teach you. i have got a good nag who is as gentle as a lamb. we won't let your ladyship go till we have taught you." when they reached the saloon a number of jackbooted, brass-buttoned, gentlemen of various ages were presented in turn to henrietta who forgot all their names the moment after they were introduced and was quite delighted when she was conducted to her room and left alone with clementina. she had scarce time to change her travelling dress when supper was announced. the meal was laid on a large round table in the midst of a vast hall; there were more wine bottles than dishes; the handles of the knives and forks were made from the horns of elks and the antlers of stags,--the principal meats were cold venison, highly spiced and peppered stews and pickled _galuska_.[ ] [footnote : a sort of large dumpling.] "i am afraid this is only a hunter's repast, my lady!" opined mr. gerzson conducting henrietta to the table, at which she and clementina were the only ladies present. "unfortunately this house has no mistress and an old bachelor like me must serve others as he himself is served." "then why don't you marry?" bantered hátszegi. "i wanted to once, but it all come to nothing. the bride was already chosen and the day for the bridal banquet was fixed. my lady bride was a fine handsome lassie. on the eve of my wedding day, in order that the business might not escape my memory, i told my heyduke to place by my bed in the morning my nice bright dress boots instead of my old hunting jacks. very well! early next morning while i was still on my back in bed, i heard a great barking and yelping in the garden below. 'what's the row?' i shouted. they told me the dogs had started a lynx out of the bushes. 'what! a lynx!' i cried, for a lynx, let me tell you, is a rare beast in these parts. i was out of bed in a twinkling, plunged into the nice dress boots, snatched my gun from the wall and was off into the thicket. i soon found the trail and after that lynx i went. the dogs led me further and further into the depths of the forest and the further i went the more fiery grew the pursuit. once or twice i had a sort of feeling that i had forgotten something at home, and i felt myself all over, but no, powder horn, pipe case, tobacco pouch, flint, steel--everything was there. so on i went further and further. again i felt bothered, but by this time the lynx quite carried me away with him and kept appearing and disappearing again in the most distracting fashion. only towards evening did i hold its pelt in my hand and home with it i went straightway. and now, again, an oppressive feeling overcame me, just as if there was something wrong going on somewhere in the world which it was in my power to prevent. only in the evening when i was pulling off my dress boots did it flash across me that i ought to have been present at my wedding that very day. and so matters remained as they were, for my bride was so angry with me for my forgetfulness that she went away and married a lawyer fellow. no doubt she got the right man, but since then i have had no desire for matrimony." the company laughed heartily at this jest, and then attacked the patriarchal banquet with tremendous appetite, nor did they wait to be asked twice to fill their glasses. henrietta, naturally, did not touch anything. even at ordinary times she ate very little, but now there was nothing at all she fancied. mr. gerzson was in despair. "my dear lady," said he, "you eat so little that if i were a day labourer i could easily support you on my wages." the company laughed aloud at this. the idea of a day labourer with such hands and feet as that! then gerzson proceeded to relate to them the exploits or misadventures in which his various limbs had more or less come to grief. "and now," concluded he, "i will tell your ladyship how i came by this scar on my forehead. a few years ago i was visiting our friend leonard, your husband, my dear lady, at his castle at hidvár, and whilst there we spent two weeks among the glaciers." "night and day?" enquired the astonished henrietta. "well, at night we built ourselves huts out of the branches of fir trees. if, however, no rain fell we encamped in the open round our watch-fire snugly wrapped up in our _bundas_[ ]. splendid fun i can tell you! for two days, when our stores gave out, we lived on nothing but bilberries and broiled bear's flesh." [footnote : sheepskins.] "you were badly off then." "no, on the contrary, the paws of a bear are great delicacies, only we had no salt to salt them with." "why did you not return home?" "we could not, for four days together we had been on the track of a blood-bear. do you know what a blood-bear is? a bear is a very mild, harmless sort of a beast in general, and is quite content with honey, berries, and roots; but let him once taste blood and he rages about like a lion, and more than that, he has a decided preference for human blood before all other kinds of blood. we had been pursuing one of these old malefactors four days running, as i have said; four times we got within range of him and four times he broke away. he carried a few bullets away with him beneath his hide, indeed, but a lot he cared about that! he gave one or two of our badly-aiming huntsmen a clout on the head which sent them flying, stripped the skin from the head of one of the beaters and then took refuge in the wilderness. friend leonard and the other gentlemen now wanted to abandon the chase, for they were frightfully hungry and the heavy rain and rock scrambling had pretty well torn our clothes from our bodies, yet i urged them to make another attempt on the morrow. i assured them that if they beat up the wood once more we should capture the bear. the whole lot of them were against me. friend leonard insisted that we should not catch him, as a bear never remains in the place where he has been wounded, but runs on and on night and day; by this time he would have got right across the border into wallachia. 'very well!' i said, 'what do you bet that he is not quite near and we shall come upon him to-morrow?' leonard replied he would bet me two to one we shouldn't. 'all right!' said i. 'i'll pay you a hundred ducats if we don't find bruin to-morrow.' 'and i'll pay you a thousand if we do,' said he. so the bet was clinched. next morning in a thick mist we sent out the beaters while we ourselves stood on our guard. leonard and i took up our post near a ravine waiting impatiently for the mist to disperse. towards mid-day it began to clear. no end of stags and foxes ambled slowly past us, but we did not even aim at them; the bear was our watchword. the beaters had pretty nearly finished their work. we were standing only fifty paces or so apart, so we began to chat together. 'i begin to be sorry for your hundred ducats,' said leonard. 'i am still sorrier for the lost bear's skin,' said i. 'it is in wallachia by this time!' he replied. behind my back, some ten yards off, was the opening of a narrow hole; there were hundreds such in the rocks all about. 'come, now!' i cried, 'suppose my bear has stowed himself away in this hollow!'--and there and then, like a mischievous little boy, i poked the barrel of my gun into the hollow and fired off a couple of shots in quick succession. a frightful roar came from the depths of the cavern. the wild beast during all this noise, clamour and beating about the bush was actually behind my back holding his tongue,--and a splendid big beast he was, two heads taller than i and with tusks like a wild boar. in a moment he was upon me, and i had already discharged my two barrels. it is all over with me now, i thought! why, it will be nothing at all to a magnificent beast like this to tear such a wretched creature as myself limb from limb! erect on his hind legs he came straight at me, smashing my hunting-knife at a single blow, and, enfolding me in his terrible arms, he tried to mangle my features with his teeth. at the last moment i called to leonard: 'shoot between us, old chap! you will hit one of us anyhow!' i preferred being killed by a bullet to being torn to bits. the next instant a report sounded, and i was only just aware that the pair of us, still tightly embraced, were rolling backwards into the bottom of the ravine. there, however, the thick undergrowth held us up, and i perceived that my bear was quite done for. the bullet had gone clean through his ear. yes, a masterly shot on leonard's part it was, i must confess--at fifty paces at the very moment when the bear's head and mine were near enough for kissing. and i do think it was so nice of leonard to risk a shot for me, when if he had simply allowed me to be torn to pieces he would have saved his thousand ducats, for he lost his bet, you see. not only did he liberate me, but he paid a thousand ducats for doing so." "he acted like a true gentleman!" they all cried. it was the general opinion. "your ladyship will see this splendid bear skin at hidvár, it is a real treasure for a hunter, i can tell you. and in fact if i had had the choice i would much rather have had the bear skin than the thousand ducats, and the exchange would have been much better for me too in the long run, for i should have the skin to this day, whereas the thousand ducats were forcibly taken from me at dévá by that villain, fatia negra."[ ] [footnote : black face.] "who is that?" enquired henrietta curiously. "a famous robber-chieftain in these mountains whom they can never lay hands upon." henrietta cast anxious glances around her. but here hátszegi coolly interrupted him by striking his plate with his fork: "i won't have my wife frightened to death by your highwayman yarns," cried he, and changed the conversation. shortly afterwards henrietta went to her chamber, leaving her husband with mr. gerzson and his guests. such was henrietta's first night after her marriage. she at least was so far fortunate as not to be obliged to see her husband. towards morning she dozed off, and when she awoke again she found that the whole company had long ago set off fox-hunting, nor did they return till late in the evening, tired out, wet through, and dripping with sweat. henrietta meanwhile had discovered the remains of a dilapidated library in an old disused huntsman's hut, had ferretted out of it a few latin books, and had amused herself with them,--at least so far as she was able, for many of the leaves had been torn out and used as tinder. it is notorious that tired sportsmen are about the dullest dogs on earth; so henrietta felt that she would not lose much when her husband told her she had better go to rest early, as they must be up betimes next morning. and, indeed, next morning they were off so early that, except their old host, not one of the hunting party was there to bid them god speed! but he again conducted his lady-guest to her carriage on his crippled arm and arranged her cushions comfortably for her with his three-fingered hand. it was a very fine day for a journey, and the windows of the two carriages were let down so that henrietta was able to view the landscape stretching out before her. she had never been here before, it was all new to her. she discovered from clementina's lamentations that they had still a three days' journey before they reached home, and that they would spend the coming night at the castle of count kengyelesy. the coachmen had told margari so, and he passed the news on to clementina. it also appeared that count kengyelesy was a very curious sort of man, who contradicted baron hátszegi in everything, yet for all that they were never angry with and always glad to see each other. the count was also said to have a young wife who did not love him. so ran the gossip of the servants. it was all one to henrietta what they said about count kengyelesy and his consort. between five and six in the afternoon they reached the count's castle, which lay outside the village in the midst of rich tobacco and rapeseed fields, and enclosed on three sides by a splendid english garden; the place was arranged with taste and evidently well-cared for. that the count expected the arrival of the hátszegis was evident from the fact that dinner was awaiting them. kengyelesy was a little puny bit of a man with very light bright hair, white eyelashes, and a pointed chin made still more pointed by a long goatish beard. it always pleased him very much when his friends confidentially assured him that he had a perfect satyr-like countenance. his wife was a young, chubby, lively lady with smiling blue eyes unacquainted with sorrow, whom her husband on the occasion of a _bal paré_ at vienna had seen, fallen in love with, and carried off, although the girl's father, a retired field-marshal, was quite ready to surrender her--they preferred, however, the romance of an elopement. the countess received her lady-guest with the most effusive heartiness, called her by her christian name on the spot, and invited her to do that same with her. she told henrietta she was to feel quite at home, dragged her all over the castle, and showed her in rapid succession her rare flowers, her parisian furniture, her japanese curiosities; played something for her on the piano, made her parrot talk to her and incontinently popped on her finger a large and beautiful opal ring, which she told her she was to keep as an eternal souvenir. then the countess seized the hand of the child-wife and led her into her bed-chamber. on the wall hung a fine large battle-piece, a splendid oil painting by a viennese master. "a magnificent picture, is it not?" enquired the countess with a broad smile. "yes," replied henrietta absently. "how do you like the central figure? i mean the hero on horseback with the standard in his hand?" "he is handsome, but it seems to me that, situated as he is, he smiles too much." the countess laughed loudly at this remark. "that," said she, "is the portrait of a young hussar officer who for a long time paid his court to me. i could not, of course, keep his portrait in my room, for there everyone would know all about it, so i had a battle-piece painted in all round, and nobody suspects anything. oh! my friend, if women were not so inventive, they would often be very unhappy. but that, mind! is a secret; not a soul must know about it." henrietta grew pensive. she also had her secret, but she would tell it to nobody, not even on her death-bed. she also had a portrait written in ineffaceable characters in her heart, yet between him and her stand two infinite obstacles, the one a betrayed star whose name is mesarthim, the other that unbetrayable thing, whose name is--woman's honour! "_madame est servie!_" cried the epauletted lacquey, and the countess drawing her arm through henrietta's, led her into the dining-room, where the gentlemen already awaited them. after dinner the humorous young countess entertained henrietta for a long time with her amusing chatter. she told her, at the very outset, things that young wives, as a rule, only confide to their most intimate friends. she told her, for instance, how very jealous her little squirrel was (she called her husband by this pet name) and how he would never take her to vienna or pest, because he suspected that she might find someone there to interest her. anything like correspondence on her part was of course impossible; a wise woman will always have sense enough never to part with a line of writing. everything else, she witnesses, treacherous servants, for instance--can always be disowned; but there is no defence against a letter which has fallen into the wrong hands. oh no! she knew a trick worth two of that. whenever the squirrel went to vienna, she gave him a list of articles required by her from a modiste in the town, on this list are set down hats, head-dresses, muffs, and other similar articles. squirrel always reads this list over ten times at least, but finds nothing in it to excite his suspicions. but it regularly escapes his attention what day is indicated by the date at the head of the list, for he can never tell for the life of him on what day of the month such or such a day will fall. now at the head of this list stands, instead of the date on which the goods are to be sent, the date up to which the squirrel intends to divert himself at vienna. this list the squirrel in person conveys to the modiste, who communicates with the person whom it most concerns, and the kengyelesy _puszta_[ ] will not seem the end of the world to whomsoever has a magnet in his heart to draw him thither. [footnote : heath. but also, as in this place, used to designate the uncut terated land forming part of a nobleman's estate.] henrietta was amazed and confounded by this new science, the very alphabet of which was unknown to her. even when she lay in bed she ruminated for a long time how it was possible that certain things which break the hearts of some people are nevertheless regarded by other people as mere frolics all their lives. the next morning everyone arose late. the gentlemen had been up till the small hours and were hard to wake. they all met together in the breakfast-room. hátszegi and his host were preparing for the journey. the count asked the young wife what she had dreamt about, "for," added he, "whatever one dreams about the first night in a strange place is sure to come true." henrietta did not like to speak of her dreams; her waking thoughts were too often interwoven with them. "and you, you great silly," said the countess to her husband in a bantering tone, "did you dream anything of me?" "yes, darling, i dreamt that we shall spend the coming winter in vienna. don't put so much sugar in my tea!" "what! not for such a nice dream as that. will it really come to pass?" "most certainly, pussy. we will go there together after the bathing season is over." the countess possessed sufficient self-control to conceal her delight. "by the bye," said kengyelesy, turning to henrietta, "how does your ladyship like the kengyelesy _puszta_?" "very well." "and the castle?" "that is nice too." "don't you think it a good joke that yesterday your ladyship and your honoured husband were my guests, whilst to-day we are your ladyship's guests and that, too, without our having to move out of the house?" "how?" enquired the astonished henrietta. "why, we made an agreement this very morning whereby friend leonard is going to take over the whole property and everything belonging to it--not you, my dear, of course," this to his wife, "i mean the nags and the cows--and henceforth this house belongs to you." "don't forget to invite the countess to hidvár for the vintage festival," whispered hátszegi to his wife. henrietta accordingly made the effort, and when they rose from the breakfast she timidly expressed the wish that the kengyelesys would do them the honour to return their visit at hidvár. "oh, we will be sure to come!" the fair countess hastened to reply, "squirrel will bring me to you in the autumn and we will remain a whole month." kengyelesy also courteously accepted the invitation and then taking henrietta's little hand between his own palms so that he could just manage to kiss the tips of her fingers, he said to her in a strange and piteous sort of voice: "but then you must promise to love our friend leonard here a little better than you have done hitherto." a shudder ran through henrietta's body at these words. the very air of the room was all at once difficult to breathe, and she only felt better when she sat in the carriage again. but even there she was haunted by some unendurable, undefinable, torturing feeling which struck her still more unpleasantly when clementina remarked: "yes, there is nothing but good land on this _puszta_." why, what could it matter to the honest creature whether the land was good or not, it was surely all one to her? "two thousand acres in one lot, nothing but first-class land." "how do you know that?" asked henrietta. "margari told me he drew up the agreement and witnessed it, and yet no money was paid down." "what do you mean by that?" "did not your ladyship then understand the allusion the count made just now when he asked you to love your husband a little more than hitherto?" "what has such nonsense to do with me?" "he meant by that that he who is unlucky in love is lucky at play; for last night my lord baron played cards with my lord count and won from him the whole kengyelesy estate straight off." henrietta felt like one who is in the embrace of the boa-constrictor and unable to defend himself. she had not expected this. but clementina was only too delighted to have something to chatter about. "and do you know, your ladyship," she continued, "the baron and the count have been rivals for a long time, and each has always been trying his hardest to ruin the other--in a friendly way, of course. the chambermaid told margari, and margari told me. 'i will not be content, comrade,' my lord baron used to say to my lord count, 'till one of us is reduced to his last jacket, and as soon as one of us is absolutely beggared, the other will hold himself bound to maintain him, in a way befitting a gentleman till the day of his death.' strange men these, madame, eh!" perceiving, however, from henrietta's looks that there was something depressing to her young mistress in her narration, she tried to soften the effect of her words by intimating that the count had another property besides, although not such a nice castle, and also that it was open to him to buy back the former estate in thirty years' time if he could find the money. "that will do, clementina, my head aches badly!" said henrietta. she wished to rid herself of this uncalled-for gabble, in order that she might devote herself to her own thoughts. and what thoughts! she had had no idea that such things could be. how was it possible that two men who called themselves friends, could ruin one another thus in cold blood? how was it possible that a man could enter the house of an affectionate host as a welcome guest in the evening, and by next morning leave him not an inch of land on which to put his foot, or a roof to cover his head! "and one has to get accustomed to such things!" thought she. all the day long their journey lay through that brain-wearying plain whose endless flatness oppressed soul and body with its monotony and soon drove her back to her own thoughts. towards evening there were signs of rain. clouds were rising and then, at least, there would be something new to point at in the eternal monotony of the sky. unfortunately clouds have the bad habit of bringing tempests along with them, and tempests are evil travelling companions on the steppes of the _alföld_.[ ] the towers of the town they were trying to reach were still only dimly visible on the horizon. in ordinary weather it would not have mattered if they had arrived late, for they had reckoned upon the moonlight; but there could be no moon to-night, instead of her a storm full of angry lightnings was approaching. already from afar they could hear it rumbling as it drove dust-clouds before it, could hear that peculiar, continuous, roar as of some giant hand playing uninterruptedly on the keys of some terrible organ. whoever has been caught on the _alföld_ in a storm knows the meaning of that wind; it means that the tempest is bringing hail with it. [footnote : the great hungarian plain.] one thing was now certain: they must turn aside somewhere. all that henrietta observed, however, was that her carriage stood still for a moment, and then hátszegi's carriage went on in front, the baron himself seizing the horses' reins and shouting to the coachman behind him: "after me as hard as you can tear!" with that they left the road and plunged right across country through ditches and swamps and low, marshy ground till the water came up to the very axles of the wheels and clementina shrieked that they were perishing. but there was no need to be afraid. hátszegi was a skilful coachman, who could ever find his way even where there was no way at all. about a four hours' journey off, a pump now became visible, and beyond it a little hut loomed white and high, there they must seek a refuge from the tempest as it passed over them. and indeed they had only just reached the small courtyard when the first lumps of ice as big as nuts, began bombarding the windows of the carriages. "quick, quick, into the house!" cried hátszegi. the baron himself helped his wife and clementina to descend and hurried them in beneath the verandah, which was made of crooked branches and hung over the kitchen door like a shade over the forehead of a weak-sighted man. on their approach the woman of the house emerged from the kitchen with her head tied up in a red handkerchief. she was no longer young, but ruddy, robust, bright-eyed, and bustling, and as full of sparkle as if she had just sprung out of the fire. on perceiving her guests she clapped her hands together. "lord deliver us, if it isn't his lordship! and only just married now, eh!--after all these years! but which is the bride, your lordship? surely not this one (pointing to clementina) for she is an old dear!--and yet the other is but a child!" the baron hastened to interrupt this uncalled-for outburst. "come, come, my good woman! no chatter now, please, for the hail will be upon us in a moment; but take these ladies into a room and see that it is clean and comfortable. henrietta! pray get out of the rain." the _csárdá_[ ] woman kissed henrietta's hand with great familiarity and kept on saying in a quavering voice: "oh, thou tender little creature! to think of giving them to husbands so early!" cried she. but clementina, who was always nervous in strange places, called the baron's attention to the fact that loud masculine voices were proceeding from somewhere within the _csárdá_. [footnote : inn.] "have you anyone here now?" enquired the baron of the _csárdá_ woman. "yes, three or four lads and _ripa_. the old fellow has just been released from the prison at arad. i don't know whether he served his full time. pray walk in!" "they are not robbers, are they?" asked clementina hesitating. "no, dear heart alive, there are no robbers in these parts, but only poor vagabonds. you will not find robbers nearer than the bakony forest. these poor fellows hurt nobody, least of all ladies. i don't count old ripa at all, but only the other three. it would be another thing if blackey were here, for he is a fine gentleman and likes to amuse himself with the ladies. but don't think, dear soul, that his features are black, oh, dear, no! i call him 'blackey' because he always wears a mask of black velvet lest he should be recognized, only his eyes and mouth are ever visible." and with such comforting assurances she escorted henrietta and clementina up the narrow staircase. they had to pass through the long tap-room before they came to the inner parlour. at the guest table were sitting three hardy looking young fellows and an old pock-marked man, a foxey-eyed rascal who drank out of the others' glasses from time to time and kept the conversation going. "come! shut up, ripa!" said the landlady to the old man. "this is no jew-madame, but the spouse of my lord, baron hátszegi. show your manners if you have any and thank her for the honour." the old rascal rose from his bench with cunning humility and twisting up both ends of his gray moustache, politely kissed henrietta's hand, and would have paid the same compliment to clementina if the landlady had not prevented him by shouting: "leave her alone, she is only a sort of servant!" with that she led the ladies into the inner room, where were two lofty bedsteads reaching to the beams above, covered with bright bedding and prettily painted over with tulips and roses. in the window screens were wide-spreading rosemary and musk plants. in front of one of the great chests stood a spinning wheel. from this the landlady, winter and summer, spun off that fine thread from which were woven those bright and gay handkerchiefs which could be seen bobbing about in the doorway of the inn from afar. one would never have expected to find such ease and comfort in a _csárdá_ of the _puszta_. the landlady very politely divested henrietta of her travelling clothes, made a soft resting place for her with cushions in an arm-chair, put a stool beneath her feet, and in less time than it took to draw a breath, totted up ten different kinds of dishes that she might choose from them the one she liked best. perhaps she would like some leaf-cake? it was just cooking and would be served up immediately, and she began spreading the table with a nice horse-cloth. clementina whispered henrietta to beware of poison, whereupon henrietta told the landlady that she _would_ have a bit of that nice dish, and when it came she really enjoyed it, though she did not know what it was, at which the landlady was infinitely pleased. meanwhile hátszegi came in after seeing that the carriages were put into a dry place. he took no notice of the poor vagabonds, but hastily demanded a change of clothes, as his own were soaking, and was amazed to see henrietta handling her knife and fork so well; it was the first time on the whole journey that she had eaten with appetite. henrietta said that this peasant roast suited her taste. "and now, dame kardos, will you put the ladies up for the night?" said hátszegi to the woman of the _csárdá_. "certainly," returned the worthy woman, "i have feather mattresses enough and bedsteads enough for as many guests of quality as your lordship likes. this bed will be my lord baron's and this my lady's, and this the lady attendant's!" "not so quick, not so quick! i shall not lie here." "not lie here?" cried this child of the _puszta_. "why, pray?" "oh! i'll find some place or other in the tap-room outside." "it's a way great folks have, i suppose," murmured dame kardos, shrugging her shoulders, "but i never saw or heard the likes of it before." "but, my lord," lisped clementina, greatly agitated, "won't those wild vagabonds outside disturb you?" "me?" exclaimed hátszegi, "how the devil can they disturb _me_?" "they are such wicked men, surely?" "i don't care what sort of men they are." and with that he went out with the utmost _sang froid_; nay, as clementina herself noticed, he drew forth his pocket pistols and left them behind him on the table. "his lordship has no need to fear such men," the landlady reassured the ladies, "for he can talk to them in their own lingo." henrietta did not understand. did robbers then speak a dialect peculiar to themselves? she became quite curious to hear how hátszegi would speak to the robbers in their own language. but the landlady knew exactly what to do. she filled a _kulacs_[ ] for the baron and placed it on the table before him. hátszegi took a good pull at it, dried the mouth of the _kulacs_ and passed it on to the old pockmarked vagabond who, after raising his cap, took a little drop himself and then passed it on to the others. [footnote : a wooden field-flask.] "well, old fellow, is the wine good?" "wine is always good." "have you had enough?" "one can never have enough." "then god grant you plenty!--by the way, does the wind still blow through the crevices of the prison door at arad?" "it blows for him who lists to it. let him who likes it not close his ears to it." "have many children been born to the governor of the jail lately?"[ ] [footnote : whenever a new convict arrives at the jail, the governor is said to have another son born to him.--_jókai_.] "yes, lots have been born there--and christened too."[ ] [footnote : _i.e._, with stripes.--_jókai_.] "has the daughter of the cord[ ] been married lately?" [footnote : a flowery expression for the gallows.--_jókai_.] "only marczi csendes has been elevated lately. he was a fool. he took the crime of two comrades on his shoulders in order to let them go free. they were caught in the act, but he swore he did the deed. they were young bloods, you see, and he had nobody to care for him. and yet it was they who presented the empty pistol at the jew's head. the jew himself pointed them out, but marczi steadfastly maintained that it was he who frightened the fellow." "so they made him cold against the winter time?" "yes, but he didn't very much care. the hour before his execution he took an affectionate leave of his comrades, and to me he bequeathed his warm old sheepskin. when the priest asked him whether he had anything upon his conscience, he merely said the only thing that grieved him was the thought that he would never again be able in this life to eat his fill of well peppered _gulyás_[ ] such as old ripa knew how to cook. they humoured him, and i was sent into the kitchen to prepare it. my old friend ate with a good appetite and wanted me to take a bit too; but my throat felt as cramped as if they had already taken my measure round it with the gallows rope. he gave each of the two heydukes who accompanied him in the felon's car, one on his right, the other on his left, a silver coin apiece. the heydukes told us afterwards that when he got outside he rose up in the car and addressed the people. he was a tall, handsome fellow with red cheeks, long black hair and a fine sonorous voice like any chaplain's. his last words were: 'well, i now look upon this fair world for the last time.'" [footnote : hungarian pilau.] "did he leave behind him any new songs," enquired hátszegi. "he was always a famous singer." "yes, one he made in jail, and a splendid song it was too, i can tell you. bandi! pipe it to his lordship on your _tilinka_ as i have taught you." at these words one of the youths drew forth from his sleeve one of those flutes made of elder-wood, which in hungarian goes by the name of a _tilinka_, and which with its poor six holes is able to give forth as many variations as the throat of a lark; then, without any virtuoso airs he simply piped the plaintive melody. the baron was immensely pleased. "margari," cried he, "go to the carriage, look for my fiddle and bring it hither!" at this command poor margari had a veritable ague fit of terror. all this time he had remained ducking down in the carriage firmly persuaded that the robbers in this lonely place would cut down every mother's son of them at nightfall. in such a case he was prepared to swear that he had never belonged to the party at all, but would pretend he was only a poor tramp, and so escape that way. and now the baron had ruined his little plan by ordering him to come forth! the robbers would now absolutely believe that he also was a swell. oh, it is a frightful situation when a poor devil has managed to get a gulden into his purse for the first time in his life and is obliged the very next evening to put up at an inn full of robbers! what the devil did the baron want with the fiddle at all? and then what sort of a thing _was_ a fiddle? when a man is terrified he easily mistakes one thing for another and margari's first experiment was to carry in to the baron a long leaden box containing the territorial chart of the kengyelesy estate--was that what his lordship wanted? "have you lost your wits, margari? how could you possibly get a fiddle into that? or has the fellow never cast eyes on a fiddle? bandi, you go and look in the carriage for the fiddle!" but this was not at all to margari's liking. what, send that vagabond to the carriage to ferret about there! his lordship must have clean taken leave of his senses. why, in the carriage was margari's own brand-new mantle, for which he had paid nine and twenty gulden. the vagabond would be sure to lay his hands upon it. no, he would rather go to look for the fiddle himself. so he found the violin case at last somehow, and handing it to the baron through the _csárdá_ window (for he durst not trust himself inside), he retired again beneath the coach-house, although the rain was now splashing down upon it. baron leonard took from its morocco case his splendid straduarius, that relic of the greatest master of fiddle-making, for which he had paid a small fortune, and following the lead of the young vagabond's _tilinka_ played the bitter-sweet melancholy air on the sonorous instrument, and at the third trial he enriched it with so many variations as to astonish everyone. then ripa became enthusiastic and chimed in with his hoarse old voice. when the baron once had the violin in his hands, he was not content with playing a single song, one melody enticed another forth, and so, one after another, his fiddle-bow ran through all those rhapsodies of the last century, those compositions of the "gipsy-beethoven," bihari, and other great popular masters, with the most classical variations. princes listen not to such a concert as now resounded through that wretched, desolate _csárdá_. even henrietta arose from her couch the better to enjoy these melancholy airs. if ever in her life, it was at this moment that she beheld her husband in an aureole of dazzling light which irresistibly attracted, overpowered, subdued. one thing, however, struck her as strange, incredible--how could a fashionable man brought up in the atmosphere of elegant saloons, find any pleasure in playing _bravoura_ pieces in the tap room of a miserable _csárdá_ to an audience of half-tipsy vagabonds? was this an habitual diversion of these wealthy magnates, or was it only hátszegi's bizarre humour? however, when "the lads" began to chime in a little too vigourously, hátszegi restored the violin to its case, took out his pocket-book, opened it before them all and nonchalantly displayed as he did so the bundles of thousand-gulden notes which it contained. nay, he searched among them for stray ten-gulden notes and gave one to each of the four vagabonds "for the fine song they had taught him"--that was the way he put it--at the same time requesting them to quit the tap-room, as the ladies in the adjoining chamber wanted to sleep and must not be kept awake by any further noise. the vagabonds must seek a couch elsewhere. the vagabonds, without the slightest objection, arose, drank up the dregs of the wine, pocketed the bank-notes without so much as a "thank you!" and settled down for the night on the roof of the coach-house--to the great terror of margari, who was concealed in one of the coaches and did not have a wink of sleep all night, his teeth chattered so. but hátszegi, when the drinkers had withdrawn, spread out his hunting pelisse on the long table, laid down thereon and quietly fell asleep. he did not even shut the door, nor did he have his pistols by him. in the adjoining chamber, meanwhile, the _csárdá_-woman had brought out her spindle, set all its many wheels a-working and began to tell her ladyship a lot of those wondrous tales that have neither beginning nor end, _puszta_ adventures, the atrocities of vagabonds and their fellows, the sad love stories of poor deserted maidens and such like. and all the while the wheels of the spindle whirr-whirr-whirred monotonously, and henrietta felt like a little child whose nurse sits beside her bed and lulls her to sleep with fairy tales. for weeks she had not enjoyed so quiet and dreamless a slumber as she had that night beneath the roof of the _csárdá_ in the midst of the lonely _puszta_. next morning clementina, after first making quite sure that nobody had had his or her throat cut during the night, was moved by curiosity to ask what sort of connection his lordship had with this _csárdá_ since he seemed to know everybody in it. and then she learnt that not only this _csárdá_ but the whole of the surrounding _puszta_ also was the property of his lordship, for which the people who lived upon it paid very little rent, inasmuch as his lordship did not look upon it as a source of income but chiefly valued it on account of its numerous reedy lakes where he was wont every year to hunt water-fowl and beavers on a grand scale. moreover, from this spot to his own house, a good two days' journey by foot, everything belonged to his lordship's estate. nay, his lordship, if he liked, could traverse the whole kingdom from deva to pest, and be on his own property the whole time, it was only like moving from one of his houses to another. the next day the hungarian plain came to an end and the transylvanian alps drew nearer and nearer. in the evening they descended into a little mining town whose forges and furnaces were all illuminated in honour of the arriving guests. henrietta then learnt that this mining town also belonged to her husband. on the third day, quite early in the morning, they crossed the transylvanian frontier. the whole of that splendid region seemed to smile, but the faces of its inhabitants are sad and mysterious. henrietta had a peculiar sense of anxiety during her stay among these angry looking people who spoke a language she had never heard before. at intervals of a mile all along the road a roughly carved cross shot up, covered with clumsily carved letters, which did not in the least resemble those we are accustomed to. clementina once asked the coachman what these crosses might mean and repented doing so immediately afterwards, for he informed her that they marked the places where unlucky travellers had come by an untimely death; the inscriptions were the records of the tragic romances through the scene of which they were passing. the valleys grew narrower and narrower, the road wound upward among precipices, and the loquacious coachman attached horrible stories to every rock and ruin. each valley seemed to have its own particular ghost. here and there by the roadside stood silent houses not one of which had an inviting appearance, it would never have occurred to a human soul to knock at any of them, even at midnight, to ask for a night's lodging. they were all of them sooty dilapidated shanties, which might easily have been taken for stables, consisting of a single room in which the whole family lived, livestock and all. the church often lay far away from the settlement as if it belonged to two villages equally. then the road rose again between bare and barren cliffs, where only here and there a solitary bush seemed to cling to the rocky wall. there was no trace of a garden, but here and there was a fenced in space in which the roumanians are wont to unload their hay, with a long pole sticking up in the midst of the hay ricks to prevent the wind from carrying it away, or else the hay was piled up on the branch of a living tree like a bird's nest. down-pouring mountain streams traversed the path at intervals, over which never a bridge is built, all cars and coaches must cross by the fords. from the depths of the wooded mountain slopes was reflected the blood-red glare of iron works and foundries, and the droaning monotonous din of the machinery scares away the stillness till it loses itself in the loud murmuring of the mountain torrents. at every fresh mile, henrietta felt how lonely she was in this strange world, whose giant mountains shut her out from the very prospect of the familiar places from which she had come and from every possibility of returning; and whose inhabitants would not even be able to answer her if she were to ask them: "which is the way back to my native place?" they travelled onwards till late at night by the light of the moon. hidvár was now close at hand. as the prospect opened out on both sides, at the turn of a narrow defile, suddenly, like a picture in a black frame, between two mountain slopes, thickly covered with dark beech-trees, the castle of hidvár came full in view, standing lonely and isolated on the summit of a hill. the mountain torrent shot swiftly down beneath a shaky bridge. the round moon stood straight over the tower of the castle, as if it had been impaled on the point of it, and painted everything with its silvery light, the tower, the bastions, the brook and the valley--only one thing it brightened not, the heart of the young wife. chapter vii the cavern of lucsia not so very long ago there was in transylvania a wide-spreading society of coiners which, it is now notorious, had carried on its nefarious business undetected for more than half a century. the science was an inheritance descending from father to son, people married and were born into it. careful parents trained their children to follow it, and a very lucrative profession it proved to be. that it should have remained undiscovered for so long a time, that it should have been plied successfully for more than fifty years under the very noses of the authorities--all this was capable of a very simple explanation, _these men coined gold pieces_. yes, genuine ducats, of full weight, out of real three-and-twenty carat gold, without any admixture of baser metal, so that they absolutely could not be distinguished from the royal ducats of the authorized minting towns, körmöcz and gyulafehervár. if they fell into the hands of a goldsmith, and he melted them, he found that they did not contain half a grain more silver than the genuine ones. indeed the public lost nothing by their fabrication, though the state treasury suffered considerably. the whole region, in fact, from zalathna to verespatak abounded in that precious metal which some fool or other has called "a mere chimera," and the gold mining was farmed out to private individuals, the yearly output from the shafts being twelve hundredweights. these private diggers are bound to deliver the gold they obtain to the minting towns at abradbanya or gyulafehervár and there receive coined money in exchange. nevertheless, during some fifty years, only about six hundredweights were delivered annually at these places; the rest disappeared, though at first nobody could suspect it. the state pays to the diggers guldens for every pound of gold dust, which quantity when coined is worth guldens. but it occurred to the mountaineers that they also might profitably engage in coining and circulate the money so coined. so they provided themselves with all the necessary implements and machinery (there were skilled workmen among them) and issued false ducats to their very great advantage. their existence was not even suspected except by the parties interested in the concern, and they had every motive in the world for preserving the secret. * * * * * travelling from abradbanya up towards bucsum, one might have seen two riders toiling up the mountain along the stream overshadowed by dark alders; one of them was a grey-haired, gigantic roumanian, the other a proud-looking young woman. the old man wore a lambskin mantle, on his head he carried a tall pointed cap, also of lambs' wool, drawn down over his eyebrows, his body was carelessly girdled with a golden girdle. his rich grey locks were plaited into two thick pig-tails which reached down to his broad shoulders, and his snow-white moustache hung down from his mouth like two seamew's wings. a coarse sack lay in front of him across his saddle, both ends of which appeared to be full of something heavy; across the sack lay his fowling-piece. the fair cavalier was sitting on a small, wild, shaggy horse, which constantly evinced a praiseworthy endeavour to overtake the rider in front of him; his mistress with difficulty held him in. she was one of those famous roumanian beauties. her features, the cut of her lips, her full chin could have stood as a model beside any antique statue. and then those sparkling eyes, that vividly red complexion, those coal-black eyebrows--they made an ideal beauty of her. and the picturesque roumanian costume enhanced her charms. her black hair, twisted into a double plait, was bound round with a flaming-red scarf, and on her head she wore a round hat, trimmed with pearls and garnished in front with a row of gold pieces which reached down to her marble-white forehead. moreover, her fine cambric shirt embellished with bright flowers and gold ornaments fitted so closely as to betray the outlines of her harmonious figure. wound ten times round her neck she wore a necklace of gold coins extending down to her bosom. as she rode along (and she sat astride her saddle like a man), every now and then one could catch glimpses beneath her variegated girdle of her red morocco boots and of a turkish dagger, with a massive silver handle, gleaming forth from their shafts. on each side of her holsters peeped forth a double-barrelled pistol with an ivory handle. when the old man stopped to water his horse at the spring gushing forth from the black slate rock, he said to the girl: "anicza, when did you speak last with fatia negra?" "just a month ago. it was at the time of the full moon, like it is now. he then said that he was going away on a long journey." "and yet he has already been at home these two days. i saw his sign over against my window." "impossible. it cannot be," cried the girl passionately. "what cannot be? do you think i am dreaming or lying?" "if he were at home, he would have come to see me ere this." the old man shrugged his shoulders. "and yet he did not come. but the day before yesterday, about midnight, i found the three owl-feathers there in the window." "the wind carried them thither." "the wind did not carry them thither for they were stuck fast in putty. and only we three know what that means. fatia negra would speak with us and we are going to meet him in the lucsia cavern." "it cannot, cannot be--three days at home and never to come to me--to _me_!" "who knows?" said the old man coolly, tightening his saddle girth, "a whole month is a long while, long enough for the moon herself to change four times. there are many pretty wenches on the other side of the mountain." "o no! such a one as i am he will not find there," said the girl proudly, glancing into the tremulous water-mirror which threw back a distorted likeness of her defiant face--"and besides he knows very well that i should murder him were such a woman to mock me." "ah, ah!" mocked the old man, "so fatia negra is afraid of you, eh?"--and with that he swung himself back into his saddle with youth-like agility. "black face fears nobody, i tell you. he is not even afraid of the commandant of gyulafehervár, nor of the lord-lieutenant of krasna, and they have no end of soldiers and heydukes. nay, he fears not the devil himself." and with that he urged on his horse which ambled forward meditatively, whilst the girl's little nag whinnied in the rear. "he may not fear the great gentlemen, he may not fear the devil, but i tell you that he would be afraid of the girl he made to love him, if he proved false to her." "so you really think he loves you violently?" said the old man casting a backward glance at her. "he swore he did." "to whom? the priest?" "go along with you! no, to me!" at this the old man chuckled--"little fool!" said he. "and if he breaks his oath now, the devil shall have him. i'll murder him." "very well, i suppose you know him. yet you have never seen his face. if he were to tear the black velvet mask from his face you would never recognize him." "but that he cannot do as to that mask he owes all his power." "well, you are a comical wench--to be enamoured of a man whose face you have never seen!" "i recognize him by his voice, by the beating of his heart." "well, if i were a girl and had a lover, i would insist on seeing his face. he should not come to me in a mask anyhow." "he cannot put off his mask, i tell you. his oath forbids him to. the moment he removes his mask from his face his power is gone, and neither the devil nor the good angels will obey him any longer." "that is true," returned the old man solemnly. "when he likes he can make himself invisible. i know it. he has always escaped pursuit even when the whole country was out after him, and when they thought they had him fast he always disappeared in the earth or in the air. yet, for all that, if i were his love, see his face i would." "he told me i should die of fright if i beheld it." "then i _would_ die of fright--but i would see it." "his eyes are very fine,--they glow like coals." "like coals? perhaps he is the dracu[ ] himself. have you ever tried to make him kiss the amulet on which is the image of st. george and the dragon?" [footnote : dracu-dragon, _i.e._, devil.] "yes he has kissed it and was none the worse." "have you tried to get him to lay his three fingers on a copper crucifix?" "he laid his fingers thereon and yet they were not burnt." "can he say the prayer of condemnation without trembling?" "he has said it hundreds of times." "nevertheless, i maintain he is no mortal man." "if he should love another woman, i swear that he will very soon find out that he _is_ mortal." talking thus the riders had descended into the depths of the valley, and when the mountain stream again crossed their path they quitted the usual footpath and followed the bed of the stream. and a very good road it is for such as do not wish to leave foot-marks behind them. the rapid current swiftly fills the traces of the horses' hoofs with leaves and pebbles. the ravine grew ever deeper and narrower, and the stream at intervals formed small cataracts which the horses, who had been trained thereto, had to cross. finally, at a sudden declivity, the water took an unexpected leap of four yards, and when the riders reined up at this very spot, it was plain that here a mill had been built into the hillside, whose wheel it was which drove the swiftly plunging water along. if a stranger saw this mill he would certainly say: "what foolish man the miller must be who has built his mill here," (----) and that for three reasons. firstly, because it was so concealed beneath the thick alders that even if one sees it one cannot get at it. secondly, because it is built exactly under the water-fall which drives the wheel as rapidly as a spindle, so that the millstone must needs be red hot beneath it. thirdly, because the way to this mill is so peculiar, passing right through the mountain torrent and then winding down to the door by way of a foot-path hewn in the naked rock, and inaccessible to horses. well, such a miller will surely get but little grain to grind! when the two riders reached this spot they sprang from their horses, led them into a little dry islet formed by the alders and tied them by their halters to the branches. then the old man lifted the sack from the saddle. "give me a lift up, anicza!" said he. one would hardly have supposed that an old fellow of such a colossal build would have required any help at all in order to get this sack across his shoulders, nor would one have supposed from the size of the sack that it would have been so heavy to lift or that it would have weighed so heavily on the old man's shoulders that he had to plant his hand firmly on his hip in order to carry the load. then the girl drew both pistols forth from her holsters, stuck them into her girdle, threw the long fowling-piece across her shoulder and springing fearlessly across the stream from boulder to boulder followed behind the stooping old man along the narrow foot-path which led to the mill. in the doorway of the mill stood a youth clad in the usual coarse cloth "_guba_" and half concealed by the door post. in one hand he held a double-barrelled musket, an implement not absolutely necessary for a miller. the old man addressed him while still a good way off: "_che timpu?_"[ ] [footnote : what sort of weather?] "_luna plina._"[ ] [footnote : full moon.] a strange sort of greeting, more like an exchange of pass-words. then both the new arrivals entered the mill in the midst of which a dilapidated grinding machine was revolving, the central wheel was minus a couple of teeth. "plenty of grinding going on, paul?" asked the old man. "quite enough." "help me down with this sack." "it is heavy certainly," said the other, panting beneath the strain, "how much does it hold?" "a hundredweight and eighty pounds." "no mere turkish maize, eh?" "stop the wheel!" the young man at once obeyed by driving an iron beam clean through the wheel which brought the machinery to a standstill. then he raised the central revolving disc which was in connection with the millstone, hung in the hook of the millstone an iron chain which was wound round the beam and this done, laid the sack and its contents on the bolting-hutch. then the old man himself, sat down on the hutch and extended his hand to the girl. "jump on anicza." and the girl jumped on without help for she was as agile as a chamois. "paul," said the old man to the young journeyman, "was not fatia negra here before us?" "he has not been through here either to-day or yesterday. it has been my turn to watch these last two days." "i am right you see; he is not here," said the girl. "he _is_ here, i tell you." "come onucz," said the youth, "can black face make himself invisible then? he could not pass here without my knowing it!" "what do you know about it?" answered the old man, adjusting himself on the bolting-hutch. "let the mill go!" as now the revolving disc or platform began to move, the machinery stood still, yet the millstone together with the bolting-hutch began slowly to sink downwards together with those sitting upon it, and after some moments, disappeared entirely into a dark gulf, the chain unwinding and rattling after it. suddenly from the depths below resounded the old man's voice: "halt!" then paul stopped the mill, hung the chain in an iron ring and the machinery once more set in motion, raised the millstone up, paul fastened the revolving disc to it and it began to rattle round again so furiously that sparks flew out of it. now whoever had any meal to grind might come, he was quite ready for them. it was a huge subterraneous cavern into which onucz and anicza had descended. at the bottom of this hollow flowed a branch of the mountain stream which turned the mill and indeed was diverted thither by means of wooden pipes. here, however, it flowed in its regular bed, glistening here and there in the light of two oil lamps which burnt on both sides of a small iron bridge that traversed the stream. in the background of this hollow stood a peculiar, roofless, stone building, whose two round little windows, like the eternally watchful eyes of some underground worm, shone with a red glare which dazzled the eyes, while the slate-covered chimney belched forth a thick smoke filled with sparks into the subterranean midnight. from the interior of the building resounded heavy thuds and the din of grinding as of machinery in perpetual motion which made the very foundations of the rocks quiver. on the bridge stood another armed man with whom the new arrivals exchanged watchwords and the same thing was done at the door of the stone building where the old man made the girl stop. "now anicza," said he, "while i go in, you sit down on that stone bench and wait for me." "why cannot i go into the house as well?" enquired the girl, impatiently. "no more of that. once a year we come here and every time you ask again if you can come in, and every time i tell you that cannot be. and now i tell you once more: _it cannot be_--and there's an end on't." "but why may others go in and i not?" "why--why! because you are a girl, of course. leave me in peace. women have no business in there, they are always so inquisitive, want to know everything and then blab it all out--it is their nature so." "i'm not like that." "and then whoever enters here has to swear a frightful oath that he will divulge nothing that he sees. i myself shudder all over when i have to repeat it; it is not fit for the mouth of a woman." "as if _i_ were afraid of any oath!" cried the girl defiantly. "i would say any thing that a man might say." "don't be a fool, anicza. a girl cannot come in here, because everyone has to strip himself stark naked before he goes out, before the watchman, and then dress himself again. so you see it won't do." this difficulty appeared insuperable even to the iron will of anicza. it was a test even she could not submit to. she stamped her foot with rage and uttered again and again the word dracu, which in roumanian means nothing less than his highness the devil himself. old onucz and the watchman thereupon laughed heartily, and the same instant the iron door of the building opened and the girl exclaimed joyfully: "fatia negra!" onucz and the watchman immediately tore their caps from their heads. it was, indeed, fatia negra. how could he get hither invisibly through all the ambushes set for him? who could tell? who had the courage to ask him? not even anicza. all she thought of at that moment was to rush forward, fall upon the neck of her mysterious lover and cover his eyes and mouth, which the mask left exposed, with kisses. "let anicza come in!" said the black-masked man, "i'll answer for her, and she shall, like myself, be exempted from undressing." "it is well, domnule,"[ ] said the watchman, "but let her at least take the oath which everyone here must swear." [footnote : master.] "i am ready," cried the girl boldly. "no, anicza," replied black mask, "you shall swear to me a stronger oath even than that, you shall swear--by our eternal love." the proud maiden, trembling with joy, fell at the feet of fatia negra at these words, and pressing one of her hands to her heart, raised the other aloft, and, raising her lovely eyes--which reflected the infernal glare of the windows--aloft, towards the smoking canopy above her head, she swore by her eternal love to her beloved that she would never, not even on the rack itself, betray a word, a syllable of what she was about to learn. but old onucz scratched his poll. "domnule, it is not wise of you to let women swear on such useless things. it is just as if one of us were to hold a penny in his hand and swear by that. it binds nobody." "it is enough for me," replied the mask, "and my head is no cheaper than yours. let him who trusts me not keep away from here." and holding the girl in his arms, he carried her with him into the building while old onucz had to dress himself from head to foot in other clothes and leave those he had brought with him outside. he would have on his return to put on his own again and leave these others behind. thus smuggling was impossible. the first room was for the smelting. here there was nothing to be seen of the blazing fire which illuminated the dark hollow through the windows, in one corner of the room was a simple cylinder shaped iron furnace which radiated a burning heat, on the top of which stood a round graphite crucible covered in at the top and provided with a lateral pipe. "here the gold is remelted after it has come out of the purifying oven," said fatia negra to the girl who pressed close up to him. "heretofore it required a whole apparatus of boilers and loads and loads of wood to bring it to smelting heat, but since i got that cylinder-stove, ten hundredweights of metal can be melted in ten minutes." "but where does the fire come from?" enquired the girl. "from the earth, my beloved." the girl shrank back with horror, and yet fatia negra did not mean hell but that furnace whose powerful bellows drove the melting heat into the double cylinder. he looked at his watch, the moment had come. at a single whistle a couple of workmen appeared, each of them stripped to the waist on account of the great heat; they held in their hands large iron moulds and stood facing each other opposite the crucible. then by means of an iron tap fatia negra turned the pipe of the crucible and immediately a pale glare began to spread through the room--the liquid gold ran in a thin jet out of the crucible and that was the cause of the light. actually genuine pure gold made liquid in the fire like wine in a glass and emitting on every side of it a glowing white radiance! each of the two workmen held his mould beneath it and the girl surveyed the scene with bated breath. when the operation was finished black face turned to the girl again and embraced her saying: "so you see, darling, that is how gold is melted." the girl smiled back at him; what a pity the black mask could not smile in return. and now old onucz came up with his sack for the purifying furnace. "how much have you in your sack?" asked fatia negra. "a hundredweight and eighty pounds." "now we'll see into how much pure gold it will work out." "the dross mixed with it is only a few pounds in weight." "of what quality is it?" "well, they purify it very incompletely you know. it is only two-and-twenty carat gold." "it doesn't matter: we will coin prussian ducats out of it." "but where's the mould?" "i brought it with me, to-day; we'll adjust that also to the machine. we shall gain a hundred florins in every thousand." old onucz kissed fatia negra's hand. "domnule," said he, "you are a man indeed. domnule, since you became our chief our gains have doubled and the ducats are so good that one cannot distinguish them from the imperial ones." meanwhile the girl felt her head going round to hear them talk of nothing but money, gold, gain! "come onucz, let us look at the new machinery," said the mask. "when did you bring the new machinery here?" "a long time ago; we have coined a great deal of money since it first came. the work is all the quicker and we need fewer men to work it." they went into the next room through a low door, all three of them having to bow their heads as they entered, and there they saw a gigantic machine at work between whose revolving cylinders depended the long gold ingots which were gradually reduced to the proper thinness for making gold coins. "don't you see, onucz? hitherto we wasted too much time and labour in cutting the gold plates thin enough and the edges were always too thick to our great loss. now the machine rolls them all out uniformly. it only cost , ducats." "very cheap indeed!" cried the old man, who was wearing a ragged sheepskin and yet considered ten thousand ducats a moderate price for a rolling mill. the mask took up one of the little glistening plates. "do you know, my friend, the name of this?" said he. "no." "its name is zain. in order that you may not forget it i will wind it round your arm." and as if it were merely hard paper he lightly bent the gold plate round the girl's wrist and then pressed the ends of this improvised bracelet together with his steel-like fingers. "don't forget that this is called zain and that you got it from me." the girl looked doubtfully at him as if she would have said: "is it lawful for you to give away everything here as if it were your own." but the old man could not look on at this in silence. "alas! alas! domnule, give not away uncoined gold. rather squander coined gold in heaps. the other is of itself a witness against us and thereby we shall furnish a clue to our enemies." "it is in a good place," replied fatia negra; "it is on anicza's arm and there it will keep silence." anicza replied to this apology with ten kisses. and she calculated rightly. this necklace weighed exactly ten double ducats--but the kisses also were double ones. then fatia negra led them to another machine which cut round gold pieces out of the rolled out "zain." he showed the girl how every clipper, how every screw beneath the impulsion of the piston did its proper share of the work, and how the whole process was set going by steam power from without and could therefore be directed and controlled by one man with another man to relieve him at intervals. "dumnezu!"[ ] sighed old onucz, "when i think that fifty years ago we did all this with only our hammers and chisels! we sweated two whole days over a piece of work which this marvel can do in an hour. and how many hands we employed too!" [footnote : my master.] then they went to another machine. this was a small table whose steel wheels notched the ducats before they passed beneath the stamping machine. perpetually moving elastic springs pushed the gold pieces forward one after the other, turned them round and jerked them away. you saw no other motive power but a large wheel revolving under a broad strap; the strap disappeared through the floor, it was underneath there that the man who set it in motion lived. old onucz sighed aloud. "what things they do invent now-a-days," said he. but anicza, full of superstitious fear, clung silently to the arm of fatia negra whom all these speechless marvels served and obeyed. finally, descending six stone steps they entered the actual minting room. a gigantic screw press stood in the midst of the low vaulted chamber. through the head of the screw was driven a long moving bar, with leaden bullets at both ends and two strong fellows were pushing this bar backwards and forwards; the weight of the machine, as it turned, forced the screw sharply down and in a second it pressed the two round gold pieces laid in the steel matrix into the stamping dies, on one of which was the image of the mother of god and on the other the cuirassed likeness of the reigning monarch. immediately after the two matrices recoiled again of their own accord and the two powerful men repeated the pressure. then a little steel ring shifted suddenly, flinging aside the coined ducat, and a fresh gold piece took its place. the coined ducats already lay in a heap in front of the machine and the workmen, now and then, kicked them away with their feet. there was something impressive in the spectacle. here were two poor men, working hard perhaps for their daily bread with little hillocks of seductive gold piled up all around them, gold of which everyone is enamoured in the earth above them, gold for which so many men gladly give up everything, even to their hope in heaven! now and again a third man comes in and pitches the gold into a linen sack with a wooden shovel. "let us stamp a few ducats ourselves by way of souvenirs," said fatia negra. anicza assenting, the workmen stepped aside, and fatia negra and the girl placed themselves on either side of the leaden bullets on the turning bar. the mask bade his sweetheart be careful to avoid the recoil of the machine for should the handle hit her the blow might prove fatal, whereupon the girl, burning to show off her great strength, did not wait for the end of the bar to recover its normal position, but seizing the iron rod when it was only half way round, tore it back again, with the result that the steel clapper did not cast the gold piece between the matrices in the usual way and it thus received a double impression, being stamped with a two-fold figure of the mother of god on one side and a two-fold figure of the royal profile on the other. old onucz rushed towards anicza and angrily tore her away: "you little fool, be off!" cried he, "you will spoil the machine, it is not for the likes of you." but fatia negra now picked up the ducat which had fallen to the ground and showed it with a smile to anicza: "look," said he, "there is now a double picture on it." the girl turned it curiously between her fingers. "and what will happen to it now?" "it will go into the smelting furnace again." "ah, don't destroy it, give it to me!" at this the old man fairly lost his temper. "are you out of your mind to ask for such a thing? what! a ducat with a flaw in it, which, if seen in your hands would saddle us with the vengeance of the whole government! domnule, be not so mad as to let her have that ducat! if she has no sense, you at least be sensible. you might ruin the whole lot of us with it." "well, anicza will not wear it on her head, i suppose, or even on her neckerchief, but will fasten it to a little bit of thread and wear it next her heart, there nobody will find it but myself." onucz would very much have liked to say: "neither have you any right to look there, domnule, for you have not yet spoken to the priest about it"--but this was the one thing he durst not say. but anicza gratefully kissed fatia negra's hand like a child who has received a gift, not indeed for the ducat, but for the boundless confidence he had shown in giving it to her, which was the surest token of his love. then she drew forth a little turkish dagger, bored a hole with it through the ducat and fastened it to a little piece of thin black cord by the side of her little crucifix which she wore upon her bosom--and hid both of them away again. "well domnule," remarked onucz sulkily, "since we have placed our heads in the girl's hands we must beware of ever offending her." but now the assayer came up, bringing with him a nice elaborate calculation on a black slate, showing exactly how much pure gold onucz had handed in to the coining department, how much it would be worth when coined and deducting three per cent for expenses, how much he was to receive in cash by way of exchange. "and now go and let the cashier pay you what is due to you, onucz," said fatia negra. and so while he remained behind for the purpose of settling his account anicza and fatia negra retired to a little adjoining chamber. there would be plenty of time for two lovers to talk over their love affairs while so many gold coins were being counted out. "where have you been? it's a whole month since i saw you?" asked anicza sitting on the adventurer's knee. "do you know how long a month is to me? first quarter, new moon, full moon, last quarter, all this have i watched through and never saw you once, where have you been?" "i have been abroad for those new machines. that is a business one cannot entrust to another." "are there pretty girls abroad?--might you not fall in love with them?" "hush! those are not the questions that men should be asked." "why not?" "because men are not in the habit of answering them." "but suppose a girl wants to know?" "then it will go badly with her. besides, what do you want me to tell you? would you like to know that i'm such a block, a clod, that no other eye but yours takes any pleasure in looking at me? or would you like to hear that i am a sort of hermit who has wandered in disguise through seven kingdoms and casts down his eyes whenever he encounters a petticoat? or that i cross myself and turn away whenever a woman looks at me? or shall i tell you: in such and such a place i nipped the white cheeks of a pretty blonde, and in such and such a place the coquettrie of a pair of blue eyes made me forget myself, and in such another place i bedded my intoxicated head in the arms of a brunette?--and that after wandering through seven kingdoms i have found no lovelier girl than my own enchanting anicza?" the girl could neither reply nor scold, for her mouth was closed fast with kisses. "you know i am very jealous," she said at last, when she was able to tear herself free. "i do not love as others love. i can only think of you and your love. i am neither hungry nor thirsty but only--in love. i am never weary, i scarcely know that i am working, for love makes me sing and sing all day. i dream only of you. i care not what is going on in the whole world so long as i only know what is happening to you. i know that you love me and that you are mine so long as you are here. but how often you are far away! how often i do not see you for weeks, for months at a time! then i get nearly mad. i am determined to find out where you are and what you are doing, with whom you are speaking and then i say, i feel quite mad." "indeed! then let me tell you, my dear girl, that it would do you no good to know where i am, for i am much more exposed to the fire of pointed rifles than to the fire of pretty eyes." "are you then a robber chieftain, a mountain smuggler?" "i am a lot of things." "then take me with you into your band"--she spoke with heaving bosom. but fatia negra stamped his foot. "it cannot be, anicza," said he; "think no more of it! i will never take you with me." "why not?" asked the girl and her eyes flashed like a wild cat's. "because then i should become jealous of you and that would be bad for us both. remain in your father's house; there you are safe." the girl drew from her bosom the defaced ducat she had just received together with the crucifix. "hearken, fatia negra! my father says that this badly coined piece of gold places your life in my hand. and know, besides, fatia negra, that i have sworn on this crucified one here that if ever you betray me i will kill you in my fury without thinking twice about the how or where. it is not well that two such dangerous objects should repose on my heart. look! i give them both to you." "wherefore, anicza?" "take the things, i say, and keep them, for my guardian angel knows, i have told him, that with me they are not in a safe place. you do not know me yet." the girl burst out crying, and fatia negra could no longer soothe her with kisses, and then old onucz poked his gray shaggy head through the doorway and said: "i have been paid already, domnule, have you?" fatia negra stroked the girl's hair and face and whispered her not to take on so. the stitches of the old roumanian's patience now, at last, gave way altogether. "domnule," said he, "would you not, if i earnestly besought you to do so, begin to think of the day on which you intend to become my daughter's husband?" for a moment fatia negra seemed thunderstruck; then he recovered himself and replied in a calm but menacing voice: "if ever it occurs to you to put the question to me again, your head will reach home an hour earlier than yourself." the old man made no reply, but he seized the girl by the hand and led her away with him, returning to the mill with her by the same way that he had come. they found their horses by the alder trees and remounted. it was a fine clear night, and onucz told his daughter to ride in front. they had now divided the coined gold into two portions. when they had once more reached the ridge of the mountain the old man pronounced anicza's name in a low tone. the girl looked, backwards and perceived that the old man's long-barrelled rifle was pointed directly at the back of her head. in her terror she covered her face with her hands. "what would you do?" cried she. "fear nothing, i only want that piece of gold which fatia negra gave you. i'll not stake _my_ head on _your_ whimsies!" the girl had anticipated something much worse than this, so she quietly answered: "you can spare yourself the trouble, i have already returned it to fatia negra. i would not carry it about with me any longer." "you have acted wisely," said the old man, lowering his musket. "now you can ride on." the early dawn was breaking as they reached home. when anicza entered her room she found hanging up beneath the ikon that gleamed and shone over her bed both the damaged ducat and the little cross which she had given to fatia negra two hours before. he must indeed be in league with the devil--else how could he have got there, invisibly, so long before them? anicza said not a word about it to anybody, but she hid both the amulets safely away in her bosom again--and now she was right proud of her fatia negra! chapter viii strong juon henrietta's married life was not a happy one. her husband was polite, complaisant, and conventionally correct in his behaviour towards her, and that was all. and then she saw so little of him. he was frequently absent from hidvár for weeks at a time, and when he returned he regularly brought in his train a merry company of comrades, in whose pastimes henrietta could take no sort of pleasure. during those long days when she had hidvár all to herself and was left entirely to the company of her sad thoughts, she would sometimes walk about till late in the evening in the shady alleys of the home park, listening to the songs of the girls working in the fields. at the end of the park was a church, and in front of it a small clearing fenced around with stakes and looking like a cabbage garden. it surely belonged to some poor man or other. it did--and the poor man was the parish-priest. henrietta often saw him, a tall, grey-bearded man in a long black cassock, hastening to his little garden; there the reverend gentleman would divest himself of his long habit, produce a rake, and work till late in the evening. henrietta fancied at first that was merely a dietetic diversion, but afterwards, when she found him there the next day and the day after that, and at every hour of the day; when she saw him wiping the sweat from his brow in the burning afternoons and leaning wearily at intervals on his rake to rest a while from his labour, then she was persuaded that this work was not a pastime, but a bitter toil for daily bread. often times she would very much have liked to ask him how this was, but she was a stranger in these parts and did not understand his language; at last, however, the priest, perceiving the lady one day, peered at her through the palings and wished her good-day in the purest hungarian, thereby giving her to understand that the language of the gentry was well known to him. henrietta begged the old man to leave his labour and come to her. "it cannot be, your ladyship; his lordship has forbidden me to appear in his courts." "why?" "i am always a nuisance." "how so?" "because i am always on some begging errand. at one time the wind carries off the roof of the church; at another, something is broken in the belfry. it is a year ago now since the school was burnt down, and since then the walls have become overgrown with thistles; the schoolmaster too has gone away, and there is nobody to teach the children, so that they grow up louts and robbers, to the great hurt and harm of the gentry." "but why is not all this put to rights?" "because the poor folks are lazy and drunken, and his lordship is stingy." henrietta was astonished at the old man's words. "yes, stingy, that's the word," continued the priest. "i do not pick my words, for i am a priest and used to hunger. and he who is used to hunger is free from the yoke of servility. i told his lordship that to his face, and that was why he forbade me the castle." henrietta could not continue the conversation, so upset was she at the idea of hátszegi's stinginess. what! the man who raked in hundreds of thousands at a time with the greatest ease, and no doubt scattered them as recklessly, could shut his door in the face of a poor priest who begged for the house of god and the education of the people! she hastily wished the priest good-night and returned to the castle. the same evening she sought her husband, who had just come home wearied from the chase, "i have a favour to ask of you," said she. hátszegi looked astonished: it was the first favour the wife had ever asked her husband. "command me!" said he. "whatever you like to ask is as good as granted already." "i should like to learn the language of the people in the midst of whom we dwell. i am like a deaf-mute among them at present." "that will not be difficult. the wallachian tongue is easily acquired, especially by anyone with a knowledge of french or latin." henrietta blushed scarlet. was there a covert allusion behind these words? did hátszegi know that she understood latin? "i should like to have a master who can put me in the way of it. the parish priest here would be a suitable person." for an instant hátszegi's eyebrows contracted. "you shall have your way," he said at last. "it is true that he is the one man in the world who insults me to my face with impunity whenever he meets me, and even presumes to chalk upon the walls of my own castle denunciations against me from the book of the prophet nehemiah, so that i was obliged to forbid him ever to appear before me under pain of being thrown headlong out of the window; yet to show you what an obedient servant i am of yours, madame, i will not baulk you of your desire, or desire you to choose another master, but will send and invite him to come up here at once. everyone shall see that in my house, my wife is the master." and with that leonard kissed his wife's hand and withdrew. early next day the pastor arrived. margari informed him of her ladyship's desire to learn the roumanian language, and the words almost stuck in his throat when he added that his reverence would receive a hundred florins every month for it. fancy! a hundred florins a month for teaching a lingo only spoken by bumpkins. todor rubán--that was the priest's name--was at once conducted to her ladyship. he was an elderly man, of an open, cheerful countenance; his fine, long white hair fell in thick locks on his simple black cassock, which showed considerable signs of wear. henrietta was not in time to prevent the old pastor from kissing her hand. "this is no slavish obsequiousness towards a great lady," said he, "but the respect of a poor pastor for an angel whom heaven by a peculiar act of grace has sent down to us. this is no empty compliment, your ladyship. i am not very lavish of such things myself, but i feel bound to address you thus because i am well aware that it is not merely to learn our poor language that you pay me so well for so little trouble. no, i recognize herein the good will which would do what it can to raise and help a poor neglected population: for i certainly shall not exchange my simple maize-bread for better, but will employ your ladyship's gift in the service of god and of our poorer brethren." from that day henrietta believed that a call from on high had summoned her to hidvár to be the guardian angel, the visible providence of a poor, forsaken people, and her most pleasant occupation was now to go from village to village,--often in the company of the priest, and at other times accompanied by a single groom or quite alone. thus she visited one after the other all the surrounding parishes like any archdeacon, enquiring after and helping their necessities, distributing money for school-buildings and service books, collecting all manner of stray orphans and bringing them home with her to be fed and instructed; nay she erected a regular foundling hospital at hidvár for the benefit of the sprouting urchins of the district, and had the liveliest debates with the priest as to the best method of managing it. her benevolent enthusiasm cost hátszegi a pretty penny. "she is a child; let her play!" he would only say when margari and clementina represented to him that henrietta had pawned her jewels at fehervár in order to teach some more little roumanian rag-a-muffins how to go about with gloves on like their betters. nay the baron secretly instructed the tradesmen with whom henrietta had pawned her jewels to advance her four times as much as they were worth, _he_ would make it good again, he said--and then he would buy his wife fresh jewels. an admirable husband, truly! one day, henrietta had ridden out to the neighbouring ravacsel in order to visit a poor wallachian peasant woman, to whom she had sent some medicine a few days before. the woman, naturally, never drank the medicine, but instead of that got a village quack to rub her stomach with some wonder-working salve so vigorously that the poor patient died in consequence; in fact she was already at the last gasp when henrietta arrived. henrietta was beside herself with grief and anger. she felt like a doctor whose prescriptions have been interfered with by a competitor. she could not indeed help the woman, who expired soon after her arrival, but she had at least the satisfaction of making arrangements for a decent funeral. in the meantime it had grown so late that when she turned back toward hidvár the moon was already pretty high in the heavens. she was alone on horseback, for it was only a two hours' journey between the two places, and she had therefore not thought it worth while to bring an escort with her. besides, whom had she to fear? since she had lived in these parts, all the bad men had disappeared, and whoever she might meet in the roads or lanes would be ready to kiss her hand. so she turned homewards again alone. the road wound in and out among the valleys and was therefore much longer than if it had gone in a straight direction across the mountains. she had, however, often heard from the peasants that there was a shorter way to hidvár from ravacsel on which mules and ponies could go, and she thought it better to look for this road lest night should surprise her among the mountains. but a road that is good enough for mules and ponies may not suit a thoroughbred english steed which does not care about putting its hoofs into the tracks of other beasts; and besides, a hundred paces on level ground is much shorter than twenty-five up hill. henrietta vividly experienced the truth of this when she reached the summit of the hill, for her horse was sweating from every pore and trembling from the violent exertion. such horses should not be used in hilly country: a shaggy, sturdy little pony would have treated the whole thing as a joke and not said a word about it. but the real difficulties of the road only began during the descent, which was equally dangerous for horse and rider. the track, a mere channel washed out of the soft sandstone by the mountain torrents, descended abruptly, the stones giving way beneath the horse's hoofs and plunging after it. frequently they had to cross very awkward places, and henrietta could see from the way in which her horse pricked up his ears, snorted and shook his head, that he was as frightened as his mistress. at last they came to a very bad spot indeed, where on one side of the road there was a sheer abyss, while the rocky mountain side rose perpendicularly on the other. the narrow path here ran so close to the rock that the rider had to bend her head aside so as not to knock it, and the horse could only go forward one foot at a time. for an instant the horse stood still, as if weighing his chances on that narrow path; but, as there was no turning back now, he was obliged at last to go on. henrietta looked shudderingly down into the chasm below her, over which she seemed to hang suspended; and she thought to herself, with something very like a sob: what if we should stumble now! the thought was scarcely in her mind when one of the horse's hind legs tripped, and the same instant horse and rider were precipitated into the abyss. henrietta never lost her head during the fall. she noticed everything that happened during the brief plunge, how the horse struggling desperately clattered down the mountain-side, how the saddle girth burst beneath the strain, how for a mere second some bush or shrub arrested the descent, and how the next instant the weight of the horse tore it down along with him. finally, falling still lower and turning right round on its back the horse got wedged in between two rocks from which position he was fortunately unable to disengage himself, for had he fallen any further he would have been dashed to pieces. henrietta was quite conscious the whole time. holding on with both hands to the roots of a bush with her left leg still in the stirrup (for saddle and stirrup also remained hanging in the bush) it occurred to her in this painful situation that she still had time to commend her soul to god and then face death more calmly. as to help, there was no hope of it, for the place was far away from all human dwellings; night would soon fall and the bush would presently yield beneath her feet--destruction was certain. but while the lady neglected to call for assistance, the wedged-in horse did so all the more loudly. supine and unable to free himself from his uncomfortable position, he repeatedly uttered that terrified scream which one never hears from this noble and reticent beast except in dire extremity. whoever has heard such a cry will readily admit that it is far more terrible than any merely human appeal for assistance. after a few moments it seemed to henrietta as if a halloo were resounding from the depths below; looking down she perceived by the light of the moon a black shape leaping from rock to rock like a chamois, and gradually approaching the dangerous point where she hung. any efforts on this man's part seemed to her impossible. there was not a single visible gap or crevice in the face of the steep rock by means of which he could scramble up to her; and how could he help her, how could he liberate her, if he did manage to get at her? nevertheless the man drew nearer and nearer. she could by this time make out his goatskin cloak, his high broad cap, the clean shaved face peculiar to the mountain goatherds. his dexterity was as astonishing as the physical strength, with which he often raised himself on the tips of his toes in order to reach a cleft in the rocks, scarcely visible high above his head; often he could scarce hold on by the tips of his fingers, yet the next moment he would swing himself up with half a hand and, setting his foot in the cleft, look about for a fresh foothold. about a yard below henrietta was a projecting piece of rock just large enough for a man's foot to stand upon. the next moment henrietta saw the herdsman mount to this place. he himself was a good fathom in height and his head reached up as far as henrietta's hips. he looked up at her with a friendly smile, as if he had merely come there to help her down from her horse. then he said to her in roumanian: "_noroc bun domna!_" which means "good luck to you, my lady!" so even in this perilous situation it occurred to him to say something pleasant. "the horse took a false step, my lady," said he, "but all's well that ends well. prithee, mount upon my shoulder, this bush will not hold fast much longer, it is only a juniper, its roots are weak." henrietta's heart failed her. this man surely does not imagine that he will be able to carry her down on his shoulders. "come, my lady, don't be afraid, i can easily carry you down. why i often roam about like this after my kids when they fall into the precipice; and you are no heavier than a young kid, i'm sure." and then, with the hand that remained free, he plucked at the remainder of the damaged bush. henrietta perceived with astonishment that the roots which had not snapped asunder beneath his weight were loosened from the rock by the mere tug of the man's hand. but what was he going to do with them? the herdsman bade the lady fear nothing; no further accident could happen, he said; then, sticking the torn out stump between his legs like a hobby-horse and pressing it against the rock with one hand, he himself turned his back to the mountain-side and suddenly, stretching his legs wide apart, let himself glide down the shelving rock. henrietta shrieked aloud, she thought she was lost, but the next moment the herdsman stood on solid ground and looked up at her with a smile: "we're all right, you see," he cried. "oh, i have travelled like this many a time; it is rare fun,--sledging i call it." sledging indeed!--to plunge down a steep mountain side five fathoms deep with the aid of a juniper bush! from where they now stood it was an easy matter to convey the lady to the bottom of the precipice, which was overgrown with bright grass, on which he deposited her. "there you are, my lady," said he. "don't be frightened; i will soon be back again." and with that he scrambled up again towards the wedged-in horse. henrietta gazed after him in amazement--whatever was he going to do there? the fellow, on reaching the wriggling horse, first of all caught firm hold of its front legs and then tied all four legs tightly together with the stirrup-straps. thereupon, he seized the beast by his fettered legs, pulled them over his shoulders, and with a violent jerk freed the animal from its uncomfortable position and carried it down into the valley likewise. there he untied its legs, helped it on to its hoofs again, and, turning with a smile to henrietta, said: "a fine horse that; it would have been a shame to have let it come to grief!" "and you were able to carry it on your shoulders?" gasped henrietta. "that isn't very much. it scarce weighs more than four hundredweight. the bear not long ago weighed five, and i had to beat it to death before i could take it home. surely your ladyship knows that i am the strong juon--juon tare?" and the goatherd said this with as much self-evident pride, as if everyone in the wide world had heard that strong juon dwelt among these forests. henrietta's look of surprise apprised him, however, that she, at least, had never heard of him. "you do not know then, domna, who i am? yet i know who you are. i have often met the _dumnye barbatu_[ ] and he knows me well. he is the only man in the world who is as strong as i am. we have often wrestled together on this grass-plot for a wager. neither of us has ever been able to throw the other. his lordship can throw an axe deeper into a tree than i can, but i can put a greater weight. his lordship can kill an ox with a blow from his fist, but i can throttle a bear to death. but we cannot overcome each other, though we have often stood up together--only in joke, only in sport, of course, your ladyship. it would not be well if we encountered each other in our wrath--that would be terrible." [footnote : my lord, your husband.] all the time he spoke juon was skilfully mending the torn saddle-girths and the bridle; then he re-saddled the horse, which was still trembling in every limb, wiped the bloody foam from its mouth, washed its sores and encouraged the lady to remount. in a quarter of an hour, he said, they would meet the road again, and in half an hour they would be at hidvár. then the goatherd, who was well acquainted with all the meanderings of the valley, took the horse's rein and conducted the lady to the mountain pass, where the beaten track began again. there he kissed her hand and parted from her. "i must now go back," said he, "for they are waiting for me." "who?" "my goats and my wife." "then you have a wife? do you love her?" "love her?" cried the herdsman proudly,--and then he added in a lower voice: "she is as beautiful as your ladyship!--_buna nopte, domna_!"[ ] [footnote : good night, my lady.] and without waiting for an answer, he plunged back into the forest, disappearing by leaps and bounds. when henrietta got home she said not a word to anyone about what had taken place, though the condition of the horse and his harness sufficed to show that an accident had happened. but she could scarce wait for the morrow to come, bringing along with it todor rubán, from whom she meant to find out everything relating to juon tare.[ ] [footnote : from the roumanian _taria_, strength, solidity.] chapter ix the geina maid-market "would your ladyship believe,"--so todor[ ] rubán began his story of juon the strong,--"sitting here as you do by the fireside, accustomed from your birth to every elegant luxury, with a particular servant always ready to fly obediently to accomplish each separate command, and with different glasses and porcelain for each several course at meals--would your ladyship believe, i ask, that there are people in this world who know not what it is to have a roof above their heads when they go to sleep, who would not recognize a bed or a dinner service if they saw them, nay, who often are in want of bread--and yet, for all that, are happy? [footnote : theodore.] "and yet such people live quite close to us. we need not think of the savage inhabitants of oceania,--we can see enough of them and to spare in this very place. your ladyship can hear from your balcony the melancholy songs of their pastoral flutes, especially of an evening, when the milch-goats are returning from the deep valleys. "the herdsman here never sleeps beneath a roof either summer or winter; every spring he counts the goats of his master's herds and the half of every increase belongs to him; nobody enquires how he lives there among his herds in the lofty mountain-passes, how he defends himself against hurricanes and snow-storms, yes, and against the wild beasts of the forest, the bears and wolves--nobody troubles his head about all that. "such a goatherd is that same juon whom your ladyship has learnt to know. perhaps we shall hear something more about him some other time, for his life has been very romantic; now, however, i will only tell you of a single episode therein: "there once lived near here in the district of vlaskutza, a rich _pakular_[ ] who had scraped together a lot of gold out of a mining venture at verespatak, and therefore went by the name of wealthy misule. [footnote : roguish speculator.] "he had an only daughter, mariora by name,--and has your ladyship any idea of what roumanian beauties are? a sculptor could not devise a nobler model. so beautiful was she that her fame had spread through the hungarian plain as far as arad, and whenever great folks from foreign lands came to see gyenstar and brivadia they would make a long circuit and come to vlaskucza in order to rest at the house of old misule, where the finest prospect of all was a look into the eyes of mariora. "this wonderously beautiful maiden loved the poor goatherd juon, who possessed nothing in the world but his sheepskin pelisse and his alpenstock; him she loved and him alone. wealthy old misule would naturally have nothing to say to such a match; he had in his eye an influential friend of his, a gentleman and village elder in the county of féhervár, one gligor tobicza,--to him he meant to give his daughter. reports were spread that juon was a wizard. it was misule's wife who fastened this suspicion upon him, because he had succeeded in bewitching her daughter. she said among other things, that he understood the language of the brute beasts, that he had often been seen speaking with wolves and bears, and that when he spread out his shaggy sheepskin, he sat down at one end of it and a bear at the other. there was this much of truth in the tale, that once when he was tending his flocks juon heard a painful groaning in the hollow of a rock, and, venturing in, perceived lying in one corner a she-bear who, mortally injured in some distant hunt, had contrived to drag its lacerated body hither to die. beside the old she-bear lay a little suckling cub. the mother dying before his very eyes, juon had compassion on the desolate cub, took it under his protection, and carried it to a milch-goat, who suckled it. the little wild beast thrived upon the milk of the tame animal and, softened by human fellowship, grew up much attached to its master. bears, i may tell your ladyship, are not bloodthirsty by nature. henceforth the bear went forth with the herdsman and the herds, helped to drive the goats together of an evening, and enlivened the long dreary days by turning somersaults--an art at which bears excel. at night it slept by juon's side and made itself cosey by burying its snout in his bosom. when meal-time came, the bear sat down beside juon, for he knew that every second slice of cheese would be his. he also fetched fire-wood to put under the pot in which the maize-pottage was boiling. then, too, he explored the woods in search of wild honey and brought back his booty to share it with juon. when it was very hot he carried his pelisse after him, a pelt more or less made very little difference to him. juon had nobody to speak to but the bear, and if a man speaks quite seriously to the beasts they get to understand him at last. moreover, in moments of ill temper the bear had learnt to recognize that juon's fists were no less vigorous than his own paws, so that he had no temptation to be ungrateful. "this, then, was the man beloved by mariora. "in our part of the country, my lady, there is an original popular custom, the maiden-market. "in the highlands of bihar stands the rocky bluff of geina, which grows green, like every other transylvanian height, as soon as it is cleansed from snow. there i first met juon, many years ago. he stood there on the mountain summit the live-long day, blowing on his alpenstock, while the bear was plucking strawberries in the valley below and guarding the goats, not from running away, but from other wild beasts. the prospect from this spot is really sublime. in one direction you can see the mountain-chain of vulcani, in the other the environs of klausenberg and the gyalian alps. but westwards stretches the great hungarian plain, whose misty expanse loses itself against the horizon. "on a certain day of the year things are very lively at geina. in the evening of the first sunday after st. john baptist's day the ginger-bread-bakers come thither from rezbanya and topanfalu with their horses dragging loads of honey-cakes, and barrels full of meal and brandy, and pitch their tents in the forest-clearing. on that sunday the highlands are full of merry folks, and the maiden-market is held there. "from near and far repair thither the mothers and their marriageable daughters, all tricked out with their dowries ready in the shape of strings of gold and silver coins round their necks, with bright variegated garments at their horses' sides, and stuffed pillows and painted pitchers on the saddles in front of them. all these things they unpack and arrange in rows in front of the tents, just as at an ordinary fair; and then the purchasers come along, jaunty, connubially-inclined young fellows, who inspect the dowries, engage the wenches in conversation, and chaffer and haggle and go away again if they cannot come to terms. many of the girls are kept back, others are given up to the first bidder, and when once a couple is mated they are escorted to the tune of lively flutes and bagpipes to the first kalugye,[ ] or pastor, who sanctifies the union according to the religion of the spouses. [footnote : or rather, _calugaru_, monk, not pastor.] "your ladyship laughs at this custom, yet it is capable of a very natural explanation. the inhabitants of these alpine regions live necessarily far away from one another--how else could they tend their herds?--even the nearest neighbours being a good stiff half hour's walk apart. so the young girls stay at home, and the young fellows only see them once a year--at the maiden-market of geina. "now, of course such a famous beauty as mariora had no need to go all the way to the geina fair in search of a husband, especially as one had already been chosen for her who brought with him all the pride of riches. but her father misule would not on any account have neglected the opportunity of exhibiting his daughter, during the pilgrimage to geina, as the most lovely girl of the district; and his wife could not have lived unless she had hung out mariora's gold-embroidered shift in front of the tent and haughtily sent at least ten suitors about their business. "gligor tobicza, coming all the way from rezpatak, appeared at the fair at the same time, with twelve high-backed horses and six gipsy musicians, ribbons and coloured kerchiefs fluttering from every horse and every cap. the comrades drank together and then had a little rumpus also. tobicza broke the heads of a few of the more uproarious spirits, and then peace was restored again, and the general good humour was higher than ever--only the bride remained sad. "suddenly it occurred to tobicza that it would be nice to get a kiss from mariora. but the girl repulsed him: 'i am not your wife yet,' she cried. "'yet if juon were to ask for you, i suppose you would not say no?' "the girl honestly confessed that she would not. "at this tobicza was mad with rage. 'let him come hither then, if he loves you,' cried he, 'let him tear you away from me if he be the better man. i will strike him dead with this--see!' and drawing a long goat-skin bag out of his girdle, the bottom of which was choke full of ducats, and whirling it round his head like a morning-star[ ] he turned forestwards and roared: 'come hither, tattered juon, thou ragged dog! 'tis now maiden-market day if you want to buy mariora! come forth thou cowardly hound and let me beat you to death! i'll fell you to the earth with my ducats. i'll break your head with my gold money.' and the whole crowd laughed at and loudly applauded these witticisms. [footnote : a spiked club.] "but just as he was raging most furiously, a great roaring suddenly arose from the direction of the forest,--whereupon the crowd rushed away from their tents to their horses, overturning barrels and trunks as they went, the women screaming and the men cursing, and all with one voice exclaiming: 'the bear is coming!' 'juon is coming with his bear!' "that was enough for every one. only the most determined sportsmen care about tackling a bear in the open, for even when mortally wounded the beast is quite capable of taking his revenge. in an instant every soul rushed headlong from the summit of geina into the roads below, leaving behind bride, dowry and drinking booth; so that when the bear and juon leaped out of the juniper bushes there was nobody left on geina. nobody, that is, but mariora, who did not fly with the fugitives, but hid herself in the tent. "tobicza had headed the race, but as his legs were heavy with the mead he had drunk, he threw away his big bag of gold to lighten his limbs and prevent juon from overtaking him. but juon, snatching it up, whirled it round like a sling and threw it with all his might after his rival, exclaiming: 'there's your money, big voice! take it and buy a wife with it. you are nothing at all without it. but i am still juon, though i have only an axe in my hands.' "then he went up to mariora, kissed and embraced her, and asked her if she would be his bride and go away and live with him in the forest. and when she said: 'yes,' he kissed her again and took her with him into the free forest without once looking back at the dowry lying abandoned there with all its gold and glitter. in his eyes only mariora was of gold, nothing else. "the bear meanwhile made some little havoc in a mild sort of way, among the honey-cakes, but he did no other damage. "and i can assure your ladyship that this wife who has nothing in the world but her husband, but that husband all her own--is even now very happy." chapter x the black jewelry it was during this time that henrietta cherished the bizarre illusion that it was her vocation to cultivate the acquaintance of the honest but homely peasantry living around, in whose lowly circles a widowed protestant pastor's wife and a worn-out old miner were the principal personages. her husband laughed good-humouredly at her vagaries, as he called them: "she is only a child," he cried, "let her play and cut out dolls' clothes for those who want them! when she has grown up, she will very soon look out for other diversions." "my dear child," he would sometimes say to her, "do exactly as you like. i only beg of you one thing: whenever you are tired of these innocent, well-meaning illusions and return to rough, prosaic, brutal reality; whenever you feel yourself deceived or wounded by those whom you may have implicitly trusted, pray recollect that you have a natural protector, a real friend--your husband!" thus it was that hátszegi spoke to his child-wife on the rare occasions when they met together. it was only rarely, for they saw nothing of each other for the greater part of the day. during the so-called honey-moon the husband and wife had scarcely spent half an hour a day in each other's company. on one occasion the pastor went to déva, and when he returned he had a lot to tell her ladyship of a fine young fellow, szilard by name, who held the office of magistrate at lippá. his other name he had forgotten, but henrietta easily guessed it. mr. szilard had been very polite to him, the parson added, and had joyfully listened to all he had to tell him about hidvár and its mistress; but when the priest had pressed him to pay a visit to that part of the country to see and admire its rare natural beauties, the young man had replied: "anywhere in the world but there." what possible objection could he have against the district? this piece of news gave henrietta plenty to think about for days and nights together. so szilard had not remained at pest; he had followed her to the utmost confines of the realm; they were now quite close to each other and yet he would not see her. he seeks her out and avoids her at the same time. what a romantic dreamer! and yet there was nothing romantic in it after all. szilard had come to arad county on a visit to mr. sipos's relations; he had been elected a magistrate there, and he did not approach hidvár because he had no desire to run after a former sweetheart who was now another man's wife. as for henrietta she had long ago earned from her husband's friends the name of the "little nun," the "little eremite" because nothing could entice her from her seclusion. if only they had known her thoughts! one day, however, she surprised her husband by expressing a wish to go to the charity ball at a neighbouring mining town; it was for raising funds to build up again a burnt-down village. hátszegi, always courteous, bowed and consented. henrietta had made up her mind to go as simply dressed as possible. she wanted to be modest and humble, as it befitted a woman who, rich herself, envied everyone who was poor. while she was still in the midst of her preparations, she received through the post (margari went to the nearest post-office once a week) a little sealed packet which, to judge from the postmark, must have been posted at lippá. before breaking it open, she locked herself in her room, like one about to commit a capital offence, and three times examined the seals which guarded it before she ventured to open it. the seal bore the impress not of a crest or an initial letter as usual, but of a single star. there could be no doubt whatever now as to who the sender was. then, very cautiously, she broke the seals and opened with a beating heart the lid of the box. inside was a little morocco casket. with a tremulous hand she opened it, and found inside it a pair of earrings and a brooch. both earrings and brooch were of oxydized silver, dark blue in colour passing insensibly into black. the pendants of the earrings were in the shape of little fishes hanging upon little hooks and with mobile little scales, which at the slightest movement made them seem alive. each of them had a pair of very tiny but very brilliant diamond eyes. the brooch on the other hand represented a butterfly, also with two sparkling diamond eyes; one of them was blue, a rare colour for a diamond. henrietta was indeed pleasantly surprised. there was not a line of writing along with them, but was there any necessity for it? how simple, how nice it all was! how well he must know her taste who had selected it! her husband could never have hit upon such an idea. what should she say to her husband if he should notice them? but why should she show them to anybody? she would not even put them on till the last moment, just before she started on her journey. all day long she was as happy as a child who is going to its first party; even in her husband's presence she could not control her delight. but hátszegi never enquired why she was so joyous. on the day before the entertainment he went with his wife to the town in question, where he owned, not the castle, it is true, but a comfortable mansion of considerable extent, whose first floor was rented by a mining engineer and his family. these worthy people felt highly honoured at receiving the baron and his lady beneath their roof. they gave their distinguished guests their best rooms which looked out upon the street, and retired themselves to the back of the house. the mining engineer had a pretty young wife, with whom henrietta immediately made friends. ladies love the close companionship of their own sex best whenever something entirely different is occupying their thoughts. on the morning of the great day the big-wigs of the little town hastened to pay their respects to the great lady who had arrived in their midst, and whose reputation for benevolence had spread far and wide. amongst them was an aged woman whose hands and head were continually shaking, and who almost collapsed with terror every time anybody accosted her unexpectedly. she was the widow of a unitarian pastor, well to do, people said, and a large mining proprietor. her nervous affection was due to a painful episode in her life. one night fatia negra and his band had broken into her house and played havoc there, and ever since she had been tremulous and easily terror-stricken. the old woman was delighted to see henrietta, whom she called the guardian angel of the county, and she would not be content till she had seized henrietta's little hands in her own trembling ones and raised them painfully to her lips. at last the joyous evening arrived. henrietta put on a very simple ball-dress, compared with which the dress of the mining engineer's wife was really luxurious. the black ornaments well became her attire, but the engineer's wife was astounded at the simplicity of the great lady's costume. she had now only one anxious moment to go through, the moment when her husband first saw the new ornaments. but this moment sped away without any catastrophe, although with much of heart throbbing. hátszegi observed the jewels in the ears and round the neck of his bride and paid her the compliment of saying that they contrasted admirably with the snowy whiteness of her alabaster neck. so no ill came of it after all. when the time came, the baron's carriage drove up to the door and the ladies entered it. the baron himself was to come afterwards with the mining engineer when the empty carriage returned. in the meantime the baroness was entrusted to the care of the mining engineer's wife, who was one of the notabilities of the little town. the ball was to take place in the large room of the chief inn of the place, and the baroness, on entering it, was surrounded by a crowd of admirers. the young wife felt that she was being made much of. she felt in the midst of all this homage and devotion as if she had been lifted up to heaven, and her heart was full of gratitude. if he be here (and he _must_ be here somewhere, hiding in the crowd, no doubt, in order not to excite attention) then he will be able to see from his hiding-place how pale the face of his old love is from sorrow--and yet how radiant because of the honour now shown to her. but szilard did not see her face at that moment. he was far away, never dreaming that anybody still thought of him. a surprise of quite another sort awaited henrietta. after she had twice walked round the room--there was a pause just then between two dances--she perceived sitting on a corner seat the old lady already alluded to, whose head and hands were always shaking so, and hastened up to her as to an old acquaintance. the old pastor's wife, perceiving henrietta, rose at first from her seat in order to meet her half way, but the next moment she fell back horror-stricken, at the same time stretching out both hands in front of her with widely-outspread fingers as if to ward her off. henrietta, unable to explain this odd gesture, remained rooted to the spot with astonishment. the old lady, still continuing to stretch out her trembling hands, now advanced towards her with tottering footsteps indeed, yet with flaming eyes. everyone regarded the two women with amazement. there was a dead silence, and in the midst of this astonishment, in the midst of this silence, the old woman shrieked with a voice full of horror that turned everybody's blood cold: "madame!--those jewels--on your neck--that black butterfly--'tis the very same--which on that fearful night--that accursed fatia negra--tore from my neck--those black earrings which he tore from my ears--one eye of the butterfly is a blue diamond!" henrietta felt as if the floor were slipping away from beneath her feet. she was wearing stolen jewels on her neck, and their former owner had recognized them! she heard a hissing and a murmuring all around her. she gazed about her, possibly for a protector, and she perceived that she was standing alone in the midst of the room and that everyone recoiled from her, even her companion, and all eyes were fixed upon her. she had a feeling of being branded with red-hot irons as she stood there, dishonoured and unprotected in the midst of so many strangers, and over against her a terrible accuser who had the horrible right to ask her: "madame, where did you get those stolen jewels?"--and she had nought to say to such a question. at that moment a manly voice, which she at once recognized, rang out close beside her. "madame, give me your arm!--i bought those jewels for you at paris. i will be responsible for them." it was her husband. and with that, he strode up to his wife, seized her hand and, casting a glance at the surrounding throng, cried in a threatening voice to those closest to him: "whoever dares to cast a disrespectful glance upon my wife, will have to reckon with me. make room there!" henrietta saw how the crowd made way, how everyone stepped aside at this word of command; she saw even the shaking widow sit down somewhere; but then everything began to grow black before her eyes and she sank swooning into the arms of the man whom, hitherto, she had hated so much, and who in this most awful moment had been her sole deliverer! when she came to again, she found herself in the carriage. her husband had not stayed a single instant longer in that town, but was conveying her, though it was now night time, straight to hidvár. it is not very advisable to travel in pitch-black darkness along mountain roads. henrietta could gather from the slow jolting of the coach that they were proceeding very cautiously. she opened the window and peeped out. she then saw her husband walking along by the side of the coach with a lantern in his hand picking his way. the coachman was sitting on the box and the heyduke was close to the carriage in order to steady it over the more difficult places. a voice within her reproached her for hating this man so long--how could she have done it? he had always been delicacy itself towards her, he had never demanded anything of her, and no doubt the reason why he had held back from his young wife for a time was because he would not importune her with his presence--her who had now learnt to recognize him as her sole protector! after a vast amount of jolting and tumbling about, they got at last on to a regular road again. here the baron halted the coach and looked inside it. when he saw that henrietta was awake, he asked her if she wanted anything, and whether she would allow him to sit down beside her. henrietta had resolved to tell her husband everything at the very first question, everything, even to her most secret enthusiasms; nay, even that which god alone could read in her heart. but hátszegi gave her no opportunity of doing so. "my dear henrietta," said he, "don't imagine for a moment that i shall trouble my head as to how you came into possession of that mysterious jewelry, or why you should have chosen them out of all your bijous to wear on this particular evening. i have charged myself with all the responsibility in the matter. i could not think of anything more appropriate to say at the moment. only one thing i beg of you: tell me no lies. act as if you had received the jewelry from me. i will so arrange the matter that nothing more will be heard about it. such things may happen to anybody. the only awkwardness about the business is that the things were recognized in such a public place, and that the former possessor of the ornaments is so extremely nervous. don't be afraid! give me your hand! why do you tremble so? i'll guarantee that there shall be no unpleasant consequences for you. in case, however, you did not receive this jewelry from your dear grandfather, i ought, i think, to write to the good old man and put his mind at ease by letting him know that i gave it you, as goodness only knows what rumour may whisper in his ear." could any man have asked his wife for a confession more tenderly? "shall i write to him?" "yes, write," said henrietta, and with that she fell upon her husband's bosom and began to sob bitterly--and a husband's breast is no bad place for a wife's flowing tears. henrietta was forced to confess to herself that her husband, at least so far as she was concerned, was a man of noble and tender sentiments. from henceforth she began to regard him through a glass of quite another colour; she began to believe that the faults she had noticed in him were only the usual bad habits of his sex, and began to discover all sorts of hidden good qualities in him. she began to love her husband. when early next morning the carriage stood in the courtyard of hidvár. henrietta awoke in her husband's arms: there she had been sleeping for a long time. when she looked round and encountered hátszegi's bright manly glances it almost seemed to her as if the dreadful scene of the night before was a mere dream, from which it was a joy to awake. when her husband kissed her hand before departing for his own room, henrietta pressed _his_ hand in return and gave him a grateful smile. but what then was the key to this horrible mystery? who could have hit upon the idea of sending this jewelry? there was not a gleam of light to go by. an enigma closed the way to every elucidation, and this enigma was--fatia negra. how did the jewelry get out of his hands into henrietta's? what was the motive for such a transfer? and who was the man himself? this thought gave henrietta no rest. why could they not seize this famous robber? first of all, she kept on asking her husband about it, and he replied that the whole story about fatia negra was only a wallachian fable. it was true that robberies were committed by men who regularly wore black masks, but it was never one and the same man who was guilty of these misdeeds. nevertheless the name had won a sort of nimbus of notoriety among the common people, many had made use of it as well as of the mask attaching to it, and though it was an undeniable fact that fatia negra had been caught and hanged more than once, yet he still continued to live and go about. the popular mythology had immortalized him. the parson, however, had quite a different opinion of the matter; he seemed to be more particularly informed. although he opined fatia negra wandered through every corner of the kingdom, his abiding nest was in this district; he had a sweetheart here to whom he appeared periodically. "why don't they seize him then?" asked henrietta. "because a part of the common folks holds with him, and the other part thinks he is in league with the devil." "i would set a high price on his head and give it to whomsoever caught him." "oh, my lady, the various counties have done that scores of times, and now and then a young fellow braver than the rest has tried to catch him; but they have all of them ended by losing their own heads instead of getting his." "never mind, i will not be satisfied till that man is in my power. ah, the robber-chieftain little imagines what an enemy he has raised up against him in me, when he put this terrible riddle into my heart. and it is a riddle i mean to solve, too." the priest shook his head as if he would have said: "strong men have given up the task, what can a weak woman do?" henrietta told her husband not a word of all this, and the chatter about the black jewelry gradually died a natural death. hátszegi sent back her property to the widow and told her where she could find the vendor--in paris. we can readily imagine that she did not go all the way to paris to make enquiries, being quite content with getting back her stolen property. this incident made such an impression on henrietta that she avoided all those circles in which she had been so ruthlessly exposed to insult. a blush of shame and anger suffused her face whenever she thought of it. she also abandoned all her work of benevolence among the people. she began to think that her husband was right after all when he said, as he did continually: "let the gentry stick to the gentry, and the poor to the poor!" in fact she was now inclined to think him right in everything; the easiest thing a wife can do, she said to herself, is to trust her husband implicitly. henceforth henrietta adopted another mode of life; her motto now was: "whatever my husband chooses, for at home he is my lord!" so the halls of hidvár overflowed with guests again, and balls, _soirées_, and picnics followed each other in quick succession. the young wife learnt to know the gentry and magnates of transylvania face to face, and it was no wonder if she quickly accommodated herself to her new surroundings and began to be reconciled to her fate. she felt like one who, after seeing a landscape by moonlight and thinking it highly crude, sees it again by the light of day and finds it quite different. and now the autumn came, the season when men prepare and congregate together for dangerous hunting expeditions. bears and boars are now the only topics. for a week beforehand the women cannot get a word out of the gentlemen, they herd together in the armoury and talk of nothing but guns and dogs, firing each other by recounting their past exploits, making bets, and playing at cards. the ladies at such times are shelved altogether. during the actual hunting season the men are not to be seen for whole weeks at a time, but off they go to the woods and stalk or lurk for their prey in the midst of water and ice, and the ladies think it nothing extraordinary if their husbands or lovers, as the case may be, come back, or are carried back, drenched with rain, invisible for mud, with their garments torn to shreds and their limbs mangled; for after all it is the only manly diversion--the only diversion really fit for a gentleman. when the bear-hunting began, that heroic cripple, squire gerzson, also appeared with count kengyelesy and numerous other familiar faces from distant counties, who had all met together on the day after henrietta's wedding, and who regularly made hidvár their autumn trysting-place. count kengyelesy did not bring his wife with him: the little rogue on her husband's departure declared that she was ill and remained behind--_verbum sap_! henrietta was very much occupied by the duties of hospitality. she took a pride in anticipating the wants of all her guests, and at the evening _soirées_ she played the part of hostess with becoming _aplomb_. one day the gentlemen with their beaters, rangers, dogs, and carts, had all gone off to the forest as usual, and henrietta was left alone in the castle with clementina, margari, and the domestics. as for margari, he would not have gone to the woods for all the bears in the world. clementina, solemnly cackling gossip as usual, imparted to henrietta that the night before, when the gentlemen played at cards, the luck had run dead against hátszegi: count kengyelesy had won back from him the whole of the kengyelesy estate. "thank god!" sighed henrietta at this glad intelligence. this was one of the things that had weighed down her heart like a nightmare, one of the partition-walls, so to speak, which had hitherto separated her from her husband. this, at any rate, had now disappeared. clementina went on to say that my lord baron had not cared a straw for this loss; nay, he had laughed and said that it only showed how lucky he was in love. henrietta applied the saying to herself and began to be quite proud of it. the count, however, pursued clementina, had said that he durst not rejoice in his winnings or that accursed fatia negra might rob him of them again on the highroad as he had done once before. a cold shudder ran through henrietta's limbs at that accursed name. that fatia negra! she had already begun to forget him. and thus old memories began to revive, and at last her excited imagination began to fancy that there was some sort of connecting link between szilard and fatia negra, between the dearest and the most terrible of beings! what if her rejected lover had avenged himself by publicly shaming her! it was with such anxieties as these that the young wife went to sleep in her lonely chamber. early next day she received a visit from the priest. all the time the army of guests was going in and out of the castle gates, he never came near the place, but now he hastened to exchange a few words with the lady of the house. and henrietta was very glad that he had come. "i bring you news of fatia negra and of other things also," said the priest, as soon as he was alone with the lady. henrietta was instantly all attention. "yesterday the famous butterwoman who dwells at dupe piatra came to open her soul to me in a very difficult matter. this woman, as the whole country-side knows, is a famous quack and a preparer of such specifics as it is unlawful for one man to give to another. formerly she was visited by multitudes of people suffering from every sort of ill--especially girls. more than once she has paid dearly for her quackery, for the county authorities apprehended her for poisoning, and clapped her into jail for some years. since then she has grown more cautious and does not care about seeing everyone in her lonely little forest hut, especially since i impressed upon her severely what a heavy load she was burdening her conscience with by turning the secret healing forces which nature had implanted in the herbs of the field, to the destruction of ignorant humanity. yesterday, then, this woman came to me (and it is a very rare thing to see her among men) and informed me that last night fatia negra had visited her." henrietta shuddered all over. so he was as near as that! "the medicine-woman said that the mask requested her to prepare poison for him that would be sure to kill. she said she would not as she had no wish to fall again into the hands of the county authorities. he promised her money, he showed her a lot of ducats. she told him it wouldn't do. then he drew forth a pistol, pressed the barrel to her temples, and threatened instantly to blow her brains out if she did not comply with his request. 'very well,' said she, 'fire away: i would rather be shot than hanged.' perceiving he could do nothing with her by threats, he fell to entreating, and said it was not a man he wanted to poison but a wild beast. 'what sort of a beast do you want to kill?' she asked him. 'that is no business of yours,' said he. 'but it is my business,' she replied, 'for the poison that a wolf or a savage dog will eat, a bear will not even sniff at, and what makes one beast ill, on that will another beast thrive.' 'then you must know that it is a bear.'--'swear that you do not want the venom for a human being.' fatia negra swore with all sorts of subterranean oaths that it was really for a bear that he wanted the poison. the medicine-woman thereupon prepared for him a mortal concoction capable of killing the most vigorous beast in the world; then she kneaded honey-cakes, a delicacy to which bears are very partial as everyone knows, and mixed it well into them. fatia negra gave her ten ducats for the poison, but the old woman's conscience would not allow her to rest, and the next day she brought the ducats to me for the church's needs, as she put it,--and would i help her to relieve her soul of the heavy burden which oppressed it. and what now if fatia negra, contrary to his oath, were to make use of this poison against his fellow-men?" "that would be horrible," said henrietta apprehensively. "i don't think he will," said the priest; "the poison is really meant for a beast." "i suppose he wants to kill some animal who is a domestic guardian, in order that he may rob a rich man's house." "no. he wants to kill a faithful animal in order that he may steal a poor man's only treasure--his wife." "how so?" "listen, my lady, and i will tell you. after this had happened, juon tare's wife, mariora, came to me at an unusual hour. generally she only comes on a sunday for prayers. what she said to me was not so much a confession made to a priest as a confidence reposed in a friend; i am therefore not committing sacrilege by retailing it to another person. that young woman is exposed to temptation." "what! in the midst of the forest?" "yes, in the midst of the forest, where, for weeks at a stretch, the herdsman hears no other human voice than his own thrown back to him by the echoes. the seducer in this case is fatia negra." "then he must dwell hard by." "none knows his abiding dwelling, but his temporary resting places among the high alps are these herdsmen's lonely huts. for this reason he lives in good fellowship with the mountain goatherds, does them no harm, brings presents for them and their wives, pays handsomely for every bit of bread, and thus makes it pretty sure that they will never betray him. the place where juon tare's wife dwells is called the ice valley. they call it so because it is here that the first ice of the winter appears; as early as mid-september the stream is fringed with it. there, by the side of the stream, stands a little wooden hut, one of whose walls reposes on the ascending rock behind it. here dwells the fair mariora all alone. and yet i am wrong to say alone, for three of them dwell together there--herself, a little one-year-old child, and a tame bear. her husband she sometimes does not see for a week at a time, especially in the autumn and winter when the freshly fallen snow has obliterated the pastures. at such times the goatherd encamps on the summit of the mountains and nourishes his kids by felling with his axe a growing beech-tree, on which the little creatures fall and gnaw off the juicy buds. whenever a snowstorm overtakes him, the herdsman drives the goats into a glen, and lest the snow should bury them all by the morning while they sleep, he drives them continually up and down, thus making them trample down the falling flakes. meanwhile mariora sits at home and spins the wool from which she makes her own and her husband's clothes, or she pounds maize into meal in a stone mortar for household needs, playing at intervals with her child." "and an evil hand would destroy their simple joys!" "hitherto the goatherd and his wife feared nothing. it is good to be in those solitudes. god dwells very near to them there. then, too, juon tare is a strong man; no evil beast can harm him. nor has he any fear of robbers. what can they deprive him of? mariora is in a good place out of the reach of snow-storms. if a savage beast or a vagabond were to try to harm her, there is ursu, the bear, with the terrible jaws,--he would tear them to pieces. so your ladyship will perceive that juon tare's castle is provided with a very strong guardian against thieves and wild beasts--but who can guard it against the wily and the insinuating? fatia negra is a guest of longstanding at the hut in the ice valley, and never goes thither empty handed. he brought the woman pearls and coral which she innocently hung about her person. how was she to know whether such trinkets were worth thousands or whether they could be bought in a pedler's booth for a few pence? she fancies it is but the thank-offering of a grateful guest. but now her eyes have been opened to the fact that these gifts _are_ costly, very costly,--for the black mask demanded a price for them which all the treasures in the world could not outweigh, a price, the bare mention of which caused her to shut the door in his face. and when he, unable to obtain his desire by fair words, attempted to gain his object by force, a single cry for help from the woman caused fatia negra to feel ursu's paws on his shoulders and so he knows that this lonely woman is right well defended. only at mariora's command did the bear release black mask who, attacked from behind, was unable to defend himself. burning with rage, he quitted the hut and said, meaningly to the woman: 'you shall be mine nevertheless!' mariora came to me next day, full of despair, telling me the whole story, and asking me whether she ought to tell her husband. i advised her to keep the secret in her own bosom and to close her door against fatia negra. oh, i know the fellow! it is good to guard against him but it is not advisable to scratch him. he is no ordinary man. and now putting together all this with the confession of the dupe piatra milk-woman, i have a strong suspicion that fatia negra wants to poison the herdsman's bear." "i will not allow it," interrupted the baroness emphatically. "we shall scarcely be able to prevent it, my lady, for how can we warn the dwellers in the mountain hut of their danger? it is of no use sending a letter for they cannot read. we cannot entrust the secret to anyone, for no living soul in these parts would dare to convey any message to the disadvantage of the mysterious fatia negra. i myself dare not do it. i too am afraid of him. i am sure that if he found it out, and he is sure to do so, my days would be numbered." "yet i know someone who will take this message to the hut of juon tare." "not your ladyship, i hope?" "no. even if i knew my way among these mountains i would not venture to expose myself to the perils of such a journey after my last experience; since then i have grown timid and nervous. but i know of one who will hasten to take it, who will not be afraid, and who will show no mercy to him before whom everyone else trembles." the priest did not guess to whom henrietta alluded, yet he himself had once told her ladyship that black mask had a sweetheart to whom he had been married, not before a priest indeed, but in the sight of heaven, and that this woman was very jealous and very brave. "but i beg of your ladyship," the priest had said on that occasion, "to leave my name out of the transaction if you repeat this secret, for otherwise, people will hear one fine morning that the worthy pastor of hidvár has been found in his room with a split skull." scarcely had the priest quitted the castle than henrietta had the horses put to the carriage, took clementina with her in order to avoid all suspicion, and drove to tökefalu. there, in front of the house of rich old onucz she stopped and descended. the wallachian nabob was much pleased to have the honour of entertaining so distinguished a guest, and immediately spread his table and loaded it with preserves, honey, and fresh cheese. clementina, who had a good appetite, remained with their host and made ready to talk scandal of her mistress and insinuate that the baroness wanted to get some money without her husband's knowledge, whilst henrietta locked herself up with anicza in the latter's bedroom and talked with her concerning things which had no relationship whatever with money. chapter xi two tales, of which only one is true after a couple of days the whole hunting party returned from the mountains. this was much sooner than they had determined, and the cause was a very serious accident which had befallen baron hátszegi. they brought him home in an ambulance car to henrietta's great consternation. the baroness, sitting by the bedside, heard from the doctor that her husband's wounds were serious, but that his life was not in danger, and that he might even be allowed to smoke a cigar if he liked. then mr. gerzson related how it had happened: "only imagine, your ladyship! this irrepressible friend of ours, not content with pursuing game all day through the thickets, learns, late in the evening, that a gigantic old bear was trotting towards the ice valley, and, without saying a word to anybody, must needs leave the company and set off alone, late at night, on the track, with only a double-barrelled musket and not so much as a dog to keep him company. the bear enticed leonard further and further. at last down he squats before him in the bright moonlight and begins licking his paws; then suddenly quits the path and disappears. leonard thought at first that the bear had returned within the deadly circle drawn for him by our beaters, till, all at once, on reaching a steep slope covered with reeds, he again heard a growling and perceived the savage beast trying to scale the slope. the place was too steep for a man to climb, but a bear with the help of his long strong claws can scale it like a fly climbing up a wall. leonard soon saw that he would be unable to get a close shot at the bear, so he resolved to fire down from where he was at random. but the experienced old brute, guessing this good idea, instantly executed one of those surprising feats which only fall within the observation of veteran hunters. while leonard was taking aim, the bear rolled rapidly down the steep incline by means of a series of clever somersaults and rushed upon leonard with a sort of swift shamble. and a cursed bad manoeuvre it is, i can tell you. the acrobatic beast, whether a man hits it or not inevitably bears down the hunter by his sheer weight, and as a man's bones are more brittle than a beast's, and he has no tough pelt to cover him withal, he will be infallibly crushed to pulp,--while the bear takes the whole thing as a mere joke and ambles on further. but the whole affair did not last half as long as i take to tell it. leonard had just time enough to fling himself on the ground before the first rush came. then he felt a heavy body fall prone upon him and then they began to roll over and over in company among all sorts of stones and bushes, till a benevolent rock interrupted their rapid descent. fortunately the bear was underneath and lay stunned at full length upon the ground. our friend leonard naturally did not wait for his travelling companions to pick him up. he had lost his musket and it was a good job that his hunting-knife had snapped off close at the hilt instead of running into his body; then, too, his knees and elbows were badly crushed, yet he had sufficient strength and presence of mind to drag himself back to our hunting box, and his story was a very pleasant surprise for us, i can tell you. at first, indeed, we were much alarmed, and fancied that every bone in his body was out of joint, but now we can look on it merely as soldiers' luck. to-morrow he'll be up no doubt, and the day after to-morrow we shall all be dancing." henrietta had never removed her eyes from her husband's face during this narration, and it was plain from his looks that he was not proud of his adventure and did not want it talked about. "why do you frighten my wife to death?" he said. "it is a mere trifle. let me remain for a whole night in cold wet wraps, and to-morrow i shall be all right. and now, enough of the stupid business. and will you please, henrietta, look after my guests while i lie here in swaddling bands? all i want is a couple of days of rest and then i shall be on my legs again." towards midnight henrietta disappeared from among her guests and went to enquire after leonard; but she found his chamber door locked, and received no answer to her gentle enquiries, from which she gathered that leonard was still dozing. she did not want to disturb him, and as her husband's guests, judging by the noise they made, had evidently begun to amuse themselves in real earnest after her departure, she did not return to them, but hastened to her own chamber. how amazed was she to find anicza there closeted with clementina! the roumanian girl had been awaiting henrietta for some time, and clementina thought it quite natural to conduct her into her mistress's sleeping-room, imagining that there was some monetary transaction between them, of which the baron and the domestics need know nothing. in order that she might not be bored by waiting, clementina entertained her for a whole hour with a hair-raising account of the hunting accident, with which the whole castle was full. anicza let the other talk on without so much as a hint that she had a still more hair-raising and terrific tale to tell of the night just past than ever miss clementina had. as soon as henrietta perceived anicza, she politely requested clementina to be so good as to leave them to themselves, a request which clementina very naturally regarded as incomprehensible; and, of course, the instant she had crossed the threshold, she diligently took up her position before the keyhole. she was, however, furious to discover that henrietta proceeded, more prudently than speakers on the stage who regularly allow themselves to be overheard by eaves-droppers, for she drew together the heavy damask curtains of the alcove and retired behind them with anicza, so that neither prying eyes nor listening ears could find anything there to satisfy their inquisitiveness. "it almost succeeded!" said the roumanian girl impatiently, beginning her story at the end instead of at the beginning. "only almost?" repeated the dissatisfied henrietta. "so far the game is neither over nor lost." "did fatia negra appear at the hut in the ice valley?" "pardon, my lady, but please never mention that name before me, for on hearing it everything i look upon grows red, and every limb of my body begins to tremble. you see, my hands are trembling now. let us speak of him in future as the unknown; so far as i am concerned he shall henceforth be the unknown for ever more." "then you met him there?" "suffer me, my lady, to rally my scattered wits a bit. oh! what a horrible night this has been! when i look back upon it, i feel giddy. but anger and despair sustain me. oh! what have i not sacrificed for that man, for that devil, and oh! how i have been betrayed! but why should i worry your ladyship with my misery! listen to what happened. when your ladyship left me the other night, i immediately saddled my horse and set off for the ice valley. the way thither is very bad, dangerous in fact, but fortunately the moon was high and bright and made it easier for me to find the path. the pole star was already sinking when i reached the bottom of the valley, and i could see from afar that there was a light still burning in the goatherd's little hut. the night owls soon drove it out of my eyes, for in that valley dwells so many owls, and they are so bold that the tips of their wings brush against people's faces as they sweep past. i had known mariora for a long time, while she still lived at home with her father, but since she became juon tare's wife we have only seen each other occasionally and at long intervals, and then too only when i visited her, for she, the poorly-married woman, never came to visit us--the rich people. on reaching the hut, i tied up my horse and tapped at the little window, through which one cannot peep as, instead of glass, the window-frames are filled with opaque mica which juon tare himself discovered amongst the hills. mariora recognized my voice and hastened to unbar the door. she was much surprised and much delighted to see me at that hour. she embraced, kissed me, and burst into tears. at first i thought it was from pure joy,--then i thought she pitied me. 'is there anything wrong?' i asked. then she pulled herself together, dried her tears and said: 'i have an invalid on my hands.'--'your child?'--'no, ursu.'--it was just as if a viper had stung me.--'ursu sick?' i cried.--'yes, i don't know what ails him. since yesterday he has been lying down shaking and trembling, while the day before he was skipping about and turning somersaults. fatia negra (domne zeu,[ ] forgive my lips for uttering that name) was playing with him for a long time.' 'did he come hither?' 'yes, he said he was on his way to you.' 'he lied. then it was he who poisoned the bear.' [footnote : the lord god.] "mariora trembled at these words, and grew paler than ever. "i seized her by the hand and drew her with me into the hut. i whispered in her ear that i knew all. 'the accursed wretch has been faithless to me because of your pretty eyes. he swore to me by sunlight and he swore to you by moonlight, but you would not listen to him. you love your husband and black mask relies on his strength now that fair words have failed. the coward has poisoned your faithful guardian like the wretched thief, the miserable house-breaker, that he is.'--mariora's hut was lighted by the flame that flickered on the hearth. a bedstead of linden-wood covered with goat-skins, a table of slate and a few three-legged chairs were all the furniture. there was also a nicely carved and painted little cradle in which lay the little child, sleeping, with his plump little hands drawn up behind his head, like an angel. in the extreme corner of the room the faithful beast lay all of a heap on a lair of soft moss,--at the last gasp. he groaned and shivered continually like one in a fever, and raised his failing eyes with such an eloquent appeal to his mistress, as if he would have spoken to her. sometimes he pricked his ears as if he were listening and snuffed joyously. perchance he expected his master, perhaps he wanted to lick his hands for the last time. poor beast, how i pitied him! 'he will die,' i whispered to mariora. i durst not say it aloud for i imagined the beast understood everything which men say to one another. 'and then will come the tempter, who knows that you are alone and defenceless.' i told her everything which your ladyship told me, and the woman trembled like an aspen-leaf. "'where is juon tare encamping now?' i asked mariora. "'only a mile from here in the vale capra.' "hem! it is impossible to get there on horseback, but i can reach him by going on foot. meanwhile you lock yourself in, put out the fire, and whatever noise you hear, do not open the door till we come back. "'nay,' said mariora, 'you must not go away. if juon ought to come home, there is a sign between us. i have here an alpine horn; he has taught me how to blow upon it, and has told me that if ever i should be in great danger i must blow it, and however distant he may be, he will hear it and hasten home.' "'but it is night now; perhaps he is asleep.' "'juon never sleeps at night, he must be awake and protect his herds.' "'and what then will become of his goats if he leaves them?' "'are not i and my child dearer to him than all his property?' "then i told mariora that no time must be lost, and that she should blow the horn at once. it is a long tube made out of the bark of trees, with the end tilted upwards, and anyone who knows how to blow it can make its voice heard for miles. mariora was too feeble with it. perhaps at another time she would have been more up to it, but now she was upset, there was something which weighed down her bosom and hampered her breathing: the horn gave forth but a feeble and uncertain sound. we listened for the echoes and they scarce resounded from the sides of the adjacent hills. juon would never hear that. 'give it to me,' i said. 'i shall throw more force into it.' a moment after i had blown the horn, the woody heights repeated the sound just as if there was another horn-blower there. presently, from afar, right away among the hills, another horn replied, just as if there was another echo there. that was juon's answer. he had heard the summons; we could now rest content. in half an hour he would have bounded across the mountains and through the glens and would be here. in the meantime we would barricade ourselves inside the hut. mariora anxiously asked me what we should do if her husband were the last to arrive, for the robber had firearms. acting on my advice, we closed the door with a heavy beam and put out the fire. the child began to cry, but mariora took it in her arms and soothed it to sleep. a heavy groan sounded from a corner of the room: it was the faithful beast breathing forth his last breath. we exchanged not another word in order not to betray the fact that mariora was not alone. half an hour had nearly elapsed when we heard footsteps in the distance approaching. we listened. who was coming? which of us would recognize those footsteps first? i did. it was he! he for whose sake i had brought down a curse upon my head. "for about as long a time as it would take one to repeat a paternoster, he remained standing there before the door. then he rapped lightly with his fingers and i heard the voice i knew so well: 'mariora, are you asleep?' "'i am awake. what do you want?' she replied. "'let me in, mariora; open the door!' "i whispered to her what she should say. "'i cannot, my husband is not at home. i am alone.' "'for that very reason open, so that we two may have it all to ourselves?' "'there will be three of us, don't forget ursu.' "'it is all up with ursu,' laughed the robber outside. "'you have killed him, you villain!' cried mariora though i never whispered this to her. "'not i, but the honey-cake.' "'why did you do so?' "'because he was in my way.' "'who will defend me now?' "'i will defend you. i will take you away with me. i will take you to a beautiful city full of palaces. i will buy you a house and an estate and you shall be a great lady.' "'it cannot be. i already have my lawful husband and you too have your lawful wife.' "'your lawful husband shall die when i choose, and you will then be a widow. as for anicza, she only married a mask. i will tear it off and she will no longer know who i was.' "oh, my lady, can you not fancy how my heart broke at these words! yet i did not weep. "'you will deceive me as you deceived her,' replied mariora. "then the robber began to swear that i had deceived him first. he lied concerning me, oh! the accursed wretch! yet the game had to go on. mariora was no longer the mistress of her own thoughts. she is a helpless creature. if i had not whispered in her ear what she was to say, she would have had no answer ready for him. "'i fear you,' she said at my prompting, 'for you are a robber; it is not love but money that you want. why did it not occur to you to court me before? you have only come now because you have found out that my father has been here and offered me a hundred ducats that we may buy a little estate with it. you have only come here to rob me of that.' "the tempter grew furious at so much gainsaying. "'stupid wench!' he cried, 'what are your hundred ducats to me? i will give you ten times as much. here! take them!' and with that he pitched through the little window--opening above the door a heavy purse which fell rattling at our feet. it was full of ducats. i kicked it aside with loathing. "'it is easy to talk,' replied mariora. 'now, you give and give, but if i were to let you in, you would take them back again to-morrow with my own.' "'i swear i will not.' "'no, i will not believe the oaths of a robber. you have firearms and i am therefore defenceless against you. go and hang up your musket, your pistols, and your hunting-knife on that beech-tree, which is a hundred paces distant from the house; when you come back without your firearms i will believe that you do not want to kill me and will listen to what you have to say?' "the robber fell into the snare and did as he was bid. then he returned. 'here i am without weapons,' said he. 'let me in!' "we had to gain as much time as possible, so i whispered mariora to say that she must first stir up the fire into a blaze for she could not let him in in the dark. "these words inflamed the passion of the tempter still more. "'you will have time for that afterwards,' said he. 'i can see your beautiful eyes even in the dark, for then they shine all the more brightly.' "'then i suppose i have eyes like a cat?' i made mariora say. "'silly fool!' growled the tempter to himself in hungarian, which mariora did not understand. 'no,' he then added in roumanian, 'you have eyes like stars.' "'but confess now, do you really love me? or do you only come hither with evil designs? don't you want, now, to cut off the hands of my little child? for robbers covet the hacked off hands of babies,--they make them invisible.' "at this the man's temper fairly gave way. he perceived that he was being trifled with and exclaimed roughly: 'woman, open the door, or i'll bring it down about your ears!' and he gave the door such a blow with his clenched fist that it cracked from end to end. 'i tell you for the last time,' cried he, 'let me in peaceably. if you will come with me, i will take you, and your child also, to a pleasant place. i will make a gentleman of him and a lady of you. but if you gainsay me another moment, i'll batter in the door, dash the brains of your brat out against the wall and carry you off by force wherever i please.' "thereupon mariora paid no more attention to me but began wringing her hands and i snatched up the child, who had been awakened by the noise and begun to cry. i drew my pistol from my bosom and planted myself beside the door. if there's nobody else, i thought, i must bear the brunt of it. "the robber planted his shoulder against the door and pressed it inwards with tremendous force. the boards cracked and as the middle of the door was barricaded by a stout beam, there was soon a regular gap between the two folds of the door and the door inclined more and more inwards. through the opening thus made, i held the pistol, pointed straight at his temples and only an inch away from him. he is a very strong man, i thought, but another effort of strength and he will be lying dead at my feet." the girl was quite overcome by the narration of this scene. she paused for a moment to recover herself, during which henrietta, as pale as a statue, gazed at her in silence. presently she resumed: "at that critical moment, a cry like the howl of a wild beast resounded in front of the hut. the door fell back into its proper place and rushing to the little window, i saw that _two_ men now stood in front of the hut. "juon tare had arrived at last! "it was neither speech nor language that he addressed to his antagonist in the first instant of their encounter, it was the savage roar of a wild beast rushing upon its prey. "juon tare is a very strong man. fortunately, he is also a peaceful, retiring creature, for if he were as passionate as he is strong and frequented the wine shops, every carouse would end with the death of a man. all the more horrible was it therefore to behold him at that moment like a ravening beast of prey. "the detected seducer at once made a rush for his arms, but juon tare overtook him with an enormous bound and seized one of his hands. if fatia negra had been one of god's ordinary creatures, he must have been writhing the next moment with crushed limbs on the ground beneath juon's knee; but at the very instant in which juon caught hold of one hand, the robber faced about and seizing the herdsman round the body began to wrestle with him. "the moon flooded the valley with its light; the whole course of the struggle was plainly visible. "as soon as juon tare perceived that his antagonist was foolhardy enough to try a fall with him, he complacently allowed his body to be encircled and calmly murmured: 'ho, ho! then you would wrestle with me, eh, fatia negra! very well, be it so!' "then he also quietly encircled the trunk of his opponent with those terrible arms of his, which had shown themselves capable on one occasion of throttling a bear, and prepared to crush his adversary. "and thus began an awful struggle, the mere remembrance of which is a horror. "there is nothing more terrible than when two men struggle for life or death with their bare hands. "juon tare's tremendous strength was unable to crush fatia negra. the herdsman might perhaps have been a little exhausted by his swift run, but the robber was skilful and opposed a steel-like elasticity to the herdsman's massive weight. "now the one, now the other was forced down upon his knee, only to bound instantly back again. the grass was rooted up by their stamping feet. tightly embraced, with straining shoulders, with their fists tearing at each other's bodies, their faces were pressed so closely together that the two heads seemed but one. "now and then they would pause for an instant to take breath and at such times would gasp out short, fierce words. "'who are you?' growled juon. 'who are you that you can resist the arm of juon tare? who are you that juon tare cannot put to silence?' "'what is it you want, you fool?' the robber gasped back. 'has that two hundred ducats, the price set on my head, tempted you? is that why you want to catch me? let me go, and i will give you five hundred.' "'i will not let you go. i want neither your money, nor yet the money of the magistrates. your destruction is all that i want. you should not escape from these hands if you were thrice a devil.' "'we will see.' "and again the tussle began. each of the two men put forth all his strength against his adversary. fatia negra's garments split into rags, the blood spouted from his shoulders where juon had worried him with his sharp teeth like a wild beast. not another word did they now speak, only their panting sobs were to be heard like the snorting of two wild boars as they dragged and dashed each other up and down on the sward. "i was obliged to restrain mariora violently from rushing to her husband's assistance. she would only have distracted his attention. and besides i would not have it so. let the men fight it out, i thought. they are a well matched pair." "then you still love fatia negra?" enquired henrietta sadly. the girl blushed.--"i love him, yes,--and therefore he must die." she went on: "'at that moment he was like a magician battling with a giant. the other was half a head taller than he, and the muscles of his arms stood out like the rugged bark of an oak's trunk. black mask was much the slimmer. but every muscle in his frame seemed made of steel. his gigantic adversary might pitch and toss him wherever he pleased, he always fell on his feet; nor was the other ever able, squeeze as he might, to disjoint his arms or free his own head from fatia negra's embrace, though again and again he ducked down to do it; and then they would struggle more fiercely than ever, on their knees, with their limbs interlaced like one single, inseparable quivering mass of flesh. "'if i could only see your hidden face!' roared juon, throwing himself with all his might on black mask. 'you devil, you, i'll tear your mummery off for you!'--and he gnashed at his opponent's face with his teeth, trying to snap his mask off. "this attempt seemed to redouble fatia negra's fury. he too now began roaring like a wounded bear, struggling with a huntsman. it was no longer a struggle between men, but a ravening of two beasts. the combatants had now rolled far away from the hut. their savage yells resounded through the still pastures. we, watching them from the hut, could see that they were drawing near the edge of a steep abyss with a sheer descent of many fathoms, at the bottom of which are the sources of the little mountain streams. "'take care, juon!' cried mariora despairingly. but her voice was unheard. both of them were deaf and blind. the next moment juon gave his adversary a fierce shake and instantly the pair of them plunged head over heels into the gulf below. "we both rushed after them, and on reaching the edge of the abyss perceived one shape lying motionless among the rocks of the stream, and another limping painfully towards the further shore. this second figure was fatia negra." "surely juon was not dead?" cried henrietta, horrified. "no; only crippled by the fall. he fell undermost, the other on top. yet the other must have suffered severely. we could see from his heavy movements that he had more than one limb damaged. only with the utmost exertion did he manage to scale the opposite cliff. "while he was clambering up the mountain-side, mariora sobbing and screaming, rushed down to her insensible husband, and taking his head into her bosom dragged his limp body out of the cold water of the brook, whilst i took down from the beech-tree fatia negra's double-barrelled musket and raised it to my cheek. before me on the white rock, in the full light of the moon, a good mark for a marksman was that panting black object struggling upwards. i pointed the barrel straight at him. i took a long and careful aim. i am certain i should have hit him. and then i bethought me how much i had loved him once upon a time, and the weapon sank down. i flung it from me." the girl ceased to speak and covered her face with both her hands. it was a long time before she took them away again. at last she sprang up quickly, and turning her pale face towards henrietta, said in a hard, dry voice: "it will be the last time, your ladyship. i am weak because i am a woman, folks would say. but they shall know that that is not true. don't be afraid, my lady; what i have promised, that will i do. you have been very good to me in telling me that i was being deceived, and i will requite you for it. and now, god bless you, my lady. farewell!" "but surely you are not thinking of going home so late at night?" "what care i about the night? no spectre can meet me anywhere that is worse than the horrible thing that dwells at the bottom of my heart. god bless your ladyship. you shall hear from me soon. farewell!" then the girl gently kissed henrietta's hand and left the room, throwing into her gait and bearing an energy and a self-confidence which she was far from feeling. chapter xii the soirees at arad despite his misgivings, count kengyelesy succeeded in reaching his home at arad without being robbed by fatia negra. during the evenings of his visit at hidvár he had won back everything which he had lost on the occasion of his friend hátszegi's visit at kengyelesy, and in the joy of his heart he gave his countess _carte blanche_ in the matter of entertaining her friends and opened his halls freely to the elegant world of arad. for the society of arad is distinctly elegant. excepting pest, there is no other place in hungary where the aristocratic element is so strongly represented. nay, it has this advantage over pest that its society does not scatter as the seasons change. such pleasure-resorts as csákó, ménes, magyarát and világos and the castles of the magnates residing on the circumjacent _puszta_ are all of a heap, so to speak, around arad; so that there is no occasion for acquaintances to separate in spring or autumn; wherefore to all those who would devote themselves uninterruptedly to social joys, arad is a veritable eldorado. there was no need to offer the countess kengyelesy such an opportunity twice,--the very next day the round of visiting began. all the notabilities of the higher circles got themselves introduced to her ladyship by mutual friends, and the lesser fry, whom nobody knew, were introduced to her by the count himself. amongst those who came from afar was a young man from pest who had an official post in the county, a rare distinction in those days, who was much praised for his culture and who had spoken once or twice very sensibly at quarter sessions,--a certain szilard vamhidy. but what interested the ladies in the young man far more than his official orations was the rumour connecting his name with a romantic attachment he was said to have had with the daughter of a wealthy merchant of pest. the young man, being disappointed in his love, had resolved to kill himself, and had persuaded the girl to do likewise at the same time. only with difficulty had they been snatched from the threshold of death. subsequently, on account of this very thing, the girl had been compelled to become the wife of the wealthy hátszegi. the countess quickly made up her mind that such a young man as this was an indispensable acquaintance. what! henrietta's ideal, with whom she had been in love and who would have gladly embraced death with her! here indeed was a rare species, especially in these modern days, which deserved to be exhibited; and she gave her husband no rest till he had promised to introduce the young man to her. to this end it was necessary that he should first of all make the young man's acquaintance himself, but this was an easy matter. the deputy lord-lieutenant of the county knew them both and at his house they learnt to know each other. and count kengyelesy was one of those men whom it is impossible to avoid when once you have made his acquaintance. it was not very long, therefore, before he took his new friend, absolutely under his protection and hauled him off to his wife. the usual stiffness of a first introduction was speedily broken down by the quaint conceits of the count. the countess had donned a flowing antique _moiré_ dress and wore her hair in long english curls to match. "come now, friend szilard!" cried the count, "what do you say? this dress and that _coiffure_ hardly suit the countess's style of face--eh?" many a worthy young man would have been plunged into confusion by such a silly question, but our szilard's eternally composed countenance was not ruffled for an instant. "everything becomes the countess," he replied; "but i know of something which is still more charming and would make any fair woman still more beautiful." "really! you make me quite curious," said the countess. "why, szilard, you a connoisseur!--you surprise me!" cried the count. "i mean those blue stuff gowns with white spots, which lend quite a peculiar charm to our women, especially if you set it off with an old-fashioned _csipkeköto_."[ ] [footnote : a hungarian headdress made of black lace. the dress suggested was also of native hungarian manufacture worn at one time by the greatest ladies.] at the very next _soirée_ the countess kengyelesy was attired in one of these blue stuff gowns with white spots, of home manufacture, and with a black lace head-dress--exactly as szilard had described it to her. "my dear friend, be so good as to look there!" said the count appropriating szilard while he was still only half through the doorway. "there she is costumed from head to foot exactly as you advised. ah! i pity you. you are already in the toils." szilard hastened at once to greet the countess, who treated the handsome young fellow with marked distinction all through the evening. indeed she made no secret of it. three days later szilard was bound, by custom to pay a complimentary visit upon the countess. he purposely chose an hour when he knew she would not be at home, and left his card, but the same evening he encountered her at the theatre. it was in the entrance hall, where she was waiting for her carriage, and till it drove up szilard could not very well leave her. "ah, ah! my honoured friend," cried the countess archly, "this won't do. you wait till i am not at home, and then you go and leave your card upon me as a token of respect. but i don't mean to let you off so easily. i have got a lot to say to you which i am determined you shall listen to. you must therefore promise to come to my house at twelve o'clock to-morrow, or else i shall astonish the world by inviting you to come along with me this instant in my carriage." a man, in another mood, could scarcely have resisted the temptation of replying that he would be delighted if the countess put her threat into execution then and there, even at the risk of astonishing the world. szilard merely looked grave and said that he would be happy to pay his respects to the countess at twelve on the morrow. he went accordingly. his pulses beat no more quickly than usual as he entered the countess's private apartment, although she gave the footman to understand in a low voice that she would be at home to nobody else, and invited the young man to sit down close beside her, face to face. the countess was a beautiful woman, and she possessed the art of dressing beautifully likewise. the countess had beautiful eyes and she could smile beautifully with them, too. the countess had an extremely pretty mouth, and when she spoke it was prettier still, for she had a witty way with her. the danger of the situation was very appreciable. "my dear, good szilard," began the countess, with that light, natural _naïveté_ which so easily disarms the strongest of us, "do not take it ill of me if i speak to you confidentially. the world will very soon be saying that you are in love with me and i with you. i shall not believe the former and you will not believe the latter. let the world say what it likes. i have a real blessing of a husband, whom it would be a shame to offend, and you have quite other ideas. i know what they are. don't be angry, don't frown! i am not exacting. i don't want to fetch you away from other people. i will not ask where you have buried your treasures. i will merely say to you that i know you have treasures and that they are buried. is it not so? you need not be afraid of me." szilard was a little taken aback by this unexpected turn. could it be sheer curiosity, he thought? "i have nothing to be afraid of, countess," remarked szilard, smiling, "i have no buried secrets. i was a young man once, that is all. i have had my foolish illusions, like other people, and like other people i have cured myself of them." "nay, nay, sir, now you are not quite sticking to the truth; you are _not_ cured of them. but before i go any further let me tell you that all this is not mere feminine curiosity on my part. i want you to trust me and i will trust you equally. believe me when i say that if i love to make fun of empty-headed noodles, i can always respect a good heart because it is a rarity. the lady i want to speak to you about is my dear friend and she is very, very unhappy." szilard was bound to believe that this was true, for tear-drops sparkled in the countess's eyes. "is it my fault?" he asked bitterly. "it is neither your fault nor hers. i know that as a fact. the cause of it all is money, the thirst for money. there is not a more miserable creature in the wide world than the daughter of a rich man. but that is the least of her misfortunes. they married her to a man who did not love her, who only took her because her grandfather was a millionaire. her grandfather frightened her into the match by threatening her with his curse and now, when she has become the wife of this man who does not even feel friendship for her, i hear that this same old grandfather has made another will depriving her of everything." szilard's lips trembled at these words. "you can imagine what will be the result. this young woman loves not and is not loved. they gave her away to an oriental nabob who, imagining his wife to be wealthy, scatters his money like a prince. and now this man has suddenly been startled by the report that his wife has absolutely nothing!--do you know the meaning of the expression: bread of charity?" "i have heard the expression, but the bread itself i have never tasted." "then you can have no idea what that sort of bread is like which a man gives to the wife whom he finds to be poor, when he fancied her to be rich--oh! that sort of bread is very, very bitter!" ah! thought szilard, the bread that _i_ offered her was only dry--not bitter. "i can tell you on very good authority," resumed the countess, "that the baron's conduct towards his wife has completely changed since he discovered that she has been disinherited. he had lost heavily at cards when the news first reached him, and he took no pains to conceal his ill-humour from his wife in consequence. the poor of the district had got to regard henrietta as their ministering angel because of her labours of love among them, but now she can play the part of lady bountiful no longer. she has to shut her door in the faces of her poor petitioners, for her husband will not allow any unnecessary expense. nay, more, they say that hátszegi now keeps his wife's private jewels under lock and key to prevent her from pawning them and relieving the needs of the poor with the proceeds, as she was wont to do, and only brings them out on state occasions when he compels her to pile them all on her person. isn't that a humiliation for a woman?" "if only you had become mine," szilard mentally apostrophized poor henrietta, "you would now have had a cosey little chimney-corner, and a nice little room all to yourself; and though i could not have bought you jewels, the best of every morsel of food we shared together would always have been yours." "and," pursued the countess, "most degrading experience of all, hátszegi no longer attempts to conceal from his wife his outrageous _liaisons_ with pretty peasant women. the thing has long been a byeword, though his wife knew nothing of it--but she knows it now. nor is this all, my dear vámhidy. poor henrietta's heart is suffering from another sorrow which she feels all the more keenly because it smarts unceasingly. her young brother, koloman, has suddenly disappeared from pest and left no trace behind him. they say all sorts of things about him, which i do not care about telling you, but most of them are bad enough. on the news reaching henrietta, she asked her husband to make enquiries as to the cause of koloman's disappearance. hátszegi wrote to his agent and received an answer which he will not show to henrietta on any consideration; nay, more, he commanded his wife never to mention koloman's name before him again. the poor woman is naturally in despair. she cannot conceive why the cause of her brother's disappearance should be hidden from her. and now i am coming to the end and aim of all this rigmarole. henrietta believes, and i am likewise convinced of it, that if her brother be alive, there is only one person in the world whom he will try and seek out and that is yourself." "poor lad! he loved me much," sighed szilard. "and now you understand what i am driving at, don't you? if anybody can find out the whereabouts of henrietta's brother and the real reason why he fled from his relations at pest and took refuge neither with his aunt, madame langai, who, i hear, has taken his part all through, nor yet with his sister, it is most certainly you. this is no lawyer's business, for a lawyer would set about it too gingerly. here sympathy and chivalry are before all other things necessary, and if the husband declines this noble task, we have nobody to turn to except--the man who has been sacrificed." szilard bit his lips to prevent the tears from coming. who could ever have thought that so frivolous a woman would have had so much feeling for her friend? then he rose, bowed and curtly informed the countess that he would undertake the commission. the countess pressed his hand affectionately: "and keep me informed of everything," said she, "for i am the common post between you two." szilard thanked the countess and withdrew. he pondered the matter carefully till the evening, and by that time he had a plan all ready in his head. for a whole week after this, nothing was to be seen of vámhidy. count kengyelesy sought him everywhere and could find him nowhere. every day he asked his countess what she had done with the young man. ten days after the first _soirée_ the date for another had been fixed. szilard did not appear even at this. kengyelesy hunted for him from pillar to post, but could not discover what had become of him. nobody had heard anything of him. "he has poisoned himself," said kengyelesy at last to a group of his sporting friends. "it is quite plain to me. when a fellow has got that sort of thing into his head once, he will try it again and again. i wash my hands of the business, it is all the fault of the countess. why does she play her tricks with such people? no doubt he has swallowed poison and then crawled away into some nook or corner of a forest. in a month or two, i suppose, we shall come upon him unexpectedly." "whom shall we come upon unexpectedly?" cried a voice behind his back. he looked around and there was the long lost szilard. "oh, there you are, eh? what have you been doing with yourself all this time? come along with me--and heaven help you!--i will take you to my wife. poor young chap! i thought you had already had enough of it and made away with yourself in consequence." then he drew his arm through szilard's and tripped off to the countess. "here he is!" he cried. "we have found him, do not abandon yourself to despair on his account. be so good as to sit down beside him!--here's a chair! i'll take care nobody disturbs you!" the countess pressed szilard's hand and made a sign to him to remain. "i have just arrived from pest," said szilard. "really! well?" "i have found out everything, or rather, i should say, a good deal." "do pray tell me at once. all the people are dancing, they will take no notice of us." "ever since old lapussa's death," began szilard, "for he died soon after he had altered his will, all the members of his family have been at bitter variance. madame langai, the old man's widowed daughter, disputes the validity of the last will--whereby mr. john lapussa becomes heir to the exclusion of everybody else, and has instituted legal proceedings to upset it. madame langai seeks to prove that old lapussa was _non compos mentis_ when he disinherited the other members of his family, and she also maintains, that the old fellow had no reason whatever for hating his grandchildren and reducing them to beggary as he has done. on the other hand, mr. john maintains that his dear father had excellent reasons for detesting his grandchildren because the baroness hátszegi has never written a letter to her grandfather since her marriage and both she and her husband have expressed themselves, at home, in the most disrespectful terms imaginable concerning the old gentleman, even giving it to be understood that they would be very glad if they had not to wait too long for the curtain to fall on the fifth act of his life's drama. he calls as his witness one margari, who was formerly old lapussa's reader before the girl was married, and since then has been compelled to act as secretary to hátszegi, or rather as a spy upon him. this fellow, who is now the mere tool of mr. john, is quite prepared to retail all sorts of horrors about the hátszegis. as to the other grandchild, the boy koloman i mean, his uncle has saddled him with a terrible charge. he has produced a bill for , florins which he accuses the lad of forging in the name of his sister, the baroness hátszegi." "ah!" exclaimed the countess in an incredulous voice. "the thing is ridiculously incredible, i know, yet there the bill is; i have seen it, for it has been sequestered by the court. it is obviously in the youth's handwriting as also is the very bad imitation of his sister's signature. in connection therewith is the fact of the youth's sudden disappearance (and every attempt to trace his whereabouts has failed), for, on the very day when the subject of the bill was first broached, he vanished from his college, and apparently he had been preparing for flight some time before." "but what could have induced a mere child to do such a thing, he is scarcely thirteen years old?" "he was always somewhat flighty by nature, though that, of course, is not sufficient to explain how he came to forge his sister's name on a draft for , florins." "but why will not the baron tell his wife all about it?" "does not your ladyship see?--it is quite plain to me. hátszegi understands his wife thoroughly. he feels certain that as soon as the baroness hears of what her brother is accused, she would not hesitate a moment to acknowledge the forged signature as really her own." "true, true. and then i suppose her brother could be saved." "completely." "and then, i suppose, she would have to pay the money?" "either pay it or be sued for it." "poor woman! i know she has no money. a most awkward position, most awkward. but it does not matter; if her jewels are under lock and key, nobody guards mine." at these words which came straight from the best of hearts, szilard could not restrain himself from impressing a burning kiss on the countess's hand so affected was he by this outburst of generosity. "ah, ha!" cackled the count behind his back, "so we have got as far as that already, eh! capital, capital, upon my word! nay, nay, my young friend, don't be afraid of me. do not put yourself out in the least on my account! god bless you, my boy!" "to-morrow, we'll plan it all out, i'll be waiting for you at one o'clock," whispered the countess to szilard, "now i must go, the cotillion is beginning." "don't you dance then?" enquired the count of szilard. "nonsense! they'll say you are mourning somebody. thank god, old lapussa was not _your_ father-in-law, but hátszegi's. it is for him to pull a long face, but you go and dance!" chapter xiii tit for tat it may seem strange to us that the rumour of fatia negra's nocturnal adventure was not spread abroad in these parts, but as a matter of fact nobody did speak of it. it seemed as if everybody who knew anything about it, died out of the world before he could pass the news on to his neighbour. the dwellers in the hut in the ice valley had vanished without leaving a trace behind them. the herd, untended by a shepherd, was scattered to the winds by wolves. nobody could say what had become of juon tare and mariora. the person who shewed least of all tell that she knew anything about this midnight adventure was anicza herself. she had sobbed out the whole story before henrietta, but after that she kept her own counsel and kept a good countenance also when folks looked at her. but there was venom at the bottom of her heart, and she nourished it there. in a fortnight's time fatia negra visited her again. there was now nothing the matter with him, all traces of the life and death struggle had disappeared. anicza was more affectionate towards him than ever. she did not even ask him where he had been all this time, nor did she notice the scar on his neck which had not been there before. fatia negra came to her at night, as he always did. the famous adventurer was very cautious. anicza knew for certain that whenever he came to visit her in a populous place like this, before him and behind him went faithful henchmen who stood on guard at the corners of the streets and gave a signal at the approach of any danger. only amongst the snowy mountains was he wont to go alone. he was also very wary in other ways. thus, he never drank wine: there was really no getting at him. and if once he had his weapons handy, then he could always cut his way through his enemies, even if he were completely surrounded. "fatia negra," said the girl, throwing her arms round his neck, "last night i had an evil dream. i dreamt that the smallpox had ruined my face. would you love me if i were pockmarked?" "yes, i would still love you," replied the adventurer. "well, as it happens i am not. kiss me! then i dreamt another dream. i dreamt that all our property was destroyed. i was a ragged wandering beggar with my head tied up. would you love me if i were a ragged beggar?" "little fool, of course i should love you." "then embrace me nicely. after that i dreamt that some one had shut me up in prison for some great offence; they had condemned me to many years' imprisonment, condemned me to spend all my youth behind iron-barred windows and they would only let me free again when i had become a wrinkled old hag. would you love me if i was in prison? would you come and stand outside my iron bars and speak to me now and then?" "stop this foolish chatter! who is able to answer such questions?" and in order that she should obey the more readily he closed her mouth with kisses. but as soon as the kisses were over, she began to prattle again: "but after that i went on dreaming again, and i dreamt what made me very angry with myself. i dreamt that i married someone else and forgot you. would you still love me if i were to deceive you and wed another?" "yes, i would love you even then, anicza,--and my love for you would make me shoot you through the heart." how the girl laughed when he said this! "wait a bit," said she, "and you will see that it will all come to pass. i shall grow sick and ugly. i shall become a poor beggar. they will send me to prison and make a slave of me. i shall deceive you and wed another. then we shall see whether you will love me; then we shall see whether you will kill me." anicza thought all this so amusing that she laughed aloud. the noise brought old onucz into the room. his daughter turned towards him smilingly. "isn't it true, father, that three suitors are courting me?" she asked. "i was asking fatia negra which of the three i should take." old onucz scratched his nose pretty hard at this question. he would have liked to have said: "whichever you like, as long as it is the right one!" but he was afraid of offending fatia negra. "well, domnule," said he at last, "truth is truth, after all. i'm getting an old man now, and what's the good of my scraping together and piling up all these ducats if nothing comes of it all? i have indeed an only daughter, a pretty girl and a good girl, too, but what's the use of that? you are not her husband. if i only knew of some corner of the world quite out of your reach, i would gather together all my belongings, seek it out and settle down there; but it would be of no avail, you would always find me out and befool my girl again, so i have to stay where i am." "don't grumble, old chap, there is a time for all things. this black mask shall not always cover my face; when i come to see you, my name shall not always be fatia negra. the day will come when a carriage and four shall drive into your courtyard, a sabre-tashed heyduke will then leap from the box and open the silver-plated coach and a cavalier in cloth of gold will step out who comes to you as a suitor. if you see this ring on his finger you will know that it is i, and there will no longer be a fatia negra in the wide world. we will go together to bucharest, a true roumanian city, where folks will respect us and then our happy days will begin." "if only that could be soon! but you have been telling me this for a long, long time." "that is because we cannot put an end to our work yet. there are very many people who still expect much from us. if i do not satisfy them they will remain a perpetual danger to us. that is why i am compelled to wear this mask a little longer. when once i have taken it off, he who used to wear it is dead and has nothing more in common with me." "then you really mean to break away from everything one day?" "yes, it is high time. my little finger whispers that someone wants to betray me. but say that to nobody. we must not frighten our own people. the government is getting suspicious at the disappearance of so much gold. it is sniffing about, but at present it is on a wrong track. the jews of hungary are suspected and they happen to know nothing at all about it. but it is quite enough that suspicion _has_ been aroused. so far they fancy that only about fifty to sixty pounds of gold a year are unlawfully made away with. they don't know yet that it amounts to five or six hundredweight, which is coined into ready money underneath the ground. this business must be put a stop to. this year the mines yielded a rich profit. next saturday there will be a last delivery of gold in the lucsia cavern. as soon as the coins are struck, we shall divide the profits, wish one another 'buna nopte!'[ ] and depart our respective ways. we shall destroy the machinery, blow up the smelting furnaces with gunpowder, break down the aqueducts and close up the mouth of the cavern. after that everyone can do as he likes with his gold. i shall wash my hands of it." [footnote : good night.] "well said!" cried old onucz, "that is as i would have it also. the whole lot of us who are partners in the concern will meet once more in the lucsia cavern. there we will listen to what you say and swear to each other that we will not say a word of what has gone on down below there. then everyone will do as you bid, for you are the most prudent of us all." "then i shall only have to wait another week?" enquired anicza, winding the locks of fatia negra round her fingers. "for what?" asked the adventurer. "nay, but surely you know?" "aha! of course!" said he smiling. "you mean you will only have to wait another week for me to cease to be your husband under a mask and become your real, true husband, eh? that is the end of all your thoughts, eh?" "yes, yes!" said the girl, but she thought within herself: "i shall only have to wait a week to give up your masked head into the hands of the hangman!" so fatia negra unsuspiciously rocked the girl up and down on his knee and reflected complacently: "girls are made in order that they may believe the lies which men choose to tell them." but anicza was a wallachian girl and wallachian girls are jealous, revengeful and artful. * * * * * that saturday had arrived. seven hundred torches lit up the lucsia grotto. in between, from out of the corners of the cavern bengal lights burst forth from time to time flooding for a few moments the whole of that gloomy palace with green, blue, white and rose-coloured flames to which the red flame of the pitch-torches with their black smoke formed a spectral contrast. the great company of coiners had arranged for the last evening before their separation a sumptuous feast in this subterranean hall. the floor was strewn with white sand and all round about tents were erected in which roast and baked meats were piled up into veritable hillocks on broad beech-wood dishes. in order to show the wealth at their command an ox was roasting whole on a flaming fire, revolving as it roasted, while two men, one on each side, basted it well with bacon fat held on iron forks. close behind it was a gigantic vat of wine, everybody was free to drink out of it as much as he chose. right in front of the smithy, too, was another gigantic vat holding about fifty firkins, filled to the brim with the finest eau de vié. a couple of young fellows lolled in front of the vat; they were already too lazy to dip their glasses into the fluid, they sucked it in from the brim of the vat itself. the glare of the smelting oven no longer shone from the windows of the stone building in the midst of the cavern, the smoke intermingled with sparks no longer welled out of the flue, the subterranean hubbub no longer accompanied the stroke of the hammers, the machinery was silent, its work was done. two hundred and fifty thousand coined ducats await distribution; of these, fifty thousand belong to fatia negra and twenty thousand to old onucz. the smithy to-day is adorned with green twigs and bright ribbons, and on its massive chimneys all the requisites for a pyrotechnical display have been heaped up; it is from these that the rockets will ascend, it is here the blue and red catherine wheels will revolve. the vaulted ceiling of the cavern is so high that the rockets in their highest flight will not graze it. an orchestral-like balustrade has been provided for the musicians. the shareholders themselves will do their best to enliven the festivities with fiddles, flutes and bagpipes. the guests are already appearing, singly and in groups, down through the machinery of the mill. the men are all accompanied by their womenkind in gala costumes. before the appearance of fatia negra, mirth and uproar have full swing. everyone gives free course to his jollity till the chief comes whose black mask is sufficient to quiet everyone's good humour. and to-day brings with it its own peculiar festivity. after the great distribution of money, fatia negra will take the daughter of onucz by the hand and plight his troth to her in front of a crucifix placed on a high pedestal. the oath of betrothal will be an invention of fatia negra himself, filled with well assorted curses and promises. and he will swear to regard anicza as his lawful bride from this day forth until such time as he can, without any mask or disguise, conduct her before a priest and solemnize his wedding in another place and before other people. for a long time this ceremony has been the pet idea of old onucz and now fatia negra has agreed to it. gradually all the partners have assembled in the cavern. amongst the last to arrive are old onucz and his daughter with the bridesmaids. anicza is dressed as usual with her girdle and embroidered bodice and a round hat on her head. the only difference is that now she sparkles all over with gold and jewels and her pig-tail is interwoven with real pearls. amongst all the picked beauties who have gathered together here, she is still the most beautiful. only the bridegroom still keeps the good folks waiting. he is a long time coming, as becomes a great man. nay, it is quite possible he may be there already without anyone seeing him. perchance he is walking along there behind the bride in an invisible mantle and only when he throws it off, then only and not till then will the people see him. anicza screams aloud--perhaps with joy! everyone is thunderstruck; they imagine their leader must be in league with the devil himself, for he comes up from out of the earth! and with what splendour does he ascend! the purple robe that he wears is scarce discernible for gold lace; a long embroidered mantle, like the mantle of a prince, floats down from his shoulders and on his head he wears a golden helmet from which the mask depends. the top of this helmet is set all round about with diamonds, and one of his comrades makes the remark that the spike of this helmet is somewhat muddy. he wore no weapon by his side, not even a dagger. naturally,--one generally lays aside one's arms when one is about to swear solemnly before an altar. onucz approached him obsequiously and kissed the hand of his mysterious leader with profound respect, whilst anicza approached him with roguish archness, adroitly feigning a superstitious fear of her magician of a sweetheart. "i am not afraid of you, fatia negra! though you come and go unseen. i fear you come not in god's name." "that is true. we are nearer methinks to the kingdom of the devil." "hush! say not so!" "why not? if these men had imagined that i came down from heaven, they would have betrayed me long ago. they would have carried me bound to fehervár; but because they fancy i came from below and am acquainted with the devil, they fear me and are faithful. it is the same with you: you love me because you fear me." "ho, ho, ho! we shall see. i fear nobody, not even you. it was a joke when i said just now: i am afraid. you did not see that." "come now, i'll put you to the test at once. you see that crucifix on the altar? on that we will swear fidelity to each other and everyone here present will also swear to preserve eternal secrecy. as, however, we coiners cannot call god to witness, for by our trade we have rejected him, our oaths cannot ascend to heaven but must descend elsewhere. in order then that our oath may be effectual, go if you have the courage, turn the crucifix and return it to its place--only upside down." for an instant the girl grew pale and trembled, then she advanced boldly up to the altar, seized the crucifix and lifting it up, turned it round and thrust it upside down into a hole that happened to be on the altar, so that its pedestal stood up in the air. all who were present looked on with wonder and horror. as the girl raised the cross and put it down again reverse ways, a mechanical involuntary jolting motion of her arms was discernible, though her face betrayed nothing. an electrical machine hidden beneath the altar was the cause of this shock. "well?" enquired fatia negra as she returned to her place. "the crucifix struck me when i seized it, and struck me again when i put it down," whispered the girl; and as she said these words she was very pale. "and yet you did what i told you," said fatia negra, placing his hand on anicza's shoulder. "you are a brave girl, and worthy of me." "comrades!" the leader of the adventurers now cried with a thundrous voice, "come and listen to me!" everyone thereupon abandoned his booth, his table or his diversion and stood in a circle round black mask. "ye know," he began, "the name of that place which is under the earth! its name is the grave. ye are all of you at this moment in the grave with me and if i wish it, dead men. whoever would see once more the bright sunlight of the upper world where dawn is now breaking, he must swear that he will never at any time, drunk or sober, tell to any man what has happened, what he has seen or heard in this underground tomb, but will regard it all as a dream which he has forgotten on awakening. swear this with me in this hour! i myself will first of all repeat the oath and ye must say whether ye are content therewith or not." thereupon he approached the altar whose basement formed the glass isolating "island" which all of us who have ever seen an electrical machine know so well. the electric machine itself, a battery of leyden jars was hidden under the altar and connected by a piece of clockwork with that opening covered with metal in which the crucifix had been planted. black mask stood silently for a moment on the basement of the altar after removing his helmet from his head, and those who stood nearest were horrified to observe that single hairs of his long flowing mane of hair rose slowly and remained stiffly suspended in the air. there was a deep silence, the silence that prevails under the earth--among the dead. and now fatia negra began to recite the words of the oath in a solemn ghostly voice: "i, the bearer of the black mask, fatia negra, as they call me, swear in the subterranean midnight by the living fire which falling like rain reduced sodom and gomorrah to ashes; by the flood which killed all the dwellers upon earth; by the gaping gulf which swallowed up the traitorous bands of dathan and abiram; by the spirit which announced the death of king saul; by the angel lucifer who by reason of his rebellion was cast down from heaven; by the angel malach hamovesh who carries in his hands the sword of violent death; by the twelve plagues of egypt with which moses visited the land of the pharaohs; by all these things and by the star under which i was born do i swear secresy--and may i perish in fire and water, may i be buried alive in the bowels of the earth, may i become a pillar of salt, may the wild beast of the forest tear me to pieces, may my own weapon turn against me in the evil hour, may i be terrified by midnight spectres and hag-ridden, may my body be smitten with leprosy, my eyes with blindness, my tongue with dumbness, my bones by rottenness, if ever i speak one syllable to anybody, be it priest, or child, or father, or condemning judge, or threatening headsman, of anything i have seen, heard or learnt in this place, or write it down with my hand or put anybody on the track of it! may every drop of my blood become curse-laden; may my remotest posterity anathematize me; may i awake in my grave and go about again as a spectre, if ever i act in anyway contrary to what i now swear! may all those who are under the earth and above the earth be the witnesses of this my oath!" this drastic formula satisfied everybody. in those parts the people much prefer such unmeaning self-objurgation to our legal oaths as taken in the presence of the judges and they are considered a hundred times more binding. meanwhile numerous single hairs had seemed to detach themselves from black mask's long locks and now stood upright all around his head like some spectral crown. those who stood around regarded him with deep horror. many believed that a supernatural marvellous power was in his words; only the girl did not believe in him at all. in order to increase still further this terrified respect the adventurer beckoned towards him the old men of the assembly. "come hither, that ye may see for yourselves how well acquainted with the words of the oath are those in that other place where knowledge needs must be; stretch out your hands towards me, touch me with the tips of your fingers and ye will discover there is something else present here besides yourselves." old onucz tremblingly stretched out his hand in the direction of fatia negra and the next moment collapsed with fear when he perceived sparks crackle forth from his leader's garments which burnt his finger tips. more than one elder was afraid at first to put out his hand till curiosity made him venture everything. several wanted to convince themselves personally of this miracle, which they could not credit from the hearsay of others and the juggler himself encouraged those standing near him to touch him wherever they chose and fire would spring from his body. sparks sometimes leaped forth from his neck and sometimes from the tips of his ears and everyone was persuaded that the curse had already made its way into every drop of his blood. anicza alone did not draw near him. "are you afraid of me, then?" enquired the imposter. "no." "come and kiss me then!" anicza approached and allowed herself to be kissed. immediately afterwards a shudder ran through her. "well? what did you feel?" "your mouth burnt my mouth," replied the girl, and fatia negra happening to look aside just then, she furtively crossed herself. fatia negra was completely satisfied with the success of this comedy. their awe of the mysterious and the unintelligible had made his comrades his slaves; he need have no more scruples concerning them. "give me your right hand, anicza," said he, "and give your other hand to your next neighbour, and let everyone take the hand of the person next to him." thus he made them form a long chain, the extreme end of which was brought up by old onucz in whose hand he placed a slender conducting rod which hung down from the altar. then he recited the fantastic oath before them all once more, whilst they repeated every syllable of it after him. the comedy was concluded by a violent electric shock which instantly sent a spasm of pain through the muscles and sinews of every member of the living chain. the poor untaught creatures all imagined that the devil himself was flying through their limbs and with tears and groans they begged black mask not to put them to any further test. "and now, fatia negra," said old onucz respectfully, "the moment has come in which you also must keep your word. will you really take my daughter to wife?" "i will not see the light of day again until i have done so." "will you swear to be her husband in the way you promised to swear?" "you shall hear me." "then have i something else to say to you. over there, as you see, stands the great weighing machine, in one of the scales i will place anicza and in the other as many piles of ducats as will make her kick the beam. i will give my girl as many gold ducats as she weighs." thereupon the two bridesmen produced a large wooden platter, placed the bride on it, raised it high in the air and carried it to the huge weighing machine. onucz bade them place both bride and platter in the scale that it might weigh the heavier. then they piled up into the other scale as many of the sacks of ducats sealed with the seal of onucz as were necessary to establish an absolute equipoise between the two scales, and then while both the girl and the gold, balancing each other were floating in the air, old onucz, his face beaming with triumph, poked fatia negra in the side with his elbows and said: "and now all that is yours." the adventurer rushed to the weighing-machine, not indeed to the scale on which the gold was, but to where the girl stood and lifted her down on his arm as if she were a child. the other scale, losing its balance, rushed earthwards and the sacks filled with gold ducats toppled off it left and right. at this the company was delighted. fatia negra's manly tenderness was appreciated by everyone and old onucz, radiant with joy, turned towards his cronies: "you see it is not my money but my daughter that he is after!" and yet if fatia negra had only been able to foresee what was about to happen the next instant, if only he had been able to guess what would happen during the first few moments of the first approaching quarter of an hour, could he but have heard one step, one bump which might have told him what was going on just then above his head, instead of extending his hands towards the girl, he would have done much more wisely if he had grasped in each hand one of the sacks lying on the other scale and made off with it somewhere through that dark corridor which nobody knew of but he himself, under the special protection of the devil. just now, however, the devil was evidently not looking after him as carefully as usual, for he returned to the altar with the girl in his arms and deposited his load on the altar steps. the girl knelt down. "strew over her corn moistened with honey!" whispered old onucz to the bridesmaids;--he considered this old custom as of the highest importance. possibly it was a symbol of fruitfulness. anicza wanted fatia negra to bend down to her. she had something to whisper in his ear. he leant over her as she desired, drew her pretty face close up to his, and the girl timidly whispered: "are you going to take me away under the earth?" "are you afraid i shall do so?" "with you i will go wherever you choose and will fear nothing." "i take you at your word." "i don't care. whither lies the way, to the right or to the left?" "to the left. everything which brings luck must be done lefthandedly." "is the door underneath the coining-shop?" asked the girl carelessly. "yes, if you must know." "i am ready. say the oath that i may hear it!" fatia negra repeated his hocus-pocus, kneeling down beside anicza on the steps of the altar, and raising his eyes towards the black vault of the cavern as he recited the words of a new oath, which kept all the listeners spellbound, so full it was of grisly images and hellish fancies. so deep indeed was the general attention that nobody observed in the meantime that, in the dark background formed by the distant walls of the cavern, a multitude of strange faces were popping up. first two men descended through the machinery of the mill and then two others until, gradually, a hundred of them had assembled. they were all armed and dressed in uniform, but their arms were concealed beneath their mantles, that they might not glimmer through the darkness. and then they quietly formed into ranks like supernumeraries on the stage of a theatre whilst the chief comedian is ending his monologue in front of the footlights. only anicza had observed them. during the whole course of the oath, she had not once looked at fatia negra's cursing lips, but at the groups forming in the darkness above his head. the oath over, fatia negra seized the reversed crucifix and an electric shock again jolted the hand of the girl which he held fast in his own right hand. "now, you swear it also!" cried he. the only reply the girl gave was to passionately tear her hand out of the adventurer's. rising from her knees, and with her handsome face full of rage, scorn and hatred, she turned upon him, who knelt at her feet, gnashing her pearly teeth as she spoke: "wretched play-actor! masked imposter! you have deceived everybody, but nobody so much as me. do you remember that night in the ice valley and how shamefully you betrayed me there? know then that i was present in that hut, that it was i who blew the horn and brought back the jealous husband from the forest. i saw the tussle that followed and i swore, there and then, that i would be your ruin. just now you swore that if ever you betrayed me, thus might you yourself be betrayed by whomsoever you trusted most. you said: 'let water pursue; let fire seize me, let the axe of the headsman descend upon me and the dogs drink up my blood!' be it so, then--here is fire in front of you and water behind you and the headsman's sword above your head! the dogs that are to lick your blood are already barking for it. i have betrayed you. look behind you!" the armed band of soldiers, moving forward in line, like a piece of machinery, suddenly disclosed a row of bayonets glittering in the light of the torches. "we are lost!" howled the mob, whilst the voice of the officer in command (it had a strong foreign accent), rose above the din: "down with your arms! no resistance!" onucz rushed roaring towards his sacks of ducats, the women scattered screaming among the tents. for an instant fatia negra stood petrified before anicza, like a devil caught in a trap, and gazed vacantly at the girl's flaming face. anicza now turned quickly towards the armed soldiers and cried with a piercing voice: "hasten juon tare! seize the smelting-oven entrance, else this devil will still escape us!" that was why she wanted to know from fatia negra which way they would go underground. at these words, however, the adventurer recovered himself. he saw a pitiless enemy and a troop of armed men hastening to the door of the smelting-furnace and that way of refuge was consequently closed. the same instant an infernal idea occurred to him. hastily snatching up a burning torch from the altar with a couple of vigorous bounds he approached the smelting-furnace. twenty bayonets and a long axe in the hands of juon tare were raised against him--and he was unarmed. but it was not to the door he wished to get. with a spring sideways he reached the huge vat filled with brandy, threw the burning torch down in front of it and placing his muscular shoulders against the vat, with a desperate exertion of strength scattered its contents on to the floor of the cavern from end to end. in an instant the whole cavern was in flames! the floor was of stone so that it could not absorb the spirit as it leaked out and it flashed up as it caught the flame of the torch close at hand. it spread rapidly like a lake of fire that has burst its dams. the blue spirit-flame filled the whole of the empty cavern with a pale, ghastly glare, the air, the empty space itself seemed to burst into flame. hundreds of torches, burnt down to their very roots, flickered luridly in the midst of this blue fire of hell, and the heaped-up fire works,--the bengali pyramids and the rockets and crackers--flamed, fizzled and banged about in the midst of the terrible heat. and in the thick of this infernal blaze black figures, like the souls of the accursed, were running frantically about, howling, shrieking and toppling over one another and seeking a refuge on the higher rocks whither the flames, spreading through the air, leaped after them. juon tare lost his eyesight in the flames. the others tried to find a refuge in the aqueduct running through the cavern, but the pursuing alcohol rushed after them like a living cataract of fire. everyone seemed bound to perish at this hellish marriage feast. only two people did not lose their presence of mind; only two knew what ought to be done, and one of these was fatia negra. when the armed soldiers scattered from before the door of the smelting-furnace, he had boldly waded through the burning spirit; he knew very well that it could not set fire to clothing immediately and he took care to hold his hands in front of his eyes to save himself from being blinded. he tore the door open and hastily vanished through it. the other was anicza, who, when she saw that in the hundred-fold confusion everyone had lost his head and was running desperately to certain death, quickly snatched up an axe, rushed to the gigantic beer vats and staved in their bottoms. the neutral fluid streamed down upon the floor like a water fall and, gradually gaining ground, forced the flaming _palinka_[ ] back further and further, till at last the infernal blue light was gradually extinguished. [footnote : hungarian brandy.] by that time, however, the beautiful bride was a sight of horror, her face was burnt out of all recognition. every member of the party had received injuries from the fire. some of them, already blinded, writhed in agony on the ground and dipped their faces in the cool puddles formed by the flowing beer. old onucz had not a hair of his head left, but for all that he was still sitting on a heap of ducats, which were rolling in every direction out of the half charred sacks. his scorched hands he dug down deep among his ducats, and thought, perhaps, that they would assuage his pangs. both of juon tare's eyes had been burnt out by an explosion of gunpowder, and two of the soldiers had also received serious injuries. only after the general terror had subsided a little, did it occur to someone that now that the fire had been brought under, fatia negra might be pursued. this someone was the bride. it was she who seized a new torch, it was she who cried to the soldiers: "after me!" and was the first to tear open the door of the smelting-furnace. within was darkness. by torchlight they explored every corner of that underground world--but fatia negra was nowhere to be found. chapter xiv the mikalai csÁrda from hidvár to gyula fehervár is a good day's journey, even with the best horses and in the best weather; in the rainy season the mountain streams make the journey still longer. fortunately, exactly half-way lies the mikalai _csárdá_, in which dwells a good honest wallachian gentleman who also follows the profession of innkeeper. in these mining regions there are no jews, all the inns and _csárdás_ are in the hands of the armenians and wallachs: the people are content with them and the hungarian gentry like them. young makkabesku had built up his den in a most picturesque situation beside a stream gushing down from among the mountains and forming a waterfall close to the very house. this stream possessed the peculiar property of turning to stone every leaf and twig which fell into it, even the branches of the trees hanging over it were turned into pretty white petrifactions so far as the water was able to reach them. domnul makkabesku did not carry on the business of inn-keeper for the sake of gain (he would not have been able to make a living out of it if he had tried), but from sheer goodheartedness and good-fellowship. his charges therefore were extremely moderate. a traveller on foot who asked for a night's lodging, had to pay twopence, a traveller on horseback a shilling; if he required wine and brandy for supper as well, still he was only charged a shilling. who would go to the trouble of totting up extra figures for trifles of that sort? a carriage and four was not taxed at all, those who came in it paid what they chose. if anybody did not ask what he had to pay but simply shook hands and went on his way, mine host simply wished him a happy journey and never said a word about his account. for makkabesku was a proud man in his way and thought a great deal of his gentility. he expected to be addressed as "domnule!"[ ] and was delighted when his guests took notice of his coat of arms hanging up in the guest chamber,--to-wit, a black bear with three darts in its heel--and enquired as to its meaning; when he would explain that that black bear with the three darts which was also painted on a sheet of lead and swung backwards and forwards in front of the house between two iron rods was not a sign-board, but his family crest. [footnote : sir.] late one afternoon baron leonard hátszegi might have been seen on foot crossing the bridge which led to the mikalai _csárdá_, and entering its courtyard. he came on foot with a small box under his arm and his double-barrelled gun across his shoulder. makkabesku greeted him from the verandah while he was still a long way off. "god be with your lordship! is anything amiss that your lordship comes on foot?" "yes, at that cursed _tyira lupului_[ ] the axle of my coach gave way. i have always said that that bad bit of road ought to be seen to, this is at least the sixth time that this accident has befallen me." [footnote : wolf-corner.] "god is the cause thereof, your lordship. whenever the stream overflows it damages the road." "that is no consolation for me. my fellows are struggling with the coach yonder and cannot set it upright again, so badly damaged it is. it is a good job i was driving my own horses, for otherwise my neck might have been broken. as it is one of my heydukes has sprained his hand. send help to them at once, or they are likely to remain there all night. where's your little girl?" "ah, my lord! your lordship will always be having your little joke.--flora, come hither!" a pretty little maid came out of the inn at these words, and smiled upon the nobleman with a face toasted red by the kitchen fire. "take his lordship's gun and little box and carry them into the guest-room!" "well, my little girl! how are you? not married yet, eh?" said the baron, pinching her round red cheeks whilst the wench took his box. "heh, but 'tis heavy!" she gasped, as if she were quite frightened at the weight of the box. "won't the gun go off?" "don't turn your fiery eyes upon it, or else it might--eh, grandpapa, what do you say?" "come, flora, go in, go in! his lordship is always in such capital spirits. even when his carriage comes to grief he will have his joke all the same." the point of the joke was that makkabesku was a man not much beyond forty though there were flecks of grey on the back of his head here and there. the girl, on the other hand, was scarcely sixteen when the roumanian gentleman took her to wife. leonard therefore always made a point of aggravating the innkeeper by pretending to believe that his wife was his daughter and by regularly asking him, as if he were her grandfather, when he intended to get his granddaughter married. "you need not send help to my carriage, after all," said hátszegi, after due reflection; "for, by and by i'll see to that myself. i am going back that way. but i should like you to place that little box in some safe place for the time being. it contains , ducats and that is no trifle." "huh! my lord!" cried the innkeeper clapping the back of his head with both hands, as if he feared it was already about to fall off backwards. "your lordship dares to carry so much gold about with you and stroll so carelessly about in these parts!" "carelessly!--what do you mean? i cannot wheel them in front of me on a barrow can i? i want to pay them into my account at fehervár the day after to-morrow; i have payments to make. that is why i carry them about with me." "i only meant to say that it is dangerous to go about alone with so much money." "i am not in the habit of going about with an escort." "the more's the pity, domnule. these parts are panic-stricken, since anicza betrayed the coiners in the lucsia cavern, we have been saddled with a whole heap of calamities. a lot of poor fools and a heap of treasure were captured, but the head of the band, fatia negra, was suffered to escape. and now, furious at his loss of treasure, he blackmails the whole region. nobody is safe here now,--only the day before yesterday he stopped and robbed the royal mails on the king's highroad." "ho, ho! if he takes to those games, he'll soon get his teeth broken. he won't venture to touch me though, i'll be bound." "i don't know about that domnule. he wears a mask and therefore has no need to blush or blanch at anything." "does he ever look in here, or has he ever lodged with you?" "no, my lord, i can safely say that he has never been here, to my great astonishment i must confess. for a great many gentlemen call here and many paths lead hitherward." "don't you keep arms in your house?" "why should i? i have not enough money to make it worth fatia negra's while to rob me. besides, it is a great mistake to resist him. juon tare actually had him in his hands, yet what was the result? he goes about now a blind beggar. anicza betrayed him and brought down the soldiers upon him, yet what did _she_ get by it? _he_ vanished under the earth, but she reduced her old father to poverty and is now sitting with all her acquaintances in the dungeons of gyula fehervár!" "fear nothing! at any rate no ill can befall you while i go to my coachman and come back again. lock this casket in your wall-cupboard in the meantime, and keep the key yourself." "nay, let your lordship keep it rather. i don't want it to be said that i knew anything about it." so makkabesku locked up the casket in the huge wall-closet which greatly resembled a large standing clock case and in which were his diploma of nobility and all his domestic treasures. the key of the locked closet he returned to his guest. then by way of extra precaution, he locked the room as well and forced that key also upon the baron. "domnule," he added, when he saw that hátszegi was determined to return to his wrecked coach. "i can only say that i should be very glad if your lordship would not go. the servants will be quite able to bring the carriage along." "that they cannot: the whole lot of them are mere boors who have never seen a carriage with an iron axle." "let me go then, and your lordship remain here." "i suppose you want me, then, to show your daughter how to cook?" the innkeeper's eyebrows contracted at these words; his desire to go visibly subsided. "but suppose i am afraid of being left alone in the house with so much money?" "come, come, wretched man!" cried hátszegi at last losing all patience, "you don't suppose that your blockhead of a bandit is lying in wait for me, do you? look you now! i'll leave you my gun. take it in your hand and plant yourself there before the door. bring out a chair, if you like, and sit down on it. pull down the hammers of both barrels and hold your thumb on them and your index finger on the trigger. the left barrel is filled with ten buckshot and you can be quite sure that whoever approaches you from the lower end of this passage will inevitably get five in his body,--and five of them is enough for anybody. the second barrel, the right one i mean, is loaded with a bullet which we generally keep in reserve for a wild beast, at the last moment, at six paces; at that distance any child could kill a giant. don't be afraid, if he wore a coat of mail, it would go through it, for that bullet has a steel point and would perforate a leaden door. come, you are not afraid now, surely?" makkabesku certainly felt a great stream of courage flow into his heart at the knowledge that he held in his hand a weapon which could kill the most terrible of men twice over. "but what about your lordship?" he enquired. "oh, i've got two revolvers in my pocket." and with that, gaily whistling, hátszegi strode down the long passage and peeped into the kitchen, on his way out, to exchange a word or two with the fair young cook. "look ye, my daughter, have supper ready by my return, and take care not to over-salt the soup!" and then with the nonchalance becoming his station he sauntered across the bridge again into the highroad, followed all the way by the eyes of makkabesku.--"what a gallant fellow it is!" reflected the roumanian. the innkeeper did not count courage among his virtues. he was a peace-loving soul who detested the very idea of a brawl. even when he sat down to drink, it was always inside a room with a locked door, for on one occasion, when he had got drunk in public, the wine had instilled within him such unwonted audacity that he had got his skull broken in two places in consequence. after that he avoided all such occasions of heroism. for such folks who have nothing to do with firearms as a rule, there is a peculiar charm in suddenly holding a loaded weapon in their hands. valour and a sudden access of pugnacity combine to put them in a condition of perpetual fever. a strange longing arises within them to make use of their weapon. once or twice makkabesku raised his gun to his cheek and made a target of a fly on the wall. at the end of the vestibule facing him was an old roman image, the head and bust of an emperor, which had been unearthed in the neighbourhood of the house when the foundations had been laid, and had been adopted forthwith as a family relic. if this old imperial figurehead had been an enemy, let us say the famous robber of the district, our marksman felt that he could easily have shattered his skull for him. the sun was now slowly descending from the sky, and the lower it sank, the less golden and the more purple grew the light which it threw upon the ancient monument opposite, till the shadow of an adjacent column fell softly across it and hid it half from view. suddenly it seemed to makkabesku as if he saw the shadow of a human head moving beside the shadow of the column. the breath died away on his lips--someone was lurking there! "who is there?" he cried, in a voice half choked with terror. the same instant there stood before him at the opposite end of the corridor--fatia negra! yes, there the figure was just as it had been described to him, enfolded in a black atlas mantle, with a black mask across its face. "stay where you are, don't come here!" cried the armed makkabesku, in an agony of terror, "or i'll shoot you through," and as the mask continued to advance, he hurriedly fired off the left barrel of the gun. the smoke of the powder cleared away, fatia negra stood there unwounded, he was coming nearer and nearer! ah, those little shots could not hurt him, of course--but now he shall have the bullet with the steel point. as the first shot was fired, makkabesku's wife came running out of the kitchen and came face to face with the robber. he immediately seized her arm with his muscular hand and flung her back into the kitchen the door of which he locked upon her. mr. makkabesku permitted all this to go on before his very eyes, but he had raised the gun and held it firmly pressed against his cheek, he wanted the robber to draw nearer still that he might make quite sure of him. when there were only three yards between them he aimed right at the middle of the intruder, pressed the trigger of the gun and the right barrel also exploded. yet the report was followed by no death cry--and fatia negra still stood in front of him unscathed. paralyzed with terror makkabesku continued to hold the discharged gun in front of him as if he expected it to go off again of its own accord; but fatia negra, catching hold of the end of the gun with one hand, wrenched it out of the innkeeper's grasp and brought down the butt of it so violently on the top of his head that he collapsed in a senseless condition. after that nobody knew what happened. when hátszegi and his servants arrived with the patched-up carriage, makkabesku was still lying on the ground unconscious, his wife was thundering at the locked door, the door of the guest chamber was smashed and the cupboard in the wall had been broken into and pillaged. curiously enough, while not one of the innkeeper's relics was missing, hátszegi's box with the , ducats had disappeared. a little later it was found in the bed of the stream--empty of course. makkabesku was a very long time coming to, but he contrived at last, in a very tremulous voice, to tell hátszegi the somnambulistic case of the double shots, nay he called heaven to witness that fatia negra had caught the bullets in his hands as if they were flies. "you're a fool," cried hátszegi angrily. "i suppose you fired above his head on both occasions." "but then you ought to see the marks of the bullets on the opposite wall." and it was a fact that, look as they might, they found no trace of a bullet on the walls or anywhere else. chapter xv who it was that recognized fatia negra the events at the mikalai _csárdá_ considerably upset hátszegi. he returned home very sulky and was unusually ungracious towards henrietta. there were several violent scenes between them, in the course of which the baron twitted his wife with having betrayed him and hinted that it was all in consequence of her own and her brother's bad conduct that she had been disinherited by her grandfather. he revealed to her that he knew everything. he was well aware, he said, that in her girlhood she had had a rascally young attorney as a lover and had thereby incurred her grandfather's anger. henrietta, poor thing, had not the spirit to answer him back: "if you knew this, why did you marry me? why did you not leave me then to him with whom i should have been happy if poor?" she could only reply with tears. she trembled before him while she loathed him. and yet how dependent she was on him. she was well aware now of what her brother was accused, and never doubted for a moment what she ought to do. she ought to atone for his fault by an act of self-sacrifice. she must recognize the forgery as her real signature. but what then? the recognition of the signature must needs have consequences. what would be the result of her action? she could see she had no help to expect from her husband. at every step she perceived that he eagerly sought occasion to quarrel with her and seized every pretext for avoiding her. and now to add to her embarrassment, there was this unlucky mikalai accident. it seemed just to have come in the nick of time so far as he was concerned, just as if he had actually agreed with fatia negra that the latter should rob him on the high road in the most artful manner so that she might not have the slightest hope left of being relieved from her anxieties by the assistance of her husband. the baron, now could always end every _tête-à-tête_ by remarking that that rogue fatia negra had relieved him of all his money, and he knew not how to make good his loss. one day, while away from home hunting at csáko, baron leonard learnt that the countess kengyelesy's latest ideal was szilard vámhidy and when chance soon afterwards brought him also to arad, he could see for himself that the countess really did load the young man with distinction in society. the circumstance began to irritate him. this pale-faced youth with the big burning eyes had turned the head of his own consort once upon a time, and now he was making other enviable conquests. the idea occurred to hátszegi to knock this "student chap" out of his saddle a second time. heretofore he had never regarded the countess as a particularly pretty woman, but now he very readily persuaded himself that he was over head and ears in love with her. he began to pay his court to her--and he was lucky. at least everybody believed it--himself included. the countess always seemed pleased to see him, and the oftener he paid his visits, the less frequent grew the visits of szilard. occasionally they met at the countess's and then szilard would hastily step aside, as vanquished rivals are wont to do when their conquerors appear. at last leonard was a daily institution at the countess's, while szilard only appeared there occasionally. yet one day, while hátszegi was in the drawing room of the countess, paying his court to her most assiduously, vámhidy entered _sans gêne_; whereupon the countess hastily springing up from her _causeuse_ asked leave of the baron to withdraw for a moment and there and then conducted vámhidy into her private boudoir and remained closeted with him for a good quarter of an hour, whilst hátszegi, yellow with jealousy, was left alone with the countess's french companion, who could answer nothing but "oui" and "non" to all his remarks. when the countess emerged from her room, she seemed to be in a very good humour. she accompanied szilard all the way to the drawing-room door, pressed his hand, and when they parted at the door exchanged a significant look with him, at the same time touching her lips with her index finger--a very confidential piece of pantomime as any connoisseur will tell you. and all this hátszegi saw reflected in the mirror, opposite to which he sat. as soon as the countess sat down, her companion, as if at a given signal, arose and left the room. scarcely were they alone when the baron petulantly remarked: "it appears as if your ladyship and our young friend rejoiced in very intimate mutual relations." "oh, very intimate. i assure you he is a most worthy, honourable man." "so i observe." "i am quite in earnest. i find him quite a treasure, and he is extraordinarily attached to me." "very nice of him, i'm sure." "oh, you gentlemen, what mockers you are. there are men, i can tell you, who for all that they are poor are more capable of self-sacrifice than the haughtiest nabobs who make such a fuss over us till we are in trouble and then snatch up their hats and fly from the house. you also belong to that class, my lord!" "i don't understand you." "suppose, for instance, i were to say to you: my dear friend, i have fallen into quite an awkward predicament and to-day or to-morrow they will distrain upon me for , florins." the baron burst out laughing. "don't laugh, for so it really is. that need cause _you_ no anxiety, however, i only ask you to tell nobody, especially my husband. he would be capable of making an end of me if he knew it." "but seriously, countess, who could ever have lent you , florins?" "nobody, and yet i am indebted to that amount. you must know that once upon a time, many years ago, when we lived at vienna, i was given to card playing. we played for high stakes in those days. one evening not only did i lose all my cash, but had to give i.o.u.'s for , florins besides. debts contracted at play cannot remain unpaid for more than a couple of days. it was absolutely indispensable that i should procure these thousand florins somehow. i would not ask my husband for them and that was very foolish of me. i got the amount at last from a wretched usurer at an enormous rate of interest. when the amount plus interest became due again, i was still more afraid to tell my husband, and so kept on giving fresh bills, with the result that the amount of my indebtedness grew and grew as the years rolled on, till it resembled the egg of the widow in the nursery tale--out of which came first two cocks, then a bristling boar, then a camel, and finally a carriage and four, for at last my original poor little debt of one thousand florins swelled into forty thousand and the usurers became importunate and would allow me no more credit. once when i was in a very bad humour, i let out my secret before szilard, and the worthy young man undertook to relieve me of my burden. i don't know whether he detected a technical flaw in my bonds or whether he found out some other means of frightening my creditor; anyway, he assured me i only need pay the original sum with interest upon it at the legal rate. moreover, he undertook to procure me an honourable loan on easy conditions, which to me was a veritable godsend. and so now you know, my dear friend, why vámhidy is so welcome a guest at my house that i leave even you all alone with my companion when he comes. but you can see for yourself how dear and necessary he is to me and how much i owe to him." hátszegi remained in a brown study for several moments, and began biting his lips. the countess sat down at the piano with the most amiable nonchalance as if she gave not another thought to what she had been speaking about. "if only i had not had the misfortune to be robbed!" cried hátszegi at last. "do you know what, my dear friend," said the countess, at the same time letting her fingers glide lightly over the ivory keys of the piano, "i consider the whole of that affair as simply incredible. two shots so close to a man and no result!--why it borders a little upon the fabulous!" "then i suppose you think it was the innkeeper himself who robbed me?" the countess shrugged her round shoulders slightly and went on playing. "that is not possible," resumed the baron, answering his own query, "for i myself saw the blow which makkabesku received on the head from the butt of the musket, and i can tell your ladyship that there are no four thousand ducats in the world for the sake of which i could lend my head to such a blow." the countess interrupted her _roulades_ for a moment: "you saw it, eh? and did anybody else see it?" hátszegi was strangely surprised by this question. "what is in your mind, countess?" he asked. "i am thinking, my dear friend, that you have some particular reason for playing the injured man, and i have read the whole tale of the maccabees in some history or other of the jews which you would now palm off upon the world as something new." "your jests are most unmerciful, countess; but may i beg of you to give that piano a little rest, especially as it wants tuning. i should like to speak seriously to you for a moment or two." "about the maccabees, eh?" enquired the countess, laughing. "no. about myself. i am quite serious when i say i have had losses. your ladyship need not know how. but for all that i know what a gentleman ought to do after such a revelation as that with which the countess has just honoured me and which i accept as a most flattering mark of confidence." "impossible." "what i say is never impossible; but what that student fellow has chosen to palm off on your ladyship that _is_ impossible. he will not be able to help your ladyship without a great scandal. naturally a mere attorney looks upon that as a matter of course. he does not understand that there are cases in which a person would rather spring into a well than risk her reputation in the eyes of the world by appealing to the courts for redress. i make your ladyship another proposal: i will exchange a bond of my own against the bond of the countess to an equal amount. i feel confident that the usurers will lend readily on my paper and will jump at the exchange." "oh, many thanks, many thanks! but, first of all, i should like to know what interest you mean to charge me; for i am not going to pay anything usurious again." "legal and christian interest, i assure you. but i must impose one condition: your ladyship's doors must henceforth be closed against this lawyer fellow." "are you serious, baron?" "perfectly so." "are you not afraid i shall take you at your word?" "by doing so you will satisfy my desires. look, countess! i consider myself as one of your most sincere admirers and it wounds me to hear all this tittle-tattle circulating in our set which links your ladyship's name with that of young vámhidy." "but will it not injure the respect you entertain for me if your name takes the place of vámhidy's in the gossip you complain of?" "all that i desire is that a certain man shall be excluded from this house, and if the countess desires it i will then keep away likewise." the countess hastened to press hátszegi's hand as a sign that _she_ did not desire _that_. "very well, then, to prove to you that my relations with vámhidy were purely professional, i will break off all further intercourse with him." "then we'll clinch your ladyship's determination at once. may i make use of your writing table? have you any other ink than this rose-coloured ink, with which to be sure, your ladyship generally writes your letters, but which is a little unusual in official documents?" "everything you desire, sealing-wax included." "that is not necessary for bills. what a fortunate thing that i have a blank form with me." the baron discovered in his pocket a blank form, without which no gentleman ever goes about, and filled it up in the usual way. the countess, with her elbows on the back of the armchair, looked over the baron's shoulder while he signed the precious document, and thought to herself: what an odd thing it is when a rich and influential man refuses, with a heart of iron, to give his wife a little assistance which would make her happy and save her brother from dishonour, and yet lightly pitches the very sum required out of the window for the sake of a pretty speech from another woman who is almost a stranger to him! after signing the document leonard did not linger another instant, but snatched up his hat and hastened off so as to avoid the suspicion that he was expecting some little gratification on account. the pressure of the hand which the countess exchanged with him at parting assured him that this conquering manoeuver on his part was a complete success. subsequently, however, as, stretched at full length on his sofa, he was smoking his first pipe of tobacco, he grew suspicious, and speedily felt convinced that the countess's tale of the usurers was a fable from beginning to end and that vámhidy was some broker or other who lent money privately; and he began to be not quite so proud at having ousted the fellow from her ladyship's drawing room. but a still greater surprise awaited him. he had a shrewd suspicion that the countess kengyelesy did not require the bill he had signed to discharge any debt to usurers; but not even in his dreams would it ever have occurred to him that madame kengyelesy, at the very moment when he had gone out into the street, had sat down on the very same chair from which the baron had arisen, taken into her hand the very same pen in which the ink he had used was not yet dry, and selecting a sheet of letter paper, written a few lines of her long pointed pot-hooks to her friend, the baroness hátszegi: informing her in a most friendly manner that she had succeeded in persuading hátszegi to exchange the bill that koloman was suspected of forging for one of his own in order to give his wife the opportunity of acknowledging the signature as her own and putting a stop to all further legal proceedings. all this was set forth with far greater elaboration than it is here, but was nevertheless perfectly intelligible. the original bill was appended to the letter and the letter was posted. henrietta was bound to receive it next day. imagine then the surprise of hátszegi, who for the last three days had been pacing impatiently up and down his room, naturally expecting every moment that the countess would surrender at discretion and send for him out of sheer gratitude, when the door was suddenly opened with considerable impetuosity and in came--henrietta. before he could sufficiently recover from his amazement to ask her what she was looking for there, his wife fell on his neck, and, sobbing with emotion, came out with some long rigamarole about delicacy,--gratitude--a delightful surprise--and only half suspected kindness of heart--and a lot more of unintelligible nonsense, winding up by begging his pardon if ever she had unwittingly offended him and promising him that _after this_ she would ever be his faithful slave! _after this!_--after _what_? it was only when his wife told him that she was alluding to that bill for , florins which he had been so kind as to send her through the countess, that some inkling of the truth burst upon him. "oh, that eh! it quite escaped my memory and is not worth mentioning," he cried, hiding his astonishment beneath the affectation of a magnanimity which scorned even to remember such trifles. oh, if the countess had been able to see him at that moment, how she would have laughed! every drop of leonard's blood seemed to turn to gall. how ridiculous he had been made to appear by a woman's nobility, and the consciousness thereof was still further embittered by the artless and innocent gratitude of that other woman--his own wife. he could have torn the pair of them to pieces. what a pretty fool he had made of himself. he had purchased the love of his wife for , florins. he could not demand back the bill from her, nor could he explain to her the compromising origin of that document. and in addition to that, he must play the part of dignified pater familias which his wife had assigned to him in this domestic drama, instead of that of first lover which was so much more to his liking. "all right, henrietta," said he, assuming a calmness he was far from feeling. "if you like to give me the bill, i'll see that it is posted to your lawyer at pest, mr. sipos." henrietta thanked him sincerely, but said she would rather take it to pest herself in order that she might have a long confidential talk with mr. sipos personally about her poor brother. "then wait, henrietta, till the arad races are over. you know i am greatly interested in them. if i am not there myself they are quite capable of striking my horses out." "my dear leonard, i don't want you to interrupt any of your business or pleasure on my account. i can easily go by myself. but i don't want to postpone the matter a single day. you know how anxious i am about my poor brother." "well, but you know that the roads are very dangerous just now. you know what happened to myself a little while ago." "oh, i have my plan all cut and dried. i am prepared for the very worst. if robbers attack me i will give up to them, at the first challenge, all the cash i have about me. what i am most afraid of is the bill, but i will hide that so that nobody can find it." "my dear, these men are very artful." "oh, they won't find it, i can tell you. the insides of my upper-sleeves consist of steel rings which fasten close to the arms, and i will roll up my bill, insert it within my sleeve and draw a steel ring over it. they will never guess that, will they?" "a good idea, certainly." yet, good idea as he thought it, hátszegi nevertheless complained to his friend gerzson, whom he met at the club the same evening, how anxious he was about his wife, who was going all the way to pest next day, and how glad he would be, since he was unable to accompany her himself, if someone would persuade her not to go. naturally mr. gerzson at once offered to dissuade the baroness, as hátszegi had anticipated, and was invited to tea by him the same day with that express purpose, but, talk as he might, he could not prevail with henrietta. in reply to all his arguments, she pleaded for her poor brother, whose fate, she added, with tears, depended upon her instant action. now, mr. gerzson was a gentleman--every inch of him. he was also kind-hearted to a fault, and when he beheld the poor woman in despair, he put an end to the difficulty by saying: "very well, my lady, then i will escort you to pest myself." at this hátszegi fairly lost all patience. "why, what can you be thinking of?" cried he. "your pardon, leonard, but i suppose you may regard me as old enough and honourable enough to fill the place of a father to your wife on an occasion like this! it appears to me that it will never enter anybody's head to speak slightingly of a lady because she travelled alone with me." good, worthy old man, he was quite proud that no woman could look at his face without a shudder. "and then i fancy that there's still quite enough of me left to defend a woman against anybody, even though it were the devil himself. and i should advise that worthy fatia negra not to show his mug to me, for my stunted hand does not fire guns as our friend makkabesku is in the habit of doing, nor will my bullets be caught like flies, i warrant." "you will be done out of the horse-racing, all through me," remarked henrietta sadly. "oh, it does not interest me much. i don't care much about it." this was not true, but it was all the nicer of the old man to say so. "then you really mean to escort my wife to pest?" said hátszegi, at last. "with the greatest of pleasure." "very well. at any rate, i will see to all the travelling arrangements that there may be no delay at any of the stages. which way do you prefer to go _via_ csongrad or _via_ szeged? "by way of csongrad." "well, 'tis the shorter of the two certainly, but at this season of the year the road is as hard as steel. it will be as well to provide my horses with fresh shoes." "it is now ten o'clock. by midnight your coachman will have managed to do all that. the baroness would do well if she had a little sleep now. meanwhile i will go home for my luggage and my weapons; at two o'clock in the morning i shall be here again, and at three we can start." "i will be awake and watching for you, and i thank you with all my heart." mr. gerzson drank up his tea and hastened home. leonard advised henrietta to go and sleep--and she really was very sleepy--while he went to the stables to see to the horses. it was about midnight when he returned. he looked very tired, like one who has had a great deal of bustling about. he was alone in the drawing room, so he stirred up the fire, lit a cigar and waited in silence. at half past two mr. gerzson rang the gate-bell; he entered the drawing-room very boisterously like one resolved to wake up the whole house. a little coffer hung upon his stunted arm, in the other hand he carried a double-barrelled gun, and from a pouch, fastened by straps to his shoulder, peeped forth two four-barrelled pistols. "why, plague take it!" laughed hátszegi, "you are armed for a whole guerilla warfare." "no more than fatia negra deserves," replied mr. gerzson with a sombre grimace. "is your wife up and dressed?" "i fancy she lay down ready dressed." "all the better. it'll be as well if we start early." "i hear the opening and closing of doors in her apartments, no doubt your ringing disturbed her. she will be here in an instant, for she is very impatient." "that is only natural." "and in the meantime, let us have something to strengthen the heart," said hátszegi producing a flask of _szilvapalinka_[ ] and filling his own and his guest's glass. "if you have a chance of shooting fatia negra, you must give me one half of the thousand ducats set upon his head, because i have abandoned this fine opportunity to you." [footnote : hungarian cherry brandy.] at this mr. gerzson coughed. "i have also provided you with a good wooden flask of _hegyalja_,"[ ] said leonard, taking from the sideboard a handsome flask bound in foal-skin. [footnote : a species of tokay.] "therein you acted wisely." "all this side of the theiss you will get no drinkable water, and henrietta always gets ague at once if the water is bad. although but a child, she will never take any wine unless you force her to do so. i earnestly beg of you to take great care of her. i don't like this journey a bit. a letter would have done the business just as well; but i make it a rule never to thwart her when she gets these ideas into her head. all i say is: take care of her." "i'll watch over her as if she were my own child." in a quarter of an hour henrietta appeared in full travelling costume. the lacquey brought in breakfast. the gentlemen also sat down to it lest the lady should breakfast alone. "we shall have splendid weather, baroness," observed mr. gerzson, dipping his cake into his black coffee. "the sky is full of stars, we could not wish for better travelling weather." "the sky is nice enough, but the ground is a little stumbly," put in hátszegi. "around dombhegyhaza in particular the roads will spill you if you don't look out." "i don't care a bit, for i mean to drive the horses myself." "oh, that i will not allow," said henrietta. "it is no joke to hold the reins, for hours at a stretch, on bad roads." "i do it because i like it, your ladyship. you know i love my pipe, and how can i smoke it in a covered carriage?" shortly afterwards mr. gerzson asked leave to go out and inspect the coach and the coachman, and after closely investigating everything and wrangling a little with the coachman, purely from traditional habit, just to show the fellow that he understood all about it, he ascended to the drawing-room again and announced that the horses had been put to. hátszegi helped his wife to adjust her mantle over her shoulders, and impressed a cold kiss upon her forehead. henrietta once more thanked him warmly for being so good to her and allowed mr. gerzson to escort her down the steps. the old gentleman, however, would not allow himself to be persuaded to take his place in the carriage by her side. his hands itched to hold the reins and he would, he said, be sure to go to sleep and make himself a nuisance if he sat inside. so he had his way, and indeed in all the hungarian plain a more adroit and careful driver could not have been found. gradually the night began to die away and the sky began to grow lighter behind the mountains of bihar, which they had now left behind them. the smaller stars vanished in groups before the brightening twilight; only the larger constellations still sparkled through the dawn. presently a hue of burning pink lit up the sky and long straight strips of cloud swam, like golden ribbons, before the rising sun whose increasing radiance already lit up the broad cupolas of the dark mountains. before the travellers extended the endless plain of the _alföld_,[ ] like a bridge rising from her bed to greet her beloved lord, the sun. [footnote : the great hungarian plain.] on mr. gerzson, however, the romantic spectacle of sunrise on the _puszta_ produced no romantic impression whatsoever. he neither observed the golden clouds in the sky, nor the dappled shadows flitting across the dewy fields, nor the lilac-coloured nebulous horizon. he saw none of these things, i say, but he saw something else which did not please him at all. "i say, joska, the right leader is limping." "yes, it certainly is," replied the coachman. "get down and see what's the matter." the coachman got down, lifted the horse's leg, brushed away the dust from around the hoof and said with the air of a connoisseur: "this horse's hoof has been pricked." "what the devil...!" rang out mr. gerzson, but there he stopped, for it is not becoming to curse and swear when a lady is in the carriage behind you, even if she does not hear. meanwhile the coachman mounted up beside him and they drove on again. "well we cannot drive that horse much further," grumbled mr. gerzson, "the other three must pull the carriage. at csongrad we must get another to take its place and leave it behind there." a long discussion thereupon ensued between him and the coachman as to the clumsiness of smiths in general, who when they pare away a horse's hoofs in order to shoe it, so often cut into the living flesh, which is very dangerous, and is technically known as "pricking." they had scarce proceeded for more than another half hour when mr. gerzson again began to cast suspicious glances down from the box-seat. "i say, joska," he cried at last, "it seems to me the left leader, the whip horse, is also limping." down leaped the coachman, examined the horse's foot and pronounced that the hoof of the left leader had also been pricked. "devil take...!" cried mr. gerzson, but once more he did not enlighten the devil as to the particular individual he was desirous of drawing his attention to. "well, i suppose we must go on as best we can with two horses now, for the first two are good for nothing." and in the spirit of a true driver he stuck his whip beneath him, as being a thing for which there was now no further use, and resumed his argument with the coachman about the inefficiency of smiths in general. "as soon as we reach oroshaza, we'll get two fresh horses; we ought to be getting there now." yet the steeple of oroshaza was, as yet, scarcely visible and midday was already approaching. there was no intermediate station where they could change horses. half an hour later mr. gerzson dashed his clay pipe against the wheel of the coach and swore that he would be damned if ever such a silly-fool thing had ever befallen him before, for now the thill horse also began to limp. naturally, that also was found to have been pricked. "may the devil take all those scamps of smiths who look after the poor beasts so badly! a pretty fix we are in now. we may thank our stars if we are able to crawl into oroshaza before nightfall. a pretty amble we shall have now, i'll be bound." and indeed ambling was about all they could do. as for the oroshaza steeple, so far from drawing any nearer, it seemed to be travelling away from them, and with very much better horses than they had. it seemed to get further off every moment. "well, all we want now is for the saddle horse also to throw up the sponge and we shall be complete." if that were mr. gerzson's one remaining wish, fate very speedily granted it to him, for they had not gone another quarter of an hour when all four horses began to limp together, one with the right foot, another with the left, the third with the fore and the fourth with the hind leg, till it was positively frightful to look at them. mr. gerzson leaped from the box, and in his rage and fury dashed his pipe-stem into a thousand pieces. "what can the smith have been about!" whined the coachman shaking his head, "and yet his lordship had a look at them too!" "devil take your smith, and his lordship also for the matter of that. the whole lot of you deserves hanging." and it was a good thing for the coachman that he happened to be standing on the other side of the horses, as otherwise he would certainly have had a taste of squire gerzson's riding whip. henrietta, who had hitherto been sleeping quietly in the carriage, aroused by the loud voices, put her head out of the window and timidly inquired what was the matter. at the first sound of her voice, squire gerzson grew as mild as a lamb. "nothing much," said he. "i have only been trying to put together again my broken pipe-stem, the carriage-wheel has gone over my pipe, that is all." "but where are we now?" asked henrietta, peeping curiously out of the carriage. then of course they had to tell her the truth. "we are three leagues from the station in front of us, and about four from the one behind us, and there is no prospect of our getting on any further. all four horses are lame, they have been damaged during the shoeing." "what steeple is that in front of us?" "oroshaza, i fancy, but with these four lame horses i don't believe we shall get there before midnight." henrietta perceived the confusion of the old gentleman, who for sheer rage and worry could not keep his hat on his burning head, so she tried to comfort him. "never mind, dear papa gerzson, not far from here must lie leonard's _csárdá_. you and i, papa gerzson, might go on there with the horses while the coachman makes the best of his way on foot to oroshaza, where he can get fresh horses and join us early in the morning at the _csárdá_." squire gerzson jerked his head significantly. "i don't want to alarm you, my dear baroness," said he, "but that _csárdá_ lies in the beat of the "poor vagabonds"--you may have heard of them." "oh, i have spent a night there already. i know the innkeeper's wife. she is a very good sort of woman, who told us tales all night long while she worked her distaff at my bedside. i should very much like to see her again. besides, i know the "poor vagabonds" also. all of them kissed my hand in turn when i was there. if, however, anybody should be rude to me, have i not papa gerzson?--when he is by i fear nobody." "noble heart!--very well, be it so! if your ladyship fears nothing, i think i may very well say the same." whereupon squire gerzson gave the coachman two florins to speed him on to oroshaza, where he was to get fresh horses and come on the same night to the _csárdá_, so that they might be able to set off again before dawn on the morrow. he himself then quitted the highroad in the direction of the well-known _csárdá_ which, with sound horses, he might have reached in about an hour, but which with lame ones he only got up to towards evening, having repeatedly to rest on the way. squire gerzson kept on asking henrietta whether she was hungry or thirsty and offered her his flask again and again; but she always gently declined it, the old man feeling in honour bound to follow her example. he comforted her, however, with the assurance that the _csárdá_-woman was a dab hand at turning out all sorts of good old savoury hungarian dishes. at last, after a weary journey, when evening was already closing upon them, henrietta perceived the _csárdá_ gleaming white behind the acacia trees. when they stumbled into the courtyard they found nobody, and nobody came out of the door to meet them. "all the better, nobody will see these game-legged nags," growled squire gerzson as he helped henrietta out of the carriage. "it is odd that the woman of the inn does not come out to meet me," said henrietta. "she liked me so. how pleased she will be to see me." nevertheless no one came. squire gerzson grew impatient. he could not leave the coach and horses all by themselves. "hie! somebody! who's at home? landlady, wenches, or whoever you are, can't you creep out of your hole?" in reply to his hallooing, a hoarse voice resounded from the taproom: "who is it? can't you come inside instead of standing and bawling there?" "what, you scoundrel! come out this instant, sirrah, do you hear, or do you want me to come and fetch you?" at this categorical command, the speaker inside made his appearance. henrietta recognized him at once, though squire gerzson saw him now for the first time. it was old ripa. "i am a guest here myself," said he. "thou blockhead! by the soul of thy father i charge thee--where is the hostess?" "she is outside in the cool air." "what is she doing there?" "she is guarding the moles"--which means in the flowery language of the _puszta_: "she is dead." "surely she is not dead?" "yes--she did away with herself." "when?" "the day before yesterday." "what was the matter with her?" "she drank too much water." "where?" "in the hurdle well." "why?" "because her feet did not reach the bottom." "she leaped in then?" "it looks something like it." "but why did she do so?" "she was much upset about her lover." "did he leave her?" "the rope-girl[ ] took him." [footnote : _i.e._, the gallows.] henrietta listened with a sort of stupefaction to the cynical answers of the old scoundrel, and her heart grew heavy within her. to think that that merry, rosy cheeked young woman should have killed herself out of grief for her lover. "then who is carrying on the house?" enquired squire gerzson. "nobody. all the servants bolted after the funeral, in order that they might not appear as witnesses." "then why do you remain here all alone?" "because if i went on my way, everyone would be sure to say that i had murdered the hostess, i mean to remain here till they come for me." "yes, you old swine, and drink up every drop of wine that remains in the meantime." "your pardon, sir, but it all turned to vinegar when the landlady killed herself. that is always the case." "none of your nonsense, sirrah, but listen to me. there's a shilling for you, forget for the time that you are a guest here. take out the horses, put them into the stable, give them hay at once and water them in about an hour's time. don't steal them for they are lame and you would be caught at once. we shall remain here till our coachman returns with four fresh horses. should any troublesome person look in, you may tell him that the consort of baron hátszegi is here and that gerzson of satrakovics is mounting guard before her door." old ripa kissed her ladyship's hand without so much as thanking squire gerzson for his tip, but he quietly unyoked the horses and brought into the house some of the things he found in the coach. and henrietta stood once more in the landlady's room and gazed pensively out of the window. her meditations were presently disturbed by squire gerzson. "my dear good lady," he began, "fate has certainly sworn to be our enemy in every possible way to-day. i would not have believed it myself if i had not actually experienced it. first of all, all our four horses fall lame on the road. then, at the very place where we decide to take up our quarters, we find that the landlady has jumped down the well. truly fate pursues us with a vengeance. but we'll defy it, won't we my lady? fate is very much mistaken if it fancies it will get the better of us, eh? it does not know with whom it has to deal, i'll be bound. for our hearts are in the right place and we'll pretty soon show that we have not lost our heads. our greatest misfortune is that the fine supper we promised ourselves has vanished to dust beneath our very noses. never mind. we have brought with us in our knapsack, after the custom of our ancestors, some good ham, some hung beef and some white loaves, to say nothing of a flask of prime wine; we don't mean to starve ourselves do we, my lady?" the good old gentleman then took out of his knapsack all these good things and piled them up on the table, then he fetched the carriage lamp to light up the room a bit and politely invited henrietta to partake of his simple banquet. the young lady smilingly took her place on the bench. "we really cannot drink the water here, your ladyship," said gerzson, handing her his flask; "to all appearance nobody will ever drink the water out of the well of this shanty again. such wells are generally walled up." merely to oblige the old man, henrietta raised the flask to her lips and pretended to drink out of it so as not to spoil her companion's good humour, but really she drank not a drop. she never used to drink wine and wiped off the drops that remained on her lips with her pocket handkerchief. nor did she eat anything except an apple which was just sufficient to keep the pangs of hunger off. mr. gerzson, however, fell to like a man. he had generally a good appetite, and the lack of a dinner, the worry and trouble of the journey, and the labour of driving had made him hungrier than ever. he cut such whacking slices off the loaf and off the good red ham beside him that it was a joy to watch him; after he had raised the cluck-clucker[ ] to his lips, his conversation became so entertaining that henrietta listened to him with delight. [footnote : _i.e._, the wine-flask.] "but now i am not going to drink any more," said mr. gerzson at last, "for it is apt to make me sleepy and i don't want to sleep to-night. about midnight the coachman will arrive with the fresh relay of horses. won't your ladyship rest a little in the adjoining room?" henrietta shook her head. "well, i suppose you are right. how indeed could you remain all alone in the room of a suicide? let us stay together then and tell each other tales." "yes, that will be nice, and i'll begin by telling papa gerzson something." "i could go on listening to you till morning, it will be like the angels singing in my ears." so henrietta began to tell him all about the dead hostess and about her love, and also the story of the robber who was hanged for his companion. mr. gerzson, with his head supported by his hand, listened religiously and struck himself violently on the mouth when he was seized by an involuntary fit of gaping. "i cannot understand why i am so sleepy,--my eyes seem to be closing in spite of me." "why don't you have a pipe then? come light up!" "what, light up? your ladyship will really allow me? you are sure you don't mind tobacco smoke? you are indeed a blessed creature. but are you sure it won't make your head ache?" "on the contrary, i like tobacco smoke." squire gerzson half drew out his cigar case, but he immediately shoved it back again. "no, i won't smoke a cigar. one ought not to abuse one's good fortune. i shall get on well enough." then henrietta began to tell him of fatia negra's transylvanian exploits, of the lucsia cavern, of the capture of the coiners--and then she observed that mr. gerzson's eyelids were sinking lower and lower and he was nodding his head violently. "now you really must light up, papa gerzson," she cried, "or you'll never be able to keep awake." on being thus accosted, mr. gerzson bobbed up his head with a frightened air and rubbed his eyes, like one who has been suddenly aroused from slumber and knows not what is going on under his very nose. "i am not asleep, 'pon my word i'm not. i was only nodding a little." "light a cigar." "no i won't. i prefer to go out and have a turn in the open air and get the cobwebs out of my head. i'll have a look round outside a bit." and with that he planted both his arms on the table, laid his head upon them and fell fast asleep. henrietta could not help smiling. poor old gentleman, he had had a good deal of exertion and no doubt that wine was uncommonly strong. let him rest a bit. he had had no sleep the night before. it would be quite sufficient if one of them kept awake. then she took up the lamp and went out into the hall observing to her great satisfaction that the door thereof was provided with a good lock. so she locked and fastened it. with timid curiosity she then explored every corner with the lamp and came upon nothing suspicious. finally she returned to the guest room, locked the door of that also and placed the carriage lamp on the table, turning its shade towards the sleeping old man so that he might not be awakened by the glare of the lamp; and there she remained all alone, watching in the _csárdá_ of the desolate _puszta_, patiently waiting for the night to pass over her homeless head. so patient was she that only once did she take her watch from her bosom to see what the time was. * * * * * it was now past midnight. she began to calculate how long it would take the coachman to get to oroshaza and how much time he would require to reach this place. if he had got horses at once he ought to be near now. a short time afterwards she heard the tread of horses' feet in the courtyard. those must be our horses, thought she, and hastening to the window looking out upon the courtyard, she pulled the blind a little to one side and looked out. the night was so light outside that she could see the four horses quite plainly in the courtyard--but she observed that a man was sitting on _each_ of them. "this is very curious," thought she, "_two_ men would have been quite sufficient to bring along the relay." three of the four men dismounted from their horses and a fifth came out of the stable and had a short consultation with them; then the three approached the _csárdá_ door and tried to open it. this struck henrietta as suspicious and she thought it was now high time to awake mr. gerzson. "pardon, papa gerzson, but four men have arrived here." still mr. gerzson did not awake. henrietta approached, bent over him and gently insisted: "my dear papa gerzson, just wake up for a moment, somebody wants to come in." even then mr. gerzson did not awake. henrietta listened. outside, the hall door was beginning to groan and rock. they were forcing it. full of terror now, she seized mr. gerzson's arm. "sir, sir! robbers are upon us. awake, awake. this is no time for slumber." but mr. gerzson still slumbered on--he might have been dead. in vain she tore him away from the table, he fell back again all of a heap and went on slumbering. the strangers were now in the hall, and a heavy hand was trying the latch of the guest chamber. "my god, my god!" moaned henrietta, wringing her hands and rushing up and down the room, terrorstricken, not knowing where to look now for refuge. a violent thud resounded against the door. someone had placed his shoulder against it. henrietta clung to the table to save herself from falling. at last the lock burst, the door flew open, and fatia negra with two masked companions stood before the lady. the same instant henrietta recovered her presence of mind. at a pace's distance from danger she ceased to tremble and calmly addressed them: "what do you want?" "why are you not asleep now like your companion?" enquired fatia negra in a low voice. one of his comrades approached the sleeper and held the barrel of his pistol to his temples. in fatia negra's hand there was only a dagger. "don't wake him," he whispered to henrietta, "for if he should but raise his head his brains will be blown out." "do him no harm!" implored the lady. "i will give you everything you want. here is my pocketbook, here are my jewels, and you shall have my watch too. see, i will draw off my rings, only don't touch me. but if possible let me keep this round ring for it is my wedding ring." "all that is nothing," whispered fatia negra, "nor do we want these things. your ladyship has received a bill for , florins from your husband; give up that and swear that you will not say anything about it to anyone for three days so that we may have time to turn it into cash." at the mention of the bill henrietta felt her head reel, the blood stood still in her veins, she could scarce keep her feet. her voice trembled as she lied to the robber denying that she had any such thing. "we will search you, my lady, if you do not give it up voluntarily." henrietta persisted in her falsehood: "i have nothing upon me. i posted it in order that it might get to its destination more safely." "my lady, you are only wasting our time. turn round, take that steel netting out of your puffed sleeves and hand it over to us." at these words, all the blood flew to henrietta's head. it was no longer fear but the fury of despair that possessed her. it suddenly occurred to her that here was the man whom nobody had ever recognized; the man who had made so many people unhappy; who had robbed her husband and would now stifle her last hope of saving her brother from disgrace. who could this terrible man, this accursed wretch, be? and so, as black mask drew near to her, flashing his dagger before her eyes, she, the weakest, the most timid of women, made a sudden snatch at the mask and tore it off. she saw his face and recognized him. . . . for an instant her eyes gazed upon him and then she collapsed on the ground in a swoon. * * * * * it was pretty late next morning when mr. gerzson raised his muddled head from the table. the sun was shining brightly through the blinds. he looked around him. he was quite alone. he looked for henrietta, he called her by name. she was nowhere to be seen. their luggage had also disappeared. he went into the courtyard and looked for the carriage. that also was nowhere to be seen. only the four horses were in the stable, and they were neighing for water; nobody had watered them. after that mr. gerzson's head grew more muddled than ever. what had become of the lady? what had happened during the night? how was it that he remembered nothing about it, he who generally used to sleep so lightly that the humming of a midge was sufficient to awake him? gradually he bethought him that the evening before he had drunk some wine with an unusual flavour. even now he was conscious of a peculiar taste in his mouth. yet no wine in the world had ever been able to do him harm. he returned to the room to examine the contents of his flask. but even the flask was now nowhere to be seen. there was not a single forgotten object, not a single indication to give him a clue in this obscure confusion. what could have happened here?--he had not the faintest idea. he went and stood in front of the _csárdá_. he gazed out upon the desolate _puszta_ stretching around him in every direction. from every point of the compass wagon tracks, some old, some still fresh, zig-zagged to and from the _csárdá_ and he could not make up his mind which of them to take in order to reach the world beyond. chapter xvi leander baberossy whenever one carts away a heap of stones which have been lying undisturbed for years, or whenever one removes the shingle-roof of an ancient tenement, or drains off the water from a marshy place, one generally stumbles upon all sorts of hitherto undiscovered, curious beetles, odd looking moths and spiral-shaped, creeping things in these routed out lurking places, which nobody ever saw before or read of in the natural history books; and at such times a man bethinks him how wonderful it is of mother nature to provide even such holes and corners as these with living inhabitants which never see the light of day at all. once, while on circuit, vamhidy was obliged to lie one night at a village within his jurisdiction whose inhabitants were a strong mixture of hungarian, servian and wallachian ingredients. arriving late, it was a long time before he could go to sleep, and he was awakened rather late next morning by an unusual hubbub. his bedchamber was only separated from the large drinking room by a door and through this door broke every now and then very peculiar sounds the meaning of which, on a first hearing, it was very difficult to explain. it sounded as if a couple of women and a couple of men were roundly abusing one another, sometimes in a low tone and sometimes in a loud, and the most peculiar thing about the whole business was that two of them never spoke at once but each one of them allowed each of the others to have his say out to the end. all at once the noise grew more alarming and broken outbursts plainly suggested that someone in the adjoining room wanted to murder somebody else. vamhidy leaped from his bed and was about to intervene when in came the landlord with his coffee. "what is that row going on next door?" enquired szilard irritably. "oh, i cry your honour's pardon," replied the innkeeper with a proud smile, "it is only our actors. they are rehearsing a new piece which they are going to act this evening. i hope your honour will condescend to go and see it--it will be real fine." "what, actors in this village?" cried szilard in amazement. "why, where do they come from?" "nobody knows where they came from or whither they mean to go, your honour." "how many of them are there then, and who is their manager?" "well, it seems that there is only one man among them and he is half a child; all the others are women and girls, even to the ticket taker and the prompter." "and what sort of pieces do they act?" "oh, all sorts, your honour. those of the women who have the deepest voices dress up as men, stick on beards and mustaches and act much better than men would, because they don't get drunk." "and they are able to make a living here? who goes to the theatre then?" "well, the rustics about here come if there is anything to grin at. they don't give money because they have none themselves; but they bring corn, potatoes, sausages and hams and the actors live upon the proceeds as best they can. when they have made any debts they cannot pay they simply bolt on the first fine night and go somewhere else." "but don't they leave their decorations or their wardrobe in pledge behind them?" at this the landlord laughed aloud as if it were a capital joke. "decorations, wardrobes, indeed! why their stage curtain consists of a large piece of threadbare sackcloth pasted over with tricolored paper on which they have painted the national coat of arms. their wardrobe too is of the very simplest description. when they play a piece in which kings and queens appear, they borrow the gold bespangled dresses of the rich servian women of the district to serve them as royal mantles. all they require besides is a little tinsel, some spangles and some pasteboard--and there you are! the manager, as i have said, is still but a child, but so ingenious is he that he can make moonshine out of a yellow gourd and produce thunder and lightning,--but that is a professional secret. it is true they have only six pieces in all, and when they have played these through they begin them all over again. the public, naturally, does not like to see the same piece twice, so the manager gives the piece another title, changes the titles of all the characters and represents the piece over again as a brand new one." "i should like to see to-day's representation," said szilard, whose curiosity had been excited by this peculiar description. "i'll fetch your honour a play bill immediately," said the innkeeper. off went mine host returning in a few moments with a ms. play bill on which was written in large red letters: "hernáni or castilian honour," followed by the names of the personages. hernáni was naturally the manager himself, leander babérossy,[ ] elvira was to be played by miss palmira, the other gentlemen were simply indicated by n. n., x. x. or * *. "they are all women you know," explained the innkeeper, "who don't want to advertise their names. the charge for the front seats is / d, for the second-class places, a penny." [footnote : _i.e._, laurel bearer.] "the gentry can sit where they please, i presume?" "i suggested to the manager that he should write that on the play bill, but he replied that that would be an impertinence. i also advised him to take the play bill to your honour himself and was almost kicked out of the room for my pains. did i take him for a bill poster? he said." "this manager of yours seems to have a pretty good opinion of himself." "oh, he is frightfully proud, your honour. he will play no other pieces but sword pieces because, says he, they are classical. the poor fellow is so very young you know. when he grows a little older and learns to starve a bit he will soon lower his crest." "i like him none the less for holding up his head. i will come to the play." "but you must be there at seven o'clock sharp. he always begins punctually; whether there is any audience or not." "the lad has character, i see; pray give him this"--and he handed the innkeeper half a sovereign. he quickly returned with the reply that the manager could not for the moment give change. "but i meant him to keep the whole of it as an admittance fee." "ah, yes." a short time afterwards, the innkeeper reappeared with a whole bundle of admission tickets for szilard, saying that the manager thanked him for his sympathy, but as he was not in the habit of accepting presents from anyone, he assumed that his honour meant to engage the whole house for himself that evening and he, the manager, would therefore give a representation for his honour's sole benefit. szilard laughed heartily at this comical conscientiousness, and after dressing, he went about his official business with as much dispatch as possible in order to arrive at the play at seven o'clock sharp, for he was now the whole public and the public ought always to be punctual. when he got to the room set apart for the performance he found that, despite the provisional _abonnement suspendu_ arrangement, the place was not quite empty, for the gratis public, the lenders of the theatrical requisites and their families, the letters of lodgings to the actors and other peaceful creditors, occupied a couple of benches, so that szilard had the opportunity of effacing himself and thus avoiding confusing the _troupe_ by his solitary and imposing personality. no sooner had the innkeeper's cuckoo clock struck seven than the ring of the prompter's bell resounded behind the curtain (it sounded suspiciously like a glass struck smartly with the back of a knife) and by means of a highly ingenious piece of machinery the drop-curtain, stuck over with the tricolored cardboard representing the national flag, was hoisted up to the ceiling-beam, and the open stage was revealed. the background was formed by a collapsible screen which was painted to represent a room; in the foreground on one side was a paper window painted black and white, and on the other side the cellar door, metamorphosed into the portal of a gothic palace. through this entry the whole of the _dramatis personae_ came and went, for it was the only one. the piece acted was, naturally, not "hernáni or castilian honour," but schiller's "robbers." szilard recognized it at the very first three words. he also noticed that the characters of karl and franz moor were acted by one and the same person (the manager himself, as he was informed) with a simple change of voice and mask, and despite the different disguises employed, it constantly seemed to szilard as if he had seen that caricature of a face somewhere else and the voice, parodied as it now was, nevertheless seemed familiar to him. no less familiar appeared the violent gestures of the young actor which frequently endangered the side scenes. now as early as scene the noble public began to be aware of the unheard of fraud practiced upon it; a murmuring, an agitation, a whispering and a wagging of heads, and finally an impatient thumping of sticks began to mingle with the bustle of the drama, till at last a worthy cobbler, who had lent the _troupe_ three wooden benches and received in return a free pass every day, suddenly bawled out: "halloh there, mr. manager! we have seen this piece once before. there's politics in it." franz moor, disturbed in his artistic interpretation by this sudden onslaught, suddenly forgot himself, lost his cue and answering the interpellator in his natural, everyday voice (he knew he had only a free list public to deal with) exclaimed: "whoever has seen this piece before and does not wish to see it again, will have his money returned to him on applying at the ticket office." these words were no sooner uttered than vamhidy leaped from his seat, rushed upon the stage, caught franz moor in his arms and kissed his painted face crying with a voice trembling with joy: "coloman!" franz moor hesitated for an instant, then tore off his spanish beard, dropped his red wig, wiped the painted wrinkles from his forehead and szilard saw before him a pale, melancholy, childish countenance. leander babérossy was young coloman, henrietta's brother. the representation naturally ceased at once. szilard hustled the rediscovered "prodigal son" off the boards and never let him stop for an instant till he had got him safe and sound into his own private room. there he embraced him again, held him at arms' length and had a good look at him. the lad seemed to be twenty years old at the very least, yet really he was but fifteen. play acting, want and premature shaving soon make a youth look old. moreover, in his whole bearing, in all his movements, there was something precocious, a resolute, bold expression which made one forget that he was a mere child--a sort of cynicism not pleasant to behold. szilard soon had a good supper ready for him, which the youth fell to work upon without ceremony. "my dear leander," said vamhidy when the meal was over, "no doubt it is a very fine thing when one can say that he is his own master, nor is it so difficult to attain to such a position after all. all that is wanted is a strength of character always true to itself. but you, my friend, have committed follies which might easily make of you something very different." coloman shrugged his shoulders. "i have committed many follies no doubt, but i do not call to mind any which i should be afraid to confess." szilard began to fancy that his suspicions were groundless. "people are talking of a certain _bill_ which you have given in your sister's name?" at these words coloman cast down his eyes upon his plate and his whole face grew blood-red. in a scarcely audible voice he enquired: "and has henrietta refused to honour that bill?" vamhidy sighed deeply. then it was really true that this thoughtless child had committed the crime! "my dear coloman," said he, dropping the leander now, "your sister is the martyr of her own devotion. she was most certainly ready to acknowledge the bill as her own; but you ought to have thought what sacrifices she will have to make now that her grandfather has cut her off with a shilling and her husband refuses to place such a considerable amount at her disposal." "good gracious!" cried the itinerant actor, thrusting his hands deep down into his empty pockets, "what then do these big wigs call considerable amounts. very well, sir. i had no idea that the baroness hátszegi was _so very poor_. i will try to recover the bill, and it shall be the first thing i will pay off with my benefit money." szilard could not help being struck by the terrible comicality of the idea. "but, my dear young friend," said he, "if you had two benefits every year and got a clear forty florins at every one of them, it would take you at least a hundred years from to-day to discharge the amount." "what?" cried coloman with wide open eyes, and in his amazement seizing the candlestick instead of his fork. "why, don't you know that the bill is for , florins?" "what?" thundered the young vagabond. and kicking aside his chair, he snatched up a knife lying by the side of his plate and, bareheaded as he was, rushed towards the door. szilard had need of all his dexterity to catch him before he reached it and prevent him from rushing into the street like a madman. "let me murder him, let me murder that villain," he cried. szilard was a strong man so he easily disarmed the youth. then coloman began to weep and fling himself on the ground. szilard seized him by the arm and hoisted him on to a chair again. "be a man!" he cried. "of whom do you speak?--whom do you want to kill?" "that villain margari." "then it was he who persuaded you to take this step?" "i will tell you all about it, sir, and you shall judge me. when i left my grandfather's house, that satan sought me out, affected sympathy for me and asked me what i meant to do. i told him i intended to go on the stage and he said i did well not to remain there. i had only a florin which i borrowed from one of the lacqueys, and i told this devil that i should require florins at the very least. he promised to get them for me from a usurer but told me i should have to give a bill for forty. do you think i cared what i signed then? not long afterwards he came back again and said the usurer would give nothing on the strength of my signature, because i was a minor, but that if my sister's name stood upon the bill he would advance upon that because she was a married woman. margari persuaded me to sign the bill in her name. what was forty florins to henrietta? he said, a mere trifle. if i were to ask her, she would give me twice as much. surely she would not proclaim me, whom she loved so much, a forger for the sake of a paltry florins? but , florins, , !--that is a frightful, a horrible villainy. i only made it forty." and with that he began to dash his head against the wall like a madman. "my dear coloman, do pull yourself together," said szilard, "what you have just told me is of the very greatest importance. be quiet and don't tear out your hair! are you aware that your infinitely good sister has honoured the , florin bill also in order to save you?" the poor youth was thunderstruck at these words. "and now you can imagine the embarrassment of the baroness, who has been disinherited and is nevertheless responsible for this very considerable sum without being at all sure that her husband will pay it for her." "i will hang myself." "that would be the most gigantic piece of folly you could commit. you must make good your fault. and now for a time we cease to be friends and i am simply an examining magistrate, and you are an accused prisoner who is about to make a voluntary confession before me. pray sit right opposite to me and answer all my questions clearly and accurately--in fact tell me exactly what happened." and vamhidy produced paper and writing requisites, lit a pair of candles which he placed by his side and began the examination of the youth sitting in front of him. by midnight the confession was duly written down. when, however, vamhidy proposed that coloman should now come back to pest and be reconciled to his relations, the youth hesitated: "we will see," said he. "at any rate remain here with me then," continued szilard. "sleep in my room and take till to-morrow to think it over. i won't lock the door but you must give me your word of honour that you will not go out of that door without my knowledge." "i give you my word upon it." then szilard made the youth lie down and only went to rest himself when he was sure that coloman was asleep. nevertheless on awaking next morning and looking round the room he could see no trace of coloman, but there was a letter from him on the table as follows: "dear old friend, i thank you for your extreme kindness to me, but i don't want to see my relations any more, not because i fear to meet them, but because i have a holy horror of the very atmosphere they breathe. my confession will suffice to rectify my fault. i am going on the tramp again. the linen tent is my home. and then--there are obligations in respect to the discharge whereof i am not my sister's brother. i have taken nothing with me but four cigar ends from the table, a liberty i hope you will pardon me. as i have given you my word that i would not go out of the door without your knowledge, i have been obliged to make my exit through the window. adieu! till death thy faithful admirer. coloman." a couple of hours later vamhidy learnt from the innkeeper that the manager, without any previous leave-taking, had decamped leaving behind him his decorations and theatrical wardrobe as some compensation for his trifling debts. all he had taken away with him was what he actually had on his person--and miss palmira. and now szilard understood the meaning of the passage "there are obligations in respect to the discharge whereof i am not my sister's brother." this vagabond comedian had an equally vagabond childish ideal, and when he had to make his choice, he flung his arm around her and fled away with her--into the wide, wide world. chapter xvii mr. margari mr. margari had got on in the world. he was now a real gentleman who had a four-roomed domicile, paid house-rent, and had even gone the length of marrying. and can you guess the lady of his choice?--why it was no other than miss clementina. that worthy virgin was of just the proper age for him, moreover a cosy little bit of cash might safely be assumed to go with her, which exercised a strong attraction upon mr. margari--and goes to prove that iron is not the only metal susceptible of the influence of the magnet. the worthy maiden had persuaded her respected swain to abduct her from hidvár, an enterprise which he had nobly performed while the lady of the house was travelling with her husband to arad. it is true there was no necessity whatever for an elopement, for the baroness was very far from being one of those dragons in feminine shape who love to tear asunder hearts that are burning for each other. if mr. margari had respectfully solicited the hand of her lady-companion, there is no reason to suppose he would have sued in vain; but clementina was far too romantic for anything so humdrum as that. she insisted that he should abduct her, at night too and through a window, although she had the key of every door close at hand. so margari had managed to set up as a gentleman and become his own master. clementina's money bought the furniture and they even sported a musical clock. mr. margari had a smoking-room all to himself, in which he did nothing all day but smoke his pipe. no more work for him now, no more copying of mss. there the happy husband, dressed in a flowered dressing-gown, stretched himself out at full length on the sofa and blew clouds of smoke all around him out of his long csibuk, stuffed full with the best turkish tobacco. clementina was always scolding him for putting his legs upon the sofa. it was a nasty habit she said, and not only unbecoming but expensive, because it ruined the furniture. clementina, in fact, was scolding him all day; and this was very natural, for any woman who has been condemned to obsequious servility for thirty whole years and has silently endured the caprices of her betters all that time, when she sets up as a lady on her own account will do her best to compensate herself for this interminable suppression of her natural instincts. but mr. margari used only to laugh when his wife began nagging at him. "_alios jam vidi ego ventos, aliasque procellas_," he would say. he was only too glad to have a home of his own at all. "don't worry, woman!" he would say with reference to the furniture, "when that's worn out, i'll buy some more. john lapussa, esq., will give me whatever i want." "he may be fool enough to do so now," replied clementina, "but just you wait till he has won his action against madame langai and has no further need of you, he won't care two pence for you then. i know mr. john lapussa." "so do i," retorted margari. "he has paid me hitherto to say what he tells me, he shall pay me hereafter for holding my tongue. john lapussa, esq., will have to take care that margari has plenty to eat and decent clothes to put on, for, if margari grows hungry, margari will bite." mr. margari spoke with an air of such impertinent assurance and blew about such clouds of smoke that clementina began to respect him, and sat down on the sofa by his side, no doubt to protect her property. "if you hold his honour so completely in the palm of your hand," said she, "why don't you provide better for yourself and me? it is all very well for his honour to fork out now when you press him, but money goes and more is wanted. one of these days something will happen to him and he will die,--and you can't follow him to the moon." this was indeed a hard nut for margari to crack. one cannot squeeze much out of dead men. such an impression did the remark make upon him that he took his feet off the sofa and sat bolt upright. "then what do you think i ought to do?" he asked his wife. "well, it is of no use his doling you out mere driblets; for the great services you have rendered him he ought to give you something more in proportion to your merits--a little estate in the country, for instance. there we could settle down comfortably." "true, and he has lots of such little properties which are of no use to him at all. what do you say, for instance, to an estate of one hundred acres or so; it would be a mere flea-bite to him. but flea-bite or no flea-bite that's all one to me. i _wish_ him to give it me and give it he must. i mean to pick and choose." "and suppose he says no?" "he'll never say that, or if he does, i shall say something to somebody and then it will be he who will be sorry and not i. oh, he'll take jolly good care not to make margari angry. his honour has much more need of margari's friendship than margari has of his honour's." and we shall very soon see under what auspices margari hoped to get the little country estate from mr. john lapussa as a reward for his faithful services. meanwhile the action brought by madame langai against mr. john lapussa was still in its initial stage. both parties were inexhaustible in producing documents and raising points of law, but it seemed highly probable that mr. john would win. mr. john appeared almost daily before the magistrate, whom he called his dear friend and whom he frequently invited to dine, an invitation which, naturally, was never accepted. one day mr. monori, for that was the worthy magistrate's name, asked mr. john whether he knew anything of a certain margari who was soliciting the post of a clerk in the district court and gave as his reference the lapussa family in whose service he had been for some years. mr. john, with his innate niggardliness, at once seized this opportunity for disembarrassing himself of an importunate beggar by saddling the county with him. he exalted "the worthy, excellent man" to the skies, and especially praised his rectitude, his sobriety, his diligence! "but is he trustworthy?" inquired the magistrate. "you see there are various little cash payments he will have to see to, is he clean handed?" "as good as gold, i assure you. i could trust him with thousands. why some of my own bills are in his keeping--" and with that he proceeded to say as many pretty things of margari as if he were a horse dealer trying to palm off a blind nag on some ignorant bumpkin at a fair. in his delight at having so successfully rid himself of such an incubus, he made his _valet-de-chambre_ slip over to margari to tell the worthy man to wait upon him on the morrow at o'clock precisely, as he had a very pleasant piece of news to impart to him; for he meant to make margari believe that it was through his, mr. john lapussa's special influence, that he had obtained the coveted appointment and so get him to renounce all further claims upon his old patron. on the very same day mr. john was surprised to receive a visit from the magistrate, mr. monori, and this certainly was a wonder, for the magistrate never made any but official visits. "to what do i owe this extraordinary pleasure?" asked mr. john, familiarly inviting the magistrate to sit down on a couch. "i have come in the matter of this margari," said monori, holding himself very stiffly and fixing his eyes sharply on mr. john. "since our conversation of this morning, the circumstance has come to my knowledge that one of my colleagues in the county of arad has succeeded in finding the long-lost coloman lapussa." at these words mr. john began to smooth out the ends of his mustache and chew them attentively. "the young man confesses to having forged the bill, but asserts that it was margari who led him to do so, and that the bill signed by him was originally for forty florins only, so that undoubtedly somebody else must have turned it into , ." mr. john coughed very much at these words,--no doubt the bit of mustache which he had bit off stuck in his throat. "this is a very ticklish circumstance, i must confess," continued monori, "for although the young man's offence has thereby been considerably lightened, yet the burden of the charge has now been shifted to other shoulders hitherto quite free from suspicion. no doubt, he being a minor, under strict control, did what he did as a mere schoolboy frolic, but this margari and an unknown somebody else will find it not quite such a laughing matter." mr. john's mustache was by this time not enough for him, he began nibbling his nails as well. "but what are you driving at?" he said. "how does all this concern me?" "it concerns you, sir, in this way: you told me that margari was your confidential agent, and therefore he must have destroyed the bill at your bidding." "i only said that to help him to get a small official post. i am responsible for nobody. what have i to do with the characters of my servants, my lacqueys." "but you assured me that your bills often passed through his hands." mr. john fancied that the best way out of this unpleasant _cul-de-sac_ was by adopting a little energetic bluffing. "what do you mean by cross-examining me in my own house?" he cried, with affected _hauteur_, springing from the sofa. the magistrate rose at the same time. "pardon me, but i am here not as a visitor, but in my official capacity--as your judge." and with that he coolly unbuttoned his _attila_[ ] and drew forth from the inside pocket a large sealed letter. [footnote : a fur pelisse, worn on state occasions.] "you must swear to every one of the interrogatories administered to you by me." "i? i'll swear to nothing," cried mr. john. "i am a quaker and therefore cannot take an oath." "this document, sir, is a royal mandate and whoever refuses to obey it is liable to penalties." "what penalties?" "a fine of eighty florins." "eighty florins? there you are then, take them!" cried mr. john flinging down the amount eagerly and thinking to himself that this mandate was indeed a juridical masterpiece, not being binding on a rich man--for what after all is eighty florins? "very good," said mr. monori, giving him a receipt for the amount, "i'll come again to-morrow." "what for?" "i shall again call upon you to answer my interrogatories upon oath." "and if i won't swear?" "why then you'll have to pay the court fine _toties-quoties_. a _juratus tabulae regiae notarius_ will call regularly every day and exact the fine from you until such time as you make up your mind to take the oaths. good-day." after the magistrate had withdrawn mr. john's fury reached its climax. first of all he poured forth his wrath upon the poor inkstand, with the ink from which monori had written out the receipt. this he dashed to the ground. the lacquey who rushed in at the commotion to inquire if his honour had rung, he seized by the nape of the neck and flung out of the room. then he rushed after the man and pommelled him for daring to go out before he had been told to go. finally he dashed out and, for the lowest silver coin he could make up his mind to part with, hired a hackney coach to take him to his villa near the park, for thither he had resolved to fly. on arriving there he recovered himself somewhat. so coloman had been discovered and had confessed about his own doings and margari's. well he must simply disavow margari, that's all. but suppose margari were to make a clean breast of it? well he could repudiate the whole thing of course. but then that wretched royal mandate? he must either swear or pay the court fine every day. it would be best perhaps to fly, to leave the capital of the magistrate behind him and set out on his travels. perhaps then they would forget all about it. but then there was the law-suit! and suppose it should be decided in the meantime and decided against him! it was an absurd dilemma! to remain here was dangerous and to go away was also dangerous. what a good job it would be if that cursed forged-bill business could disappear from the face of the earth. the bill ought to be withdrawn. but that was impossible because it was already in the magistrate's hands, and therefore could not be ignored. and then the oath required of him. either he must confess that he was personally interested in the matter and then he would not be required to swear but would at the same time make himself an object of suspicion, or else he must go on paying this infernal toll money in order to be able to cross the non-juratory bridge, so to speak. it was an absolutely desperating syllogism, and after tossing about sleeplessly all night in the midst of this vicious circle, mr. john resolved in the morning to set off at once for the vineyards of promontor,[ ] tell his servants that he meant to remain there and enjoy himself, and immediately afterwards get into a post-chaise and drive to his sarfeneki property. nobody should know his real address but his lawyer, and there he would await developments, only emerging in case of the most urgent necessity. [footnote : a village a few miles out of pest.] so he hastily swallowed his chocolate, wrapped himself in his mantle and fancied that now he might safely fly; but he reckoned without his host, for, on the very doorstep, he came face to face with margari! "what do you want here, eh?" he inquired fiercely of the humble man he feared so much. "you were so good as to make an appointment with me, your honour," said margari cringingly. "yes, yes, i know, i know" (he was afraid to warn him of his danger, with all the servants listening to them), "but i cannot spare the time now, come some other day. i cannot give you anything here." "but your honour was good enough to say that you had some glad tidings to communicate." "another time, another time! i am very busy just now." mr. john would have shaken off margari altogether, but margari was not so easily got rid of. he had already ascertained from the coachman that mr. john was off to promontor and did not mean to return again in a hurry, so he resolved to take his measures accordingly. he rushed forward to open the carriage door, helped mr. john to get into the coach, wished him a most pleasant journey, no end of enjoyment and other meaningless things, all of which made much the same agreeable impression upon mr. john as if an ant had crept into his boot and he could not kill it because he was in company. only when the carriage door was shut to and he saw margari's face no more did he begin to breathe freely again. margari however attributed this reception, or rather, non-reception, to the capricious humours to which his honour was constantly liable without rhyme or reason (it is a peculiarity of self-made plutocrats as everybody knows); but he was not a bit offended,--he knew his place. his honour doesn't want to see margari just now, very well, he shall not see him so he jumped up behind the carriage alongside the lacquey. but how surprised his honour will be when he gets to promontor to see margari open the carriage door for him? how he will bid him go to the devil and immediately after burst out laughing and give him a present! and what will the present be? has it anything to do with the good news with which he meant to surprise him? and all the while, mr. john, inside the carriage was hugging himself with the idea that he had rid himself of margari for a time and devoutly wishing that the cholera, or some other equally rapid and effectual disease, might remove the old rascal off the face of the earth altogether. when the carriage stopped at the picturesque vineyards of promontor, mr. john almost had a stroke when, on looking through the glass window, the first feature of the panorama that presented itself was the figure of margari, hastening to open the door with obsequious familiarity. "you here, sirrah," he roared (he would have choked with rage on the spot if he had not said sirrah). "how on earth did _you_ get here?" margari instantly imagined that his honour's flashing eyes, convulsive mouth and distorted face were the outward signs of a jocose frame of mind, for there was always a sort of travesty of humour in mr. john's features whenever he was angry. so, to his own confusion, it occurred to him to make a joke for the first time in his life. "crying your honour's pardon, i _flew_," said he. and in fact the very next instant he was sent flying so impetuously that he did not stop till he plumped right into the trellis-work surrounding a bed of vines. never in all his life before had mr. john dispensed such a buffet. margari fairly disappeared among the leaves of the friendly vine arbours. it was now mr. john's turn to be frightened at what he had done. he was frightened because every box on the ears he gave used regularly to cost him florins, a very costly passion to indulge in. and besides he was particularly anxious just then to keep margari in a good humour. a man may loathe a viper but he had better not tread on its tail if he cannot tread on its head. horrified at his own outburst of rage, the moment he saw margari disappear in the vine-arbours, he rushed after him, freed him with his own hands, picked him up, set him on his legs again and began to comfort him. "come, come, my dear friend! compose yourself. i did not mean to hurt you. you are not angry, are you. i hope you are not hurt? where did you hit yourself?" margari, however, began whimpering like a schoolboy, the more the other tried to quiet him, the more loudly he bellowed. "come, come! don't make such a noise! come under the verandah and wipe the blood from your face!" "but i am not a dog!" roared margari. "i won't go under the verandah, i'll go into the street. i'll howl at the top of my voice. the whole town shall see me bleed." "margari, don't be a fool! i didn't mean to hurt you. i was too violent, i admit it. look here! i'll give you money. how much do you want? will florins be enough?" at the words " florins," margari stopped roaring a bit, but he wanted to see the colour of the money, for he thought to himself that if he quieted down first he would get nothing at all. so he kept on whining and limped first on one leg and then on the other and plastered his whole face over with blood from the one little scratch he had got. mr. john hastened to wipe margari's face with his own pocket handkerchief. "come, come my dear margari. i have told you i did not mean to do it. here are the two hundred florins i promised you. but now leave me alone. go abroad with the money and enjoy yourself and i will give you some more later on." "i most humbly thank you," lisped the buffeted wretch with a conciliatory voice and he kissed mr. john's two hundred florined hand repeatedly, while the other did all in his power to hustle him out of the door; and so engrossed was he in the effort that he never observed that some one had been observing the scene the whole time. he therefore regularly collapsed when a voice which he instantly recognized, addressed him: "good morning, sir!" the lernean hydra was not more petrified at the sight of the head of medusa than was mr. john by the sight of the person who had just addressed him. it was the magistrate, mr. monori. at first he feared he had come after him for his diurnal eighty florins, but something very much worse than that was in store for him. "pardon me," said the magistrate drawing nearer, "but by order of the high court, i am here to arrest margari, and ascertaining that you had taken him away with you, i was obliged to follow to prevent him from escaping altogether." two stout _pandurs_[ ] behind the magistrate gave additional emphasis to his words. [footnote : hungarian police officers.] "arrest me?" cried margari, "why me? i am as honest as the day. i am neither a murderer nor yet a robber. mr. john lapussa can answer for me. i am his confidential agent!"--and he clung convulsively to the coat tail of his principal. mr. john plainly perceived that never in his life before had he been in such an awkward situation. they could accuse him now of having instigated margari to make a bolt of it. had not the magistrate seen him give the wretched man money to run away with? his first care was to disengage margari's hands from his coat tail and next to hold him at arm's length so that he should not clutch his collar. then with pompous impertinence he pretended not to know him. "what does the man want? who is he? how did he come hither?" he exclaimed. "i know nothing about him. i boxed his ears for molesting me, and then i gave him florins which is the usual legal fine for an assault of that kind, to prevent him bringing an action against me. we have nothing else in common. take him away by all means. put him in irons. give him whatever punishment he has deserved. yes," he continued, seizing the astounded margari by the cravat, "you are a refined scoundrel. you persuaded my dear nephew coloman to take that false step and then you yourself changed the forty florins into forty thousand. you wanted to ruin the young man's future and bring a slur upon the family. i know everything. his honour the magistrate told me all about it yesterday, and that is why i hand you over to the law for punishment." and with that he shook him so violently that he fell on his back again, this time into a bed of tomatoes, whereby his white linen pantaloons very speedily became stained with the national colours.[ ] [footnote : red, white and green.] the dialogue that thereupon ensued no shorthand reporter could have reproduced, for the pair of them began forthwith to rave and storm at one another with all their might, stamping, swearing, shaking their fists, and loading each other with abuse. when they had got as far as calling each other robber and scoundrel, the magistrate thought it high time to interfere, and at his command margari was torn forcibly out of the tomato bed, led to a hackney coach and thrust inside; yet even then he put his head out of the window and shouted that he did not mean to sit in prison alone but would very soon have mr. john lapussa there also, as his companion. all the efforts of the two pandurs were powerless to silence him. as for mr. john, the magistrate simply said to him: "sir, it is not good for a man to make use of nasty tools, for by so doing he only dirties his own hands." then he got into a second hackney coach and drove away after the first one. even mr. john could see that it was now quite impossible for him under the circumstances to think of quitting pest. chapter xviii the undiscoverable lady squire gerzson satrakovics thought it best after that night at the _csárdá_ to go back to arad. this wondrous event, the clue to which he could not hit upon anyhow, must needs interest hátszegi most of all. it would be a terrible thing to appear before him with the tidings that the lady who was intrusted to his care, had been lost on the way; yet, nevertheless, this was the first thing he must say, and after that they would consult together as to what was to be done to find her and where they were to look for her. never had mr. gerzson approached a bear's den with such beating of heart as he now approached hátszegi's chambers. his breath almost failed him as he seized the handle of the street door and wished it might prove locked in order that it might take a longer time to open it. and locked indeed the door proved to be, he had to ring. thus he had, at any rate, a respite, for he must await the result of the ringing. and a long time he had to wait too, so long indeed that it was necessary to ring again. even then there was no response. then he rang a third time, and after that he went on ring-ring-ringing for a good half hour. at last the bellrope remained in his hand and he put it into his pocket that it might testify to the fact that he had been there. then, for the first time, he noticed that the shutters were all up--the surest sign that nobody was at home. gerzson explained the matter to his own satisfaction by supposing that the whole household was at the races. it was the last day of the races and he reached the course just as the betting was at its height and everybody's attention was concentrated on the event of the moment. at such time the crowd has no eyes for men, everyone is occupied with the horses. mr. gerzson therefore had plenty of time to scrutinize all who were present, but look as he would he could not see leonard anywhere. at last he could stand the suspense no longer, and during the interval between two races, he descended from the grand-stand, in a corner of which he had ensconced himself in order to get a better view of the field, and mingled in the ring with his brother sportsmen awaiting resignedly for the expression of amazed and horrified inquiry which he expected to see in all faces the moment they perceived him. but how taken aback was he when the first man who cast eyes on him gave vent to a loud: ha! ha! ha! whereupon everybody else began laughing also and pointing their fingers at him and exclaiming: "why here's gerzson! gerzson has come back again!" "have you all gone mad?" cried gerzson, confused by this inexplicable hubbub. he really fancied that he had fallen among a lot of lunatics, till at last count kengyelesy forced his way through the crowd towards him, put both his hands on his hips and began to quiz him: "well, you are a pretty fellow!--you are a pretty squire of dames, i must say!" "but what's the matter? what has happened? why do you laugh?" "listen to him!" cried the count, turning to the bystanders. "he actually has the impertinence to ask us why we laugh! come, sir! where did you leave the baroness hátszegi?" "i don't see what there is to laugh at at such a question?" replied gerzson, in whose mind all sorts of dark forebodings began to arise. "what have you done with the baroness? what have you done with our friend leonard's wife, i say?" persisted the count. "that is a perfect riddle to me," growled gerzson in a low voice. "ha! ha! ha!" laughed the count, "it is a riddle to him what has become of his travelling companion." "but can any of you tell me what has happened to her? is she alive?" the count clapped his hands together and flung his round hat upon the ground. "now, that is what i call a _leetle_ too strong! he asks: is she alive? why, comrade, where have you been in hiding all this time?" "a truce to jesting," cried gerzson fiercely. "tell me all you know about it, for it is no joking matter for me, i can assure you." on perceiving that gerzson was seriously angry, kengyelesy drew nearer to him and enlightened him without any more beating about the bush: "well then, my dear friend, let me tell you that you have behaved very badly. first of all you made all four of hátszegi's horses lame; in the second place you compelled his poor wife to spend a night in a _csárdá_ of the _puszta_, and in the third place you got so drunk that you began to quarrel with her and at last did not know whether you were boy or girl. the poor little woman has grown almost grey with terror, and after you had fallen to the ground in liquor she sent the coachman to town for fresh horses and, leaving you under the table, tried to make her way back to arad." "that is not true," interrupted gerzson, his whole face purple with rage. "what is not true?" "where is the baroness?" "stop, stop, my friend! don't run away! you'll never catch her up, for, early this morning, she drove back to hidvár in a postchaise with her husband." "that can not be true. did you see her?" "i saw her through my own field glass. but we all saw her--did we not, gentlemen?" many of those present admitted that they had indeed seen the baroness. "but my dear fellow," said the perturbed gerzson, "this is no joke. on the contrary, my adventure with the baroness is somewhat tragical, and i'll trouble you to expend no more of your feeble witticisms on me." kengyelesy shrugged his shoulders. "i did not know you would take it so seriously, but so it is." "from whom did you hear all this, from the baroness?" "no--from hátszegi." an idea suddenly flashed through gerzson's brain. "did you speak to the baroness herself?" "no. i only saw her through the carriage window when they drove away." "was she veiled?" "no, my friend. it was her very self i assure you." "thank you. and now, if you like, you can go on amusing yourself at my expense. adieu!" only when he had got home and flung himself on the sofa in a state of stupor, did he begin to reflect a little calmly on what he had heard. there was so much about the affair that was startling and incomprehensible, true and untrue, probable, incredible, shameful and exasperating, that he could make neither head nor tail of it. that the baroness _had_ returned must be true, for they all maintained that she had come back while he was lying drunk. it is true that he had got drunk, but he had no recollection of having been quarrelsome and misbehaving himself. strain his memory as he might, all he could call to mind was henrietta, with her angelically gentle face, sitting before him at the table and telling him the legends of the transylvanian alps--all the rest was a blank. up he jumped at last and began pacing up and down the room. at last, after much reflection, his mind was made up, he had formed a plan. "i'll be off. i'll be off immediately. i'll go straight to her. i am determined to learn from her own lips exactly what happened to me and how i came to make such a fool of myself. i will speak to her myself." and immediately he ordered his coachman to put the horses to; but he told not a living soul whither he was going, even to the coachman he only mentioned the first stage. at a little booth at the end of the town he bought four and twenty double rolls and a new wooden field flask. when they came to the river maros, he descended to the water's edge, rinsed out his flask at least twice and then filled it with water, finally thrusting both the rolls and the flask into his travelling knapsack. after that he drew on his mantle, clambered up into the back part of the coach, stuck his pipe in his mouth and his pistol in his fist and never closed an eye till morning. and it must be admitted that mr. gerzson's mode of travelling on this occasion was decidedly eccentric. on reaching a village he would tell his coachman where to go next but he never told him more than one stage in advance. every morning he would consume one of his rolls and wash it down with the lukewarm brackish water of the maros--and bitter enough he found the taste of it too. he never quitted the carriage for more than two or three minutes at a time, and he presented his pistols point blank at everyone who approached him with inquisitive questions. only twice during the night did he allow the horses an hour or two of rest--and then away over stock and stone again. the coachman, who was unaccustomed to such queer ways, presently shook his head every time he received orders to go on further, but by dawn of day he had had about enough of the job. "your honour," said he, "are we going to stop at all? it would do the horses no harm if they had a little rest." "what's that to you, you rascal, eh?" roared mr. gerzson, "i suppose you're sleepy, you lazy good-for-nothing? off the box then, you hound, you! i'll drive the horses myself, you gallows-bird!" the old fellow, who had been in the service of the family for twenty years and had never had so many insulting epithets thrown at his head before explained that he did not speak for himself but for the horses. "if they perished on the spot, sirrah, what business is it of yours? when one pursues the enemy in time of war, does one think of food or fodder?"--whence the coachman concluded that there was some one whom the squire meant to cut to pieces. it was only when they came to the road leading to hidvár that the coachman began to suspect that they were about to go in that direction. it was now the evening of the second day and both man and beast were tired to death. it was indispensable that they should stay the night here, for if they passed hidvár they would have to go on the whole night before they reached the next stage--or come to grief on the road, which was much more probable. "you will stop in front of the castle!" commanded mr. gerzson when they were crossing the castle bridge. the coachman looked back and shook his head. he did not like it at all. "shan't we turn into the castle yard?" enquired he. "no!" bellowed squire gerzson, so venomously that the "why not?" he was about to say, stuck in the poor coachman's throat like a fish-bone. "now listen to me," said gerzson, when they had fairly got across to the other side: "keep your eyes open and try and take in what i am going to say to you. i don't know how long i may remain inside there--possibly some time. at any rate you must not loiter about here with the horses but go on to the priest and beg him, civilly, mind, to kindly accommodate my nags in his stable and give them two bushels of maize. as soon as i return i'll settle with him, but don't say anything about payment, or else you will offend him. kiss his hand, for he is a priest and you are only a lazy vagabond. if you hear no news of me by to-morrow morning, put the horses into the carriage again and return to arad where count kengyelesy will tell you what to do next." then he turned upon his heel and set off towards the castle. it was already evening. in the upper story seven of the windows were lit up and the moon shone into the eighth. that was henrietta's bedroom. squire gerzson knew it. he was quite at home in the castle. at the hall entrance he encountered leonard's huntsman, an impertinent, bony, jowly loafer whom he had never been able to endure. the fellow barred the way. "good evening your honour." "why should _you_ wish _me_ good evening, you stupid jackass! do you suppose i have travelled five and twenty miles for the pleasure of wishing _you_ good evening? who's at home?" "nobody." "go along with you, you sodden-headed son of a dog. nobody at home and seven windows in the upper story all alight!" "it is true the rooms are lit up, but that is on account of her ladyship--they are sitting up with her." "then where's your master?" "he has trotted into klausenburg for the learned doctor." "what is the matter with her ladyship?" "i don't know. they say she is mad." "you are mad yourself, you stupid beast. who told you that?" "i saw it, i heard it myself, and others also have seen that she is mad." "cannot i speak to her?" "how can you? that's just the mischief of it, that she cannot be spoken to." "you rascal, i tell you your master _is_ at home. i am sure of it." long-legs shrugged his shoulders and began to whistle. "look ye here, my son," said gerzson, scarcely able to contain himself, "the fist that you see in my pocket here is pulling the trigger of a revolver and i have a jolly good mind to send a bullet in between your onion chawing teeth, so i should advise you not to try any of your tom-foolery on me. on this occasion i have not come to pay your master a visit but for other reasons. speak the truth, sirrah! is your master at home or is he not?" "i have just told you that there is not a soul at home except her ladyship, and she is mad." at that same moment gerzson thought he heard a fiddle in the upper story. "what, music here!" he cried. the fellow laughed. "yes, they are trying to cure the sick baroness by playing to her." "but i hear the sound of men's voices also as if there were guests here." "where? i hear nothing. it is only the dogs barking in the enclosure." "you did not hear it, sirrah?" "i heard nothing." "very well, my son, i see you have orders to make a fool of me; but it strikes me that both you and your master will have to get up pretty early to do that. you need not be so anxious to guard the door, i shall not try to force my way up to your master. i'll wager he will come and see me first. wait a bit." and with that gerzson sat down on the step, tore a leaf out of his pocketbook and, placing it on his knee, wrote with his pencil the following words: "sir, i declare you to be a miserable coward. if you want to know why, you will find me at the parson's, there i will tell you and after that we can arrange our little business between ourselves. "gerzson satrakovics." mr. gerzson had even taken the trouble to provide himself with sealing-wax and matches so he could seal his letter without any difficulty and the step served him as a table. but suppose even this letter did not make hátszegi come forth? struck by this idea he tore open the note again and added this postscript: "if you do not give me proper satisfaction, i will wait for you at the gate of your own castle and shoot you down like a dog!!" surely _that_ would be enough! again he sealed the letter and was about to hand it to the huntsman when it suddenly occurred to him that hátszegi might chuck the note unopened into the fire. now, therefore, he wrote on the outside of it, just below the address: "if you don't open this letter, i will have an exact copy of it posted upon the notice-board of the club at arad." "and now, you door-keeping cerberus," said he, "take this and give it to your master, wherever he may be." he wasted no more words upon the fellow, but went straight to the dwelling of the old priest who was awaiting him in his porch. "i must beg your reverence for a night's lodging, i am afraid," said squire gerzson, cordially pressing the old clergyman's hand. "there is serious illness at the baron's house so i don't want to incommode them with my company. all i want is a place whereon to lay my head. my wants are few. you know me of old." "gladly will i share with your honour the little i have. god hath brought you hither. i am glad you did not stay at the castle. the company there is not fit for your honour." "then there is company there, eh? what sort of folks are they?" "folks i should not care about meeting. drahhowecz and muntya, and harastory, and brinkó, and bandán, and kerakoricz, and . . ." "that will do," interrupted mr. gerzson, aghast at so many odd, strange names not one of which he had ever heard of before. "new comers, i suppose?" "i was sure their names would be quite unfamiliar to your honour," remarked the priest smiling, and he led his guest into his narrow dwelling, looking cautiously round first of all to make sure that nobody was listening. once inside he carefully barred the door, seated his guest at the carved wooden table, which was covered with a pretty covering made from foal-skin, and filled a dish with fresh maize pottage, adding thereto a ham bone and a jug of mead. mr. gerzson fell to, like a man, on the very first invitation; and each armed with a wooden spoon, attacked the maize pottage from different points till their assiduously tunnelling spoons met together in the centre of the large platter. "a capital dish, your reverence, really capital." "very good for poor folks like we are, i admit. i know you don't have fare like this in hungary." "i suppose we don't know how to prepare it properly," said gerzson. and then the priest explained how hot the water must be when maize meal or sweet-broom meal has to be mixed with it, how the whole mess must be stirred with a spoon, how a little finely grated cheese has to be added to it, and how it had then all to be tied up in a cloth like a plum-pudding and have milk poured over it. and squire gerzson listened to him as attentively as if he had come all the way from arad to hidvár on purpose to learn the art of cooking maize pottage. and after that they pledged each other's health in long draughts from the mead jug. "and now," said the priest when they had well supped, "i know that your honour spent all last night upon the road. you must be tired and instead of boring yourself by listening to my uninteresting gossip, it would be better, methinks, if we both went to bed." "i shouldn't mind lying down at all, but alas! i have an appointment here with some one." "may i ask with whom?" "i have written the baron a letter and i await a reply." "he will not send one: he is too much taken up with his pleasures just now." "my letter contains things which a man durst not ignore." "was your letter an insulting one?" "i don't wish to advertise its contents." "very good. but for all that you may as well lie down. the ways of the baron are incalculable. even when he is angry he knows what he is about." "then we'll wait for him till morning." "meanwhile repose in peace. my humble dwelling is not very luxurious, but let your honour imagine that it is a hunting hut in the forest." "but where then will your reverence sleep?" "i'll go out to the bee-house. i can sleep there excellently well, i have a couch of linden leaves." "nay, but i also love to sleep on linden leaves, covered with my _bunda_.[ ] i'll lie there to-night. i am accustomed to sleeping in the open air at night, and you are an old man"--he forgot that he was one himself--"i could never permit you to sacrifice your comfort for my sake." [footnote : a sheepskin mantle.] the clergyman paused for an instant like one who is suddenly struck by a new and odd idea. "you said just now that you had insulted hátszegi, did you not?" he asked. "well--yes!--if you _must_ know." "grossly?" "yes, and most deliberately." "very good, i only asked the question out of curiosity. you shall have the choice of your resting place, where would you like to sleep?" "i choose the bee-house." "good. it is true that the night air is not very good for me. i will sleep then in my usual resting place." "and i will sleep among the bees. their humming close beside a man's ears generally brings him dreams that a king would envy." "then good night, sir." "good night." they parted at the little porch. gerzson wrapped his _bunda_ round his shoulders and went towards the bee-house, but the priest returned to his chamber, blew out the light, lay down fully dressed on his bed, took up his rosary and fell a-praying like one who does not expect to see the dawn of another day. he knew his man; he knew what was coming. squire gerzson, on the other hand, troubled himself not a jot about possible consequences. with the nonchalance of a true sportsman, he lit his pipe and, lest he should set anything on fire, he made up his mind not to sleep a wink till he had smoked his pipe right out. in order that slumber might not come upon him unawares, he resolved to fix his eyes on the castle windows--as the best preservative against dropping off. he could see them quite plainly from the bee-house. the illuminated windows were darkened one by one. it seemed as if, contrary to the words of the clergyman, the revellers within there did not mean to await the rosy dawn glass in hand, but had lain down early. for, indeed, it was still early. the village cocks had only just crowed for the first time. it could not be much beyond eleven. after the lamps had been extinguished, the castle stood there in the semi-obscurity of night like a black, old-world ruin. it stood right in front of the moon which was now climbing up behind its bastions and where its light fell upon two opposite windows which met together in a corner room it shone through them both and lighted up the whole apartment. this room was the baroness's dormitory. while mr. gerzson was luxuriating in the contemplation of the moonlight, he suddenly observed that the moonlight falling upon the windows was obscured for an instant, as if somebody were passing up and down the room. in a few moments this obscuration was repeated, and the same thing happened a third time, and a fourth, and many times more, just as if some one were passing up and down in that particular room in the middle of the night restlessly, incessantly. mr. gerzson counted on his pulses the seconds which elapsed between each obscuration--sixteen seconds, consequently the room in which this person was to-and-froing it so late at night like a spectre, must be sixteen paces from one end to the other. so long as the other windows had been lit up, this person had not begun to walk but as soon as the whole castle was slumbering its restless course began. gerzson felt that if he looked much longer, he would become moonstruck himself. slowly divesting himself of his _bunda_, and after knocking the burning ashes out of his pipe, he noiselessly quitted the bee-house, traversed the garden and sprang over the fence at a single bound. then he stole along in the shadow of the poplar avenue leading up to the castle till he stood beneath the moon-lit window, climbed, like a veritable lunatic on to the projecting stones of the old bastion, and gazed from thence, at closer quarters, at the regularly recurring shadow. but not even now was he content, but began to break off little portions of the mouldering mortar and cautiously throw them at the window. when one of these little fragments of mortar rattled against the glass the whole window was quickly obscured by a shadow as if the night wanderer had rushed to it in order to look out. gerzson felt absolutely certain that he must be observed for there he stood clinging fast on to the moulding. a few moments afterwards the shadow disappeared suddenly from the window and again the moonlight shone uninterruptedly through it. gerzson determined to remain where he was, to see what would come of it. in a short time the shadow reappeared in front of the moonlight, the window was silently and very slightly raised, and through the slit fluttered a rolled up piece of paper. this missive fell from the moulding of the bastion down into the moat. mr. gerzson scrambled down after it, grabbed at it in the dark and sticking it into his pocket, returned to the dwelling of the priest. not wishing to arouse the clergyman, he went to his carriage which stood in the stable and lit the lamp in order to read the mysterious missive. the letter was written on a piece of paper torn out of an album. he recognized henrietta's handwriting, and the contents of the note were as follows: "good kind gerzson! i implore you, in the name of all that is sacred, to depart from hence this instant. depart on foot by bye paths--the priest will guide you. if you do not wish me to lose my reason altogether, tarry here no longer. i am very unhappy, but still more unhappy i should be if you were to remain here. avoid us--and forget me forever--your affectionate--respectful--friend who will ever mention you in her prayers--and whom you have treated as a daughter--henrietta." gerzson's first feeling on reading this letter was one of relief--evidently henrietta was not angry with him or she would not have alluded to herself as his daughter! there must therefore have been some other reason for her turning back other than the squabble between them which hátszegi had so industriously circulated. well, he would settle accounts with hátszegi presently. what he found especially hard to understand, however, was the mysterious warning contained in the letter. "well, my dear parson," he said to himself, "i very much regret having to arouse you from your slumbers, but there's nothing else to be done," and, unscrewing the coach lamp, he took it with him and went towards the house. the hall door was closed, he had to shake it. the parson was evidently still awake, his voice resounded from within the house: "all good spirits praise the lord!" "amen! 'tis i who am at the door. let me in reverend father." the priest immediately opened the door and, full of amazement, asked mr. gerzson what had happened. "read that!" said gerzson handing him the letter and lighting him with the lamp. "this is the baroness's writing," said the priest, who immediately recognized the script. "what do you say to its contents?" "i say that you must get away from this place immediately. i quite comprehend the meaning of the baroness's directions." "what! fly from a man whom i have just called out?" "no, you must fly from the man you have _not_ called out." "i don't understand." "you will one day, but there is no time for parleying now. first of all, put on my garments, while i dress up in peasants' clothes." "why?" "why! because i must be your guide through the mountains. i cannot trust another to do you that service. do quickly what i tell you." the priest gave his orders to mr. gerzson with imperious brevity, but that gentleman, even in his present situation, could not divest himself of his homely humour, and as he was donning the parson's long cassock and pressed the broad brimmed clerical hat down upon his head, he fell a laughing at the odd figure he cut. "deuce take it!" he cried, "i never imagined that i should ever be turned into a parson." but the priest was angry at the untimely jest and turning savagely upon squire gerzson, said: "sir, this is no time for jesting, we are both of us standing on the very threshold of death." gerzson was no coward, nor did he trouble himself very much about death, but the emphatic tone of the parson at least induced him, at last, to take the matter seriously. "then according to that you also are in danger on my account?" "ask no questions! i knew what would happen when i gave you a night's lodging." then he took out of a drawer a packet of letters and bade gerzson put them in the pocket of his cassock as the coat he was wearing had no pockets. "why do you take these with you?" "because i fear to leave them here, and also because i believe i shall never return to this house any more. i have one request to make of you and that is that you will read these letters and keep the contents to yourself." gerzson promised to do so. it was just as the descending moon seemed to be resting on the summits of the mountains that the priest and his guest quitted the quiet little house by way of the garden. the night which covered the retreat of the fugitives was pitch dark. nobody but one who had been accustomed to that district for years and knew all its ins and outs could have found a path through those wooded gorges. by the morning light the fugitives perceived the little posting station on the high road. there the priest exchanged clothes with gerzson and resumed his clerical attire. "nothing can detain us now," said the priest, "you can procure post horses here and return home, but i go in an opposite direction." "whither?" "the world is wide. do not trouble yourself about me. in a month's time we shall meet again." "where?" "at this very place." the priest hastily quitted gerzson and returned towards the forest, while the latter went on to the little town, where he speedily got post horses. when now he found himself sitting all safe and sound, in the carriage, it suddenly struck him how remarkably odd it was that he and the parson should have actually fled away from a non-existent danger. how they would laugh at him from one end of the kingdom to the other! suppose henrietta had been playing a practical joke upon him! but then, on the other hand, henrietta was not of that sort--so he consoled himself. but there was another thing which bothered him a good deal. the coachman had been left behind with the four horses and would not know what to make of the disappearance of his master and the priest. when, however, the post chaise stopped in front of his house at arad who should he see coming to meet him through the gate but this very coachman whose astonishment at the meeting was even greater than his master's. and then, to the amazement of the postillion, master and servant fell upon each other's necks and embraced each other again and again. "come into the house," said mr. gerzson at last, "and tell me what befell you. i don't want you to bellow it out here before all the world." "i hardly know how to put it, sir, but i will tell it you as best i can. after watering the horses, i lay down and went to sleep. a loud neighing suddenly awoke me and, looking around, i saw a great light. the parson's house was all in flames. up i was in a jiffy and ran to the door to call your honour but i found the door was locked from the inside. i then ran to the windows and found that the shutters were nailed down over them. what horrified me most of all, however, was that nobody came from the castle to put the fire out. then i began to roar for help and while i was roaring and running up and down looking for an axe with which to batter in the door--'burum! burum!' i heard two shots and the bullets whistled to the right and left about my ears. at that all my pluck went down to my heels; i rushed under the shelter of the barn, cut the tether ropes of the horses, swung myself up on to the saddle horse, driving the others before me, and trotted into arad without once stopping to water them." so he had reached home more quickly than squire gerzson himself. "well, my son," said gerzson, "all that you have told me is gospel truth i have no doubt, but say not a word of it to anybody, or else . . ." (and here he uttered the threat which the ordinary hungarian common folk fear most of all)--"or else the affair will come before the courts and you will have to give testimony on oath." after that he was sure of the fellow's silence. chapter xix the shaking hand whoever in an evil hour encountered fatia negra had a shaking hand for the rest of his life. ever since that meeting at the _csárdá_ henrietta's hand also trembled to such an extent that it was only with the utmost difficulty that she could sign her own name. what happened to her after that meeting? whom did she recognize in fatia negra? how did she get home?--all these things remained eternal secrets. the lady was never able to tell it to anybody. perchance she herself regarded it as a dream. the poor lady used now to pray all day. for hours at a time she would kneel before the altar of the castle chapel returning thence to her perpetual walking to and fro, to and fro, kneeling down to pray again when she was tired out. and so she went on from morning to evening, nay, till late into the night, sometimes till midnight, sometimes till the dawn of the next day, up and down, up and down, between four walls, and then on her knees again a-praying. she never appeared in the dining-room; her meals were sent to her room. she scarcely touched them, it was difficult to understand how she kept body and soul together. she only quitted her chamber to go to chapel. at such times she would frequently meet domestics or strangers in the castle corridors, but she looks at nobody and says not a word. she does not notice that they are there, that they are amazed at her, that they greet her. no one has heard her speak for a long time. and therefore they think her mad. at first only the domestics whispered this among themselves, then the villagers--and in a month's time it was notorious through transylvania that the youthful baroness hátszegi was out of her mind. early one morning, as henrietta was returning from chapel, there suddenly appeared before her a ragged woman who must have been hidden in some niche as the servants had not seen her or driven her out. "stop one moment, my lady," whispered the woman and henrietta seemed to hear in that whisper the voice of an old acquaintance, though she did not recognize the face. it was half masked in a cloth and the little she could see of it was disfigured by wounds and scars like the face of one who had been badly injured by fire. henrietta was horrified at the sight of her, she looked so dreadful. "don't be frightened, my lady," said the woman falling down on her knees before her and seizing henrietta's dress to prevent her from escaping, "i am anicza." henrietta fixed her eyes upon the woman full of stupid amazement, and vainly sought in her face for some trace of the ideal loveliness which only the other day, so it seemed, had made her so charming. she began to fancy that the woman was under some evil spell and that if anyone could but repeat the talismanic word, her former loveliness would be restored to her. "you cannot recognize me your ladyship for my face was burnt to death in the lucsia cavern. oh, if it had only always been what it is now. i am much better as i am now. god has punished me because i let my soul be lost for the sake of my fair face. i am not vain now as i used to be. yes, god has smitten all of us on account of our sins, as your ladyship already knows; but none has he smitten so hard as me. i denounced all my kinsfolk and acquaintances to the tribunal to be avenged on one man who had deceived me,--all of them were taken except him and he escaped. and now i am a beggar, an accursed creature whom everyone drives from his door, but what care i?--i never feel hungry. they took away all my father's property--heaven only knows how much there was, more than twenty thousand ducats, i think, and it would have been mine for i am his only child. i was summoned before the court, they said they would reward me for denouncing the society, they said they would give me a thousand ducats. ha, ha, ha! a thousand ducats for making myself the wretched creature i am! but i did not come here to frighten your ladyship, i came here to humbly beg a favour. gracious lady, the magistrates told me that a mixed commission will be appointed to try the forgers and that his lordship, the baron, will be the president of this commission; on him depends the life and death of everyone concerned." henrietta felt obliged to lean against the wall. "my lady, i do not expect impossibilities, i cannot wish that the guilty should remain unpunished--justice is justice! but the leader of the whole gang was fatia negra, he planned everything, the others only carried out his orders. and now there is a lot of false witnesses ready to swear that my father was the ring-leader and throw all the blame upon him, but it was fatia negra and nobody else as god knows." every time the peasant woman mentioned fatia negra's name a spasmodic twitch convulsed henrietta's pale features. "gracious lady," continued anicza, "i implore you by the tender mercies of god not to abandon me. grant me my petition! either let them kill me or lock me up with the others. i implore you, my lady, to speak or write to your husband (if these things must be in writing) on my behalf. do not let me perish. god will not be angry with you for protecting me." henrietta was now even less able to speak than before. but though she could not express herself in words, she placed one hand on the girl's head and raised the other tremulous hand to heaven, as one who takes a solemn oath before god. then she tore herself away from anicza, who had stooped to kiss the hem of her garment, and hastened back to her own room. on reaching the threshold of the house she looked back and saw that the girl had sunk down in the dust and was gratefully kissing the very traces of the footsteps of the departing lady. on reaching her room henrietta paced up and down it for a long time, wringing her hands as she went and moaning loudly: "my god! my god!" then she flung herself down on her couch, writhing like one in mortal agony. but soon she strengthened her heart and sat down at the writing-table. what had become of that beautiful handwriting of hers which had resembled copper plate? scarcely legible letters now issued from her trembling hand, dumb witnesses of the terror of her heart, and yet write she must for it was her petition to her husband. ah! that she should be forced to write to him. her letter was as follows: "dread sir: tremulously and submissively i approach you. in the name of an unhappy creature i appeal to your compassion. you will be the judge of a lot of wretched men. be merciful to them. by the grace of heaven i implore you, condemn them not! in the name of god, i implore you not to sign their death warrants. by the terrors of eternity i implore you do not ruin these men, for they are most innocent. n. n." she durst not subscribe her own name. and now she waited, she watched for the moment when leonard quitted his room and, slipping in, laid the petition on the couch where he would be sure to find it. nobody observed her. the same day she encountered him, she had in fact sought for such an encounter. it was in the great armoury. leonard, as soon as he perceived his wife, began humming some mad operatic tune, an opera bouffé air and bawled through the door to the dog-keeper to unleash the hounds. the pale lady nevertheless approached him, with tottering but determined footsteps, and folding both her trembling hands as if in prayer, stood mutely in front of the door through which leonard would have to pass, like some dumb spirit from another world. but leonard merely shrugged his shoulders and passed her by, whistling all the time. again, on the following day, the timid petition lay on leonard's table, written in the same tremulous characters. henrietta had written it again, and again had crept into his chamber and in whatever part of the house the magnate might now be found, he everywhere encountered this pale tremulous figure who pressing her hands together and without uttering a word gazed at him beseechingly, imploringly--only they two knew why. on the third day leonard again found the petition and again encountered henrietta. this time he spoke to her. "my dear henrietta, have you read 'the mysteries of paris?'" henrietta, as usual, only stared at the speaker with frightened eyes and said nothing. "how did you like the description of bicètre? a horrible place, eh? i have noticed that you have been behaving in rather a peculiar way lately. in fact, the whole district has been talking about it and saying that you are a little crazy. i have been asked all sorts of questions about it too.--hitherto i have always told everybody that it is not true.--but if once i should say that it _is_ true, then, you will be most certainly shut up in a mad house. regulate your conduct accordingly." chapter xx the fight for the gold of late mr. gerzson satrakovics had invented for himself a peculiar sort of pastime. he had renounced bear hounds and grey hounds and all other kinds of dogs, he did not care a jot when partridge shooting began, but he hung up his gun on a nail and began regularly visiting one after another the session courts of the counties of arad, biehar and temes, in all of which he was a justice of the peace, and moving resolutions. the object of these resolutions was to induce the three counties to endeavour with their united strength, and in conjunction with the transylvanian counties of hunyad, fehér and zarand, to extirpate the robber bands that had so long been terrorizing the whole district. he compiled lists of the atrocities perpetrated in the various localities and connected them all with the name of one particular robber, the notorious "fatia negra." he produced convincing proofs of the existence of a combination extending from the depths of the dungeons to the summits of the mountains which was held together by the magic influence of this one man and he left no stone unturned to bring him to book. he, naturally, became quite a laughing stock for his pains, and his acquaintances could not for the life of them understand what had come to the man. "why, old fellow!" said count kengyelesy to him one day, after he had been indulging in an unusually fiery philippic at quarter sessions, "why, old fellow, what sort of venom have you swallowed that makes you perorate so savagely against this worthy fatia negra. if anybody has cause to complain against him it is i, for he relieved me of , ducats on the high road, and so cleverly did the rascal manage it, that i cannot find it in my heart to bear him any ill-will. but what have you got to do with him i should like to know? what is all this cock and bull story you keep on spouting out concerning organized robber bands and mysterious chieftains? is it your ambition, my friend, to become public prosecutor?" "yes, it is, and public prosecutor i will be, too. i want six counties to place their armed constabulary at my beck and call, and if they do, i'll wager that i'll so purify all these alpine regions that the robbers will not have a single lurking hole left." "rubbish! don't make a fool of yourself. besides, they say that fatia negra has flown to america." "newspaper lies. he is here, i know he is." "and suppose he is, what harm can he do? this band has been cut off to the very last man. they have all been sentenced heavily, the older men to twenty years penal servitude, the younger men to penal servitude for life. i had it from hátszegi himself who was the president of the mixed commission that tried them, and signed the judgment himself. the whole fraternity is now sitting in chains in the trenches of gyula fehérvár and we have seen the last of it." "what guarantee have you of that?" "what guarantee?--why the security of the whole region ever since. why, everyone there can now sleep with open doors and if you yourself were to lie dead drunk in the public thoroughfare you would not have your money stolen from your pocket any more." squire gerzson protested vehemently against the assumption that he was in the habit of sprawling tipsily on the king's high road. "i'll tell you," said he, "why everything is so secure just now. the confiscated gold of fatia negra is still at gyula fehérvár, as a forfeit to the crown, and, sooner or later, must be sent to vienna. fatia negra is _not_ dead, his robber band has _not_ been captured and does _not_ sit in irons at gyula fehérvár, and the present tranquillity and imagined security suit their plans nicely. the band now pretends to have vanished, but just you wait till the gold is sent under convoy from gyula fehérvár to vienna--and you will see some fun." "how do you know that?" "i know it sir, because i know that this man, this brazen faced, iron-fisted man is not such a chicken-hearted creature as to allow a half-million or so to be snatched from him without stirring every nerve and muscle to try and win it back again. for i know that hitherto he has always triumphed over the power of the law and has always escaped from the most dangerous ambushes." "well, all i can say is that i do not understand what you have to do with this worthy man." * * * * * the falsely coined gold pieces deposited at gyula fehérvár, had, after the trial was over, to be sent to hungary to be recoined. the precious consignment filled two post-wagons and was of the estimated value of a million and a half. four and twenty uhlans were told off to escort it. this was a more than sufficient protection for the most costly treasure at ordinary times. moreover, in hungary, cavalry has always inspired the mob with terror. during the disturbances at the time of the cholera outbreak, two squadrons of hussars were easily able to quell the whole riot. it was impossible to calculate how many robbers and peasants the four and twenty uhlans were capable of coping with. so, at least, the county magistrates believed. the soldiers were commanded by a lieutenant, the post-wagons were under the charge of an official accountant and a comptroller. all the postillions were provided with pistols and it was strictly ordered that the wagons were not to travel on the high-road after six o'clock. there was no lack of precaution, anyhow! now when the post wagons had reached the celebrated bridge of piski,[ ] lo, there and then, face to face, four and twenty horsemen came, riding towards them from the opposite side of the bridge and the five and twentieth was fatia negra. [footnote : it was here that a small band of hungarians under czsez and kureny held a whole austrian army at bay on feb. , .--_tr._] all the four and twenty had black crape wound round their faces, their clothes had the lining turned outwards and they were well provided with swords, csákánys[ ] and muskets. fatia negra himself rode a vigorous black stallion and held in his hand a broad, naked sword. [footnote : hooked axes.] the horse of the uhlan lieutenant took fright at the sight of the black faces and began to rear, it was as much as his rider could do to prevent him from springing over the parapet of the bridge. fatia negra and his band halted in the centre of the bridge and did not budge from the spot. the lieutenant was a brave soldier, who never lost his presence of mind; he tightened the reins of his plunging horse and turning towards black-mask, exclaimed: "who are you, what do you want, and why do you block up the bridge?" a deep, thundrous manly voice replied to him from afar: "i am fatia negra. the treasure which you have with you is mine,--it has been stolen from me. i now want to have it back again. i have brought hither a man to every man of yours, we are as strong as you. i meet you openly in the light of day. give me back my gold or you shall have a taste of my iron." the lieutenant, who was one of the best swordsmen and one of the bravest heroes in the regiment, did not think twice about accepting the challenge, but put spurs to his steed and fell upon the adventurer who awaited him in the middle of the bridge. he encountered a terrible antagonist. fatia negra warded every blow and countered instantly; the young officer was thrown into confusion by the superior dexterity of his opponent, and it was only a soldier's sense of honour that induced him to continue an attack which was bound to end fatally for himself: practised fencers always know at once whether they can vanquish their antagonist or not. at the same time it was really surprising that fatia negra did not immediately take advantage of his strength and skill. he seemed to be sparing his enemy, nay, he even retreated before him step by step. meanwhile the _melée_ on the bridge had become general. the lancers hastened to the assistance of their leader, the black masks slashed away at them with their csákánys, and soon there were very few among the combatants who had not received a lance thrust or a csákány blow. the adventurers were forced by the lancers to the opposite end of the bridge, when the miller, who lived in the mill beside the bridge, thrust his head out of the window and shouted: "take care, soldiers! the beams of the bridge have been sawn through!" was this the fact? was it the plan of the adventurers to entice the horses on to the bridge in order that it might break down beneath their weight?--or was the miller also an accomplice and only shouted this because the soldiers were gaining the upperhand? in either case the warning cry had a magical effect upon the pursuers, for they immediately turned back in alarm and strove to reach their own end of the bridge again. and now they perceived what a two fold trap the cunning adventurers had set for them, for whilst the lancers had been fighting with the mounted robbers, a large band of footpads armed with firearms had surrounded the post wagons in their rear, disarmed the postillions and were now engaged in attempting to overturn the wagons into the ditch by the roadside. the lancers dashed towards the wagons and freed them in a moment from the hands of the mob which, on their appearance, dispersed among the brushwood by the roadside from whence they began firing. not far from the bridge was a _csárdá_, and there the cavalry and the post-wagons sought a refuge. and indeed they needed it. the number of the footpads armed with guns was about a couple of hundred; they enfiladed the whole road and, more than that, it was easy to perceive that some of the tall roadside poplars had been sawn through beforehand so that they might be made to fall down and thus make it impossible for the post wagons across the road behind the backs of the soldiers, to force their way through. the soldiers had, indeed, no reason to fear that the rabble, nine-tenths of which had no professional knowledge of the art of war, would boldly storm the _csárdá_, for in such a case the soldiers would know how to defend themselves vigourously, well provided as they were with carbines; but they were well aware of one thing, to wit, that if they allowed themselves to be surprised after nightfall they were lost, for the robbers could then set fire to the house over their heads and burn them alive. for their lives they cared nothing; it is a soldier's business to die; but how to save the enormous sum of money intrusted to them--that was the problem. four and twenty horsemen in a solid mass might, with a desperate effort, cut their way through a mob, despite every obstacle, but to take the heavy wagons along with them was impossible, for the road in front was barred by the mob; the bridge and the road behind by the felled poplars. fortunately, the officer in command had read the history of napoleon's russian campaign and he recollected how the guard on one occasion had saved the military chest from the cossacks when the wagon, from want of horses, had to be left behind. he now applied his knowledge practically. the ducats were taken out of the post-wagons and distributed among the soldiers; knapsacks, cartridge-boxes, belts and shakos were filled with the treasure; not a cent was left in the wagons, yet they nailed down the chests inside them carefully that it might take all the longer to break them open. then they mounted the postilions and the civilians on the spare horses, hastily threw open the gates and the whole band rushed into the courtyard. a sharp volley poured in upon them from every side; some of them were wounded, but none mortally, for their assailants either fired from afar or aimed badly. and this was well, for every dead man among them would have been worth , guldens. fatia negra and his horsemen stood close at hand with their loaded muskets pointed in their hands, but they did not fire. "let the lancers run if they like!" cried fatia negra. "give all your attention to the wagons!" the cavalry soon escaped from the mob of sharpshooters, leaped over the barriers and began galloping rapidly back to széb safe and sound. and they had need to haste, for it was easy to foresee that as soon as the cry of victory behind their backs had changed into a cry of fury, it would be a sign that fatia negra's band was rushing after them. and, indeed, scarce a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when they could perceive clouds of dust whirling up behind them which proved that the audacious adventurers, after discovering the fraud, were actually in pursuit. what unheard of audacity! in broad daylight, on the king's highway, within the borders of a highly civilized, well-organized state, a troop of adventurers dares to attack an equal number of trained soldiers. gold must have turned the heads of the men who had the audacity to do such a thing! yet they did it. the soldiers saw the cloud of dust behind their backs gradually draw nearer, the neutral ground between gradually diminished, the fellows were capitally mounted, there could be no doubt of that. the lieutenant ordered his men to halt and face the foolhardy bandits. he arranged them two deep and spread them out so that they extended right across the road. he himself stood in the centre a little in advance of the rest; the civilians were in the rear. presently single shapes were discernible through the approaching cloud of dust. the robbers were galloping along in no regular order with intervals of from ten to twenty yards between each one of them. more than a thousand yards in front of his comrades galloped fatia negra. his splendid english thoroughbred, as if it would outstrip the blast which whirled the dust aloft, flew along with him and seemed to share the blind fury of his master who waved his flashing sword above his horse's head and bellowed at his opponents from afar like a wild beast. "we'll seize the fellow before his companions come up," said the lieutenant to his men. "cut him down from his horse and capture him alive." "hurrah!" roared the lonely horseman, now only a yard off. "hurrah!"--the next moment he was in the midst of them. and now began a contest which, had it been recorded in the chronicles of the crusades, would have been regarded as an act of heroism that only awaited immortality from a poet great enough to sing it. fatia negra, alone and surrounded, fought single-handed in the midst of the hostile band. his light sword flashing in his hand like lightning, never stayed to parry but attacked incessantly. handless swords and headless shakos flew around him in the air and whithersoever his horse turned its head, an empty space gaped before him, every antagonist retreating before him. so close was the _melée_ that the soldiers stood in each other's way and could not use their firearms for fear of shooting their comrades. the lieutenant was the only man who did not avoid him. like a true soldier who considers wounds an honour, he did not trouble himself to recollect that his adversary was superior to him both in strength and skill, but strove incessantly to urge his horse towards him. twice he struck the fellow but he did not seem to feel the blow. once he dealt him a skilful thrust in the side, but the sword bent nearly double without entering his body. "ha, ha, ha!" laughed fatia negra--he must have put on a coat of mail beneath his jacket--and the same instant he countered so savagely that if the lieutenant had not dodged his head, he must have lost it. as it was the sword pierced through his shako and out poured the gold pieces by thousands on to the highroad. at the sight of the shower of gold pieces, fatia negra roared like a demon. what he had done hitherto was a mere joke--now the battle began in grim earnest. "down with your heads, down with your headpieces!" he thundered, and with the fury of a lion he flung himself on his opponents, everyone of whom wore on his head the dangerous magnet which irresistibly attracted his flashing sword. he himself was invulnerable. neither sword nor lance could penetrate his shirt of mail. and meanwhile his companions were rapidly galloping up. now another shako flew into the air and the horse's hoofs trampled the falling ducats in the mud. "shoot down his horse!" cried the voice of the post-office functionary from the rear, and the same instant three pistol shots resounded. at the third, which struck him full in the chest, the animal reared high in the air. fatia negra, perceiving the danger, and before the horse had time to fall and crush him, leaped from the saddle on to the ground. and now he attacked the enemy on foot. he was blind now. he saw nothing before him but blood and ducats--he was drunk with both. all at once he observed that he was alone, and, fighting the air--he no longer felt the contact of swords, or skulls or human bodies. after the officer had been wounded, the post-office functionary took the command and concluded it advisable not to await the arrival of the whole robber band. it was his duty to save the money. he ordered the soldiers to turn back and make the best of their way to szászvár, the money that had been already spilt was given up for lost. it was of no use for mere men to attempt to grapple with such a devil incarnate as fatia negra. "after them, after them!--give me a horse!" roared fatia negra to his comrades as they came galloping up, whereupon they all leaped from their nags, not so much indeed for the sake of giving him a mount as for the sake of grabbing the scattered heaps of ducats. "let that alone; it won't run away" cried the adventurer. "the bulk of it is galloping in front of us--follow me!" and at that, without waiting their decision, he seized one of the horses, swung himself into the saddle and dashed after the lancers. nobody followed him. the robbers were wise enough to perceive that if they left lying here these thousands of ducats, actually won, in order to run after ten times as many which they had still to catch, (not to mention the broken heads which they were sure to get into the bargain), the loafing members of the confraternity who were following behind them on foot, would pocket the booty nicely at their ease, so they stayed where they were, with the comfortable persuasion that fatia negra would be sure to turn back when he perceived he was alone. he, however, never gave them a thought, but putting spurs to his horse, pursued the soldiers. in vain. he had no longer a blood horse beneath him and was unable to overtake the bearers of the lost treasure. nor did they halt again to give him anything to do. looking back from time to time, they saw how a single horseman was galloping after them, with his sword blade firmly gripped between his teeth, and a shuddering recollection of the old nursery tales of nether-world monsters came over them. the solitary horseman pursued them right up to the toll-house of szászvár, and even when he gave up the pursuit the toll-man saw him for a long time trotting round about the outskirts of the town shaking his fist and shouting imprecations. once or twice he drew near enough to fire his pistols through the doors and windows of the toll-house, and so great was the spell of terror surrounding the person of the terrible adventurer that nobody ventured outside the city wall to try and capture him; nay, the burgesses even remained under arms in the streets all night guarding the principal entrances for fear lest fatia negra and his band might take it into their heads to formally besiege the place, and, had it only depended upon his will to do so, he would assuredly have made the attempt. but it never came to that. on returning to the place of combat fatia negra found his horsemen still searching in the mud and darkness for the lost ducats, and made an attempt to reorganize his band, which did, indeed, do a little maurauding on its own account; but when the news reached him, through one of his paid spies, that four hundred infantry with a cannon had reached szászvár from szeb--the very word "a connon" had such an effect upon the robbers that they scattered in every direction as if a tempest had dispersed them. next morning there was not a trace of them anywhere. chapter xxi the hunted beast such a piece of audacity could not be overlooked. that a robber horseman should in the middle of the nineteenth century and within the confines of a civilized state take it into his head to attack, in broad daylight, post wagons defended by a strong escort of regular soldiers--was a thing unheard of. the news spread like lightning through the six confederated counties and everyone seized his sword and musket. so old gerzson satrakovics whom everybody had laughed at, was right after all. it was universally agreed that a stop must be put to this sort of thing once for all. there was no waiting now for the meetings of quarter sessions. the lord-lieutenants of the counties proclaimed the _statarium_,[ ] called out the _banderia_[ ] and gathered together the county _pandurs_[ ] and the militia, in order by their combined efforts, to extirpate the evil without having recourse to the assistance of the military--a measure always repugnant to the freedom-loving magyars. [footnote : a decree authorizing summary procedure.] [footnote : mounted gentry.] [footnote : police.] squire gerzson was elected the leader of this vast hunt, whose area extended over hundreds of square miles, by all the six counties concerned--it was generally felt that this was but due to him for the neglect of his warnings--and mr. gerzson proved on this occasion that if he was not a great strategist, at any rate he was a great beater up of game. his plan was to occupy all the mountain roads and passes leading out of the six counties with armed bands of militia, while at the same time he himself advanced slowly along the highroads with his gentlemen-volunteers joining hands together from place to place. between various groups of the volunteers were regular lines of _pandurs_ who had to thoroughly scour all the forests they came to. the encircling network of this gigantic army of beaters grew narrower and narrower day by day and was to converge towards a fixed point which squire gerzson said he would more definitely indicate later on. moreover there was a flying column admitted to the full confidence of its leader, whose duty it was to appear suddenly and unexpectedly in all parts of the closely environed region, in order to head off anything like a definite plan of defence on the part of the adventurers and track them down more easily. the leadership of this special corps was entrusted to young szilard vamhidy, upon whose ingenuity, determination and ability squire gerzson professed to place the utmost reliance. as soon as he had received this important charge, szilard took horse and set off at the head of his four and twenty _pandurs_. first of all he went in the direction of the alps of bihár and along a narrow mountain path and through a melancholy, uncanny, region with not a living plant by the wayside and not a morsel of moss on the naked rock. no sound is to be heard there but the eternal sighing of the wind, and in the dizzy depths below the traveller sees nothing but dense, dreary forests crowding one upon another with the alpine eagles circling and screaming above them. it was just the place for a hunted band of robbers to turn upon their pursuers for a last life and death struggle,--here where even the bodies of the slain would never be found. for not once in two years does a wanderer chance to come this way, and long before that time the wolves and the vultures will have dispersed the bones of the fallen. yet this time the robber bands did not fall in with their pursuers, a sufficient proof that szilard's plan was skilfully laid and unanticipated. for had fatia negra had any idea of his design, it is absolutely inconceivable that he would not have laid in wait for him on this spectre-haunted path, where ten resolute men could have held a whole army at bay. for hours szilard's long troop of horsemen pursued their way along without meeting a soul. late in the afternoon they came upon the first shepherd's hut. the herdsman himself was out in the forest with his flocks; there was nobody at home but a lame dog which barked at them. in the evening they met a mounted countryman carrying maize to be ground at the mill, him they took along with them as guide. after that they travelled all night long, passing through skeritora and nyigsa, till they came to the cataract of vidra, which they reached at dawn of day. the houses of these alpine villages are so far apart that next neighbours cannot even see each other's dwellings, as there is at least half a league between them. this circumstance and the night-season favoured szilard's plans. they could surround each house, one by one, without the inhabitants of the other houses being aware of what had happened in the first ones.--a fruitless labour for they found nothing of a suspicious nature. tired out, the band, early in the morning, reached the house beneath the waterfall; here they felt the need of halting. szilárd put some questions to the guide and then dismissed him, commanding him to return to skeritora. when the guide had mounted, the _pandur_ sergeant observed to szilard: "i fancy, your honour, that that rascal does not mean to return to skeritora, but as soon as he is out of sight will turn back and give the alarm beforehand in all the districts on our line of march." "i fancy so too." "but then every suspected person will get wind of the whole affair and have time to bolt." "that is just what i want. the trouble is at present that they lie so still." and with that he ordered half of his _pandurs_ to lie down and sleep and the other half to remain awake and so relieve each other every three hours. so the _pandurs_ rested till midday and then the sergeant began to urge szilard to set off again or else they would arrive too late. "it is too early yet," replied szilard, and he spent a good half of the afternoon there doing nothing. only then did he take horse again, complaining to everyone how much yesterday's ride had taken it out of him, and asking everybody he met on the road, coming or going, where the next village lay?--how to get to it?--and in what direction the highroad lay? the old _pandurs_ naturally began murmuring among themselves. "oh!" said they, "if he keeps on blurting out his whole line of route like this, we shall only have the empty nests of the robbers to thresh out for our trouble." "and this chap thinks, forsooth, that he will capture fatia negra!" growled the veteran sergeant. but no sooner did they get beyond the fenced fields than szilard suddenly turned his horse's head and leading the way to the other side of the mountain-stream, cut his way through the forest, ordering his comrades to hurry after him as speedily as possible. what he was aiming at, nobody had the least idea. if he meant to lose his way in the forest he was setting about the best way to do it. suddenly he ordered his followers to dismount and lead their horses by their bridles up to the top of the mountain. the old sergeant now guessed what he was after, but did not approve of it. "there is no path for a horse up this mountain," said he. "silence, sir! i know what i am about. follow me!" and so, for a good half hour, cursing their leader bitterly beneath their breaths, they painfully struggled after him up the dangerous path and then, suddenly, a marvellous sight met their gaze. an immense cavern gaped open before them through which, as through a tunnel, they could reach the valley on the other side. this was the so-called "roman gate." many believe that the romans dug this passage through the mountain, but this marvellous piece of workmanship has been carried out on too vast a scale for anybody else but nature to be its architect; it is possible, however, that the romans may have used this passage for their campaigns. and now the _pandurs_ understood the plan of their young leader and were ready to follow him blindly through fire and water. in another half hour they had passed through the "roman gate" and reached the valley beyond, and by next morning vamhidy had lit down like a thunderbolt from the sky where nobody expected him. by the evening he had run down eight persons who were under very strong suspicion. after dusk the same day he sent the following letter to gerzson by one of his men: "i feel certain i hold the thread of the whole conspiracy in my hands. we are on their track." at nightfall he encamped in a lonely mill, which he chose because, in case of necessity, it could easily be defended. he had reasons for thinking that he might be attacked in the night. the mill was built over a rushing mountain-stream so that the stream shot through and under the building, over the wheels. in front, three sluices confined within the basin the collected flood of water which was here very deep. a broad, thick board, laid across three stout piles, formed the bridge which connected the foot-path sloping down from the forest, with the foot-path on the opposite side. towards evening his pickets came and told vamhidy that a blind beggar wanted to speak to him and in secret, so that nobody could hear. szilard ordered the blind man to be led in. he seemed to be a muscular, athletic fellow with broad shoulders and a huge body--what a pity he was blind. "domnule, are we quite alone?" inquired the blind man when he stood before vamhidy. "we are quite by ourselves; what is it you want, my good fellow?" "thank you, sir, for calling me a good fellow, for i _was_ good for something once upon a time, and will be so again. i am the famous juon tare whose eyes were burnt out in the lucsia cavern when they wanted to catch fatia negra, and the monster set the whole cavern on fire. i want the head of fatia negra. i am after that head now and when i get it all my woe will cease. do you want that head domnule?--i can tell you where it is." "well?" "have you pluck enough not to be afraid of him, domnule?" "i am afraid of nothing." "and yet many brave men fall back at the sight of that black face, which never changes, which is just like steel and which they fancy neither sword nor bullet can hurt; but my nails have torn his body and i have seen his blood flow." "say where he is!" "close at hand." "in which direction?" "ah! domnule!" sighed juon tare, "how can i answer that, i who can see neither heaven nor earth?" "then how do you know that he is hard by?" "ah, domnule, i can recognize him by his voice, and if i do not hear him speak, i can recognize the sound of his footsteps when i hear him draw nigh. nobody else has his trick of walking. sometimes he goes as softly as a spectre so that only the ears of a blind man can detect his footfall and at other times he tramps as if the whole earth beneath him were hollow and it resounds at every step. oh, i have often heard him approaching when he was still far, far away." "but do you know anything certain about him?" "i will tell you everything, domnule, beginning at the beginning. you see that i am blind, a blind beggar, for begging is my trade. so long as my wife was alive, i had no need to turn beggar, for she worked for me and kept me. but she died. after that i would gladly have died of hunger, but she left me a little son, a child but two years old and i go a begging for him. above the brook here on the king's highway is a stone bridge built by the county. early in the morning my little son is wont to lead me hither and then returns to the village, little mite as he is the wife of the scrivener looks after him, and in the evening he comes and fetches me home again. whatever is given me by charitable wayfarers i share with my poor hostess, who is poorer than any beggar. yesterday something happened. it was this. i was sitting outside there at the end of the bridge and as i had not heard a human voice about me for a long time and it was extremely hot, slumber weighed heavily upon me. i struggled hard against it but it was too much for me. i was afraid that if i fell across the road a cart might go over me. so i laid myself down under the arch of the bridge. i knew the place well for i had often sheltered there from the storm. suddenly i was awakened by those familiar footsteps. they passed across the bridge over my head. i will take my oath that it was he. he stood still in the middle of the bridge. shortly afterwards i heard the sound of many more footsteps coming, some from the left and some from the right. men were coming in all directions towards the bridge, and there in the middle of it they stood; i counted them--there were four and twenty of them." szilard now began to listen attentively. "then he spoke. oh, even if i had had the light of both my eyes, i could not have seen him so plainly before me as i saw him in my blindness when i heard him speak. it was indeed he, at the very first word i recognized him; but when i tell you what he said, then you also will recognize him domnule. those four and twenty men are a sworn confederacy. it was a secret plot they were hatching at that place, where nobody could surprise them, as it is girt about with woods on every side. he called his companions here to tell them of the measures that were being taken against them. he told them they had no need to fear all that the six counties were doing but that the little band which was zig-zagging through the whole district was greatly to be feared. it was the cause of all the mischief and must be put out of the way. but his comrades made no reply. they grumbled and muttered among themselves and at last they said that this would be a difficult thing to do. they all said they would not tackle the _pandurs_ because they were better shots than any robber and were used to hunting and all its wiles. in vain were all the assurances of fatia negra; they said they meant to hide away as best they could. 'then hide and be d----d to you,' said their leader, 'i will tackle them single-handed. i'll seek them out and show you that they too are but mortal men.' those were his last words to them; they scattered again, to the right and left, and i heard their departing footsteps over my head. but believe me, sir, fatia negra will try to do what he said." "what! come and attack us?--alone, against so many?" "you do not believe what i say, sir, but so it will be." "nay, my good fellow, but are you quite certain you did not dream it all?" "domnule, in the first moment of my amazement that is what i fancied myself. how can a blind man know whether he is awake or dreaming. i therefore drew forth my pocket-knife and with the point of it i cut a cross in my left arm. look, sir, there it is!" juon tucked up the wide shirt sleeve from his herculean arm and szilard was astonished to see the half healed and cross-like scar--it had been a deep gash. "so now, sir," pursued juon, "you can see that i am not dreaming. watch well, for fatia negra will come. not to-night for he awaits you on the road by which you came. but to-morrow he will know that you have dodged him by going through the 'roman gate' and to-morrow night you can safely reckon upon him." szilard charged juon not to say a word to anybody about what he had told him and promised him a reward if what he had said really came to pass. that night nothing happened, and till the afternoon of the next day he lingered idly at the mill. towards midday they heard in the forest a loud barking of dogs; the miller said it was no doubt the lord of the manor hunting bears. "he chooses a very inopportune time," growled vamhidy, "he will scare _my_ game away." the hunters were not long in issuing from the forest, they seemed to have lost the track of the bear. vamhidy sent word to the gentlemen that he would be much obliged to them if they would postpone their amusement to some more convenient season as business of a graver sort was going on here. word was at once brought back that the company was quite ready to do as he said. the dogs were quickly leashed again, the beaters recalled by signals and the whole hunt came straight towards the mill. a few moments later vamhidy recognized in the leader of the hunt--leonard hátszegi. it was an unwelcome surprise on both sides, but hátszegi was the first to recover himself, and he greeted him with as radiant a countenance as if he had never had any cause of quarrel with him. "we both of us seem to be on a hunting expedition your honour!" said he. "mine is an official pursuit." "and mine pure pastime. had i known you would have taken this road, i should certainly not have engaged in such a mal-apropos diversion. but it is over now, we are all going back. my bear may run--how about yours?" "no sign of him yet." "well, i could regale you with no end of interesting anecdotes concerning the hunted adventurer, for i have had more than one famous _rencontre_ with him myself. if it were only worth your while to pay us a visit at hidvár i could promise you the heartiest reception--not only on my own part but also on the part of my wife." "i am much obliged to your lordship," replied vamhidy cooly, "but i am bound by instructions from which i cannot depart. it is not pleasure that brings me hither. besides i have got a sure clue at last which i must follow up and i know not whither it may lead me." "bravo! so you are on his track at last, eh! take care my friend it is not a false clue. these rascals are very crafty." "it is a real clue that i have discovered. you must know that before the confiscated gold captured in the lucsia cavern was sent to vienna, every coin of it was marked with a little cross, a very simple official precaution, but it has proved very useful to us. now i have come upon these marked ducats among the people here. they themselves, i believe, are innocent and can give the name of the persons from whom they received them; and so, by tracing the various intermediaries, we shall come at last, upon the original dispensers of these ducats. i can imagine how fatia negra will laugh when he hears that the soldiers of six counties are hunting for him in the depths of the forests and tapping every rotten tree-stump in search of him while he is sitting comfortably in some large theatre and eyeing the ballet-dancers through his opera glass; but he will be very much surprised when, one fine day, without any preliminary siege-operations we shall tap at his own door and enquire: 'is fatia negra at home?'" hátszegi laughed heartily. "not a bad idea, upon my honour! i myself am inclined to think that the worthy highwayman will be sooner found in a coffee house than in a forest. i only regret that i did not mark my own coins so that i might recognize them again." and so laughing and whistling, he returned to his party which appeared to consist of mere dependents and gave them his orders. "unpack the horses and get lunch ready," said he, "we will not go any further." then he turned again to vamhidy. "since we are obliged to capitulate to superior force, would you be so good as to pick out with me a nice, round, shadowy spot in the forest where we may encamp and share with each other our provisions which have thus become the spoils of war?" "thank you, my lord," replied vamhidy coldly, "but i have already had my lunch." his lunch, by the way, had consisted of a maize cake baked in the ashes. "then won't you allow your men to drink my health in a glass of wine, since they are actually on my domains?" "my _pandurs_ are not allowed to drink; they have to remain sober. they must not leave the mill without my leave and your lordship must not camp out here although the mill is your property. for just now i am 'verbiro,'[ ] here with the right to open and close every door as i may think fit." [footnote : a magistrate with the power of life and death in his hands.] "then i shall know how to respect your authority. all the same, i do not withdraw my offer. my castle and every house and shanty on my estate is at your disposal and if you should not find me at home at hidvár, as i have to be off early to-morrow morning to szeb, my wife will be delighted to see you." and with that he threw his gun across his shoulder and tripped away with well bred nonchalance across the field, and, calling to his party to follow him, disappeared in the depths of the forest from which he had just emerged. * * * * * and now it was evening and the heavens were full of stars and szilard began to gaze at the stars and as he did so he forgot all about the official burdens that weighed so heavily upon his shoulders, all about fatia negra and the robbers. he fancied that his eyes encountered among the stars the eyes of "another" whom slumber and happiness had deserted just as they had deserted him. how close to each other chance had brought them once more! he had only to accept her husband's invitation in order to meet her face to face. what would they not have to say to one another? the night was quite still, the whole region was dumb save for the gurgling of the water rushing through the sluices. the _pandurs_ were snoring in the living room, for they were allowed to sleep till two o'clock. only vamhidy kept watch with a single _pandur_ who was guarding the prisoners in the cellar. "the lord god bless thee!" a hushed voice suddenly resounded from among the brown bushes and szilard distinguished by the light of the rising moon a tall dark shape approaching the mill path. it was blind juon. "how did you know anyone was here?" enquired szilard suspiciously. "i heard you sigh, sir, once or twice and i knew you were awake for i warned you beforehand to watch--to-night he will be upon you." "who?" "who? why fatia negra." "so you think he will be bold enough?" "i know that he is already on the way." "and where were you just now?" "i was working in the mill-ditch." "at night! what were you doing there?" "i have removed the supporting beam underneath the bridge leading across the reservoir! it was a hard bit of work but i had the strength to do it." "why did you do that?" "because he will come from the opposite side and immediately he steps on the middle of the bridge the plank will give way beneath him and he will fall into the water like a mouse in a trap." "what is the good of that, he will only swim out again." "yes, but his pistols will then be full of water and he will be unable to use them against you." szilard began to perceive that he had a most determined ally with all sorts of ideas in his head that had never occurred to himself. "but surely, my poor fellow, you do not imagine that anybody will be mad enough to face so many armed men alone." "i don't know, sir, but i also do not know whether you yourself may not be alone among so many armed men, for i hear snoring among the very guard you told off to watch the cellar." szilard was startled. he immediately hastened to the place indicated and there, sure enough, he saw the sentry stretched at full length across the cellar door. he angrily hastened to arouse him and seized the sleeper by the arm; but all his efforts were powerless to awake the fellow,--he might just as well have been dead. "try to wake the others, sir," said juon. the pandurs lay in long rows stretched out upon the straw in the meal magazine. szilard spoke to them, first gently, then loudly, and at last angrily, calling them by name, one after the other; but not one of them awoke. he tore the sleepers away from their places, but they were not aware of it; as soon as he let them go they rolled back again into their former positions. "what has happened?" cried the confounded szilard. "there must be a traitor among them, sir, a hireling of fatia negra; he has his hirelings everywhere, in forests, in palaces, in dungeons, in barracks, everywhere. and this traitor has mingled thorn-apple juice in the drink of his comrades and they will now sleep on for a night and a day. the traitor himself is pretending to sleep along with his fellows but he is only awaiting the arrival of fatia negra and then up he will get and release the captives. it was an artful dodge, your honour!" szilard felt a tremor running through all his limbs. "you see, sir, you are here alone, but fatia negra is never alone. but so far no great harm has been done. we will make him to be alone also. we cannot find out just now which of the four and twenty is a traitor. but we will bind the whole four and twenty hand and foot, and then the traitor also will be helpless." szilard began to perceive that this blind man was right in everything. his words must be listened to, for the danger was close at hand, there was no time for hesitation. so he quickly routed up all the halters in the mill and they set to work. the blind giant laid the pandurs one by one across his knee and placing their hands behind their backs crosswise held them towards szilard, who bound them fast. three and twenty of them felt nothing of all this and the four and twentieth who did feel it thought it just as well to go on feigning slumber, for had it been discovered that he was awake one grip of those enormous fists would have made of him a sleeper indeed--for ever more. "is your sword sharp, sir?" enquired the blind man when this piece of work was done. "yes, and i have pistols likewise." "test them, sir, for i suspect they have been tampered with." "what?" "if ever, sir, you have pursued some wild beast, a bear or a buffalo, for instance, you know the rule surely: never rely upon any weapon which has not been freshly loaded by your own hand. let us take the loading out of your pistols. it won't do to fire them off for we are lying in wait for big game and at such times one must keep very quiet." szilard hearkened to the warning and drew the loading out of both his well charged pistols. it is usual when the powder is taken out to blow down the barrel and as he did so now he remarked that something was wrong. the ramrod encountered some soft substance which he drew forth. juon smelt it and pronounced it to be the wax of wild bees. "you see, sir, you will not be able to discharge this pistol, for the touch holes are so plugged up that it will take you some hours to thoroughly clean them." "at any rate i have still the firearms of my pandurs." "let us examine them also, sir!" they did so forthwith and found that they too had been utterly ruined. and all this must have been done while szilard had been sitting outside and his men had been sleeping! "then your sword is sharp, sir, eh?" enquired the blind man, "for i hear the footsteps of fatia negra." the sensitive ears of the blind man "scented" so to speak the well known footfalls while they were still approaching on the distant forest paths. the young man felt an involuntary shudder run through his body as the moment drew near when he would have to face the hunted foe. the magical mysteriousness which enveloped his pursuer; the marvellous audacity which ensured the success of all his projects; his gigantic bodily strength--all these things were sufficient to make any man's heart beat more quickly at the prospect of encountering black-mask in a life and death struggle at a lonely place. but szilard was resolved to see the business through. the strong will peculiar to men of his nature broke down his fear. he had no business to tremble, it was not permitted to him to fear. he who has a sword in his hand is never alone--a sword is also a man. the blind man trembled in his stead. he feared for him. when szilard returned with his naked sword, the blind man passed his finger along its edge from end to end to test its sharpness. "a good sword, a very good sword, domnule. fear him not, but when he scrambles out of the water, rush upon him and strike at his neck. do not aim at his body for this accursed one wears a coat of mail so that no weapon can pierce him. if he comes to close quarters, do not defend yourself but slash away at him, you may perhaps be wounded, but if you stand on the defensive, he will kill you. if he gets too much for you, call out and i will rush in and strangle him with my naked hands. oh, what would i not give now for the sight of my two eyes." and the blind man began to weep bitterly. "that man killed my wife and blinded me and now when i hear him approach, when i hear him coming towards me all alone i cannot see him. i cannot rush in and close with him. be valiant, domnule, and god be with you. may the soul of my mariora direct the edge of your sword and darken his eyes. hearken!--is not that he approaching!" and it was actually he. the tall elegant figure was descending the moonlight rocks with a light, elastic tread, dressed from head to foot in a black atlas mantle. szilard saw him drawing nearer and nearer, step by step, to the mill behind a pillar of whose verandah he himself was concealed expectant. at the very moment when he perceived this figure, his former terror gave way before a strange, resolute fury which now filled his heart, a feeling familiar only to those whose blood is set boiling whenever they are suddenly confronted by a pressing danger. he feared the man no longer, he burned to encounter him. blind juon stood beside him and pressed his hand. they both of them began to listen intently, nature itself was as still as if the wind also would listen. nothing was audible but the dull measured tramp of the approaching footsteps. the black shape now footed the bridge; with a confident gait he approached the middle of it, another step and the bridge gave way beneath him and with an involuntary cry the man in black plunged into the water. "now, sir, rush in!" whispered juon to szilard. but the latter could not help thinking at that moment that it was an act of cowardice to attack a man when he could not defend himself, even though that man was a robber, so he allowed him to scramble out onto the other side. the black mantle had fallen from the shoulders of fatia negra into the water and there he now stood before szilard with his wet clothes clinging closely to his body like a statue of antinous, a shape of athletic beauty. in his girdle were a couple of pistols, in all probability rendered useless by the water and a long arab yataghan almost as long as an ordinary sword but without the usual cruciform hilt. szilard barred the way. for an instant fatia negra was taken aback by his antagonist's unexpected wariness and courage, but the next moment his drawn yataghan flashed in his hand and the second flash was the clash of the contending weapons. and now happened what happens hundreds and thousands of times in actual life. at the very first onset fatia negra, the notorious, the practised, the invincible swordsman was disarmed by a young civilian who had never, perhaps, held a naked sword in his hand before and possessed no advantage over his opponent save the courage of an honest man as opposed to the effrontery of a malefactor--a marvel indeed! both of them had lunged at the same time, neither of them had parried, szilard's sword cut through his adversary's wrist and at the same instant fatia negra's yataghan fell from his hand. the wounded robber set up a howl like a wild beast and juon, lurking beneath the verandah of the mill responded with another howl of joy that sounded like an echo. the blind man had recognized that fatia negra was in danger and at once rushed out upon him. the disarmed adventurer lost his presence of mind along with his sword. his right hand suddenly sank helpless to his side and his stout heart was seized with a sort of paralysis. he perceived that this was the man sent by fate to announce to him that his last hour was at hand. he turned and fled toward the forest. szilard rushed after him. "take care," screamed blind juon. but none heeded him. fatia negra flew away before his enemy. at first he left him far behind, but gradually the continuous loss of blood began to weaken him and it also occurred to him that even if he succeeded in distancing his adversary, he would still leave a trail of blood behind him. to complete his confusion the moon made the whole region as light as day. he was forced to sit down on a tree stump to tie up his wounded hand; at least he would stop the flow of blood and make the trail more difficult to follow. while with the help of his left hand and his teeth he was binding up his useless right hand, his pursuer overtook him. "fatia negra--surrender!" the only reply the adventurer gave was to try to fire his pistols and finding them only flash in the pan he hurled them one after the other at his enemy's head. szilard then had practical experience of the rumor that fatia negra could throw very well even with his left hand,--had he not leaped aside at the nick of time the pistols would have dashed his brains out. then up fatia negra started to his feet again and fled away still further. the pursuer and the pursued now sped along with pretty equal energy, though the loss of blood continued to weaken the robber. yet he made one desperate effort to scale the steep side of the mountain. an ordinary man could rarely breast such an ascent, yet he tried it. but he soon found that even thus he could not shake off his enemy. he remained indeed some hundreds of paces behind but he could not dodge out of his sight in the now open glade. on the brow of the hill the adventurer stopped to pant and surveyed the undulating thickly wooded hills stretching away on every side of him. he drew a silver whistle from his bosom and gave with it three penetrating signals which re-echoed from among the distant mountains. but it was only an echo, only the note of the whistle that he heard, he waited in vain for anything else. all his accomplices had evidently hidden away. and again the pursuer overtook him. he waited till he was only two paces off and then he seized a stone weighing half a hundred weight and hurled it at him--the tree trunk behind which szilard had taken refuge bent beneath the blow. then fatia negra fled down towards the valley. it was a desperate way for him to take, for down hill his adversary could cover the ground as quickly as he could; the distance between them was never more than ten paces, the wound the robber had received began to enervate his whole body, and he was not long in finding out that the hurling of missiles is a very profitless mode of warfare when you have only one hand at your disposal. panting hard he fled on further seeking refuge. and now he took to zigzagging through the wood in the hope of dodging his pursuer if only for an instant as a flying fox is wont to do when he is already nearing his hole whose entrance he does not wish to betray to his pursuer. a little further on a stout quickset hedge barred their way. fatia negra burst through it and szilard followed in the gap that he had made. suddenly a hunting lodge came in view--at least the antlers on the top of the porch and above the windows suggested that that was what it was intended for. one of the windows looking out upon the forest stood open. fatia negra suddenly stopped short, waited till his adversary was close up to him and then shaking his fist at him sprang through the open window. vamhidy did not hesitate a moment about following the adventurer into the house. he forced his way through the window and found himself in a dark corridor at the extreme end of which the footsteps of the hunted adventurer were still resounding. and after him he ran straightway. chapter xxii the sight of terror "my dear henrietta," leonard had said to his wife the day before, as he shook the dust of the chase off his clothes, "very shortly some guests will arrive at hidvár and possibly they may be numerous. may i ask you to make ready for their reception?" henrietta signified by a motion of her head that she understood. "it is possible you may have to perform the duties of hostess without my assistance, for i have to be off at once to szeb and don't expect to be back for a couple of days. it is possible that the gentlemen in question may arrive during my absence which i should very much regret. nevertheless you may depend upon my hastening home as quickly as i can to meet them here." all this did not seem to interest henrietta very much. leonard noticed it. "let the gentry, my dear, occupy the room overlooking the park, the servants had better have the six rooms generally given to hunting parties on the ground floor, with the four and twenty beds." at these directions the lady looked at her lord with an expression of surprised inquiry. "i see," resumed her husband, "you are asking yourself what sort of company that can be for whose master one room suffices while the servants require six. i will tell you. it is the armed corps from arad which is charged with the capture of fatia negra and his associates. as they will pass by this way i don't see how they can avoid calling at hidvár. in fact i have invited the magistrate who commands the corps to make hidvár the centre of his operations and if he is a sensible man he will accept my invitation. the name of my guest i have not yet mentioned," continued leonard with easy levity, "it is szilard vamhidy, a justice of the peace of the county of arad--really a very nice young man." henrietta became as white as a statue. "you will greatly oblige me, my dear henrietta, if you will do your best to make our guest feel quite at home in our house. but you are a sensible woman, so i have no need to press the point. let me kiss your hand--_au revoir_!" henrietta watched him go out, watched him get into his carriage and bowl off and then began to weep and hide her head among the cushions that nobody might hear her. they are pursuing fatia negra! ... szilard vamhidy is pursuing fatia negra! he will come hither, he will enter this very castle. leonard himself has invited him! he will certainly come to see his former love once more. the thought was terrible! but it must not, it should not happen. leonard himself had invited vamhidy to his castle. this man relied too much on the terror of a poor timid woman, he built too much on that nimbus of terror which made him so horribly unassailable in her eyes. what! first to invite the former lover of his wife to be his guest and then show his indifference by choosing that very time to absent himself from the house for some days! but on one thing she was resolved--vamhidy should not find her at hidvár. she would fly. she would leave her husband's house. where should she go? who would receive her? what would become of her? she did not know, she gave the matter no thought, but one thing was certain: szilard and she might meet together in the grave but they should never encounter each other beneath the shadow of the halls of hidvár. there was nobody she could confide in. all the servants were her husband's paid spies and her own jailors. the priest had disappeared altogether from hidvár. in her despair an old memory rose up before her. she called to mind that during the earlier days of her stay at hidvár when she had explored the whole region under the delusion that she could make the wretched happy, she had often passed a little house which had always riveted her attention. it was a little hunting hut in the midst of the forest built entirely of wood and planed smoothly outside like a little polished cabinet. in front of it stood broad spreading fruit trees, crowded with flowers in spring, crowded with fruit in autumn, wild vines and moss grew all over its roofs. in the midst of the listening woods this little house had such an inviting exterior that the very first time she saw it, henrietta could not resist the temptation of entering it. the door of the little house stood open before her, being only on the latch. she had stepped in: there was nobody inside. in the first room there was furniture of some hard wood; close to the wall stood a carved side-board with painted earthenware on it, on a table was a pitcher of a similar ware full of fresh pure water. the door of another room to the right was also open and in that room also she found nobody. there stood a bed with a bear skin for a coverlet, other bear skins spread on the floor served instead of carpets and on the walls were bright lynx, and wildcat skins. from this room there was a door leading into a third room and here also she found nobody. the walls of this room were covered with weapons--guns, pistols and curiously shaped swords and daggers, in rows and crossed, hanging on nails and leaning against the walls. on the oaken table stood stuffed beasts and birds, under the table was a stuffed fox fastened to a chair; a pair of wild boars' heads with powerful tusks were over the door, but there was no sign of any living beast. henrietta fancied that the master of this little house must be away but not far off and she made up her mind to wait till he returned home. yet one hour after another passed away and henrietta was at last obliged to go on further lest she should have to pass the night there and, only when she was already some distance away, was she struck by the peculiar circumstance that all round the hut grass was growing thickly and that no path led up to it. in a few weeks' time curiosity drew her again in the same direction. alone, without any escort, she stood before the forest dwelling, fastened her horse to the fence and passed through the door. everything was just as she had seen it on the first occasion. in the first room on the table was the earthenware pitcher full of water; in the second room was the bed covered with a bear skin and in the third room were all the guns and other weapons just as she had seen them before. again she waited for a long time for some of the dwellers of this little house to draw near, and again she waited in vain; even by eventide not a human being had approached the hut. these hut dwellers must be curious folks she thought, they leave everything unlocked, evil disposed people might steal everything. on the way back she met some charcoal burners and asked them about the lonely little house in the midst of the forest. three of the four pretended not to understand: they did not remember ever seeing such a house they said. the fourth, however, told the lady in reply that in that house dwelt "dracu."[ ] [footnote : the devil.] this only made henrietta more than ever curious. she asked the priest about it and even he was inclined to be evasive. he evidently either knew nothing about it or was casting about in his mind for some plausible explanation. at last he said that rumour had it that a huntsman's family had either been murdered or had committed suicide there, and, ever since, nobody dwelling in the district could be persuaded to cross its threshold, let alone steal anything out of it; they would not even take shelter there during a storm, for they believed that an evil spirit dwelt there. henrietta, however, did not believe in these invisible evil spirits. the evil spirits she was acquainted with all went about in dress clothes and surtouts. the atmosphere of mystery and enchantment which made the little house uninhabitable only stimulated her fancy. she determined to discover whether it was really uninhabited or not. accordingly, when she entered the house for the third time, she plucked a wild rose and threw one of its buds into the pitcher of water on the table, a second on the bear skin coverlet of the bed and a third, fourth and fifth she stuck into the barrels of the muskets hanging up in the armour room. when now, she visited the lonely house for the fourth time, she looked for the rose buds and could not find one of them in the places where she had put them. consequently there must needs be someone who slept in the bed, drank the fresh water from the pitcher and used the firearms. her thirst for knowledge now induced her to enquire of her husband concerning this little dwelling and he, then and there, elucidated the mystery. it was quite true that a lonely inhabitant of this house had once been murdered there, that the common people believed it to be haunted, and that consequently not one of them would cross its threshold at any price either by day or by night. an old landed proprietor from the mining town of x., who owned a small strip of forest in those parts and was at the same time an enthusiastic huntsman, had taken advantage of this popular superstition to buy this little house, for a mere song. he used it as a hunting box. he could not afford to keep a huntsman of his own to look after it and knowing that if he locked it up, thieves would most probably break into it and steal everything, he left the doors wide open and everyone instantly avoided it as uncanny. the reason henrietta never met him was that this old gentleman was a government official, who had to live most of his time in the town of klausenburg, but whenever he was not hunting here he was out in the forests all night till dawn when he turned into the little house for a nap and was off again before the afternoon; and so henrietta who regularly visited the hut in the afternoon, naturally never encountered him. leonard even named the old gentleman's name and then henrietta remembered meeting him at the _soirées_ at klausenburg. leonard, however, warned his wife never to mention the matter in the presence of the old gentleman in question, if she should ever meet him, for he had sundry relations with poachers and other people of that sort. the fact was, his own strip of forest was not very large and therefore he very frequently trespassed on leonard's property in pursuit of game. the old gentleman was, therefore, very desirous to keep his passion for the chase a secret, especially as his relations with leonard were none of the best. after that henrietta had visited the little forest house no more. this prosaic explanation had robbed it in her eyes of all its mysterious interest, nor did she think it becoming to enter a house whose owner was not on very good terms with her husband. only now did the recollection of the little forest dwelling recur to her, and in the terror of her soul she began to regard the little moss-covered hut whose doors stood, open, night and day, as a possible asylum. it was the only place where she could take refuge, the only place where she had no need to fear spies, where nobody would look for her, where she might remain in hiding and from whence she might either return home or wander further out into the world according as fate was kind or unkind to her. at night there would be nobody in the little house, for the enthusiastic old hunter would be stalking the forest. it was also possible that his official duties might keep him away for days together. but even if she were to meet him, why should she be afraid of the eccentric old man? would she not rather find in him a natural protector who would conduct her out of the mountains to klausenburg or banfi-hunyad, from whence she would make her way to pest and there seek a refuge in her aunt's house? she did not think twice about it, but accepted the idea as a heaven-sent inspiration which it was her duty to follow. she put on a shawl as if she were only going to take a walk in the moonlight and descended into the park accompanied by the gardener's daughter whom she had bribed to help her to escape. the girl succeeded in hoodwinking the men servants by dressing herself up in a mantle of her mistress's, pretending she would have supper out in the park as the night was so fine and warm, so that by the time the fraud was discovered and the alarm given, henrietta had had a start of several hours and although the men, fearful of the anger of their master when he should return and find his wife flown, searched in every direction with lighted torches they were unable to discover a trace of the missing lady. terror lends strength to the most feeble. ordinarily henrietta was so weak that it was as much as she could do to promenade through the park. but to-day after a two hours' run over stones and through briars and bushes, at midnight, she still did not feel weary. from the top of a hill she looked back. she could still see the tower of the castle of hidvár in the valley, but it looked blue through the mist in the distance and then she hastened down into the valley whose steep overhanging sides hid her even from the moonlight. the night was noiseless, the forest dark. now and again a humming night beetle circled round and round her and obstinately pursued her as if he also was a spy sent after her. the poor thing's heart throbbed violently. what if she had lost her way? what if she fell into the hands of the robbers whom they were now actually pursuing through the woods? yet still greater was her terror of hidvár and a hundred times more homelike was the dreadful forest with its giant trees speaking in their sleep than the tapestried walls of the castle of hidvár. suddenly a glade opened up before her which seemed to greet her as an old acquaintance. yes, indeed, there were the wild roses which she had so often plucked to adorn her hat. the hunting-box could not be far off now. it conceals itself to the right of the rose bushes beneath a lofty birch. a few moments later she found herself outside its door. as she laid her hand on the latch, a thought of terror transfixed her. what if the door should be shut? but she had only to press the latch in order to put all her fears to flight. the door this time also was not fastened. standing on the threshold she enquired with a trembling voice: "is anybody in?" no answer. then she closed the door behind her and opened the door of the second room. there also nobody responded to her enquiry. the third room was also open as usual, nay even one of its windows was opened towards the orchard. moreover, everything was in its proper place just as she had always found it--the weapons, the bear skin coverlet and the water pitcher. it occurred to henrietta to close the door from the inside so that nobody might come upon her unawares while she slept. but then the thought also struck her that it was not right to lock the old gentleman out of his own house especially as he might turn up in the early morning tired out and half frozen. so she ultimately decided to stay up for him in order to tell him, as soon as he arrived, that she meant to obtain a separation from her husband, whose conduct she could no longer endure. till then she would try hard not to go to sleep. but she was tired to death from her long run through the forest and was obliged at last to throw herself on the bear skin coverlet to rest; and gradually sleep overcame all her anguish, all her terror. she might have slept for about a half an hour, a restless, phantom-haunted sleep at best, when she suddenly awoke. it seemed to her as if she had heard a distant cry. perhaps she had only imagined she had heard it in her slumbers, and perhaps what she had dreamt was so awful and what she fancied she had heard was so terrible, that it had awakened her. she began to listen attentively. after midnight every light sound seems so loud. she fancied in the great stillness that she could hear rapidly approaching footsteps. again a cry! like the cry of a hunted beast, like the cry of a wounded wolf! she was not dreaming now, she could hear it plainly. she saw where she was. the moonlight was streaming through the window, she could see to the end of all three rooms. suddenly at the window overlooking the garden whence the moonbeams streamed in, a black shape appeared which obscured the moonlight for an instant. this shape leaped through the window and, panting hard, rushed through the two rooms into the third where the arms stood. henrietta saw it fly past her bed, she heard its panting sobs and--recognized it. it was fatia negra! this was fatia negra's house! and this was not all. close upon the traces of fatia negra rushed another phantom with a drawn sword in its hand, but its face was towards her and she recognized in it--szilard vamhidy. and yet she did not lose her consciousness at this double sight of terror, though it would have been much better for her if she had. fatia negra plunged into the armoury and plucked down a pistol from the wall. szilard paused on the threshold. "halt!" cried fatia negra with a voice like a scream--"this is my house and your tomb." szilard did not condescend to reply but drew a step nearer. "sir, but one word more," said fatia negra in a fainter voice and so hoarsely as to be scarcely audible, "you have wounded me, you have run me down; but your life is now in my hands and i could kill you this instant if i had a mind to. let us bargain a bit: i won't kill you if you will not pursue me any further. you return and say you could not catch me. i swear to you that to-morrow i will send you twenty thousand ducats." with contemptuous coldness szilard replied: "surrender, i will not bargain." "you won't bargain, you crushed worm you! the mouth of my pistol is on a level with your forehead. i have only to press my finger and your head would be shattered--and yet you dare to have it out with me? do you want to save your head?" "i mean to have yours," said szilard and he drew a step nearer to the adventurer. "my head, eh? ha, ha, ha! you would have it would you, and have it here! take it then!" at that moment a piercing shriek startled the two deadly antagonists and in the adjoining room a white figure fell prone upon the floor. the next moment there was a loud report and fatia negra fell back lifeless on the bear skin carpet. at the very moment when he had laughed aloud and cried: "take it then!" he had suddenly put the mouth of the pistol into his own mouth and fired it off. the heavy charge blew his head to bits, szilard felt a warm red rain showering down upon him. so fatia negra, after all, did not give up his head, the pistol shot had annihilated it. and nobody ever knew who fatia negra really was. chapter xxiii the accommodation it was now the seventh time that mr. john lapussa had informed mr. sipos that he wanted to see him and for the seventh time word was sent back that the lawyer could not come. why could he not come? they could not say. finally a message was delivered to the effect that the lawyer could not come either that day, or the next, or indeed on any other day in the whole year. in a word mr. sipos declined to have anything more to do with the lapussa family or its affairs. their transactions were not at all to his taste. so, as mr. sipos would not appear at the summons of mr. john lapussa, mr. john lapussa must needs call upon mr. sipos. he was wearing mourning in his hat and tried hard to lend his face a funereal appearance also. "have you heard the news?" he asked. mr. sipos had heard nothing. "don't you see the mourning in my hat? alas! my poor niece, unhappy henrietta!" "well, what has happened?" "hátszegi has been drowned in the maros." "impossible, he was a first-rate swimmer." "his horse ran away with him, he had lost all control over it. when he saw that the horse was determined to plunge into the river from the high bank, he tried to spring out of the saddle, but his spur unfortunately caught in the stirrups and the horse dragged him down with it into the water. there in the full stream, with his head downwards and his legs in the air, he vainly attempted to extricate himself. the frantic horse swam with him to the opposite shore, dragging the poor wretch after it, and before the opposite bank was reached, his head was so shattered that it was impossible to recognize his features. it is now a week since they buried him in the family vault at hidvár. poor henrietta! so young to be left a widow! and to have lost so handsome, so beloved a husband through so sad a death! really lamentable!" "i wonder what the rascal is after now," thought mr. sipos. "my heart really is breaking for her! if only there were not these unhappy money differences between us. i am not a tiger. my heart is not made of stone. perhaps you don't believe me! let me tell you that i have half resolved, despite the old gentleman's will, to transfer to my niece, henrietta, the kerekedar property." "because its expenses are greater than its revenue, i presume?" "none of your poor witticisms, sir. i am ready to make any sacrifices to oblige my relatives. the world misjudges me. they call me greedy and avaricious; if only they could look into my heart!" "what you have done hitherto, sir, does not testify to any great regard for your relatives. for instance, look at the case of my client, young coloman--for you know that vamhidy has instructed me to act for him. what intrigues, what tricks were employed to fasten upon him the suspicion of forgery! nobody knows that better than you, sir. and let me tell you that although my young client is nothing but a strolling player, i shall spare no pains to thoroughly vindicate his good name and you, with all your wealth and property, will be unable to affect the issue one jot." mr. john pondered for a moment. "look here," said he at last, "let us pitch the whole confounded suit into the fire. i have a compromise to propose. i candidly confess i am in a bit of a hole. that bill business is now before the courts and when it comes on for trial, it will cause a horrible scandal and people have condemned me beforehand. i only wish i had never mixed myself up in it." "suppose i help you out of the difficulty!" "in that case you may dictate your own conditions and i will consent to them beforehand." "there is only one way to save you. henrietta must say that the bill is not forged, but is really signed by her and she must then pay and cancel it, then every foundation of a charge against you vanishes." "a sublime idea," cried mr. john springing from his seat. "and now let me hear your conditions." "my only condition is, complete satisfaction to be made to the children of your second sister." "what! surrender a whole third of the property to them without any deduction?" "we will accept nothing less." "what must i do first then?" "first you must pay the baroness forty thousand florins." "forty thousand florins! why?" "in order that she may meet the bill as soon as she has acknowledged her signature." "well, and what next?" "you must sign deeds whereby you undertake to surrender to the children of your late sister the estates of zôldhalom and orökvar bequeathed to them by your father." "why, they are the best paying properties of all." "then pay them the value of the estates in cash." "that would seriously inconvenience me." "then make over your houses in vienna and pest." "i cannot find it in my heart to part with them." "then propose some other expedient." "very well, i will. give me till to-morrow to think it over." and with that mr. john put on his hat and took his leave. the following day the lawyer awaited him in vain; then he waited for him a whole fortnight, but mr. john never came near him. then he went to the courts to find out what was being done and there he learnt, to his astonishment, that the declaration of the baroness hátszegi acknowledging the genuineness of her signature to the bill had already arrived. what had happened was this: as soon as mr. john had got sipos's opinion gratis, he quickly traveled post to hidvár and had a chat with his niece over the business. the poor lady was so utterly crushed by her misfortunes that she could scarce fix her mind steadily on anything and was a mere tool in his hands. she accepted the properties offered to her by her uncle--what did it matter to her now how much or how little they brought in!--and gave an acknowledgment in writing that the signature to the bill was her own. mr. sipos was therefore not very much surprised when one day he received a commission from the baroness's agent to pay over the forty thousand florins in question to a financial agent at pest. so mr. john made a rattling good profit out of the transaction and henrietta in return for her generosity had to pay up in cash as mr. sipos had shrewdly anticipated she would have to do all along. but it was all one to henrietta. chapter xxiv conclusion meanwhile the long drawn out process between mr. john and his sister madame lángai continued its course. there was no thought of a compromise between the parties. madame lángai expended so much of her private means in the action that nearly the whole of the property left her by her husband went in costs. she could now neither keep her coach nor live in a large house. she cooped herself up in a couple of small rooms, visited nobody and wore dresses that had been out of fashion for at least four years--and all to be able to carry on the action! it was ten years before the suit came to an end. mr. john lost it and a fearful blow it was to him, for he had to pay out a million to his sister without any further delay. it is true he had as much again left for himself, but to be the possessor of only a single million is nevertheless a fearful thought to anyone who has hitherto been the possessor of two millions. the poor plutocrat! how deeply it disturbed him to be obliged to pay his only sister her due portion! how the constant thought that he was now only half as rich as he had been before gnawed his life away! poor, poor plutocrat! szilard had a brilliant career--a career extending far beyond the horizon of this simple story. he never married. count kengyelesy quizzed him often enough and was continually asking him why he did not try his luck again with his former ideal now that she had become a widow. all such questions, however, he used to evade in a corresponding tone of jocularity. but once when kengyelesy inquired seriously why he never approached baroness hátszegi and at the same time reproached him for his want of feeling in so obstinately keeping out of the poor lady's way, szilard replied: "i am not one of those who can be thrown away to-day and picked up again to-morrow." after that the count never mentioned henrietta's name in szilard's presence again--and who knows whether there was not some impediment between these two from which no sacrament could absolve them. who knows whether it might not after all have been as well for vamhidy to avoid any meeting whatever with--the widow of the late baron hátszegi? yet it was she who was, in any case, the most wretched of them all. although only six and twenty she could already be called an old woman. she was the victim of her shattered nerves night and day. the least noise made her tremble. the opening of a door was sufficient to make her start up. when she was only four and twenty she had already given up plucking out her grey hairs, there were so many of them. she found no relaxation in the society of her fellows and therefore avoided all social gatherings. most of her time she spent at home, sitting all by herself in the remotest chamber of the house, half of whose wall was by this time overgrown by the asclepia which szilárd had given her ages ago--or so it seemed to her. this was the only one of her acquaintances which had not forsaken her, and luckily for her it was tenacious of life, for if that too had perished, with whom could poor henrietta have held converse? so there was at least one creature in the world to whom this possessor of millions could still confide her reminiscences and her sorrows. poor rich lady, all the poorer because of her great wealth! poor plutocrat! the end [transcriber's note: most obvious typographical errors have been corrected. foreign words may appear at some points in the text with accents and at other points without, and proper names may be spelled differently in different parts of the text. these inconsistencies have been preserved from the original publication.] 'neath the hoof of the tartar [illustration: portrait of jósika] 'neath the hoof of the tartar or _the scourge of god_ by baron nicolas jÓsika abridged from the hungarian by selina gaye _with preface by r. nisbet bain_ sans peur et sans reproche [illustration] second edition _and photogravure portrait of the author_ london jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c. [_all rights reserved_] contents. chapter page introduction i. rumours ii. good news or bad? iii. master stephen's page iv. mistake the first v. as the king wills vi. mistake the second vii. at the very doors viii. the better part of valour ix. "i wash my hands" x. libor climbs the cucumber-tree xi. "next time we meet" xii. defending the castle xiii. camp fires xiv. a fatal day xv. dora's resolve xvi. through the snow xvii. a stampede xviii. aunt orsolya's cavern xix. father roger's story xx. like the phoenix introduction. baron miklós jósika, the walter scott of hungary, was born at torda, in transylvania, on april th, . while quite a child, he lost both his parents, and was brought up at the house and under the care of his grandmother, anna bornemissza, a descendant of jókai's heroine of the same name in "'midst the wild carpathians." of the young nobleman's many instructors, the most remarkable seems to have been an _emigré_ french colonel, who gave him a liking for the literature of france, which was not without influence on his future development. after studying law for a time at klausenberg to please his friends, he became a soldier to please himself, and in his seventeenth year accompanied the savoy dragoon regiment to italy. during the campaign of the mincio in , he so distinguished himself by his valour that he was created a first lieutenant on the field of battle, and was already a captain when he entered paris with the allies in the following year. in , at the very beginning of his career, he ruined his happiness by his unfortunate marriage with elizabeth kalláy. according to jósika's biographer, luiza szaák,[ ] young jósika was inveigled into this union by a designing mother-in-law, and any chance of happiness the young couple might have had, if left to themselves, was speedily dashed by the interference of the father of the bride, who defended all his daughter's caprices against the much-suffering husband. even the coming of children could not cement this woeful wedding, which terminated in the practical separation of spouses who were never meant to be consorts. [footnote : baró jósika miklós élete és munkai.] jósika further offended his noble kinsmen by devoting himself to literature. it may seem a paradox to say so, yet it is perfectly true, that in the early part of the present century, with some very few honourable exceptions, the upper classes in hungary addressed only their _servants_ in hungarian. latin was the official language of the diet, while polite circles conversed in barbarous french. these were the days when, as jókai has reminded us, the greatest insult you could offer to an hungarian lady was to address her in her native tongue. it required some courage, therefore, in the young baron to break away from the feudal traditions of his privileged caste and use the plebeian magyar dialect as a literary vehicle. his first published book, "abafi" ( ), an historical romance written under the direct influence of sir walter scott, whom jósika notoriously took for his model, made a great stir in the literary world of hungary. "hats off, gentlemen," was how szontagh, the editor of the _figyelmezö_, the leading hungarian newspaper of the day, began his review of this noble romance. jósika was over forty when he first seriously began to write, but the grace and elegance of his style, the maturity of his judgment, the skilfulness of his characterization--all pointed to a long apprenticeship in letters. absolute originality cannot indeed be claimed for him. unlike jókai, he owed very much to his contemporaries. he began as an imitator of scott, as we have seen, and he was to end as an imitator of dickens, as we shall see presently. but he was no slavish copyist. he gave nearly as much as he took. moreover, he was the first to naturalize the historical romance in hungary, and if, as a novelist, he is inferior to walter scott, he is inferior to him alone. in hungary, at any rate, his rare merits were instantly recognised and rewarded. two years after the publication of "abafi," he was elected a member of the hungarian academy, four years later he became the president of the kisfaludy társaság, the leading magyar literary society. all classes, without exception, were attracted and delighted by the books of this new novelist, which followed one another with bewildering rapidity. "zolyomi," written two years before "abafi," was published a few months later, together with "könnyelmüek." shortly afterwards came the two great books which are generally regarded as his masterpieces, "az utolsó bátory" and "csehek magyarországon," and a delightful volume of fairy tales, "Élet és tündérhón," in three volumes. in was published "zrinyi a költö," in which some critics saw a declension, but which jókai regards as by far the greatest of jósika's historical romances. finally may be mentioned as also belonging to the pre-revolutionary period, "jósika istván," an historical romance in five volumes, largely based upon the family archives; "egy kétemeletes ház," a social romance in six volumes; and "ifju békesi ferencz kalandjai," a very close and most clever imitation of the "pickwick papers," both in style and matter, written under the pseudonym of moric alt. it is a clever skit of the peccadilloes and absurdities of the good folks of budapest of all classes, full of genuine humour, and was welcomed with enthusiasm. on the outbreak of the war of independence in , baron jósika magnanimously took the popular side, though he was now an elderly man, and had much to lose and little to gain from the revolution. he was elected a member of the honvéd government; countenanced all its acts; followed it from place to place till the final collapse, and then fled to poland. ultimately he settled at brussels, where for the next twelve years he lived entirely by his pen, for his estates were confiscated, and he himself was condemned to death by the triumphant and vindictive austrian government, which had to be satisfied, however, with burning him in effigy. jósika was to die an exile from his beloved country, but the bitterness of banishment was somewhat tempered by the touching devotion of his second wife, the baroness julia podmaniczky, who also became his amanuensis and translator. the first novel of the exilic period was "eszter," written anonymously for fear his works might be prohibited in hungary, in which case the unhappy author would have run the risk of actual want. for the same reason all the novels written between and (when he resumed his own name on his title-pages) are "by the author of 'eszter.'" in , by the doctor's advice, jósika moved to dresden, and there, on february th, , he died, worn out by labour and sorrow. he seems, at times, to have had a hard struggle for an honourable subsistence, and critics, latterly, seem to have been neglectful or unkind. ultimately his ashes were brought home to his native land and deposited reverently in the family vault at klausenberg; statues were raised in his honour at the hungarian capital, and the greatest of hungarian novelists, maurus jókai, delivered an impassioned funeral oration over the remains of the man who did yeoman's service for the magyar literature, and created and popularized the historical novel in hungary. for it is as the hungarian historical romancer _par excellence_ that jósika will always be remembered, and inasmuch as the history of no other european country is so stirring and so dramatic as that of hungary, and jósika was always at infinite pains to go direct to original documents for his facts and local colouring, he will always be sure of an audience in an age, like our own, when the historical novel generally (witness the immense success of sienkiewicz) is once more the favourite form of fiction. among the numerous romances "by the author of 'eszter,'" the work, entitled "jö a tatár" ("the tartar is coming"), now presented to the english public under the title of "'neath the hoof of the tartar," has long been recognised by hungarian critics as "the most pathetic" of jósika's historical romances. the groundwork of the tale is the terrible tartar invasion of hungary during the reign of béla iv. ( - ), when the mongol hordes devastated magyarland from end to end. two love episodes, however, relieve the gloom of this terrific picture, "and the historical imagination" of the great hungarian romancer has painted the heroism and the horrors of those far distant times every whit as vividly as sienkiewicz has painted the secular struggle between the red cross knights and the semi-barbarous heroes of old lithuania. r. nisbet bain. 'neath the hoof of the tartar. chapter i. rumours. "well, talabor, my boy, what is it? anything amiss?" asked master peter, as the page entered the hall, where he and his daughter were at breakfast. it was a bare, barn-like apartment, but the plates and dishes were of silver. "nothing amiss, sir," was the answer, "only a guest has just arrived, who would like to pay his respects, but--he is on foot!" it was this last circumstance, evidently, which was perplexing talabor. "a guest?--on foot?" repeated master peter, as if he too were puzzled. "yes, sir; abbot roger, he calls himself, and says you know him!" "what! good father roger! know him? of course i do!" cried peter, springing from his chair. "where is he? why didn't you bring him in at once? i am not his grace of esztergom to keep a good man like him waiting in the entry!" "the servants are just brushing the dust off him, sir," replied the page, "and he wants to wash his feet, but he will be ready to wait upon you directly, sir, if you please!" "by all means! but he is no 'abbot,' talabor; he is private chaplain to master stephen, my brother!" talabor had not long been in master peter's service, and knew no more of master stephen than he did of father roger, so he said nothing and left the room with a bow. "blessed be the name of the lord jesus, father roger!" cried master peter, hurrying forward to meet his guest, as he entered the dining-hall. "for ever and ever!" responded the father, while dora raised his hand to her lips, delighted to see her old friend again. "but how is this, father roger?" peter asked in high good humour, after some inquiry as to his brother's welfare; "how is this? talabor, _deák_ announced you as 'abbot.' what is the meaning of it?" "quite true, sir! thanks to his holiness and the king, i have been 'abbot' the last month or two; but just now i am on my way to pest by command of his majesty." "what! an abbot travel in this fashion, on foot! why, our abbots make as much show as the magnates, some of them. too modest, too modest, father! besides, you'll never get there! is the king's business urgent?" "hardly that, i think; though--but, after all, why prophesy evil before one must!" "prophesy evil?" repeated dora. "prophecies are in the hands of the lord!" interposed her father quickly. "good or bad, it rests with him whether they shall be fulfilled. so, father roger, let us have it, whatever it is." "the king's commands were that i should be at pest by the end of the month," answered roger, "so i shall be in time, even if i do travel somewhat slowly. as for the prophesying--without any gift of prophecy i can tell you so much as this, that _something_ is coming! true, it is far off as yet, but to be forewarned is to be forearmed, and i fancy the king is one who likes to look well ahead." "but what is it, father roger? do tell us!" cried dora anxiously. "nothing but rumours so far, dear child, but they are serious, and it behoves us to be on our guard." "oktai and his brethren, eh?" said master peter, with some scorn. "oh, those tartars! the tartars are coming! the tartars are coming! why, they have been coming for years! when did we first hear that cry? i declare i can't remember," and he laughed. "i am afraid it is no laughing matter, though," said father roger. "i daresay you have not forgotten brother julian, who returned home only two or three years ago." but here dora interposed. she remembered father roger telling her a story of the dominican brothers, who had gone to try and find the "old home" of the magyars and convert to christianity those who had stayed behind, and she wanted to hear it again, if her father did not mind. father roger accordingly told how, of the first four brothers, only one had returned home, and he had died soon after, but not before he had described how, while travelling as a merchant, he had fallen in with men who spoke hungarian and told him where their home, "ugria," was to be found.[ ] four more brothers had been despatched on the same quest by king béla, who was desirous of increasing the population of his country, and particularly wished to secure "kinsmen" if he could. two only of the brothers persevered through the many perils and privations which beset their way. one of these died, and julian, the survivor, entering the service of a wealthy mohammedan, travelled with him to a land of many rich towns, densely populated.[ ] here he met a woman who had actually come from the "old home," and still farther north he had found the "brothers of the magyars," who could understand him and whom he could understand. [footnote : ugria extended from the north sea to the rivers kama, irtisch, and tobol, west and east of the ural mountains. the ugrians had come in more ancient times from the high lands of the altai mountains. hungarian was still spoken in ugria, then called juharia, as late as the beginning of the sixteenth century.] [footnote : great bulgaria, lying on both sides of the volga, at its junction with the kama.] they were, of course, heathen, but not idolaters; they were nomads, wandering from place to place, living on flesh and mare's milk, and knowing nothing of agriculture. they were greatly interested in all that julian told them, for they knew from old traditions that some of their race had migrated westwards. but at the time of his visit they were much perturbed by news brought to them by their neighbours on the east. these were tartar, or turkish, tribes, who, having several times attacked them and been repulsed, had finally entered into an alliance with them. a messenger from the tartar khan had just arrived to announce, not only that the tartar tribes were themselves on the move and but five days' journey away, but that they were moving to escape from a "thick-headed" race, numerous as the sands of the sea which was behind them, on their very heels, and threatening to overwhelm all the kingdoms of the world, as it had already overwhelmed great part of asia. brother julian hastened home to report his discoveries and warn his country, which he had reached between two and three years before our story begins; but nothing more had come of his pilgrimage, no more had been heard of the "magyar[ ] brothers." [footnote : europeans called them ugrians-hungarians, but they called themselves "magyars"--"children of the land," as some think to be the meaning of the word.] "but why, father roger?" asked dora, with wide eyes. "because the 'thick-headed people' have not only overrun nearly the whole of central asia as far as pekin, covering it with ruins and reducing it to a desert, but have streamed westward like a flood, a torrent, and have submerged nearly the whole of eastern europe." "then they are not tartars?" "no, mongolians[ ]; but they have swallowed up many tartar tribes and have forced them to join their host. tartars we have known before, but mongols are new to us, so most people keep to the name familiar to them, which seems appropriate too--tátars, tartari, you know, denizens of tartarus, the inferno, as we italians call it; and their deeds are 'infernal' enough, heaven knows!" [footnote : temudschin was but thirteen when he became chief (in a. d. ) of one horde, consisting of thirty to forty thousand families. after some vicissitudes, he entered upon a career of conquest, and, between and , he summoned the chiefs of all the hordes and tribes who owned his sway to an assembly, at which he caused it to be proclaimed that "heaven had decreed to him the title of 'dschingiz' (highest), for he was to be ruler of the whole world." from this time he was known as dschingiz, or zenghiz khan.] "and are they coming, really?" "as to whether they will come here, god alone knows; but oktai, son of dschingiz, who is now chief khan, has sent a vast host westward, and, as i said, they have overrun great part of russia; it is reported that they have burnt moscow." "come, come, father," interrupted peter, who had been growing more and more restless, "you are not going to compare us magyars with the russians, i hope, or with the chinese and indians either. if they show their ugly dog's-heads here, they will find us more than a match for such a rabble." "i hope so!" said father roger. but he spoke gravely, and added, "you have heard, of course, of the cumani, kunok, you call them, i think." "to be sure! peaceable enough when they are let alone, but brave, splendid fellows when they are attacked, as oktai has found, for i know they have twice defeated him," said master peter triumphantly. "yes, there was no want of valour on their part; but you know the proverb: 'geese may be the death of swine, if only there be enough of them!' and so, according to the last accounts, the brave king has been entirely overwhelmed by oktai's myriads, and he, with , families of kunok, are now in the moldavian mountains on the very borders of erdély" (transylvania). "ah, indeed," said master peter, a little more gravely, "that i had not heard! but if it is true, i must tell you that my chief object would be to prevent the report from spreading and being exaggerated. if it does, the whole country will be in a state of commotion, and all for nothing! there is hardly any nation which needs peace more than ours does, and we have quite enough to do with sweeping before our own door, without going and mixing ourselves up in other people's quarrels." but father roger went on to say that the rumour had spread already, and that was why the king was wishing to call his nobles, and, in fact, the whole nation, together to take measures of defence in good time. "defence!" cried peter; "defence against whom? why, we have no enemies on any of our borders, unless you mean the kunok, and they are far enough off at present; besides, we don't look on them as foes. it is always the way, father roger! always the way! we go conjuring up spectres! and though i am his majesty's loyal and devoted subject, i may say here, just between ourselves, that i do think him too quick to take alarm." "you think so, sir?" returned the abbot; "well, of course, it is a mere opinion, but to my mind the king is not far wrong." and then the good father reminded his host that oktai had already overthrown the russians, great numbers of whom had been forced to join his army; and now that he had driven out the kunok was it to be supposed that he would stop short? dschingiz khan, his father, had been a conqueror; conquest was his sole object in life, and he would have conquered the whole world if he had lived. his sons, especially oktai, took after him; they, too, considered themselves destined to conquer the world, and now that kuthen had shown him the way into transylvania he would be forcing a passage across the frontier before they knew where they were. his rapidity was something marvellous, unheard of! again master peter only laughed. where was the use of alarming the country? and would not a call to arms look as if they were afraid, and actually tempt the mongols to come and attack them? father roger shook his head, as he replied in latin: "if you wish for peace, prepare for war, as the old romans used to say, and it is wise not to despise your foe." the two went on arguing. master peter, like many another noble in those days, would not see danger. though valiant enough, he was always an easy-going man, and, again like many another, he was quite confident that hungary would be able to beat any enemy who might come against her, without worrying herself beforehand. father roger did not know the hungarians, though he had lived so long among them! "well, well," he concluded, "you go to pest, mr. abbot; but think it well over by the way, and when you see the king, you tell him plainly that peter szirmay advises his majesty not to give the alarm before it is necessary." roger shook his head but said nothing. italian though he was, he understood the hungarian nobility very well. he knew how they disliked being turned out of their ordinary course; but he knew too that once roused, they would not hesitate to confront any enemy who threatened them, and that though they might be hot-headed, foolhardy, over-confident, they were certainly not cowards! "well," thought the abbot, "you are no wiser, i am afraid, than others; but when the king does succeed in routing you out of your old fastness and getting you down into the plain, you will give as good an account of yourself as the rest!" master peter was glad to drop the subject, and to feel that there was at all events no immediate prospect of his being disturbed; yet he was so far an exception to the majority of his fellow-nobles that he determined to ascertain the truth about these rumours, and, if necessary, not to delay placing himself and his daughter beyond the reach of danger. father roger's gravity had impressed dora much, but she was young, and she had such entire confidence in her father, that she could not feel any actual anxiety. "what do you think, father roger?" she said presently, "if oktai khan really should want to fight us, about how long would it take him to get here?" "that no one can say, dear child," answered the italian. "he might reach the frontier in three years, or it might be in two, or--it might be in one!" "in one year!" dora repeated in a startled tone. "it is impossible to say for certain, my dear. it all depends upon how long our neighbours can keep back the flood. one thing is certain, that, as they retreat in our direction, they will draw the enemy after them, and what is more, unless we are wise and prudent we may make enemies of the fugitives themselves; that is if we give them reason to suppose us not strong enough, or not trustworthy enough, to be their friends. well, god is good, and we must hope that the danger will be averted." "come, come, father roger," said master peter, "that is enough, that's enough! let us eat, drink, and sleep upon it, and time will show! there is not the least reason for worrying at present at all events, and if this disorderly crew does pour across our frontiers at last, well, we shall be there to meet them! and it won't be the first time that we have done such a thing." and then, by way of entertaining his guest, he proposed to take him all over the house, stables, and courtyard. master peter was not wealthy as his brother stephen was, but for all that he was sufficiently well off. stephen, the younger brother, had had a large fortune with his wife; peter, a much smaller one with his. the family mansion, or castle,[ ] belonged equally to both; and, being both widowers, and much devoted to one another, they had agreed to share it, and had done so most amicably for several years. [footnote : any country house was a castle, or château, as the french would say.] without being covetous, stephen had a warm appreciation of this world's goods; and of all the forty male members of the szirmay family living at this time, he was certainly the most wealthy. he was devoted to his children, and gave them the best education possible at the time of which we are speaking, the first half of the thirteenth century. his son, akos, now one of the king's pages, had learnt to read and write; he had, too, a certain knowledge of latin, and sometimes in conversation he would use a latin word or two, with hungarian terminations. in fact, he knew somewhat more than most of his class, and, needless to say, he was a good horseman and a good marksman, and well-skilled in the use of arms and in all manly exercises. stephen's daughter and niece, jolánta and dora, were as good scholars as his son; and all three owed their secular as well as religious knowledge to father roger, in later years the famous author of the "carmen miserabile," and already known as one of the most cultivated men of the day. he was making his home with the szirmays, and acting as chaplain, merely for the time being; and stephen was glad to secure his services for the children, who loved the gentle father, as all did who came in contact with him. learning was held in such high honour in hungary in these days, that many a man coveted, and had accorded to him, the title of "magister"--master--(borne by the king's notary and chancellor) if he had but a little more scholarship than his neighbours, though that often of the slenderest description, and sometimes but few degrees removed from ignorance itself. a man such as roger was not likely therefore to be overlooked by a king such as béla; and his advancement was certain to come in time, notwithstanding the fact that he was an italian. it was when dora was about eighteen that her father had resolved to go and live on his own property, in one of the northernmost counties of hungary. now peter had never been a good landlord; from his youth up his pursuits and interests had not been such as to make him take pleasure in agriculture. accounts and calculations were not at all in his way either, and accordingly, no one was more imposed upon and plundered by his stewards than himself. he was generous in everything, open-handed, a true gentleman, delighted to help or oblige anyone, and much more thoughtlessly profuse than many who were far richer than himself. the dwelling-house on that one of his estates to which he had decided to go, was, it is hardly needful to say, very much out of repair, almost a ruin in fact. it had never been handsome, being, in truth, but a great shapeless barn, or store-house, which consisted merely of a ground floor nearly as broad as it was long. the original building had been of stone, built in the shape of a tent, and, of course, open to the roof; for ceilings, except in churches, were long looked upon as luxuries. the first inhabitants had slept and cooked, lived and died, all in this one great hall, or barn; and their successors, as they found more space needed, had made many additions, each with its own separate roof of split fir-poles, straw, or reeds. by degrees the original building had been surrounded by a whole colony of such roofs, with broad wooden troughs between them to carry off the rain water. most of these additions had open roofs, and were as much like barns as the first; but some were covered in with great shapeless beams; and in a few there were even fireplaces, built up of logs thickly coated with plaster. various alterations and improvements had been made before master peter's arrival, the most important of which was that the openings in the walls which had hitherto done duty as windows, had been filled in with bladder-skin, and provided with wooden lattices. the floors were not boarded, but the earth had been carefully levelled, and was concealed by coarse reed-mats, while the walls had been plastered and whitened. altogether, the place was not uncomfortable, according to the ideas of the time, and dora was not at all disgusted with its appearance, even coming from her uncle's house, where she was accustomed to a good deal of splendour of a certain kind. hungarians, even in those days, could make a splendid appearance upon occasion, as they did at the king's wedding, when all the guests wore scarlet, richly embroidered with gold. but their chief luxuries at home took the form of such articles as could be easily converted into money in case of need. they had, for instance, plates and dishes of gold and silver, precious stones, court-dresses, not embroidered and braided in the present fashion, but adorned with pearls and stones of great value, as well as with plates of beaten gold and silver. master peter's great dining-hall contained many valuables of this description. huge, much-carved oak chests were ranged along the bare walls, some open, some closed, these latter being laden with silver plates and dishes, gold and silver cups, tankards and numberless other articles required at table. here and there, the statue of a saint, a piece of grecian or roman armour, and various antique curiosities were to be seen. seats had not been forgotten, and the high-backed chairs and broad benches were supplied with comfortable cushions of bright colours. similar gay cushions were in use throughout that part of the house inhabited by peter and his daughter; and whatever deficiencies there were, everything at least was now in good order and scrupulously clean. as for dora's own room, her father had done all that he could think of to make it pleasant and comfortable; and though many a village maiden in these days would look on it with disdain, dora was well satisfied. there were even a few pictures on the bare white walls, though of course they were not in oil; but the special luxury of her little apartment was that the window was filled with horn, which was almost as transparent as glass, and was, moreover, decorated with flowers and designs, painted in bright colours. window glass was not unknown at this date, but it was too precious to be commonly used, and was reserved for churches and the palaces of kings and magnates. bladders and thin skins were in ordinary use, or, where people were very wealthy, plates of horn; but there were plenty of gentlemen's houses in which the inhabitants had no light at all in winter but such as came from the great open hearths and fireplaces, for the windows were entirely closed up with reeds or rush mats. one of the additions made to the original building had been what was called a "far-view" or "pigeon tower," much higher than the house itself, and the top of which could not be reached without the help of a ladder. this tower, which was more like a misshapen obelisk in shape, was roofed in with rough boards. in the lower storey there was a good-sized room, with a door opening from it into the large hall. it contained a wooden, four-post bedstead, clean and warm, and a small table; and all along the walls were clothes-pegs and shelves, such necessaries as we call "furniture" being very uncommon in the days we are speaking of. dora's chests had been placed here, and served the purpose of seats, and there were also a few chairs, a praying-desk, and a few other little things. the walls were covered with thick stuff hangings, and the lower part of them was also protected by coarse grey frieze to keep out the cold and damp. this was dora's own room. like all gentlemen of the time, even if they were reduced in means, peter had a considerable train of servants, and these were lodged in the very airy, barn-like buildings already mentioned. the courtyard was enclosed by a wall, high and massive, provided with loopholes, parapet, bastions, and breastwork; and the great gate, which had not yet been many weeks in its place, was so heavy that it was as much as four men could do to open and close it. master peter had been anxious to have his horses as well lodged as they had been at his brother's; but, after all, the stables, which were just opposite the house, were not such as horses in these days would consider stables at all. they were, in fact, mere sheds with open sides, such as are now put up to shelter the wild horses of the plains. when all this was done there still remained the digging of a broad, deep ditch or moat, in which the master himself and all his servants took part, assisted by some of the neighbouring peasants; and in about three months' time all was finished, and the curious assemblage of irregular buildings was more or less fortified, and capable of being defended if attacked by any wandering band of brigands. it merely remains to add that master peter's castle stood in a contracted highland valley, and was surrounded by pine-woods and mountains. behind it was the village, of which some few straggling cottages, or rather huts, had wandered away beyond it into the woods. the inhabitants were not hungarians, except in so far as that they lived in hungary; they were not magyars, that is, but slovacks, remnants of the great moravian kingdom, who had retired, or been driven, into the mountains, when the magyars occupied the land. the magyars loved the green plains, the lakes--full of fish, and frequented by innumerable wild fowl--to which they had been accustomed in asia; the slovacks, whether from choice or necessity, loved the mountains. these latter were an industrious, honest people, no trouble to anyone, and able to make a living in spite of the hard climate. they had suffered in more ways than one by the absence of the family; for the gentry at the great house had as a rule been good to them; and when they were away, or coming but seldom, and then only for sport with the bears, boars, and wolves which abounded, the poor people were treated with contempt and tyranny by those in charge of the property. they no doubt were glad when master peter came to live among them, and as for their landlord, time had passed pleasantly enough with him in spite of his being so far out of the world. what with looking after the estate, in his own fashion, hunting, riding, sometimes going on a visit or having friends to stay, he had found enough to occupy him; but being a hospitable soul, he was always delighted to welcome the rare guests whom chance brought into the neighbourhood, and considered that he had a right to keep them three days--if they could be induced to stay longer, so much the better for him! as for companionship, besides dora, who could ride and shoot too, as well as any of her contemporaries, he had talabor the page, who had come to him a pale, delicate-looking youth, but had gained so much in health and strength since he had been in service that his master often pitied him for not having parents better able to advance his prospects in life. they were gentry, originally "noble," as every free-born magyar was, but they were poor gentry, and had been glad to place their son with master peter to complete his education, as was the custom of the time. the great nobles sent their sons to the king's court to be instructed in all manly and courtly accomplishments; the lower nobility and poor gentlefolk sent theirs to the great nobles, who often had in their households several pages. these occupied a position as much above that of the servants as beneath that of the "family," though they themselves were addressed as "servant," until they were thought worthy the title of "_deák_," which, though meaning literally "latinist," answered pretty much to "clerk" or "scholar," and implied the possession of some little education. master peter was so well satisfied with talabor that he now always addressed him as "clerk" in the presence of strangers. he was growing indeed quite fond of him, and was pleased to see how much he had gained in strength and good looks, and how well able he was to take part in all the various forms of exercise, the long hunting excursions, the feats of arms, to which he was himself devoted. chapter ii. good news or bad? father roger had been shown all over the house, had seen all the additions and improvements, inside and out, and now felt as much at home in master peter's castle as he had done in master stephen's. it had been finally settled that he should start for pest the next morning, and master peter insisted on supplying him with a horse and an armed escort. "and then," said he, unconsciously betraying the curiosity which was devouring him, in spite of his assumed indifference, "then, when you send the horses back, you know, you can just write a few lines and tell me what the king wants to see you about." peter was quite anxious for him to be off that he might hear the sooner; but it struck him that, as father roger would be in pest long before the end of the month if he made the journey on horse-back, and yet could not present himself at court until the time appointed, he might perhaps be glad of a lodging of his own, though, of course, there were monasteries which would have received him. he offered him, therefore, the use of an old house of his own (in much the same condition, he confessed, as his present dwelling had been in), but in which he knew there were two habitable rooms, for he had lived in them himself on the occasion of his last visit to the capital. all was settled before supper-time, and master peter was just beginning to wonder when that meal would make its appearance, when the sharp, shrill sound of a horn gave him something else to think of. "someone is coming! they are letting down the drawbridge," he exclaimed, with much satisfaction at the prospect of another guest; and shortly after, ushered in by talabor, there entered the hall a young man, somewhat dusty, but daintily apparelled. his black hair had been curled and was shining from a recent application of oil, and in his whole appearance and demeanour there was the indescribable something which tells of the "rising man." "ah, clerk, it is you, is it?" said peter, without rising from his seat. "my brother is well, i hope?" "master stephen was quite well, sir, when i left him three days ago," returned the youth, as he made an elaborate bow to the master, another less low, but delivered with an amiable smile to dora, and bestowed a careless third upon father roger. "well, and what is the news?" "both good and bad, mr. szirmay," was the answer, with another bow. "out with the bad first then, boy," said master peter quickly, knitting his brows as he spoke. "let us have the good last, and keep the taste of it longest! now then!" "you have heard, no doubt, sir, what rumours the land is ringing with?" began the clerk with an air of much importance. "we have!" said peter, shrugging his shoulders; "let them ring till they are tired! if that is all you have jogged here about, gossip, you might as well have stayed quietly at home." "matters are more serious than you are perhaps aware, sir," said the clerk; and with that he drew from his breast a packet done up in cloth, out of which he produced a piece of parchment about the size of his first finger. this he handed proudly to master peter, who snatched it from his hand and passed it on to father roger, saying: "here, father, do you take it and read it! i declare if it does not look like a summons to the diet! there, there! blowing the trumpet, beating the drum in pest already, i suppose!" "quite true, sir, it is a summons to the diet," said libor. "his majesty, or his excellency the palatine, i am not certain which of the two, was under the impression that you were still with us, and so sent both summonses to master stephen." "with _you_!" laughed master peter. "all right, _kinsman_, we shall obey his majesty's commands, and i hope it may not all prove to be much ado about nothing." with kindly consideration for his host's imperfect latin, father roger proceeded to translate the summons into hungarian. the king never made many words about things, and his order was plain and direct. the diet was to be held on such a date, at such a place, and it was master peter's bounden duty to be present; that was all! "ah, didn't i tell you so, father?" said he gravely; "we shall be lighting our fires before the cold sets in, and pitching our tents before there is any camp! people are mad! and they are hurrying on that good king of ours too fast. well, _kinsman_," he went on sarcastically, "tell us all you know, and if there is any more bad news let us have it at once." "bad news? it depends upon how you take it, sir; many call it good, and more call it bad," returned libor, a trifle abashed by master peter's mode of address. "and pray what is it that is neither good nor bad? i don't like riddles, let me tell you, and if you can't speak plainly you had better not speak at all!" "sir," said libor, "i am only telling you what other people say----" and then, as master peter made a gesture of impatience, he went on, "kuthen, king of the kunok, has sent an embassy to his majesty asking for a settlement for his people----" "ah! that's something," interrupted peter, "and i hope his majesty sent them to the right-about at once?" "his majesty received the ambassadors with particular favour, and in view of the danger which threatens us, declared himself ready to welcome such an heroic people." "danger! don't let me hear that word again, clerk!" "it is not my word," protested libor, with an appealing glance at dora, intended to call attention to master peter's injustice. "it's a bad word, whosesoever it is," insisted peter. "well, what more? are we to be saddled with this horde of pagans then?" "pagans no longer! at least they won't be when they come to settle. they are all going to be baptized, the king and his family and all his people. the ambassadors promised and were baptized themselves before they went back." "what!" cried father roger, his face lighting up, "forty thousand families converted to the faith! why, it is divine, and the king is almost an apostle!" the good father quite forgot all further fear of danger from the kunok, and from this moment took their part. he could see nothing but good in this large accession of numbers to the church. "new christians!" said peter, shaking his head doubtfully, as he saw the impression made upon roger. "are such people christians just because the holy water has been poured upon their faces? they are far enough from christianity to my mind. who can trust such folk? and then, to admit them without consulting the nation, by a word of command--i don't like the whole thing, and so far as the country is concerned, i see no manner of use in it." "you see, mr. szirmay," said libor, with a little accession of boldness, "i was quite right. there are two of you here, and while one thinks the news bad, the other calls it 'divine.'" "silence, gossip!" said peter haughtily, "you are not in your own house, remember. be so good as to wait till your opinion is asked before you give it." then, turning to roger, he went on: "well, if it is so, it is, and we can't alter it; but there will be a fine piece of work when the diet does meet. it must be as his majesty wills, but i for one shall not give my consent, not though the danube and tisza both were poured upon them. one thing is clear, we are called to the diet and we must go, and as for the rest it is in god's hands." so saying, master peter began to pace up and down the room, and no one ventured to interrupt him. but presently he came to a standstill in front of the clerk, and said gloomily, "you have told us ill news enough to last a good many years; so, unless there is more to come, you may go on to the next part, and tell us any good news you have." "i can oblige you with that, too," said the clerk, who evidently felt injured by peter's contemptuous way of speaking; "at least," he added, "i hope i shall not have to pay for it as i have done for my other news, though i am sure i am not responsible, for i neither invited the kunok nor summoned your honour to the diet." "stop there!" said peter, with some little irritation. "it seems to me, young man, that you have opened your eyes considerably since you left my brother; you talk a great deal and very mysteriously. now then, let us have any good news you can tell us!" "his majesty has appointed father roger to be one of the canons of nagyvárad (grosswardein), and master peter's long suit has terminated in a favourable judgment. the land in dispute is given back, with the proceeds for the last nine years." "that is good news, if you will," cried peter, both surprised and pleased; and without heeding a remark from libor that he was glad he had been able to say something which was to his mind at last, he went on: "now, dora, my dear, we shall be able to be a little more comfortable, and we will spend part of the winter in pest. young ladies want a little amusement, and you, my poor girl, have had to live buried in the woods, where there is nothing going on." "the hédervárys are in pest too," the clerk chimed in, "and you will have a delightful visit, my dear young mistress. his majesty's court was never more brilliant than it is now; the queen likes to see noble young dames about her." dora and peter both looked at the clerk in amazement. he had been four years in master stephen's house, without ever once venturing to make dora such a long speech as this. "what has come to this man?" and "how very odd!" were the thoughts which passed through the minds of peter and his daughter. but, forward as she thought him, dora would not quite ignore the young man's remark, so she turned to father roger, saying, "i know it is a very gay life in pest, and no doubt there is plenty of amusement at the court, but i am not at all anxious to leave this place. it is not like a convent after all, and we have several nice people not far off who are glad to see us." but having made a beginning, libor had a great desire to prolong the conversation. roger and peter were now both walking up and down the room, while dora was standing at one of the windows, so the opportunity seemed to be a favourable one, and he proceeded to say gallantly that dora was wronging the world as well as herself by shutting herself out from amusement--that there was more than one person who was only waiting for a little encouragement--that her many admirers were frightened away--and so on, and so on, until dora cut him short, saying that she was sorry he should oblige her to remind him of what master peter had just said about not giving his opinion until it was asked for; and with that she left him and joined her father. "what a haughty little thing it is for a forest flower, to be sure," said libor to himself; but he felt just a little ashamed nevertheless, as he was well aware that he had taken an unheard-of liberty. conversation of any sort between the pages and the daughters of the house was not "the thing" in those old days; and, quite apart from the turn which libor had been so little respectful as to give to his remarks, dora had felt uncomfortable at being forced into what she considered unbecoming behaviour. "ah! well," libor reflected, "if she never moves from here she will find herself left on the shelf, and then--why then she won't be likely to get a better castle offered her than _mine_!" and thereupon libor (whose eyes had certainly been "opened," as master peter said) walked up to the two gentlemen, as if he were quite one of the company, and joined in their conversation at the first pause. "thunder and lightning! something has certainly come to this fellow. let us find out what it is," was master peter's inward comment. he was beginning to be as much amused as irritated by the young gentleman's newly acquired audacity; but it annoyed him to have him walking beside him, so he came to a standstill and said, "well, libor, you have talked a good deal about one thing and another, according to your lights; now tell us something about your worthy self. are you still in my brother's service and intending to remain permanently? or have you other and more brilliant prospects? a youth such as you, clerk, may do and be anything if he sets about it in the right way. let us hear something about yourself." "sir," replied libor, "it is true that i have been so fortunate as to share with many noble youths the privilege of living in mr. stephen's household, and of winning his confidence; also i have enjoyed your own favour in times past, master peter. 'service' you call it, and rightly too; but to-day i have discharged the last of mr. stephen's commissions. he has treated me with a fatherly kindness and marked consideration beyond my deserts, but i am now on my way to pest to see mr. paul héderváry, who has offered me the post of governor of one of his castles." "governor! at four or five and twenty! that is remarkable, mr. libor," said peter, with evident surprise. "a governor in the service of the hédervárys is a very important person! i can only offer my best congratulations--to yourself, i mean." libor was no fool, and he perfectly understood; but he made answer, with his nose well in the air, "i can only thank you, sir, but i hope the time may come when mr. héderváry also will be able to congratulate himself on the choice which does me so much honour." "ah! i hope so, i hope so," laughed master peter cheerily. he was pleased with himself for finding out how the clerk had been promoted, and he reflected that true, indeed, was the old latin proverb: _honores mutant mores._ as for libor, though he felt injured, as much by master peter's manner as by his words, he lost nothing of his self-complacency. self-confidence, self-esteem, his new title, and his brilliant prospects were enough to prevent his being put out of countenance for more than a moment by the snubs he had received both from father and daughter. as for canon roger, he, good man, was just as humble now as before his advancement, and either did not, or would not, see the young man's bumptiousness; he continued to treat him, therefore, in the same friendly way as when they were house-mates. "and so you are on your way to pest," said peter; "father roger is also on his way thither. it is always safer to travel in company when there are so many ruffians about, so i hope you will attend him." "i shall be very willing if father roger has no objection; we can travel together." "the canon of grosswardein, remember," said peter a little sharply. "and mr. héderváry's governor," concluded libor boldly and without blinking. "well, mr. governor, in the meantime you may like to look round the place a little before it is too dark; i may perhaps ask you to do a commission or two for myself by-and-by, but for the present will you leave us to ourselves?" this was such an unmistakable dismissal that libor actually lost his self-possession. hesitatingly, and with a bad grace enough, he advanced towards the door, but there he stopped, recovered himself, and exclaimed: "dear me! how forgetful i am! but perhaps the reception i have met with may account for it." "reception!" burst forth peter, whose gathering wrath now boiled over at this last piece of insolence. "i don't know, gossip, or rather mr. governor, i don't know what sort of reception you expected other than that which you have always found here! hold your greyhounds in, clerk. if mr. stephen and mr. héderváry are pleased to make much of you, that is their affair. for my own part i value people according to their worth, and the only worth i have as yet discovered in you, let me tell you, is that at which you rate yourself." master peter was not the man to be trifled with, and for a moment libor felt something of the old awe and deference usual with him in the presence of his superiors. but a deep sense of injury speedily overcame his fear, and after a short pause he made answer: "as you will, sir. since you assign héderváry's governor a place among the dogs, i have nothing further to do save to take my leave." with that he again turned to the door. "if there is any message which you have forgotten, boy, you don't stir from here until you have given it. that done, you may go when you like, and where you like, and no one will detain you." master peter spoke as one who intended to be obeyed, and libor was impressed, not to say cowed. he was very well aware that, as they would say in these days, it was "not well to eat cherries from the same dish" as the szirmay nobles. (at the time of which we are writing a dish of cherries was a sight rarely to be seen.) he held it, therefore, wiser to yield, and mastering himself as well as he could, he said: "mr. stephen wished me to inform you that bishop wáncsa has been inquiring whether you would be disposed to let your house in pest to his majesty." "the king? let it? is mr. wáncsa out of his mind? do their majesties want to hire a great heap of stone like that, where even i have never been comfortable!" "that is my message, but i can explain it. his majesty wants the house prepared for the king of the kunok and his family. you are at liberty to agree or not, but in any case mr. stephen will expect your answer by messenger, unless you are pleased to send it direct to the bishop by myself, or the canon, as we shall find him in pest and it will reach him the sooner." "what! matters have gone so far that they are getting quarters ready for kuthen, and the nation is still left in ignorance." libor merely shrugged his shoulders and said nothing, as the question was not particularly addressed to himself. "hem!" said peter thoughtfully. "i should have liked to spend part of the winter in my own house in pest, but it is in a bad state, very bad, and if the king is willing to repair and put it in order, he shall have it free for three years. it will be time enough to talk about rent after that." "may i take the answer to mr. wáncsa?" inquired libor, who was still standing at the open door. "yes, governor, you may!" answered peter, really at heart one of the best-natured men, who was always and almost instantly sorry when he had lost his temper and "pulled anyone's nose." "you may, libor, and we will not let the sun go down upon our wrath, so you will remain here, if you please, sup well and sleep well. talabor will see that you have all you want, and then you will travel on with the good father and some of my men-at-arms." then turning, and giving his hand to roger, he added: "i am sorry, father, that as things are you see i can't give you quarters in my house; but the king comes before all." as for libor, he chose to consider that peter had made him some sort of amends by his last speech; it pleased him much to play the part of an injured person who has accepted an apology, and he therefore at once resumed his polite manners, and bowing and smiling he replied with all due deference: "as far as i am concerned, sir, nothing can give me greater pleasure, and since you permit me to do so, i will remain." with another bow he left the room, not the house, which indeed he had never intended to leave, if he could help himself. chapter iii. master stephen's page. libor, as already remarked, had never had the least intention of leaving master peter's house so soon after his arrival as he had threatened to do, if he could by any possibility avoid doing so. the fact was he had a little business of his own on hand, as anyone observant might have found out from his air of mystery, and the fact that, if he was on his way to pest, he had had to come so far out of it, that master stephen would certainly have employed another messenger had libor not particularly desired to come. master peter was not very observant, but even he wondered in himself once or twice what the fellow wanted, and came to the conclusion that his new dignity had turned his head. dora wondered a little also, and felt that the young man had been impertinent, not only in his remarks, but in the way in which he had followed her about with his eyes throughout the interview. he was not a person of much consequence, however, and both father and daughter quickly dismissed him from their thoughts. and here, by way of explaining matters, we must mention that many years ago, when dora was quite a tiny child, it had been settled between her father and héderváry the palatine, that she should marry the latter's son paul. héderváry was master peter's oldest and closest friend, one to whom he was much attached; and dora, though no heiress, was a daughter of one of the proudest and noblest houses in hungary. the match was considered perfectly suitable, therefore, and the hédervárys were much attached to their "little daughter," as they constantly called her. paul himself admired and liked the bride chosen for him quite as much as was necessary, and it is needless to say that dora's father thought him extremely fortunate in having a girl so sweet, so clever, so well-educated, so good-looking, so altogether charming, for his wife. dora herself no one thought of consulting. as a good, dutiful daughter, she would, of course, accept without question the husband approved by her father; and there was no denying that paul was calculated to win any girl's admiration, for he was an imposing, gallant-looking personage, and accomplished withal. they would certainly make a handsome, even a striking pair. every time paul came to stay he found dora more attractive; and though he had never in any way alluded to his hopes, of which she was quite ignorant, he could not help feeling that she was the very bride he would choose, or rather, would have chosen for himself, but for one unfortunate defect--her small dowry! it was a very serious defect in his eyes, though his parents thought little of it, for he was ambitious. his great desire was to make a fine figure in the eyes of the world, to be admired, courted, looked up to; and though the hédervárys were wealthy, more wealth never comes amiss to those who wish to shine in society. was it any wonder therefore that paul should presently begin to reflect that dora's cousin jolánta would suit him better than herself? not that he liked her as well, for, though a pretty, gentle girl, she had not much character, and she was not nearly so clever and amusing; but she was an heiress, a considerable heiress, and paul was convinced that he liked her quite well enough to make her his wife. dora was now nearly eighteen, and very soon he would be expected to ask her father's consent to their marriage. to dora herself he would of course not say a word until he had her father's leave. he was in a most difficult position, poor fellow! he was fond of dora; and he was fond of his parents, who would be greatly vexed if he disappointed them in this matter. it was a serious thing to vex one's parents, especially when they had it in their power to disinherit one! his father was a generous, hot-tempered soldier; he would warmly resent any insult put upon his old friend's daughter; master peter might resent it too, though no word had yet passed between himself and his intended son-in-law. truly a difficult position! but for all that, he meant to please himself, if he could safely do so. paul was turning these things over in his mind, and was pitying himself and racking his brains to discover some way by which his parents might be induced to take a reasonable view of things, when it occurred to him that two heads were better than one. he was staying just now with the szirmays at their castle, where he was always made much of, and master stephen was constantly arranging hunting parties and other country amusements in his honour. somehow, he never quite knew how it was, he found himself, during a moment of leisure, near the room occupied by one of the pages; and just for the sake of talking to somebody he went in, and was received with obsequious delight by libor, who murmured his thanks for the great honour done him by the visit of so high and mighty a gentleman. the little room was of the plainest description, and not too light, but the unglazed windows were at least filled in with bladder-skin, and the bare walls were painted white; the furniture consisted of a small open stove of earthenware, a roughly-made, unpainted bedstead, a primitive wooden table, and two or three stools. it was bare enough for a monk's cell, and it was unceiled, open to the roof, which appeared to consist of old boards and lattice-work of a rough description. libor was attired in a pair of red trousers, rather the worse for wear, and fastened round his waist by a leather strap, a waistcoat of the same colour, and a coarse shirt with wide, hanging sleeves. he was wearing neither coat nor jacket, and he had a slender reed pen stuck behind his ear. there were writing materials and a book or two on the table, and the page was busy with his pen, when, to his immense surprise, there entered the haughty young noble, a tall handsome personage clad in a "dolmány" of bright blue woollen stuff which reached down to his ankles, and was not unlike a close-fitting dressing-gown. libor started to his feet, and bowed almost to the ground as he expressed his sense of the great man's condescension, while he wondered in his own mind to what it was due, and what was wanted of him--something, he felt pretty confident, and he was quite ready to serve such an one as paul, who would be sure to make it worth his while. but what could it be? after a little beating about the bush, and a little judicious flattery, which drew forth many humble thanks for his good opinion from libor, coupled with an expression of his hope that mr. héderváry would find that opinion justified if ever he should need his services, paul at once proceeded to business. some men would have been disgusted to see a fellow-man, bowing, bending, and cringeing before them, as libor was doing, but to paul it was merely natural, and it pleased him, as showing that the clerk had a proper respect for his "betters." "i am going to tell you something, clerk, which i have not told to another soul," began paul, and libor bowed again and felt as if he were on hot coals. "you have guessed, i daresay, that i don't come here merely to pay an ordinary visit?" libor said nothing, judging it more prudent not to mention any surmises if he had them. "well, the fact is that i am here this time by desire of my parents to ask the hand of master peter's daughter." libor smiled. "yes, libor, _deák_, but--well, i have the deepest respect for my parents, and i would not willingly cross their wishes, but for all that, i am of age, i am four-and-twenty, and such matters as this i should prefer to manage in my own way." "most natural, sir, i am sure," said libor, with another deep bow; "marriage is an affair which--which----" "which needs careful deliberation, you mean; just so! and the more i consider and weigh matters, the more i feel that it is master stephen's daughter jolánta who is the one for me." "a most charming young lady! and i quite understand mr. héderváry's choice; and, if i might hazard the remark, i would suggest, with all possible deference, that the fair mistress dora is not nearly as well provided for as mr. stephen's daughter; though her father has a quantity of gold and silver plate, his property is not large, and he cannot give her much." "say 'nothing,' libor, and you will be nearer the mark! i know it, and i am glad to see you don't try to hide anything from me. well, of course, property never comes amiss even to the wealthiest, and 'if the master provides dinner, it is well for the mistress to provide supper,' as they say. but i had rather take jolánta empty-handed than dora with all the wealth of the world. i like property, i don't deny it, who does not? but i don't care a straw for dora, and i do for jolánta." "ah, then of course that settles it! but suppose master peter should have suspected your intentions?" "there is just the rub! he is an old friend of my father's, and i should be sorry to hurt him; but i have made up my mind to ask for jolánta." "h-m, h-m," murmured the page thoughtfully. "rather an awkward state of things, sir." "of course it is! but look you here, libor, if you can help me out of it, i will make it worth your while. i know how modest and unselfish you are, but i shall be able to find you something, something which will set you up for life." libor's eyes sparkled. this was even more than he had looked for. but paul was growing rather impatient; this long interview with a person so far beneath him was distasteful to him, and he cut short the page's servile protestations of devotion and gratitude. what was to be done? that was the question. "first make sure of mistress jolánta herself, before anything was said to her father," suggested libor, "and then finish his visit and take his leave without proposing for either. visits were not always bound to end with a proposal, and master peter could not possibly be hurt therefore. as for mr. stephen, when the time should come to ask his consent, he would certainly not refuse such a son-in-law as the son of the palatine. mr. héderváry's parents"--libor hesitated a little--"they could not blame him if--suppose--disappointed they might be, but they could not blame him--if he were able to say that dora had another suitor, and one whom she preferred to himself, though master peter was not aware of the fact." "h-m!" said paul, "that would settle it, of course; but--there is none." "no, there is not," said the clerk thoughtfully, with one of his deferential laughs, "but--we might find or invent someone." "find someone! who is there?" "well, let us see--if--if we can invent no one else, there is myself!" "you!" cried paul, with evident and intense disgust, "you! but how? in what way?" and he broke into a laugh. "that is my affair, sir; and if you have confidence in me----" "hush! i hear footsteps. not another word now, i will contrive to see you again privately before i go from here. just one thing more. i wonder whether you would undertake to do me a small service without telling the mr. szirmays, and without leaving this house." "what am i to understand, sir?" asked the page, with marked attention. and paul explained that if he succeeded in arranging matters with mistress jolánta, he should want someone on whom he could depend, to keep him informed of all that went on in the house, in case, for instance, master stephen should be thinking of another match for his daughter, and--in fact, there might be many things which he ought to know; and then if he came again himself during the winter, he should want someone to see that he had comfortable quarters prepared for him on the road, and so on. libor was only too delighted to serve such a magnificent gentleman, a gentleman who was so open-handed and so condescending moreover, and the bargain was struck. paul handed the page a well filled purse, telling him to keep a fourth part of the contents for himself, and to use the remainder to cover any expenses to which he might be put in sending messengers, etc. "and look you here, libor, from to-day you are in my service, remember--one of my honourable pages; and if ever you should wish to try your fortune elsewhere, there will be a place ready for you in my establishment." libor bowed himself to the ground as he answered, "with heart and soul, sir." meantime the footsteps had drawn nearer, and a tap at the door put a stop to the conversation. "the gentlemen are waiting, sir," said the governor, or seneschal, of the castle, a dignified-looking man clad in a black gown, and wearing at his girdle a huge bunch of keys; for the governor of such a castle as that of the szirmays, was keeper, steward, seneschal, as well as captain of the men-at-arms. "in a moment," replied paul, and as soon as the old man's back was turned, he whispered hurriedly, "if anyone should happen to ask what i came to your room for, you can say that i wanted a letter written." paul stayed yet a few days longer, and was so well entertained with hunting, horse-races, foot-races, feats of arms, and banquets that he could hardly tear himself away from the cordial hospitality of his hosts. he and libor met but once again in private; but when he was gone libor held his head higher than he had ever done before. up to this time he had been the least well off of the pages, and had been deferential to his companions, but now all this was changed. to the szirmays, on the other hand, and especially to master peter, he was more deferential, more attentive, than ever before. weeks, months passed, and if master peter was somewhat surprised that his old friend's son had not yet declared himself, he was much too proud to show it. and he was far too proud also to show how much hurt he was when he presently learnt that paul was a suitor for the hand of his niece, and had been accepted by her father and herself. master peter was deeply hurt indeed, and he felt too that his brother had not behaved well to him, knowing, as he did, the arrangement between himself and his friend. stephen also felt guilty; and the end of it was, that, though the brothers were sincerely attached to one another, and though no word on the subject passed between them, both felt a sort of constraint. the old happy intercourse was impossible; and for this reason master peter came reluctantly to the conclusion that he should be wiser to set up a home of his own again, and leave his brother in possession of the family-dwelling. paul had had considerable trouble with his parents, however. they would not hear a word in depreciation of dora, and at the first insinuation of anything to her actual discredit, héderváry had flown into a rage, denounced it as idle, shameless gossip, and declared hotly that paul ought to be ashamed of himself for giving a moment's heed to such lying rumours. when paul went a step further and obstinately asserted his belief that dora was carrying on a secret flirtation with libor the page, the old warrior's fury was great, and he vowed that he would ride off instantly and tell his friend everything. yet, after all, he did nothing of the sort! (paul and libor perhaps could have told why.) so far from taking any step of the kind, he held his peace altogether, and finally acquiesced in his son's choice. he gave his consent, very unwillingly, it is true, but he gave it! master peter came to him on a visit not long after, and was so far from betraying any annoyance that he joked and congratulated his friend on having a rich daughter-in-law instead of a poor one, and was full of praise of jolánta, whom he declared to be a dear girl whom no one could help loving. if dora's father did not care, why should paul's? all difficulties in paul's way seemed to have been removed; but it would be necessary, as he reminded libor, to keep up the fiction of dora's attachment for some little time to come, or he would be found out, and his father's anger in that case would be something not easily appeased. it hurt his pride to employ the clerk in such a matter, and to have it supposed that a girl who might have married his honourable self could possibly look with favour upon such a young man as libor, but there seemed to be no help for it. he was already in libor's power. and libor was more than willing to play the part assigned to him. he had as keen an eye to the main chance as paul, and paul had not only been liberal in money for the present, but had held out brilliant hopes for the future. if he stayed on with master stephen, argued libor with himself, he would be called "clerk" all the days of his life, and end by marrying some little village girl. if, on the other hand, he obliged young héderváry, made himself necessary to him, and, above all, entered into a partnership with him of such a nature as héderváry would not on any account wish to have betrayed--why then he might kill two birds with one stone! he had already had a few acres of land promised him; if, in addition to this, he could obtain some gentlemanly situation such as that of keeper, or governor, or perhaps even marry a distant connection of the family, an active, sensible man such as himself might rise to almost anything! young héderváry might be to him a mine of wealth. this settled the matter, and no sooner had master peter left his brother's house than libor found reasons without end for going to see him. there were various articles to be sent after him in the first place; then there were settlements, arrangements to be made, letters or messages from jolánta to be carried; and libor was always ready and eager to be the messenger. the other pages had not a chance now, for he was always beforehand with them; so much so indeed that both they, the servants, and at last even master stephen, could not help noticing that, whereas formerly libor had been a stay-at-home, now he seemed never to be so well pleased as when he was on the move. master stephen wondered what he could want with his brother peter, and the young pages, and sometimes the servants, joked him and tried to find out what made him so ready to undertake these more or less adventurous journeys. libor said nothing, but looked volumes; and they noticed, too, that the old red trousers and waistcoat had quite disappeared, and that the page now thought much of his appearance and came out quite a dandy whenever he was going on his travels. master stephen held it beneath his dignity to joke with his inferiors, but jolánta had been more condescending to libor of late than she had ever been before; and naturally so, as he was in paul's confidence, and every now and then had news of him, or even a message from him to give her. it brought them nearer together, and, innocently enough, jolánta once asked him merrily what it was that made him like to go on such long-expeditions, when it would have been just as easy to send someone else. whereupon libor assumed such an expression of shamefaced modesty that jolánta, who had spoken in the merest jest, began to fancy that perhaps the page really had a reason, and might be courting one of dora's maids. that it could possibly be dora herself, never crossed her mind for a moment. but others saw matters in a different light. the servants had their gossip and their suspicions; the young pages jested, and looked on libor with eyes of envy; and libor, though careful not to commit himself, managed somehow to encourage the idea that he and dora were deeply attached to one another. of course, neither servants nor pages held their tongues, and soon people were whispering about dora szirmay in a way that would have horrified herself and all her family had they known it. but those chiefly concerned are the last to be reached by such rumours. whether in any shape they had reached paul's parents it is impossible to say; but, at all events, he had married jolánta with their consent, and libor had continued his visits to master peter whenever he could find or devise a pretext. on the occasion of his present visit, when he had been the bearer of the summons to the diet, "on his way to pest," he availed himself of master peter's suggestion that he should take a look round the place, to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the ins and outs of the court-yard, stables, and other out-buildings; for, as he reflected, such knowledge never came amiss, and one could never tell when it might be useful. he even noticed absently that one part of the outer wall had not been repaired. more than this, while prowling about in the dusk, he had accidentally fallen in, not for the first time, with dora's maid, borka, whose favour he had won long ago by a few pretty speeches, not unaccompanied by some more solid token of his goodwill. it was always well to have a friend at court. but just as he turned away from borka, he came face to face with talabor; and talabor actually had the impudence to cross-question him as to what he was about. he was not to be shaken off, moreover, and at last, apparently making a virtue of necessity, libor confessed that he had given the maid a note for mistress dora; but he begged and implored talabor not to betray him, for it would be the utter ruin of him if he did. of course he knew that it was most presumptuous that a poor young man like himself could ever aspire to the hand of a daughter of the szirmays; they both knew that their attachment was hopeless, but--well, they had spent several years under the same roof, and had had opportunities of meeting, and--could not mr. talabor understand? mr. talabor understood perfectly, inasmuch as his own admiration of miss dora had been growing ever since the first day he saw her. he had worshipped her as something far above him, as all that was good, upright, and honourable, and it was a shock to have it even suggested that she could condescend to underhand dealings with anyone. it was odd, too, if she really cared for libor, that she should have received and behaved to him as she had done, and though libor might protest that master peter had always shown him marked favour, talabor was of opinion that he shared his own dislike to the young man, and had shown it pretty plainly. "master peter ought to know what is going on," he said sturdily; but libor thereupon became frantic in his entreaties. he implored, he positively writhed in his anguish, not for himself, oh no! what did it matter about a poor, insignificant fellow like him? it might ruin all his prospects with the hédervárys, probably would, and he should not even be able to return to master stephen; he should be a vagabond, and beggar--but that was no matter of course compared with mistress dora! she would be ruined in the eyes of the world if it came abroad that she had stooped to care for such as he, and it was certain to get about if talabor betrayed them. whereas now no one but themselves and borka knew anything about it; and she was faithful, she would not open her lips, for he had made it worth her while to keep silence. "an odd sort of fidelity," it seemed to talabor; but he was not quite clear as to whether it were his business to interfere; and, if it were, to injure mistress dora---- libor saw his advantage and pressed it. he reminded talabor that master peter was hasty, and so incautious when his wrath was aroused that some one would be sure to hear of it; he would certainly tell his brother, master stephen would dismiss himself, and--well, the whole thing would come out. dora would be scorned by the world, and--besides, this was probably his last visit; he was going to a distance, and what was more, they had both realised that their attachment must be given up--it was hopeless. "if it can't be, it can't!" said libor, with a deep-drawn sigh. he threw himself upon talabor's mercy, and talabor promised. "but remember," said he, "it is only because speaking might do more harm than good, as you are not coming again, but if ever you do, and i catch you tampering with borka, i go straight to master peter." "if i come, and if you catch me, so you may!" said libor, with a sneer. "i understand all about it," he added to himself, as he turned away with the announcement that he was going to see moses _deák_, the governor. "i understand! you would give your eyes to be in my shoes, mr. talabor, or what you suppose to be mine! and why shouldn't they be? the ball has been set rolling, and the farther it rolls the bigger it will grow. borka will do her part with the servants, and they won't keep their mouths shut! so! my scornful little beauty, you are not likely to get many suitors whom master peter will favour, and who knows? next time we meet--next time we meet--we may both sing a different song." chapter iv. mistake the first. father roger was gone, and libor the clerk was gone, but dora and her father were not long left alone. more acquaintances than usual found it convenient to take the mountain castle "on the way to pest," or elsewhere. but what was more remarkable than this sudden influx of guests was the fact that so many of them made polite inquiry after libor the clerk, "keeper," or "governor," as they began to call him. "what on earth is the matter with the folk!" said master peter more than once. "what makes them so interested all at once in that raw, long-eared, ink-stained youth! they ask questions and seem to expect me to know as much about him as if he and i were twin-brethren!" "i can't think!" returned dora with a merry laugh, which might have re-assured talabor had he heard it. "it is very odd, but they ask me too, and really i quite forgot the good man's existence from one time to another." "well," said master peter, "i suppose one ought not to dislike a man without cause, and i have nothing positively against the jackanapes, but i don't trust him, for all his deferential ways, and i fancy that when once he "gets hold of the cucumber-tree" we shall see a change in him. your uncle has been kind to him, but not because he liked him, i know! i'll tell you what it must be! he has been boasting, and exaggerating what we have done for him," master peter went on in his simplicity, "making himself out a favourite, and counting up the number of visits he has paid us here, until he has made people think we have adopted him, and they will be taking him for my son and heir next, faugh! ha! ha! a pushing young man! i never could think why he wanted to be coming here, but no doubt it gave him importance, and very likely paul thought we had special confidence in him, otherwise i don't see what made him give such an appointment to a youth of his age. that must be it!" and yet, while he said the words, peter had a vague feeling that there was something behind which he could neither define nor fathom. delighted as he was to welcome guests, he had not enjoyed their society of late so much as was usual with him. sometimes he told himself that it was all fancy, and then at another he would be annoyed by a something not quite to his taste in their manner to dora, while the frequent reference to libor was so irritating that he had more than once almost lost his temper, and he had actually told some inquiries with haughty dignity that if they wanted to know what the young man was doing they had better ask the servants. this had had the desired effect; so far, at least, that master peter was not troubled again; but people talked all the same, and even more than before, for his evident annoyance and the proud way in which he had repelled them made the busy-bodies put two and two together and conclude that he really had some secret trouble which he wanted to hide from the world. and so, by way of helping him, they naturally confided their suspicions one to the other, and to their friends. gossip about people of such importance as the szirmays naturally had a peculiar zest, and the fact that dora was first cousin to jolánta, one of the queen's favourite attendants and wife of paul héderváry, of course gave it additional flavour. maids who came with their mistresses questioned borka, who answered them as she had been instructed to do, with earnest injunctions as to secrecy. talabor, being sent out with a message to master stephen, heard similar gossip from the pages of his household, gossip which distressed him greatly, though he vowed that he did not believe a word of it. he could not get it out of his head during his lonely ride home, but as he thought over all that he had heard, it suddenly struck him that, supposing it to be true, borka was not as "faithful" as libor fancied. the story must have come abroad through her, unless--an idea suddenly flashed across his mind--libor might have trumped the whole thing up by way of increasing his own importance. but then he had actually caught him with borka! talabor resolved to have a word with miss borka at the first opportunity. in due time master peter set out for pest, and thither we must now follow him. oktai, the great khan, found himself on the death of dschingis at the head of a million and a half of fighting men, and at once determined to carry out his father's plans of conquest by sending his nephew batu westward to attack the peaceful kunok, the "black kunok," as the chronicles call them, who dwelt between the volga and dnieper in great or black cumania. twice the mongols had been beaten back, but in the end numbers had prevailed, and to save what remained of this people, their king had led them into moldavia, then occupied in part by the little, or white kunok. meanwhile, alarming rumours of what had occurred had reached hungary, but were credited by few, and as to being themselves in any real, still less immediate danger, that the hungarians would not bring themselves to believe. their king, béla (albert) took a very different view of the situation. one of the most energetic kings hungary had ever had, and brave in meeting every difficulty, though he did not fear danger, he did not despise it, and while the great nobles spent their time in amusing themselves, he was following with the most careful attention all that was going on among his neighbours. he was kept well informed, and nothing of that which oktai was doing escaped him. he knew how russia had been conquered, how the kunok had been hunted, and how the countless mongol hordes were gaining ground day by day. he knew, but he could not make others see with his eyes. more than once he appealed to the great nobles, urging them to make ready, while he himself strove gradually to raise troops and take measures for the defence of the kingdom. but it was all in vain; they heard, but they heeded not. and then one day they were quite surprised, when, after many perils and dangers, kuthen's messengers appeared in buda, having come, as they said, from the forests of moldavia. they were no brilliant train, but men who had fought and suffered, and endured many hardships; and they had come, as libor told master peter, to ask for an asylum. hungary was but thinly populated at this time, and the king was always glad to welcome useful immigrants. knowing which, they asked him confidently, in their own king's name, to say where they might settle, promising on his part that he and his people would be ever faithful subjects, and more than this, that they would all become christians. béla felt that he must make up his mind at once. he could not send the messengers away without a decided answer; he thought the kuns would be valuable, especially just now, as they were men who knew what war was, and could fight well. but in bidding them welcome to hungary without consulting the diet, béla made a mistake--a pardonable mistake, perhaps, for he knew as well as anybody that diets were sometimes stormy affairs, and not without dangerous consequences; and he knew too that the majority of those who would assemble either did not know of the peril which was so close at hand, or were so obstinate in their apathy that they did not wish to know of it; nevertheless it was a mistake. as for kuthen, he had two alternatives before him. either he might submit to oktai and join him in his career of conquest; or, he might offer his services and faithful devotion to a king who was well known to be both wise, chivalrous, and honourable. kuthen made the better choice; but if his offer were refused, or if béla did not make speed to help him, why, then, it was plain that the country would be inundated by , fighting men. the king could not wait, and kuthen's messengers were at once sent back to moldavia, laden with presents, and bearing the welcome news that king béla was willing to receive the black kunok on the terms offered. the white kunok of moldavia already acknowledged the hungarian king as their sovereign. kuthen lost no time in setting out with his people, and béla, in the warmth of his heart, determined to give him a magnificent reception. he would receive him as a king should be received, whose power and dominions had been till lately at least equal to his own; he would receive him as if he were one of his most powerful neighbours; he would receive him as a brother. béla cared little for pomp and show on his own account, and the splendour of his train on this occasion was all the more striking. never had such a sight been seen in hungary before as when, one morning in early summer, the king rode out to the wide plain where he was to receive his guests. before him went sixty men on horseback, clad in scarlet, all ablaze with gold and silver, wearing caps of bearskin or wolfskin, and producing wild and wonderful music from trumpets, pipes, and copper drums. after them came the king in a purple mantle over a long white "dolmány," which sparkled with precious stones and was covered in front by a silver breast-plate. right and left of him rode a bishop in full canonicals and bearing each his crozier. these were followed by some two hundred of the more prominent nobles, among whom were paul héderváry, master peter, and his brother stephen, and the latter's son akos, who, as already mentioned, was attached to the king's household. the rear was brought up by soldiers armed with bows, all mounted like the rest. truly it was an imposing spectacle, as master peter admitted when he afterwards described it to dora; but it afforded him little satisfaction. no sooner was the army of bowmen drawn up in order than the war-song of the advancing kunok was to be heard. on they came, kuthen and all his family on horseback, his retinue, and his army which followed him at a respectful distance, part mounted, part on foot, and behind these again a long thick cloud of dust. the pilgrims did not present a grand appearance. they looked as those look who have come through many toils and dangers; but the king was not without a certain pathetic dignity of his own, in spite of his somewhat mongolian features, slanting eyes, low, retreating forehead, and long beard, already slightly touched with grey. he looked like a man who had suffered, was suffering rather, and who could not forget his old home, with its boundless plains, its vast flocks and herds, and its free open-air life; but he looked also like a man who knew what it was to be strong and powerful. kuthen's followers came to a halt, while he and his family rode forward, preceded by a horseman, not far short of a hundred years old, who carried a double cross in token of the submission of his people both to christianity and to the sovereignty of the hungarian king. the king and queen, their two sons, and two daughters, all wore loose garments of white woollen, fastened round the waist by unpolished belts of some sort of metal; and on their heads were pointed fur caps, such as are still worn by the persians. the king and his sons had heavy swords of a peculiar shape, while the queen and princesses carried feather fans decorated with countless rows of red beads and bits of metal. what trust kuthen felt in king béla was shown by the fact that his bodyguard numbered no more than two or three hundred men armed for the most part with spears. master peter had much to tell when he returned home of the beautiful horses covered with the skins of wild beasts, on which kuthen and his family were mounted, and which naturally excited the admiration of such horse-lovers as the hungarians; also he told of the band of singers who preceded the chiefs, and marked the pauses between their songs by wild cries and the beating of long narrow drums; of the servants, women, and children, who journeyed in the rear of the army, those of the latter too small to walk being carried in fur skins slung on their mothers' backs; and of the immense flocks and herds reaching far away into the distance, whose herdmen, mounted on small, rough horses, drove their charges forward with long whips and the wildest of shouts. he told her, too, how king béla had galloped forward to welcome his guest with outstretched hand, and had made the most gracious and friendly of speeches. "much too gracious!" grunted peter with a shrug of his shoulders. "all very fine, but the country will have to pay for it!" "oh, yes, and when all sorts of compliments had been exchanged (through the interpreters of course, for they can't speak decent hungarian) then up came the baggage-horses, and the tents were pitched in a twinkling side by side. they sprang up like mushrooms, and before long there was a regular camp, such a camp as you never saw!" béla's tent was of bright colours without, and sparkled with silver and gold within; but kuthen's, which was larger (for it accommodated his whole family), was meant not for show, but for use, and to be a defence against wind and rain, and was composed of wild-beast skins. there was a banquet in the royal tent in the evening, and the haughty hungarian nobles saw, to their astonishment and relief, that, though their dress was simple, not very different in fact from that in which they had travelled, the king and queen and their family actually knew how to behave with the dignity befitting their exalted rank. the kunok performed one of their war dances in front of the tent while dinner was going on; and at the close of the entertainment, béla presented kuthen, his family, and the principal chiefs, with such gifts as betokened the generous hospitality of the hungarian and the lavish munificence of the king. but master peter, though at other times he could be as lavish and generous as anyone, was not over well pleased to see this "extravagance," as he considered it; and his feelings were shared not only by his brother and nephew, but by many another in the king's retinue. "no good will come of it," muttered they to themselves. and the kun chiefs, "barbarians" though they were in the eyes of the hungarian nobles, were, some of them at least, shrewd enough to notice their want of cordiality, and sensitive enough to be hurt by their proud bearing and the brilliant display they made. * * * * * the whole camp was early afoot, and the two bishops in their vestments, attended by many of the lower clergy in white robes, appeared before the royal tents, in one of which stood béla and his courtiers all fully accoutred, with helmets on their heads and richly ornamented swords at their sides, while in the other were assembled kuthen and his family, bare-headed and unarmed. béla's own body-guard, mounted and carrying their lances, battle-axes, clubs, and swords, were stationed on each side of the royal tents, while their officers rode up and down, or stopped now and again to exchange a few words with one another in a low tone. a number of kunok, bare-headed and unarmed like their sovereign, stood round in a semicircle. far away in the distance might be heard every now and then the deep-mouthed bay of the great sheep-dogs, and the shrill neigh of the horses, but otherwise there seemed to be a hush over all. presently, a camp-table was brought forward covered with a white cloth and having a silver crucifix in the midst, with golden vessels on each side, and then, all being ready, a solemn mass was said by one of the bishops, interspersed with singing and chanting, by the choir, all of which evidently impressed the kunok, who had never seen the like, or anything at all resembling it, before. by the expression of their wild faces it was plain to see that while utterly surprised, and, in spite of themselves, awed and subdued, some were doubtful, some more or less rebellious, and many full of wonder as to what it all meant and whether it portended good or evil. but there was yet more to follow. the service over, two of the younger white-robed clergy took up a large silver basin, another pair carried silver ewers, while the remainder, with lighted torches, formed up in two lines and all followed the bishops to kuthen's tent, in front of which he, his family and retinue, were now standing with king béla beside them. if the kunok had looked doubtful and uneasy before, they looked yet more disturbed now by the mysterious ceremony which followed. it was all utterly unintelligible to them; they heard words in a strange tongue uttered over their king and queen, over the princes and princesses, and they saw water poured upon the faces of each in turn, and no doubt concluded that they were witnessing some magic rite, which might have the effect of bringing their sovereign completely under the influence of the hungarians. and not only the royal family, but their attendants, the chiefs, and last of all themselves had to submit to the same ceremony, without having the least conception of what the faith was into which they had been thus hastily baptized. the main body of the kunok arrived a few weeks later, and they, too, were baptized in batches, with an equal absence of all instruction and preparation, and in equal ignorance of what was being done for them. that was the way in which the heathen were "converted" in too many instances in bygone times. is it wonderful that they remained pagans at heart, or that traces of pagan superstition are to be found in christian lands even to the present day? well, the kunok were now "christians," and within a few months settlements were allotted to them in those thinly populated districts which the king was desirous of seeing occupied by inhabitants of kin to his own people. meanwhile, kuthen and his train had reached pest, and he had made his entry with much pomp and state, béla being determined that his guest should be received with all respect. the two kings therefore rode side by side, wearing their crowns and long flowing mantles, and the narrow, crooked streets were thronged with people, all curious to see, if not animated by any very friendly feeling towards the new arrivals. some of the more prominent chiefs béla determined to keep about himself that he might win their confidence and attachment by kindness. but kuthen and his family were conducted at once to master peter's old mansion near the danube, béla promising that he would have a proper residence built for them as soon as he could find a site. peter's house was of an original description, and consisted, in fact, of six moderate-sized houses, connected one with the other by doors and passages added by his father; but it had at least been made habitable and provided with present necessaries, and afforded better shelter, as well as more peace, than their tents, and the caves and woods of moldavia, where they had dwelt in perpetual fear of their enemies. all this master peter duly reported to dora, with comments of his own, and many a shake of the head, and still her curiosity was not satisfied. "what more did she want? he had emptied his wallet so far as he knew." "you have hardly said a word about the queen and the princesses," returned dora. whereupon master peter gave a short laugh. "h-m! you had better ask your cousin akos what he thinks of them the next time you see him," said he. "why, does he see much of them? i thought he was as much against their coming as you were." "so he was! so he was! as strongly as any one! but--well, you know a page must go where he is sent, and his majesty seems to want a good many messages taken. at all events, akos is often with the kun folk, and what is more, one never hears a word against them from him now! bright eyes, dora, bright eyes! and a deal of mischief they do." "but can akos understand them?" "it seems so; he has picked the language up pretty quickly, hasn't he? it is all jargon to me, but then i have not had his practice! father roger says their tongue is something like our magyar, a sort of uncouth relation, but i don't see the likeness myself." "and the princesses are really pretty?" dora asked again. "prettier than their parents by a good deal! yes, they are pretty girls enough, i suppose," said peter grudgingly, "some people admire them much, particularly the younger one, mária, as she is now. she used to be marána, but that's the name they gave her at her baptism, and the other they called erzsébet (elizabeth). the king and queen and their sons all have magyar names now. but they will bring no good to the country," master peter added, after a pause, "no good, that i am sure of! why, there have been quarrels already where they have settled them. everybody hates the sight of them and their felt tents, and the king has had to divide them. what have they been doing? why, plundering their neighbours to be sure, as anyone might have known they would. mere barbarians, that's what they are, and we shall have a pretty piece of work with them before we have done." "and jolánta, you saw her?" dora interposed, by way of diverting her father's attention from a topic which invariably excited him. "yes, i saw jolánta," was the answer, given with such a grave shake of the head that dora asked whether there were anything amiss with her. "amiss? h-m! dora, my girl," said master peter, laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder, "i am glad that _you_ did not marry him!" "i?" laughed dora, "why should i?" "ah, you have forgotten how they used to call you 'paul's little wife,' when you were only a baby, and you did not know, of course, that your old father was fool enough to be disappointed when he chose your cousin instead." "but isn't he kind to her? isn't she happy?" inquired dora. "that is a question i did not ask, child, so i can't say. but she is just a shadow of what she was." "selfish scoundrel!" burst forth master peter the next moment, unable to keep down his indignation, which was not solely on jolánta's account. he had heard a good deal in pest. honest friends had not been wanting to tell him of the reports about his daughter, and his pride had been deeply wounded by the half pitying tone in which some of his acquaintances had inquired for her, as also by the fact that the queen had _not_ asked for her, though she was on quite intimate terms with jolánta, and in the natural course of things would have wished to see dora also at court. peter had longed to "have it out" with somebody, and make all who had repeated gossip about his dora eat their own words. but for once he was prudent, and bethought himself in time that some matters are not bettered by being talked about. if he blurted out his wrath there would be those who would say that "there must be something in it, or he would not fly into such a rage," as he knew he should do, if once he let himself go. besides, although he had convinced himself that paul was at the bottom of all the gossip, and was burning to go and take him by the throat and make him own it on his knees, yet, after all, where was the use of making a charge which he could not actually prove? accordingly, master peter held his tongue, but he determined that nothing should induce him to take dora to pest while there was any risk of her being slighted and made uncomfortable. if he could have looked forward only a few months perhaps he would have recognised that slights were not the worst evils to be encountered in the world. "selfish scoundrel!" he repeated vehemently, "from what i hear, he has been driving the poor girl about from morning till night, and from night till morning! paul héderváry's wife must be seen everywhere, at all the court functions, all the entertainments in pest, and even in the country there is no rest for her, but she must be dragged to hunting parties, which you know she never cared for. she never had much spirit you know, poor jolánta! and now she is like a shadow, all the flesh worn off her bones! could you fancy jolánta killing a bear?" "a bear! why, she was terrified whenever there were bears about!" "ay, but of course paul's wife must be something to be proud of, something unlike the rest of the world, an amazon! well, he made her go out bear-hunting, for i'll never believe she went of her own free will; she killed a bear, they say, with her own hand, looked on more likely, while he did it! but any way, there's the skin, and it's called 'jolánta's bear,' and she had a swoon or a fit or something after, and has never been herself since, so i was told. she sent you a number of messages, poor girl, and wished you were coming back with me to pest." "poor jolánta," murmured dora, "i should like to see her, but not in pest." "ah! and you remember that young jackanapes, libor?" said master peter. "paul héderváry's governor? oh, yes, isn't he gone to his castle yet?" "not he! he is 'climbing the cucumber-tree' as fast as he can! i can't think what made paul take him up; can't do without him now it seems, looks to him for everything, and has him constantly at his elbow; and yet there is not a prouder man 'on the back of this earth' than paul." "but the mongols, father?" asked dora, who cared little for paul and less for his governor, but who could not shake off the impression made upon her by father roger. "my dear child, they have been coming for years! and if they come at last it will be thanks to the kunok. but they will go back quicker than they came, you may be sure, so don't you trouble your little head about them!" master peter spoke with the confidence he felt; and when he returned to pest, where his presence was required by the king, he returned alone, a circumstance which set the gossips' tongues wagging anew, for surely he must have some strong reason for not bringing dora with him. his stay was likely to be a long one this time, and he had never been away from her hitherto for more than a few days together. chapter v. as the king wills. kuthen had no idea that he should occupy master peter's town-house for long, nor indeed had he any wish to do so; but still he had done his best to make it home-like. it was he who, as father of the family, had apportioned to each of the household his place and duties. to the serving men was assigned a large hall, with the greater part of the roof taken off that they might not miss the airiness of their tents, and with the wooden flooring replaced by stone slabs, that they might keep a fire burning without danger. here they lived, and cooked, and slept, sharing their beds--rough skins spread upon the floor--with their faithful companions, the large dogs brought with them from the steppes. the king's own apartments, with their reed mats, coarse, gaudy carpets, bladder-skin windows, and rough furniture, were not altogether comfortless or tasteless, for king béla had presented the royal family with sundry articles of a better description, and some of the bishops had followed his example. as for the exterior of the house, kuthen had introduced a few changes there also. leaving a good space all round, he had had the whole block of buildings enclosed by strong, thick walls; and as he had employed a large number of workmen and paid well, the fortifications were ready in a few weeks. they were further strengthened by the digging of a broad moat, whose drawbridge led to the gateway which formed the sole entrance. kuthen had many visitors, among whom akos szirmay was certainly the most frequent; but king béla also came from time to time, besides often inviting the whole family to the palace. some of the nobles also came--because the king did. akos was a sympathetic listener, and kuthen, who had taken a great liking to him, enjoyed telling him his adventures and experiences. but it was quite evident to all that akos was drawn to the house by someone more attractive than kuthen, and also that marána, or, as she must now be called mária, was well aware of the impression she had made, and was by no means displeased. the whole family were out riding one day, a few months after their arrival. this was the recreation which they loved best, and akos, as usual, was in attendance upon mária. the two were somewhat in advance of the rest of the party, sufficiently so to be out of hearing, when akos presently asked his companion whether she were beginning to be accustomed to her new home, and whether she thought she could ever learn to forget the steppes and magic woods of her native land. "could anyone in the world forget his own home, do you think?" she answered simply, and then added, "oh, it is all so different! you live in stone houses, which you can't move about. one might almost as well be in prison. and the walls are so thick that one can't hear anything of what is going on outside, or even in the next room; but when we lived in our open tents, far away from here, i knew in a moment who was in trouble, and who was laughing for joy. and then our family is one; what pains one, grieves the rest, and all share one another's joys and sorrows, fears and wishes." "and isn't it so here?" said akos; "and if we have towns and castles, don't we live much in the open air too? have we no family-life, and are we not all united in our love for our country?" "i don't know; maybe it is so, but i am a stranger here, and one thing strikes me--there is no unity among you! your proud, overbearing nobles despise the people, and the people look on them with fear and envy. you are of one race, one family--at least you magyars are, and yet there are hardly any true friends among you, or any who are ready to make great sacrifices for their country." "you don't know us," returned akos quickly, though he knew how much truth there was in what the girl said. "you judge from what you see around you; here in the capital there is so much gaiety, and everyone wants to be first; but it is not so in our mountains and valleys, and on the great plains. there we know what it is to love and sympathise with one another, and to be of one mind; and we are not bad neighbours. there are several different races dwelling in our beautiful land, and they all live at peace one with the other." "well, i don't know, but--i am afraid! i don't understand books, but i do understand faces, and there is no need for people to open their lips--i might not understand them if they did--but they speak plainly enough to me without uttering a word. _you don't love us!_ oh! that we had stayed among the mountains, in the cool caves, or in our tents, not knowing what the morning might bring us, but with our own people all about us, ready at a word for anything! there was a sort of pleasure even in living in a state of fear, always on our guard, listening to the very rustling of the leaves. ah! how can i make you understand?" mária's thoughts went back to the old times, and she saw herself once again living the old tent life in the forest shades. perhaps her companion's thought for a moment followed hers, and he tried to picture himself as also living in those far-off regions, sharing a tent with the sweet-looking girl at his side. something he said to her in a low tone, to which she answered with a smile, "oh, you, akos, that is different! if they were all like you, one might perhaps forget all but the things which are never to be forgotten, and the graves of our ancestors. but you, don't you know that it annoys your friends and relations to see you liking to spend so much time with us?" "why should my friends and relations mind? my rivals, perhaps yes!" "there are no rivals!" "none? not a single one?" "not one, akos, for you are good; you honour my poor father in his misfortune, you honour my mother; and my brothers and erzsébet are fond of you. how should you have any rival?" "marána!" said akos gently; and when the girl turned to look at him, he saw that, though she was smiling, her eyes had filled with tears at the sound of her old name, coming from his lips. it was an evening in autumn, and king kuthen and all his family were gathered together in their largest apartment, where a fire was burning on the hearth, and the table was spread for their evening meal. all looked grave; and indeed, since the time of his first arrival in pest, in spite of all the festivities, and in spite of béla's unfeigned kindness, kuthen had always looked like a man who had something on his mind, something which oppressed him, and which refused to be shaken off. as chief of an untamed, lawless people, far surpassing his followers in sense and understanding, he was the first to see that the polite attentions shown him by others than the king and his family, were all more or less forced. all was not gold that glittered, and his pride was wounded by the sort of condescension he met with from the magyar nobles, when he remembered that not so long ago he had ruled a kingdom larger than the whole of hungary. something, perhaps, was due to the change in his mode of life, something to the fact that he did not feel at ease when he took part in the court ceremonials and festivities, that he felt as if he were caged, and sighed for the freedom of the mountains and steppes. however it was, kuthen had become quite grey during the comparatively short time he had spent in hungary, and was already showing signs of age. his family did not fully share his anxieties, for they were not as far-sighted as he; but the queen and her sons and daughters were shrewd enough to see that their visitors were not all as sincere as they seemed, or wished to seem; though they ascribed this chiefly to the fact that they themselves were foreigners; and, as both sons and daughters were well-looking, and the latter something more, they had little reason to complain of any want of attention or courtesy. just now the king was seated at table, with the queen and his daughters on his right hand, and his sons on his left. they were all at supper; but it was evident that kuthen ate rather from habit than because he had any appetite. as we have said, the dwelling was surrounded by a wide moat, and the only entrance was by the drawbridge. whenever anyone wanted to come in, the kunok sentinel posted at the bridge-head always blew a short blast on his horn, and this evening, just as supper was coming to an end, the horn was heard. whereupon the king made a sign to one of the many servants to go and see who was there, for he kept strict order in his household, and never allowed the drawbridge to be lowered, or anyone to be admitted without his permission. on this occasion, however, it seemed that his permission was not waited for, as only a few moments passed before akos szirmay walked into the room, and was received with evident pleasure by the king and all his family. it was clear enough that marána's parents quite understood the state of affairs, and already looked on the young man as one of the family; for, with the exception of king béla, he was the only person ever admitted without question, on his merely giving the password. akos came in hurriedly, his face flushed, and with something in his manner which showed plainly that he had not come on a mere ordinary visit. kuthen welcomed the young man with a smile, but quickly relapsed into gravity, and akos himself, when he had taken the seat placed for him, next to mária, glanced at the servants and held his peace. "what is it, akos?" kuthen asked after a short pause, during which his visitor's manifest embarrassment had not escaped him. "i would rather speak when there are fewer to hear me, your highness," answered akos. all eyes were at once turned upon him, for the rising feeling against the kunok was well known; and as the people of pest had noticed, kuthen had lately doubled the guards round his house. whatever the news akos had brought, they at once concluded that it must be something unpleasant. "if there is any hurry," said kuthen, who had regained his composure as soon as he scented danger, "let us go into the next room." "no need for that, your highness," returned akos, also recovering himself. "in fact, if you will allow me, i will share your supper. there is no need for immediate action, but we must be prepared," he added in a low tone. "ah," sighed the queen, "our soothsayers had good reason to warn us against coming here! we are in a state of constant unrest, and i am weary of it. for my part, i can't think why we did not leave this gilded prison long ago, and join our people in their new settlements, where we should at least be among those who love and honour us." "you are right there, wife, and you all know it is what i have long wished," said kuthen. "where is the good of being called 'king,' when one has no kingdom? my people are being ruled by foreigners, and, though i sit at the king's council, nothing that i say has any weight. no, what i want is to be the father of my large family again, as i used to be, until i go and join my ancestors. no, i will stay here no longer! the king has always been kind to us, and i will open his eyes to what is going on unknown to him." but here a sign from akos made the king hold his peace, and the subject was dropped for the present. it was not kuthen's way to betray anything like fear; and now when, to his imagination at least, the storm was already beginning to blow about his ears, he would not on any account that the servants should have so much as an inkling of that which filled his own mind. he remained at table exactly as long as usual, and, when they all rose, he repeated as usual the lord's prayer, the only one he had learnt. he recited it in latin, in an uncouth accent, and with sundry mistakes, but he said it calmly and collectedly as usual, and the rest followed his example. then, passing between a double row of servants, he led the way through an adjoining room to the spacious hall in which he and his family usually passed their evenings and received their guests. the queen and her daughters took up some sort of needle-work, and kuthen signed to his sons to bring him one of the many dog-wood bows which hung on the wall. this he proceeded with their help to fit with a string stout enough to deserve the name of rope, for it was as big round as an ordinary finger. the making of these unusually long and powerful bows, the chief weapon of the kunok, and the sharpening and feathering of the arrows, was the king's favourite occupation, and one in which he displayed no little skill. the string also was of home manufacture, and, as the work went on, the young men moistened it from time to time with water. many a time akos had joined them in their evening work, but to-night, as they sat round the blazing fire, his hands were idle. "akos, my son, we are alone now," began kuthen composedly, "speak out, and keep back nothing. you need not be afraid, for this grey head of mine has weathered many a storm before now." "your highness--father! if i may call you so"--said akos, giving his hand to mária, "there is a storm coming without doubt, for the wind is blowing from two quarters at once, and we are caught between the two." "i don't understand," said kuthen, twanging the bowstring, while one son took a second bow down from the wall, and the other got a fresh string ready. "you will directly, sir; the mongols are coming nearer and nearer, burning and destroying everything before them--that's the last news!" "haven't i told the king a hundred times how it would be?" "you have, and he knows! but there are certain persons who seem to be expecting miracles; and meantime, to excuse themselves for sitting still, they have been whispering suspicions of other people. a few hours ago they went to the king and told him plainly what was in their minds." "suspicions! whom do they suspect?" "_you_, your highness! you and your people." "shame!" cried kuthen, starting from his seat, and looking akos straight in the face. at that moment kuthen was every inch a king, and it was easy to understand how, though he had lost his kingdom, lost his crown, nevertheless his word had been enough to induce , families to follow him to a new home. "and why do they suspect me?" he asked with angry resentment. "why?" repeated akos, who had also risen to his feet, and now stood erect facing the king, "because there is not a creature in this world so strong as to be able to stand up against panic!" "is that the way you speak of your nation? and you a magyar!" said kuthen. "my nation!" shouted akos, all aflame in a moment. "i should like to hear anyone dare to speak ill of my nation! no! but father, you who own such vast flocks and herds, you know that in every fold there are sure to be a few sickly sheep; and if they are scared, no matter by what, and make a rush, you know what happens, the rest of the flock follow them; not that they are frightened themselves, but because they see the others running. a dog, or the crack of a whip is enough." "and pray, what are these sick sheep bleating about to the king?" "well, to be plain, they say that the kunok are nothing but oktai's vanguard. that you have come in the guise of guests to spy out the land for those who sent you--for the tartars!" "what! i prepare the way for the robbers, who have driven us from the graves of our ancestors! who have slain our people by the thousand and made miserable slaves of others! we in league with the tartars, our hateful foes! it is a cowardly lie! the king is too noble-hearted ever to believe such a thing! it is the talk of madmen!" "and the king does not believe it; quite the contrary, for he spoke warmly in defence of you and----" "ah! that is like himself," interposed kuthen. "yes; but, my good king, you have many enemies, and they have taken it into their stupid heads that, as i said before, the kunok are the forerunners of the tartars. they are saying, shouting, that half the danger would be done away if we had not enemies in our midst, who would turn upon us at the first signal from the mongols." "that is what is said by magyars? that those whom they have received as guests, with whom they have shared their bread and their wine, will betray them! have i spent my days among lions and tigers, that anyone dares to say such a thing of kuthen? oh! the cowards! let batu khan come, and the king shall soon see what our arrows will do." "i believe you!" said akos warmly, "and so does the king, but he cannot do all that he would, and so it is for your own safety's sake, in your own interest, as he said, and to prevent greater danger--he is going to station a guard outside." "put me and my family under guard! imprison me! in return for my trust, and because i have brought hither through countless dangers, , families to do and die for the king, and the nation who have received me----" kuthen broke off suddenly here to bid his sons go and see to the horses. late as it was, he and they would go at once to the king, unarmed, and unprotected, to learn how much a sovereign's word was worth. in a few moments they were all three on horseback, and in court dress, for kuthen had already adopted the hungarian usage in this respect, as he had also learnt the language, and done all else he could to accommodate himself to the manners and customs of his new home, by way of making himself more acceptable to his hosts. but no sooner was the drawbridge lowered than kuthen saw himself face to face with a party of hungarian soldiers on horseback, under the command of one of his most bitter enemies, jonas agha, who told the king, in curt and not the most respectful terms, that he could not be allowed to leave his dwelling. "then i am a prisoner! and without so much as a hearing!" exclaimed kuthen. "be it so then. i am the king's guest, and my friend will explain things to me. back now, my sons! let us set an example of submission!" as he uttered the words, he found akos at his side, akos, who, though he had heard from one of the courtiers that such an order was in contemplation, had never suspected that it was already an accomplished fact. and indeed, knowing that both the king and queen, as well as duke kálmán, the king's brother, were doing all in their power to defeat the intentions of the hostile party, he suspected that the present action had been taken by some over-zealous official in a subordinate position, and he now hastened forward to set right any misunderstanding. "what is the meaning of this?" he asked, standing erect in his stirrups and looking like a statue. "the king's orders," replied agha haughtily. akos was about to make some fiery reply, but kuthen interrupted him, saying quietly, "let it be as the king wills!" and with that he turned his horse's head from the gate. chapter vi. mistake the second. the day had closed gloomily, ominously, for the refugees; and to understand how it was that a king so chivalrous as béla could consent to make a prisoner of his guest, we must go back and see what had taken place a few hours earlier. béla, as already said, was fully alive to the danger which threatened his land and people, and at the first news of the advance of the mongols, he had sent héderváry the palatine to block all the roads and passes between transylvania and wallachia, and make full arrangements for their defence. but even this prudent step was not approved by every one. the wiseacres, and the sort of people who always see farther than their fellows, attributed the king's orders to fear, and said so too, openly and unreservedly. there were others who simply refused to believe any alarming reports, alleging that they were all got up by the bishops and chief clergy, that they might have an excuse for staying at home at ease, instead of attending the pope's council in rome. others accused the king, the kunok, and other foreign guests who had lately arrived at the court of pest. some of these, the most timorous, actually wanted to force the king to send an embassy to the great khan, offering him an annual tribute and other shameful conditions. béla was a courageous man, and a true magyar and king in the best sense of the words. he was calm, brave, and energetic. he saw through the cowards and despised their accusations; for it is the poltroon who is ever the first to accuse others of cowardice, and there is, moreover, one thing which he can never pardon--the being discovered trembling by men braver than himself. king béla paid no heed to the wagging of these many tongues, and himself went all round the eastern frontiers of the kingdom, to see personally to the defences. his plans were well considered and well adapted to the object in view. they failed in one point only, but that a fatal one--they were never carried out! on the king's return to pest, he found the capital given up to festivity. nearly every noble in the place must be giving entertainments. if there was a banquet at one house to-day, there was one at another to-morrow. there was no trace of any preparations for war or defence, though there was plenty of nervous alarm. shortly after his arrival, the king called a council, and the heads of church and state met in a spacious hall often used for court balls and assemblies, now presenting a very different appearance, and with its walls draped in sober green cloth. the king was seated in a canopied armchair raised above the rest, and he wore a white silk mantle, with a clasp something like the ancient roman fibula, but set with precious stones. on his head was a crown, simple but brilliant, in his hand he held a golden war-club, and from the plain leather belt which confined his white dolmány at the waist, there hung a long, straight sword, with a hilt in the form of a large cross. the council consisted of about sixty members, some wearing their ecclesiastical vestments, and others the long hungarian dolmány. of all those present no one looked so entirely calm as the king, and those who knew him best could read firm resolve in his face. béla knew hungary and the strength of its various races, and he was never afraid of dangers from without. what he did fear was the spirit of obstinacy and envy, and at last of blindness, which has so often shown itself, just when clear sight and absolute unity were especially needed to enable the country to confront the most serious difficulties. he knew that he must prove the existence of danger by facts, if he wanted to silence the contentious tongues of those who did not wish to believe; and he had determined to lay convincing proofs before them on this particular day. when all were assembled and in their places, the king made a sign to paul héderváry, who at once left the hall, the door of which was shortly after again thrown open for the entrance of two gloomy-looking men, with swords and daggers at their belts, whom paul ushered up to the king's throne. their robes, trimmed with costly furs, showed that they were persons of importance; and what with the richness of their attire, and their manly deportment, they did not fail to make an impression upon the assembly, though one of the younger members muttered to his neighbour, "hem! flat noses and glittering eyes! who may these be?" the two bowed low before the king, and then one of them, románovics by name, said: "your majesty, we are both russian dukes, and have been driven from the broad lands of our ancestors, by batu khan, one of oktai's chiefs. we have now come to your footstool, to entreat your hospitality, and to offer you our services." "more guests!" whispered the same young man who had spoken before. "kunok, russians, and next, of course, the tartars, not a doubt of it!" the broad smile on his face showed that he was highly pleased with his own wit. "honourable guests will always find the door open in hungary," said the king, when the short speech had been interpreted to him; "and all who are oppressed shall have whatever protection we are able to afford them." "more too! oh, what generous fellows we are!" muttered another still younger man at the table. the king went on to say that he had heard of the russian disasters, but that as the news which had reached him might have lost or gained something on the way, he should be glad if they would tell him and the council just what had really happened. whereupon, the duke who had spoken before gave a short account of all that had taken place since the death of dschingis, and the partition of his vast dominions. and then the younger duke, wsewolodovics, took up the tale. "lord king!" he began, "these mongols don't carry on warfare in an honourable, chivalrous way. they fight only to destroy, they are bloodthirsty, merciless; their only object is to plunder, slay, murder, and burn, not even to make any use of what lands they conquer. they are like a swarm of locusts. they stay till everything is eaten up, till all are plundered, and what they can't carry off, that they kill, or reduce to ashes. they are utterly faithless; their words and promises are not in the least to be trusted, and those who do make friends with them are the first upon whom they wreak their vengeance if anything goes wrong. we are telling you no fairy tales! we know to our own cost what they are, we tell you what we have seen with our own eyes. and let me tell you this, my lord king, their lust of conquest and devastation knows _no bounds_! if it is our turn to-day, it will be yours to-morrow! and, therefore, while we seek a refuge in your land, we at the same time warn you to be prepared! for the storm is coming, and may sweep across your frontiers sooner than you think for." "we will meet it, if it comes," said the king coolly. "but i bid you both heartily welcome as our guests for the present, and as our companions in arms, if the enemy ventures to come hither." the dukes found nothing to complain of in the king's reception of them. he had been cordial and encouraging, and he had heard them out; though, what with their own long speeches, and the interpreting of them, the interview had lasted a considerable time. but if the king had listened attentively and courteously, so had not the council; and the contrast was marked. some listened coldly and without interest, some even wore a contemptuous smile, and there was a restless shrugging of shoulders, a making of signs one to the other, and at times an interchange of whispers among the members, which showed plainly enough that they thought the greater part of what the russians said ridiculously exaggerated. councils, even those held in the king's presence, were by no means orderly in those days. everyone present wanted to put in his word, and that, too, just as and when he pleased, so the duke had hardly finished speaking, when up rose one of the elder and more important-looking nobles, exclaiming impatiently, "your majesty! these foreign lords have told us very fully to what we owe their present kind visit; and they have told us, too, that our country is threatened by ruffianly, contemptible brigands and incendiaries. there is but one thing they have forgotten. i should like to know whether this horde of would-be conquerors have any courage, discipline, or knowledge of war among them. it seems to me important that they should tell us this in their own interests, for it needs no great preparation to scatter a disorderly rabble, but valiant warriors are, of course, another thing." "very true, master tibörcs," said the king calmly, patiently. but when the matter was explained to the russian duke, he exclaimed, with an expression of the utmost horror and contempt, "valiant! disciplined! military knowledge! why, my lord king, who could expect anything of the sort from such thieves and robbers! but, despicable as they are as soldiers, they are dangerous for all that! they are cowards! they are as wild as cattle, as senseless as stones, but--they have numbers, countless numbers, on their side. they fall in thousands, and they use the dead and wounded to bridge the rivers! and they are swift as the very wind." several at the table here exclaimed that the duke must be magnifying, or at least that he had heard exaggerated reports; and one of the most timorous added that to a man who was terrified danger always looked greater than it did to anyone else in the world. that man, at all events, knew what he was talking about! "we are not afraid, gentlemen," said románovics, turning at once towards those seated at the table. "we are exhausted with fighting ourselves, and their blood, too, has flowed in torrents; ten of them have fallen to every one of our men, but then their numbers are ten times ours." "afraid of them?" continued the other, "no! who would be afraid of such cowardly robbers? why, ten will run before one man, if he meets them face to face! we don't say they are invincible, quite the contrary. we come here in the belief that the heroic nation from whom we seek assistance is quite strong enough to be a match even for such a torrent as this! nevertheless, there is one thing which must not be forgotten. though there is no military knowledge among them, though they are not trained soldiers, they are extremely clever with their war-machines. nothing can stand against them! and there is another thing. those who are conquered are forced into their army; what is more, they are put in the forefront of the battle, in the place of greatest danger, and they are driven forward, or murdered if they attempt to escape! so, with danger before and behind, the miserable wretches fight with all the strength of despair; the victors share the spoil, and those who are defeated have nothing to expect but death any way, and sometimes a death of fearful torture too. this, together with their extraordinary rapidity of movement, their cunning, and powers of endurance, is the secret of their strength." so spoke the russian dukes, and their words made a certain impression, though even now some of the council were hardly convinced of the importance of the danger. many were scornful of the new-comers, and various contrary opinions were being expressed, when all at once there was a roar outside as if a battle were already going on in the streets, and some of the palace guards rushed into the council chamber. all leapt to their feet. swords all flashed simultaneously from their scabbards, and in a moment, béla was surrounded, and over his head there was a canopy of iron blades. to do them justice, their first thought was for the safety of the king. "what has happened?" he asked of the guards, when the hubbub around him had subsided. "the people have risen! they are asking for the head of kuthen," was the answer. there was a shout of "treachery, treachery, treachery!" without, and the next instant the mob burst into the hall. "gentlemen! to your places! put up your swords," said the king, in such a peremptory tone that his command was at once obeyed. then rising from his chair and turning to the intruders with perfect calm and dignity, he bade them come forward. "the king is always ready to hear the complaints of his people! what is it you want, children? but let one speak at a time, that will be the wiser way, for if you all clamour together, my sons, i shall not be able to understand any one of you. ah! you are there, i see barkó _deák_; come here, you are a sensible man, i know; you tell me what is the matter." barkó was a notable man in his own set, and his sobriquet of _deák_ showed that he possessed some learning, at least to the extent of being able to write, and having some knowledge of the scriptures, as well as of the laws, called "customs." he was a man whose judgment was respected, and when first suspicion fell upon the kunok, he was besieged by those who wanted his advice as to how they ought to act in these dangerous circumstances. now, on the days when barkó got out of bed right foot foremost, he would calm his inquirers by saying wisely enough that until kuthen himself was detected in some suspicious act, the time had not come for accusing him. but, unfortunately, barkó was not without his domestic troubles in the shape of a wife, who would always have the last word, and so sometimes it happened that he got up left foot foremost. it was on one of these unlucky days that the people of pest and the neighbourhood, having somehow heard, as people always do hear, that the king was holding a council for the purpose of taking measures of defence against the mongols, "tartars," as they called them, came with one consent to barkó's house, and swarmed into it in such numbers that he leapt out of the window to escape them. but no sooner had his feet touched the ground than they were at once taken off it again, and he was caught up and raised on high, amid loud shouts from the crowd that he must be their leader and spokesman. "what am i to do? what do you want?" he cried. "let's go to the king! treachery! the kunok are bringing the tartars upon us! we want the head of kuthen!" such were the cries which assailed him on all sides, and barkó let them shout till they were tired. "very well, children," he said, as soon as there was a chance of making himself heard. "very well, we will go to his majesty. he will listen to his faithful people and find some way of putting an end to the mischief." "we will go now!" they shouted. "no! let's wait!" roared a grey-beard, with a shake of his shaggy head, using his broad shoulders and sharp elbows to force a way through the crowd. "we won't go to the king! we'll go straight to the other king, the vagabond and traitor kuthen. we will take his treacherous head to our own good king!" "good! good!" cried the mob. "it is not good!" shouted barkó. "it is for the king to command, it is for us to ask. if i am to be your leader, trust the matter to me." "let us trust it to mr. barkó," cried some voices again. "so then, i am the leader, and if we want to go before the king's majesty, let us do it respectfully, not as if we were a rabble going to a tavern. here! make room for me! put me down!" and barkó puffed and panted, and shook himself, as if he had swum across the danube. then he called three or four of the crowd to him to help in forming up some sort of procession. "there! i go in the middle, as the leader, and you, the army, will march in two files after me." "but we are here, too, mr. barkó!" cried some shriller voices. "the petticoats will bring up the rear!" said mr. barkó authoritatively. and in this order the crowd proceeded on its way; but, notwithstanding all barkó's precautions, it was a very tumultuous crowd which burst into the king's presence. barkó had made the journey bare-headed; and now, being called upon to speak, he bowed low before the king, saying: "your majesty! grace be upon my head. since the devil is bringing the tartars upon us, the people humbly beg the head of the traitor kuthen! and we will bring it to you, if you will only give us the command, your majesty!" "it shall be here directly, and the heads of all his brood, too!" cried barkó's followers. barkó, seeing that the king did not speak, turned to them, saying in a tone of command, "silence! i will speak, asking the king's grace upon my head." and turning again to the king he added, "if we don't root them out, my lord king, the tartars will find the banquet all made ready for them when they come. the vagabonds in the country-districts are already laying hands on property not their own, and behaving just as if they were at home." one or two voices from among the crowd echoed these complaints, and added others as to the disrespect shown to the magyar women. "silence," interrupted barkó. "let us hear his majesty, our lord the king. what he commands that we will do, and we must not do anything else," he added, by way of showing that he could read writing, and was acquainted with the style in which the royal commands were expressed. the king heard all without appearing in the least disturbed, while those at the table kept their hands all the time on their swords, and it was by no means without emotion that the two russian dukes looked on at this, to them, very novel kind of council, and at this unconventional way of approaching the king's presence. at last there was silence. barkó had said his say, and the cries and exclamations of his followers having subsided, the king addressed them and him. first he praised him for his discretion in coming to seek counsel of the king, and then he reminded him that a good king was also a just judge. but a just judge always heard both sides of a question before he gave judgment. if, therefore, he were now to give his consent to what his faithful children wished, and were to deliver king kuthen, who was both his guest and theirs, into their hands, and that without hearing him as he had heard them, why, then he would be a bad judge, and therefore not a good king. moreover, if he were unjust in one case he might be so in another. "if, for instance," said he, "paul came to me with a complaint against peter, we might have mr. peter's head cut off; and if peter accused paul, we might have paul beheaded. for, my children, others have as much right to justice as ourselves; therefore, hear our commands, and as my faithful servant, the honourable mr. barkó has said, observe them and do nothing else." all eyes were fixed upon the king, and they listened with wrapt attention and in perfect silence as he proceeded: "strict inquiry shall be made as to whether there be any real ground of suspicion against king kuthen; and if there is, he and his people shall be punished! but we must let the law take its course, and my dear citizens of pest may wait quietly and confidently while it does. from this day forth the kun king will not leave his residence, a guard shall be placed at his gate, and we will have the matter regularly investigated without delay." there was a burst of "eljens" (vivas) as the king concluded. the people appeared to be thoroughly satisfied, and when barkó, after a low reverence, turned to leave the hall, his followers made a way for him through their midst, and cleared out after him, quickly at all events, if not with much dignity. history tells us that the king's council was satisfied also, no less than the people, who had, indeed, been purposely excited by some of the nobles, and used more or less as a cat's paw. the order that kuthen should be guarded was, as we have seen, given and executed forthwith. béla had given it most unwillingly, only, in fact, to appease the excitement, and in the hope of avoiding still worse evils; and though some were still dissatisfied, this was the case with but few of the cooler heads. and the russian dukes, when they were able to speak to the king in private, admitted that numbers of kunok had indeed been forced by batu khan to serve in his army; but they added that these recruits were only waiting the first favourable opportunity to desert and join with their kinsmen, and with the hungarians, in exterminating the common enemy. and what they feared was that, if the kunok heard that their king, whom they worshipped, was being kept under restraint, they would actually do what the majority and so many of the chief nobles now without reason suspected them of. béla understood human nature, and to him it seemed that to throw some sort of sop to cerberus was wiser than to risk the exciting of greater discontent. but again the king made a mistake! chapter vii. at the very doors. the time of which we are writing was a critical one in hungary's history. "she was sick, very sick, and the remedy for her disease was bitter in proportion to the gravity of her condition." (jókai mór.) the power and prestige of the sovereign had lost much under béla's predecessors, first his uncle and then his father; for the latter had rebelled against his brother, and the civil war had increased the importance of the magnates, while it diminished that of the sovereign. béla's father andrás had succeeded his brother, and had shown himself as weak, as vain, and as untrustworthy, as king, as he had done as subject. béla had inherited many difficulties, and in his eagerness to set matters right, had been over-hasty, over-arbitrary, and had made enemies of many of the great nobles by curtailing their extorted privileges. andrás, always in need of money, had given and pawned crown property, until there was little left. béla, succeeding to an almost empty treasury, had recalled some of those donations which never ought to have been made; and also, by way of instilling respect for the king's majesty, had withdrawn from the great nobles certain privileges, which they bitterly resented, for some of them had attained such a pitch of might and wealth as rendered them independent of the king and the law. there were two classes of nobles, the magnates and the lesser nobility, the latter being more and more oppressed by the former. all who owned a piece of land were "noble," but as their possessions differed greatly in amount, so some were rich and others very much the reverse. the nobles of both classes, and the clergy attended the diets; but the mass of the people were as yet unrepresented. standing army there was hardly any, and when the king wanted troops he had to raise them, and pay them as he could. those who held crown-fiefs were bound to obey the king's call to arms, but at his cost, and not their own, and all nobles of whatever degree were bound to join his standard if the country was attacked, not otherwise. if the king wanted them to cross the frontier, he must bear the expense; and if they did not choose to go, he was helpless and could not punish them. but, to be first in the field is often half the battle. to wait until the enemy is actually in the country may spell disaster and even ruin. béla was well aware of the danger which threatened. he had heard much from kuthen, and he had other sources of information as well, men who kept him well posted in all that was going on. troops he must have if the country was to be saved; and as the kunok were always ready for war he felt obliged to favour them; and, to raise money for the pay of others, he was obliged to pledge the crown revenues and to debase the coinage. if hungary had been of one mind in those days, if all had been ready to rise in her defence as once they would have done, she would have had little difficulty in driving back the mongols; but some of the magnates secretly hoped for a reverse, if so be the king might be thereby humbled. they little knew! rumours as to the advance of the mongols were rife throughout the winter; but the month of march, , had arrived, and still there was nothing to be called an army, in spite of the sending round of the bloody sword, and in spite of the king's most urgent commands, entreaties, and personal exertions. on the th of the month came the first note of actual alarm in a despatch from héderváry the palatine, who was guarding the north-eastern frontier. he announced that the mongols had reached the pass of verecz (almost in a straight line with kaschau), and that it was impossible for him to hold them back unless large reinforcements were sent to him at once. the king, meanwhile, had despatched ambassadors to his old enemy friedrich, of austria, urging him in his own interest to come to the help of hungary. to the kunok in their new settlements he had also sent orders to mount at once, and they required no second bidding, but set out immediately for the camp. the queen and court had left pest for pressburg, whither all who took the coming danger in the least seriously, and many even who professed to think little of it, had sent their womankind. the few who dared run the risk of leaving them in country houses, with moats and walls as their sole defence, were nobles whose castles were believed to be inaccessible, or so far from the frontier and so buried in the woods, that they had every reason to hope that they would remain undiscovered. the hédervárys and the szirmays were not of this number, always excepting master peter; for, such was their reputation for wealth, that it seemed only too likely that, to save their own skins and perhaps share the spoil, some of their servants and dependants might turn traitors and betray them to the mongols. they, therefore, were among the first to send their wives and children to pressburg, lavishly provided with all that they might need, and accompanied by brilliant trains of men-at-arms. pressburg was full to overflowing, and to every man there were at least ten women. jolánta, of course, was there, and was daily looking forward to the pleasure of seeing dora; not doubting for a moment that her uncle would send her with all speed as soon as he himself left home to join the army. but the days had passed, and not only had dora not come, but no one knew where she was, or anything about her. there was no little wonderment at this among those whose minds were sufficiently at leisure to wonder about anything not immediately concerning themselves or their families. it was odd that master peter should have stayed so long in pest without her, a thing he had never done before; it was odder still that he should not have sent her to pressburg, out of harm's way. surely he must have placed her somewhere to be taken care of! he could never think of leaving her at home, and alone, when the time of his absence was likely to be so uncertain. they knew, indeed, that his ancient hall was so buried in dense woods, and so surrounded by ravine-like valleys, that no one would be likely to find it unless they knew of its existence and went there for the purpose; yet at the same time, as he and stephen had been busy collecting their troops, and seemed to consider preparations of some sort necessary, he would surely never be satisfied to leave dora alone in a place which, though strong enough to resist any ordinary foe, would certainly not be safe from the thieving, burning tartars, if they should discover it. and yet, in spite of all these conjectures, that was precisely what master peter had done. we have already mentioned his reasons for not taking his daughter to pest. the same reasons prevented his sending her to pressburg. he would not have her exposed to sneers, perhaps insults, when he was not at hand to protect her. dora herself was quite against going to swell the queen's train; and her father was more than a little hurt that, whereas her majesty (so paul's mother told him with satisfaction) had especially summoned jolánta to join her with all speed, she had not said a word to show that she even remembered dora. what dora wished was to follow her father and share all his dangers, labours, and hardships--no such very uncommon thing in those days, when women were often safer with their fathers, husbands, and brothers, than they could be anywhere else. her father was dora's first thought, as she was his; but at first he would not give her any decided answer. the mongols were not yet in the country; and he and his brother, though they loyally obeyed the king's orders, were among those who thought him far too anxious, and his preparations more than were necessary. at all events, he would not take her with him when he set out with his troop for the camp at pest, but he promised, if he could not find any better way of ensuring her safety, that he would come later on, put her in a coat of armour, and take her with him. the only question was where she had better stay meantime, and he decided that on the whole home would be best. the seneschal, or governor, was a gloomy and rather lazy man, but thoroughly honourable. peter knew what a bold, brave man he was when it was a question of bears, wolves, and wild boars, and in his simplicity he argued with himself that courage was courage and that a man courageous in one way must needs be courageous in all! peter would have liked much to take with him talabor, of whom he had lately grown quite fond, but it suddenly flashed across him that in any case of unexpected danger, the younger man, full of life and energy, would not be less courageous than the portly seneschal, while he would certainly be more active and resourceful. talabor, who was burning to accompany his good master, was therefore told that for the present he was to remain at home. master peter had a long conversation with him before his own departure, and gave him full instructions, so far as that was possible, as to what he was to do in case of accidents, which peter himself never in the least expected to occur. and then he rode away at the head of a very respectable troop, or "banderium," consisting of the lesser nobility of the neighbourhood, and of such recruits as he had been able to enlist; and on reaching pest he found that the szirmay contingent, furnished by himself and his brother, was first in the field. soon after arrived the king with the troops which he had been raising himself in the two home-counties. pest was becoming daily more like a camp. the streets, the open spaces, were turned into bivouacs, the officers slept in tents; and, as most of the men were mounted, on all sides was to be heard the neighing of horses, tethered by long ropes in the open air. earthworks were being hastily thrown up at a considerable distance beyond the walls of the town, these walls themselves being low and hardly capable of defence, as they were not everywhere provided even with moats. impossible to describe the state of bustle and excitement in which everyone in pest was living just then, and at first sight no one would have discovered anything like fear in the animated and hilarious crowd which filled the thoroughfares. the mongols were spoken of in terms of the utmost contempt as a wild, undisciplined, unorganized rabble, who would fly at the mere sight of "real troops," properly armed! everywhere was to be heard the sound of music and boisterous mirth on the part of the younger nobles, who made great display of gaudy apparel, fashionable armour from germany, huge plumes, and high-spirited horses. like peacocks in their pride, they loved in those days to make a show of magnificence. and if this was true more or less of all the higher and wealthier nobility, particularly of the younger members, it cannot be said that the lower classes, or the less wealthy, were at all behind-hand in following the example of their betters. the king himself hated display, though he did not despise a becoming state and magnificence when occasion required; but those who were attached to his court, or to the retinue of the great lords, spiritual and temporal, delighted to imitate the young magnates as far as they could. foremost among these was now libor the clerk, héderváry's well-known governor, whom his young master found so prompt and ready, so helpful in carrying out, and so quick to approve all his whims, that it became more and more impossible to him to dispense with his services, and he kept him constantly about him. libor sported a gigantic plume in his cap, and his sword made such a clanking as he walked, that people knew him by it afar off. whenever he had the chance, he might be heard declaiming in praise of the heroic king, and affirming that everyone who did not support him was a scoundrel. all who were in favour of active measures highly approved of libor; even the king knew him, at least by name, for there was not such another fire-eating magyar in the whole of pest, and all were agreed that the king had no more devoted subject than this exemplary young clerk. bishops, abbots, magnates, and the king's brother, duke kálmán, were arriving now with their expected troops; but on march th arrived one who was not expected, and at whom people looked in terror and amazement. he rode up slowly, wearily, at the head of a few hundred men, as worn and weary as himself; and as he came nearer, people whispered under their breath, "héderváry the palatine!" héderváry, who was supposed to be defending the passes of the carpathians! his armour was battered, his helmet crushed, and a sabre cut across the face had made him hardly recognisable. he rode straight up to the king's tent, before which the diet was assembled, no one, not even his old friend peter, daring to speak to him, though he gazed on him hardly able to believe his eyes, and with a sudden chill of alarm as he thought of dora. for a few moments no one spoke, but after more than one attempt, the palatine got out the broken words, "god and the holy virgin protect your majesty!" then, turning to the assembled diet, he added, "comrades! the enemy is in our land! our small force held the pass seven days; on the eighth the flood burst through and flowed over dead bodies. you see before you all who escaped! god and the holy virgin protect our country!" héderváry bowed his head upon his horse's neck to hide his face. the sensation was immense, the news flew quickly from mouth to mouth, and before long all pest knew of the disaster, and knew, too, that in the palatine's opinion the enemy might reach pest itself within a day or two--a day or two! with such awful speed did the torrent rush forward. if peter had been incredulous before, he was anxious enough now, when he heard of the lightning-like rapidity with which the mongols were advancing, of the , pioneers who went before them, cutting a straight road through the thickest forests, of the catapults for throwing stones and masses of rock, against which nothing, not even the strongest walls, could stand. he could not leave his post, it was even questionable whether he could reach dora now if he made the attempt; for, when the scouts came in they more than confirmed all that the palatine had said, with the additional information that five counties had been already devastated, and that batu's army was within half a day's journey of pest itself. that same night the red glare in the sky told of burning towns and villages only a few miles off; and the day after héderváry's return small bodies of mongols actually appeared on the very confines of pest, laying hands on all that they could find, and then vanishing again like the lightning, as suddenly as they had come. the fortifications of the city were pushed on with redoubled energy, and all were wildly eager to go out at once and challenge the enemy. but the king's orders were strict; no one was to go out and attempt to give battle until the whole army was assembled, when he himself would take the command. not a third part had come in yet, and the men chafed impatiently at the delay. even now, however, with danger facing them, there was little unity in the camp, little order, little discipline; everyone who had any pretension to be "somebody," wanted to give orders, not obey them, and, in fact, do everything that he was not asked to do. but as the troops continued to come in, as the earthworks rose higher, and the ditches and trenches grew broader; as, above all, the king seemed to have no fears, confidence revived, and those who had been timorous ran to the opposite extreme, and began to believe that the king had but to give the signal for battle, and the enemy's hosts would at once be scattered like chaff. they not only believed it, but loudly proclaimed it. libor was especially loud and emphatic in his expressions of confidence, and went about from one commander to another, trying his utmost to obtain a post of some sort in the army. he succeeded at last, for héderváry the palatine had lost his best officers, and knowing how highly his son thought of libor, he gave him a command in his own diminished army. whereupon paul presented the young governor with a complete suit of armour, and from that day forward libor did not know how to contain himself. he was a great man indeed now, and he might rise still higher. in fact, so he told himself, the very highest posts were open to him! chapter viii. the better part of valour. on the th march, six days after héderváry's imploring cry for help, three after his return, one enormous division of mongols was in the neighbourhood of pest, while another was in front of vácz (waitzen), a town twenty miles to the north. that morning very early, paul héderváry and ugrin, the archbishop of kalócsa, had sallied forth unknown to anyone, to satisfy themselves as to whether the scattered parties of mongols who had been seen several times beneath the very walls of pest, were mere bands of brigands, or whether they were part of batu khan's army. paul was a daring, not to say foolhardy man, and it was not the first time he had been out to reconnoitre, taking only libor and a few horsemen with him. of course, he wanted libor this morning, but the governor, being with all his valour a discreet person, was not forthcoming, was indeed not to be found anywhere, much to paul's vexation. paul and the archbishop therefore rode quietly out together, accompanied by no more than half a dozen men-at-arms, and they had not been riding a quarter of an hour before they caught sight of a party of horsemen coming towards them through the grey dawn. there seemed to be some three or four score of them, and they might be some of the expected troops arriving; it was impossible to tell in the dim half-light, and paul and his companion drew behind some rising ground to make sure. they had not long to wait before they saw that these were no friends, however, but an advance body of mongols cautiously and quietly moving forward. to engage them was out of the question, and the two at once agreed to turn back without attracting attention, if possible. but they had no sooner left their shelter than a perfect hurricane of wild cries showed that they had been observed. fortunately for them, their horses were fresh and in good condition, while those of the mongols were sorry jades at the best, and worn out besides. the hungarians, therefore, reached the city in safety, though hotly pursued, and they at once presented themselves before the king, who had risen very early that morning, and was already at work in his cabinet. "why, ugrin, how is this?" said béla, rising to meet the archbishop, "armed from head to foot so early? and you, too, héderváry? where do you come from? i see you are dusty!" "your majesty," began ugrin, one of the most daring of men, in spite of his office, "héderváry and i have been riding in the neighbourhood, and we chanced upon the tartars!" "did you see many?" "the advance guard, with a whole division behind." "we have only our horses to thank for it that we are here now," added héderváry. "have not i forbidden all provoking of encounters until we have all our troops assembled?" said the king. "and there was no provocation--on our part," replied ugrin, in anything but an amiable tone; "but if we don't get information for ourselves as to the enemy's movements----" the king cut him short. "i know all about them!" said he, "more than you gentlemen do." ugrin and héderváry shrugged their shoulders, and both put the king's coolness down to irresolution, or even fear. "i know," said the king, "that they have not only approached our towns, but that at this moment they are before vácz, if they have not stormed it." "before vácz!" exclaimed ugrin, "and your majesty is still waiting! waiting now! when one bold stroke might annihilate them before the khan himself comes up." "batu is close at hand," said the king, "and if we don't wish to risk all, we must be prudent, and act only on the defensive until the rest of the troops arrive." "ah!" cried ugrin, forgetting for a moment the respect due to the king, "i suppose your majesty means to wait until vácz is in flames! by heaven! i won't wait--not if i perish for it!" as he spoke, ugrin turned on his heel and abruptly left the room. possibly the rattle of his armour and the clank of his sword prevented the king's hearing clearly his last words; but he called to him in a tone of command, and ordered him not to leave the city. "make haste and stop him, paul," said béla, as the door closed behind the archbishop, and héderváry hurried to obey; but his own horse had been taken to the stables with a mongol arrow in its back, while ugrin's was on the spot, being walked up and down in front of the palace. the archbishop had the start of him therefore, for he had rushed down the steps, mounted, and dashed off like a whirlwind, before héderváry could catch him up. "let him go!" said the king, "let him go!" he repeated, walking up and down the room. he had left his private cabinet now for a larger room, in which, notwithstanding the early hour, many of the nobles were already assembled; for the news of ugrin's and héderváry's encounter had spread like wildfire, and all were impatient to be doing something. "we must double the guards and keep the troops ready; but no one is to venture out of the city," said the king, and his words fell like scalding water upon the ears of those who heard them. for it was always the hungarian way to face danger at once, without stopping to realise fully its gravity, or to give courage and energy time to evaporate. "my orders do not please you, i know, gentlemen," the king said, with dignity, "but when danger is near, blood should be cool. if we waste our strength in small engagements, the enemy's numbers, the one advantage he has over us, will make our efforts entirely useless. no! let him exhaust his strength, while we are gathering ours, and as soon as we have a respectable army, myself will lead it in person!" no one was satisfied; but héderváry the palatine was alone in venturing to say a word, and he spoke firmly though respectfully. he had had more actual experience of the mongols than anyone else, and submitted that, though their strength lay chiefly in their numbers, yet that this was not the whole of it, for they were exceedingly cunning, and he believed their object just now was to cut off the reinforcements before they could reach the place of rendezvous. if so, then an attack quickly delivered would be of the greatest service. "besides," he concluded, "i suspect that the archbishop of kalócsa has led his 'banderium' out against them, and we can't leave him unsupported." "the brave bishop will soon settle the filthy wretches!" cried a young forgács who was standing near. with a reproving look at the young man, the king turned to the palatine and said gravely, "i expressly forbade the archbishop to leave pest, and i cannot therefore believe that he has done so! if he has--well, he must reap as he has sown! i am not going to risk all for the madness of one. but you are right, palatine, there is no more cunning people on the face of this earth! isn't it more likely that they want to deceive us and entice us away from our defences, by sending forward these comparatively small bodies of men?" the palatine shook his head, urging that a great part of the country was already laid waste, that fear was paralysing everyone, and that it was no time to wait when danger was actually in their midst and threatening the very capital. and so the discussion went on, a few holding with the king, but the more part with the palatine. but the king had heard the same arguments so often before that they had ceased to make any impression upon him. his resolution was taken to await the arrival of duke friedrich of austria, whom he knew to be on the way, and whom he confidently believed to be at the head of a considerable body of troops, from whom béla expected great things. they would at least set his own army a good example in the matter of discipline, and this was much needed; and that army, too, was growing day by day, surely if slowly, though the greater part was ill-armed. the discussion ended with the king's reiterated orders that no one should go outside the city, and the nobles went their several ways, giving free vent to their disapproval and impatience, and helping thus to spread mistrust of the king's judgment. for all that, most of them were confident of victory as soon as the army should be put in motion, and some went so far as to expect no less than the immediate annihilation of the mongol bands in the vicinity, at the hands of ugrin. crowds filled the streets, and reports of all sorts were flying about the city. the archbishop had met the enemy and defeated him! some watchman on one of the towers had seen the archbishop cut down a mongol leader, and great part of the mongols were lying dead on the ground! more important still, he had felled batu khan himself with one blow of his battle-axe! so it went on all day till late in the evening, when suddenly the news spread that the archbishop was coming back, but--with only three or four of his men with him! and while the people in the streets were talking together with bated breath, a man rushed into their midst, covered with blood and dust. "what has happened? where are you from?" they asked, not at first recognising the furrier, a man belonging to pest, and well known there. "water!" whispered the new-comer, bowing his head on his breast. "water! i don't know how i got here! water, quick!" several of the crowd hurried off for water, and when he had quenched his thirst, some of them began to wash the blood from his face and to bind up his wounds. "ah! they are no matter!" he gasped, "one may get such cuts as these any day in a tavern brawl, but--i'm--done for!" by the help of a wooden flask of wine the man presently revived enough to satisfy the curiosity of the bystanders, though he still looked terrified. "i have come straight from vácz--my horse fell down under me. i was pursued by tartars--a score of arrows hit the poor beast--three went through my cap and tore the skin off my head!" "but what is going on in vácz? they have beaten off the tartars, eh?" "there _is_ no vácz!" said the man, with an involuntary shudder through all his limbs. all were too dumfounded to utter even an exclamation. they had believed that their troops had but to show themselves, and the mongols would be scattered. "the walls of vácz stand staring up to heaven, as black as soot," the man went on. "the people defended themselves to the last, ay, to the last, for hardly a hundred out of them all have escaped!" "but the church--there are moats to it, and new walls----" began one of the bystanders. "there _were_!" said the furrier, "there were! there is nothing left now! the clergy, and the old men, with the women and children, took refuge there, and all the valuables were taken there; even the women fought--but it was no good!" "did the tartars take it?" inquired several at once, beneath their breath. "they stormed it, took it, plundered it, murdered every soul and then set fire to it; it may be burning still! their horrible yells! they are ringing in my ears now!" and the furrier shuddered again. but at that moment the attention of the crowd was diverted from him by a commotion going on at a little distance, and they pressed forward to see what it meant, but soon came back, making all the haste they could to get out of the way of some heavy cavalry, armed from head to foot, and preceded by six trumpeters, who were advancing down the street. "the austrians!" said some of the more knowing, as duke friedrich and his brilliant train passed on straight to the king's palace, where his arrival was so unexpected that no one was in readiness to receive him. events and rumours had followed one another so quickly that day, that the whole population was in a state of excitement; but there was more to come, and the duke was hardly out of sight, when a magyar horseman galloped up, the foam dropping from his horse, which was covered with blood. its rider seemed to be so beside himself with terror as not to know what he was doing, and as the crowd flocked round him, he shouted, "treachery! the king has left us in the lurch! ugrin and his troops--overwhelmed by the tartars!" with that he galloped on till he reached the bank of the danube, where his horse fell under him, and when they hastened to the rider's assistance, they found only a dead body. in spite of the king's commands, ugrin had led his troops out, and had daringly attacked the bands of mongols who had approached pest to reconnoitre. many of them he had cut down with his own hand, and the rest he had put to flight and was pursuing, when, just as he came up with them, the mongols reached a morass. this did not stop them, however, with their small, light horses. on they went at breakneck speed, and he followed, without guessing that he was already on the edge of the marshy ground until the treacherous green surface gave way beneath the heavy hungarian horses, which floundered, lost their footing, and sank helplessly up to their knees, up to their ears, unable to extricate themselves. and then the mongols turned upon them, as was their wont, and poured a perfect storm of arrows upon the defenceless troopers. ugrin and four others managed to dismount and cast away their heavy armour; and, with only their battle-axes in their hands, they succeeded at last by superhuman efforts in wading through the marsh, and so reached pest, pursued by the mongols, and leaving corpses to mark their track all the way, almost to the gate. the people were aghast at the intelligence, and they set to work to blame the king! he was blamed by ugrin in the first place--ugrin, who had nothing but his own madness to thank for the disaster! he was blamed by the mob, who were ready to see treachery everywhere; and above all, he was blamed by duke friedrich, surnamed the "streitbare," for his valour! the king bore all, and worked on. all night he was on horseback, seeing to the fortifications, urging the workmen to redoubled vigour. and while he was thus engaged, what was going on in the army? it is hardly credible, but is nevertheless a fact, that blind self-confidence, whether real or feigned, held possession of the camp. the troops and their leaders spent the night for the most part in revelry, while the sentries on the walls mocked at such of the mongols as came near enough and let fly their arrows at them. early in the morning duke friedrich was on horseback, after a previous argument with the king, in which he had made light of the invasion, and called it mere child's play, easily dealt with, and then he led the small body of men he had brought with him out of the city. a small body it was, to béla's bitter disappointment. he had expected something like an army, and the duke had brought about as many men in his train as he would have done if he had come to a hunting party! such as they were, he led them forth on this eventful morning to have a brush with the mongols, whose advance guard retired, according to custom, as soon as they caught sight of the well-armed, well-mounted, well-trained band. the duke was cautious. he meant to do something, if only to show pest how easy it was; and when he presently returned with a couple of horses and one prisoner, he had his reward in the acclamations with which the populace received him. the success of the valorous duke was belauded on all sides, and some compared the daring warrior with the prudent king, not to the advantage of the latter. the prisoner was taken before the king, and, as ill-luck would have it, he proved to be a kun; worse still, he said among other things, that there were many kunok in batu's camp. they had been forced to join him; but the news spread through the town, exciting the people more than ever, and it was openly asserted by many that the kunok were in league with the mongols, and that kuthen was a traitor, who had managed to ingratiate himself with king béla only that he might prepare the way for the enemy. chapter ix. "i wash my hands!" the diet, summoned a few weeks before, was still holding its meetings in the open air, with no better shelter than that afforded by a large open tent. akos szirmay would be going thither presently, but it was still early, and he was now on his way to his uncle's old mansion near the danube. though kuthen was rather prisoner now than guest, he was still visited by some of the hungarian lords, and bishop wáncsa was often there with messages from the king, saying how greatly he deplored the necessity for still keeping him prisoner, and explaining that it was from no want of confidence on his part, but rather for the ensurance of kuthen's own safety, adding that he was hoping and waiting for the time when he might come in person and restore the king and his family to liberty. kuthen had loved and honoured béla from the first, and though in this matter he thought him weak, no one would have been able to persuade him that béla would consent to anything which would imperil his guest. akos had been a daily visitor at the house all along, and he made no secret, either there or at his father's, of his attachment to kuthen's younger daughter, whose sweet face and winning ways had attracted him from the first. stephen szirmay did not like his son's choice, which was not to be wondered at. kuthen, it was true, possessed much treasure, and marána was his favourite child. but jolánta's marriage had taught him that wealth did not make happiness. her marriage had had his eager, delighted approval, as he was obliged to admit to himself; and as his judgment had been at fault in the one case, he would not interfere in the other. it would be wiser to remain neutral, lest ill-timed opposition should make his son more determined. kuthen was up very early this morning; for news had reached him that many of the kunok who had remained behind in moldavia were hastening to hungary, and being aware also that those already in the country were now on their way to pest, he was hourly expecting a summons from the king for himself and his sons, and then they would fight, they would fight! and for ever silence the jealous suspicions of their enemies. kuthen knew all that was going on about him, for he was well served by his faithful followers, who were more devoted to him than ever since he had been a sort of state prisoner; he knew that the diet was sitting that day, and that his best friends, the king and duke kálmán, would for their own sakes do all they could to bring to an end the present disgraceful state of affairs, which was only likely to increase the slanders and suspicions of which he was the victim. kuthen knew also of the duke of austria's arrival, of his encounter with the mongols, and of the prisoner, said to be a kun, whom he had so unfortunately captured. kun or not, the populace believed, and were encouraged by the duke to believe, that he was one. during the last few hours the duke had done his utmost to foment the growing irritation against the king and his people. kuthen knew all, and though he hoped in king béla, he neglected no precautions to ensure the safety of his family, if the worst should come to the worst. there were already more than a hundred kunok in the castle, chiefs and simple armed men, who had found means to join him, by degrees, without attracting notice, all of whom were most resolute and most trustworthy. watch was kept day and night without intermission, and of one thing kuthen might be entirely confident, that if danger should come, it would not take him by surprise, and that, if the mob should rise against them--as he knew was not impossible--though they might perish, they would at least not perish like cowards. when akos arrived on this particular morning, he was closeted alone with the king for a time, and could not deny that things looked threatening, or that the populace and most of the nobles were in a state of irritation, thanks in great measure to the duke of austria and his unlucky prisoner. all that he could do was to urge the need of prudence and vigilance. but before the young noble took his leave, something seemed to strike kuthen. whether a new idea flashed into his mind, whether he had a premonition of any kind, or whether he was merely filled with vague forebodings, not unnatural under the circumstances, it is impossible to say, but as akos was about to make his farewells, kuthen laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder, and drew him into the adjoining room. there he took his daughter marána by the hand, and leading her up to akos, he said solemnly, "children, man's life and future are in the hands of god! we are living in serious times. see, akos, i give you my beloved daughter! happen what may, you will answer to me for this, one of my children." "you have given me a treasure, you have made me rich indeed! god bless you for it; and, father, have no fears on her account, for we will live and die together," said akos, with much emotion, his hand in that of his bride. the queen's eyes filled with tears as she looked at the handsome young pair, and drawing close to akos, she whispered in his ear, "mind, whatever happens to the rest of us, my marána must be saved." just then in came the two young princes, who were always pleased to see akos, and were delighted, though not surprised, to hear of their sister's betrothal. "oh, but brother akos," they exclaimed together, as if they thought that the new relationship must at once make a difference, "we should so like to go with you to the diet, but we are captives, and we have not wings like the eagles." "and, my dear brothers, even if you had," returned akos, "i should advise you not to leave your dear father for a moment just now." "oh, but why? why?" they both asked. "because i think that this is a critical time," he answered. "let us only get through the next day or two quietly, and i quite believe that you will all be able to go in and out as you please." "you are right, akos," interposed the king. "time may bring us good. let us wait and be watchful! and don't forget that i have given this dear child into your care. trust the rest of us to god, in whose hands is our fate; we shall defend ourselves, if need be, but you think only of her. do you promise me?" "i swear i will," said akos, with uplifted hand. then he embraced his bride, who accompanied him to the covered entrance, then followed him with her eyes all along the drawbridge, and after that watched him from a window until he was quite out of sight. kuthen had already doubled the guards about his dwelling, and had taken other precautions and measures of defence; but the walls were high, and all had been done so quietly that it had not attracted the attention of the sentries posted on the other side of the drawbridge. when akos was gone, he and his sons armed themselves as if for battle. sheaves of arrows were brought out and placed in readiness, the guards were armed, and the kun chiefs, who took it in turn to be on duty near the king, made all needful preparation for an obstinate defence. akos had not been gone more than an hour or two, when little groups and knots of people began to gather round kuthen's house. there were three or four here, and three or four there, and presently they might be counted by the score. later on a large crowd had collected. they were talking quietly to one another, and seemed so far to be quite peaceable, however. the kun royal family took no alarm, for they knew the pest populace and its insatiable curiosity well by this time, and they fancied that there was perhaps some idea abroad that kuthen and his sons would be going to the diet; or perhaps marána's betrothal was known. another hour passed and the people began to shout and howl. two persons were declaiming to them; but within the walls it was impossible to distinguish what they were saying. the crowd pressed nearer and nearer to the drawbridge, so near indeed, that the guards on duty there had the greatest difficulty in keeping them back, and a sudden rush of those in the rear sent two or three of the foremost splashing into the moat, to the huge diversion of the rest. presently, however, the mob appeared to be seized by a new idea, for they all set off running in one direction; and in a few moments, only a few small knots of people remained. but these few lay down on the patches of grass round about, as if they meant to stay indefinitely, and the kun chiefs, who had been keeping close watch behind the loop-holed walls, noticed that they were all armed, some with knotty sticks and wooden clubs bristling with nails, and a few here and there with bows and quivers. it looked as if they meant mischief, and the kunok were all on the alert for what might happen. akos meantime had been for the last hour or two at the diet. from where he was he had a full view of the danube, and after a time he noticed a large crowd of people crossing the river by the ferry-boats and making straight for the place where the diet was being held. both banks of the danube were thronged, and soon the crowd became a vast, compact mass; but the first intimation of anything unusual that many of the members had, was the finding the table at which they sat suddenly surrounded by their own gaily caparisoned horses, which the crowd had found blocking their way, and had driven before them into the tent. it was a terrible moment! no one could imagine what had happened, and some of the more nervous thought that the tartars, whom they had taken so lightly before, had actually stormed the town. all started to their feet, seized the horses by their bridles, and drew their swords. and now the howls of the furious mob were plainly to be heard. "kuthen! the kunok! the traitors! death to the kunok!" it was impossible to misunderstand what the mob were bent upon. this was no peaceable, if clamorous deputation like the former one! these were no faithful subjects rallying round the king in a moment of danger, and seeking his counsel and help! no! the flood had burst its bounds, carrying all before it, and had come not to petition, but to claim, and to threaten. the king motioned for silence. he was the calmest and most collected of all present, and such was the magic influence of his presence, such the respect felt for him, that even now, in spite of all the excitement, for a moment the clamour seemed to cease. just then one of the nobles, a young man in brilliant armour, with flashing eyes, seized the bridle of the horse nearest him, flung himself on its back, dashed away, and looking neither behind nor before him, forced his way recklessly through the mob. all who noticed him supposed that he had received some command from the king, but the confusion was so great that his departure was unobserved, except by those whose legs were endangered by his horse's hoofs. "the kun king is a prisoner," said béla in a trumpet-like voice, which commanded attention at least for the moment. "no one in my dominions will be condemned unheard. i forbid all violence, and i shall hold the leaders of this insurgent multitude responsible." so far the king was allowed to speak without interruption, or at least without having his voice drowned. but after this, if he spoke, he could not make himself heard. for no sooner did the magnates and others assembled understand what all the uproar was about, than the king's words lost their effect. members from the counties where the kunok were settled, recalled the many irregularities of which the latter had been guilty on their first arrival, envied them their rich pastures, and joined the mob in crying for vengeance upon them, and in shrieking "treachery!" there were but few on the king's side, save the two archbishops, the two szirmays, one foyács, and héderváry the palatine. the mob surged into the tent, howling and threatening. "if the king won't consent, let us settle it ourselves! the country stands first! the king himself will thank us when his eyes are opened! let's go! what are we waiting for? there are enough of us!" duke friedrich, who, as being the most powerful and most distinguished guest present, was sitting next the king, turned to him and said in a half whisper: "your majesty, this is a case in which you must give in! nothing is more dangerous than for the people to think they can act against the king's will and go unpunished. no one will defend kuthen, and who knows what has been going on yonder, or even whether kuthen is still alive?" the king maintained a determined silence, but his eyes flashed, and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword. the tumult increased, and some even of those who believed in the kunok's innocence, were so alarmed by the rage of the insurgents that they hurried up to the king and implored him to yield. the pressure around him waxed greater and greater. duke kálmán, who was standing not far off, cried out, "your majesty won't give in! the honour of the nation is at stake!" but the noise and confusion were so great that the king could not hear a word his brother said. the duke shouted for his horse, but it was all in vain, for he could not move. king béla, pressed on all sides by those who were beseeching, imploring, urging, forgot himself for a moment. he put his hands over his eyes, then stretching them out, he said, "lavabo manus meas! (i will wash my hands). you will answer to god for this wickedness. i have done what i could do!" "the king has consented!" roared those nearest him. the mob began to sway about, the horses neighed, the people all poured forth, roaring, "eljen a király! long live the king! death to the false traitors! forward! to kuthen! to kuthen!" no sooner was he free than duke kálmán mounted the first horse he could seize, while the mob rushed off like a whirlwind in the direction of the house by the danube. when the king looked round none were left but some of the magnates. "a horse!" he shouted furiously; and he galloped away after the mob, accompanied by the austrian duke and the rest. if béla had mounted his horse before he addressed the mob, if he had faced the insurgents as a king, and had at once punished the ringleaders, the country might have been spared great part of the disasters which were now on the very threshold. but once again the king was weak at a critical moment. there is much to be said in his excuse and defence; but weakness, however brilliantly defended, remains weakness still. a few moments after the mob had burst into the king's tent, akos was again at the drawbridge which led to kuthen's dwelling. "what do you want, sir?" asked the captain of the guard hotly, as he sprang forward to meet him. "no one is admitted." "since when?" asked akos haughtily. "the king sent orders an hour ago." "maybe! but i have come straight from the diet by the king's command, and i am to take kuthen and all his family before him and the states at once, while you can remain here to guard the place till our return." the captain turned back submissively, and blew the horn which hung at his side. possibly the drawbridge which formed the outer gate of the castle would not even now have been lowered, but that kuthen had recognised akos, and that they were so well armed as to be quite a match for the guard, and for those of the mob who had remained behind. the drawbridge was lowered therefore, but raised again the moment akos had passed. he rode across the covered space between the drawbridge and the inner gate, and there he had to wait again a few moments while the bolts and bars were withdrawn. he leapt from his horse as soon as he was within, and kuthen and his sons hurried from the entrance-hall to meet him, doubting whether he brought good news or bad. "quick!" said akos, "to horse! your majesty, to horse! all of you," and without waiting kuthen's answer, he shouted, "horses! bring the horses! and mount, all who can!" the princes flew at once to the stables, and bridled the horses--which were always kept ready saddled--while kuthen asked in some surprise, "what has happened? where are we to go?" for he had not been able to read anything in young szirmay's face, whether of good or of evil. "where?" said akos bitterly, "where we can be farthest from the mob--the mob has risen and may be here any moment." in those times, sudden dangers, sudden alarms, sudden flights were things of every-day occurrence, and kuthen and his followers had long been accustomed not to know in the morning where they should lay their heads at night. no people were quicker or more resolute in case of extremity than the kunok, who were one family, one army, one colony, and moved like a machine. the queen and princesses, as well as the chiefs, had all come together in the hall, but now the former and many of the servants rushed back into the house, from which they again emerged in a few moments, all cool and collected, all ready to start, and with their most valued possessions packed in bundles. the riding horses were bridled, some of the pack-horses loaded, and all had been done so quickly and quietly, that the guard without had heard no more than the sort of hum made by a swarm of bees before they take flight. meantime akos had rapidly explained matters to kuthen, pointing out to him that king béla and his brother and others were standing up for him, but that there was a rising of the populace, and that the mob might arrive before the king, when, even if they were successfully beaten back, there would certainly be bloodshed, which would only exasperate the people more than ever, and make it impossible for the king, good as he was, to ensure the safety of his guests. whereas, if they could succeed in avoiding the first paroxysms of fury, king béla would be the first to rejoice at their escape. akos spoke confidently, and his words carried conviction. kuthen, his family, and the chiefs were already mounted, while those of the guard who were on foot formed themselves into a close, wedge-shaped mass, and were all ready to set out. "lower the drawbridge!" cried kuthen. the chains rattled, and the gate, which had been closed behind akos, was reopened. he and kuthen headed the procession which issued forth. at that moment a long, yellow cloud of dust made its appearance in the distance, coming towards them. a horseman was galloping in front of it, and he was closely followed by two more, shouting aloud what no one in the castle understood, but something which made the captain of the guard without give orders for the bolts of the drawbridge to be pulled back; and the bridge, left without its supports, dropped with a great plash into the moat. the kunok were cut off! with the sangfroid and fearlessness learnt in the course of his adventurous life, kuthen at once ordered the drawbridge to be raised; the inner gate was closed again and barred with all speed. akos was as pale as death, for he saw in a moment that he had come too late, and that all was lost; but he was resolved to share the fate of the man, whom for marána's sake he looked upon as his father. as for kuthen, he was suddenly the wild chief again. his face was aflame, his eyes flashed fire, he was eager for the fray, and his one thought was to defend himself proudly. he ordered the guards to their places, the horses having been already led back to their stables; and then, turning to his family, he said coolly and calmly, "we will defend ourselves until the king comes, and then his commands shall be obeyed, whatever they are." the women at once retired to their own quarters, without uttering word or groan. there were no tears, no sobs, no sign of terror on their countenances. they looked angry and defiant. when the women had withdrawn, the princes went to their posts, and kuthen, turning to akos, said, "remember your oath." akos raised his hands to heaven without a word. his own position was a more dangerous one than it might seem at first sight. his manifest intention of shielding kuthen from their vengeance would bring down upon him the hatred of his own countrymen; while on the other hand the furious glances of the kunok confined in the castle, and their ill-concealed hostility, showed him clearly that his life was now in danger from within as well as from without. the mob which had rushed away from the diet had pressed on with the speed of the whirlwind, its numbers growing as it went. a few minutes only had passed since the cloud heralding its approach had been seen, and already the crowd was swarming round the banks of the moat, making an indescribable uproar and uttering the wildest, fiercest shouts. within, all was silent as the grave. but the mob outside were not idle for a moment. they were athirst for vengeance, and from the moment of their arrival they had been busy trying to make a passage across the moat by throwing in earth, straw, pieces of wood, even furniture, brought on all sides from the neighbouring houses, and, in fact, all and everything that came to hand. all at once there was a cry raised of "the king! the king is coming!" it was not the king, however, but duke kálmán, with his servants and some of the nobles in his train. that part of the moat faced by the gate was by this time almost full, and some of the more daring spirits were trying to clamber up to the drawbridge, when suddenly the scene changed. the wild figures of the kunok appeared as if by magic upon the walls, the thrilling war-cry was raised, and a cloud of well-aimed arrows hailed down upon the assailants. kuthen and his sons, who confidently expected king béla, had done their utmost to restrain their people, but in vain, for when they saw the moat filled and their enemies preparing to rush the gate, they became infuriated and uncontrollable. in the first moment of surprise all fell back, knocking over those behind them; but some few began to retaliate and shoot up at the garrison. not to much purpose, however, for neither arrows nor spears hit the intended marks, while the long arrows shot from the powerful bows of the kunok never failed. it was during this fierce overture of the contest that duke kálmán rode up. "stand aside!" he shouted, "stop fighting! the king is coming, he will see justice done----" the words were not out of his mouth when two arrows flew forth from loopholes in the walls. one struck the duke's horse, and the second felled to the earth a young nobleman riding close beside him. "they have shot the duke!" was shouted on all sides; for so dense was the cloud of arrows that it was impossible to see at first which of the two had fallen. the duke himself, however, was standing coolly defiant amidst the whistling storm. but the shouts were the signals for a general rush, and from that moment no one, not even the king, could have restrained the people. the moat was filled, the drawbridge wrecked, the inner gate, in spite of its bars, wrenched from its hinges and thrown down upon the dead bodies of the kun guards. the mob rushed in and stormed the castle, and an awful scene of bloodshed followed. kuthen, his sons, and the kun chiefs fought desperately; and side by side with them fought akos, so completely disguised as a kun as to be quite unrecognisable. he was too downright to have thought of a disguise for himself, but had acquiesced in it at kuthen's entreaty. the first of the mob who rushed into the courtyard fell victims to their own rashness, and many more were despatched by the arrows poured from the walls. but suddenly the younger of the two princes fighting beside their father, fell to the ground with a short cry. "my son!" exclaimed kuthen, turning to akos, "go! now's the time! keep your word! i--i'm dying!" with that, kuthen, who had been mortally wounded by a couple of pikes, rushed upon his foes, felled several of them by the mere strength of his arm, and then himself sank down. akos rushed from the entrance-hall into the house. "you are our king now!" roared the kunok, pressing round the remaining prince, and covering him with their shields, as he fought like a young lion. all at once there were loud outcries and yells. the kunok outside the house, finding themselves unable to defend the castle against the swarms which poured into the courtyard, had rushed in, closing the doors and barring the windows. all in vain! the young prince, just proclaimed king amid a shower of arrows, retreated from one room to another, some of his defenders falling around him at every moment. by the time the last door was burst open, less than a dozen of his guard remained, all wounded, all fighting a life-and-death battle with desperation. a few moments more and every kun in the place had ceased to breathe. where were the women? what had become of akos and his bride? presently the mob outside received with howls of joy the heads of kuthen and his family, flung to them from the windows, and at once hoisted them on pikes in token of victory. if the head of akos was among them no one noticed it, for he had stained his face. maddened by their success, the rabble now made with one consent for "king béla's palace," foremost and most active among them being the austrian duke's men-at-arms. they poured into it like a deluge, and the air was filled with shouts of "eljen a király! long live the king! the traitors are dead!" when they had shouted long enough, they set fire to master peter's old mansion, as if it had been the property of king kuthen, and in less than a quarter of an hour sparks and burning embers were flying from it into the air, while the gaping multitudes ran round and round the dwelling, in all the bloodthirsty delight of satisfied revenge. a day or two later, the kun army, which had promptly obeyed orders--more promptly indeed than most even of the more energetic hungarians--reached the gate of pest, well mounted and well armed. there first they learnt what had befallen their king and his family. they came to a halt. the chiefs took counsel together as to what was to be done, and they were not slow in coming to a decision. for the news had spread into the country that all the kunok in pest had been put to death for treachery, and the country, following the example of the city, had also begun to take matters into their own hands by making in some places regular attacks upon the kun women, children, and old men. the kunok had not understood the reason of this before. now they knew! and with one consent they turned back, gathering all their own people together as they went, and turning against the hungarians the arms which at béla's appeal they had been so quick to take up in their defence. duke friedrich stayed no longer, but, content with his little victory over the mongol chief, content with having helped to capture kuthen's castle and to murder its inhabitants, he made off home, giving a promise which he did not keep, that he would send an army to béla's assistance. he had done mischief enough, and left an evil legacy behind him. chapter x. libor climbs the cucumber-tree. duke friedrich had left him in the lurch; the kunok were on their way to bulgaria, wasting and burning as they went; and now king béla saw the mistake he had made in not exerting his utmost power to defend kuthen. the banderia (troops) expected from both sides of the tisza (theiss) did not arrive, eagerly as they were expected. the bishop of csanád, and nobles from arád, and other places, had indeed been hastening to pest with their followers, but on the way they had encountered the outraged and enraged kunok. knowing nothing of what had been taking place in the capital, they were unprepared for hostilities, and when the kunok fell upon them, some were cut off from the rest of the force, and some were cut down. all things seemed to be in a conspiracy against the king and the country, and one blow followed another. it was not until the kunok had crossed into bulgaria, leaving a trail of desolation behind them that the bishop of nagyvárad (grosswardein) could venture to lead his banderium towards pest; and the banderium of the county of bihar was in the same case. now, however, they were hurrying forward, when the mongols, who knew of their coming, put themselves in their way. the bishop attacked what appeared to be but a small force of them; the mongols retreated, fighting. the hungarians, who did not as yet understand their enemy's tactics, pursued. suddenly the mongols turned and fell upon them, and but few escaped to tell the story of the disaster. by this time some , or , men were assembled in pest, against the , or more under the command of batu khan; but of those who had put in an appearance, few were likely to be very serviceable as commanders. the nation had to a great extent lost the military qualities which had distinguished it before, and which distinguished it again afterwards. the masses were no longer called upon for service, and the nobles, not being bound to serve beyond the frontier, had become unused to war. there was plenty of blind self-confidence, little knowledge or experience. the king was no general; and although duke kálmán and bishop ugrin were distinguished for their personal valour and courage, neither they nor any of the other leaders had an idea of what war on a large scale really was. however, such as it was, the army was there, and it was not likely to receive any large accessions; it believed itself invincible, which might count for something in its favour; and the general distress and misery were so great that at last the king yielded his own wish to remain on the defensive, and led his army out into the plain. batu khan at once began to retreat, and to call in his scattered forces, which were busy marauding in various directions. he drew off northwards, his numbers swelling as he went, and the hungarians followed, exulting in the conviction that the mongols were being driven before them, and meant to avoid a battle! it did not for a moment strike them that they were following batu's lead, and that he was drawing them to the very place which he had chosen to suit himself. when they were not many miles from tokay the mongols crossed the sajó by a bridge which they fortified, and they then took up a position which extended from this point to the right bank of the tisza (theiss), having in front of them the vast plain of mohi, bounded on the east by the hills of tokay, on the west by woods, which at that time were dense forests, while behind them to the north they had more plains and hills and, beyond these again, a snow-capped peak which shone like a diamond in a field of azure. master peter's old country-house lay about a hundred miles to the north-west of mohi, almost under the shadow of the loftiest part of the carpathians. a hundred miles was no distance for such swift riders as the mongols, but thus far the county of saros had escaped them, they having entered hungary by passes which lay not only east and west, but also south of it. batu khan's forces occupied the horse-shoe formed by the junction of the three great rivers, sajó, hernád, and tisza. the hungarians encamped on the great plain opposite. but though they had so vast a space at their disposal, their tents were pitched close together, and their horses--a large number, as nearly all were mounted men--stood tethered side by side in rows. freedom of motion within the camp was impossible; and to make matters even worse, the whole was enclosed within an ill-constructed rampart of wooden waggons, which quite prevented freedom of egress. a thousand mounted men were on guard at night outside the camp, but scouting and outposts were apparently unthought of. a few days had passed in merry-making and self-congratulation on the easy victory before them, when one morning king béla appeared mounted on a magnificent charger, to make his customary inspection of the camp. he wore a complete suit of german armour, a white, gold-embroidered cloak over his shoulders, and an aigrette in his helmet. many of the knights templar had joined the army, and some of them, in their white, red-crossed mantles, were now standing about him. close behind him was his brother kálmán, in armour of steel, inlaid with gold; and near at hand was the fiery archbishop ugrin, the most splendid-looking man in the army, so say the chroniclers, his gold chain and cross being the only mark which distinguished him from the laymen. the bishop was a devoted patriot, and though he had not forgiven the king for "leaving him in the lurch," he was sincerely attached to him. he was the leading spirit of the campaign. it was ugrin who had urged the king to take the field without further delay; ugrin, who, with much valour and enthusiasm, but with little military experience, had advised duke kálmán where to pitch the camp; and again it was ugrin, who, convinced that the mongols were in retreat, had pressed the king to give hurried chase, whereby the army had been fatigued to no purpose, and had finally been brought precisely to the spot where batu wished to see it. the bishop, however, happy in his ignorance, was under the delusion that it was he who had forced the khan into his present position. just now the king was giving patient hearing to the opinions, frequently conflicting, of those about him. black care was at his heart, but he looked serene, even cheerful, as usual, as he asked his brother in an undertone whether he had managed to reduce his men to anything like order. the duke, for all reply, shrugged his shoulders and looked decidedly grave. "ah!" said the king, stifling something like a sigh, "just as i expected!" then he heard what the leader of the knights templar had to say, and then he turned to ugrin, well knowing that the bishop's one idea was to attack, and of course beat, the enemy, and that he had no room in his head for any other. "you don't think batu khan will attack?" "attack! not he!" said the bishop, scornfully. "they are all paralysed with fear, or they would never have pitched their tents between three rivers. they have three fronts, and they have put those wretches the kunok and russians foremost! here have we been face to face for days and nothing has come of it! and yet," continued the archbishop eagerly, "nothing would be easier than to annihilate the whole army. all we have to do is to deliver one attack across the sajó, while we send another large force to the left through the woods at night, and across the hernád, and we shall have the mongols caught in their own net!" the archbishop may have been right, but whether he were so or not, the king saw one insuperable objection to what he proposed. the movement depended for its success upon its being executed in absolute silence; and there was no power on earth capable of making any part of the hungarian squadrons move forward without shouts, cries, and tumult! unless heaven should strike them dumb they would noise enough to betray themselves for miles around, as soon as they caught the sound of the word "battle." still, the king was obliged to admit that there did not seem to be anything to be gained by waiting. he was just about to start on his tour of inspection, when there was a sudden sound of great commotion within the camp. men were rushing to and fro, tumbling over one another in their eagerness, and the air was rent with their shouts. but sudden hubbubs, all about nothing, and tumults which were merely the outcome of exuberant spirits, were so frequent that béla and the more staid officers expected the mountain to bring forth no more than the customary mouse on the present occasion. "a prisoner, apparently," observed the duke, as an officer emerged from the crowd. spies and fugitives were frequently crossing the river and stealing into the camp, where there were already russians, kunok, tartars, and men of many tongues. this man had been caught just as, having crept between the waggons, he was starting off at a run down the main thoroughfare, and making straight for the king's tent. "keep back!" cried the officer, "keep back! and hold your tongues, while i take him to the duke and let him tell his story!" but he might as well have addressed the winds and waves. there was a storm of "eljens," mingled with cries in various tongues unintelligible to the rest. they threatened, they swore, they yelled; and in this disorderly fashion approached the group of which the king was the centre. "not to me! there is the king!" said the duke, as the rather bewildered officer pushed his prisoner up to the commander-in-chief. "well, what news do you bring? who are you? where are you from?" the king asked good-humouredly, but with an involuntary smile of contempt. "i am a magyar, your majesty," said the man in a doleful voice. "the tartars carried me off just outside pest." "why!" exclaimed paul héderváry suddenly, as he stood facing the fugitive, "why, if it isn't mr. libor's groom, matykó!" libor, as we have said, was not to be found on the morning of paul's expedition with bishop ugrin; and not having seen or heard of him since, paul had been growing daily more anxious on his account. he missed him, too, at every turn, for libor had made himself indispensable to his comfort. stephen szirmay and master peter, who were as usual in close attendance upon the king, looked with curiosity at the unfortunate lad, who, as they now saw, had lost both ears. "what have you done with your master?" inquired master stephen, forgetting the king for a moment in his eagerness. "the tartars are going to attack the hungarian camp this very night!" blurted out the fugitive, with a loud snort; after which, and having relieved his news-bag of this weighty portion of its contents, he seemed to feel easier. "do you know it for a fact?" asked the king gravely. "take care what you are saying, for your head will have to answer for it." "it is the pure truth, your majesty. i heard the whole thing, and when i knew everything i took my life in my hand and crept through the bushes, swam across the sajó, and then stole hither by the edge of the ditches! well, your majesty will see for yourself by to-night whether i have been telling lies or no." "what more do you know? are the mongols in great force? have they many prisoners?" the king asked, by way of getting at the lad's budget of news and forming some idea of its value. "they are as thick together as a swarm of locusts, sir; and as for the prisoners, they are like the chaff of a threshing floor. there are gentlefolk there too. my old master is one of them--blast him with hot thunderbolts!" "and who is your master?" "my faithful governor--libor!" exclaimed paul héderváry, stepping forward and answering for the groom in a tone of great displeasure. "and have they treated the rest as they have treated you?" asked the duke, pointing to the lad's bleeding ears. "the tartar women cut off the ears and noses of every pretty woman and girl, and the best looking of all they kill! they have killed most of the gentlemen too, and thrown them into the hernád." "and your master?" asked paul quickly. "my master? no master of mine! he's better fit to be master to the devil," said the prisoner, quite forgetting the king in his rage. "what--whom are you talking about?" asked paul, indignantly. "i'm talking about mr. governor libor, and i say that he has turned tartar!" "turned tartar!" exclaimed several in amazement. "it's fact," said the lad. "he has cast off his 'menti' and 'suba,' and doffed his great plume, and now he is going about like a reverend friar, with a cowl large enough to hold myself." "turned priest then, has he?" asked master peter. "priest to the devil, if he has any of that sort down below," said matykó. "priest, not a bit of it! he has turned knéz! that's what he has done! the tartars wear all sorts of church vestments, even the khans do, blight them!" "knéz! what sort of creature is that, matykó?" asked ugrin. "a sort of governor, something like an 'ispán' (_i.e._, count, or head-man of a county)--i don't know, but he has some sort of office, and our poor gentlemen prisoners must doff their hats to the wretch!" "well, nephew!" said master peter, with a laugh, for this was water to his own mill, "so you have chosen a pretty sort of fellow indeed to entrust your castle to!" the king meantime had turned away to speak to the knight commander of the templars, and paul was able to go on questioning matykó. he was beside himself with astonishment. "how long has he been in such favour with the tartars?" he asked. "ah, sir! who can say?" answered the lad, hotly. "he was knéz before they took me! i found him among them, and hardly knew him. it was he who had my ears cut off, the brute! and only just saved my nose!" "well, that is something anyhow," said master peter. "and then," continued matykó, "i heard that mr. governor had been having dealings with the tartars, like those rascally kunok, and what's more, if it is true--and true it must be, for tartars don't give anything for nothing--they say he has shown them the way to two or three castles, where they have got a lot of plunder!" "shown them! the scoundrel!" exclaimed peter and héderváry together. "it's so," said matykó emphatically. "he did ought to have his own long ears and snout cut off, he ought!" young héderváry did not perhaps believe all that had been said about his favourite, but still his anger waxed hot within him. he had to leave matykó now, however, and follow the king, who rode through the whole camp, and finally gave orders to the duke to anticipate the tartars by advancing at once to the sajó with a considerable force. "ugrin!" cried the duke, well pleased with the command, "you will come with me! quick! mount your men, and we will be on the way to the sajó in half an hour and stop the tartars from crossing." by the time the duke and ugrin reached the river, they found that a number of mongols had already got across. these, after some hard fighting they successfully beat back, and that with considerable loss; and as the survivors disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the river, the duke and ugrin led their victorious troops back to the camp, where they were received with acclamations and triumph. they had lost hardly any of their men and were highly elated by their victory. the night following this success was one of the quietest in the camp. the rapid and easy victory they had won had redoubled everyone's hopes that, upon the advance of the entire army the mongols would perish utterly and completely, as if they had never been. most of the men in camp lay down, with the exception of the king, the sentries, and some of the generals. the king allowed himself but a very short rest; for, from his many conversations with the unfortunate king kuthen, he was well aware of the overwhelming numbers and strength of the mongols, and he was determined that the enemy should never find him anything but prepared and on the alert. kálmán and bishop ugrin also approved these prudent measures; but the army as a whole was so worn out by long watches and merry-making that rest it must have. it was a dark night, and the wind blew the tents about; the camp fires had been purposely extinguished, though it was spring-time and chilly. twice in the course of the night the king left his tent, made the round of the camp, and satisfied himself as to the strength of the wooden bulwarks. the duke, the commander of the templars, héderváry the palatine, and his son paul, as well as ugrin, all lay in the king's tent, on carpets, dozing, but not sleeping, while the king merely put off his armour, and stretched himself on the camp bedstead for an hour or two. all was still save for the wind, and in the intervals between the gusts nothing was to be heard but some terrific snores, and the stamping of the horses. now and again those who were fully awake thought they heard shouts of merriment, showing that there were still some not too tired to be amusing themselves; then the wind roared again, and all other sounds were lost. chapter xi. "next time we meet!" since her father's departure, dora had held the reins of government, and held them, too, with a firmer hand than master peter had done. in a couple of weeks she had made the sleepy governor, if not active, at least less dilatory; the men-at-arms had been well drilled by himself and talabor, and the serving men and women had been bewitched into some degree of orderliness. news of her father she neither had nor expected. probably she would hear nothing until he came or sent for her. she knew nothing positively as to what was taking place outside, though the servants from time to time picked up fragments of news in the villages, so contradictory as to convey little real information. but the air, even in this out-of-the-way region, was full of rumour and presentiment, which affected different characters in different ways, but had the general result of making all more careful than usual. without being in the least alarmed, talabor was one who showed himself particularly circumspect at this time; and, as if he had some sort of instinct that trouble might be at hand, he gradually got into the way of helping the seneschal in all that he had to do. and his assistance, though uncalled for, was most welcome to the poor man, who felt a good deal burthened, now that he had to bestir himself to greater speed than was his wont. some of the servants liked talabor for his unpresuming ways, resolution, and courage, while the rest sought to curry favour with him because the young clerk was evidently in the master's good graces, and they believed him to be a power in consequence. by degrees, and without even noticing it, talabor quite took the governor's place. the servants, being accustomed to receive their orders from him, and to go to him in all difficulties, finding moreover that talabor was always ready with an answer and never at a loss what to do, while the old seneschal forgot more than he remembered, soon almost overlooked the latter and put him on one side. even dora, who was perhaps more distant with talabor now than she had ever been before, came at last to giving her orders to him, instead of to the governor. and the governor, finding himself thus in the shade, would now and then suddenly awake and become jealous for the preservation of his authority, and at such times would seize the reins with ludicrous haste, while talabor would as quickly take up again the part of a subordinate. such was the state of affairs when the governor and talabor were sitting together one evening in a tolerably large room occupied by the former. on the table before them were a good sized pewter pot and drinking cups to match. the two had been talking for some time. the governor was looking as if he had been annoyed about something, and talabor could not be said to look cheerful either, in fact, he had rarely been seen to smile since master peter's departure. he missed him greatly, for latterly, as long as he was at home, peter had often had the young man with him in the evenings, when the candles were lighted, or when a blazing fire supplied the place of tallow and wax, these latter being still considered luxuries. master peter possessed a few books which he greatly valued--a copy of his favourite ovid, and a bible, for which he had given a village and a half, besides one or two others. he made talabor read to him from all in turn; and often by way of variety, he had long conversations with him, and told him stories of his hunting adventures. talabor was a good listener, and he not only enjoyed but learnt a good deal from the narratives of his younger days, in which master peter delighted. dora, too, was more often present than not, and sometimes joined in the conversation, which made it more interesting still, and then talabor felt as if he were almost one of the family. of course, there could be nothing of this sort now. dora gave her orders, sometimes made suggestions, but he never saw her except in the presence of others and on matters of business. he had quite satisfied himself, however, that there had never been anything between her and libor, and that was a satisfaction. she had not deceived her father, she had never either sent or received a single letter unknown to him, and in fact she was just as upright and honourable as he had always thought her. as to why libor had spread the reports which talabor had traced to him, and why he had enlisted borka's aid, unless it were to magnify his own importance, that, of course, he could not guess; but he had so frightened the maid that he was satisfied not only that she had told him the truth so far as she knew it, but that for the future she would keep it to herself, on pain of being denounced as a traitor to her master, of whom she stood in great awe. "this won't do!" cried the governor, as he brought his hand down on the table with a mighty bang. "this won't do, i say! here are the woods swarming with wolves, and one good hunt would drive the whole pack off, and yet you, talabor, would have us look idly on while the brutes are carrying off the master's sheep and lambs regularly day after day." "not idly, sir, i did not say idly; but they have the shepherd and his boys to look after them, and they are good shots, especially the shepherd, and then he has four dogs, each as big as a buffalo," talabor rejoined, rather absently. "buffalo!" "calf, i mean, of course; but it would certainly not be wise to take the garrison out hunting just now." "and why not? you are afraid of the tartars, i suppose, like the rest!" "no, sir! but if they do come, i should prefer their being afraid of us! besides, there is no good in denying it--the wind never blows without cause, and there has been more than one report that the tartars have actually invaded us." "always the tartars! how in the world should they find their way through such woods as these unless you or i led them here?" "if once the filthy creatures flood the country, it seems to me from all that ever i have heard, that not a corner will be safe from them. they'll go even where they have no intention of going, just because of their numbers, because those behind will press them forward in any and every direction." "well, it's true, certainly, that the last time i was with the master in pest, i heard they had done i don't know what not in russia and wallachia. people said that wherever they forced their way they were like--excuse me--like bugs, and not to be so easily got rid of, even with boiling water! and they are foul, disgusting folk, too! they poison the very air; and they eat up everything, to the very hog-wash!" "so, governor, you agree with me then! it's the man who keeps his eyes open who controls the market! who knows whether we mayn't have a struggle with them ourselves to-day or to-morrow!" "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the governor. "our walls are strong, and, if only there are not very many of them----" "eh, sir, but numbers will make no difference! we are so enclosed here that the closer they are packed the more of them our arrows will hit." "true! true!" said the governor, with more animation now that there was a question of fighting, "but they shoot too, blast them!" "let them!" said talabor confidently, "we are behind our walls, and can see every man of them without being seen ourselves." "clerk!" cried the governor, quite annoyed, "i declare you talk as if the tartars were at the very gate!" "heaven forbid! but----" at that instant the door flew open, and the gate-keeper, one of the most vigilant fellows of the castle, rushed in. "get on with you, you ass!" shouted the governor, "what's the news? what do you mean by leaving the gate and bolting in here as if the wolves were at your heels?" the governor might perhaps have gone on scolding, but the gate-keeper interrupted him. "talabor--mr. governor, i mean, there are some suspicious-looking men on the edge of the wood, if my eyes don't deceive me." "on the edge of the wood? but it is rather dark to see so far," said talabor, standing up as he spoke. "if it were not so dark, i could tell better who the rascals are; but so much i can say, there they are, and a good lot of them." "very well," said talabor, making a sign to the governor, "you are a faithful fellow to have noticed them; but we mustn't make any fuss, or our young mistress may be frightened." "i am not usually given to fearing danger, mr. talabor," said dora, entering the room at that moment, and speaking with cool dignity. "i have just been to the top of the look out myself, and what this honest fellow says is perfectly true. there are some men just inside the wood, and they do look suspicious, because they keep creeping about among the underwood, and only now and then putting their heads out." while his mistress spoke, the gate-keeper had stood there motionless. "come, go back to the gate," said dora, turning to him, "and make haste! you heard what mr. talabor said; let him know at once if you notice any movement among these people." "and, governor," she continued, "you had better place the guard and all the men who can shoot at the loopholes, quietly, you know, not as if we were expecting to be attacked; and then, the stones for the walls----" "pardon me, mistress," interposed talabor, "i had stones, and everything else we might need, carried up a week ago." "i know it, mr. talabor, i was not doubting it," dora said in an unruffled tone, "but for all that, it will be as well to have more stones, i think. i believe myself that they are just brigands, not tartars, but even so, if they attack us at night, and in large numbers, all will depend upon the reception they get, so it seems to me." talabor said no more, but in his own mind he was fully persuaded that the suspicious-looking folk were the mongols, and that they were concocting some plan for getting into the castle without attacking it. "your orders shall be obeyed, my young mistress," answered the governor. "talabor," dora went on, as if to make up for her previous coldness, "i trust to you to do everything necessary for our defence." a few moments later talabor was in the spacious courtyard, collecting the men who formed the watch or guard, while the old governor hurried with some difficulty up the stairs which led to the porter's room, over the gate. all preparations were complete within a quarter of an hour. dora wrapped herself in a cloak and stationed herself in a wide balcony facing the woods. she had been very desirous of following her father and sharing all his perils and dangers; but it must be confessed that at this moment she was filled with fear; so, too, she probably would have been if at her father's side in battle, but she would have suppressed her fear then as she was doing now, and would have shown herself as brave and resolute as any. the doubtful-looking figures had vanished now from the wood, and, aided by the moon which just then shone out through the clouds, talabor's sharp eyes detected three horsemen coming towards the gate. they were riding confidently, though the path was steep and narrow, with a wall of rock on one side and a sheer precipice on the other. they seemed to know the way. "talabor!" cried dora, as she caught sight of him standing on the wall just opposite her, between the low but massive battlements. "directly!" answered talabor, and with a whisper to jakó the dog-keeper, who was beside him, he hurried down and came and stood below the balcony, while dora bent over it, saying in a pleased tone, "do you see, there are guests arriving? i think they must be friends, or at least acquaintances, by the way they ride." "yes, i do, mistress!" answered talabor. "they have the appearance of visitors certainly, but they have come from those other questionable-looking folk, so we will be careful. trust me, i have my wits about me." "there are three," said dora, after a short pause, and as if the answer did not quite satisfy her. "how can we tell whether they have any evil intentions or not?" "we shall see; but i must go back to my place." "go to the gate tower." "i am going!" said talabor, and without waiting for further orders, he ran back, first to his former post on the wall, where he spoke to the wild-looking dog-keeper and the two armed men who had joined him, and then to the tower flanking the gate, from a slit-like opening in which he could see the moat, and the space opposite formed by a clearing in the wood. the gate-keeper had not noticed the approach of the "guests," as dora called them, for the window was too narrow to give any view of the breakneck path, along which the riders were advancing, now hidden in the hollows, now reappearing among the juniper bushes and wild roses. they were within a short distance of the moat now, and were making straight for the gate. "quick!" said talabor to the porter, "go and fetch the governor! i'll take your place meantime; and tell him to be on his guard, but not to raise any alarm. it would be as well if he could get our young mistress to leave that open balcony, for some impudent arrow, if not a spear, might find its way there." the gate-keeper stared for a moment, and then went off without a word. the governor, finding day after day pass in peace, had cast care to the winds for his own part, and had fallen into the way of constantly testing the contents of master peter's well-filled cellar, in the privacy of his own room. he was rather a dainty than greedy drinker, and the wine, being pure, never affected his head, though it did not make him more inclined to exert himself. just now, however, he was carrying out dora's orders, as he sat on a projection of the wall with his feet dangling down into the court. he would have had his pipe in his mouth, not a doubt of it, if tobacco had been known in those days. while the gate-keeper was gone the three horsemen arrived. "hi! porter!" cried the foremost, whose figure, though not his features, was plainly discernible. he was mounted on a dark, undersized horse, and was enveloped in a sort of cloak of primitive shape, much like the coarse garment worn by swine-herds. his head was covered by a small round helmet, like a half melon. "here i am, what do you want?" answered talabor. "i come by order of master peter szirmay," answered the man. "the tartars have broken into the country, and his honour has sent a garrison, as he does not consider the present one sufficient." "you are libor the clerk!" said talabor, at once recognising the forward governor by his peculiar voice, which reminded him irresistibly of a cock's crow. "and who may you be?" "talabor, if his honour the governor still remembers my poor name." "ah! all right, clerk! just let them be quick with the drawbridge, for it is going to rain, and i have no fancy for getting wet." "no fear, mr. libor. it is not blowing up for rain yet! but in these perilous times, caution is the order of the day, and so, mr. libor, your honour will perhaps explain how it happens that mr. paul héderváry's gallant governor has been sent to our assistance by our master. that we are in much need of help i don't deny." "why such a heap of questions? mr. héderváry and some twenty or more szirmays are in the king's camp, and master peter has sent me with mr. héderváry's consent, as being a man to be trusted." "a man to be trusted? and since when have you been a man to be trusted, governor? since when have people come to trust a scamp? you take care that i don't tell master peter something about you!" "mr. talabor!" cried libor haughtily, "have the drawbridge lowered at once! i have orders to garrison the castle. and pray where is the governor? and since when have such pettifoggers as you been allowed to meddle in master peter's affairs?" "here is the governor," said old moses at this moment. curiosity, and just a little spice of uneasiness had brought him quickly to the tower, and he had heard libor's last angry words. talabor at once gave up his place to him, but neither he nor the porter left the room. "oh, mr. governor," said libor in a tone of flattery, "i am glad indeed to be able to speak to the real governor at last, instead of to that wind-bag of a fellow. i know mr. moses _deák_, and how long he has been in master peter's confidence as his right hand." then, slightly raising his voice, he went on: "the promised garrison has arrived. it is here close at hand by master peter's orders, and is only waiting for the drawbridge to place itself under mr. moses' command." before making any answer to this, the governor turned to talabor with a look of inquiry, which seemed to say, "it is all quite correct. master peter himself has sent governor libor here, and there is no reason why we should not admit the reinforcements." "mr. governor," whispered talabor, with his hand on his sword, "say you will let mr. libor himself in and that you will settle matters with him over a cup of wine." "good," said the governor, who liked this suggestion very well. then he shouted down through the opening, "mr. libor, before i admit the garrison, i should be pleased to see you in the castle by yourself! i am sure you must be tired after your long journey, and it will do you good to wet your whistle with a cup or two of wine; and then, as soon as we have had a look at things all round, i will receive your good fellows with open arms." "who is in command of this guard?" inquired talabor, coming to the window again. "myself! until i hand my men over to the governor. but i don't answer you again, clerk talabor! what need is there of anyone else while good mr. moses is alive? but i can't come and feast inside while my men are left hungry and thirsty without. i will summon them at once! and even then they can come only single file up this abominable road where one risks one's life at every step." "indeed so, mr. libor? well, if you have all your wits about you, we have not quite taken leave of ours. you would like to come in with your troop, but we should like first to have the pleasure of being made personally acquainted with your two wooden figures there! i understand you, sir! but you should have come when times were better. these are evil days! who knows whether master peter is even alive, and whether mr. héderváry's governor has not come to take possession and turn this time of confusion to his own advantage?" so spoke talabor, and governor moses was a little shaken out of his confidence. indeed, the whole affair seemed strange. surely, thought he, if master peter had wished to strengthen the garrison he would have found someone to send besides the clerk, libor; for he, of course, knew nothing of the latter's recent military advancement; and then again, talabor was so prudent that during the past weeks the governor had come to look on him as a sort of oracle. "then you won't admit the guard?" said libor wrathfully. "we have not said that," answered moses; "but if you have come on an honest errand, come in first by yourself; show me a line of writing, or some other token, and we shall know at once what we are about." "writing? token? isn't the living word more than any writing? and isn't it token enough that i, the hédervárys' governor, am here myself?" "the garrison are not coming into the castle!" cried talabor. "there are enough of us here, and we don't want any more mouths to feed! but if you yourself wish to come in, you may, and then we shall soon see how things are." "mr. governor!" shouted libor in a fury, "i hold you responsible for anything that may happen! who knows whether some stray band of tartars may not find their way up here to-day or to-morrow, and who is going to stand against them?" "we! i!" said talabor. "make your choice, if you please! come in alone, or--nobody will be let in, and we will take the responsibility." so saying talabor went forward, and looking down through the loophole, exclaimed, "why, mr. libor, who are those behind you?" "tótok (slovacks), they don't understand hungarian," answered libor; and in a louder voice he added, "let the drawbridge down at once, i will come in alone." "talabor!" said dora, coming hastily into the room, "i see a whole number of men coming up the road. what does it mean?" "it means treachery, mistress! mr. héderváry's governor, libor, _deák_, is here asking for admittance, and i suspect mischief. i believe the rascal means to take the castle," said talabor. "no one must be admitted," answered dora. as dora spoke, governor moses turned round. the old man was not yet clear in his own mind what they ought to do. if the reinforcements had really come from master peter, why then there was no reason why they should not be admitted; and, left to himself, he would certainly have let both libor and all his followers in without delay. but talabor had "driven a nail into his head" which caused him to hesitate, and dora's commands were peremptory. "excuse me, mr. governor," said dora, "and allow me to come to the window." "mr. libor," she went on, in a voice which trembled a little, "please to withdraw yourself and your men, and go back wherever you have come from. if we are attacked we will defend ourselves, and you must all be wanted elsewhere, if it is true, as i hear, that the tartars have invaded the country." "dearest young lady! your father will be greatly vexed by this obstinacy." "that's enough, libor!" said talabor, with a sign to dora, who drew back. "we shall let no one into the castle, not even master peter's own brother, unless he can show us master peter's ring, for those were his private instructions to me." "why didn't you say so before?" muttered moses to himself; and then, as if annoyed that his master should have thought it necessary to give private instructions to any but himself, in the event of such an unforeseen emergency as the present, he called down to libor, "it is quite true! i asked you for a token myself just now, for i have had my instructions too." "i'll show it as soon as we are in the castle," returned libor. "treachery!" said talabor, addressing dora. "the castle is strong, and it will be difficult to attack it. we will answer for that! don't have any anxiety about anything, dear young lady; but hasten back to your own rooms and don't risk your precious life, for i expect the dance will begin directly." talabor's manly self-possession had reassured her, and she looked at him with animation equal to his own; then, not wishing to wound the feelings of the governor, she shook him by the hand for the first time in her life, saying, "moses, _deák_! if they should really attack us, i trust entirely to you and mr. talabor. and, now, everyone to his post! i am not a szirmay for nothing! and i know how to behave, if the home of my ancestors is attacked!" and having hurriedly uttered these words, dora withdrew. "very well then, as you please!" shouted libor furiously. "hungarian dogs! you shall get what you have earned!" with that he turned his horse's head, and not long after the whole body of mounted men had reached the open space fronting the gate. "hungarian dogs!" thundered the governor, "then the rascally whelp can actually slander his own race!" a few moments more, and not only the horsemen who wore the hungarian costume, but also a hundred or so of filthy, monkey-faced mongols on foot, were all assembled before the castle, these latter having climbed the rocks as if they had been so many wild cats. it was easy to see at once that they were not hungarians. "yes! hungarian dogs, that's what you are!" shouted libor, "and i am a knéz of his highness, the grand khan oktai, and i shall spit every man of you!" so saying, he hurried away, and was lost in the throng. chapter xii. defending the castle. a few moments later the small garrison of brave men were all on the walls, and so placed behind the breastwork as to be almost invisible from below. all stood motionless; not an arrow was discharged, not a stone hurled. the castle was to all appearance dead. all at once there was a terrific roar from the enemy, which awoke countless echoes among the rocks. but it was no battle-cry of the tartars or mongols, for they rush to the fray in silence, without uttering a sound. this was like the wild yell of all sorts of people, a mixture of howls and cries, almost more like those of wild animals than of human beings. dora, who at that moment had stepped out into the balcony, shuddered at the sound. the howls and screams of fury were positive torture to her ears, and thrilled her through and through. "o god!" she said within herself, "i am afraid! and i must not be afraid!" and as she spoke, her maids all came rushing into the balcony, wringing their hands above their heads, uttering loud lamentations, which were half strangled by sobs. "the tartars! the tartars!" they cried, hardly able to get the words out. "it's all over with us! what shall we do! what shall we do!" "go about your own business, every one of you!" said dora sternly, "fighting is the men's work, yours is to be at the washing-tub, and the fireside. don't let me hear another sound, and don't come here again till i call you!" her speech had the desired effect; the women were all silent, as if they had been taken by the throat and had had their wails suddenly choked; and away they went in haste, either to do as they were told, or to hide themselves in the lowest depths of the cellar. at all events they vanished. they had no sooner all tumbled out of the balcony than talabor stepped in, and just as he did so, an arrow, the first from outside, flew in and struck his cap. "come in! come inside! for heaven's sake!" cried talabor, seizing dora by the hand. "mr. talabor! what do you mean?" she began indignantly, both startled and angered by his audacity. then, catching sight of the arrow in his cap, she went on in a frightened voice, "are you wounded, talabor?" the young man did not let go his hold until he had drawn dora into the adjoining hall, where she was quite reassured as to the arrow, which he then drew from his cap, without a word, and fitted to the long bow he had in his hand. then he stepped back into the balcony, and sent the arrow flying with the remark, "there's one who won't swallow any more magyar bread at all events!" the next instant a cloud of arrows poured into the balcony, but already talabor was down in the court and rushing to the walls, whence master peter's famous dog-keeper and some of the garrison had already discharged their arrows with deadly effect. dora had quite recovered herself. as for libor, he had vanished as completely as if he had never been there. "if i could only clap eyes on that scoundrel!" cried talabor furiously. "ah! there! that's he! with his head buried in a cowl! cowardly dog!" he fitted an arrow and drew his bow, but hit only a tartar. "missed!" he muttered, with vexation, "and it's the last! here, jakó," he said, turning to the dog-keeper, "just go and fetch me the great székely bow from the dining hall! you know, the one which takes three of us to string it." while jakó was gone, talabor observed that one body of tartars was stealing along under the trees close beside the moat, towards the south side of the castle, and that libor had dismounted, and was creeping along with them. "what can those rascals mean to do?" whispered the governor. "i know!" said talabor, "the traitor! i know well enough what he's after! but he's out! the wretch! he thinks he shall find the wall on that side in the same tumble-down state in which it was the last time he was here!" "true!" returned the governor, "they are making straight for it." "you there at the bastion, quick! follow me," he went on, hurrying along the parapet to where the mongols seemed to intend a mighty assault. the dog-keeper, who had come back with the bow, climbed the wall by the narrow steps, and he, too, followed talabor. libor was creeping along on foot among his men, wearing a coat of mail, and so managing as to be out of range of the arrows of the defenders. libor thoroughly understood how to avail himself of shelter, and here, close to the wood, had no difficulty in finding it. to his great chagrin, however, he found that he had miscalculated. the wall had been so well repaired that if anything it was even stronger here than elsewhere. talabor and his party had no sooner made their appearance than they were observed, in spite of the gathering twilight, and were the targets for a cloud of arrows. they withdrew behind the breastwork, and after some difficulty succeeded in stringing the great székely bow. whereupon, talabor chose the longest arrow from jakó's quiver, fitted it to the string, straightened himself, and, as he did so, he caught sight of libor. libor also recognised his worst enemy at the self-same moment, and turning suddenly away made for the wood. but talabor's arrow flew faster than he, and with so sure an aim that it hit him in the back, below his iron corselet, and there stuck. "ha! ha! ha!" roared jakó, himself a passionate bowman, and one of the few who could manage the székely bow, "ha! ha! ha! that's right! if not in front, then behind! all's one to us!" but talabor was not satisfied with his shot, for libor kept his feet, at least as long as he was within sight. the mongols were meantime showing how determined they could be when the hope of valuable booty was dangled before their eyes. their numbers had been mysteriously increased tenfold, and from all sides they were bringing stones, branches from the trees, whole trees, in a word, all and everything upon which they could lay hands. the attack on the south side of the castle was abandoned, though not before some score or so of the enemy had been laid low by the arrows of talabor and his men, and the mongols all now turned their attention to the moat, and to that part of it immediately fronting the drawbridge. arrows poured down upon them incessantly, and there was seldom one which missed its mark. but in spite of this, the work proceeded at such a rate as threatened to be successful in no long time, for as one fell another took his place, and the wood seemed to be swarming. talabor had had no experience of the mongols, and was not aware that their chief strength lay in their enormous numbers. he did not so much as dream how many of them there might be. however, master peter had made no bad choice in the garrison he had left behind him, and they did not for a moment lose courage. they shot down arrow after arrow, not one of which was left without its response by the bowmen stationed behind those at work on the moat; but while many of the besiegers were stretched upon the ground, not more than three or four of the besieged were wounded, and of them not one so seriously as to be incapable of further fighting. dora had been coming out into the courtyard from time to time, ever since the siege had begun in earnest. talabor and the governor were too busy probably to notice her, and though not altogether safe, she found herself comparatively out of danger, so long as she kept under the wall, as the arrows described a curve in falling. she could handle a bow at least as well as many of the women of her time; but though she had a strong sense of her responsibilities as the "mistress of the castle" in her father's absence, she was content to leave the fighting to the men, and to do no more than speak an encouraging word to them from time to time and keep everything in readiness for attending to their wounds. as she stood there, in the shelter of the wall, she suddenly heard the governor's voice uttering maledictions and imprecations, and the next moment he came blundering down the stone steps from the parapet. "oh! moses, _deák_! what is the matter?" cried dora, rushing towards him. the governor could be a very careful man when occasion required, and if he descended now with something of a roll, he trod gingerly all the same; and he had besides the advantage of such well-covered bones, that they were in little danger. "the matter?" he cried, as he reached the grass in safety, "the matter, young mistress, is that they have shot me--through the arm, hang them! just as my spear had caught one of them behind the ear too!" "here," cried dora to the man nearest her, "vid, fetch me some water and rag, quick! we must stop the bleeding. borka has them all ready!" vid, who was on the wall, had seen the governor totter and almost lose his balance as he stumbled down the steps, and was hurrying after him when dora called. but mr. moses no sooner found himself safely at the bottom, and sound in all his limbs except just where he was hit, than he at once regained his wonted composure. "off with you, vid," said he, "but fetch a good handful of cobwebs; that will stop the bleeding in a trice." meantime dora herself ran into the house and soon came back with borka her maid, bringing water, heaps of old rag, and all that could possibly be wanted. the girl's knees were shaking under her with terror as she slipped along, close after her mistress. dora herself bound up the injured arm, moses offering no opposition, as they were in a fairly safe place, and when the operation was over, he even kissed the hands of this "fairest of surgeons," as he called her. then he rose to his feet, gave himself a shake and roared, "hand me my spears! i shall hardly be able to draw another bow to-day!" no sooner was the governor standing up once more than borka made a hasty dash for the house. "keep along by the wall, borka!" dora called after her. but the girl was so consumed with fear that she neither heard nor saw. just as she was hurrying up the steps of the principal entrance, instead of going round to the back, where the danger was nil, she fell down, head foremost, and as she did so, a long tartar arrow caught her in the back. dora flew after her, and just as she had reached the steps talabor was beside her, with his shield held over her head. two or three arrows rattled down upon it, even in the few moments that they stood there. "get up at once!" said talabor, sternly. but the girl did not move, and moses began to tremble. borka was dead! killed, not by the arrow, as they found later on, but by her own terror. "oh, poor girl!" cried dora, her eyes filling with tears. "she has got her deserts!" said talabor, in a hard tone. "there is one traitor less in the castle! and i believe she was the only one." and without giving time for question or answer, he hurried dora indoors, and rushed back to his post on the wall, followed at a more leisurely pace by moses with his four spears. while all this was going on, the mongols had succeeded more or less in filling up the moat, and though up to their knees in water, and impeded by the logs, branches, stones, and other material with which they had filled it, some had already crossed, and were beginning to climb the wall, by means of long poles, when talabor gave the signal, and a volley of huge stones and pieces of rock came suddenly crashing down upon them. these were swiftly followed by a flight of arrows, and the two together worked such terrible havoc among the assailants that the survivors beat a hasty retreat. they seemed to be entirely disheartened by this last repulse, and convinced that nothing would be gained by continuing their present tactics; for, to the great surprise of moses and talabor, they did not return. when next the moon shone out it was seen that a large number of men were lying dead both in and about the moat. all, whether whole or wounded, who could do so, had drawn off into the depths of the wood, the more severely wounded borne on the shoulders of the rest. libor was not again seen by anyone. the usual guard was doubled, and talabor was going to pass the night on the battlements, with the great dog-wood bow beside him and his quiver full of fresh arrows. the wounded, only four of whom were seriously injured, had been bandaged, and it now appeared that, of the entire garrison there were but two or three who had not at least a scratch to show. talabor had been hit he did not know how many times, but he had escaped without any serious wound, though he had lost a good deal of blood. before going to his post on the wall, he paid a visit to the porter's room to have his hurts seen to, and when at last the porter's wife let him go, he was so bound up and bandaged as to be not unlike an egyptian mummy. by the time moses came in to see dora, she was utterly worn out. "where is talabor?" she asked. "on the castle wall," said the governor. "not wounded, is he?" "i don't think so," was the answer. "at least, he said nothing about it." "we must all watch to-night, mr. moses; i am afraid they may come back and bring more with them." "my dear young lady," said moses, "whether they do or not, this castle is no place for you now. it is only the mercy of god which has preserved you this time." "but i must not stir from here until i hear from my father! besides, where can i go? if the tartars have discovered such an out-of-the-way place as this, the country must be swarming with them!" "it was easy enough for them to find their way here," growled moses, with sundry not too respectful expletives. "it was that good-for-nothing clerk, libor, who brought them down on us." "that's true indeed; but now that they have found us out, others may come. so, mr. moses, we must have our eyes open, and as soon as we can, we must have the moat cleared, and make the castle more secure if possible." moses said "good-night," though he well knew that dora would not go to rest, and then he, too, went to the porter's room. it was a most unusual thing for the mongols to abandon any attack, but just as talabor had begun to pelt the assailants with the heavy missiles already mentioned, one of the chiefs sent with libor (possibly to act as spy upon him), hastily quitted the post of danger and hurried after the governor-clerk, whom he found in the wood, trying as best he might to bind up the wound from which he had now drawn the arrow. the wound, though deep enough, was not serious. "why, knéz! sitting here under the trees, are you?" cried the mongol roughly, in his own uncouth tongue. "sitting here, when those magyar dogs have done for more than a hundred of our men!" "directly, bajdár!" said libor sharply, "you see i have been shot in the head and can't move!" "directly? and can't move? shot in the head? perhaps you don't keep your head where we mongols keep ours! but what will the khan say, if we take back only five or six out of men?" "five or six?" repeated libor in alarm; "are so many lost?" "well, and if it's not so many! and if you, who ought to be first in the fight have managed to save your own skin! quite enough have fallen for all that, and we shall all perish if this mad business goes on any longer. take care, knéz! look after yourself! for batu khan is not used to being played with by new men such as you!" libor staggered to his feet, and though badly frightened by his ill-success, as well as by what bajdár had said, his natural cunning did not altogether desert him. "be off, bajdár! and don't blame me! of course, i meant it for the best! the castle is crammed with gold and silver, and there are some good horses, as well as a pretty girl or two. who could have supposed the rascals would defend themselves in such a fashion! be off, i tell you, bajdár, and stop this senseless fighting, and we'll draw off into the woods." "what! with empty hands?" "who is to help it? but we won't go quite empty-handed either." the mongol glanced up from under his cap as libor said this, and his small eyes glittered like fire-flies in the darkness. "master peter has a large sheep-fold in a valley not far from here, and the few men who guard it are nothing to reckon with; if we drive off the sheep, there will be a good feast for a thousand or two of hungry fellows in the camp." "what's that?" said the tartar hotly. "why, we shall eat those up ourselves! all the cattle have been driven off out of our way, and we are as hungry as wolves!" "only go, bajdár, and call the men off, and then i'll tell you something which will make up for our ill-luck here." bajdár shook his head. he was in no good humour, but he had gained his object, and he went off, cursing and threatening, to stop the assault. as for the amends which libor promised, we can say only so much as this, that they were ample. he believed the country to be wholly at the mongols' mercy, he was well acquainted with the neighbourhood, and he led his men, who had now dwindled to thirty or so, to the most defenceless places, where they found cattle enough to satisfy them. so great was the prevailing terror, that many had fled from their homes leaving everything behind them, or had been so harassed by perpetual alarms that they had at last concealed their property in such senseless ways that it was found without difficulty. however it may have been in this case, it was a fact that when knéz libor returned from his campaign, he received high praise from batu khan, who cared nothing at all that the force had melted away till little more than a fourth part was left to return to the sajó. batu had further uses for libor. when the mongols had at last made off, and moses and talabor found that the shepherds had been killed, and the sheep, either eaten on the spot, carried off, or scattered in the woods, they first cautiously searched the neighbourhood, and then proceeded with no little labour, to bury the dead. this done, talabor made it his business to ride out every day, and was sometimes absent for hours, scouring the country while those at home were busy with the governor, strengthening the defences of the castle. one morning, some days after the attack, talabor asked to speak to dora. it had been a trying time for all in the castle, but dora had gone back to her usual habits, and was looking after her household affairs as strictly and regularly as if nothing had happened. in one thing she was somewhat changed: her confidence in and dependence upon talabor had much increased. "well, talabor, is there any good news?" she asked gently. "may i speak plainly, dear young mistress?" he asked, by way of answer. "i never wish you to speak otherwise, clerk talabor." "then i will tell you at once, that you must not stay here any longer, mistress. the place is too unsafe now that the mongols know it." "must not? and where could i go?" "we have to do with dangerous enemies, and they are enraged, and will be certain to revenge themselves as soon as they can," he urged. dora sighed. "i know, talabor, but i am not going to move till i hear from my father." "dear lady," said talabor again, after a pause. "dear mistress--perhaps you may have noticed that i have been out riding every day. i have scoured the whole neighbourhood for miles round, and i have learnt a good deal more than the mere rumours which are all that reach us here." "and you have dared to keep it to yourself?" "yes, dear mistress, i have dared! i did not wish to trouble you for nothing, and one hears many things. if i have done wrong, god knows, i could not do anything else until i was sure." "talabor!" said dora, quite disarmed, "and why do you speak now?" "because the time has come when i must either tell you the worst, or let you risk your precious life." dora shuddered but did not speak, and talabor went on to tell her, what we already know, of the invasion, and of the successes already gained by batu khan. there were naturally many gaps in his narrative, and much that was already sorrowful fact, he knew only as rumour and surmise. but still, with all deficiencies it was abundantly evident that her present home was no longer safe, and that the very next week, day, even hour, she might be exposed to fresh and graver peril. and still, what was she to do? "is that all?" she asked presently, "you have not heard anything of my father?" "i have heard that he is alive at least," responded talabor cheerfully, "though twice i heard the contrary----" "and you kept it from me?" "why should i tell you what i did not believe myself, and what those who told me were not at all sure of? it was only a report, and now i know for certain that master peter is alive." "certain? how?" "truly," and he told how the news had reached him, adding, "so now we know where to find him, when we have the opportunity." "ah! that settles it then, talabor. the proper place for a good daughter is with her father. i'll go to him!" but while dora was thus making up her mind to ride to the camp, events had taken place which, when they came to her ears, made her hesitate again as to what she ought to do. meantime, until they could decide, talabor went on strengthening the walls in every way he could think of, and rendering the steep approach more difficult. chapter xiii. camp fires. dschingiz khan had died in , and by the year his son and successor, oktai, had completed the subjugation of northern china. two years later he sent his nephew batu westwards at the head of , men, and in less than six years the latter had overrun nearly one quarter of the circumference of the earth. the boundless steppes of asia, and the lands lying between the river ural and the dnieper, with all their various peoples, were speedily brought under his sway. in the autumn of the mongolian catapults had reduced riazan to a heap of ruins; moscow perished in the flames; and with the capture of kieff, then the handsomest and best fortified city of northern europe, all russia sank under the yoke of the mongols, who ruled her for centuries. kieff had fallen towards the end of , and batu had then divided his forces, sending , men to poland, where they burnt cracow and breslau, and then proceeded to silesia, where, on april th, they defeated an army of germans, poles, and bohemians near liegnitz; they then devastated moravia, and entering hungary on the north-west, presently rejoined batu, who himself had made a straight line from kieff for hungary, entering it, as already said, by the pass of verecz, on the north-east. the third division of mongols had gone south, skirting the eastern carpathians and entering transylvania at two different points. one portion of this division had rejoined batu at the river sajó, in time for the pitched battle now imminent. when first the hungarian camp was pitched batu had surveyed it from an eminence with a grim smile of satisfaction. "there are a good many of them!" he exclaimed, "but they can't get away! they have penned themselves up as if they were so many sheep in a fold!" with the return of duke kálmán after his victory at the bridge, all danger was believed to be over for the night, and save for a few merry-makers, the exultant army slept profoundly. there were few watchers but the king, the duke, the archbishop, and the few others gathered in the royal tent. on the other side of the sajó a different and wilder scene was being enacted. the night was dark, but the mongol camp was brilliantly illuminated by the blaze of a bonfire so huge, that its light shone far and wide. it was never the khan's way to extinguish his camp fires; quite the contrary. he wished his enemy to see them, and to suppose that his army was stationary. thanks to his innumerable spies, he was well aware of all that had taken place early in the night, and had not been in the least surprised by the recent sortie. it was, in fact, just what he had wished to provoke, by way of diverting the attention of the hungarians from that which was taking place farther up the river. if a few hundred scape-goats had perished, what matter? there were plenty more to take their place. and they were not even mongols, but slaves, russians, kuns, etc., who had been forced into his service. while these wretches, with the trembling libor perforce among them, were bearing the brunt of the hungarian onset, and being thoroughly beaten, batu had sent a large force across the sajó farther up and this, under cover of the darkness, was now stealthily drawing nearer and nearer to the hungarian camp. it moved forward in absolute silence, and without attracting any notice. batu and several of his chief leaders were just now standing on a low hill, all mounted, armed, and ready for battle. below was the mongol host, mounted also and armed with bows, spears, and short, curved swords. a wild, terrible-looking host they were, short of stature, broad in the chest, flat in the face; with small, far-apart eyes, and flat noses. they were clad in ox-hide so thick as to be proof against most weapons, and consisting of small pieces, like scales, sewn together. so they are described by thomas, archdeacon of spalatro, who had but too good opportunity of seeing what they were like. he adds that their helmets were either of leather or iron, and that their black and white flags were surmounted by a bunch of wool; that their horses, ridden bare-backed and unshod, were small but sturdy, well inured to fatigue and fasting, and as nimble and sure-footed in climbing rocks as the chamois. scanty food and short rest sufficed these hardy animals even after three days of fatigue. their masters were not accustomed to much in the way of creature-comforts for themselves. they carried nothing in the way of stores or supplies, which gave them great advantage in the matter of speed; they ate no bread, and lived on flesh, blood, and mare's milk. wherever they went, they dragged along with them a large number of armed captives, especially kuns, whom they forced into battle, and killed whenever they did not fight as desperately as they desired. they did not themselves care to rush into danger, but were quite content to let their captives do the worst of the fighting while they reaped the victory. in spite of their enormous numbers they made no noise whether they were in camp, on the march, or on the field of battle. thus far archdeacon thomas. when to this description we add the fact that they had had continuous practice in warfare for years past, that a career of well-nigh unbroken victory had given them perfect self-confidence, while it spread such terror among those whom they attacked as paralysed the courage even of the stoutest hearts, it is not difficult to understand how it was that everything fell before them, and they were able to found an empire vaster than any which had before, or has since, existed. but to return to the khan and his train of chiefs, among whom was to be seen libor the knéz--not the libor of old days, but a much less comfortable-looking individual. mongol fare did not seem to have agreed with him too well, for he looked worn and wasted, and his every movement betrayed his nervousness. yet he was at the khan's side, perfectly safe, and surely a hundred-fold more fortunate than the miserable captives whom the mongols held so cheap that they cared not a jot whether they lived or died. libor was a mongol now; he wore a round helmet of leather, carried a scimitar, rode one of the tough little mongol horses, and was in high favour with his terrible master. batu was an undersized man, and the reverse of stout. his eyes, set far apart and slant-wise, were small, but they burnt like live coals, and were as restless as those of a lynx. his low forehead, flat nose, fearfully large mouth, and projecting ears, made him altogether strikingly like the figures, in gold on a black ground, to be seen on antique chinese furniture. he was marked out from those about him, however, by his dignified bearing, and by the pure white of his leathern garments. it is true that his dignity was of the lion-like order, animal, that is to say, rather than human; but it was very pronounced. and there was a sort of rude splendour and glitter in his costume, too; for the white leather, the fur of which was turned inwards, was covered all over with strange designs, looking like so many dragons or other imaginary monsters. he was mounted on a slim, dapple-brown horse, of purest breed, and all his arms, even his bow, were profusely decorated with precious stones. of all the ape-faced circle, there is no denying that he was the best looking ape of them all, even if we include libor, who was dainty enough in appearance, though fear just now was making him not indeed like an ape, but like a large hare, with quivering nostrils! the camp was far from deserted, in spite of the large force detached, for there could not have been altogether fewer than , mongols on the sajó, and in addition, there were nearly half as many more of the miserable beings who had been first conquered and then forced to join the great host. round about the hill where stood the khan were multitudes of felt or leather tents, and thousands of temporary mud-huts, for the trees afforded but little shelter as yet, it being now about the middle of april. tents and huts were full of armed men, also of women, who wore the scantiest of clothing, and of children, who wore no clothing at all. besides these, there were many women captives, who lay about in groups under the trees, with ears and noses cut off, the picture of exhaustion and misery, and so brutalised by slavery and suffering that they looked more like a herd of mutilated animals than human beings. any good-looking women captured by the mongols were given up to their own women, who fell upon them like furies, tortured without mercy, and then murdered all but those wanted as slaves. the camp extended far into the depths of the wood, where the chiefs kept order such as it was, with their whips. as batu reached the top of the hill, his harsh voice was to be heard giving some peremptory order, at which those about him bent their heads low in respectful submission, and a dozen women, his wives, appeared upon the scene, muffled up in white woollen garments, and mounted upon beautiful horses, which were smothered in fringes, straps, etc., of leather. they were followed by an armed guard, and preceded, oriental fashion, by a band of singers chanting a melancholy dirge. they had come to take their leave of the khan, who was sending them to his home, and on reaching the foot of the hill they were helped to dismount. whereupon they threw back their snow-white veils, which were of wool like their other wraps, and batu khan looked at them in dead silence. there was no trace either of pain, or pleasure, or of any other emotion, unless it were vanity and ambition, upon his wild features. the women burst into a furious fit of weeping; but it was evidently the result of great effort, not of any irrepressible distress. men are much like overgrown children, and have always liked to deceive themselves and be deceived; and this weeping and lamentation were the proper thing, the conventional way of saying "farewell!" and yet, if they but looked on themselves, the sight was surely enough to move anyone to tears; for these women were all strikingly beautiful, and their beauty was enhanced by an expression--and this not forced--of profound sorrow and dejection. who they were, and whence they came--whether they were russian girls from the volga and don, caucasians from the caspian, fair slavonians, or white-faced wallachians, who could say? but all were beautiful, all had an air of distinction about them, and all looked overwhelmed with woe unutterable. they gathered round the khan, and his horse pricked its ears and whinnied as if it would take part in the proceedings; for, though batu's horses were all his friends and tent-mates, far more beloved than his people, this one was an especial favourite, its sire, so the story went, having lived to the age of a hundred. when he had had enough of the ceremonial weeping, batu raised his hand, as who should say, "that will do! you have done your duty, now you can go!" and instantly the sobs were checked, and smiles were forced to take their place, while the poor goods and chattels raised their hands towards their master, but whether as a mere token of farewell, whether in blessing, or perchance in secret cursing, who could tell! another signal and away they hurried down the hill; and a few moments after the white figures had disappeared out of the glare and were lost to sight in the recesses of the wood. the women gone, batu put spurs to his horse and raced down the slope, his chiefs following as best they might. with the light flashing blood-red about him, with his spear quivering uplifted above his head, himself and his horse absolutely one, he dashed on with the rush of a whirlwind, and wherever he went he seemed to say, "look and admire!" and indeed, the khan looked his best, when he was thus exhibiting his horsemanship, and in spite of his ape-like features, might almost have passed for some gallant, if wild cavalier. he and his train galloped away into the darkness, followed by a select body of mounted men; and as soon as they were out of sight, the remaining squadrons were drawn up in regular order. tents were taken down, and they and their belongings were packed on horses or in waggons, and in a short time, though the bonfire still blazed, it cast its light upon a deserted camp. followed by a herd of women, the entire force moved in dead silence towards the sajó, where batu had his first line of battle. day was beginning to break when the hungarian camp was roused by startling cries, and those who rushed from the king's tent to learn the meaning of them were met by terror-stricken shouts of "the tartars! the tartars are upon us!" "they are yonder, close at hand!" "the guard at the bridge has been overpowered, massacred, put to flight," etc. looking out between the wooden walls, master peter descried at the distance of about a quarter of an hour's march, a dark mass of something which appeared to be in the form of a crescent, but of a size too vast to be measured by the eye. it was like a wall of stone, as solid, as silent, and as motionless; and for a moment he was in doubt as to what it might be, until the neighing of a horse, and the briefer, rarer sound of a signal-horn brought the truth home to him. the mongols had come up in the night; the camp was surrounded on three sides; and nothing but the most desperate determination could save them! so much was evident even to his inexperienced eyes, and the silence of these savage folk, who could howl like the very wolves at other times, had something so weird and terrible about it that master peter was not the only brave man to feel his heart quake and his blood run cold. the victory of the duke and ugrin but a few hours before had been delusive indeed, for they had hardly returned in triumph to the camp when batu sent down to the bridge seven of the gigantic engines of war which played so large a part in the mongol invasion. suddenly, without the least warning, the detachment left on guard found itself assailed by a fierce and heavy storm of stones and pieces of rock; and what added to their terror was the fact that they could not see their enemy, and that there were no stones or rocks anywhere near the river. seized by superstitious panic, those who escaped being crushed or wounded fled back to the camp, where instantly all was uproar and confusion. master peter rushed back to the king as fast as he could for the turmoil, the narrow ways, and the tent-ropes; and indignation filled his soul at some of the sights he saw: luxurious young nobles, for instance, making their leisurely toilets, combing and arranging their hair, having their armour put on with the greatest care, and finally drawing on new gloves! what he heard during his hurried passage was not much more reassuring. there was plenty of courage and confidence expressed; plenty of contempt for the despicable foe; plenty of assurance that mongol spears and arrows would prove ineffectual against iron armour; but also there was among some contempt, openly expressed, for their own leaders, though they looked upon the victory as already won. "it will be a hard day's work!" muttered peter szirmay to himself, while his thoughts flew to dora in her lonely castle. he had little doubt that the hungarians must conquer in the end, in spite of the huge odds against them, but still--! and even if they did, he himself might fall! what would become of her? "god and the holy virgin protect her!" chapter xiv. a fatal day. peter szirmay and paul héderváry were arming the king with all speed, while his charger, magnificently caparisoned, was brought round, neighing with excitement. béla had never appeared more cool and collected than on that eventful morning. as already remarked, he was without military experience, and though his expectations were not extravagant, and he did not make the mistake of underrating the enemy, he had much confidence in the valour of his army. "we must get the troops outside, without an instant's delay!" shouted bishop ugrin, galloping up his face aglow with pleasurable excitement, for he was never happier than when astride his war-horse and amid the blare of trumpets. "sequere!" (follow) cried the king, who usually spoke latin to the ecclesiastical dignitaries. they rode through the camp, finding the ways everywhere crowded with men, whom some of the officers were trying to reduce to order, while others, still busy attiring themselves, were of opinion that they would be in plenty of time if they made their appearance when the whole army was mounted. the templars were first on horseback. their white mantles, with the large red cross upon them, were blowing about in the keen wind, and displaying the steel breastplates beneath, their martial appearance being enhanced by their heavy helmets, which covered the whole head and face, with the exception of narrow slits through which they breathed and saw. as the king rode up to them, the wind blew out the folds of their white banner, and showed its double-armed cross of blood-red. all this time the mongols had been drawing nearer and nearer, like an advancing wall, so close were their ranks. and now like a storm of hail the arrows began to fall upon the half-asleep, half-tipsy, and wholly bewildered men in camp. most were mounted now, but the confusion was indescribable. there were grooms with led horses looking for their masters, masters looking for chargers and servants, and generals looking for their banderia. there was shouting, running to and fro, and such confusion and hurly-burly that the king had great difficulty in making his orders understood. he galloped from one squadron to another, amid a cloud of falling arrows and spears, doing all that in him lay to organise the troops. men were falling on all sides around him, more than one arrow had struck his own armour; the battle had begun, and blood was flowing in streams before the army had been able so much as to get out of camp. at last a dash was made down the narrow ways between the tents and the hastily uncoupled waggons; and then with the rage, not the courage, of despair, every leader wanted to rush upon the enemy straight away without waiting for orders, or heeding any but his own followers. "stop!" cried béla, hurrying up to them with the palatine, and a few men who were hardly able to force their way after him. "stop! wait for the word of command!" but no one even saw, no one heard him. leaders and men had most of them lost their heads, and the few disorderly squadrons which succeeded in reaching the mongols were immediately surrounded and overwhelmed. the great black crescent was growing more and more dense and solid; there was no way of eluding it, no hope of escape. bishop ugrin was well-nigh beside himself; and he poured forth now blessings, now execrations, as the distracted troops rushed aimlessly hither and thither, between the tents and their ropes, and down the narrow passages. they were completely entangled as in a net; to form them up in order was an impossibility; and a deadly cloud of spears and arrows was continuously poured upon them by the mongols. to add to the general horror and terror, the waggons took fire, and soon the tents nearest them were in flames. the tumult and confusion waxed greater and greater. batu's main object was to capture the king, and already béla had had at least one narrow escape, which he owed to the devotion of one of his guard; but now both he and they were all wounded. fighting had been going on since early morning; it was now noon, when the duke made a last bold effort to retrieve the day. "i'll break through the enemy's lines with the right wing," he shouted in stentorian tones. "will your majesty give the left wing orders to do the same, and then yourself lead the centre!" the heroic duke spoke of left and right wing, and centre; but alas! where was any one of them? without waiting for the king's answer he galloped off again, succeeded in infusing some of his own spirit into his men, and, joined by ugrin and his followers, and the remaining templars, he made a dashing attack upon the mongols, who were drawn up in such close order that individuals had no room to turn. numbers of them fell before the furious onslaught of the hungarians, and great was the devastation wrought in their ranks, when suddenly, like a whirlwind, up came batu khan himself with a fresh cloud of savage warriors, and arrows and spears flew thicker and faster than ever. the archbishop was smitten on the head by a spear, just as he had cut down a mongol, and he fell, as a ship's mast falls struck by lightning. next fell the leader of the templars, fighting helmetless by his side. the riderless horses dashed neighing into the ranks of the enemy, among whom they quickly found new masters. kálmán had seen the bravest fall around him, but he was still pressing forward, still fighting, when he also received a severe wound. just then the sun went down. his sword-arm was useless, and his brave warriors, placing him in their midst, made their way back to the camp. but the camp was deserted now by all but the dead and the dying. the troops whom they had left there had forced their way out at last, but it was to fly, not to fight. the mongols had made no attempt to stop them; on the contrary, they had opened their ranks to let them pass through, and the faster and thicker they came, the more room they gave them. that the fugitives would not escape in the long run well they knew, and their object just now was the king. the flower of the hungarian nobility, several bishops, and high dignitaries, both of church and state, had fallen in the battle, or fell afterwards in the flight. most of them took the way to pest, which was strewn for two days' journey with the dead and dying, with arms and accoutrements. many were slain by the mongols who pursued and attacked them when they were too weak to defend themselves; and many others perished in the attempt to cross rivers and swamps. seeing that all was lost, béla himself thought it time to fly, and while the mongols were plundering the camp, he succeeded in reaching the open, and made for the mountains, recognised by few in the on-coming darkness. immediately surrounding him were paul héderváry, in spite of his five wounds, peter and stephen szirmay, akos, detrö, adam the pole, the two forgács, and several others--a devoted band, while behind came a long train of the bravest warriors, the last to think of flying, who followed in any order or none. few, as we have said, had recognised the king, but there were some who had, and these pressed hard after him. "my horse is done for!" cried the king, as his famous charger began to tremble beneath him. "let us stand and die fighting like men!" "no! for heaven's sake, no!" cried adam the pole, leaping from his horse as he spoke. "mine is sound! take him! i hear the howl of the mongols." one had indeed actually overtaken them, but, though on foot, adam felled him to the ground, leapt upon the mongol's horse, and galloped on after the king. the handful of brave, true men guarded béla as the very apple of their eye. not one thought of himself; their one anxiety was for the king. for an hour they galloped on, always pursued by the mongols. the foam was dropping from the horses; the moon had risen and was shining brightly down upon them, when the irregular force which had followed them was overtaken, and engaged in a fierce battle with the relentless and unwearied enemy. just at that moment down sank the horse which adam had given to the king; but one of the two forgács, andrás (andrew), who was known in the army as ivánka (little john, _i.e._, john baptist) gave up his. the king was so worn out by this time that two of the nobles had to lift him upon the horse; ivánka himself followed on foot. a younger brother of his, whose name has not come down to us, lost his life at the hands of the mongols, who were again approaching perilously near the fugitives. ivánka was threatened by the like danger, when paul héderváry and a few of the others who were on in front chanced to see his peril, and turning back, routed the mongols. ivánka mounted his brother's horse, which had remained standing quietly by its master's body, and rode after the little band. daybreak was once more at hand, and they were far, far away from the field of blood, when again the king's horse failed him, and the mongols were hardly so much as a hundred paces behind. they had recognised the king, and one of batu khan's sub-officers had promised a large reward to anyone who could get béla into his hands, alive or dead. then a young hero, rugács by name, who had already distinguished himself in battle, offered the king his charger, and it was thanks to this good horse of transylvanian breed that the king finally escaped his pursuers. for, tough though they were, even the mongolian horses were beginning to fail, while nothing apparently could tire out the transylvanian. as they helped him to mount, béla noticed that there was blood on the arm of the faithful rugács, and asked kindly whether it gave him much pain. "ay, indeed, sir!" was the answer, "but there is worse pain than this!" "ah! your name shall be fáj from to-day," said the king. "remind us of it if we live to see better times." and accordingly, there is to this day a family which bears the honourable name of fáj or fáy, the meaning of which is: "it pains." at last the fugitives reached the forest, the mongols were left behind, and the king then happily gained a castle in the mountains, where for a while he remained. but when he looked upon his devoted followers, how many were missing! how many had laid down their lives to save his! among the dozen or more who had fallen by the way was jolánta's father, stephen szirmay; his brother peter, though he had not come off scathless, had escaped without any mortal wound. having no army, the king was for the present helpless, and as soon as he could do so, he made his way to pressburg, where he sent for the queen and his children to join him, they having taken refuge in haimburg, on the other side of the austrian frontier. but instead of the queen, appeared duke friedrich, who persuaded the king that it would be much wiser for him too to come to austria, and had no sooner got him in his clutches than he made a prisoner of him, and refused to let him go until he had refunded the large sum of money with which friedrich had purchased peace from him four or five years previously. béla gave up all the valuables which he and the queen had with them, but as the duke was still not satisfied, he had to pawn three hungarian counties in order to regain his liberty. once more free, he sent the queen to dalmatia for safety, and despatched ambassadors to pope and emperor, and the king of france, praying for their help against the terrible foe who threatened all europe with destruction. but the emperor was fighting rome, and the pope was bent upon reducing him to obedience. poland was fighting the mongols on her own account; bohemia was in momentary danger of being herself attacked; and the shameless duke friedrich availed himself of hungary's defenceless condition to invade and plunder the counties nearest him, and even to rob such fugitives as had fled to austria for refuge from the mongols. béla meantime had borrowed a little money where he could, and had gone south to await the answers to his appeal, and to raise what troops he could for a campaign. but he waited in vain. no help came! and without an army or the means of raising one, he was helpless. his brother kálmán had reached pest, and after urging the terrified inhabitants to abandon the city, cross the danube, and hide wherever they could, he continued his journey to slavonia (then dalmatia and croatia), his dukedom, where he soon after died of his wounds. before the people of pest could remove their goods to a place of safety, they were hemmed in by the mongols. thousands from the surrounding country had taken refuge here with their families and treasures, and the numbers had been further increased by the arrival of fugitives from the army. they resolved to defend themselves to the last man; but they little knew the enemy with whom they had to deal. three days' battering with catapults was enough to make breaches in the walls; the mongols stormed and burnt the town, and murdered all who fell into their hands. the mongols flooded all the land east of the danube, but for the present the broad river formed a barrier which they could not easily pass, and they were further deterred from making the attempt by the idea, unfortunately erroneous, that if they crossed it they would find all the armies of europe massed upon the other side waiting to receive and beat them back. but if they were checked to the west, there was nothing to prevent their chasing the king, who was lingering near the drave. here they were in no fear of the armies of europe, and they crossed the danube by means of bladders and boats. béla fled to spalatro, but feeling unsafe even there, retired with his family to the island of issa. furious at finding that his prey had escaped him, the mongol leader, kajdán, revenged himself upon his prisoners, whom he set up in rows and cut down; then he hurried on to the sea coast, and appeared before spalatro early in may. foiled again, he hurried to issa, which was connected with the mainland by a bridge; and here he had the mortification of seeing the king and his followers take ship for the island of bua under his very eyes. pursuit, without a fleet, was hopeless, and kajdán had to content himself with ravaging dalmatia, croatia, and bosnia. chapter xv. dora's resolve. for days, weeks, months, talabor had been expecting libor and his mongols to return and renew their attack upon the castle, whose defences he had strengthened in every way possible to him. but spring had given way to summer, and summer to autumn, and still they had not come. when a winter of unusual severity set in, he felt the position safer, for the steep paths were blocked with snow or slippery with ice. rumours of the fatal battle had not been long in reaching the castle, and fugitives had been seen by one or another of the villagers, whose accounts, though they differed in many respects, all agreed in this, that the country was in the hands of the mongols, and that the king had fled for his life--whether he had saved it was doubtful. one reported the death of both the szirmays, another declared that master peter had escaped with the king. the general uncertainty began to tell upon the inhabitants of the castle. gradually, one by one, the men of the garrison disappeared. if a man were sent out hunting, or to gather what news he could in the neighbourhood, he not seldom vanished. whether he had deserted, or whether he had been captured, who could say? in either case he might bring the mongols down upon them. at last, when the number of fighting men was so diminished that it would have been out of the question for them to offer any serious resistance, disquieting events began to occur among the house-servants. one day two of them were nowhere to be found! one was a turnkey of master peter's, the other a maid-servant, a simple, country girl, whom no one would have supposed capable of counting up to three! these two had evidently not gone empty-handed, moreover, a few silver plates and other light articles having vanished at the same time! neither of them had been sent out to reconnoitre; neither, least of all the peasant girl, could have gone a-hunting. they had deserted, and they had stolen anything they could lay hands on! after this discovery dora became every day more uneasy, feeling that the danger from within might be as great as that from without. talabor kept his eye with redoubled vigilance upon those who were left, but confidence was destroyed in all but one or two. early one morning it was found that the whole of the plate had disappeared from the great dining hall. every chest was empty, and no one of the servants knew where the contents were. talabor had spent an entire night in carrying them away to a hiding place shown him by master peter, a sort of well-like cavity in a cellar, of which he kept the key always about him. he had been busy for days digging out the earth and rubbish, without letting anyone, even the faithful moses, know what he was about; for, like many another sorrowful magyar in those days, the old man had of late been trying to drown his grief in wine, and talabor feared that his tongue might betray what his fidelity would have kept secret. all being ready, he carried down the silver from the chests in which it had been locked, and finally removed from the shelves in the dining hall even what had been in daily use. this done, he filled the pit with earth again, and left no traces to indicate the hiding place of master peter's treasure. libor, of course, was well aware of its existence, and talabor sometimes wondered whether he were intending to keep the knowledge of it to himself, to be made use of later on, when the winter was over, and the castle more easily reached. be this as it might, neither he nor the mongols appeared again; and only once had talabor encountered any in his rides. so far as he could see and learn, the neighbourhood seemed to be free of them; and still anxiety rather increased than diminished, as day followed day without bringing any news to be relied on. early one morning dora sent for talabor, who went expecting merely some fresh suggestion or order; but he had no sooner entered the room than she met him, and without any sort of preliminary, exclaimed, in a somewhat agitated voice, "talabor! you are loyal to us, and to me, i know you are! aren't you? you would do anything for me? i am sure you would!" talabor fell upon one knee, and with glowing countenance raised his hand to heaven, by way of answer. his heart swelled within him, and just then he felt strong enough for anything. "good talabor, i believe you," said dora; "but get up and listen to what i want to say. i am only a woman, and perhaps i give myself credit for more courage than i really have; but one thing i know, i have a strong will, and i have made up my mind. i mean to go and find the king and my father!" "what!" exclaimed talabor, almost petrified by the mere idea of so daring a step. "master peter--we don't even know whether----" "he is alive!" interrupted dora very decidedly. "but the king! whether it is true or not, who can say? but so far as i can gather he seems to be in dalmatia, and the tartars are pursuing him. the country may still be full of them, for anything i know; and you mean to run such a frightful risk as this would be? dear mistress----" "i do mean, talabor!" said dora, "i do mean; for it seems to me that i may have worse to face if i stay here; and what is more, i can't do any good by staying. i can't in the least help those who would, i know, lay down their lives for me. did not you yourself say, months ago, that this place was not safe?" "true, but then things were not as they are now, and i was thinking of some safer refuge, not of a perilous winter journey. we will defend ourselves to the last, and now that we are free of traitors, we shall be stronger than before." "to the last, you say? then the last person would be myself, and i should be left to die by torture or to become the slave of some mongol scoundrel! no, talabor! if i could protect those who have been faithful and devoted to me, if i could even protect those who have deceived me, robbed me and deserted me so disgracefully, i would stay, but my presence here does no one any good." "and," dora continued, after a moment's pause, "the fact is we are living over a volcano, for who can answer for it that none of those who have stayed behind are traitors, and what of those who are gone? why then, should you wish to stay?" dora had taken to "theeing and thouing" talabor, ever since the time of danger and anxiety which they had passed through together. it showed him that she had confidence in him; but he, of course, continued to address her in the third person. "because," replied the young man in a firm voice, "i can put down any mischief that may raise its head here; and because, dear lady, if there is any danger of your being attacked here in the castle, the dangers outside in the open are a thousand times more serious." "you are mistaken in one thing, talabor. it may all be, perhaps it is, as you say, but something tells me to go! i can't explain it, but it is as if i were continually hearing a voice within saying, 'go, go;' but if i made a mistake in expecting you to follow me blindly----" "oh, dear lady, how could you be mistaken in trusting the most devoted of your servants! let it be as you say! command me, and i will neither gainsay, nor delay to do what you wish." "you really mean it?" "i do! before heaven i do." "well now, talabor, can you deny that there is a sort of nightmare oppression about this place? the garrison has dwindled to three, and there are but four servants. we can't reckon upon mr. moses, for he grows harder to stir every day." it was all so perfectly true that talabor could say nothing; but they talked on for a time, and then dora began to think and consult with him as to the first steps to be taken. she wished to discharge all her duties as mistress of the castle to the end, as far as was possible; and the first question was, what was to become of moses and the rest of the household? this settled, they thought it time to take the old governor into their confidence. mr. moses had long been of opinion that the castle was no safe place to stay in, and he readily undertook to conduct the remaining members of the garrison and household to a place of greater safety. in the depths of the neighbouring forest lived an old charcoal-burner, who supplied the castle blacksmith with charcoal, and had managed to steal up with it now and then all through these perilous times. the hut, or rather cave, in which the poor man and his family lived, was far away from any road, it was closed in by rocks, and was altogether so difficult, if not impossible, for any stranger to discover, that moses and talabor thought it the safest place of any to be found. but dora begged them both to keep their own counsel until the time for action should come; and as to when that time should be, no one knew but herself. latterly, as troubles had multiplied, it had become a sort of fixed idea with her that she must go and find her father at all costs, or at least make sure whether he were still alive or dead, and in the latter event she had resolved to take refuge in a convent. two or three days after the consultation mentioned above, dora sent for her two devoted followers. it was quite early in the morning, but she was already dressed for going out--for a journey it seemed, though, in spite of the bitter cold, she wore none of her rich furs. except that she was cleaner and neater, there was nothing to distinguish her from the poorest peasant-girl tramping from one village to another, or perhaps going on a distant pilgrimage. in the narrow belt, which she wore in the ancient magyar fashion, round her waist, she had hidden a few pieces of gold; on her feet she had thick, heavy boots, and over her shoulders hung a rough cloak of antiquated cut, which might be put over her head like a hood if necessary. somehow talabor had never admired her so much before as he did now. moses stared at her wide-eyed, for of late he had seen her always in black. the old huntsman looked as if he were wondering what new madness this might mean, and one can hardly be surprised at him. but he was always respectful to dora, and next to the old castle, and the woods, and master peter, he loved her better than anything else in the world! talabor came next to her in his affections, but a good way behind. "mr. moses," began dora gravely, addressing him first as she always did, because he was governor, in name at least, if not in fact, "i think the time has come for us to follow your advice; we have not men enough to defend the castle, and if it is true that the whole country is laid waste, it is very likely that one of the horrible tartars who came before will take it into his head to come again. besides, the thieves who have deserted us know how few we are, and how much plate there is in the chests; and what is to hinder their coming back? well, at any rate, i have made up my mind to leave the castle, but i mean to be the last. i shall not go until i know that every one is as safe as he can be." "i don't stir a step without you, mistress," exclaimed moses. "i am dora szirmay, master peter's daughter, and my faithful governor will obey my orders!" returned dora, in tones so decided that it was plain she had not forgotten how to command. mr. moses was silenced, and dora went on, still in the same grave way, "i know that you are faithful, that no one is truer to my father and me than yourself, and so i can give you my orders with trust and confidence. you, mr. moses, and everyone that is left in the castle, except talabor and gábor, will go to-day as soon as it is dusk, to old gödri, the charcoal-burner. you can take jakó's pony with you in case anyone should be tired, and be sure you take all the arms you can carry. the food, too, you must take all that, though i am afraid there is not much left, for we have all been hungry for some time past, if we have not been actually famished. when that is gone, there are the woods; and no hunter ever died of starvation." "but yourself, my dear young mistress?" asked moses. "i stay here in the meantime with talabor and gábor. you know all i wish done besides, good mr. moses," said dora gently, with a smile, rather sad than cheerful. "i need not tell you all to be prudent," she continued. "that we must every one of us be. take all the care you can of yourselves!" "and what about the horses?" "they must be turned out. they will find masters: we need not be troubled about them; and if they don't, they can roam where they will, and there will be grass under the snow, down in the valleys. jakó might take fecske (swallow), if he thinks he could feed her; it would be a pity for her to fall into the hands of the tartars." "fecske" was dora's own favourite horse. "you understand me, don't you, mr. moses?" "yes, young mistress; but--" he added uneasily, "what of the castle and everything?" "well, mr. moses, you were the first to call attention to the unsafe state of the castle, weren't you? so what more can we do? we can't defend it, we can't live in it, we can't carry it with us! now you will start to-day, all of you, except talabor, gábor, and myself; and you must trust everything else to us!" moses would dearly have liked to raise a multitude of further objections, but he could not, perhaps did not dare. just as he was about to leave the room, dora stopped him, saying, "one thing more, governor; when all is ready, let them all come to this room." mr. moses departed, and turning to talabor, dora asked him what he thought of her arrangements. she spoke more brightly now, and talabor answered calmly and respectfully, "i will obey you, mistress! but, i should like to make one little remark--it is not anything concerning myself----" "no preamble, talabor!" said dora, who looked more cheerful every moment. "make any remarks you wish, and i will hear you out, because i know you don't speak from fear." "well, lady, wouldn't it be better to keep jakó with you, instead of gábor? gábor is a good, trusty fellow and active, but he is not equal to jakó." "i am not going to keep more than one with me, and that is yourself, talabor! for safety's sake i must travel on foot, like a pilgrim, and with as few followers as possible. why i am keeping gábor is that i want to send him to seek my father by one route, while we take another. jakó is the only one of the others who is capable of thinking and acting for them. if i take him they have no one. don't you think, now, that i am right?" talabor assented, and no more was said, but when he realised that he was to be dora's sole guardian and travelling companion, he felt as if he had the strength of a young lion. that same evening, moses the governor, and all the rest, with the above-mentioned exceptions, quitted the castle; and by dawn of the following day, master peter's ancient dwelling-house was like a silent sepulchre. all the doors and windows were open, but the drawbridge was up, and the moat full of water. the most valuable articles of furniture of a size to be moved, talabor had helped gábor to carry down to a vault opening out of the cellar, in the course of the night, and together they had walled them up. as to what had become of dora and the two men, no one knew but moses. some thought that she was still there, and others that she had "left the country," as they said in those days, though how she could have crossed the moat, except by the drawbridge, and how, if she had done so, the drawbridge could have been pulled up again, was a mystery which none could fathom. not even talabor had ever known of the subterranean passage, which master peter had shown to his daughter and to no one else; and even now dora did not disclose its whereabouts. blindfold, her companions were led through it, she herself guiding talabor, and he gábor; and when she allowed them to take the bandages off their eyes, they were out of sight of the castle, and could see not the slightest sign of any secret entrance. they were in a diminutive valley, with rocks and cliffs all about them; and here dora gave gábor, the horseman, a small purse, which, had she but known it, was likely to be of small assistance in a wilderness where no one had anything to sell, but where there were plenty of people ready to take any money they could get hold of. dora told the man to travel only by night, to avoid all the high roads, and to make for dalmatia, where he had been once before in charge of a horse which master peter was sending to a friend. he remembered the way well enough, which was one reason why dora had chosen him for this dangerous and almost impossible mission. chapter xvi. through the snow. hungary was a very garden for fertility; her crops of every kind were abundant, her flocks and herds were enormous; and while the grain-pits and barns were full, and while there were sheep and oxen to steal, the mongols lived well. but at last the country was stripped, provisions began to grow scarce, and the year's crops were still in the fields. whether or no the mongols themselves ever condescended to eat anything but flesh, the mixed multitudes with them were no doubt glad of whatever they could get, and batu foresaw that if the harvest were not gathered, and if something were not done to keep such of the population as yet remained in their homes, and bring back the fugitives, there must needs be a famine. among his prisoners he had many monks and priests whom he had spared, from a sort of superstitious awe, and these he now called together, and tried to tempt with brilliant promises, to devise some plan for luring the people back to the deserted farms and homesteads. many and many a brave man rejected his offers at the risk, and with the loss, of his life; but there were some who were ready to do what the khan wanted, if only they could hit upon any scheme. all their proclamations issued in the khan's name failed to inspire confidence, however. the people did not return; those hitherto left in peace fled at the approach of the mongols, the general need increased day by day, and the captives were put to death by hundreds to save food. the massacres were looked upon as a pleasant diversion and entertainment in which the mongol boys ought to have their share; to them, therefore, were handed over the hungarian children; and those who showed most skill in shooting them down were praised and rewarded by their elders. yet how to feed half a million men in a country which had been thoroughly pillaged was still a problem. and then, all over the country there appeared copies of a proclamation written in the king's name, and sealed with the king's seal. there was no mongol ring about this, as there had been about similar previous proclamations, and it was given in the king's name, it was signed with the king's own seal! of that there could be no question. the news spread rapidly, further flight was stopped, and in a few days the people dutifully began to venture forth from their hiding places, and that in such numbers that a great part of the country was re-populated. moreover, the mongols, though still in possession, actually welcomed them as friends, which showed that the king knew what he was about! they were allowed, moreover, to choose magistrates for themselves from among the mongol chiefs, to the number of a hundred, who met once a week to administer strict and impartial justice. magyar, kun, mongol, tartar, russian, and the rest all lived as amicably together as if they were one family. farming operations were resumed, markets were held, and peace of a sort seemed to have returned to the land. at last harvest and vintage were over. corn and fruit of all descriptions had been garnered, and there was wine in the cellars. and then? why, then, late in the autumn, the too confiding people were massacred wholesale; and those of them who managed to escape fled back to their hiding-places. then followed winter, such a winter as had not often been matched in severity. the danube, frozen hard, offered an easy passage; there was no european army to oppose them, for the heads of christendom were fighting among themselves, and the mongols crossed over to do on the right bank of the river what they had already done on the left. always rather savage than courageous, the mongols obliged their prisoners to storm the towns, looked on laughing as they fell; cut them down themselves from behind if they were not sufficiently energetic, and drove them forward with threats and blows. when the besieged were thoroughly exhausted, and the trenches filled with corpses, then, and not till then, the mongols made the final assault, or enticed the inhabitants to surrender, and then, with utter disregard of the fair promises they had made, put them to death with inhuman tortures. the mongols were exceeding "slim," as people have learnt to say in these days. one example of their savagery will suffice. the most important place on the right side of the danube was the cathedral city of gran, which had been strongly fortified with trenches, walls, and wooden towers by its wealthy inhabitants, many of whom were foreigners, money changers, and merchants. as the city was thought to be impregnable, a large number of persons of all ranks had flocked into it. batu made his prisoners dig trenches all round, and behind these he set up thirty war-machines, which speedily battered down the fortifications. next the town-trenches were filled up, while stones, spears, and arrows fell continuously upon the inhabitants, who, seeing it impossible to save the wooden suburbs, set fire to them, burnt their costly wares, buried their gold, silver, and precious stones, and withdrew into the inner town. infuriated by the destruction of so much valuable property, the mongols stormed the city and cruelly tortured to death those who did not fall in battle. not above fifteen persons, it is said, escaped. three hundred noble ladies entreated in their anguish that they might be taken before batu, for whose slaves they offered themselves, if he would spare their lives. they were merely stripped of the valuables they wore, and then all beheaded without mercy. for weeks dora and talabor had journeyed on, avoiding all the main roads, travelling by the roughest, most secluded ways, and seldom falling in with any human beings, or even seeing a living creature save the wild animals, which had increased and become daring to an extraordinary degree. wolves scampered about in packs of a hundred or more, and over and over again talabor had been obliged to light a fire to keep them off. he had done it with trembling, except when they were in the depths of the woods, lest what scared the wolves should attract the mongols. bears, too, had come down from the mountains, and had taken up their quarters in the deserted castles and homesteads, and many a wanderer turning into them for a night's shelter found himself confronted by one of these shaggy monsters. traces of the mongols were to be seen on all sides: dead bodies of human beings and animals, smouldering towns, villages, and forests; here and there, perched upon some rocky height, would be a defiant castle, whose garrison, if they had not deserted it, were dead or dying of hunger; in some parts, look which way they might, there was a dead body dangling from every tree; poisonous exhalations defiled the air; and over woods, meadows, fields, ruined villages, lay a heavy pall of smoke. such was the condition to which the mongols had reduced the once smiling land. truly it might be said, in the words of the prophet: "a fire devoureth before them, and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness." but, though they saw their works plainly enough, the wanderers saw hardly anything of the mongols themselves, which surprised them. once or twice they had narrow escapes, and had to take sudden refuge from small parties, travelling two or three together; but they encountered nothing like a body of men, and those whom talabor did chance to see appeared to be too intent on covering the ground to look much about them. from one or two wanderers like themselves he presently learnt that the mongols were everywhere on the move, and were all going in the same direction, southwards. but what it meant no one could guess. they were moving with their usual extraordinary rapidity, and but few stragglers on foot were believed to be left behind. but it might be only some fresh treachery, some trap, and the people dared not leave the caves, caverns, thick woods, where they had hidden themselves, and lived, or existed, in a way hardly credible, on roots, herbs, grass, the bark of trees, some of them even eking out their scanty provisions by a diet of small pebbles! needless to say that many died of hunger, while the remainder were reduced to skeletons, shadows, ghosts of their former selves. from some of these bands of refugees talabor heard fragmentary accounts of the horrors that had been enacted, and the events that had followed after the battle of mohi. dora had felt more and more confidence in her travelling companion as day had followed day during their terrible journey. he had spared no pains in his efforts to lighten the privations and difficulties of the way; he had thought for her, cared for her, in a hundred ways; and yet with it all, he was just as deferential as if they had been in the castle at home. miserable were the best resting places he could find for her for the night, either in the depths of the forest or in some cavern or deep cleft of the rocks. sometimes he was able to make her a little hut of dry branches, roofed over with snow; and when he could do so without risk of discovery, he would light a fire and cook any game that he had been able to shoot in the course of the day. but whatever the shelter he found or contrived for her, he himself always kept watch outside, and got what little sleep he could when the night was past. they had almost lost count of time, and they hardly knew where they were, when, late one night, dora came to a standstill. the moon was shining, the cold intense, and the snow, which crackled beneath their feet, lay thick and glittering all around them. it was the sort of night that sends fear into the hearts of all who are compelled to be abroad, and yet are anxious to escape the notice of their fellow men, for it was as light almost as by day, and the travellers showed up like a couple of black spots against the white background. talabor, muffled in his cloak, was leading dora by the hand; she had her large hood drawn over her head, and the two looked as very a pair of tramps as one could meet with anywhere. the cold cut through them like a knife, though the night was still--too still, for there was not wind enough to cover up the track they had left behind them. it would be easy to trace them, for the snow was powdery, and in many places they had sunk in it up to their knees. "i must stop, i am tired out! and i am so deadly sleepy," said dora, in a broken voice, "i feel numb all over, as if i were paralysed." she looked ghastly pale, worn, thin, a mere shadow of what she had been; and she had been travelling all day, dragging herself along with the greatest difficulty. "dear lady," said talabor gently, supporting her trembling figure as well as he could, "do you see that dark patch under the trees yonder?" "i can't see so far, talabor," she stammered. "i see it plainly," he went on, "and it is a building of some sort, a dwelling-house, i think. if you could just manage to get so far, we should be better sheltered than we are here." "let us try," said dora, summoning all her remaining strength. "lean on me," talabor urged in a tone of encouragement; "we shall be there in a quarter of an hour; but if you can't walk, you must let me carry you as i have done before, it is such a little way." "you are very good, talabor," said the girl gratefully, and off they set again. the building which talabor had noticed stood on rising ground, on one side of the valley, and, the snow not being quite so deep on the slope, they were able to get on a little faster. neither spoke, for what was there to talk about? the cold was benumbing, and both were suffering. presently dora felt her knees give way under her, and everything seemed to turn black before her eyes. "talabor!" she whispered, holding his arm with both hands, "i--i am dying--you go on yourself and leave me!" "leave you!" exclaimed talabor; and before dora could say another word, he had thrown back his cloak and picked her up in his arms. she was almost fainting, and overpowered by the deadly sleep induced by the cold. light as his burthen was, it was a struggle for talabor to make his way through the snow, for he, too, had lost much of his accustomed strength during the past weeks of hardship and anxiety. still, he managed to go straight on without stumbling or faltering. all about them, for some distance and in every direction, there were strange prints in the snow, and these he scanned carefully until he had quite assured himself that they were not made by human feet. "no tartars have been here lately, at all events!" he said, by way of cheering his companion, as they drew near the gloomy, deserted building, which was not a ruin, but one of the many dwellings plundered by the mongols, and for some reason abandoned without being completely destroyed. it was a small, dark place, and its only defences were its outer walls. there was no moat; and it had probably belonged to some noble family of little wealth or importance, who had either fled or been murdered. the gate was lying on the ground, and the snow in the courtyard was almost waist-deep. talabor needed all his strength to wade through it and to carry dora up the stone steps, which he could only guess at, and had to clear with his foot as he went on. in the tolerably large room which he first entered all the furniture was half consumed by fire, and the door burnt off its hinges; the moonlight, which streamed through the open windows, showed bare, blackened walls, and a scene of general desolation. spreading his cloak on the bench, which owed its escape from destruction to the fact that it was covered with plaster, he laid dora down upon it, gathered up some of the broken furniture already half reduced to charcoal, and soon had a small fire burning. the smoke from it filled the whole room, but still the warmth revived his companion, who had known what it was to spend even worse nights than this one promised to be; for, when talabor presently took a piece of burning wood from the fire, that he might explore the building, he found an old sack full of straw. the room in which he discovered it opened out of the larger one, and was not quite so desolate looking, for the fire did not seem to have penetrated so far, and, moreover, it had a large fireplace still containing the remains of charcoal and bones. talabor lighted another fire here, drew the sack into one corner, and hurried back to dora, who was now dozing a little, with the light from the crackling fire shining on her face. how deadly pale, how wasted it was! talabor stood looking at her for a moment, wondering whether after all he should be able to save a life which every day was making more precious to him. he piled more wood on the fire, and tried to rub a little warmth into his own numb hands. it was the most bitter night of all their wanderings, and the cold pierced his very bones. tired out as he was, heavy with drowsiness, he kept going from one fire to the other, as he wanted to take dora into the smaller room when she awoke, for it was not only a degree warmer, but also free from smoke, and had a door which would shut. she opened her eyes about midnight, and seemed to be all the better for her two hours' sleep. talabor had kept her so carefully covered, and had replenished the fire so diligently that her healthy young blood had begun to flow again, and, not for the first time, he had saved her from the more serious consequences of her exposure and fatigue. "talabor!" she said, raising herself a little, "i have been asleep! thank you so much! now you must rest; you must, indeed, for if your strength fails, it will be all over with us both." "oh, i am accustomed to sleeping with one eye open, as the tartars do when they are on horseback. it does just as well for me; but you, dear lady, must rest for at least a few hours longer, and after that i will have a real sleep too." "a few hours!" "yes, here in the next room, where i have found a royal bed of straw, and there is a good fire and no smoke." by this time the smaller room really had some warmth in it, in spite of the empty window frames; and the sack of straw was a most luxurious couch in dora's eyes. "what a splendid bed, talabor!" said she, gratefully; "but before i lie down, one question--it sounds a very earthly one, though you have been an angel to me but--have we anything to eat? i am shamefully hungry!" "to be sure we have!" said talabor, opening his knapsack, and producing a piece of venison baked on the bare coals. "all we want is salt and bread, and something to drink, but there is plenty of snow!" "let us be thankful for what god gives us! our good home-made bread! what a long time it is since we tasted it!" "we shall again in time!" said talabor confidently, as he handed dora the one knife and the cold meat. "talabor," said dora presently, "i am afraid we have come far out of our way." "i am afraid so too," he answered, "but i don't think we could help it. there has been little to guide us but burnt villages and ruined church-towers. and then, when we have come upon recent traces of the tartars, we have had to take any way we could, and sometimes to turn back and hide in the forest for safety. how far south we have come i can hardly guess, but we are too much to the east, i fancy." "you have saved me at all events, over and over again: from wild beasts by night, from horrible men by day, from fire, smoke, everything! i shall tell my father what a good, faithful talabor you have been! and now i am really not very sleepy, and i should so like to see you rest--you know you are my only protector now in all the wide world, and you must take care of yourself for me!" "you must have just a little more rest yourself first, dear mistress, and then i will have a sleep." "you promise faithfully? then shake hands upon it, for you have deceived me before now, you bad fellow!" but when next dora opened her eyes, the moon had set; it was quite dark; the fire had gone out, and the cold was more biting than ever. "talabor!" she cried, alarmed and bewildered, for she could not see a step before her. "i'm here!" he exclaimed, starting up from the bare floor, on which he had been lying near the hearth, and rubbing his eyes as he did so. "i have been asleep," he said, greatly displeased with himself. "i was overpowered somehow, and our fire is out! never mind, we will soon have another!" and he set to work again with flint and steel. but when the fire was once more blazing, and both were a little thawed, talabor would not hear of any more sleep. "i _have_ slept!" he said, still indignant with himself. "for the first time in my life i have slept at my post, slept on duty--i deserve the stocks!" "and you are not sleepy still?" "no!" and then he suddenly jumped up from the floor, on which he had but just thrown himself. "what is it?" asked dora nervously, and she, too, started up. "nothing! nothing--i think," he answered, taking up his bow and quiver as he spoke. "i hear some noise, i'm sure i do," said dora, listening intently. "what can it be? quick! we must put out the fire!" at that moment, just in front of the house, and, as it seemed to both, close by, there was a long-drawn howl. "it's wolves, not tartars," said talabor, much relieved. "oh! then make haste and fasten the door!" "they won't come in here," said talabor, as he put the door to. it had been left uninjured by the fire, but its locks and bolts were all too rusty to be of the smallest use. there was a heavy little oak table which had survived the rest of the furniture, however, and this talabor pushed up against it, saying, "the fire is our best protection against such visitors as these; but dawn is not far off now, and perhaps it would be better not to wait for it before we move on. i should not care to have them taking up their quarters in the yard." "what are you going to do?" exclaimed dora, in alarm, "surely you are not going to provoke them?" "no! and if i should annoy one of them, he will not be able to do much harm after it!" "i forbid you to do anything rash! you are not to risk your life, talabor. you are to sit still here, if you don't want to make me angry." dora's vehemence was charming, but talabor never did anything without reflection; and he was not going to have her life imperilled by any ill-timed submission on his own part. "you may be quite easy," he said, "i am not going to stir from here, and they are not going to come in either!" the wolves meantime had been drawing nearer and nearer, to judge by their howls. perhaps they had scented the smoke, and expected to find the dead bodies of men or cattle, as they commonly did in every burning village in those days. talabor was standing at the window, bow in hand, when he presently drew back with a hasty movement. "quick!" he said in an undertone. "we must put out the fire!" dora rushed to it and began scattering and beating it out with a piece of wood. "what is it?" she whispered; and talabor whispered back, "i saw someone that i don't like the look of!" then, holding up his forefinger, he added, "perhaps there are only one or two; don't be afraid." these few words, intended to be re-assuring, did not do much to allay dora's fears, and she went up to talabor, who was back at the window again, now that the fire was put out. trembling, she stood beside him, while her cold hand fumbled in her pouch for the dagger which she carried with her. it cannot be denied that at that moment, in spite of all her high spirit, dora was terrified. thanks to the snow and the stars, talabor could see clearly enough what was going on outside; and this is what he saw: two muffled figures hurrying towards the house, by the very same path which he himself had trodden only a short time before; tracking him by his deep footprints in all probability. but a few moments after he had told dora to put out the fire, one of the two figures, an unmistakable tartar, was overtaken by the wolves, and there began one of those desperate conflicts between man and beast, which more often than not ended in the defeat of the former, firearms not being as yet in existence. "here! help! father!" shouted the one attacked. he had beaten down one wolf, with a sort of club, and was trying his utmost to defend himself against two others. at this appeal, made, by-the-bye, in the purest magyar, the man in front hurried back to the help of his son. "surely he spoke magyar!" whispered dora. "there are only two of them, at all events," was talabor's answer, that fact being much the more reassuring of the two in his eyes, for he had heard, during their wanderings, that there were more "tartar-magyars" in the world than libor the clerk. he fitted an arrow to his bow, as he spoke, and added, in an undertone, "they are coming, and the wolves after them! but there are only two, nothing to be afraid of; trust me to manage them!" in fact the two men were already floundering in the courtyard, and close at their heels rushed the whole pack, disappearing now and again in the deep snow, then lifting up their shaggy heads out of it, while they kept up an incessant chorus of howls. tartar-magyars might be enemies, but wolves certainly were, thought talabor, as he let fly his arrow and stretched the foremost wolf upon the ground, just as it was in the act of seizing one of the tartars. apparently the fugitives had not heard the twang of the bow-string, for as soon as they caught sight of the open door, they hurried towards it with the one idea of escaping their pursuers, so it seemed. but when talabor again took aim, and a second wolf tumbled over, one of the men looked up, saw the arrow sticking in the wolf's back, and cried out, as if thunderstruck, "tartars! per amorem dei patris!" (tartars! for the love of god!) and having so said, he stopped short, irresolute, as not knowing which of the two dangers threatening him it were better to grapple with. talabor heard the exclamation, and, whether or no he understood more than the first word, at least he knew that it was uttered in latin. the fugitives must surely be ecclesiastics, who had adopted the tartar dress merely for safety's sake. "hungari, non tartari--we are hungarians, not tartars!" he replied in the same language, leaning from the window as he shouted the words. whereupon that one of the "tartars" who had spoken before called out again, as if in answer, "amici! friends," and turned upon the wolves, two of which had been so daring as to follow him and his companion even up the steps. the nearer of the two he attacked with his short club; but his comrade, who had been hurrying after him, slipped and fell down, and the other wolf at once rushed upon him and began tearing away at his cowl. talabor meanwhile, being completely reassured by the word "amici," turned to dora saying, "glory to god, we are saved! they are good men, monks, as much wanderers as ourselves!" he pulled the table away from the door, snatched a brand from the still smouldering fire, waved it to and fro till it burst into flame, and then rushed out with it through the hall into the entry, where the learnèd one of the two supposed tartars was hammering away at the head of the huge wolf which had got hold of his friend, whose rough outer garment it was worrying in a most determined manner. the rest of the pack, about twenty, seemed not at all concerned at the loss of their four companions lying outstretched in the snow, for they were drawing nearer and nearer to the entry, and were lifting up their heads as if desirous of joining in the fray going on within, while they howled up and down the scale with all their might. but the moment talabor appeared with his flaming torch they were cowed, turned tail, and tumbled, rather than ran, down the steps in a panic. head over heels they rushed towards the gate, some of the hindmost getting their tails singed as they fled. meantime the two strangers seeing the enemy thus put to flight, took courage, and thought apparently to complete the rout, for they rushed off after the retreating wolves and were for pursuing them even beyond the gate, when they were checked by a shout from talabor, who called to them to stop. they stood still, up to their waists in snow, and looked at him, wondering and half doubting who and what he might be. "who are you?" he asked. "magyars! infelices captivi--unfortunate captives," answered the learnèd one. "we are magyars!" said the other in hungarian. "if you are magyars, follow me," said talabor, and the strangers obeyed. it was dark no longer, but still it was difficult to judge of the men by their looks, for they wore the rough tartar hoods over their heads, and the one who had been mauled by the wolf had his hanging about his face in lappets and ribbons. talabor could see just so much as this, that neither was very young, that both were wasted to the last degree, and that they were as begrimed as if they had been hung up to dry in the smoke for some weeks. "come along, come along!" he said, for he was anxious to get back to dora, and to make up the fire again. should he take them into, the warmer inner room, or keep them in the other until he knew more about them? he was still undecided what to do when a sudden exclamation from one of the wanderers, followed by the fervent words, "glory be to jesus!" startled him. more startled still was he to hear from dora the response, "for ever and ever!" and to see her clinging to the begrimed "tartar." "father roger! father roger!" she exclaimed tremulously, and for the moment could say no more. chapter xvii. a stampede. as soon as he was sufficiently warmed to be able in some degree to control his trembling lips, father roger explained that he had been captured by the mongols, from whom he had but recently escaped; that his life had been spared, at first on account of his clerical costume, and afterwards because he had been taken into the service of a tartar-magyar, who had saved both himself and his servant. but when dora would have questioned him further, and inquired who the tartar-magyar was, he shook his head, saying gently, "another time, dear child, another time--perhaps. but it is a nightmare i would willingly forget, except that i may give praise to god, who has preserved us through so many grievous perils." it was evidently such a painful subject that she could not press him further; and she began to speak of their own plans. "dalmatia!" said the canon, shaking his head, "dalmatia! but we are in transylvania! and who knows for certain where his majesty may be? i have heard rumours, but that is all, and they are ancient by this time. it would be wiser to try and find some safe retreat here, where there are more hiding-places than in the great plains." he spoke dreamily; but he had noticed dora's hollow cheeks, and had marked how greatly she was altered from the bright, beautiful girl whom he had last seen less than a year ago. her strength would never hold out for so long a journey, even if it were otherwise desirable, which he did not himself think it; for he was able to throw some light upon the mysterious movement among the mongols, and told his hearers that oktai the great khan had died suddenly in asia; and that batu khan, the famous conqueror, was far too important a person in his own eyes to be ignored when it came to the choice of a successor. he must make his voice heard, his influence felt; and the tidings had no sooner reached him than he despatched orders to all his scattered forces, appointing a place of rendezvous, and bidding them rejoin him at once. this done, off he hurried, in his usual headlong way; and, with his captives, his many waggons laden with booty, and his yellow hosts, he had rushed like a tornado through transylvania into moldavia, plundering, burning, ravaging, according to custom, as he went. that was the last father roger knew of him; for, finding that the farther they went the worse became the treatment of the captives, until at last the only food thrown to them was offal and the bones the mongols had done with, he had felt convinced that a massacre of the old and feeble was impending. "then the tartar-magyar is not gone with them to asia, and he could not protect you any longer?" asked dora. "he could not protect us any longer," echoed father roger. "we, my faithful servant here and i, watched our opportunity and made our escape one night into the forest." and here we may mention that they had fled none too soon, as the massacre of those not worth keeping as slaves actually took place, as father roger had foreseen, and that within a very short time after his flight. the more talabor thought of it, the more he felt that father roger was probably right as to dalmatia, and dora finally acquiesced in giving up her cherished plan. it was a comfort to be with father roger, broken down though he was; and for the rest, if she could not join her father, what did it matter where she went? she left it to him and talabor to decide, without troubling her head as to their reasons, or even so much as asking what they had agreed; but the disappointment was grievous. the little party therefore journeyed on together, slowly and painfully, often hungering, often nearly frozen, until at last they reached the town now known as carlsburg. but here again they found only ruins and streets filled with dead bodies, and they toiled on again till they came to the smaller town of frata, where there were actually a good number of people, recently emerged from their hiding-places, and all busily engaged in strengthening and fortifying the walls to the best of their power. they had but little news to give, for all were in doubt and uncertainty both as to the king and the mongols. the latter they did not in the least trust; and though frata had hitherto escaped, no one felt any security that it might not be besieged any day, almost any hour. "better the caves and woods than that," said father roger with a shudder. but if there were no safety for them in frata itself, talabor heard there of what seemed at least a likely refuge for dora, and that with a member of her own family, a certain orsolya szirmay, who was said to have taken refuge among the mountains, and to have many of the transylvanian nobility with her, and would certainly receive them. "only a little further!" said talabor, as he had said before; but this time it was "only a few miles," not a quarter of an hour's walk; and when one can walk but slowly, when one's strength is ebbing fast, and one's feet are swollen and painful from the many weary miles they have trodden, when one is chilled to the bone, weak from long want of proper food, and in constant terror of savage beasts and still more savage men, the prospect of more rough travelling, though only for "a few miles," is enough to make the bravest heart sink. before we see how it fared with the four travellers, we must glance at what had been taking place in transylvania, whose warlike inhabitants had been far less apathetic and incredulous than those of hungary, and at the first note of alarm had raised troops for the palatine. héderváry had been despatched, as already mentioned, to close all the passes on the east, and this done, and his presence being required elsewhere, he had departed, leaving merely a few squadrons behind as a guard. he and they both considered it impossible for the mongols to force a passage on this side, so well had they blocked the roads. like most of the fighting men of those days, the hungarian army received very little in the way of regular pay, and nothing in the way of rations. it lived upon what it could get! and what would have been theft and robbery at any other time, was considered quite lawful when the men were under arms. the troops lived well at first. to annex a few sheep, calves, oxen, and to shoot deer, wild boar, or buffalo was part of the daily routine, for the forests abounded in game. they were at no loss for wine either, as some of the nobles supplied them from their cellars. on the whole, therefore, the men were well entertained; and, little suspecting the serious campaign in store, looked forward to a brush with the mongols as involving little more danger than their favourite hunting expeditions. and then, one morning they noticed a peculiar sound in the distance. in one way it was familiar enough, for it reminded them of a hunt, but a hunt on such a scale as none of them had ever witnessed yet. for it was as if all the game in the dense, almost impassable forests on the frontier were being driven towards them by thousands of beaters, driven slowly and gradually, but always nearer and nearer. they wondered among themselves who the huntsmen could be, and thought that the great lords had perhaps called out the peasantry by way of beguiling the time, and that, as the roads were closed against the mongols, they were coming through the woods. but there was no shouting, which was remarkable, and they could hear no human voices, nothing but the hollow sound as of repeated blows and banging, which came to them from time to time, when the wind was in a particular quarter, like the mutter of distant storms. two days later, this weird and ghastly noise could be heard till dark. no one could imagine what was going on. but the detachments whose especial duty it was to watch the frontier appeared to be under a spell, for they passed their time in the usual light-hearted way, and went out shooting and hunting in large parties. they had never known the forest so full of game of all sorts before--wild buffalo, bears, wolves, deer, fawns--as it had been since "the woods had begun to talk," as they expressed it. by the third day the distant sounds had altered their character, and were no longer like the ordinary noise made by sportsmen and their beaters, but more puzzling still. then came orders to the various detachments from the palatine, that a few bodies of men were to be posted here and there, rather as spies than guards, while the rest hastened with all speed to join the main army in hungary proper. héderváry did not so much as hint that the "tartars were coming"; but he was well aware of the fact, for he had good spies, and that even among the russians who had coalesced with the mongols. early on the morning of their departure some of the men thought they saw scattered clouds of smoke rising over the forests to the east, but they were a "happy-go-lucky" set, as so many were in those days, and they troubled their heads very little as to what it might mean. someone suggested that, as the blacksmiths were all unusually hard at work on horseshoes, of which an enormous number were wanted, no doubt the charcoal burners were especially busy too; and there were many of them in the woods and forests; in all probability, the smoke proceeded from their fires. and with this supposed explanation all were content. but suddenly, to the now accustomed sound of beating and knocking, which was still drawing nearer and nearer, there was added another of a different character. hitherto, the woods had "talked," and echo had answered them; now the forest "roared." the wind had been light at early morning; now it was piping and whistling, swaying the trees to and fro, making the tall stems tremble, and knock their long bare arms one against the other. one of the palatine's small detachments of about men was stationed in the mountainous district of marmaros, with a lofty and precipitous wall of rock bounding one side of the camp. the men were just preparing for a start, when a huge buffalo made its sudden appearance on the edge of the cliff far above their heads. it had come so far with a rush, but the sight of the great depth below had stopped it short, and it stood with its feet rooted to the ground for a moment--only for a moment, however. it raised its head, and seemed to sniff the air, and then, with one short, faltering bellow, it leapt and fell into their midst, upsetting one horse, and wounding a couple of men. this was the first; but after the first came a second, after the second, a third! helter-skelter the troops retired from the dangerous spot, and from a safe distance they counted five buffalo, one after the other, which dashed to the edge of the cliff, as if in terror from their pursuers, and took the fatal leap. only one was able to rise again, and that one just gave one look round, dug its forefeet into the ground, and then rushed on straight ahead as if there were a pack of hounds at its heels. shortly after, while the troops were riding down the narrow valley at the foot of the mountains, they could hear the howl of wolves coming nearer and nearer, and a pack so large that no one could even guess their number, was seen to be scampering down the dale; some were clattering down the cliffs, which were more sloping here, while the rest tore wildly forward, passing close beside, and even in among the horses, many of which were maddened with terror, and bolted with their riders. an hour or so later, when the little troop had succeeded in quieting the horses, and had advanced some way on its journey amid many perils and dangers, the cause of all this excitement among the wild animals was suddenly revealed. the forest was on fire! it was crackling in the flames, burning like a furnace beneath a canopy of black smoke. the mongols had fired it on this side, while in another direction they had opened a way forty fathoms wide, through woods over hill and dale, through walls of rock, and across streams and ditches. they were making ready their way before them, and were advancing along it upon the unready country. wherever they were reached by the fire, the trees crashed down one upon another; ravens, crows, jackdaws, and all the winged creatures of the woods, were flying to and fro above the trees, in dense, dark clouds, and with loud cries and cawing; bears came along muttering, flying before the fire and smoke, climbing trees from which they did not dare descend again, and with which they perished together. as already mentioned, batu khan's army was preceded by pioneers with axes and hatchets, who drove their road straight forward, through or over obstacles of all kinds. nothing stopped them, and often their own dead bodies helped to fill up the ditches and trenches; for what was the value of their lives to the mongols? absolutely nothing! since they were taken for the most part from the people whom they had conquered. as soon as the awful news of their advance spread through the country, the people fled without another thought of defending their homes or resisting the enemy, or of anything else but saving their lives and what little property they could carry with them in their wild stampede. in a few days transylvania was ablaze from end to end. towns, villages, farms, castles, country seats, strongholds, even the ancient walls of alba julia, all were surrounded by the flames, and were crashing and cracking into ruins. the invaders, stupid in their destructiveness, spared nothing whatever; and their leaders and commanders, themselves as stupid as the brute-like herd over whom they were placed, occasioned loss to the khan which was past all reckoning, for his object was plunder, and they in their rage for ruin, destroyed what the khan might even have called treasure, as well as what might have provided food for hundreds of thousands of the army. what did the khan oktai, or batu, or his thousands of leaders care! the latter were little tartars, russian tartars, german tartars, and what not, to whom the conqueror had given the rank and title of knéz, whom he favoured, promoted, and enriched, until his humour changed, or he had no further use for them, and then--why then he squeezed them, made them disgorge their wealth, and strung them up to the nearest tree. they were but miserable foreigners after all! transylvania was in the clutches of the enemy, who had entered her in two large divisions, north and south. but, thanks to the nature of the country, and the many hiding-places it afforded, she did not suffer quite so severely as her neighbour. orsolya szirmay, of whom the travellers had heard at frata, had married one bankó, a man of large property and influence, who owned vast estates both in hungary and transylvania; but orsolya did not see much of her own relatives after her marriage, for her husband was a man of awkward temper, and they rarely paid her a visit; so that when, four or five years before the mongol invasion, bankó died, she went to live on the transylvanian property, which was in a most neglected condition, and required her presence. bankó had lived to be ninety-three, and his widow was now an old lady with snow-white hair, but with all her faculties and energies about her, and eyes as bright, hair as lustrous, as those of a young girl. she had made her home in a gloomy castle among the mountains, but at the first rumour of the coming invasion, she left it for frata, where she had an old house, or rather barn, which had been divided up into rooms, and was neither better nor worse than many another dwelling-house in those days. during her short stay here, the old lady was constantly riding about the country accompanied by her elderly man-servant, and a young girl, who had but lately joined her, and was introduced as "a relation from hungary." one morning early all three disappeared without notice to anyone, and it was only later that it was rumoured that "aunt orsolya," as she was called throughout the country, had taken refuge in a large cavern among the mountains to the north of frata. it afforded plenty of space, it was difficult of approach, and it had but one, and that a very narrow entrance; the streams which now flow through it not having then forced a passage. how aunt orsolya had contrived to stock it with food and other necessaries we are not told, but she had done it; neither did she lack society in this lonely abode after the first week or two, for she was joined in some mysterious way by between seventy and eighty persons belonging to the most distinguished families in the land. she, of course, was the head, the queen of this strange establishment, for those who fled hither to save their lives, and, as far as they could, their most precious valuables, found the old lady already installed. she received them, she was their hostess; and besides all this, she was a born ruler, one to whom others submitted, unconsciously as it were, and who compelled respect and deference. orsolya, then, had taken the part of house-mistress from the beginning, and no doubt enjoyed receiving more and more guests, and enjoyed also the consciousness that they all looked up to her, and were all ready to submit themselves to her wishes--we might say commands. the old lady herself appointed to each one his place, in one or other of the many roomy caves which opened out of the great cavern, and she managed to find something for everyone to do. in a short time the cavern was as clean as hands could make it. the driest parts were reserved for sleeping places; and one cave was set apart as a chapel, where service was regularly held by the clergy, of whom there were several among the refugees. when the neighbourhood was quiet, the men went out hunting, and--stealing! stealing! there is no polite word for it. they stole sheep, cattle, provisions anything they needed for housekeeping. those who came in empty-handed orsolya scolded in plain language; and the men who swept and cleaned at her bidding, and the women who boiled and baked, gradually became as much accustomed to the old lady's resolute way of keeping house and order as if they had served under her all their lives. it was some time in march that aunt orsolya had retreated to the cavern, and there she and her companions had remained all through the spring, summer, and autumn, often alarmed, but never actually molested, hearing rumours in plenty, but knowing little beyond the fact that the whole country was in the hands of the mongols, and that the king was a fugitive. chapter xviii. aunt orsolya's cavern. three fires were burning in different parts of the cavern, and round each was encamped quite a little army of women and children. of the men, some were lying outstretched on wild-beast skins, others were pacing up and down the great vaulted hall, and yet others were busy skinning the game shot during the day. quite respectable butchers they were, these grandees, who had been used no long time ago to appear before the world with the most splendid of panther-skins slung elegantly over their shoulders. some of the women were filling their wooden vessels at the springs which trickled out from under the wall of rock; and as they watched the water sparkling in the fire-light they chattered to one another in the most animated way, or told fairy tales and repeated poetry for the general entertainment. in her own quarters, in the centre of the cavern, close under the wall, orsolya was seated in a chair of rough pine branches, beneath a canopy of mats, which protected her from the continual droppings of the rock. her face was covered with a perfect network of lines and wrinkles, but her dark eyes shone like live coals. her beautiful silver hair was nearly hidden beneath a kerchief which had seen better days, and her dress, a plain, old-fashioned national costume, was neat and clean in spite of its age. she had a large spinning-wheel before her, and on a low stool by her side, sat a young girl, also employed with a spindle. it was evident that this latter, a pale, slim creature with black eyes, was no magyar. her features were of a foreign cast, her hands were small and delicate, and the charm and grace of her every movement were suggestive rather of nature than of courts. but the beautiful face looked troubled, as if its owner were haunted by the memory of some overwhelming calamity. evidently this young relation of hers was the light of the old lady's eyes, for her features lost their stern, rather masculine expression, and her whole face softened whenever she looked at her. some of the men interrupted their walk from time to time to loiter near the fires, or talk to the sportsmen as they came in, or drew near to orsolya, as subjects approach a sovereign; and orsolya talked composedly with each one, too well accustomed to deference and homage even to notice them. "dear child," said the old lady, as soon as they were left to themselves again, "how many spindles does this make? i'll tell you what, if you spin enough we will put the yarn on a loom and weave it into shirting." the girl raised her beautiful eyes to the old lady's face, saying in good magyar, though with a somewhat peculiar accent, "i think mr. bokor might set up the loom now, dear mother; i have such a number ready." "i only hope we shall be able to make it do, my child," said orsolya, leaning towards the girl, and stroking the raven hair which floated over her shoulders. "good man!" she went on, smiling, "not but that he can be as obstinate as anyone now and then! and he has made the shuttle the size of a boat!" the girl laughed a little as she answered, "we will help him, good mother," and she drew the old lady's hand to her lips, and kissed it as if she could not let it go. "yes," she went on slowly, "necessity is a great teacher; it teaches one all things, except how to forget!" "oh, my dear, and who would wish it to teach one that! there are some things which we cannot, and ought not to forget, and it is best so, yes, best, even when the past has been a sad one." she stroked and caressed the girl in silence for a few moments, and then went on, "but you know, dear child, that life on this sad earth is not everything. god is good, oh, so good! why did he create all that we see? only because he is good. he, the almighty, what need had he of any created thing? it is true that life brings us much pain and anguish at times, but then this is but the beginning of our real life. there is another, beyond the blue sky, beyond the stars, which you can no more realise now than a blind man can realise a view, or a deaf man beautiful music. we shall find there all that we have loved and lost here. god does not bring people together and make them love and care for one another only that death may separate them at last." "no, don't forget anything, dearest child," orsolya went on, with infinite love in her tone, as the girl laid her head in her old friend's lap. "keep all whom you have loved, and honoured, and lost, warm in your heart." "they are always there, dear mother, always before me! i see their dear, dear faces every moment!--oh! why must i outlive them?" "that you may make others happy, dear child; perhaps, even that you may be a comfort and joy to me in my old age." mária threw her arms round the old lady and embraced her warmly. "dear, dear mother! how good you are to me! don't think me ungrateful for what the good god has given me in place of those whom i have lost. yes, i wish to live, and i will live, if god wills, to thank you for your love, and to love you for a long time. but if you see me sad sometimes, don't forget, good mother, how much i have lost! and--i am afraid, i am afraid! i have only one left to lose besides you, dear mother, and if--if--i don't know how i could go on living then----" just then two or three men appeared in the passage leading up from the mouth of the cave, and mária went back to her stool. night had fallen, the men had been engaged in making all safe as usual by barricading the entrance with large pieces of rock, but they had suddenly left their work and were hurrying up to the cavern. "someone is coming, mária! or--but no, we won't think any evil, god is here with us!" "mistress aunt!" said the first of the men, bowing low, "we have brought you a visitor, a great man, canon roger, who has but lately escaped from the mongols, and there are three others, strangers, with him. leonard here found them all nearly exhausted and not knowing which way to turn." "well done, nephew! i'm glad you found them," said orsolya, "theeing and thouing" him, as she did everyone belonging to her little community. "roger--roger," she went on, "i seem to remember the name--why, of course, italian, isn't he? and lived with my nephew stephen at one time?" "bring them in! bring them in!" she cried eagerly; and in a few moments father roger and his companions appeared before the "lady of the castle." "glory be to jesus!" said, or rather stammered, the canon; and "for ever and ever!" responded orsolya, who had risen to receive him; and for a moment her voice failed her, so shocked was she at the change in the fine, vigorous-looking man whom she remembered. attenuated to the last degree, bent almost double, he looked as if he were in the last stage of exhaustion. his clothes were one mass of rags and tatters, which hung about him in ribbons; his face, sunken and the colour of parchment, had lost its expression of energy and manliness, and wore for the moment a look of bewilderment, which was almost vacancy. he was the wreck of what he had once been. his servant, the one whom he mentions in his "lamentable song," orsolya took to be quite an old man. withered and worn like his master, he was, if possible, even more dilapidated, thanks to his encounter with the wolves. "you have come a long way and suffered much, father," said orsolya gently, when she had welcomed dora and talabor, and regained her composure. "much lady, much--i--i----" "ah, well, never mind! so long as you are here at last, father roger, never mind! it is a long, long time since we met last! do you remember? my husband was alive then, and we were staying in pressburg with my nephew, stephen szirmay, and with the hédervárys." "i remember well, dear lady; ah! how little we any of us dreamt of the days that were coming!" he spoke falteringly, in a faint voice; and as he sat bowed together on the low seat, orsolya noticed that he trembled in every limb. the rumour of his arrival had quickly spread, and the inhabitants of the cavern all came flocking round, eager to see and hear. in their bright-coloured, though more or less worn garments, with the fire-light playing upon them, and a whole troop of eager children among them, they were a most picturesque company. but orsolya allowed no time for questions. "come," said she, rising from her chair, "that will do for the present! father roger is worn out! will you ladies go and get st. anna's house ready, and make up good beds; and you, kinsmen," she went on, turning to the men, "will you see about clothes and clean linen? i am afraid we have nothing but old rags, but at least they are not quite so worn as those our friends are wearing, and they are a trifle cleaner! i shall put the good canon especially in your charge, márton; you will look after him and see that he wants for nothing." "thank you, lady," stammered roger, almost overwhelmed by the warmth of his reception. "blessings be upon your honoured head, and upon all who dwell beneath this roof." all present bowed their heads almost involuntarily, whereupon roger summoned all his remaining strength, and reaching forth his withered hands, pronounced the benediction over them; after which the children made a rush forward to seize and kiss his hands. "no, i won't hear anything now, father roger," said the old lady after a pause, for her new guests belonged to the family now, she considered, and were to be "thee'd and thou'd" and managed like the rest. "you must not say another word; you must eat and drink and get thoroughly rested, and then, to-morrow perhaps, or in a day or two, when you have said prayers in the chapel (we have one!) and the day's work is done, we will all sit round the fire, and you shall tell us all you know and all you have seen." aunt orsolya's subjects were well drilled, and though they were burning with eagerness and anxiety, those who had begun to besiege the other wanderers with inquiries at once refrained. preceded by a couple of torch-bearers, father roger was led carefully away to one of the side caves, all of which had their names; dora was taken in charge by some of the ladies; talabor and the canon's servant were equally well looked after, and that night they all once more ate the "home-made bread," which they had so long been without. that it was made with a considerable admixture of tree-bark mattered little, perhaps they hardly noticed the fact. it was simply delicious! and the beds! as dora sank down on hers, it seemed to her that she had never known real comfort before. at last the excitement of the evening had subsided; the queen's subjects had all reassembled about the fires, speculating much as to what the new-comers would have to tell them; and presently aunt orsolya began her nightly rounds, visiting all in turn, and stopping to have a little kindly chat with each group. chapter xix. father roger's story. a day or two passed, and the good father roger began to recover a little of his strength, if not much of his cheerfulness. he was naturally a robust man, and he was, besides, inured to hardship and suffering; there was nothing actually amiss with him but extreme fatigue and want of food, so that after a few quiet nights and days he began to feel more like himself, and able to give some account of all that had happened since aunt orsolya and the rest had betaken themselves to the cavern. the men, of course, had some of them been going out more or less all the time, hunting, or--as we have said, stealing, but the accounts they had brought back had been not only imperfect, but often so contradictory that it was hard for the refugees to form any clear idea of what had really been going on, and, naturally enough, they were intensely eager to hear. no one was more eager than aunt orsolya, and it cost her no small effort to repress her curiosity, or rather anxiety; but she did it, and not only forbore to question roger herself, but strictly forbade everyone else to do so also. but as soon as she saw that the canon was able to walk about a little, that his appetite was good, and that he was gradually regaining his usual calm, she reminded him of his promise; and one evening they all gathered round him in the firelight to hear the story which he afterwards wrote in latin verse, and to which he gave the title of "carmen miserabile," or "lamentable song." roger began his narration by telling of the battle of mohi and the king's escape to thurócz; and orsolya heard with pride how stephen, peter, and akos szirmay had shared his flight, how stephen had fallen by the way, and how master peter had survived all the perils and dangers by which they were beset, and how akos, too, had not only survived the kun massacre, but was safe and sound when last the canon had heard of him, and had distinguished himself by many an act of bravery and devotion; and the old lady's eyes grew very bright as she listened, and she put out her hand to stroke that of the pale, slim girl who sat beside her, eagerly drinking in every word. father roger's information came from the captives brought in at different times, and stopped short, so far as the king and his followers were concerned, at the time when they had taken refuge in the island of bua, and kajdán had found himself baffled in his pursuit. to indemnify himself for the loss of his prey, he had plundered dalmatia, croatia, and bosnia, had vainly stormed ragusa, and had set fire to cattaro. the last father roger knew of him was that he had turned east and was expected to join batu in moldavia, by way of albania, servia, and bulgaria. the name of kajdán was not unknown to the refugees, for it was he who had led the mongol horde which had poured into transylvania from the north-east; it was he, or rather probably only his vanguard, who had been defeated by the men of radna; it was he who had suddenly attacked them in force on march st, when they were gaily celebrating their victory; it was he who had consented to leave their town and mines uninjured on the condition that ariskald, their count, should act as his guide. it was he, as father roger knew too well, who had crossed into hungary and joined batu in reducing it to a desert; for his own cathedral city, grosswardein (nagyvárad) was one of the many places which kajdán had captured. "and about yourself, father roger?" asked orsolya. "tell us about yourself, where you were taken, and how you escaped with your life." "i had fled from nagyvárad before kajdán reached it, and was a fugitive, hiding in the woods, living on roots and herbs and wild fruits until the autumn, and then--i was deceived as others were!" father roger went on to explain that batu, by way of keeping those of the inhabitants who had not yet fled, and of luring back some who had, in order that the harvest might be secured, had issued a proclamation in the king's name. "but how?" interrupted orsolya. "you were deceived! can he write our tongue? besides, the king's proclamations have the king's seal." "and so had this! they--they got hold of it." "and knew what it was?" persisted aunt orsolya incredulously. reluctantly father roger had to admit that they had been enlightened by a hungarian. "a magyar!" burst from his audience in various tones of horror and indignation. "there were not many like him, i am sure there were not many--perhaps we don't know everything. he saved my life; i don't like to think too ill of him--it was a time of awful trial--ah! if you had seen how some were tortured! it was enough to try the courage of the stoutest heart, and he was not naturally a brave man. and yet i could not have believed it of him! i can't believe it! there must have been some mistake, surely!" "you had known him before, the traitor!" cried aunt orsolya. "yes," said father roger sadly, "i had known him. he had joined the mongols before the battle of mohi, partly because he was poor, or rather because he was afraid of being poor, and partly because he was frightened. he had been useful to the mongols on many occasions; and he had grown rich and prosperous among them. no one of the chiefs outdid him in splendour, in the number of his servants, or of his beautiful horses. he, too, had been made a chief, a knéz, as they called it. well, nicholas the chancellor was among the many who fell at mohi, and a mongol, who was plundering the dead, found upon him the king's seal. this chanced to come to--to this man's ears, and he thought it might be useful; it was easy for him to get possession of it, for it was not valuable, being only of steel. he gave the mongol a stolen sheep in exchange, and the man thought himself well paid. i don't suppose he had any thought then of putting his prize to any ill use; but he was one of those who never missed an opportunity, and generally managed to secure for himself the lion's share of any booty. however it was, he had the seal, and now----" father roger paused, perhaps from weariness; perhaps because it was never his way to speak evil of any if it could be avoided. "don't let us judge him," he went on. "the poor wretch had seen enough to terrify a bolder man than he. he went to the khan and advised him what to do, and batu gave him a valuable tartar sword, and a splendid horse in return." father roger explained that among the prisoners there were many monks and others able to write, and that some of these were "compelled" by batu to draw up and make copies of a proclamation in the king's name. every copy was sealed with the king's seal, and they were distributed broadcast over the country. he had seen more than one copy himself, and more than once he had been called upon to read it to those who were unable to read for themselves. this was how the proclamation ran: "fear not the savage fury of the dogs! and do not dare to fly from your homes. we were somewhat over hasty indeed in abandoning the camp and our tents, but by the mercy of god we hope to renew the war valiantly before long, and to regain all that we have lost. pray diligently therefore to the all-merciful god that he may grant us the heads of our enemies." there was nothing of the mongol about this, and any lingering doubts were, dispelled by the sight of the king's seal. the result was what the mongols hoped for. in places which had not yet been harried and ravaged the population remained, while many refugees returned to their farms. "but the traitor!" interrupted orsolya, "what of him? where is he? if there is such a thing as justice----" "he was made one of the hundred chief magistrates," said father roger quietly, "and one day when he was in nagyvárad, after my return, he recognised me and offered to take me into his service. he could protect me better, he said." "but his name! who is he? one ought to know who are traitors! where had you known him before?" persisted orsolya. "at master stephen szirmay's! he was one of his pages. his name was libor." dora and talabor both uttered an exclamation. "he lived with my nephew stephen! and he could turn traitor!" cried aunt orsolya in horror. "yes, dear lady, he was not the only magyar to do so! but there were not many, no! indeed there were not many." "and why couldn't they have died, every one of them!" cried orsolya, impetuously. "ah! who knows?" said father roger gently. "who knows? but he did not think matters would go as far as they did; no, i am sure he did not!" it was not in father roger's nature to think the worst of any, still less of one to whom he owed his life, and he knew nothing of the attack on master peter's house or of the despicable part which libor had played with regard to dora, or he would have spoken less leniently. libor had "climbed the cucumber-tree" to some purpose; and this last service rendered to the khan had won for him the praise of batu and all the chiefs, who called him one of themselves. he had reached the pinnacle of greatness, his fortune was made. the hungarian prisoners came to him for his advice and assistance, and libor always received them with the kindly condescension of a great man, and was always ready with fair words and empty assurances to allay their fears. late in the autumn, and without any previous intimation to anyone, came an order to libor and all the other chief magistrates that they were to assemble on a certain day at various appointed spots, each at the head of the entire population for which he was responsible. they were to come with their old and with their young, and they were to be provided with presents for the khan. it was a gloomy day, and the storm-clouds were chasing one another across the sky, as if they, too, were going to hold a rendezvous somewhere, to consult perhaps how many thunderbolts would be required to reduce the country to a heap of ruins. batu khan's tent was pitched in the centre of a vast plain, and round it were gathered a large number of mongols, some mounted, some on foot. in the background, making a terrific noise, were a swarm of filthy mongol children, who were lying about under a group of tall trees. the mud huts and numberless tents of the mongol camp formed an extended semicircle at some little distance, and within this were drawn up a number of mongol horsemen, quite unconcerned apparently at the blackness of the sky and the distant muttering of the thunder. batu khan was seated on a camp-stool brilliantly attired as if for some great ceremony. around him stood more than thirty chiefs, armed from head to foot, and among them was libor, who had surpassed himself in the magnificence of the apparel which he had assumed in honour of the day's festivity. he stood on the khan's right hand, and more than once had the honour of being addressed by that personage; behind him, as behind the other chiefs, stood a swarm of servants, their ears--if they were still lucky enough to possess such appendages--ever attentive to catch the commands of their masters. father roger had been present in libor's retinue on this occasion, a slave among slaves. presently the wild mongolian "band" struck up. its members were a motley crew, stationed before the khan's tent, and their songs were of the most ear-splitting variety, accompanied too by the dull roll of drums and the screeching of pipes and horns, the whole performance being such as to baffle description, and to be compared only with the choicest of cats' concerts. the "music" seemed to be intended as a welcome to a white-flagged procession which now appeared in the distance, advancing towards the khan, every member heavily laden. it consisted in fact of the whole population of some two hundred villages and hamlets, from the district of which libor was chief magistrate. meanwhile, father roger had brought round libor's horse, magnificently caparisoned, and at the first burst of music, the knéz mounted and galloped off, followed, in obedience to his haughty signal, by a couple of armed mongols, the mongol chiefs meanwhile looking on with envious eyes. they were not too well pleased with the tartar-magyar's rise to favour. libor galloped across the plain to meet the new-comers, who bowed down before him as if he had been a god, and then rising again at his command, followed him to the camp, where he drew them up in a long line; after which he hurried back to the khan, dismounted, and announced that his people had brought him such gifts as they could, and only awaited his orders. the khan's wide mouth grew wider still as he smiled from ear to ear, and showed two perfect rows of sharp-pointed teeth; but the smile was like that of an ogre, and such as might have made some people rather uneasy, though not, of course, anyone who was such a favourite and in such an exalted position as libor. "that's well," said the khan; and then, turning from him, he muttered something to the other chiefs which escaped libor's ears or comprehension, though he had done his best to acquire the miserable language spoken by his master. the next moment a large detachment of mongols had stepped forth from behind the tents, and moving forward swiftly, but in perfect silence, had advanced towards the rear of the hungarians. others at the same time came from behind the khan's tent, and in a few seconds the white flags were hemmed in before and behind. libor, who had looked upon the whole ceremony as merely one of the usual devices for squeezing the unfortunate people, was plainly startled, nay terrified, by this sudden movement, and his astonishment and discomfiture did not escape the sharp eyes of batu. "these proceedings are not quite to your taste, eh, knéz?" said he, with a tigerish grin. and the wretched libor, bowing almost to the earth, made hurried answer, "how could i possibly take amiss anything that his highness the khan, my lord and master, may choose to do?" "i thought as much, my faithful knéz! make haste then, and see that all that these folk have brought is taken from them, and then--have them all cut down together!" libor turned pale as death, but he knew his master; he knew that the slightest remonstrance, the slightest demur even, would be at the risk of his life. he bowed more deeply than before, and staggered away to give the signal for the plunder and massacre of his own people. the wind had suddenly risen to a hurricane, and was filling the air with dust; the thunder pealed; but above the howling of the one and the roaring of the other, there rose one long, long cry, and then all was still. libor returned, trembling, shaking, to the khan, the gracious khan, whose favourite he was, who had honoured him to such an extent as to provoke the jealousy of the mongol chiefs; who had enriched him, and had distinguished him above all the rest. he had faithfully obeyed the khan's orders, though, with a bleeding heart; and now, holding as he did the first place among those who formed batu's retinue, he was secure as to his own miserable life, for who would dare to lift hand against him? the khan received him on his return with the same enigmatical smile, which seemed just now to be stereotyped on his lips. when the dust-storm was past, a terrible spectacle presented itself. thousands of corpses lay upon the ground; and among the men, who were quite worn out by their murderous work, were to be seen mongol women and children, seated upon the bodies of their victims, their hands stained with blood. "a few thousand bread eaters the less!" exclaimed batu, in high good humour, "and if my orders are as well carried out in other parts of the country as they have been by you, libor, my faithful knéz, there won't be many left to share the rich harvest and vintage with us." libor said nothing, for his lips were twitching and quivering convulsively. "by the way, libor," the khan went on pleasantly, "it has just struck me, what present have you yourself brought, my faithful servant?" "all that i possess belongs to your highness, mighty khan," said libor, trembling. "excellent man!" replied batu, and turning to one of the chiefs standing by, he addressed him in particular, saying gently, "see now, and take example by this excellent man, who has made me a present of all that he has!" the chief to whom these words were spoken cast a furious glance at the favourite. "all you possess is mine, eh, libor?" batu went on, "all, even your life, isn't it?" libor bowed. "oh, how faithful he is!" exclaimed the khan, addressing the same chief as before, and speaking in the same good-natured tone. "i know the loyalty of this trusty knéz of ours is a thorn in your eyes! and i know that there are some of you daring enough even to have doubts of his splendid fidelity and obedience! wretches, take example by libor the knéz!" so saying, the khan rose from his seat, and cried in a loud, shrill voice, "take this devoted servant and hang him on the tree yonder opposite my tent!" if a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet libor could not have been more terror-stricken. he threw himself on his face before the khan, but his voice was strangled in his throat, and he could not utter a word; all that he was able to do was to wring his hands, and raise them imploringly towards his awful master. and the khan--burst into a loud fit of laughter! another moment and libor the favourite, the envied--whom the other chiefs were ready enough to speed upon his way--libor was hanging to a lofty willow-tree and tossing to and fro in the stormy wind. batu khan presented one of libor's horses--a lame one--to bajdár; and the rest of the ex-favourite's very considerable property he kept for himself. (bajdár, it may be remembered, though, of course, neither father roger nor talabor were aware of the fact, had been of the party which had attacked master peter's house, and we may readily guess how he had earned this handsome reward.) orsolya gave a sigh of satisfaction as father roger finished his story. "there is one traitor less in the world," said she, "and he might think himself lucky that he was only hanged! it was an easy death compared with many!" and she said the same thing, yet more emphatically, when she heard from dora and talabor of their experiences at the hands of the magyar-tartar-knéz. gentle father roger sighed too, but without any satisfaction, as he thought of the youth, with whom he had lived under the same roof, and to whom, as he was fond of insisting, he and his servant owed their lives. but when he heard all that talabor could tell him, he was as indignant as even orsolya could have wished; for he understood master peter, and saw at once what had puzzled so many, the reason why he had left dora at home instead of sending her to the queen, out of harm's way. chapter xx. like the phoenix. it seemed too good to be true! but it was a fact that the mongols were really gone--gone as they had come, like one of the plagues of egypt, for there "remained not one" in all hungary. as soon as king béla knew that the unexpected had come to pass, and that the land was clear of the enemy, he hastened home. but what a home he found! it had been one of the fairest and richest in europe; and now he rode for whole days without seeing so much as a single human being, and his followers had to do battle with the wild beasts, which had multiplied to an alarming degree. go which way he would, he found the land uncultivated and overgrown with thorns and weeds; and when he did come across an inhabited district, the men he encountered were not men, but spectres. the many unburied corpses, together with the sometimes altogether indescribable kinds of food upon which the people had had to subsist, had produced pestilence of divers kinds, which carried off many of those who had escaped the mongols. it was only a year or so since the first irruption of the mongols, but the land was a chaos. how the king laboured with might and main to restore the "years which the locust had eaten," and how he succeeded are matters which belong to history. very gradually and cautiously the people ventured forth from the dens in which they had concealed themselves. at first they came only one or two at a time, to reconnoitre; but when they were convinced that the enemy had utterly withdrawn himself, the joyful news was quickly conveyed to those who were still in hiding, and they flocked back to the ruined towns and villages, which began at once to rise from their ashes. one by one the bells pealed forth again from the church-towers, and many, many a cross was put up in the graveyards to the memory of those who returned no more; not only of those known to be dead, but of those who had simply disappeared, no one could say how, but whose bodies were never found, and who might therefore have been carried away to a living death as slaves. few indeed of the captives were ever seen again. many a hamlet and small village of the plains had been wiped out as completely as if it had never existed, and some of these were never rebuilt, though their names live in the neighbourhood to the present day. many a young man who had been but a "poor relation" before the flood, now found himself the heir to large estates and great wealth. once more the plough was to be seen at work among the furrows, drawn now by an ox, now by a horse, and not infrequently by the farmer himself, the old owner or the new. where there had been ten inhabitants there was now one; but that one seemed to have inherited all the energy, vigour, and hopefulness of the other nine, so fiercely he worked. buried treasures were dug up again, though often not by those who had buried them; many remained undiscovered for centuries; many have not been found to this day. the wolves still roamed the plains as if the world belonged to them; they would even enter the scantily populated villages and carry off infants from the cradle, and from the very arms of their mothers. clouds of ravens and crows still hovered over the countless bodies of those who had fallen victims to the mongols or to starvation, exposure, disease. both birds and beasts disputed the possession of the land with its returning inhabitants. of the forty members of the szirmay family there now remained but four male representatives: master peter, his nephew akos, and two others whose names have not come down to us; and all four of these were now wealthy landed proprietors. dora had been unable to communicate with her father; gabriel had never reached him; and when at length master peter was able to re-visit his faraway castle, he did so not knowing whether his daughter were alive or dead. he found the whole place in ruins; for dora had been only too right in her conjectures. the mongols had paid it another visit not long after her departure; and, finding the house deserted and empty, had vented their rage upon it in such a way that nothing remained to receive their owner but the bare walls. among the ruins, however, he discovered old moses, jakó, and a servant or two, all in a famishing condition. from them he learnt how dora had left the house only just in time to escape the second attack; but as to what had befallen her since, they could, of course, tell him nothing. she had intended to join him in dalmatia, and she had never arrived there. so much only was certain, and when he thought of the perils she must have encountered, and the awful sights he had himself seen by the way, his heart sank within him. and, worst of all, there was nothing to be done, nothing! but to wait, wait, wait, in a state of constant anxiety as to what he might any day hear. but supposing that she should have been preserved through all, and were only waiting till she heard news of him, or perhaps until she were able to travel! she would certainly hear in time, wherever she might be, of the king's return--she would go to him for news of her father--she would hear that he was alive, and she would come back to the old home to find him; so there he must stay! master peter was sufficiently practical to reflect that if his daughter appeared one day without warning, he would want a roof to shelter her, and to work he set making preparations accordingly, though with a heavy heart. yet the work did him good. it cheered him to see the labourers repairing the walls and roofing in what had been her own room, for sometimes it beguiled him into thinking that dora must certainly be coming, would be there perhaps before the place was ready for her, and then he would urge the workmen to greater speed. he was watching and superintending as usual one day, growing more and more down-hearted as he reckoned the many weeks, the months which had slipped past since he had left dalmatia, when the clatter of horse-hoofs roused him. most people were finding enough to do at home just now, and master peter was never more ready to welcome anyone--anyone who might bring him the tidings he longed for, and yet dreaded, or at least tell him news of some sort which would divert his thoughts for the time. he hurried forward to meet the visitor as he clattered into the courtyard, and--did his eyes deceive him? or was it indeed his old page who was bowing before him? talabor the page! talabor! any old face was welcome, but--suddenly he remembered! talabor had left the castle with dora, he had come back without her! master peter could do nothing but look at the young man, for his lips refused to utter a word; and he put up his hand with an imploring gesture, as one who would ward off an expected blow. what was it talabor was saying? that she was alive, safe, well! dora was alive and well! then--where was she? and why was she not with him? it was a minute or two before he could take it in; for, his tongue once loosed, he poured forth his questions so fast that talabor had no chance of replying to them. but, when at last he did understand that dora was with "aunt orsolya," that she had wanted to set out with talabor as soon as ever the roads were considered safe, that in fact she had begged and prayed her hostess to let her go, but that the old lady would not hear of her doing so, and had insisted on sending talabor first--why then, with a good-humoured "just like aunt orsolya!" master peter hastily decided that talabor must set out with him again that very day, and take him to her. horse tired? what did that matter? thank heaven, he had a horse or two still in the stable! and catching sight of moses, he shouted the good news and his orders together. talabor had hidden the furniture, the plate? very well, very well! so much the better, but they could wait! later on no doubt he would be properly grateful, but what would he have cared for a gold mine just now? he had no thought for anything but how to reach dora at the earliest possible moment, bring her home, and never let her out of his sight again whatever might betide. orsolya had remained in the cavern until all apprehension of the return of the mongols was over; and then she had betaken herself to the "barn" in frata, with quite a regiment of poor, homeless folk, whom she supported as best she could. there master peter found her and dora; and there, too, he met his nephew akos, and heard from him how he had escaped with mária from the kun massacre, and heard from dora how she had become quite attached to his bride, and no longer wondered at her cousin's choice. there is little more to say. but two or three months later, when master peter and his daughter had not only been restored to one another, but were once more at home, when the castle had been rebuilt, the hidden treasures found uninjured and brought back to the light of day, when dora had recovered the effects of her terrible journey and was beginning sometimes to feel as if its horrors were a dream--she received an offer of marriage from the haughty paul héderváry, who had lost his wife in dalmatia, and was now willing enough to conform to ancient usage and bestow himself upon her cousin, "his first love," as he was pleased to call her, the only child of the now wealthy master peter, and the heiress of his large estates. it was very magnanimous of him, he felt, and he expected dora and her father to see the matter in the same light, and to show their appreciation of the honour he was doing them. great therefore was his astonishment, when he received, not the willing assent he expected, but "a basket," or in other words a refusal, courteously worded, but unmistakably decided. he was even more than astonished, he was annoyed, mortified, for "secrets" of this kind were sure to leak out, even though the parties concerned held their tongues. there would certainly be some kind friend to spread abroad the news, that paul héderváry had been refused! little as he cared for paul, master peter was gratified by the proposal, if only because it would set dora right in the eyes of the world. possibly he would have been pleased to see her the great man's wife, in spite of all that had come and gone, but if so, he cared for her too much to press his views, and when dora herself asked his consent to her marriage with talabor, he was not the man to say her nay! how could he, when but for talabor he would have had no daughter, whether to give or to keep? and now he would give and keep too, for she could and must always live with him, and this reflection consoled him for any regret he might have felt at not having a more notable son-in-law, with a family-castle and estates of his own. a few words as to akos, or rather his wife, aunt orsolya's ward, mária, who had shared her retreat in the cave. who she was, was never exactly known to the world in general. in hungary she was always said to be a transylvanian relation of the szirmays, while in transylvania she passed for a hungarian member of the same family. but how she came to be placed in aunt orsolya's charge was a secret never divulged. one thing struck people as strange, and it was this: akos had been well known as a friend of the kunok, so that, if the kun king had confided to him the place where he had hidden his treasure, that was nothing remarkable; nor was anyone astonished to hear that akos had unearthed it and delivered it up to the king, or that the latter had made it over to the queen. but why should the queen have given everything to mária, when her own stock of jewellery must surely have needed replenishing? more surprised still would people have been, had they seen the queen kiss the girl's still pale cheek, and heard her say, as she wished her all happiness, "dear child, would that instead of giving you these, i could restore to you those who are gone! but we have all lost so many, we have all so many, many graves to weep over!" yet another circumstance attracted attention, though the fact that akos had championed the cause of the kunok was supposed to account for it. many of these had returned to hungary by invitation of the king, who was anxious to re-people the country, if only to keep down the wild animals. on the first anniversary of mária's marriage a deputation from these kunok came to her and akos. to him they presented a hundred arrows and one of their famous long-bows of dog-wood, beautifully ornamented with gold; and to her they gave a coronet of no small value. after awhile some few of the tartar-magyars returned from the places where they had hidden themselves, and were re-magyarised; but never, to the day of their death, were they reinstated in the good graces of their neighbours. the king, however, was more merciful than the populace. there were so few magyars left that he was disposed to cherish lovingly the scanty remnants, and not only showed lasting gratitude to those who had shared with him the time of adversity, and rewarded all who had distinguished themselves by acts of courage or self-devotion, but he even became blind and deaf when any were denounced as turncoats. among the many who received the king's thanks for their loyalty, talabor was not overlooked. how he had repulsed the mongol attack upon master peter's castle, how loyal and devoted he had been to the szirmay family, and especially how he had saved father roger from the wolves, was all known to the king, who gave him a considerable property, the renewal of his patent of nobility, and the surname of védvár, _i.e._, castle-defender. father roger became in time archbishop of spalatro, and in his "lamentable song" he left to future generations a full account of the time of terror and misery through which the nation had passed. hungary had learnt something from her trouble, and the next time the mongols thought of invading her they were promptly driven back. as for the treacherous duke of austria, he lived to see his neighbour more firmly established on the throne than any of his predecessors had been, and just five years after all the mischief he had done during the mongol invasion, he lost his life in battle with the hungarians, or rather with the vanguard of the army, which, by a singular nemesis, consisted mainly of kunok; and the three counties which had been so unjustly obtained by him were again united to the fatherland. the end. _jarrold & sons, limited, the empire press, norwich._ _jarrold & sons'_ _six shilling novels._ crown vo, art linen, gilt elegant, s. each. =carpathia knox.= by curtis yorke, author of "a romance of modern london," "because of the child," etc. =jocelyn erroll.= by curtis yorke, author of "hush," "that little girl," "the wild ruthvens," etc. =the golden dog.= (le chien d'or.) by william kirby, f.r.s.c. a romance of the days of louis quinze in quebec. =st. peter's umbrella.= by kalmÁn mikszÁth. with introduction by r. nisbet bain. =in tight places.= by major arthur griffiths, author of "forbidden by law," etc. =wayfarers all.= by leslie keith, author of "'lisbeth," "my bonnie lady," etc., etc. =day of wrath.= by maurus jÓkai. translated from the hungarian by r. nisbet bain. with new photogravure portrait. =debts of honor.= by maurus jÓkai, author of "the green book," "black diamonds," etc. =eyes like the sea.= by maurus jÓkai, author of "the poor plutocrats," "the nameless castle," etc. =captain satan.= adventures of cyrano de bergerac. translated from the french of louis gallet. =anima vilis.= a tale of the great siberian steppe, by marya rodziewicz. translated by s. c. de soissons. =the man who forgot.= by john mackie, author of "the devil's playground," "sinners twain," etc. =a woman's burden.= by fergus hume, author of "the mystery of a hansom cab," "the lone inn," etc. london: jarrold and sons, and , warwick lane, e.c. jarrold & sons' new & forthcoming books. _second edition._ =old days in diplomacy.= by the eldest daughter of sir edward cromwell disbrowe, g.c.g. en. ex. min. plen. with preface by m. montgomery-campbell, several photogravure portraits, and an autograph letter from queen charlotte. deals with personages and events figuring in the history of the first half of the nineteenth century. first edition was subscribed for in advance of publication. second edition now ready. / nett =a house of letters.= edited by ernest b. betham. being excerpts from the correspondence of charlotte jerningham (the hon. lady bedingfield), lady jerningham, coleridge, lamb, southey, and others, with matilda betham. the volume will be fully illustrated, and will contain reproductions from portraits by sir joshua reynolds, opie, and sir william ross. / nett. ='neath the hoof of the tartar; or, the scourge of god.= by baron nicolas jÓsika--the sir walter scott of hungary. translated by selina gaye. with photogravure portrait of author, and preface by r. nisbet bain. gives a vivid and realistic picture of a series of great national events. a powerful love story in which scenes of warfare figure conspicuously. a novel on heroic lines. /- =a scottish bluebell.= by etta buchanan bennett. a wholesome, romantic novel. the heroine, sweet marjorie lindsay, resides at a little seaside town in scotland. she discovers a family secret, and in the end ascertains that she is the heiress of the earl of lowrie. the story contains many exciting episodes at home and abroad, and has a powerful plot. first edition subscribed for in advance of publication. / =satan's courier; or, the company promoter.= by flora hayter (mrs. northesk wilson), author of "belgrade: the white city of death," etc. /- =being the secret history of events which led up to the boer war.= "a story of supreme interest, even apart from the light it proposes to shed upon south african affairs. regarded simply as a novel the book is of thrilling power. it enthrals, it consumes."--_the echo._ "an able book."--_daily news._ =the rising of the red man.= a romance of the louis riel rebellion. by john mackie, author of "the man who forgot," "tales of the trenches," "the cannibal island," etc. with six full-page illustrations by e. f. skinner. / "compels attention to the last line. a vigorous piece of writing, which shows mr. mackie at his best."--_yorkshire post._ "at once grips attention."--_dundee advertiser._ =outcasts from choice.= a story of klondike. by mr. gustin aish. the title, although it may be held to refer to all miners in general, has a special reference to a distinguished professor, his wife and her sister, who live in the miners' camp for a year. the story is of a distinctly original type. / =the chronicles of baba.= a canine teetotum. by m. montgomery-campbell, author of "worth the struggle," "two lovable imps," "my very, very own," etc. the amusing and instructive life-story of a yorkshire terrier. beautifully illustrated from photographs taken from life. / "a sympathetic and charmingly told story of the life of a pet dog, which exhibits his own character and those of his four-footed friends with a rare insight into canine psychology."--_the scotsman._ "nothing could be more entertaining and instructive ... a glimpse of real dog life."--_glasgow herald._ transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in chapter iii, a quotation mark was added before "but--we might find or invent someone". in chapter iv, a period was added after "the king was always glad to welcome useful immigrants". in chapter vii, a period was added after "in exterminating the common enemy", and "versecz" was changed to "verecz". (thanks to the national széchényi library in hungary for their assistance in determining the correct spelling.) in chapter ix, "perhaps marána's betrothral was known" was changed to "perhaps marána's betrothal was known", and "having helped to capture kuthven's castle" was changed to "having helped to capture kuthen's castle". in chapter xi, "borká's aid" was changed to "borka's aid", and "jankó the dog-keeper" was changed to "jakó the dog-keeper". in chapter xii, a quotation mark was deleted after "must not?" in chapter xiii, "all danger was believed to be over the night" was changed to "all danger was believed to be over for the night". in chapter xvi, "in such numbers that great part of the country was re-populated" was changed to "in such numbers that a great part of the country was re-populated", and "and few but stragglers" was changed to "and but few stragglers". in chapter xix, a quotation mark was deleted before "if a thunder-bolt". in chapter xx, "whieh carried off many of those" was changed to "which carried off many of those", "after awhile some few of the tartar-maygars returned" was changed to "after awhile some few of the tartar-magyars returned", and the footer "jarrold & sons, limited, the empire press, norwich," at the bottom of the last page was changed to "jarrold & sons, limited, the empire press, norwich." the advertisement for jarrold & sons' six shilling novels was moved from the front of the book to the back. in the list of new and forthcoming books, "lady jermingham" was changed to "lady jerningham", and "baron nicolas jòsika" was changed to "baron nicolas jósika". any remaining inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation were present in the original text. proofreaders the song of the blood-red flower by johannes linnankoski _from the finnish. original title: "laulu tulipunaisesta kukasta_" first published in . contents the fairy of the forest gazelle a mother's eyes father and son pansy at sunrise rowan the first snowfall daisy the rapids the song of the blood-red flower water-sprite and water-witch the camp-fire at neitokallio hawthorn sister maya clematis dark furrows to the dregs by the roadside the cupboard the house building ways that meet moisio the broken string the bridal chamber the somnambulist out of the past the mark the pilgrimage the reckoning waiting the homecoming the fairy of the forest the setting sun shone on the wooded slopes of the hill. he clasped the nearest trees in a burning embrace, offered his hand to those farther off, and gave to them all a sparkling smile. there was joy on the hillside. the summer wind told fairy tales from the south. told of the trees there, how tall they are, how dense the forests, and the earth, how it steams in the heat. how the people are dark as shadows, and their eyes flashing with light. and all the trees in the wood strained their ears to listen. the cuckoo perched in the red-blossomed pine, near the reddest cluster of all. "it may be as lovely as lovely can be," cuckooed he, "but nowhere does the heart throb with delight as in finland forests in spring, and nowhere is such music in the air." all the hillside nodded approvingly. in a little glade half-way down the slope some newly-felled firs lay tumbled this way and that--their red-blossomed tops were trembling still. on one of the stems a youth was seated. he was tall and slender, as the trees he had just felled. his hat swung on a twig, coat and waistcoat were hung on a withered branch. his strong brown chest showed behind the white of the open shirt; the upturned sleeves bared his powerful, sunburnt arms. he sat leaning forward, looking at his right arm, bending and stretching it, watching the muscles swell and the sinews tighten under the skin. the young man laughed. he caught up his axe, held it straight out at arm's length, and flourished it gaily. "twenty-five down already, and the axe as light as ever!" the cuckoo called. the young man looked toward the top of the hill. "a wonderful spring," he thought. "never have the trees flowered so blood-red and bright, nor the brook sung so merrily, nor the cuckoo called so near. 't would be no surprise to see the wood-sprite herself come out from the trees." he rested his head in his hands. "some say they never come nowadays, but grandfather, he's seen them himself. they're grown shy, now that the woods are being cleared." "come, strawberry blossom, come, raspberry blossom, come, little cows, it is late." the sound came from the other side of the hill, like a tinkle of silver bells on a lonely winter road. the young man's heart beat faster. he started up, and turned towards the sound, holding his breath to listen. but he heard nothing more, save the heavy throbbing in his breast. he took a few steps forward and stopped. "will she come this way, or...." "come, summer star, come, little cows, hurry home." it seemed quite close now, just beyond the ridge. "coming--she is coming this way!" he hurried on again, but, startled at his own impatience, stopped once more, stepped back, and stood with his eyes fixed on the crest of the hill. something golden shone through the trees, something that fluttered in the wind. below the gold a white blouse, a slender waist, and then a blue skirt. "the fairy of the forest!" the girl was standing on the hilltop. she shaded her eyes, and began walking toward the farther slope. what now? he was on the point of racing after her, then jumped on to a tree stem, and put his hands to his mouth as if to shout. suddenly he dropped his hands and stood irresolute. then he jumped down, picked up his axe, mounted the stem again, and looked at the girl intently. "wait till she gets to the big fir yonder; then if she doesn't look round, i'll give one blow of the axe and see if she'll hear." the girl walked on--the axe was raised.... "come, summer star...." she turned round, and caught sight of him, started, and stopped, blushing as she stood. "olof!" "annikki!" he sprang down and hastened toward the girl. she too came nearer. "you here? and never said a word! how you frightened me!" "i was just going to call when you turned round." they shook hands, heartily, as comrades. "look!" he cried eagerly; "isn't it just like a palace all round--the castle of tapio, and i'm the lord of the castle, and you're the forest fairy, come to visit me. and your clothes smell of the pine woods, and there's a scent of birch in your hair, and you come playing on a shepherd's pipe, music sweet as honey...." the girl looked up in astonishment. "what--what makes you talk like that?" he stopped in some perplexity. "'tis the forest talks so. but now you must come in--right in to the palace." they went through to the middle of the clearing. "and have you felled all those, all by yourself?" she cast a warm glance at his sunburnt neck and powerful shoulders. "how strong you are!" the boy stepped on more briskly. "there! now we're in the palace. and here's the seat of honour--isn't it fine? and here's a bench at the side--but a guest must always have the seat of honour." "and what about the master of the house?" asked the girl, with a laugh. "he'll sit on the bench, of course." they smiled at each other. "and see, it's decked out all ready, with sprays of green and red fir blossoms." "yes, indeed--a real palace. it's two years now since we had a talk together, and now to meet in a palace...!" "we've not seen much of each other, it's true," said he, with a ring of remembrance in his voice. "and we used to be together whole summers in the old days. do you remember how you were mistress of the house, with twenty-five milch cows in the shed, and as many sheep as jacob at the end of his last year's service?" "yes, yes, i remember." her blue eyes sparkled, and the two young people's laughter echoed over the hillside. the forest woke from his dreams, and stopped to listen to the tale of the children at play. "and how we played snowballs on the way home from school? and your hair was all full of snow, and i took it down--do you remember?--and did it up again in the middle of the road." "yes, and did it all wrong; and the others laughed." the trees winked at one another as if they had never beard such talk before. "and the confirmation classes after!" said the girl warmly. "oh, i shall never forget that time--the lovely summer days, and the shady birches near the church...." the trees nodded. the house with a cross on top--all they had heard of it was the bell that rang there, and the big firs had wondered what it was. now here were human beings themselves telling what went on inside. "and you've grown up to a great big girl since then! it seems so strange--as if you were the same and not the same." "and you!" the gentle warmth of a woodland summer played in the girl's blue eyes. "a tall, big woodcutter you've grown." they were silent for a while. the trees listened breathlessly. a warm flood rose in the young man's breast--like a summer wave washing the sands of an untrodden shore. the girl's kerchief had fallen from her head. he picked it up and gave it to her. through the thin stuff their fingers touched; the youth felt a thrill in every limb. suddenly he grasped her hands, his eyes gazing ardently into hers. "annikki!" he whispered. he could find no words for the tumult in his veins. "annikki!" he gasped again, entreatingly. a faint flush had risen to her cheeks, but her glance met his calmly and frankly. she pressed his hand in answer. "more than anyone else in all the world?" he asked passionately. she pressed his hand again, more warmly still. he was filled with joy, yet somehow uneasy and confused. he wanted to say something--warm, fervent words. or do something--throw himself at her feet and clasp her knees--anything. but he dared not. then his eyes fell on one of the treetops close by he slipped one hand free, and broke off a cluster of blood-red flowers. "take them--will you? in memory of how you came to the castle--to tapiosborg." "olofsborg," she laughed. the word broke the spell. they looked at each other, and again their laughter rang through the woods. he drew closer to her side, and tried to fasten the red flowers at her breast. but as he bent down, his hair touched hers. he felt it first as a soft, secret caress, hardly daring to believe it, then it was like a burning current through his body, that stayed tingling like fire in his veins. his breath seemed to choke him, his heart felt as if it would burst. passionately he threw his arms about her and held her close. the girl blushed. she made no resistance, but hid her troubled face against his shoulder. he pressed her closer. through her thin blouse he could feel her blood burning against his breast. he felt his senses going, a painful weakness seemed to stifle him, as if only a violent movement could give him breath. feverishly he clenched his left hand, that was round her waist; with his right beneath her chin he raised her head. "annikki!" he whispered, his lips still nearer. "only one...." she drew away, shaking her head, and looked at him reproachfully. "how can you ask? you know--you know it wouldn't be right." "then you don't care for me, as you said!" he cried passionately, as if accusing her of faithlessness. the girl burst into tears, her slight shoulders quivering. the cluster of flowers fell to the ground. "my flowers ..." she cried. a flush of shame burned in the young man's cheek. as if stricken powerless, his hands loosed their hold, and he set the girl down by his side. she was trembling still. he gazed at her helplessly, as one who has done wrong without intent. "annikki!" he said imploringly. "forgive me, annikki. i don't know what made me do it. if you only knew how sorry i am." the girl looked up, smiling through her tears. "i know--i know you would never try to hurt me." "and you'll be just the same now--as if nothing had happened--will you?" he took her hand, and his eyes sought hers. and trustingly she gave him both. "may i put them there again?" he asked shyly, picking up the flowers from the ground. the girl laughed; the blossom laughed. "and then i must go--mother is waiting." "must you?" they rose to their feet, and he fastened the blossoms at her breast. "how good you are!" he said, with a sense of unspeakable joy and thankfulness. "and you too.... good-bye, olof." "good-bye--fairy!" he stood in the clearing, watching her as she went, till the last glimpse of her had vanished between the trees. she turned round once, and the red flowers in her white blouse burned like the glow of the setting sun on a white cloud. "i'll fell no more to-day," said the youth, and sat down on a fallen tree, with his head in his hands. gazelle "my love is like a strawberry sweet, strawberry sweet, strawberry sweet. i'll dance with her when next we meet, next we meet, next we meet!" the song came as a welcome from the playing-fields of the village as olof climbed the hill; it lightened his step, forcing him to keep time. even the trees around seemed waving to the tune; the girls' thin summer dresses fluttered, and here and there gay ribbons in their hair. "come in the ring, olof, come in the ring!" some of the girls broke the chain, and offered their hands. there was sunday merriment in the air, and all were intoxicated with spring. the stream flowed glittering through the fields, with a shimmer of heat above. the dancers quickened their pace almost to a run. the lads had pushed their hats back, the sweat stood in beads on their foreheads; the girls smiled with bright eyes, dimpled cheeks a-quiver, and heaving breast. "my love is like a cranberry fair, a cranberry fair, a cranberry fair. for none but me she'll ever care, she'll ever care, and ever care." "oh, it's too hot--let's try another game!" cried one. "let's play last man out--that gives you time to breathe." "yes--yes. here's my partner!" the chain broke up, and the new game began. "and i'm last man--go on. we'll soon find another. last man out!" they raced away on either side, the last man between. it was the very place for this game, a gentle slope every way. the last man had no easy task, for the couples agreed, and tried hard to join again. "full speed, that's the way!" cried the lookers-on. and the last man put on the pace, rushed towards the meeting-point like a whirlwind, and reached it in time. the girl swung round and dashed off to the left, but made too short a turn, and was caught. the game went on, growing fast and furious. all were in high spirits, ready to laugh at the slightest thing; every little unexpected turn and twist was greeted with shouts of glee. olof was last man now. he stood ready in front of the row, glancing to either side. "last pair off'!" the last two were ill-matched; a big broad-shouldered ditcher, and a little slender girl of barely seventeen. the man lumbered off in a wide curve, the girl shot away like a weasel, almost straight ahead, her red bodice like a streak of flame and her short plait straight out ahead. "that's it--that's the way!" cried the rest. the girl ran straight ahead at first, olof hardly gaining on her at all. then she tried a zigzag across the grass. olof took short cuts, increasing his pace, and was almost at her heels. "now, now!" cried the others behind. the girl gave a swift glance round, saw her pursuer already stretching out his hand, and broke away suddenly to one side. olof slipped, and went down full length on the grass. the girl's eyes twinkled mischievously, and a shout of laughter came from the rest. olof would have been furious, but he paid no heed to the laughter now, having just at that moment noticed something else. the girl's glance as she turned--heavens, what eyes! and he had never noticed her before.... he sprang up like a rocket and continued the pursuit. the broad-shouldered partner was making hopeless efforts from the other side of the course. "don't waste your breath!" cried the men. "he's got her now." the big fellow stopped, and waited calmly for the end. but it was not over yet. olof was gaining steadily on the girl; turn which way she pleased, he would have her now. she saw the danger, and turned to rush down the slope. but, in turning, one of her shoes came loose, and was flung high in air. a shout of delight went up from the playground in the rear. the girl stopped, at a loss now what to do. olof, too, forgot the pursuit, and stood watching the shoe; then suddenly he sprang forward and caught it in the air as it fell. a fresh burst of applause came from the lookers-on. "bravo, bravo, that's the way!" "go on, go on! never mind about the shoe!" cried some of the girls, to urge her on. she dashed off again, olof after her with the shoe in his hand. the chase was worth looking at now; no ordinary game this, but a contest, with victory or defeat at stake. the spectators were wild with excitement, taking sides for one or other of the two. the girl shot this way and that, like a shuttle in a loom, her slender body gracefully bent, her head thrown back defiantly. her plait had come loose, and the hair streamed out behind her like a tawny mane. a glimpse of a red stocking showed now and again beneath her dress. for olof, too, it had ceased to be a game. she was no longer one of a couple he had to part, but a creature fie must tame--a young wild foal with sparkling eyes and golden mane. they reached the edge of the course; only a few feet now between them. at last! thought olof, holding himself in readiness for her next turn up the slope. but again she turned off downward. and as she wheeled about, olof again was aware of something he had not marked before--the curve of her hips, her lithe, supple waist, and the splendid poise of her head. he was so close now that her hair touched his face--touched it, or was it only the air as it flew past his cheek? and from her eyes shot beams of light, challenging, beckoning, urging him on. gazelle! the word flashed into his mind--a picture from some book he had once read. the eyes, the lightfoot swiftness--yes, a gazelle. he shouted the word aloud, victoriously, as he raced after her like one possessed. she sprang aside, and darted up a little hill just beyond the course. "look, look!" cried the rest. it was like running down a hare. a glimpse of a red stocking up on the crest of the mound, and the hunted creature vanished on the farther side, the hunter after her. the final heat was but short. the girl was wearying already, and had made for the shelter of the hill on purpose to avoid being caught in sight of the rest. olof tore madly down the slope. the girl gave one glance round, turned vaguely with an instinct of defence; next moment she felt olof's two hands grasping her waist. "you--gazelle!" he shouted triumphantly. but the pace was too hot for a sudden stop; they lost their balance, and came down together, breast to breast and eye to eye, rolling over on the slope. it was all like a dream to olof--he hardly knew what had happened. only that the girl was lying there across his breast, with her loosened hair streaming over his face. it was like a caress in payment for his exertions, and it almost stifled him. still holding her, he looked into her flushed face, into her wonderful eyes--gazelle! he felt like sinking off to sleep, to dream it over again, the charm and wonder of it all.... "oh, but come! the others...." they looked at each other in confusion, and loosed their hold, but were still so agitated they could hardly rise. olof handed her the shoe. "quick--put it on, and we'll go back." she put on her shoe, but stood still, as if unable to move. olof flushed angrily. he was vexed at his own confusion, and with the girl as well. "come!" he said commandingly, and gave her his hand. "we must run." shouts of applause greeted them as they appeared hand in hand in sight of the rest. as they came up, olof felt his senses in a whirl once more, and clenched his teeth in an effort to appear unconcerned. "well run, well run!" cried the others. "ha ha, olof, you got the shoe, and the owner, too--but it's made you fine and red." "enough to make anyone red," gasped olof shortly. "now, on again! last man out...." "no, no--don't spoil it now. we shan't get another run like that." "yes, that's enough for to-day." olof's eyes shone, and he stole a glance at the gazelle. "but we must have a dance before we go," cried the girls. "a dance, then." "what do they mean, the two little stars, that shine in the sky so clearly? that a boy and a girl, a youth and a maid, they love each other dearly." "'tis a pretty song," thought olof, and pressed the girl's hand unconsciously, and she did not loose her hold. then someone led olof into the ring. "what do they mean, the four little stars, that shine so bright in the sky? that i give my hand to my own true love, and bid the rest good-bye." "i've never given a thought to the words before," thought olof again, and offered his hand to gazelle. "what do they mean, the bright little stars, that shine and sparkle above? that hope and longing are part of life, and the rest of life is love." "all very well," said someone, with a laugh, "but we must be getting home. some of us have a long way to go." "don't break up the party. we'll all go together. one more round first--the last." "never shall i leave my love, never shall we part. rocks may fall, and trees may fall, and the dark sea come and cover all, but never shall we part." "well, we must part some time--you can cry if you like. good-bye, good-bye." and they shook hands all round. olof turned toward the girls, where they stood in a group, but was checked by a glance from two deep, honest blue eyes--the fairy of the forest! her glance was clear and serene as before, but there was something in it that pierced him like a steel. he felt suddenly guilty, and turned pale. he could not move, but stood there fixed by the glance of those blue eyes. he could not stand there like that. he raised his head to look at the fairy girl, but his glance turned aside, and met another's eyes. these two looked at him, questioning, wondering. and they sent forth such a stream of clear and sparkling light that all else seemed to vanish, and the blood rushed to his cheeks. "good-night." he raised his hat to the girls, and turned his back. the party broke up, all going their several ways. "never shall i leave my love, never shall we part...." some of the young men had crossed the stream already, and were singing as they went. olof walked up the hill towards his home. "never shall we part...." --he took up the words half aloud, and his face was set in a strange expression of resolution and eager, almost fierce, delight. a mother's eyes the warm, soft twilight of a spring night filled the room. and all was still. "oh, i have waited for you so!" whispered the girl, flinging her arms round her lover's neck. "i was so afraid you would not come--that something might have happened...." "and what could happen, and who could keep me from coming to you? but i could not come before--i don't know what it was made mother stay up so late to-night." "do you think she ..." began the girl. but a passionate kiss closed her lips. "if you only knew how i have been longing for you," said he. "all day i've been waiting for the evening to come. i've thought of nothing else since i first looked into your eyes--gazelle!" "do you mean it, olof?" she nestled closer to him as she spoke. "and do you know what i was thinking as i walked behind the plough? i wanted you to be a tiny flower, to put in my breast, so i could see you all the time. or a sweet apple i could keep in my pocket and fondle secretly--talk to you and play with you and no one ever to know." "how prettily you talk, olof!" "if anyone had told me, i would never have believed love was like this. it's all so strange. do you know, i want to...." "yes? tell me!" "crush you to death--like this!" "oh, if i could die like that--now, now...." "no, no--but to crush you slowly, in a long, long kiss." the twilight quivered in the room. and all was still. a sound, a creaking noise as of a door in the next room opening. two heads were raised from the pillow, two hearts stopped beating. again--and more distinctly now--as if someone moved. he sat up; the girl grasped his hand in fear. they could hear it plainly now--footsteps, coming nearer. heavily, hesitatingly, as if not knowing whether to go on or turn back. olof was petrified. it was all unreal as a dream, and yet--he knew that step--would know it among a thousand. "i must go!" he pressed the girl's hand fiercely, and reached hurriedly for his hat. he groped his way toward the door, found the handle, but had not strength to open it. he strove to pull himself together. he must go--for the sake of the girl who lay trembling there in bed, and more for the sake of her who stood in the room beyond. the door opened and closed again. an old woman stood there waiting. motionless as a statue, her wrinkled features set, her eyes full of a pain and bitterness that crushed him like a burden. for a while neither moved. the woman's face seemed to fade away into the gloom, but the look in her eyes was there still. a sudden tremor, and olof saw no more, but felt a warm flood welling from beneath his eyelids. without a word she turned, and went down the steps. olof followed her. with bowed head, and arms hanging loosely at her side, she walked on. the last brief hour seemed to have aged her beyond all knowing. he felt a violent impulse to run forward and throw himself on his knees in the dust before her. but he dared not, and his feet refused their service. they came to kankaala. the porch seemed glowering at them like a questioning eye as they came up. olof started, and the blood rushed to his head. "who comes here?" queried the porch. "'tis the mistress of koskela, or should be. and who is it walks behind, hanging his head? surely not her son?" "ay, 'tis her son, never fear," said the broad window above, grinning all the length of the wall. "the son of the house been seeing his light-o'-love, and his mother brings him home!" "h'm," said the porch. "'twas not that mother's way to go seeking her sons, nor ever need of it before." olof's head dropped again. heavily the old woman trudged up seppala hill. "who's this out and abroad so late?" creaked the wooden pail in its chain above the well. "mother and son? and what's the mischief now?" olof felt the ground quaking beneath his feet. they were nearly home now. musti the house-dog came to meet them, wagging his tail in friendly wise. but suddenly it checked, and crouched anxiously in the grass. "what's mistress all so sorrowful about? and where have you been so late at night?" olof turned his head aside, and walked by as if fearing to tread. they reached the steps. "what's this, what's this?" buzzed the vane on its pole by the fence. olof had made it himself one day, as a boy. it said no more, only muttered again, "what's this?" the old woman mounted the steps. she said no word, nor ever looked behind her, but olof followed her step by step. his own room was at the side of the house, by the kitchen, but he went on after her without a thought of escape. she passed through the front room into the next, crossed to the window, and sank down in a chair. olof followed close behind her, and stood, hat in hand. there was a long silence. "i never thought to go on such an errand as this to-night," said the woman heavily. she did not look at him; her eyes seemed fixed on something far away. the boy's knees trembled, he could hardly stand. "shame--ay, 'twas shame i felt for you when you were born, old as i was, and never thinking to have more. mayhap 'twas a sign you'd bring but shame to me after and all...." the words fell heavy as lead, and brought him to his knees. "mother!" he could say no more, but hid his face in her lap, and cried like a child. a great warmth rose in the mother's breast and throbbed in her veins. "mother, i promise--you shall never go that way again for me. and ... and...." he broke off. the warmth rose to her eyes, seeking an outlet there. "and...?" she asked gently. "what then, my son?" the young man's brow was deeply lined, as he strove to speak. then resolutely he looked up and said, "i will marry her." "_marry her_?" an icy wave came over her, and she gasped for breath. "olof," she went on in a trembling voice, "look at me. have you--has anything happened already?" breathlessly she waited for his answer. "no," said the boy, and looked her frankly in the eyes. "but i love her." the mother's hands trembled, and she sighed. but for a long while she said no word, only sat looking as before out into vague distance, as if seeking what to say. "ay," she said at last, "'tis right to marry where you love, and no other. but a servant-girl--there's none of our race ever married that way before. and as for love--you're over young to know." olof flushed angrily, and he would have spoken, but the noble dignity of his mother's glance checked the thought ere it was uttered. "go now," she said gently. "we will talk of this another time." father and son the early meal was over, and the farm hands pressed out through the door. "you, olof, stay behind," said the master of koskela from his seat at the head of the table. "i've a word to say to you." olof felt his cheeks tingling. he knew what his father had to say--he had been waiting for this. the three were alone now--his mother stood by the stove. "sit down," said the father coldly, from his place. olof obeyed. for a while nothing was heard but the slow beat of the clock on the wall. "i know where your mother was last night. are you not ashamed?" olof bowed his head. "'tis a sound thrashing you should have--and don't be too sure but that you'll have it yet." olof did not venture to look up, but the voice told that his father was working himself into a passion. "what's to come of you, hey, d'you think? getting the wenches with child to begin with--and what next?" "father!" it was his mother's voice. her face was anxious, as if in dread of coming disaster. a glance of cold anger was all her husband's answer. he turned to the boy once more, and went on: "what next, hey? bring home the brats for us to feed, maybe? is it that's in your mind?" a flush of indignation spread over the young man's face. was this his father, speaking to him thus? or some brutal stranger that had taken his place? and all at once a rush of feeling took possession of him, something new and fierce and strange, filling him altogether. he raised his head, as if to speak, but said no word, only rose up, as if someone had taken him by the hand, and walked towards the door. "where are you going--what?" "i've my work to do." "he! you--you...." the words were flung at him like a hand reaching for his throat. "not a step till you've answered me, d'you hear! was it _that_ was in your mind?" the young man hesitated. but a little time since he had felt himself bowed down with shame, ready to make any reparation; now, in a moment, all seemed changed, he felt he must hit back, must strike one blow for all that had been growing and seething within him in secret these last few days. he turned swiftly, and answered proudly and resolutely, with lifted head: "no! but to marry her--that was in my mind." the old man's features set in a scornful sneer at the word. but the look on his son's face made him hesitate, uncertain how to proceed. "marry her?" he bent forward in his seat, as if doubting whether he had heard aright. "yes!" came the answer, more firmly than before. and having spoken, olof felt he must avenge the insult to himself and to the girl, must strike once more with the weapon he had seen could bite so keenly and so deep. "and marry her _i will_!" the words fell like the snap of a lock. "boy--you dare!" it was the roar of a wounded beast. furiously the old man sprang to the door, snatching up a stick as he rose, seized the boy by the collar, and flung him to his knees on the floor, making the beams shake. it was all done in a moment. "you dare!" he cried again, raising his stick. then suddenly his arm dropped as if broken, and the old man was hurled across the room as a ball is thrown, to fall with a crash against the opposite wall. it was as if a hurricane had burst upon him. a sense of horror came upon him; he felt himself deposed, like a lord of the manor declared bankrupt before his underlings. he had no power over the boy now--either as a father or as the stronger man. and there by the door stood the lad, with the lithe strength of youth in his body and a fire of defiance in his eyes. the clock on the wall beat through the silence, as if questioning earnestly what this might mean. but no one answered. "so--that's it, is it?" gasped the father at last. "ay!" answered the son, his voice trembling with emotion, but threatening still. the old man flung his stick in a corner, stepped back, and sat down heavily in his place. "if you've a drop of my blood in your veins," he said at last, "you'll need no telling what must be the end of this." "i know it," was the answer. "i'm going, never fear." the mother pressed her clasped hands tighter, took a step forward and opened her lips as if to speak, but the look on the two men's faces silenced her, and she fell back in the voiceless blank of unaccomplished purpose. again the clock was heard. "i'd thought to make something of you," said the old man in icy tones. "but you'd no fancy for book-learning and gentlefolks' ways, though you'd a good head enough. rather stick to the land, you would, and flung away the books after a year of them. but a man that looks to work his land as it should be--he's books of his own, or what's the same--and that you must fling away now the same gait, it seems--to waste yourself in a common strumpet's bed!" the young man drew himself up, and his eyes flashed fire. "leave it unsaid!" cried his father. "'tis best so." then rising from his seat, he stood a moment as if in thought, and passed through the open door to the next room, opened a cupboard there and took something out. "no son of mine goes out from this house a beggar," said he proudly, and held out his hand. "you can put the money back," said the boy, with no less pride. "'tis but poor provision for a journey, anyway, if a man can't manage for himself," he added, turning away. his father stood still, looking at him earnestly, as if trying to read something. "'tis no harm to a man to manage for himself if he can," said he slowly. he spoke in no angry tone, but with a stern approval. the boy stood thinking for a moment. "good-bye, father." his father did not answer, but stared fixedly before him, and his eyes hardened. his mother had seated herself on a bench beside the window, her face turned away, looking out--and warm drops fell on the sill. the young man moved towards her slowly, as if questioning. she turned towards him, and their eyes met--then they passed out of the room together. the old man remained seated, a sharp pain at his breast. a flush of anger rose to his cheeks, and his lips trembled, but he could not speak, and sat still, staring at the floor. in the next room, the mother turned anxiously to her son, and grasped his hand. "olof!" "mother!" the boy was trembling. and fearing to lose control of his feelings, he went on hastily: "mother, i know, i know. don't say any more." but she took both his hands in hers, and looked earnestly into his eyes. "i must say it--i couldn't before. olof--you are your father's son, and 'tis not your way, either of you, to care much what you do--if it's building or breaking." and with intense earnestness, as if concentrating all her being in her eyes and voice, she went on: "_never deceive, olof; stand by your promise and word to all--whatever their station_." the boy pressed her hands with emotion, almost in fear, unable to speak a word. "god keep you safe from harm, my son." the mother's voice broke. "don't forget this is your home. come back when, when...." the boy pressed her hands once more, and turned hastily away. he must go now, if he would have the strength to go at all. pansy the clouds raced over the night sky; the riverbanks gazed at the flowing water, at the heavy timber floating slowly over its surface. "let it come!" cried the long stretch of wild rapids below. under the lee of a steep bank, just at the point where the eddy begins, flickered a small camp-fire. the lumbermen sat round it--four of them there were. the boom had just been drawn aside, the baulks from above came floating down in clean rows, needing no helping hand, and for the past two hours there had been no block in the river. the lumbermen were having an easy time to-night. "the farmer he sleeps in a cosy cot, with a roof above his head; the lumberman lies out under the stars, with the dew to soften his bed. but we'd not change our life so free for all the farmer's gold, let clodhoppers snore at their ease o'nights, but we be lumbermen bold!" the river woke from its dreams. the river-guard, seated on piles of baulks by the waterside, shifted a little. "but we be lumbermen bold!" cried the nearest. and the song was passed on from one point to another, from shore to shore, all down the rapids, to the gangs below. then all was silent again, for midnight loves not song, though it does demand a call from man to man through the dark. it loves better to listen, while the river tells of the dread sea-monster that yearly craves a human life, whether grown or child, but always a life a year. all things solemn and still now. the moon sits quiet as if in church, and jesting dies on the roughest lips. many call to mind things seen at such a time--a man drawn down by an invisible grasp, to rise no more, a widow wringing her hands and wailing, fatherless children crying and sobbing. some there are who have seen the marks of the water-spirits on a drowned man's body, or maybe seen the thing itself rise up at midnight, furrowing the water with a gleam of light where it moves. whose turn next? none can say, but the danger is never far off. the little camp-fire flickered, the roar of the rapids grew fainter. the moon sits listening to the legends of the river, and gazing down into the water. suddenly a great shout is heard from below. the men start up. "lock in, lock in! close the boom!" comes the cry. a murmur of relief from the men. wakened abruptly from the spell of the hour, they had taken the hail at first for a cry of distress. they race up, lifting their poles above their heads as a sign the fairway is blocked, and the word of command, "lock in, lock in!" is flung from man to man along the bank. "lock in it is!" cries the man at the head, and runs from the camp-fire down to the waterside. the rope is slipped, the end of the boom hauled close up to the shore and made fast again. "'twill hold a bit," says one. "but like to be a long spell for us all--for there's none'll care to get far out on the block to-night, if it lasts. let's go down and see." the party made their way down the path by the edge of the bank. as the last of the timber comes down, the guards by the rapids join them, one after another. "where'll it be?" "down below somewhere, must be. if only it's not the whirlstone again." "ay, if it's that.... 'tis no light work to get loose there in the daytime, let alone by night." the whirlstone rock it was; the baulks had gathered about it in an inextricable mass. the shores were dark with men gathered to watch. "ay, 'tis there, sure enough, and fast as nails," said the men coming in to the shore, after a vain attempt at breaking loose the block. the whirlstone was a point of rock, rising barely a yard above the surface of the water, at the lower end of the rapids, where the river began to widen out and clear. it lay rather to the right of the fairway, and the timber floated clear, for the most part, to the left of it. but a long stem bringing up against it broadside on would be checked, and others packing against it form a fan-shaped mass reaching from bank to bank. and it was a dangerous business to try and break it, for the point of contact was at the rock itself out in the river, and there was no time to reach the bank once the timber started to spread. the usual way was to get out a boat from below, and even then, it was a race for life to get clear before the loosened mass came roaring down. the foreman swore aloud. "i'll have that cursed rock out of the fairway next summer, if i have to splinter it. well, there's nothing for it now; get your coffee, lads, and wait till it's light." "let's have a look at it first," cried a young, brisk voice in the crowd. "maybe we could get it clear." "there's no clearing that in the dark," said the foreman. "try, if you like." the young man sprang out on to the nearest point of the block, and leaped across actively, with lifted pole, to the middle. reaching there, he bent down to see how the jam was fixed. "hallo!" came a hail from the rock. "it's easy enough. there's just one stick here holding it up--a cut of the axe'll clear it." "ho!" cried the men ashore. "and who's to cut it loose, out there in the dark and all?" "get a rope and haul it clear!" shouted the foreman. "no use--can't be done that way." the young man came ashore. "mind if i lose the axe?" he asked the foreman. "lose a dozen and welcome, if you can get it clear. better than losing two hours' work for fifteen men." "right. give me an axe, somebody." "'tis fooling with death," cried one in the crowd. "don't let him go." "how d'you reckon to get back?" asked the foreman. "upstream at first, and come down after, when it clears." "'tis a mad trick," muttered the men. "i'm not telling him to go, but i won't forbid him," said the foreman, with emphasis. "and if 'twas any other man i'd not let him try, but when olof says he'll do a thing it's safe enough to be done. sure you can do it, lad?" "sure as can be. where's the axe?" he took the axe, and his pole, and balanced his way across to the rock, gliding like a shadow, up and down as the piled stems led. "he's pluck enough," said one. "he's mad to try it," murmured some of the others sullenly. the shadow had reached the rock. he laid the pole down at his feet, gave one glance upstream, and stood ready. the axe-head flashed in the air, the echo of the stroke rang from the steep banks. a second blow, and a third--and then dead silence for a moment. the men on the shore stood bending forward, straining their eyes to see. the shadow by the rock stood up, grasping his pole, thrust the point lightly into one of the tangled baulks, and pressed with his left hand against the haft. the right hand went up once more, the axe flashed and fell. a thud as the blade came down, and a faint rushing sound.... the men on the bank held their breath and leaned forward again. the shadow turned once more and cast a long, searching glance up the stream. the right arm swung high, the axe flashed again.... a shrill, seething roar, like that of a rocket, was heard. the mass of timber crashed and groaned, the water thundered like a beast in fury. the shadow darted like an arrow over the shifting logs, slanting upstream and towards the shore. he was half across the fairway now, the pole swung round, the lithe body made a lightning turn, and he was borne downstream at a furious pace. suddenly he lost his footing, fell, and disappeared. "good god!" cried the men. "what did i say?" "i ought never to have let him go!" the timber crashed and the water roared, the great logs rose and fell and tumbled one over another. dark shadows hurried aimlessly hither and thither on the banks. "downstream, lads, down!" cried the foreman. "ready to give a hand if he's carried inshore. out with the boat, quick!" shadows hurrying downstream.... "he's up again!" came a sudden shout from the farther shore. all stopped. and true enough, the daring lumberman was up again, hopping like a bird from one racing log to another as they thrust and elbowed their way down the rapids, rising and falling as in a loom. then he settled to the practised lumberman's easy poise on a log, and steered his way, with lifted pole and carefully balanced body, out of the rapids. "well done, well done!" "ay, that's the sort. more eyes in his feet than many another in his head." they crowded thickly round the lad as he stepped ashore. "what happened? how did you get up again?" "'twas easy enough. only the bark broke away under foot, the sticks themselves held fast. i was up again in a second--and the last part was worth it all," said the boy, with a laugh. "'twas finely done," said the foreman. "but i don't want to see it done again. you've done enough for to-night--go off and get a rest, and to-morrow too, if you like." "thanks," said the young man, looked at his watch with a sly chuckle, and flung down his pole on the grass. * * * * * behind white curtains in a little room lay a young girl. it was midnight, yet she had not slept. something had happened that evening which kept her awake. strange--it was like a story or a dream; she had never heard of such a thing happening to any she knew. and now--she had only to shut her eyes, and it was there all over again, to the very life. she had seen it that way many times already, till it was grown to something like a story. she had watched it happening, standing by, as it were, a looker-on, watching what passed between the girl there and one other. she was standing in the front room--the girl, that is--pouring the warm milk through a big strainer. "they're giving more milk already," thinks the girl, and laughs. then suddenly the door opens, and a crowd of lumbermen come hurrying through the room, going out to their night's work. the girl stands with her back turned to them as they pass, answering over her shoulder the jests of the men as they go. but the one that was last of all--he did not go on with the rest, but stayed, as if in wonder, looking at her. a tall, slender lad. his jacket was unbuttoned, his cap a trifle on one side, and a mischievous expression played about his sunburnt face. but the girl sees nothing, thinking the men have gone. and she, the looker-on, finds it strange that the girl should not see.... what is going to happen now? then the young man smiles, and steals forward noiselessly--the looker-on is all excitement now, and on the point of crying out to warn her. two hands reach out from behind and close gently over the girl's eyes. "oh!" screams the girl. "who is it? how dare you!" and with a scream she turns and sees him standing there. "good evening," says the young man, laughing, and raising his cap. and the looker-on notes how the girl only blushes, and makes no answer. "did i frighten you?" he goes on. "i meant no harm, i'm sure." "'tis no matter," says the girl. "i was only startled for a moment." "and you're not angry now?" "nay; why should i be? for a jest?" "that's right. i felt directly i saw you as if we were old friends--only i couldn't remember your name, so i thought i'd just stop and ask." oh, but 'tis a handsome lad--and such a smile, thinks the girl looking on. "pansy, they call me," says the other girl shyly, "but...." "say no more," the young man breaks in. "pansy, they call you--'tis enough for me." surely then the name must be a good one, since he seems to like it so, thinks the girl looking on. "and you...?" asks the girl. "you're a stranger, i think." "stranger?" cries the young man, with a laugh that echoes through the room. "couldn't you feel it was a friend and no 'stranger' when my hands closed over your eyes?" and he looks at her with such irresistible friendliness as he speaks, that she cannot but smile--and the girl looking on smiles too. "olof's my name--and no stranger, if you please." after that he seemed to be thinking for a moment, then suddenly he asks, "are you fond of flowers, pansy?" "yes, indeed. and i've two of my own--a fuchsia and a balsamine," answers the girl. "red flowers both! and do you keep them in your window?" "where else should they be?" "and can you see them from outside?" "indeed you can, now they're in bloom." "and where is your window, then?" says he, with a sly little gleam in his eyes. "tell me, so i can see them too when i pass." the girl opens her lips to answer, but checks herself suddenly. "nay, i'll not tell!" oh, but how cunning of him, thinks the looker-on. never was such a sly one. anyone else would just have asked straight out where she slept. and then of course the girl would have been offended at once. but this young man--he says never a word of anything but flowers. "in the parlour?" he asks, with a laugh. "no!" "up in the loft, then?" "no, nor there." "then it's the little room at the back." "no, no!" cries the girl, all confused. "not there, indeed it's not." the young man laughs. "i can't guess any more. but it's cruel of you not to tell." and there again, mark the slyness of him, thinks the girl looking on. anyone else would have laughed out loud and said, "now, i know!" and the girl would have blushed. "well, we're friends now, real friends, aren't we?" says he, after a while. "'tis early yet, for sure. but if so, what then?" "why, i was but thinking--if we were friends, i'd ask you--no, i won't ask yet." "you can ask if you like, 'twill do no harm," says the girl, curious to hear. "only this--if anyone has ever--ever pressed your hand." "no," says the girl, with a blush. "i'd never let them." there again, so neatly put, thinks the looker-on. and how nice and frank and handsome he looks. "now, i wonder if that's true," says he. "but i'll soon see. give me your hand a minute." "what for?" "oh, i can read it, and find out all sorts of things." "you?" "yes. don't believe it? but you dare not try." "ho! dare not, indeed!" and she gives him her hand. now what's going to happen, thinks the looker-on. "h'm. it's true, by the look of things," says the young man seriously. "no one has ever pressed your hand. but down there under the window--there's more than one that's stopped to look at your flowers." "how do you--oh, you don't know really, you're making it all up." "sh! i'm telling your fortune. listen! but what's this i see? well, i'd never have thought...." "what--what is it?" asks the girl anxiously. "what it is i dare not say. only i'd never have thought it." "oh--you only say that because you can't find anything proper to say at all." "shall i tell you what it is, then?" asks he, looking her straight in the eyes. "yes--if you can." "right. but you mustn't be angry if i do." his voice falls to a whisper. "look--look there! he's coming--this very night!" "he--who?" asks the girl uneasily. "he--the one that you've been waiting for--the one that is to--press your hand." "it's not true!" cries the girl. "i'll never let him!" "sh! i can only say what it says there. he will _come_, be sure of that. at midnight, or thereabouts. and he will not beg and pray and ask as the others do, only knock at your window three times, softly, but firmly--and then you'll know it's the right one, and no other.... but now i must go. good-night, pansy." and with a wave of his cap he hurries out. and she--the one that is looking on--marks how the girl stands all confused for a while, and then goes softly to the door, watching him till he is out of sight. the story is ended--the girl opens her eyes. and ended, too, the pleasant self-forgetfulness with which she had watched the scene as acted by another--in place of it come doubts and questionings out of the dark. "what shall i do if he comes--what shall i do?" already she seemed to hear footsteps outside, her heart beat so violently, she pressed her hand to her breast. and it was a relief when no one came after all, and she hoped and hoped he would not come at all, to spoil the pretty fairy story. "but then--if he should not come? if he had been only jesting, after all." that was worse still. "if he would only come--but only to the window--look in at the flowers, but not to knock three times, no...." she went back to the beginning again--a girl stood in the front room, pouring warm milk through a big strainer.... a knocking at the window--three soft, short taps. the girl sat up with a start, holding her breath. she raised her head, and looked anxiously toward the window. the fuchsia and the balsamine gazed at her from the sill with questioning eyes: "what is this you are doing, pansy?" and behind the flowers was a dark shadow, against the blind. she _felt_ that he was looking straight through at her: "i am here, pansy." the shadow seemed calling her to account for something she had promised. she hid her face in the pillow, and pulled the quilt over her head. her heart throbbed till the bed itself seemed to shake. "_and he will not beg and pray and ask, as the others do_." slowly the girl drew herself up and remained sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap. "if he would only knock again, and give me time to think--to think...." the dark shadow did not move, the fuchsia and the balsamine stood breathless. quietly she slipped to the floor and stepped forward doubtfully a pace or two. there was a movement of the shadow; the girl trembled, and caught at the bedpost for support. the shadow stopped at once, and stood as before, calling her to account. with eyes cast down, she moved again towards the door--slowly, hesitatingly, as if her heart were willing, but her limbs refused. she could feel the shadow gliding round outside to the doorway. her heart throbbed as if it would burst; her fingers grasped feverishly at the latch. then slowly, silently, the latch was raised; the girl fled to the corner by the stove, and stood there covering her face with her hands. the door opened, closed again, and the latch was pressed down firmly. "where are you, pansy, little friend? is it you there in the corner?" he crossed over to her, and took both her hands in his. "hiding your face, and trembling...?" he looked steadily at her. "i will go away in a moment," he said gently, as if asking forgiveness. "i never thought you would feel it so." "no, no!" said the girl anxiously. "it wasn't that...." "get into bed again and cover yourself up, or you'll be cold. and i'll sit beside you a little, just while it's dark, and then go again." shy and confused, she sprang into bed and drew the clothes over her. he looked at her a moment. then pulling up a chair beside the bed, he sat down, resting one elbow on the pillow. "pansy, why do you hide your eyes? are you afraid? is it because i am here? give me your hand. who was it that was to press your hand? do you remember? "didn't you know i was coming? hasn't the cuckoo been saying it all the spring? didn't the daisies tell you he was to come this summer? and now, now that i am here, you look at me as if i were a stranger. is it because it has come true so suddenly?" she pressed his hand. "oh, you are not like the others." "and how should i be? you did not care for them. the one you have been waiting for--was he to be like them? answer, dark-eyed pansy-flower." she clasped his wrist with both her hands, and drew herself closer to him. "and i have been waiting," he whispered tenderly, "for whom, do you think? for one of the others? i have seen more than i can count--but the moment i saw you, i knew who it was you were waiting for, and who it was i sought." the girl moved uneasily. there was a sound of footsteps outside, and shadows moved behind the curtains of the window. "oh!" she whispered, shrinking in fear. "is that some of them?" asked the young man calmly. "yes. oh, hide yourself, hide somewhere--they light matches outside sometimes, and look in." "i'll not move a step for any of them," he said resolutely, folding his arms. "don't be afraid, little one, there's nothing to fear." a dark shadow climbed up outside. there was a scraping sound, and a light shone into the room for a moment. "there he is--sitting there as if he was master of the house!" the shadow sprang down again. a low murmur was heard outside, and footsteps receding. a moment later, the whispering voices were heard again, and steps approaching. then something heavy was flung against the door with a crash. "there! sleep well, my dears!" cried a scornful voice outside. a chorus of laughter followed, the footsteps died away, and all was still. the young man rose to his feet. "the brutes!" he muttered, trembling with anger. he sprang to the door, lifted the latch, and threw his weight against it. the door did not move. his blood boiled, and again he flung himself against the door. it creaked under the shock, but the bar outside held fast. "i heard who it was, anyhow," he said significantly. "i'll have a word to say to some of them to-morrow." "oh," cried the girl, "now everyone will know--and we can't even get out now." "don't be afraid, dear. if one way's barred, i'll soon find another." he walked to the window, and pressed hard against the frame. the nails gave way, and the woodwork hung loose. "there! we can get out that way now. i'll take care of the flowers--and i'll see those fellows hold their tongues--never fear." self-possessed and smiling, he came back to the bedside. "you poor little thing, so easily scared! not afraid now, are you?" "no--not now you're here again." "why," said he gaily, "don't you see? it had to come like this--or else--it would have been just like--any of the others!" they both laughed, and the girl looked up at him through her tears. a faint light of dawn showed through from without. "and you haven't heard it all yet. i'll tell you--it's all different from anything else--right from the beginning. i came here a way you'd never dream--by way of the river, and past the jaws of death." "what--what do you mean?" and he told her what had passed among the rapids that night, when the floating timber jammed against the whirlstone rock. "and then we get locked in here, to make it unlike anything else all through. and that's how i love you, pansy--so that i have to come to you through the rapids at night, and stay with you behind barred doors. but _are_ you mine, my own? you haven't said so yet." "am i? oh, olof, how can you ask!" and she twined her arms lovingly round his neck. * * * * * the growing flush of dawn stole through the curtains, spreading a faint gleam of rose on the girl's white arms. "red--red is all that is beautiful in the world," nodded the fuchsia to the balsamine. the sun rose over the far-curving slopes on either side of the river, filled his lungs with the freshening coolness of the night, and drank his morning cup of glistening dew. a light mist still hung over the riverbed. olof strode down the slope with easy step, his heart swelling with joy. down on the shore below the rapids stood a group of men, young fellows from the village, who came down at times to earn a little extra by keeping watch over the timber at night. olof cast his eyes over the group, and his pleasant feeling of contentment vanished. he felt himself weighed down as by a burden. but a little while since, he had lifted the heavy beam they had set against the door of a girl's room, and carried it back to the barn, the weight seeming as nothing to him in his gladness. but now.... "a single word, a look, would be enough. but if they just go on as if nothing had happened--what can i do?" a dark flush burned in his cheeks as he approached the group; he glanced about him guardedly under his brows. the men made no sign. olof picked up his pole from the grass, and began slowly wiping off the dew, eyeing the men watchfully as he did so. they stood about, apparently unconcerned. he bit his lips. was he to let it pass off like this? he walked past them, with a burning glance. as he did so, a low laugh was heard on the edge of the group. next moment came the sound of a heavy blow, and the jester measured his length on the grass. "you--what's that for? who d'you think you are, young devil's brat, what?" two men came at him with a rush. olof gripped the first by the collar and crutch, and flung him head foremost through the air. then, taking the other as swiftly, he lifted him high overhead, and threw him down like a crumpled rag. "you swine--you filthy brutes!" his voice quivered with rage, his eyes burned like fire, and he raised his clenched fists threateningly. "come on, the lot of you; i've more to settle with you yet." there was an angry murmur from the crowd, but it died away as a calm, manly voice spoke up: "seems to me, young man, you've settled fairly enough already for a bit of fun and no harm meant. and if you're as good a man as i take you for, you'll see yourself 'twas not done the way you seem to take it. we've all been sort of proud of that little lass, and till now there's never one of us passed through her door, though there's many that would if they could. and when a bit of a chap from god knows where comes along, and he's found sitting in there like her lord and master...." "and what's that to you?" olof stepped forward threateningly. "quiet, lad, you've no call to shout," went on the other calmly. "i'm not meaning to quarrel with you. we've known that girl, i say, since we were youngsters together, and you're a stranger here. and it's like to do her harm. leave her alone, i say, and don't go making her a byword in folk's mouths, for the sake of one that comes and goes so light and easy as you." "stranger, you say?" olof crossed his arms defiantly. "you know who i am well enough. and you're the men to talk of a girl's honour to me--you that hang about outside her window at night--a nice lot to protect her! mark my words, the lot of you. i go where i please, if 'twas to a princess in a palace. and i'll go the way i went last night as long as i'm here in the place. and as sure as i stand here, if one of you shows his head outside that window, or dares to say a coarse word--ay, or so much as a look to hurt her, i'll thrash him till he can't stand on his feet." he turned and walked proudly up the hill. the men gazed after him without a word. at sunrise "the loveliest hour?" said the fuchsia warmly. "why, now, give me the night--'tis the best of all." "i love it too," answered the balsamine. "whispering here as we are now, alone in the dark, only knowing the other is near, only seeing the gleam of each other's eyes. but the morning, too, is beautiful--at sunrise, when the dewdrops glisten and the leaves quiver in the wakening breeze." "true, that is true. all times are beautiful, all life. the morning, when the cock crows, and the birds twitter, and the children newly washed come out to play in the yard. the day, too, when the sunbeams dance over the floor, and the haymakers come from the fields, with sweat on their brows, home to the midday meal. and the evening, when the shadows lengthen, and the cows come home, with their bells tinkling along the fringe of the wood. but there's nothing can compare with night--'tis at night we find ourselves, and only then." "find ourselves...?" echoed the balsamine. "ah, yes, i understand...." "ourselves--and that faint song of the heart that is never heard in the bright fullness of day," the fuchsia went on. "all day we belong to the world, sharing all things in common, having nothing of our own. but when the night falls, then our own time is near. softly it steals through the forest, patiently waits in a corner within doors, trembles mysteriously in the air, and wakes to life all that has slept in us through the day. it comes to us with a soft glow, in a swooning fragrance of flowers. all things else are sleeping, none are astir save those...." a woman's arm showed faintly white through the gloom. "all save those...?" whispered the balsamine. "save those who find themselves and waken into bloom." * * * * * "pansy--my wonderful delight--my love! you are like the night--witching, ensnaring, all the mystery of a summer night, when the summer lightning gleams." "i never knew till now what youth is, what love is. great and beautiful, coming like a king in a golden chariot, beckoning, calling, leading us on." "why are you trembling, love? and your hands are hot, and your eyes--what are they saying?" "i don't know--it's very hot. no, no, it's only that i'm too happy...." "too happy?" "no, no. i don't know what it is. only i wish...." "what is it? tell me." "i can't--i don't know what it is. i...." "but tell me--can't you tell me what it is?" "i can't say it. i--i'm frightened." "frightened? why--have i frightened you?" "you?--no, how could you? only...." "tell me, then. tell me. only a word, and i shall know." "i'm frightened--no, i can't say it. only--oh, i love you, if you knew how i love you...." * * * * * "the loveliest hour i ever knew," whispered the balsamine again, "was when i bloomed for the first time--when my petals opened, and the sun came and kissed right into my heart." "i know, i know," murmured the fuchsia. "and i that am blooming now for the second time--should i not know? we put forth flowers again, and it is always sweet, but never like the first time of all--nothing can ever be like that. for it is all a mystery then; the mantle of something wonderful and unknown is over us. and we feel it and thrill at what is coming, and ask ourselves--will it be to-day? hoping and fearing--and knowing all the time that it will come. never a thought of past or future, only for the hour that is upon us ... until at last it comes, it comes--petals that blush and unfold, and all things else seem to fade away, and we melt into a glory of warmth and light." * * * * * the spirit of joy stood quietly smiling by the bed. the girl's loose hair flowed like black silk over the pillow; his head was resting there. they held each other's hands and looked deep into each other's eyes. the spirit of joy had stood there long, but had not heard them speak a word--only seen them lying there in silence, smiling tenderly to each other. the sun rose slowly over the ridge of hills, but once clear of the summit, its rays shot suddenly down across the intervening landscape, in through the window. the girl looked up; the sun was laughing full in her eyes. she sat up in bed, as if waking from a deep sleep; all things seemed strange and unexpected. "has the sun eyes too, i wonder?... has it been watching me all these mornings?"... * * * * * after a little while she raised her head, and looked up shyly once more. the sun was watching her with a great questioning glance--as a mother looks when she does not speak, but questions with her eyes alone. the girl felt a shock, as if the blood had ceased to flow in her veins; she cast down her eyes, and looked up no more. two great pearly tears quivered on her lashes. "what is it?" asked her lover in dismay, half rising in his turn. "what is it, pansy?" he pressed her tenderly to him. "why are your eyes cast down?" the teardrops trembled a moment and fell; the girl turned, and hid her face in the pillow. "pansy, oh, my love!" he whispered, filled with a burning desire to comfort her. the girl's bare shoulders quivered, and her breast heaved with suppressed sobs. it was like a cold iron through his soul--as if he had been soaring in the bluest heights, to fall now, broken-winged, among sharp rocks, hearing sounds of misery on every side. heavily he threw himself down beside her, and hid his face in her dark hair. two children of men, with shoulders heaving and faces wet with tears.... the room seemed full of their sighing. the sun turned away and hid his darkened face. "it is sorrow," whispered the fuchsia, and a red tear fell on the window-sill below. * * * * * and yet, beneath the veil of sorrow showed a warm red glow--the great secret that was between them. it was as if their eyes were opened, and they saw each other truly for the first time--no longer a youth and a maiden, but two human creatures thrilled with sorrow and joy in the pale dawn. "can you ever forgive me?" he asked, his voice trembling. "forgive...?" echoed the girl, and threw her arms round his neck. "and you will not think of me with bitterness?" he asked again. "how could i ever think of you with bitterness--you who have been everything to me? but why must you go away now?" "ay, why must we say good-bye now?" said he, with a sigh, as if hardly knowing what he said. "if you only knew how i shall miss you...." "and if _you_ knew.... o heaven! but what can i do?" "don't be unhappy for my sake; i know you can do nothing to change it. and how can i ask more of you, after all you have given me? if only i could see you again some time; only once, once even after many years--if i only could...." "perhaps i may come one day--just to see you...." "come, come! i shall wait for you week after week." * * * * * slowly he drew out his watch, looked at it, and showed it to the girl. "yes, you must go now. but how can i ever let you go?" "how can i ever go? oh, if only it were always night, and day never to come!" "yes--the last, long night--and after that the judgment. i should not fear it now. only a minute--only a minute more. one more look--there--and now i can never forget." "pansy, pansy," he murmured tenderly. but his breast heaved with distress--it was as if the latch had been torn from the door, leaving it open to all who cared. "one thing you must promise me--after this...." his voice was like that of a drowning man. "never to care for any other but the one you choose some day, for life." "how should i ever care for any other?" said the girl wonderingly. "and even then i shall love you just the same--even then." "no, no, no! it would be worse than all. when you choose for life you must give all your love." "no need to tell me that," said the girl in a low voice that thrilled him with pleasure and yet heightened his fears. "promise me! you don't know why i ask you, why i beg of you to promise that. it is not for my own sake," he urged. "i promised you that long ago--the first time we ever met," said the girl, and cowered close to him. they drew apart, and stood up. holding him by the hand, she followed him to the door. then flinging her arms about his neck, she clung to him as if she would never let him go. he took her in his arms, himself on the point of swooning; he felt her hair wet with tears against his cheek, and their lips met. the girl's head was bent back, looking, not into his eyes as before, but upward. and he saw how the look in her eyes changed, first to ineffable tenderness, then to pious prayer--until it seemed freed from all earth, gazing at some blessed vision afar off. as long as she stood thus he could not move a limb. then her eyelids quivered, closed--and she drew her lips away. he looked at them, saw a white, bloodless line--and he felt in that moment as if some ineradicable, eternal seal had been pressed upon his own. "i can't leave you like this!" he cried desperately. "look! to-night we shall be at kirveskallio--i can come from there. and i will come every night as long as we are within reach." the girl's face lit with a pale gleam as of autumn sunlight, but she said no word. only looked at him strangely, as he had never seen her look before--and stood there, gazing at him still, as he passed out. rowan "rowan--do you know why i call you so?" he asked, holding the girl's hand clasped in his. "it must have been because i blushed so when you spoke to me first," she answered shyly. "no, no! guess again." "i can't guess, i'm sure. i never thought why it was--only that it was a pretty name, and nice of you to call me so." "did you think i should give you an ugly name?" said the young man, with a laugh. "but there's much in that name, if you only knew." "perhaps i know." she looked at him trustingly as she spoke. "not altogether. but never mind--i'll tell you some of it, though. see, this last spring was all so wonderful to me, somehow, and i was happy just to be alive. but then came the summer, and autumn: the grass began to wither, and the leaves turned yellow, and it made my heart ache to see." "you weren't happy last summer?" she asked tenderly. "no. you see, i could not forget the spring that had been so wonderful, and i was longing for it all the time. if i'd stayed in the same place, then perhaps.... but i'm a wanderer, once and for all...." "why do you never stay anywhere?" "'tis my nature, i suppose," he answered, staring before him. "and where were you--that time?" asked the girl timidly, watching his face. "oh, a long way off. don't ask of that. i'm not thinking of that spring now any more. it was only to tell you--who it was showed me that the autumn can be lovely, too." "did someone show you that?" "yes, someone showed me--or, rather, i saw it the moment i set eyes on her." he took the girl's hands in his, and looked into her eyes. "it was a little cluster of rowan berries. when i saw you, you were like a young red rowan on the hillside. the birch was fading already, the ash stood solemn and dull, but you were there with the red berries, calling to me--no, not calling, but i saw you. and i stood and looked as if a miracle had come, and said to myself, should i speak to her, or just go by?" "if you had just gone by...." "i thought of going by--seeing i'm one that has no right ever to stay.... i couldn't see if it was right to stop and look at you." "now i don't quite understand." "you can't understand it at all--'twas only something i was trying to think out myself.... but i did stop and look--and 'tis thanks to that i've had this lovely autumn, after all." "and i, too," whispered the girl. "yes, thanks to you, i have learned that autumn can be beautiful as well; lovelier even than the spring--for the autumn is cooler, calmer, and gentler than the spring. and it was then i learned for the first time what it is that makes life beautiful--what it is that human beings seek." the girl has slipped down to the ground, and sat now looking up at him, resting her arms on his knees. "tell me more--more about that. it's so pretty to hear, and i understand it all, though i could never say it that way myself." "yes, you know, and all know, that there is nothing beautiful in life but that one thing--and all of us live for that, and nothing else. without that we have only our hands and work for them, our teeth and food for them; but, when that comes, all is changed. you have seen yourself, and felt, how it changes everything." "oh, have i not! how could i help it?" "how sad faces learn to smile, and eyes to speak, and how we learn a new tongue altogether. even the voice is changed, to a silvery ring. all the world is changed, to something lovelier--and we ourselves grow beautiful beyond words." "yes, yes--olof, how wonderful of you! it is all like a beautiful dream." "do you remember the time when you first began to care for me?" "i shall always remember that time--always." "it was pretty to watch--how you blushed and paled, and blushed again, and never knew which way to turn your eyes, and your heart throbbed, and you never dared confess even to yourself what made it so. i watched you then, and i found myself wishing you might not see me at all, only that i might watch you for ever from some secret place." "oh, but you don't know how it hurt, all the same--how anxious i was all the time--i could not have borne it long, i know." "yes--i understand.... and you were more beautiful still when you opened your heart to me. i read in your eyes as in an open book, and it made life bright and beautiful again for me." "i--i have done nothing at all ..." said the girl, blushing, and looking down. but she raised her head again, laid one hand on his knee, and looked questioningly at him. he laughed in reply. slowly she drew herself up into his embrace, and put her arms about his neck. "may i sit here like this?" "yes, you may--like this," said he, slipping an arm round her waist. the girl's face drew nearer to his own, still questioning. "no, no," he murmured, and laid one hand gently on her shoulder, as if seeking tenderly to hold her back. "why not?" asked the girl earnestly. "because it is better so. it would only hurt you more when we had to say good-bye--after." "oh, but that's just why!" she cried passionately. "no, no--i ask it of you," said he. and, taking the girl's head in his two hands, he kissed her softly on the brow. a gleam of infinite tenderness shone in her eyes, but she did not speak, only bowed her head and nestled close to his breast. a strange joy thrilled him--he felt he had won a victory over himself. through his thin shirt he could feel the girl's warm breath like a wave of summer sunshine, and, smiling with happiness, he stroked her hair. it was in his mind to ask her if she did not think herself it was best as he said, when suddenly, ere he could speak, a burning gasp struck him like a flame; the girl's hot lips were pressing fiery kisses on his breast; her arms slipped from his neck and twined themselves close about his waist. "god in heaven--be careful, child!" he took her arms and tried to draw himself away. but, ere he could loosen her hold, he felt his body thrill in answer to her passionate caress--a torrent of passion rose within him: all thought of self-restraint was whirled away. "love, love!" he gasped, his voice almost breaking in tears. he drew her up to him, and closed her thirsting lips with his own, crushing her body against his own till both lay breathless.... the first snowfall this year, it came later than usual--not until just before christmas. and when it did come, it was like a rain of silver. the children greeted it with joyful shouts and a wild throwing of snowballs; the women carried shovelfuls of snow into the rooms and spread it on the floor before sweeping; the men hung tinkling bells to their horses' harness. men hurried briskly along the forest tracks, and the great high road to the town was packed with an unbroken throng of pilgrims. all coming and going exchanged greetings, even with strangers--a gay wave of the hand and a few words about the snow. * * * * * twilight was falling. olof had just come in from his work in the forest, and was sitting in his little room in the peasant's hut where he was quartered. an elderly man stepped in--a farmer from the same village. "evening--and greetings from the town." "evening," said olof heartily. "come in and sit down." "i've little time to sit. i'd a message for you, that was all. stopped at valimaki on the way out, and someone gave me this for you." he took out a small packet and handed it across. olof blushed up to the eyes, and stammered a word of thanks. the messenger pretended not to notice his confusion, and went on, smiling: "i asked if maybe there was any message besides, and they said no, just give it you as it was--but happen you'd like to hear how 'twas given...?" "go on--tell me," said the young man, still with some embarrassment. "well, i pulled up there, as i said, and started off again just towards dusk about. got down just past the meadow below the house, and hears someone running after. thought maybe i'd left something behind, and so i stopped. 'twas a neat little maid, with red cheeks, and no kerchief on her head. 'what's wrong?' says i. "'nothing,' says the little maid, and looks down at her shoes. 'only you said--didn't you say olof was staying your way just now?' "well, that was right enough, and i said so. 'and what then?' "'why,' says she, 'i know him--and i'd a message for him.' "'aha,' says i, and laughed a bit. "''twas no more than a greeting,' says she, all of a hurry like. "why, then, i could carry it, 'twas an easy matter enough. "'can i trust you?' says the girl. "'why, d'you think i'd lose it on the way?' says i. "'if you did--or if you went and told about it...' "'nay,' says i. 'i'm an old man, my dear, and not given to playing tricks that away.' "'yes, i know,' says she. 'i can trust you.' and then she gives me this. "'that's for him?' says i. 'give it him just as it is?' "'yes. you won't open it, i know. though, to be sure, anyone can tell what's inside. but be sure no one sees you give it him. there's no message, only just that.' "well, i was just on the way to tell her i'd sense enough to do that without being asked--but all of a sudden she's off, racing away with her hair flying behind. ay, that was the way of it, and now i've told you, i'll be off." "good-night, then," said olof. "and many thanks." olof sank into a chair by the table, holding the packet in his hand. he knew well enough what was inside, but hesitated to open it. he was thinking of what had happened there--he could see it himself as in a vision. a bright-eyed girl, slight of figure, hardly more than a child, sat at one end of the room, and at the other a traveller, eating from the red-painted box in which he carried his food. the man spoke of the weather, how the first snow had come, and it was good going underfoot; where he came from, too, the woodcutters had already started work. more work than usual this season, and the gang foreman had taken on a new hand, a young fellow--olof was his name. and the girl all but cries his name aloud, blushes violently, and lays down her work to listen. but the traveller says no more of what she is longing to hear, only talks of this and that--all manner of trifling things. the girl is restless, uncertain what to do--but she must do something. and she watches the man's face closely as he sits smoking his pipe on the bench. "he looks honest, and kindly," she thinks to herself. "i could trust him, i know." and then quietly she slips off to her own room, as if to fetch something, and takes something from a drawer--a little thing she has kept there long. looks for some paper, or a bag, to put it in, searches and looks again, and finds it at last, packs it up and ties it round with string, tying the hardest knot she can manage, and cutting the ends off close, so it can't be opened without being seen--and laughs to herself. then she goes back to the room, with the thing in her pocket. the traveller is getting ready to go. "'tis time to mix the cattle food," says the girl. and from the kitchen window she can see the traveller come out to his horse and make ready to start. he drives out of the yard and down the road at a trot. "now!" says she to herself, and races off after him. olof can see her as she runs--how her breast heaves as she comes up with the cart and hails the driver. how she blushes and looks down, and then, having gained her purpose, runs off again too full of joy even to thank the messenger, running a race, as it were, with her own delight. and then, once back at the house, she looks round anxiously to every side, lest any should have seen her, and goes in to her work again.... filled with a quiet joy, olof opens the packet. a big, dark red apple carries her greeting. "the very colour of the rowans!" he cries--as if the girl had chosen that very one from a great store, though he knows well enough it was likely the only one she had. and his heart swells with joy and pride at the thought. "was there ever such a greeting--or such a girl!" once more his mind goes back to that happy autumn; he turns the apple in his hand caressingly, and looks out through the window and smiles. then he notices that the apple seems harder to the touch in one place, as if to call his attention to something. he looks at it again, and sees that the skin on one side is raised, with a cut all round, is if done with a knife. he lifts the flap of skin, and it comes away like a lid; underneath is a folded slip of paper. "more!" he cries, and with trembling hands, with joy at heart, he unfolds it. only a tiny fragment, and on one side a few words awkwardly traced with pencil: "now i know what it is to be sad. have you quite forgotten your rowan? i think of you every night when i go to sleep." the apple falls into his lap, the paper trembles in his hand, and a moisture dims his eyes. he looks up. great soft snowflakes are dropping slowly to the ground. minutes pass. the twilight deepens, till at last all is darkness, but he sits there still looking out, with the paper in his hand. he can no longer see--but he feels how the great soft snowflakes are still falling.... daisy the daisy bloomed on the window-sill ... in the window of a little room. in spring and summer the daisy blooms--this one bloomed in the winter too. "and i know, and you know why you bloom in the winter," said the girl. "'tis to smile at him in greeting." the daisy blooms only a few months together ... this one was in flower already when christmas came, and flowered the rest of the winter through, more beautiful every day. "and i know, and you know how long you will bloom. 'twas when i set you here at first it all began ... and when he is gone, and there's none for you to smile at any more, then it will all be over.'" the girl bent lower over the flower. "she has but a single flower--so neat and sweet," she whispered, pressing her delicate lips to the pale posy petals just unfolded. "she has but a single friend--so tender and dear," smiled the flower in answer, nodding slowly over toward the fields. a tall youth on ski came gliding by, his cap at the back of his head, and a knapsack strapped at his shoulders. "at last!" cried the girl, and jumping down, ran out through the passage to the steps in front of the house. "daisy!" said the newcomer. his voice was hardly audible, but his eyes spoke plainly enough, as he stepped up and set his ski and staves against the wall. the girl answered with a nod and a radiant smile. he hurried up the steps, and stood beside her. "daisy!" he said again, and pressed his cold hands playfully against her cheeks. "no, thank you!" cried the girl merrily, grasping his wrists. "i've been waiting for you, though, ever so long. mother's gone in to town, and the men haven't come back from the woods yet." "and you've been left all alone, and horribly frightened, of course," laughed the young man, holding the girl's head between his hands, and pushing her before him in through the doorway. they went inside, and he hung up his knapsack on the wall. "guess what i've been thinking of to-day all the way home?" "oh, you know i never can guess your riddles. what is it?" "only"--he drew her down on the seat beside him--"that you ought to have a pair of ski too. if only i can get hold of some proper wood, i'll make a pair in no time." "no, no, 'tis not worth it. and i can't use them if you did." "that's just why. you've got to learn. and then you'll be able to come out with me. come out to the forest one day, and i'll show you something." "what'll that be, i'd like to know? only your ugly old stacks of wood." "why, as to that, they're none so ugly, after all. and i'll lift you up and set you on top of the highest of all.... no, that wasn't what i meant. but you ought to see.... out there in the forest, it's a different world altogether. roads and villages of its own--ay, and churches and priests...." "what nonsense you do talk!" laughed the girl. "'tis true, though, for all that. come out with me, and see if it's not as i say.... come now, there's plenty of time." "what are you thinking of? of course we couldn't go now--nor any other time." "yes, we can. and now best of all." he went across to the corner by the cupboard, took a woollen wrap that had been hung on the line to dry, and fastened it laughingly round her head. "there--now we're ready." the girl laughed doubtfully, took off the wrap again, and stood hesitating. "oh! don't you understand yet?" he took the wrap and twisted it in his hands. "you've got to pretend. it's two weeks gone now, and your ski are all ready. we've tried them once or twice out in the meadow, and you manage first-rate, able to go anywhere. and so off we go.... look there!" the girl joined in the game. she moved across to the window, and looked out into the yard. "there! i've set the ski all ready, and we put them on. father and mother and brothers looking out to see us start. there--that's mother knocking at the window. "'be careful not to take her up the big hills,' says mother. 'she'll fall and hurt herself if you do!' "and i tell her we're going up to the very top of the biggest hill we can find. and off we go. "and you get along splendidly. fall--not a bit of it! off we go to the other end of the meadow, and then through the little copse out on to hirvisuo--all as easy as play. "then we come to a fence--and that's rather more than you can manage. nothing for it but i must pick you up and lift you over--and you put your arms round me so prettily...." here the girl broke in hastily: "no, no! i shall turn back if you go on like that!" "no, you mustn't. it's a very high fence, this one. you can get over the others, perhaps, by yourself. we'll see.--and so we go on, and make our way up the slope of kaltasenmaki--it's a heavy climb there. but you know the ground--you've fetched the cows home from there many a time. and it's just there the woodcutting begins. "now we're up at the top. it's early morning, of course, i forgot that. the sun's just up, and the snow all glittering underfoot and the frost like stars hung in the branches overhead. there! look at the trees over there on the other side. all white and clean and lovely--just like you. and stars of frost there too, sparkling like your eyes. and you think it's lovely too--never dreamed the forest was like that. and of course you haven't--for nobody can till they've seen it for themselves. there! look at that great road there lower down--that's the main track, where all the heavy timber goes--hauled up from a dozen little paths either side--a score of loads sometimes, one after another. and some of the men come singing, or whistling, some talking and calling out to the rest; 'tis a merry business carting down the timber loads to the river. and see there on the slope--a couple of empty sledges on the way back--isn't it fine? "and of course you say it is, and it was true all i told you about the forest before. and it gets finer as we go on--you can hear the axe at work all round about, echoing over across the valley. now we must go and say a word to the men. "but you don't want to, but i say we must, and you can stay behind a little if you like. and so off we go down the hillside--hey, what a pace! and up the next, and there we are on the top. we can see them at work down in the valley below. it looks like a lot of ants at work, you think. and so it does. and we go across, and you've got to be careful and show how nicely you can go. the snow's all frozen, and creaks underfoot; the men look up, and the stupid ones stand staring open-mouthed. and i bid them good-day, and go up to them a little ahead, and they answer again, and some of them touch their caps, not knowing quite what to do. all of them look astonished--what's this come to see them now? and i tell them it's just a young lady from the town, come out to see a bit of the country, and i'm showing her round. they understand that all right. and then i tell them you're a foreigner, and can't speak a word of their tongue, and that's why you stay behind and won't come up. then they're all surprised again at that, and some of them won't believe there can be folk that don't speak their language at all; but i tell them it's true all the same, and they stare again, the stupid ones gaping wider than before. "'she's put on country clothes so as not to be noticed,' i tell them; 'and if you saw her in her fine dresses, with a real hat on her head and all--why, your eyes'd fall out of your heads, if you stare like that now.' and they laugh at that, a roar of laugh that echoes all round. "then i come back to you, and we go on again. "but now you begin scolding me for playing silly tricks and telling them all those wild tales--there's neither sense nor meaning in it, you say. but then i simply ask you if you didn't see yourself what a treat it was for the men. simple woodcutter folk--it'll be something to remember all their lives, how one day a beautiful foreign lady came out to visit them in the forest. and then you must remember to be a foreigner all day. if i have to speak to you when there's anyone else about, i say it in swedish; you can't speak swedish, of course, but all you have to do is just nod and smile and speak with your eyes--that's all that's needed. "'but i won't,' you say. 'i'm not going to pretend like that.'" here the girl herself broke in: "no, that i certainly wouldn't either, so that's true enough." "oh, but you'd have to, you know, once we've started. and so we go on. there's nobody from our parts among the gangs at work there, so there's no risk of anyone knowing you really. "and so we go on, from one gang to another. and it all goes off splendidly. but then we come to a clearing, where the men are just lighting a fire of pine knots. it's their dinner-time, and we're going to sit down and have dinner with them, say i. "but of course you make a fuss, and say you won't, but you give in after a bit--it's easy enough. you've only to sit down, and say '_tack, tack_' in swedish whenever i pass you anything. "the men are at work about the fire as we come up. and you're all excitement, and red and white by turns, just like any grand lady from foreign parts. and i tell them the same thing again, about you putting on country clothes and all that, and ask if we may sit down--and perhaps the foreign young lady might like to eat a morsel too. "'we've naught that's fit to offer the likes of her,' say the men. "'she can eat what other folks can, i suppose,' say i. "then they all tumble over one another to make a nice seat for you with twigs of pine. then we sit down, and i'm on the outside, in case you want anything. "oh, it's grand. the fire flames up, and the snow melting like butter all round and under, and the men's faces all aglow. one of them's roasting a piece of meat, another fish, on a skewer, and the others bring out their frozen bread and thaw it soft and fresh as if it had just come out of the oven. and i do the same, toasting a piece of meat and thawing some bread, and put one on the other and cut up your part with my knife, to neat little bits all ready. "and the men are all so interested they forget to eat. "'i hope it's to your taste, my lady?' that's me talking in swedish as i pass it. and you nod and smile, and eat just a little to try, and the moment you've tasted it you open your mouth and i know as sure as anything you're just on the point of saying right out in finnish that it's first-rate, and you've never tasted anything so good.... so i have to put in a word myself or you'll spoil it all. 'a little more, if you please, my lady?' like that." but here the girl could contain herself no longer, and laughed outright. "what are you laughing at? that's not right a bit. no, you just blush, and go on nibbling at a crust of bread, just like a tiny mouse.... "and the men nudge each other to look. here's a fine lady sitting down to eat as natural as can be, for all there's neither plate nor fork. and it's all i can do to keep from laughing myself, and you have to bite your lips and bend down behind me. "then i take out our milk bottle, that's been warming by the fire. "'how'll they manage now?' says one, and all the rest look on to see. "'why, we'll just have to share and share about, unless the lady's to go without,' say i. and then i make believe to whisper something in your ear. "and you nod, and take the bottle and drink, and hand it to me after. "''tis as good as newly milked,' say i. and you laugh, and the men laugh too. "then i take a drink, and you again. i wipe the mouth of the bottle on my sleeve each time before giving it you. and the men, of course, they think that's a mighty fine way of doing things. "'never would have thought it,' says one of them. and they go on with their meal. "'do as the folks you fall in with, it seems,' says one bolder than the rest. "'just so,' say i, 'and that's as it should be'; and there's no saying anything against that, and so we get on finely. "then when the meal's over, we lie down by the fire a bit. one man takes out some leaf tobacco from his pack, and cuts it up on a tree stump--hadn't had time before. then he passes it round, and i fill my pipe too, for all that i'm in company with a fine lady. "and then we go on our way. but when we've got a few paces off, i turn round suddenly and say, 'here, you, heikki, give us a bit of a sermon for the young lady. 'tis just the place for church.' "'h'm,' says heikki. 'i doubt it wouldn't do.' "''twill please her, for sure--i'll answer for that,' say i. 'and you do it better than anything else. antti can help with the service.' "'yes, yes!' cry the others. 'if she's wanting to see things out here. sermon, heikki!' "heikki climbs up on a big rock, and antti on a tree stump, and heikki starts off, grumbling out just like the priest at kakela. "'is--any soul--from keituri--here in--church to-day?' "'ay, lord and noble master, here be i,' says antti in a deep base that goes rumbling through the woods. "and so they go through the service, and after, heikki begins to preach. it's the wildest nonsense, swedish and finnish and gipsy-talk and all sorts of odd lingo muddled up together, and he pours out the words like a river in flood. the men are in fits of laughter all the time, and you--you're near to bursting. "'the young lady bids me thank you very much,' say i, when it's over. 'both of you. says she's never heard so fine a sermon all her life.' "''tis well said,' say the men. 'heikki, he's a wonder to preach, that he is.' "and so they wave their caps to us as we go off." "oh!" said the girl delightedly. "and is it really like that, i wonder?" "yes, of course. only you mustn't say anything. we must go home now--then we can talk all about it after. "and we go up the hill and start off down the other side. "when we get down on the flat, you begin putting on the pace, to see if you can go as fast as i can--and it's all i can do to keep up with you. and your cheeks are red as roses, and you're so hot you take off your kerchief and fasten it round your waist like a sash. and there you are running beside me, bareheaded, and your bright hair lifting as you go. i've never seen you look so beautiful before, and i tell you so. you ought to be like that always. "and so we come home, as happy as can be.... and here we are!" "you _can_ make stories!" cried the girl. "it was wonderful! just as if we'd really been there and seen it all." "ah, we'll do it really one day, we must. and it'll be ever so much easier then, after you've seen it once to-day." "no, no! i never can, i know." "wait and see," said he. "now you know what a grand life it is in the forest in winter. a glorious life--though there's trouble, too, at times--danger and hurt; but who cares for that? do you wonder that i'm always in high spirits when i come home? and when i am here, why, 'tis just like another little world, as clean and fresh as there.... daisy--sit here, and let me look at you." the girl sat down on his knee and rested one hand on his shoulder. "don't laugh at me," she said softly. "i'm not a bit clever, i know. just nothing--to you." "you don't know a bit what you are--but i do. and shall i tell you, just for once, what you are to me?" the girl laughed happily. "if you'll be sure and only tell the truth!" "the truth--of course! how could i help it? now, listen. once i was in a big town, where there was a picture gallery, and lots of marble statues--like the old greeks used to make. you've read about them, haven't you?" "yes, i think so. but i've never seen them." "well, there were lots of these statues, white as snow, and looking just like life. and they were all naked, with never a rag to cover them, but for all that one could look at them, as calm and pure as on the face of god. for they were so beautiful that one could think of nothing but the sacred beauty god has given to the human form. and--can you guess what i'm going to say now?" "how should i guess?" said the girl, looking down shyly, as if with some inkling she would not confess of what was in his mind. "just this--you are like that to me: a marble statue, white and cool, with a beauty that is holy in itself. and i thank god that made you so beautiful and pure." "now you're laughing at me again," said the girl sadly. "'tis solemn earnest. listen. ask yourself, in the time we've been together here, have we ever exchanged a single kiss, a single touch, with any thought of passion?" "passion?" the girl's eyes looked frankly into his. "yes.... it might have been, you know. i am passionate by nature, but when i look at you, it cools and dies. i am telling you the truth when i say you have been like a healing, cooling draught to one in a fever. and i believe you have changed me altogether, now and for ever after." "i don't think i understand--not all of it. but have you really been so happy?" "so unspeakably happy. yes. and glad to feel myself strong and self-restrained. i have often thought that no one could ever dream what happiness and beauty can live in one little grey village. do you know what i think? i believe that in every little grey village there is a quiet, secret happiness, that no one knows." "not everywhere, olof. it is not everywhere there is anyone like you." "but you! i don't mean to say, of course, it should be just like ours. but a happiness...." he drew the girl to him, and their lips met in a long, gentle kiss. "can everyone kiss like you?" she whispered shyly, with a tender gleam in her eyes. "maybe. i don't know." "no, no--there's no one in the world like you. none that can talk like you, or kiss like you. do you know what i always think--always look at, when you kiss me?" "no--tell me, tell me!" he cried eagerly. "no--i don't think i can." "something you can't tell _me_, daisy-flower? come, don't you think it's your turn to tell me something now?" "well, then--only, you mustn't laugh. i know it's silly. i always--i always look at your neck. there's a big vein just there, and it beats so prettily all the time. and then i feel as if your soul were flowing through it--right into me. and it does, for i can feel it!" "that's the loveliest thing you've ever said in all your life," said he solemnly. "we won't talk any more now, only be together...." * * * * * spring was near; it was open war between the sun and the cold. the snowdrifts had begun to disappear. strange dreams were at work in olof's mind. "she loves me--warmly and truly," he told himself. "but is her love deep and strong enough for her to forget all else, and give herself up fully and freely to her lover?" "and could you let her? could you accept that sacrifice--from one like her?" "no, no. i didn't mean that, of course. but if only i could be sure--could feel beyond all doubt that she _would_; that she was ready to give up everything for my sake...." "and you count _that_ the final test of love? shame on you!" the colour faded from the evening sky; the stars were lit ... the errant fancies died away. * * * * * in the brilliant sunlight they returned--the same strange dreams welling up on every side, like the waters of spring. behind and before him, everywhere, insistently, an irresistible song. "i must know--i must sound the uttermost depths of her love!" "can you not see how cruel it would be--cruel to her beyond all others?" "but only to know! to ask as if only in jest...." "in jest? and you would jest with such a thing as this!" and the dreams sank down into the hurrying waters; yet still the warm clouds sailed across the sky. * * * * * like a rushing flood--the old desire again. "can anything be cruel that is meant in love? a question only--showing in itself how deeply i love her? it is torture not to know; i must break through it--i must learn the truth!" "..." but the other voice was lost in a rush of foaming waters. * * * * * he took the girl's hand in his, and spoke warmly, with beautiful words. her fair brow darkened under a cloud--so dark seemed any cloud there that for a moment he wished he had not spoken. "i never thought you could doubt me," she murmured, almost in tears. "or ask--or ask for that!" "oh, my love," he thought. "if you only knew! just one word, and then i can tell you all--and we shall be doubly happy after." so he thought, but he did not speak. and now he could think of nothing but the moment when he could tell her that it was but a question in all innocence--a trial of her love. "it is because i love you as i do," she said, "that i could not do it. we have been so happy--but _that_ would be something strange between us. and now that you are going away...." she stopped, and the two looked at each other sorrowfully. it was as if already something strange had crept between them, as if they had hurt each other unwittingly, and suffered at the thought. * * * * * day by day their parting drew nearer, the sun was veiled in a dreary mist. then one day she came to him, strangely moved, and clung to him, slight and yielding as the drooping curtains of the birch, swayed by the wind. clung to him, threw her arms warmly round his neck, and looked into his eyes with a new light in her own. "what--what is it?" he asked, with emotion, hovering between fear and a strange delight. "olof--i am ... i can say it now...." a tumult of joy rose up in him at her words. he clasped her to him in a fervent embrace, and opened his lips to tell her the secret at last. but his heart beat all too violently, a hand seemed clutching his throat, and he could not utter a word, but crushed her closer to him, and pressed his lips to hers. drawn two ways, he seemed, and now but one; all thought of the other vanished utterly. his breast was almost bursting with a desperate regret; he could not speak, and would not even if he could. and then, as he felt the pressure of her embrace return his own, regret was drowned in an ecstasy of surrender. "i love you," she whispered, "as only _your mother_ ever could!" olof turned cold. it was as if a stranger had surprised them in an intimate caress. "olof," she murmured, with an unspeakable tenderness in her eyes. and as if some great thing had suddenly come into her mind she went on: "you have never told me about your mother.... no, don't tell me now; i know it all myself. she is tall like you, and stately, and upright still as ever. and she has just the same bright eyes, and little hollows at the temples, like you have. and she wears a dark striped apron, with a little pocket at the side, where she keeps her knitting, and takes it out now and then to work at as she goes." "how could you know!" he cried, in pleased surprise. his fear was gone now, and he felt only a wonderful depth of happiness at hearing the girl speak so tenderly of his mother. "'tis only guessing. but do you know--i should so like to see her, your mother, that...." "that...?" "only ... only, i should like to see her so. then i'd put my arms round her neck and ... olof, did your mother often kiss you?" "no. not often." "but she stroked your hair, and often talked with you all alone, i know." "yes ... yes." his arms loosed their hold of the girl, and almost unconsciously he thrust her a little away, staring out into the distance with a faint smile on his lips and deepest earnest in his eyes. the girl looked at him wonderingly. "what is it?" she asked anxiously, as if fearing to have hurt him. but he did not seem to hear, only stood looking out at nothing as before. "olof--what is it?" she asked again, in evident distress. "only--it was only my mother speaking to me all alone," he answered in a low voice. "oh!" the girl sighed deeply. "now--was it just now she spoke?" he nodded. the girl glanced at him and hesitated. "won't you--won't you tell me what she said?" she asked timidly. "she told me it was wrong--a sinful wrong even to ask you...." the girl gazed at him for a long time without speaking; the tenderness in her eyes grew to unutterable depths. "oh," she whispered at last, very softly, "if she only knew how i love her now--your mother! i never loved her so before." and she clasped her arms round his neck. the rapids the rapids at kohiseva are well known; none so well known, nor so ill famed, in all the length of nuoli river. and the homestead at moisio is a well-known place, for they are a stubborn race that hold it; for generations past the masters of moisio have been known among their neighbours as men of substance, and hard in their dealings to boot--unswerving and pitiless as the waters of kohiseva. the daughter at moisio is well known too; none carries her head so high, and a tender glance from her eyes is more than any of the young men round can boast of having won. kyllikki is her name--and no one ever had such a name--at least, folk say there's no such name in the calendar. * * * * * the lumbermen's rearguard had come to kohiseva. they came by night, and here they were at their first day's work there now. some were still busy floating the last of the timber down; others were clearing the banks of lumber that had driven ashore. it was evening, and the men were on their way to their quarters in the village. in the garden at moisio a young girl was watering some plants newly set. a youth came walking down the road beyond the fence. some distance off, he caught sight of the girl, and watched her critically as he came up. "this must be the one they spoke of," he said to himself. "the girl that's proud beyond winning!" the girl's slender figure straightened as she rose from her stooping position, and threw back the plaited hair that had fallen forward over one shoulder; she bowed her head in demure self-consciousness. "she's all they say, by her looks," thought the youth, and slackened his steps involuntarily as he passed. the girl watched him covertly. "so that's the one they've all been talking about," she said to herself. "the one that's not like any of the rest." she bent down to fill her can. "shall i speak to her?" the young man asked himself. "but suppose she'll have nothing to do with you?" "h'm. 'twould be the first that ever took it so!" and he smiled. the girl bent over her work again; the young man came nearer. "i wonder if he'll have the impudence to speak to me," she thought. "'twould be like him, from what they say. but let him try it with me...!" "like to like's the best way, i doubt," said the youth to himself. "if she's so proud, i'd better be the same." and he walked by resolutely, without so much as a glance at her, after all. "ho!" the girl spilled some of the water with a splash to one side. "so that's his way, is it?" she cast a look of displeasure at him as he passed down the road--to go by like that without a word was almost a greater offence than if he had spoken. * * * * * next evening she was there again. and this time he stopped. "good evening," he said, raising his hat with rather more of pride than courtesy. "good evening." she flung the words at him over her shoulder, turning her head but just so much as to show the corner of an eye. silence. "what lovely roses!" the speech was pleasant enough in itself, almost a compliment. but there was a challenge in the words--as the speaker himself was aware. "they're well enough," she answered carelessly, as if to imply that she had no more to say--he could go on if he cared to. "i wonder, now, if you'd give me one--one of the red ones yonder--if it's not too much to ask?" the girl drew herself up. "'tis not our way at moisio to give roses over the fence to strangers--though there may be those elsewhere that are willing enough." "though there may be those elsewhere...." the young man flushed. he understood what was in her mind--the tone of her voice was enough. he had expected something of this at their first encounter, but for all that he was startled at the fierce resolution in her opening thrust. "'tis not my way to beg for roses over every fence," he answered proudly. "nor to ask a thing twice of anyone. good-night!" the girl looked at him, astonished. she had not expected anything like this. he walked on a few paces, then stopped suddenly, and clearing the ditch with a leap, stood leaning against the fence. "there's just one thing i'd like to say--if i may," he said, glancing sharply at her. "you can say what you please, i suppose," she answered. "just this, then," he went on. "if any day you should find you have set too high a price upon your roses, then take the one i asked for, and wear it yourself. it could not hurt your pride, i think. it would only show that you counted me a fellow-creature at least." "too high at least to be given to any tramp that is bold enough to ask," said the girl, facing him squarely. "if anyone cares for them, he must venture more than that." they looked each other straight in the eyes for a moment. "i'll bear that in mind," said the youth, with emphasis. "good-bye." "good-bye," said the girl. he walked on, and she stood watching him. "not like the others--they were right in that," said she, and went on with her work. * * * * * that sunday afternoon a crowd of people gathered on kohiseva bridge. there was not room for all, and the banks were thickly lined on either side. there were rumours of unusual doings abroad--and folk had come out to see. "next sunday afternoon at four," the news had run, "a match at kohiseva--shooting the rapids." and folk pricked up their ears aghast--down the rapids at kohiseva on a stick of timber; it was more than any had ever ventured yet. true, there was the man some ten years back--a foolhardy fellow from a neighbouring district--who had tried the lower reach, which was less dangerous by far, but he was dead when he came ashore. anyhow, it was to be done now. there were two gangs of lumbermen in the place, and, as it chanced, men of unusual daring and skill in each. a dispute had arisen between the headmen as to the merits of their respective parties, and the only way to settle it was by a match, the headman of the losing gang to stand treat all round. all kohiseva was afoot, and many had come in from the villages round. it was no light thing to try the rapids there. the sight-seers on the bridge moved this way and that, eagerly discussing the event. "'tis a mad idea, for sure." "ay, they'll have been drunk the time, no doubt." "there's no man in his sober senses would ever try it." "but which of them is it?" asked one. "who's going down?" "one of them's just a mad young fool that'll do anything if you dare him." "ay, there's some of that sort most ways to be found. but 'tis a mad thing to do." "none so mad, perhaps," put in another. "they say he's the cleverest of them all." "i doubt but kohiseva'll be one too clever for him. and the other--who's he?" "why, didn't you know? there he is standing over there; olof, they say's his name." "that one? he looks a sight too fine for a lumberman at all." "'tis him none the less for that." "what's he doing in the gang, anyway? 'tis not his business, by the look of him." "ay, you may say so, but there's none knows more about him than all can see. book-learned, they say he is, and speaks foreign lingos, but olof's all the name he goes by." "h'm. must be a queer sort." "ah, there's more than one queer sort among these gangs. but if any ever gets through the rapids, i say 'twill be him and no other." "wait and see," grumbled an adherent of the opposite party. "hey--look! there's old man moisio pushing through to the foremen. now, what's he want with them, i wonder?" the foremen stood midway across the bridge. one of them, falk, was leaning against the parapet, puffing at his tasselled pipe, and smiling. the other, vantti he was called, a sturdy, thick-set fellow, stood with his hands in his pockets and a cigar between his teeth. vantti came from the north-east, from karelen, and was proud of it, as he was proud of his karelen dialect and his enormous karelen boots--huge, crook-toed thigh-boots that seemed to swallow him up to the waist. moisio came up to the two. "what's this about the rapids?" he said sternly. "if you've put up a match, as they're saying here, then i've come to say you'd better put it off before harm comes of it. five men's lives the river's taken here in my time. and we've no wish for more." "easy, moisio," says vantti, taking the cigar from his mouth, and spitting a thin jet sideways. "no call to take it that way. 'tis but a bit of a show we've got up to amuse the village folk." "call it what you please," answered moisio. "you'll mark what i say. i'm answerable for order in this place, and if any harm comes afterwards, i'll call you to account for it. 'tis no lawful way, to risk men's lives for a bet." "moisio's right," cried several among the crowd. the two headmen consulted in a whisper. "ay, if that's the way of it," says vantti at last, and offers his hand. falk takes it, and turns to face the crowd. "listen," he says aloud. "vantti, here, and i, we take you to witness that we've called off our bet here and now. so there's none can blame us afterwards. if the two men who've entered for the match will cry off too, there's an end of it. if not, 'tis their own affair." all eyes were turned towards the two competitors, who stood facing each other, with their friends around. one of them, a young man in a bright red coat, lifts his head boldly. "i'm not afraid of drowning, and not going to drown," he cries. "you draw back, then," says moisio to olof. "he'll not care to make the trip alone. no man's gone down the rapids here and lived--'tis madness to try." olof scans the water with a critical eye, the crowd waiting expectantly the while. "i'll not deny it," says he at last. "don't think i'm paying no heed to what you say. but i've a reason of my own for doing something more than most would venture--and i'll not draw back." he spoke loudly and clearly; all on the bridge could hear his words. moisio said no more, but drew back a little. "well, who's to go first?" said falk. "let me," says redjacket. "as you please," said olof. moisio turned to the headmen again. "you'll have some men on the farther bank," he said, "in case of accidents." "not on my account," puts in redjacket scornfully. "but if the other man here wants fishing up...." "have them there if you like," says olof. "'twill do no harm." the men take up their poles; those on the bridge look expectantly down the river. kohiseva rapids are a lordly sight in spring, when the river is full. the strong arch of the bridge spans its powerful neck, and just below, the rapids begin, rushing down the first straight reach with a slight fall here and there. then curving to the right, and breaking in foam against the rocky wall of akeanlinna--a mighty fortress of stone rising straight up in midstream, with a clump of bushes like a helmet plume on its top. the river then divides, the left arm racing in spate down to the mill, the right turning off through a channel blasted out of the rock for the passage of timber going down. a wild piece of water this; the foam dances furiously in the narrow cut, but it ends as swiftly as the joy of life; over a ledge of rock the waves are flung a couple of fathoms down into the whirlpool called eva's pool. here they check and subside, the channel widens out below, and the water passes on at a slower pace through the easier rapids below. that is kohiseva. the rock of akeanlinna would be left untroubled were it not for the lumbermen and their work. in the floating season, the channel between it and the left bank is filled with timber, gathering like a great bridge, against which new arrivals fling themselves in fury, till they are drawn down through the cut. the task which the rival champions have set themselves to-day is to make their way down the upper rapids as far as akeanlinna, and there spring off--if they can--at the block--for there is no getting down through the cut on a timber baulk, and none could go over the ledge to eva's pool and live. the men have taken up their places on the bank, and the two competitors are preparing to start. "wouldn't it be as well to send a couple of baulks down first, for whirlpools and hidden rocks?" suggests olof. "ho, yes!" cries his rival. "and get a surveyor to mark it all out neatly on a chart--a fine idea!" redjacket's party burst out laughing at this, and all looked at olof. he flushes slightly, but says nothing, only bites his lip and turns away to study the river once more. redjacket looks at him sneeringly, and, pole in hand, steps out on to the boom, a little way above the bridge. then, springing over to the raft, he chooses his craft for the voyage--a buoyant pine stem, short and thick, and stripped of its bark. the young man smiles, with a curious expression, as he looks on. "did you see?" whispers one on the bridge to his neighbour. "mark my words, he knows what he's about." "look out ahead!" redjacket slips his tree trunk under the boom, and steps out on to it. then with a touch of his foot he sends it round and round--spinning it, and sending up the water on either side. "ay, he's a smart lad," say the onlookers on the bridge. redjacket stops his manoeuvres now, gives a bold glance towards the bridge, then, with a shrill whistle, fixes the point of his pole in the wood; and, stepping back a little, with his hands on his hips, begins, mockingly, to "say his prayers." "there! ever see such a lad?" redjacket's partisans look round proudly at the rest. "look at him--look!" "have done with that!" cries a stern voice from the crowd. "'tis no time for mockery." "what's it to you whether i choose to sing or pray?" cries redjacket, with an oath. but he stops his show of praying, all the same, and picks up his pole again. he is nearing the bridge now. already the angry water swirls over the stem and laps his boots, but he stands fast. the speed increases, the log itself disappears in a flurry of foam--those on the bridge hold their breath. then it comes up again. the current thrusts against its hinder end, and the buoyant wood answers to it like the tail of a fish, slipping sideways round; the steersman sways, but with a swing of his pole recovers his balance, and stands steady as before. a sigh of relief from the watchers. "tra la la la!" sings redjacket, undismayed. and he takes a couple of dance-steps on his log. "he's no greenhorn, anyhow," the crowd agree. and some of them glance at olof--to see how he takes their praise of his rival. but olof does not seem to heed; he is watching the water with a certain impatience--no more. just then redjacket's log strikes a sunken rock, and is thrust backward. a swift movement--the log comes down with a splash into the foam; the man bends over, straightens his body, and stands upright as before, then strikes an attitude, and sails on past the obstacle. "well done--well done!" "'twas a marvel he cleared it." the log goes on its way, the man standing easily as ever. then once more it collides. the fore end lifts--an oath is heard--next second the red jacket shows in a whirl of water. then it disappears. a movement of anxiety on the bridge--the watchers on the bank spring to their feet. he is up again, swimming athwart the stream. a few powerful strokes, and he reaches the dead water close inshore. cursing aloud, he sits down and pours the water from his boots. one of the men posted at akeanlinna brings him his pole--but his hat is gone. he hurries up along the bank. "enough--give over now!" cry those on the bridge. "go and tell your mother!" he answers furiously. "maybe he'd like to have that chart now, after all," says one, with a sly glance. he pulls off his red coat. "seeing i've lost my hat, i can do without a jacket." a blue shirt shows up on the raft; he picks out a fresh log, thrusts it angrily under the boom, and comes floating down towards the bridge. "now you can stare till you think you'll know me again." not a sound from those on the bridge. the log shoots down, the man stands erect, and passes proudly under the gaze of all. he plies his pole to the right, and the log swerves a little to the opposite side--the first obstacle is safely passed, though it almost cost him his footing again. "aha! he's on his guard this time! maybe he'll do it, after all!" "well, he said you'd know him again!" redjacket's party are recovering confidence. the log hurries on, the man balancing carefully with his pole. nearing the second rock now--the figure crouches down and steps a little back. a sudden shock, a crash--his pole has broken, and the blue shirt disappears in the rapids. "look! right down there! he'll never get ashore this time." the onlookers crowd together, straining to see. the blue shirt comes into view for a moment. "he'll never do it--'tis right out in midstream." "hi--look out there on the bank!" "he'll be smashed to pieces on the malli rock." "no, no! he's too far out." the blue shirt is carried past the threatening rock, but making straight for the big raft below. a clenched hand is raised to bid the men there stand aside--he will manage alone. but they take no heed. one thrusts a pole between the swimmer's legs as he nears the raft, another grasps him by the neck, and they haul him up--a heavy pull, with the water striving all the time to suck him under. inch by inch the blue shirt rises above the edge. he limps ashore, supported by a man on either side. one knee is bleeding. "'tis more than man can do!" he cries in a broken voice, shaking his fist toward the bridge. * * * * * there is a low murmur of voices on the bridge, an anxious whispering. olof picks up his pole. close behind him a young girl plucks at the sleeve of an elderly man, and seems to be urging him, entreating.... moisio turns to olof. "once more i ask of you--let it be enough. you have seen how your companion fared. do not try it again." "i must," answered olof in a voice cold and hard as steel, with a ring of confidence that impressed those who heard. he goes off to the raft, picks out a log and tries its buoyancy with care. a long pine stem, with the bark off, and floating deep in the water. "ah--he's choosing a horse of another sort!" "tis another sort of rider, too, by his looks." olof was nearing the bridge now--calmly, without a word, watching the course of the river all the time. reaching the bridge, he raised his eyes for a moment, and met the glance of a girl looking down. a faint smile, and the slightest inclination of the head, no more. "good luck to you!" cried several of the onlookers; a certain sympathy was evident among the crowd. now he glides under the bridge, on towards the perilous stage of the journey--all watch with eager eyes. the strange craft cleaves the waves, sending up spray on either hand--but the heavy log, floating deep, hardly moves; the steersman keeps his footing steadily as on firm ground. "that's the way! ah, he knows the sort of craft to choose for the work!" the log hurries on, the lithe figure bends a little, balancing with the pole. "turn off--turn off! he's making straight for the rock!" he stands poised, with muscles tense, his pole in readiness, his eyes fixed on the whirl about the sunken rock, his knees slightly bent. a shock--and he springs deftly in air as the heavy log is thrust backward under him--taking his footing again as firmly as before. "bravo, bravo! finely done!" on again. a few quick, powerful strokes with the pole--and the rock that had been his rival's undoing is safely passed. "he'll do it! he's the man!" the onlookers were all excitement now. the speed increases, the lithe figure swaying to either side. a thrust from the left--he springs light-footed to meet it. once more his body is bent, his pole held firmly, knees crouching deep--those on the bridge crane their necks to watch. the next shock comes with a crash that is plainly heard by those upstream; again he springs as the log thrusts back, and comes down neatly as before. a few paces forward to get his balance, then back a step or two like a tight-rope walker. "that's the way, lad!" "he knows how to dance!" "look out for malli rock!" "ay, if he can clear that!" malli rock stands ready to meet the attack; the rapids are tearing past on either side. the log comes down, making full towards the smooth, sloping face of the rock. olof swerves a little to the right, and leaps off, coming down in a whirl of spray. the rock has done its part, and sent the end of the log high out of the water; olof lands on it and goes on again, the log scraping the face of the rock as it passes. "sticks like a leech, he does! he's done it now!" a cheer from the crowd. straight down in midstream now. a little ahead the river bends--he is nearing the block at akeanlinna. "now for the last lap!" "ay--and the worst of all!" two--three short paces back--the log brings up full against the block. a leap and a crash, a run almost to the fore end of the log before he can check his pace. the log is flung out again into the current, and shivers as if paralysed by the blow. then the water carries it down again. the men at their posts stare helplessly--one of them gives a cry, and the onlookers shudder. "heavens--he's missed it now!" more shouting, and men running up and down the banks; others standing as if rooted to the spot. olof glances at the mass of timber by the rock. a swing of the pole, a sudden deft turn, and hurrying to the other end of the log, he begins poling hard across the stream. "he's making for the other bank!" "he'll never do it--and there's no one there to help!" "oh--look! he'll be carried over the edge!" hard fighting now. olof is striving to reach the farther bank, the current is drawing the end of the log nearer and nearer the falls--already the water is seething over it. two furious strokes, a swift step, and another, and, lifting his pole, he flies through the air--toward the shore. the pole strikes something, as all on the bridge can hear--then he is lost to sight. a rush of men downstream, crying and shouting.... then, a moment later, a waving of hats from the men at akeanlinna, and a cheer is passed from group to group upstream. some stop, others race on--he is saved--but how? then a tall figure appears standing on the shore, waving his hand triumphantly. a mighty cheer from all the onlookers and a waving of hats and kerchiefs. "there he is!" olof walks up with easy steps, but the blood is streaming down his face. the first to meet him is a girl, her face pale, her body trembling with emotion. she is standing by herself--the others are still far off. olof stops and hesitates--shall he go to meet her, or turn off? the girl casts down her eyes. he draws nearer--she looks up, and gives him one deep, warm glance, and looks down again--her cheeks flushed. olof's face lights up, and he lifts his hat as he passes. then the crowd surges round him with shouts of applause. "bravo! well done! here's the man that's beaten kohiseva! who's the best man now?" vantti steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. "well done, lad! 'tis plain to see you're not born to be drowned." and the sturdy fellow laughs till his great boots shake. "you've made a name for yourself to-day," says falk. "'olof' was a bit short, maybe...." "aha-a-a!" "so now they'll call you kohiseva--and a good name too!" "'tis as good as another," said olof, with a laugh. "and longer, anyway." "and now we'll go down to the mill and see about drinks all round. twice round, it ought to be--'twas worth it!" * * * * * when olof came home that evening, a girl sat anxiously waiting at moisio. a bright rose was stuck between the palings of the fence beside the road. olof sprang across the ditch--the girl drew her head back behind the curtain. he fastened the rose in his coat. with a grateful glance he searched the garden, up towards the house, but no one was to be seen. in the safe shelter of her room a girl sat bowed over the table with her face hidden in her arms, crying softly. the song of the blood-red flower "why are you so sad this evening, olof?" asked the girl. "sad?" he repeated, almost to himself, staring absently before him. "yes--i wish i knew." "but how--when it is yourself--don't you know?" "no--that's the strange thing about it. i don't know." there was a pause. "i won't ask you if you don't like it," she said, after a while. "but if i were sad, and had a friend, i should want to." "and make your friend sad too--by telling things no friend could understand?" "perhaps a friend might try." but olof seemed not to have heard. he leaned back, and his glance wandered vaguely. "life is very strange," he said dreamily. "isn't it strange to have cared very much for a thing--and then one day to feel it as nothing at all?" she looked inquiringly at him. "my own life, for instance. up to now, it has been a beautiful story, but now...." "now...?" "now, i can't see what it is--or if it is anything at all. going from place to place, from river to river--from one adventure to another...." again there was a pause. "but why do you live so?" she asked timidly. "i have so often wondered." "i wonder myself sometimes why i must live so--or if i must--but it goes on all the same." "must...? but your home ... your father and mother, are they still alive? you have never spoken of them." "yes, they are still alive." "and couldn't you live with them?" "no," he said coldly. "they could not make me stay." "but aren't you fond of them?" she asked in surprise. he was silent a moment. "yes," he said at last, "i am fond of them--as i am fond of many other things. but there is nothing that can hold me for long." something within him was striving for utterance--something he had long restrained. "and now," he went on, almost violently, "i want...." he stopped. "you want...?" "it is something to do with you, kyllikki," he said earnestly, as if in warning. "tell me. you need not be afraid," said the girl in a low voice. "i want to say good-bye to you--and _not_ as friends," he said passionately. "not--not as friends?" "that is what i said. we met first--you know how it was--it was no friendly meeting. and best if we could leave each other that way too." "but why...?" "because--shall i tell you?" "i want you to." he looked her sharply and coldly in the eyes. "because you have not been what i hoped you would. ay, and thought you would. i was proud and happy when i knew i had won your friendship. but i thought i had won more than that--something warmer and deeper--a thing complete." she was silent for a moment. "warm and deep--a thing complete?" she repeated. "did you _give_ that yourself?" "no! but i could have done. i wished to--but you made it impossible. we have known each other now for a week--and what has come of it? i have scarcely dared to take your hand." "but what more could you...?" "what more? have you for my own--possess you. all or nothing!" the girl seemed struggling with some inward feeling. "may i ask you something?" she asked softly. "go on!" "have me for your own, you said." she hesitated, but went on resolutely: "does that mean--have me for your own to-day, and go away to-morrow--and then, perhaps, think of me at times as one among a host of others you have 'possessed'?" he shot a glance at her, almost of hatred, but said no word. "perhaps," went on the girl calmly, "perhaps you too have not been what i hoped and thought. if you had...." "what then?" he asked quickly, as if in challenge. "then you would not--speak as you are doing now," she answered evasively. "and perhaps what makes you angry now is only this--that you can never have more than you are able to take yourself." he looked at her in wonder. "and perhaps"--her voice was scarcely audible now--"perhaps you cannot take more than you are able to keep?" she looked down in confusion, hardly knowing what she had said, only that she had been forced to say it. he sat watching her for a while thoughtfully, as if he had heard something new and unexpected, and was pondering over it. "you must have known yourself that i could never keep--or keep to--anyone," he said at last. "i know that," she answered; "you don't want to." it was as if a fine, sharp thorn had pierced him to the heart, and left its point there. the two sat looking at each other without a word. "and if i would...." he grasped her hand earnestly. "do you think i might dare?" the girl turned pale, and did not speak. "answer me," he said insistently. "surely each must know that for himself," she answered at last, speaking with difficulty. "kyllikki, kyllikki, if you only knew!" he cried sorrowfully, and took her hands in his. then a sudden coldness came over him once more. "and if i were to dare," he said, "there is one other besides you and me." "are you afraid of him?" she asked sharply. "no. but if he turned me from his door in scorn...." "if the thought of that counts for so much," she said, with emphasis, "then it were better not to ask. for, after--whom would you love more, do you think; yourself, or the one you think you love?" he winced under her glance. "if it were for your sake i feared?" he asked, with some feeling. "no need of that--as long as i know you are sure in your own mind. and if you were sure--you need have no fear for me." he looked at her in surprise and admiration. "you are a strange girl, kyllikki," he said at last. "i am only just beginning to understand you. you are not as i hoped you would be--but you are something more. i know what it must have cost you to say so much. i shall not forget." again the trouble rose within him. "you, i understand," he said wearily. "yes. but myself--" "you will find that out as well, some day," she said tenderly. "if only there was time now...." he sat for a moment in thought. "we are leaving to-morrow afternoon. if i have got things clear in my own mind by then, i will come and see you before we go. but it will be at the last minute. for if it comes to what i think it will, then i must not stay a moment longer." the girl nodded. both rose to their feet. "kyllikki," he said, with emotion, taking her hands, "it may be this is the last time i see you alone. do not think hardly of me because i am what i am." "you could not be otherwise," she answered warmly. "i understand." "i shall be grateful to you for that always. and perhaps...." his voice broke. "good-bye, kyllikki!" * * * * * it was sunday afternoon. the lumbermen were getting ready to leave. the young folk of the village, and some of the elders, had come down to the creek at kohiseva to see them start. the water was almost clear of timber already, the boom was being dragged slowly down the dead water by a few of the men. some went ahead, getting odd logs out of the way, others strolled idly about on the shore, exchanging greetings with the villagers. a little way down the bank a log is stranded with one end thrust far inshore. close by it lies a pole. "that's olof's," says one of the men. "he's not come down yet--busy up at the village, it seems." a girl in the group of lookers-on felt her heart beat suddenly. "h'm--left it to ride down on, i suppose. wants to take another turn down the rapids before he goes." "ay, that's it. likes that way better than going on a raft like ordinary folk. that's him coming down, isn't it?" olof came racing down like the wind. a girl in the group turned pale. she could see from his manner what had passed. something terrible it must have been to bring him down in a fury like that. he came nearer. his face was deadly pale, his lips compressed, and his eyes flashed, though he looked out over the water all the time. he raised his hat as he passed the group, but without a glance at anyone. "what's happened now?" the question was in all eyes, but no one spoke. olof grasped his pole, thrust off the log, and sprang out on it. he took a few powerful strokes, and turned, casting his eyes over the group on the shore. he was looking for one amongst them--and found her. "good-bye!" he cried, waving his hat. "good-bye--good-bye! come again some day to kohiseva!" the men waved their hats, the girls fluttered kerchiefs in farewell. olof was still facing toward the shore, paddling slowly out across the creek. those on shore would have sent him a friendly word, but no one spoke--all were looking at a girl whose face was strangely pale. paler than ever it seemed as the man stopped rowing, and fixed his eyes on the group. "ay, cast your coins in a beggar's hat, and he'll bless your charity. i was good enough for the girl i loved, but her kin were prouder than she!" there was a depth of bitterness in the words--the listeners started involuntarily. "what's taken him all at once? never heard him sing that way before!" "sh! listen!" the singer glanced down at the water, took a few strokes out, and went on: "my home is where the rapids roar, below the river's brink. all the rivers of all the world-- who cares if he swim or sink?" the listeners glanced at one another--the meaning of the song was growing clear. "'twas no spring day that gave me life with sunlit skies and clear, but a leafless gloom that sent me forth to wander many a year. my mother wept in her garden lone, or ever i was born; looked at a blood-red flower and wept for that her heart was torn." he was midway across now, paddling slowly, bending a little forward. those on the shore stood still, waiting. "and that same flower grew red in my way, and i wished it for my own. i won but little joy of its bloom that was in sorrow grown. but little joy when my father rose and drove me from his door, and my mother wept as i went to seek what sorrow was yet in store." a girl was crying softly. the rest stood silent. "o blood-red flower, o flame-red flower, that ever you grew so red! ask of my love if she knows you now, when all her tears are shed!" with a wave of his hand the singer turned, and made his way swiftly across the river. those on the shore waved in return, and stood watching and waving long, but he did not look back. water-sprite and water-witch slowly the river flowed; the waves plashed, and the reeds swayed lightly. green pine woods on one shore: the other was field and meadow, with a road running through a little distance from the bank. a girl came walking down the road, casting an anxious glance now and again towards the river. she stopped. a boom lay out in the river, lumbermen's poles were strewn about on the farther bank. and something more--a man lay under the trees at the edge of the wood, resting his head on one hand. the girl looked at him thoughtfully. the man did not move. still in doubt, she took a step forward, and then drew back again. at last, she turned off from the road, and walked resolutely down along a watercourse straight towards the river. mingled emotion stirred in the young man's breast--joy at the meeting, and wounded pride and bitterness. he felt an impulse to hurry across, run to the girl and take her in his arms, forgetting all else. but there was that between them cold and clear as the dividing water. the girl reached the bank, and stood looking out over the water in silence. the young man could contain himself no longer. "you have come!" he cried. "how could i help it?" she said in a low voice--the words hardly carried to the opposite bank. "and i could not help thinking of you." the river looked at the pair. "if only i were frozen over!" * * * * * "couldn't you--couldn't you come across--just for a moment?" asked the girl timidly. "just what i was going to do. but we can't stay there on the bank--the men will be coming down directly." he thought for a moment. "will you come over here if i come to fetch you? then we can go up in the woods where no one can see. come over on the raft." "yes, i could do that!" he took up his pole and set the raft loose--a couple of tree trunks, no more, fastened together with withies--and rowed hurriedly across to the opposite bank. "like a dear sister she comes," he thought to himself, as he helped her on to the raft. the girl held his hands and looked deep into his eyes, but without speaking. "sit there on the crosspiece--you can't stand up when it begins to move." she sat down obediently, and he rowed across. "i never thought you could be such a friend," he said, as they stepped ashore. "friend?" said the girl, with a tender, grateful glance--grateful that he had found the very word for the feeling that had brought her thither, and which had cost her so much already. * * * * * the sun was setting. a youth and a girl walked down from the woods towards the river bank, talking together. then suddenly they awoke from their dreams, and looked at each other in dismay. the river was a waste of water only, the banks deserted, the raft gone--neither of them had thought of how they were to get back. "what are we to do?" the mute question was in the eyes of both. "you can't get back along this bank?" said the young man at last. "all through vaha-kohiseva village and over the bridge--no. and i ought to bring the calves home, too." "there's no boat anywhere near?" "no." a gleam of resolution shone in the young man's eyes. "can you swim?" he asked suddenly, turning towards her. "swim?" she repeated in surprise. then her face lit up as she grasped his meaning. "yes, indeed!" "and _would_ you swim across with me if i carry your clothes?" she trembled slightly--it was a daring plan, yet there was a certain secret fascination in the thought. "with you? yes!" she cried. "good. you can undress here. then roll up all your clothes in your blouse, and tie it round with the sleeves. i'll go a little way off and get ready. we'll manage all right, you see." and he strode off with rapid steps. but the girl flushed, and looked anxiously around, as if she had promised more than she could fulfil. she glanced along the shore--olof was sitting a little distance away, with his back to her, already undressing. "how childish i am!" she thought. and stepping briskly down to the water's edge, she began hastily taking off her clothes. * * * * * a splash in the water--olof was almost lost to sight in the reeds. he took off his boots and hung them by one lace round his neck, then he fixed his bundle of clothes above, and tied it with the remaining lace. "ready?" he called over his shoulder, glancing down the stream. hurriedly the girl rolled her garments up in the blouse. her white body shivered--in womanly embarrassment at her position, and with an ecstatic delight. then with a splash the white figure dipped beneath the water, swam up, and hid in the reeds. olof swam upstream, his eyes fixed on the heap of clothing, and a faint smile on his lips. he took the bundle, tied his belt round it, and fastened it above his own. the double load stood up high above his head. "they'll be all right now--if i don't make a mess of it," he assured her. with long, slow strokes he made for the opposite shore. the girl stood motionless in the reeds, watching him as he swam. "how strong and bold he is!" she thought. "and the wonderful things he does! what does he care for the river?--water between us is nothing to him. he makes everything do his will. how could one be afraid with him?" "_her_ clothes!" thought olof. "and i am carrying them." he reached the bank, untied the girl's bundle, and set it carefully ashore. then swimming a little farther down, he flung his own things up on land. "haven't you started yet?" he called across to the girl--though he had been hoping all the time that she had not. "no--i was just going to," she replied. "i--i forgot. it was such fun watching you." "i'll come and meet you, if you like. it'll be safer perhaps...." "ye--es," said the girl. she felt no shame now, though he was looking straight at her. he was filled with the strange delight that comes with any stepping over the bounds of everyday life into a world of fairyland, where all is pure, and nothing is forbidden, where the sense of being _two_ that go their own ways unseen is like a purging, fusing flame. olof swam rapidly across. "you look like a water-witch there in the reeds," he cried delightedly, checking his stroke. "and you're the water-sprite," she answered, with a joyous smile, as she struck out. "bravo, water-witch, you're swimming splendidly!" he cried. they were swimming side by side now, straight across the river. the water rippled lightly about them; now and again the girl's white shoulder lifted above the surface, her long hair trailed behind over the water, that shone like gold in the sunset light. "wonderful!" he cried. "i've never seen anything so lovely." "nor i!" said the girl. "nor we!" laughed the trees behind them. "nor we!" nodded the bushes on the bank in front. "it is like swimming in the river of forgetfulness," he went on. "all the past disappears, all that was bitter and evil is washed away, and we are but two parts of the same beautiful being that surrounds us." "yes, it is like that," said the girl, with feeling. slowly they came to land. "it was very narrow, after all," said olof regretfully, as he turned from her and went down to fetch his clothes. he dressed as quickly as he could, and hurried up to her again. "let me wring the water from your hair," he begged. she smiled permission. the water fell like drops of silver from his hands. "must you go now?" asked olof sadly. "let me go with you as far as the road at least." once more he looked regretfully at the river--as if to fix the recollection in his mind. they walked up to the road without speaking, and stopped. "it's ever so hard for me to say good-bye to you," he said, grasping her hands. "harder still for me," she answered in a low voice. "shall i ever forget you--you, and this evening?" her eyelids quivered, and she bowed her head. "kyllikki!" he cried desperately. "would you hide your eyes from me?--kyllikki...." there was hope and doubt in his eyes; he loosed his hold of her hands, and clasped his own as if questioningly about her waist. the girl was trembling. she laid her hands on his shoulders, and then slowly twined her arms about his neck. a tumult of delight came over him. he pressed her to him fervently, lifting her off her feet--her arms drew closer round him. he saw the look in her eyes change--giddiness seized him, and he set her down. "may i...?" he asked, with his eyes. her eyes consented--and their lips met.... when at last he let her go, the girl's face was changed almost beyond recognition. on her under lip showed a tiny drop of blood. a cry of dismay rose up in him, but remained unuttered. a strange intoxication overpowered him--the red drop there was the seal of a friendship deeper and more mysterious than all else--in a wild kiss he drank the blood from her lip. he felt himself on the point of swooning--and wished the world would end there, in that moment. he could not speak--he did not know whether to stay or go. a darkness seemed to close about him, and he staggered off like a drunken man, without looking back. the camp-fire at neitokallio a league of swift-flowing river, almost straight, with gently sloping meadows, forest-crowned, on either hand. a grand, impressive sight at all seasons. in autumn, the swollen waters pour down as from a cornucopia; in winter, folk from the town come driving over the frozen flood, racing one against another; in spring, the river overflows its banks, spreading silt on the meadows as in the land of the nile; and in summer, the haymakers are lulled by the song of the grasshoppers and the scent of the hay to dream of paradise, where the children of men even now may enter in for some few days in every year. a league of river, a league of meadow land--but at one spot two great rocks stand out as if on guard. one rises from the very verge, the water lapping its foot as it stands dreaming and gazing over to its fellow of the farther side. neitokallio is its name. the other is more cold and proud. it stands drawn back a little way from the bank, with head uplifted as in challenge, looking out through the treetops across the plain. and this is valimaki. at the foot of valimaki a camp-fire was burning. it was midnight. a group of lumbermen were gathered round the fire, some lying stretched out with knapsacks under their heads, some leaning one against another. blue clouds of smoke curled up from their pipes. the red fire glowed and glowed, flaring up now and again into bright flame, tinging the fir stems on the slope as if with blood, and throwing weird reflections out on to the dark waters of the river. the men sat in silence over their pipes. "look!" said one at last, nodding up towards the head of the rock. "looks almost as if she was sitting there still, looking down into the river." several nodded assent. "maybe there _is_ someone sitting there." "nay, 'tis only a bit of a bush or something. but 'tis the very same spot where she sat, that's true." "what's the story?" asks one--a newcomer, on his first trip to nuolijoki. "some fairy tale or other?" "fairy tale?" one of the elders breaks in. "you're a stranger, young man, that's plain to see. 'tis a true story enough, and not so long since it all happened neither." "fourteen years," says antti, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "i remember it all as plain as yesterday. ay, there's queer things happen in life." "did you see it yourself, then?" "ay, i did that--and not likely to forget it. 'twas on that rock i saw her first time, and a young lad with her." some of the men sat up and began filling their pipes afresh. "her betrothed, maybe?" "ay--or something like it. i didn't know at the time. i was clearing stray logs here on the shore, and saw them sitting up there together, looking at the water. i sat down too for a bit, and lit a pipe, and thinking to myself; well, water's water, and water it'll be for all their looking. anyhow, i doubt they must look at something, just to pass the time." "well, and what then? what happened?" "nay, they did but sit there a bit and then went away. but next day again, i was working there same as before, and there's my young miss a-sitting there in the very spot--only nobody with her this time." olof had been lying on his back, hands under his head, looking up into the darkness. all at once he sat up, and stared at the speaker. "'twas a queer girl, thinks i, and lights my pipe. walking all those miles out from the town to sit on a rock--as if there wasn't rocks enough elsewhere. anyway, 'twas no business of mine. and after that she was there every day--just about midday, always the same time, and always sitting just there in one place." "but what was she doing there?" "doing? nay, she wasn't doing anything. just sitting there, and staring like." "'twas antti she was staring at--that'll be it," laughed one. "you must have been a fine young fellow those days, antti!" "you keep your tongue between your teeth, young fellow; 'tis no laughing matter i'm telling you." the men looked at one another, and nodded. a faint breath of wind sighed through the trees on the slope, a pair of twin stems creaked one against the other with a melancholy sound. the men puffed at their pipes. "well, there she sits, and never song nor word to hear. lord knows what she'd be thinking of all the time. then one day i came down to the river, and was going over to metsamantila for some butter. just passing by the rock i was, and there she is all of a sudden, coming towards me, and all dressed in black from top to toe." "ho!" "i was all taken aback, you can think. she'd a black veil over her face, and all. but a sweet, pretty thing to see, ay, that she was--like a blessed angel. i pulled off my cap, and she looks up at me and nods. and it gave me such a queer sort of feeling, i just turned round and stood staring after her." "was it just a young girl?" "young? ay, no more than twenty, at most. well, i stood there watching her till she's out of sight among the trees. and then it all seemed clear enough. 'twas her father or mother was dead, no doubt, and that's why she came out here all alone, for comfort, like. anyway, i was going on. then, just past the rock there's a man calls out, 'she's gone!' "i was near falling backwards at that. i called out to see what was the matter, and ran down to the shore. "'thrown herself down!' cries out the other man, and goes racing off down to the water. "we both ran all we could, but there was nothing to see. we waited a bit, but she didn't come up. so i went off to the village, and the other man to the town. "they got her up after--at the first haul. she'd gone down like a stone to the bottom, just at the spot. but there was no getting her to life again, try all we could. just as beautiful to look at she was, for all she was dead. ay, a lovely thing, a lovely thing. we'd had to undo her clothes a bit, trying to bring her round, and her skin--'twas like white silk. seemed almost a sin to touch her with our rough hands and all...." * * * * * no one spoke for a while. "and was it just for sorrow, like?" asked one at last. "ay, sorrow enough. but 'twas neither father nor mother she was sorrowing for." "ah!... 'twas a lover, then? maybe she'd got into trouble." "nay, 'twas none of that sort. just set on him--the young lad she'd been sitting there with at first--and he'd left her, that was all." the men sat in silence. olof's heart was beating so that he almost feared the rest must hear it. his eyelids quivered, and his brow was furrowed deep as he sat staring into the fire. "'tis that way sometimes with fine folk when they're in love," murmured one. "'tis a woman's way altogether," put in another, with an attempt at gaiety, as if to dispel the feeling of gloom. "their heart's like a flimsy fairing--little watch looks all right, but just shake it a bit, and 'tis all to pieces." "maybe 'tis so with fine folk and ladies and such, but peasant girls are not so foolish. more like a grandfather's clock, say. anything goes wrong, you've only to give it a shake, let it stop for an hour or so, and shake it again, and scold it a bit--and it's as right as ever. go any way you like." the men laughed--it was a relief to turn to something lighter. "ay, you're right there," put in a stout fellow with a loud voice. "'twas so with my old woman once when she was young. got set on a bit of a greenhorn chap, all soft as butter, and took it badly. but i saw 'twas no good for her nor anyone, and heaved him out of the way and took her myself. and well i did, for she's never troubled a thought about him since." a shout of laughter went up from the men. they had recovered their spirits now. "ay, you may laugh," said an elderly man. "but 'tis not every man that troubles if what he thinks best is best for a woman herself." he paused a moment, and sat cleaning his pipe with a straw. "there's girls of our own sort that can't be handled that way to any good--and there's both men and girls that don't take things so lightly." there was an earnest ring in his voice, a note almost of pain, and the men ceased to smile. olof turned in surprise, and looked at the speaker--some of the others were making signs behind the old man's back. "i know one man at least," he went on, "that loved a girl when he was young, and couldn't marry her. he didn't go off and kill himself--but it marked him, none the less, for all he was only a peasant himself. sold his place, he did, and drank away the money, and wandered about the rest of his life to this day--and never forgotten her." the old man was silent. "ay, 'tis plain to see she's in his mind now that he's old and grey," said one who had pointed to the speaker before. the old man bowed his head, and pulled his cap down over his eyes; but they could see a quiver in his face, and the brass-bound pipe-stem trembled in his hand. the men exchanged glances; none seemed wishful to speak. "ay, 'tis no light thing to play with," said one at last. "and each knows best what he's learned for himself." again a sighing of the trees on the hillside, and a mournful sound from the straining stems. the coming dawn threw a grey light on the rocky face of neitokallio; far over the meadows a bird was calling. "getting light--'tis time we were about," said olof, rising to his feet. the men stared at him in wonder; his voice was strange and hard as that of the old man who had spoken before. "up with you--come!" said olof, with sudden impatience. and, turning abruptly, he strode down to the shore. the men stared after him, then, rising, covered their fire, and followed down to the river. hawthorn no! i must live while i am young; breathe freely while i can! but you, hawthorn--do you know what life is?" "yes," the girl answered fervently; "it is love!" "it is something else besides. youth and spring and courage--and fate, that brings the children of men together." "yes...? i wonder why i never thought of that myself." "what does it matter what we think? we drift along, knowing nothing of one another, like the errant winds or the stars in the skies. we pass by hundreds, without so much as a glance, until fate as in a lightning flash brings us face to face with the one appointed. and then--in a moment we know that we belong to each other, we are drawn together by magnetic force--for good or ill." "i have felt the same--and i feel it more keenly now than ever," answered the girl, nestling trustingly close to him. "each minute in your arms is worth more than all the rest of my life before." "and you are to me as the sap of the trees in spring, that thrills me with ecstasy and makes me forget all else. and i _will_ feel it so!--drown my sad autumn and my joyless winter in the delight of spring. and i bless the fate that led you to me--there is none like you!" "none?" the girl repeated happily, and yet in doubt. "oh, if only i could be as you think." "you are so! every drop of blood in you is love and fire. the lightest touch of your shoe against my foot is more than the warmest embrace from any other--your breath is like a secret caress; you bring a scent of hawthorn with you everywhere that lifts me almost to madness." "do not talk like that, olof. i am nothing--it is you that are all. tell me--are all lovers as happy as we?" "no." "why not? is it because they--they can't love as we do?" "they _dare_ not! they fear to be happy. oh, how blind the world is! wandering sadly with prayer, book and catechism in hand, when love and spring are waiting for all who will. and those who have grown old, when their blood is as lead in their veins, and they can but gaze with beggars' eyes on their own youth--they would have us too slaves of the prayer book and catechism like themselves." "is it really so...?" "yes, it is true. only while we are young, only while the flood of youth runs free and bright in our veins can we be happy. and they are the greatest who dare to demand their share of life in full, to plunge unafraid into the waters, letting the waves break on their temples and life's salt flood wash their cheeks." "and have i dared all this, olof? tell me, have i not?" "yes, you have. and it is just that which makes you lovely and bewitching as you are. it is a glorious thing to give oneself lip entirely to another, without question, without thought of return or reckoning--only to bathe body and soul in the deep wells of life!" "yes, yes.... and, do you know, olof...?" the girl spoke earnestly, with a quiver in her voice. "what? tell me?" but she could say no more, and, bursting into tears, hid her burning cheek against his breast, her body shaking with sobs. "what--child, you are crying? what is it?" "i don't know...." the girl was sobbing still. "only that i can't--can't give you all i would." "but you have given me more than i ever dared to hope for!" "not so much as i gladly would! why do you not ask more of me? tell me to die with you, and i am ready--i could die by fire with you. or take my life now, here, this moment...." the fire of her increasing passion seemed to have sent out a spark that glowed and burned in his soul. "how can you speak so?" he asked, almost in dread. "it is madness, child." "madness--yes. but if you knew how i love you.... say but one word and i will leave home--father and mother and all--and follow you like a beggar girl from place to place." "and never care what people said?" "care? why should i care for them? what do they know of love?" "little hawthorn...." olof bent her head back and looked straight into her eyes. "was that a nice thing to say, now?" the girl bowed her head. "no--but i wanted to do something, to make some sacrifice for your sake." she was silent for a moment, then her eyes brightened once more. "olof, now i know! i'll cut off one of the prettiest locks of my hair and you shall keep it for remembrance--that's what people do, isn't it? and you must keep it always--and think of me sometimes, even when you love someone else." "oh, my love! i don't know whether to laugh or cry when you say such things. but it is only now, in the gloom of the spring night. by daylight you will think differently." "no, never! not even in the grave!" "and then--it's so childish. must you have a keepsake from me too, to help you to remember?" "no, of course not." "then why should i need one?" "no, no--it's childish of me, of course. forgive me, olof--and don't be sorry any more. i ask nothing but to go on loving you." "and i you--without thought or question." "yes. and i shall remember all my life how happy you have made me; i shall keep the memory of it all as a secret treasure till i die, and bless you...." she rose up suddenly on her elbow. "olof--tell me something. did you ever hear of anyone dying of happiness?" "no--i have never heard of it. why?" "but when they are really, really happy...?" "i don't think anyone could, even then." "but they can die of sorrow sometimes, i've heard. and then if one really wants to...." "hawthorn!" he clasped her in a wild embrace. "there is no one like you in all the world. if _that_ were possible, i would ask nothing else." "would you--would you really care to ... with me?" "yes, yes ... to swoon in the scent of you and die ... to feel the strands of your hair twined round my throat, and die.... well for me if i could, perhaps--and for others...." sister maya sadness pervaded his soul, and he spoke to the evening gloom that stole in through the window and hovered about his pale face like a watcher. "i too should have had a sister--sister maya," he said dreamily. "you had one--and the best that one could wish for," said the evening gloom. "i don't remember--i was too young to know.... but mother always spoke so nicely of her ... the time i was ill, for instance." "so your mother spoke of that. yes, yes, she would...." "it was when i was a child. i was very ill--on the point of death, she said. and mother and all the others were crying, and comforting themselves with the thought that little olof would be an angel soon, and wear a crown. and sister maya said then i should sit by her bedside with wings outspread, warding off evil dreams." "well if it had been so," said the evening gloom. "but the girl, my sister, burst into tears, and cried that i should not be an angel, but a big man, bigger than father--ever so big and strong. and she threw her arms round my neck and said no one should ever come and take away olof--no!" "ay," nodded the gloom, "so it was--yes." "and my sister tried her own way to make me well again--fondling me and blinking her eyes and stroking me under the chin. and i began laughing, for all that i was ill. and she was all overjoyed at that, and more certain than ever that i was to get well again and grow a big strong man. and i laughed again, and life began laughing too--and after that, i gradually got well." "ay, 'twas so. and your sister, she looked after you and nursed you all by herself--no one else was allowed to touch you; yes, that was your sister maya!" "then maya was taken ill herself. and weak as she was, she would have me near her all the time, and made me sit by her bedside. and i only laughed at it all--i did not understand that my only sister was at death's door. ay, sometimes i pinched her thin cheek, or pulled her hair, or flicked her ear in play...." "so you have done since with many other girls--ay, and laughed at them." "and then the others came and wanted to take me away, out of her sight, because i was so cruel." "ay, just so. if only someone had done the same thing afterwards, with the rest...." "but maya held my hand and would not let them. and even when she was dying i had to stay there, and with her last words she hoped that olof would grow up and be a fine strong fellow, and a good man." he relapsed into thought. "and now ... here you are, a fine strong fellow, and...." the voice seemed urging him to go on. "why did my sister die? oh, if only she were alive now!" "who can say--perhaps it is better for her as it is." "if she were alive now, she would be in her best years. and she could live with me, we two together, and never caring about anyone else. keep house together--and she should be my friend and sister--and all else! i know just what she would look like. tall and slender, with fair hair, light as the flax at home, and all curling down over her shoulders. and she would carry her head high--not vain and proud, but noble and stately. and her eyes all fire and mischief. deep eyes, with a reflection of strange worlds, and none could face them with so much as a thought of deceit. like mother's eyes--only with all, all the fire of youth--almost like kylli...." "so ho!" laughed the gloom. "so that's what your sister's to be like.... well, go on!" "and her nature, too, would be strange. independent, choosing her own way--such a nature as old folks say is no good thing for a lad, far less for a girl. but for her.... and in winter-time she would come racing home on ski--rushing into the place and making the doors shake. then she would jump on my lap, put her cold hands on my shoulders, and look mischievously: 'why, what's this, brother? as gloomy as a monk again, i declare!' and i should feel happier then, but still a little earnest, and say, 'maya, maya, what a child you are! as thoughtless as a boy. and such a noise you make about the place.' 'oh, but you're always in the dumps--sitting here moping like a grey owl. you ought to go out and race through the snow, till it whirls up about your ears ... that's the thing to freshen you up....' and then she presses cold hands against my cheek, till i shiver, and looks teasingly. and then all my dull humour's gone, and i can't help laughing at her, and calling her a little impudent thing...." olof stopped, and smiled--as if to fix the picture of this bright young creature indelibly in his mind. the voice of the gloom spoke again: "so she is to live just for _your_ pleasure--like all the others?" the smile died from the young man's face. "go on--your sister is sitting on your lap, looking mischievously into your eyes...?" "no, no--not like that--no. she looks earnestly, with eyes that no deceit can face, and says, 'olof, what's this they are saying about you...?' "'saying--about me...?' "and she looks at me still. 'hard things they say, brother--that you play with women's hearts.... is it true?' "and i cannot meet her eyes, and bow my head. "'olof--remember that _i too am a woman_.' "and that cuts me to the heart. 'sister, sister, if you knew it all; if you knew how i have suffered myself. i never meant to play with them--only to be with them--as i am with you.' "'as you are with me?' she looks at me; wonderingly. 'but you know--you must know--that you cannot be as a brother to them.' "'yes, i can--sometimes.' "'but never quite. and still less can they be sisters to you. surely you know enough to understand that.' "'no!' "'but you should know. oh, think! with some men, perhaps, they might be as sister and brother--but not with you. you, with your dark eyes--i have always feared them. they beckon and call ... to evil and disaster.' "'sister--what must you think of me!' and i hide my head in her lap, as i used to do in mother's. "'i am only sorry--bitterly sorry for you. and i can't help being fond of you, for i know your heart is good and pure--but you are weak; very, very weak.' and she strokes my forehead, as mother used to do. "'yes, i am weak, i know it. but i promise you....' "'don't promise!' she says almost sternly, and lifts a finger warningly. 'how many times have you promised, with tears in your eyes, and done the same again? don't promise--but try to be stronger.' "'i will try, sister--dear, dear sister.' and i take her hands and kiss them gratefully again and again...." "ho! so that's the way you talk together, is it?" said the gloom. "well, i'm not sure it might not be a good thing if your sister were alive. then, perhaps, if she talked like that to you occasionally, you might be a different man altogether." the young man sat for a while in thought. "then suddenly she jumps up and lights the lamp--it is getting dark. and she comes and puts her hands on my shoulders and says, 'let me help you checking those accounts--you know i can.' "and she sits down at the table, and i watch her little hand gliding over the paper. and i set to work at the books, and so we work for a long time. "then suddenly she looks up, and begins talking again. 'why, what a great man you're getting, olof--keeping the books in an office of your own--and with a secretary into the bargain. there's never a lumberman risen so far at your age, and never a foreman that looks so fine, with office and clerk and all' "and i laugh at that. 'and never one with such a sister to help--that i'm sure.' "then she turns serious again, and looks at me strangely. i can't make out what she means. "'tell me,' she says at last, 'how long are you going to go on with this wandering life? it's three years now.' "'is it so long as that?' i ask in surprise. 'twill be longer yet, i doubt.' "'if i were you, i would make an end of it at once. let us both go home and take over the farm there--mother and father have worked so hard there all their lives--it's time they were allowed to rest.' "i look at her without speaking, and she understands. 'father? never fear--he's forgotten his anger long ago. and mother and he are both waiting for you to come home--for brother heikki is too young to take over the place....' "'do you really think so?' "'think? i know! and there's any amount of work all waiting for you. new ground to be sown, and a new barn to build, and we ought to have three times the stock we have now. and there's all isosuo marsh--you've that to drain and cultivate. when are you going to begin?' "'drain the marsh? how could you think of that?' "'why shouldn't i? i'm your sister. it will be a big piece of work--father himself never ventured to try it--but you're a bigger man than your father--a big, strong man....' "'sister! now i simply must give you a kiss. there's no one like you in all the world. "and we go home the very next week. and all turns out just as you said--more live stock, new ground sown, clover where there was but marsh before, and koskela is grown to a splendid place, known far and wide. and we are so happy--with you to keep house and me to work the land. and the years go by and we grow old, but our children.... "... oh, misery! what am i dreaming of...?" "that was the best of your dreams so far," said the gloom, with a full glance of its coal-black eyes. "may it soon come true! but light your lamp now--it is dark as night in here now." clematis "if i were a poet, i would sing--a strange, wild song. "and if i could string the quivering _kantele_, i would play on it a melody to my song. "i would sing of you, and of love. of clematis with the snow-white flowers. for you are as the clematis, my love, sweet and beautiful as its blossoms, dear as its growth about the windows of a home--and deep, endlessly deep, as life itself." "but that is just what you are doing, olof--for all you say is like a poem and a song," answered the girl. "sing for me again--and let me just sit here at your feet and listen." "ah, if only you could sit there always, as now. clematis--how strange that i should meet you--when i never thought to meet with any flower again--saw only the yellow faded leaves of autumn everywhere around." "autumn ... faded leaves...." the girl looked at him, timidly questioning. "olof, don't be angry with me. but.... have you loved others before? they say so many things about you." the young man was silent a moment. "ay, there are many things to say, perhaps," he murmured sadly. "but you, clematis--could you care for me; could you not love me altogether, if you knew i had loved another before?" "no, no--'twas not meant so," said the girl hastily, touching his knee with a slight caress. "i was not thinking of myself...." "but of...?" they looked at each other in silence. "yes--i know what you mean. i can read it in your eyes." he laid one hand tenderly on the girl's head. "life is so strange. and human beings strangest of all. i have loved--but now i feel as one that had only dreamed strange fancies." "but have you loved them really--in earnest? i mean, did you give them all you had to give--and can anyone give that more than once in life?" the girl spoke softly, but with such deep feeling that the young man found no words to answer, and sat silently staring before him. "who can tell," he said, after a while. "i thought i had given all i had long since, and had all that could ever be given me. i felt myself poor as the poorest beggar. then you came, unlike all the others, a wealth of hidden treasure in yourself--none had ever given me what you gave. and now--i feel myself rich, young and unspoiled, as if i were crossing the threshold of life for the first time." "rich--ay, you are rich--as a prince. and i am your poorest little slave, sitting at your feet. but how can anyone ever be so rich--how can it be? i can never understand." "do you know what i think? i think that human beings are endlessly rich and deep, like nature itself, that is always young, and only changes from one season to another. all that has happened to me before seems now only the rising of sap in spring. now summer comes for the first time--all calm and warmth and happiness. i have been like a fairy palace, with a splendid hall to which none could find the key. but you had it all the time--the others could enter this little room or that, but only you had the key to the best of all." "is it really true, olof? oh, i shall remember those words for ever!" "it is true--you were the first that taught me how deep and mysterious, how wonderful, the love of a man and a woman can be. that it is not just a chance meeting, and after that all kisses and embraces and overflow of feeling. but a quiet, calm happiness in the blood, like the sap in the trees, invisible, yet bearing all life in itself; speechless, yet saying everything without a single touch of our lips." "yes," said the girl earnestly. "but did you not know that before? i have always felt it so." "no--i did not realise that it was so intimate a part of our nature; that it was the foundation of life and happiness for all on earth. now at last i understand that we are nothing without one another--we are as earth without water, trees without roots or mould; or as the sky without sun and moon. and i know now much that i did not know before--the secret of all existence, the power that sustains us all." "and you know that it is _love_--the greatest of all! but why does no one ever speak of it--i mean, of love itself, not merely the name?" "i think it must be because it is too deep and sacred a thing to talk about; we do not understand it ever until we have experienced it each for himself. and those that have--they must be silent--for it is a thing to live on, not to talk about. do you know, i have just remembered something i once saw. just a scene in a poor little hut--but it explains it all...." "something you have seen yourself?" "yes. it was many years ago. it was a cold winter day, and i came to this hut i was speaking of--'twas a miserable place to look at. the windows were covered with frost, and an icy draught came through cracks in the walls. two children were sitting by the stove, warming their feet that were all red with cold; the other two were quarrelling over the last crust of bread." "were they so poor as that?" asked the girl, her voice quivering with sympathy. "poor as could be. and in a heap of rags on the bed lay the mother, with a newborn child--the fifth. the man was sitting at the table. he looked at the children on the floor, and then at the mother and her little one in bed--looked at them--and laughed! and the joy in his pale, thin face--it was a wonderful sight...." "and the mother?" asked the girl eagerly. "was she happy too--more than he?" "yes, she laughed too for joy at everything--the children, and the rags, and the draughty hut, and all. and i was so astounded i didn't know where to look. happy--in all that misery and wretchedness! were they so utterly without feeling, then, that they could not cry? but now i understand it all. i know what made those poor folk happy in it all: they had found that thing we spoke of--the great secret. and it made the hut a palace for them, and the ragged children as dear as those of any king and queen--yes, they were happy." the two sat in silence for a while. olof felt a slight thrill pass through the girl's body to his own. "i see it now," said the girl at last. "a little while ago i could not see what it was that made life so deep and wonderful. and do you know, olof--i should like to be just such a poor woman as that--frost on the windows and rags for a bed, but ... but...." bright tears shone in her eyes. "but--what?" he asked tenderly, taking her head in his hands. "but with the one i loved--to be mine--all mine, for ever!" she answered, looking straight into his eyes. olof started. it was as if something had come between them, something restless and ill-boding that broke the soft swell of the waves on which they drifted happily--something, he knew not what, that made its presence felt. "or--not that perhaps--but to have something of his--something he had given me--to lie beside me in a bed of rags and smile," said the girl. and laying her head in his lap she clung to him as if her body had been one with his. * * * * * the lamp was lit, and a little fire was burning on the hearth. the girl sat on the floor, as was her way, holding her lover's feet in her lap--wrapped in her apron, as if they were her own. "go on working--i won't disturb you," she said, "only sit here and warm your feet and look at you." olof gave her a quick, warm glance, and turned to his work again. "olof," said the girl, after a pause, "what shall i have to hold in my lap when you are gone?" she looked up at him helplessly, as if he alone could aid her. olof made a movement of impatience, as if he had made an error in his reckoning that was hard to put right. "nothing, i suppose," he said at last, trying to speak lightly. "you had nothing before, you know." "ah, but that was different. now, i must have something." there was a strange ring in her voice--the young man laid down his pen and sat staring into the fire. it was like talking to a child--a queer child, full of feeling, knowing and imagining more than its elders often did. but still and for ever a child, asking simple questions now that were hard to answer without hurt. the girl watched him anxiously. "don't be angry, olof," she said entreatingly. "it's very silly of me, i know. go on with your work, and don't bother about me. do--or i shall be so sorry." "you are so quick to feel things," said he, pressing her hand. "i'll talk to you about it all another time--do you understand?" "yes--another time. don't think any more about it now." but the words echoed insistently in his ears, with a hollow ring--as if he had spoken carelessly, to be rid of a child's questioning for the time. he took up his pen again, but could not work, only sat drawing squares and interrogations on the margin of the paper. the girl moved closer, laid her cheek against his knee, and closed her eyes. but her mind was working still, and the light of a sudden impulse shone in her eyes when she looked up at him. "olof," she asked eagerly, "are you very busy?" "no--no. what then?" from the tone of her voice he knew she had something important to say. "there was just an old story that came into my mind--may i tell it to you, now?" "yes, yes, do," said olof, with a sense of relief. "you are the only girl i have ever met who could tell fairy tales--and make them up yourself too." "this is not one i made up myself. i heard it long ago," she answered. "well, and how does it begin?" said olof briskly, taking her hands. "'once upon a time...'?" "yes, those are the very words. once upon a time there was a boy--and a girl. and they loved each other--especially the girl. no words could ever tell how she loved him." she looked at olof as if to see the effect of what she had said. "that begins well. go on," said olof. but a thought was slowly taking form in his mind. "and they sat in the woods, under the tall birches, and talked of how happy they were. but the girl could not have the boy for her own--they had to say good-bye. he had to go away, and she knew she would never see him again." olof looked thoughtful--the fancy was taking root. "go on--what happened then?" "then, just as he was going away, the girl said to him, 'set a mark on me somehow, so that i shall always feel i belong to you, and no one can tear you from my heart.' "the boy thought for a moment. 'where shall i set the mark?' he asked. "'here, above my heart,' said the girl. "and she bared her breast, and the boy took out his knife and with its sharp point scratched a little heart on her breast." the girl shivered a little. "and then he coloured it where he had cut, like sailors do with anchors on their arms. and when he had finished, he kissed it. and they said good-bye, and he went away." olof was touched--now he understood.... "and what then?" he asked softly. "what happened after, to the girl with a mark above her heart, and to him that made it?" "the boy...." she stopped, at a loss, and then went on: "there's no more about him in the story. he went away. only about the girl...." "yes, yes, of course," said olof. "he went away. and the girl?" "the girl--she looked at the mark every night when she undressed, and every morning when she dressed herself, for she felt as if he were there all the time, because of the mark. but then the time came when her parents said she must marry. and she didn't want to, but she had to all the same. but she did not love her husband, and was always looking secretly at the mark her lover had made, as if she were talking with him that way, and it made her happy." "and the husband," asked olof eagerly, "did he find out?" "no. men don't notice things like that as a rule. but then the girl bore a child--she was still a girl, for she had remained true to her lover. and the child had the very same mark in the same place. "the husband saw the mark. 'what's this?' he asked in a stern voice. "'tis a birth-mark,' said the girl. "'do not lie to me!' cried the man. 'it is more than that. let me see your breast.' "now the girl did not want to do this, for she felt that the mark was nothing to do with him. but her husband's face grew dark with anger, and he tore away her clothes, and bared her breast. and now she would not try to hide the mark at all, but stood up straight and let him see. and before he could even ask, she told him what it was, 'that is the mark my lover made when i was a girl,' she said. 'for a sign that i should belong to him for ever--and i have.' and at that the husband's eyes flashed, and without a word he drew his knife and struck it through the mark deep into her breast...." she would have said more, but her voice failed--she could feel olof's knees trembling against her breast. "you are good at telling stories," said he in a stifled voice. "but the end was too horrible." "it was not horrible at all," she replied. "it was just as lovely as could be. the girl herself could have wished for nothing better. she died with a smile on her lips, as only those who are happy ever die. "but it is not all ended yet--there is more to come." "more?" cried olof in surprise, at a loss to understand how she would go on. "yes," she continued. "for when she was dead, the girl came to the gate of heaven. and there stood st. peter at the gate, as he always does. "'you cannot enter in,' said st. peter, 'for you bear on your breast the mark of sinful lust. 'but god heard it from his throne, and cried, 'open and let her in!' and god looked at the girl's breast, and she did not flinch. 'you should know better,' he said to st. peter reproachfully. 'here is one that was faithful to her first love.... enter in, my child.'" both were silent. a little blue flame rose from the embers on the hearth. "thanks, clematis," whispered olof, and kissed her hands that lay hot in his own. "i know what you meant. and how prettily you said it!" "are you sure you knew what i meant?" she asked. "i hadn't finished, you know...." "what--not finished yet?" "no!" she drew her hands away, and as if summing up all she had said before, she clasped his knees and looked imploringly into his eyes. "give me that mark!" olof shivered--waves of heat and cold seemed passing through his body. "no, no--my love! you must not ask that of me--it is more than i can do," he went on bitterly. "you can, if you only will. love can do all things." "but now--after what you have said...." "but you said yourself it was so pretty." "yes--there is a lovely thought in it--but the end was too horrible--you know what i mean." "that was the loveliest of all. oh, won't you do what i ask?" her lips trembled, and she looked at him entreatingly. olof sighed deeply; drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. "how can i refuse you anything? but--but i could never forget it if i did, and...." "oh ... i almost thought that was how it would be. you cannot understand--for you are not me. but something i must have!" she went on passionately. "i cannot live without. look!" she drew from her breast a little case of blue silk, hung by a red cord round her neck, "see--it just reaches to there!" "it's very pretty," said olof in relief, taking the case in his hand." and you want something to put in it?" "yes." "a lock of hair or something? are you as childish as all that?" "no--not as childish as all that." "a flower, then--or what?" "no, nothing like that." "you want me to write something, then?" "no, no. i want yourself--your very self!" olof looked at her blankly--he could not guess what was in her mind. he felt himself more and more in the power of something he had been striving to escape. "oh, don't you understand? your portrait." "but--but i have only one. and--i have never given anyone my portrait." "no," said the girl confidently. "you have kept it for me." olof felt himself shamed. what a poor creature he was grown! why could he not rise up and take this strange rare child in his arms, and swear by all he revered that she had touched his inmost heart, that he was hers alone, for ever? he sprang to his feet, and cried earnestly, "yes! it was taken for you, and for no other!" but the words ended in a sob--it was as if his blood were turned to sand. with trembling fingers he took out the portrait, and sank down as if paralysed into his seat. the girl watched him with a starry gleam of ecstasy in her eyes. but he could not meet her glance--he bent his head, thinking bitterly to himself, "what have i come to? why do i cheat her and myself, why do i give these beggar's crumbs to one that should have all?" the girl sat still with the same light of wonder in her eyes, looking now at the portrait, now at olof himself. "yes, it is really you," she said at last, and touching the picture with her lips, she laid it in the case, and slipped it into her bosom. "now i have nothing more to ask," she said. "i shall thank you all my life for this. when you are gone, you will be with me still. i can talk to you at night before i sleep, and in the morning you will be the first thing i see. i can whisper to you just as i used to do. and when i am dead, you shall be buried with me." olof was overwhelmed with emotion--it was as if something within him had been rent asunder. he looked at the girl's face--how pure and holy it was! why could not he himself be as she was? what was it that had happened to him? he felt an impulse to throw himself on the floor at her feet and tell her all--and then rise up young and pure and whole again, able to feel as others did. but he could not; an icy voice within him told that the days of his spring-time were gone for ever. and as he felt her arms about him once more, he could only bend down humbly and touch her hair with his lips in silence, as if begging her to understand. warm drops were falling on his knees, warm drops fell on her hair. welling from deep sources--but unlike, and flowing different ways. dark furrows sunday morning--a calm and peaceful time. olof was up, and sat combing his hair before the glass. "those wrinkles there on the temples are getting deeper," he thought. "well, after all, i suppose it looks more manly." he laid down the comb, turned his head slightly, and looked in the glass again. "paler, too, perhaps," he thought again. "well, i'm no longer a boy...." he moved as if to rise. "look once more--a little closer," urged the glass. olof brushed his moustache and smiled. "can't you see anything?" the glass went on, with something like a sneer. "under the eyes, for instance?" and suddenly he saw. the face that stared at him from the glass was pale, and marked by the lines and wrinkles of those past years. and under the eyes were two dark grey furrows, like heavy flourishes to underline a word. "is it possible?" he cried, with a shudder. "is it any wonder?" said the glass coldly. the face in the glass was staring at him yet, with the dark furrows under the eyes. "but what--how did they come there?" asked olof in dismay. "need you ask?" said the glass. "well, you have got your 'mark,' anyhow--though it was not one you asked for." * * * * * the face in the mirror stared at him; the dark furrows were there still. he would have turned his head away, or closed his eyes, but could not. he felt as if some great strong man were behind him with a whip, bidding him sternly "look!" and he looked. "look closer--closer yet!" commanded his tormentor. "a few deep lines--and what more?" olof looked again. the plainer furrows tailed off into a host of smaller lines and tiny folds, this way and that, there seemed no end to them. and again he shuddered. "count them!" cried the voice behind him. "impossible--they--they are so small!" "small they may be--but how many are there?" olof bent forward and tried to count. "well?" no answer. "how many are there?" thundered the voice--and olof saw the whip raised above his head. "nine or ten, perhaps," he answered. "more! and what do they mean? can you tell me that?" "no." "no? then let me tell you, that you may know henceforward. the first...?" "i--i don't know." "you know well enough. bright eyes--that is the first." he flinched involuntarily as under the lash. and now the strokes followed sharply one on another. "a fine figure and curling hair ... tears and empty promises ... a thirst for beauty ... false brotherhood ... selfishness and the desire for conquest ... dying voices of childhood ... dreams and self-deceit...." "enough!" "not yet. there are little extras that you have not called to mind." "leave me in peace!" cried olof almost threateningly. "you could not leave yourself in peace. look again--what more--what more?" "go!" olof sprang up with a cry like that of a wounded beast, took the mirror and flung it against the stove, the pieces scattering with a crash about the floor. his blood boiled, his eyes burned with a dark, boding gleam. "and what then?" he cried defiantly. "my mark? why, then, let it be. i'll go my own way, mark or no mark." he picked up his hat and hurried out. to the dregs "and now--i'll drink it to the dregs! "why not? i've tasted the rarest wine in cups of purest crystal--why not swallow the lees of a baser drink from a tavern stoup? 'tis the last that drowns regret. others have done so--why not i? "once we have tasted, we must drink--we must dip down into the murky depths of life if we are to know it to the full--ay, drink with a laugh, and go on our way with lifted head! "drink to the dregs--and laugh at life! life does not waste tears over us!" olof strode briskly out toward a certain quarter of the town, a complex of narrow streets and little houses with stuffy rooms, where glasses are filled and emptied freely, and men sit with half-intoxicated women on their knees, sacrificing to insatiable idols. it was a summer evening, bright and clear. the noise of day had ceased, and few were abroad. it seemed like a sunday, just before evening service, when all were preparing for devotion, and he alone walked with workaday thoughts in his mind. a narrow door with a grating in the centre. olof stood a moment, evidently in doubt, and walked on--his heart was thumping in his breast. the consciousness of it irritated him, and turning back impatiently, he knocked loudly at the door. no sound from within. he felt as if thousands of eyes were watching him scornfully, and for a moment he thought of flight. he knocked again, hurriedly, nervously. a pause, that seemed unendurably long, then a sound of movement and steps approaching the door--the panel was moved aside. "what's all the noise about?" cried a woman's shrill voice. "in a hurry, aren't you? get along, and that quick--off with you!" the panel closed with a slam. the blood rushed to olof's cheeks; for a moment he felt like breaking down the door and flinging it into the street--he would gladly have pulled the house down in his fury. wondering faces appeared here and there at the windows. they were looking at him as if he were a criminal--a burglar trying to force an entry in broad daylight. half-running, he hastened back to the main streets of the town. then the fury seized him again--a passion of wounded pride and defiance. "am i to be taken for a boy?" he said to himself angrily. he passed a row of waiting cabs. one of the men touched his cap inquiringly, but olof shook his head--the fellow had an honest face. the last in the row gave him what he sought--a sly red face with shifty eyes. "eh? take you?... that's easy enough! i know the very house. first-rate girls, all of them, and no trouble. 'tis the best sort you'll be wanting, i take it?" "yes." "that's the style. just step in, now, and we'll be there...." the cab rumbles away; olof leans back, feeling himself again. * * * * * through a gateway into a cobbled yard. the driver gets down, and olof follows suit. the man knocks with the handle of his whip at a door. "'tis no good coming at this time--the girls aren't here yet." and the door is slammed in his face. "drive on, then! drive to the devil, only let's get out of this," cries olof. "nay, nay, no call to give up now we're on the way." the driver swings out into the street again, and tries another entrance of the same sort farther on. olof stood half-dazed, waiting. this time the knock was answered by a girl's voice, bright and pleasant. the driver and the girl exchanged whispers through the door. "sober? ay, he's sober enough. young chap, and plenty of money--wants the best sort." olof's blood boiled. was he to be bargained for like a beast in the cattle market? he was on the point of calling the man away, when the door opened a little. "right you are, then," said the man, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "good evening--won't you come in?" a young girl, neatly dressed, held the door open for olof with a smile. he went through the passage into a little parlour. the heavy-scented air of the place was at once soothing and exciting to his senses. "sit down, won't you? but what are you looking so serious about? has your girl thrown you over--or what?" "now, how on earth did you guess that?" cried olof in sudden relief, thankful that the girl was so bright and talkative. he felt all at once that he too must talk--of anything, nothing, or he could not stay in the place a minute. "guess? why, that's easy enough. they always come here when there's anything wrong with--the others. and there's always something wrong with some of them. was she pretty?" the girl looked at him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "pretty?--yes, that she was, pretty as you, nearly." "puh!" laughed the girl. "and she kissed you, i suppose?" "no. wouldn't even kiss me." "aha. so you made love to another girl, and then she threw you over--that was it, i'm sure." "right again! yes--made love to another girl--that was it. and quite enough too." "oh, it's always the way with--well, that sort of girls. they don't understand how to make love a bit. there's heaps of love to be had, if you only know where to look for it." they both laughed--the girl in easy, teasing gaiety, olof still thankful at finding it so easy to suit himself to his company. "what'll you have to drink? sherry, madeira, or stout, perhaps? i like sherry best." "let's have all three!" cried olof. "that'll be twenty, please." he gave her the money and she slipped from the room. olof looked round. how was this going to end? he was thankful at any rate that the room was neatly, almost tastefully furnished, and that the girl was so easy to talk to. the bottles and glasses were brought in. "here's to us both!" cried the girl, lifting her glass with an enticing glance. they drank--it was the first time olof had ever tasted wine. and all the bitterness and unrest in his soul seemed drowned at once. "i say--is this your first time?" the girl explained her question with a meaning glance. "yes." the word stuck in his throat. "have some more to drink," he added hastily. "that's right!" the glasses rang. "got any cigarettes?" each lit a cigarette. the girl leaned back in a careless posture, throwing one leg over the other, and watched the smoke curling up in the air. "first-rate institution, isn't it?" she said, with a laugh. "sort of public sanatorium--though the fools of police or government or whatever you call it won't make it free. all you men come here when you're tired and worried and ill, and we cure you--isn't that it?" "i dare say...." "but it is, though, take my word for it. how'd you ever get on without us, d'you think? like fish out of water! and yet we're reckoned as outcasts and all that. devil take all your society women, i say. there's one i see pass by every day, a judge's wife, haughty and stuck up as a weathercock on a church spire. think she'd look at one of us? but her husband, bless you, he...." "for heaven's sake talk of something else," cried olof. he swallowed a glass of sherry to cover his disgust. "eh? oh, all right, anything you please. sing you a song if you like. what d'you say to that." "yes, but nothing...." "not a word. dainty little song. here you are: "'here's a corner for you and me, room for two--but not for three! a glass for each within easy reach... just the place for a spree!'" "how's that? quite nice, isn't it?" "go on." olof settled down more comfortably there was something pleasantly fascinating in the dance-like rhythm of the song. "cushions are soft, and curtains hide,-- what would somebody say if they spied? kisses and laughter--and what comes after...? ah.... you never know till you've tried!" olof could not help laughing. they sat laughing and talking and telling stories--the girl was never silent for a moment. the glasses were filled and emptied, the smoke grew thicker. "oh ... it's too hot. i'm stifling with all these things on!" the girl rose to her feet, her eyes glittered, her cheeks were flushed with wine. "i'll be back in a second." and she slipped through into the adjoining room. "do, if you like." olof sank back idly on the sofa, watching the smoke from his cigarette thoughtfully. still he was not quite at home in the place. the girl came in like a vision, tripping daintily in light slippers, her arms bare to the shoulder, her body scarcely veiled by the thinnest, transparent wrap. "oh!" olof could not repress an exclamation. "aha...!" the girl laughed mischievously. watching his face with a coquettish smile, she lifted one foot gracefully on to the sofa, and leaned towards him, her eyes boldly questioning. olof felt his senses in a whirl. he saw in her a mingling of human being, beast and angel, of slave and mistress--a creature fascinating and enticing, bewitching, ensnaring. but only for a moment. his mood changed to one of fury at his own susceptibility; the burning thirst in the girl's eyes, the fumes of wine in her breath, repelled him. "sit down and drink--and let that be enough!" he snatched a bottle hastily and filled the glasses to the brim. "ho!" said the girl, with a stare. "drink--is that all you've come for?" "yes!" she stepped down from the sofa, her features quivering with scorn. "well, you're a nice one, you are. if they were all like that--drink and pay the bill and off again--and not so much as a ... well, you're the first i've met of that sort--hope you'll enjoy it!" she drank, and set down the glass, a sneer still quivering about the corners of her mouth. then, leaning her elbows on the table, she gazed at him thoughtfully under her lowered lashes. olof smoked furiously, till his cigarette looked like a streak of fire. the girl sat down on the sofa, at the farther end, and went on with a maudlin tenderness in her voice: "why are you like that--a man like you? i wouldn't now for money, whatever you offered me. can't you see i'm in love with you? or d'you suppose perhaps a girl--a girl in a place like this--can't love? ah, but she can, and more than any of the other sort, maybe. i'd like to love a real man just for once--i've had enough of beasts. stay with me to-night--won't you...?" olof shuddered in disgust. "drink!" he cried. "drink, and don't sit there talking nonsense." then again a revulsion seized him, and with a feeling of despair and weakness, he went on: "i can't stay here, i must go--i must go in a minute. never mind. drink." "oh, let's drink, then," said the girl bitterly, and, rising, emptied her glass. "drink--yes, and drink and drink--'tis the only thing when once you're--here." she sank down into a seat. "night and day, morning and night--there's none of us could stand it if it wasn't for that stuff there. ho, the world's a mad place--what a fool i am!" she burst into tears, and fell forward with her arms on the table. olof felt more miserable than before. the blood was pulsing in his temples, and something choking in his throat, as he looked at the sobbing figure. "i'll tell you what this place is," she said, looking up between sobs. "'tis hell--and in hell you're always wanting something to wet the tip of your tongue--i've read that somewhere, haven't i? oh, oh...!" she fell to sobbing again. olof felt he could bear it no longer. he would have liked to comfort her, but his tongue was dry, he could not speak. then suddenly the girl jumped up and struck the table with her fist, shaking the things on the tray. "what the hell am i snivelling about--'twon't make it any better." she took the bottle of beer, filled a tumbler and drank it off at a draught, then flung the glass crashing against the wall behind the stove. "puh! now i've got that wretched fit again." she stood in the middle of the room, looking round. "i can't help it, i get like that every now and then. wait a bit, and i'll bring you better company. a real good girl--she's younger than me, and only just beginning, but she's lovely, lovely as an angel. only don't go and fall in love with her, or i'll be jealous." "no! stay where you are!" olof would have stopped her, but she was out of the door in a moment. he rose to his feet, his head was throbbing, and he could hardly stand. "here you are--here's the beauty!" a bright-eyed girl, young and slightly built, stood in the doorway smiling. olof started as if he had seen a ghost, the blood seemed to stand still in his veins; a cold weight seemed crushing him like an iceberg. "you--gazelle!" he cried in horror. "olof!" "oho, so you're old friends, it seems? well, then, shake hands nicely. come along, man, give her a kiss...." olof felt the room growing dark before his eyes. the girl turned deathly pale. she stood a moment, trembling from head to foot, then turned and fled. there was the sound of a key drawn from a lock, a door was slammed, and then silence. olof stood as if rooted to the spot, seeing nothing but a vague glimmer of light through a rent in blackness. then at last he pulled himself together, snatched up his hat, and rushed out of the place as if pursued by demons. * * * * * morning found him seated on a chair by the window, looking out. the night had been cold. before him lay a group of housetops, the dark roofs covered with a thin white coating of rime; beyond, a glimpse of a grey, cold sky. he had been sitting thus all night, deep in thought. his road seemed ending here in a blank wall--or he was grown suddenly old, and could go no farther--or was trying vainly to rise from a bed of sickness. his eyes burned, his head was heavy as lead, and his heart seemed dead and cold, as hands and feet may do in winter when on the point of freezing. he rose to his feet, and bathed his face again and again with cold water. then he straightened his hair, put on his clothes, and went out. he took his way direct to a certain street, reached the house he was seeking, and knocked. there were people moving in the yard, and some children about; but he felt no shame, and knocked as easily as if it had been a church door. the panel opened, and the harsh voice of an old woman asked: "what d'you want here at this hour? the girls are not up yet." "when will they be up?" "in a couple of hours or so." he looked at his watch, and went out into the street. for a while he wandered up and down, then took the road out from the town, and went straight on. when he came back his face was pale; his feet were so weary he could hardly drag himself along. he knocked again; the panel was thrust aside, and a face peeped through, then the door was opened. "hallo!" it was the girl of the night before. she was half-dressed, her eyes dull, her face tired and haggard. olof felt as if he were breathing in the fumes of beer and wine and all unspeakable nastiness. "your friend--is she up yet? i want to see her," he stammered. "up--ay, she's up long ago; you can see for yourself." she vanished down the passage, and returned in a moment with a crumpled sheet of notepaper, which she handed him. olof glanced at it, and read, hastily scribbled in pencil, these words: "when you get this i shall be far away. i am going and not coming back. i can't stay here.--elli." "there--what's the meaning of that, if you please?" cried the girl. olof made no answer. he held the paper in a trembling hand, and read it again and again; a weight seemed lifted from his shoulders. "may i--may i keep this?" he asked, with flushing cheeks. "keep it--ay, eat it, if you like." "good-bye--and--and...." he pressed the girl's hand, as if unconscious of what he was doing. the girl watched him as he hurried away. "queer lot," she murmured. "something wrong somewhere...." by the roadside a man came walking down the sandy, grass-bordered road. he walked mechanically, like a machine set to go, and going without consciousness or effort--without a question or a thought, without a glance to either side--on and on. he reached the top of a rise from which the road sloped down to the valley. and here he stopped, as if set to go no farther. before him spread the landscape of the valley; green woods encircled it on every hand, like a protecting fence about a pleasure-garden. within the area enclosed were mounds and hilly fields, stretches of meadow, farmsteads, rows of corn-sheaves and haystacks, patches of stubble, a tiny stream with a bridge and a fall, and mills on either bank. a thrill of emotion seized the wanderer at sight of it all; one glance let loose a flood of memories and thoughts of things long since forgotten. all seemed as before. he looked at the stream, and followed the line of its course with his eye. the mills stared at one another from bank to bank, as they had always done since the beginning of time. but the mills themselves had changed. the old wooden structures were gone, and in place of them stood modern stone-walled buildings. a lightning thought came into his mind: was there _anything_ that was unchanged, though the setting seemed as it had been? what might not have happened in the little place during those years? the wanderer felt uneasy at the thought. here he was--but who could say what he would find here, now he had come? slowly, with heavy steps, he took his way down towards the village. and ever as he neared it, his uneasiness increased. * * * * * he came to a turn in the way. from just beyond came the tinkle of a bell, and, as he rounded the bend, he saw a flock of sheep grazing, and a fair-haired lad watching the flock. the sight gladdened his heart--the sheep and the shepherd lad at least were as he had hoped to find them. "good-day!" he said heartily. "and whose lad are you, little man?" "just stina's boy," answered the young herdsman easily, from his seat by the wayside. "ho, are you? ... yes." the wanderer stepped across the ditch, sat down by the wayside, and lit his pipe. "and what's the news in the place? i've been here before, d'ye see, and used to know it well. but 'tis long since i heard anything from these parts." "news?... h'm." the lad felt a pleasant sense of importance at being thus asked, and stepped down from his seat. "well, you've heard, maybe, 'twas mattila's tytto won the first prize at the cattle show?" "you don't say so? mattila's tytto?" echoed the stranger, with a laugh. "and what else?" "why, there's no more that i know of--let me see...." the wise little eyes grew thoughtful. "oh, i forgot. yes, maya, she's married, and they're building a bit of a place over by the clearing there. shoemaker, he was, and a good match, they say." "i see. that'll be the place. looks as good as could be." "'tis a fine place. going to have a real stove, with a baking oven and all.... then there's been another wedding besides, at niemi--annikki's it was. only just married--though there's been plenty that asked her these years past, and rich men some of them too." "yes...." the wanderer felt as if something had struck him in the breast. impatiently he went on: "and how's things at koskela?" "koskela--well, old man there he died last spring, and they say...." "died?" a heavier stroke this; it seemed to paralyse him. "yes--and two horses to the funeral, with white covers and all. and silver stars all over the coffin--like the sky it was." the wanderer felt himself gazing helplessly into a darkness where hosts of silver stars danced before his eyes. "you knew him, maybe?" asked the lad, watching the man's face. "ay, i knew him," came the answer in a stifled voice. "and his wife's like to follow him soon," went on the boy. "she's at the last gasp now, they say." the wanderer felt as if something were tightening about his heart. "so there's neither man nor wife, so to speak, at koskela now." the wanderer would have risen, but his limbs seemed numbed. "there was a son, they say, was to have taken over the place, but he went away somewhere long ago, and never came back." the wanderer rose to his feet. "thanks, little man." and he strode off. the lad stared wonderingly at the retreating figure, whose heavy steps sounded like sighs of pain from the breast of the trodden road. the cupboard "come in," said the key invitingly. but the weary man stood motionless, paralysed by the thought that had come to him as he reached the door. "come in--you've waited long enough in coming." and the weary man grasped the key, but stood holding it helplessly, like a child without strength to turn it. it rattled in the lock under his trembling fingers. the noise roused him; he opened the door and went in. * * * * * it was like entering a church. a solemn, expectant silence hung over the place--it was just as it had been when, as a child, he had first been taken to church. and now, as then, his glance sought first of all the farthest background of the place. what he saw was like and yet unlike what he had seen there. then, it had been the figure of a young man, holding out his arms over a group of children; now, it was the figure of an old woman, worn with sickness--but with the same great gentleness in her face. the woman's eyes lit up, as though she had seen a miracle; her glance grew keen, as if wishing to be sure, and softened again, in the certainty that the miracle had come. the trembling head was lifted, the frail body rose up like a bent bow, her mouth opened, and her lips began to move, but no sound came--she could but reach out one thin, trembling hand to the figure by the door. he moved, and walked over to the bed. and the old woman and the weary man took each other's hands and pressed them, looked into each other's eyes and trembled with emotion, unable to speak a word. tears rose to the old woman's eyes, a gleam as of sunset over autumn woods lit her wrinkled face; the thin lips quivered between smiling and weeping. "so you came after all," she said at last in a trembling voice. "i knew you would come--some time. and good that you came just now...." she sank back wearily on the pillow, and the man sat down on a chair at her side, still holding her hands in his. * * * * * the old woman lay with her face turned towards her son, looking at him with love in her eyes. then her look turned to one of questioning--there was something she had been waiting years to ask. "tell me, my son...." her voice was almost a whisper. but he could not answer. "olof, look at me," she begged. and the man beside the bed lifted his eyes, great dark eyes full of weariness and stark fear--but bowed his head again and looked away. the smile vanished from the old woman's face. she gazed long and searchingly at her son's haggard chin, his sunken cheeks and loose eyelids, the pale forehead, the furrowed temples--everything. "perhaps it has to be," she murmured, as if speaking to someone else. "'_and wasted all his substance.... and he said, i will arise and_....'" her voice trembled, and olof, in a hasty glance, saw how her wrinkled mouth quivered with emotion. and suddenly the coldness that had almost paralysed him up to now, seemed to melt away. he fell on his knees beside the bed, his face in the coverlet, and knelt there sobbing. it was as in church, at the moment when each single heart withdraws from all the rest to offer up its own silent prayer. * * * * * the old woman lay resting in her bed; her face wore the same look of sorrowful gentleness that it had done for years, despite the ravages of sickness. but to-day, signs of uneasiness were apparent; shadows of fear seemed flitting ever and anon over her features. olof wiped his mother's forehead gently. "you are not so well to-day?" he asked. "'tis not that--no. i called you, there was something i wanted to say. but i'm not sure--perhaps it would be better not...." he took her withered hand tenderly in his. "why do you think that, mother? you have never said anything but what was good." "'twas meant to be so--ay, that's true. but there's times when it's hard to say what's best to do, and it's so with me now. for years i've been thinking to tell you before i closed my eyes the last time. and it's been a comfort to me in many trials. but now i come to say it...." the sick woman's breast heaved, and drops of sweat stood out on her forehead. "best not to think too much if it worries you," said olof, wiping her brow once more. "'twill be all right in time." "'tis right enough--i know that really. 'twould be a wrong to myself and you, and to all i've hoped and believed, if i didn't speak--yet it's hard to begin. come closer, you too, heikki--i can't speak so loud...." the elder brother, who had just come in from the fields with his muddy boots on, had sat down close to the door. he moved his chair now nearer the bed. the sick woman lay for a while in thought, as if weighing the matter in her mind. then she looked long and earnestly at her two sons. "you two will have to divide what's left," she said at last. "and i've not said a word of it before; you're not like to quarrel over it, i know. but there's one thing in the place that i want to keep separate from the rest, and give it up to you now, before i go." she sighed, and was silent for a while, as if needing rest before she could continue. the two young men watched her expectantly. '"tis nothing of great value, but it's all tied up like with something that happened once, and all the thoughts of it--and 'tis valuable to me. i mean the cupboard there." the sons glanced at the thing where it stood; an old cupboard in two sections, that they knew well. "you look surprised. oh, if i could only tell you...." she gazed upwards in silence, as if praying for strength. then, with a strange light in her eyes, she turned towards them and went on almost in a whisper, as one who tells a tale of ghosts: "it was long ago. in this very room, on this very bed here lay a woman who had borne a man-child but four days before. she had always been tender and faithful and obedient to her husband, and had tried to do his will in everything. and she had been happy, very happy. but before the child was born, a suspicion had begun to grow up secretly in her mind. and now, on the fifth night, as she lay there with the newborn child, in the pale light from a lamp on the shelf of the cupboard there, the fear at her heart grew all of a sudden so strong that she got up, and went into the next room, to see if what she dreaded was true...." the sick woman turned her face to the wall, to hide the tears that forced themselves into her eyes. "but the one she sought was not there, and driven by fear, she crossed the courtyard, barefooted, and half-clad as she was, in the cold, over to the still-room. they used to make spirits at home in those days. she opened the door softly and looked in. there the fire was burning, and by the flickering light she saw a woman--a young woman then--lying on a bed, and beside her the man she herself had risen from her childbed to seek. and at the sight of them her heart died in her. she would have cried aloud, but only a groan came from her lips, and she went back, dreading at every step lest her legs should fail her...." the sick woman gasped for breath, and lay trembling; the listeners sat as if turned to stone. "how she got back," went on the old woman, "she did not know herself; only there she was, sitting on the bed beside her child, pressing her hands to her breast, that felt as if it would burst. then she heard footsteps outside, and a moment later the door opened, and with a roar like a wild beast, a man strode in--furious, with bloodshot eyes. he uttered a dreadful curse, and swung up an axe above his head. the woman almost fainted with fright. then behind him she saw her sister reaching up with a cry of horror towards the axe he held. it flew from his hand, the steel shone in the lamplight--and what happened after she did not know...." it was as if the axe had fallen at that moment, striking them all three. the mother closed her eyes. olof was trembling from head to foot; his brother crouched in his seat, his features stiff with horror. "when she came to herself," went on the sick woman in a trembling voice, "her husband was sitting beside her, with his head in his hands, his face ashy pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his body trembling all over as if shivering with cold. the axe had flown straight over the place where mother and child had been, missing them by an inch, and stuck fast in the cupboard beyond--it was standing there as it stands now...." the woman sighed as if in relief to find the danger past. olof grasped her hand eagerly, pressed it, and looked imploringly into her eyes. "yes, yes," she nodded, "he begged forgiveness--and she forgave him. and they were friends again. and that night he fetched up some putty from the cellar and filled the hole the axe had made, and painted it over afterwards. but--you can see where it was...." olof rose to his feet and walked over mechanically to the cupboard; his elder brother sat still on his chair, looking over at the place in silent horror. "you can see--it struck just between the two sides, and cut deep into the edges. it's plain to be seen, for all it's painted over now. as for the woman...." she broke off suddenly, her face pale and bloodless, her features quivering with painful emotion. "the woman--she forgave him, and never a harsh word between them after. folk said they lived so happily together.... but the hurt--the hurt was there. a woman's heart's not a thing to be healed with any putty and paint...." * * * * * she was silent, but her face was eloquent with feeling still. olof went back to his place, took her hand and kissed it again and again, with tears, as if praying for forgiveness. for the first time he realised the inner meaning of his mother's nature as he knew it--the undertone of sadness in her gentle ways. and he could not free himself from a strange, inexplicable feeling of guilt in himself, though till that day he had known nothing of her secret. "and for the man ... well, well, let him rest in peace! 'twas not from any thought to soil his memory--but you're grown men now, my sons, and when you've wives of your own.... ay, a good man he was in many ways, a clever worker. and i know he suffered himself for--for the other thing. he'll be judged, as we shall all be judged--we've all of us enough to answer for...." for a long time the sick woman lay as if overwhelmed by stress of feeling, unable to speak. olof, with tears in his eyes, sat deep in thought; the elder son had not moved. "and now i can leave it to you," she went on more calmly. "'tis all tied up, as i said, with thoughts of that time, ay, and hopes and prayers, all the best and the hardest in my life. and i'm not the only one that's had such things to bear through life. there's many a one the world knows nothing of, for a woman can bear a great sorrow and never speak of it. and i've heard since, that there was trouble of the same sort here in the house before my day.... heaven grant i may be the last to suffer! and so i wanted you to take the thing between you--half to each--the scar's between them, so you'll share that too. remember it, and tell your children some time. and they can pass on the legacy to theirs--with all the hopes and prayers and tears it brought--only let the name be forgotten!" all three looked earnestly at the grim heirloom that stood there reaching from floor to ceiling; it seemed to grow, as they watched, into a monument over the grave of many generations. * * * * * the sick woman turned anxiously to her sons. "will you take it?" she asked. "will you take it, with all that it means...?" olof pressed her hand to his lips in answer. the elder brother sat motionless, as before, his eyelids trembled as if he were on the point of tears. his mother read his answer in his eyes. "i'm glad it's over now," she said in relief. "and now i've no more to give you, but--my blessing!" her face lit with the same great gentleness that had softened it for years, she looked long and tenderly at her sons. "olof," she said at last, as if to wake him from his thoughts; "_it happened at the time before you were born_...." the elder son looked at his mother in astonishment--why should she tell them what they had known all along? but olof looked up suddenly, as if he had heard something new and significant. the quiver in his mother's voice told him what she meant, the look in her eyes seemed to shed a light on what had been dark before. questioningly he looked at her, as if silently asking confirmation of his thought. she nodded almost imperceptibly. "i have often thought of that, these last sad years...." olof felt as if a mighty storm had suddenly torn away a dark, overshadowing growth, laying bare the heart of a fearsome place--deep clefts and stagnant pools and treacherous bogs. "ay, there's much that's hard to understand," she whispered in his ear. "but go to your work, now, sons. i'm tired now, leave me to rest...." the young men rose and left the room. in the doorway they turned and cast a last glance at their mother, but she seemed no longer to heed them. she lay with her hands folded on her breast, gazing calmly at the old cupboard where it stood by the wall, like a monument above the grave of many generations. the house building the funeral was over. the two brothers sat by the window, in thoughtful mood, and speaking little. "... and you'll take over the place now, of course," said olof to his elder brother, "and work the farm as it's always been done since it's been in the family. 'twon't be long, i doubt, before you bring home a wife to be mistress here.... anyhow, i take it you'll go on as before?" "what's in your mind now?" asked heikki, with a little sharp cough. "only what i've said--that you'll take over koskela now," said olof cheerfully. "h'm. you know well enough 'twas always meant that you were to take over the place--i'm not the sort to be master myself. look after the men at their work--yes. but run the place by myself...." "you'll soon get into the way of it," said olof encouragingly. "and as to the men--i've an idea a farm's the better for a master that works with his men as you've always done, instead of going about talking big and doing nothing." the elder brother cleared his throat again, and sat staring before him, drumming with his fingers on the edge of the chair. "and what about you?" he asked, after a while. "oh, i'll look after myself all right. build a bit of a house, and maybe turn up a patch of ground or so." "build a house...?" repeated the other in surprise. "yes. you see, brother, each goes his own way," went on olof heavily. "and i've a sort of feeling now that i can't live on anything out of the past. i must try and build up a life for myself, all anew. if i can do that, perhaps i may be able to go on living." the elder brother stared with wide eyes, as if listening to words in a strange tongue. then he began drumming with his fingers again. "h'm. i don't know quite what you mean, but it's no business of mine, anyway." he spoke with a touch of respect in his voice, as if to a superior. "we'll have to do as you say. but do you think koskela will be the same with none but me to look to it all?" "surely it will!" said olof warmly. "why, then, have it as you please. but if things begin to go wrong here, then you'll have to take over yourself." "i will if need be. but by the time you've ploughed this autumn you'll see yourself there will be no need. good luck go with you, brother, and with the place." "h'm." the elder brother coughed again. "and what about the price. we must fix that beforehand." "what for? you take over the place as it stands, and you'll find it good enough. give me the bit of marshland at isosuo, and the oat fields adjoining, and the little copse that's fenced in with it, and that's all i want. you can let me take what timber i want from your part, for building and such." "ho, so you think that's fair, do you?" said his brother eagerly. "a nice bit of ground--and there's all the clay you'll need ready to hand. but it'll cost a deal of hard work to drain and clear it--i've thought over that many a time. as for the building timber--you shall have all you want, and help for the carting. but all the same, we must fix a price for koskela as a whole, and make a fair division." "there's nothing to divide, i tell you. you take over the whole place, except the bit i've said. you see how it is: each of us wants to give more than the other's willing to take, so there's no need to quarrel about that. and if i want anything later on, i'll ask you for it; if there's anything you want, you'll come to your brother first." "well, well--i dare say it'll be all right. anyhow, i'll do what i can to keep up koskela as it's always been." and the elder brother began once more drumming with his fingers, faster this time, and as it were more firmly. suddenly he sprang up. "they ought to finish that field to-day--i must see they don't stop work before it's done." he left the room and hurried across the courtyard. olof rose and followed his brother to the door, watching him as he strode along, with head bowed forward a little and arms swinging briskly at his sides. "each works best in his own way," he said to himself, smiling affectionately at the thought. "and maybe his way's like to be better for koskela than they ever thought." * * * * * olof turned off from the main road down a little forest track; he carried an axe on his shoulder. an autumn morning, solemn and still. the night had been cold, the morning air was so fresh and light it almost lifted one from the ground--it seemed almost superfluous to tread at all. a strange feeling had come upon olof as he started out. between the hedge-stakes on either side of the road hung bridges of the spider's work--netted and plaited and woven with marvellous art, and here and there a perfect web, the spider's masterpiece, hung like a wheel of tiny threads. then as the sun came up, thread and cable caught its rays, till the road seemed lined with long festoons of silver, and decked at intervals with silver shields. in the forest, too, it was the same--the path lined with silver hangings on either side, and webs of silver here and there along the way. "spiders bring luck, so they say," thought olof. "well, at any rate, they're showing me the road this morning." and he strode on briskly, eager to begin. "to-day's the test," he thought. "all depends on how i manage now. if it goes well, then i can do what i will. but if i've lost my strength and will these years between, then--why, i don't know where to turn." eagerly, impatiently, he hurried on, trembling with expectation, and sweating at the brow. "maybe i'm taking it too seriously," he thought again. "but, no--it is life or death to me, this. and i don't know yet what i can do--it may go either way...." he swung the axe in a wide circle from the shoulder, held it out at arm's length, then straight above his head, and swung it to either side. it weighed as lightly as a leaf, and he felt a childish delight--as if he had already passed the first test. * * * * * he reached the place at last--a hillside covered with tall, straight-stemmed fir and pine. he flung down coat and hat, never heeding where, glanced up along the stem he had chosen, then the axe was lifted, and the steel sank deep into the red wood--it was his first stroke in his native forest after six years' absence. the forest answered with a ringing echo from three sides, so loud and strong that olof checked his second stroke in mid-air, and turned in wonder to see who was there. and the trees faced him with lifted head and untroubled brow, without nod or smile, but with the greeting of stern men bidding welcome. "hei!" olof answered with a stroke of the axe. and so they talked together, in question and answer and dispute.... "what am i working out here all alone for?" said olof. "why, 'tis this way...." and with the red-brown fir chips flying all around him, he told them the story. "so that's it? well, good luck to you," answered the trees, and fell, one after another, till the earth rang and the echoes answered far through the forest. olof felt himself aglow with an inward fire that flamed the more as he gave it way in ringing strokes of the axe. he counted it a point of honour to strip each branch off clean at a single blow, be it never so thick.... and the more he worked the happier he grew. he was trying to win back the years in which he had never held an axe. * * * * * by noon, he stood in the middle of a clearing already. "well, how does it feel?" asked the trees, as he sat down, with his jacket slung over his shoulders, hastily eating the meal he had brought with him. "none so bad--hope for the best," he answered. again the axe flashed, the branches shivered, and the earth rang. "bit crooked, that one," said olof to himself; "but i can use it all the same--do for a piece between the windows." "well, you know best," said the trees. "but how many windows are you going to have--and how many rooms? you haven't told us that yet." "two rooms, no more--but two big ones." and olof told them all his plans for doors and windows and stoves, and an attic above the entrance--he had thought it all out beforehand. "yes, yes.... but where are you going to build?" "on the little hill beside isosuo marsh--that's where i thought." "isosuo marsh?" cried the trees, looking in wonder first at one another and then at olof himself. then they smiled triumphantly. "bravo!" they cried in chorus. "bravo, and good luck go with your building, and prosperity roof over all! 'tis good to see there's some that still dare begin life for themselves in the forest." "'tis that i'm hoping to do--that and no more." "but what do folk say to it? don't they think you're mad?" "they call me nothing as yet, for i've not told any of what i'm doing." "just as well, perhaps," said the trees. and they fell to talking of isosuo, of drains and ditching, the nature of the soil, and all that olof would have to do. and the axe sang, and the chips flew, and the woods gave echo, and the talk went on. and the day came so quickly to an end that olof started to find how it was already growing dark. "well, and what do you say now?" asked the trees expectantly. olof stepped from stem to stem, counting the fallen. there were forty in all--and he laughed. "i shall be here again to-morrow, anyhow," he said gaily. "if you come to-morrow, then you will come again till it's done," said the trees. "come, and be welcome!" * * * * * olof walked home whistling cheerfully; he felt as if the house were already built up round him. it was a great thing, enough to take up all his thoughts, and strong enough in itself to strengthen him anew. ways that meet "hirviyoki, kylanpaa, / / . "kyllikki,--you will be surprised, no doubt, to hear from me again after so many years. i am not sure of your address, and do not even know if you are still 'kyllikki,' or possibly someone with another name that i do not know. i am too proud to ask news of you from any but yourself. "and now to what i have to say. i have never been able to free myself from you quite, however much i wished. i have tried to forget you, to wipe away all trace of you from my soul, but in spite of everything you have followed me from place to place, year after year, and now, just lately, you have been ever before my eyes. was it your friendship that followed me so, or my own guilty conscience--or perhaps my better self that has been longing for you, and silently calling for you, though i tried to stifle the voice? "i do not know. i only know that my years of wandering are over now, and i have come to settle down in my own place. i may freely confess that i was weary and broken down, worn out and hopeless, when i came home--to see my mother for the last time, and follow her to the grave. and i cannot say, even now, that i am much better, though perhaps a little. i can feel something in me that seems to grow, something that gives me hope. so perhaps it is not altogether lost. "i am building myself a house, and have other plans of a like sort. but there is one thing i miss, and the lack of it grows stronger every day: a friend and comrade, one that i could respect and trust entirely. not one to share my good fortune, but one to be with me in toil and want. "kyllikki, you can never guess how i have suffered in doubt and questioning of late. have i any right at all to hope for comradeship? could i promise anything to anyone? and if so--to whom?... kyllikki, you know me well enough to understand what i mean. it is no light question, and no easy one to answer. "as far as i myself am concerned, i believe i see my way clear. and therefore i ask you--will you venture out upon the water with me once more--not the mere crossing of a little stream, but for a voyage that may lead we know not where? i cannot be sure that we should ever reach safely to land, only that if your hand is still free to give, and you are willing, and can trust me enough to offer it, then i will never let go, whatever may come. "and one thing more--could a daughter of moisio venture to share the lot of a poor settler? i can offer nothing more, and would not if i could. if she will, then i can dare anything. "again--would you _wish_ to join your life with mine? or do you despise me, perhaps? i will not try to defend myself, and it would be useless in any case, for i know that little matters would not influence your decision; all must rest on what you think of me as a whole, and that is fixed already. "one thing most of all--let there be no question of pity or giving out of charity. i fancy neither of us would ever give or take in that way, but i have heard say that pity counts for much in a woman's heart. myself, i do not think pity can go far, if the earlier feeling is once dead. and you know best yourself whether that is so. "is your father still alive? and does he still think as before? but it makes no difference now. once _we_ are agreed, ten fathers could make no difference. i feel now that i can do what i will. "and that is all for now, kyllikki. you know how anxiously i wait to hear from you--your answer means very much to me. but i know it will be clear and true, whichever way it may be. olof. "my address is, olof koskela, as above." * * * * * "kohiseva, _oct_. . "olof,--your letter found me. kyllikki is unchanged--and you, i see, are much as i had thought you would be. proud and exacting as ever, though not perhaps in quite the same way. and well it is so, for if _you_ had seemed otherwise i should have suspected at once. "yes, i will venture. i am ready to venture anything. i did not even need to think it over; i had decided long since, and have not changed. i am not ashamed to tell you that i knew more of you than you thought. i have followed your doings and your movements from a distance, until you came home, and determined to wait for you till it was past hoping for. i feel i ought to tell you this at once, that you may know i am not building up fair hopes on no foundation, but know what i am doing, and what i can expect. "you need not fear pity from me, olof. i believe in fate, and in life as a thing with some meaning. i have often wondered, these last few years, if there could be any meaning in my life, and why fate had brought us so strangely together. was it only to make us suffer? i came at last to the conclusion that if there were any meaning in my life, it must be with you; and if fate had any plan at all, it must be that you should come back to me some day, even though the way were hard. and you came, came with the very word i had been waiting to hear from your lips for years--that _you had need of me_! all is easy after that; no need to doubt or hesitate. i can answer at once: i am ready. "i do not think, or hope, that our way will be strewn with roses. but it is right, i feel that; and in time we shall reach our goal. "come, olof, come soon. four years i have waited--four years of longing, all my life's longing.--your "water-witch. "p.s.--father is the same, but what you say about that is what i say myself. "one thing i would ask you--let me see you alone first, before you meet my father. i could not bear to meet again after all these years in that way. come to our old meeting-place beforehand, if you can, and let me know what day and time you will be there. "kyllikki." moisio olof walked up the steps to the homestead at moisio. a trifle pale, perhaps, but confident, ready to meet whatever might chance, and determined to gain his end. he opened the door and went in. there were two in the room: an old man with bushy brows--who, unaware of the visitor's approach, was on the point of going out himself--and a girl. she was waiting anxiously, and as the door opened, her heart beat as if it would leap from her breast. all three stood for a moment in silence. "good-day to you," said olof respectfully to the old man. no one answered. olof marked how the dark brows drew together like two murky storm-clouds. "good-day," came the answer at last, sharp and hard--as if the speaker were unwilling to deny a certain courtesy, even to the most unwelcome guest, in his own house. having said so much, however, he felt no further obligation, and went on sternly: "i told you last time that i did not wish to see you again. what brings you here now?" the words fell like strokes of an axe; the girl turned pale, and leaned against the wall. "this," said olof calmly. "when i spoke to you last time, matters did not pass off as they should. i beg your forgiveness for that. and now i have come to ask again for your daughter's hand." "you--a wastrel...!" the old man's voice trembled with anger. "i have been. but let us talk calmly, if you please." "lumberman!" the word was flung out with a bitterness and contempt that cut like a knife. a dark flush rose to olof's cheek; he was hard put to it already to control himself. "true," he said, slowly and with emphasis. "i have been a lumberman. there are clodhoppers enough to ditch and plough, but good lumbermen are none so easy to find." the old man raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again with an expression as of a beast about to spring. "go!" he thundered. a deep silence followed. olof bit his lip, then drawing himself up defiantly, he poured out a flood of words. "you--you drove me out from here once before, and i went at your bidding. now, i move not a step till we have fought this out between us. i came to you to-day with all respect--yes, and asked your pardon for last time, though even now i do not know which of us two was more in the wrong. and i am going now, but not at your bidding--and not alone. i have come to ask for what is mine by right--and i would do the same if she were a star in the skies of heaven!" the old man was leaning forward with clenched fists; without a word he rushed towards the door. olof's mind was made up on the instant--he would take the man by the arms and set him down and bid him talk over matters quietly and decently, as became his age. he stepped forward resolutely. "father!" the girl sprang forward hastily between them, "father--i ... it is true. i am his by right!" the words came like a blow from behind--the father turned and looked long at the girl. "you...!" he cried, astounded. "you say--you are his by right? ho! and perhaps you've been waiting for him, then, all these years, when you said 'no' to one after another?" "yes," she answered calmly. "and i have made up my mind to be his wife." the old man took a step towards her. "made up your mind, have you...?" "yes," said the girl gently; "and i want you, father, to consent." "but suppose i've made up my mind?" the old man drew himself up and stood between them, straight as a fir stem. "and this i say: my daughter's not for any wandering lumberman that has the impudence to ask." he spoke with firmness and authority--matters seemed hopelessly at a deadlock. there was a moment of tense silence. kyllikki bowed her head, then slowly she looked up and faced her father, steadily, confidently--olof noticed with surprise how the two in that moment were alike. expression and attitude were the same in both. "and if she chooses to give herself--what then?" the old man's eyes flashed. "then--why, she can go as his mistress, if she please, but not as my daughter!" silence again. kyllikki flushed angrily; olof was hardly able to restrain himself. but he realised that the two must be left to themselves for what concerned themselves--he could only make matters worse. "choose," said her father, coldly and with dignity. "and make haste about it--the fellow here is waiting. but mark this," he added with a sneer, as confident of victory: "_if_ you go, you go at once. and you take with you nothing--not a rag nor stitch that was my daughter's. you go ... _dressed as you came_. you understand!" the two stood amazed at first, hardly comprehending. then, as the meaning of his words dawned on them, in its fearful cruelty, they looked at him aghast. "father ... is that your last word?" asked the girl earnestly. "yes!" pale and red by turns, she stood hardly seeming to breathe. the old man's lips curved in a scornful smile. olof stood waiting his sentence, unable to think or feel. then slowly the girl raised her head, seeming to tower over her surroundings. she raised her hands without a tremor, slipped the fastenings of her blouse, and almost before they could realise what she was doing, she stood bare-armed, bare-throated before them. the smile faded from the old man's lips. olof's heart beat with a wild delight--he felt an impulse to take the girl in his arms and carry her off. calmly she went on--unhooked her skirt and let it slip to the floor beside her blouse. the old man's face was ashy pale. olof turned his back in fury and disgust. but the girl never flinched. quietly she loosened the strings of her petticoat.... "enough!" the old man's voice was like a cry from the underworld. olof turned--the girl looked inquiringly at him. "go! take her--be off with you both!" cried her father, beyond himself. "ay, you're hard," he went on, to the girl, "hard and obstinate as the rest of our blood ever were, too hard for your woman's clothes! and as for you, i hope you can keep a wife now you've got her. of all the cursed...." the young pair flushed, but they stood still, unable to move. "get your things on," said the old man impatiently. "and you--sit down." a sudden wave of shame came over the girl; snatching up her clothes, she fled into the next room. the master of moisio walked slowly to the window and sat down heavily, a beaten man. olof felt a thrill of pity for the old man. they sat for a few moments in silence; then kyllikki entered once more, blushing still, glanced hastily at olof, and sat down, watching her father's face. at last the old man turned. the scene had left its mark on him, but there was dignity still in his glance as he looked olof full in the face. "you've made yourself my son-in-law," he said, "though 'twas no wish of mine it should be so. but we may as well start with a clear understanding. 'tis our way here to say what's to be said at once, or give a blow where it's needed--and have done with it." "'tis no bad way," said olof, hardly knowing what he was saying. "my father's way was much the same." there was a slight pause. "we've one or two things to talk over now," went on the old man. "i should like to hear, to begin with, what you're thinking of doing. wandering about as before, maybe?" "no. i've done with that. i've settled down in my own place--i'm building a house there," answered olof. "h'm. building a house, are you? i could find you a house here, for that matter. i dare say you know i've no son to come after me. and i'm an old man now." olof looked wonderingly at him. "i understand now," he said slowly, "what you meant before. and i thank you for your kindness. but it's this way with me now--i can't live in another man's house; i must make a place for myself, and work for myself. i was to have had the farm at home, but i couldn't take it." "a farm?" cried the old man, rising to his feet. "where--where do you come from, then?" "from kylanpaa in hirviyoki--i don't know if you've heard of the place." "i have been there, years ago," said the old man in a kindlier tone, taking a step towards him. "and what's the name of your place there?" he asked. "koskela." "koskela? that's a big place." "why, 'tis big enough," said olof. "and why didn't you say that before--when you were here last?" said the old man sharply. "'twould have been better for both if you had." olof flushed slightly. "i never thought to take a wife but in my own name," he answered--"for myself, and what i might be worth by myself." "yes, that's your way," said the old man, scanning him critically. "i see it now." he glanced out of the window and seemed to catch sight of something. "don't mind what's past," he said kindly. "there's the horses coming from the smith's. i must look to them a minute. i'll be back again...." and he strode out. the two that remained felt as if the calm of a bright sunday morning filled the room after a stormy night. blushingly the girl hurried across to her lover, who came towards her; she flung her arms round his neck, and whispered: "olof, i have never really known you until now!" "and i," he answered, "have never known you till to-day." the broken string the dark of an autumn evening was abroad. it marched along the roads, stole over the meadows, and sat brooding in the forest; the shimmering waterways marked its track. but at moisio all the homestead was ablaze with light; every window shed its bright stream into the night, as if from a single fire within. and from within came a constant sound of many voices, as of men sitting round the hearth relating manifold adventures. outside, all round the house, were voices too, loud and low, soft and harsh, with an undertone of whispering in corners, and footsteps moving here and there. all that there was of life and light and sound in kohiseva seemed gathered this night at moisio. the fiddler played his hardest, the floor creaked, and the walls quivered to the tramp of many feet; a stream of figures passed continuously before the windows. the wedding had taken place that afternoon. then came feasting and dancing--and the guests were dancing still, though it was close on midnight. the bridegroom was a fine upstanding fellow, and the bride a worthy mate--as stately a pair as any had seen. all the neighbourhood agreed in this--and all had seen the couple, though not all had been bidden to the feast. a whisper had been passed among the crowd without, followed by a shout from all, demanding to see the bride and bridegroom. and when the pair came out and stood in the porch, with their following behind, the onlookers greeted them with shouts and cheers--just as at fine folk's weddings in the great cities, declared those who knew. the bridegroom was happy--and well he might be, with such a bride. and the bride, too, was happy--as well she might be after waiting all those years. all knew the story--the first strange wooing, with the desperate venture down the rapids, and the lover's song of the blood-red flower as he went away. and more was whispered about--fragmentary tales of the bridegroom's adventurous life and the trials of the girl who waited for him to return; rumour had gathered what was known, and popular fancy had added thereto at will. the stories passed from mouth to mouth among those outside, and even among the guests within, reaching almost to the bridal pair themselves. there was a touch of something legendary, heroic, about it all, that shed a halo of romance even upon old moisio's grey head. * * * * * again they call for bridegroom and bride--the hero and heroine of the story--manly courage and womanly faithfulness personified; a sight to look on again and again. again the light streamed out into the porch, and again the shouts and cheers went up, and one or two of the more curious and venturesome slipped into the house unbidden in the press. it was a bright and festive scene within. the roof-beams were draped with white, and the hangings glittered like newly-fallen snow in the morning sunlight. the walls, too, were draped, and decked with wreaths and garlands; here and there a bunch of fresh juniper twigs seeming to speak of newly-arisen life. * * * * * the dancing ceased for a moment; the guests adjourned to the well-furnished tables in an adjoining room--the women following the bride, the men by themselves, with the bridegroom and old moisio himself. trays clattered, glasses rang, a hum of gay voices filled the room, and all eyes shone with a festive gleam. then the fiddler tuned up once more, and the guests streamed out back into the hall. the men stayed a moment to finish their glasses, and followed after. the bridegroom came last. suddenly it occurred to him to fetch something for the fiddler, and he turned back. having found what he wanted, he was leaving the room, when a stranger barred his way. olof started; the man had come suddenly and silently as a ghost. there was something uncanny about him as he stood there--a short, heavily-built fellow, standing without a word, one hand in his trousers pocket, a cigar in his mouth, and a red rosette, such as peasants wear on holidays, in the buttonhole of what was evidently his best coat. there he stood, gazing fixedly at olof, with a curious glitter in his eyes. "i've a word to say to the bridegroom, if so be he's time to hear," said the man in a hoarse voice, still keeping the cigar between his teeth. "why ... here i am, if you want me," said olof, "though i don't know who you are...." "no," said the man, "you don't know who i am. and yet we're sort of related--yes, that's the word--for all we've never met before." he took a step forward. "'tis your wedding night--and i've come to wish you joy of it. you've played with many a woman's heart in your time, and driven more than one good lad to despair--maybe 'twill do you good to learn...." "what?" cried olof, with sudden fury. "out with it, man!" the fellow's glassy eyes seemed to be straining forward, the pupils were glittering points of light. "you, that have worked your will on any and all as it pleased you--robbed your betters of all they had and cared for--'twill do you good, maybe, to know that.... _do you think you're taking an innocent girl for your bride_?" the man stood watching the effect of his words. he saw olof's face darken, his nostrils expand and quiver. saw him tremble from head to foot, like a tree about to fall, waiting but for the last stroke of the axe. well, he should have it.... "well--how does it feel?" he bowed mockingly, and went on with a sneer: "wish you joy.... i've more reason, perhaps, than the others, seeing we're partners, so to speak, in the same...." "liar--devil--coward!" olof's rage broke loose. a step forward, almost a spring, and with the strength of fury he seized the man by his coat with both hands and lifted him from the floor. "say your prayers!" hissed olof between his teeth, still holding the man in mid-air, the shirt-front crushing under his grip. the man struggled helplessly once or twice, then hung limp; the cigar fell from his mouth, and olof felt the body a dead weight in his hands. "i ... i've been drinking," he gasped--"drinking... don't know what i've been saying...." the words bubbled pitifully from the pale lips, like the last drops from an empty barrel. "well for you!" olof set the man down and loosed his hold. "or i'd.... huh! get out of this--d'you hear?" the man staggered, looking this way and that, then turned and stole from the room without a word. * * * * * olof stood alone. his brain was in a whirl, dazzling lights floated before his eyes. "it must be true! no one would ever dare unless...." there was no doubt in his mind--it was only too natural that it should be so. the retribution he had feared so long--it had come at last, and ruined all in a moment. the fiddler was playing louder than before; the whole house shook--they were dancing again. to olof the music seemed like a mighty peal of scornful laughter, as if the host of people there were laughing and dancing for joy at his shame. "make an end--make an end!" he cried to himself, and he rushed from the room. how he was to end it he did not know--only that this was unendurable--it was hell! * * * * * smiling faces greeted olof as he appeared in the doorway and stood a moment, unable to get through the press. his brain cleared a little--after all, he could not drive the guests from the house like a madman with a knife in his hand. they stood aside to let him pass, and he slipped round by the wall to the farther end of the room, and went up to the fiddler. "will you sell it," he whispered--"sell your fiddle? there's a man wants to buy it--he's asked me. never mind about the price--say what you like." "why ... i don't know. 'tis an old friend," answered the man, playing more softly as he spoke. "will you sell it? at your own price. yes or no?" "h'm ... well, say thirty marks?" "good! the man'll be here directly. and now, play a polka--and play like the devil himself, as if you were kissing your girl for the last time. the fastest you've ever played." the fiddler nodded. * * * * * olof walked up to a young girl and bowed. the fiddler broke off, and struck up a polka at such a furious pace that the dancers stopped and looked at one another in surprise. but olof went off in wild career with his partner, and several other pairs followed. these, however, soon fell out, and all stood watching the bridegroom, who danced like a man bewitched. his eyes blazed, a strange smile played about his lips, and his head was lifted defiantly. the onlookers were filled with admiration and wonder--never had they seen such a dance! olof took a second partner, then a third; danced a couple of rounds with each, and took a new. he did not lead them to their places after, but slipped each lightly, bowed to another, and whirled her off at the same furious pace. "what's come over him now?" whispered the guests. "he's going to dance with them all--for the last time, it seems." "ay, it looks like it!" and they laughed and watched the extraordinary scene--after all, it would have been strange if something out of the common had not happened at olof's wedding. once more olof set his partner down and bowed to another. formally this time, as if with emphasis: it was kyllikki he had chosen now. the girl stood dismayed, uneasy, not knowing what to think. the fiddler, noting who was the latest choice, pressed his instrument closer under his chin, and put his whole fire into the work. the music swelled and sank, the bridal pair danced lightly and gracefully--sight to see. once, twice, three times, four times round, and still they danced. then as they passed the fiddler for the fifth time, the music suddenly stopped--olof had snatched the instrument with his right hand as he passed, and next moment it was shivered to a thousand fragments against the table. a single string whined painfully as it broke. a gasp went up from the onlookers; all stared in amazement at the pair. neither showed any sign of confusion; they stood easily, as if the whole thing were a prearranged conclusion. "i hope i haven't startled anyone,'" said olof gaily. "but the fiddle that has played my youth away--must play no more! good-night!" a sigh of relief and admiration passed through the crowd. what a finish! what a youth! none but he could ever have done the like. and the guests laughed, and the bridegroom laughed, and old moisio himself laughed where he sat: "ay, that's the way! turn your back on the rest and give all to one--my daughter's worth a fiddle at least!" but the bride was pale--as it might have been one sunday evening by the river, when she sat alone on the bank, watching a man stride hastily away, with a flush of anger on his cheek. the bridal chamber footsteps approaching. a man, with a dark fire smouldering in his eyes, entered in--the pale bride followed him. the man walked up and down the room with heavy strides, biting his lip and frowning angrily. suddenly he stopped, and stood by the table against the farther wall, with a cold, piercing glance at the pale-faced girl. she had been standing silent and thoughtful by the window--now she approached him with hesitant step. "olof," she murmured, her voice quivering with tender anxiety--"olof--dearest, what does it mean?" "dearest?" he snapped out the word between clenched teeth like the rattle of hail against a window-pane. his voice trembled with tears and laughter, cutting scorn and bitterness. he grasped her roughly by the shoulders. "keep away!" he cried, boiling with rage, and thrust her from him with such violence that she stumbled and sank down on a sofa. there she sat in the same position, struck helpless by the suddenness of the blow. then she rose and, flushing slightly, walked resolutely up to him again. "olof, what does all this mean?" she asked. there was tenderness still in her voice, but beneath it a steely ring plain to be heard. olof felt his blood boiling in his veins--that she, guilty as she was, should dare to stand there with uplifted head, and look him calmly in the face! his eye fell on the myrtle wreath which she wore--emblem of bridal purity--and it seemed to mock him anew. he felt an almost irresistible impulse to fall on her and tear her in pieces. "it means," he cried, stepping threateningly towards her, "that you have no right to wear that wreath--that you are an infamous cheat!" and with a violent movement he tore the wreath and veil from her head, and trampled them underfoot, till the wires of the framework curled like serpents on the floor. "liar--liar and hypocrite!" he cried. kyllikki did not move; she stood there still silent, only the red flush in her cheeks deepened. nothing was left of the wreath now but some strands of wire and a few loose leaves--olof spurned it aside, and the veil after it. then he drew himself up, and looked at kyllikki with the eyes of a man who has crushed one foe and prepares to meet another. "will you be good enough to tell me what all this means?" said kyllikki, calmly as ever, but with a new note in her voice that almost amazed herself. "tell you? ay, by heaven. if i had my pistol here, i'd answer you so that you should never ask again!" kyllikki shuddered--a chill sense of utter helplessness came over her. she was shamed and insulted, her bridal wreath trampled underfoot, and she herself here alone with a man who raved and threatened furiously. she looked at him earnestly, as if trying to read him through. and she felt that here was indeed something great and terrible, on which her future--their future--depended; a single word or gesture on her part might be fatal. suddenly a thought crossed her mind and the blood rushed to her head.... could he dare?... was his anger greater than his love? swiftly she decided--now or never, it must be done, or all would be lost. stepping across to a chest, she opened the lowest drawer and felt for something there ... no ... and she tried the next. a moment after, she rose to her feet and walked firmly over to where olof stood. a large, old-fashioned revolver was in her hand; the dark barrel glinted in the light as she laid it on the table. "there is the thing you wanted. it is loaded. now, answer me, if you please." she spoke slowly, putting forth all her strength to keep her voice from trembling. then stepping back, she stood waiting, her face pale, her eyes fixed on olof's face. it was the critical moment. to kyllikki it seemed endless, as she stood there stiffly, dreading with every breath lest she should fall. olof stood motionless, staring at her as at a vision. once before he had seen her thus--during the ordeal with her father. a stifling fear came over him as he marked the similarity. "what do you mean--are you trying to drive me mad?" he cried in a choking voice. and tearing his hair, he rushed violently towards the door. kyllikki felt the blood coursing warmly through her veins once more. olof strode furiously up and down, then came to a standstill before her. his rage flamed up again, and he set himself to play the part of a judge. "defy me, would you?" he shouted, pale with anger. "do you know what you are? a liar, a perjured hypocrite! do you know what you have done? you have cheated me! you have ruined my wedding night, trampled on my happiness and my future--you have shamed me in the eyes of the world. you are no pure and innocent girl, but a...." he stopped, breathless, and stood gasping for a moment, then went on brokenly: "but now it is out. now you shall answer for it all. do you know a fellow who was here to-night--a wretched little worm with a red rosette in his coat? you know who i mean well enough--deny it if you dare!" "yes, i know him well. what of it?" "ah, you know him--yes...." he gave a hoarse, nervous laugh. "that ghastly little abortion came to me to-night and told me...." he stopped, on purpose to torture her the more. "what did he tell you?" asked kyllikki breathlessly. "you know well enough ... _that you had given him long ago what should have been mine to-night!_" he stood enjoying the effect of his words: kyllikki staggered as if struck--exactly as he had intended. the girl was trembling in every limb. she felt a loathing for the man before her--and for all his sex. these men, that lied about women, or cried out about what was _theirs_ on their wedding night, raved of _their_ happiness, demanding purity and innocence of others, but not of themselves ... she felt that there could be no peace, no reconciliation between them now, only bitterness and the ruin of all they had hoped for together. "and what then?" she asked coldly, with lifted head. "what then?" cried olof wildly. "what...." "yes. go on. that was only one. are there no more who have told you the same thing?" "more? my god--i could kill you now!" "do!" she faced him defiantly, and went on with icy calm: "and how many girls are there who can say the same of you?" olof started as if he had been stabbed. he put his hands to his head, and strode violently up and down, muttering wildly: "kill you--yes, kill you and myself too, kill, kill, kill...." so he went on for a while, then, flinging himself down on the sofa, he tore open his coat, snatched off the white rosette he wore, and threw it down, crying out in agony: "why must i suffer like this? was there ever such a wedding night? it is hell, hell...!" kyllikki stood calmly watching him. she was gradually feeling more sure of herself now. at last she moved towards him. "do you want me to love you?" she said quietly. "or must i hate you and despise you? you listen to the stories of a drunken fool, instead of asking the one person in the world you should trust; you give me no explanation when i ask you. is it any wonder, after all, that the man should have said what he did--to let you taste for once a drop of the poison you have poured out for who knows how many others? as for him, i knew him when we were children--there was some talk of our being married, years ago. he was five years older than i, and was too young then to know of any harm in an occasional caress. more than that never--though it seems in his drunken wickedness he tried to make out there was." "kyllikki, is it true?" cried olof, springing to his feet. "it is true. _i_ am still pure, but you--have you the right to ask a pure woman to be your wife?" "have i the right...." he began haughtily; but the words died on his lips, and he sank back on the sofa, covering his face with his hands, as if to keep out visions of dread. "it would have been only just," kyllikki went on, "if it had been as you believed--yes, it should have been so! and you knew it--and _so_ you stormed and threatened to kill me!" she paused for a moment; olof quailed under her glance. "pure and innocent," she continued; "yes, that is what you ask, that is your right. but have you for one moment thought of me? i, _who am innocent and pure_--what is given to me in return?" "you are torturing me," answered olof, wringing his hands. "i know, i know--and i have thought of you too.... oh...." "thought of me?--yes, perhaps you have, now and again. there was something of it in your letter--you felt it then. and i took it as a prayer for forgiveness, and i could have faced it all as it was--i was thinking more of you than of myself. but now...." "o god--this is madness!" cried olof, his voice choking with sobs. "is this the end?... and this night, this night that i have looked forward to in my brightest dreams--this new dawn that was to be ... crushed, crushed, a trampled wreath and veil ... and this is my wedding night!" he flung himself face downward on the sofa, sobbing violently. "your wedding night?" said kyllikki softly. "_your_ wedding night? how many such have you not had before? but mine...." her voice broke. "oh, mine has never been, and never will be, never...." she burst into a violent fit of weeping, and sank trembling to a seat. and the bridal chamber echoed with sounds of woe, with utterances of misery that might have called the very walls to pity. * * * * * olof wakened with a start; moving blindly, he had stumbled against her, and at the touch of her body he flung himself on his knees before her and hid his face in her lap. "kill me!" he moaned. "forgive me and then kill me and make an end." his passionate outburst seemed to calm her; she sat still, and her tears subsided. "speak to me!" cried olof again. "if you cannot forgive me, then kill me, at least--or must i do it myself?" but kyllikki made no answer, only bent forward and, slipping her hands beneath his arms, drew him up, softly and slowly, and pressed him closer to her. a sudden warmth filled him, and he threw his arms round her gratefully, as a child might do. "crush me, then, crush me to death, and i have all i asked for!" but she did not speak, only held him closer. and so they lay in each other's arms, like children, worn out with weeping. "olof," said kyllikki at last, freeing herself, "when you wrote, you said you did not ask me to share joy and happiness, but to work and suffer with you." "ay, then," said olof bitterly. "and even then i still hoped for happiness." "but, don't you see.... to-night, it is just that. our first suffering together." "it has ruined all!" "not all--only what we had hoped for to-night. all the rest is as it was." "no, no, do not try to deceive yourself and me. and for myself--what do i care now? i have deserved it all--but you, you...." "say no more, olof. let this be ended now and never speak of it again. see, i have forgotten it already." "all ... you...." "yes, all--for your sake. oh, let us be content! no one in all the world can ever have all they hoped and wished for. and if we cannot have our wedding night as lovers--let us at least be friends and comrades now." "comrades? ... yes, in misery," sighed olof. and they drew together in a close embrace; two suffering creatures, with no refuge but each other. * * * * * "olof," whispered kyllikki after a while, "we must go to rest now--you are worn out." both glanced at the white bridal bed--and each turned in dismay to the other, reading each other's thought. "can't we--can't we sleep here on the sofa?--it's nearly morning," said kyllikki timidly. olof grasped her hand and pressed it to his lips without a word. kyllikki went to fetch some coverings. as she did so, she caught sight of something lying on the table, and keeping her back turned to olof, she picked up the thing and put it back in the drawer. olof's eyes followed her with a grateful glance. but as she touched the pillows and the white linen she had worked with such hopes and kisses and loving thoughts for this very night, she broke down, and stood with quivering shoulders, fumbling with the bedclothes to hide her emotion. olof felt his eyelids quivering, warm drops fell on his cheek. he rose and stepped softly to her side. "kyllikki," he whispered entreatingly, "have you forgiven me--everything?" "yes, everything," she answered, smiling through her tears, and threw her arms round his neck. "it was childish of me to cry." gratefully, and with a new delight, he pressed her to his heart.... * * * * * "olof, don't put out the light yet--let it burn till the morning." kyllikki lay stretched on the sofa. olof nodded, and laid himself down with his head in her lap and his feet on a chair by the side. and two pairs of darkly glistening eyes fell to whispering together, like lonely stars in a dark autumn sky, while the earth sighed through the gloom. the somnambulist olof was a sleep-walker, though he never dared to confess it even to himself. there was something mysterious and terrifying in the thought. a soul that cannot rest, but goes forth when others sleep, on errands of its own; the body follows, but without consciousness. the eyes are open, but they see only that which the soul is pleased to notice on its way. it will climb like a squirrel to the roof, walk along narrow ridges at a giddy height. it will open windows and lean out over black depths, or play with keen-edged weapons as if they were toys. and the onlooker, in his waking senses, shudders at the sight, realising that it is the soul stealing forth on its nightly wanderings. so it had been with olof for a long time now--almost from the time when kyllikki first became his. the scene of their bridal night was forgotten; neither ever hinted at what had passed. they had tried to fuse with each other in the deep and beautiful relationship which had its roots deep in the soul of both, and in the earnest striving that was to clear and cultivate the ground on which their future should be built. olof was proud of his wife; she moved with the beauty of a summer sunday in their new home--calm and clear-eyed, ever surrounded by a scent of juniper or heather. and he was filled with gratitude, respect, and love for her--for her tender and faithful comradeship. then, like a bird of night on silent wings, came this walking in his sleep. it had happened many times without his knowing it. and still he refused to believe it, though he had more than once been on the point of waking to full consciousness. and he was glad that kyllikki seemed to suspect nothing--for she said no word. he dreaded most of all the hour when she should wake and speak to him reproachfully: "are my arms not warm enough to hold you; can your soul not find rest in my soul's embrace?" of late, the mere thought of this had made him restless. and to guard against it, he had thrown himself with redoubled energy into his work, as if life depended on the ditching and draining of a marsh. and gradually there grew out of this a new and far greater project, in which the entire neighbourhood would share. * * * * * it was in the quiet hour of dusk, when olof had just come home from his work, and the walls of the room seemed whispering expectantly. silently as the dusk, kyllikki stole into his opened arms, her eyes asking what he had to tell, and pouring out her own thoughts and feelings. olof laughed, but did not try to meet the innermost depth of her eyes; after a little, he ceased to look at her at all, but turned his gaze far off, as if looking out over the work of the day. a little while passed thus. almost unconsciously olof lifted one hand and loosened the plaits of his wife's hair, letting the long tresses fall freely over her shoulders. smiling and looking into far distance, he passed his hand through the soft waves, and wrapping the ends about his fingers, clasped her waist. "my own love," he whispered, gazing at her as through a veil, and bending to touch her lips. and as they kissed, kyllikki felt his arm tremble. tenderly she looked into his eyes, but started in wonder at their strange expression--they seemed wandering far off. and the dark forebodings that had long oppressed her filled her now with a sudden dread. the more she looked at him, the more she felt this fear--at last it was almost more than she could bear. it was as if the soul that looked out of his eyes had suddenly vanished, leaving only a body that stiffened in a posture of embrace. she trembled from head to foot, her whole body seemed turned to ice. suddenly she tore herself away, and sank down on a seat; olof stood without moving, as if turned to stone. in a single moment, something terrible had passed between them, which neither dared to speak of, but which showed plainly in their eyes. a gulf seemed to have opened before their feet, filled with strange and horrible creatures, all waving tentacles and ghastly staring eyes. kyllikki covered her face with her hands as if to shut out the sight. "olof--your soul, your soul ..." she moaned, like a little child. olof stood as hovering on the verge of sleep and waking. but at sight of her trembling figure he seemed to come to himself, and tried to break loose from the spell. "kyllikki...!" he said imploringly. she sat up, sobbing, and gazed at him as at one whom she did not know. "kyllikki, poor child!" he said brokenly, and sat down by her side. but his own voice sounded strange in his ears, and he could say no more--he felt as if he were a ghost, not daring to speak to a living human creature. at sight of his unspoken misery, kyllikki felt her own dread rise up stronger than ever. "i knew the suffering would come," she said mournfully. "so many have had their place in your heart that i could not hope to fill it all myself at first. but i love you so, and i felt so strong, i thought i could win my way into it little by little until it was all mine ... and now...." she broke off, and fell to sobbing anew. olof would have given anything to speak to her then, but found no words. "and it is so terrible to see it all and be helpless," she went on. "you are a wanderer still--and i cannot hold you ... you leave me--for those that wait for you...." "o heaven!" cried olof in agony. "kyllikki, don't--don't speak like that. you know i do not care for any other--would not be with any other but you." "but you go--even against your will. and they come towards you smiling. i am all alone--and they are so many. and they must win--for i can give no more than one woman can. but they are for ever whispering to you of what a woman can give but once in her life--each in her own way...." "kyllikki!" olof broke in imploringly. but she went on unheeding, pouring out her words like a stream in flood-time. "and they hate me because i thought to keep you for myself alone. and while you lie in my arms, they come smiling and whispering and thread their arms between us and offer you their lips...." "kyllikki!" he cried again, and grasped at her hand like a drowning man. "and then--then it is no longer me you hold in your arms, but those others; not my lips, but theirs, you kiss...." she tore her hand away, and broke out weeping anew. olof sat as if turned to stone. the thing was said--it was as if a secret curse was for ever dogging his footsteps, and spreading poison all around. kyllikki's despair gathered and grew like an avalanche. what a blind self-deceit their life had been! how they had hoped and dreamed--with a gulf of naked hopelessness on every side! "if only i had--what i have hoped for these last two years, then i could bear it all. for that--none could rob me of that! but now--i know why it has not come. and now there is no hope even of that!" and she groaned aloud. olof felt as if a dagger's thrust had pierced the tenderest nerve of an already aching wound. he had tried to comfort her, though he himself had long since lost all hope. the fault could only lie with him--and now he understood! he felt himself crushed by a weight of despair, and sat there staring before him, without a word. kyllikki grew calmer after a while, and looked up. the silence of the place came to her now for the first time, and with it a new dread. she turned to olof, and at sight of his face, drawn with despair, and darkly shadowed in the gloom, she realised what her words must have meant to him. "olof--dear!" she cried, taking his hand. "what have i done? i did not mean to reproach you. it might be my fault as well--it must be mine more than yours...." but olof sat motionless as before, save for a shiver that now and then passed through his frame. and kyllikki, seeing him thus, felt her own trouble fade; a wave of unspeakable tenderness and affection came over her. "don't--olof, you must not be miserable for that," she said earnestly. "oh, how could i ever say it--how could i be so thoughtless and selfish and cruel...?" "no," said olof--"it was not that. you could not help it. you were my conscience, that is all--as you must ever be, or you would not be the friend you are." "don't say that, olof--it was just that i forgot. we are friends--and the one thing that can make and keep us friends is to toil and suffer together--olof, _together_!" gently she drew closer to him, and threw her arms about him. "don't you see?" she went on softly. "it's all because i love you so. i want you for myself, all for myself. i will not let you go--no, you shall look at me. i will drive them away, all of them, if they try to come between us; oh, i am strong enough, i know. you are mine, olof, do you hear? all mine--mine.... oh, why do you sit there so? speak to me, olof!" her passionate earnestness burned like bright flames about him, gradually warming his heart to life again. "kyllikki, how good you are!" he said, and his eyes glistened as he spoke. "you are all i have in life--without you, i should be lost. if only--if only i could be sure of one thing...." "what is it--tell me, olof...?" "that--that you do not despise me, but trust me, that you believe i only care to be yours." "trust you?--indeed i do," said kyllikki. "i know we are both striving toward the same end. but there are enemies that are always on the watch. we must beat them--and we will! and i am yours--all yours--as the night when you said good-bye to kohiseva. and you are mine--all mine ... and then, olof--then it will come--the one thing i must have to live for...." out of the past "kirkkala, _may_ ." "dearest,--you will not be angry because i write to you? how could you, you who are so good! i would not have written, but i must, for there is so much to tell you. it is spring now, as it was then, and it has brought with it such a longing that i must turn to you, speak to you--and then i can wait again till next spring. you must have known that i have been with you--surely you felt it? and now here i am, having learned by chance where you are. "do you remember the story i told you? about the girl and her lover and the mark on her breast? and what i asked for then, and you gave me? i have often wondered since whether, perhaps, you might have misunderstood it all--when i was so serious and thoughtful about it--if you thought i was not certain of myself, not sure that i should always be yours, as i wished to be. but it was not so, dear olof; i knew myself well enough even then, though not so deeply as i do now. how strong and deep love is! i read once in a poem--surely you know it too: "'the lightning stroke falls swifter than breath, but the tree that is struck bears the mark till its death.'" and so it is--there is no more to add; it is as if written by the finger of god. and so it must be, or what would our love be worth? "but it is not all who understand it, even the half. human beings are so strange--wondering and asking always--people ask, for instance, why i am always so lonely.... they cannot see that i am not lonely at all. "olof, if you knew all i have felt and suffered in these years! i hardly know if i dare tell you. but i must--i only turn to you now to say it all, so that i may feel easier after. i have longed for you so--more than i can ever say; i wonder how i have been able to live at all. olof, olof, do not look at me! i have only come to whisper a little in your ear.... i have had such dreadful thoughts. as if someone were always behind me whispering, 'look, there is a knife--it is a friend; take it and press it deep in your breast--it will feel like the softest touch of the evening wind. look, the river is in flood....' and i have hardly dared to pass by the well, for it looked up at me so strangely with its dark eye. and i know i should have given way if you had not saved me. when i thought how you would feel if you heard what i had done, i seemed to see you so clearly; you looked at me reproachfully, only looked at me without a word, and i felt ashamed that i had ever thought of what would cause you sorrow. and you nodded, and forgave me, and all was well again. "then i took to hoping that some miracle should bring you back to me. i hoped something might happen to you, so that i could buy your life with mine. you might be bitten by a snake--it does happen sometimes. coming up one night with the lumbermen, and then next morning the news would be all over the place, how you had been bitten, and were on the point of death; and i would hurry down with the rest to where you were, and bend down beside you, and press my lips to the place and draw the poison out. and then i could feel it passing with your blood into my veins, in a great wave of happiness. and soon i should sink down beside you on the grass; but you would be saved, and you would know i had been true to you until death. "so i waited year after year. then i wanted you to be ill--very, very ill for a long time, and weak, till your heart could hardly beat at all for want of blood, and you lay in a trance. then the doctors would say, if anyone would give their blood he might come to life again. but no one could be found, for there were only strangers there. then i hear about it, and come quickly, and the doctors start at once, for there is no time to be lost. and they draw off my blood and let it flow into your body, and it acts at once, and you move a little, though you are still in a trance. 'a little more,' say the doctors--'see, the girl is smiling; it will do her no harm.' and they only see that i smile, and do not know how weak i am already. and when you wake, i am cold and pale already, but happy as a bride, and you kiss me on the lips like a lover. for now i am your bride, and one with you for ever, and i cannot die, for my blood lives in you! "but all this was only dreams. you were not ill, nor bitten by a snake, and at last i did not even know where you were. and then i wanted to die, for i felt so weak. and i waited for it day after day and month after month--i had already written to say good-bye to you. but death did not come--i had to go on living. "i have been so ill, olof--it is my heart. perhaps i am too sensitive; they called me a dreamer when i was a child. and even now that i am older they have said the same. but how could i ever forget you, and the hours that were the confession and communion of my whole life? how could i forget those evenings when i sat at your feet and looked into your eyes? olof, i can feel it all still, and tremble at the thought of it. "you must forgive me all this. it feels easier now that i have spoken to you and told you about it all--how i still feel, grateful to you for all you gave me then. i was very childish and poor then, and had nothing to give you in return--now, afterwards, i could perhaps have given you something too. i should have been so happy if we could have been together always; earth would have been like heaven, and none but angels everywhere. and even now i can be so happy, though i only have you in secret. secretly i say good-night to you, and kiss you, and no one knows that you rest every night in my arms. and, do you know, olof, there is one thing that is so strange, i hardly know what it means. now, just lately, i have felt sometimes that you were really here, your living self, sitting beside me and whispering that i was yours, your love, your friend. and it makes me so happy--but i always cry afterwards. "there was one thing more--but i can't think what it was. something about ... yes, now i remember. the greatest and loveliest of all, that i asked you for shall i tell you? the miracle has happened, though no one knows about it. you gave it me after all, that spring when i was so ill. and i could not live without it. he is two years old now--oh, if you could only see him! his eyes and his voice--they are just your very own. do not be anxious about him. i will be so careful, and see that he grows up a fine man. i have sewed every stitch of his clothes myself, and he looks like a prince--there never was such a child. we are always together, and talking of you. i am sorry for mother sometimes; she looks so strangely at me, and says i go about talking to myself--but how could she know of my prince and his father, and why i talk? talking to myself, she says. but i am talking to the child all the time. "there, and what more was i going to say? i can't remember now. i feel so much better now i have told you all about it. and now the summer is coming--i always feel happier then. it was raining before, but now the sun has come out and the birds are singing. and so good-bye, my dearest, my sunshine, my summer.--your own clematis. "do not write to me--i am better as i am. i know you have not forgotten me, that you could not forget ... and that is all i ask." the mark olof was growing uneasy--a feeling of insecurity had come over him. the air seemed full of mysterious forces, whispering together and joining in alliance against him. it had all looked clear and simple enough before. no one had ever stood in his way or threatened his plans. but now something was threatening him--something unknown, mysterious, but which he could not help feeling all the time. he made every effort to resist--to gather arms and allies against what was to come. his project for draining the marsh was the first thing; he went about from one homestead to another, talking to the men one by one, and trying to interest them in the idea. a general meeting was held, and he made a great speech, putting out all his powers of persuasion; his voice rang with a convincing strength, and his words carried weight. and to begin with, all went well enough; it was agreed that an expert should be called in to investigate the whole question, and work out the probable cost of the undertaking. but then came a period of waiting and inactivity, which sapped his strength anew. he had to seek about for some fresh task, for new difficulties to meet and overcome, in order to regain his confidence in himself. and so for a week he roved about in the forest between his own and the neighbouring parishes. at last he found what he sought--the line for a new road, better and quicker than the old one. it was a fine idea, that no one could deny. it would be a great gain to all in hirviyoki, especially for those in the outlying parts; it meant a saving of miles on their way to the railway, the mills, and other centres. and so once more olof went from house to house, seeking adherents among the most influential men, so as to crush opposition before the matter was taken up for general discussion. he started with those nearest at hand, working gradually farther out. "is this inkala?" asked olof of a serving-girl, as he entered the courtyard; he did not know the place, nor who lived there. "this is inkala--yes," answered the girl. "is the master at home?" "no; he went off to muurila this morning." "h'm. and when's he coming back?" "don't know at all. but maybe mistress'll know. if you'd go in by the front way, i'll tell her." olof walked up the front steps. hardly had he entered the room when a slender, fair-haired woman appeared from within. "good-day to ..." olof began; but the greeting died on his lips, and a shiver passed through his body. the woman stopped still; her lips moved, but uttered no word. stiffly, uneasily, they looked at each other. a glimpse of the past, a sequence of changes, things new and things familiar--the vision of a moment, seen in a flash. a warm flush spread over the woman's cheeks, and she stepped forward without hesitation to greet the newcomer. "welcome, olof," she said, with frank kindness, though her voice trembled slightly. "and is it really you? sit down.'" but olof stood still, unable to recover himself. "i dare say you're surprised to--to find me here," went on the woman, trying to speak easily and naturally, though her features and the look in her eyes revealed a certain emotion. "i have been here for four years now." she stopped, and cast down her eyes in confusion. "really--four years, is it as long as that...?" olof stammered out the words awkwardly, and could say no more. "but you've heard no news of me, i suppose, and my being here. i knew a little about you, though--that you had come back and were living near...." "yes, yes.... no, i had no idea ... i came prepared to find only strangers, and then ... to meet you here ... so far from...." "yes, it is a long way from my home." the woman grasped eagerly at something to talk of. "and it's all so different here, though it's not so far, after all, counting the miles. it was very strange and new at first, of course, but now i like it well enough. and we often go over to the old place, and father and mother come to see us here...." "yes, yes.... and how are they at home? your mother and father?" olof asked, with a ring of pleasant recollection in his voice. "finely, thank you. father was bad for a time last winter, but he's got over it now, or nearly...." she broke off and glanced at the door. it was thrust open a little, and a child's head looked in. she stepped hastily across the room. "what do you want in here? can't you see here are visitors--and you with your dirty overall on?" "i wanted to see," said the little man stubbornly, with childish insistence, and clung to his mother. olof looked at the child as at a vision. the woman stood, pale and confused, holding the boy by the hand. "come along, then, and say good-day," she stammered at last, hardly knowing what she did. the boy came forward, and stood holding olof's knees, looking up into his face. child and man gazed at each other without a word or movement, as if each were seeking for some explanation. "i haven't seen you before," said the child at last. "do you live a long way away?" olof felt himself trembling. the child's first words had set his heart beating wildly. "but you mustn't stay here, dear," said the woman hastily, and led the boy away. "go into the next room a little--mother's coming soon." the child obeyed without a word, but in the doorway he turned, and again looked wonderingly at his mother and the strange man.... * * * * * olof was gone; the young mistress of inkala sat alone in her room. thinking it over now, it seemed like a dream. was it indeed olof she had seen? or had she been dreaming in broad daylight? it had seemed natural enough at first. both were surprised, of course, at the unexpected meeting, but soon they had found themselves talking calmly enough. but the entry of the child had brought a touch of something strange and unspeakable--it seemed to change them all at once to another footing, bringing up a reckoning out of the past. true, she had wondered now and again if fate would ever bring her face to face with olof again--if he would ever see the child. but she had put the thought aside as painful to dwell upon. and now, here they were, those two; no stranger but would at once have taken them for father and son, though in truth there was no kinship between them. it was as if she were suddenly called upon to answer for her life. first it was her son that questioned her, standing in the doorway, looking at both with his innocent eyes. and then--a triple reckoning--to olof, to her husband, and to god. until that day, her secret had been known to none but god and herself. and now--he knew it, he, the one she had resolved should never know. and the third stood there too, like one insistent question, waiting to know.... "daisy....?" she would have told him, frankly and openly, as she herself understood it. how she had longed for him and the thought of him, and never dreamed that she could ever love another! until at last he came--her husband. how good and honest and generous he had been--willing to take her, a poor cottage girl, and make her mistress of the place. and how she herself had felt so weak, so bitterly in need of friendship and support, until at last she thought she really loved him. no, she could not tell him that--it would have been wrong every way--as if she had a different explanation for each. and to olof she said only: "i loved him, it is true. but our first child--you saw yourself. it's past understanding. it must have been that i could not even then forget--that first winter. i can find no other way...." olof sat helplessly, as in face of an inexplicable riddle. then she went on, speaking now to god, while olof was pondering still. "you know ... you know it all! i thought i had freed myself from him, but it was not so. my heart was given to him, and love had marked it with his picture, so that life had no other form for me. and then, when i loved again, and our first-born lay beneath my heart.... all that was in my thoughts that, time ... and after, when the child was to be born ... the struggle in my mind ... how i did not always wish myself it should be otherwise--dearly as i have paid for it since...." and at last, in a whisper, she spoke to her husband: "it was terrible--terrible. for your sake, because you had been so good--you, the only one i love. it was as if i were faithless to you, and yet i know my heart was true. i would have borne the secret alone, that is why i have never spoken of it to you before. but now i must--and it hurts me that any should have known it before." olof was waiting--she could see it in his eyes. "you know, i need not tell you how it has made me suffer," she said, turning towards him. "and when the second time came, and i was again to be a mother, i wept and prayed in secret--and my prayer was heard. it was a girl--and her father's very image. and after that i felt safe, and calm again...." she marked how olof sighed, how the icy look seemed to melt from his eyes. and she herself felt an unspeakable tenderness, a longing to open her heart to him. of all she had thought of in those years of loneliness--life and fate and love.... had he too, perhaps, thought of such things? and what had he come to in the end? she herself felt now that when two human beings have once been brought together by fate, once opened their hearts fully to each other, it is hard indeed for either to break the tie--hardest of all for the woman. and _first_ love is so strong--because one has dreamed of it and waited for it so long, till like a burning glass it draws together all the rays of one's being, and burns its traces ineffaceably upon the soul.... but his tongue was tied, as if they had been altogether strangers during those past years; as if they had nothing, after all, to say to each other but this one thing. and it was of this he was thinking now--with thoughts heavy as sighs. "life is so--and what is done cannot be undone--there is no escape...." those were olof's words--all that he found to say to her in return. "escape? no! all that has once happened sets its mark on us, and follows us like a shadow; it will overtake us some day wherever we may go--i have learned that at least, and learned it in a way that is not easy to forget." "you--have you too...?" again she felt that inexpressible tenderness, the impulse to draw nearer to him. how much they would have to say to each other--the thoughts and lessons of all those years! she knew it well enough for her own part, and from his voice, too, she knew it was the same. and yet, it could not be. they seemed so very near each other, but for all that wide apart; near in the things of the past, but sundered inevitably in the present. their hearts must be closed to each other--it showed in their eyes, and nothing could alter that. ... what happened after she hardly knew. had they talked, or only thought together? she remembered only how he had risen at last and grasped her hand. "forgive me," he said, with a strange tremor in his voice, as if the word held infinitely much in itself. and she could only stammer confusedly in return: "forgive...!" she hardly knew what it was they had asked each other to forgive, only that it was something that had to come, and was good to say, ending and healing something out of the past, freeing them at last each from the other.... one thing she remembered, just as he was going. she had felt she must say it then--a sincere and earnest thought that had often been in her mind. "olof--i have heard about your wife. and i am so glad she is--as she is. it was just such a wife you needed ... it was not everyone could have filled her place...." had she said it aloud? she fancied so--or was it perhaps only her eyes that had spoken? it might be so. one thing was certain--he had understood it, every word--she had read so much in his eyes. and then he had gone away--hurriedly, as one who has stayed too long. the pilgrimage visitors coming! oho--indeed! the cat is sitting on the threshold, licking her paws. but olof sits deep in thought, whittling at the handle of a spade. a stillness as in church--no sound but the rasp of the knife blade on the wood, and the slow ticking of a clock. olof works away. the wood he cuts is clean and white, his shirt is clean and white--kyllikki had washed it. kyllikki has gone out. the cat is making careful toilet, as for a great occasion. visitors coming! already steps are heard outside. the door creaks, the cat springs into the middle of the room in a fright; olof looks up from his work. enters a young woman, elegantly dressed, her hair town-fashion up on her head, under a coquettish summer hat--a scornful smile plays about the corners of her mouth. she stands hesitating a moment, as if uncertain what to say. "good-day," she says at last, with assumed familiarity, and taking a hasty step forward, offers her hand. olof scans her in silence from head to foot--surely he should know her?--and yet, who can she be...? he _will_ not recognise her. "aha! you look surprised! don't know me--don't you? your own darling!'" she laughs harshly, contemptuously. "or perhaps you have seen so many others since--rowans and berries and flowers--that you can't, remember one from another?" olof's hand trembles, and his face turns white as the sleeves of his shirt. the woman laughs again boldly, and flings herself on the sofa in a careless pose. "well, here we are again--staring at each other--what? didn't use to stare that way, did we? what do you say?" olof has fallen into a seat; he looks at her, but makes no answer. "and your princess--is she at home, may i ask?" "no!" olof answers with an angry ring in his voice. the woman marks it, and draws herself up, as if in answer to a challenge. "good! i've no business with her. but i've something to say to you. and maybe it's best for her she's away. she'd not be over pleased to see me, i fancy." the words shot like venom from her tongue--a sting from laughing lips. her callousness seems to freeze him--while his blood boils at the insult to kyllikki. he is about to speak: "say what you will, but not an evil word of her!"--when the woman goes on: "well, it's no good sitting here solemn as an owl! i just thought i'd look you up--it's a long time since we met, isn't it? let's have a little talk together--talk of love, for instance. i've learned a deal about that myself since the old days." olof was all ice now--the bold, scornful look in her eyes, and her short, bitter laugh froze every kindlier feeling in him. then suddenly the scornful smile vanishes from her face. "curse you all!" she cries wildly. "oh, i know what men are now!" she stamps her foot violently. "beasts--beasts, every one of you--only that some wear horns and others not, and it makes but little difference after all.... "ay, you may stare! you're one of them yourself--though maybe just so much above the ruck of them that i'm willing to waste words on you. listen to me!" she springs to her feet and moves towards him. "i hate you and despise you every one. oh, i could tear the eyes out of every man on this earth--and yours first of all!" a wild hatred flames in her big brown eyes, her face is contorted with passion; she is more like a fury than a human being. "and as for your love ..." she went on, flinging herself down on the sofa once more. "ay, you can twitter about it all so prettily, can't you?--till you've tempted us so near that the beast in you can grab us with its claws! love--who is it you love? shall i tell you? 'tis _yourselves_! you beasts! we're just pretty dolls, and sweet little pets to be played with, aren't we? until you fall on us with your wolfish lust ... 'tis all you think or care for--just that!" she spoke with such intensity of feeling that olof never thought of saying a word in defence--he felt as if he were being lashed and beaten--violently, yet no worse than he deserved. "well, why don't you say something? aren't you going to stand up for your sex? why don't you turn me out, eh? fool--like the rest of you! what is it you offer us, tell me that? your bodies! and what else? your bodies again--ugh! and sweet words enough as long as you want us; but as soon as you've had your fill--you turn over on the other side and only want to sleep in peace...." she gave him one long scornful glance, and sat silent for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak. "well--what are you sitting there writhing about for like a sick cat? what's the matter now? oh, you're married, aren't you?--living in the state of holy matrimony ... take a wife and cleave to her ... one flesh, and all the rest of it ... flesh! ugh! holy matrimony indeed! as if that could hide the filth and misery of it all! no! beasts glaring over the fence at what you want--and when it pleases you to break it down, why not? and your wives--shall i tell you what they are to you--what they know they are? the same as we others, no more ... your...." a dark flush rose to olof's cheeks, and he broke in violently: "you ... you...." "oh yes, i'm coarse and vulgar and all the rest of it, yes, i know. but what about you men? you're worse than all! marriage--it's all very well for the children. and even that.... wasn't it the men that wanted the state to take over all children, what? a pretty thought--leave your young behind you where you please--and the state to look after them. make love free and beautiful. oh yes. and we're to have all the pain and trouble--and the state to pay--noble and generous, aren't you? what other beast gave you that grand idea, i wonder? the dogs that run in the streets...?" olof sat motionless, watching her passionate outburst as if fascinated. and beneath the ghastly mask he seemed to see the face of a young, innocent girl, with childish, trusting eyes, and.... "no, it's no good your trying that," the woman broke in. "i know what you're thinking of now. you hate me, loathe me, as i am now. and you're asking yourself if it really can be the same little bit of a child that used to sit on your knee and look up to you as if you were god himself! no--i'm not--there's nothing left but bitterness. can't you understand? oh, we're coarse and sour and harsh and all the rest--all that you've made us. but i'll tell you what we are besides--ourselves, _ourselves_, for all that!" she rose up from the sofa, and crossing the room, sat down on a chair close to where olof was seated. then, lowering her voice a little, she went on, as if striving with words and look to penetrate his soul: "we are women--do you know what that means? and we long for love--all of us, good or bad--or, no, there is neither good nor bad among us, we are alike. we long for you, and for love. but how? ah, you should know! answer me, as you would to god himself: _of all the women you have known, has any one of them ever craved your body_? answer, and speak the truth!" "no--no ... it is true!" stammered olof confusedly. "good that you can be honest at least. and that is just what makes the gulf between us. for you, the body is all and everything, but not for us. we _can_ feel the same desire, perhaps--after you have taught us. but the thing we long for in our innermost heart--you never give us. you give us moments of intoxication, no more. and we are foolish enough to trust you. we are cheated of our due, but we hope on; we come to you and beg and pray for it, until at last we realise that you _can_ give us nothing but what in itself, by itself, only fills us with loathing...." olof breathed hard, as in a moment's respite at the stake, with the lash still threatening above his head. "yes, that is your way. you take us--but why will you never take us wholly? you give us money, or fine clothes, a wedding ring even--but never yourselves, never the thing we longed for in you from the first. you look on love as a pastime only; for us, it is life itself. but you never understand, only wash your hands of it all, and go your own ways self-satisfied as ever." olof was ashy pale and his eyelids quivered nervously. the woman's face had lost its scornful look, the hardness of her features had relaxed. she was silent a moment, and when she spoke again, seemed altogether changed. she spoke softly and gently, with a tremor in her voice. "even you, olof, even you do not understand. i know what you are thinking now. you ask, what right have i to reproach you, seeing that i was never yours as--as the others were? it is true, but for all that you were more closely bound to me, with a deeper tie, than with the others. what do i care for them? they do not matter--it is nothing to me if they ever existed or not. but you and i--we were united, though perhaps you cannot understand.... olof! when i sat close to you, in your arms, i felt that my blood belonged to you, and that feeling i have never altogether lost. it is you i have been seeking through all these years--you, and something to still the longing you set to grow in my soul. men fondled me with coarse hands, and had their will of me--and i thought of _your_ caresses; it was with you, with you i sinned!" the sweat stood out in beads on olof's brow--the torture was almost more than he could bear. "i know, i know!" he would have said. "say no more--i know it all!" but he could not frame a single word. she moved nearer, watching him closely. and slipping to the floor beside him, she clasped his knees. "olof--don't look like that!" she cried. "don't you see, it is not you alone i mean. tear out your eyes--no, no, i didn't mean it, olof! oh, i am mad--we are all mad, we have sinned.... do not hate me, do not send me away. i am worthless now, i know, but it was you i loved, olof, you and no other." olof writhed in horror, as if all his past had come upon him suddenly like a monster, a serpent that was crushing him in its toils. "no, let me stay a little yet, do not send me away. only a moment, olof, and i will go. no, i will not reproach you--you did not know me then. and i knew nothing--how should we have known?" she was silent for a moment, watching his face. then she went on: "tell me one thing--those others--have any of them come to you--since? ah, i can see it in your eyes. none who have known you could ever forget. if only you had been like all the rest--we do not long for them when they are gone. but you were--you. and a woman must ever come back to the man that won her _heart_. we may think we hate him, but it is not true. and when life has had its way with us, and left us crushed and soiled--then we come back to him, as--how shall i say it?--as to holy church--no, as pilgrims, penitents, to a shrine ... come back to look for a moment on all that was pure and good ... to weep over all that died so soon...." her voice broke. she thrust aside the piece of wood he had been holding all the time, and sent it clattering to the floor; then grasping his hands, she pressed them to her eyes, and hid her head in his lap. olof felt the room darkening round him. he sat leaning forward, with his chin on his breast; heavy tears dropped from his eyes like the dripping of thawed snow from the eaves in spring. for a long while they sat thus. at last the woman raised her head, and looked with tear-stained eyes into his. "olof, do not be harsh with me. i had to come--had to ease my heart of all that has weighed it down these years past. i have suffered so. and when i see you now, i understand you must have your own sorrows to bear. forgive me all the cruel things i said. i had to say it all, that too, or i could not have told you anything; i wanted to cry the moment i saw you. your wife--did i say anything? oh, i do not hate her, you must not think i hate her. i can't remember what i said. but i am happier now, easier now that i have seen you." her glance strayed from his face, and wandered vaguely into distance, as if she had been sitting alone in the twilight, dreaming. "olof," she said after a while, turning to him with a new light in her eyes, "do you know, a pilgrimage brings healing. it is always so in books--the pilgrims are filled with hope, and go back with rejoicing to their home.... home...!" she started, as if wakening at the word. "should i go home, i wonder? what do you say, olof? father and mother--they would be waiting for me. i know they would gladly take me back again, in spite of all. do you know, olof, i have not been home for two years now. i have been.... oh no, i cannot, bear to think.... yes, i will go home. only let me sit here just a little while, and look into your eyes--as we used to do. i will be stronger after that." and she sat looking at him. but olof stared blankly before him, as at some train of shadowy visions passing before his eyes. "you have changed, olof, since i saw you last," murmured the woman at his feet. "have you suffered?..." olof did not answer. he pressed his lips together, and great tears gathered anew in his eyes. "oh, life is cruel!" she broke out suddenly, and hid her face in his lap once more. for a moment she lay thus; deep, heavy silence seemed to fill the room. at last she looked up. "i am going now," she said. "but, olof, are we...?" she looked at him, hoping he would understand. he took both her hands in his. "are you going--home?" he asked earnestly. "yes, yes. but tell me--are we...?" "yes, yes." he uttered the words in a sigh, as if to himself. then, pressing her hand, he rose to his feet. staggering like a drunken man, he followed her to the door, and stood looking out after her as she went. then the night mist seemed to rise all about him, swallowing up everything in its clammy gloom. the reckoning he sits deep in thought. not a sound in the room. then a knocking.... the man starts, rises to his feet, and stares about him with wide eyes, as if unable to recognise his surroundings. he glances towards the door, and a shudder of fear comes over him--are they coming to torture him again? furiously he rushes to the door and flings it wide. "come in, then!" he cries. "come in--as many as you please! rags or finery, sane or mad, in--in! i've hung my head long enough! bid them begone--and they come again--well, come in and have done. bring out your reckoning, every one. here's what's left of me--come and take your share!" but he calls to the empty air. and his courage fails as he looks into the blank before him--as a warrior seeking vainly for enemies in ambush. slowly he closes the door, and goes back again. a knocking.... "ghosts, eh? invisible things? come in, then--i'm ready." and he faces about once more. again the knocking--and now he perceives a little bird seated outside on the window-sill, peeping into the room. "you, is it? away--off to the woods with you! this is no place for innocent things. or what did you think to find? greedy, evil eyes, and groans, and hearts dripping blood. to the woods, and stay there, out of reach of all this misery!" but the bird lifts its head, and looks into his eyes. "do you hear? away, go away!" he taps at the window-pane himself. the bird flies off. * * * * * once more cold fear comes over him; his pulses halt in dread. "not yet--not yet--no! one by one, to tear me slowly to pieces. shadows of vengeance, retribution, following everywhere; burning eyes glaring at me from behind, fear that makes me tremble at every sound, and start in dread at every stranger's face. and if i forget for a moment, and think myself free, one of them comes again ... ghosts, ghosts...." he sat down heavily. "why do they follow me still? is it not enough that i have lived like a hunted beast so long? because i loved you once? and what did we swear to each other then--have you forgotten? never to think of each other but with thankfulness for what each had given! we were rich, and poured out gold with open hands--why do you come as beggars now? and talk of poverty--as if i were not poorer than any of you all! or do you come to mourn, to weep with me over all that we have lost? "but still you come and ask, and ask, as if i were your debtor, and would not pay. mad thought! i was your poet, and made you songs of love. life was a poem, and love red flowers between. what use to tell me now that the poem was a promise, the red flowers figures on a score that i must pay? go, and leave me in peace! i cannot pay! you know--you know i have pawned all i had long since--all, to the last wrack!" his own thought filled him with new horror; drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. "and you, that have suffered most of all--what had i left for you? you, a princess among the rest, the only one that never looked up to me humbly, but stepped bravely to meet me as an equal. yours was the hardest lot of all--for i gave you the dregs of my life, rags that a beggar would despise...." suddenly he felt an inward shock; his heart seemed to check for a moment, then went on beating violently; the blood rushed to his head. again the check, followed by the same racing heart-beat as before.... instinctively he grasped his wrist to feel his pulse. a few quick beats, a pause, then on again--what is it? the fear of death was on him now, and he sprang up as if thinking of flight. gradually the fit passes off; he stands waiting, but it does not return, only a strange feeling of helplessness remains--helplessness and physical fear. he sits down again. "was that you, life, that struck so heavy a blow? have you come for your reckoning, too? like an innkeeper, noting this and that upon the score, and calling for payment at last? i should know you by now--i have seen a glimpse of your face before.... "'tis a heavy book you bring. well, what shall we take first? that? yes, of course--it was always the heaviest item with us. my father ... what was it mother told of him? and his father before him.... "look back, you say? back along the tracks i made long ago? good--i look; you go about your business in the proper way, i see. if you had come with sermons, and talk of sin and heaven and hell, i'd leave you to preach alone--none of that for me. i know ... that love is in our flesh and blood, drawing us like a magnet--in our day, none draws back a single step of his way for the fear of sin and hell--there is always time to repent and be forgiven later on! but your book shows our acts on this side, and what comes of them on that--and we stand with bowed heads, seeing how all is written in our own blood." he stared before him, as if at something tangible and real. "yes, there's the book, and there is my account. all these strokes and lines--what's that? something i can't make out. here's my road, there are my doings--that i understand. and here are all that i've had dealings with. but this mess of broken lines ... this way and that...? ah, consequences! is that it? well, well.... all these run together at one point--that's clear enough--myself, of course. but these others running out all ways, endlessly.... what's that you say? more consequences, but to others! "no, no! not all that! something of the sort i was prepared for--but all that? is it always so in your book--is everything set down?" "all that leaves any trace behind--all acts that make for any consequence!" "all? but man is a free agent--this does not look like freedom." "free to act, yes, but every act knits the fine threads of consequence--that can decide the fate of a life!" "no--no! close the book--i have seen enough! who cares to think of a book with lines and threads of consequence, when fate is kind, and all seems easy going? i laughed at those who wasted their youth in prayer and fasting. and i laughed at the laws of life, for i could take love, and enjoy it without fear of any tie--i was proud to feel myself free, to know that none had any claim on me--no child could call me father. but now, after many years, come those who speak of ties i never dreamed of. here was a mother showing me a child--i had never touched her that way, yet you come and tell me there are laws i know nothing of. and when i beg and pray of you to grant me a child for myself and for her to whom it is life and death, you turn your back, and cry scornfully: 'laugh, and take love, and enjoy--you have had your will!'" again the terrifying sense of physical distress--of something amiss with heart and pulse. he sat waiting for a new shock, wondering if, perhaps, it would be the last ... the end.... the door opened. "olof! here i am at last--am i very late?... why, what is the matter?... olof...!" kyllikki hurried over to him. with an effort he pulled himself together, and answered calmly, with a smile: "don't get so excited--you frightened me! it's nothing ... nothing.... i felt a little giddy for the moment, that was all. i've had it before --it's nothing to worry about. pass off in a minute...." she looked at him searchingly. "olof...?" "honestly, it is nothing." "it must be something to make you look like that. olof, what is it? i have noticed it before--though you always tried to pass it off...." "well, and if it is," he answered impatiently, "it need not worry you." "olof, can you say that of anything between us two?" he was silent for a moment. "why not," he said at last, "if it is something that could only add needlessly to the other's burden?" "then more than ever," answered kyllikki warmly. she hurried into the next room and returned with a coverlet. "you are tired out, olof--lie down and rest." with tender firmness she forced him to lie down, and spread it over him. "and now tell me all about it--it's no good trying to put it off with me. you know what i am." she sat down beside him and stroked his forehead tenderly. olof was silent for a moment. then he decided. he would tell her all. "yes--i know you," he said softly, taking her hand in his. * * * * * it was growing dark when they sat up. both were pale and shaken with emotion, but they looked at each other with a new light in their eyes, two human souls drawn closer together by hardship and sorrow. "stay where you are and rest a little, while i get the supper," said kyllikki, as olof would have risen. "and to-morrow--we can begin the new day," she added. and, stooping down, she kissed him lightly on the brow. waiting "the empty house, / / ." "your letter has just come--kyllikki, you cannot think how i have been longing for it. i would have sent the girl to the station, only i knew you would not write till it was post day here. "and you are well--that is the main thing; the only thing i care about these days. 'strong enough to move mountains'--i can't say the same about myself. i have been having a miserable time. i am sorry i let you go--or, rather, that i sent you. i thought i should feel less anxious about you if you were there, but far from it. why couldn't we have let it take place here? i am only now beginning to understand how completely we have grown together--i feel altogether helpless without you. if only it would come--and have it over, and you could be home again--you and the boy! "and then i have something to tell you that i would rather not touch on at all, but we must have no secrets from each other now, not even a thought! it is the old uneasiness--it has been coming over me ever since you went away--as if i could not find rest when you are not near. i cannot get away from a feeling that all is not over yet--that things are only waiting for a favourable moment to break loose again. try to understand me. you know how i suffered those two years when we prayed in vain for that which is granted to the poorest. and you know how i was almost beyond myself with joy when at last our prayers were heard. but now, when it is only a matter of days before it comes in reality--now, i am all overcome with dread. it will go off all right, the thing itself, i know--you are strong and healthy enough. but there is an avenging god, an invisible hand, that writes its _mene tekel_ at the very hour when joy is at its height. think, if the one we are waiting for--it is horrible to think of!--if it should be wrong somehow, in body or soul--what could i do then? nothing, only bow my head and acknowledge that the arm of fate had reached me at last. you cannot think what a dreadful time i had all alone here last evening. i cried and prayed that vengeance might not fall on you and him--the innocent--but on me alone--if all i have suffered up to now is not enough. and then a woodpecker came and sat outside under the window, with its eerie tapping. and a little after came a magpie croaking on the roof, like a chuckling fiend. it made me shudder all over. i dare say you will laugh at my weakness. but it might be one of those mysterious threads of fate. i have seen the like before--and you know how ill and nervous i was ... at the time.... now i have read your letter i feel calmer, but i know i shall not get over it altogether till i have seen him with my own eyes. forgive me for writing about this, but i had to tell you. and i know it will not hurt you. "but then i have been happy as well. i have been getting everything ready in your room--yours and his! you will see it all when you come, but i must tell you a little about it now. i have put down cork matting all over the floor, to keep out the draught. but when i had done it, i had a sort of guilty feeling. only a bit of matting--nothing much, after all--but it came into my mind that many children have to run about on bare floors where the cold can nip their feet through the cracks. and i felt almost as if i ought to pull it all up again. but, after all, it was for _him_--and what could be too good for him! i would lay it double in his room! "i have some good news for you. the perakorpi road is already begun. and then some bad news--the drainage business looks like being given up altogether--just when everything was ready, and we were going to start. just quarrelling and jealousy among the people round--real peasant obstinacy, and of course with tapola antti at the head. a miserable lot! i should like to knock some of them down. i have fought as hard as i could for it, thundering like moses at sinai, and sacrificing the golden calf. the thing must go through at any cost. if they will not back me up, then i will start the work alone. and there are not many of them, anyway--we are to have a meeting again to-morrow. "and then, when you come home, i can set to work in earnest. if only _he_ may turn out as i hope--then perhaps one day we might work on it together. i wish i had wings--then i should not need to sit sweating over this wretched paper! "keep well and strong, and may all good angels watch over you both!--your impatient.... "write soon--at once!" " _september_ . "dear,--your letter was like a beating of your own heart. yourself in every word--and it showed me a side of your nature that i care for more than i can tell. "you are anxious--but there is nothing to be anxious about. how could there ever be anything wrong with _our_ child--in body or soul? of course we must expect more troubles yet--but that has nothing to do with the child! i know you were in low spirits then, but body and soul were sound enough. and i feel so well and strong and happy now myself that it _must_ be passed on to him--even if he were a stone! and then i am all overflowing with love for you and confidence in the future. and i shall feed him with it too, and then he will be the same. all that about the magpie and the woodpecker--you read it wrongly, that is all. the magpie simply came to give you my love--poor thing, she can't help having an ugly voice! and then the woodpecker--don't you see, it was just pecking out the worms from the timber--there must be no worm-eaten timber in _his_ home! that's what it meant. "but i am glad you wrote about it all the same. for it showed me that he will be as we hope. now i understand how terribly you must have suffered these last years. you'd never make a criminal, olof; even i, a woman, could commit a crime with colder courage. oh, but i love you for it! and you don't know how glad i am to think my child's father is like that. a wakeful, tender conscience--that is the best thing you can give him, though you give him so much. "i know it will be a boy--and i can feel in my blood that he will be just the son to work with his father as you said. "and then about his room--you take my breath away! i can see you are making preparations as if for a queen and an heir to the throne. i ought to tell you to undo it all again; but who could ever tell anyone to undo what was done in love--for it was for love you did it, not for show. "so you are already fighting for your draining project; it is just as well, it will be worth the more. anyhow, i know you will win. fight as hard as you like, fight for me and for him. it is only a pity he can't set to work at once and help you. "we too are longing to be home again. and perhaps it will not be so long now. but if it has to be, i can be patient as long as i must. we are better than ever now. do you know, i am so happy these days i have taken to singing, just as i used to do when i was a girl. what do you say to that? suppose he were to have a voice, and sing in the choir, and leave you to work at your drainage all by yourself! "my love, my love, i kiss you right in your heart. the warmest love from us both--i know you will be writing to us soon. "kyllikki (waiting to be a mother)." "his birthplace, _ th sept., a.m._ "father!--yes, that is what you are now. i can see your eyes light up. and a son, of course. at six o'clock this morning. all well, both going on finely; _he_ is simply a picture of health, big and strong and full of life. and such a voice! if you want a man to shout out orders to the workmen.... i haven't looked at him properly yet. he is lying here just beside me; i can see his hand sticking out between the clothes. a fine little hand, not just fat and soft and flabby, but big and strong--his father's hand. the very hand to drain a marsh, you wait and see. and his soul--ah, you should see his eyes! his father's eyes. now they won't let me write any more. i will tell you more next time. i have sent him a kiss with my eyes, from you--and there is a kiss for you in my thoughts. "kyllikki (the happy mother)." the homecoming the autumn sun was setting; it smiled upon the meadows, gleamed in the window-panes, and threw a kindly glow upon the distant forest. the air was cool. olof was in a strange mood to-day. he walked with light, springy step, and could not keep still for a moment; he was uneasy, and yet glad. he had sent a man to the station with a horse, and the little servant-maid had been dispatched on an errand to a distant village--he wished to be alone. he stepped hastily into the bedroom, gave a searching glance round, looked at the thermometer on the wall, and laughed. "aha--beginning to look all right now." then he went back to the sitting-room. the coffee-pot was simmering its quiet, cheerful song on the fire; close by lay a goodly heap of white pine logs. he lifted the pot from the fire, poured out a little of the coffee in a cup, and poured it back again. then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked up and down, smiling and whistling to himself. "wonder what she will think, when i don't come to the station to meet her there? but she'll understand... yes...." he went back to the fire, poured out another half-cup of coffee, and tasted it. "h'm--yes. it's good, i think it's good." he took a bit of rag, wiped the pot carefully, and set it back. then he looked at the clock. "they ought to be at aittamaki by now--or simola at least...." he stepped across to the cupboard, took out a white cloth and spread it on a tray, set out cups and saucers, cream jug and sugar bowl, and placed the tray on the table. "there--that looks all right!" again he glanced impatiently at the clock. "they'll be at the cross-roads now, at vaarakorva ... might take that little stretch at a trot ... if only they don't drive too hard. well, kyllikki'll look to that herself...." again he felt that curious sense of lightness--as if all that weighed and burdened had melted away, leaving only a thin, slight shell, that would hardly keep to earth at all. he tramped up and down, looking out of the window every moment, not knowing what to do with himself. "now!" he cried, looking at the clock again. "ten minutes more and they should be here!" he sprang to the fire and threw on an armful of fine dry wood. "there! now blaze up as hard as you like. bright eyes and a warm heart to greet them!" he went into the bedroom and brought out a tiny basket-work cradle, that he had made himself. the bedding was ready prepared, white sheets hung down over the side, and a red-patterned rug smiled warmly--at the head a soft pillow in a snow-white case. "there!" he set the cradle before the fire, and drew up the sofa close by. "he can lie there and we can sit here and look at him." and now that all was ready, a dizziness of joy came over him--it seemed too good to be true. he looked out through the window once more; went out on to the steps and gazed down the road. looked and listened, came back into the room, and was on the point of starting out to meet them, but thought of the fire--no, he could not leave the house. at last--the brown figure of a horse showed out from behind the trees at the turn of the road. and at the sight, his heart throbbed so violently that he could not move a step; he stood there, looking out through the window--at the horse and cart, at kyllikki with her white kerchief, and at the bundle in her arms. now they were at the gate. olof ran out bareheaded, dashing down the path. "welcome!" he shouted as he ran. "olof!" kyllikki's voice was soft as ever, and her eyes gleamed tenderly. "give him to me!" cried olof, stretching out his arms impatiently. and kyllikki smiled and handed him a tiny bundle wrapped in woollen rugs. olof's hands trembled as he felt the weight of it in his arms. "help her down, antti; and come back a little later on--i won't ask you in--not just now," he said confusedly to the driver. the man laughed, and kyllikki joined in. but olof took no heed--he was already on the way in with his burden. a few steps up the path he stopped, and lifted a corner of the wrappings with one hand. a tiny reddish face with two bright eyes looked up at him. a tremor of delight thrilled him at the sight; he clasped the bundle closer to his breast, as if fearing to lose it. hastily he covered up the little face once more, and hurried in. kyllikki watched him with beaming eyes. following after, she stood in the doorway and looked round, with a little cry of surprise and pleasure, taking it all in at a glance--the genial welcome of the blazing fire, the tiny bed,--he had told her nothing of this,--the sofa close by, and the tray set out on the table, and coffee standing ready.... but olof was bending over the cradle. "these things--is it safe to undo them?" he asked, fumbling with safety-pins. "yes, that's all right," laughed kyllikki, loosening her own cloak. olof had taken off the outer wrappings. he lifted the little arms, held the boy upright, looking at him critically, like a doctor examining recruits. "long in the limbs--and sound enough, by the look of him!" then he gazed earnestly into the child's face, with its wise, bright eyes, and seemed to find something there that promised well for the future. "dear little rascal!" he cried ecstatically, and tenderly he kissed the child's forehead. the boy made no sound, but seemed to be observing the pair. olof laid him down in the cradle. "can't he say anything? can't you laugh, little son?" he blinked his eyes, smacked his lips, and uttered a little whistling sound as if calling some shy bird--he had never seen anything like it; it seemed to come of itself. "laughing--he's laughing ... that's the way!" kyllikki was standing behind him, leaning against the sofa, watching them both. "and his hands! sturdy hands to drain a marsh! so mother was right, was she? ey, such a little fist! a real marsh-mole!" and he kissed the tiny hands delightedly. "but look at his nails--they want cutting already. ah, yes, mother knew father would like to do it himself, so she did." and he hurried to kyllikki's work-basket, and took out a small pair of scissors. "father'll manage it--come!" and he fell on his knees beside the bed. "don't be afraid--softly, softly--there! father's hands are none so hard, for all he's so big." he cut the nails, kissing the little fingers in between. the boy laughed. kyllikki leaned over towards them, smiling more warmly still. "there--now it's done! look at him, kyllikki! isn't he splendid?" and he turned towards her. "but what--what am i thinking of all the time! kyllikki, i haven't even kissed you yet. welcome, dear, welcome a thousand times!" he took her in his arms. "how well you look--and lovely! why, you look younger than ever! little mother--how shall i ever thank you for--this!" "it was your gift to me," said kyllikki softly, with a tender glance at the little bed. olof led her to a seat, and they talked together in the silent speech of the eyes that is for great moments only. * * * * * "why...!" olof sprang up suddenly. "i'm forgetting everything to-day. here i've made coffee all ready, and now...." he lifted the coffee-pot and set it on the tray. "did you make the coffee?" asked kyllikki, smiling in wonder. "and who else should do it on such a day? here!" and they sat down to table, without a word. * * * * * presently the child began to whimper. both rose to their feet. "what's the matter, then--did it hurt?" said kyllikki tenderly. she lifted the little one in her arms, and began talking to him with her eyes, and smiling, with delicious little movements of her head. the child began to laugh. without a word, she laid him in olof's arms. he thanked her with a look, and held the boy close to his breast. all else seemed to have vanished but this one thing. and he felt the warmth of the little body gradually spreading through clothes and wrappings to his own ... it was like a gentle, soft caress. it thrilled him--and the arms that held the little burden trembled; he could not speak, but handed it back in silence to the mother. she laid it in the cradle, set the pillow aright, and pulled up the coverlet, leaving only a little face showing above. "it is a great trust, to be given such a little life to care for," said olof, with a quiver in his voice, as they sat down on the sofa. "it seems too great a thing to be possible, somehow." "but it is," said kyllikki. "and do you know what i think? that forgiveness is a greater thing than punishment--and life knows it!" he nodded, and pressed her hand. again he glanced at the little red face on the pillow, and an expression of earnestness, almost of gloom, came over his own. "olof," said kyllikki softly, taking his hand, "will you tell me what you are thinking of just now?" he did not answer at once. "no, no--you need not tell me. i know. but why think of that now, olof? and you know--he at least, has a father and mother who have learned something of life; maybe he will not need to go through all we have done to get so far...." "ay, that was what i was thinking," said olof. and no more was said, but heartfelt wishes hovered protectingly about the little bed. * * * * * "look now!" cried kyllikki, after a while. "he's fallen asleep! isn't he lovely?" and warm sunshine seemed to fill the room--even to its darkest corner. "olof?" said kyllikki, with a questioning glance towards the door of the adjoining room. his face lit up, and together they stole on tiptoe to the door; olof opened it, and kyllikki stood on the threshold, looking into the little room--it was newly papered, and looked larger and brighter than before. she turned and took his hand--her eyes told him all she thought and felt. he put his arm round her waist, and his eyes lit with a sudden gleam of recollection. "i told you once," he said dreamily, as they walked back into the sitting-room, "how sister maya came to call me home, when i was still wandering about from place to place." "yes, i remember; it was so beautiful, olof--i shall never forget." "and how we came home after, and began...." they had reached the window now. "look!" said olof suddenly, pointing out. down in the valley lay the marsh of isosuo, spreading away almost immeasurably on every side. at the edge of the water two big channels were being cut, in front were a host of workmen clearing timber, while others behind them dug the channels in the soil. it was like the march of two great armies towards the land of the future. the setting sun cast its red glow over the powerful shoulders of the men as they worked, here and there a spade or an axe flashed for a moment; the water in the dykes glittered like silver, and the moist earth at the edge shone with a metallic gleam. "ah!" cried kyllikki joyfully. "the work has begun!" olof turned her gently from the window towards him, put his arms round her, and looked into her eyes, as if trying to sum up in a single glance all they had seen and suffered, lived through and hoped. "yes, the work has begun," he said softly, and held her closer to his breast. transcriber's notes: . passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. . punctuation and accents have been made consistent. . all hyphenation irregularities have been retained as printed. . advertisment decorative "grapes and leaves" separators have been converted to double asterisks "**". . the following word used the [oe] ligature in the original text and has been converted to "oe" in this e-text: vannam[oe]nen. everyman's library edited by ernest rhys romance kalevala, translated by w. f. kirby, f.l.s., f.e.s. corresponding member of the finnish literary society in two vols. vol. two +-------------------------------------+ | the publishers of _everyman's | | library_ will be pleased to send | | freely to all applicants a list of | | the published and projected volumes | | to be comprised under the following | | twelve headings: | |-------------------------------------| | travel ** science ** fiction | | | | theology & philosophy | | | | history ** classical | | | | for young people | | | | essays ** oratory | | | | poetry & drama | | | | biography | | | | romance | | | | [illustration] | |-------------------------------------| |in two styles of binding, cloth, flat| | back, coloured top, and leather, | | round corners, gilt top. | |-------------------------------------| | london: j. m. dent & co. | | new york: e. p. dutton & co. | +-------------------------------------+ [decorative border] a romance, and it me took to read & drive the night away chaucer [decorative border] kalevala the land of heroes translated from the original finnish · by w·f·kirby fls·fes. volume two [decoration] london: published by j·m·dent·&·co and in new york e·p·dutton & co richard clay & sons, limited, bread street hill, e.c., and bungay, suffolk. contents of vol. ii runo page xxvi. lemminkainen's journey to pohjola xxvii. the duel at pohjola xxviii. lemminkainen and his mother xxix. lemminkainen's adventures on the island xxx. lemminkainen and tiera xxxi. untamo and kullervo xxxii. kullervo and the wife of ilmarinen xxxiii. the death of ilmarinen's wife xxxiv. kullervo and his parents xxxv. kullervo and his sister xxxvi. the death of kullervo xxxvii. the gold and silver bride xxxviii. ilmarinen's new bride from pohjola xxxix. the expedition against pohjola xl. the pike and the kantele xli. vÄinÄmÖinen's music xlii. the capture of the sampo xliii. the fight for the sampo xliv. vÄinÄmÖinen's new kantele xlv. the pestilence in kalevala xlvi. vÄinÄmÖinen and the bear xlvii. the robbery of the sun and moon xlviii. the capture of the fire xlix. false and true moons and suns l. marjatta notes to runos xxvi-l glossary of finnish names kalevala runo xxvi.--lemminkainen's journey to pohjola _argument_ lemminkainen, greatly offended that he was not invited to the wedding, resolves to go to pohjola, although his mother dissuades him from it, and warns him of the many dangers that he will have to encounter ( - ). he sets forth and succeeds in passing all the dangerous places by his skill in magic ( - ). ahti dwelt upon an island, by the bay near kauko's headland, and his fields he tilled industrious, and the fields he trenched with ploughing, and his ears were of the finest, and his hearing of the keenest. heard he shouting in the village, from the lake came sounds of hammering, on the ice the sound of footsteps, on the heath a sledge was rattling, therefore in his mind he fancied, in his brain the notion entered, that at pohjola was wedding, and a drinking-bout in secret. mouth and head awry then twisting, and his black beard all disordered, in his rage the blood departed from the cheeks of him unhappy, and at once he left his ploughing, 'mid the field he left the ploughshare, on the spot his horse he mounted, and he rode directly homeward, to his dearest mother's dwelling, to his dear and aged mother. and he said as he approached her, and he called, as he was coming, "o my mother, aged woman, bring thou food, and bring it quickly, that the hungry man may eat it, and the moody man devour it, while they warm the bathroom for me, and the bathroom set in order, that the man may wash and cleanse him, and adorn him like a hero." then did lemminkainen's mother, bring him food, and bring it quickly, that the hungry man might eat it, and the moody man devour it, while they put the bath in order, and arranged the bathroom for him. then the lively lemminkainen quickly ate the food she gave him, hurried then into the bathroom, hastened quickly to the bathroom, there it was the finch now washed him, there the bullfinch washed and cleansed him, washed his head to flaxen whiteness, and his throat to shining whiteness. from the bath the room he entered, and he spoke the words which follow: "o my mother, aged woman, seek the storehouse on the mountain, bring me thence my shirt, the fine one, likewise bring the finest clothing, that i now may put it on me, and may fitly clothe me in it." but his mother asked him quickly, asked him thus, the aged woman, "whither goes my son, my dearest, dost thou go to hunt the lynxes, or to chase the elk on snowshoes, or perchance to shoot a squirrel?" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "o my mother who hast borne me, not to hunt the lynx i wander, nor to chase the elk on snowshoes, neither go i squirrel shooting, but i seek the feast at pohja, and the secret drinking-party, therefore fetch my shirt, the fine one, bring me, too, the finest clothing, that i hasten to the wedding, and may wander to the banquet." but his mother would forbid him, vainly would his wife dissuade him, two, whose like were not created, and three daughters of creation, sought to hold back lemminkainen back from pohjola's great banquet. to her son then said the mother, and her child advised the old one, "do not go, my son my dearest, o my dearest son, my kauko, go not to the feast at pohja, to that mansion's drinking-party, for indeed they did not ask you, and 'tis plain they do not want you." then the lively lemminkainen answered in the words which follow: "only bad men go for asking; uninvited good men dance there. there are always invitations, always a sufficient summons, in the sword with blade of sharpness, and the edge so brightly flashing." still did lemminkainen's mother do her utmost to restrain him. "go not, son, to sure destruction, unto pohjola's great banquet. full of terrors is thy journey, on thy way are mighty wonders, thrice indeed doth death await thee; thrice the man with death is threatened." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "death is only for the women, everywhere they see destruction; but a hero need not fear it, nor need take extreme precautions. but let this be as it may be, tell me that my ears may hear it, tell me the first death that waits me, tell the first and tell the last one." then said lemminkainen's mother, answered then, the aged woman: "i will tell the deaths that wait you, not as you would have me tell them; of the first death i will tell you, and this death is first among them. when a little way you've travelled on the first day of your journey, you will reach a fiery river, flaming right across your pathway, in the stream a cataract fiery, in the fall a fiery island, on the isle a peak all fiery, on the peak a fiery eagle, one who whets his beak at night-time, and his claws in daytime sharpens, for the strangers who are coming, and the people who approach him." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "this is perhaps a death for women, but 'tis not a death for heroes. for i know a plan already, and a splendid scheme to follow. i'll create, by songs of magic, both a man and horse of alder. they shall walk along beside me, and shall wander on before me, while i like a duck am diving, like a scoter duck am diving, 'neath the soaring eagle's talons, talons of the mighty eagle. o my mother, who hast borne me, tell me now of death the second." then said lemminkainen's mother, "such the second death that waits you: when a little way you've journeyed, on the second day of travel, you will reach a trench of fire, right across the path extending, ever to the east extending, north-west endlessly extending, full of stones to redness heated, full of blocks of stone all glowing, and a hundred there have ventured, and a thousand there have perished, hundreds with their swords have perished, and a thousand steel-clad heroes." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "such a death no man will perish, nor is this a death for heroes, for i know a trick already, know a trick, and see a refuge; and a man of snow i'll sing me, make of frozen snow a hero, push him in the raging fire, push him in the glowing torment, bathe him in the glowing bathroom, with a bath-whisk made of copper, i myself behind him pressing, pushing through the fire a pathway, that my beard unburnt remaineth, and my locks escape a singeing. o my mother who hast borne me, of the third death tell me truly." then said lemminkainen's mother, "such the third death that awaits you: when you've gone a little further, and another day have travelled, unto pohjola's dread gateway, where the pathway is the narrowest, then a wolf will rush upon you, and a bear for his companion, there in pohjola's dread gateway, where the pathway is the narrowest. hundreds have been there devoured, heroes have by thousands perished; wherefore should they not devour thee, kill thee likewise, unprotected?" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "perhaps a young ewe might be eaten, or a lamb be torn to pieces, not a man, how weak soever, not the sleepiest of the heroes! with a hero's belt i'm girded, and i wear a hero's armour, fixed with buckles of a hero, so be sure i shall not hasten, unto untamo's dread wolf's jaws, in the throat of that curst creature. "'gainst the wolf i know a refuge, 'gainst the bear i know a method; for the wolfs mouth sing a muzzle, for the bear sing iron fetters, or to very chaff will chop them, or to merest dust will sift them; thus i'll clear the path before me, reach the ending of my journey." then said lemminkainen's mother, "even yet your goal you reach not, there are still upon your pathway, on your road tremendous marvels. three terrific dangers wait you, three more deaths await the hero; and there even yet await you, on the spot the worst of marvels. "when a little way you've travelled, up to pohjola's enclosure, there a fence is reared of iron, and a fence of steel erected, from the ground to heaven ascending, from the heavens to earth descending. spears they are which form the hedgestakes, and for wattles, creeping serpents, thus the fence with snakes is wattled, and among them there are lizards, and their tails are always waving, and their thick heads always swelling, and their round heads always hissing, heads turned out, and tails turned inwards. "on the ground are other serpents, on the path are snakes and adders, and above, their tongues are hissing, and below, their tails are waving. one of all the most terrific lies before the gate across it, longer is he than a roof-tree, than the roof-props is he thicker, and above, his tongue is hissing, and above, his mouth is hissing, lifted not against another, threatening thee, o luckless hero!" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "such a death is perhaps for children; but 'tis not a death for heroes, for i can enchant the fire, and can quench a glowing furnace, and can ban away the serpents, twist the snakes between my fingers. only yesterday it happened that i ploughed a field of adders; on the ground the snakes were twisting, and my hands were all uncovered. with my nails i seized the vipers, in my hands i took the serpents, ten i killed among the vipers, and the serpents black by hundreds. still my nails are stained with snake-blood, and my hands with slime of serpents. therefore will i not permit me, and by no means will i journey as a mouthful for the serpents, to the sharp fangs of the adders. i myself will crush the monsters, crush the nasty things to pieces, and will sing away the vipers, drive the serpents from my pathway, enter then the yard of pohja, and into the house will force me." then said lemminkainen's mother, "o my son, forbear to venture, into pohjola's dread castle, house of sariola all timbered; for the men with swords are girded, heroes all equipped for battle, men with drink of hops excited, very furious from their drinking. they will sing thee, most unhappy, to the swords of all the keenest; better men their songs have vanquished, mighty ones been overpowered." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "well, but i have dwelt already there in pohjola's dread fortress. not a lapp with spells shall chain me, forth no son of turja drive me. i'll enchant the lapp by singing, drive away the son of turja, and in twain will sing his shoulders, from his chin his speech i'll sever, tear his shirt apart by singing, and i'll break in two his breastbone." then said lemminkainen's mother, "o alas, my son unhappy, dost thou think of former exploits, brag'st thou of thy former journey? true it is thou hast resided there in pohjola's dread fortress, but they sent thee all a-swimming, floating overgrown with pond-weed, o'er the raging cataract driven, down the stream in rushing waters. thou hast known the falls of tuoni, manala's dread stream hast measured, there would'st thou to-day be swimming, but for thine unhappy mother! "listen now to what i tell thee. when to pohjola thou comest, all the slope with stakes is bristling, and the yard with poles is bristling, all with heads of men surmounted, and one stake alone is vacant, and to fill the stake remaining, will they cut thy head from off thee." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "let a weakling ponder o'er it, let the worthless find such ending! after five or six years' warfare, seven long summers spent in battle, not a hero would concern him, nor retire a step before it. therefore bring me now my mail-shirt, and my well-tried battle armour; i my father's sword will fetch me, and my father's sword-blade look to. in the cold it long was lying, in a dark place long was hidden; there has it been ever weeping, for a hero who should wield it." thereupon he took his mail-shirt, took his well-tried battle armour, and his father's trusty weapon, sword his father always wielded, and against the ground he thrust it, on the floor the point he rested, with his hand the sword he bended like the fresh crown of the cherry, or the juniper when growing. said the lively lemminkainen, "hard 'twill be in pohja's castle, rooms of sariola the misty, such a sword as this to gaze on, such a sword-blade to encounter." from the wall his bow he lifted, from the peg he took a strong bow, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in thiswise: "i would hold the man deserving, and regard him as a hero, who to bend this bow was able, and could bend it and could string it, there in pohjola's great castle, rooms of sariola the misty." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, put his shirt of mail upon him, clad himself in arms of battle, and his slave he thus commanded, and he spoke the words which follow: "o my servant, bought with money, workman, whom i got for money, harness now my horse of battle, harness me my fiery war-horse, that unto the feast i journey, drinking-bout at house of lempo." then the prudent slave, obedient, hastened quickly to the courtyard, and the foal at once he harnessed, and prepared the fiery red one, and he said on his returning, "i have done what you commanded, and the horse have harnessed for you, and the best of foals have harnessed." then the lively lemminkainen, thought him ready for his journey, right hand urging, left restraining, and his sinewy fingers smarting, now would start, and then reflected, started then in reckless fashion. then her son his mother counselled, warned her child, the aged woman, at the door, beneath the rafters, at the place where stand the kettles. "o my only son, my dearest, o my child, of all the strongest, when thou com'st to the carousal, and thou comest where thou wishest, drink thou half a goblet only, drink the measure to the middle, and the other half return thou; give the worst half to a worse one. in the goblet rests a serpent, and a worm within the measure." yet again her son she cautioned, to her child again gave warning, at the last field's furthest limit, at the last of all the gateways. "when thou com'st to the carousal, and thou comest where thou wishest, sit upon a half-seat only, step thou with a half-step only, and the other half return thou; give the worst half to a worse one, thus wilt thou a man be reckoned, and a most illustrious hero, and through armies push thy pathway, and will crush them down beneath thee, in the press of mighty heroes, in the throng of men of valour." then departed lemminkainen, when the horse in sledge was harnessed. with his ready whip he struck him, with his beaded whip he smote him, and the fiery steed sprang forward, onward sped the rapid courser. when a short way he had journeyed, for about an hour had travelled, there he saw a flock of blackfowl, in the air the grouse flew upward, and the flock ascended rushing from before the speeding courser. on the ice there lay some feathers cast by grouse upon the roadway; these collected lemminkainen, and he put them in his pocket, for he knew not what might happen, or might chance upon his journey. in a house are all things useful, can at need be turned to something. then he drove a little further, on his road a little further, when to neigh began the courser, pricked his long ears up in terror. then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, in the sledge at once leaned forward, bending down to gaze about him. there he saw, as said his mother, as his own old mother warned him, how there flowed a fiery river, right across the horse's pathway, in the stream a cataract fiery, in the fall a fiery island, on the isle a peak all fiery, on the peak a fiery eagle. in his throat the fire was seething, and his mouth with flame was glowing, and his plumage fire was flashing, and the sparks around were scattering. kauko from afar he noticed, from afar saw lemminkainen. "whither wilt thou go, o kauko, whither goes the son of lempi?" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "unto pohja's feast i journey, the carousal held in secret. turn thee on one side a little, from the youth's path do thou turn thee, let the traveller make his journey, do not hinder lemminkainen, therefore move aside a little, let him now pursue his journey." thereupon the eagle answered, hissing from his throat of fire, "i will let the traveller pass me, will not hinder lemminkainen, through my mouth will let him hasten, let him thus pursue his journey. thither shall thy path direct thee, fortunate shall be thy journey, to the banquet thou art seeking, where thou all thy life may'st rest thee." little troubled lemminkainen, and he let it not concern him, but he felt into his pocket, and his pouch he opened quickly, took the feathers of the blackfowl, leisurely he rubbed the feathers, and between his palms he rubbed them, 'twixt his fingers ten in number, and a flock of grouse created, and a flock of capercailzies, in the eagle's beak he thrust them, to his greedy throat he gave them, to the eagle's throat all fiery, in the fire-bird's beak he thrust them, thus he freed himself from danger, and escaped the first day's danger. with his whip he struck the courser, with the beaded whip he struck him, and the horse sped quickly onward, and the steed sprang lightly forward. then he drove a little further, but a little way had travelled, when the horse again was shying, and again the steed was neighing. from the sledge again he raised him, and he strove to gaze around him, and he saw, as said his mother, as his aged mother warned him, right in front a trench of fire, right across the path extending, ever to the east extending, north-west endlessly extending, full of stones to redness heated, full of blocks of stone all glowing. little troubled lemminkainen, but he raised a prayer to ukko. "ukko, thou, of gods the highest, ukko, thou, our heavenly father, send thou now a cloud from north-west, send thou from the west a second, and a third to east establish. "in the north-east let them gather, push their borders all together, drive them edge to edge together, let the snow fall staff-deep round me, deep as is the length of spear-shaft, on these stones to redness heated, blocks of stone all fiery glowing." ukko, then, of gods the highest, he the aged heavenly father, sent a cloud from out the north-west, from the west he sent a second, in the east a cloud let gather, let them gather in the north-east; and he heaped them all together, and he closed the gaps between them, let the snow fall staff-deep downward, deep as is the length of spear-shaft, on the stones to redness heated, blocks of stone all fiery glowing. from the snow a pond was fashioned, and a lake with icy waters. then the lively lemminkainen sang a bridge of ice together, stretching right across the snow-pond, from the one bank to the other, o'er the fiery trench passed safely, passed the second day in safety. with his whip he urged the courser, cracked the whip all bead-embroidered, and began to travel quickly, as the courser trotted onward. quick he ran a verst, a second, for a short space well proceeded, when he suddenly stopped standing, would not stir from his position. then the lively lemminkainen started up to gaze around him. in the gate the wolf was standing, and the bear before the passage, there in pohjola's dread gateway, at the end of a long passage. then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, quickly felt into his pocket, what his pouch contained exploring, and he took some ewe's wool from it, and until 'twas soft he rubbed it, and between his palms he rubbed it, 'twixt his fingers ten in number. on his palms then gently breathing, ewes ran bleating forth between them, quite a flock of sheep he fashioned, and a flock of lambs among them, and the wolf rushed straight upon them, and the bear rushed after likewise, while the lively lemminkainen, further drove upon his journey. yet a little space he journeyed, unto pohjola's enclosure. there a fence was raised of iron, fenced with steel the whole enclosure, in the ground a hundred fathoms, in the sky a thousand fathoms, spears they were which formed the hedgestakes, and for wattles creeping serpents, thus the fence with snakes was wattled and among them there were lizards, and their tails were always waving, and their thick heads always swelling, rows of heads erected always, heads turned out and tails turned inwards. then the lively lemminkainen gave himself to his reflections. "this is what my mother told me, this is what my mother dreaded; here i find a fence tremendous reared aloft from earth to heaven, down below there creeps a viper, deeper yet the fence is sunken, up aloft a bird is flying, but the fence is builded higher." natheless was not lemminkainen greatly troubled or uneasy; from the sheath he drew his knife out, from the sheath an iron weapon, and he hewed the fence to pieces, and in twain he clove the hedgestakes; thus he breached the fence of iron, and he drove away the serpents from the space between five hedgestakes, likewise from the space 'twixt seven, and himself pursued his journey, on to pohjola's dark portal. in the path a snake was twisting, just in front across the doorway, even longer than the roof-tree, thicker than the hall's great pillars, and the snake had eyes a hundred, and the snake had tongues a thousand, and his eyes than sieves were larger, and his tongues were long as spear-shafts, and his fangs were like rake-handles; seven boats' length his back extended. then the lively lemminkainen would not instantly move onward to the snake with eyes a hundred, and the snake with tongues a thousand. spoke the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "serpent black and subterranean, worm whose hue is that of tuoni, thou amidst the grass who lurkest, at the roots of lempo's foliage, gliding all among the hillocks, creeping all among the tree-roots, who has brought thee from the stubble, from the grass-roots has aroused thee, creeping here on ground all open, creeping there upon the pathway? who has sent thee from thy nettles, who has ordered and provoked thee that thy head thou liftest threatening, and thy neck thou stiffly raisest? was't thy father or thy mother, or the eldest of thy brothers, or the youngest of thy sisters, or some other near relation? "close thy mouth, thy head conceal thou, hide thou quick thy tongue within it, coil thyself together tightly, roll thyself into a circle, give me way, though but a half-way, let the traveller make his journey, or begone from out the pathway. creep, thou vile one, in the bushes, in the holes among the heathland, and among the moss conceal thee, glide away, like ball of worsted, like a withered stick of aspen. hide thy head among the grass-roots, hide thyself among the hillocks, 'neath the turf thy mouth conceal thou, make thy dwelling in a hillock. if you lift your head from out it, ukko surely will destroy it, with his nails, all steely-pointed, with a mighty hail of iron." thus was lemminkainen talking, but the serpent heeded nothing, and continued always hissing, darting out its tongue for ever, and its mouth was always hissing at the head of lemminkainen. then the lively lemminkainen of an ancient spell bethought him, which the old crone once had taught him, which his mother once had taught him. said the lively lemminkainen, spoke the handsome kaukomieli, "if you do not heed my singing, and it is not quite sufficient, still you will swell up with anguish when an ill day comes upon you. thou wilt burst in two, o vile one, o thou toad, in three will burst thou, if i should seek out your mother, and should search for your ancestress. well i know thy birth, vile creature, whence thou comest, earthly horror, for syöjätär was your mother, and the sea-fiend was your parent. "syöjätär she spat in water, in the waves she left the spittle, by the wind 'twas rocked thereafter, tossed upon the water-current, thus for six years it was shaken, thus for seven whole summers drifted, on the ocean's shining surface, and upon the swelling billows. thus for long the water stretched it, by the sun 'twas warmed and softened, to the land the billows drove it, on the beach a wave upcast it. "walked three daughters of creation on the beach of stormy ocean, on the beach, the waves that bounded, on the beach they saw the spittle, and they spoke the words which follow: 'what might perhaps of this be fashioned, if a life by the creator, and if eyes were granted to it?' "this was heard by the creator, and he spoke the words which follow: 'evil only comes from evil, and a toad from toad's foul vomit, if i gave a life unto it, and if eyes were granted to it.' "but the words were heard by hiisi, one for mischief always ready, and he set about creating; hiisi gave a life unto it, of the slime of toad disgusting, from syöjätär's filthy spittle, formed from this a twisting serpent, to a black snake he transformed it. "whence the life he gave unto it? life he brought from hiisi's coal-heap. whence was then its heart created? out of syöjätär's own heartstrings. whence the brains for this foul creature? from a mighty torrent's foaming. whence its sense obtained the monster? from a furious cataract's foaming. whence a head, this foul enchantment? from the bean, a bean all rotten. whence were then its eyes created? from a seed of flax of lempo. whence were the toad's ears created? from the leaves of lempo's birch-tree. whence was then its mouth constructed? syöjätär's own mouth supplied it. whence the tongue in mouth so evil? from the spear of keitolainen. teeth for such an evil creature? from the beard of tuoni's barley. whence its filthy gums created? from the gums of kalma's maiden. whence was then its back constructed? of the coals of fire of hiisi. whence its wriggling tail constructed? from the plaits of pahalainen. whence its entrails were constructed? these were drawn from death's own girdle. "this thy origin, o serpent, this thy honour, as reported; black snake from the world infernal, serpent of the hue of tuoni, hue of earth, and hue of heather, all the colours of the rainbow. go from out the wanderer's pathway, from before the travelling hero, yield the pathway to the traveller, make a way for lemminkainen to the feast at pohja holden, where they hold the great carousal." then the snake obeyed his orders, and the hundred-eyed drew backward, and the great snake twisted sideways, turning in a new direction, giving thus the traveller pathway, making way for lemminkainen to the feast at pohja holden, and the secret-held carousal. runo xxvii.--the duel at pohjola _argument_ lemminkainen comes to pohjola and behaves with the greatest insolence ( - ). the lord of pohjola grows angry, and as he can do nothing against lemminkainen by magic, he challenges him to a duel ( - ). in the course of the duel lemminkainen strikes off the head of the lord of pohjola, and to avenge this, the mistress of pohjola raises an army against him ( - ). now that i have brought my kauko, carried ahto saarelainen, often past death's jaw expanded, past the very tongue of kalma, to the banquet held at pohja, and to the concealed carousal, now must i relate in detail, and my tongue relate in fulness, how the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, to the homestead came of pohja, halls of sariola the misty, uninvited to the banquet, to the drinking-bout unbidden. thus the lively lemminkainen, ruddy youth, and arrant scoundrel, in the room at once came forward, walking to the very middle; 'neath him swayed the floor of linden, and the room of firwood rattled. spoke the lively lemminkainen, and he said the words which follow: "greetings to ye on my coming, greetings also to the greeter! hearken, pohjola's great master, have you here within this dwelling, barley for the horse's fodder, beer to offer to the hero?" there sat pohjola's great master, at the end of the long table, and from thence he made his answer, in the very words which follow: "perhaps there is within this dwelling, standing room for your fine courser, nor would i indeed forbid you in the room a quiet corner, or to stand within the doorway, in the doorway, 'neath the rafters, in the space between two kettles, there where three large hoes are standing." then the lively lemminkainen tore his black beard in his anger, ('twas the colour of a kettle), and he spoke the words which follow: "lempo might perchance be willing, thus to stand within the doorway, where he might with soot be dirtied, while the soot falls all around him! but at no time did my father, never did my aged father ever stand in such a station, in the doorway, 'neath the rafters! there was always room sufficient for his horse within the stable, and a clean room for the hero, and a place to put his gloves in, pegs whereon to hang his mittens, walls where swords may rest in order. why should i not also find it, as my father always found it?" after this he strode on further, to the end of the long table, at the bench-end then he sat him, at the end of bench of firwood, and the bench it cracked beneath him, and the bench of firwood tottered. said the lively lemminkainen, "seems to me that i'm unwelcome, as no ale is offered to me, to the guest who just has entered." ilpotar, the noble mistress, answered in the words which follow: "o thou boy, o lemminkainen, not as guest thou com'st among us, but upon my head to trample, and to make it bow before you, for our ale is still in barley. still in malt the drink delicious, and the wheatbread still unbaken, and unboiled the meat remaineth. yesternight you should have entered, or perchance have come to-morrow." then the lively lemminkainen, twisted mouth and turned his head round, tore his black beard in his anger, and he spoke the words which follow: "eaten is the feast already, finished feast, and drunk the bride-ale, and the ale has been divided, to the men the mead been given, and the cans away been carried, and the pint-pots laid in storage. "pohjola's illustrious mistress, long-toothed mistress of pimentola, thou hast held the wedding badly, and in doggish fashion held it, baked the bread in loaves enormous, thou hast brewed the beer of barley, six times sent thy invitations, nine times hast thou sent a summons, thou hast asked the poor, the spectres, asked the scum, and asked the wastrels, asked the leanest of the loafers, labourers with one garment only; all folks else thou hast invited, me rejected uninvited. "wherefore should i thus be treated, when i sent myself the barley? others brought it by the spoonful, others poured it out by dishfuls, but i poured it out in bushels, by the half-ton out i poured it, of my own, the best of barley, corn which i had sown aforetime. "'tis not now that lemminkainen, is a guest of great distinction, for no ale is offered to me, nor the pot set on the fire. in the pot is nothing cooking, not a pound of pork you give me, neither food nor drink you give me, now my weary journey's ended." ilpotar, the noble mistress, uttered then the words which follow: "o my little waiting-maiden, o my ever-ready servant, put into the pot some dinner, bring some ale to give the stranger." then the girl, the child so wretched, washed the worst of all the dishes, and the spoons she then was wiping, and the ladles she was scouring, then into the pot put dinner, bones of meat, and heads of fishes, very ancient stalks of turnips, crusts of bread of stony hardness, and a pint of ale she brought him, and a can of filthy victuals, gave it lively lemminkainen that he should drink out the refuse, and she spoke the words which follow: "if you are indeed a hero, can you drink the ale i bring you, nor upset the can that holds it?" lemminkainen, youth so lively, looked at once into the pint-pot, and below a worm was creeping, in the midst there crept a serpent, on the edge were serpents creeping, lizards also there were gliding. said the lively lemminkainen, loudly grumbled kaukomieli, "off to tuonela the bearer, quick to manala the handmaid, ere the moon again has risen, or this very day is ended!" afterwards these words he added, "o thou beer, thou drink so nasty, in an evil hour concocted, evil only lurks within thee! notwithstanding i will drink it, on the ground will cast the refuse, with my nameless finger lift it, with my left thumb will i lift it." then he felt into his pocket, and within his pouch was searching, took an angle from his pocket, iron hooks from out his satchel, dropped it down into the pint-pot, in the ale began to angle, hooked the snakes upon his fish-hooks, on his hooks the evil vipers, up he drew of toads a hundred, and of dusky snakes a thousand. down upon the ground he threw them, threw them all upon the planking, thereupon a sharp knife taking, from the sheath he quickly drew it, cut the heads from off the serpents, broke the necks of all the serpents. then he drank the ale with gusto, drank the black mead with enjoyment, and he spoke the words which follow: "as a guest i am not honoured, since no ale was brought unto me which was better worth my drinking, offered me by hands more careful, in a larger vessel brought me; since no sheep was slaughtered for me, no gigantic steer was slaughtered, in the hall no ox they brought me, from the house of hooféd cattle." then did pohjola's great master, answer in the words which follow: "wherefore have you then come hither, who invited you among us?" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "good is perhaps the guest invited, better still if uninvited. hearken then, thou son of pohja, pohjola's illustrious master, give me ale for cash directly, reach me here some drink for money." then did pohjola's great master, angry grow and greatly furious, very furious and indignant, sang a pond upon the flooring, in the front of lemminkainen, and he said the words which follow: "here's a river you may drink of, here's a pond that you may splash in." little troubled lemminkainen, and he spoke the words which follow: "i'm no calf by women driven, nor a bull with tail behind me, that i drink of river-water, or from filthy ponds the water." then himself began to conjure, and, himself commenced his singing, sang upon the floor a bullock, mighty ox with horns all golden, and he soon drank up the puddle, drank the river up with pleasure. but the mighty son of pohja, by his spells a wolf created, and upon the floor he sang him, to devour the fleshy bullock. lemminkainen, youth so lively, sang a white hare to his presence, and upon the floor 'twas leaping, near the wolf-jaws widely opened. but the mighty son of pohja, sang a dog with pointed muzzle; and the dog the hare devoured, rent the squint-eye into fragments. lemminkainen, youth so lively, on the rafters sang a squirrel, and it frolicked on the rafters, and the dog was barking at it. but the mighty son of pohja, sang a golden-breasted marten, and the marten seized the squirrel, on the rafter's end while sitting. lemminkainen, youth so lively, sang a fox of ruddy colour, and it killed the gold-breast marten, and destroyed the handsome-haired one. but the mighty son of pohja by his spells a hen created, and upon the ground 'twas walking, just before the fox's muzzle. lemminkainen, youth so lively, thereupon a hawk created, quickly with its claws it seized it, and it tore the hen to pieces. then said pohjola's great master, in the very words which follow: "better will not be the banquet, nor the guest-provision lessened. house for work, the road for strangers, unrefreshed from the carousal! quit this place, o scamp of hiisi, haste away from all folks' knowledge, to thy home, o toad the basest, forth, o scoundrel, to thy country!" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "none would let himself be banished, not a man, how bad soever, from this place be ever driven, forced to fly from such a station." then did pohjola's great master, snatch his sword from wall where hanging, grasped in haste the sharpened weapon, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou ahti saarelainen, or thou handsome kaukomieli, let us match our swords together, match the glitter of the sword-blades, whether my sword is the better, or is ahti saarelainen's." said the lively lemminkainen, "little of my sword is left me, for on bones it has been shattered, and on skulls completely broken! but let this be as it may be, if no better feast is ready, let us struggle, and determine which of our two swords is favoured. ne'er in former times my father in a duel has been worsted, why should then his son be different, or his child be like a baby?" sword he took, and bared his sword-blade, and he drew his sharp-edged weapon, drew it from the leather scabbard, hanging at his belt of lambskin. then they measured and inspected which of their two swords was longer, and a very little longer, was the sword of pohja's master, as upon the nail the blackness, or a half-joint of a finger. spoke then ahti saarelainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "as your sword is rather longer, let the first attack be yours." then did pohjola's great master, aim a blow, and tried to strike him, aimed his sword, but never struck it, on the head of lemminkainen. once indeed he struck the rafters, and the beams resounded loudly, and across the beam was shattered, and the arch in twain was broken. then spoke ahti saarelainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "well, what mischief did the rafters, and what harm the beam effected, that you thus attack the rafters, and have made the arch to rattle? "hear me, son of pohja's country, pohjola's illustrious master, awkward 'tis in room to combat, trouble would it give the women, if the clean room should be damaged, and with blood defiled the flooring. let us go into the courtyard, in the field outside to battle, on the grass outside to combat. in the yard the blood looks better, in the yard it looks more lovely, on the snow it looks much better." out into the yard they wandered, and they found therein a cowhide, and they spread it in the courtyard, and they took their stand upon it. then said ahti saarelainen, "hearken, o thou son of pohja! as your sword is rather longer, and your sword is more terrific, perhaps indeed you need to use it, just before your own departure, or before your neck is broken. strike away, o son of pohja." fenced away the son of pohja, struck a blow, and struck a second, and he struck a third blow after, but he could not strike him fairly, could not scratch the flesh upon him, from his skin a single bristle. then spoke ahti saarelainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "give me leave to try a little, for at last my time is coming." natheless pohjola's great master, did not pay the least attention, striking on, without reflection, ever striking, never hitting. from his sword-blade flashed red fire, and its edge was always gleaming in the hands of lemminkainen, and the sheen extended further, as against the neck he turned it, of the mighty son of pohja. said the handsome lemminkainen, "hearken, pohjola's great master, true it is, thy neck so wretched, is as red as dawn of morning." thereupon the son of pohja, he, the mighty lord of pohja, bent his eyes that he might witness how his own neck had been reddened. then the lively lemminkainen, hurriedly a stroke delivered, with his sword he struck the hero, quickly with the sword he struck him. full and fair he struck the hero, struck his head from off his shoulders, and the skull from neck he severed, as from off the stalk a turnip, or an ear of corn is severed, from a fish a fin divided. in the yard the head went rolling, and the skull in the enclosure, as when it is struck by arrow falls the capercail from tree-top. in the ground stood stakes a hundred, in the yard there stood a thousand, on the stakes were heads a hundred, only one stake still was headless. then the lively lemminkainen took the head of the poor fellow; from the ground the skull he lifted, and upon the stake he set it. then did ahti saarelainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, once again the house re-enter, and he spoke the words which follow: "wicked maid, now bring me water, that i wash my hands and cleanse them, from the blood of wicked master, from the gore of man of evil." furious was the crone of pohja, wild with wrath and indignation, and at once she sang up swordsmen, heroes well equipped for battle. up she sang a hundred swordsmen, sang a thousand weapon-bearers, lemminkainen's head to capture, from the neck of kaukomieli. now the time seemed really coming, fitting time for his departure, terror came at length upon him, and too hard the task before him; from the house the youthful ahti lemminkainen quick departed, from the feast prepared at pohja, from the unannounced carousal. runo xxviii.--lemminkainen and his mother _argument_ lemminkainen escapes with all speed from pohjola, comes home and asks his mother where he can hide himself from the people of pohjola, who will soon attack him in his home, a hundred to one ( - ). his mother reproaches him for his expedition to pohjola, suggests various places of concealment, and at length advises him to go far across the lakes to a distant island, where his father once lived in peace during a year of great war ( - ). then did ahti saarelainen, he the lively lemminkainen, haste to reach a place for hiding, hasten quickly to remove him from the gloomy land of pohja, from the gloomy house of sara. from the room he rushed like snowfall, to the yard like snake he hurried, that he might escape the evil, from the crime he had committed. when he came into the courtyard, then he gazed around and pondered, seeking for the horse he left there, but he nowhere saw him standing; in the field a stone was standing, on the waste a clump of willows. who will come to give him counsel, who will now advise and help him, that his head come not in danger, and his hair remain uninjured, nor his handsome hair be draggled in the courtyard foul of pohja? in the village heard he shouting, uproar too from other homesteads, lights were shining in the village, eyes were at the open windows. then must lively lemminkainen, then must ahti saarelainen, alter now his shape completely, and transform without delaying, and must soar aloft as eagle, up to heaven to soar attempting; but the sun his face was scorching, and the moon shone on his temples. then the lively lemminkainen, sent aloft a prayer to ukko: "ukko, jumala most gracious, thou the wisest in the heavens, of the thunderclouds the leader, of the scattered clouds the ruler! let it now be gloomy weather, and a little cloudlet give me, so that under its protection i may hasten homeward quickly, homeward to my dearest mother, unto the revered old woman." as he flew upon his journey, as he chanced to look behind him, there he saw a hawk, a grey one, and its eyes were fiery-glowing, as it were the son of pohja, like the former lord of pohja. and the grey hawk called unto him, "ahti, o my dearest brother, think you on our former combat, head to head in equal contest?" then said ahti saarelainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "o my hawk, my bird so charming, turn thyself and hasten homeward, to the place from which you started, to the gloomy land of pohja. hard it is to catch the eagle, clutch the strong-winged bird with talons." then he hurried quickly homeward, homeward to his dearest mother, and his face was full of trouble, and his heart with care o'erladen. then his mother came to meet him, as along the path he hurried, as he past the fence was walking, and his mother first bespoke him. "o my son, my son, my youngest, thou the strongest of my children! why returnest thou so sadly, home from pohjola's dark regions? hast thou harmed thyself by drinking at the drinking-bout of pohja? if the goblet made thee suffer, here a better one awaits thee, which thy father won in battle, which he fought for in the contest." said the lively lemminkainen, "o my mother who hast borne me, if the goblet made me suffer, i would overcome the masters, overcome a hundred heroes, and would face a thousand heroes." then said lemminkainen's mother, "wherefore art thou then in trouble? if the horse has overcome you, wherefore let the horse annoy you? if the horse has overcome you, you should buy yourself a better, with your father's lifelong savings, which the aged man provided." said the lively lemminkainen, "o my mother who hast borne me, if i quarrelled with the courser, or the foal had over-reached me, i myself have shamed the masters, overcome the horses' drivers, foals and drivers i have vanquished, and the heroes with their coursers." then said lemminkainen's mother, "wherefore art thou then in trouble, wherefore is thy heart so troubled, as from pohjola thou comest? have the women laughed about you, or the maidens ridiculed you? if the women laughed about you, or the maidens ridiculed you, there are maidens to be jeered at, other women to be laughed at." said the lively lemminkainen, "o my mother who hast borne me, if the women laughed about me, or the maidens ridiculed me, i would laugh at all their menfolk, and would wink at all the maidens, i would shame a hundred women, and a thousand brides would make them." then said lemminkainen's mother, "what has chanced, my son, my darling, hast thou perhaps encountered something as to pohjola thou wentest? have you eaten perhaps too freely, eaten much, too much have drunken, or at night perchance when resting have you seen a dream of evil?" then the lively lemminkainen, answered in the words which follow: "perhaps old women may remember, what in sleep they saw in vision! though my nightly dreams i think on, yet are those of daytime better. o my mother, aged woman, fill my bag with fresh provisions, with a good supply of flour, and a lump of salt add likewise, for thy son must travel further, journey to another country, journey from this house beloved, journey from this lovely dwelling, for the men their swords are whetting, and the lance-tips they are sharpening." then his mother interrupted, asking him his cause of trouble. "wherefore whet the men their sword-blades, wherefore sharpen they the lance-tips?" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "therefore do they whet their sword-blades, therefore they the lance-tips sharpen: on the head of me unhappy, on my neck to bring destruction. from a quarrel rose a duel, there in pohjola's enclosure; i have slain the son of pohja, slain the very lord of pohja, then rose pohjola to battle, close behind me comes the tumult, raging all for my destruction, to surround a single warrior." then his mother gave him answer, to her child the old crone answered: "i myself already told you, and i had already warned you, and forbidden you most strictly not to pohjola to venture. had you stayed at home in quiet, living in your mother's dwelling, safely in your parent's homestead, in the home of her who bore thee, then no war had ever risen, nor appeared a cause of contest. "whither now, my son unhappy, canst thou flee, unhappy creature, go to hide thee from destruction, flying from thy wicked action, lest thy wretched head be captured, and thy handsome neck be severed, that thy hair remain uninjured, nor thy glossy hair downtrodden?" said the lively lemminkainen, "no such refuge do i know of, where a safe retreat awaits me, where i from my crime can hide me. o my mother who hast borne me, where do you advise my hiding?" answered lemminkainen's mother, and she spoke the words which follow: "no, i know not where to hide you, where to hide you or to send you. as a pine upon the mountain, juniper in distant places, there might still misfortune find thee, evil fate might rise against thee. often is the mountain pine-tree cut to pieces into torches, and the juniper on heathland, into posts is often cloven. "as a birch-tree in the valley, or an alder in the greenwood, there might still misfortune find thee, evil fate might rise against thee. often is the valley birch-tree chopped to pieces into faggots, often is the alder-thicket cut away to make a clearing. "as a berry on the mountain, or upon the heath a cranberry, or upon the plain a strawberry, or in other spots a bilberry, there might still misfortune find thee, evil fate might rise against thee, for the girls might come to pluck thee, tin-adorned ones might uproot thee. "in the lake as pike when hiding, powan in slow-flowing river, there misfortune still might find thee, and at last destruction reach thee. if there came a youthful fisher, he might cast his net in water, and the young in net might take thee, and the old with net might capture. "didst thou roam as wolf in forest, or a bear in rugged country, there might still misfortune find thee, evil fate might rise against thee; if a sooty tramp was passing, he perchance might spear the growler, or the wolves bring to destruction, and the forest bears might slaughter." then the lively lemminkainen answered in the words which follow: "i myself know evil places, worst of all do i esteem them, there where any death might seize me, and at last destruction reach me. o my mother who hast reared me, mother who thy milk hast given, whither would'st thou bid me hide me, whither should i now conceal me? death's wide jaws are just before me, at my beard destruction's standing, every day for me it waiteth, till my ruin is accomplished." then said lemminkainen's mother, and she spoke the words which follow: "i can tell the best of places, tell you one the best of any, where to hide yourself completely, and your crime conceal for ever, for i know a little country, know a very little refuge, wasted not, and safe from battle, and untrodden by the swordsmen. swear me now by oaths eternal, binding, free from all deception, in the course of sixty summers, nevermore to go to battle, neither for the love of silver, nor perchance if gold was needed." then said lively lemminkainen, "now i swear by oaths the strongest, never in the first of summers, nor in any other summer, mix myself in mighty battles, in the clashing of the sword-blades. wounds are still upon my shoulders, in my breast deep wounds still rankle, from my former battle-pleasures, in the midst of all the tumult, in the midst of mighty battles, where the heroes all contended." then did lemminkainen's mother answer in the words which follow: "take the boat your father left you, and betake yourself to hiding. traverse nine lakes in succession, half the tenth one must thou traverse, to an island on its surface, where the cliffs arise from water. there in former times your father hid, and kept himself in safety, in the furious fights of summer, in the hardest years of battle. there you'll find a pleasant dwelling, and a charming place to linger. hide thyself a year, a second, in the third year come thou homeward, to your father's well-known homestead, to the dwelling of your parents." runo xxix.--lemminkainen's adventures on the island _argument_ lemminkainen sails across the lakes in his boat and comes safely to the island ( - ). there he lives pleasantly among the girls and women till the return of the men from warfare, who conspire against him ( - ). lemminkainen flies from the island, much to the grief both of the girls and himself ( - ). his boat is wrecked in a violent storm, but he escapes by swimming to land, makes a new boat, and arrives safely on the shores of his own country ( - ). he finds his old house burned, and the whole surroundings laid waste, when he begins to weep and lament, especially for the loss of his mother ( - ). his mother, however, is still alive, having taken refuge in a thick forest where lemminkainen finds her to his great joy ( - ). she relates how the army of pohjola came and burned down the house. lemminkainen promises to build a finer house after he has revenged himself upon the people of pohjola, and describes his pleasant life in the island of refuge ( - ). lemminkainen, youth so lively, he the handsome kaukomieli, took provisions in his satchel, in his wallet summer-butter, butter for a year to last him, for another, pork sufficient, then he travelled off to hide him, started in the greatest hurry, and he said the words which follow: "now i go, and i'm escaping, for the space of three whole summers, and for five years in succession. be the land to snakes abandoned, let the lynxes snarl in greenwood, in the fields the reindeer wander, in the brakes the geese conceal them. "fare thee well, my dearest mother, if the people come from pohja, from pimentola the army, and about my head they ask you, say that i have fled before them, and have taken my departure, and i have laid waste my clearing, that which i had reaped so lately." then he pushed his boat in water, on the waves he launched his vessel, from the rollers steel he launched it, from the haven lined with copper. on the mast the sails he hoisted, and he spread the sails of linen, at the stern himself he seated, and prepared him for his journey, sitting by his birchwood rudder, with the stern-oar deftly steering. then he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "wind, inflate the sails above me, wind of spring drive on the vessel, drive with speed the wooden vessel, onward drive the boat of pinewood forward to the nameless island, and the nameless promontory." so the wind the bark drove onward, o'er the foaming lake 'twas driven, o'er the bright expanse of water, speeding o'er the open water, rocking while two moons were changing, till a third was near its ending. at the cape were maidens sitting, there upon the blue lake's margin they were gazing, and were casting glances o'er the azure billows. one was waiting for her brother, and another for her father, but the others all were waiting, waiting each one for a lover. in the distance spied they kauko, sooner still the boat of kauko, like a little cloud in distance, just between the sky and water. and the island-maids reflected, said the maidens of the island: "what's this strange thing in the water, what this wonder on the billows? if a boat of our relations, sailing vessel of our island, hasten then, and speed thee homeward, to the harbour of the island, that we hear the tidings quickly, hear the news from foreign countries, if there's peace among the shore-folks, or if war is waged among them." still the wind the sail inflated, and the billows drove the vessel. then the lively lemminkainen guided to the isle the vessel, to the island's end he drove it, where it ends in jutting headland. and he said on his arrival, to the cape as he was coming, "is there room upon this island, on the surface of the island, where the boat may land upon it, and to dry land i may bring it?" said the girls upon the island, and the island-maidens answered: "there is room upon this island, on the surface of the island, where the boat may land upon it, and to dry land you may bring it. there are harbours for the vessel, on the beach sufficient rollers, to receive a hundred vessels, though the boats should come by thousands." then the lively lemminkainen on the land drew up his vessel, on the wooden rollers laid it, and he spoke the words which follow: "is there room upon this island, on the surface of the island, where a little man may hide him, and a weak man may take refuge from the din of furious battle, and the clash of steely sword-blades?" said the girls upon the island, and the island-maidens answered: "there is room upon this island, on the surface of the island, where a little man may hide him, and a weak man may conceal him. here are very many castles, stately castles to reside in, though there came a hundred heroes, and a thousand men of valour." said the lively lemminkainen, and he spoke the words which follow: "is there room upon this island, on the surface of the island, where there stands a birch-tree forest, and a stretch of other country, where i perhaps may make a clearing, work upon my goodly clearing?" said the girls upon the island, and the island-maidens answered: "there is not upon this island, on the surface of the island, not the space your back could rest on, land not of a bushel's measure, where you perhaps might make a clearing, work upon your goodly clearing. all the land is now divided, and the fields in plots are measured, and allotted are the fallows, grassland managed by the commune." said the lively lemminkainen, asked the handsome kaukomieli, "is there room upon this island, on the surface of the island, space where i my songs may carol, space where i may sing my ballads? words within my mouth are melting, and between my gums are sprouting." said the girls upon the island, and the island-maidens answered: "there is room upon this island, on the surface of the island, space where you may sing your ballads, and intone your splendid verses, while you sport amid the greenwood, while you dance among the meadows." then the lively lemminkainen hastened to commence his singing. in the court sang mountain-ashtrees, in the farmyard oaks grew upward. on the oaks were equal branches, and on every branch an acorn, golden globes within the acorns, and upon the globes were cuckoos. when the cuckoos all were calling, from their mouths was gold distilling, from their beaks was copper flowing, likewise silver pouring onward to the hills all golden-shining, and among the silver mountains. once again sang lemminkainen, once again he sang and chanted, gravel sang to pearls of beauty, all the stones to gleaming lustre, all the stones to glowing redness, and the flowers to golden glory. then again sang lemminkainen; in the yard a well created, o'er the well a golden cover, and on this a golden bucket, that the lads might drink the water, and their sisters wash their faces. ponds he sang upon the meadows, in the ponds blue ducks were floating, temples golden, heads of silver, and their claws were all of copper. then the island-maidens wondered, and the girls were all astounded at the songs of lemminkainen, and the craft of that great hero. said the lively lemminkainen, spoke the handsome kaukomieli, "i have sung a song most splendid, but perchance might sing a better, if beneath a roof i sang it, at the end of the deal table. if a house you cannot give me, there to rest upon the planking, i will hum my tunes in forest, toss my songs among the bushes." said the maidens of the island, answered after full reflection: "there are houses you may enter, handsome halls that you may dwell in, safe from cold to sing your verses, in the open speak your magic." then the lively lemminkainen, entered in a house directly, where he sang a row of pint-pots, at the end of the long table. all the pots with ale were brimming, and the cans with mead the finest, filled as full as one could fill them, dishes filled to overflowing. in the pots was beer in plenty, and the mead in covered tankards, butter too, in great abundance, pork was likewise there in plenty, for the feast of lemminkainen, and for kaukomieli's pleasure. kauko was of finest manners, nor to eat was he accustomed, only with a knife of silver, fitted with a golden handle. so he sang a knife of silver, and a golden-hafted knife-blade, and he ate till he was sated, drank the ale in full contentment. then the lively lemminkainen, roamed about through every village, for the island-maidens' pleasure, to delight the braidless damsels, and where'er his head was turning, there he found a mouth for kissing, wheresoe'er his hand was outstretched, there he found a hand to clasp it. and at night he went to rest him, hiding in the darkest corner; there was not a single village where he did not find ten homesteads, there was not a single homestead where he did not find ten daughters, there was none among the daughters, none among the mother's children, by whose side he did not stretch him, on whose arm he did not rest him. thus a thousand brides he found there, rested by a hundred widows; two in half-a-score remained not, three in a completed hundred, whom he left untouched as maidens, or as widows unmolested. thus the lively lemminkainen lived a life of great enjoyment, for the course of three whole summers in the island's pleasant hamlets, to the island-maidens' rapture, the content of all the widows; one alone he did not trouble, 'twas a poor and aged maiden, at the furthest promontory, in the tenth among the hamlets. as he pondered on his journey, and resolved to wend him homeward, came the poor and aged maiden, and she spoke the words which follow: "handsome hero, wretched kauko, if you will not think upon me, then i wish that as you travel, may your boat on rocks be stranded." rose he not before the cockcrow, nor before the hen's child rose he, from his sporting with the maiden, laughing with the wretched woman. then upon a day it happened, and upon a certain evening, he resolved to rise and wander, waiting not for morn or cockcrow. long before the time he rose up, sooner than the time intended, and he went around to wander, and to wander through the village, for his sporting with the damsels, to amuse the wretched women. as alone by night he wandered, through the villages he sauntered to the isle's extremest headland, to the tenth among the hamlets, he beheld not any homestead where three rooms he did not notice, there was not a room among them where he did not see three heroes, and he saw not any hero, with a sword-blade left unwhetted, sharpened thus to bring destruction on the head of lemminkainen. then the lively lemminkainen spoke aloud the words which follow: "woe to me, the day is dawning, and the pleasant sun is rising o'er a youth, of all most wretched, o'er the neck of me unhappy! lempo may perchance a hero with his shirt protect and cover, perhaps will cover with his mantle, cast it round him for protection though a hundred men attacked him, and a thousand pressed upon him." unembraced he left the maidens, and he left them unmolested, and he turned him to his vessel, luckless to his boat he hurried, but he found it burned to ashes, utterly consumed to ashes. mischief now he saw approaching, o'er his head ill days were brooding, so began to build a vessel, and a new boat to construct him. wood was failing to the craftsman, boards with which a boat to fashion, but he found of wood a little, begged some wretched bits of boarding, five small splinters of a spindle, and six fragments of a bobbin. so from these a boat he fashioned, and a new boat he constructed, by his magic art he made it, with his secret knowledge made it, hammered once, one side he fashioned, hammered twice, called up the other, hammered then a third time only, and the boat was quite completed. then he pushed the boat in water, on the waves he launched the vessel, and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in thiswise: "float like bladder on the water, on the waves like water-lily. eagle, give me now three feathers, eagle, three, and two from raven, for the wretched boat's protection, for the wretched vessel's bulwarks." then he stepped upon the planking, at the stern he took his station, head bowed down, in deep depression, and his cap awry adjusted, since by night he dare not tarry, nor by day could linger longer, for the island-maidens' pleasure, sporting with unbraided damsels. spoke the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "now the youth must take departure, and must travel from these dwellings, joyless leave behind these damsels, dance no longer with the fair ones. surely when i have departed, and have left this land behind me, never will rejoice these damsels, nor unbraided girls be jesting, in their homes so full of sadness, in the courtyards now so dreary." wept the island girls already, damsels at the cape lamented: "wherefore goest thou, lemminkainen, and departest, hero-bridegroom? dost thou go for maidens' coyness, or for scarcity of women?" spoke the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "'tis not for the maidens' coyness, nor the scarcity of women. i have had a hundred women, and embraced a thousand maidens; thus departeth lemminkainen, quits you thus your hero-bridegroom, since the great desire has seized me, longing for my native country, longing for my own land's strawberries, for the slopes where grow the raspberries, for the maidens on the headland, and the poultry of my farmyard." then the lively lemminkainen pushed into the waves the vessel, blew the wind, and then it blustered, rising waves drove on the vessel o'er the blue lake's shining surface, and across the open water. on the beach there stood the sad ones, on the shingles the unhappy, and the island girls were weeping, and the golden maids lamenting. wept for long the island-maidens, damsels on the cape lamented, long as they could see the masthead, and the ironwork was gleaming, but they wept not for the masthead, nor bewailed the iron fittings, by the mast they wept the steersman, he who wrought the iron fittings. lemminkainen too was weeping, long he wept, and long was saddened, long as he could see the island, or the outline of its mountains; but he wept not for the island, nor lamented for the mountains, but he wept the island-damsels, for the mountain geese lamented. then the lively lemminkainen o'er the blue lake took his journey, and he voyaged one day, a second, and at length upon the third day rose a furious wind against him, and the whole horizon thundered. rose a great wind from the north-west, and a strong wind from the north-east, struck one side and then the other, thus the vessel overturning. then the lively lemminkainen plunged his hands into the water, rowing forward with his fingers, while his feet he used for steering. thus he swam by night and daytime and with greatest skill he steered him, and a little cloud perceived he, in the west a cloud projecting, which to solid land was changing, and became a promontory. on the cape he found a homestead, where he found the mistress baking, and her daughters dough were kneading. "o thou very gracious mistress, if you but perceived my hunger, thought upon my sad condition, you would hurry to the storehouse, to the alehouse like a snowstorm, and a can of ale would fetch me, and a strip of pork would fetch me, in the pan would broil it for me, and would pour some butter on it, that the weary man might eat it, and the fainting hero drink it. nights and days have i been swimming out upon the broad lake's billows, with the wind as my protector, at the mercy of the lake-waves." thereupon the gracious mistress hastened to the mountain storehouse, sliced some butter in the storehouse, and a slice of pork provided, in the pan thereafter broiled it, that the hungry man might eat it. then she fetched of ale a canful, for the fainting hero's drinking, and she gave him a new vessel, and a boat completely finished, which to other lands should take him, and convey him to his birthplace. then the lively lemminkainen started on his homeward journey, saw the lands and saw the beaches, here the islands, there the channels, saw the ancient landing-stages, saw the former dwelling-places, and he saw the pine-clad mountains, all the hills with fir-trees covered, but he found no more his homestead, and the walls he found not standing; where the house before was standing, rustled now a cherry-thicket, on the mound were pine-trees growing, juniper beside the well-spring. spoke the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "i have roamed among these forests, o'er the stones, and plunged in river, and have played about the meadows, and have wandered through the cornfields. who has spoiled my well-known homestead, and destroyed my charming dwelling? they have burned the house to ashes, and the wind's dispersed the ashes." thereupon he fell to weeping, and he wept one day, a second, but he wept not for the homestead, nor lamented for the storehouse, but he wept the house's treasure, dearer to him than the storehouse. then he saw a bird was flying, and a golden eagle hovering, and he then began to ask it: "o my dearest golden eagle, can you not perchance inform me, what has happened to my mother, to the fair one who has borne me, to my dear and much-loved mother?" nothing knew the eagle of her, nor the stupid bird could tell him, only knew that she had perished; said a raven she had fallen, and had died beneath the sword-blades, 'neath the battle-axes fallen. answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "o my fair one who hast borne me, o my dear and much-loved mother! hast thou perished, who hast borne me, hast thou gone, o tender mother? now thy flesh in earth has rotted, fir-trees o'er thy head are growing, juniper upon thy ankles, on thy finger-tips are willows. "thus my wretched doom has found me, and an ill reward has reached me, that my sword i dared to measure, and i dared to raise my weapons there in pohjola's great castle, in the fields of pimentola. but my own race now has perished, perished now is she who bore me." then he looked, and turned on all sides, and he saw a trace of footsteps, where the grass was lightly trampled, and the heath was slightly broken. then he went the way they led him, and he found a little pathway; to the forest led the pathway, and he went in that direction. thus he walked a verst, a second, hurried through a stretch of country, and in darkest shades of forest, in the most concealed recesses, there he saw a hidden bath-house, saw a little cottage hidden, in a cleft two rocks protected, in a nook between three fir-trees; there he saw his tender mother, there beheld the aged woman. then the lively lemminkainen, felt rejoiced beyond all measure, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "o my very dearest mother, o my mother who hast nursed me, thou art living still, o mother, watchful still, my aged mother! yet i thought that thou had'st perished, and wast lost to me for ever, perished underneath the sword-blades, or beneath the spears had'st fallen, and i wept my pretty eyes out, and my handsome cheeks were ruined." then said lemminkainen's mother, "true it is that i am living, but was forced to fly my dwelling, and to seek a place of hiding in this dark and gloomy forest, in the most concealed recesses, when came pohjola to battle, murderous hosts from distant countries, seeking but for thee, unhappy, and our home they laid in ruins, and they burned the house to ashes, and they wasted all the holding." said the lively lemminkainen: "o my mother who hast borne me, do not give thyself to sadness, be not sad, and be not troubled. we will now erect fresh buildings, better buildings than the others, and will wage a war with pohja, overthrowing lempo's people." then did lemminkainen's mother answer in the words which follow: "long hast thou, my son, been absent, long, my kauko, hast been living in a distant foreign country, always in the doors of strangers, on a nameless promontory, and upon an unknown island." answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "there to dwell was very pleasant, charming was it there to wander. there the trees are crimson-shining, red the trees, and blue the country, and the pine-boughs shine like silver, and the flowers of heath all golden, and the mountains are of honey, and the rocks are made of hens' eggs, flows the mead from withered pine-trees, milk flows from the barren fir-trees, butter flows from corner-fences, from the posts the ale is flowing. "there to dwell was very pleasant, lovely was it to reside there; afterwards 'twas bad to live there, and unfit for me to live there. they were anxious for the maidens, and suspicious of the women, lest the miserable wenches, and the fat and wicked creatures, might by me be badly treated, visited too much at night-time. but i hid me from the maidens, and the women's daughters guarded just as hides the wolf from porkers, or the hawks from village poultry." runo xxx.--lemminkainen and tiera _argument_ lemminkainen goes to ask his former comrade-in-arms, tiera, to join him in an expedition against pohjola ( - ). the mistress of pohjola sends the frost against them, who freezes the boat in the sea, and almost freezes the heroes themselves in the boat, but that lemminkainen restrains it by powerful charms and invocations ( - ). lemminkainen and his companion walk across the ice to the shore, wander about in the waste for a long time in a miserable plight, and at last make their way home ( - ). ahti, youth for ever youthful, lemminkainen young and lively, very early in the morning, in the very earliest morning, sauntered downward to the boathouse, to the landing-stage he wandered. there a wooden boat was weeping, boat with iron rowlocks grieving; "here am i, for sailing ready, but, o wretched one, rejected. ahti rows not forth to battle, for the space of sixty summers, neither for the lust of silver, or if need of gold should drive him." then the lively lemminkainen struck his glove upon the vessel, with his coloured glove he struck it, and he said the words which follow: "care thou not, o deck of pinewood, nor lament, o timber-sided. thou once more shalt go to battle, and shalt mingle in the combat, shalt again be filled with warriors, ere to-morrow shall be ended." then he went to seek his mother, and he said the words which follow: "do not weep for me, o mother, nor lament, thou aged woman, if i once again must wander, and again must go to battle; for my mind resolve has taken, and a plan my brain has seized on, to destroy the folk of pohja, and revenge me on the scoundrels." to restrain him sought his mother, and the aged woman warned him: "do not go, my son, my dearest, thus 'gainst pohjola to combat! there perchance might death o'ercome thee, and destruction fall upon thee." little troubled lemminkainen, but he thought on his departure, and he started on his journey, and he spoke the words which follow: "can i find another hero, find a man, and find a swordsman, who will join in ahti's battle, and with all his strength will aid me? "well is tiera known unto me, well with kuura i'm acquainted, he will be a second hero, he's a hero and a swordsman, he will join in ahti's battle, and with all his strength will aid me." through the villages he wandered, found his way to tiera's homestead, and he said on his arrival, spoke the object of his coming: "o my tiera, faithful comrade, of my friends most loved and dearest, thinkest thou on days departed, on the life we lived aforetime, when we wandered forth together, to the fields of mighty battles? there was not a single village where ten houses were not numbered, there was none among the houses, where ten heroes were not living, there was none among the heroes, not a man, however valiant, none who did not fall before us, by us twain who was not slaughtered." at the window worked the father, and a spear-shaft he was carving; by the threshold stood the mother, busy as she churned the butter; at the door the ruddy brothers, and they wrought a sledge's framework; at the bridge-end stood the sisters, and the clothes they there were wringing. from the window spoke the father, and the mother from the threshold, from the door the ruddy brothers, from the bridge-end spoke the sisters, "tiera cannot go to battle, nor may strike with spear in warfare. other duties call for tiera, he has made a lifelong compact, for a young wife has he taken as the mistress of his household, but untouched is she at present, uncaressed is still her bosom." by the stove was tiera resting, by the stove-side kuura rested, at the stove one foot he booted, and the other at the stove-bench, at the gate his belt he tightened, in the open girt it round him; then did tiera grasp his spear-shaft, not the largest of the largest, nor the smallest of the smallest, but a spear of mid dimensions. on the blade a steed was standing, on the side a foal was trotting, at the joint a wolf was howling, at the haft a bear was growling. thus his spear did tiera brandish, and he brandished it to whirring, hurled it then to fathom-deepness in the stiff clay of the cornfield, in a bare spot of the meadow, in a flat spot free from hillocks. then his spear was placed by tiera with the other spears of ahti, and he went and made him ready swift to join in ahti's battle. then did ahti saarelainen push his boat into the water, like a snake in grass when creeping, even like a living serpent, and he sailed away to north-west, on the lake that borders pohja. then did pohjola's old mistress call the wicked frost to aid her, on the lake that borders pohja, on the deep and open water, and she said the words which follow, thus she spoke and thus commanded: "o my frost, my boy so little, o thou foster-child i nurtured! go thou forth where i shall bid thee, where i bid thee, and i send thee. freeze the boat of that great scoundrel, boat of lively lemminkainen, on the lake's extended surface, on the deep and open water, freeze thou too the master in it, freeze thou in the boat the rascal, that he nevermore escape thee, in the course of all his lifetime, if myself i do not loose him, if myself i do not free him." then the frost, that wicked fellow, and a youth the most malicious, went upon the lake to freeze it, and upon the waves he brooded. forth he went, as he was ordered, and upon the land he wandered, bit the leaves from off the branches, grass from off the flowerless meadows. then he came upon his journey to the lake that borders pohja, to the endless waste of water, and upon the first night only froze the bays and froze the lakelets, hurried forward on the seashore, but the lake was still unfrozen, and the waves were still unstiffened. if a small finch swam the water, on the waves a water-wagtail, still its claws remained unfrozen, and its little head unstiffened. on the second night, however, he began to work more strongly, growing insolent extremely, and he now grew most terrific, then the ice on ice he loaded, and the great frost still was freezing, and with ice he clothed the mountains, scattered snow to height of spear-shaft, froze the boat upon the water, ahti's vessel on the billows; then he would have frozen ahti, and in ice his feet would fasten, and he seized upon his fingers, and beneath his toes attacked him. angry then was lemminkainen, very angry and indignant, pushed the frost into the fire, pushed him in an iron furnace. with his hands the frost then seized he, grasped him in his fists securely, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "pakkanen, puhuri's offspring, thou, the son of cold of winter, do not make my fingers frozen, nor my little toes thus stiffen. let my ears remain unhandled, do not freeze my head upon me. "there's enough that may be frozen, much is left you for your freezing, though the skins of men you freeze not, nor the forms of mother's children. be the plains and marshes frozen, freeze the stones to frozen coldness, freeze the willows near the water, grasp the aspen till it murmurs, peel the bark from off the birch-tree, and the pine-trees break to pieces, but the men you shall not trouble, nor the hair of mother's children. "if this is not yet sufficient, other things remain for freezing. thou may'st freeze the stones when heated, and the slabs of stone when glowing, thou may'st freeze the iron mountains, and the rocks of steely hardness, and the mighty river vuoksi, or the imatra terrific, stop the course of raging whirlpool, foaming in its utmost fury. "shall i tell you of your lineage, and shall i make known your honours? surely do i know thy lineage, all i know of thine uprearing; for the frost was born 'mid willows, nurtured in the sharpest weather, near to pohjola's great homestead, near the hall of pimentola, sprung from father, ever crime-stained, and from a most wicked mother. "who was it the frost who suckled, bathed him in the glowing weather? milkless wholly was his mother, and his mother wholly breastless. "adders 'twas the frost who suckled, adders suckled, serpents fed him, suckled with their pointless nipples, suckled with their dried-up udders, and the northwind rocked his cradle, and to rest the cold air soothed him, in the wretched willow-thicket, in the midst of quaking marshes. "and the boy was reared up vicious, led an evil life destructive, but as yet no name was given, to a boy so wholly worthless; when at length a name was given, frost it was they called the scoundrel. "then he wandered by the hedges, always dancing in the bushes, wading through the swamps in summer on the broadest of the marshes, roaring through the pines in winter, crying out among the fir-trees, crashing through the woods of birch-trees, sweeping through the alder-thickets, freezing all the trees and grasses, making level all the meadows. from the trees he bit the foliage, from the heather bit the blossoms, cracked the bark from off the pine-trees, and the twigs from off the fir-trees. "now that thou hast grown to greatness, and attained thy fullest stature, dar'st thou me with cold to threaten, and to seize my ears attemptest, to attack my feet beneath me, and my finger-tips attacking? "but i shall not let you freeze me. not to miserably freeze me, fire i'll thrust into my stockings, in my boots thrust burning firebrands, in the seams thrust burning embers, fire will thrust beneath my shoestrings, that the frost may never freeze me, nor the sharpest weather harm me. "thither will i now condemn thee, to the furthest bounds of pohja, to the place from whence thou camest, to the home from whence thou camest. freeze upon the fire the kettles, and the coals upon the hearthstone, in the dough the hands of women, and the boy in young wife's bosom, in the ewes the milk congeal thou, and in mares let foals be frozen. "if to this thou pay'st no heeding, then indeed will i condemn thee to the midst of coals of hiisi, even to the hearth of lempo, thrust thee there into the furnace, lay thee down upon the anvil, unprotected from the hammer, from the pounding of the hammer, that the hammer beat thee helpless, and the hammer beat thee sorely. "if this will not overcome thee, and my spells are insufficient, still i know another station, know a fitting station for thee. i will lead thy mouth to summer, and thy tongue to home of summer, whence thou never canst release thee, in the course of all thy lifetime, if i do not give thee freedom, and i should myself release thee." then the frost, the son of northwind, felt that he was near destruction, whereupon he prayed for mercy, and he spoke the words which follow: "let us understand each other, nor the one the other injure, in the course of all our lifetime, while the golden moon is shining. "should'st thou hear that i would freeze you, or again should misbehave me, thrust me then into the furnace, sink me in the blazing fire, in the smith's coals do thou sink me, under ilmarinen's anvil, or my mouth to summer turn thou, and my tongue to home of summer, never more release to hope for, in the course of all my lifetime." then the lively lemminkainen left his vessel in the ice-floes, left his captured ship of battle, and proceeded on his journey; tiera too, the other hero, followed in his comrade's footsteps. o'er the level ice they wandered, 'neath their feet the smooth ice crunching, and they walked one day, a second, and at length upon the third day, then they saw a cape of hunger, and afar a wretched village. 'neath the cape there stood a castle, and they spoke the words which follow: "is there meat within the castle, is there fish within the household, for the worn and weary heroes, and the men who faint with hunger?" meat was none within the castle, nor was fish within the household. spoke the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "fire consume this wretched castle, water sweep away such castles!" he himself pursued his journey, pushing onward through the forest, on a path with houses nowhere, on a pathway that he knew not. then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, shore the wool from stones in passing, from the rocks the hair he gathered, and he wove it into stockings, into mittens quickly wrought it, in the mighty cold's dominion, where the frost was freezing all things. on he went to seek a pathway, searching for the right direction. through the wood the pathway led him, led him in the right direction. spoke the lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli, "o my dearest brother tiera, now at length we're coming somewhere, now that days and months we've wandered, in the open air for ever." then did tiera make him answer, and he spoke the words which follow: "we unhappy sought for vengeance, recklessly we sought for vengeance, rushing forth to mighty conflict in the gloomy land of pohja, there our lives to bring in danger, rushing to our own destruction, in this miserable country, on a pathway that we knew not. "never is it known unto us, never known and never guessed at, what the pathway is that leads us, or the road that may conduct us to our death at edge of forest, or on heath to meet destruction, here in the abode of ravens, in the fields by crows frequented. "and the ravens here are flocking, and the evil birds are croaking, and the flesh the birds are tearing, and with blood the crows are sated, and the ravens' beaks are moistened in the wounds of us, the wretched, to the rocks our bones they carry, and upon the stones they cast them. "ah, my hapless mother knows not, never she, with pain who bore me, where her flesh may now be carried, and her blood may now be flowing, whether in the furious battle, in the equal strife of foemen, or upon a lake's broad surface, on the far-extending billows, or on hills with pine-cones loaded, wandering 'mid the fallen branches. "and my mother can know nothing of her son, the most unhappy, only know that he has perished, only know that he has fallen; and my mother thus will weep me, thus lament, the aged woman: "'thus my hapless son has perished, and the wretched one has fallen; he has sown the seed of tuoni, harrows now in kalma's country. perhaps the son i love so dearly, perhaps my son, o me unhappy, leaves his bows untouched for ever, leaves his handsome bows to stiffen. now the birds may live securely, in the leaves the grouse may flutter, bears may live their lives of rapine, in the fields the reindeer roll them.'" answered lively lemminkainen, said the handsome kaukomieli: "thus it is, unhappy mother, thou unhappy, who hast borne me! thou a flight of doves hast nurtured, quite a flock of swans hast nurtured, rose the wind, and all were scattered, lempo came, and he dispersed them, one in one place, one in other, and a third in yet another. "i remember times aforetime, and the better days remember, how like flowers we gathered round thee, in one homeland, just like berries. many gazed upon our figures, and admired our forms so handsome, otherwise than in the present, in this time so full of evil. once the wind was our acquaintance, and the sun was gazing on us: now the clouds are gathering round us, and the rain has overwhelmed us. but we let not trouble vex us, even in our greatest sorrow, though the girls were living happy, and the braidless maids were jesting, and the women all were laughing, and the brides were sweet as honey, tearless, spite of all vexation, and unshaken when in trouble. "but we are not here enchanted, not bewitched, and not enchanted, here upon the paths to perish, sinking down upon our journey, in our youth to sadly perish, in our bloom to meet destruction. "let those whom the sorcerers harassed and bewitched with eyes of evil, let them make their journey homeward, and regain their native country. be the sorcerers' selves enchanted, and with songs bewitched their children; let their race for ever perish, and their race be brought to ruin. "ne'er in former times my father, never has my aged father yielded to a sorcerer's orders, or the wiles of lapland's children. thus my father spoke aforetime, and i now repeat his sayings: 'guard me, o thou kind creator, guard me, jumala most gracious, aid me with thy hand of mercy, with thy mighty power protect me, from the plots of men of evil, and the thoughts of aged women, and the curses of the bearded, and the curses of the beardless. grant us now thy aid eternal, be our ever-faithful guardian, that no child be taken from us, and no mother's child shall wander from the path of the creator, which by jumala was fashioned.'" then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, from his care constructed horses, coursers black composed from trouble, reins from evil days he fashioned, saddles from his secret sorrows, then his horse's back he mounted, on his white-front courser mounted, and he rode upon his journey, at his side his faithful tiera, and along the shores he journeyed, on the sandy shores proceeded, till he reached his tender mother, reached the very aged woman. now will i abandon kauko, long from out my song will leave him; but he showed the way to tiera, sent him on his homeward journey. now my song aside will wander, while i turn to other matters. runo xxxi.--untamo and kullervo _argument_ untamo wages war against his brother kalervo, overthrows kalervo and his army, sparing only a single pregnant woman of the whole clan. she is carried away to untamo's people, and gives birth to her son kullervo ( - ). kullervo resolves in his cradle to take revenge on untamo, and untamo attempts several times to put him to death, but without success ( - ). when kullervo grows up, he spoils all his work, and therefore untamo sells him as a slave to ilmarinen ( - ). 'twas a mother reared her chickens, large the flock of swans she nurtured; by the hedge she placed the chickens, sent the swans into the river, and an eagle came and scared them, and a hawk that came dispersed them, and a flying bird dispersed them. one he carried to carelia, into russia bore the second, in its home he left the third one. whom the bird to russia carried soon grew up into a merchant; whom he carried to carelia, kalervo was called by others, while the third at home remaining, bore the name of untamoinen, for his father's lifelong anguish, and his mother's deep affliction. untamoinen laid his netting down in kalervo's fish-waters: kalervoinen saw the netting, in his bag he put the fishes. untamo of hasty temper then became both vexed and angry, and his fingers turned to battle, with his open palms he urged it, making strife for fishes' entrails, and for perch-fry made a quarrel. thus they fought and thus contended, neither overcame the other, and though one might smite the other, he himself again was smitten. at another time it happened, on the next and third day after, kalervoinen oats was sowing, back of untamoinen's dwelling. sheep of untamo most reckless browsed the oats of kalervoinen, whereupon his dog ferocious tore the sheep of untamoinen. untamo began to threaten kalervo, his very brother; kalervo's race vowed to slaughter, smite the great, and smite the little, and to fall on all the people, and their houses burn to ashes. men with swords in belt he mustered, weapons for their hands provided, little boys with spears in girdle, handsome youths who shouldered axes, and he marched to furious battle, thus to fight his very brother. kalervoinen's son's fair consort then was sitting near the window, and she looked from out the window, and she spoke the words which follow: "is it smoke i see arising, or a gloomy cloud that rises, on the borders of the cornfields, just beyond the new-made pathway?" but no dark cloud there was rising, nor was smoke ascending thickly, but 'twas untamo's assemblage marching onward to the battle. on came untamo's assemblage, in their belts their swords were hanging, kalervo's folk overwhelming, and his mighty race they slaughtered, and they burned his house to ashes, like a level field they made it. left of kalervo's folk only but one girl, and she was pregnant; then did untamo's assemblage lead her homeward on their journey, that she there might sweep the chamber, and the floor might sweep from litter. but a little time passed over, when a little boy was born her, from a most unhappy mother, so by what name should they call him? kullervo his mother called him, untamo, the battle-hero. then the little boy they swaddled, and the orphan child they rested in the cradle made for rocking, that it might be rocked to lull him. so they rocked the child in cradle, rocked it till his hair was tossing, rocked him for one day, a second, rocked him on the third day likewise, when the boy began his kicking, and he kicked and pushed about him, tore his swaddling clothes to pieces, freed himself from all his clothing, then he broke the lime-wood cradle, all his rags he tore from off him. and it seemed that he would prosper, and become a man of mettle. untamola thought already that when he was grown to manhood, he would grow both wise and mighty, and become a famous hero, as a servant worth a hundred, equal to a thousand servants. thus he grew for two and three months, but already in the third month, when a boy no more than knee-high, he began to speak in thiswise: "presently when i am bigger, and my body shall be stronger, i'll avenge my father's slaughter, and my mother's tears atone for." this was heard by untamoinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "he will bring my race to ruin, kalervo reborn is in him." thereupon the heroes pondered and the old crones all considered how to bring the boy to ruin, so that death might come upon him. then they put him in a barrel, in a barrel did they thrust him, and they pushed it to the water, pushed it out upon the billows. then they went to look about them, after two nights, after three nights, if the boy had sunk in water, or had perished in the barrel. in the waves he was not sunken, nor had perished in the barrel, he had 'scaped from out the barrel, and upon the waves was sitting, in his hand a rod of copper, at the end a line all silken, and for lake-fish he was fishing, as he floated on the water. there was water in the lakelet, which perchance might fill two ladles, or if more exactly measured, partly was a third filled also. untamo again reflected, "how can we o'ercome the infant, that destruction come upon him, and that death may overtake him?" then he bade his servants gather first a large supply of birch-trees, pine-trees with their hundred needles, trees from which the pitch was oozing, for the burning of the infant, and for kullervo's destruction. so they gathered and collected first a large supply of birch-trees, pine-trees with their hundred needles, trees from which the pitch was oozing, and of bark a thousand sledgefuls, ash-trees, long a hundred fathoms. fire beneath the wood they kindled, and the pyre began to crackle, and the boy they cast upon it, 'mid the glowing fire they cast him. burned the fire a day, a second, burning likewise on the third day, when they went to look about them. knee-deep sat the boy in ashes, in the embers to his elbows. in his hand he held the coal-rake, and was stirring up the fire, and he raked the coals together. not a hair was singed upon him, not a lock was even tangled. then did untamo grow angry. "where then can i place the infant, that we bring him to destruction, and that death may overtake him?" so upon a tree they hanged him, strung him up upon an oak-tree. two nights and a third passed over, and upon the dawn thereafter, untamo again reflected: "time it is to look around us, whether kullervo has fallen, or is dead upon the gallows." then he sent a servant forward, back he came, and thus reported: "kullervo not yet has perished, nor has died upon the gallows. pictures on the tree he's carving, in his hands he holds a graver. all the tree is filled with pictures, all the oak-tree filled with carvings; here are men, and here are sword-blades, and the spears are leaning by them." where should untamo seek aidance, 'gainst this boy, the most unhappy? whatsoever deaths he planned him, or he planned for his destruction, in the jaws of death he fell not, nor could he be brought to ruin. and at length he grew full weary of his efforts to destroy him, so he reared up kullervoinen as a slave beneath his orders. thereupon said untamoinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "if you live as it is fitting, always acting as is proper, in my house i will retain you, and the work of servants give you. i will pay you wages for it, as i think that you deserve it, for your waist a pretty girdle, or upon your ear a buffet." so when kullervo was taller, and had grown about a span-length, then he found some work to give him, that he should prepare to labour. 'twas to rock a little infant, rock a child with little fingers. "watch with every care the infant, give it food, and eat some also, wash his napkins in the river, wash his little clothes and cleanse them." so he watched one day, a second, broke his hands, and gouged his eyes out, and at length upon the third day, let the infant die of sickness, cast the napkins in the river, and he burned the baby's cradle. untamo thereon reflected, "such a one is quite unfitted to attend to little children, rock the babes with little fingers. now i know not where to send him, nor what work i ought to give him. perhaps he ought to clear the forest?" so he went to clear the forest. kullervo, kalervo's offspring answered in the words which follow: "now i first a man can deem me, when my hands the axe are wielding. i am handsomer to gaze on, far more noble than aforetime, five men's strength i feel within me and i equal six in valour." then he went into the smithy, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou smith, my dearest brother, forge me now a little hatchet, such an axe as fits a hero, iron tool for skilful workman, for i go to clear the forest, and to fell the slender birch-trees." so the smith forged what he needed, and an axe he forged him quickly; such an axe as fits a hero, iron tool for skilful workman. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, set to work the axe to sharpen, and he ground it in the daytime, and at evening made a handle. then he went into the forest, high upon the wooded mountains, there to seek the best of planking, and to seek the best of timber. with his axe he smote the tree-trunks, with the blade of steel he felled them, at a stroke the best he severed, and the bad ones at a half-stroke. five large trees at length had fallen, eight in all he felled before him, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "lempo may the work accomplish, hiisi now may shape the timber!" in a stump he struck his axe-blade, and began to shout full loudly, and he piped, and then he whistled, and he said the words which follow: "let the wood be felled around me, overthrown the slender birch-trees, far as sounds my voice resounding, far as i can send my whistle. "let no sapling here be growing, let no blade of grass be standing, never while the earth endureth, or the golden moon is shining, here in kalervo's son's forest, here upon the good man's clearing. "if the seed on earth has fallen, and the young corn should shoot upward, if the sprout should be developed, and the stalk should form upon it, may it never come to earing, or the stalk-end be developed." then the mighty untamoinen, wandered forth to gaze about him, learn how kalervo's son cleared it, and the new slave made a clearing. but he found not any clearing, and the young man had not cleared it. untamo thereon reflected, "for such labour he's unsuited, he has spoiled the best of timber, and has felled the best for planking. now i know not where to send him, nor what work i ought to give him. should i let him make a fencing?" so he went to make a fencing. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, set himself to make a fencing, and for this he took whole pine-trees, and he used them for the fence-stakes, took whole fir-trees from the forest, wattled them to make the fencing, bound the branches fast together with the largest mountain-ashtrees; but he made the fence continuous, and he made no gateway through it, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "he who cannot raise him birdlike, nor upon two wings can hover, never may he pass across it, over kalervo's son's fencing!" then did untamo determine forth to go and gaze around him, viewing kalervo's son's fencing by the slave of war constructed. stood the fence without an opening neither gap nor crevice through it, on the solid earth it rested, up among the clouds it towered. then he spoke the words which follow: "for such labour he's unsuited. here's the fence without an opening, and without a gateway through it. up to heaven the fence is builded, to the very clouds uprising; none can ever pass across it, pass within through any opening. now i know not where to send him, nor what work i ought to give him. there is rye for threshing ready." so he sent him to the threshing. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, set himself to do the threshing, and the rye to chaff he pounded, into very chaff he threshed it. soon thereafter came the master, strolling forth to gaze around him, see how kalervo's son threshed it, and how kullervoinen pounded. all the rye to chaff was pounded, into very chaff he'd threshed it. untamoinen then was angry. "as a labourer he is useless. whatsoever work i give him, all his work he spoils from malice. shall i take him into russia, shall i sell him in carelia, to the smith named ilmarinen, that he there may wield the hammer?" kalervo's son took he with him, and he sold him in carelia, to the smith named ilmarinen, skilful wielder of the hammer. what then gave the smith in payment? great the payment that he made him; for he gave two worn-out kettles, and three halves of hooks he gave him, and five worn-out scythes he gave him, and six worn-out rakes he gave him, for a man the most unskilful, for a slave completely worthless. runo xxxii.--kullervo and the wife of ilmarinen _argument_ the wife of ilmarinen makes kullervo her herdsman and maliciously bakes him a stone in his lunch ( - ). she then sends him out with the cattle, after using the usual prayers and charms for their protection from bears in the pastures ( - ). kullervo, kalervo's offspring, old man's son, with blue-dyed stockings, finest locks of yellow colour, and with shoes of best of leather, to the smith's house went directly, asked for work that very evening, asked the master in the evening, and the mistress in the morning: "give me something now to work at, give me work that i may do it, set me something now to work at, give some work to me the wretched!" then the wife of ilmarinen, pondered deeply on the matter, what the new slave could accomplish, what the new-bought wretch could work at, and she took him as her herdsman, who should herd her flocks extensive. then the most malicious mistress, she, the smith's wife, old and jeering, baked a loaf to give the herdsman, and a great cake did she bake him, oats below and wheat above it, and between, a stone inserted. then she spread the cake with butter, and upon the crust laid bacon, gave it as the slave's allowance, as provision for the herdsman. she herself the slave instructed, and she spoke the words which follow: "do not eat the food i give you, till in wood the herd is driven." then did ilmarinen's housewife send the herd away to pasture, and she spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed her: "send the cows among the bushes, and the milkers in the meadow, those with wide horns to the aspens, those with curved horns to the birches, that they thus may fatten on them, and may load themselves with tallow, there upon the open meadows, and among the wide-spread borders, from the lofty birchen forest, and the lower growing aspens, from among the golden fir-woods, from among the silver woodlands. "watch them, jumala most gracious, guard them, o thou kind creator, guard from harm upon the pathway, and protect them from all evil, that they come not into danger, nor may fall in any evil. "as beneath the roof-tree watch them, keep them under thy protection, watch them also in the open, when beyond the fold protect them, that the herd may grow more handsome, and the mistress' cattle prosper, to the wish of our well-wishers, 'gainst the wish of our ill-wishers. "if my herdsman is a bad one, or the herd-girls should be timid, make the willow then a herdsman, let the alder watch the cattle, let the mountain-ash protect them, and the cherry lead them homeward, that the mistress need not seek them, nor need other folks be anxious. "if the willow will not herd them, nor the mountain-ash protect them, nor the alder watch the cattle, nor the cherry lead them homeward, send thou then thy better servants, send the daughters of creation, that they may protect my cattle, and the whole herd may look after. very many are thy maidens, hundreds are beneath thy orders, dwelling underneath the heavens, noble daughters of creation. "suvetar, the best of women, etelätär, nature's old one, hongatar, the noble mistress, katajatar, maiden fairest, pihlajatar, little damsel, tuometar, of tapio daughter, mielikki, the wood's step-daughter, tellervo, the maid of tapio, may ye all protect my cattle, and protect the best among them, through the beauty of the summer, in the pleasant time of leafage, while the leaves on trees are moving, grass upon the ground is waving. "suvetar, the best of women, etelätär, nature's old one, spread thou out thy robe of softness, and do thou spread out thy apron, as a covering for my cattle, for the hiding of the small ones, that no ill winds blow upon them, nor an evil rain fall on them. "do thou guard my flock from evil, guard from harm upon the pathways, and upon the quaking marshes, where the surface all is shifting, where the marsh is always moving, and the depths below are shaking, that they come not into danger, nor may fall in any evil, that no hoof in swamp is twisted, nor may slip among the marshes, save when jumala perceives it, 'gainst the will of him, the holy. "fetch the cow-horn from a distance, fetch it from the midst of heaven, bring the mead-horn down from heaven, let the honey-horn be sounded. blow into the horn then strongly, and repeat the tunes resounding, blow then flowers upon the hummocks, blow then fair the heathland's borders, make the meadow's borders lovely, and the forest borders charming, borders of the marshes fertile, of the springs the borders rolling. "then give fodder to my cattle, give the cattle food sufficient, give them food of honey-sweetness, give them drink as sweet as honey, feed them now with hay all golden, and the heads of silvery grasses, from the springs of all the sweetest, from the streams that flow most swiftly, from the swiftly-rushing torrents, from the swiftly-running rivers, from the hills all golden-shining, and from out the silvery meadows. "dig them also wells all golden upon both sides of the pastures, that the herd may drink the water, and the sweet juice then may trickle down into their teeming udders, down into their swelling udders, that the veins may all be moving, and the milk may flow in rivers, and the streams of milk be loosened, and may foam the milky torrents, and the milk-streams may be silent, and the milk-streams may be swollen, and the milk be always flowing, and the stream be always dropping, down upon the greenest haycocks, and no evil fingers guide it; that no milk may flow to mana, nor upon the ground be wasted. "there are many who are wicked, and who send the milk to mana, and upon the ground who waste it, give the cattle's yield to others. they are few, but they are skilful who can bring the milk from mana, sourest milk from village storage, and when new from other quarters. "never has indeed my mother sought for counsel in the village, brought it from another household; but she fetched her milk from mana, sour milk brought from those who stored it, and fresh milk obtained from others; had the milk from distance carried, had it fetched from distant regions, fetched the milk from realms of tuoni, 'neath the earth in mana's kingdom. secretly at night they brought it, and in murky places hid it, that the wicked should not hear it, nor the worthless ones should know it, nor bad hay should fall into it, and it should be saved from spoiling. "thus my mother always told me in the very words which follow: 'where has gone the yield of cattle, whither has the milk now vanished? has it been conveyed to strangers, carried to the village storehouse, in the laps of beggar-wenches, in the arms of those who envy, or among the trees been carried, and been lost amid the forest, and been scattered in the woodlands, or been lost upon the heathlands? "'but no milk shall go to mana, nor the yield of cows to strangers, in the laps of beggar-wenches, in the arms of those who envy, nor among the trees be carried, nor be lost amid the forest, nor be scattered in the woodlands nor be lost upon the heathlands. in the house the milk is useful, and at all times it is needed; in the house there waits the mistress, in her hand the wooden milk-pail.' "suvetar, the best of women, etelätär, nature's old one, go and fodder my syötikki, give thou drink to my juotikki, milk confer upon hermikki, and fresh fodder give tuorikki, give thou milk unto mairikki, put fresh milk into the cowhouse, from the heads of brightest herbage, and the reeds of all the forest, from the lovely earth up-springing, from the hillocks rich in honey, from the sweetest meadow-grasses, and the berry-bearing regions, from the goddess of the heather, and the nymph who tends the grasses, and the milkmaid of the cloudlets, and the maid in midst of heaven. give the cows their milk-filled udders always filled to overflowing, to be milked by dwarfish women, that a little girl may milk them. "rise, o virgin, from the valley, from the spring, in gorgeous raiment, from the spring, o maiden, rise thou, from the ooze arise, o fairest. from the spring take thou some water, sprinkle thou my cattle with it, that the cattle may be finer, and the mistress' cattle prosper, ere the coming of the mistress, ere the herd-girl look upon them, she, the most unskilful mistress, and the very timid herd-girl. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, of the herds the bounteous mother, send the tallest of thy handmaids, and the best among thy servants, that they may protect my cattle, and my herd be watched and tended through the finest of the summer, in the good creator's summer, under jumala's protection, and protected by his favour. "tellervo, o maid of tapio, little daughter of the forest, clad in soft and beauteous garments, with thy yellow hair so lovely, be the guardian of the cattle, do thou guard the mistress' cattle all through metsola so lovely, and through tapiola's bright regions do thou guard the herd securely, do thou watch the herd unsleeping. "with thy lovely hands protect them, with thy slender fingers stroke them, rub them with the skins of lynxes, comb them with the fins of fishes, like the hue of the lake creatures, like the wool of ewe of meadow. come at evening and night's darkness, when the twilight round is closing, then do thou lead home my cattle, lead them to their noble mistress, on their backs the water pouring, lakes of milk upon their cruppers. "when the sun to rest has sunken, and the bird of eve is singing, then i say unto my cattle, speak unto my horned creatures. "'come ye home, ye curve-horned cattle, milk-dispensers to the household, in the house 'tis very pleasant, where the floor is nice for resting. on the waste 'tis bad to wander, or upon the shore to bellow, therefore you should hasten homeward, and the women fire will kindle, in the field of honeyed grasses, on the ground o'ergrown with berries.' "nyyrikki, o son of tapio, blue-coat offspring of the forest! take the stumps of tallest pine-trees, and the lofty crowns of fir-trees, for a bridge in miry places, where the ground is bad for walking, deep morass, and swampy moorland, and the treacherous pools of water. let the curve-horned cattle wander, and the split-hoofed cattle gallop, unto where the smoke is rising, free from harm, and free from danger, sinking not into the marshes, nor embogged in miry places. "if the cattle pay no heeding, nor will home return at nightfall, pihlajatar, little damsel, katajatar, fairest maiden, quickly cut a branch of birch-tree, take a rod from out the bushes, likewise take a whip of cherry, and of juniper to scourge them, from the back of tapio's castle, from among the slopes of alder. drive the herd towards the household, at the time for bathroom-heating; homeward drive the household cattle, cows from metsola's great forest. "otso, apple of the forest, with thy honey-paws so curving, let us make a peace between us, haste to make a peace between us, so that always and for ever in the days that we are living, thou wilt fell no hooféd cattle, nor wilt overthrow the milch-kine, through the finest of the summer, in the good creator's summer. "when thou hear'st the cow-bells ringing, or thou hear'st the cow-horn sounding, cast thee down among the hillocks, sleep thou there upon the meadow, thrust thine ears into the stubble, hide thy head among the hillocks, or conceal thee in the thickets, to thy mossy lair retreat thou, go thou forth to other districts, flee away to other hillocks, that thou mayst not hear the cow-bells, nor the talking of the herdsmen. "o my otso, o my darling, handsome one, with paws of honey, i forbid thee to approach them, or molest the herd of cattle, neither with thy tongue to touch them, nor with ugly mouth to seize them, with thy teeth to tear to pieces, neither with thy claws to scratch them. "go thou slouching through the meadow, go in secret through the pasture, slinking off when bells are ringing, shun the talking of the shepherds. if the herd is on the heathland, then into the swamps retreat thou, if the herd is in the marshes, then conceal thee in the thickets, if the herd should climb the mountain, quickly then descend the mountain, if the herd should wander downward, wander then along the mountain, if they wander in the bushes, to the thicker woods retreat thou, if the thicker wood they enter, wander then into the bushes, wander like the golden cuckoo, like the dove of silver colour, move aside as moves the powan, glide away like fish in water, as a flock of wool drifts sideways, or a roll of flax the lightest, in thy fur thy claws conceal thou, in thy gums thy teeth conceal thou, that the herd thou dost not frighten, nor the little calves be injured. "let the cattle rest in quiet, leave in peace the hooféd cattle, let the herd securely wander, let them march in perfect order through the swamps and through the open, through the tangle of the forest, never do thou dare to touch them, nor to wickedly molest them. "keep the former oath thou sworest, there by tuonela's deep river, by the raging fall of water, at the knees of the creator. thou hast been indeed permitted, three times in the course of summer, to approach the bells when ringing, and the tinkling of the cow-bells, but 'tis not permitted to thee, nor permission has been given, to commence a work of evil, or a deed of shame accomplish. "should thy frenzy come upon thee, and thy teeth be seized with longing, cast thy frenzy in the bushes, on the heath thy evil longing, then attack the trees all rotten, overthrow the rotten birch-trees, turn to trees in water standing, growl in berry-bearing districts. "if the need for food should seize thee, or for food the wish thou feelest, eat the fungi in the forest, and do thou break down the ant-hills, and the red roots do thou delve for; these are metsola's sweet dainties. eat no grass reserved for fodder, neither do thou hurt my pasture. "when in metsola the honey is fermenting and is working, on the hills of golden colour, and upon the plains of silver, there is food for those who hunger, there is drink for all the thirsty, there is food to eat that fails not, there is drink that never lessens. "let us make a league eternal, make an endless peace between us, that we live in perfect quiet and in comfort all the summer, and to us the lands are common, and our provender delicious. "if thou dost desire a combat, and wouldst live in hopes of battle, let us combat in the winter, and contend in time of snowfall. when the marshes thaw in summer, and the pools are all unfrozen, never venture to approach thou, where the golden herd is living. "when thou comest to this country, and thou movest in this forest, we at any time will shoot you, though the gunners should be absent. there are very skilful women, all of them accomplished housewives, and they will destroy your pathway, on your journey bring destruction, lest you might work any evil, or indulge in any mischief, ill by jumala not sanctioned, and against his blessed orders. "ukko, thou, of gods the highest, shouldst thou hear that he is coming, then do thou transform my cattle, suddenly transform my cattle, into stones convert my own ones, change my fair ones into tree-trunks, when the monster roams the district, and the big one wanders through it. "if i were myself a bruin, roamed about a honey-pawed one, never would i dare to venture to the feet of aged women. there are many other regions, there are many other penfolds, where a man may go to wander, roaming aimless at his pleasure. therefore move thy paws across them, do thou move thy paws across them, in the blue wood's deep recesses, in the depths of murmuring forest. "on the heath o'er pine-cones wander, tramp thou through the sandy districts, go thou where the way is level, do thou bound along the lakeshore, to the furthest bounds of pohja, to the distant plains of lapland. there indeed mayst thou be happy, good it is for thee to dwell there, wandering shoeless in the summer, wandering sockless in the autumn, through the wide expanse of marshland, and across the wide morasses. "but if thou should not go thither, if thou canst not find the pathway, hasten then to distant regions, do thou wander, on thy pathway unto tuonela's great forest, or across the heaths of kalma. there are marshes to be traversed, there are heaths that thou mayst traverse, there is kirjos, there is karjos, there are many other cattle, fitted with their iron neck-chains, ten among them altogether; there the lean kine quickly fatten, and their bones are soon flesh-covered. "be propitious, wood and forest, be thou gracious, o thou blue wood, give thou peace unto the cattle, and protection to the hoofed ones, through the whole length of the summer, of the lord the loveliest season. "kuippana, thou king of woodland, active greybeard of the forest, hold thy dogs in careful keeping, watch thou well thy dogs and guard them; thrust some fungus in one nostril, in the other thrust an apple, that they may not smell the cattle, and they may not scent their odour. bind their eyes with silken ribands, likewise bind their ears with linen, that they may not hear them moving, and they may not see them walking. "if this is not yet sufficient, and they do not much regard it, then do thou forbid thy children, do thou drive away thy offspring. lead them forth from out this forest, from this lakeshore do thou drive them, from the lands where roam the cattle, from among the spreading willows, do thou hide thy dogs in caverns, nor neglect to bind them firmly, bind them with the golden fetters, with the slender silver fetters, that they may commit no evil, and be guilty of no outrage. "if this is not yet sufficient, and they do not much regard it, ukko, then, o golden monarch, ukko, o thou silver guardian, hearken to my words so golden, listen to my lovely sayings! take a snaffle made of rowan, fix it on their stumpy muzzles, or if rowan will not hold them, cast thou then a copper muzzle, if too weak is found the copper, forge thou then an iron muzzle, if they break the iron muzzle, and it should itself be shattered, drive thou then a stake all golden, through the chin and through the jawbone, do thou close their jaws securely, fix them that they cannot move them, that they cannot move their jawbones, and their teeth can scarcely open, if the iron is not opened, if the steel should not be loosened, if with knife it is not severed, if with hatchet 'tis not broken." then did ilmarinen's housewife, of the smith the wife so artful, drive from out their stalls the cattle, send the cattle forth to pasture, after them she sent the shepherd, that the slave should drive the cattle. runo xxxiii.--the death of ilmarinen's wife _argument_ while kullervo is in the pasture in the afternoon he tries to cut the cake with his knife which he completely spoils, and this goes to his heart the more because the knife was the only remembrance left to him of his family ( - ). to revenge himself on the mistress, he drives the cattle into the marshes to be devoured by beasts of the forest, and gathers together a herd of wolves and bears, which he drives home in the evening ( - ). when the mistress goes to milk them she is torn to pieces by the wild beasts ( - ). kullervo, kalervo's offspring, put his lunch into his wallet, drove the cows along the marshes, while across the heath he wandered, and he spoke as he was going, and repeated on his journey, "woe to me, a youth unhappy, and a youth of wretched fortune! wheresoe'er i turn my footsteps, nought but idleness awaits me; i must watch the tails of oxen, and must watch the calves i follow, always tramping through the marshes, through the worst of level country." then upon the ground he rested, on a sunny slope he sat him, and he then composed these verses, and expressed himself in singing: "sun of jumala, o shine thou, of the lord, thou wheel, shine warmly, on the warder of the smith's herd, and upon the wretched shepherd, not on ilmarinen's household, least of all upon the mistress, for the mistress lives luxurious, and the wheaten-bread she slices, and the finest cakes devours, and she spreads them o'er with butter, gives the wretched shepherd dry bread, dry crusts only for his chewing, only oaten-cake she gives me, even this with chaff she mixes, even straw she scatters through it, gives for food the bark of fir-tree, water in a birch-bark bucket, upscooped 'mid the grassy hillocks. march, o sun, and wheat, o wander, sink in jumala's own season, hasten, sun, among the pine-trees, wander, wheat, into the bushes, 'mid the junipers, o hasten, fly thou to the plains of alder, lead thou then the herdsman homeward, give him butter from the barrel, let him eat the freshest butter, over all the cakes extending." but the wife of ilmarinen while the shepherd was lamenting, and while kullervo was singing, ate the butter from the barrel, and she ate the freshest butter, and upon the cakes she spread it, and hot soup had she made ready, but for kullervo cold cabbage, whence the dog the fat had eaten, and the black dog made a meal from, and the spotted dog been sated, and the brown dog had sufficient. from the branch there sang a birdling, sang a small bird from the bushes, "time 'tis for the servant's supper, o thou orphan boy, 'tis evening." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, looked, and saw the sun was sinking, and he said the words which follow: "now the time has come for eating, yes, the time has come for eating, time it is to take refreshment." so to rest he drove the cattle, on the heath he drove the cattle, and he sat him on a hillock, and upon a green hill sat him. from his back he took his wallet, took the cake from out the wallet, and he turned it round and eyed it, and he spoke the words which follow: "many a cake is outside handsome, and the crust looks smooth from outside, but within is only fir-bark, only chaff beneath the surface." from the sheath he took his knife out, and to cut the cake attempted. on the stone the knife struck sharply, and against the stone was broken. from the knife the point was broken; and the knife itself was broken. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, looked, and saw the knife was broken, and at length he burst out weeping, and he said the words which follow: "save this knife i'd no companion, nought to love except this iron, 'twas an heirloom from my father, and the aged man had used it. now against a stone 'tis broken, 'gainst a piece of rock 'tis shattered in the cake of that vile mistress, baked there by that wicked woman. "how shall i for this reward her, woman's prank, and damsel's mockery, and destroy the base old woman, and that wicked wench, the bakeress?" then a crow cawed from the bushes, cawed the crow, and croaked the raven. "o thou wretched golden buckle, kalervo's surviving offspring, wherefore art thou so unhappy, wherefore is thy heart so troubled? take a switch from out the bushes, and a birch from forest-valley, drive the foul beasts in the marshes, chase the cows to the morasses, half to largest wolves deliver, half to bears amid the forest. "call thou all the wolves together, all the bears do thou assemble, change the wolves to little cattle, make the bears the larger cattle, lead them then like cattle homeward, lead them home like brindled cattle; thus repay the woman's jesting, and the wicked woman's insult." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, uttered then the words which follow: "wait thou, wait thou, whore of hiisi, for my father's knife i'm weeping, soon wilt thou thyself be weeping, and be weeping for thy milchkine." from the bush a switch he gathered, juniper as whip for cattle, drove the cows into the marshes, and the oxen in the thickets, half of these the wolves devoured, to the bears he gave the others, and he sang the wolves to cattle, and he changed the bears to oxen, made the first the little cattle, made the last the larger cattle. in the south the sun was sinking, in the west the sun descended, bending down towards the pine-trees at the time of cattle-milking. then the dusty wicked herd-boy, kullervo, kalervo's offspring, homeward drove the bears before him, and the wolf-flock to the farmyard, and the bears he thus commanded, and the wolves he thus instructed: "tear the mistress' thighs asunder, see that through her calves you bite her, when she comes to look around her, and she bends her down to milk you." then he made a pipe of cow-bone, and a whistle made of ox-horn, from tuomikki's leg a cow-horn, and a flute from heel of kirjo, then upon the horn blew loudly, and upon his pipe made music. thrice upon the hill he blew it, six times at the pathway's opening. then did ilmarinen's housewife, wife of smith, an active woman, who for milk had long been waiting, and expecting summer butter, hear the music on the marshes, and upon the heath the cattle, and she spoke the words which follow, and expressed herself in thiswise: "praise to jumala be given, sounds the pipe, the herd is coming, whence obtained the slave the cow-horn, that he made a horn to blow on? wherefore does he thus come playing, blowing tunes upon the cow-horn, blowing till he bursts the eardrums, and he gives me quite a headache?" kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "in the swamp the horn was lying, from the sand i brought the cow-horn, to the lane i brought your cattle, in the shed the cows are standing; come you forth to smoke the cattle, and come out to milk the cattle." then did ilmarinen's housewife bid the mother milk the cattle. "mother, go and milk the cattle, do thou go to tend the cattle, for i think i cannot finish kneading dough as i would have it." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "ever do the thrifty housewives, ever do the careful housewives go the first to milk the cattle, set themselves to milk the cattle." then did ilmarinen's housewife hasten forth to smoke the cattle, and she went to milk the cattle, and surveyed the herd before her, gazed upon the horned cattle, and she spoke the words which follow: "beauteous is the herd to gaze on, very sleek the horned cattle, they have all been rubbed with lynx-skin and the wool of sheep of forest, well-filled, too, are all their udders, and expanded with their fulness." so she stooped her down to milk them, and she sat her down for milking, pulled a first time and a second, and attempted it a third time, and the wolf sprang fiercely at her, and the bear came fiercely after. at her mouth the wolf was tearing, and the bear tore through her tendons, halfway through her calves they bit her, and they broke across her shinbones. kullervo, kalervo's offspring thus repaid the damsel's jesting, damsel's jesting, woman's mocking, thus repaid the wicked woman. ilmarinen's wife illustrious then herself was brought to weeping, and she spoke the words which follow: "ill thou dost, o wicked herdsman, driving bears unto the homestead, to the yard these wolves gigantic." kullervo, kalervo's offspring heard, and thus he made her answer: "ill i did, a wicked herd-boy, not so great as wicked mistress. in my cake a stone she baked me, baked a lump of rock within it, on the stone my knife struck sharply, 'gainst the rock my knife was shattered; 'twas the knife of mine own father, of our race a cherished heirloom." then said ilmarinen's housewife, "o thou herd-boy, dearest herd-boy, wilt thou alter thy intention, and recall thy words of magic, and release me from the wolf's jaws, from the bear's claws now release me? better shirts will i then give you, and will give you handsome aprons, give you wheaten-bread, and butter, and the sweetest milk for drinking, for a year no work will give you, give you light work in the second. "if you haste not to release me, come not quickly to my rescue, death will quickly fall upon me, and to earth shall i be altered." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "if you die, so may you perish, if you perish, may you perish! room there is in earth to hold you, room in kalma's home for lost ones, for the mightiest there to slumber, for the proudest to repose them." then said ilmarinen's housewife, "ukko, thou, of gods the highest, haste to bend thy mighty crossbow, of thy bows the best select thou, take thou then a bolt of copper, and adjust it to the crossbow, shoot thou then a flaming arrow, shoot thou forth the bolt of copper, shoot it quickly through the arm-pits, shoot it that it split the shoulders. thus let kalervo's son perish, shoot thou dead this wicked creature, shoot him with the steel-tipped arrow, shoot him with thy bolt of copper." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, uttered then the words which follow: "ukko, thou, of gods the highest, shoot me not as she has prayed thee, shoot the wife of ilmarinen, do thou kill this wicked woman, ere from off this spot she riseth, or can move herself from off it." then did ilmarinen's housewife, wife of that most skilful craftsman, on the spot at once fall dying, fell, as falls the soot from kettle, in the yard before her homestead, in the narrow yard she perished. thus it was the young wife perished, thus the fairest housewife perished, whom the smith so long had yearned for, and for six long years was sought for, as the joy of ilmarinen, pride of him, the smith so famous. runo xxxiv.--kullervo and his parents _argument_ kullervo escapes from the homestead of ilmarinen, and wanders sorrowfully through the forest, where he meets with the old woman of the forest, who informs him that his father, mother, brothers and sisters are still living ( - ). following her directions he finds them on the borders of lapland ( - ). his mother tells him that she had long supposed him to be dead, and also that her elder daughter had been lost when gathering berries ( - ). kullervo, kalervo's offspring, he, the youth with blue-dyed stockings, and with yellow hair the finest, and with shoes of finest leather, hurried quickly on his journey from the home of ilmarinen, ere report could reach the master of the death his wife had suffered, and might harm him in his anger, and he might at once destroy him. from the smith he hurried piping, joyful left the lands of ilma, on the heath his horn blew loudly, shouted loudly in the clearing, and he dashed through plains and marshes, while the heath re-echoed loudly, and his horn kept loudly blowing, and made horrible rejoicing. in the smithy did they hear it, at the forge the smith was standing, to the lane he went to listen, to the yard to look around him, who was playing in the forest, and upon the heath was piping. then he saw what just had happened, saw the truth without deception, there he saw his wife was resting, saw the fair one who had perished, where she in the yard had fallen, on the grass where she had fallen. even while the smith was standing, all his heart was dark with sorrow; many nights he spent in weeping, many weeks his tears were flowing, and his soul like tar was darkened, and his heart than soot no lighter. kullervo still wandered onwards, aimlessly he hurried forward, for a day through thickest forest, through the timber-grounds of hiisi, and at evening, when it darkened, down upon the ground he threw him. there the orphan boy was sitting, and the friendless one reflected: "wherefore have i been created, who has made me, and has doomed me, thus 'neath moon and sun to wander 'neath the open sky for ever? "others to their homes may journey, and may travel to their dwellings, but my home is in the forest, and upon the heath my homestead. in the wind i find my fire-place, in the rain i find my bathroom. "never, jumala most gracious, never in the course of ages, form a child thus mis-created, doomed to be for ever friendless, fatherless beneath the heavens, from the first without a mother, as thou, jumala, hast made me, and hast formed me to be wretched, formed me like a wandering seagull, like a seagull on the lake-cliffs. shines the sun upon the swallow, brightly shines upon the sparrow, in the air the birds are joyous, i myself am never happy, on my life the sun shines never, and my life is always joyless. "now i know not who has nursed me, and i know not who has borne me, for, as water-hens are used to, or as ducks among the marshes, like the teal on shore she left me, or in hollow stone, merganser. "i was small, and lost my father, i was weak, and lost my mother, dead is father, dead is mother, all my mighty race has perished, shoes of ice to wear they left me, filled with snow they left my stockings, on the ice they left me lying, rolling on the platform left me, thus i fell into the marshes, and amid the mud was swallowed. "but in all my life i never, never in my life i hastened, through the swamp to make a platform, or a bridge in marshy places; but i sank not in the marshes, for i had two hands to help me, and i had five nimble fingers, and ten nails to lift me from it." then into his mind it entered in his brain he fixed the notion unto untamo to journey, there his father's wrongs avenging, father's wrongs, and tears of mother, and the wrongs himself had suffered. then he spoke the words which follow: "wait thou, wait thou, untamoinen, watch thou, of my race destroyer! if i seek thee out in battle, i will quickly burn thy dwelling, and thy farms to flame deliver." then an old dame came to meet him, blue-robed lady of the forest, and she spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed her: "whither goeth kullervoinen, where will kalervo's son hasten?" kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "in my mind the thought has entered, in my brain has fixed the notion hence to other lands to wander, unto untamo's own village, there my father's death avenging, father's wrongs, and tears of mother, there with fire to burn the houses, and to burn them up completely." but the old wife made him answer, and she spoke the words which follow: "no, your race has not yet perished, nor has kalervo been murdered; for your father still is living, and on earth in health your mother." "o my dearest of old women, tell me, o my dear old woman, where i yet may find my father, where the fair one who has borne me?" "thither is thy father living, there the fair one who has borne thee, far away on lapland's borders, on the borders of a fishpond." "o my dearest of old women, tell me, o my dear old woman, how i best can journey to them, and the road i may discover?" "easy 'tis for thee to journey, though to thee unknown the pathway. through the forest must thou journey, by the river thou must travel, thou must march one day, a second, and must march upon the third day, then must turn thee to the north-west, till you reach a wooded mountain, then march on beneath the mountain, go the left side of the mountain, till thou comest to a river, (on the right side thou wilt find it,) by the riverside go further, till three waterfalls rush foaming, when thou comest to a headland, with a narrow tongue projecting, and a house at point of headland, and beyond a hut for fishing. there thy father still is living, there the fair one who has borne thee, there thou'lt also find thy sisters, two among the fairest maidens." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, started then upon his journey, and he marched one day, a second, likewise marched upon the third day, then he turned him to the north-west, till he reached a wooded mountain, then he marched halfway below it, turning westward from the mountain, till at length he found the river, and he marched along the river, on the west bank of the river, past three water-falls he journeyed, till at length he reached a headland with a narrow tongue projecting, and a house at point of headland, and beyond, a hut for fishing. thereupon the house he entered, in the room they did not know him. "from what lake has come the stranger, from what country is the wanderer?" "is your son then all forgotten, know you not your child, your offspring, who by untamo's marauders, with them to their home was carried, greater not than span of father, longer not than mother's spindle?" then his mother interrupted, and exclaimed the aged woman, "o my son, my son unhappy, o my golden brooch so wretched, hast thou then, with eyes yet living, wandered through these countries hither, when as dead i long had mourned thee, long had wept for thy destruction? "i had two sons in the past days, and two daughters of the fairest, and among them two have vanished, two are lost among the elder, first my son in furious battle, then my daughter, how i know not. though my son has reached the homestead, never has returned my daughter." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, in his turn began to question. "how then has your daughter vanished, what has happened to my sister?" then his mother made him answer, and she spoke the words which follow: "thus has disappeared my daughter, thus it happened to your sister. to the wood she went for berries, sought for raspberries 'neath the mountain, there it is the dove has vanished, there it is the bird has perished, thus she died without our knowledge, how she died we cannot tell you. "who is longing for the maiden? save her mother, no one missed her. first her mother went to seek her, and her mother sought, who missed her, forth i went, unhappy mother, forth i went to seek my daughter, through the wood like bear i hurried, speeding through the wastes like otter, thus i sought one day, a second, sought her also on the third day. when the third day had passed over, for a long time yet i wandered, till i reached a mighty mountain, and a peak of all the highest, calling ever on my daughter, ever grieving for the lost one. "'where is now my dearest daughter? o my daughter, come thou homeward!' "thus i shouted to my daughter, grieving ever for the lost one, and the mountains made me answer, and the heaths again re-echoed, 'call no more upon thy daughter, call no more, and shout no longer, never will she come back living, nor return unto her household, never to her mother's dwelling, to her aged father's boathouse.'" runo xxxv.--kullervo and his sister _argument_ kullervo attempts to do different kinds of work for his parents, but only succeeds in spoiling everything, so his father sends him to pay the land-dues ( - ). on his way home he meets his sister who was lost gathering berries, whom he drags into his sledge ( - ). afterwards, when his sister learns who he is, she throws herself into a torrent, but kullervo hurries home, relates his sister's terrible fate to his mother, and proposes to put an end to his own life ( - ). his mother dissuades him from suicide, and advises him to retire to some retreat where he may be able to recover from his remorse. but kullervo resolves before all things to avenge himself on untamo ( - ). kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, after this continued living, in the shelter of his parents, but he comprehended nothing, nor attained to manly wisdom, for his rearing had been crooked, and the child was rocked all wrongly, by perversest foster-father, and a foolish foster-mother. then to work the boy attempted, many things he tried his hand at, and he went the fish to capture, and to lay the largest drag-net, and he spoke the words which follow, pondered as he grasped the oar: "shall i pull with all my efforts, row, exerting all my vigour; shall i row with common efforts, row no stronger than is needful?" and the steersman made him answer, and he spoke the words which follow: "pull away with all your efforts, row, exerting all your vigour, row the boat in twain you cannot, neither break it into fragments." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, pulled thereat with all his efforts, rowed, exerting all his vigour, rowed in twain the wooden rowlocks, ribs of juniper he shattered, and he smashed the boat of aspen. kalervo came forth to see it, and he spoke the words which follow: "no, you understand not rowing, you have split the wooden rowlocks, ribs of juniper have shattered, shattered quite the boat of aspen. thresh the fish into the drag-net, perhaps you'll thresh the water better." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, then went forth to thresh the water, and as he the pole was lifting, uttered he the words which follow: "shall i thresh with all my efforts, putting forth my manly efforts; shall i thresh with common efforts, as the threshing-pole is able?" answered thereupon the net-man, "would you call it proper threshing, if with all your strength you threshed not, putting forth your manly efforts?" kullervo, kalervo's offspring, threshed away with all his efforts, putting forth his manly efforts. into soup he churned the water, into tow he threshed the drag-net, into slime he crushed the fishes. kalervo came forth to see it, and he spoke the words which follow: "no, you understand not threshing, into tow is threshed the drag-net, and the floats to chaff are beaten, and the meshes torn to fragments, therefore go and pay the taxes, therefore go and pay the land-dues. best it is for you to travel, learning wisdom on the journey." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, and with yellow hair the finest, and with shoes of finest leather, went his way to pay the taxes, and he went to pay the land-dues. when he now had paid the taxes, and had also paid the land-dues, in his sledge he quickly bounded, and upon the sledge he mounted, and began to journey homeward, and to travel to his country. and he drove, and rattled onward, and he travelled on his journey, traversing the heath of väinö, and his clearing made aforetime. and by chance a maiden met him, with her yellow hair all flowing, there upon the heath of väinö, on his clearing made aforetime. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, checked the sledge upon the instant, and began a conversation, and began to talk and wheedle: "come into my sledge, o maiden, rest upon the furs within it." from her snowshoes said the maiden, and she answered, as she skated, "in thy sledge may death now enter, on thy furs be sickness seated." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, with his whip then struck his courser, with his beaded whip he lashed him. sprang the horse upon the journey, rocked the sledge, the road was traversed, and he drove and rattled onward, and he travelled on his journey, on the lake's extended surface, and across the open water, and by chance a maiden met him, walking on, with shoes of leather, o'er the lake's extended surface, and across the open water. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, checked his horse upon the instant, and his mouth at once he opened, and began to speak as follows: "come into my sledge, o fair one, pride of earth, and journey with me." but the maiden gave him answer, and the well-shod maiden answered: "in thy sledge may tuoni seek thee, manalainen journey with thee." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, with the whip then struck his courser, with his beaded whip he lashed him. sprang the horse upon his journey, rocked the sledge, the way was shortened, and he rattled on his journey, and he sped upon his pathway, straight across the heaths of pohja, and the borders wide of lapland. and by chance a maiden met him, wearing a tin brooch, and singing, out upon the heaths of pohja, and the borders wide of lapland. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, checked his horse upon the instant, and his mouth at once he opened, and began to speak as follows: "come into my sledge, o maiden, underneath my rug, my dearest, and you there shall eat my apples, and shall crack my nuts in comfort." but the maiden made him answer, and the tin-adorned one shouted: "at your sledge i spit, o villain, even at your sledge, o scoundrel! underneath your rug is coldness, and within your sledge is darkness." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, dragged into his sledge the maiden, and into the sledge he pulled her, and upon the furs he laid her, underneath the rug he pushed her. and the maiden spoke unto him, thus outspoke the tin-adorned one: "from the sledge at once release me, leave the child in perfect freedom, that i hear of nothing evil, neither foul nor filthy language, or upon the ground i'll throw me, and will break the sledge to splinters, and will smash your sledge to atoms, break the wretched sledge to pieces." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, opened then his hide-bound coffer, clanging raised the pictured cover, and he showed her all his silver, out he spread the choicest fabrics, stockings too, all gold-embroidered, girdles all adorned with silver. soon the fabrics turned her dizzy, to a bride the money changed her, and the silver it destroyed her, and the shining gold deluded. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, thereupon the maiden flattered, and he wheedled and caressed her, with one hand the horse controlling, on the maiden's breast the other. then he sported with the maiden, wearied out the tin-adorned one, 'neath the rug all copper-tinselled, and upon the furs all spotted. then when jumala brought morning, on the second day thereafter, then the damsel spoke unto him, and she asked, and spoke as follows: "tell me now of your relations, what the brave race that you spring from, from a mighty race it seems me, offspring of a mighty father." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "no, my race is not a great one, not a great one, not a small one, i am just of middle station, kalervo's unhappy offspring, stupid boy, and very foolish, worthless child, and good for nothing. tell me now about your people, and the brave race that you spring from, perhaps from mighty race descended, offspring of a mighty father." and the girl made answer quickly, and she spoke the words which follow: "no, my race is not a great one, not a great one, not a small one, i am just of middle station, kalervo's unhappy daughter, stupid girl, and very foolish, worthless child, and good for nothing. "when i was a little infant, living with my tender mother, to the wood i went for berries, 'neath the mountain sought for raspberries. on the plains i gathered strawberries, underneath the mountain, raspberries, plucked by day, at night i rested, plucked for one day and a second, and upon the third day likewise, but the pathway home i found not, in the woods the pathways led me, and the footpath to the forest. "there i stood, and burst out weeping, wept for one day and a second, and at length upon the third day, then i climbed a mighty mountain, to the peak of all the highest. on the peak i called and shouted, and the woods made answer to me, while the heaths re-echoed likewise: 'do not call, o girl so senseless, shout not, void of understanding! there is no one who can hear you, none at home to hear your shouting.' "then upon the third and fourth days, lastly on the fifth and sixth days, i to take my life attempted, tried to hurl me to destruction, but by no means did i perish, nor could i, the wretched perish. "would that i, poor wretch, had perished, hapless one, had met destruction, that the second year thereafter, or the third among the summers, i had shone forth as a grass-blade, as a lovely flower existed, on the ground a beauteous berry, even as a scarlet cranberry, then i had not heard these horrors, would not now have known these terrors." soon as she had finished speaking, and her speech had scarce completed, quickly from the sledge she darted, and she rushed into the river, in the furious foaming cataract, and amid the raging whirlpool, there she found the death she sought for, there at length did death o'ertake her, found in tuonela a refuge, in the waves she found compassion. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, from his sledge at once descended, and began to weep full loudly, with a piteous lamentation. "woe my day, o me unhappy, woe to me, and all my household, for indeed my very sister, i my mother's child have outraged! woe my father, woe my mother, woe to you, my aged parents, to what purpose have you reared me, reared me up to be so wretched! far more happy were my fortune, had i ne'er been born or nurtured, never in the air been strengthened, never in this world had entered. wrongly i by death was treated, nor disease has acted wisely, that they did not fall upon me, and when two nights old destroy me." with his knife he loosed the collar, from the sledge the chains he severed, on the horse's back he vaulted, on the whitefront steed he galloped, but a little way he galloped, but a little course had traversed, when he reached his father's dwelling, reached the grass-plot of his father. in the yard he found his mother, "o my mother who hast borne me, o that thou, my dearest mother, e'en as soon as thou hadst borne me, in the bath-room smoke hadst laid me, and the bath-house doors had bolted, that amid the smoke i smothered, and when two nights old had perished, smothered me among the blankets, with the curtain thou hadst choked me, thrust the cradle in the fire, pushed it in the burning embers. "if the village folk had asked thee, 'why is in the room no cradle? wherefore have you locked the bath-house?' then might this have been the answer: 'in the fire i burned the cradle, where on hearth the fire is glowing, while i made the malt in bath-house, while the malt was fully sweetened.'" then his mother asked him quickly, asked him thus, the aged woman: "o my son, what happened to thee, what the dreadful news thou bringest? seems from tuonela thou comest; as from manala thou comest." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "horrors now must be reported, and most horrible misfortunes. i have wronged my very sister, and my mother's child dishonoured. "first i went and paid the taxes, and i also paid the land-dues, and by chance there came a maiden, and i sported with the maiden, and she was my very sister, and the child of mine own mother. "thereupon to death she cast her, plunged herself into destruction, in the furious foaming cataract, and amid the raging whirlpool. but i cannot now determine not decide and not imagine how myself to death should cast me, i the hapless one, should slay me, in the mouths of wolves all howling, in the throats of bears all growling, in the whale's vast belly perish, or between the teeth of lake-pike." but his mother made him answer: "do not go, my son, my dearest, to the mouths of wolves all howling, nor to throats of bears all growling, neither to the whale's vast belly, neither to the teeth of lake-pike. large enough the cape of suomi, wide enough are savo's borders, for a man to hide from evil, and a criminal conceal him. hide thee there for five years, six years, there for nine long years conceal thee, till a time of peace has reached thee, and the years have calmed thine anguish." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "nay, i will not go in hiding, fly not forth, a wicked outcast, to the mouth of death i wander, to the gate of kalma's courtyard, to the place of furious fighting, to the battle-field of heroes. upright still is standing unto, and the wicked man unfallen, unavenged my father's sufferings, unavenged my mother's tear-drops, counting not my bitter sufferings, wrongs that i myself have suffered." runo xxxvi.--the death of kullervo _argument_ kullervo prepares for war and leaves home joyfully, for no one but his mother is sorry that he is going to his death ( - ). he comes to untamola, lays waste the whole district, and burns the homestead ( - ). on returning home he finds his home deserted, and no living thing about the place but an old black dog, with which he goes into the forest to shoot game for food ( - ). while traversing the forest he arrives at the place where he met his sister, and ends his remorse by killing himself with his own sword ( - ). kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, now prepared himself for battle, and prepared himself for warfare. for an hour his sword he sharpened, sharpened spear-points for another. then his mother spoke unto him, "do not go, my son unhappy, go not to this mighty battle, go not where the swords are clashing! he who goes for nought to battle, he who wilful seeks the combat, in the fight shall find his death-wound, and shall perish in the conflict, by the sword-blades shall he perish, thus shall fall, and thus shall perish. "if against a goat thou fightest, and wouldst meet in fight a he-goat, then the goat will overcome thee, in the mud the he-goat cast thee, that like dog thou home returnest, like a frog returnest homeward." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "in the swamps i shall not sink me, nor upon the heath will stumble, in the dwelling-place of ravens, in the fields where crows are croaking. if i perish in the battle, sinking on the field of battle, noble 'tis to fall in battle, fine 'mid clash of swords to perish, exquisite the battle-fever, quickly hence a youth it hurries, takes him quickly forth from evil, there he falls no more to hunger." then his mother spoke and answered, "if you perish in the battle, who shall cater for your father, and shall tend the old man daily?" kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words that follow: "let him perish on the dust-heap, leave him in the yard to perish." "who shall cater for your mother, and shall tend the old dame daily?" "let her die upon a haycock, in the cowshed let her stifle." "who shall cater for thy brother, tend him day by day in future?" "let him perish in the forest, let him faint upon the meadow." "who shall cater for thy sister, tend her day by day in future?" "let her fall in well, and perish, let her fall into the wash-tub." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, just as he his home was leaving, spoke these words unto his father: "now farewell, o noble father! shall you perhaps be weeping sorely, if you hear that i have perished, and have vanished from the people, and have perished in the battle?" then his father gave him answer: "not for thee shall i be weeping, if i hear that you have perished, for another son i'll rear me, and a better son will rear me, and a son by far more clever." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "nor for you shall i be weeping, if i hear that you have perished. i will make me such a father, mouth of clay, and head of stonework, eyes of cranberries from the marshes, and a beard of withered stubble, legs of willow-twigs will make him, flesh of rotten trees will make him." then he spoke unto his brother: "now farewell, my dearest brother. shall you weep for my destruction, if you hear that i have perished, and have vanished from the people, and have fallen in the battle?" but his brother gave him answer, "not for you shall i be weeping, if i hear that you have perished. i will find myself a brother, better brother far than thou art, and a brother twice as handsome." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "nor for you shall i be weeping, if i hear that you have perished. i will make me such a brother, head of stone, and mouth of sallow, eyes of cranberries i will make him, make him hair of withered stubble, legs of willow-twigs will make him, flesh of rotten trees will make him." then he spoke unto his sister, "now farewell, my dearest sister. shall you weep for my destruction, if you hear that i have perished, and have vanished from the people, and have perished in the battle?" but his sister gave him answer: "not for you shall i be weeping, if i hear that you have perished. i will find myself a brother, better brother far than thou art, and a brother far more clever." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "nor for you shall i be weeping, if i hear that you have perished. i will make me such a sister, head of stone and mouth of sallow, eyes of cranberries i will make her, make her hair of withered stubble, ears of water-lily make her, and of maple make her body." then he said unto his mother, "o my mother, o my dearest, thou the fair one who hast borne me, thou the golden one who nursed me, shalt thou weep for my destruction, shouldst thou hear that i have perished, and have vanished from the people, and have perished in the battle?" then his mother gave him answer, and she spoke the words which follow: "not thou knowest a mother's feelings, nor a mother's heart esteemest. i shall weep for thy destruction, if i hear that thou hast perished, and from out the people vanished, and have perished in the battle; weep until the house is flooded, weep until the floor is swimming, weep until the paths are hidden, and with tears the cowsheds weighted, weep until the snows are slippery, till the ground is bare and slippery, lands unfrozen teem with verdure, and my tears flow through the greenness. "if i cannot keep on weeping, and no strength is left for grieving, weeping in the people's presence, i will weep in bath-room hidden, till the seats with tears are flowing, and the flooring all is flooded." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, went with music forth to battle, joyfully he sought the conflict, playing tunes through plains and marshes, shouting over all the heathland, crashing onwards through the meadows, trampling down the fields of stubble. and a messenger o'ertook him, in his ear these words he whispered: "at thy home has died thy father, and thy aged parent perished. now return to gaze upon him, and arrange for his interment." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, made him answer on the instant: "is he dead, so let him perish. in the house there is a gelding, which unto the grave can drag him, and can sink him down to kalma." played he, as he passed the marshes, and he shouted in the clearings, and a messenger o'ertook him, in his ear these words he whispered: "at thy home has died thy brother, and thy parent's child has perished. now return to gaze upon him, and arrange for his interment." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, made him answer on the instant: "is he dead, so let him perish. in the house there is a stallion, which unto the grave can drag him, and can sink him down to kalma." through the marshes passed he, playing, blew his horn amidst the fir-woods, and a messenger o'ertook him, in his ear these words he whispered: "at thy home has died thy sister, and thy parent's child has perished. now return to gaze upon her, and arrange for her interment." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, made him answer on the instant: "is she dead, so let her perish. in the house a mare is waiting, which unto the grave can drag her, and can sink her down to kalma." through the meadows marched he shouting, in the grassfields he was shouting, and a messenger o'ertook him, in his ear these words he whispered: "now has died thy tender mother, and thy darling mother perished. now return to gaze upon her, and arrange for her interment." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, answered in the words which follow: "woe to me, a youth unhappy, for my mother now has perished, wearied as she made the curtains, and the counterpane embroidered. with her long spool she was working, as she turned around her spindle. i was not at her departure, near her when her soul was parting. perhaps the cold was great and killed her, or perchance was bread too scanty. "in the house with care, o wash her, with the saxon soap, the finest, wind her then in silken wrappings, wrap her in the finest linen, thus unto the grave convey her, sink her gently down to kalma, then upraise the songs of mourning, let resound the songs of mourning, for not yet can i turn homeward, untamo is still unfallen, yet unfelled the man of evil, undestroyed is yet the villain." forth he went to battle, playing, went to untola rejoicing, and he said the words which follow: "ukko, thou, of gods the highest, give me now a sword befitting, give me now a sword most splendid, which were worth an army to me, though a hundred came against me." then the sword he asked was granted, and a sword of all most splendid, and he slaughtered all the people, untamo's whole tribe he slaughtered, burned the houses all to ashes, and with flame completely burned them, leaving nothing but the hearthstones, nought but in each yard the rowan. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, then to his own home retired, to his father's former dwelling, to the home-fields of his parents. empty did he find the homestead, desolate the open places; no one forward came to greet him, no one came his hand to offer. to the hearth he stretched his hand out, on the hearth the coals were frozen, and he knew on his arrival, that his mother was not living. to the stove he stretched his hand out, at the stove the stones were frozen, and he knew on his arrival, that his father was not living. on the floor his eyes then casting, all he noticed in confusion, and he knew on his arrival, that his sister was not living. to the mooring-place he hastened, but no boats were at their moorings, and he knew on his arrival, that his brother was not living. thereupon he broke out weeping, and he wept one day, a second, and he spoke the words which follow: "o my mother, o my dearest, hast thou left me nought behind thee, when thou livedst in this country? "but thou hearest not, o mother, even though my eyes are sobbing, and my temples are lamenting, and my head is all complaining." in the grave his mother wakened, and beneath the mould made answer: "still there lives the black dog, musti, go with him into the forest, at thy side let him attend thee, take him to the wooded country, where the forest rises thickest, where reside the forest-maidens, where the blue maids have their dwelling, and the birds frequent the pine-trees, there to seek for their assistance, and to seek to win their favour." kullervo, kalervo's offspring, at his side the black dog taking, tracked his path through trees of forest, where the forest rose the thickest. but a short way had he wandered, but a little way walked onward, when he reached the stretch of forest, recognized the spot before him, where he had seduced the maiden, and his mother's child dishonoured. there the tender grass was weeping, and the lovely spot lamenting, and the young grass was deploring, and the flowers of heath were grieving, for the ruin of the maiden, for the mother's child's destruction. neither was the young grass sprouting, nor the flowers of heath expanding, nor the spot had covered over, where the evil thing had happened, where he had seduced the maiden, and his mother's child dishonoured. kullervo, kalervo's offspring, grasped the sharpened sword he carried, looked upon the sword and turned it, and he questioned it and asked it, and he asked the sword's opinion, if it was disposed to slay him, to devour his guilty body, and his evil blood to swallow. understood the sword his meaning, understood the hero's question, and it answered him as follows: "wherefore at thy heart's desire should i not thy flesh devour, and drink up thy blood so evil? i who guiltless flesh have eaten, drank the blood of those who sinned not?" kullervo, kalervo's offspring, with the very bluest stockings, on the ground the haft set firmly, on the heath the hilt pressed tightly, turned the point against his bosom, and upon the point he threw him, thus he found the death he sought for, cast himself into destruction. even so the young man perished, thus died kullervo the hero, thus the hero's life was ended, perished thus the hapless hero. then the aged väinämöinen, when he heard that he had perished, and that kullervo had fallen, spoke his mind in words that follow: "never, people, in the future, rear a child in crooked fashion, rocking them in stupid fashion, soothing them to sleep like strangers. children reared in crooked fashion, boys thus rocked in stupid fashion, grow not up with understanding, nor attain to man's discretion, though they live till they are aged, and in body well-developed." runo xxxvii.--the gold and silver bride _argument_ ilmarinen weeps long for his dead wife and then forges himself a wife of gold and silver with great labour and trouble ( - ). at night he rests by the golden bride, but finds in the morning that the side which he has turned towards her is quite cold ( - ). he offers his golden bride to väinämöinen, who declines to receive her, and advises him to forge more useful things, or to send her to other countries where people wish for gold ( - ). afterwards smith ilmarinen mourned his wife throughout the evenings, and through sleepless nights was weeping, all the days bewailed her fasting, and he mourned her all the mornings, in the morning hours lamented, since the time his young wife perished, death the fair one had o'ertaken. in his hand he swung no longer, copper handle of his hammer, nor his hammer's clang resounded, while a month its course was running. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "hapless youth, i know no longer, how to pass my sad existence, for at night i sit and sleep not, always in the night comes sorrow, and my strength grows weak from trouble. "all my evenings now are weary, sorrowful are all my mornings, and the nights indeed are dismal, worst of all when i am waking. grieve i not because 'tis evening, sorrow not because 'tis morning, trouble not for other seasons; but i sorrow for my fair one, and i sorrow for my dear one, grieve for her, the dark-browed beauty. "sometimes in these times so dismal, often in my time of trouble, often in my dreams at midnight, has my hand felt out at nothing, and my hand seized only trouble, as it strayed about in strangeness." thus the smith awhile lived wifeless, and without his wife grew older, wept for two months and for three months, but upon the fourth month after, gold from out the lake he gathered, gathered silver from the billows, and a pile of wood collected, nothing short of thirty sledgeloads, then he burned the wood to charcoal, took the charcoal to the smithy. of the gold he took a portion, and he chose him out some silver, even like a ewe of autumn, even like a hare of winter, and the gold to redness heated, cast the silver in the furnace, set his slaves to work the bellows, and his labourers pressed the bellows. toiled the slaves, and worked the bellows, and the labourers pressed the bellows, with their ungloved hands they pressed them, worked them with their naked shoulders, while himself, smith ilmarinen, carefully the fire was tending, as he strove a bride to fashion out of gold and out of silver. badly worked the slaves the bellows, and the labourers did not press them, and on this smith ilmarinen went himself to work the bellows. once and twice he worked the bellows, for a third time worked the bellows, then looked down into the furnace, looking closely to the bellows, what rose up from out the furnace, what from out the flames ascended. then a ewe rose from the furnace, and it rose from out the bellows. one hair gold, another copper, and the third was all of silver; others might therein feel pleasure, ilmarinen felt no pleasure. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "such as you a wolf may wish for, but i want a golden consort, one of silver half constructed." thereupon smith ilmarinen thrust the ewe into the furnace, gold unto the mass he added, and he added silver to it, set his slaves to work the bellows, and his labourers pressed the bellows. toiled the slaves and worked the bellows, and the labourers pressed the bellows, with their ungloved hands they pressed them worked them with their naked shoulders, while himself, smith ilmarinen, carefully the fire was tending, as he strove a bride to fashion out of gold and out of silver. badly worked the slaves the bellows, and the labourers did not press them, and on this smith ilmarinen went himself to work the bellows. once and twice he worked the bellows, for the third time worked the bellows, then looked down into the furnace, looking closely to the bellows, what rose up from out the furnace, what from out the flames ascended. then a foal rose from the furnace, and it rose from out the bellows, mane of gold, and head of silver, and his hoofs were all of copper; but though others it delighted, ilmarinen felt no pleasure. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "such as you a wolf may wish for, but i want a golden consort, one of silver half constructed." thereupon smith ilmarinen thrust the foal into the furnace, gold unto the mass he added, and he added silver to it, set his slaves to work the bellows, and his labourers pressed the bellows. toiled the slaves and worked the bellows, and the labourers pressed the bellows, with their ungloved hands they pressed them, worked them with their naked shoulders, while himself, smith ilmarinen, carefully the fire was tending, as he strove a bride to fashion, out of gold and out of silver. badly worked the slaves the bellows, and the labourers did not press them, and on this, smith ilmarinen went himself to work the bellows, once and twice he worked the bellows, for a third time worked the bellows, then looked down into the furnace, looking closely to the bellows, what rose up from out the furnace, what from out the flames ascended. then a maid rose from the furnace, golden-locked, from out the bellows, head of silver, hair all golden, and her figure all was lovely. others might have shuddered at her, ilmarinen was not frightened. thereupon smith ilmarinen set to work to shape the image, worked at night without cessation, and by day he worked unresting. feet he fashioned for the maiden, fashioned feet; and hands he made her, but the feet would not support her, neither would the arms embrace him. ears he fashioned for the maiden, but the ears served not for hearing, and a dainty mouth he made her, tender mouth and shining eyeballs, but the mouth served not for speaking, and the eyes served not for smiling. said the smith, said ilmarinen "she would be a pretty maiden, if she had the art of speaking, and had sense, and spoke discreetly." after this he laid the maiden on the softest of the blankets, smoothed for her the softest pillows, on the silken bed he laid her. after this smith ilmarinen, quickly warmed the steaming bath-room, took the soap into the bath-room, and provided twigs for bath-whisks, and of water took three tubs full, that the little finch should wash her, and the little goldfinch cleanse her, cleanse her beauty from the ashes. when the smith had also bathed him, washed him to his satisfaction, at the maiden's side he stretched him, on the softest of the blankets, 'neath the steel-supported hangings, 'neath the over-arching iron. after this smith ilmarinen, even on the very first night, asked for coverlets in plenty, and for blankets to protect him, also two and three of bearskins, five or six of woollen mantles, all upon one side to lay him, that towards the golden image. and one side had warmth sufficient which was covered by the bedclothes; that beside the youthful damsel, turned towards the golden image, all that side was fully frozen, and with frost was quite contracted, like the ice on lake when frozen, frozen into stony hardness. said the smith, said ilmarinen, "this is not so pleasant for me. i will take the maid to väinö, pass her on to väinämöinen, on his knee as wife to seat her, dovelike in his arms to nestle." so to väinölä he took her, and he said upon his coming, in the very words which follow: "o thou aged väinämöinen, here i bring a damsel for you, and a damsel fair to gaze on, and her mouth gapes not too widely, and her chin is not too broadened." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, looked upon the golden image, looked upon her head all golden, and he spoke the words which follow: "wherefore have you brought her to me, brought to me this golden spectre?" said the smith, said ilmarinen, "with the best intent i brought her, on your knee as wife to rest her, dovelike in your arms to nestle." said the aged väinämöinen, "o thou smith, my dearest brother, thrust the damsel in the furnace, forge all sorts of objects from her, or convey her hence to russia, take your image to the saxons, since they wed the spoils of battle, and they woo in fiercest combat; but it suits not my position, nor to me myself is suited, thus to woo a bride all golden, or distress myself for silver." then dissuaded väinämöinen, and forbade the wave-sprung hero, all the rising generation, likewise those upgrown already, for the sake of gold to bow them, or debase themselves for silver, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "never, youths, however wretched, nor in future, upgrown heroes, whether you have large possessions, or are poor in your possessions, in the course of all your lifetime, while the golden moon is shining, may you woo a golden woman, or distress yourselves for silver, for the gleam of gold is freezing, only frost is breathed by silver." runo xxxviii.--ilmarinen's new bride from pohjola _argument_ ilmarinen goes to pohjola to woo the younger sister of his first wife, but as he receives only insulting words in reply, he becomes angry, seizes the maiden, and starts on his homeward journey ( - ). on the way the maiden treats ilmarinen with contempt, and provokes him till he changes her into a seagull ( - ). when ilmarinen comes home, he relates to väinämöinen how the inhabitants of pohjola live free from care since they possessed the sampo; and also tells him how badly his wooing has prospered ( - ). thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, cast away the golden image, cast away the silver damsel, afterwards his horse he harnessed, yoked before the sledge the chestnut, on the sledge himself he mounted, and within the sledge he sat him, and departed on his journey, and proposed, as he was driving, he to pohjola would travel, there to ask another daughter. so he drove for one day onward, journeyed also on the second, and at length upon the third day, came to pohjola's broad courtyard. louhi, pohjola's old mistress came into the yard to meet him, and began the conversation, and she turned to him and asked him how her child's health was at present, if her daughter was contented, as the daughter-in-law of master, and the daughter-in-law of mistress. thereupon smith ilmarinen, head bowed down, and deeply grieving, and his cap all sloping sideways, answered in the words which follow: "do thou not, o mother, ask me, do not question me in thiswise how your daughter may be living, how your dear one now is dwelling! death has borne her off already, grisly death has seized upon her. in the ground is now my berry, on the heath is now my fair one, and her dark locks 'neath the stubble, 'neath the grass my silver-fair one. give me now your second daughter, give me now that youthful maiden, give her to me, dearest mother, give me now your second daughter, thus to occupy the dwelling, and the station of her sister." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, answered in the words which follow: "ill have i, unhappy, acted, and it was a sad misfortune when to thee my child i promised, and i gave to thee the other, in her early youth to slumber, for the rosy-cheeked one perished. to the mouth of wolf i gave her, to the jaws of bear when growling. "no more daughters will i give you, nor my daughter will i give you, that she wash the soot from off you, and she scratch the soot from off you, sooner would i give my daughter, and would give my tender daughter, to the fiercely-foaming cataract, to the ever-seething whirlpool, as a prey to worms of mana, to the teeth of pike of tuoni." thereupon smith ilmarinen, mouth and head both turning sideways, with his black hair in disorder, as his head he shook in anger, pushed his way into the chamber, and beneath the roof he entered, and he spoke the words which follow: "come thou now with me, o maiden, in the station of thy sister, and to occupy her dwelling, cakes of honey there to bake me, and the best of ale to brew me." from the floor there sang a baby, thus he sang, and thus made answer: "quit our castle, guest unwelcome, from our doors, o stranger, hasten! thou before hast harmed our castle, evil much hast wrought our castle, when the first time here thou camest, and within our doors hast entered. "maiden, o my dearest sister, o rejoice not in this lover, neither in his mouth so subtle, neither in his feet well-shapen, for his gums are like a wolf's gums, curved his claws like those of foxes, and the claws of bears conceals he, and his belt-knife blood is drinking, 'tis with this that heads he severs, and with this the backs lays open." then the maiden's self made answer, thus she spoke to ilmarinen: "i myself will not go with you, trouble not for such a scoundrel, for your first wife you have murdered, and my sister you have slaughtered. you perchance would also slay me, murder me, as her you murdered. such a maiden is deserving of a man of greater standing, and whose form is far more handsome, in a finer sledge to take me, to a larger, finer dwelling, to a better home than thou hast, not unto a smith's black coalhouse, to a stupid husband's homestead." thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, mouth and head both turning sideways, and his black hair in disorder, seized without ado the maiden, in his grasp he seized the maiden, from the room he rushed like snowstorm, dragged her where his sledge was standing, in the sledge he pushed the maiden, and within the sledge he cast her, started quickly on his journey, and prepared him for his journey, with one hand the horse he guided, on the girl's breast laid the other. wept the maiden and lamented, and she spoke the words which follow: "now i come where grow the cranberries, to the swamps where grow the arums, now the dove approaches ruin, and the bird is near destruction. "hear me now, smith ilmarinen, if you will not now release me, i will smash your sledge to pieces, and will break it into fragments, break it with my knees asunder, break it with my legs to fragments." thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words that follow: "know, the sledge by smith was fashioned, and the boards are bound with iron, and it can withstand the pushing, and the noble maiden's struggles." then the hapless girl lamented, and bewailed, the copper-belted, struggled till she broke her fingers, struggled till her hands were twisted, and she spoke the words which follow: "if you will not now release me, to a lake-fish i'll transform me, in the deepest waves a powan." thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words which follow: "even so you will not 'scape me, i myself as pike will follow." then the hapless girl lamented, and bewailed, the copper-belted, struggled till she broke her fingers, struggled till her hands were twisted, and she spoke the words which follow: "if you will not now release me, to the wood will i betake me, hiding in the rocks like ermine." thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words which follow: "even thus you will not 'scape me, for as otter i'll pursue you." then the hapless girl lamented, and bewailed, the copper-belted, struggled till she broke her fingers, struggled till her hands were twisted, and she spoke the words which follow: "if you will not now release me, as a lark i'll soar above you, and behind the clouds will hide me." thereupon smith ilmarinen, answered in the words which follow: "even thus you will not 'scape me, for as eagle i'll pursue you." but a little way they journeyed, short the distance they had traversed, when the horse pricked ears to listen, and the long-eared steed was shying. then her head the maiden lifted, in the snow she saw fresh footprints, and she thereupon inquired, "what has passed across our pathway?" said the smith, said ilmarinen, "'twas a hare that ran across it." then the hapless girl was sighing, much she sobbed, and much was sighing, and she spoke the words which follow: "woe to me, unhappy creature! better surely had i found it, and my lot were surely better if the hare's track i could follow, in the traces of the crook-leg. than in sledge of such a suitor, 'neath the rug of one so wrinkled, for the hairs of hare are finer, and his mouth-cleft is more handsome." thereupon smith ilmarinen, bit his lips, his head turned sideways, and the sledge drove rattling onward, and a little way they journeyed, when the horse pricked ears to listen, and the long-eared steed was shying. then her head the maiden lifted, in the snow she saw fresh footprints, and she thereupon inquired, "what has passed across our pathway?" said the smith, said ilmarinen, "'twas a fox that ran across it." then the hapless girl was sighing, much she sobbed, and much was sighing, and she spoke the words which follow: "woe to me, unhappy creature, better surely had i found it, and my lot were surely better, were i riding in a fox-sledge, and in lapland sledge were fleeing, than in sledge of such a suitor, 'neath the rug of one so wrinkled, for the hairs of fox are finer, and his mouth-cleft is more handsome." thereupon smith ilmarinen bit his lips, his head turned sideways, and the sledge drove rattling onward, and a little way they journeyed, when the horse pricked ears to listen, and the long-eared steed was shying. then her head the maiden lifted, in the snow she saw fresh footprints, and she thereupon inquired, "what has passed across our pathway?" said the smith, said ilmarinen, "'twas a wolf that ran across it." then the hapless girl was sighing, much she sobbed, and much was sighing, and she spoke the words which follow: "woe to me, unhappy creature! better surely had i found it, and my lot were surely better if a growling wolf i followed, tracked the pathway of the snouted, than in sledge of such a suitor, 'neath the rug of one so wrinkled, for the hair of wolf is finer, and his mouth-cleft is more handsome." thereupon smith ilmarinen bit his lips, his head turned sideways, and the sledge drove rattling onwards, and at night they reached a village. with the journey overwearied, slept the smith, and slept profoundly, and another than her husband made the girl laugh as he slept there. thereupon smith ilmarinen in the morning when he wakened, mouth and head both twisted sideways, tossed his black hair in disorder. after this, smith ilmarinen pondered till he spoke as follows: "shall i now commence my singing, shall i sing a bride like this one, to a creature of the forest, or a creature of the water? "not to forest beast i'll sing her, all the forest would be troubled; neither to a water-creature, lest the fishes all should shun her; better slay her with my hanger, with my sword will i despatch her." but the sword perceived his object, understood the hero's language, and it spoke the words which follow: "not for this was i constructed, that i should despatch the women, and the weak i thus should slaughter." thereupon smith ilmarinen presently commenced his singing, and began to speak in anger, sung his wife into a seamew, thenceforth round the cliffs to clamour, scream upon the rocks in water, moan around the jutting headlands, struggle with the winds against her. after this smith ilmarinen in his sledge again dashed forward, and the sledge drove rattling onward, head bowed down in great depression, back he journeyed to his country, till he reached the well-known regions. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, came upon the road to meet him, and began to speak as follows: "ilmarinen, smith and brother, wherefore is your mood so gloomy, wherefore is your cap pushed sideways, as from pohjola thou comest? how at pohjola exist they?" said the smith, said ilmarinen, "how at pohjola exist they? there the sampo grinds for ever, and revolves the pictured cover, and one day it grinds provisions, grinds for sale upon the second, on the third what needs the household. "thus i speak, and tell you truly, and again repeat it to you, how at pohjola exist they, when at pohjola's the sampo! there is ploughing, there is sowing, there is every kind of increase, and their welfare is eternal." said the aged väinämöinen, "ilmarinen, smith and brother, where hast thou thy wife abandoned, where thy youthful bride so famous, that you here return without her, ever driving homeward wifeless?" thereupon smith ilmarinen, answered in the words which follow: "such a wife she was, i sang her to the sea-cliffs as a seamew; now she screams aloud as seagull, shrieks aloud without cessation, moans about the rocks in water, and around the cliffs she clamours." runo xxxix.--the expedition against pohjola _argument_ väinämöinen persuades ilmarinen to go with him to pohjola to bring away the sampo. ilmarinen consents, and the heroes start off on their journey in a boat ( - ). lemminkainen hails them from the shore, and on hearing where they are going, proposes to join them, and is accepted as a third comrade ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words which follow: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, unto pohjola we'll travel, and will seize this splendid sampo, and behold its pictured cover." thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words which follow: "no, we cannot seize the sampo, cannot bring the pictured cover, from the gloomy land of pohja, sariola for ever misty. there the sampo has been carried, and removed the pictured cover unto pohjola's stone mountain, and within the hill of copper. there by nine locks is it fastened, and three roots have sprouted from it, firmly fixed, nine fathoms deeply. in the earth the first is rooted, by the water's edge the second, and the third within the home-hill." said the aged väinämöinen, "o thou smith, my dearest brother, unto pohjola we'll travel, and will carry off the sampo. let us build a ship enormous, fit to carry off the sampo, and convey the pictured cover, forth from pohjola's stone mountain, from within the hill of copper, and the ninefold locks that hold it." said the smith, said ilmarinen, "safest is by land the journey. lempo on the lake is brooding, death upon its mighty surface, and the wind might drive us onward, and the tempest might o'erturn us; we might have to row with fingers, and to use our hands for steering." said the aged väinämöinen, "safest is by land the journey, safest, but the most fatiguing, and moreover, full of windings. pleasant 'tis in boat on water, swaying as the boat glides onward, gliding o'er the sparkling water, driving o'er its shining surface, while the wind the boat is rocking, and the waves drive on the vessel, while the west-wind rocks it gently, and the south-wind drives it onward, but let this be as it may be, if you do not like the lake-voyage, we by land can journey thither, and along the shore can journey. "first a new sword do you forge me, make me now a keen-edged weapon, so that i with beasts can struggle, chase away the folks of pohja. forth i go to seize the sampo, from the cold and dismal village, from the gloomy land of pohja, sariola for ever misty." thereupon smith ilmarinen he the great primeval craftsman, cast some iron in the fire, steel upon the glowing charcoal, and of gold he took a handful, and of silver took a handful, set the slaves to work the bellows, and he made the labourers press them. worked the slaves the bellows strongly, well the labourers pressed the bellows, till like soup spread out the iron, and like dough the steel was yielding, and the silver shone like water, and the gold swelled up like billows. thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, stooped to look into the furnace, at the edges of the bellows, and he saw a sword was forming, with a hilt of gold constructed. from the fire he took the weapon, took the work so finely fashioned, from the furnace to the anvil, to the hammer and the mallet, forged the sword as he would wish it, and a blade the best of any, and with finest gold inlaid it, and with silver he adorned it. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, entered then to view the weapon, and he found a keen-edged sword-blade. straightway in his hand he raised it, and he turned it and surveyed it, and he spoke the words which follow: "does this sword befit a hero, is the sword to bearer suited?" and the sword the hero suited. well did it befit the bearer. on its point the moon was shining, on its side the sun was shining, on the haft the stars were gleaming, at the tip a horse was neighing, on the knob a cat was mewing, on the sheath a dog was barking. after this the sword he brandished, and he cleft an iron mountain, and he spoke the words which follow: "thus, with such a blade as this is, can i cleave the mountains open, cleave the rocky hills asunder." after this did ilmarinen speak aloud the words which follow: "how shall i myself, unhappy, how shall i, the weak, defend me, and shall armour me, and belt me, 'gainst the risks of land and water? shall i clothe myself in armour, in a coat of mail the strongest, gird a belt of steel around me? stronger is a man in armour, in a coat of mail is better, with a belt of steel more mighty." then arrived the time for starting, and preparing for departure; first the aged väinämöinen, secondly smith ilmarinen, and they went to seek the courser, and to find the yellow-maned one, and the one-year old to bridle, and to see the foal was rough-shod. then they went to seek the courser, went to seek him in the forest, and they gazed around them keenly, and they sought around the blue wood, found the horse among the bushes, found the yellow-maned in firwood. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, secondly smith ilmarinen, on his head the bit adjusted, and the one-year old they bridled, and they drove upon their journey. on the shore drove both the heroes, on the shore they heard lamenting, from the haven heard complaining. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "perhaps it is a girl complaining, or perchance a dove lamenting. shall we go to look about us, shall we nearer go to listen?" therefore to the spot they sauntered, nearer went to gaze around them, but no maiden there was weeping, and no dove was there lamenting, but they found a vessel weeping, and a boat was there lamenting. said the aged väinämöinen as he went towards the vessel, "wherefore weep, o wooden vessel, boat with rowlocks, why lamentest? dost thou weep that thou art clumsy, and art dreaming at thy moorings?" then the wooden boat made answer, thus replied the boat with rowlocks: "know, a vessel longs for water, and its tarry sides desire it, as a maiden may be longing for the fine home of a husband. therefore weeps the boat unhappy, and the hapless boat lamenteth, and i weep to speed through water, and to float upon the billows. "it was said when i was fashioned, when my boards were sung together, that i should become a warship, and should be employed for warboat, and should bear the plunder homeward, in my hold should carry treasure, but i have not been in battle, neither have been stored with plunder. "other boats, and even bad ones, always wander forth to battle, and are led to battle-struggle three times in the course of summer, and return with money loaded, in their hold they carry treasure, but for me, though well constructed, of a hundred boards constructed, here upon my rests i'm rotting, lying idly at my moorings, and the worst worms of the country underneath my ribs are lurking, while the birds, of all most horrid, in my masts their nests are building, all the toads from out the forest over all my deck are leaping. twice it had been better for me, two or three times were it better had i been a mountain pine-tree, or upon the heath a fir-tree, with a squirrel in my branches, underneath my boughs a puppy." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "do not weep, o wooden vessel, fret thyself, o boat with rowlocks! soon shalt thou go forth to battle, there to mix in furious conflict. boat, who wast by builder fashioned, 'twas this gift the builder gave thee, that thy prow should reach the water, and thy sides the billows traverse, even though no hand should touch thee, neither arm be thrust against thee, though no shoulder should direct thee, and although no arm should guide thee." then replied the wooden vessel, answered thus the boat with rowlocks: "none of all my race so mighty, neither will the boats, my brothers, move unpushed into the water, nor unrowed upon the billows, if no hand is laid upon us, and no arm should urge us forward." said the aged väinämöinen, "if i push you in the water, will you make, unrowed, your journey, unassisted by the oars, by the rudder undirected, when the sails no breeze is filling?" answer made the wooden vessel, thus replied the boat with rowlocks: "none of all my race so noble, nor the host of other vessels, speed along unrowed by fingers, unassisted by the oars, by the rudder undirected, when the sails no breeze is filling." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "can you speed if some one rows you, if assisted by the oars, by the rudder if directed, when the sails the breeze is filling?" answered then the wooden vessel, thus replied the boat with rowlocks: "yes, my race would hasten onward, all the other boats my brothers, speed along if rowed by fingers, if assisted by the oars, by the rudder if directed, when the sails the breeze is filling." then the aged väinämöinen left his horse upon the sandhills, on a tree he fixed the halter, tied the reins upon the branches, pushed the boat into the water, sang the vessel in the billows, and he asked the wooden vessel, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou boat, of shape so curving, o thou wooden boat with rowlocks, art thou just as fit to bear us, as thyself art fair to gaze on?" answered thus the wooden vessel, thus replied the boat with rowlocks: "i am fitted well to bear you, and my floor is very spacious, and a hundred men might row me, and a thousand others stand there." so the aged väinämöinen softly then began to carol, sang on one side of the vessel handsome youths, with hair brushed smoothly, hair smoothed down and hands all hardened, and their feet were finely booted; sang on other side of vessel girls with tin upon their head-dress, head-dress tin, and belts of copper, golden rings upon their fingers; and again sang väinämöinen, till the seats were full of people, some were very aged people, men whose lives were nearly over, but for these the space was scanty, for the young folks came before them. in the stern himself he seated, sat behind the birchwood vessel, and he steered the vessel onward, and he spoke the words which follow: "speed thou on through treeless regions, o'er the wide expanse of water, o'er the lake do thou float lightly, as on waves a water-lily." then he set the youths to rowing, but he left the maidens resting; rowed the youths, and bent the oars, yet the vessel moved not onward. then he set the girls to rowing, but he left the youths reposing; rowed the girls, and bent their fingers, yet the vessel moved not onward. then the old folks set to rowing, while the young folks gazed upon them; rowed they till their heads were shaking, still the vessel moved not onward. thereupon smith ilmarinen sat him down, and set to rowing; now moved on the wooden vessel, sped the boat and made good progress, far was heard the splash of oars, far the splashing of the rudder. on he rowed, while splashed the water, cracked the seats, and shook the planking, clashed the mountain-ashwood oars, creaked like hazel-grouse the rudders, and their tips like cry of blackcock. like a swan the prow clove onward, croaked the stern as croaks a raven, hissed the rowlocks just as geese hiss. and the aged väinämöinen steered the vessel quickly onward, from the stern of the red vessel, with the aid of the strong rudder, till they saw a cliff before them, and perceived a wretched village. on the cape was ahti dwelling, in its bend was kauko living, weeping that the fish had failed him, weeping that the bread had failed him; for the smallness of his storehouse, wept the scamp his wretched fortune. at a boat's planks he was working, at a new boat's keel was working, on this hungry promontory, and beside the wretched village. very keen was ahti's hearing, but his sight was even keener; as he gazed afar to north-west, and to south his head was turning, suddenly he saw a rainbow, and a single cloud beyond it; what he saw was not a rainbow, nor a little cloud beyond it; but a boat that speeded swiftly, and a vessel rushing onward o'er the broad lake's shining surface, out upon the open water, in the stern a noble hero, and a handsome man was rowing. said the lively lemminkainen, "what this boat may be i know not, whose may be this handsome vessel, which is hither rowed from suomi, from the east, with strokes of oars, and its rudder to the north-west." then with all his might he shouted, shouted, and continued shouting, from the cape the hero shouted, shouted loudly o'er the water, "whose the boat that cleaves the water, whose the vessel on the billows?" from the boat the men made answer, and the women answered likewise, "who art thou, o forest-dweller, hero, breaking through the thicket, that thou dost not know this vessel, whose from väinöla this vessel, dost not even know the steersman, nor the hero at the oars?" said the lively lemminkainen, "now do i perceive the steersman, and i recognize the oarsman. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, in the vessel's stern is sitting, ilmarinen at the oars. whither then away, o heroes, whither do you journey, heroes?" said the aged väinämöinen, "to the northward do we journey, journey through the foaming billows, and above the foam-flecked billows. forth we go to seize the sampo, gaze upon its pictured cover, there in pohjola's stone mountain, and within the hill of copper." said the lively lemminkainen, "o thou aged väinämöinen, take me with you as your comrade, as the third among the heroes, when you go to seize the sampo, bear away the pictured cover. perhaps my manly sword may aid you, in the combat may be useful, as my hands may bear you witness, and my shoulders witness to you." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, took the man upon his journey, in the boat he took the rascal, and the lively lemminkainen hurried on to climb upon it, and he hastened quick to board it, and his planks he carried with him to the boat of väinämöinen. said the aged väinämöinen, "in my boat is wood in plenty, planks sufficient for the vessel, and besides 'tis heavy laden. wherefore do you bring more planking, bringing timber to the vessel?" said the lively lemminkainen, "foresight will not sink the vessel, nor o'erturns a prop the haystack. often on the lake of pohja, does the wind destroy the planking, when the sides are dashed together." said the aged väinämöinen, "therefore in a ship for battle, are the sides composed of iron, and the prow of steel constructed, lest the wind aside should turn it, storms should shatter it to pieces." runo xl.--the pike and the kantele _argument_ the sampo-raiders come to a waterfall, beneath which the boat is caught fast on the back of a great pike ( - ). the pike is killed, and the front part is taken into the boat, cooked, and eaten ( - ). väinämöinen makes the jaws of the pike into a kantele, on which several of the party attempt to play, but without success ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, steered the vessel swiftly forward, on beyond the jutting headland, on beyond the wretched village, singing songs upon the water, joyous songs upon the billows. on the cape were maidens standing, and they looked around and listened. "from the lake there comes rejoicing, and what song from lake re-echoes, far more joyous than aforetime, and a finer song than any?" onward steered old väinämöinen, for a day o'er lake was steering, for the next through marshy waters, for the third day past a cataract. then the lively lemminkainen thought of spells he heard aforetime, for the ears of furious cataract, and the sacred river's whirlpool. and he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in singing: "cease, o cataract, thy foaming, mighty water, cease thy rushing, thou, foam-maiden, cataract's daughter, on the foam-flecked stones, o seat thee, on the wet stones do thou seat thee, in thy lap the waters gather, and in both thy hands collect them, with thy hands repress their fury, that upon our breasts they splash not, nor upon our heads are falling. "thou, old dame, beneath the billows, lady, pillowed on the waters, raise thy head above the waters, rise from bosom of the waters, that the foam be heaped together, and that thou mayst watch the foam-wreaths, lest they should o'erwhelm the guiltless, and should overthrow the faultless. "stones that stand amid the river, slabs of stone with foam o'ercovered, be ye sunk into the water, and your heads be pressed beneath it, from the red boat's pathway banished, from the course the tarred boat follows. "if this is not yet sufficient, kimmo-stone, o son of kammo, make an opening with thy auger, pierce an opening with thy auger, through the stones in river standing, and the dangerous slabs that border, that the boat may pass uninjured, and the vessel pass undamaged. "if this is not yet sufficient, water-father, 'neath the river, into moss the rocks transform thou, make the boat like pike's light bladder, as amid the foam it rushes, as beneath the banks it passes. "maiden in the cataract dwelling, girl who dwell'st beside the river, do thou spin a thread of softness, in a soft ball do thou wind it, drop thy thread into the water, through the blue waves do thou guide it, that the boat its track may follow, while its tarry breast speeds onward, so that men the least instructed, e'en the inexperienced find it. "melatar, thou gracious matron! of thy favour, take the rudder, that with which thou guid'st the vessel, safely through the streams enchanted, to the house that lies beyond them, and beneath the sorcerer's windows. "if this is not yet sufficient, ukko, jumala in heaven, with thy sword direct the vessel, with thy naked sword direct it, that the wooden boat speed onward, journey on, the pinewood vessel." then the aged väinämöinen, steered the vessel swiftly forward, through the river-rocks he steered it, steered it through the foaming waters, and the wooden vessel wedged not, nor the wise man's boat was grounded. but as they their voyage continued once again in open water, suddenly the vessel halted, stopped the boat upon its journey, in its place remained it fastened, and the vessel rocked no longer. thereupon smith ilmarinen, with the lively lemminkainen, pushed into the lake the rudder, in the waves the spar of pinewood, and they tried to loose the vessel, and to free the wooden vessel, but they could not move the vessel, nor release the wooden vessel. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words which follow: "o thou lively son of lempi, stoop thou down, and look around thee. look what stops the boat from moving, look what keeps the vessel moveless here amid the open water; what the force beneath that holds it, whether stopped by rocks or branches, or by any other hindrance." then the lively lemminkainen stooped him down to look about him, and he looked beneath the vessel, and he spoke the words which follow: "not on rock the boat is resting, not on boat, and not on branches, but upon a pike's broad shoulders, and on water-dog's great backbone." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "all things may be found in rivers, whether they are pikes or branches. if we rest on pike's broad shoulders, and on water-dog's great backbone, plunge your sword into the water, thus in twain the fish to sever." then the lively lemminkainen ruddy youth, accomplished rascal, drew his sword from out his sword-belt, from his side the bone-destroyer, in the lake his sword plunged deeply, thrust it underneath the vessel, but he splashed into the water, plunged his hands into the billows. thereupon smith ilmarinen by the hair seized fast the hero, dragged from out the lake the hero, and he spoke the words which follow: "all pretend to grow to manhood, and are ready to be bearded, such as these we count by hundreds, and their number mounts to thousands." from his belt he drew his sword-blade, from the sheath the keen-edged weapon, and he struck the fish with fury, striking down beneath the vessel, but the sword in pieces shivered, and the pike was injured nothing. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words which follow: "not the half of manhood have you, not the third part of a hero, but a man is now required, and a man's sense now is needed, all the sense of the unskilful, all the efforts of the others." then himself he drew his sword-blade, firmly grasped the keen-edged weapon, in the lake his sword then thrust he, underneath the boat he struck it, at the pike's great shoulders striking at the water-dog's great backbone. but the sword was fixed securely, in the fish's jaws fixed firmly; then the aged väinämöinen presently the fish uplifted, dragged it up from out the water, and the pike in twain he severed. to the bottom sank the fish-tail, in the boat the head he hoisted. now again moved on the vessel, and the boat-prow now was loosened. väinämöinen, old and steadfast to the shoals steered on the vessel, to the shore the boat he guided, and he turned and looked about him, and the pike's great head examined, and he spoke the words which follow: "let the eldest of the yeomen, come and cleave the pike to pieces, let him carve it into slices, let him hew the head to pieces." from the boat the men made answer, from the boat replied the women, "but the captor's hands are finer, and the speaker's fingers better." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, drew from out the sheath his knife-blade, from his side the cold sharp iron, that the pike might be divided, and he cut the fish to pieces, and he spoke the words which follow: "let the youngest of the maidens, cook the pike that we have captured, let her mince it for our breakfast, that on fish we make our dinner." then the maidens set to cooking, ten there were who made the effort, and they cooked the pike for eating, and they minced it for their breakfast; on the reefs the bones they scattered, on the rocks they left the fishbones. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, saw the bones where they were lying, and he turned to look upon them, and he spoke the words which follow: "what might perhaps be fashioned from them, from the pike's teeth be constructed, from the fragments of the jawbones, were they to the smithy taken, to the skilful smith entrusted, to the hands of one most skilful?" said the smith, said ilmarinen, "nothing comes from what is useless, nothing can be made of fishbones, by a smith in smithy working, though to skilful smith entrusted, to the hands of one most skilful." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "yet a harp might be constructed even of the bones of fishes, if there were a skilful workman, who could from the bones construct it." as no craftsman there was present, and there was no skilful workman who could make a harp of fishbones, väinämöinen, old and steadfast, then began the harp to fashion, and himself the work accomplished, and he made a harp of pikebones, fit to give unending pleasure. out of what did he construct it? chiefly from the great pike's jawbones, whence obtained he pegs to suit it? of the teeth of pike he made them; out of what were harpstrings fashioned? from the hairs of hiisi's gelding. now the instrument was ready, and the kantele completed, fashioned from the pike's great jawbones, and from fins of fish constructed. thereupon the youths came forward, forward came the married heroes, and the half-grown boys came forward, and the little girls came likewise, maidens young, and aged women, and the women middle-agèd, all advanced the harp to gaze on, and the instrument examine. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, bade the young folks and the old ones, and the people middle-agèd, with their fingers play upon it, on the instrument of fishbone, on the kantele of fishbone. played the young and played the aged, likewise played the middle-agèd, played the young, and moved their fingers, tried the old, whose heads were shaking, but they drew no music from it, nor composed a tune when playing. said the lively lemminkainen, "o ye boys half-witted only, and ye maidens, all so stupid, and you other wretched people, 'tis not thus you play upon it, neither are you skilled musicians. give me now the harp of fishbone, let me try to play upon it, on my knees now place it for me, at the tips of my ten fingers." then the lively lemminkainen in his hands the harp uplifted and he drew it nearer to him, held it underneath his fingers, and he tried to play upon it, and the kantele he twisted, but could play no tune upon it, draw no cheerful music from it. said the aged väinämöinen, "there are none among the youthful, nor among the growing people, nor among the aged people, who can play upon these harpstrings, drawing cheerful music from them. perhaps in pohjola 'twere better, tunes might perhaps be played upon it, cheerful music played upon it, if to pohjola i took it." so to pohjola he took it, and to sariola he brought it, and the boys they played upon it, boys and girls both played upon it, and the married men played on it, likewise all the married women, and the mistress played upon it, and they turned the harp and twisted, held it firmly in their fingers, at the tips of their ten fingers. thus played all the youths of pohja, people played of every station, but no cheerful notes came from it, and they played no music on it, for the strings were all entangled, and the horsehair whined most sadly, and the notes were all discordant, and the music all was jarring. in the corner slept a blind man, by the stove there lay an old man, and beside the stove he wakened. from the stove he raised an outcry, from his couch he grumbled loudly, and he grumbled, and he mumbled, "leave it off, and stop your playing, cut it short and finish quickly, for the noise my ears is bursting, through my head the noise is echoing, and through all my hair i feel it, for a week you've made me sleepless. "and the harp of suomi's people cannot really give us pleasure, lulls us not to sleep when weary, nor to rest does it incline us. cast it forth upon the waters, sink it down beneath the billows, send it back to where it came from, and the instrument deliver to the hands of those who made it, to the fingers which constructed." with its tongue the harp made answer, as the kantele resounded: "no, i will not sink in water, nor will rest beneath the billows, but will play for a musician, play for him who toiled to make me." carefully the harp they carried, and with greatest care conveyed it back to him whose hands had made it, to the knees of its constructor. runo xli.--vÄinÄmÖinen's music _argument_ väinämöinen plays on the kantele, and all living things, whether belonging to the air, earth, or water, hasten to the spot to listen ( - ). the hearts of all listeners are so affected by the music that tears fall from their eyes, and väinämöinen's own eyes shed large drops which fall to the ground and trickle into the water, where they are changed into beautiful blue pearls ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval minstrel, presently stretched out his fingers, washed his thumbs, the harp for playing, on the stone of joy he sat him, on the singer's stone he sat him, on a hill all silver-shining, from a golden heath arising. then the harp he grasped with fingers, and upon his knee he propped it, and his hands he placed beneath it, then he spoke the words which follow: "come ye now to listen to me, ye before who never heard me, hear with joy my songs primeval, while the kantele is sounding." then the aged väinämöinen, quick commenced his skilful playing on the instrument of pikebone, on the kantele of fishbone, and he raised his fingers nimbly, and his thumb he lifted lightly. now came pleasure after pleasure, as the sweet notes followed others, as he sat and played the music, as he sang his songs melodious, as he played upon the pike-teeth, and he lifted up the fish-tail, and the horsehair sounded sweetly, and the horsehair sounded clearly. played the aged väinämöinen. nothing was there in the forest, which upon four feet was running, or upon their legs were hopping, and which came not near to listen, came not to rejoice and wonder. gathered round him all the squirrels, as from branch to branch they clambered, and the ermines flocked around him, laid them down against the fences, on the plains the deer were springing, and the lynxes shared the pleasure. in the swamp each wolf awakened, from the heath the bear aroused him, from his lair among the fir-trees, and the thickly growing pine-trees, and the wolves ran lengthy journeys, and the bears came through the heather, till they sat upon the fences, side by side against the gateway. on the rocks the fence fell over, on the field the gate fell over, then they climbed upon the pine-trees, and they ran around the fir-trees, just to listen to the music, all rejoicing, and in wonder. sage of tapiola illustrious, he of metsola the master, and the whole of tapio's people, all the boys and all the maidens, climbed upon a mountain summit, that they might enjoy the music, while the mistress of the forest, keen-eyed matron of tapiola, (fine her stockings, blue in colour, firmly tied with crimson ribands,) climbed into a crooked birch-tree, rested in a curving alder, to the kantele to listen, that she might enjoy the music. and the birds of air assembled, those upon two wings that raise them, backwards sailing, forwards sailing, and with all their speed came flying, swift to listen to the music, all in wonder and rejoicing. when the eagle in his eyry, heard the sweet tones sound from suomi, in the nest she left her fledgelings, and she hovered round to listen to the gallant hero's playing, and to väinämöinen's singing. high in air there soared the eagle, through the clouds the hawk was sailing, came the ducks from deepest waters, came the swans from snow-wreathed marshes, and the smallest of the finches, all the twittering birds assembled, singing-birds flocked round by hundreds, and in thousands they assembled in the air, and heard delighted, and alighted on his shoulders, all rejoicing in the patriarch, and in väinämöinen's playing. e'en the daughters of creation, of the air the charming maidens, gathered to rejoice and wonder, to the kantele to listen. some on arch of air were seated, seated on the dazzling rainbow, some on little clouds were seated, resting on their crimson borders. then were kuutar, slender damsel; päivätär, that maid accomplished; casting with their hands the shuttle, drawing threads that they were weaving, as they wove a golden fabric, and they wove the threads of silver, high upon the red cloud-borders, on the borders of the rainbow. but when they began to listen to the notes of charming music, from their hands they let the comb fall, cast from out their hands the shuttle, and the golden bands were broken, and the silver shaft was broken. there remained no living creature, none of those who dwell in water, none who with six fins are moving, nor the largest shoals of fishes, which assembled not to listen, came not to rejoice and wonder. thither came the pikes all swimming, and the water-dogs swam forward, from the rocks swam swift the salmon, from the deeps there came the powans, perch and little roach came also, powans white, and other fishes; through the reeds they pushed their bodies, straightway to the shore they hastened, there to hear the songs of väinö, and to listen to his playing. ahto, king of all the billows, grass-beard ancient of the waters, mounted to the water's surface, climbed upon a water-lily, to the notes with joy he listened, and he spoke the words which follow: "never have i heard such music, in the course of all my lifetime, as is played by väinämöinen, joyous and primeval minstrel." and the sisters, sotko's daughters, cousins of the reeds on lakeshore, at the time their hair were brushing, and their locks were deftly combing, with a comb composed of silver, and with golden brush they brushed it. when they heard the strains unwonted, and they heard the skilful playing, in the waves they dropped the brushes, dropped the comb among the lake-waves, and their hair unsmoothed was hanging, nor they smoothed it in the middle. e'en the mistress of the waters, water-mother, towards the rushes, from the lake herself ascended, raised herself from out the billows, quickly moved her to the rushes, climbed a rock in water standing, and she listened to the music, and to väinämöinen playing, listened to the wondrous music, and to the delightful playing, and she fell in deepest slumber, sank upon the ground in slumber, on the mottled rocky surface, underneath a great rock's shelter. then the aged väinämöinen, played one day, and played a second. there was none among the heroes, none among the men so mighty, none among the men or women, none of those whose hair is plaited, whom he did not move to weeping, and whose hearts remained unmelted. wept the young and wept the aged, all the married men were weeping, likewise all the married women, and the half-grown boys were weeping, all the boys, and all the maidens, likewise all the little children, when they heard the tones so wondrous, and the noble sage's music. he himself, old väinämöinen, felt his own tears rolling downward, from his eyes the tears dropped downward, and the water-drops fell downward; they were tears than cranberries larger, they were tears than peas much larger, then the eggs of grouse still rounder, larger than the heads of swallows. from his eyes there fell the tear-drops, others followed after others, tears upon his cheeks were falling, down upon his cheeks so handsome, rolling from his cheeks so handsome, down upon his chin's expansion, rolling from his chin's expansion, down upon his panting bosom, rolling from his panting bosom, down upon his strong knee's surface, rolling from his strong knee's surface down upon his feet so handsome, rolling from his feet so handsome, down upon the ground beneath them, and five woollen cloaks were soaking, likewise six of gilded girdles, seven blue dresses too were soaking, and ten overcoats were soaking. and the tear-drops still were falling, from the eyes of väinämöinen, till they reached the blue lake's margin, overflowed the blue lake's margin, down below the sparkling water, to the black ooze at the bottom. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "is there in this youthful party, 'mid the young and fair here gathered, 'mid these high-descended people, any darling child of father, who the tears i shed can gather, from beneath the sparkling water?" and the young folks gave him answer, and the old folks likewise answered: "there are none among the youthful, in this young and fair assemblage, 'mid these high-descended people, not a darling child of father, who the tears you shed can gather, from beneath the sparkling water." then the aged väinämöinen, spoke again in words that follow: "he who brings my tears unto me, and the tears again can gather, from beneath the sparkling waters, shall receive a dress of feathers." forth there came a raven passing; said the aged väinämöinen: "bring me now my tears, o raven, from beneath the sparkling water, and receive the dress of feathers." but the raven could not do it. and the blue duck heard him likewise, and the blue duck next came forward. said the aged väinämöinen: "often, blue duck, does it happen that thy beak thou plungest downward, as thou speedest through the water. go thou forth my tears to gather, from beneath the sparkling water, bounteous guerdon will i give thee, and will give a dress of feathers." then the duck went forth to seek them, seek the tears of väinämöinen, underneath the sparkling water, on the black ooze of the bottom. in the lake she found the tear-drops, and to väinö's hands she brought them, but they were transformed already, suffered beauteous transformation. into pearls were they developed, like the blue pearls of the mussel, fit for every king's adornment, to the great a lifelong pleasure. runo xlii.--the capture of the sampo _argument_ the heroes arrive at pohjola, and väinämöinen announces that he has come to take possession of the sampo, either with good-will, or by force ( - ). the mistress of pohjola refuses to yield it either by consent or by compulsion, and calls together her people to oppose him ( - ). väinämöinen takes the kantele, begins to play, and lulls to sleep all the people of pohjola, and goes with his companions to search for the sampo; they take it from the stone mountain and convey it to the boat ( - ). they sail homewards well satisfied, carrying the sampo with them ( - ). on the third day the mistress of pohjola wakes from her sleep, and when she finds that the sampo has been carried off, she prepares a thick fog, a strong wind, and other impediments, to oppose the robbers of the sampo, which reach the vessel, and during the tempest väinämöinen's kantele falls into the water ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, secondly, smith ilmarinen, third, the lively son of lempi, he the handsome kaukomieli, sailed upon the lake's broad surface, o'er the far-extending billows, to the cold and dreary village, to the misty land of pohja, to the land where men are eaten, where they even drown the heroes. who should row the vessel onward? first, the smith named ilmarinen. he it was who rowed the vessel, he was first among the rowers, and the lively lemminkainen was the last among the rowers. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, in the stern himself was seated, and he steered the vessel onward, through the waves he steered it onward, through the foaming waves he steered it, steered it o'er the foam-capped billows, unto pohja's distant haven, to his well-known destination. when they reached the goal they sought for, and the voyage at length was ended, to the land they drew the vessel, up they drew the tarry vessel, laid it on the steely rollers, at the quay with copper edging. after this the house they entered, crowding hastily within it, then did pohjola's old mistress, ask the purport of their coming. "men, what tidings do you bring us, what fresh news, o heroes, bring you?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "men are speaking of the sampo, heroes, of its pictured cover. we have come to share the sampo, and behold its pictured cover." then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words which follow: "two men cannot share a grouseling, nor can three divide a squirrel, and the sampo loud is whirring, and the pictured cover grinding, here in pohjola's stone mountain, and within the hill of copper. i myself rejoice in welfare, mistress of the mighty sampo." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "if you will not share the sampo, give us half to carry with us, then the sampo, all entire, to our vessel will we carry." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, heard him with the greatest anger, called together all her people, summoned all her youthful swordsmen, bade them all to aim their weapons at the head of väinämöinen. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, took the kantele and played it, down he sat and played upon it, and began a tune delightful. all who listened to his playing heard it with delight and wonder, and the men were all delighted, and the women's mouths were laughing. tears from heroes' eyes were falling, boys upon the ground were kneeling. at the last their strength forsook them, and the people all were wearied, all the listeners sank in slumber, on the ground sank all beholders, slept the old and slept the youthful, all at väinämöinen's playing. then the crafty väinämöinen, he the great primeval minstrel, put his hand into his pocket, and he drew his purse from out it, and sleep-needles took he from it, and their eyes he plunged in slumber, and their eyelashes crossed tightly, locked their eyelids close together, sank the people all in slumber. into sleep he plunged the heroes, and they sank in lasting slumber, and he plunged in lasting slumber all the host of pohja's people, all the people of the village. then he went to fetch the sampo, and behold its pictured cover, there in pohjola's stone mountain, and within the hill of copper. nine the locks that there secured it, bars secured it, ten in number. then the aged väinämöinen gently set himself to singing at the copper mountain's entrance, there beside the stony fortress, and the castle doors were shaken, and the iron hinges trembled. thereupon smith ilmarinen, aided by the other heroes, overspread the locks with butter, and with bacon rubbed the hinges, that the doors should make no jarring, and the hinges make no creaking. then the locks he turned with fingers, and the bars and bolts he lifted, and he broke the locks to pieces, and the mighty doors were opened. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "o thou lively son of lempi, of my friends the most illustrious, come thou here to take the sampo, and to seize the pictured cover." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, always eager, though unbidden, ready, though men did not praise him, came to carry off the sampo, and to seize the pictured cover, and he said as he was coming, boasted as he hastened forward, "o, i am a man of mettle, and a hero-son of ukko! i can surely move the sampo, and can seize its pictured cover, standing on my right foot only, if i touch it with my shoe-heel." lemminkainen pushed against it, turned himself, and pushed against it, pushed his arms and breast against it, on the ground his knees down-pressing, but he could not move the sampo, could not stir the pictured cover, for the roots were rooted firmly in the depths nine fathoms under. there was then a bull in pohja, which had grown to size enormous, and his sides were sleek and fattened, and his sinews of the strongest; horns he had in length a fathom, one-half more his muzzle's thickness. so they led him from the meadow, on the borders of the ploughed field, up they ploughed the roots of sampo, those which fixed the pictured cover, then began to move the sampo, and to sway the pictured cover. then the aged väinämöinen, secondly, smith ilmarinen, third, the lively lemminkainen carried forth the mighty sampo, forth from pohjola's stone mountain, from within the hill of copper, to the boat away they bore it, and within the ship they stowed it. in the boat they stowed the sampo, in the hold the pictured cover, pushed the boat into the water, in the waves the hundred-boarded; splashed the boat into the water, in the waves its sides descended. asked the smith, said ilmarinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "whither shall we bear the sampo, whither now shall we convey it, take it from this evil country, from the wretched land of pohja?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "thither will we bear the sampo, and will take the pictured cover, to the misty island's headland, at the end of shady island, there in safety can we keep it, there it can remain for ever. there's a little spot remaining, yet a little plot left over, where they eat not and they fight not, whither swordsmen never wander." then the aged väinämöinen steered away from pohja's borders, sailed away in great contentment, joyous to his native country, and he spoke the words which follow: "speed from pohjola, o vessel, make thy way directly homeward, leave behind the foreign country. "blow, thou wind, and sway the vessel, urge the boat upon the water, lend assistance to the rowers, to the rudder give thou lightness, on the wide expanse of water, out upon the open water. "if the oars should be too little, and too weak should be the oarsmen, in the stern too small the steerer, and the vessel's master's children, ahto, give thyself thy oars, to the boat, o water-master, give the best and newest oars, give us, too, a stronger rudder. do thou seat thee at the oars, do thou undertake the rowing, speed thou on this wooden vessel, urge the iron-rowlocked forward, drive it through the foaming billows, through the foam-capped billows drive it." then the aged väinämöinen steered the vessel swiftly forward, while the smith named ilmarinen, and the lively lemminkainen, set themselves to work the oars, and they rowed, and speeded onward o'er the sparkling water's surface, o'er the surface of the billows. said the lively lemminkainen, "formerly when i was rowing, there was water for the rowers, there was singing for the minstrels, but at present time, when rowing, nothing do we hear of singing, in the boat we hear no singing, on the waves we hear no chanting." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "do not sing upon the waters, do not chant upon the billows; singing brings the boat to halting, songs would but impede the rowing, then would wane the golden daylight, and the night descend upon us, on the wide expanse of water, on the surface of the billows." then the lively lemminkainen answered in the words which follow: "anyway, the time is passing, fades away the lovely daylight, and the night is swift approaching, and the twilight comes upon us, though no song our life enlivens, nor the time is given to chanting." steered the aged väinämöinen o'er the blue lake's shining water, and he steered one day, a second, and at length upon the third day. then the lively lemminkainen for a second time inquired, "wherefore sing not, väinämöinen? o thou great one, sing unto us! we have won the splendid sampo; straight the course that now we follow." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, gave him a decided answer: "'tis too early yet for singing, 'tis too early for rejoicing. soon a time will come for singing, fitting time for our rejoicing, when we see our doors before us, and we hear our own doors creaking." said the lively lemminkainen, "in the stern i'll take position, and with all my might will sing there, and with all my force will bellow. perhaps indeed i cannot do so, loud enough i cannot bellow: if you will not sing unto us, then will i commence the singing." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, quickly pursed his mouth for singing, and prepared himself to carol, and began to sing his carols, but his songs were most discordant, and his voice it sounded hoarsely, and his tones were most discordant. sang the lively lemminkainen, shouted loudly kaukomieli, moved his mouth, his beard was wagging, and his chin was likewise shaking. far away was heard his singing, far away across the water, in six villages they heard it, over seven the song resounded. on a stump a crane was sitting, on a mound from swamp arising, and his toe-bones he was counting, and his feet he was uplifting, and was terrified extremely at the song of lemminkainen. left the crane his strange employment, with his harsh voice screamed in terror, from his perch he flew in terror, over pohjola in terror, and upon his coming thither, when he reached the swamp of pohja, screaming still, and screaming harshly, screaming at his very loudest, waked in pohjola the people, and aroused that evil nation. up rose pohjola's old mistress from her long and heavy slumber, and she hastened to the farmyard, ran to where the corn was drying, and she looked upon the cattle, and the corn in haste examined. nought was missing from the cattle, and the corn had not been plundered. to the hill of stone she wandered, and the copper mountain's entrance, and she said as she was coming, "woe to me, this day unhappy, for a stranger here has entered, and the locks have all been opened, and the castle's doors been opened, and the iron hinges broken. has the sampo perhaps been stolen, and the whole been taken from us?" yes, the sampo had been taken, carried off the pictured cover, forth from pohjola's stone mountain, from within the hill of copper, though by ninefold locks protected, though ten bars protected likewise. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, fell into the greatest fury, but she felt her strength was failing, and her power had all departed, so she prayed to the cloud-maiden. "maiden of the clouds, mist-maiden, scatter from thy sieve the cloudlets, and the mists around thee scatter, send the thick clouds down from heaven, sink thou from the air of vapour, o'er the broad lake's shining surface, out upon the open water, on the head of väinämöinen, falling on uvantolainen. "but if this is not sufficient, iku-turso, son of Äijö, lift thy head from out the water, raise thy head above the billows, crush thou kaleva's vile children, sink thou down uvantolainen, sink thou down the wicked heroes in the depths beneath the billows, bring to pohjola the sampo, let it fall not from the vessel. "but if this is not sufficient, ukko, thou, of gods the highest, golden king in airy regions, mighty one, adorned with silver, let the air be filled with tempest, raise a mighty wind against them, raise thou winds and waves against them, with their boat contending ever, falling on the head of väinö, rushing on uvantolainen." then the maid of clouds, mist-maiden, from the lake a cloud breathed upward, through the air the cloud she scattered, and detained old väinämöinen, and for three whole nights she kept him out upon the lake's blue surface, and he could not move beyond it, nor could he escape beyond it. when for three nights he had rested out upon the lake's blue surface, spoke the aged väinämöinen, and expressed himself in thiswise: "there's no man, how weak soever, not among the laziest heroes, who by clouds would thus be hindered, and by mists would thus be worsted." with his sword he clove the water, in the lake his sword plunged deeply, mead along his blade was flowing, honey from his sword was dropping. then the fog to heaven ascended, and the cloud in air rose upward, from the lake the mist ascended, and the vapour from the lake-waves, and the lake extended widely, wider spread the whole horizon. but a little time passed over, short the time that then passed over, when they heard a mighty roaring, at the red boat's side they heard it, and the foam flew wildly upwards, near the boat of väinämöinen. thereupon smith ilmarinen, felt the very greatest terror. from his cheeks the blood departed, from his cheeks the ruddy colour; o'er his head he drew his felt-cap, and above his ears he drew it, and his cheeks with care he covered, and his eyes he covered better. then the aged väinämöinen looked into the water round him, cast his gaze beside the vessel, and he saw a little wonder. iku-turso, son of Äijö, by the red boat's side was lifting high his head from out the water, raising it from out the billows. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, grasped his ears upon the instant, by his ears he dragged him upward, and he sang aloud, and questioned, and he said the words which follow: "iku-turso, son of Äijö, wherefore from the lake uplift thee, wherefore rise above the lake-waves, thus thyself to men revealing, even kaleva's own children?" iku-turso, son of Äijö, was not pleased with this reception, but he was not very frightened, and no answer he returned him. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, asked again an explanation, and a third time asked him loudly, "iku-turso, son of Äijö, wherefore from the lake uplift thee, wherefore rise above the billows?" iku-turso, son of Äijö, when for the third time he asked him, answered in the words which follow: "therefore from the lake i raise me, therefore rise above the billows, for that in my mind i purpose kaleva's great race to ruin, bear to pohjola the sampo. in the waves if you will send me, and my wretched life concede me, not another time ascending, in the sight of men i'll venture." then the aged väinämöinen cast the wretch into the billows, and he said the words which follow: "iku-turso, son of Äijö, nevermore from lake arising, or ascending from the lake-waves, venture forth where men can see thee, from this very day henceforward." therefore from that day thenceforward, never from the lake rose turso, in the sight of men to venture, long as sun and moon are shining, or the pleasant day is dawning, and the air is most delightful. then the aged väinämöinen once again steered on the vessel. but a little time passed over, short the time that then passed over, when did ukko, god the highest, of the air the mighty ruler, winds arouse in magic fury, made the tempests rage around them. then the winds arose in fury, and the tempests raged around them, and the west wind blew most fiercely, from the south-west just as fiercely, and the south wind still more fiercely, and the east wind whistled loudly, roared the south-east wind tremendous, and the north wind howled in fury. from the trees the leaves were scattered, and the pine-trees lost their needles, and the heather lost its flowerets, and the grasses lost their tassels, and the black ooze was uplifted to the sparkling water's surface. still the winds were wildly blowing, and the waves assailed the vessel, swept away the harp of pikebone, and the kantele of fish-fins, joy for vellamo's attendants, and to ahtola a pleasure. ahto on the waves perceived it, on the waves his children saw it, and they took the harp so charming, and unto their home conveyed it. then the aged väinämöinen from his eyes wept tears of sadness, and he spoke the words which follow: "thus has gone what i constructed, and my cherished harp has vanished, and is lost my life-long pleasure. never will it happen to me, in the course of all my lifetime to rejoice again in pike-teeth, or to play on bones of fishes." thereupon smith ilmarinen felt the very greatest sadness, and he spoke the words which follow: "woe to me, this day unhappy, that upon the lake i travel, on this wide expanse of water, that i tread on wood that's rolling, and on planks that shake beneath me. now my hair has seen the tempest, and my hair begins to shudder, and my beard ill days has witnessed, which it saw upon the water, yet have we but seldom witnessed, such a storm as rages round us, witnessed such tremendous breakers, or have seen such foam-capped billows. let the wind be now my refuge, and the waves have mercy on me." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, heard his words, and thus responded: "in the boat's no place for weeping, room is none for lamentation, weeping helps not in misfortune, howling, not when days are evil." then he spoke the words which follow, and he sang and thus expressed him: "water, now restrain thy children, and, o wave, do thou restrain them. ahto, do thou calm the billows, vellamo, o'ercome the waters, that they splash not on our timbers, nor may overwhelm my boat-ribs. "rise, o wind, aloft to heaven, and among the clouds disport thee, to thy race, where thou wast nurtured, to thy family and kindred. do not harm this wooden vessel, sink thou not this boat of pinewood. rather fell burnt trees in clearings, on the slopes o'erthrow the pine-trees." then the lively lemminkainen, he the handsome kaukomieli, spoke aloud the words which follow: "come, o eagle, thou from turja, do thou bring three feathers with thee, three, o eagle, two, o raven, to protect this little vessel, to protect this bad boat's timbers." he himself enlarged the bulwarks, fixed the timbers in their places, and to these fresh boards he added, and to fathom-height he raised them, higher than the waves were leaping, nor upon his beard they splashed him. all his work was now completed, and the bulwarks raised protecting, though the winds might blow most fiercely, and the waves might beat in fury, and the foam be wildly seething, and like hillocks be uprising. runo xliii.--the fight for the sampo _argument_ the mistress of pohjola equips a war-vessel and goes in pursuit of the robbers of the sampo ( - ). when she overtakes them a fight ensues between the forces of pohjola and kalevala in which the latter conquer ( - ). nevertheless the mistress of pohjola succeeds in dragging the sampo from the boat into the lake, where it breaks to pieces ( - ). the larger portions sink in the lake, and form its riches, while the smaller pieces are thrown on shore by the waves, at which väinämöinen is much pleased ( - ). the mistress of pohjola threatens to send all evil upon kalevala, to which väinämöinen pays no attention ( - ). the mistress of pohjola returns home in great distress, taking with her only a small fragment of the cover of the sampo ( - ). väinämöinen carefully collects the fragments of the sampo on the shore, and plants them, hoping for continuous good fortune ( - ). louhi, pohjola's old mistress, called together all her forces, bows delivered to her army, and the men with swords provided, fitted out a ship of pohja, as a war-ship she prepared it. in the ship the men she stationed, and equipped for war the heroes, as the duck her ducklings musters, or the teal her children marshals; there she ranged a hundred swordsmen, and a thousand men with crossbows. in the boat the mast she lifted, put the yards and spars in order, on the mast the sails adjusted, spread the canvas o'er the sailyards; like a hanging cloud it waved there, like a cloud in heaven suspended; then upon her voyage she started, sailed away and speeded onward, soon to struggle for the sampo, with the boat of väinämöinen. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, o'er the blue lake steered his vessel, and he spoke the words which follow, from the stern where he was seated: "o thou lively son of lempi, of my friends the dearest to me, climb thou quickly to the masthead, and among the canvas hasten. look thou to the air before thee, look thou to the sky behind thee, whether clear is the horizon, or the sky is somewhat clouded." then the lively lemminkainen, ruddy youth, accomplished scoundrel, very active, though unbidden, very quick, though never boastful, to the masthead then ascended, up aloft among the canvas. east he looked, and looked to westward, looked to north-west and to southward, looked across to pohja's coast-line, and he spoke the words which follow: "clear in front is the horizon, dark behind is the horizon, rises north a cloud, a small one, hangs a single cloud to north-west." said the aged väinämöinen, "what you say is surely nonsense, for no cloud is there ascending, nor a single cloud arising, but perchance a sailing vessel; look again, and look more sharply." then he looked again more sharply, and he spoke the words which follow: "far away i see an island, dimly looming in the distance, aspens covered o'er with falcons, speckled grouse upon the birch-trees." said the aged väinämöinen, "what you say is surely nonsense, for no falcons do you see there, and no speckled grouse you see there, but perchance the sons of pohja; look more sharply for the third time." then the lively lemminkainen for the third time looked around him, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "'tis a ship from pohja sailing, with a hundred rowlocks fitted, and i see a hundred oarsmen, and a thousand men beside them." then the aged väinämöinen, all the truth at once perceiving, spoke aloud the words which follow: "row, thou smith; row, ilmarinen; row, o lively lemminkainen; row ye also, all ye people, that the boat be hurried forward, and the vessel onward driven." rowed the smith, rowed ilmarinen, rowed the lively lemminkainen, all the people joined in rowing. swayed about the pinewood oars, loudly rang the rowan rowlocks, and the pinewood boat was swaying. like a seal the prow dashed onward, boiled the waves behind like cataract, like a bell uprose the water, and the foam flew up in masses. as for wager rowed the heroes, as in race the heroes struggled, but they rowed, and made no progress, nor could urge the wooden vessel further from the sailing vessel, and the ship that came from pohja. then the aged väinämöinen saw misfortune fast approaching. on his head was doomsday falling, and he pondered and reflected, how to act and how to save him, and he spoke the words which follow: "still i know a plan of safety, still i see a little marvel." then he took a piece of tinder, in his tinder-box he found it, and of pitch he took a little, and a little piece of tinder, and into the lake he threw it, o'er his shoulder left he threw it, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "let a reef of this be fashioned, and a cliff be fashioned from it, where may run the ship of pohja, fitted with a hundred rowlocks, and may strike in lake tempestuous, and amid the waves be shattered." thereupon a reef grew upward, in the lake a cliff was fashioned, half its length to east directed, and its breadth to north directed. onward sped the ship of pohja, gliding swiftly through the lake-waves, and upon the reef came rushing, and upon the rocks wedged firmly. broke across the wooden vessel, and to splinters it was broken; in the lake the masts fell crashing, and the sails fell drooping downward, by the wind away were carried, and the spring wind all dispersed them. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, plunged her feet into the water, and she tried to push the vessel, and she tried to raise the vessel, but no spear could lift the vessel, and she could not even move it, for the ribs had all been shattered, all the rowlocks had been broken. and she pondered and reflected, and she spoke the words which follow: "who can aid me now with counsel? who can help me in this trouble?" then her form she quickly altered, to another shape transformed her, and she took five scythes the sharpest, and six hoes, worn out completely; these she fashioned into talons, into claws did she convert them; half the broken vessel's fragments did she then arrange beneath her, and the sides to wings she fashioned, and to tail she turned the rudder, 'neath her wings took men a hundred, on her tail she took a thousand, and the hundred men were swordsmen, and the thousand men were archers. then she flew, her wings extending, and she soared aloft as eagle, and she poised herself and hovered, to attack old väinämöinen; in the clouds one wing was flapping, in the water splashed the other. then the fairest water-mother spoke aloud the words which follow: "o thou aged väinämöinen, turn thy head beneath the sunrise, do thou turn thine eyes to north-west, look a little now behind thee." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, turned his head beneath the sunrise, and he turned his eyes to north-west, looked a little just behind him. onward came the crone of pohja, and the wondrous bird was hovering like a hawk about his shoulders, with the body of an eagle. soon she came near väinämöinen, and she flew upon the masthead, clambered out upon the sailyard, and upon the pole she sat her, and the boat was nearly sinking, and the vessel's side lurched downward. thereupon smith ilmarinen sought from jumala assistance, and invoking the creator, then he spoke the words which follow: "save us, o thou good creator, gracious jumala, protect us, that the son may not be hurried, nor the mother's child hurled downward, from among the living creatures, from the creatures whom thou rulest. "ukko, jumala the highest, thou our father in the heavens, cast a fiery robe around me, over me a shirt of fire, that i thus may fight protected, and may thus contend protected, that my head may fear no evil, nor my hair may be disordered, when the shining swords are clashing, and the steely points are meeting." said the aged väinämöinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "hail, o pohjola's great mistress! wilt thou now divide the sampo, out upon the jutting headland, on the misty island's summit?" then said pohjola's old mistress, "no, i'll not divide the sampo, not with thee, thou wretched creature, not with thee, o väinämöinen!" and she swooped to snatch the sampo from the boat of väinämöinen. then the lively lemminkainen drew his sword from out his swordbelt, firm he grasped the sharpened iron, and from his left side he drew it, striking at the eagle's talons, at the claws of eagle striking. struck the lively lemminkainen, as he struck, these words he uttered: "down ye men, and down ye swordsmen, down with all the sleepy heroes! from her wings, ye men a hundred, ten from ends of every feather." answered then the crone of pohja, and she answered from the masthead: "o thou lively son of lempi, wretched kauko, worthless fellow, for thou hast deceived thy mother, lied unto thy aged mother! thou wast pledged to seek no battle in the space of sixty summers, whether need of gold should tempt thee, or the love of silver urge thee." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval minstrel, thought his doom had come upon him, and he felt his bane approaching; from the lake he drew the rudder, took the oak-spar from the billows, and with this he struck the monster, on the claws he struck the eagle, all the other claws he shattered, there remained the smallest only. from her wings the youths dropped downward, in the lake the men splashed downward, from beneath her wings a hundred, from her tail a thousand heroes; down there dropped the eagle likewise, crashing down upon the boat-ribs, as from tree the capercailzie, or from fir-branch drops the squirrel. then she tried to seize the sampo, seized it with her nameless finger, from the boat she dragged the sampo, down she pulled the pictured cover, from the red boat's hold she pulled it, 'mid the blue lake's waters cast it, and the sampo broke to pieces, and was smashed the pictured cover. then the fragments all were scattered, and the sampo's larger pieces sank beneath the peaceful waters to the black ooze at the bottom; thence there springs the water's riches, and the wealth of ahto's people. nevermore in all his lifetime, while the golden moon is shining, shall the wealth of ahto fail him, neither shall his watery honours. other pieces were remaining, rather small those other fragments, on the blue lake's surface floating, tossing on the broad lake's billows, and the wind for ever rocked them, and the billows drove them onward. and the wind still rocked the fragments, and the lake-waves ever tossed them, on the blue lake's surface floating, tossing on the broad lake's billows; to the land the wind impelled them, to the shore the billows drove them. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, in the surf beheld them floating, through the breakers shoreward driving, then on shore upcast by billows, saw the fragments of the sampo, splinters of the pictured cover. very greatly did it please him, and he spoke the words which follow: "from these seeds the plant is sprouting, lasting welfare is commencing, here is ploughing, here is sowing, here is every kind of increase, thence there comes the shining moonlight, thence there comes the lovely sunlight, o'er the mighty plains of suomi, and the lovely land of suomi." then did pohjola's old mistress speak aloud the words which follow: "still can i devise a method, find a method and contrivance, 'gainst thy ploughing and thy sowing, 'gainst thy cattle and thine increase, that thy moon shall cease its shining, and thy sun shall cease its shining. in the rocks the moon i'll carry, hide the sun in rocky mountains, and will send the frost to freeze you, that the frozen air destroyeth what thou ploughest and thou sowest, thy provisions and thy harvests. i will send a hail of iron, and a hail of steel o'erwhelming, over all thy finest clearings, and the best among the cornfields. "on the heath the bear i'll waken, from the pines the wide-toothed monster, that he may destroy thy geldings, and that he thy mares may slaughter, and that he may kill thy cattle, and that he thy cows may scatter. i'll with sickness slay thy people, and thy race will wholly slaughter, that so long as shines the moonlight, in the world no more 'tis mentioned." then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words that follow: "never lapland spell affects me, neither threats from turjalainen. jumala is lord of weather, keys of fate are the creator's, not to wicked men entrusted, neither to malicious fingers. "if i turn to my creator, to my jumala upreaching, from my corn he'll banish maggots, that they do not spoil my harvests, that they may not harm my seed-corn, nor destroy my corn when growing, nor may take my seed-corn from me, nor my splendid corn when growing. "go thou, pohjola's great mistress, drag unto the stones the lost ones, crush thou in the rocks the wicked, evils in thy chosen mountain, not the shining of the moonlight, nor the shining of the sunlight. "send the frost to freeze the country, send the frozen air destroying, send it only on thy seed-corn, that thy corn when sown be injured. send thou forth a hail of iron, and a hail of steel o'erwhelming, let it fall on thine own ploughing, only on the fields of pohja. "on the heath the bear awaken, and the fierce cat in the bushes, from the wood the curving-clawed one, 'neath the pines the wide-toothed monster, but to range the paths of pohja, and to prey on pohja's cattle." then did pohjola's old mistress answer in the words which follow: "now my might has all departed, and my strength has greatly weakened. by the lake my wealth was taken, by the waves was crushed the sampo." then she hastened homeward weeping, back to pohjola lamenting. nothing worthy to be mentioned of the sampo brought she homeward, nothing but a little fragment, by her nameless finger carried, but a fragment of the cover, which to sariola she carried: hence the poverty of pohja, and the starving life of lapland. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, went back likewise to his country, but he took the sampo's fragments, and the fragments of the cover, from the lakeshore where he found them, from the fine sand of the margin. and he sowed the sampo's fragments, and the pieces of the cover, out upon the jutting headland, on the misty island's summit, that they there might grow and flourish, might increase and yield their produce, as the ale obtained from barley, as the bread that rye is yielding. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "grant, o jumala, creator, that we now may live in comfort, and be joyous all our lifetime, and thereafter die in honour, in our pleasant land of suomi, and in beautiful carelia. "keep us, o thou great creator, guard us, jumala most gracious, from the men to us unfriendly, and from that old woman's malice. guard us from terrestrial evils, and the spells of water-sorcerers. "o protect thy sons for ever, may'st thou always aid thy children, guard them always in the night-time, and protect them in the daytime, lest the sun should cease from shining, lest the moon should cease from beaming, lest the winds should cease from blowing, lest the rain should cease from falling, lest the frost should come and freeze us, and the evil weather harm us. "build thou up a fence of iron, and of stone a castle build us, round the spot where i am dwelling, and round both sides of my people. build it up from earth to heaven, build it down to earth from heaven, as my own, my lifelong dwelling, as my refuge and protection, that the proud may not devour us, and they may not spoil our harvests, in the course of all our lifetime, when the golden moon is shining." runo xliv.--vÄinÄmÖinen's new kantele _argument_ väinämöinen goes to seek for his kantele which was lost in the lake, but cannot find it ( - ). he makes himself a new kantele of birchwood, on which he plays, and delights every creature in the neighbourhood ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, in his mind was thus reflecting: "now the time has come for music, time to give ourselves to pleasure, in our dwelling newly chosen, in our homestead now so charming, but the kantele is sunken, and my joy has gone for ever to the dwelling-place of fishes, to the rock-caves of the salmon, where it may enchant the lake-pike, likewise vellamo's attendants; but they never will return it, ahto will no more return it. "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, yestreen and before thou workedst, work to-day with equal vigour. forge me now a rake of iron, let the teeth be close together, close the teeth, and long the handle that i rake among the billows, and may rake the waves together, and may rake among the lake-reeds, with the rake rake all the margins, and my instrument recover, and the kantele recover, from the devious paths of fishes, from the rocky caves of salmon." thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, forged for him a rake of iron, furnished with a copper handle, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and the handle full five hundred. then the aged väinämöinen took the mighty rake of iron, and a little way he wandered, made a very little journey, till he reached the quay, steel-fitted, and the landing-stage of copper. there he found a boat, found two boats, both the boats were waiting ready on the quay, with steel all fitted, on the landing-stage of copper, and the first boat was a new one, and the second was an old one. said the aged väinämöinen, to the new boat firstly speaking: "go, thou boat, into the water, to the waves, o vessel, rush thou, even though no arm should turn thee, even though no thumbs should touch thee." sped the boat into the water, rushed amid the waves the vessel. old and steadfast väinämöinen, in the stern made haste to seat him, and he went to sweep the water, and to sweep among the billows. scattered leaves of water-lilies, raked he up among the shore-drift, all the rubbish raked together, all the rubbish, bits of rushes, every scrap he raked together, all the shoals with care raked over, but he found not, nor discovered, where his pike-bone harp was hidden, and this joy was gone for ever, with the kantele was sunken. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, then returned unto his dwelling, head bowed down, and sadly grieving, and his cap awry adjusted, and he said the words which follow: "unto me is lost for ever pleasure from the harp of pike-teeth, from the harp i made of fish-bone." as he wandered through the country, on the borders of the woodlands, there he heard a birch-tree weeping, and a speckled tree lamenting, and in that direction hastened, walking till he reached the birch-tree. thereupon he spoke and asked it, "wherefore weep'st thou, beauteous birch-tree, shedding tears, o green-leaved birch-tree, by thy belt of white conspicuous? to the war thou art not taken, longest not for battle-struggle." answer made the leaning birch-tree, and the green-leaved tree responded: "there is much that i could speak of, many things i might reflect on, how i best might live in pleasure, and i might rejoice for pleasure. i am wretched in my sorrow, and can but rejoice in trouble, living with my life o'erclouded, and lamenting in my sorrow. "and i weep my utter weakness, and my worthlessness lament for, i am poor, and all unaided, wholly wretched, void of succour, here in such an evil station, on a plain among the willows. "perfect happiness and pleasure others always are expecting, when arrives the beauteous summer, in the warm days of the summer. but my fate is different, wretched, nought but wretchedness awaits me; and my bark is peeling from me, down are hewed my leafy branches. "often unto me defenceless oft to me, unhappy creature, in the short spring come the children, quickly to the spot they hurry, and with sharpened knives they score me, draw my sap from out my body, and in summer wicked herdsmen, strip from me my white bark-girdle, cups and plates therefrom constructing, baskets too, for holding berries. "often unto me defenceless, oft to me, unhappy creature, come the girls beneath my branches, come beneath, and dance around me. from my crown they cut the branches, and they bind them into besoms. "often too, am i, defenceless, oft am i, unhappy creature, hewed away to make a clearing, cut to pieces into faggots. thrice already in this summer, in the warm days of the summer, unto me have come the woodmen, and have hewed me with their axes, hewed the crown from me unhappy, and my weak life has departed. "this has been my joy in summer, in the warm days of the summer, but no better was the winter, nor the time of snow more pleasant. "and in former times already, has my face been changed by trouble, and my head has drooped with sadness, and my cheeks have paled with sorrow, thinking o'er the days of evil, pondering o'er the times of evil. "and the wind brought ills upon me, and the frost brought bitter sorrows. tore the wind my green cloak from me, frost my pretty dress from off me. thus am i of all the poorest, and a most unhappy birch-tree, standing stripped of all my clothing, as a naked trunk i stand here, and in cold i shake and tremble, and in frost i stand lamenting." said the aged väinämöinen, "weep no more, o verdant birch-tree! leafy sapling, weep no longer, thou, equipped with whitest girdle, for a pleasant future waits thee, new and charming joys await thee. soon shalt thou with joy be weeping, shortly shalt thou sing for pleasure." then the aged väinämöinen carved into a harp the birch-tree, on a summer day he carved it, to a kantele he shaped it, at the end of cloudy headland, and upon the shady island, and the harp-frame he constructed, from the trunk he formed new pleasure, and the frame of toughest birchwood; from the mottled trunk he formed it. said the aged väinämöinen in the very words which follow: "now the frame i have constructed, from the trunk for lasting pleasure. whence shall now the screws be fashioned, whence shall come the pegs to suit me?" in the yard there grew an oak-tree, by the farmyard it was standing, 'twas an oak with equal branches, and on every branch an acorn, in the acorns golden kernels, on each kernel sat a cuckoo. when the cuckoos all were calling, in the call five tones were sounding, gold from out their mouths was flowing, silver too they scattered round them, on a hill the gold was flowing, on the ground there flowed the silver, and from this he made the harp-screws, and the pegs from that provided. said the aged väinämöinen in the very words which follow: "now the harp-screws are constructed, and the harp-pegs are provided. something even now is wanting, and five strings as yet are needed. how shall i provide the harp-strings, which shall yield the notes in playing?" then he went to seek for harp-strings, and along the heath he wandered. on the heath there sat a maiden, sat a damsel in the valley, and the maiden was not weeping, neither was she very joyful. to herself she sang full softly, sang, that soon might come the evening, hoping for her lover's coming, for the dear one she had chosen. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, crept without his shoes towards her, sprang to her without his stockings, and as soon as he approached her, he besought her hair to give him, and he spoke the words which follow: "give thy hair to me, o maiden, give me of thy hair, o fair one, give me hair to form my harp-strings, for the tones of lasting pleasure." then her hair the maiden gave him, from her soft locks hair she gave him, and she gave him five and six hairs, seven the hairs she gave unto him, that he thus might form his harp-strings, for the tones of lasting pleasure. now the harp at last was finished, and the aged väinämöinen on a rock his seat selected, near the steps, upon a stone bench. in his hands the harp then taking, very near he felt his pleasure, and the frame he turned to heaven, on his knees the knob then propping, all the strings he put in order, fit to make melodious music. when he had the strings adjusted, then the instrument was ready; underneath his hands he placed it, and across his knees he laid it, with his ten nails did he play it, and he let five active fingers draw the tunes from out the harp-strings, making most delightful music. when the aged väinämöinen thus upon his harp was playing, fine his hands, his fingers tender, and his fingers curving outwards, then rang out the wood so speckled, sang the sapling green full loudly, loudly called the golden cuckoo, and rejoiced the hair of maiden. thus played väinämöinen's fingers, and the harp-strings loud resounded, mountains shook and plains resounded, all the rocky hills resounded, in the waves the stones were rocking, in the water moved the gravel, and the pine-trees were rejoicing, on the heath the stumps were skipping. all of kaleva's step-daughters, all the fair ones flocked together, and in streams they rushed together, like a river in its flowing. merry laughed the younger women, and the mothers all were joyful, as they heard the music playing, and they wondered at their pleasure. likewise many men were present, in their hands their caps all holding, all the old dames in the party to their sides their hands were holding, and the maidens' eyes shed tear-drops, on the ground the boys were kneeling, to the kantele all listening, and they wondered at their pleasure. with one voice they all were singing, with one tongue they all repeated: "never have we heard aforetime, heard before such charming music, in the course of all our lifetime, when the brilliant moon was shining." far was heard the charming music, in six villages they heard it, there was not a single creature but it hurried forth to listen, and to hear the charming music from the kantele resounding. all the wild beasts of the forest upright on their claws were resting to the kantele to listen, and they wondered at their pleasure. all the birds in air then flying, perched upon the neighbouring branches, all the fish that swam the waters, to the margin hastened quickly, and the worms in earth then creeping, up above the ground then hastened, and they turned themselves and listened, listened to the charming music, in the kantele rejoicing, and in väinämöinen's singing. then the aged väinämöinen played in his most charming manner, most melodiously resounding; and he played one day, a second, playing on, without cessation, every morning after breakfast, girded with the selfsame girdle, and the same shirt always wearing. when he in his house was playing, in his house of fir constructed, all the roofs resounded loudly, and the boards resounded likewise, ceilings sang, the doors were creaking, all the windows were rejoicing, and the hearthstones all were moving, birchwood columns sang in answer. when he walked among the pinewoods, and he wandered through the firwoods, all the pines bowed down before him, to the very ground the fir-trees; on the grass the cones rolled round him, on the roots the needles scattered. when he hurried through the greenwood, or across the heath was hastening, all the leaves called gaily to him, and the heath was all rejoicing, and the flowers breathed fragrance round him, and the young shoots bowed before him. runo xlv.--the pestilence in kalevala _argument_ the mistress of pohjola sends terrible diseases to kalevala ( - ). väinämöinen heals the people by powerful incantations and unguents ( - ). louhi, pohjola's old mistress, in her ears received the tidings that in väinölä it prospered, and that kalevala had flourished, through the fragments of the sampo, fragments of the pictured cover. thereupon she grew most envious, and for evermore reflected on the death that she might fashion, how she best might bring destruction on the people in väinölä, and on kalevala's whole people. then she prayed aloud to ukko, and she thus implored the thunderer: "ukko, thou of gods the highest, slay thou kaleva's whole people, slay them with thy hail of iron, with thy steely needles slay them, or by sickness let them perish, let the evil nation perish, let the men die in the farmyard, on the cowshed floor the women." lived in tuonela a blind maid, loviatar, an aged woman, she the worst of tuoni's daughters, and of mana's maids most hideous, she, the source of every evil, origin of woes a thousand, with a face of perfect blackness, and a skin of hue most hideous. then this daughter black of tuoni, ulappala's blind-eyed damsel, made her bed upon the pathway, on the straw in evil country, and her back she turned to windward, sideways to the bitter weather, backwards to the blast so freezing, and the chilling winds of morning. then a great wind rose in fury, from the east a mighty tempest, blew this wretched creature pregnant, and she quickened from the tempest, on a barren waste all treeless, on the bare and grassless meadows. and she bore a heavy burden, bore a heavy painful burden, bore it two months, bore it three months, and for four and five months bore it, bore it seven months, bore it eight months, for the ninth month also bore it, as old wives are wont to reckon, and for half the tenth month likewise. when the ninth month had passed over, and the tenth month was beginning, then she writhed about in anguish, and the greatest pain oppressed her, but as yet she brought forth nothing, and no brood as yet resulted. from her lair at length she moved her, in another place she laid her, and the wench in childbed laid her, sport of winds, in hopes of children. there betwixt two rocks she laid her, in the clefts among five mountains, but as yet she brought forth nothing, and no brood as yet resulted. and she sought a place for breeding, sought a place for bearing suited, in the quaking swamps she sought it, and among the waves she sought it, but she found no place to suit her, where she could relieve her burden. then she fain would bring forth children, and relieve her body's burden in the foam of furious cataract, 'neath where whirl the furious waters, where three waterfalls are falling, under nine of precipices, but as yet she brought forth nothing, nor the foul one eased her burden. then began to weep, the foul one, and to howl, the wicked monster. whither now to go she knew not, and in what direction wander, where she might relieve her burden, where to go to cast her offspring. from the clouds then bespoke her jumala, the creator spoke from heaven: "stands in swamp a hut three-cornered, just upon a lakelet's margin, in the gloomy land of pohja, near where sariola's bay stretches. there thou may'st bring forth thy offspring, there lay down thy heavy burden, there it is that people need thee, there do they expect thy offspring." therefore tuoni's blackest daughter, manala's most hideous damsel, came unto the house of pohja, came to sariola's great bathroom, that she there might bear her children, and she might bring forth her offspring. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, secret led her to the bathroom, secretly into the bathroom, but the village did not know it, nought was spoken in the village. secretly she warmed the bathroom, hastily she made it ready, and with ale the doors smeared over, and with beer the hinges wetted, that the doors should make no jarring, and the hinges make no creaking. then she spoke the words which follow, and expressed herself in thiswise: "noble dame, creation's daughter, noble one, as gold all lustrous, thou the oldest of all women, thou the first of all the mothers, knee-deep in the lake descend thou, to thy waist among the billows, from the perch the slime obtain thou, and the slime from creeping creatures, do thou smear with this the gateway, and upon the sides anoint it, free the damsel from her burden, and the woman from her sufferings, free her from this grievous torment, and release her from her sufferings. "but if this is not sufficient, ukko, thou of gods the highest, hither come where thou art needed, come thou at our supplication. here there is a girl in childbed, and a woman suffering greatly, here amid the bathroom's vapour, brought into the village bathroom. "do thou take thy club all golden, in thy right hand do thou take it, each impediment remove thou, and the door-posts move asunder, bend thou the creator's castles, break thou all the bars asunder, push the large ones and the small ones, even to the very smallest." then this foul and wicked creature, she, the daughter blind of tuoni, presently relieved her burden, and she brought forth evil children, 'neath a rug adorned with copper, underneath the softest blankets. thus became she nine sons' mother, in a single night of summer, with the bath prepared once only, with the bath but once made ready, with a single effort only, from the fulness of her body. to the boys their names assigned she, and she nurtured well the children just as each one names the children whom themselves have brought to being. one as pleurisy she destined, one did she send forth as colic, and as gout she reared another, one as scrofula she fashioned, boil, another designated, and as itch proclaimed another, thrust another forth as cancer, and as plague she formed another. one remained, and he was nameless, in the straw the lowest lying, therefore did she send him onward, as a sorcerer on the waters, also to bewitch the lowlands, everywhere to practise malice. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, sent the others forth to journey to the cloud-encompassed headland, and the shady island's summit, sent in rage these evil monsters, these diseases all unheard of, forth to väinölä she sent them, kaleva's great race to slaughter. sickened väinölä's own people, kaleva's descendants sickened, with diseases all unheard of, and whose names were known to no one, and the floors beneath them rotted, and the sheet above corrupted. then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval sorcerer, went to drive away the evil, and his people's lives to succour, forth he went to war with tuoni, and against disease to struggle. thereupon he warmed the bathroom, and the stones prepared to heat it, and the finest wood provided, faggots, too, he laid in water; water brought in covered vessels, bath-whisks also, well-protected, warmed the bath-whisks to perfection, and the hundred twigs he softened. then he raised a warmth like honey, raised a heat as sweet as honey, from the heated stones he raised it, from the glowing stones he raised it, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "now the bath approach, o jumala, to the warmth, o heavenly father, healthfulness again to grant us, and our peace again secure us. drive away these foul diseases, from these dread diseases save us, calm thou down this heat excessive drive away this heat so evil, that it may not burn thy children, neither may destroy thy offspring. "therefore will i sprinkle water, on the glowing stones i cast it, let it now be changed to honey, may it trickle down like honey, let it flow a stream like honey, flowing to a lake of honey, as it flows along the hearthstones, flowing through the mossy bathroom. "do not let us guiltless perish, nor be overcome by sickness, 'gainst the great creator's mandate, when sends jumala our death not. he who slaughters us, the sinless, let his mouth his own words swallow on his head cast back the evils, evil thoughts recoil upon him. "if myself i am not manly, nor is ukko's son a hero, nor can drive away these evils, nor from off my head can lift them, ukko is a man and hero, he it is the clouds who marshals, and the rainless clouds he governs, ruling o'er the clouds so scattered. "ukko, thou of gods the highest, thou above the clouds who dwellest, come thou here where thou art needed, listen to our supplications, do thou look upon our sufferings, do thou end our days of anguish, free us from this evil magic, free us now from every evil. "bring me now a sword of fire, bring me now a flashing sword-blade, that i may oppose these evils quite subdue these frightful evils, on the wind's path drive our sufferings, drive them far amid the deserts. "thence i'll drive these sorcerers' torments, thence these sufferings will i banish, far away to rocky caverns, rocky caves as hard as iron, torments to the stones to carry, and upon the rocks heap suffering. never weeps the stone for anguish, nor the rock complains of suffering, though it should be greatly beaten, and though blows be heaped upon it. "kiputyttö, tuoni's maiden, sitting on the stone of sickness, in the rush of three great rivers, where three waters are divided, turning round the torture-millstone, and the mount of sickness turning! go and turn away these sufferings, to the blue stone gorge direct them, or amid the waters send them, to the deep lake, o condemn them, which by wind is never troubled, where the sun is never shining. "if this is not yet sufficient, kivutar, o noble mistress, vammatar, o noble matron, come ye all, and come together, once again to work us healing, and restore our peace unto us! take the sufferings from the suffering, and the ulcers from the ulcered, that the sick may fall in slumber, and the weak may rise from weakness, and the sufferer hope recover, and our mourning have an ending. "put the sufferings in a barrel, and with copper hasps enclose them, carry thou away the sufferings, and do thou cast down the tortures, in the midst of torture-mountain, on the peak of mount of suffering, do thou there boil up the tortures in the very smallest kettle, larger not than round a finger, and no wider than a thumb-breadth. "there's a stone in midmost mountain, 'mid the stone there is an opening, which has there been bored by auger, where the auger has transpierced it. do thou thrust therein the sufferings, overcome these painful ulcers, crush thou in these raging tortures, do thou end our days of suffering, that by night they may be harmless, and be harmless in the daytime." then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval sorcerer, salved o'er all the ulcered places, and the open wounds anointed, with nine various salves anointed, with eight magic drugs he rubbed them, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "ukko, thou of gods the highest, o thou aged man in heaven! let a cloud appear to eastward, let another rise from north-west, send thou from the west another, grant us honey, grant us water, that our sores may be anointed, and our wounds be all salved over. "yet to me no power is given, save by my creator granted. grant us now thy grace, creator, grant us, jumala, thy mercy. with my eyes have i been seeing, and my hands have been uplifting, with my mouth have i been speaking, with my breath have i been sighing. "where my hands avail to reach not, let the hands of god be resting; where i cannot reach my fingers, there let god extend his fingers; far more skilful are his fingers, the creator's hands more active. "o creator, work thy magic, speak, o jumala, unto us, deign to gaze on us, almighty! let those who at night are healthy, likewise in the day be healthy, let no suffering fall upon them, and no sickness come among them, nor their hearts be filled with anguish, that they feel no slightest evil, feel no more the slightest suffering, in the course of all their lifetime, while the golden moon is shining." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval sorcerer, thus at length dispelled the evils, raised their burdens from his people, drove away the plagues of magic, healed the magical diseases, and from death he saved his people, thus saved kaleva's descendants. runo xlvi.--vÄinÄmÖinen and the bear _argument_ the mistress of pohjola sends a bear to destroy the herds of kalevala ( - ). väinämöinen kills the bear, and a great feast is held in kalevala in honour of the occasion ( - ). väinämöinen sings, plays on the kantele, and hopes that a time of great happiness and prosperity is coming to kalevala ( - ). unto pohjola came tidings, to the village cold the tidings that in väinöla 'twas healthy, freed was kalevala completely from the evil plagues of magic, and the scourge of nameless sickness. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, thereupon again grew furious, and she spoke the words which follow: "still i know another method, and a cunning scheme have thought on. on the heath the bear i'll waken, on the waste the curving-clawed one, väinöla's fine flocks to ravage, herds of kalevala to slaughter." on the heath the bear she wakened, from his native land she drove him to the heathlands of väinölä, and to kalevala's green pastures. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words which follow: "ilmarinen, smith and brother, make a new spear quickly for me, make it with three cutting edges, with a copper shaft construct it. with the bear i now must struggle, overthrow the shaggy monster, that he slay no more my geldings, nor shall fall upon my brood-mares, neither shall destroy my cattle, or attempt my cows to injure." then the smith a spear constructed, not a long one, not a short one, but of middle length he forged it. on the blade a wolf was sitting, on the edge a bear was standing, at the joint an elk was trotting, on the shaft a colt was running, at the end a reindeer leaping. then fresh snow was gently falling, and a little snow had drifted as it drifts in early autumn, white as is the hare in winter. said the aged väinämöinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "now my inclination leads me unto metsola to travel; to the forest's daughter's dwelling, and to the blue maiden's homestead. leaving men, i seek the forest, heroes leave, for distant regions. take me as thy man, o forest, take me, tapio, for thy hero. may good fortune now be granted, and to fell the forest-beauty. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, tellervo, the wife of tapio, do thou bind thy dogs securely, do thou keep thy whelps in order, in the paths, 'mid honeysuckle, and beneath the roof of oakwood. "otso, apple of the forest, o thou lazy honey-pawed one! if thou hearest me approaching, hearest me, the hero, coming, in thy hair thy claws conceal thou, in thy gums thy teeth conceal thou, that thou never more may'st move them, that they motionless remain there. "o my otso, o my darling, fair one with the paws of honey, do thou rest in hilly country, and among the rocks so lovely, where the pines above are waving, and the firs below are rustling. turn thyself around, o otso, turn thee round, o honey-pawed one, as upon her nest the woodgrouse, or as turns the goose when brooding." then the aged väinämöinen heard his dog was barking loudly, and the dog was fiercely baying just beside the small-eye's dwelling, in the pathway of the broad-nose; and he spoke the words which follow: "first i thought it was a cuckoo, thought i heard a love-bird singing, but no cuckoo there is calling, and no love-bird there is singing, but it is my dog that's baying, here my faithful hound awaits me, at the door of otso's dwelling, at the handsome hero's homestead." then the aged väinämöinen struck the bear where he was lying, overturned his bed of satin, overthrew his lair so golden, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "praise, o jumala, unto thee, praise to thee alone, creator, unto me the bear who gavest, and the forest gold hast granted." gazed he on the golden booty, and he spoke the words which follow: "o my otso, o my darling, fair one with the paws of honey, be not filled with causeless anger, i myself have not o'erthrown thee, thou thyself hast left the forest, wandered from thy pine-tree covert, thou hast torn away thy clothing, ripped thy grey cloak in the thicket. slippery is this autumn weather, cloudy are the days and misty. "golden cuckoo of the forest, shaggy-haired and lovely creature, do thou quit thy chilly dwelling, do thou quit thy native desert, and thy home of birchen branches, wattled wigwam where thou dwellest. go to wander in the open, o thou beauty of the forest, on thy light shoes wandering onward, marching in thy blue-hued stockings, leaving now this little dwelling. do thou leave this narrow dwelling, leave it for the mighty heroes, to the race of men resign it. there are none will treat thee badly, and no wretched life awaits thee. for thy food they'll give thee honey, and for drink, of mead the freshest, when thou goest to a distance, whither with the staff they guide thee. "from this place depart thou quickly, from thy little nest depart thou, from beneath these famous rafters, from beneath this roof so handsome; glide along upon thy snowshoes, as on pond a water-lily, then glide on among the fir-trees, like a squirrel in the branches." then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval minstrel, walked across the plains, loud-playing, o'er the heath he wandered singing, and he brought the noble stranger. with his shaggy friend he wandered. in the house was heard his playing, 'neath the roofs they heard his singing. in the house there cried the people, and exclaimed the handsome people, "listen to the noise resounding, to the music from the forest, like the singing of the crossbill, or a maiden's flute in forest." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, then the house was fast approaching. from the house there called the people, and the handsome people asked him, "have you brought the bright gold with you, have you brought the silver hither, brought our darling money with you, gathered money on your journey? gave the wood the honey-eater, and a lynx to lord of forest, that you come among us singing, on your snowshoes come rejoicing?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "singing would i bring the otter, give to jumala my praises, so i sing as i am coming, on my snowshoes come rejoicing. "what i bring is not an otter, not a lynx, and not an otter, one more famous is approaching, comes the pride of all the forest. comes an old man wandering hither, with his overcoat he cometh. if it be a pleasure to you, let the doors be widely opened; but if you dislike the stranger, close the doors against him firmly." and the people gave him answer, shouted all the handsome people, "welcome, otso, be thy coming, honey-pawed, who now approachest to our dwelling, freshly scoured, to our household, now so charming. "this i wished for all my lifetime, all my youth i waited for it, tapio's horn to hear resounding, and to hear the wood-pipe whistling, wandering through the golden forest, coming through the silver woodland, and our little house approaching, and along the narrow pathway. "i had hoped a year of fortune, waiting for the coming summer, as for new-fallen snow the snowshoe, or a path for gliding suited, as a maiden for her lover, or a consort for a red-cheek. "in the eve i sat at window, morning, at the door of storehouse, at the gate a week i waited, and a month at pathway's opening. in the lane i stayed a winter, stood in snow while ground was hardened, till the hardened land grew softer, and the soft ground turned to gravel, and to sand was changed the gravel, and the sand at length grew verdant, and i pondered every morning, in my head reflected daily, 'wherefore is the bear delaying? why delays the forest's darling? has he travelled to esthonia, wandered from the land of suomi?'" then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words that follow: "where's my guest to be conducted, whither shall i lead my gold one? to the barn shall i conduct him on a bed of straw to lay him?" and the people gave him answer, shouted all the handsome people, "better lead our guest illustrious, and conduct our golden beauty underneath these famous rafters, underneath this roof so handsome. there is food arranged for eating, there is drink poured out for drinking, all the floors have there been dusted, and the floors been swept most cleanly, all the women finely dressed them, in their very finest garments, donned their head-dresses the finest, in their brightest robes arrayed them." then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "o my otso, o my birdling, o my charge, with paws of honey, still there's ground for thee to walk on, and upon the heath to wander. "golden one, go forth to wander, dear one, range about the country, forth to march with sable stockings, wander in thy cloth-made trousers, on the pathway of the titmouse, and the path where sparrows wander, underneath five rafters straying, underneath six roof-trees walking. "now be careful, luckless woman, that the herd may not be frightened, terrified the little cattle, nor the mistress' calves be frightened, if the bear approach the homestead, and his shaggy jaws should seize them. "now, ye boys, the porch abandon, girls, depart ye from the door-posts, to the house there comes the hero, and the pride of men approaches. "otso, apple of the forest, fair and bulky forest dweller, be not frightened at the maidens, fear not the unbraided maidens, be not fearful of the women, they the wearers of the stockings. all the women of the household, quickly round the stove will gather, when they see the hero enter, and behold the youth advancing." said the aged väinämöinen, "jumala be gracious to us, underneath these famous rafters, underneath this roof so handsome. whither shall i take my darling, and shall bring the shaggy creature?" and the people spoke in answer, "hail, all hail to thee who comest! thither shalt thou bring thy birdling, thither take thy golden beauty to the end of pole of pinewood, to the end of bench of iron, that his shaggy coat we gaze on, and his hair may well examine. "be not grieved for this, o otso, neither let it make thee angry, that we take thy hide an hour, and thy hair to gaze on always. for thy hide will not be injured, and thy hair will not be draggled, like the rags of evil people, or the clothing of the beggars." then the aged väinämöinen from the bear stripped off the bearskin, on the storehouse floor he laid it, put the flesh into the kettles, put it in the gilded kettles, in the copper caldrons placed it. on the fire the pots arranged he, in the blaze their sides of copper, filled them up, and overfilled them, with the meat he overfilled them, salt unto the stew he added, brought from very distant regions, from the saxon land they brought it, and from distant waters brought it, through the sound of salt they rowed it, and they from the ships conveyed it. when the meat enough was sodden, from the fire they took the kettles, and the booty then was carried, and the crossbill then they carried quickly to the long deal table, in the golden dishes laid it, where they sat the mead enjoying, and the beer they were imbibing. and of firwood was the table, and the dishes were of copper, and the spears were all of silver, and the knives of gold constructed. all the plates were overloaded, brimming o'er were all the dishes, with the darling of the forest, booty of the golden woodland. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words that follow: "comrade old, with golden bosom, master thou of tapio's household; thou of metsola sweet matron, gracious mistress of the forest; handsome man, the son of tapio, handsome red-capped son of tapio; tellervo, the maid of tapio; all the rest of tapio's people. "come ye to the feast of cattle, where the shaggy beast is eaten; here is plenty to be eaten, here is food and drink abundant, here there is enough for storage, plenty too, to give the village." and the people then responded, answered thus the handsome people: "where was otso born and nurtured, whence was formed his hide so shaggy, was he born perchance in straw-bed, was he born near stove in bathroom?" then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "otso was not born in straw-bed. nor was born on chaff in malt-house; there was otso brought to being, there was born the honey-pawed one, near the moon, in gleams of sunshine, and upon the great bear's shoulders, there beside the air's fair maiden, near the daughter of creation. "on air's borders walked a maiden, through mid heaven there walked a damsel, through the rifted clouds she wandered, on the borders of the heavens, clad in stockings, blue in colour, and with shoes most gaily coloured, in her hand a wool-filled satchel, 'neath her arm a hair-filled basket. wool she cast upon the waters, hair she threw among the billows, and the wind arose and tossed it, and the air unceasing rocked it, and the breeze on water rocked it, to the shore the waves impelled it, to the edge of honeyed forest, to the end of honeyed headland. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, tapiola's accomplished matron, took the wool from out the water, took the soft wool from the billows. then she wrapped it all together, with a handsome band she wrapped it, put it in her maple basket, in a beauteous cradle laid it, then she lifted up the bundle, and the golden chains she carried where the branches were the thickest and the leaves were most abundant. "then she rocked the charming object, and she rocked the lovely creature underneath a spreading fir-tree, underneath a blooming pine-tree. thus it was the bear was nurtured, and the furry beast was fostered, there beside a bush of honey, in a forest dripping honey. "now the bear grew up most handsome, and attained his perfect stature. short his legs, his knees were crooked, broad his nose, both thick and stumpy, broad his head and short his muzzle, and his handsome hair was shaggy, but as yet the bear was tailless, and with claws was unprovided. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, uttered then the words which follow: 'now let claws be granted to him, and let teeth be also sought for, if he does no mischief with them, nor to evil purpose turns them.' "then the bear by oath engaged him, kneeling by the forest's mistress, and in jumala's high presence, 'fore the face of him almighty, never would he work a mischief, and would work no evil with them. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, tapiola's accomplished matron, went to seek the teeth he needed, and to seek the claws he wanted, from the wood of mountain ash-tree, and from juniper the hardest, from the hardest roots of any, from the hardest resinous tree-stumps, but she found no claws among them, neither found she teeth among them. "on the heath there grew a pine-tree, on the hill there rose a fir-tree, and the pine had silver branches, and the fir-tree golden branches. with her hands she plucked the branches, and from these the claws constructed, others fixed in otso's jawbones, in his gums securely fixed them. "forth she sent the shaggy creature, sent her darling forth to wander, let him wander through the marshes, let him wander through the forest, walk along the woodland's borders, step along across the heathland, and she bade him walk discreetly, and to march along demurely, and to live a life of pleasure, and upon fine days to wander, through the plains and o'er the marshes, past the heaths where men are dancing, wandering shoeless in the summer, wandering sockless in the autumn, resting in the worst of weather, idling in the cold of winter, in a hollow stump of cherry, in the castle of the pine-trees, at the foot of beauteous fir-trees, 'mid the junipers close-growing, underneath five woollen mantles, 'neath eight mantles was he hidden, and from thence i fetched my booty, there i found it on my journey." then the younger people asked him, and the old folks asked him likewise: "wherefore was the wood so gracious, gracious wood, and forest lavish, and the greenwood's lord so joyous, so propitious friendly tapio, that he thus his pet has given, and resigned the honey-eater? did you with the spear attack him, was he overcome with arrows?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "very gracious was the forest, gracious wood, and forest lavish, and the greenwood's lord was joyous, and propitious friendly tapio. "mielikki, the forest's mistress, tellervo, the maid of tapio, fair-haired damsel of the forest, little damsel of the forest, went along the path to guide me, and to raise the landmarks for me, by the roadside posts erected, and directed all my journey, and the trees she blazed before me, marks she set upon the mountains, to the door of noble otso, to the borders of his dwelling. "when i reached the place i sought for, and arrived upon its borders, with the spear i smote not otso, and i shot no arrows at him. he himself lurched from the archway, tumbled from the pine-tree's summit, and the branches broke his breastbone, others ripped his belly open." then he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "o my otso, o my dearest, o my birdling, o my darling, now resign to us thy headland, lay aside thine eye-teeth likewise, cast away the few teeth left thee, and thy wide jaws give us also, yet thou needest not be angry, that i come to thee in thiswise, and thy bones and skull have broken, and have dashed thy teeth together. "now i take the nose from otso, that my own nose may be lengthened, but i take it not completely, and i do not take it only. "now i take the ears of otso, that my own ears i may lengthen, but i take them not completely, and i do not take them only. "now i take the eyes of otso, that my own eyes i may lengthen, but i take them not completely, and i do not take them only. "now will i take otso's forehead, that my forehead i may lengthen, but i take it not completely, and i do not take it only. "now i take the mouth of otso, that my own mouth may be lengthened, but i take it not completely, and i do not take it only. "now i take the tongue of otso, that my own tongue may be lengthened, but i take it not completely, and i do not take it only. "he shall be a man respected, and as hero shall be reckoned, who the bear's teeth now can number, and the rows of teeth can loosen from the jaws of steely hardness, with his grasp as strong as iron." as no other man came forward, and no hero would attempt it, he himself the bear's teeth numbered, and the rows of teeth he reckoned, kneeling down beneath the jawbones, with his grasp as strong as iron. from the bear the teeth then taking, uttered he the words which follow: "otso, apple of the forest, fair and bulky forest-dweller, thou must go upon thy journey, leap along upon the journey, forth from out this narrow dwelling, from this low and narrow cottage, to a lofty house that waits thee, to a wide and pleasant dwelling. "golden one, go forth to wander, dearest treasure, march thou onward, on the swine's path march thou onward, traversing the road of piglings, to the firwood so luxuriant, to the needle-covered pine-trees, to the hills all clothed with forest, to the lofty-rising mountains. here for thee to dwell is pleasant, charming is it to abide there, where the cattle-bells are ringing, and the little bells are tinking." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, after this his dwelling entered, and the younger people asked him, all the handsome people asked him, "where have you bestowed your booty, whither did you make your journey? have you left him in the icefield, in the snow-slush have you sunk him, pushed him down in the morasses, buried him upon the heathland?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "in the ice i did not leave him, sunk him not among the snow-slush, for the dogs from thence would drag him, likewise would the birds befoul him. in the swamp i have not sunk him, nor upon the heath have buried, for the worms would there destroy him and the black ants would devour him. "thither have i brought my booty, there bestowed my little captive, on a golden mountain's summit, on a copper mountain's summit. in a splendid tree i laid him, pine-tree with a hundred needles, in the very largest branches, in the broad and leafy summit, as a joy to men for ever, and a pleasure to the travellers. "then i turned his gums to eastward, and his eyes i turned to north-west, not too high upon the summit, lest if they were in the summit, then the wind might perhaps destroy them, and the spring wind treat them badly. nor too near the ground i placed them, lest if i too low had laid them, then the pigs might perhaps disturb them, and the snouted ones o'erturn them." then the aged väinämöinen once again prepared for singing, for a splendid evening's pleasure, and a charm to day departing. said the aged väinämöinen, and in words like these expressed him: "keep thy light, o holder, shining, so that i can see while singing, for the time has come for singing, and my mouth to sing is longing." played and sang old väinämöinen, charming all throughout the evening, and when he had ceased his singing, then a speech he made concluding: "grant, o jumala, in future, once again, o good creator, that once more we meet rejoicing, and may once again assemble here to feast on bear so fattened, feasting on the shaggy creature. "grant, o jumala, for ever, grant again, o good creator, that the posts be raised to guide us, and the trees be blazed before us, for the most heroic people, for the manly race of heroes. "grant, o jumala, for ever, grant again, o good creator, that may sound the horn of tapio, and the forest-pipe may whistle even in this little courtyard, even in this narrow homestead. "in the day may we be playing, and at eventide rejoicing, in this firm and solid country, in the wide expanse of suomi, with the young who now are growing, with the rising generation." runo xlvii.--the robbery of the sun and moon _argument_ the moon and sun descend to listen to väinämöinen's playing. the mistress of pohjola succeeds in capturing them, hides them in a mountain, and steals the fire from the homes of kalevala ( - ). ukko, the supreme god, is surprised at the darkness in the sky, and kindles fire for a new moon and a new sun ( - ). the fire falls to the ground, and väinämöinen and ilmarinen go to search for it ( - ). the virgin of the air informs them that the fire has fallen into lake alue, and has been swallowed by a fish ( - ). väinämöinen and ilmarinen try to catch the fish with a net of bast, but without success ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, on his kantele was playing, long he played, and long was singing, and was ever full of gladness. in the moon's house heard they playing came delight to the sun's window, and the moon came from his dwelling, standing on a crooked birch-tree, and the sun came from his castle, sitting on a fir-tree's summit, to the kantele to listen, filled with wonder and rejoicing. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, set to work the sun to capture, in her hands the moon seized likewise. from the birch the moon she captured, and the sun from fir-tree's summit; straightway to her home she brought them, to the gloomy land of pohja. then she hid the moon from shining, in the mottled rocks she hid him, sang the sun to shine no longer, hidden in a steel-hard mountain; and she spoke the words which follow: "never more again in freedom shall the moon arise for shining, nor the sun be free for shining, if i come not to release them, if i do not go to fetch them, when i bring nine stallions with me, which a single mare has littered." when the moon away was carried, and the sun had been imprisoned deep in pohjola's stone mountain, in the rocks as hard as iron, then she stole away the brightness, and from väinölä the fires, and she left the houses fireless, and the rooms no flame illumined. therefore was the night unending, and for long was utter darkness, night in kalevala for ever, and in väinölä's fair dwellings, likewise in the heavens was darkness, darkness round the seat of ukko. life without the fire was weary, and without the light a burden, unto all mankind 'twas dismal, and to ukko's self 'twas dismal. ukko, then, of gods the highest, in the air the great creator, now began to feel most strangely, and he pondered and reflected, what strange thing the moon had darkened, how the sun had been obstructed, that the moon would shine no longer, and the sun had ceased his shining. then he stepped to cloudland's borders, on the borders of the heavens, wearing now his pale blue stockings, with the heels of varied colour, and he went the moon to seek for, and he went to find the sunlight, yet he could not find the moonlight, nor the sun he could discover. in the air a light struck ukko, and a flame did ukko kindle, from his flaming sword he struck it, sparks he struck from off the sword-blade, from his nails he struck the fire, from his limbs he made it crackle, high above aloft in heaven, on the starry plains of heaven. when the fire had thus been kindled, then he took the spark of fire, in his golden purse he thrust it, placed it in his silver casket, and he bade the maiden rock it, told the maid of air to rock it, that a new moon might be fashioned, and a new sun be constructed. on the long cloud's edge she sat her, on the air-marge sat the maiden, there it was she rocked the fire, there she rocked the glowing brightness, in a golden cradle rocked it, with a silver cord she rocked it. then the silver props were shaken, rocked about the golden cradle, moved the clouds and creaked the heavens, and the props of heaven were swaying, with the rocking of the fire, and the rocking of the brightness. thus the maid the fire was rocking, and she rocked the fire to brightness, with her fingers moved the fire, with her hands the fire she tended, and the stupid maiden dropped it, dropped the flame the careless maiden, from her hands the fire dropped downward from the fingers of its guardian. then the sky was cleft asunder, all the air was filled with windows, burst asunder by the fire-sparks, as the red drop quick descended, and a gap gleamed forth in heaven, as it through the clouds dropped downward, through nine heavens the drop descended, through six spangled vaults of heaven. said the aged väinämöinen, "smith and brother, ilmarinen, let us go and gaze around us, and the cause perchance discover, what the fire that just descended, what the strange flame that has fallen from the lofty height of heaven, and to earth beneath descended. of the moon 'tis perhaps a fragment, of the sun perchance a segment." thereupon set forth the heroes, and they wandered on, reflecting how they might perchance discover, how they might succeed in finding, where the fire had just descended, where the brightness had dropped downward. and a river flowed before them, and became a lake extensive, and the aged väinämöinen straight began a boat to fashion, in the wood he worked upon it, and beside him ilmarinen made a rudder out of firwood, made it from a log of pinewood. thus the boat at length was ready, rowlocks, rudder all completed, and they pushed it in the water, and they rowed and steered it onward, all along the river neva, steering round the cape of neva. ilmatar, the lovely damsel, eldest daughter of creation, then advanced to meet the heroes, and in words like these addressed them: "who among mankind may ye be? by what names do people call you?" said the aged väinämöinen, "you may look on us as sailors. i am aged väinämöinen, ilmarinen, smith, is with me, but inform us of your kindred; by what name do people call you?" then the matron made them answer, "i am oldest of all women, of the air the oldest damsel, and the first of all the mothers. five times now have i been married, six times as a bride attired. whither do you take your journey, whither, heroes, are you going?" said the aged väinämöinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "all our fires have been extinguished, and their flames died down in darkness, long already were we fireless, and in darkness were we hidden, but at length have we determined that the fire we ought to seek for, which has just dropped down from heaven, from above the clouds has fallen." then the woman gave them answer, and she spoke the words which follow: "hard it is to track the fire, and the bright flame to discover. it has evil wrought already, and the flame has crime committed, for the red spark has shot downward, and the red ball has descended from the realms of the creator, where it was by ukko kindled, through the level plains of heaven, through the void aërial spaces, downwards through the sooty smoke-hole, downward through the seasoned roof-tree of the new-built house of tuuri, of a wretched roofless dwelling. "when the fire at length came thither, in the new-built house of tuuri, evil deeds he then accomplished, shocking deeds he then accomplished, burning up the maidens' bosoms, tearing at the breasts of maidens, and the knees of boys destroying, and the master's beard consuming. "and her child the mother suckled, in a cradle of misfortune. thither, too, the fire rushed onward, and its evil work accomplished, in the cradle burned the baby, burning, too, the mother's bosom, and the child went off to mana, and the boy went straight to tuoni. thus it was the infant perished, and was cast into destruction, in the red flame's fiery torture, in the anguish of its glowing. "great the knowledge of the mother, and to manala she went not. means she knew to ban the fire, and to drive away its glowing, through the little eye of needle, and across the back of axe-blade, through the sheath of glowing sword-blade, past the ploughed land did she drive it." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, heard her words, and then made answer: "whither has the fire retreated, whither did the pest take refuge, was it in the field of tuuri, in a lake, or in a forest?" then the matron made him answer, and she spoke the words which follow: "when from thence the fire departed, and the flame went wandering onward, first it burned o'er many districts, many districts, many marshes, rushed at last into the water, in the billows of lake alue, and the fire rose up all flaming, and the sparks arose all crackling. "three times in the nights of summer, nine times in the nights of autumn, rose the lake the height of fir-trees, roaring rose above the lake-banks, with the strength of furious fire, with the strength of heat all flaming. "on the bank were thrown the fishes, on the rocks the perch were stranded, and the fishes looked around them, and the perch were all reflecting how they could continue living. perch were weeping for their dwellings, fish were weeping for their homesteads, perches for their rocky castles. "and the perch with back all crooked, tried to seize the streak of fire, but the perch was not successful; seized upon it the blue powan. down he gulped the streak of fire, and extinguished thus its brightness. "then retired the lake of alue, and fell back from all its margins, sinking to its former level in a single night of summer. "when a little time passed over, fire-pain seized on the devourer, anguish came upon the swallower, grievous suffering on the eater. "up and down the fish swam turning, swam for one day and a second, all along the powan's island, clefts in rocks where flock the salmon, to the points of capes a thousand, bays among a hundred islands. every cape made declaration, every island spoke in thiswise: "'nowhere in these sluggish waters, in the narrow lake of alue, can the wretched fish be swallowed, or the hapless one may perish in the torture of the fire, in the anguish of its glowing.' "but a salmon-trout o'erheard it, and the powan blue he swallowed. when a little time passed over, fire-pain seized on the devourer, anguish came upon the swallower, grievous suffering on the eater. "up and down the fish swam turning, swam for one day and a second, through the clefts where flock the salmon, and the depths where sport the fishes, to the points of capes a thousand, bays among a hundred islands. every cape made declaration, every island spoke in thiswise: "'nowhere in these sluggish waters, in the narrow lake of alue, can the wretched fish be swallowed, or the hapless one may perish in the pain of burning fire, in the anguish of its glowing.' "but a grey pike hurried forward, and the salmon-trout he swallowed. when a little time passed over, fire-pain seized on the devourer, anguish came upon the swallower, grievous suffering on the eater. "up and down the fish swam turning, swam for one day and a second, past the cliffs where flock the seagulls, and the rocks where sport the seamews, to the points of capes a thousand, bays among a hundred islands. every cape made declaration, every island spoke in thiswise: "'nowhere in these sluggish waters, in the narrow lake of alue, can the wretched fish be swallowed, or the hapless one may perish in the pain of burning fire, in the anguish of its glowing.'" then the aged väinämöinen, secondly, smith ilmarinen, wove a net of bast constructed, which from juniper they gathered, steeped it in the juice of willow, and of sallow-bark they made it. väinämöinen, old and steadfast sent the women to the drag-net; to the net there went the women, sisters came to draw the drag-net; and he steered, and glided onward past the capes and round the islands, to the clefts where flock the salmon, and along the powan's island, where the red-brown reeds are waving, and among the beauteous rushes. eager now to make a capture, then he cast the net and sunk it, but he cast the net out twisted, and in wrong direction drew it, and the fish they could not capture, though with eagerness they laboured. in the water went the brothers, to the net the men proceeded, and they swung it and they pushed it, and they pulled it and they dragged it, through the deeps, and rocky places, drew it o'er kalevala's shingle; but the fish they could not capture; not the fish so greatly needed. came the grey pike never near them, neither on the placid water, nor upon its ample surface; fish are small, and nets not many. now the fish were all complaining; said one pike unto another, and the powan asked the ide-fish, and one salmon asked another: "can the famous men have perished, perished kaleva's great children, they who drag the net of linen, and of yarn have made the fish-net, with long poles who beat the water, with long sticks who move the waters?" old and famous väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "no, the heroes have not perished, kaleva's great race has died not, when one dies, is born another, and the best of staves they carry, longer sticks to sound the water, and their nets are twice as fearful." runo xlviii.--the capture of the fire _argument_ the heroes prepare a linen net, and at length capture the fish which has swallowed the fire ( - ). the fire is found in the fish's belly, but flashes up suddenly, and burns ilmarinen's cheeks and hands severely ( - ). the fire rushes into the forest, burns over many countries, and spreads further and further, till at length it is captured and carried to the dark dwellings of kalevala ( - ). ilmarinen recovers from his burns ( - ). väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval minstrel, thereupon began to ponder, and reflected on the method how to make a net of linen, how to make the hundred meshes. then he spoke the words which follow, and expressed himself in thiswise: "is there one who flax can sow me, who can sow the flax and card it, and of this a net can make me, weave for me its hundred meshes, thus this wretched fish to slaughter, and destroy the fish unhappy?" so a little spot they found him, found a place not yet burned over, in the wide extent of marshes, there between two stumps they found it. thereupon they dug the roots out, and 'twas there they found the flaxseed, guarded by the worm of tuoni, there protected by the earthworm. there they found a heap of ashes; dry the ashes that they found there, of a wooden burned-up vessel, of a boat that once had burned there. there it was they sowed the flaxseed, in the loose ash did they sow it, on the shore of lake of alue, there they sowed it in the clayfield. presently the shoot rose upward, and the flax grew thick and strongly, grew beyond their expectations, in a single night of summer. then they steeped it in the night-time, and they carded it by moonlight, and they cleansed it and they stripped it, and they beat it and they rubbed it, with their tools of steel they scraped it, and with all their strength they stripped it. then they took the flax to steeping, and it soon began to soften, and they hastened then to pound it, afterwards in haste they dried it. then into the house they brought it, and they hastened then to strip it, and they hastened next to beat it, and they hastened then to break it. then with diligence they cleansed it, in the twilight did they comb it, and upon the loom arranged it, quicker brought it to the spindle, in a single night of summer; thus between two days they worked it. after this the sisters spun it, and their brothers' wives were netting, and the brothers worked the meshes, and the fathers also aided. quickly did they turn the netter, and the mesh with speed they twisted, till the net was quite completed, and the cords were fixed upon it, in a single night of summer, half another in addition. thus the net was quite completed, and the cords were fixed upon it. and its length was hundred fathoms, and its breadth was hundreds seven; stones for weights were fastened to it, likewise proper floats provided. with the net the youths were walking, and at home the old men pondered, whether they would make a capture, and secure the fish they wished for. then they drew the net and dragged it, much they toiled, and threshed the water, drew it lengthwise through the water, dragged it crosswise through the water, captured many little fishes, many luckless perch they captured, many bony perch they captured, and a large-galled redeye likewise, but the fish they could not capture that for which the net was fashioned. said the aged väinämöinen, "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, let us now go forth together where the net is in the water." thereupon went both the heroes, and they drew it through the water, and upon one side they spread it round the islands in the water, and the other side directed, round about the promontories, and the balance-pole was guided just as aged väinö pushed it. thus they cast the net and pushed it, and they drew the net and dragged it, captured fishes in abundance, and they captured perch in plenty, salmon-trout in great abundance, bream and salmon too they captured, all the fishes of the water, only not the fish they sought for, that for which the net was woven, and the ropes were fastened to it. then the aged väinämöinen worked to make the net yet longer, wider yet the sides expanded, perhaps five hundred fathoms broader, netted full seven hundred fathoms, and he spoke the words which follow: "to the depths the nets we'll carry, and will now extend them further, once again will drag the water, thus another cast attempting." to the depths the nets they carried, further did they then convey them, and again they dragged the water, thus another cast attempting. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "vellamo, o water-mother, old one with the lavish bosom, do thou change the shift upon thee, do thou change thy dress completely, for thou hast a shift of rushes, on thy head a cap of lake-foam, fashioned by the wind's fair daughter, which the billows' daughter gave thee. now assume a shift of linen, of the finest flax that's woven, which by kuutar has been woven, päivätär has wrought when spinning. "ahto, master of the billows, ruler thou of caves a hundred, take thy pole in length five fathoms, take thy stake, in length full seven, thresh with this the open water, and do thou stir up the lake-bed, stir thou all the heaps of refuse, drive thou on the shoals of fishes, where the net is spread to catch them, and its hundred floats are swimming, from the bays by fish frequented, from the caves where hide the salmon, from the wide lake's seething whirlpool, and from the profound abysses, where the sun was never shining, undisturbed the sand for ever." from the lake a dwarf ascended, from the waves arose a hero, stood upon the lake's broad surface, and he spoke the words which follow: "is there need to thresh the water, with a long pole to disturb it?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words that follow: "there is need to thresh the water, with a long pole to disturb it." then the dwarf, the little hero, lifted from the bank a pine-tree, took a tall tree from the pinewood, and prepared to thresh the water, and he asked, and spoke as follows: "shall i thresh with strength sufficient, putting forth my utmost efforts, or as hard as may be needful?" old and prudent väinämöinen answered in the words which follow: "if you thresh as hard as needful, you will have to do much threshing." then the man, the little hero, set to work to thresh the water, and he threshed as much as needful, and he drove the shoals of fishes, and into the net he drove them, in the net with floats a hundred. rested now the smith his oars; väinämöinen, old and steadfast, now the net himself drew upward, at the rope as he was pulling. said the aged väinämöinen, "we have caught a shoal of fishes, in the net that i am lifting, with a hundred floats provided." then the net was soon drawn upward, and they drew it up and shook it in the boat of väinämöinen, finding mid the shoal of fishes, that for which the net was fashioned, and the hundred floats provided. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, to the land then urged the vessel, to the blue bridge-side he brought it, to the red bridge-end he brought it, there the shoal of fishes sorted, turned the heap of bony fishes, and the grey pike found among them, which he long had sought to capture. then the aged väinämöinen thus unto himself reflected: "is it wise with hands to seize it, save with gauntlets made of iron, save with gloves of stone constructed, save with mittens made of copper?" and the sun's son heard him speaking, and replied in words that follow: "i myself would rip the pike up, venture in my hand to take him, if i had my large knife only, which my noble father gave me." then from heaven the knife descended, from the clouds the knife fell downward, golden-hafted, silver-bladed, to the sun's son's belt dropped downward. thereupon the sun's son seized it, firmly in his hand he grasped it, and with this the pike ripped open, cleft the body of the broad-snout, and within the grey pike's belly there the grey trout he discovered, and within the grey trout's belly there he found the smooth-skinned powan. then he split the smooth-skinned powan, and a blue clew he discovered, in the powan's entrails hidden, in the third fold of the entrails. then the blue clew he unwinded; from the inside of the blue clew fell a red clew from within it, and when he unwound the red clew, in the middle of the red clew, there he found a spark of fire which had once from heaven descended, through the clouds had fallen downward, from above eight heavens descending, from the ninth aërial region. väinämöinen then considered how the spark might best be carried, to the cold and fireless dwellings, to the rooms so dark and gloomy. but the fire flashed up most fiercely, from the sun's son's hands who held it, singed the beard of väinämöinen, burned the smith much more severely, for upon his cheeks it burned him, and upon his hands it scorched him. and it hastened quickly onward o'er the waves of lake of alue, through the junipers fled onward, burnt its way through all the thicket, then rushed upward through the fir-trees, burning up the stately fir-trees, rushing ever further onward, burned up half the land of pohja, and the furthest bounds of savo, over both halves of carelia. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, followed hard upon its traces, and he hastened through the forest, close behind the furious fire, and at length he overtook it, 'neath the roots of two great tree-stumps, in the stumps of alders hidden, in the rotten stumps he found it. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "fire, whom jumala created, creature of the bright creator, idly to the depths thou goest, aimlessly to distant regions. it were better far to hide thee in the hearth of stone constructed, there thy sparks to bind together, and within the coals enclose them, that by day thou may'st be flickering in the kitchen birchen faggots, and at night thou may'st be hidden close within the golden fire-box." then he thrust the spark of fire in a little piece of tinder, in the fungus hard of birch-tree, and among the copper kettles. fire he carried to the kettles, took it in the bark of birch-tree, to the end of misty headland, and the shady island's summit. now was fire within the dwellings, in the rooms again 'twas shining. but the smith named ilmarinen quickly hastened to the lakeshore, where the rocks the water washes, and upon the rocks he sat him, in the pain of burning fire, in the anguish of its glowing. there it was he quenched the fire, there it was he dimmed its lustre, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "fire whom jumala created and o thou, the sun's son, panu! who has made ye thus so angry, as to scorch my cheeks in thiswise, and to burn my hips so badly, and my sides so much to injure? "how shall i the fire extinguish, how shall i reduce its glowing, make the fire for evil powerless, and its lustre render harmless, that no longer it may pain me, and may cause me pain no longer? "come, thou girl, from land of turja, come, thou maiden, forth from lapland, frosty-stockinged, icy-booted, and thy skirts all frosted over, in thy hand the icy kettle, and the ice-spoon in the kettle. sprinkle me with freezing water, sprinkle me with icy water, on the places scorched so badly, and the burns the fire has caused me. "but if this is not sufficient, come, thou youth, come forth from pohja, come, thou child, from midst of lapland, from pimentola, o tall one, tall as is a forest fir-tree, tall as pine-tree in the marshes, on thy hands the gloves of hoarfrost, on thy feet the boots of hoarfrost, on thy head the cap of hoarfrost, round thy waist the belt of hoarfrost. "bring from pohjola the hoarfrost, ice from out the frozen village. hoarfrost's plentiful in pohja, ice enough in frozen village. lakes of ice, and frozen rivers, all the air with ice is laden. o'er the hoarfrost hares are skipping, on the ice the bears are sporting, in the middle of the snow-heaps, on the edge of the snow mountains, on the rims the swans are walking, on the ice the ducks are waddling, in the midst of snow-filled rivers, cornices of icy cataracts. "on thy sledge bring thou the hoarfrost, on thy sledge the ice convey thou, from the slopes of rugged mountains, from the lofty mountains' borders. make them hoary with the hoarfrost, with the ice, o make them icy, all the hurts by fire occasioned, all the burns the fire has caused me. "but if this is not sufficient, ukko, thou of gods the highest, ukko, thou the clouds who leadest, thou the scattered clouds who herdest, send a cloud from out the eastward, and a thick cloud from the westward, link the edges close together, close thou up the gaps between them, send thou ice, and send thou hoarfrost, send thou, too, the best of ointment, for the places scorched so badly, and the hurts by fire occasioned." thus it was smith ilmarinen found a means to quench the fire, and to dim the brilliant fire. thus the smith was healed completely, and regained his former vigour, healed from wounds the fire occasioned. runo xlix.--false and true moons and suns _argument_ ilmarinen forges a new moon and sun but cannot make them shine ( - ). väinämöinen discovers by divination that the moon and sun are hidden in the mountain of pohjola, goes to pohjola and conquers the whole nation ( - ). he sees the moon and sun in the mountain, but cannot enter ( - ). he returns home to procure tools with which to break open the mountain. while ilmarinen is forging them, the mistress of pohjola, fearing that it may go ill with her, releases the moon and sun ( - ). when väinämöinen sees the moon and sun reappear in the sky, he salutes them, hoping that they will always go brightly on their course, and bring happiness to the country ( - ). still the sun was never shining, neither gleamed the golden moonlight, not in väinölä's dark dwellings, not on kalevala's broad heathlands. frost upon the crops descended, and the cattle suffered greatly, and the birds of air felt strangely, all mankind felt ever mournful, for the sunlight shone no longer, neither did there shine the moonlight. though the pike knew well the pike-deeps, and the bird-paths knew the eagle, and the wind the vessel's journey, yet mankind were all unknowing if the time was really morning, or if perhaps it still was night-time, out upon the cloudy headland, and upon the shady island. and the young men then took counsel, and the older men considered how to live without the moonlight, and exist without the sunlight, in that miserable country, in the wretched land of pohja. and the girls took likewise counsel, and their cousins too considered; and they hastened to the smithy, and they spoke the words which follow: "smith, from 'neath the wall arise thou, from the hearthstone rise, o craftsman, that a new moon thou may'st forge us, and a new sun thou may'st make us. ill it is without the moonlight, strange it is without the sunlight." from the hearth arose the craftsman, from beneath the wall the craftsman, that a new moon he might forge them, and a new sun he might make them, and a moon of gold constructed, and a sun he made of silver. came the aged väinämöinen, and beside the door he sat him, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou smith, my dearest brother, what art thou in smithy forging, hammering thus without cessation?" thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words that follow: "out of gold a moon i'm shaping, and a sun of silver making, in the sky i then will place them, over six of starry heavens." then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words that follow: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, what you make is wholly useless. gold will never shine like moonlight, silver will not shine like sunlight." thus the smith a moon constructed, and a sun completely finished, eagerly he raised them upward, raised them to the best position, raised the moon to fir-tree's summit, set the sun upon a pine-tree. from his head the sweat was streaming, from his forehead sweat was falling, with the greatness of his efforts, and the weight that he was lifting. thus the moon was now uplifted, in his place the sun was stationed, moon amid the crown of fir-tree, sun upon a pine-tree's summit, but the moon shed forth no lustre, and the sun was likewise rayless. then the aged väinämöinen spoke aloud the words which follow: "time it is the lots to shuffle, and the signs with care to question where the sun is hidden from us, and the moon has vanished from us." then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval sorcerer, hastened alder-sticks to cut him, and arranged the sticks in order, and began the lots to shuffle, with his fingers to arrange them, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "leave i ask of the creator, seek an answer that misleads not. tell me, signs of the creator, lots of jumala, instruct me, where the sun is hidden from us, and the moon has vanished from us, since no more as time elapses, in the sky do we behold them? "speak, o lot, and tell me truly with man's reason speak unto me, speak thou faithful words unto us, make thou faithful compacts with us! if the lot should lie unto me, then its worth i hold as nothing, and upon the fire will cast it, and will burn the signs upon it." and the lot spoke words most faithful, and the signs made answer truly, for they said the sun was hidden, and the moon was also sunken, deep in pohjola's stone mountain, and within the hill of copper. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words which follow: "i to pohjola must journey, on the path of pohja's children, and will bring the moon to shining, and the golden sun to shining." forth he journeyed, and he hastened unto pohjola's dark regions, and he walked one day, a second, and at length upon the third day came in view the gate of pohja, and appeared the rocky mountains. then with all his strength he shouted, as he came to pohja's river, "bring me here a boat directly which shall take me o'er the river." as his shouting was not heeded, and no boat for him provided, wood into a heap he gathered, and the dead twigs of a fir-tree. on the shore he made a fire, and thick clouds of smoke rose upward; to the sky the flame rose upward, in the air the smoke ascended. louhi, pohjola's old mistress came herself unto the window, and, at the sound's opening gazing, then she spoke the words which follow: "what's the flame that's burning yonder, where the sound of saari opens? for a camp too small i think it, but 'tis larger than a fisher's." then the son of pohja's country hurried out into the open, and he looked about and listened, seeking thus for information. "on the river's other margin, is a stately hero marching." then the aged väinämöinen once again commenced his shouting. "bring a boat, o son of pohja, bring a boat for väinämöinen." answer made the son of pohja, and in words like these responded: "here the boats are never ready; you to row must use your fingers, and must use your hands for rudder, crossing pohjola's deep river." then the aged väinämöinen pondered deeply and reflected, "not as man should he be reckoned who retreats upon his pathway." like a pike in lake then plunging, powan-like in sluggish river, through the sound he swam right quickly, speedily the strait he traversed, and he moved one foot, a second, and he reached the shore of pohja. then spoke out the sons of pohja, and the evil army shouted: "go into the yard of pohja," and on this the yard he entered. then exclaimed the sons of pohja, and the evil army shouted: "enter now the house of pohja." and on this the house he entered, on the floor his foot he planted, grasped he the door-handle firmly, forced his way into the dwelling, and beneath the roof he entered, there the men the mead were drinking, and the honey-drink imbibing. all the men with swords were girded, and the heroes aimed their weapons at the head of väinämöinen, thus to slay suvantolainen. then they questioned the intruder in the very words that follow: "what's your news, you wretched fellow, what's your need, o swimming hero?" väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words which follow: "of the moon are curious tidings, of the sun are wondrous tidings. where is now the sun imprisoned, whither has the moon been taken?" answered then the sons of pohja, and the evil army answered: "thus it is the sun is hidden, sun is hidden, moon imprisoned, in the stones of many colours, in the rocks as hard as iron, and from this, escape they cannot, and release shall never reach them." then the aged väinämöinen answered in the words that follow: "if the sun from rock ascends not, nor the moon from rocky mountain, let us join in closest conflict, let us grasp our trusty sword-blades." sword they drew, and tried their sword-blades, drew from out the sheaths their weapons; at the point the moon was shining, on the hilt the sun was shining, on the back a horse was standing, at the knob a cat was mewing. after this the swords they measured, and they thus compared their weapons, and the sword of aged väinö was a little trifle longer, longer, as a grain of barley, as the width of straw-stalk longer. out into the yard they hastened, on the grass to meet in conflict, and the aged väinämöinen struck a blow with lightning swiftness, struck a blow, and struck a second, and he sheared, like roots of turnips, off he shore, like heads of flax-plant, heads of all the sons of pohja. then the aged väinämöinen sought for where the moon was hidden, likewise would release the sunlight from the rocks of varied colour, from the depths of steely mountain, from the rocks as hard as iron. then he walked a little distance, but a very little distance, when he saw a copse all verdant, in the copse a lovely birch-tree, and a large stone block beneath it, and a rock beneath the stone block, and there were nine doors before it, in the doors were bolts a hundred. in the stone a crack perceiving, in the rock some lines engraven, then he drew his sword from scabbard, on the coloured stone he scraped it, with the sharp point of his sword-blade, with his gleaming blade he scraped it, till the stone in two divided, and in three he quickly split it. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, looked into the stone all pictured; many serpents ale were drinking, in the wort the snakes were writhing, in the coloured stone were hiding, in the cracks of liver-colour. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, uttered then the words that follow: "thus it is the hapless mistress has so little ale acquired, for the snakes the ale are drinking, in the wort the snakes are writhing." off he cut the heads of serpents, broke the necks of all the serpents, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "never while the world existeth, from this very day henceforward, let our ale by snakes be drunken, and our malt-drink by the serpents." then the aged väinämöinen, he the great primeval sorcerer, sought with hands the doors to open, and the bolts by spells to loosen, but to hands the doors would yield not, by his spells the bolts were moved not. then the aged väinämöinen spoke his thoughts in words that follow: "man unarmed is weak as woman; weak as frog, without a hatchet." and at once he wended homeward, head bowed down, in great vexation, for the moon was not recovered, neither had the sun been captured. said the lively lemminkainen, "o thou aged väinämöinen, wherefore didst forget to take me, as your very trusty comrade? i had brought the locks to creaking, and the bars asunder broken, and released the moon for shining, and had raised the sun for shining." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, answered in the words that follow: "unto spells the bolts will yield not, and the locks my magic breaks not; strength of hands will never move them, and no strength of arm will force them." to the smith's forge then he wandered, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, forge me now a mighty trident, and a dozen hatchets forge me, and a bunch of keys enormous, from the stone the moon to rescue, from the rock the sun deliver." thereupon smith ilmarinen, he the great primeval craftsman, forged the hero what he needed, and a dozen hatchets forged him, forged a bunch of keys enormous, and of spears a mighty bundle, not too large and not too little, but of middle size he forged them. louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, then with wings herself provided, and extended them for flying, near the house at first was flying, then her flight extended further, straight across the lake of pohja unto ilmarinen's smithy. then the smith his window opened, looking if the wind was blowing; 'twas no wind that there was blowing, but a hawk, and grey in colour. thereupon smith ilmarinen spoke aloud the words that follow: "bird of prey, what brings thee hither, sitting underneath my window?" hereupon the bird spoke language, and the hawk at once made answer: "o thou smith, o ilmarinen, thou the most industrious craftsman, truly art thou very skilful, and a most accomplished craftsman." thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words that follow: "but indeed 'tis not a wonder if i am a skilful craftsman, for 'twas i who forged the heavens, and the arch of air who welded." hereupon the bird spoke language, and the hawk at once responded: "what is this, o smith, thou makest, what, o blacksmith, art thou forging?" thereupon smith ilmarinen answered in the words that follow: "'tis a neck-ring i am forging, for the aged crone of pohja, that she may be firmly fettered to the side of a great mountain." louhi, pohjola's old mistress, old and gap-toothed dame of pohja, felt on this her doom was coming, on her head the days of evil, and at once to flight betook her, swift to pohjola escaping. from the stone the moon released she, from the rock the sun released she, then again her form she altered, and to dove herself converted, and her flight again directed unto ilmarinen's smithy, to the door in bird-form flying, lit as dove upon the threshold. thereupon smith ilmarinen asked her in the words which follow: "why, o bird, hast thou flown hither? dove, why sit'st thou on the threshold?" from the door the wild bird answered, and the dove spoke from the threshold: "here i sit upon the threshold, that the news i now may bring thee. from the stone the moon has risen, from the rock the sun is loosened." thereupon smith ilmarinen hastened forth to gaze around him, and he stood at door of smithy, gazing anxiously to heaven, and he saw the moon was gleaming, and he saw the sun was shining. then he went to väinämöinen, and he spoke the words which follow: "o thou aged väinämöinen, thou the great primeval minstrel, come to gaze upon the moonlight, come to gaze upon the sunlight. now they stand in midst of heaven, in their old accustomed places." väinämöinen, old and steadfast, hurried out into the open, and at once his head uplifted, and he gazed aloft to heaven. moon was risen, sun was loosened, in the sky the sun was beaming. then the aged väinämöinen made a speech without delaying, and he spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed him: "hail, o moon, who beamest yonder, thus thy fair cheeks well displaying, golden sun who risest yonder, sun who once again arisest! "golden moon from stone delivered, fairest sun from rock arisen, like the golden cuckoo rise you, like the silver dove arise you, lead the life ye led aforetime, and resume your former journeys. "rise for ever in the morning, from this present day hereafter. bring us always happy greetings, that our wealth increases ever, game for ever in our fingers, fortune at the points of fish-hooks. "go ye on your path with blessings, go ye on your charming journey, let your crescent now be beauteous, rest ye joyful in the evening." runo l.--marjatta _argument_ the virgin marjatta swallows a cranberry and brings forth a boy ( - ). the child disappears and is found after a long search in a swamp ( - ). he is taken to an old man to be baptized, but the latter will not baptize the fatherless child until after due consideration ( - ). väinämöinen comes to inquire into the matter, and advises that the ill-omened boy should be put to death, but the child reproaches him for his unjust sentence ( - ). the old man baptizes the boy as king of carelia, at which väinämöinen is grievously offended and leaves the country, but first declares that he will again make a new sampo and kantele, and light for the people. he sails away in a copper boat to a land between earth and heaven, but he leaves behind his kantele and his great songs as a parting gift to his people ( - ). concluding verses ( - ). marjatta the petted damsel in her home long time was growing, in the home of her great father, in her tender mother's dwelling, and five chains wore out completely, and six rings she wore out likewise; for her father's keys she used them, which around her waist were hanging. and she wore out half the threshold, with her skirts as she was passing, and she half destroyed the rafters where she hung her silken ribands, and she half destroyed the door-posts as her fine sleeves rubbed against them, and the planking of the flooring wore away beneath her slippers. marjatta the petted damsel was a very little damsel, and was always pure and holy, and was ever very modest, and she fed on fish the finest, and the soft bark of the fir-tree, but the eggs of hens ate never, over which the cocks were crowing, and the flesh of ewe she ate not, had the ewe with ram been running. if her mother sent her milking, yet she did not go to milking, and she spoke the words which follow: "never such a maid as i am udders of the cows should handle, which with bulls have been disporting, if no milk from calf is flowing, or from calf it is not running." if her father sent her sledging, in a stallion's sledge she went not, if a mare her brother brought her, then these words the maiden uttered: "never will i sit in mares' sledge, which with stallion has been running, if no foals the sledge are drawing, which have numbered six months only." marjatta the petted damsel, she who always lived a virgin, always greeted as a maiden, modest maid with locks unbraided, went to lead the herds to pasture, and beside the sheep was walking. on the hill the sheep were straying, to the top the lambs were climbing, on the plain the maiden wandered, tripping through the alder bushes, while there called the golden cuckoo, and the silvery birds were singing. marjatta the petted damsel, looked around her and she listened, sitting on the hill of berries, resting on the sloping hillside, and she spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed her: "call thou on, o golden cuckoo, sing thou still, o bird of silver, sing thou from thy breast of silver! tell me true, o saxon strawberry, shall i long remain unhooded, long among the flocks as herd-girl, on the wide-extending heathlands, and the far-extending woodlands, for one summer, for two summers, or for five or six of summers, or perchance for ten long summers, or the time fulfilled already?" marjatta the petted damsel, for a while lived on as herd-girl. evil is the life of shepherd, far too heavy for a maiden; in the grass a snake is creeping, in the grass the lizards wriggling. but not there a snake was writhing, nor in grass the lizards wriggling. from the hill there cried a berry, from the heath there cried a cranberry, "o thou maiden, come and pluck me, rosy-cheeked one, come and gather, come with breast of tin to pluck me, with thy copper belt to choose me, ere the slug should come to eat me, or the black worm should disturb me. "there are hundreds who have seen me, thousands more have sat beside me, girls by hundreds, wives by thousands, children, too, that none can number; none among them yet has touched me, none has gathered me, the wretched." marjatta the petted damsel, went a very little distance, went to look upon the berry, and the cranberry to gather, with her skilful hands to pluck it, with her beauteous hands to pluck it. on the hill she found the berry, on the heath she found the cranberry; 'twas a berry in appearance, and it seemed to be a cranberry, but from ground too high for eating, on a tree too weak for climbing. from the heath a stick she lifted, that she might pull down the berry; then from ground the berry mounted upward to her shoes so pretty, from her pretty shoes arose it, upward to her knees of whiteness, rising from her knees of whiteness upward to her skirts that rustled. to her buckled belt arose it, to her breast from buckled girdle, from her breast to chin arose it, to her lips from chin arose it, then into her mouth it glided, and along her tongue it hastened, from her tongue to throat it glided, and it dropped into her stomach. marjatta the petted damsel, after this had chanced grew pregnant, and it soon increased upon her, and her burden soon was heavy. then she cast aside her girdle, loosely dressed, without a girdle, secretly she sought the bathroom, and she hid her in the darkness. always was her mother thinking, and her mother pondered ever: "what has chanced to our marjatta, what has happened to our house-dove, that she casts aside her girdle, always dresses loosely, beltless, goes in secret to the bathroom, and she hides her in the darkness?" and a baby gave her answer, and the little child made answer: "this has chanced to our marjatta, this befel the wretched creature, she has been too long a herd-girl, with the flocks too far has wandered." and she bore her heavy burden, and the pain it brought upon her, bore it seven months, bore it eight months, bore it through the ninth month also, by the reckoning of old women, and for half the tenth month also. while the tenth month thus was passing, then the girl was filled with anguish, grievous sufferings came upon her, and the weight oppressed her sorely. for a bath she asked her mother, "o my very dearest mother, make a warm place ready for me, and a warm room ready for me, where the girl awhile may rest her. in the house of suffering women." but her mother gave her answer, answered thus, the aged woman: "woe to thee, o whore of hiisi, tell me now with whom thou restedst, with a man as yet unmarried, or beside a married hero?" marjatta the petted damsel, then replied to her in thiswise: "neither with a man unmarried, nor with any married hero, but i sought the hill of berries, and i went to pluck the cranberries, and i took what seemed a berry, and upon my tongue i laid it, quickly in my throat it glided, and it dropped into my stomach. thus it is that i am pregnant, thus it comes that i am pregnant." for a bath she asked her father, "o my very dearest father, give me now a well-warmed refuge, make a warm room ready for me, where the suffering one may rest her, and the girl endure her suffering." but her father gave her answer, gave her back a shameful answer: "go thou forth from here, o strumpet, wander forth, o wench for burning, to the bears' own rocky caverns, to the caves where bears are lurking, thither forth to bear, o strumpet, bear thy children, wench of fire." marjatta the petted damsel, then returned submissive answer: "not at all am i a strumpet, neither am a wench for burning; i shall bear a mighty hero, and shall bear a noble offspring, he shall be a mighty conqueror, strong as even väinämöinen." then the maid was greatly troubled where to go, and how to journey, where a bath she might provide her, and she spoke the words which follow: "o my little damsel piltti, thou the best of all my handmaids, find me now a bath in village, find a bath near reed-fringed brooklet, where the suffering one may rest her, and the girl endure her suffering. go at once, and hasten quickly, for my need is of the greatest." then the little damsel piltti, answered in the words that follow: "where am i to ask a bathroom, who will help me to obtain it?" thereupon did our marjatta answer in the words which follow: "go and ask a bath from ruotus, near where issues forth the reed-brook." then the little maiden piltti listened to her words obedient, always ready, heedless never, always quick, avoiding gossip, like a mist, away she hurried, to the yard like snake she hastened, with her hands her skirts she lifted, in her hands her dress she twisted, and upon her course she hastened straight unto the house of ruotus. hills re-echoed to her footsteps, shook the mountains as she climbed them, on the heath the cones were dancing, gravel scattered o'er the marshes; thus she came to ruotus' dwelling, and the house she quickly entered. in his shirt sat wicked ruotus, eating, drinking like the great ones, in his shirt at end of table, in a shirt of finest linen, and he asked as he was eating, grunted, leaning o'er the table, "what have you to say, you beggar, wretch, why come you running hither?" then the little damsel piltti answered in the words that follow: "here i seek a village bathroom, seek a bath near reed-fringed brooklet, that relief may reach the suffering, for the need is very pressing." then the wicked wife of ruotus presently with arms a-kimbo, slouched along upon the flooring, swept to middle of the flooring, and she asked upon her coming, speaking in the words which follow: "who is seeking for a bathroom, who is seeking for assistance?" said the little damsel piltti, "needed 'tis for our marjatta." then the wicked wife of ruotus answered in the words that follow: "vacant baths are rare in village, none at mouth of reed-fringed streamlet. there's a bath upon the clearing, and a stable in the pinewood, where the whore may bear her children, and the vile one cast her offspring, while the horses there are breathing, let her take a bath and welcome." then the little maiden piltti, hurried back with rapid footsteps, and upon her course she hastened, and she said on her arrival: "in the village is no bathroom, none beside the rush-fringed streamlet, and the wicked wife of ruotus, only spoke the words which follow: 'vacant baths are none in village, none at mouth of reed-fringed streamlet. there's a bath upon the clearing, and a stable in the pinewood, where the whore may bear her children, and the vile one cast her offspring, while the horses there are breathing, let her take a bath and welcome.' this was all she said unto me, this is truly what she answered." marjatta the hapless maiden when she heard, burst forth in weeping, and she spoke the words that follow: "thither must i then betake me, even like an outcast labourer, even like a hired servant, i must go upon the clearing, and must wander to the pinewood." in her hands her skirt she lifted, with her hands her skirt she twisted, and she took the bath-whisks with her, of the softest leaves and branches, and with hasty steps went onward, in the greatest pain of body, to the stable in the pinewood, and the stall on hill of tapio. and she spoke the words which follow, and in words like these expressed her: "come thou to my aid, creator, to my aid, o thou most gracious, in this anxious time of labour, in this time of hardest labour. free the damsel from her burden, from her pains release the woman, that she perish not in torment, may not perish in her anguish." when at length her journey ended, then she spoke the words which follow: "o thou good horse, breathe upon me, o thou draught-foal, snort upon me, breathe a vapour-bath around me, send thou warmth throughout the bathroom, that relief may reach the sufferer, for the need is very pressing." then the good horse breathed upon her, and the draught-foal snorted on her, over all her suffering body. when the horse desisted breathing, steam was spread throughout the stable, like the steam of boiling water. marjatta the hapless maiden, she, the holy little maiden, bathed her in a bath sufficient, till she had relieved her suffering, and a little boy was born her, and a sinless child was given, on the hay in horses' stable, on the hay in horses' manger. then she washed the little infant, and in swaddling-clothes she wrapped him, on her knees she took the infant, and she wrapped her garments round him. there she reared the little infant, thus she reared the beauteous infant, reared her little golden apple, and her little staff of silver, and upon her lap she nursed it, with her hands did she caress it. on her knees she laid the infant, on her lap she laid the infant, and began to brush his hair straight, and began to smooth his hair down, when from off her knees he vanished, from her lap the infant vanished. marjatta the hapless maiden fell into the greatest trouble, and she hurried off to seek him, seek her little boy, the infant, and she sought her golden apple, sought her little staff of silver, sought him underneath the millstones, underneath the sledge while running, underneath the sieve while sifting, underneath the lidless basket; trees she moved, and grass divided, spreading out the tender herbage. long the little boy she sought for, sought her son, the little infant, sought him through the hills and pinewoods, on the heath among the heather, searched through every tuft of heather, and in every bush she sought him, roots of juniper updigging, and of trees the branches straightening. then she thought to wander further, and she went upon her wanderings, and there came a star to meet her, and before the star she bowed her. "star, whom jumala created, know you nothing of my infant, where my little son is hidden, where is hid my golden apple?" and the star made answer to her: "if i knew i would not tell it. he it was who me created, made me, through these days of evil in the cold to shine for ever, and to glimmer through the darkness." then she thought to wander further, and she went upon her wanderings, and the moon came next to meet her, and she bowed herself before him. "moon, whom jumala created, know you nothing of my infant, where my little son is hidden, where is hid my golden apple?" and the moon made answer to her: "if i knew i would not tell it. he it was who me created, always in these days of evil through the night to watch all lonely, and to sleep throughout the daytime." then she thought to wander further, and she went upon her wanderings, and there came the sun to meet her, and she bowed herself before him. "sun, whom jumala created, know you nothing of my infant, where my little son is hidden, where is hid my golden apple?" and the sun made answer wisely: "well indeed i know your infant. he it was who me created, in these days of finest weather, golden rays to shed about me, silver rays to scatter round me. "well indeed i know your infant, know your son, unhappy mother! there thy little son is hidden, there is hid thy golden apple, in the swamps to waistband sunken, to his arm-pits in the marshlands." marjatta the hapless maiden sought her infant in the marshes, in the swamps her son discovered, and she brought him home in triumph. then the son of our marjatta grew into a youth most beauteous, but they knew not what to call him, did not know what name to give him, but his mother called him floweret, and the strangers called him sluggard. and they sought a man to cross him, and to sprinkle him with water; and an old man came to cross him, virokannas to baptize him. then these words the old man uttered, and in words like these expressed him: "with the cross i will not sign him, nor will i baptize the infant, not till he has been examined, and a judgment passed upon him." who shall dare to come to try him, test him, and pass sentence on him? väinämöinen, old and steadfast, he the great primeval sorcerer, he alone came forth to try him, and to test him and pass sentence. väinämöinen, old and steadfast, sentence gave in words that follow: "as the boy from marsh has risen, from the ground, and from a berry, on the ground they now shall lay him, where the hills are thick with berries, or shall to the swamps conduct him, on the trees his head to shatter." then the half-month old spoke loudly, and the fortnight-old cried loudly: "o thou old and wretched creature, wretched old man, void of insight, o how stupid is your judgment, how contemptible thy sentence! thou hast grievous crimes committed, likewise deeds of greatest folly, yet to swamps they did not lead thee, shattered not thy head on tree-trunks, when thyself, in youthful folly, gave the child of thine own mother, that thou thus mightst 'scape destruction, and release thyself in thiswise. "and again thou wast not carried, and abandoned in the marshes, when thyself in youthful folly, caused the young maids to be sunken, in the depths beneath the billows, to the black ooze at the bottom." then the old man quickly crossed him, quick baptized the child with water, as the king of all carelia, and the lord of all the mighty. then was väinämöinen angry, greatly shamed and greatly angry, and prepared himself to journey from the lake's extended margin, and began his songs of magic, for the last time sang them loudly, sang himself a boat of copper, with a copper deck provided. in the stern himself he seated, sailing o'er the sparkling billows, still he sang on his departure, and he sang as he was sailing: "may the time pass quickly o'er us, one day passes, comes another, and again shall i be needed. men will look for me, and miss me, to construct another sampo, and another harp to make me, make another moon for gleaming, and another sun for shining. when the sun and moon are absent, in the air no joy remaineth." then the aged väinämöinen went upon his journey singing, sailing in his boat of copper, in his vessel made of copper, sailed away to loftier regions, to the land beneath the heavens. there he rested with his vessel, rested weary, with his vessel, but his kantele he left us, left his charming harp in suomi, for his people's lasting pleasure, mighty songs for suomi's children. * * * * * now my mouth must cease from speaking, and my tongue be bound securely, cease the chanting of my verses, and my lively songs abandon. even thus must horses rest them, when a long course is completed, even iron must be wearied when the grass is mown in summer, and the water-drops be weary, as they trace the river's windings, and the fire must be extinguished when throughout the night 'tis burning. wherefore should our songs not falter; as our sweet songs we are singing, for the lengthy evenings' pleasure, singing later than the sunset? thus i heard the people talking, and again it was repeated: "e'en the waterfall when flowing yields no endless stream of water, nor does an accomplished singer, sing till all his knowledge fail him. better 'tis to sit in silence than to break off in the middle." now my song remains completed, 'tis completed and abandoned. in a ball i wind my lays up, as a ball i cast them from me, on the storehouse floor i lay them, with a lock of bone secure them, that from thence escape they never, nor in time may be untwisted, not unless the lock be opened, and its jaws should be extended, not unless the teeth be opened, and the tongue again is moving. what would now avail my singing, if the songs i sang were bad ones, if i sang in every valley, and i sang in every firwood? for my mother lives no longer, wakes no more my own old mother, nor my golden one can hear me, nought can learn my dear old mother, none would hear me but the fir-trees, learn, save branches of the pine-trees, or the tender leaves of birch-trees, or the charming mountain ash-tree. i was small when died my mother, weak was i without my mother; on the stones like lark she left me, on the rocks like thrush she left me, left me like a lark to sing there, or to sing as sings the throstle, in the wardship of a stranger, at the will of a step-mother, and she drove me forth, unhappy, forth she drove the unloved infant, to a wind-swept home she drove me, to the north-wind's home she drove me that against the wind defenceless, winds might sweep away the orphan. like a lark away i wandered, like a hapless bird i wandered shelterless about the country; wearily i wandered onward, till with every wind acquainted, i their roaring comprehended; in the frost i learned to shudder, and i learned to cry with freezing. even now do many people, many people i encounter, speak to me in angry accents, rudest speeches hurl against me, curses on my tongue they shower, and about my voice cry loudly, likewise they abuse my grumbling and they call my songs too lengthy, and they say i sing too badly, and my song's accented wrongly. may you not, o friendly people, as a wondrous thing regard it that i sang so much in childhood, and when small, i sang so badly. i received no store of learning, never travelled to the learned. foreign words were never taught me, neither songs from distant countries. others have had all instruction, from my home i journeyed never, always did i help my mother, and i dwelt for ever near her, in the house received instruction, 'neath the rafters of my storehouse, by the spindle of my mother, by my brother's heap of shavings, in my very earliest childhood, in a shirt that hung in tatters. but let this be as it may be, i have shown the way to singers, showed the way, and broke the tree-tops, cut the branches, shown the pathways. this way therefore leads the pathway, here the path lies newly opened, widely open for the singers, and for greater ballad singers, for the young, who now are growing, for the rising generation. notes to runos xxvi-l (these are by the translator, when not otherwise stated. k. k. indicates prof. kaarle krohn, and a. m. madame aino malmberg. for proper names, refer to the glossary at page .) runo xxvi . literally, "his teeth." . in the _völuspá_, we read of a hall of serpents in naströnd, one of the icelandic hells, composed of serpents wattled together, with their heads turned inwards, vomiting floods of venom in which wade murderers, perjurers, and adulterers. . literally, "the toads." "seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies stowed; the foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad." (scott.) a diabolical creature, half dragon and half frog, is described in a well-known esthonian story. . _tetrao tetrix_, known as the black-cock and grey-hen. . virsta, a russian word naturalized in finnish. . this description recalls the serpents of indian mythology, such as those described in the first book of the _mahabharata_. . such a passage might have suggested to longfellow the following: "bigger than the big-sea-water, broader than the gitche gumee." _hiawatha_, xxi. runo xxvii . here commences a magical contest somewhat resembling the transformation scenes in the stories of the second calendar, and of nooreddin and bedreddin, in the _ nights_. . "i don't want to have a mess made upon my floor here, or any noise or shooting." (tanta coetzee, in rider haggard's _jess_.) runo xxviii. , . his horse and sledge seem to have been transformed, like those of joukahainen in runo iii. . in finnish and esthonian tales we often find persons transformed into trees and flowers; sometimes for purposes of concealment. runo xxix . "grass-widows" are probably intended. - . even this old woman did not appeal to him in vain. we might compare with this passage byron's _don juan_, viii., cxxxi., cxxxii. runo xxx , . literally, "nails." . pakkanen, puhurin poika. frost, the son of the north wind. . the unmanly lamentations of the heroes over a fate that has not befallen them may remind us of grimm's story of "die kluge else." it will also be noticed that the heroes are only concerned about their mothers; and tiera has as little thought for his virgin bride as lemminkainen has for kyllikki. runo xxxi . the tragedy of kullervo is the favourite episode of the _kalevala_ in finland, next to that of aino. the preamble (lines - ) is the same as the opening of the esthonian _kalevipoeg_. the story of the esthonian hero, though he was a king and not a slave, resembles that of kullervo in so many respects that he must have been the same character originally. . i think the change of style, indicative of different authorship, in this episode is sufficiently obvious even in a translation. many words used here do not occur earlier in the poem. - . the same story is told of the infant kalevipoeg. . esthonians call dwarfs "ox-knee people"; _i. e._ people as high as an ox's knee. . like simple simon. . it is obvious that some of the youthful exploits of kwasind (slightly varied, after longfellow's manner) are imitated from those of kullervo. (compare also runo xxxv., - .) runo xxxii . the rye-bread, on which the finnish peasants largely subsist, is described as baked in very hard round loaves, like quoits, which are strung on a pole. but kullervo's cake seems to have been prepared to look nice on the outside. - . does this refer to stories of witches milking cattle? . of juniper wood. . literally, an apple-berry. probably a small crab-apple is intended. . i think wolves are here intended, not dogs. . in the esthonian story of the northern frog, the monster is secured by an iron stake driven through the jaws. (kirby's _hero of esthonia_, ii., , .) . these elaborate and ineffectual prayers and incantations may be compared with the prayers of achilles for the safety of patroclus, in _iliad_, xvi. runo xxxiii . wheat is used in the folk-songs as a term of endearment. (k. k.) , . the esthonian kalevipoeg was constantly instructed by the voice of birds. - . in esthonia this episode occurs in the story of the royal herdboy. (_hero of esthonia_, i., pp. - .) runo xxxv . are blue stockings supposed to be an emblem of strength? ukko is also represented as wearing them. . "all with incredible stupendous force, none daring to appear antagonist." (milton.) . as kalervo appears to have been a chief in his own right, it not very clear why, or to whom, he had to pay taxes. , . the lake of course was frozen. . as in several other instances in the _kalevala_, this does not appear to be abduction in the modern sense, but merely marriage by capture. . there is another celebrated poem written by a finn, but in swedish, runeberg's _kong_ (king) _fjalar_, in which a similar chance meeting between a brother and sister forms the principal subject. . sea-beasts are very rarely mentioned in the _kalevala_, for nearly all aquatic animals referred to are lake- or river-fish. here the allusion is probably to the story of jonah. runo xxxvi . literally "the rest of his flesh." having regard to the supposed powers of finnish magicians, this passage is not to be taken merely as an impudent rejoinder, but as asserting powers which kullervo actually claimed to be able to exert. . in an old english romance we read concerning the suicide of a sorcerer, "the ground whereon he died was ever afterwards unfortunate, and to this present time it is called in that country, 'a vale of walking spirits.'" (_seven champions of christendom_, part i., chap. xix.) . this reminds us of sir peter's "sword of vengeance." (prior's _danish ballads_, i., pp. - .) . the esthonian kalevipoeg was also slain, like kullervo, by his own sword. (_hero of esthonia_, i., pp. , .) runo xxxvii . literally, their hatless shoulders. . compare the account of the forging of the sampo in runo x. runo xxxviii . this might allude to the viking practice of carving the blood-eagle on the backs of enemies; but prof. krohn remarks that this was unknown in finland. . here it seems that the mere fact of ilmarinen having carried off the girl, even against her will, was enough to constitute her his lawful wife. . ilmarinen's sword was less bloodthirsty than that of kullervo; but it will be noticed that there is as little real chivalry in the _kalevala_ generally as in old scandinavian literature. runo xl . literally, "at the tips of my ten nails." runo xli . similar incidents are common in folktales. the reader will recollect the decoration of mama, the woodpecker. (_hiawatha_, ix.) runo xlii - . here again we notice a difference of expression, indicating a different authorship. . "mistress of the mighty spell." (southey.) . compare runo xx., lines - . . literally, his finger-bones. . perhaps the cap had ear-flaps to be worn in bad weather. runo xliii , . this seems to be meant ironically. - . this, or something similar, is a common device for impeding a pursuer in european fairy tales. . pohjan eukko. another epithet for louhi. , . the sampo being not only an unfailing corn, salt, and money-mill, but a palladium of general prosperity, pohjola would naturally fall into famine and misery when nothing remained but an almost worthless fragment of the cover. it is possible that the story may refer to some great and permanent change for the worse of the climate of the north; either during the storms and earthquakes of the fourteenth century, which would connect it with the plague described in runo xlv.; or perhaps to a much earlier period, when, as old persian books tell us, the climate of some part of asia (?) was changed from nine months summer and three months winter, to nine months winter and three months summer. runo xlv . loviatar represents the evil and destructive powers of nature, as opposed to the beneficent powers, represented in the _kalevala_ under the twin aspects of ilmatar and marjatta. . this speech or invocation is not addressed to loviatar, but apparently to some goddess similar to the roman lucina. . dr. russell says that the itch was more dreaded than the plague in aleppo in the eighteenth century. . pestilence has often been attributed to the anger of gods or demons; and finland suffered severely from plague till well into the eighteenth century. but i am inclined to regard the plague described here as the black death, which must have ravaged finland about . , , . all these names have nearly the same significance, and might be rendered by "dolores, our lady of pain." runo xlvi , . the pestilence having abated at the approach of winter, the wild beasts naturally overran the devastated country. so i would interpret this passage. . literally, three feathers, but the commentary gives the meaning adopted above. . for an account of bear-hunting in finland, compare acerbi's _voyage to the north cape_, i., pp. , . . tapio is the lord of the forest here alluded to, according to the commentary. . the word here rendered "charge" literally means "bundle" or "package." . probably the danish sound. . a honeyed forest perhaps means a forest abounding in honey-dew. , . these lines are rather musical: kuuluvilla karjan kellon, luona tiukujen tirinän. runo xlvii , . there is a finnish ballad relating how the sun and moon were stolen by german and esthonian sorcerers, and recovered by the son of jumala. (_kanteletar_, iii., ; translated by mr. c. j. billson, _folklore_, vi., , .) . compare the story of maui stealing the fire in new zealand legends. . lake ladoga seems to be intended. . does this refer to tides? tides can hardly be known in finland, except by hearsay; the baltic itself is almost tideless. runo xlviii , . neptune's trident? . here a different epithet is applied to väinämöinen. . probably _polyporus igniarius_ or _p. fomentarius_, both of which are much used for tinder. . he appears to have thought that panu was in league with the fire. runo xlix . this is rhabdomancy, or divination by rods. . literally, at the end of our thumbs. runo l . marjatta korea kuopus. literally, marjatta the elegant darling; an expression occurring nowhere else in the _kalevala_. the story in the present runo seems to exhibit a veneer of christianity over shaman legends. even the name marjatta, notwithstanding its resemblance to maria, seems to be really derived from the word marja, a berry. an old writer says that the favourite deities of the finns in his time were väinämöinen and the virgin mary. . that is, a criminal who deserves to be burnt at the stake. , . she already recognizes her unborn son as an avatar. . the word here rendered "hapless" properly means "little." . this is the only passage in the _kalevala_ in which väinämöinen is spoken of as ever having been young; though he is occasionally called young in variants. - . this passage apparently alludes to väinämöinen having sent ilmarinen to pohjola by a trick. - . this must allude either to the fate of aino, or to some story not included in the _kalevala_. . in esthonian legends, vanemuine is not an avatar and culture-hero, but the god of music, who withdrew from men on account of the ribaldry with which some of his hearers received his divine songs. (_hero of esthonia_, ii., pp. - .) longfellow also makes hiawatha depart in a boat after the conclusion of his mission. , . these expressions remind us of the buddha "breaking down the rafters and the roof-tree" preparatory to reaching nirvano. glossary of finnish names (the dotted vowels are included with the others.) ahava, _the cold spring east wind_. ahti, _a name of lemminkainen_. ahto, _the god of the sea and of the waters_. ahtola, _the dominions of ahto_. ÄijÖ, _the father of iku-turso_. ainikki, _lemminkainen's sister_. aino, _a lapp maiden, joukahainen's sister_. alue, _name of a lake_. annikki, _ilmarinen's sister_. antero vipunen, _a primeval giant or titan, whom some commentators suppose to be the same as kaleva_. etelÄtÄr, _the goddess of the south wind_. hÄllÄpjÖrÄ, _name of a waterfall_. hÄme, _tavastland_. hermikki (sinewy), _name of a cow_. hiisi, _the same as lempo, the evil power, somewhat resembling the scandinavian loki in character. his name is often used as a term of reprobation_. hiitola, _the dominions of hiisi_. hongatar, _the goddess of the fir-trees_. horna (hell), _name of a mountain_. iku-turso, _a water-giant; the name is doubtless connected with the icelandic word thurs, which means a giant, and which is also the name of the letter þ, called þa in old english_. ilma (air), _name of ilmarinen's homestead_. ilmari, } } _the primeval smith; still used as a proper name in ilmarinen, } finland_. ilmatar, _the daughter of the air; the creatrix of the world, and the mother of väinämöinen_. ilpotar, _a name of louhi_. imatra, _the great falls or rapids in the river vuoksi_. ingerland, _usually known as ingermanland_. joukahainen, } } _a young laplander_. jouko, } joukola, _the land of joukahainen_. jumala, or ukko, _god_. juotikki (drinker), _name of a cow_. juutas, _a name probably derived from judas. it is used as a name for hiisi, and also as a term of reprobation_. kaatrakoski, _name of a waterfall_. kalervo, _a chieftain, the brother of untamo, and the father of kullervo_. kalervoinen, _epithet of kullervo_. kaleva, _the ancestor of the heroes, who does not appear in person in the kalevala_. kalevala, _the land of kaleva_. kalevalainen, _a descendant of kaleva_. kalevatar, or osmotar, _the daughter of kaleva_. kalma, _death personified; he is more often called tuoni or mana_. kammo, _a rock, the father of kimmo_. kankahatar, _the goddess of weaving_. kantele, _the finnish harp or zither_. kanteletar, _the daughter of the harp; name given by lönnrot to his published collection of finnish ballads_. karjala, _carelia_. katajatar, _the nymph of the juniper_. kauko, } } kaukolainen, } _names of lemminkainen_. } kaukomieli, } kauppi, _a laplander, skilled in making snowshoes_. keitolainen, _the contemptible one, one of the names of the evil power_. kemi, _name of a river_. kimmo, ( ) _a stone_; ( ) _name of a cow_. kiputyttÖ, _maiden of pain_. kirjo (_variegated, or dappled_), _name of a cow_. kivutar, _daughter of pain_. kuippana, _a name of tapio_. kullervo, } } _a hero, the son of kalervo_. kullervoinen, } kuura, _a name of tiera_. kuutar, _the daughter of the moon_. kylli, } } _a maiden of saari, whom lemminkainen carries off and kyllikki, } marries_. lemminkainen, _a reckless adventurer_. lempi (love), _the father of lemminkainen_. lempo, or hiisi, _the evil power_. lokka, _the mother of ilmarinen_. louhi, _the mistress of pohjola_. loviatar, _one of the daughters of tuoni, and the mother of the plagues_. luonnotar, _daughter of creation, a name applied to ilmatar, and other celestial goddesses_. luotola, _name of a bay_. lyylikki, _a name of kauppi_. mairikki, _name of a cow_. mana, or tuoni, _the god of hades_. manala, or tuonela, _hades_. manalainen = _mana_. manalatar, _daughter of mana_. mansikka (strawberry), _name of a cow_. marjatta, _the mother of väinämöinen's supplanter. she is usually identified with the virgin mary_. mÄrkÄhattu (wet-hat), _name or epithet of a cow-herd who has been exposed to the rain_. melatar, _the goddess of the rudder_. metsola, _the woodlands, from metsa, a forest_. mielikki, _the mistress of the forests, the spouse of tapio_. mimerkki, _a name of mielikki_. musti (blackie), _a dog's name_. muurikki (blackie), _name of a cow_. nyyrikki, _the son of tapio_. osmo, _a name of kaleva_. osmola = _kalevala_. osmoinen, _an epithet of väinämöinen_. osmotar, _the daughter of osmo_. otava, _the constellation of the great bear_. otso, _pet name for the bear_. pahalainen (the wicked one), _a name of the evil power_. pÄivÄtÄr, _the daughter of the sun_. pakkanen, _the personified frost_. palvonen, _apparently the same as tuuri_. panu, _the son of the sun_. pellervoinen, _vide sampsa_. pihlajatar, _the nymph of the mountain-ash tree_. piltti, _the handmaid of marjatta_. pimentola, _a name of pohjola_. pisa, _name of a mountain_. pohja, _the north_. pohjola, _the north country_; (_a_) _a dark and dismal country to the north of lapland, but sometimes identified with lapland itself_; (_b_) _the castle or homestead of louhi, to which the name of the country itself was applied_. puhuri, _the north wind_. puolukka (cranberry), _name of a cow_. ruotus, _the headman of a village_. (_herod, according to the commentators._) rutja, _a cataract, said to be the same as turja_. saarelainen (the islander), _an epithet of lemminkainen_. saari, _an island, especially the island now called kronstadt_. sampo, _a magic corn, salt and coin-mill_. sampsa pellervoinen, _the genius of agriculture_ (_from pellon or pelto, a field_), _the servant or agent of väinämöinen_. sara } } _names of pohjola_. sariola } savo (savolaks), _a province of finland_. sima, _a sound in pohjola_. sinetar, _a nymph who colours flowers blue_. "sotko's daughters"; _the protecting nymphs of ducks_. suomi, _finland_. suonetar, _the nymph of the veins_. surma, _death, or the god of death_. suovakko, _name of an old woman_. suvantola (_the land of still waters_), _a name of väinölä_. suvantolainen, _an epithet of väinämöinen_. suvetar, _the goddess of summer_. syÖjÄtÄr, _an ogress, the mother of the serpents_. syÖtikki (eater), _name of a cow_. tammatar, _the goddess of the oak tree_. tanika, _name of the builder of a castle_. tapio, _the god of the forests_. tapiola, _the dominions of tapio_. tellervo, _the daughter of tapio, but in some passages apparently identified with mielikki_. terhenetar, _the goddess of the clouds_. tiera, _lemminkainen's comrade in arms_. tuometar, _the goddess of the bird cherry_. tuomikki, _name of a cow_. tuonela, or manala, _hades_. tuonetar, _the daughter of tuoni_. tuoni, or mana, _the god of hades_. tuorikki, _name of a cow_. turja, _lapland; also name of a cataract_. turjalainen, _a laplander_. tursas, _vide iki-turso_. tuulikki, _a daughter of tapio_. tuuri, _the builder of a house where honey is stored_. ukko (old man), _usually identified with jumala, the god of heaven, with special authority over the clouds_. ulappala (_the country of the open sea_), _apparently the same as tuonela_. untamo } } (_a_) _the god of sleep and dreams;_ (_b_) _a turbulent untamoinen, } chieftain, the brother of kalervo_. untamola, _the dominions of untamo; sometimes used for untamo himself_. unto, _short for untamo_. untola, _the dominions of unto_. uvanto } } _names of väinämöinen_. uvantolainen } vÄinÄmÖinen, _the primeval minstrel and culture-hero, the son of ilmatar_ (_the name, as pronounced, sounds like vannamoenen_). vÄinÖ, _short for väinämöinen_. vÄinÖlÄ, _the dominions of väinämöinen_ (=_kalevala_.) vammatar, _the daughter of evil_. vellamo, _the goddess of the sea and of the waters, the spouse of ahto_. vipunen, _vide antero vipunen_. viro, _esthonia_. virokannas, _used as a proper name; apparently meaning the wise esthonian_. vuojalainen, _a name of lyylikki_. vuoksi, _an important river which flows into lake ladoga_. the end richard clay & sons, limited, bread street hill, e.c., and bungay, suffolk. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) the slaves of the padishah [illustration: dr. jókai mór ] the slaves of the padishah ("the turks in hungary," being the sequel to "'midst the wild carpathians") _a romance_ by maurus jÓkai _author of "'midst the wild carpathians," "black diamonds," "pretty michal," etc._ translated from the sixth hungarian edition by r. nisbet bain [illustration: sans peur et sans reproche third edition] london jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c. [_all rights reserved_] authorised version _copyright_ _london: jarrold & sons_ contents. chapter page i. the golden caftan ii. maidens three iii. three men iv. affairs of state v. the day of grosswardein vi. the monk of the holy spring vii. the panic of nagyenyed viii. the slave market at buda-pesth ix. the amazon brigade x. the margaret island xi. a star in hell xii. the battle of st. gothard xiii. the persecuted woman xiv. olaj beg xv. the women's defence xvi. a fight for his own head xvii. the extravagances of love xviii. sport with a blind man xix. the night before death xx. the victim xxi. other times--other men xxii. the divÁn xxiii. the turkish death xxiv. the hostage xxv. the husband xxvi. the fading of flowers xxvii. the sword of god xxviii. the madman xxix. pleasant surprises xxx. a man abandoned by his guardian-angel xxxi. the newly drawn sword xxxii. the last day introduction. "török világ magyarországon," now englished for the first time, is a sequel to "az erdély arany kora," already published by messrs. jarrold, under the title of "'midst the wild carpathians." the two tales, though quite distinct, form together one great historical romance, which centres round the weakly, good-natured michael apafi, the last independent prince of transylvania, his masterful and virtuous consort, anna bornemissza, and his machiavellian minister, michael teleki, a sort of pocket-richelieu, whose genius might have made a great and strong state greater and stronger still, but could not save a little state, already doomed to destruction as much from its geographical position as from its inherent weakness. the whole history of transylvania, indeed, reads like an old romance of chivalry, cut across by odd episodes out of "the thousand and one nights," and the last phase of that history ( - ), so vividly depicted in the present volume, is fuller of life, colour, variety, and adventure than any other period of european history. the little mountain principality, lying between two vast aggressive empires, the ottoman and the german, ever striving with each other for the mastery of central europe, was throughout this period the football of both. viewed from a comfortable armchair at a distance of two centuries, the whole era is curiously fascinating: to unfortunate contemporaries it must have been unspeakably terrible. strange happenings were bound to be the rule, not the exception, when a turkish pasha ruled the best part of hungary from the bastions of buda. thus it was quite in the regular order of things for hungarian gentlemen to join with notorious robber-chieftains to attack turkish fortresses; for bandits, in the disguise of monks, to plunder lonely monasteries; for simple boors to be snatched from the plough to be set upon a throne; for christian girls, from every country under heaven, to be sold by auction not fifty miles from vienna, and for turkish filibusters to plant fortified harems in the midst of the carpathians. jókai, luckier than dumas, had no need to invent his episodes, though he frequently presents them in a romantic environment. he found his facts duly recorded in contemporary chronicles, and he had no temptation to be unfaithful to them, because the ordinary, humdrum incidents of every-day life in seventeenth century transylvania outstrip the extravagances of the most unbridled imagination. no greater praise can be awarded to the workmanship of jókai than to say that, although written half a century ago (the first edition was published in ), "török világ magyarországon" does not strike one as in the least old-fashioned or out of date. romantic it is, no doubt, in treatment as well as in subject, but a really good romance never grows old, and jókai's unfailing humour is always--at least, in his masterpieces--a sufficient corrective of the excessive sensibility to which, like all the romanticists, he is, by temperament, sometimes liable. most of the characters which delighted us in "'midst the wild carpathians" accompany us through the sequel. the prince, the princess, the minister, béldi, kucsuk, feriz, azrael, and even such minor personages as the triple renegade, zülfikar, are all here, and remain true to their original presentment, except azrael, who is the least convincing of them all. of the new personages, the most original are the saponaceous olaj beg, whose unctuous suavity always conveys a menace, and the heroic figure of the famous emeric tököly, who, but for the saving sword of sobieski, might have wrested the crown of st. stephen from the house of hapsburg. r. nisbet bain. _december, ._ the slaves of the padishah. chapter i. the golden caftan. the s---- family was one of the richest in wallachia, and consequently one of the most famous. the head of the family dictated to twelve boyars, collected hearth-money and tithes from four-and-fifty villages, lived nine months in the year at stambul, held the sultan's bridle when he mounted his steed in time of war, contributed two thousand lands-knechts to the host of the pasha of macedonia, and had permission to keep on his slippers when he entered the inner court of the seraglio. in the year and something, george was the name of the first-born of the s---- family, but with him we shall not have very much concern. we shall do much better to follow the fortunes of the second born, michael, whom his family had sent betimes to bucharest to be brought up as a priest in the seminary there. the youth had, however, a remarkably thick head, and, so far from making any great progress in the sciences, was becoming quite an ancient classman, when he suddenly married the daughter of a sub-deacon, and buried himself in a little village in wallachia. there he spent a good many years of his life with scarce sufficient stipend to clothe him decently, and had he not tilled his soil with his own hands, he would have been hard put to it to find maize-cakes enough to live upon. in the first year of his marriage a little girl was born to him, and for her the worthy man and his wife spared and scraped so that, in case they were to die, she might have some little trifle. so they laid aside a few halfpence out of every shilling in order that when it rose to a good round sum they might purchase for their little girl--a cow. a cow! that was their very ultimate desire. if only they could get a cow, who would be happier than they? milk and butter would come to their table in abundance, and they would be able to give some away besides. her calf they would rear and sell to the butcher for a good price, stipulating for a quarter of it against the easter festival. then, too, a cow would give so much pleasure to the whole family. in the morning they would be giving it drink, rubbing it down, leading it out into the field, and its little bell would be sounding all day in the pasture. in the evening it would come into the yard, keeping close to the wall, where the mulberry-tree stood, and poke its head through the kitchen door. it would have a star upon its forehead, and would let you scratch its head and stroke its neck, and would take the piece of maize-cake that little mariska held out to it. she would be able to lead the cow everywhere. this was the utopia of the family, its every-day desire, and papa had already planted a mulberry-tree in the yard in order that csákó, that was to be the cow's name, might have something to rub his side against, and little mariska every day broke off a piece of maize-cake and hid it under the window-sill. the little calf would have a fine time of it. and lo and behold! when the halfpennies and farthings had mounted up to such a heap that they already began to think of going to the very next market to bring home the cow; when every day they could talk of nothing else, and kept wondering what the cow would be like, brindled, or brown, or white, or spotted; when they had already given it its name beforehand, and had prepared a leafy bed for it close to the house--it came to pass that a certain vagabond turkish sheikh shot dead the elder brother, who was living in stambul, because he accidentally touched the edge of the holy man's garment in the street. so the poor priest received one day a long letter from adrianople, in which he was informed that he had succeeded his brother as head of the family, and, from that hour, was the happy possessor of an annual income of , ducats. i wonder whether they wept for that cow, which they never brought home after all? mr. michael immediately left his old dwelling, travelled with his family all the way to bucharest in a carriage (it was the first time in his life he had ever enjoyed that dignity), went through the family archives, and entered into possession of his immense domain, of whose extent he had had no idea before. the old family mansion was near rumnik, whither mr. michael also repaired. the house was dilapidated and neglected, its former possessors having lived constantly abroad, only popping in occasionally to see how things were going on. nevertheless, it was a palace to the new heir, who, after the experience of his narrow hovel, could hardly accommodate himself to the large, barrack-like rooms, and finally contented himself with one half of it, leaving the other wing quite empty, as he didn't know what to do with it. having been accustomed throughout the prime of his life to deprivation and the hardest of hard work, that state of things had become such a second nature to him, that, when he became a millionaire, he had not much taste for anything better than maize-cakes, and it was high festival with him when _puliszka_[ ] was put upon the table. [footnote : a sort of maize pottage.] on the death of his wife, he sent his daughter on foot to the neighbouring village to learn her alphabet from the cantor, and two heydukes accompanied her lest the dogs should worry her on the way. when his daughter grew up, he entrusted her with the housekeeping and the care of the kitchen. very often some young and flighty boyar would pass through the place from the neighbouring village, and very much would he have liked to have taken the girl off with him, if only her father would give her away. and all this time mr. michael's capital began to increase so outrageously that he himself began to be afraid of it. it had come to this, that he could not spend even a thousandth part of his annual income, and, puzzle his head as he might, he could not turn it over quickly enough. he had now whole herds of cows, he bought pigs by the thousand, but everything he touched turned to money, and the capital that he invested came back to him in the course of the year with compound interest. the worthy man was downright desperate when he thought upon his treasure-heaps multiplying beyond all his expectations. how to enjoy them he knew not, and yet he did not wish to pitch them away. he would have liked to have played the grand seignior, if only thereby to get rid of some of his money, but the rôle did not suit him at all. if, for instance, he wanted to build a palace, there was so much calculating how, in what manner, and by whom it could be built most cheaply, that it scarce cost him anything at all, but then it never turned out a palace. or if he wanted to give a feast, it was easy enough to select the handsomest of the boyars for his guests. whatever was necessary for the feast--wine, meat, bread, honey, and sack-pipers--was supplied in such abundance from his own magazines and villages, that he absolutely despaired to think how it was that his ancestors had not only devoured their immense estates, but had even piled up debts upon them. to him this remained an insoluble problem, and after bothering his head for a long time as to what he should do with his eternally accumulating capital, he at last hit upon a good idea. the spacious garden surrounding his crazy castle had, by his especial command, been planted with all sorts of rare and pleasant plants--like basil, lavender, wild saffron, hops, and gourds--over whom a tenant had been promoted as gardener to look after them. one year the garden produced such gigantic gourds, that each one was as big as a pitcher. the astonished neighbours came in crowds to gaze at them, and the promoted ex-boyar swore a hundred times that such gourds as these the turkish sultan himself had not seen all his life long. this gave master michael an idea. he made up his mind that he would send one of these gourds to the sultan as a present. so he selected the finest and roundest of them, of a beautiful flesh-coloured rind, encircled by dark-green stripes, with a turban-shaped cap at the top of it, and, boring a little hole through it, drew out the pulp and filled it instead with good solid ducats of the finest stamp, and placing it on his best six-oxened wagon, he selected his wisest tenant, and, dinning well into his head where to go, what to say, and to whom to say it, sent him off with the great gourd to the sublime porte at stambul. it took the cart three weeks to get to constantinople. the good, worthy farmer, upon declaring that he brought gifts for the grand seignior, was readily admitted into the presence, and after kissing the hem of the padishah's robe, drew the bright cloth away from the presented pumpkin and deposited it in front of the diván. the sultan flew into a violent rage at the sight of the gift. "dost thou take me for a swine, thou unbelieving dog, that thou bringest me a gourd?" cried he. and straightway he commanded the kiaja beg to remove both the gourd and the man. the gourd he was to dash to pieces on the ground, the bringer of the gourd was to have dealt unto him a hundred stripes on the soles of his feet, but the sender of the gourd was to lose his head. the kiaja beg did as he was commanded. he banged the gourd down in the courtyard outside, and behold! a stream of shining ducats gushed out of it instead of the pulp. nevertheless, faithful above all things to his orders, he had the poor farmer flung down on his face, and gave him such a sound hundred stripes on the soles of his feet that he had no wish for any more. immediately afterwards he hastened to inform the sultan that the gourd had been dashed to the ground, the hundred blows with the stick duly paid, the silken cord ready packed, but that the gourd was full of ducats. at these words the countenance of the grand seignior grew serene once more, like the smiling summer sky, and after ordering that the silken cord should be put back in its place, he commanded that the most magnificent of caftans should be distributed both to the bastinadoed farmer and to the boyar who had sent the gift, and that they should both be assured of the gracious favour of the padishah. the former had sufficient sense when he arrived at bucharest to sell the gay garment he had received to a huckster in the bazaar, but his master's present he carefully brought home, and, after informing him of the unpleasant incident concerning himself, delivered to him his present, together with a gracious letter from the sultan. master michael was delighted with the return gift. he put on the long caftan, which reached to his heels, and was made of fine dark-red thibetan stuff, embroidered with gold and silken flowers. gold lace and galloon, as broad as your hand, were piled up on the sleeves, shoulder, and back, to such an extent that the original cloth was scarcely visible, and the hem of the caftan was most wondrously embroidered with splendid tulips, green, blue, and lilac roses, and all sorts of tinsel and precious stones. master michael felt himself quite another man in this caftan. the sultan had sent him a letter. the sultan had plainly written to him that he was to wear this caftan. this, therefore, was a command, and it was possible that the sultan might turn up to-morrow or the next day to see whether he was wearing this caftan, and would be angry if he hadn't got it on. he must needs therefore wear it continually. but this golden caftan did not go at all well with his coarse fur jacket, nor with his wooden sandals and lambskin cap. he was therefore obliged to send to tergoviste for a tailor who should make him a silk dolman, vest, and embroidered stockings to match the golden caftan. he also sent to kronstadt for a tasselled girdle, to braila for shoes and morocco slippers, and to tekas for an ermine kalpag with a heron's plume in it. of course, now that he was so handsomely dressed, it was quite out of the question for him to sit in a ramshackle old carriage, or to bestride a fifty-thaler nag. he therefore ordered splendid chargers to be sent to him from bessarabia, and had a gilded coach made for him in transylvania; and when the carriage and the horses were there, he could not put them into the muddy wagon-shed and the sparrow-frequented, rush-thatched stable, but had to make good stone coach-houses and stables expressly for them. now, it would have looked very singular, and, in fact, disgusting, if the stable and coach-house had been better than the castle, whose shingle roof was a mass of variegated patches and gaping holes where the mortar had fallen out and left the bricks bare; so there was nothing for it but to pull down the old castle, and to order his steward to build up a new one in its place, and make it as beautiful and splendid as his fancy could suggest. thus the whole order of the world he lived in was transformed by a golden caftan. the steward embellished the castle with golden lattices, turrets, ornamental porches and winding staircases; put conservatories in the garden, planted projecting rondelles and soaring belvederes at the corners of the castle and a regular tower in the middle of it, and painted all the walls and ceilings inside with green forests and crooked-beaked birds. of course, he couldn't put inside such a place as this the old rustic furniture and frippery, so he had to purchase the large, high, shining hump-backed arm-chairs, the gold-stamped leather sofas, and the lion-legged marble tables which were then at the height of fashion. of course, turkey carpets had to be laid on the floor, and silver candelabra and beakers placed upon the magnificent tables; and in order that these same turkey carpets might not be soiled by the muddy boots of farmyard hinds, a whole series of new servants had to be invented, such as footmen to stand behind the new carriage, cooks for the kitchen, and a special gardener for the conservatories, who, instead of looking after the honest, straightforward citron-trees and pumpkins, had gingerly to plant out cactuses and egyptian thistles like dry stalks, in pots, whence, also, it came about that as there was now a regular gardener and a regular cook, pretty mariska had no longer any occasion to concern herself either with garden or kitchen, nor did she go any more to the village rector to learn reading or writing, but they had to get her a french governess from whom she learnt good taste, elegant manners, embroidery, and harp-strumming. and all these things were the work of the golden caftan! chapter ii. maidens three. the family banner had scarce been hoisted on to the high tower of the new castle, the rumour of mariska's loveliness and her father's millions had scarce been spread abroad, when the courtyard began to be all ablaze with the retinues and equipages of the most eminent zhupans,[ ] voivodes,[ ] and princes; but master michael had resolved within himself beforehand that nobody less than the reigning prince of moldavia should ever receive his daughter's hand, and stolidly he kept to his resolution. [footnote : a servian prince.] [footnote : a roumanian prince.] now the reigning prince of moldavia no doubt had an illustrious name enough, but he also had inherited a very considerable load of debt, and what with the eternal exactions of the tartars, and the presents expected by all the leading pashas, and other disturbing causes, he saw his people growing poorer and poorer, and his own position becoming more and more precarious every year. he therefore did not keep worthy master michael waiting very long when he heard, on excellent authority, that there was being reserved for him in wallachia a beautiful and accomplished virgin, who would bring to her husband a dowry of a couple of millions, in addition to an uncorrupted heart and an old ancestral title. so, gathering together all the boyars, retainers, and officers of his court, he set off a-wooing to rumnik, where he was well received by the father, satisfied himself as to the young lady's good graces, demanded her hand in marriage, and, allowing an adequate delay for the preliminaries of the wedding, fixed the glad event for the first week after easter. master michael, meantime, could think of nothing else but how he could cut as magnificent a figure as possible on the occasion. he invited to the banquet all the celebrities in moldavia, servia, bosnia, and transylvania. he did not even hesitate to hire from versailles one of louis xiv.'s cooks, to regulate the order and quality of the dishes. on the day of the banquet the good gentleman was visible everywhere, and saw to everything himself. quite early, arrayed in the golden caftan, the heron-plumed kalpag, and the tasselled girdle, he strutted about the courtyard, corridors and chambers, distributing his orders and receiving his guests; and his heart fluttered when he beheld the courtyard filling with carriages, each one more brilliant than its predecessor, escorted by gold-bedizened cavaliers, from which silver-laced heydukes assisted noble ladies, in splendid pearl-embroidered costumes, to descend. there was such a rustling of silk dresses, such a rattling of swords, and such an endless procession of elegant and magnificent forms up the staircase, as to make the heart of the beholder rejoice. master michael rushed hither and thither, and pride and humility were strangely blended on his face. he assured all he welcomed how happy they made him by honouring his poor dwelling with their presence; but the voice with which he said this betrayed the conviction that not one of his guests had quitted a home as splendid as his own poor dwelling. then he plunged into the robing-chamber of the bride, where tire-women, fetched all the way from vienna, had been decking out mariska from early dawn. it gave them no end of trouble to adjust her jewels and her gewgaws, and if they had heaped upon the fair bride all that her father had purchased for her, she would have been unable to move beneath the weight of her gems. thence the good man rushed off to the banqueting-room, where his domestics had been busy making ready two rows of tables in five long halls. "here shall sit the bride! that arm-chair to the right of her is for the patriarch--it is his proper place. on the left will sit prince michael apafi. he is to have the green-embossed chair, with the golden cherubim. the bridegroom will sit on the right hand of the patriarch. you must give him that round, armless seat, so that he cannot lean back, but must hold himself proudly erect. over there you must place paul béldi and his spouse, for they are always wont to sit together. their daughter aranka will also be there, and she must sit between them on that little blue velvet stool. opposite to them the silk sofa is for achmed pasha and feriz beg, recollect that they won't want knife or fork. the dean must have that painted stone bench, for a wooden bench would break beneath him, and no chair will hold him. the three-and-thirty priests must be placed all together over there--you must put none else beside them, or they would be ashamed to eat. don't forget to pile up wreaths of flowers on the silver salvers; and remember there are peculiar reasons for not placing a pitcher of wine before michael teleki. achmed pasha must have a sherbet-bowl placed beside the can from which he drinks his wine, and then folks will fancy he is not transgressing the koran. place goblets of venetian crystal before the ladies, and golden beakers before the gentlemen, the handsomest before teleki and bethlen, the commoner sort before the others, as they are wont to dash them against the walls. the bridegroom should have the slenderest beaker of all, for he'll have to pledge everyone, and i want no harm to befall him. mind what i say!" nearly all the wedding guests had now assembled. only two families were still expected, the apafis and the telekis, whom master michael in his pride wished to see at his table most of all. he glanced impatiently into the courtyard every time he heard the roll of a carriage, and the staircase lacqueys had strict injunctions to let him know as soon as they saw the prince's carriage approaching. at last the rumbling of wheels was heard. master michael went all the way to the gate to receive his guests, shoving aside all the vehicles in his way, and bawling to the sentinels on the tower to blow the trumpets as soon as ever they beheld the carriage on the road. the goodly host of guests also thronged the balconies, the turrets, and the rondelles, to catch a glance at the new arrivals, and before very long two carriages, each drawn by four horses, turned the corner of the well-wooded road, carriages supported on each side by footmen, lest they should topple over, and escorted by a brilliant banderium of prancing horsemen. they were instantly recognised as the carriages of the prince and his prime minister, and the voices of the trumpets never ceased till the splendid, gilded, silk-curtained vehicles had lumbered into the courtyard, although the master of the castle was already awaiting them at the outer, sculptured gate, and himself hastened to open the carriage door, doffing first of all his ermine kalpag. but he popped it on again, considerably nonplussed, when, on opening the carriage, a beardless bit of a boy, to all appearance, leapt out of it all alone, and there was not a trace of the prince to be seen in the carriage. perhaps he had dismounted at the foot of the hill in order to complete the journey on foot, as master michael himself was in the habit of doing every time he took a drive in his coach, for fear of an accident. but the youthful jack-in-the-box lost no time in dispelling all rising suspicions by quickly introducing himself. "i am emeric tököly," said he, "whom his highness the prince has sent to your worship as his representative to take part in the festivities, and at the same time to express his regret that he was not able to appear personally, but only to send his hearty congratulations, inasmuch as her highness the princess is just now in good hopes, by the grace of god, of presenting her consort with an heir, and consequently his highness does not feel himself capable of enduring the amenities which under these circumstances ali pasha might at such a time think fit to force upon him. nevertheless he wishes your worship, with god's will, all imaginable felicity." master michael did not exactly know whether to say "i am very glad" or "i am very sorry;" and in the meanwhile, to gain time, was turning towards the second carriage, when emeric tököly suddenly intercepted him. "i was also to inform your worship that his excellency michael teleki, having unexpectedly received the command to invade hungary with all the forces of transylvania, has sent, instead of himself, his daughter flora to do honour to your worship, much regretting that, because of the command aforesaid, which will brook neither objection nor delay, he has been obliged to deny himself the pleasure personally to press your worship's hand and exchange the warm kiss of kinsmanship; but if your worship will entrust me with both the handshake and the kiss, i will give your worship his and take back to him your worship's." the good old gentleman was absolutely delighted with the young man's patriarchal idea, forgot the sour and solemn countenance which he had expressly put on in honour of the prince, and, falling on the neck of the graceful young gentleman, hugged and kissed him so emphatically that the latter could scarcely free himself from his embraces; then, taking flora teleki, the youth's reported _fiancée_, on one arm, and emeric himself on the other, he conducted them in this guise among his other guests, and they were the first to whom he introduced his daughter in all her bridal array. a stately, slender brunette was mariska, her face as pale as a lily, her eyes timidly cast down, as, leaning on her lady companion's arm, and tricked out in her festal costume, she appeared before the expectant multitude. the beauty of her rich black velvet tresses was enhanced by interwoven strings of real pearls; her figure, whose tender charms were insinuated rather than indicated by her splendid oriental dress, would not have been out of place among a group of naiads; and that superb carriage, those haughty eyebrows, those lips of hers full of the promise of pleasure, suited very well with her bashful looks and timid movements. amongst the army of guests there was one man who towered above the others--tall, muscular, with broad shoulders, dome-like breast, and head proudly erect, whose long locks, like a rich black pavilion, flowed right down over his shoulders. his thick dark eyebrows and his coal-black moustache gave an emphatically resolute expression to his dark olive-coloured face, whose profile had an air of old roman distinction. this was the bridegroom, prince ghyka. when the father of the bride introduced the new arrivals to the other guests, his first action was to present them to prince ghyka, not forgetting to relate how courteously the young count had executed his commission as to the transfer of the kisses, which, having been received with general hilarity, suggested a peculiarly bold idea to the flighty young man. while he was being embraced by one after the other, and passed on from hand to hand so to speak, he suddenly stood before the trembling bride, who scarce dared to cast a single furtive look upon him, and, greeting her in the style of the most chivalrous french courtesy, at the same time turning towards the bystanders with a proud, not to say haughty smile, pardonable in him alone, said, with an amiable _abandon_: "inasmuch as i have been solemnly authorised to be the bearer of kisses, i imagine i shall be well within my rights if i deliver personally the kisses which my kinswomen, princess apafi and dame teleki have charged me to convey to the bride." and before anyone had quite taken in the meaning of his concluding words, the handsome youth, with that fascinating impertinence with which he was wont to subdue men and women alike, bent over the charming bride, and while her face blushed for a moment scarlet red, imprinted a noiseless kiss upon her pure marble forehead. and this he did with such grace, with such tender sprightliness, that nothing worse than a light smile appeared upon the most rigorous faces present. then, turning to the company with a proud smile of self-confidence on his face: "i hope," said he, tucking flora teleki's hand under his arm, "that the presence of my _fiancée_ is a sufficient guarantee of the respect with which i have accomplished this item of my mission." at this there was a general outburst of laughter amongst the guests. any sort of absurdity could be forgiven emeric, for he managed even his most practical jokes so amiably that it was impossible to be angry with him. but the cheeks of two damsels remained rosy-red--mariska's and flora's. women don't understand that sort of joke. the bridegroom, half-smiling, half-angry, stroked his fine moustache. "come, come, my lad," said he, "you have been quicker in kissing my bride than i have been myself." but now the reverend gentlemen intervened, the bells rang, the bridesmaids and the best men took possession of the bride and bridegroom, the ceremony began, and nobody thought any more of the circumstance, except, perhaps, two damsels, whose hearts had been pricked by the thoughtless pleasantry, one of them as by the thorn of a rose, the other as by the sting of a serpent. and now, while for the next hour and a half the marriage ceremony, with the assistance of the most reverend patriarch, the venerable archdeacon, three-and-thirty reverend gentlemen of the lower clergy, and just as many secular dignitaries, is solemnly and religiously proceeding, we will remain behind in the ante-chamber, and be indiscreet enough to worm out the contents of the two well-sealed letters which have just been brought in hot haste from kronstadt for emeric tököly by a special courier, who stamped his foot angrily when he was told that he must wait till the count came out of church. one of the letters was from michael teleki, and its contents pretty much as follows:-- "my dear sir and son, "our affairs are in the best possible order. during the last few days our army, , strong, quitting gyulafehervár, has gone to await achmed pasha's forces near déva, and will thence proceed to unite with kiuprile's host. war, indeed, is inevitable; and transylvania must be gloriously in the forefront of it. do not linger where you are, but try and overtake us. it would be superfluous for me to remind you to take charge of my daughter flora on the way. god bless you. "michael teleki. "_datum albæ juliæ._ "p.s.--her highness the princess awaits a safe delivery from the mercy of god. his highness the prince has just finished a very learned dissertation on the orbits of the planets." the second letter was in a fine feminine script, but one might judge from it that that hand knew how to handle a sword as well as a pen. it was to the following effect:-- "my dear friend, "i have received your letter, and this is my answer to it. i can give you no very credible news in writing, either about myself or the affairs of the realm. a lover can do everything and sacrifice everything, even to life itself, for his love. (you will understand that this reference to love refers not to me, a mournful widow, but to another mournful widow, who is also your mother.) i do not judge men by what they say, but by what they do. all the same, i have every reason to think well of you, and i shall be delighted if the future should justify my good opinion of you. "your faithful servant, "ilona. "p.s.--i shall spend midsummer at the baths of mehadia." the noble bridal retinue, merrily conversing, now returned from the chapel to the castle, the very sensible arrangement obtaining, that when the guests sat down to table each damsel was to be escorted to her seat by a selected cavalier known to be not displeasing to her. the only exceptions to this rule were the right reverend brigade, and achmed pasha and feriz beg, the two turkish magnates present, whose grave dignity restrained them from participating in this innocent species of gallantry. first of all, as the representative of the prince of transylvania, came emeric tököly, conducting the aged mother of the bridegroom, the princess ghyka; after him came paul béldi, leading the bride by the hand. béldi's wife was escorted by the master of the house, and her pretty little golden-haired daughter aranka hung upon her left arm. feriz beg was standing in the vestibule with a grave countenance till aranka appeared. the little girl, on perceiving the youth, greeted him kindly, whereupon feriz sighed deeply, and followed her. the bridegroom led the beautiful flora teleki by the hand. on reaching the great hall, the company broke up into groups, the merriest of which was that which included flora, mariska, and aranka. "be seated, ladies and gentlemen! be seated!" cried the strident voice of the host, who, full of proud self-satisfaction, ran hither and thither to see that all the guests were in the places assigned to them. tököly was by the side of mariska, opposite to them sat the bridegroom, with flora teleki by his side. aranka was the _vis-à-vis_ of feriz beg. the banquet began. the endless loving-cup went round, the faces of the guests grew ever cheerier, the bride conversed in whispers with her handsome neighbour. opposite to them the bridegroom, with equal courtesy, exchanged from time to time a word with the fair flora, but the conversation thus begun broke down continually, and yet both the lady and the prince were persons of culture, and had no lack of mother-wit. but their minds were far away. their lips spoke unconsciously, and the prince grew ever gloomier as he saw his bride plunging ever more deeply into the merry chatter of her gay companion, and try as he might to entertain his own partner, the resounding laughter of the happy pair opposite drove the smile from his face, especially when flora also grew absolutely silent, so that the bridegroom was obliged, at last, to turn to the patriarch, who was sitting on his right, and converse with him about terribly dull matters. meanwhile, a couple of servian musicians began, to the accompaniment of a zithern, to sing one of their sad, monotonous, heroic songs. all this time achmed pasha had never spoken a word, but now, fired by the juice of the grape mediatized by his sherbet-bowl, he turned towards the singers and, beckoning them towards him, said in a voice not unlike a growl: "drop all that martial jumble and sing us instead something from one of our poets, something from hariri the amorous, something from gulestan!" at these words the face of feriz beg, who sat beside him, suddenly went a fiery red--why, he could not have told for the life of him. "do you know 'the lover's complaint,' for instance?" inquired the pasha of the musician. "i know the tune, but the verses have quite gone out of my head." "oh! as to that, feriz beg here will supply you with the words quickly enough if you give him a piece of parchment and a pen." feriz beg was preparing to object, with the sole result that all the women were down upon him immediately, and begged and implored him for the beautiful song. so he surrendered, and, tucking up the long sleeve of his dolman, set the writing materials before him and began to write. they who drink no wine are nevertheless wont to be intoxicated by the glances of bright eyes, and feriz, as he wrote, glanced from time to time at the fair face of aranka, who cast down her forget-me-not eyes shamefacedly at his friendly smile. so feriz beg wrote the verses and handed them to the musicians, and then everyone bade his neighbour hush and listen with all his ears. the musician ran his fingers across the strings of his zithern, and then began to sing the song of the turkish poet: "three lovely maidens i see, three maidens embracing each other; gentle, and burning, and bright--sun, moon, and star i declare them. let others adore sun and moon, but give me my star, my belovéd!" "when the sun leaves the heavens, her adorers are whelméd in slumber; when the moon quits the sky, sleep falls on the eyes of her lovers. but the fall of the star is the death of the man who adores her-- and oh! if _my_ load-star doth fall, machallah! i cease from the living!" general applause rewarded the song, which it was difficult to believe had not been made expressly for the occasion. "who would think," said paul béldi to the pasha, "that your people not only cut darts from reeds, but pens also, pens worthy of the poets of love?" "oh!" replied achmed, "in the hands of our poets, blades and harps are equally good weapons; and if they bound the laurel-wreath round the brows of hariri it was only to conceal the wounds which he received in battle." when the banquet was over, tököly, with courteous affability, parted from his fair neighbour, whom he immediately saw disappear in a window recess, arm-in-arm with flora. he himself made the circuit of the table in order that he might meet the fair aranka, but was stopped in mid-career by his host, who was so full of compliments that by the time tököly reached the girl, he found her leaning on her mother's arm engaged in conversation with the prince. aranka, feeling herself out of danger when she had only a married man to deal with, had quite regained her childish gaiety, and was making merry with the bridegroom. tököly, with insinuating grace, wormed his way into the group, and gradually succeeded in so cornering the prince, that he was obliged to confine his conversation to dame béldi, while tököly himself was fortunate enough to make aranka laugh again and again at his droll sallies. the prince was boiling over with venom, and was on the verge of forgetting himself and exploding with rage. fortunately, dame béldi, observing in time the tension between the two men, curtseyed low to them both, and withdrew from the room with her daughter. whereupon, the prince seized tököly's hand, and said to him with choleric jocosity: "if your excellency's own bride is not sufficient for you, will you at least be satisfied with throwing in mine, and do not try to sweep every girl you see into your butterfly-net?" tököly quite understood the bitter irony of these words, and replied, with a soft but offensively condescending smile: "my dear friend, your theory of life is erroneous. i see, from your face, that you are suffering from an overflow of bile. you have not had a purge lately, or been blooded for a long time." the prince's face darkened. he squeezed tököly's hand convulsively, and murmured between his teeth: "one way is as good as another. when shall we settle this little affair?" tököly shrugged his shoulders. "to-morrow morning, if you like." "very well, we'll meet by the cross." the two men had spoken so low that nobody in the whole company had noticed them, except feriz beg, who, although standing at the extreme end of the room with folded arms, had followed with his eagle eyes every play of feature, every motion of the lips of the whole group, including dame béldi and the girl, and who now, on observing the two men grasp each other's hands, and part from each other with significant looks, suddenly planted himself before them, and said simply: "do you want to fight a duel because of aranka?" "what a question?" said the prince evasively. "it will not be a duel," said feriz, "for there will be three of us there," and, with that, he turned away and departed. "how foolish these solemn men are," said tököly to himself, "they are always seeking sorrow for themselves. it would require only a single word to make them merry, and, in spite of all i do, they will go and spoil a joke. why, such a duel as this--all three against each other, and each one against the other two--was unknown even to the famous round table and to the courts of love. it will be splendid." at that moment the courier, who had brought the letters, forced his way right up to tököly, and said that he had got two important despatches for him. "all right, keep them for me, i'll read them to-morrow. i won't spoil the day with tiresome business." and so he kept it up till late at night with the merriest of the topers. only after midnight did he return to his room, and ordered the soldier who had brought the letters to wake him as soon as he saw the red dawn. chapter iii. three men. tököly's servant durst not go to sleep on the off-chance of awaking at dawn in order to arouse his master, and so the sky had scarcely begun to grow grey when he routed him up. emeric hastily dressed himself. a sort of ill-humour on his pale face was the sole reminder of the previous night's debauch. "here are the letters, sir," said the soldier. "leave me in peace with your letters," returned emeric roughly, "i have no time now to read your scribble. go down and saddle my horse for me, and tell the coachman to make haste and get the carriage ready, and have it waiting for me near the cross at the slope of the hill, and find out on your way down whether the old master of the house is up yet." the soldier pocketed the letter once more, and went down grumbling greatly, while emeric buckled on his sword and threw his pelisse over his shoulders. soon after the soldier returned and announced that master michael had been up long ago, because many of his guests had to depart before dawn, amongst them the prince, also the turkish gentleman; the bride was to follow them in the afternoon. "good," said emeric; "let the coachman wait for me in front of the dragmuili _csarda_.[ ] you had better bring with you some cold meat and wine, and we'll have breakfast on the way." and with that he hastened to the father of the bride, who, after embracing him heartily and repeatedly, with a great flux of tears, and kissing him again and again, and sending innumerable greetings through him to every eminent transylvanian gentleman, took an affectionate leave of him. [footnote : an inn.] tököly hastened to bestride his horse on hearing that his adversaries had been a little beforehand with him, and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped rapidly away. master michael looked after him in amazement so long as he could see him racing along the steep, hilly way, till he disappeared among the woods. a soldier followed him at a considerable distance. emeric, on reaching the cross, found his adversaries there already. feriz beg had brought with him achmed pasha's field-surgeon. tököly had only thought of breakfast, the prince had thought of nothing. "good morning," cried the count, leaping from his horse. the beg returned his salute with a solemn obeisance; the prince turned his back upon him. "let us go into the forest to find a nice clear space," said tököly; and off he set in silence, leading the way, while the soldiers followed at some distance, leading the horses by the bridles. after going about a hundred yards they came to a clear space, surrounded by some fine ash-trees. the prince signified to the soldiers to stop here, and, without a word, began to take off his dolman and mantle and tuck up his sleeves. it was a fine sight to behold these men--all three of them were remarkably handsome fellows. the prince was one of those vigorous, muscular shapes, whom nature herself seems specially to have created to head a host. as he rolled up the flapping sleeves of his gold-embroidered, calf-skin shirt, he displayed muscles capable of holding their own single-handed against a whole brigade, and the defiant look of his eye testified to his confidence in the strength of his arms, whose every muscle stood out like a hard tumour, while his fists were worthy of the heavy broadsword, whose blade was broadest towards its point. feriz beg, on discarding his dolman, rolled up the sleeves of his fine shirt of turkish linen to his shoulders, and drew from its sheath his fine damascus scimitar, which was scarce two inches broad, and so flexible that you could have bent it double in every direction like a watch-spring. his arms did not seem to be over-encumbered with muscles, but at the first movement he made, as he lightly tested his blade, a whole array of steel springs and stone-hard sinews, or so they seemed to be, suddenly started up upon his arm, revealing a whole network of highly-developed sinews and muscles. his face was fixed and grave. only emeric seemed to take the whole affair as a light joke. with a smile he drew up his lace-embroidered shirt of holland linen, bound up his hair beneath his kalpag, and folded his well-rounded arms, whose feminine whiteness, plastic, regular symmetry, and slender proportions, gave no promise whatever of anything like manly strength. his sword came from a famous newcastle arms manufactory, and was made of a certain dark, lilac-coloured steel, somewhat bent, and with a very fine point. "my friends," said emeric, turning towards his opponents, "as there are three of us in this contest, and each one of the three must fight the other two, let us lay down some rule to regulate the encounter." "i'll fight the pair of you together," said the prince haughtily. "i'll also fight one against two," retorted feriz. "then each one for himself and everybody against everybody else," explained tököly. "that will certainly be amusing enough; in fact, a new sort of encounter altogether, though hardly what gentlemen are used to. now, i should consider it much nobler if we fought against each other singly, and when one of us falls, the victor can renew the combat with the man in reserve." "i don't mind, only the sooner the better," said the prince impatiently, and took up his position on the ground. "stop, my friend; don't you know that we cannot commence this contest without feriz?" "pooh! i didn't come here as a spectator," cried the prince passionately; "besides, i have nothing to do with the beg." "but i have to do with you," interrupted feriz. "well," said tököly, "i myself do not know what has offended him, but he chose to intervene, and such challenges as his are wont to be accepted without asking the reason why. no doubt he has private reasons of his own." "you may stop there," interrupted feriz. "let fate decide." "by all means," observed the count, drawing forth three pieces of money impressed with the image of king sigismund--a gold coin, a silver coin, and a copper coin--and handed them to the turkish leech. "take these pieces of money, my worthy fellow, and throw them into the air. the gold coin is the prince, the copper coin is myself. whichever two of the three coins come down on the same side, their representatives will fight first." the leech flung the pieces into the air, and the gold and silver pieces came down on the same side. the prince beckoned angrily to feriz. "come, the sooner the better. apparently i must have this little affair off my hands before i can get at tököly." tököly motioned to the leech to keep the pieces of money and have his bandages ready. "bandages!" said the prince ironically. "it's not first blood, but last blood, i'm after." and now the combatants stood face to face. for a long time they looked into each other's eyes, as if they would begin the contest with the darts of flashing glances, and then suddenly they fell to. the prince's onset was as furious as if he would have crushed his opponent in the twinkling of an eye with the heavy and violent blows which he rained upon him with all his might. but feriz beg stood firmly on the self-same spot where he had first planted his feet, and though he was obliged to bend backwards a little to avoid the impact of the terrible blows, yet his slender damascus scimitar, wove, as it were, a tent of lightning flashes all around him, defending him on every side, and flashing sparks now hither, now thither, whenever it encountered the antagonistic broadsword. the prince's face was purple with rage. "miserable puppy!" he thundered, gnashing his teeth; and, pressing still closer on his opponent, he dealt him two or three such terrible blows that the beg was beaten down upon one knee, and, the same instant, a jet of blood leaped suddenly from somewhere into the face of the prince, who thereupon staggered back and let fall his sword. in the heat of the duel he had not noticed that he had been wounded. whilst raining down a torrent of violent blows upon his antagonist, he incautiously struck his own hand, so to speak, on the sword of feriz beg, just below the palm where the arteries are, and the wound which severed the sinews of the wrist constrained him to drop his sword. tököly at once rushed forward. "you are wounded, prince!" he cried. the leech hastened forward with the bandages, the dark red blood spurted from the severed arteries like a fountain, and the prince's face grew pale in an instant. but scarcely had the surgeon bound up his wounded right hand than his eye kindled again, and, turning to emeric, he cried: "i have still a hand left, and i can fight with it. put my sword into my left hand, and i'll fight to the last drop of my blood." "don't be impatient, prince," said emeric courteously; "ill-luck is your enemy to-day, but as soon as you are cured you may command me, and i will be at your service." the prince, who was already tottering, leaned heavily on his soldiers, who hastened towards him and conveyed him half unconscious to the carriage awaiting him. his wound was much worse than it had seemed at first, and there was no knowing whether it would not prove mortal. only two combatants now remained in the field--emeric and feriz. the beg was still standing in his former place, and beckoned in dumb show to emeric to come on. "pardon me, my worthy comrade," said the count, "you are a little fatigued, and a combat between us would be unfair if i, who have rested, should fight with you now. come, plump down on the grass for a little beside me. my man has brought some cold provisions for the journey; let us have a few mouthfuls together first, and then we can fight it out at our ease." this nonchalant proposal seemed to please feriz, and, leaning his sword against a tree, he sat down in the grass, whilst emeric's servant unpacked the cold meat and the fruit which he had brought for his master, together with a silver calabash-shaped flask full of wine. emeric returned the flask to the soldier. "look you, my son," said he, "you can drink the wine, and then fill the flask with spring water, for feriz beg does not drink wine, and there are no other drinking utensils; i, therefore, will also drink water, and so we shall be equal." feriz beg was pleased with his comrade's free and easy behaviour, took willingly of the food piled up before him, and not only drank out of the same flask, but even answered questions when they were put to him. a faint scar was visible on the forehead of the young beg, which the fold of his turban did not quite conceal. "did you get that wound from a magyar?" inquired the count. "no, from an italian, on the isle of candia." "i thought so at once. a magyar does not cut with the point of his sword. i see the hand of an italian fencing-master in it. i can even tell you the position you were in when you received it. the enemy was beside you, in front of you, on your right hand, and on your left. now you employed that masterly circular stroke which you have just now displayed, whereby you can defend yourself on all sides at once. then the foe in front of you suddenly rose in his saddle, and with a blow which you did not completely ward off, scarred your forehead with the point of his sword." "it was just like that." "it is one of the master-strokes of basanella, and very carefully you have to watch it, for there is scarce any defence against it; the sword seems to strike up and down in the same instant, as if it were a sickle, and however high you may hold your own sword, the blow breaks through your defence. there is, indeed, only one defence against it, and that the simplest in the world--dodge back your head." "you are quite right," said feriz beg smiling, and after washing his hands, he again took up his sword, "let us make an end of it." "i don't mind," said tököly; and lightly drawing his own sword with his delicate white hand, just as if it were a gewgaw which he was disengaging from its case to present to a lady, he took up his position on the ground. "just one word more," said tököly with friendly candour. "when you fight with a single opponent, do not rush forward as if you were on a battlefield and had to do with ten men at least, for in so doing you expend much force uselessly, and allow your opponent to come up closer; rather elongate your sword and allow only your hand to play freely." "i thank you for the advice," said feriz smiling. had it been anybody else he would probably have thrust back the advice into his face. but emeric imparted it to him with such a friendly, comrade-like voice as if they had only come there for the fun of the thing. then the combat began. feriz beg, with his usual impetuosity, pressed upon his adversary as if he would pay him back his amicable counsels in kind; while tököly calmly, composedly smiling, flung back the most violent assaults of his rival as if it were a mere sport to him, so lightly, so confidently did his sword turn in his hand, with so much finished grace did he accompany every movement--in fact, he hardly seemed to make any exertion. the most violent blows aimed at him by feriz beg he parried with the lightest twist of his sword, and not once did he counter, so that at last feriz beg, involuntarily overcome by rage, fell back and lowered his sword. "you are only playing with me. why don't you strike back?" "twice you might have received from me basanella's master-stroke, so impetuously do you fight." in a duel nothing is so wounding as the supercilious self-restraint of an opponent. feriz beg grew quite furious at tököly's cold repose, and flung himself upon his opponent as if absolutely beside himself. "let us see whether you are the devil or not," he cried. at the same instant, when he had advanced a pace nearer to tököly, the latter suddenly stretched forth his sword and at the instant when he parried his opponent's blow, he made a scarce perceptible backward and upward jerk with the point of his sword, and at that same instant a burning red line was visible on the temples of feriz beg. the young turk lowered his sword in surprise as his face, immediately after the unnoticed stroke, began to bleed. tököly flung away his sword and, tearing out his white pocket-handkerchief, rushed suddenly towards his opponent, stanched the wound with the liveliest sympathy, and said, in a voice tremulous with the most naïve apprehension: "look now! didn't i tell you all along to watch for that stroke?" by this time the leech had also come up with the bandages, and examining the wound, observed consolingly: "a soldierly affair. only the skin is pierced. in three days you will be all right." tököly, full of joy, pressed the hand of feriz beg. "henceforth we will be good friends," said he. "before god, i protest i never gave you the slightest cause of offence." "i shall rejoice in your friendship," said feriz solemnly, "but if you wish it to last, listen to my words: never approach a girl whom you do not love in order to make her love you, and if you are loved, love in return and make her happy." "you have my word of honour on it, feriz," replied tököly. "of all the girls whom i have seen since i knew you, not one of them have i loved, and by none of them do i want to be loved." feriz beg could not refrain from shaking his head and smiling. "apparently you forget that your own bride was among them." tököly bit his lips in some confusion, and answered nothing; he thought it best to pass off this slip of the tongue as a mere jest. then the two reconciled antagonists embraced and returned to the roadside cross. tököly constrained the beg to take his coach and go on to ibraila, while he himself mounted his horse, and taking leave of feriz, took the road leading to the pass of bozza. the soldier-courier now fancied it was high time that the urgent letters, of which he was the bearer, should be read, and accordingly asked his master about it. "well, where are your two letters?" asked the count very languidly. "there are not two, sir, but three." "what! have they multiplied?" "miss flora gave me the third half an hour before she took coach to go home." "then she has gone on before, eh? well, let us see what they write about." teleki's was the first letter which emeric perused; he glanced through it rapidly, as if it had no very great claim upon his attention. when he came to that part of it where he was told to look after flora, he paused for a little. "well, i can easily overtake her," he thought, and he took the second letter, which was subscribed with the name of helen. twice he perused it, and then he returned to it a third time, and his face grew visibly redder. involuntarily he sighed as he thrust the letter into his breast pocket just above his heart, and looked sadly in front of him, as if he were listening to the beating of his own heart. then he broke open the third letter. it contained an engagement ring, nothing else. that was all--not a single accompanying word or letter. for an instant emeric held it in his hand in blank amazement; his steed stopped also. for some minutes his face was pale and his head hung down. but in another instant he was again upright in his saddle, and he exclaimed in a voice loud enough to be heard afar: "well, it's not coming off then, so much the better!" then he threw away the envelope in which the ring had been, and drawing out the letter which he had thrust into his bosom, he put the ring into it and then returned it to his bosom; then, with a glowing face, he turned his horse's head and, in the best of humours, called to his soldier: "we will not go to transylvania. back to mehadia!" chapter iv. affairs of state. the year was a few weeks older since we saw tököly depart from rumnik, after reading the three letters, and behold, michael teleki still lingered at gyulafehervár, and had _not_ gone with the transylvanian forces to déva. he had been feeling ill for some days, and had not been able to leave his room. a slow fever tormented his limbs, his face had lost its colour, he was hardly able to hold himself up, and every joint ached whenever he moved. he had need of repose, but not a single moment could he have to himself, and just when he would have liked to have shown the door to every worry and bother, the prince at one moment, and the turkish ambassador at another, were continually pressing their affairs upon him. at that moment his crony nalaczi was with him, standing at the window, while teleki sat in an arm-chair. all his members were shaken by the ague, his breath was burning hot, his face was as pale as wax, and he could scarce keep his lips together. by his chair stood his page--young cserei--whilst huddled up in a corner on one side was a scarce visible figure which clung close to the wall with as miserable, shamefaced an expression as if it would have liked to crawl right into it and be hidden. what with the darkness and its own miserableness, we should scarce recognise this shape if teleki did not chance to give it a name, railing at it, from time to time, as if it were a lifeless log, without even looking at it, for, in truth, his back was turned upon it. "i tell you, master szénasi, you are an infinitely useless blockhead----" "i humbly beg----" "don't beg anything. here have i, worse luck, been entrusting you with a small commission, in order that you might impart some wholesome information to the people, and instead of that you go and fool them with all sorts of old wives' stories." "begging your excellency's pardon, i thought----" "thought? what business had you to think? you thought, perhaps, you were doing me a service with your nonsense, eh?" "mr. nalaczi said as much, your excellency." mr. nalaczi seemed to be sitting on thorns all this while. "now just see what a big fool you are," interrupted teleki. "mr. nalaczi _may_ have told you, for what i know, that it might be well for you to use your influence with the common people by mentioning before them the wonders which have recently taken place, and thereby encouraging them to be loyal and friendly to each other, but i am sure he did not tell you to manufacture wonders on your own account, and terrify the people by spreading abroad rumours of coming war." "i thought----" here he stopped short, the worthy man was quite incapable at that moment of completing his sentence. "thought! you thought, i suppose, that just as i was collecting armies, you would do me a great service by preaching war? so far as i am concerned, i should like to see every sword buried in the earth." "begging your excellency's pardon----" "get out of my sight. never let me see you again. in three days you must leave transylvania, or else i'll send you out, and you won't thank me for that." "may i humbly ask what i am to do if your excellency withdraws your favour from me?" whined the fellow. "you may do as you like. go to szathmár and become the lacquey of baron kopp, or the scribe of master kászonyi. i'm just going to write to them. i'll mention your name in my letter, and you can take it." "and if they won't accept me?" "then you must tack on to someone else, anyhow you shan't starve. only get out of my sight as quickly as possible." the "magister" withdrew in fear and trembling, wiping his eyes with his pocket-handkerchief. "sir," said nalaczi, when they were alone together, "this violence does harm." "the only way with such fellows is to bully them whatever they do, for they are deceivers and traitors at heart, and would otherwise do you mischief. kick and beat them, chivy them from pillar to post, and make them feel how wretched their lot is, if you don't want them to play off their tricks upon you." "i don't see it in that light. this irritability will do you no good." "on the contrary it keeps me up. if i had not always given vent to my feelings i should have been lying on a sick-bed long ago. take these few thalers, go after that good-for-nothing, and tell him that i am very angry with him, and therefore he must try in future to deserve my confidence better, in which case i shall not forget him. tell him to wait in the gate for the letter i am about to write, and when once he has it in his hand let him get out of transylvania as speedily as he can. remind him that i don't yet know about what happened in the square at klausenberg, and if i did know i would have him flogged out of the realm; so let him look sharp about it." nalaczi laughed and went out. teleki sank back exhausted on his pillows, and made his page rub the back of his neck violently with a piece of flannel. at that instant the prince entered. his face was wrath, and all because of his sympathy. he began scolding teleki on the very threshold. "why don't you lie down when i command you? does it beseem a grown-up man like you to be as disobedient as a capricious child? why don't you send for the doctor; why don't you be blooded?" "there is nothing the matter with me, your highness. it is only a little _hæmorrhoidalis alteratio_. i am used to it. it always plagues me at the approach of the equinoxes." "ai, ai, michael teleki, you don't get over me. you are very ill, i tell you. your mental anxiety has brought about this physical trouble. does it become a christian man, i ask, to take on so because my little friend flora cannot have one particular man out of fifteen wooers, and a fellow like emeric, too--a mere dry stick of a man." "i don't give it any particular importance." "you are a bad christian, i tell you, if you say that. you love neither god nor man; neither your family, nor me----" "sir!" said teleki, in a supplicating voice. "for if you did love us, you would spare yourself and lie down, and not get up again till you were quite well again." "but if i lie down----" "yes, i know--other things will have a rest too. the bottom of the world isn't going to fall out, i suppose, because you keep your bed for a day or two. come! look sharp! i will not go till i see you lying on your bed." what could teleki do but lie down at the express command of his sovereign. "and you won't get up again without my permission, mind," said the prince, signalling to young cserei, and addressing the remainder of his discourse to him. "and you, young man, take care that your master does not leave his bed, do you hear? i command it, and, till he is quite well, don't let him do any hard work, whether it be reading, writing, or dictation. you have my authorisation to prevent it, and you must rigorously do your duty. you will also allow nobody to enter this room, except the doctor and the members of the family. now, mind what i say! as for you, master teleki, you will wrap yourself well up and get yourself well rubbed all over the body with a woollen cloth, clap a mustard poultice on your neck and keep it there as long as you can bear it, and towards evening have a hot bath, with salt and bran in it; and if you won't have a vein opened put six leeches on your temples, and the doctor will tell you what else to do. and in any case don't fail to take some of these _pilulæ de cynoglosso_. their effect is infallible." whereupon the prince pressed into teleki's hand a box full of those harmless medicaments which, under the name of dog's-tongue pills, were then the vogue in all domestic repositories. "all will be well, your highness." "let us hope so! towards evening i will come and see you again." and then the prince withdrew with an air of satisfaction, thinking that he had given the fellow a good frightening. scarce had he closed the door behind him than teleki beckoned to cserei to bring him the letters which had just arrived. the page regarded him dubiously. "the prince forbade me to do so," he observed conscientiously. "the prince loves to have his joke," returned the counsellor. "i like my joke, too, when i've time for it. break open those letters and read them to me." "but what will the prince say?" "it is i who command you, my son, not the prince. read them, i say, and don't mind if you hear me groan." cserei looked at the seal of one of the letters and durst not break it open. "your excellency, that is a _secretum sigillum_." "break it open like a man, i say. such secrets are not dangerous to you; you are a child to be afraid of such things." cserei opened the letter, and glancing at the signature, stammered in a scarce audible voice: "leopoldus."[ ] [footnote : _i.e._ the emperor leopold.] teleki, resting on his elbows, listened attentively. "your highness and my well-disposed friend--i have heard from baron mendenzi kopp and worthy master kászonyi of your excellency's good dispositions towards me and christendom, and your readiness to help in the present disturbances. all my own efforts will be directed to the preservation of the rights and liberties of the christian princes, so that there may not be the slightest occasion that the turkish war should extend, and that the whole power of the ottoman empire should be hurled on me and my dominions. but i hope that the fury of these barbarians, by the combination of the foreign kings and princes, shall, with god's assistance, be so opposed and thwarted as to make them turn back from the league of the combined faithful hosts. meanwhile, i assure your excellency and the estates of transylvania of my protection, so long as you continue well-disposed towards me, and i entrust the maintenance of this good understanding between us to messrs. the illustrious baron kopp and the honourable mr. kászonyi. wishing your excellency good health and all manner of good fortune, etc., etc." cserei looked at the doors and windows in terror, for fear someone might be listening. "and now let us read the second letter." cserei's top-knot regularly began to sweat when he recognised at the bottom of the opened letter the signature of the grand vizier, who thus wrote to the prince: "most illustrious prince, hearty love and greeting!--we would inform thee of our grace and favour that we have sent a part of our army to the assistance of the imprisoned heroes in our most mighty master the sultan's fortress of nyitra, where the faithless foe are besieging them. it is therefore necessary that thou with thy whole host and all the necessary muniments of war should hasten thither without loss of time, so as to unite both in heart and deed with our warriors, who are on their way against the enemy. we believe that by the grace of god thou wilt be ready to render useful service to the mighty sultan, and so be entitled to participate in his favour and liberality. we, moreover, after the end of the solemn feast days which we are wont to keep after our fasts are over, will follow our advance guards with our countless hosts, and thou meanwhile must manfully take this business in hand, so that thy loyalty may shine the more gloriously in martial deeds. peace be to those who are in the obedience of god." poor cserei, when he had read this letter through, had a worse fit of ague than his master. he anxiously watched the face of the statesman, but the only thing visible in his features was bodily suffering. there was no sign of mental disturbance. the blood flew to his face, the veins were throbbing visibly in his temples. "come hither, my son," he said in a scarcely audible voice; "bring me a glass of water, put into it as much rhubarb powder as would go on the edge of a knife, and give it me to drink." cserei fancied that the sick premier had not mastered the contents of the letter because of a fresh access of fever, and, having prepared the rhubarb water in a few moments, gave it him to drink, whereupon teleki crouched down beneath his coverlet. he could have done nothing better, for now the ague burst forth again, so that he regularly shivered beneath its attack. cserei wanted to run for a doctor. "whither are you going?" asked teleki. "fetch ink and parchment, and write." the lad obeyed his command marvelling. "bring hither the round table and sit down beside it. write what i tell you." the pen shook in the lad's hand, and he kept dipping it into the sand instead of into the ink. teleki, in a broken voice, dictated a letter as well as the fever would allow him. "most exalted grand vizier and well-beloved sir,--we learn from your highness's dispatch that the armies of the sublime sultan who have lately been besieging the fortress of nyitra are now endeavouring to combine their forces, and though this realm has but a meagre possession of the muniments of war remaining to it, we shall be prepared most punctually to hold at your highness's gracious disposition as much, though it be but little, forage, hay, and other necessary stores as we still possess, you making allowance for all inevitable defects and shortcomings. moreover, rumour has it that the hostile hosts are beginning to show themselves on the borders of transylvania, which irruption, though it be no secret, is yet to be confirmed, and should it be so we must meet it with all our attention and energy. as to this your highness shall be informed in good time, and in the meanwhile we commit you to god's gracious favour, etc., etc." cserei sighed and thought to himself: "i wonder whence all the hay and oats is to come?" but teleki knew very well that in consequence of last year's bad harvests and inundations the turkish army was suffering severely from want of hay, so that what with him was an occasion for delay, with them was an occasion for hurrying--whence we may draw the reflection that the great events of this world are built upon haycocks! "address the second letter," continued teleki, "to his excellency baron mendenzi kopp and to the honourable achatius kászonyi, commandants of the fortress of szathmár," and he thus went on dictating to cserei, whilst in the intervals of silence the groans which the ague forced from his breast were distinctly audible. "with joy we learn of the intention of your honours to endeavour to seize one of the gates of entrance of the enemy of our faith, through which he was always ready to come for our destruction. may the god of mercy forward the designs of your excellencies. if, on this occasion, your excellencies could also find time to make a feigned attack upon transylvania in order to give us a reasonable excuse of our inability to lend the turks the assistance they expect from us, you would make matters easier for us, and render us an essential service. on the other hand, if we should be compelled against our wills to send our soldiers against the christian camp, in conjunction with the enemies of our faith, we assure your excellencies that our host will be a purely nominal one, etc., etc. "p.s.--the bearer of this letter can be employed by your excellencies as a courier or otherwise." cserei looked with amazement at the man in whom mental vivacity seemed to rise triumphant even over the lassitude of fever. "take a third sheet of paper, and address it to the honourable ladislaus ebéni, lieutenant-governor of the fortress of klausenburg. "we hasten to inform your honour that preparations are being made by the commandant of the fortress of szathmár, which leads us to conjecture that he meditates making an irruption into transylvania. it may, of course, be merely a feint, but your honour would do well to be prepared and under arms, lest he have designs against us, and is not merely making a noise. we, meanwhile, will postpone the advance of our arms into hungary, lest, while we are attacking on one side, we leave transylvania defenceless on the other. once more we counsel your honour to use the utmost caution, etc." "and now take these letters and carry them to the prince, that he may sign them." "and what if he box my ears for allowing your excellency to dictate?" said the frightened lad. "never mind it, my son, you will have suffered for your country. i, too, have had buffets enough in my time, not only when i was a child, but since i have grown up." and with that he turned his face towards the wall and pulled the coverlet over him. fortunately cserei found apafi in the apartment of the consort, and thus avoided the box on the ear, got the letters signed, and dispatched them all in different directions, so that all three got into the proper hands in the shortest conceivable time. and now let us see the result. the grand vizier blasphemed when he had read his, and swore emphatically that if there were no hay in transylvania he would make hay of their excellencies. baron kopp and mr. kászonyi chuckled together over _their_ letter. the commandant murmured gruffly: "i don't care, so you needn't." mr. ebéni, however, on reading his letter, deposited it neatly among the public archives, growling angrily: "if i were to call the people to arms at every wild alarm or idle rumour, i should have nothing else to do all day long. it is a pity that teleki hasn't something better to do than to bother me continually with his scribble." chapter v. the day of grosswardein. in order that the horizon may stand clearly before us, it must be said that in those days there were two important points in hungary on the transylvanian border: grosswardein and szathmár-németi, which might be called the gates of transylvania--good places of refuge if their keys are in the hand of the realm, but all the more dangerous when the hands of strangers dispose of them. at this very time a german army was investing szathmár and the turks had sat down before grosswardein, and the plumed helmets of the former were regarded as as great a menace on the frontiers of the state as the half-moons themselves. the inhabitants of the regions enclosed between these fortresses never could tell by which road they were to expect the enemy to come. for in such topsy-turvy days as those were, every armed man was an enemy, from whom corn, cattle, and pretty women had to be hidden away, and their friendship cost as much as their enmity, and perhaps more; for if they found out at szathmár that some nice wagon-loads of corn and hay had been captured from local marauders without first beating their brains out, the magistrates would look in next day and impose a penalty; and again, on the other hand, if it were known at grosswardein that the szathmárians had been received hospitably at any gentleman's house, and the daughter of the house had spoken courteously to them, the turks would wait until the szathmárians had gone farther on and would then fall upon the house in question and burn it to the ground, so that the szathmárians should not be able to sleep there again; and, as for the daughter of the house, they would carry her off to a harem, in order to save her from any further discoursing with the magistrates of szathmár. and, last of all, there was a third enemy to be reckoned with, and this was the countless rabble of _betyárs_, or freebooters, who inhabited the whole region from the marshes of ecsed to the morasses of alibuner, and who gave no reason at all for driving off their neighbour's herds and even destroying his houses. in those days a certain feri kökényesdi had won renown as a robber chieftain, and extraordinary, marvellous tales were told in every village and on every _puszta_[ ] of him and the twelve robbers who followed his banner, and who were ready at a word to commit the most incredible audacities. people talked of their entrenched fortresses among the bélabora and alibuner marshes which were inaccessible to any mortal foe, and in which, even if surrounded on all sides, they could hold out against five regiments till the day of judgment. then there were tales of storehouses concealed among the cumanian sand-hills which could only be discovered by the scent of a horse; there were tales of a good steed who, after one watering, could gallop all the way from the theiss to the danube, who could recognise a foe two thousand paces off, and would neigh if his master were asleep or fondling his sweetheart in the tavern; there were tales of the gigantic strength of the robber chief who could tackle ten _pandurs_[ ] at once, and who, whenever he was pursued, could cause a sea to burst forth between himself and his pursuers, so that they would be compelled to turn back. [footnote : common.] [footnote : police officers.] as a matter of fact, mr. kökényesdi was neither a giant who turned men round his little finger nor a magician who threw dust in their eyes, but an honest-looking, undersized, meagre figure of a man and a citizen of hodmezö-vásárhely, in which place he had a house and a couple of farms, on which he conscientiously paid his portion of taxes; and he had bulls and stallions, as to every one of which he was able to prove where he had bought and how much he had paid for it. not one of them was stolen. yet everyone knew very well that neither his farms nor his bulls nor his stallions had been acquired in a godly way, and that the famous robber chief whose rumour filled every corner of the land was none other than he. but who could prove it? had anybody ever seen him steal? had he ever been caught red-handed? did he not always defend himself in the most brilliant manner whenever he was accused? when there was a rumour that kökényesdi was plundering the county of mármaros from end to end, did he not produce five or six eye-witnesses to prove that at that very time he was ploughing and sowing on his farms, and was not the judge at great pains to discover whether these witnesses were reliable? those who visited him at his native place of vásárhely found him to be a respected, worthy, well-to-do man, who tossed his own hay till the very palm of his hand sweated, while those who sought for kökényesdi on the confines of the realm never saw his face at all; it was indeed a very tiresome business to pursue him. that man was a brave fellow indeed who did not feel his heart beat quicker when he followed his track through the pathless morasses and the crooked sand-hills of the interminable _puszta_. and if two or three counties united to capture him, he would let himself be chased to the borders of the fourth county, and when he had leaped across it would leisurely dismount and beneath the very eyes of his pursuers, loose his horse to graze and lie down beside it on his _bunda_[ ]--for there was the turkish frontier, and he knew very well that beyond lippa they durst not pursue him, for there the pasha of temesvar held sway. [footnote : sheepskin mantle.] now, at this time there was among the garrison of szathmár a captain named ladislaus rákóczy. the rákóczy family, after helen zrinyi's husband had turned papist, for the most part were brought up at vienna, and many of them held commissions in the imperial army. ladislaus rákóczy likewise became a captain of musketeers, and as the greater part of his company consisted of hungarian lads, it was not surprising if the prince of transylvania, on the other hand, kept german regiments to garrison his towns and accompany him whithersoever he went. it chanced that this ladislaus rákóczy, who was a very handsome, well-shaped, and good-hearted youth, fell in love with christina, the daughter of adam rhédey, who dwelt at rékás; and as the girl's father agreed to the match, he frequently went over from szathmár to see his _fiancée_, accompanied by several of his fellow-officers, and he and his friends were always received by the family as welcome guests. now, it came to the ears of the pasha of grosswardein that the squire of rékás was inclined to give away his daughter in marriage to a german officer, and perchance it was also whispered to him that the girl was beautiful and gracious. at any rate, one night haly pasha, at the head of his spahis, stole away from grosswardein and, taking the people of rékás by surprise, burnt adam rhédey's house down, delivered it over to pillage, beat rhédey himself with a whip, and tied him to the pump-handle, while, as for his daughter, who was half dead with fright, he put her up behind him on the saddle and trotted back to grosswardein by the light of the burning village. ladislaus rákóczy, who came there next day for his own bridal feast, found everything wasted and ravaged, and the servants, who were hiding behind the hedges, peeped out and told him what had happened the night before, and how haly pasha had abducted his bride. the bridegroom was taciturn at the best of times, but a hungarian is not in the habit of talking much when anything greatly annoys him, so, without a word to his comrades, he went back to the governor and asked permission to lead his regiment against grosswardein. the general, perceiving that persuasion was useless, and that the youth would by himself try a tussle with the turks if he couldn't do it otherwise, took the matter seriously and promised that he would place at his disposal, not only his own regiment but the whole garrison, if only he would persuade the neighbouring gentry to join him in the attack on the turks of grosswardein. as for the gentry, they only needed a word to fly to arms at once, for there was scarce one of them who had not at one time or other been enslaved, beaten, or at least insulted by the turks, so that the mere appearance of a considerable force of regular soldiers marching against the turks was sufficient to bring them out at once. the turks, having once got possession of grosswardein, had established themselves therein as firmly as if they meant to justify the mussulman tradition that he never abandons a town that he has once occupied, or never voluntarily surrenders a place in which he has built a mosque, and indeed history rarely records a case of capitulation by the turks--_their_ fortresses are generally taken by storm. from the year , when haly pasha occupied the fortress, a quite new turkish town had arisen in the vacant space between the fortress and the old town, and this new town was surrounded by a strong palisade, the only entrances into which were through very narrow gates. this new town was inhabited by nothing but turkish chapmen, who bartered away the goods captured by the garrison, and haly pasha's spahis did a roaring business in the oxen and slaves which they had gathered together, attracting purchasers all the way from bagdad. thus from year to year the market of grosswardein became better and better known in the turkish commercial world, so that one wooden house after another sprang up, and they built across and along the empty space just as they liked, so that at last there was hardly what you would call a street in the whole place, and people had to go through their neighbours' houses in order to get into their own; in a word, the whole thing took the form of a turkish fair, where pomp and splendour conceals no end of filth; the patched up wooden shanties were covered with gorgeous oriental stuffs, while in the streets hordes of ownerless dogs wandered among the perennial offal, and if two people met together in the narrow alleys, to pass each other was impossible. this fenced town was not large enough to hold the herds that were swept towards it, there was hardly room enough for the masters of the herds; but on the banks of the pecze there was a large open entrenched space reserved for the purpose, where the bashkir horsemen stood on guard over the herds with their long spears, and had to keep their eyes pretty open if they didn't want kökényesdi to honour them with a visit, who was capable of stealing not only the horses but the horsemen who guarded them. take but one case out of many. one day kökényesdi, in his _bunda_, turned inside out as usual, with a round spiral hat on his head and a large knobby stick in his hands, appeared outside the entrenchment within which a closely-capped kurd was guarding haly pasha's favourite charger, shebdiz. "what a nice charger!" said the horse-dealer to the kurd. "nice indeed, but not for your dog's teeth." "yet i assure you i'll steal him this very night." "i shall be there too, my lad," thought the kurd to himself, and with that he leaped upon the horse and grasped fast his three and a half ells long spear; "if you want the horse come for it now!" "i'm not going to fetch it at once, so don't put yourself out," kökényesdi assured him. "you may do as you like with him till morning," and with that he sat down on the edge of the ditch, wrapped himself up in his _bunda_, and leaned his chin on his big stick. the kurd durst not take his eyes off him, he scarce ventured even to wink, lest the horse-dealer should practise magic in the meantime. he never stirred from the spot, but drew his hat deep down and regarded the kurd from beneath it with his foxy eyes. meanwhile it was drawing towards evening. the kurd's eyes now regularly started out of his head in his endeavours to distinguish the form of kökényesdi through the darkness. at last he grew weary of the whole business. "go away!" he said. "do you hear me?" kökényesdi made no reply. the kurd waited and gazed again. everything seemed to him to be turning round, and blue and green wheels were revolving before his eyes. "go away, i tell you, for if this ditch was not a broad one i would leap across and bore you through with my spear." the _bunda_ never budged. the kurd flew into a rage, dismounted from the horse, seized his spear, and climbing down into the ditch, viciously plunged his spear into the sleeping form before him. but how great was his consternation when he discovered that what he had looked upon as a man in the darkness was nothing but a propped up stick, on which a _bunda_ and a hat were hanging! while he had been staring at kökényesdi, the latter had crept from out of the _bunda_ beneath his very eyes and hidden himself in the ditch. the kurd had not yet recovered from his astonishment when he heard the crack of a whip behind his back, and there was kökényesdi sitting already on the back of haly pasha's charger, shebdiz, and the next moment he had leaped the ditch above the kurd's head, shouting back at him: "the trench is not broad enough for this horse, my son!" * * * * * master szénasi was one of those who had been sent to find kökényesdi, and he now arrived at demerser, the famous robber's most usual resting-place in those days, and pushing his way forward told him that the gentlemen of szathmár had sent him to ask him, kökényesdi, to assist them in their expedition against the turks. kökényesdi, who was carrying a sheaf on his back, looked sharply at the magister, who dared not meet his gaze, and when he had finished his little speech he roared at him: "you lie! you're a spy! i don't like the look of your mug! i'm going to hang you up!" szénasi, who was unacquainted with the robber chief's peculiarities, was near collapsing with terror, whereupon kökényesdi observed with a smile: "come, come, don't tremble so, i won't eat you up at any rate, but tell the gentleman that sent you here that another time he mustn't send a spy to me, for to tell you the truth i don't believe in such faces as yours. you may tell the gentleman, moreover, that if he wants to speak to me he must come himself. i don't care about making a move on the strength of idle chatter. i am easily to be found. go to püspök ladánya, walk into the last house on the right-hand side and ask the master where the barátfa hostelry is, he'll show you the way; and now in god's name scuttle! and don't look back till you've got home." the magister did as he was bid, and on getting home delivered the message to his masters, whereupon they immediately set out; raining going on the part of the military, jános topay on the part of the hungarians, together with ladislaus rákóczy himself and the captain of the gentry of báródság. the gentlemen safely reached püspök ladánya, where they had to wait at the magistrate's house till night-fall, although raining would have much preferred to meet kökényesdi by daylight, and rákóczy was burning to carry through his enterprise as soon as possible. while they waited raining could not help asking the magistrate whether it was far from there to the barátfa inn? the magistrate shook his head and maintained there was no such inn in the whole district, nor was there. raining fancied that the magistrate must be a stranger there, so he asked two or three old men the same question, but they all gave him the same answer: there might be a _barátfa puszta_[ ] here but there could be no inn on it, or if there was an inn, the _puszta_ itself did not exist. [footnote : common.] "well, if they don't know anything about it at the last house we had better turn back," said raining to himself; and, when it had grown quite dark, he approached the house and began to talk with the master who was dawdling about the door. "god bless thee, countryman! where's the barátfa inn?" the man first of all measured the questioner from head to foot, and then he merely remarked: "god requite thee! over yonder!" and he vaguely indicated the direction with his head. "we want to go there; can't you show us the way?" asked topay. the man seized the questioner's hand and pointed with it to a herdsman's fire in the distance. "look; do you see the shine of its windows there?" "which is the way to it?" "that way 'tis nearer, t'other way it's quicker." "what do you mean?" "if you go that way you'll go astray the quicker, and if you go t'other way you may plump into a bog." "you lead us thither," intervened rákóczy, at the same time pressing a ducat into the man's fist. he looked at it, turned it round in his palm and gave it back to rákóczy with the request that he would give him copper money in exchange for it. he could not imagine anyone giving him gold which was not false. when this had been done he neatly led the gentlemen through the morass--wading in front of them, girded up to his waist--through those hidden places where the water-fowl were sitting on their nests, and when at last they emerged from among the thick reedy plantations they saw a hundred paces in front of them a fire of heaped up bulrushes brightly burning, by the light of which they saw a horseman standing behind it. here their guide stopped and the three men trotted in single file towards the fire, which suddenly died out at the very moment they were approaching it, as if someone had cast wet rushes upon it. topay greeted the horseman, who lifted his hat in silence and allowed them to draw nearer. "there are three of you gentlemen together," he observed guardedly; "but that doesn't matter," he continued. "it would be all the same to me if there were ten times as many of you, for there's a pistol in every one of my holsters, from which i can fire sixteen bullets in succession, and in each bullet is a magnet, so that even if i don't aim at my man i bring him down all the same." "very good, very good indeed, master kökényesdi," said topay; "we have not come here for you to pepper us with your magnetic globules, but we have come to ask your assistance for the accomplishment of a doughty deed, the object of which is an attack upon our pagan foes." "oh, my good sirs, i am ready to do that without the co-operation of your honours. in the courtyard of a castle in the baborsai _puszta_ there is a well some hundred fathoms deep and quite full of turkish skulls, and i will not be satisfied till i have piled up on the top of it a tower just as high made of similar materials." "so i believe. but you would gain glory too?" "i have glory enough already. i am known in foreign countries as well as at home. the king of france has long ago only waited for a word from me to make me chief colonel of a long-tailed regiment, and quite recently, when the king of england heard how i bored through the hulls of the munition ships on the theiss, he did me the honour to invite me to form a regiment of divers to ravage the enemy under water. and i've all the boys for it too." "i know, i know, master kökényesdi, but there will be booty here too, and lots of it." "what is booty to me? if i choose to do so, i could bathe in gold and sleep on pearls." "have you really as much treasure as all that?" inquired raining with some curiosity. "ah," said kökényesdi, "you ought to see the storehouse in the szilicza cavern, where gold and silver are filled up as high as haystacks. there, too, are the treasures dug up from the sands of the sea, nothing but precious stones, diamonds, rubies, carbuncles, and real pearls. i, myself, do not know how many sackfuls." "and cannot you be robbed of them?" "impossible; the entrance is so well concealed that no man living can find it. i myself can never tell whether i am near it; the shifting sand has so well covered it. only one living animal can find it when it is wanted, and that is my horse. and he will never betray it, for if anyone but myself mounts him, not a step farther will he go." "and how did you come into possession of these enormous treasures?" asked raining with astonishment. "god gave them to me," said the horse-dealer, raising his voice and his eyebrows at the same time. "very edifying, no doubt, my friend," said topay; "but tell me now, briefly, for how much will you join us against the turks of grosswardein?--not counting the booty, which of course will be pretty considerable." "well--that is not so easily said. of course i shall have to collect together my twelve companies, and it will cost something to hold them together and give them what they want and pay them." "at any rate you can name a good round sum for the services you are going to render us, can't you? come! how much do you require?" the robber chief reflected. "well, as it is your honours' own business i hope your honours won't say that i tax you too highly. let us look at the job in this way: suppose i came to the attack with seventeen companies, and i charge one thousand thalers for each company. let us say each company consists of one thousand men, that will be a thaler per head--and what is that, 'twill barely pay for their keep. thus the whole round sum will come to seventeen thousand thalers." "that won't do at all, master kökényesdi. 'twere a shame to fatigue so many gallant fellows for nothing, but suppose you bring with you only a hundred men and the rest remain comfortably at home? in that case you shall receive from us seventeen hundred florins in hard cash." "pooh!" snapped the robber, "what does your honour take me for, eh? do you suppose you are dealing with a gipsy chief or a wallachian bandit, who are paid in pence? why, i wouldn't saddle my horse for such a trifle, i had rather sleep the whole time away." "but you have so much treasure besides," observed raining naïvely. "but we may not break into it," rejoined the robber angrily. "why not?" "because we have agreed not to make use of till it has mounted up to a million florins." "and what will you do with it then?" "we shall then buy a vacant kingdom from the tartar king, where the pasturage is good, and thither we will go with our men and set up an empire of our own. we will buy enough pretty women from the turks for us all, and be our own masters." topay smiled. "well," said he, "this seventeen hundred florins of ours will at any rate purchase one of the counties in this kingdom of yours." he was greatly amused that raining should take the robber's yarn so seriously, and he pushed the german gentleman aside. "mr. kökényesdi," said he, "you have nothing to do with this worthy man; he is come with us only to see the fun, but it is we who pay the money, and i think we understand each other pretty well." "why didn't you tell me so sooner?" said the robber sulkily, "then i shouldn't have wasted so many words. with which of you am i to bargain?" "with this young gentleman here," said topay. "ladislaus rákóczy. i suppose you know him by report?" "know him? i should think i did. haven't i carried him in my arms when he was little? if it hadn't been so dark i should have recognised him at once. well, as it is he, i don't mind doing him a good turn. i certainly wouldn't have taken a florin less from anyone else. i'll take from _him_ the offer of seventeen hundred thalers." "seventeen hundred florins, _i_ said." "i tell your honour, you said thalers--thalers was what _i_ heard, and i won't undertake the job for less; may my hand and leg wither if i move a step for less." "oh, i'll give him his thalers," said rákóczy, interrupting the dispute; whereupon the robber seized the youth's hand and shook it joyfully. "didn't i know that your honour was the finest fellow of the three?" said the robber. "if, therefore, you will send these few trumpery thalers a week hence to the house of the worthy man who guided you hither, i will be at grosswardein a week later with my seventeen hundred fellows." "but, suppose we pay you in advance, and you don't turn up?" said raining anxiously. the robber looked at the quartermaster proudly. "do you take me for a common swindler?" said he. then he turned with a movement of confiding expansion to the other gentlemen. "we understand each other better," he remarked. "your honours may depend upon me. god be with you." with that he turned his horse and galloped off into the darkness. the three gentlemen were conducted back to ladány. "marvellous fellow, this kökényesdi," said raining, who had scarce recovered yet from his astonishment. "you mustn't believe all the yarns he chooses to tell you," said topay. "what!" inquired raining. "had he then no communications with the french and english courts?" "no more than his grandmother." "then how about those treasures of which he spoke?" "he himself has never seen them, and he only talked about them to give you a higher opinion of him." "and his castle in the puszta, and his seventeen companies of freebooters?" "he invented them entirely for your honour's edification. the freebooter is no fool, he lives in no castle in the puszta, but in a simple village as modest mr. kökényesdi, and his seventeen companies scarcely amount to more than seventeen hundred men." "then why did he consent so easily to take only seventeen hundred thalers?" "because he does not mean to give his lads a single farthing of it." raining shook his head, and grumbled to himself all the way home. * * * * * in a week's time they sent to kökényesdi the stipulated money. raining, moreover, fearing lest the fellow might forget the fixed time, did not hesitate to go personally to vásárhely, to seek him at his own door. there stood master kökényesdi in his threshing-floor, picking his teeth with a straw. "good-day," said the quartermaster. "if it's good, eat it," murmured kökényesdi to himself. "don't you know me?" "blast me if i do." "then don't you remember what you promised at the barátfa inn?" "i don't know where the barátfa inn is." "then haven't you received the seventeen hundred thalers?" "what should i receive seventeen hundred thalers for?" "don't joke, the appointed time has come." "what appointed time?" "what appointed time? and you who have to be at grosswardein with seventeen hundred men!" "seventeen oxen and seventeen herdsmen on their backs, i suppose you mean." "well, a pretty mess we are in now," said raining to himself as he wrathfully trotted back to debreczen, and as he rushed into rákóczy's room exclaiming, "well, kökényesdi has toasted us finely!" there stood kökényesdi before his very eyes. "what, you here?" "yes, i am; and another time your honour will know that whenever i am at my own place i am not at home." * * * * * it was the friday before whit sunday, and the time about evening. a great silence rested over the whole district, only from the minarets of varalja one imâm answered another, and from the tombs one shepherd dog answered his fellow: it was impossible to distinguish from which of the two the howling proceeded. a couple of turbaned gentlemen were leisurely strolling along the bastions. above the palisaded gate the torso of a square-headed tartar was visible, with his elbows resting on the ramparts, holding his long musket in his hand. the tartar sentinel was gazing with round open eyes into the black night, watching lest anyone should come from the direction in which he was aiming with his gun, and blowing vigorously at the lunt to prevent its going out. while he was thus anxiously on the watch, it suddenly seemed to him as if he discerned the shape of a horseman approaching the city. in such cases the orders given to the osmanli sentinels were of the simplest description: they were to shoot everyone who approached in the night-time without a word. the tartar only waited until the man had come nearer, and then, placing his long musket on the moulding of the gate, began to take aim with it. but the approaching horseman rode his steed as oddly as only hungarian _csikósok_[ ] can do, for he bobbed perpetually from the right to the left, and dodged backwards and forwards in the most aggravating manner. [footnote : horse-dealers.] "allah pluck thy skin from off thee, thou drunken giaour," murmured the baffled tartar to himself, as he found all his aiming useless; for just as he was about to apply the lunt, the _csikós_ was no longer there, and the next moment he stood at the very end of his musket. "may all the seven-and-seventy hells have a little bit of thee! why canst thou not remain still for a moment that i may fire at thee?" meanwhile the shape had gradually come up to the very gate. "don't come any nearer," cried the tartar, "or i shan't be able to shoot thee." "oh, that's it, is it?" said the other. "then why didn't you tell me so sooner? but don't hold your musket so near to me, it may go off of its own accord." we recognise in the _csikós_ kökényesdi, whose horse now began to prance about to such an extent that it was impossible for the tartar to take a fair aim at it. "i bring a letter for haly pasha, from the defterdar of lippa," said the _csikós_, searching for something in the pocket of his fur pelisse, so far as his caracolling steed would allow him. "catch it if you don't want to come through the gate for it." "well, fling it up here," murmured the sentinel, "and then be off again, but ride decently that i may have a shot." "thank you, my worthy mr. dog-headed hero; but look out and catch what i throw to you." and with that he drew out a roll of parchment and flung it up to the top of the gate. the tartar, with his eyes fixed on the missive, did not perceive that the _csikós_, at the same time, threw up a long piece of cord, and the sense of the joke did not burst upon him until the _csikós_ drew in the noose, and he felt it circling round his body. kökényesdi turned round suddenly, twisted the cord round the forepart of his horse, and clapping the spurs to its side, began galloping off. naturally, in about a moment the tartar had descended from the top of the gate without either musket or lunt, and the cord being well lassoed round his body, he plumped first into the moat, a moment afterwards reappeared on the top of the trench, and was carried with the velocity of lightning through bushes and briars. being quite unused to this mode of progression, and vainly attempting to cling by hand or foot to the trees and shrubs which met him in his way, he began to bellow with all his might, at which terrible uproar the other sentries behind the ramparts were aroused, and, perceiving that some horseman or other was compelling one of their comrades to follow after him in this merciless fashion, they mounted their horses, and throwing open the gate, plunged after him. as for kökényesdi, he trotted on in front of them, drawing the tartar horde farther and farther after him till he reached a willow-wood, when he turned aside and whistled, and instantly fifty stout fellows leaped forth from the thicket on swift horses with _csákánys_[ ] in their hands, so that the pursuing turks were fairly caught. [footnote : long-handled hammers.] they turned tail, however, in double-quick time, having no great love of the _csákánys_, and never stopped till they reached the gate of the fortress, within the walls of which they yelled to their heart's content, that kökényesdi's robbers were at hand, had leaped the cattle trench at a single bound, seized a good part of the herds and were driving the beasts before them; whereupon, some hundreds of spahis set off in pursuit of the audacious adventurers. when, however, the robbers had reached the river körös, they halted, faced about and stood up to their pursuers man to man, and the encounter had scarce begun when the spahis grew alive to the fact that their opponents, who at first had barely numbered fifty, had grown into a hundred, into two hundred, and at last into five or six hundred: from out of the thickets, the ridges, and the darkness, fresh shapes were continually galloping to the assistance of their comrades, while from the fortress the turks came rushing out on each other's heels in tens and twenties to the help of the spahis, so that by this time the greater part of the garrison had emerged to pounce upon kökényesdi's freebooters; when suddenly, the battle-cry resounded from every quarter and from the other side of the körös, whence nobody expected it, the _bandérium_[ ] of the gentry of báródság rushed forth, and swam right across the river; while from the direction of várad-olaszi, amidst the rolling of drums, ladislaus rákóczy came marching along with the infantry of szathmár. [footnote : mounted troops.] "forward!" cried the youth, holding the banner in his hand, and he was the first who placed his foot on the storming-ladder. the terrified garrison, after firing their muskets in the air, abandoned the ramparts and fled into the citadel. rákóczy got into the town before the spahis who were fighting with kökényesdi, and who now, at the sound of the uproar, would have fled back through the town to take refuge in the citadel, but came into collision with the cavalry of topay, who reached the gates of the town at the same moment that they did, and both parties, crowding together before the gates, desperately tried to get possession of them, during which tussle the contending hosts for a moment were wedged together into a maddened mass, in which the antagonists could recognise each other only from their war-cries; when, all at once, from the middle of the town, a huge column of fire whirled up into the air, illuminating the faces of the combatants. the fact was that kökényesdi had hit upon the good idea of connecting a burning lunt with the tops of the houses, and making a general blaze, so that at least the people could see one another. by this hideous illumination the spahis suddenly perceived that rákóczy's infantry had broken through the ramparts in one place, and that a sturdy young heyduke had just hoisted the banner of the blessed virgin on the top of the eastern gate. "this is the day of death," cried the aga of the spahis in despair; and drawing his sword from its sheath, he planted himself in the gateway, and fought desperately till his comrades had taken refuge in the town, and he himself fell covered with wounds. it was over his body that the hungarians rushed through the gates after the flying spahis. at that moment a fresh cry resounded from the fortress: "ali! ali!" the pasha himself was advancing with his picked guards, with the valiant janissaries, with those good marksmen, the szaracsies, who can pierce with a bullet a thaler flung into the air, and with the veteran mamelukes, who can fight with sword and lance at the same time. he himself rode in advance of his host on his war-horse, his big red face aflame with rage; in front of him his standard-bearer bore the triple horse-tail, on each side of which strode a negro headsman with a broadsword. "come hither, ye faithless dogs! is the world too narrow for ye that ye come to die here? by the shadow of allah, i swear it, ye shall all be sent to hell this day, and i will ravage your kingdom ten leagues round. come hither, ye impure swine-eaters! your heads shall be brought to market; everyone who brings in the head of a christian shall receive a ducat, and he who brings in a captive shall die." thus the pasha roared, stormed, and yelled at the same time; while topay tried to marshal once more his men who were scattering before the fire of the turks, galloping from street to street, and re-forming his terrified squadrons to make head against the solid host of the advancing turks, which was rapidly gaining ground, while kökényesdi's followers only thought of booty. "a hundred ducats to him who shoots down that son of a dog!" thundered the pasha, pointing out the ubiquitous topay, and, finding it impossible to get near him, roared after him: "thou cowardly puppy! whither art thou running? look me in the face, canst thou not?" topay heard the exclamation and shouted back very briefly: "i saw _thy_ back at bánfi-hunyad."[ ] [footnote : see "'midst the wild carpathians," book ii., chapter iv.] at this insult ali pasha's gall overflowed, and seizing his mace, he aimed a blow with it at topay, when suddenly a sharp crackling cross-fire resounded from a neighbouring lane, and amidst the thick clouds of smoke, rákóczy's musketeers appeared, sticking their daggers into their discharged firearms, a practise to which the bayonet owed its origin at a later day. the turkish cavalry, crowded together in the narrow street, was in a few moments demoralised by this rapid assault. the improvised bayonet told terribly in the crush, swords and darts were powerless against it. "allah is great!" cried ali. "hasten into the fortress and draw up the bridge, we are only perishing here. only the fortress remains to us." his conductors, against his will, seized his bridle, and dragged him along with them; and when a valiant musketeer, drawing near to him, cut down his charger, the terrified pasha clambered up into the saddle of one of his headsmen, and took refuge behind his back. a young hungarian horseman was constantly on his track. nobody could tell ali who he was, but one could see from his face that he was the pasha's fiercest enemy, and animated by something more than mere martial ardour. this young horseman gave no heed to the bullets or blades which were directed against him; he was bent only on bloodshed. it was young rákóczy, to whom bitterness had given strength a hundredfold. forcing his way through the flying hostile rabble, he was drawing nearer and nearer to ali every moment, cutting down one by one all who barred the way between him and the pasha, and the turks quailed before his strong hands and savage looks. at length they reached the bridge, which was built upon piles, between deep bulwarks, and led into the fortress, the front part of whose gate was fortified by iron plates and huge nails, and could be drawn up to the gate of the tower by round chains. on the summit of the tower of the citadel could still be seen the equestrian statue of st. ladislaus derisively turned upside down between the severed legs of two felons. the hungarians and the turks reached the bridge together so intermingled that the only thing to be seen was a confused mass of turbans and helmets, in the midst of a forest of swords and scimitars, with the banner of the blessed virgin cheek by jowl with the crescented horse-tails. at the gate of the citadel stood two long widely gaping eighteen-pounders commanding the bridge, filled with chain, shot, and ground nails; but the komparajis dare not use their cannons, for in whatever direction they might aim, there were quite as many turks as hungarians. on the bridge itself the foes were fighting man to man. rákóczy was at that moment fighting with the bearer of the triple horse-tail, striving to take the standard pole with his left hand, while he aimed blow after blow at his antagonist with his right. "shoot them down, you good-for-nothings!" roared ali pasha, turning back to the inactive and contumacious komparajis. "reck not whether your bullets sweep away as many mussulmans as hungarians, myself included! sweep the bridge clear, i say! life is cheap, but paradise is dear!" but the gunners still hesitated to fire amongst their comrades, when ali sent two drummers to them commanding them to aim their guns aloft and fire into the air. the contest on the bridge was raging furiously; the janissaries had placed their backs against the parapet, and there stood motionless, with their huge broad-swords in their naked fists, like a fence of living scythes, tearing into ribbons everything which came between them. then it occurred to a regiment of german drabants to clamber up the parapet of the bridge, and tear the janissaries away from the parapet; some ten or twenty of these drabants did scramble up on the bridge, when the parapet suddenly gave way beneath the double weight, and janissaries and drabants fell down into the deep moat beneath, throttling each other in the water, and whenever a turbaned head appeared above the surface, the germans standing at the foot of the bridge beat out its brains with their halberds. meanwhile, the two fighting heroes in the middle of the bridge were almost exhausted by the contest. they had already hacked each other's swords to pieces, had grasped the banner, the object of the struggle, with both hands, and were tearing away at it with ravening wrath. the turkish standard-bearer then suddenly pressed his steed with his knees, making it rear up beneath him, so that the turk stood now a head and shoulder higher than rákóczy, and threatened either to oust him from his saddle or tear the standard from his hand. at that moment the white figure of a girl appeared on the summit of the rampart of the tower, her black locks streaming in the wind, her face aglow with enthusiasm. "heaven help thee, ladislaus!" cried the girl from the battlement of the tower; and the youth, hearing from on high what sounded like a voice from heaven, recognised it, looked up and saw his bride--a superhuman strength arose in his heart and in his arm, and when the turkish standard-bearer made his charger rear, rákóczy suddenly let the flag-pole go, and seizing the bridle of the snorting steed with both hands, with one herculean thrust, flung back steed, rider, and banner through the palisade into the deep moat below. "there is no hope save with god!" cried ali in despair, for his terrified people at the sight of this prodigy had dragged him along with them against his will. "ladislaus! ladislaus! my darling!" resounded from above. the youth was fighting with the strength of ten men; three horses had already been shot under him, and a third sword was flashing in his hand. already he was standing on the drawbridge; his sweetheart threw down a white handkerchief to him, and he was already waving it above his head in triumph, when a well-directed bullet pierced the young hero's heart, and he collapsed a corpse on the very threshold of his success, in the very gate of the captured fortress at the feet of his beloved. at that same instant a heart-rending shriek resounded, and from the top of the tower a white shape fell down upon the bridge; the beautiful bride, from a height of thirty feet, had cast herself down on the dead body of her beloved, and died at the same instant as he, mingling their blood together; and if their arms did not, at least their souls could, embrace each other. this spectacle so stupefied the besiegers, that ali pasha had just time enough swiftly to raise the drawbridge and save the fortress and a fragment of his host. of those who remained outside, not a single soul survived. kökényesdi massacred without mercy everything which distantly resembled a turk, together with the camels and mules, sparing nothing but the horses, and when every house had been well plundered, he set the town on fire in twelve places, so that the flames in half an hour consumed everything, and the whole city blazed away like a gigantic bonfire, the rising wind whirling the smoke and flame over the ditch towards the fortress. "ali pasha may put that in his pipe and smoke it," said kökényesdi, rejoicing at the magnificent conflagration. * * * * * but the bodies of ladislaus rákóczy and his sweetheart they bore away, and buried them side by side in the family vault at rákás. chapter vi. the monk of the holy spring. about a day's journey from klausenburg there used to be a famous monastery, whose ruined tower remains to this day. formerly the ample courtyard was surrounded by a stone wall, massive and strong, within which crowds of pilgrims, coming from every direction, found a convenient resting-place. for at the foot of this monastery was a famous miraculous spring, which entirely disappeared throughout the winter and spring, but on certain days in the summer and autumn was wont to trickle through the crevices of the rocks, and, for a couple of weeks or so, to bubble forth abundantly, whereupon it gradually subsided again. during this season whole hosts of suffering humanity, the lame, the paralytic, the aged, the mentally infirm, and the childless mothers, would come from the most distant regions; and the lord of nature gave a wondrous virtue to the waters, and the sufferers quitted the blessed spring crutchless and edified, both in body and mind. there could be seen, hung up on the walls of the church, votive crutches which the cripples had left behind them; and more than one great nobleman, out of gratitude to the holy spring, enriched the altar with gold and silver plate. the larger part of the building was reserved for noble guests, the common people encamped in the courtyard beneath tents; and behind the building a splendid garden was laid out, which the worthy monks always magnificently maintained. even to this day, in the grassy patches round about the spot, it is possible to discover the savage descendants of many rare and precious flowers. at the period in which our history falls, the convent of the holy well was represented by a single reverend father, whom the common tongue simply called friar gregory, and there was scarce a soul in transylvania who did not know him well. he was a big man, six feet in height, with a flowing black beard, swarthy, lean, with a bony frame, and with hands so big that he could cover a six-pound cannon ball with each palm. a simple habit covered his limbs, head-dress he had none, and his broad shining forehead was without a wrinkle. his droning voice was so powerful that when he sang his psalms he made more noise than a whole congregation. at the times when the holy spring was flowing, the cellar and pantry of the good friar stood wide open to rich and poor alike, for whatever he earned in one year he never put by for the next, and whatever the wealthy paid to him the needy had the benefit of; and whenever any clerical colleague happened to come his way, whether he were orthodox, armenian, calvinist, or unitarian, he could not make too much of him; all such guests, during their stay, regularly swam in milk and butter, and remembered it to the very day of their death. just at this very time the right reverend ladislaus magyari's little daughter, rosy, was suffering from a complaint which gave the lie to her healthy name, and her father thought it just as well to take her to the holy spring, perchance the healing water would restore to her wan little face the colour of youth. brother gregory was beside himself with joy; the best room was prepared for his right reverend colleague, and brother cook, brother cellarer, and brother gardener were ordered to see to it that meat, drink, and heaps of flowers were provided for the honoured guests. no two people in the wide world were so suited to each other as father gregory and dean magyari; their hearts were equally good, and each of them had a head upon his shoulders. they rose up early in the morning to argue with each other on dogmatic questions--to wit, which faith was the best, truest, happiest, most blessed, and surest, and kept it up till late in the evening, by no means neglecting the frequent emptying of foaming beakers during the contest, pounding each other with citations, entangling each other with syllogisms, flooring each other with authorities, and overwhelming each other with anecdotes; and it always ended in their shaking hands and agreeing together that every faith was good if only a man were true to himself. while her father was thus manfully battling, pretty pale rosy would be amusing herself in the garden or by the spring with little girls of her own age, and the fresh air, the scent of the flowers, and the beneficent water of the spring gradually restored to her face its vanished bloom; and magyari joyfully thought how delighted her mother would be if she were able to embrace her convalescent child, and, in sheer delight at the idea, spun out his disputatious evenings whilst rosy in an adjacent cell was sleeping the sleep of the just. the two worthy gentlemen were sitting over their cups one beautiful evening, when a loud knocking was heard at the outer gate. the rule was that at sundown the pilgrim mob was to betake itself to the courtyard of the cloister, and the gate should be closed. the friar who kept the gate came to announce that four queer-looking monks demanded admission, were they to be let in? "there can be no question about it," said father gregory. "if any desire admission, bring them to us, and provide refreshment for them." in a few moments the four friars in question entered. they were dressed in coarse black sackcloth habits, with the cowls drawn down over their heads. all that was to be seen of them was their eyes and shaggy beards. with deep obeisances, but without a word, they approached the two reverend gentlemen. the father rose politely and greeted them respectfully in latin: "benedicite nomen domini." they only kept on bowing and were silent. "nomen dei sit benedictum!" repeated gregory, fancying that his guests did not hear what he said, and as they did not reply to that, he asked with great astonishment: "non exandistis nomen gloriosissimi domini, fratres amantissimi?" at this the foremost of them said: "we do not understand that language, worthy brother." "then what sort of monks are ye? to what confession do ye belong? are ye greeks?" "we are not greeks." "then are you armenians?" "we are not armenians." "arians, then?" "neither are we arians." "are you patarenes?" "no, we are not." "then _in gloriam æterni_ to what order do you belong?" "we are robbers," thereupon exclaimed the one interrogated, throwing aside the fold of his cloak, beneath which could be seen a belt crammed with daggers and pistols. "my name is feri kökényesdi," said he, striking his breast. magyari thereupon leaped from his chair, which he immediately converted into a weapon; it at once occurred to him that he had an only daughter to defend, and he was ready to fight the robbers on behalf of her. but the father pulled him by the cassock and whispered: "pray be quiet, your reverence," and then with an infinitely placid face he turned towards the robbers. "so that is the order to which you belong," said he. "still, if you have come as guests, sit down and eat what you desire." "but that is not sufficient. outside this monastery there are of us, and all of them want to eat and drink, for it is only the ancient prophets who, when hungry, were content with the meat of the word." "let them also satisfy their desires." "however, the main thing is this: in your reverence's chapel is a whole lot of very nice gold and silver saints, who certainly befriend those who sigh after them, and as we cannot come running to them here every day in order to entreat their aid, we had better take them along with us, that they may be helpful to us on the road." "thou hast a pretty mother-wit, frater! who could refuse thee anything?" "it is also no secret to us, father gregory, that your reverence's cellar is crammed with kegs full of good money, silver and gold. may we be allowed to relieve your reverence of a little of this burden?" "he is quite welcome to it," thought the father, well aware that there was absolutely nothing at all. "do not imagine, your reverence," continued the robber, "that we cannot extort a confession, if it should occur to your reverence to conceal anything. it would be just as well, therefore, if your reverence were to reveal everything before we cut up your back with sharp thongs." the brother smiled as good-humouredly as if he were listening to some pleasing anecdote. "have you any other desires, my sons?" "yes, a good many. there is a great crowd of women collected together in your reverence's courtyard. we have taken no vows of celibacy, therefore we should like to choose from among them what would suit us." magyari felt the hairs of his head rising heavenwards, a cold shiver ran through him from head to foot, and he would have risen from his place had not the monk pressed him down with a frightfully heavy hand. "for god's sake, my dear son, do not so wickedly. take away the saints from the altar if you like, but harm not the innocent who are now peacefully slumbering in the shadow of god's protection." "not another word, brother gregory," cried the robber, closing his fist on his dagger, "or i'll set the monastery on fire and burn every living soul in it, yourself included. a robber only recognises four sacraments: wine, money, wenches, and blood! you may congratulate yourself if we are content with the third and dispense with the last." "so it is!" observed another of the cowled and bearded robbers, tapping magyari on the shoulder. "do you recognise me, eh, your reverence?" magyari, with a sensation of shuddering loathing, recognised szénasi, a canting charlatan whose frauds he had often exposed. "we know well enough," said the fellow with an evil chuckle, "that you have a fair daughter here. i am going to pay off old scores." if magyari had not been well in the brother's grip, he would have gone for the wretch. every fibre of his body was shivering with rage. only the brother remained calm and smiling. joining his hands together, he made a little mill with the aid of his two thumbs. "wait, my dear son, cannot we come to some agreement. you know very well that my money is concealed in barrels, but so well hidden is it that none besides myself know where it is. even if you turned this monastery upside down you would not find it. you may also have heard that once upon a time there lived a kind of men called martyrs, who let themselves be boiled in oil, or roasted on red-hot fires, or torn in pieces by wild beasts, without saying a word which might hurt their souls. well, that is the sort of man _i_ am. if i make up my mind to hold my tongue, you might tear me to bits inch by inch with burning tweezers, and you would get not a word nor a penny out of me. now 'tis for you to choose. will you carry off the money and leave the poor women-folk alone, or will you lay your hands on the down-trodden, lame, halt, consumptive beggar-women, whom you will find here, and not see a farthing? which is it to be?" the four robbers whispered together. no doubt they said something to this effect: only let the pater produce his money, and then it will be an easy thing for us to take back our given word and satisfy our hearts' desires. they signified that they would stand by the money. "look now! you are good men," said the father, "take these two torches and come with me to the cellar and go through my treasures, only you must do none any harm." "a little less jaw, please," growled kökényesdi. "two go in front with the torches, and brother gregory between you. i'll follow after; the magister can remain behind to look after the other parson. whoever speaks a word or makes a signal, i'll bring my axe down on his head--forward!" and so it was. two of the robbers went in front with torches; after them came the brother with kökényesdi at his heels with a drawn dagger in his hand; last of all marched magyari, whom master szénasi held by the collar at arm's-length, threatening him at the same time with a flashing axe. thus they descended to the cellar. the good father, with timid humility, hid his head in his hood and looked neither to the left nor to the right. the cellar was provided with a large, double, iron trap-door. after drawing out its massive bolts, the worthy brother raised one of its flaps, bidding them lower the torches for his convenience. as now the first robber descended and the second plunged after him, the father suddenly kicked out with his monstrous wooden shoe and brought the door down on his head, so that he rolled down to the bottom of the stairs; and then, quick as thought, he turned upon kökényesdi, seized his hands, and said to magyari: "you seize the other!" kökényesdi, in the first moment of surprise, thrust at the brother, but his dagger glanced aside against the stiff hair-shirt, and there was no time for a second thrust, for the terrible brother had seized both his hands and crushed them against his breast with irresistible force with one hand, while with the other he dispossessed him of all the murderous weapons in his girdle one by one, shaking him with one hand as easily as a grown man shakes a child of nine; then he dragged him towards the cellar door, pressing it down with their double weight so that those below could not raise it. mr. magyari that self-same instant had caught the magister by the nape of the neck and, mindful of the wrestling trick he had learnt in his youth when he was a student at nagyenyed, quickly floored, and, not content with that, sat down on the top of him with his whole weight, so that the poor meagre creature was flattened out beneath him. magyari at the same time relieved his sprawling hands of their murderous weapons in imitation of the good priest. kökényesdi admitted to himself that never before had he been in such a hobble. in a stand-up fight he had rarely met his equal, and more than once he had held his own against two or three stout fellows single-handed; but never had he had to do with such a man as brother gregory, one of whose hands was quite sufficient to pin his two arms uselessly to his side, while with the other hand he explored his remotest pockets to their ultimate depths and denuded them of every sort of cutting and stabbing instrument. when the robber realized that even his gigantic strength was powerless to drag his antagonist away from the cellar door beneath which his two comrades were vainly thundering, he endeavoured to free himself by resorting to the desperate devices of the wild-beasts, lunging out with his feet and worrying the iron hand of the monk with his teeth; whereupon brother gregory also lost his temper and, seizing kökényesdi by the hair of his head, held him aloft like a young hare, so that he was unable to scratch or bite any more. "do not plunge about so, dilectissime; you see it is of no use," said the brother, holding the robber so far away from him by his hairy poll with outstretched hand that at last he was obliged to capitulate. "thou seest what unmercifulness thou dost compel us to adopt, amantissime!" said the brother apologetically, but still holding him aloft with one hand and shaking a reproving finger at him with the other. "dost thou not shudder at thyself, does not thine own soul accuse thee for coming to plunder holy places? or dost thou not think of the kingdom of hell to the very threshold of which evil resolves have misguided thy feet, and where there will be weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth?" "let me go, you devil of a friar!" gasped the robber, hoarse with rage. "not until thou hast come to thyself and art sorry for thy sins," said the brother, still holding in the air his dilectissime, whose eyes by this time were starting out of his head because of the tugging pressure on his hair; "thou must be sorry for thy sins." "i am sorry then, only let me go!" "and wilt thou turn back to the right path?" "yes, yes, of course i will." "and thou wilt steal no more?" "not a cockchafer." "nor curse and swear?" "never no more." "very well, then, i'll let thee go. but, colleague magyari, first of all tie all these daggers and axes together and fling them out of the window." mr. magyari, who had meanwhile disposed of the magister by tying his hands and legs so tightly that he was unable to move a muscle, effected the clearance confided to him, while brother gregory deposited on the ground his convert, who leaned against the wall breathing heavily. "well, you monk of hell, give me something to eat if there's anything like a kitchen here." "oh, my dear son," said the pater tenderly, stroking the face of his lambkin; "believe me, that there is more joy in heaven over one converted sinner----" "you're a devil, not a friar; for if you were a man of god you could not have got over kökényesdi so easily--kökényesdi, who was wont to overthrow whole armadas single-handed--and now to be beaten by an unarmed man!" "thou didst come against me with an axe and a _fokos_,[ ] but i came against thee in the name of the lord of hosts, and he who permitted david the shepherd to pluck the raging lion by the beard and slay him, hath aided my arm also in order that i might be a blessing to thee." [footnote : sledge-hammer.] "blessing indeed!--hang me up! i deserve it for letting myself be collared by a parson." "oh, my dear son, to attribute such flagrant cruelty to me! heaven rejoices not in the death of a sinner." "then let me go!" "how could i let thee go when thou art but half converted? rather remain here, my son, in this holy seclusion and try and cleanse thy soul by holy penance and prayer." the robber foamed with rage. "where is there a nail that i may hang myself upon it?" "that thou certainly wilt never be able to do, for a worthy pater shall always be by thy side to teach thee how to sing the psalter." the robber gnashed his teeth and stamped with his feet as he cast at the terrible brother bloodshot glances very similar to those which a hyena casts upon a beast-tamer whom he would like to tear to bits and grind to mincemeat, but whom he durst not attack, being well aware that if he but lay a paw or even cast an eye upon him he will instantly be felled to the ground. "besides that," continued the brother, "by way of a first trial thou shalt presently deliver a god-fearing discourse." "i preach a sermon!" "not exactly a sermon, but inasmuch as thy faithful followers outside the walls of the monastery may be growing impatient at thy long absence, thou wilt stand at a window and, after assuring them of thy heart-felt penitence, thou wilt send the worthy fellows away that they may depart to their own homes." "very well," said kökényesdi, thinking all the time, let me once be planted at the window in the sight of my bands and at a word from me they will break up the whole monastery, and i will leap out to them at the first opening. then brother gregory called magyari aside and whispered in his ear: "you meanwhile will get the carriage ready and take your seat in it with your daughter, and as soon as you perceive that the rabble has departed from the monastery, you will drive straight to klausenburg and inform mr. ebéni, the commandant, that a mixed band of freebooters, together with the garrison of szathmár, has invaded the realm. i detected a helmet beneath a cowl of one of the rascals i kicked into the cellar. try to defend the capital against their attacks. god be with you!" the two priests pressed each other's hands, whereupon brother gregory, taking the robber by the arms and shoving him through a little low door, in order that no mischief might befall him, caught him by the nape of the neck and began to force him to ascend a narrow corkscrew staircase, two or three steps at a time. it was evening now and dark, and there was nothing about the corkscrew staircase to suggest to the robber whither he was being led till at last the brother opened a trapdoor with his head and emerged with him on to a light place and deposited him in front of a lofty window. the robber's first thought was that he could clear the window at a single bold leap, but one swift glance from the parapet made him recoil with terror; beneath him yawned a depth of at least fifty ells, and, glancing dizzily aloft, he perceived hanging above his head the bells of the monastery. they were in the tower. "so now, my dear son," said the brother, "stand out on this parapet and call in a loud voice to thy faithful ones that they may draw nigh and hear thee. then thou wilt speak to them, and in case thou shouldst be at a loss for words, i shall be standing close by this bell-tongue to suggest to thee what thou shalt say. but, for god's sake, beware of thyself, dilectissime! thou seest what a frightful depth is here below thee, and say not to thy faithful followers anything but what i shall suggest to thee, nor give with thy head or thy hand an unbecoming interpretation to thy words, for if thou doest any such thing, take my word for it that at that same instant thou shalt fall from this window, and if once thou dost stumble, thou wilt not stop till thou dost reach the depths of hell." the robber stood at the window with his hair erect with horror. he actually trembled--a thing which had never occurred to him before. his valour, that cold contempt for death which had always accompanied him hitherto, forsook him in this horrible position. he felt that at this giddy height neither dexterity nor audacity were of the slightest use to him. beneath his feet was the gaping abyss, and behind his back was a man with the strength of a giant from whom a mere push--nay! the mere touch of a finger, or a shout a little louder than usual, were sufficient to plunge him down and dash him into helpless fragments on the rocks below. the desperate adventurer, in a fever of terror never felt before, crouched against one of the pillars of the window clutching at the wall with his hand, and it seemed to him as if the wall were about to give way beneath him, as if the tower were tottering beneath his feet; and he regarded the ground below as if it had some horrible power of dragging him down to it, as if some invisible force were inviting him to leap down from there. meanwhile his bands, who were lying in ambush outside the monastery, perceived the form of their leader aloft and suddenly darted forward in a body with a loud yell. "speak to them, attract their attention!" whispered the brother; "quick, mind what i say!" the robber indicated his readiness to comply by a nod of his swimming head, and repeated the words which the brother concealed behind the tongue of the bell whispered in his ear. "my friends" (thus he began his speech), "the priests are collecting their treasures; they are piling them on carts; there are sacks and sacks crammed with gold and silver." a hideous shout of joy from the auditors expressed thorough approval of this sentence. "but the worthy brethren have no wine or provisions in this monastery, but in their cellars at eger there is plenty, so let two hundred of you go there immediately and get what you want." the freebooters approved of this sentiment also. "as for the desires that you nourish towards the womenfolk here, i am horrified to be obliged to tell you that for the last three days the black death, that most terrible of plagues, which makes the human body black as a coal even while alive, and infects everyone who draws near it, has been raging within the walls of this monastery during the last three days. i should not therefore advise you to break into this monastery, for it is full of dead and dying men, and so swift is the operation of this destroying angel that my three comrades succumbed to it even while i was ascending this tower, and only the turkish talisman i wear, composed of earth seven times burnt, and the little finger of a baby that never saw the light of day, have preserved me from destruction." by the way, father gregory had discovered all these things while he was investigating the robber's pockets. at this terrifying message the horde of robbers began to scatter in all directions from beneath the walls of the monastery. "for the same reason neither i myself nor the treasure of the monastery can leave this place till all the gold and silver that has been found here has been purified first by fire, then by boiling, and then by cold water, lest the black death should infect you by means of them. and now before making a joint attack on klausenburg, as we had arranged--which, in view of the height of its walls and the strength of its fortress, would scarcely be a safe job to tackle--you will do this instead: hide yourselves in parties of two hundred in the forests of magyar-gorbo, vista and szucság, and remain there quietly without showing yourself on the high road; at the same time four hundred of you will go round at night by the korod road, and the rest of you will make for the gyalu woods, and go round towards szász fenes. then, when the garrison of klausenburg hears the rumour that you are approaching by the korod road, they will come forth with great confidence; and while some of you will be enticing them further on continually, the rest of you can fall on the defenceless town and plunder it. all you have to do is to act in this way and never show yourselves on the high road." the robbers expressed their approval of their leader's advice with a loud howl; and while kökényesdi tottered back half senseless into the brother's arms, they scattered amongst the woods with a great uproar. in an hour's time all that could be heard of them was a cry or two from the darkened distance. the people assembled in the monastery had been listening to all this in an agony of terror; only magyari understood the meaning of it. when the brother came down from the tower, kökényesdi was locked up with his two comrades, and the two reverend gentlemen embraced and magnified each other. "after god, we have your reverence to thank for our deliverance," said magyari with warm feeling, holding his trembling little daughter by the hand. "but now we must save klausenburg," said gregory. "i will set out this instant; my horse is saddled." "your reverence on horseback, eh? how about the girl?" "i will leave her here in your reverence's fatherly care." "but think." "could i leave her in a better place than within these walls, which providence and your reverence's fists defend so well?" "but what if this robber rabble discover our trick and return upon the monastery with tenfold fury?" "then i will all the more certainly hasten to defend the walls of your reverence, because my only child will be within them." with that the pastor kissed the forehead of his daughter, who at that moment was paler than ever, fastened his big copper sword to his side, seized his shaggy little horse by the bridle, opened the door for himself, and, with a stout heart, trotted away on the high road. but the brother summoned into the chapel the whole congregation, and late at night intoned a thanksgiving to the lord of hosts; after which father gregory got into the pulpit and preached to the faithful a powerful and fulminating sermon, in which he stirred them up to the defence of their altars, and at the end of his sacred discourse he seized with one hand the gigantic banner of the church--which on the occasion of processions three men used to support with difficulty--and so stirred up the enthusiastic people that if at that moment the robbers had been there in front of the monastery, they would have been capable of rushing out of the gates upon them with their crutches and sticks and dashing them to pieces. chapter vii. the panic of nagyenyed. while the priests were girding swords upon their thighs, while the lame and the halt were flying to arms in defence of their homes and altars, the chief commandant of the town of klausenburg, mr. ebéni, was calmly sleeping in his bed. the worthy man had this peculiarity that when any of his officers awoke him for anything and told him that this or that had happened, he would simply reply "impossible!" turn over on the other side, and go on slumbering. magyari was well aware of this peculiarity of the worthy man, and so when he arrived home, late at night, safe and sound, he wasted no time in talking with mr. ebéni, but opened the doors of the church and had all the bells rung in the middle of the night--a regular peal of them. the people, aroused from its sleep in terror at the sound of the church-bells at that unwonted hour, naturally hastened in crowds to the church, where the reverend gentleman stood up before them and, in the most impressive language, told them all that he had seen, described the danger which was drawing near to them beneath the wings of the night, and exhorted his hearers valiantly to defend themselves. the first that mr. ebéni heard of the approaching mischief was when ten or twenty men came rushing to him one after another to arouse him and tell him what the parson was saying. when at last he was brought to see that the matter was no joke, he leaped from his bed in terror, and for the life of him did not know what to do. the people were running up and down the streets bawling and squalling; the heydukes were beating the alarm drums; cavalry, blowing their trumpets, were galloping backwards and forwards--and mr. ebéni completely lost his head. fortunately for him magyari was quickly by his side. "what has happened? what's the matter? what are they doing, very reverend sir?" inquired the commandant, just as if magyari were the leader of troops. "the mischief is not very serious, but it is close at hand," replied the reverend gentleman. "a band of freebooters--some seventeen companies under the command of a robber chief--have burst into transylvania, and with them are some regular horse belonging to the garrison of szathmár. at this moment they cannot be more than four leagues distant from klausenburg; but they are so scattered that there are no more than four hundred of them together anywhere, so that, with the aid of the gentlemen volunteers and the prince's german regiments, you ought to wipe them out in detail. the first thing to be done, however, is to warn the prince of this unexpected event, for he is now taking his pleasure at nagyenyed." "your reverence is right," said ebéni, "we'll act at once;" and, after dismissing the priest to look after the armed bands and reconnoitre, he summoned a swift courier, and, as in his confusion he at first couldn't find a pen and then upset the inkstand over the letter when he _had_ written it, he at last hurriedly instructed the courier to convey a verbal message to the prince to the effect that the szathmárians, in conjunction with the freebooters, had broken into transylvania with seventeen companies, and were only four hours' march from klausenburg, and that klausenburg was now preparing to defend itself. thus ebéni gave quite another version to the parson's tidings, for while the parson had only mentioned a few horsemen from the szathmár garrison he had put the szathmárians at the head of the whole enterprise, and had reduced the distance of four leagues to a four hours' journey which, in view of the condition of the transylvanian roads, made all the difference. the courier got out of the town as quickly as possible, and by the time he had reached his destination had worked up his imagination to such an extent that he fancied the invading host had already valiantly covered the four leagues; and, bursting in upon the prince without observing that the princess, then in an interesting condition, was with him, blurted out the following message: "the szathmár garrison with seventeen bands of freebooters has invaded transylvania and is besieging klausenburg, but mr. ebéni is, no doubt, still defending himself." the princess almost fainted at these words; while apafi, leaping from his seat and summoning his faithful old servant andrew, ordered him to get the carriage ready at once, and convey the princess as quickly as possible to gyula-fehervár, for the szathmár army, with seventeen companies of hungarians, had attacked klausenburg, and by this time eaten up mr. ebéni, who was not in a position to defend himself. andrew immediately rushed off for his horses, had put them to in one moment, in another moment had carried down the princess' most necessary travelling things, and in the third moment had the lady safely seated, who was terribly frightened at the impending danger. the men loafing about the courtyard, surprised at this sudden haste, surrounded the carriage; and one of them, an old acquaintance of andrew's, spoke to him just as he had mounted the box and asked him what was the matter. "alas!" replied andrew, "the army of szathmár has invaded transylvania, has devastated klausenburg with , men, and is now advancing on nagyenyed." well, they waited to hear no more. as soon as they perceived the princess's carriage rolling rapidly towards the fortress of fehervár, they scattered in every direction, and in an hour's time the whole town was flying along the fehervár road. everyone hastily took away with him as much as he could carry; the women held their children in their arms; the men had their bundles on their backs and drove their cows and oxen before them; carts were packed full of household goods; and everyone lamented, stormed, and fled for all he was worth. just at that time there happened to be at nagyenyed the envoy of the pasha of buda, yffim beg, who had been sent to the prince to hasten his march into hungary with the expected auxiliary army, and who absolutely refused to believe teleki that they ought to remain where they where, as it was from the direction of szathmár that an attack was to be feared. the worthy yffim beg was actually sitting in his bath when the panic-flight took place; and, alarmed at the noise, he sprang out of the water, and wrapping a sheet round him rushed to the window, and perceiving the terrified flying rabble, cried to one of the passers-by: "whither are you running? what is going on here?" "alas, sir!" panted the breathless fugitive, "the szathmár army, , strong, has invaded transylvania, has taken everything in its road, and is now only two hours' march from nagyenyed." this was quite enough for yffim beg also. hastily tying the bathing-towels round his body and without his turban, he rushed to the stables, flung himself on a barebacked steed and galloped away from nagyenyed without taking leave of anyone; and did not so much as change his garment till he reached temesvár, and there reported that the countless armies of szathmár had conquered the whole of transylvania! thus teleki had gained his object: the transylvanian troops had now good reasons for staying at home. yet he had got much more than he wanted, for he had only required of kászonyi a feigned attack, whereas the band of kökényesdi had ravaged transylvania as far as klausenburg. the fact that the worthy friar and mr. ladislaus magyari had captured the leader of the freebooters made very little difference at all, for the crafty adventurer had bored his way through the wall of his dungeon that very night, and had escaped with his three comrades. early next morning, on perceiving that his captives had escaped, father gregory was terribly alarmed, imagining that they would now bring back the whole robber band against him; and, hastening immediately to collect the whole of the pilgrims, loaded wagons with the most necessary provisions and the treasures of the altar, conducted them among the hills, and there concealed them in the cavern of balina, carrying the sick members of his flock one by one across the mountain-streams in front of the cavern and depositing them in the majestic rocky chamber, which more than once had served the inhabitants of the surrounding districts as a place of refuge from the tartars, having a large open roof through which the smoke could get out, while a stream flowing through it kept them well supplied with drinking-water. in an hour's time fires and ovens, made from fresh leaves and mown grass, stood ready in the midst of the place of refuge; and on a stone pedestal, in the background, always standing ready for such a purpose, an altar was erected. meanwhile kökényesdi had hastened to overtake his bands which had scattered at the word of the brother in order to re-unite them before the people of klausenburg could capture them in detail. szénasi he dispatched to call back the wanderers who had been sent to the cellars of eger and besiege the monastery. when szénasi returned with the two hundred hungry men he only found empty walls, and to make them emptier still--he burnt them down to the ground. he then sat down, and by the light of the conflagration wrote a sarcastic letter to teleki, in which he informed him with a great show of humility that he had made the required diversion against transylvania, that he kissed his hand, that he might command him at any future time, and that he was his most humble servant. he had scarcely sent off the letter by a wallachian gipsy, picked up on the road, when he saw a company of horsemen galloping towards the burning monastery, and recognised in the foremost fugitive kökényesdi. "it is all up with us!" cried the robber chief from afar, "we are surrounded. all the parsons in the world have become soldiers, and turned their swords against us as if they were bibles. the calvinist pastor, the catholic friar, the greek priest, and the unitarian minister--every man jack of them has placed himself at the head of the faithful, and are coming against us with at least twenty thousand men: students, artisans and peasants, the whole swarm is rushing upon us. i and fifty more were set upon by the whole guild of shoemakers, who cut down twenty of my men; they were all as mad as hatters, and when the peasants had done with us, the gentlemen took us up: they united with the german dragoons, and pursued my flying army on horseback. every bit of booty, every slave they have torn from us; this calvinist joshua is always close on my heels, not a single one of our infantry can be saved." the robber chief behaved as the leader of robber bands usually do behave. when he had to fight, he fought among the foremost; but when he had to run, then also he was well to the front. when he was beaten, he cared not a jot whether the others got off scot-free, he only thought of saving himself. when he had announced the catastrophe from horseback to the terrified szénasi, he clapped spurs to his nag, and, without looking back to see whether anyone was following him, he galloped off, and left szénasi in the lurch with the footmen. the fox is always most crafty when he falls into the snare. the perplexed hypocrite perceived that however quickly he might try to escape, the cavalry would overtake him at grosswardein and mow him down. unfortunately, he knew not how to ride, and therefore could not hope to save himself that way. already the trumpets of the transylvanian bands were blaring all around him; fiery beacons of pitchy pines were beginning to blaze out from mountain-top to mountain-top; on every road were visible the flying comrades of kökényesdi, terrifying one another with their shouts of alarm as they rushed through the woods and valleys, not daring to take refuge among the snowy alps, where the axes of the enraged wallachians flashed before their eyes; and there was not a single road on which they did not run the risk of being trampled down by the hungarian banderia and the german dragoons. in that moment of despair szénasi quickly flung himself into the garments of a peasant, climbed up to the top of a tree, and as soon as he perceived the first band of german horsemen approaching him, he called out to them. "god bless you, my noble gentlemen!" they looked up at these words and told the man to come down from the tree. "no doubt you also have taken refuge from the robbers, poor man!" "ah! most precious gentlemen! they were not robbers, but german soldiers in hungarian uniforms who had been sent hither from szathmár. take care how you pursue them, for if your german soldiers should meet theirs, it might easily happen that they would join together against you. i heard what they were saying as i understand their language, but i pretended that i did not understand; and while they made me come with them to show them the road, they began talking among themselves, and they said that they had had sure but secret information from the klausenburg dragoons that they were going to attack the town. the devil never sleeps, my noble gentlemen!" the good gentlemen were astounded; the intelligence was not altogether improbable, and as, just before, a vagabond had been captured who could speak nothing but german, a mad rumour spread like wild-fire among the magyars that the dragoons had an understanding with the enemy and wanted to draw them into an ambush; and so the gentlemen told the students, and the students told the mechanics, and by the time it reached the ears of ebéni and the parsons, there was something very like a mutiny in the army. the gentry suggested that the germans should be deprived of their swords and horses; the students would have fought them there and then; but the most sensible idea came from the guild of cobblers, who would have waited till they had lain down to sleep and then bound and gagged them one by one. master szénasi meanwhile went and hunted up the dragoons, whom he found full of zeal for the good cause entrusted to them, and had a talk with them. "gentlemen!" said he, "what a pity it is, but look now at these hungarian gentlemen! well, they are shaking their fists at you, so look to yourselves. someone has told them that you are acting in concert with the people of szathmár, so they won't go a step further until they have first massacred the whole lot of you." at this the german soldiers were greatly embittered. here they were, they said, shedding their blood for transylvania, and the only reward they got was to be called traitors! so they sounded the alarm, collected their regiments together, took up a defensive position, and for a whole hour the camp of mr. ebéni was thrown into such confusion that nothing was easier for master szénasi than to hide himself among the fugitives. all night long mr. ebéni suffered all the tortures of martyrdom. at one time he was besieged by a deputation from the magyars, who demanded satisfaction, confirmation, and heaven only knows what else; while the worthy parsons kept rushing from one end of the camp to the other, with great difficulty appeasing the uproar, enlightening the half-informed, and in particular solemnly assuring both parties that neither the hungarian gentlemen wanted to hurt the germans nor the germans the hungarians, till light began to dawn on them, and the reconciled parties were convinced, much to their astonishment, that the whole alarm was the work of a single crafty adventurer who clearly enough had gained time to escape from the pursuers when they had him in their very clutches. chapter viii. the slave market at buda-pesth. in the middle of the sixteenth century, haji baba, the most celebrated slave-dealer of stambul, having been secretly informed beforehand, by acquaintances in the seraglio, that a great host would assemble that summer beneath pesth, hastily filled his ship with wares before his business colleagues had got an inkling of what was going to happen; and, steering his bark with its precious load through the black sea and up the danube, reached pesth some time before the army had concentrated there. casting anchor in the danube, he adorned his vessel with oriental carpets and flowers, and placing a band of black eunuchs in the prow of the vessel with all sorts of tinkling musical instruments, he set about beating drums till the sound re-echoed from the hills of buda. the turks immediately assembled on the bastions of the castle of buda right opposite, and perceiving the bedizened ship with its flags streaming from the mast and sweeping the waves, thereby giving everyone who wanted to know what sort of wares were for sale there, got into all sorts of little skiffs and let themselves be rowed out thither. the loveliest damsels in the round world were there exhibited for sale. as soon as the first of the turks had well intoxicated himself with the sight of the sumptuous wares, he hastened back to get his money and come again, telling the dozen or so of his acquaintances whom he met on the way what sort of a spectacle he had seen with no little enthusiasm, and in a very short time hundreds more were hastening to this ship which offered paradise itself for sale. hassan pasha, the then governor of buda, perceiving the throng from the windows of his palace, and ascertaining the cause, sent his favourite yffim beg to forbid the market to the mob till he, the general, had chosen for himself what girls he wanted; and if there was any one of the slave-girls worthy of consideration, he was to buy her for his harem. yffim beg hastened to announce the prohibition, and when the skiffs had departed one by one from the ship, he got into the general's curtained gondola and had himself rowed over to the ship of haji baba. the man-seller, perceiving the state gondola on its way to him, went to the ship's side, and waited with a woe-begone face till it had come alongside, and stretched forth his long neck to yffim beg that he might clamber up it on to the deck. the beg, with great condescension, informed the merchant that he had come on behalf of the vizier of buda, who was over all the pashas of hungary, to choose from among the wares he had for sale. haji baba, on hearing this, immediately cast himself to the ground and blessed the day which had risen on these hills, and the water and the oars which had brought the beg thither, and even the mother who had made the slippers in which yffim beg had mounted his ship. then he kissed the beg's hand, and having, as a still greater sign of respect, boxed the ears of the eunuch who happened to be nearest to the beg, for his impertinence in daring to stand so near at all, led yffim into the most secret of his secret chambers. heavy gold-embroidered hangings defended the entry to the interior of the ship; after this came a second curtain of dark-red silk, and through this were already audible sweet songs and twittering, and when this curtain was drawn aside by its golden tassels, a third muslin-like veil still stood in front of the entrance through which one could look into the room beyond without being seen by those inside. fourteen damsels were sporting with one another. some of them darting in and out from between the numerous persian curtains suspended from the ceiling, and laughing aloud when they caught each other; one was strumming a mandoline; five or six were dancing a round dance to the music of softly sung songs; another group was swinging one another on a swing made from costly shawls. all of them were so young, all of them were of such superior loveliness, that if the heart had allowed the eye alone to choose for it, mere bewilderment would have made selection impossible. yffim beg gazed for a long time with the indifference of a connoisseur, but even his face relaxed at last, and smilingly tapping the merchant on the shoulder, he said to him: "you have been filching from paradise, haji baba!" haji baba crossed his hands over his breast and shook his head humbly. "all these girls are my pupils, sir. there is not one of them who resembles her dear mother. from their tenderest youth they have grown up beneath my fostering care; i do no business with grown-up, captured slave-girls, for, as a rule, they only weep themselves to death, grow troublesome, wither away before their time, and upset all the others. i buy the girls while they are babies; it costs a mint of money and no end of trouble before such a flower expands, but at least he who plucks it has every reason to rejoice. look, sir, they are all equally perfect! look at that slim lily there dancing on the angora carpet! did you ever see such a figure anywhere else? how she sways from side to side like the flowering branch of a banyan tree! that is a georgian girl whom i purchased before she was born. her father when he married had not money enough for the wedding-feast, so he came to me and sold for a hundred denarii the very first child of his that should be born. yes, sir, not much money, i know, but suppose the child had never been born? and suppose it had been a son! and how often too, and how easily i might have been cheated! i am sure you could not say that five hundred ducats was too much for her if i named that price. look, how she stamps down her embroidered slippers! ah, what legs! i don't believe you could find such round, white, smooth little legs anywhere else! her price, sir, is six hundred ducats." yffim beg listened to the trader with the air of a connoisseur. "or, perhaps, you would prefer that melancholy virgin yonder, who has sought solitude and is lying beneath the shade of that rose-tree? look, sir, what a lot of rose-trees i have all about the place! my girls can never bear to be without rose-trees, for roses go best with damsels, and the fragrance of the rose is the best teacher of love. that circassian girl yonder was captured along with her father and mother; the husband, a rough fellow, slew his wife lest she should fall into our hands, but he had no time to kill his child, for i took her, and now i would not sell her for less than seven hundred ducats; there's no hurry, for she is still quite a child." here yffim beg growled something or other. "now that saucy damsel swinging herself to and fro on the shawl," continued the dealer, "i got in china, where her parents abandoned her in a public place. she does not promise much at first sight, but touch her and you'll fancy you are in contact with warm velvet. i would let you have her, sir, for five hundred ducats, but i should charge anyone else as much again." yffim beg nodded approvingly. "and now do you see that fair damsel who, with a gold comb, is combing out tresses more precious than gold; she came to me from the northern islands, from a ship which the kapudan pasha sent to the bottom of the sea. i don't ask you if you ever saw such rich fair tresses before, but i do ask you whether you ever saw before a mortal maid with such a blindingly fair face? when she blushes, it is just as if the dawn were touching her with rosy finger-tips." "yes, but her face is painted," said yffim beg suspiciously. "painted, sir!" exclaimed haji baba with dignity. "painted faces at my shop! very well! come and convince yourself." and, tearing aside the muslin veil, he entered the apartment with yffim beg. at the sight of the men a couple of the charming hoydens rushed shrieking behind the tapestries, and only after a time poked their inquisitive little heads through the folds of the curtains; but the georgian beauty continued to dance; the chinese damsel went on swinging more provocatively than ever; the beauty from the northern islands allowed her golden tresses to go on playing about her shoulders; a fresh, tawny gipsy-girl, in a variegated, elaborately fringed dress, with ribbons in her curly hair, stood right in front of the approaching beg, eyed him carefully from top to toe, seized part of his silken caftan, and rubbed it between her fingers, as if she wanted to appraise its value to a penny; while a tiny little negro girl with gold bracelets round her hands and legs, fumigated the entering guest with ambergris, naïvely smiling at him all the time with eyes like pure enamel and lips as red as coral. the robber-chapman was right, there was not one of these girls who felt ashamed. they looked at the purchaser with indifference and even complacency, and everyone of them tried to please him in the hope that he would take them where they would have lots of jewels and fine clothes, and slaves to wait on them. haji baba led the beg to the above-mentioned beauty, and raising the edge of her white garment and displaying her blushing face, rubbed it hard, and when the main texture remained white, he turned triumphantly to the seller. "well, sir! i sell painted faces, do i? do you suppose that every orthodox shah, emir, and khan would have any confidence in me if i did? will you not find in my garden those flowers which the sultana valideh presents to the greatest of emperors on his birthday, and which in a week's time the sultan gives in marriage to those of his favourite pashas whom he delights to honour? why, i don't keep hindu bayaderes simply because they stain their teeth with betel-root and orange yellow, and gild their eyebrows; accursed be he who would improve upon what allah created perfect! the black girl is lovely because she is black, the greek because she is brown, the pole because she is pale, and the wallach because she is ruddy; there are some who like blonde, and some who like dark tresses; and fire dwells in blue eyes as well as in black; and god has created everything that man may rejoice therein." while the worthy man-filcher was thus pouring himself forth so enthusiastically, yffim beg, with a very grave face, was gazing round the apartment, drawing aside every curtain and gazing grimly at the dwellers behind them, who, clad in rich oriental garments, were reclining on divans, sucking sugar-plums and singing songs. haji baba was at his back the whole time, and had so much to say of the qualifications of every damsel they beheld, that the turkish gentleman must have been sorely perplexed which of them to choose. he had got right to the end of the apartment, when unexpectedly peeping into the remotest corner, he beheld a damsel who seemed to be entirely different from all the rest. she was wrapped in a simple white wadding-like garment, only her head was visible; and when the beg turned towards her, both his eyes and his mouth opened wide, and he stood rooted to the spot before her. it was the face of the queen in the kingdom of beauty. never had he seen such a look, such burning, glistening, flashing eyes as hers! the proud, free temples, beneath which two passionate eyebrows sparkled like rainbows, even without a diadem dispensed majesty. at the first glance she seemed as savage as diana surprised in her bath, at the next she was as timorous as the flying daphne; gradually a tender smile transformed her features, she looked in front of her with a dazed expression like betrayed sappho gazing at the expanse of ocean in which she would fain extinguish her burning love. "chapman!" cried the beg, scarce able to contain himself for astonishment, "would you deceive me by hiding away from me a houri stolen from heaven?" "i assure you, sir," said the chapman, with a look of terror, "that it were better for you if you turned away and thought of her no more." "haji baba, beware! if perchance you would sell her to another, or even keep her for yourself, you run the risk of losing more than you will ever make up again." "i tell you, sir, by the beard of my father, look not upon that woman." "hum! some defect perhaps!" thought yffim to himself, and he beckoned to the girl to let down her garment. she immediately complied, and, standing up, stripped her light mantle from her limbs. ah! how the beg's eyes sparkled. he half believed that what he saw was not human, but a vision from fairy-land. the damsel's shape was as perfect as a marble statue carved expressly for the altar of the goddess of love, and the silver hoop encircling her body only seemed to be there as a girdle in order to show how much whiter than silver was her body. "curses on your tongue, vile chatterer!" said yffim beg, turning upon the chapman. "here have you been wasting an hour of my time with your empty twaddle, and hiding the beauties of paradise from my gaze. what's the price of this damsel?" "believe me, sir, she won't do for you." "what! thou man-headed dog! dost fancy thou hast to do with beggars who cannot give thee what thou askest? i come hither to buy for hassan pasha, the governor of buda, who is wont to give two thousand ducats to him who asks him for one thousand." at these words the damsel's face was illuminated by an unwonted smile, and at that moment her large, fiery eyes flashed so at yffim beg that _his_ eyes could not have been more blinded if he had been walking on the seashore and two suns had flashed simultaneously in his face, one from the sky and the other from the watery mirror. "it is not that," said the slave merchant, bowing himself to the ground; "on the contrary, i'll let you have the damsel so cheaply that you will see from the very price that i had reserved her for one of the lowest _mushirs_, in case he should take a fancy to her--you shall have her for a hundred dinars." "thou blasphemer, thou! dost thou cheapen in this fashion the masterpieces of nature. thou shouldst ask ten thousand dinars for her, or have a stroke on the soles of thy feet with a bamboo for every dinar thou askest below that price." the merchant's face grew dark. "take her not, sir," said he; "you will be no friend to yourself or to your master if you would bring her into his harem." "i suppose," said the beg, "that the damsel has a rough voice, and that is why she is going so cheaply?" and he ordered her to sing a song to him if she knew one. "ask her not to do that, sir!" implored the chapman. but, already, he was too late. at the very first word the girl had laid hold of a mandolin, and striking the chords till they sounded like the breeze on an æolian harp, she began to sing in the softest, sweetest, most ardent voice an arab love-song: "in the rose-groves of shiraz, in the pale beams of moonlight, in the burning heart's slumber, love ever is born. "'midst the icebergs of altai, on the steps of the scaffold, in the fierce flames of hatred, love never can die." the beg felt absolutely obliged to rush forthwith upon haji baba and pummel him right and left for daring to utter a word to put him off buying the damsel. the slave-dealer patiently endured his kicks and cuffs, and when the jest was over, he said once more: "and again i have to counsel you not to take the damsel for your master." "what's amiss with her, then, thou big owl? speak sense, or i'll hang thee up at thine own masthead." "i'll tell you, sir, if only you will listen. that damsel has not belonged to one master only, for i know for certain that five have had her. all five, sir, have perished miserably by poison, the headman's sword, or the silken cord. she has brought misfortune to every house she has visited, and she has dwelt with tartars, turks, and magyars. against the iblis that dwells within her, prophets, messiahs, and idols have alike been powerless; ruin and destruction breathe from her lips; he who embraces her has his grave already dug for him, and he who looks at her had best have been born without the light of his eyes. therefore i once more implore you, sir, to let this damsel go to some poor mushir, whose head may roll off without anybody much caring, and do not convey danger to so high a house as the palace of hassan pasha." the beg shook his head. "i thought thee a sharper, and i have found thee a blockhead," said he, and he signified to the damsel to wrap herself in her mantle and follow him. "allah is my witness that i warned you; i wash my hands of it," stammered haji baba. "the girl will follow me; send thou for the money to my house." "the prophet seeth my soul, sir. if you are determined to take the damsel, _i_ will not give her to you for money, lest so great a man may one day say that he bought ruin from me. take her then as a gift to your master." "but i have forgotten to ask the damsel's name?" "i will tell you, but forget not every time that name passes your lips to say: 'mashallah!' for that woman's name is the name of the devil, and doubtless she does not bear it without good cause, nor will she ever be false to it." "speak, and chatter not!" "that damsel's name is azrael ... allah is mighty!" chapter ix. the amazon brigade. it was three days since azrael had come into the possession of hassan pasha, and in the evening of the third day haji baba was sitting in the prow of his ship and rejoicing in the beautiful moonlight when he saw, a long way off, in the direction of the margaret island a skiff, and then another skiff, and then another, row across the danube, and heard heart-rending shrieks which only lasted for a short time. presently the skiffs disappeared among the trees on the river bank, the last hideous cry died away, and from the rose-groves of the castle came a romantic song which resounded over the danube through the silent night. the merchant recognised the voice of the odalisk, and listened attentively to it for a long time, and it seemed to him as if through this song those shrieks were passing incessantly. the next day yffim beg came to see him, and the merchant hospitably welcomed him. he set before him a narghile and little cups of sherbet, and then they settled down comfortably to their pipes, but neither of them uttered a word. thus a good hour passed away; then at last haji baba opened his mouth. "during the night i saw some skiffs row out towards the island, and i heard the sound of stifled shrieks." and then they both continued to pull away at their narghiles, and another long hour passed away. then yffim beg arose, pressed the hand of haji baba, and said, just as he was moving off: "they were the favourite damsels of hassan pasha, who had been sewn up in leathern sacks and flung into the water." haji baba shook his head, which signifies with a turk: i anticipated that. not long afterwards the whole host began to assemble below pesth, encamping on the bank of the danube; a bridge suddenly sprang into sight, and across it passed army corps, heavy cannons and wagons. first there arrived from belgrade the vizier aga, with a bodyguard of nine thousand men, and pitched their tents on the rákás; after him followed ismail pasha, with sixteen thousand janissaries, and their tents covered the plain. the tartar khan's disorderly hordes, which might be computed at forty thousand, extended over the environs of vácz; and presently prince ghyka also arrived with six thousand horsemen, and along with him the picked troops of the vizier of buda; the whole army numbered about one hundred thousand. so haji baba did a roaring trade. there were numerous purchasers among so many turkish gentlemen; there was something to suit everyone, for the prices were graduated; and haji thought he might perhaps order up a fresh consignment from his agents at belgrade, hoping to sell this off rapidly so long as the camp remained. but he very much wanted to know how long the concentration would go on, and how many more gentlemen were still expected to join the host, and with that object he sought out yffim beg. the beg answered straightforwardly that nearly everyone who had a mind to come was there already. the prince of transylvania had treacherously absented himself from the host, and only kucsuk pasha and young feriz beg's brigades were still expected; without them the army would move no farther. at the mention of these names haji baba started. "you have as good as made me a dead man, sir. i must now go back to stambul with my whole consignment." "art thou mad?" "no, but i shall become bankrupt, if i wait for these gentlemen. never, sir, can i live in the same part of the world, sir, with those fine fellows, whom may allah long preserve for the glory of our nation! i have two houses on the opposite shores of the bosphorus, so that when these noble gentlemen are in europe i may be in asia, and when they come to asia i may sail over to europe." "thou speakest in riddles." "then you have not heard the fame of feriz beg?" "i have heard him mentioned as a valiant warrior." "and how about the brigade of damsels which is wont to follow him into battle?" yffim beg burst out laughing at these words. "it is easy for you to laugh, sir, for you have never dealt in damsels like me. but you should know that what i tell you is no jest, and feriz beg is as great a danger to every man who trades in women as plague or small-pox." "i never heard of this peculiarity of his." "but i have. i tell you this feriz beg is a youth with magic power, in whose eyes is hidden a talisman, whose forehead is inscribed with magic letters, and from whose lips flow sorcery and magic spells, so that whenever he looks upon a woman, or whenever she hears his words even through a closed door, that woman is lost for ever. just as he upon whom the moon shines when he is asleep is obliged to follow the moon from thenceforth, so, too, this young man draws after him with the moonbeams of his eyes all the women who look upon him. ah! many is the great man who has cursed the hour in which feriz beg galloped past his windows and thereby turned the heads of the most beauteous damsels. even the grand vizier himself has wept the loss of his favourite bayadere zaida, who descended from his windows by a silken cord into the sea, and swam after the ship which bore along feriz beg; and one night my kinsman, kutub alnuma, who is a far greater slave merchant than i am, was, while he slept, tied hand and foot by his own damsels to whom he heedlessly had pointed out feriz beg, and the whole lot incontinently ran after him." "and what does the youth do with all these women?" "oh, sir, that is the most marvellous part of the whole story. for if he culled all the fairest flowers of earth for the sake of love, i would say that he was a wise man, who tasted the joys of paradise beforehand. but it is quite another thing, sir. you will be horrified when i tell you that he at whose feet all the beauties of earth fling themselves, never so much as greets one of them with a kiss." "is he sick, then, or mad?" "he loves another damsel, a christian girl, who is far from here, and for whom he has pined from the days of his childhood. at the time of his first battle he saw this girl for the first time, and as often as he has gone to war since, it is always with her name upon his lips that he draws his sword." "and what happens to the girls he takes away?" "when the first of these flung themselves at his feet, offering him their hearts and their very lives and imploring him to kill them if he would not requite their love, to them he replied: 'you have not been taught to love as i love. your love awoke in the shadows of rose-bushes, mine amidst the flashing of swords; you love sweet songs, and the voice of the nightingale, i love the sound of the trumpet. if you would love me, love as i do; if you would be with me, come whither i go; and if allah wills it, die where i die.' ah, sir, there is an accursed charm on the lips of this young man. he destroys the hearts of the damsels with his words so that they forget that allah gave them to men as playthings and delightful toys, and they gird swords upon their tender thighs, fasten cuirasses of mail round their bosoms, and expose their fair faces to deadly swords." "and do these women really fight, or is it all a fable?" "they do wonders, sir. no one has ever seen them fly before the foe, and frequently they are victorious; and if they have less strength in their arms than men, they have ten times more fire in their hearts. and if at any one point the fight is most dogged, and the enemy collecting together his most valiant bands has tired out the hardly-pressed spahis and timariots, then the youth draws his sword and plunges into the blackest of mortal peril. and then the wretched women all plunge blindly after him, and each one of them tries to get nearest to him, for they know that every weapon is directed against him, and they ward off with their bosoms the bullets which were meant for him. and so long as the youth remains there, or presses forward, they never leave him, the whole battalion perishes first. and at last, if he wins the fight and remains master of the field, the youth dismounts from his horse, collects the bodies of the slain who have fallen fighting beside him, kisses them one by one on their foreheads, sheds tears on their pale faces, and with his own hands lays them in the grave. and, believe me, sir, these bewitched, enchanted damsels are mad after that kiss, and their only wish is to gain it as soon as possible." "and is there none to put an end to this scandal? have the generals no authority to abolish this abomination? do not the outraged owners demand back their slave-girls?" "you must know, sir, that feriz beg stands high in the favour of the sultan. he is never prominent anywhere but on the battlefield, but there he gives a good account of himself; and if anybody who came to his tents to try and recover his slave-girls by force, he might easily be sent about his business minus his nose and ears. besides, who could say that these warriors of feriz are women? do they not dispense thrusts and slashes instead of kisses? do you ever hear them sing or see them dance and smile so long as they are under canvas? oh, sir, i assure you that you would do well if you told all those who buy slave-girls from me to guard the damsels from the enchanting dark eyes of this man, for there is a talisman concealed in them. and, in particular, forget not to tell your master to conceal his damsel, for you know not what might happen if a magician caused a female iblis[ ] to enter into her. if an enamoured woman is terrible, what would an enamoured she-devil be? you bought her, take care that she does not sell you! the day before yesterday you threw his favourite women into the water, the day after to-morrow you might----but allah guard my tongue, i will not say what i would. watch carefully, that's all i'll say. yet to keep a watch upon women is the most difficult of sciences. if you want to get into a beleagured fortress, hide an enamoured woman in it, and she'll very soon show you the way in. take heed to what i say, sir, for if you forget my words but for half an hour, i would not give my little finger-nail for your head." [footnote : evil spirit.] whereupon yffim beg arose without saying a word and withdrew, deeply pondering the words of the slave-dealer. but haji baba that same night drew up his anchors, and at dawn he had vanished from the danube, none knew whither. chapter x. the margaret island. on the margaret island, in the bosom of the blue danube, was the paradise of hassan pasha, and to behold its treasures was death. at every interval of twenty yards stands a eunuch behind the groves of the island with a long musket, and if any man fares upon the water within bullet-reach, he certainly will never tell anyone what he saw. paradise exhales every intoxicating joy, every transient delight; it is full of flowers, and no sooner does one flower bloom than another instantly fades away; and this also is the fate of those flowers which are called damsels, for some of these likewise fade in a day, whilst others are culled to adorn the table of the favourite. this, i say, is the fate of all the flowers, and frequently in those huge porcelain vases which stand before azrael's bed, among its wreaths of roses and pomegranate flowers, one may see the head of an odalisk with drooping eyes who yesterday was as bright and merry as her comrades, the rose and pomegranate blossoms. oh, that woman is a veritable dream! since he possessed her hassan pasha is no longer a man, but a piece of wax which receives the impression of her ideas. he hears nothing but her voice, and sees nothing but her. already they are beginning to say that hassan pasha no longer recognizes a man ten feet off, and is no longer able to distinguish between the sound of the drum and the sound of the trumpet. and it is true, but whoever said so aloud would be jeopardizing his head, for hassan would conceal his failings for fear of being deprived of the command of the army if they became generally known. all the better does yffim beg see and hear, yffim beg who is constantly about azrael; if he were not such an old and faithful favourite of hassan pasha he might almost regret that he has such good eyes and ears. but azrael's penetrating mind knows well enough that yffim beg's head stands much more firmly on his shoulders than stand the heads of those whom hassan pasha sacrifices to her whims, so she flatters him, and it is all the worse for him that she does flatter. hassan pasha, scarce waiting for the day to end and dismissing all serious business, sat him down in his curtained pinnace, known only to the dwellers on the fairy island, and had himself rowed across to his hidden paradise, where, amidst two hundred attendant damsels, azrael, the loveliest of the living, awaits him in the hall of the fairy kiosk, round whose golden trellis work twine the blooms of a foreign sky. yffim beg alone accompanies the pasha thither. the governor, after embracing the odalisk, strolled thoughtfully through the labyrinth of fragrant trees where the paths were covered by coloured pebbles and a whole army of domesticated birds made their nests in the trees. yffim beg follows them at a little distance, and not a movement escapes his keen eyes, not so much as a sigh eludes his sharp ears; he keeps a strict watch on all that azrael does and says. in the midst of their walk--they hadn't gone a hundred paces--a falcon rose before them from among the trees and perched on a poplar close by. "look, sir, what a beautiful falcon!" cried yffim beg. azrael laughed aloud and looked back. "oh, my good beg, how canst thou take a wood-pigeon for a falcon? why it _was_ a wood-pigeon." "i took good note of it, azrael, and there it is sitting on that poplar." "why, that's better still--now he calls a nut-tree a poplar. eh, eh! worthy beg, thou must needs have been drinking a little to see so badly." "well, that was what i fancied," said the beg, much perplexed, and for the life of him not perceiving the point of the jest. why should the odalisk make a fool of him so? "but look then, my love," said azrael, appealing to the pasha; "thou didst see that bird fly away from the tree yonder, was it not a wood-pigeon flying from a nut-tree?" hassan saw neither the tree nor the bird, but he pretended he did, and agreed with the odalisk. "of course it was a wood-pigeon and a nut-tree." yffim beg did not understand it at all. they went on further, and presently yffim beg again spoke. "shall we not turn, my master, towards that beautiful arcade of rose-trees?" azrael clapped her hands together in amazement. "what! an arcade of roses! where is it?" "turn in that direction and thou wilt see it." "these things! why if he isn't taking some sumach trees full of berries for an arcade of rose-trees!" hassan pasha laughed. as for yffim beg he was lost in amazement--why did this damsel choose to jest with him in this fashion? at that moment a cannon shot resounded from the pesth shore. "ah!" said the pasha, stopping, "a cannon shot!" "yes, my master," said yffim, "from the direction of pesth." "from pesth indeed," said azrael, "it was from buda; it was the signal for closing the gate." "i heard it plainly." "excuse me, my good beg, but thy hearing is as bad as thy sight. i am beginning to be anxious about thee. how could it be from the direction of pesth when the whole camp has crossed over to buda?" "maybe a fresh host has arrived, which now awaits us." "come," cried azrael, seizing hassan's hand, "we will find out at once who is right;" and she hastened with them to the shore of the island. on the further bank the camp of feriz beg was visible; they were just pitching their tents on the side of the hills. a company of cavalry was just going down to the water's-edge, at whose head ambled a slim young man whose features were immediately recognised, even at that distance, both by the favourite beg and the favourite damsel. only hassan saw nothing; in the distance everything was to him but a blur of black and yellow. "well, what did i say?" exclaimed yffim beg triumphantly; "that is the camp of feriz beg, and there is feriz himself trotting in front of them." the words were scarce out of his mouth when the terrible thought occurred to him that azrael had no business to be looking upon this strange man. the odalisk, laughing loudly, flung herself on hassan's neck. "ha, ha, ha! the worthy beg takes the water-carrying girls for an army!" then yffim beg began to tremble, for he perceived now whither this woman wanted to carry her joke. "my master," said he, "forbid thy slave-girl to make a fool of me. the camp of feriz beg is straight in front of us, and thou wilt do well to prevent thy maid-servant from looking at these men with her face unveiled." "allah! thou dost terrify me, good beg!" said azrael, feigning horror so admirably that hassan himself felt the contagion of it. "say! where dost thou see this camp?" "there, on the water-side; dost thou not see the tents on the hillocks?" "surely it is the linen which these girls are bleaching." "and that blare of trumpets?" "i only hear the merry songs that the girls are singing." in his fury yffim beg plucked at his beard. "my master, this devilish damsel is only mocking us." "thou art suffering from deliriums," said azrael, with a terrible face, "or thou art under a spell which makes thee see before thee things which exist not. contradict me not, i beg; this hath happened to thee once before. dost thou not remember when thou fleddest from transylvania how, then also, thou didst maintain that the enemy was everywhere close upon thy heels! thou also then wert under the spell of a hideous enchantment, for thy eunuch horseman who remained behind at nagyenyed, and is now a sentinel on this island, hath told me that there was no sign of any enemy for more than twenty leagues around, and he remained waiting for thee for ten days and fancied thou wert mad. most assuredly some evil sorcery made thee fly before an imaginary enemy without thy turban or tunic." yffim beg grew pale. he felt that he must surrender unconditionally to this infernal woman. "was it so, yffim?" cried hassan angrily. "pardon him, my lord," said azrael soothingly; "he was under a spell then, as he is now. thou art bewitched, my good yffim." "really, i believe i am," he stammered involuntarily. "but i will turn away the enchantment," said the damsel; and tripping down to the water's-edge she moistened her hand and sprinkled the face of the beg, murmuring to herself at the same time some magic spell. "now look and see!" the beg did all that he was bidden to do. "who, then, are these walking on the bank of the danube?" "young girls," stammered the beg. "and those things spread out yonder." "wet linen." "dost thou not hear the songs of the girls?" "certainly i do." "look now, my master, what wonders there are beneath the sun!" said azrael, turning towards hassan pasha; "is it not marvellous that yffim should see armies when there is nothing but pretty peasant girls?" "miracles proceed from allah, but methinks yffim beg must have very bad sight to mistake maidens for men of war." yffim beg durst not say to hassan pasha that he also had bad sight; he might just as well have pronounced his own death sentence at once. hassan wanted to pretend to see all that his favourite damsel pointed out, and she proceeded to befool the pair of them most audaciously in the intimate persuasion that hassan would not betray the fact that he could not see, while yffim beg was afraid to contradict lest he should be saddled with that plaguy transylvanian business. meanwhile, on the opposite bank, feriz beg in a sonorous voice was distributing his orders and making his tired battalions rest, galloping the while an arab steed along the banks of the danube. the odalisk followed every movement of the young hero with burning eyes. "i love to hear the songs of these damsels; dost not thou also, my master?" she inquired of hassan. "oh, i do," he answered hastily. "wilt thou not sit down beside me here on the soft grass of the river bank?" the pasha sat down beside the odalisk, who, lying half in his bosom, with her arm round his neck, followed continually the movements of feriz with sparkling eyes. "look, my master!" said she, pointing him out to hassan; "look at that slim, gentle damsel, prominent among all the others, walking on the river's bank. her eyes sparkle towards us like fire, her figure is lovelier than a slender flower. ah! now she turns towards us! what a splendid, beauteous shape! never have i seen anything so lovely. why may i not embrace her--like a sister--why may i not say to her, as i say to thee, 'i love thee, i live and die for thee?'" and with these words the odalisk pressed hassan to her bosom, covering his face with kisses at every word; and he, beside himself with rapture, saw everything which the girl told him of, never suspecting that those kisses, those embraces, were not for him but for a youth to whom his favourite damsel openly confessed her love beneath his very eyes! and yffim beg, amazed, confounded, stood behind them, and shaking his head, bethought him of the words of haji baba, "cast forth that devil, and beware lest she give you away!" chapter xi. a star in hell. let the gentle shadows of night descend which guard them that sleep from the eyes of evil spectres! let the weary errant bee rest in the fragrant chalice of the closed flower. everything sleeps, all is quiet, only the stars and burning hearts are still awake. what a gentle, mystical song resounds from among the willows, as of a nightingale endowed with a human voice in order to sing to the listening night in coherent rhymes the song of his love and his melancholy rapture. it is the poet hariri whom, sword in hand, they call feriz beg, "the lion of combat," but who, when evening descends, and the noise and tumult of the camp are still, discards his coat of mail, puts on a light grey _burnush_, and, lute in hand, strolls through the listening groves and by the side of the murmuring streams and calls forth languishing songs from the depths of his heart and the strings of his lute, uninterrupted by the awakening appeals of the trumpet. many a pale maid opens her window to the night at the sound of these magic songs--and becomes all the paler from listening to them. the eunuchs steal softly along the banks of the margaret island with their long muskets, and stop still and watch for any suspicious skiff drawing near to the island; and the most wakeful of them is old majmun, who, even when he is asleep, has one eye open, and in happier times was the guardian of the harem. he sits down on a hillock, and even a carrier-pigeon with a letter under its wings could not have eluded his vigilance. he has only just arrived on the island, having previously accompanied yffim beg into transylvania, and therefore has only seen azrael once. his eyes roam constantly around, and his sharp ears detect even the flight of a moth or a beetle, yet suddenly he feels--some one tapping him on the shoulder. he turns terrified, and behold azrael standing behind him. "accursed be that singing over yonder. i was listening to it, so did not hear thee approach. what dost thou want? why dost thou come hither in the darkness of night? how didst thou escape from the harem?" "i prythee be quiet!" said the odalisk. "this evening i went a-boating with my master, and a gold ring dropped from my finger into the water; it was a present from him, and if to-morrow he asks: 'where is that ornament?' and i cannot show it him, he will slay me. oh, let me seek for it here in the water." "foolish damsel, the water here is deep; it will go over thy head, and thou wilt perish." "i care not; i must look for it. i must find the ring, or lose my life for it." and the odalisk said the words in such an agony of despair that the eunuch was quite touched by it. "thou shouldst entrust the matter to another." "if only i could find someone who can dive under the water, i would give him three costly bracelets for it; i would give away all my treasures." "i can dive," said majmun, seized by avarice. "oh, descend then into the water for me," implored the damsel, falling on her knees before him and covering the horny hand of the slave with her kisses. "but art thou not afraid of being suffocated? for then in the eyes of the governor i should be twice guilty." "fear not on my account. in my youth i was a pearl-fisher in the indian ocean, and i can remain under water and look about me like a fish, even at night, while thou dost count one hundred. only show me the place where the ring fell from thy finger." azrael drew a pearl necklace from her arm and casting it into the water, pointed at the place where it fell. "it was on the very spot where i have cast that; if thou dost fetch up both of them for me, the second one shall be thine." majmun perceived that this was not exactly a joke, and laying aside his garment and his weapon, bade the damsel look after them, and quickly slipped beneath the water. in a few seconds the eunuch's terrified face emerged above the water and he struck out for the shore with a horrified expression. "this is an evil spot," said he; "at the bottom of the water is a heap of human heads." "i know it," said the odalisk calmly. the eunuch was puzzled. he gazed up at her, and was astounded to observe that in the place of the sensitive, supplicating figure so lately there, there now stood a haughty, awe-inspiring woman, who looked down upon him like a queen. "those heads there are the heads of thy comrades," said azrael to the astounded eunuch, "whom last night and the preceding nights i asked to do me a service, which they refused to do. next day i accused them to the governor and he instantly had their heads cut off without letting them speak." "and what service didst thou require?" "to swim to the opposite shore and give this bunch of flowers to that youth yonder." "ha! thou art a traitor." "no such thing. all i ask of thee is this: dost thou hear those songs in that grove yonder? very well, swim thither and give him this posy. if thou dost not, thy head also will be under the water among the heap of the others. but if thou dost oblige me i will make thee rich for the remainder of thy life. it is in thine own power to choose whether thou wilt live happily or die miserably." "but i have a third choice, and that is to kill thee," cried the eunuch, gnashing his teeth. azrael laughed. "thou blockhead! whilst thou wert still under the water it occurred to me to fill thy musket with earth and gird thy dagger to my side. utter but a cry and thou wilt have no need to wait for to-morrow to lay thy head at thy feet." at these words the damsel squeezed the eunuch's arm so emphatically that he bent down before her. "what dost thou command?" "i have already told thee." "i am playing with my own head." "that is not as bad as if i were playing with it." "what dost thou want of me?" "i want thee to row me across to the opposite shore." "there is only one skiff on the island, and in that yffim beg is wont to fish." "oh, why have i never learnt to swim!" cried azrael, collapsing in despair. "what! wouldst thou swim across this broad stream?" "yes, and i'll swim across it now, this instant." "those are idle words. if thou art not a devil thou wilt drown in this river if thou canst not swim." "thou shalt swim with me. i will put one hand on thy shoulder to keep me up." "thou art mad, surely! only just now thou didst threaten me with death, and now thou wouldst trust thy life to me! i need only hold thee under for a second or two to be rid of thee for ever. water is a terrible element to him who cannot rule over it, the dwellers beneath the waves are merciless." "by putting my life into thy hands i show thee that i fear thee not. lead me through the water!" "thou art mad, but i still keep my senses. go back to the vizier's kiosk while he hath not noticed thy absence. i will not betray thee." "then thou wilt not go with me?" said the odalisk darkly. "may i never see thee again if i do so," said majmun resolutely, sitting down on a hillock. "wretched slave!" cried azrael in despair, "then i will go myself." and with that she cast herself into the water from the high bank. majmun, unable to prevent her leap, plunged in after her and soon emerged with her again on the surface of the water, holding the woman by her long hair. she suddenly embraced the eunuch with both arms, turned in the water so as to come uppermost and raising her head from the waves, cried fiercely to the submerged eunuch: "go to the opposite shore, or we'll drown together." the eunuch, after a short, desperate struggle, becoming convinced that he could not free himself from the arms of the damsel who held him fast like a gigantic serpent, with a tremendous wrench contrived to bring his head above the water and cried unwillingly: "i'll lead thee thither." "hasten then!" cried azrael, releasing him from her arms and grasping the woolly pate of the swimmer with one hand; "hasten!" the eunuch swam onwards. nothing was to be seen but a white and a black head moving closely together in the darkness and the long tresses of the damsel floating on the surface of the waves. "is the bank far?" she presently asked the slave, for she was somewhat behind and could not see in front of her. "art thou afraid?" "i fear that i may not be able to see it." "we shall be at the other side directly. the stream is broad just now, for the danube is in flood." a few minutes later the negro felt firm ground beneath his feet, and the odalisk perceived the branch of a willow drooping above her face. quickly seizing it, she drew herself out of the water. softly and tremulously she ran towards the grove of trees which concealed what she sought, and on perceiving the singer, whose enchanting tones had enticed her across the water, she stood there all quivering, holding back her breath, and with one hand pressed against her bosom. the young singer was sitting on a silver linden-tree. he had just finished his song, and had placed the lute by his side, and was gazing sadly before him with his handsome head resting against his hand as if he would have summoned back the spirit which had flown far far away on the wings of his melody. "now thou canst speak to him," said majmun to the damsel. azrael stood there, leaning against a weeping willow and gazing, motionless, at the youth. "hasten, i say. the night is drawing to an end and we have to get back again. wherefore dost thou hesitate when thou hast come so far for this very thing?" the odalisk sighed softly, and leant her head against the mossy tree trunk. "thou saidst thou wouldst rush to him, embrace his knees, and greet him with thy lips, and now thou dost stand as if rooted to the spot by spells." the damsel slowly sank upon her knees and hid her face in her garment. "the girl is really crazy," murmured the negro; "if thou hast come hither only to weep, thou couldst have done that just as well on the other side." at that moment the voice of a bugle horn rang out from a distance through the silent night, whereupon the singer, suddenly transformed into a warrior, sprang to his feet. it was the first _reveille_ from the camp of buda to awake the sleepers, and hariri disappeared to become feriz beg again, who, drawing his sword, quickly hastened away from among the willow-trees, and in his hurry forgot his lute beneath a silver birch. "thou seest he has departed from thee," cried the negro malevolently, seizing the damsel's hand. "hasten back with me while yet there is time." the girl arose--holding her breath as she gazed after the youth--and waited till he had disappeared among the bushes; then she drew forth the wreath of flowers which she had hidden in her bosom, and took a step forward, listening till the retreating footsteps had died away, and then suddenly rushed towards the abandoned lute, pressed it to her heart, covered it with kisses, and fell down beside it filled with agony and rapture. then she took the wreath and cast it round the lute, and the wreath was composed of these flowers: a rose. what does a rose signify in the language of love?--"i love thee, i am happy." then a pomegranate-flower, which signifies: "i love none but thee!" then a pink, which signifies: "i wither for love of thee." then a balsam, which signifies: "i dare not approach thee." and, finally, a forget-me-not, which signifies: "let us live or die together." this wreath the odalisk fastened together with a lock of her own hair, which signifies: "i surrender my life into thy hands!" for a turkish woman never allows a lock of her hair to pass into the hand of a stranger, believing, as she does, that whoever possesses it has the power to ruin or slay her, to deprive her either of her reason or her life. majmun gazed at her in astonishment. was this all she had come for through so many terrible dangers? "hasten, damsel, with thine incantations," said he, "the camp is now aroused and the dawn is at hand." azrael cast a burning kiss with her hand in the direction whither feriz had disappeared; then returning to the slave, she said, with her usual commanding voice: "remain here and count up to six hundred without looking after me, and by that time i shall have come back." majmun counted up to six hundred with a loud voice. meanwhile, azrael ran along the dam of the river bank till she came to the sluice, which she raised by the exertion of her full strength. the liberated water began to flow through the opening with a mighty roar. then azrael hastened back to the negro. "and now for the island," said she. and once more they traversed the dangerous way, azrael lying on her back with a hand on the negro's head. in her bosom was a poplar leaf, which afforded her great satisfaction. on reaching the island azrael richly recompensed the negro, and said to him: "to-morrow morning, at dawn, thy master, yffim beg, will seek thee and command thee to accompany him and hassan pasha across the bridge to the other side where stands the camp of feriz beg. thou wilt find no one there, but look at the place where we were this night, and if thou shouldst find there a nosegay or a wreath, bring it to me!" majmun listened with amazement. how could azrael have found out all about these things? azrael returned to the kiosk, where hassan pasha was still sleeping the deep sleep of opium. he awoke in the arms of his favourite, and he could not understand why her hands were so cold and her kisses so burning. the odalisk told him she had been dreaming. she had dreamt that she swam across the river enticed by the singing of the peris. hassan smiled. "go on sleeping, and continue thy dream," said he. the sun was high in the heaven when hassan pasha quitted the kiosk. yffim beg was awaiting him. "wilt thou not ride to pesth there to mark out the place for the camp of feriz beg, who has just arrived?" azrael shrewdly guessed that yffim beg was for leading the governor to the pesth shore to satisfy him as to the peasant girls whom he was said to have mistaken for soldiers by some evil enchantment. she also thought how convenient it would be for her that they should take majmun with them for the whole day. hassan accordingly accepted yffim's invitation, and galloped with him and majmun over to the opposite shore, where yffim was amazed to discover that not a soul of feriz beg's host was visible. in the night the suddenly released water had covered the whole ground of their camp, and they had been obliged to retire farther away from the river and seek another encampment beyond pesth. yffim beg would have liked to have torn out his beard in his wrath if he had not been restrained by the general's presence. but majmun, under the pretext of clearing the way, reconnoitred the scene of yesterday's interview, and there, in the roots of the silver birch, he found that a wreath had been deposited. he concealed it beneath his _burnush_, and carried it home to azrael. the wreath was composed of two pieces--a branch of laurel and a spray of thorn. the damsel bowed her head before this answer. she knew that it signified: "suffer if thou wouldst prevail!" chapter xii. the battle of st. gothard. it was a beautiful summer evening; there was a half-moon in the sky, and a hundred other half-moons scattered over the hillocks below. the turkish host had encamped among the hills skirting the river raab. concerning this particular new moon, we find recorded in the prophetic column of the "kaossa almanack" for the current year that it was to be: "to the germans, help in need; to the turks, fortune indeed; to the magyars, power to succeed. and whoever's not ill shall of health have his fill, for 'tis heaven's own will." the worthy astrologer forgot, however, to find out in heaven whether there are not certain quarters of the moon beneath which man may easily die even if they are not sick. the great grand vizier kiuprile, after resting on the ruins of zerinvár, turned towards the borders of styria and united with the army of the pasha of buda, below st. gothard. kiuprile's host consisted for the most part of cavalry, for his infantry was employed in digging trenches round zerinvár, whose commandant, in reply to an invitation to surrender the fortress and not attempt to defend it with six hundred men against thirty thousand, jestingly responded: "as one hungarian florin is worth ten turkish piasters, one hungarian warrior necessarily must be worth ten turkish warriors." and what is more, the worthy man made good this rate of exchange, for when the victors came to count up the cost, they found that for six hundred hungarians they had had to pay six thousand osmanlis into the hands of his majesty king death. kiuprile had then pursued the armies of the emperor, but they refused to stand and fight anywhere; and while their enemies were marching higher and higher up the banks of the raab, they seemed to be withdrawing farther and farther away on the opposite shore. the army of the pasha of buda should have gone round at the rear of the imperial forces, in order to unite with the pasha of Érsekújvár, the former having previously cut off every possibility of a retreat; but hassan, as an independent general, did not follow the directions sent him, simply because they came from kiuprile, and he also made straight for the raab by forced marches, in order to wrest the opportunity of victory from his rival. thus the two armies came together, on july th, below the romantic hills of st. gothard, each army pitching its tents on the right bank of the river, and occupying the summits of the hills, which commanded a view of the whole region. and certainly the worthy gentlemen showed no bad taste when they took a fancy to that part of the kingdom. in every direction lay the yellow acres, from which the terrified peasants had not yet reaped the standing corn; to the right were the gay vineyard-clad hills; to the left the dark woods and stretch upon stretch of undulating meadow-land, bisected by the winding ribbon of the raab. on a hill close by stood the gigantic pillared portico of the monastery of st. gothard, with fair pleasure-groves at its base. farther away were the towers of four or five villages. the setting sun, as if desirous of making the district still more beautiful, enwrapped it in a veil of golden mist. "thou dog!" cried hassan pasha to the peasant who alone received the terrible guests in the abandoned cloisters, "this region is far too beautiful for the like of you monks to dwell in. but you will not be in it long, my good sirs, for i mean to take it for myself. the peasant after all is lord here. he eats his own bread and he drinks his own wine, and he has a couple of good garments to draw over his head. but stop, things shall be very different, for i shall have a word to say about it." the honest peasant took off his cap. "god grant," said he, "that more and more of you may dwell in my domains, and that i may build your houses for you." the man was a grave-digger. hassan pasha and his suite occupied the monastery, whose vestibule was filled with priests and magistrates from every quarter of the kingdom, whose duty it was to collect and bring in provisions and taxes due to the turkish government. and what they brought in was never sufficient, and therefore the poor creatures had to send deputies as hostages from time to time, who followed their lords on foot wherever they went, and relieved each other from this servitude in rotation; some of them had been here for half a year. the turkish army was more than , strong, and the right bank of the river was planted for a long distance with their tents. the monastery constituted the centre of the camp; there was the encampment of hassan's favourite mamelukes and the selected corps of cloven-nosed, gigantic negroes, who used to plunge into the combat half-naked, and neither take nor give quarter. alongside of them was the cavalry of kucsuk pasha, a corps accustomed to the strictest discipline. close beside the tents of this division, within a quadrilateral, guarded by a ditch, you could see the camp of the amazon brigade, whose first thought when they pitch their tents is to entrench themselves. close to the camp of kucsuk lies the moldavian army, from whose elaborate precautions you can gather that they have a far greater fear of their allies all around them than of the foe against whom they are marching. from beyond the monastery, right up to the vineyards of nagyfalva, the ground is occupied by the noisy janissaries of ismail pasha, who, if their military reputation lies not, are more used to distributing orders to their commanders than receiving orders from them. beyond the vine-clad hills lies the cavalry of the grand vizier, achmed kiuprile, and all round about, wherever a column of smoke is to be seen or the sky is blood-red, there is good reason for suspecting that there the marauding tartar bands are out, whom it was not the habit to attach to the main army. far in the rear, along the mountain paths, on the slopes of the narrow forest passes, could be seen the endlessly long procession of wagons laden with plunder, intermingled with long round iron cannons and ancient stone mortars, each one drawn along by ten or twelve buffaloes, striving laboriously and painfully to urge their way forward, and if one of them stops for a moment, or falls down, all the others behind it must stop also. it is now evening, and from one division of the army to another the messengers from headquarters are hurrying. kiuprile's messenger comes to inform hassan that the army of the enemy has taken up its position on the opposite bank, between two forests, the french mercenaries and the german auxiliary troops have joined it, so that it would be well to attack it in the night, before it has had time properly to marshal its ranks. "thy master is mad," replied hassan; "how can i fly across the water? before me is the river raab. i should have to fling a bridge across it first--nay two, three bridges--which it would take me days to do, and i cannot even begin to do it till the old ammunition waggons have arrived. go back, therefore, and tell thy master that if he wants to fight i'll sound the alarm." the messenger opened his eyes wide, being unaware of the fact that hassan was short-sighted, and consequently only knew the river raab from the map, not knowing that at the spot where he stood the river was not more than two yards wide, and could be bridged over in a couple of hours without the assistance of old ammunition wagons--so back the messenger went to kiuprile. he had scarce shown a clean pair of heels, when the messenger of kucsuk pasha arrived to signify in his master's name that the battle could not be postponed, because no hay had arrived for the horses. hassan turned furiously on the captive magistrates. "why have you not sent hay?" the wisest of them, desirous to answer the question, politely rejoined: "it has been a dry summer, sir, the lord has kept back the clouds of heaven." "oh, that's it, eh!" said hassan. "tell kucsuk pasha that he must give his horses the clouds to eat; the hay of the magyars is there, it seems." this messenger had no sooner departed than a whole embassy arrived from the janissaries, and the whole lot of them energetically demanded that they should be led into battle at once. "what?" inquired hassan mockingly, "has your hay fallen short too, then?" the janissaries are infantry, by the way. "it is glory we are running short of," said the leader of the deputation stolidly; "it bores us to stand staring idly into the eyes of the enemy." "then don't stare idly at them any longer; away with those mutinous dogs and impale them, and put them on the highest hillock that the whole army may see them." the bodyguard, after a fierce struggle, overpowered the janissaries, and pending their impalement, locked them up in the cellar of the cloisters. by this time hassan pasha was in the most horrible temper; and just at that unlucky moment who should arrive but balló, the envoy of the prince of transylvania. hassan, who could not see very well at the best of times, and was now blinded with rage besides, roared at him: "whence hast thou come? who hath sent thee hither? what is thy errand?" "i come from kiuprile, sir," replied balló blandly. "what a good-for-nothing blackguard this kiuprile must be to send to me such a rogue as thou art, except in chains and fetters." "well, of course he knows that i am the envoy of transylvania, and represent the prince." "represent the prince, eh? art thou the prince's cobbler that thou standest in his shoes? hast thou brought soldiers with thee?" "gracious sir----" "thou hast _not_, then? not another word! hast thou brought money?" "gracious sir!" "not even money! wherefore, then, hast thou come at all? canst thou pay the allotted tribute?" "gracious sir!" "don't gracious sir me, but answer--yes or no!" "well, but----" "then why not?" "the land is poor, sir. the heavy hand of god is upon it." "thou must settle that with god, then, and pray that it may not feel my heavy hand also. wherefore, then, hast thou come?" balló made up his mind to swallow the bitter morsel. "i have come to implore you to remit the annual tribute." at first hassan did not know what to say. "hast thou become wooden, then," he said at last, "thou and thy whole nation? what right have ye to ask for a remission of the tribute?" "gracious sir, the tribute is five times more than what gabriel bethlen was wont to pay." "gabriel bethlen was a fine fellow who paid in iron what he did not pay in silver; if he paid fourteen thousand thalers for the privilege of fighting alongside of us, ye may very well pay down eighty thousand for sitting comfortably at your own firesides. what, only eighty thousand for transylvania, a state that is always digging up gold and silver, when a single sandjak[ ] pays the pasha of thessalonica twice as much?" [footnote : province.] at these words the national pride awoke in the breast of balló. "sir, thessalonica is a subject province, and its pasha has unlimited power over his sandjaks, but transylvania is a free state." "and who told thee that it shall not become a sandjak like the rest?" said hassan grimly. "before the moon has waxed and waned again twice, take my word for it that a turkish pasha shall sit on the throne of transylvania! dost thou hear me? by the prophet i swear it." "the grand seignior has also sworn that the ancient rights of transylvania should never be infringed. he swore it on the koran and by the prophet." "it is beneath the dignity of the grand seignior, our present sultan," cried hassan, "to remember the oath sworn by the great suleiman; not what he says, but what his viziers wish, will happen. and vainly do ye entrust your heads to his hand, while the sword of execution remains in our hands! i'll humble you, ye stony-headed, most obstinate of all nations! ye shall be no different from the bosnian rajas who themselves pull the plough!" balló raised his head with a bitter look before the wrathful vizier. "then, sir, you must find another population for transylvania, for you will not find there now the men you seek. you may see no end of murdered magyars there, but a degraded magyar you will never find." at these words hassan drew his sword, and with his own hand would have decapitated the presumptuous ambassador, but the mamelukes dragged him away, assuring the pasha that they would impale him along with the janissaries. "place the stake in front of my window that i may speak to the insolent wolf while he is well spitted." the men-at-arms did indeed thrust balló into the cellar along with the janissaries, and began to plant a long, sharp-pointed stake in front of the pasha's window, when, all at once, a frightful din arose behind their backs, for the janissaries, hearing that their comrades had been condemned to death without mercy, had revolted in a body. in a moment they had cut down those of their officers who remonstrated, and while one body rushed towards the monastery, beating their alarm-drum and blowing their horns, the others attacked the negro giants guarding the impalement stakes already planted on the top of the hill, and in a few moments the executioners were themselves writhing on the stakes. meanwhile the mamelukes of hassan, who were preparing to resist the insurgents, put to flight by the furious janissaries, made for the courtyard of the cloister and its garden, which was surrounded by a stone wall, and after barricading the entrances, succeeded with great difficulty in shutting the iron gates in the faces of their assailants, and prepared vigorously to defend them. the insurgents surrounded the monastery, and bombarding its windows with bullets and darts, began to besiege it at long-firing distance. hassan, distracted by rage and fear, fled into the tower of the monastery, leaving his guards to defend the gates till the other divisions of the army should come to quell the insurgents, but they did not stir. hassan perceived from his tower that not a man from kiuprile's army was coming to his assistance, though they very well could see his jeopardy and hear the din of the firing a long way off. on the other side the moldavians had pitched their camp on the hills, but it never entered their minds to draw nearer; on the contrary, they were only too delighted to see turks devour turks in this fashion. ismail pasha's army seemed rather to be retreating than approaching, and from kucsuk and his son he durst not hope for assistance, as they were his personal enemies. at that moment the insurgents caught sight of the stake planted before the window, and set up a howl of fury. "ah, ha! hassan had this planted here for himself. let's fix up hassan!" with a shudder the vizier reflected on the enormous difference between the throne of transylvania and the stake on which he might be planted instead, and cursed softly as he murmured to himself: "that rogue of a christian must have prayed to his god that i might be brought to shame here;" and grasping in his terror the solitary bell-rope that hung there, and winding it round his neck, he stood by the window, so that if the rebels should burst through the gates he might leap out and hang himself, rather than that they should wreak their horrible threats upon him. the night had now set in, but the besiegers kindled pine branches, by whose spluttering light they streamed round the monastery; and then came a sudden and continuous firing of guns and beating of drums and a frightful braying of buffalo horns. the banner of danger had already been planted on the summit of the tower, but from no quarter did help arise, and from time to time the sound of a bell rang through the air as a chance bullet struck it. hassan, full of terror, drew back behind the window curtains. suddenly a yell still more terrible than the hitherto pervading tumult filled his ear--the besiegers had discovered the cellar in which their comrades had been confined, and, bursting in the doors, liberated them, and the transylvanian deputy along with them, who speedily left this scene of uproar behind him. at the sight of their bound and fettered comrades, the janissaries' wrath increased ten-fold. the leader of the released captives, waving an axe over his head with a fierce howl, and hurling himself at the iron gate, hammered away like the roaring of guns; whilst the rest of them, who hitherto had been firing at the windows from a distance, now attacked the entrances with unrestrainable fury, raining showers of blows upon the gates. but the gates were of good strong iron plates, well barricaded below with quadraginal paving-stones. the besiegers' arms grew weary, and the mamelukes on the roof flung stones and heavy beams down upon them, doing fearful execution among their serried ranks; whilst every mameluke who fell from his perch, pierced by a bullet, was instantly torn to pieces by the crowd, which flung back his head at the defenders. "draw back!" cried the officer in command, who stood foremost amidst the storm of rafters and bullets. "run for the guns! at the bottom of that hill i saw a mortar planted in the ground; draw it forth, and we'll fire upon the walls." in an instant the whole janissary host had withdrawn from below the monastery, and the whole din died away. yet the dumb silence was more threatening, more terrible, than the uproar had been. very soon a dull rumbling was audible, drawing nearer and nearer every instant; it was the rolling of a gun-carriage full of artillery. hundreds of them were pushing it together, and were rapidly advancing with the heavy, shapeless guns. at last they placed one in position opposite the monastery; it was a heavy iron four-and-twenty pound culverin, whose voice would be audible at the distance of four leagues. this they planted less than fifteen yards from the monastery, and aimed it at the gate. "there is no help save with god!" cried hassan in despair; and he took off his turban lest they should thereby recognise his dead body. at that instant a trumpet sounded, and the cavalry of kucsuk pasha appeared in battle array, making its way through the congested masses of the insurgents; while feriz beg, at the head of his spahis, skilfully surrounded them, and cut off their retreat. kucsuk pasha, with a drawn sword in his hand, trotted straight up to the gun and stood face to face with its muzzle. "are ye faithful sons of the prophet, or fire-worshippers, giaurs, and idolators, that ye attack the faithful after this fashion?" he asked the insurgents. at these words the ringleaders of the insurgents came forward. "we are janissaries," he said, "the flowers of the prophet's garden, who are wont to pluck the weeds we find there." "i know you, but you know me; ye are good soldiers, but i am a good soldier too. hath allah put swords into the hands of good soldiers that they may fall upon one another? ye would weep for me if i fell because of you, and i would weep for you if ye fell because of me--but where would be the glory of it? what! here with the foe in front of you, ye would wage war among yourselves, to your own shame, and to the joy of the stranger? is not that sword accursed which is not drawn against the foe?" "yet accursed also is the sword which returns to its sheath unblooded." "what do ye want?" "we want to fight." "and can you only find enemies among yourselves?" "our first enemy is cowardice, and cowardice sits in the seat of that general who alone is afraid when the whole camp wants to fight. we would first slay fear, and then we would slay the foe." "why not slay the foe first?" "we will go alone against the whole camp of the enemy if the rest refuse." "good; i will go with you." "thou?" "i and my son with all our squadrons." at these words the mutineers passed, in an instant, from the deepest wrath to the sublimest joy. "to battle!" they cried. "kucsuk also is coming, and feriz will help!" these cries spread from mouth to mouth. and immediately the drums began to beat another reveille, the horns gave forth a very different sound, they turned the cannons round and dragged them to the river's bank, and began to build a bridge over the raab with the beams and rafters that had been hurled down upon them. the hostile camp lay about four hours' march away, on the opposite bank, between two forests, and by an inexplicable oversight, had left that portion of the river's bank absolutely unguarded. the janissaries swam to and fro in the water strengthening the posts and stays of the improvised bridge by tying them stoutly together, and by the time the night had begun to grow grey, the first bridge ever thrown over the raab was ready and the infantry began to cross it. it was only then that the german-hungarian camp perceived the design of the enemy, and speedily sent three regiments of musketeers against the turks, who fought valiantly with the janissaries, and drove them right back upon the bridge, where a bloody tussle ensued as fresh divisions hastened up to sustain the hardly-pressed mussulmans. meanwhile a second bridge had been got ready, over which kucsuk's cavalry quickly galloped and fell upon the rear of the musketeers. these warriors, taken by surprise and perceiving the preponderance of the enemy, and obtaining no assistance from their own headquarters, quickly flung down their firearms and made helter-skelter for their own trenches. the next moment the two combating divisions were a confused struggling mass. kucsuk's swift spahis cut off the retreat of the christian infantry; only for a few moments was there a definite struggle, the tussle being most obstinate round the standards, till at last they also began to totter and fall one after the other, and three thousand christian souls mounted on high together, pursued by a roar of triumph from the mussulmans, who, seizing the advanced trenches, planted thereon their half-moon streamers, and plundered the tents which remained defenceless before them. at that moment the christian host was near to destruction, and if kiuprile had crossed the river and hassan pasha had shared the fight with kucsuk, he would have become famous. but the two chief commanders remained obstinately behind on the further shore. kiuprile, who the evening before had himself wanted to begin the fight when he had received a negative answer, had now not even saddled his nag, and looked on with sinister _sangfroid_ while the extreme wing of the army was engaged. hassan, on the other hand, would have liked nothing better if the janissaries, and kucsuk their auxiliary, had lost the battle thus begun without orders, and so far from hastening to their assistance remained sitting up in his tower. he could see nothing of the battle, but he heard a cry, and fancying that it was the death-yell of the janissaries, took his beads from his girdle and began zealously to pray that the prophet would keep open for them the gates of paradise. "master, master!" exclaimed yffim beg, "gird on thy sword and to horse!" the pasha heard nothing. at last yffim beg, in despair, seized the bell-rope, and pulled the old bell right above hassan's head, whereupon the latter rushed in terror to the window. "what is it? what dost thou want?" "hasten, sir!" roared yffim beg. "kucsuk pasha has beaten the enemy, taken their trenches, and is plundering their tents. do not allow him to have all the glory of scattering the christians!" hassan leapt from his seat. if he had heard that kucsuk's men were being cut to pieces he would have gone on praying, but kucsuk triumphed--had all the triumph to himself. the thought was a keen spur to his mind. up everyone who could stir hand or foot! forward spahis and arabs! to battle every true believer! let the dervishes go up in the tower and sing dirges for the fallen! let the ground shake beneath the rolling of the guns! let the horns ring out for now is the day of glory! in an instant the camp was alert, and crowds of warriors rushed towards the bridge. every man pressed hard on the heels of his fellow; those who were crowded into the water did their best to reach the opposite shore by swimming; whole companies swam through on horseback, and the heavy iron guns moved forward as rapidly as if they had wings. it was only now that the vast numbers of the ottoman host became manifest, it seemed suddenly to spring out of the ground in every direction; the tiny little cramped christian camp over against them looked like an island in an inundation. in the very centre of the host could be seen hassan pasha with a brilliant suite, twenty horse-tail banners fluttered around him, the pick of his veterans at his side. on the left was the army of ismail pasha; on the right were the hosts of the moldavians. their immediate objective was the trenches already occupied by kucsuk pasha. at that moment yffim beg was seen galloping along the front of the host with the vizier's commands for kucsuk pasha. "ye remain where now you are, and move no farther till a fresh command arrives. feriz beg and his battalion move forward along the outermost wing." hassan could not endure that two such heroes should help each other in the battle, and that the son should deliver the father. kucsuk beat the tattoo. feriz beg moved along the left wing, where he formed the reserve. then the reveille sounded; a hideous yell filled the air; the mussulman host, with bloodthirsty rage, rushed upon the front of the christian army. no power on earth can save them! but what is this? suddenly the impetus of the assailants is stayed. along the front of the camp of the christian infantry star-shaped trenches have been dug during the night and planted full of sharp stakes. the foremost row of the assailants pause terror-stricken in front of these trenches, and for an instant the onset is arrested. but only for an instant. the powerful impact of the rearward masses flings them into the deadly ditch, one after another they fall upon the pointed stakes, a mortal yell drowns the cry of battle, in a few moments the star-shaped trenches are filled with corpses and the rushing throng tramples over the dead bodies of their comrades to get to the other side of the ditch. and now the roar of the cannons begin. up to that moment the guns of the christians have remained inactive, concealed behind the gabions. now their gaping throats face the attacking host. at a single signal the roar of eighty iron throats is heard, bullets and chain-shot make their whirring way through the serried ranks, the crackling mortars discharge sackloads of acorn-shaped balls, while the fire-spitting grenades terrify the rearmost ranks. the mussulmans host recoils in terror, leaving their dead and wounded behind them. horrible spectacle! instead of the lately brilliant ranks the ground is strewn with mangled bloody limbs, writhing like worms in the dust. the next moment the splendid array again covers the ground; the corpses are no longer visible, they are hidden by the feet of the living. the beaten squadrons are sent to the rear; fresh battalions fill their places; the assault is renewed. the fire of the guns no longer keeps them back. they cast down their eyes, shout "allah!" and rush forward. an earth-rending report resounds, a fiery mine has exploded beneath the feet of the assailants; fragments of human limbs intermingled with strips of tempest-tossed banners fly up into the air amidst whirling clouds of smoke. the second assault is also flung back, and in the meantime the christian army has succeeded in drawing a line of wagons across their front. and now a third, now a fourth, assault is delivered, each more furious than the last. the christians begin to despair; every regiment of the turkish host is now engaged with them, only kucsuk has received no order to advance. hassan would win the battle without him. there he stands, together with his staff, directing the most perverse of battles, hurling his swarms against unassailable rocks, assaulting entrenched places with cavalry; at one time distributing orders to regiments which had ceased to exist, at another sending to consult with commanders who had fallen before his very eyes. those around him listened to his words with astonishment, and not one of them durst say: "dismount from your horse, you cannot see ten yards in front of you!" the din of the renewed assaults sounded in his ears like a cry of triumph. "look how they waver!" he cried; "look how the christian ranks waver, and how their banners are falling in the dust! shoot them, shoot them down!" and none durst say to him: "these are thy hosts whose death-cries thou dost hear, and it is the fire from the christian guns which mow down whole ranks of thy army!" the ottoman host had begun its tenth assault, when hassan sent a courier to kiuprile on the opposite shore with this message: "thou canst return to paphlagonia! we have won the battle without thee. tell them at home what thou hast seen!" kiuprile, seriously alarmed lest he should have no part in the glory of the contest, immediately mounted the whole of his cavalry, flung a bridge over the river, and began to cross it. this happened at the very moment when ismail pasha was leading the osmanlis to the tenth assault. the leader of the christian host, montecuculi, no sooner perceived kiuprile's movement, than he called together his generals and gave them to understand that if they awaited kiuprile where they stood they would be irretrievably lost. they were just then loading their guns with their last charge. many faces grew pale at this announcement, and a deep silence followed montecuculi's words. yet his words were the words of valour. three heroes had been in his army--one of them, the french general, the marquis de brianzon, had already fallen; the other two, still present, were the german general, toggendorf, and the hungarian cavalry officer, petneházy. at the commander-in-chief's announcement the faces of both remained unmoved, and toggendorf, with the utmost _sang-froid_ came forward: "if we must choose between two deaths," said he, "why not rather choose death by advancing than death in flight?" "not so, my lad," cried petneházy, enthusiastically grasping his comrade's hand; "we choose between death and glory, and he who seeks glory will find a triumph also." "so be it," said montecuculi, with cool satisfaction, thrusting his field-glass into his pocket and drawing forth his thin blade; and, while he sent the two heroes to the two wings, he placed himself in front of the army, and commanded that the barrier of wagons should instantly be demolished. the last discharge thundered forth, and from amidst the dispersing clouds of smoke two compact army columns could be seen rapidly charging--they were toggendorf's cuirassiers and petneházy's hussars. petneházy made straight for the still hesitating moldavian army, which, with prince ghyka at its head, had as yet taken no part in the fight. heaven itself gave him the inspiration. the prince of moldavia had been waiting for a long time for some one to attack him, that he might at once quit the field of battle to which he had been constrained to come, though it revolted his feelings as a christian to do so; consequently, when petneházy was within fifty yards of his battalions, they, as if at a given signal, turned tail without so much as crossing swords with the foe, galloped off to the left bank of the waag, and so quitted the field. this flight threw the whole turkish army into disorder. a more skilful general would indeed have withdrawn the whole host, but, because of his short-sightedness, hassan did not perceive that the moldavians had fled, and nobody durst tell him so. ismail pasha immediately hastened to fill up the gap; but before he had reached the spot, toggendorf's cuirassiers were upon him, and he was caught between two fires in a moment. the janissaries received the full brunt of the swords of the cuirassiers and the hussars, and in the first onset ismail pasha himself fell from his horse. a hussar rushed upon him, and severing from his body his big bared head, stuck it on the point of a lance, and raised it in the air as a very emblem of terror to the panic-stricken turks. the janissaries were no longer able to rally, in every direction they broke through the hostile ranks in a desperate attempt at flight, and, which was worse still, the flying infantry barred the way against the cavalry which was hastening to their assistance. all this was taking place within two hundred yards of hassan pasha, and he saw nothing of it. "glory be to allah," he cried, raising his hands to heaven; "victory is ours! the christian is flying and is casting down his banners in every direction. the best of his warriors are wallowing in the dust. the rest are flying without weapons and with pale----" those about him listened, horror-stricken, to his words. the christian host was at that moment cutting down the janissaries, the flower of the turkish camp! "thou ravest, my master!" cried yffim beg, seizing the bridle of hassan pasha's horse. "fly and save thyself! the best of thy army has perished, the janissaries have fallen, the moldavian army hath fled. ismail pasha's head has been hoisted on to a pike!" "impossible!" roared hassan, beside himself, "come with me; let us charge, the victory is ours." but his generals seized him, and tearing his sword from his hand, seized the bridle of his horse on both sides and hurried him along with them towards the bridge, which was now full of fugitives. the hazard of the die had changed. the pursuers had become the fugitives. an hour before the christian camp ran the risk of annihilation; it was now the turn of the turks. kiuprile seeing the catastrophe, destroyed his bridges and remained on the opposite bank. meanwhile on the wings, kucsuk pasha and feriz beg, with his brigade of amazons, were valiantly holding their own against the cuirassiers of toggendorf and the hussars of petneházy, till at last the melancholy notes of the bugle-horns gave the signal for retreat, and the combatants gradually separated. only a few scattered bands, and presently, only a few scattered individuals, still fought together, and then they also wearily abandoned the contest and returned silently to their respective camps. both sides felt that their strength was exhausted. the christian host had four thousand, the turkish sixteen thousand slain, and among them its best generals; they also lost all their heavy cannons, their banners, and their military renown; but none lost so much as feriz beg. the amazon brigade had perished. by its deliberate self-sacrifice it had saved the turkish army from utter destruction. chapter xiii. the persecuted woman. perhaps by this time you have clean forgotten our dear acquaintance, pretty mariska, the wife of the prince of wallachia? ah, she is happy! although her husband is far away, her sorrow is forgotten in the near approach of a new joy--the joy of motherhood. there she sits at eventide in the garden of her castle, weaving together dreams of a happy future, and her court ladies by her side are making tiny little garments adorned with bright ribbons. when the peasant women pass by her on the road with their children in their arms, she takes the children from them, presses them to her bosom, kisses, and talks to them. she is the godmother of every new-born infant, and what a tender godmother! day after day she visits the churches, and before the altar of the virgin-mother prays that she also may have her portion of that happiness which is the greatest joy god gives to women. after the battle of st. gothard it was prince ghyka's first thought to send a courier to his wife, bidding her not to be anxious about her husband, for he was alive and would soon be home. this was mariska's first tidings of the lost battle, and she thanked god for it. what did she care that the battle was lost, that the glory of the turkish sultan was cracked beyond repair, so long as her husband remained to her? with him the husbands of all the other poor wallachian wives were also safe. she at once hastened to tell the more remote of these poor women that they were not to be alarmed if they heard that the turkish army had been cut down, for their husbands were free and quite near to them. what joy at the thought of seeing him again! how she watched for her husband from morn till eve, and awoke at night at the slightest noise. if a horse neighed in the street, if she heard a trumpet far away, she fancied that her husband was coming. one night she was aroused by the sound of a light tapping at her bedroom door, and her husband's voice replied to her question of "who is there?" her surprise and her joy were so great that in the first moment of awaking she knew not what to do, whereupon her husband impatiently repeated: "mariska, open the door!" the wife hastened to embrace her husband, admitted him, fell upon his neck, and covered him with kisses; but, perceiving suddenly that the kisses her husband gave her back were quite cold, and that his arm trembled when he embraced her, she looked anxiously at his face--it was grave and full of anxiety. "my husband!" cried the unusually sensitive woman with a shaky voice. "why do you embrace me--us, so coldly," her downcast eyes seemed to say. the prince did not fail to notice the expression, and very sadly, and sighing slightly, he said: "so much the worse for me!" his hands, his whole frame shook so in the arms of his wife; and yet the prince was a muscular as well as a brave man. "what has happened? what is the matter?" asked his wife anxiously. "nothing," said the prince, kissing her forehead. "be quiet. lie down. i have some business to do which must be done to-night. then i'll come to you, and we'll talk about things." mariska took him at his word, and lay down again. but she still trembled--why, she knew not. there must be something wrong, something very wrong with her husband, or else he would not have welcomed his wife so coldly at the very moment of his arrival. after a few moments, during which she heard her husband talking in an undertone with someone outside, he came in with his sword in his hand, and after seeming to look for something, he turned to mariska: "have you the keys of your treasure-box?" "yes, they are in my secretaire." the prince took the keys and withdrew. mariska breathed again. "then it is only some money trouble after all," she thought. "thank god it is no worse. they have lost something in the camp, i suppose, or they are screwing some more tribute out of him." in a short time the prince again returned, and stood there for a time as if he couldn't make up his mind to speak. at last he said: "mariska, have you any money?" "yes, dear!" mariska hastened to answer, "just ten thousand thalers. do you want them?" "no, no. but have them all ready to hand, and if you collected your jewels together at the same time you would do well." "what for, my husband?" "because," stammered ghyka, "because--we may--and very speedily, too--have to set out on our travels." "have to travel--in my condition?" asked mariska, raising a pathetic face up to her husband. that look transfixed the very soul of ghyka. his wife was in a condition nearer to death than to life. "no, i won't stir a stump," he suddenly cried, beside himself with agitation, striking his sword so violently on the table that it flew from its sheath, "if heaven itself fall on me, i won't go." "for god's sake, my husband, what is the matter?" cried mariska in her astonishment; whereupon the prince proudly raised his eyebrows, approached her with a smile, and pressing his wife to his bosom, said reassuringly: "fear nothing. i had an idea in my head; but i have dismissed it, and will think of it no more. take it that i have asked you nothing." "but your anxiety?" "it has gone already. ask not the reason, for you would laugh at me for it. sleep in peace. i also will sleep upon it." the husband caressed and kissed his wife, and his hand trembled no longer, his face was no longer pale, and his lips were no longer so cold as before. but the wife's were now. when her husband tenderly kissed her eyes and bade her sleep, she pretended that she was satisfied; but as soon as he had withdrawn from her room, she arose, put on a dressing-gown, and calling one of her maids, descended with her into the hall, and sent for a faithful old servant of her husband's, who was wont to accompany him everywhere, an old moldavian courier. "jova!" she said, "speak the truth! what's the matter with your master? what have you seen and heard?" "it is a great trouble, my lady. god deliver us from it! we only escaped destruction at the battle of st. gothard by not standing up against the magyars. but what were we to do? christian cannot fight against christian, for then should we be fighting against god. the turkish army was badly beaten there. and now the vizier of buda, that he may wash himself clean, for the sultan is very wroth, wants to cast the whole blame of the affair on the head of the prince." "great heaven! and what will be the result?" "well, it would not be a bad thing if your highnesses were to withdraw somewhere or other for a time to give the sultan's wrath time to cool." "to my father's, eh? in wallachia?" "well, a little farther than that, i should say." "true, we might go to transylvania; we have lots of good friends there." "even there it might not be as well to stay. you would do well to make a journey to poland." "do you suppose the danger to be so great then?" "god grant it be not so bad as i think it." "thank you for your advice, jova. i will tell my husband quite early in the morning." "my lady, you would do well not to wait till morning." the woman grew pale. "what do you mean?" "i mean that if you would take care of yourselves, you should take carriage this very night, this very hour. i will go before the horses with a lantern, and a courier shall be sent on ahead to have fresh relays of horses awaiting us at every station, so that by the time it begins to grow grey, we shall have left the last hill of this region out of sight." the terrified princess returned to her bedchamber, and quickly packed up her most valuable things, making all the necessary preparations for a long journey. but the door leading to her husband's room was locked, and she durst not call him, but with an indescribable sinking of heart awaited the endlessly distant dawn. she was unable to close her eyes the whole night. wearied out in body and soul she rose as soon as she saw the light of dawn, sitting with her swimming head against the window, whence she could look down into the courtyard. gradually the courtyard awoke to life and noise again, and the hall was peopled with domestics hurrying to and fro. the grooms began walking the horses up and down, the peasant girls with pitchers on their heads were returning from the distant wells, a merry voice began singing a popular ditty in one of the outhouses. all this seemed as strange to the watchful lady as the life and the movement of the outside world seems to one condemned to death who gazes upon it from the window of his cell. then the door opened and her husband came out of his bedchamber and greeted his wife with a voice full of boisterous courage. he was dressed in a short stagskin jacket, which he generally wore when he went a-hunting, and wore big polish boots with star-like spurs. "going a-hunting, eh?" asked mariska, from whose soul all her terrifying phantoms vanished instantly when her husband embraced her in his vigorous arms. "yes, i'm going a-hunting. i feel so full of energy that if i don't tumble about somewhere or other i shall burst. any boar or bear that i come across to-day will have good cause to remember me." "oh! take care no ill befalls you!" "befalls me!" cried the prince, proudly smiting his herculean breast. the lady flung herself on her husband's neck with the confidence of a child, and lifting from his head his saucy bonnet with its eagle plume, which gave him such a brave appearance, and smoothing down his curls, kissed his bonny face, and forgot all her thoughts and visions of the bygone night. the prince withdrew, and mariska opened her window and looked out of it to see him mount his horse. while the prince was going downstairs, a dirty turkish cavasse in sordid rags entered the courtyard, from which at other times he was wont to fetch letters, and mingled with the ostlers and stablemen without seeming to attract attention. a few moments later the prince ordered his horse to be brought in a loud resonant voice, whereupon the cavasse immediately came forward, and producing from beneath his dirty dolman a sealed and corded letter, pressed it to his forehead and then handed it to the prince. the prince broke open the letter and his face suddenly turned pale; taking off his cap, he bowed low before the cavasse and saluted him. o prince of moldavia! to doff thy eagle-plumed cap to a dirty cavasse, and bow thy haughty manly brow before him! whatever can be the meaning of it all? mariska's heart began to throb violently as she gazed down from her window. the prince, with all imaginable deference, then indicated the door of his castle to the cavasse and invited him to enter first; but the turk with true boorish insolence, signified that the prince was to lead the way. suddenly, in an illuminated flash, mariska guessed the mystery. in the moment of peril, with rare presence of mind, she rushed to her secretaire, where her jewels were. her first thought was that the cavasse had come for her husband; he must be bribed therefore to connive at his escape. then she saw hastening through the door the old groom jova. the face of the ancient servitor was full of fear, and there were tears in his eyes. "has the cavasse come for my husband, then?" she inquired tremulously. "yes, my lady," stammered the servant; "why don't you make haste?" "let us give him money." "he won't take it. what is money to him? if he returns without the prince his own head will be forfeit." "merciful god! then what shall we do?" "my master whispered a few words in my ear, and i fancy i caught their meaning. first of all i must take you off to transylvania, my lady. meanwhile my master will remain here with the cavasses and their attendants, who are now in the courtyard. my master will remain with them and spin out the time till he feels pretty sure that we have got well beyond the river sereth in our carriage. near there is a bridge over a steep rocky chasm, beneath which the river flows. that bridge we will break down behind us. the prince will then bring forth his charger gryllus, on whose back he is wont to take such daring leaps, and will set out in the same direction with the turkish cavasses. when he approaches the broken-down bridge, he will put spurs to his steed and leap across the gap, while the turks remain behind. and after that god grant him good counsel!" mariska perceiving there was no time to be lost, hastily collected her treasures and, assisted by jova, descended by way of the secret staircase to the chapel and stood there, for a moment, before the image of the blessed virgin to pray that her husband might succeed in escaping. before the chapel door stood a carriage drawn by four muscular stallions. she got into it quickly, and succeeded in escaping by a side-gate. meanwhile the prince, with great self-denial, endeavoured to detain his unwelcome guests by all manner of pretexts. first of all he almost compelled them to eat and drink to bursting point, swearing by heaven and earth that he would never allow such precious guests as they were to leave his castle with empty stomachs. then followed a distribution of gifts. every individual cavasse got a sword or a beaker and every sword and every beaker had its own peculiar history. so-and-so had worn it, so-and-so had drunk out of it. it had been found here and sent there, and its last owner was such a one, etc., etc. and he artfully interlarded his speech with such sacred and sublime words as "allah!" "mahomet!" "the sultan!" at the mention of each one of which the cavasses felt bound to interrupt him repeatedly with such expressions as "blessed be his name!" so that despite the insistence of the turks, it was fully an hour before his horse could be brought forward. at last, however, gryllus was brought round to the courtyard. the prince now also would have improved the occasion by telling them a nice interesting tale about this steed of his, but the chief cavasse would give him no peace. "come! mount your honour!" said he, "you can tell us the story on the way." the prince mounted accordingly, and immediately began to complain how very much all the galloping of the last few days had taken it out of him, and begged his escort not to hurry on so as he could scarce sit in his saddle. the chief cavasse, taking him at his word, had the prince's feet tied fast to his stirrups, so that he might not fall off his horse, sarcastically adding: "if your honour should totter in your saddle, i shall be close beside you, so that you may lean upon me." and indeed the chief cavasse trotted by his side with a drawn sword in his hand; the rest were a horse's head behind them. when they came to the path leading to the bridge the way grew so narrow because of the rocks on both sides that it was as much as two horsemen could do to ride abreast. the prince already caught sight of the bridge, and though its wooden frame was quite hidden by a projecting tree, a white handkerchief tied to the tree informed him that his carriage with his consort inside it had got across and away, and that the supports had been also cut. at this point he made as if he felt faint and turning to the chief cavasse, said to him, "come nearer, i want to lean on you!" and upon the cavasse leaning fatuously towards him he dealt him such a fearful blow with his clenched fist that the turk fell right across his horse. and now: "onward, my gryllus!" the gallant steed with a bound forward left the escort some distance behind, and while they dashed after him with a savage howl, he darted with the fleetness of the wind towards the bridge. the prince sat tied to his horse without either arms or spurs, but the noble charger, as if he felt that his master's life was now entrusted to his safe-keeping, galloped forward with ten-fold energy. suddenly it became clear to the pursuers that the beams of the bridge had been severed and only the balustrade remained. "stop!" they shouted in terror to the prince, at the same time reining in their own horses. then ghyka turned towards them a haughty face, and leaning over his horse's head, pressed its flanks with his knees, and at the very moment when he had reached the dizzy chasm he laughed aloud as he raised his eagle-plumed cap in the air, and shouted to his pursuers: "follow me, if you dare!" the charger the same instant lowered its head upon its breast, and, with a well-calculated bound, leaped the empty space between the two sides of the bridge as lightly as a bird. the prince as he flew through the air held his eagle-plumed cap in his hand, while his black locks fluttered round his bold face. the terrified cavasses drew the reins of their horses tightly lest they should plunge after gryllus; but one of them, carried away by his maddened steed, would also have made the bold leap but the fore feet of the horse barely grazed the opposite bank, and with a mortal yell it crashed down with its rider among the rocks of the stream below. the prince meanwhile, beneath the very eyes of the cavasses, loosened the cords from his legs on the opposite shore and also allowed himself time enough to break down the remaining balustrades of the bridge, one by one, and pitch them into the river. then, remounting his steed, he ambled leisurely off whilst the cavasses gazed after him in helpless fury. a rapid two hours' gallop enabled him to overtake the carriage of his wife, who, according to his directions, had hastened without stopping towards transylvania with the sole escort of the old horseman. on overtaking the carriage he mounted the old man on his own nag, and sent him on before to transylvania requesting the prince to allow him and his wife to pass through transylvania to the domains of the kaiser. he himself took a seat in the carriage by the side of mariska, who was quite rejoiced at her husband's deliverance, and forgot the anxieties still awaiting her. according to the most rigorous calculations their pursuers would either have to go another way, or they might throw another bridge over the sereth; but, in any case they had a day's clear start of them, which would be quite sufficient to enable them, travelling leisurely, to reach the borders of transylvania, where the seraskier of moldavia had no jurisdiction. in this hope they presently perceived the mountains of szeklerland rising up before them, and the nearer they came to them the more lightly they felt their hearts beat, regarding the mountain range as a vast city of refuge stretching out before them. they had already struck into that deep-lying road which leads to the pass of porgo, which, after winding along the bare hillside, plunges like a serpent into the shady flowering valleys beneath, and every now and then a mountain stream darted along the road beside them; above them the dangerous road looked like a tiny notch in which a heavy wagon crawled slowly along, with lofty rocks apparently tottering to their fall above it in every direction. and here galloping straight towards them, was a horseman in whom the prince instantly recognised his _avant courier_. old jova reached them in a state of exhaustion, and gryllus also seemed ready to drop. "go no further, sir!" cried the terrified servant, "i have come all the way without stopping from szamosújvár where the prince is staying. i laid your request before him. 'for god's sake!' cried the prince, clasping his hands together, 'don't let your master come here, or he'll ruin the whole lot of us. olaj beg has just come hither with the sultan's command that if the prince of moldavia comes here he is to be handed over.'" the prince gazed gloomily in front of him, his lips trembled. then he turned his face round and shading his eyes with his hand, gazed away into the distance. on the same road by which he had come a cloud of dust could be seen rapidly approaching. "those are our pursuers," he moaned despairingly; "there is nothing for it but to die." "nay, my master. over yonder is a mountain path which can only be traversed on foot. with worthy szeklers or wallachs as our guides we may get all the way to poland through the mountains. why not take refuge there?" "and my wife?" asked the prince, looking round savagely and biting his lips in his distress; "she cannot accompany me." all this time mariska had remained, benumbed and speechless, gazing at her husband--her heart, her mind, stood still at these terrible tidings; but when she heard that her husband could be saved without her, she plunged out of the carriage and falling at his feet implored him, sobbing loudly, to fly. "save yourself," she cried; "do not linger here on my account another instant." "and sacrifice you, my consort, to their fury?" "they will not hurt me, for they do not pursue an innocent woman. god will defend me. you go into transylvania; there live good friends of mine, whose husbands and fathers are the leading men in the state; there is the heroic princess, there is the gentle béldi with her angel daughter, there is teleki's daughter flora--we swore eternal friendship together once--they will mediate for us; and then, too, my rich father will gladly spend his money to spare our blood. and if i must suffer and even die, it will be for you, my husband. save yourself! in heaven's name i implore you to depart from me." ghyka reflected for a moment. "very well, i will take refuge in order to be able to save you." and he pressed the pale face of his wife to his bosom. "make haste," said mariska, "i also want to hasten. if die i must--i would prefer to die among christians, in the sight of my friends and acquaintances. but you go on in front, for if they were to slay you before my eyes, it would need no sword to slay me; my heart would break from sheer despair." "come, sir, come!" said the old courier, seizing the hand of the prince and dragging him away by force. mariska got into the carriage again, and told the coachman to drive on quickly. the prince allowed himself to be guided by the old courier along the narrow pass, looking back continually so long as the carriage was visible, and mournfully pausing whenever he caught sight of it again from the top of some mountain-ridge. "come on, sir! come on!" the old servant kept insisting; "when we have reached that mountain summit yonder we shall be able to rest." ghyka stumbled on as heavily as if the mountain was pressing on his bosom with all its weight. he allowed himself to be led unconsciously among the steep precipices, clinging on to projecting bushes as he went along. god guarded him from falling a hundred times. after half an hour's hard labour they reached the indicated summit, and as the courier helped his master up and they looked around them, nature's magnificent tableau stood before them; and looking down upon a vast panorama, they saw the tiny winding road by which his wife had gone; and, looking still farther on, he perceived that the carriage had just climbed to the summit of a declivity about half a league off. ah! that sight gave him back his soul. he followed with his eyes the travelling coach, and as often as the coach ascended a higher hill, it again appeared in sight, and it seemed to him as if all along he saw inside it his wife, and his face brightened as he fancied himself kissing away her tears. at that instant a loud uproar smote upon his ears. at the foot of the steep mountain, on the summit of which his wife had just come into sight again, he saw a troop of horsemen trotting rapidly along. these were the pursuers. they seemed scarcely larger than ants. ah! how he would have liked to have trampled those ants to death. "you would pursue her, eh? then i will stop you." and with these words seizing a large grey rock from among those which were heaped upon the summit, he rolled it down the side of the mountain just as the turks had reached a narrow defile. with a noise like thunder the huge mass of rock plunged its way down the mountain-side, taking great leaps into the air whenever it encountered any obstacle. ah! how the galloping rock plunged among the terrified horsemen--only a streak of blood remained in its track, horses and horsemen were equally crushed beneath it. with a second, with a third rock also he greeted them. the cavasses, at their wits' end, fled back, and never stopped till they had clambered up the opposite ridge; they did not feel safe among the plunging rocks below and there they could be seen deliberating how it was possible to reach the road behind their backs. guessing their intention, the prince sent his servant to fling a rock down upon them from the hillside beyond, which, as it came clattering down, made the cavasses believe that their enemies were in force, and they climbed higher up still. "there they will remain till evening," thought the prince to himself; "so they will not overtake mariska after all." and so it conveniently turned out. the cavasses, after consulting together for a long time fruitlessly as to what road they should take to get out of the dangerous pass, began to yell from their lofty perch at their invisible foes, threatening them with the highest displeasure of the sultan if they did not allow them to pass through in peace; and when a fresh shower of rocks came down by way of reply, they unsaddled their horses and allowing them to graze about at will, lit a fire and squatted down beside it. * * * * * meanwhile, the hunted lady, exchanging her tired horses for four fresh ones in the first transylvanian village she came to, pressed onwards without stopping. travelling all night she reached szamosújvár in the early morning. the prince was no longer there. he had migrated in hot haste, they said, before the rising of the sun, to klausenberg. mariska did not descend from her carriage, but only changed her horses. three days and three nights she had already been travelling, without rest, in sickness and despair. and again she must hasten on farther. it was evening when they reached klausenberg. the coachman, when he saw the towers in the distance, turned round to her with the comforting assurance that they would now be at klausenberg very shortly. at these words the lady begged the coachman not to go so quickly, and when he lashed up his horses still more vigorously notwithstanding, and cast a look behind him, she also looked through the window at the back of the carriage and saw a band of horsemen galloping after them along the road. so their pursuers were as near to them behind as klausenberg was in front. there was not a moment's delay. the coachman whipped up the horses, their nostrils steamed, foam fell from their lips, they plunged wildly forward, the pebbles flashed sparks beneath their hoofs, the carriage swayed to and fro on the uneven road, the persecuted lady huddled herself into a corner of the carriage, and prayed to god for deliverance. chapter xiv. olaj beg. the prince was just then standing in the portico of his palace conversing with the princess, whose face bore strong marks of the sufferings of the last few days. shortly after the panic of nagyenyed she had given birth to a little daughter, and the terror experienced at the time had had a bad effect on both mother and child. apafi's brow was also clouded. the prince's heart was sore, and not merely on his own account. whenever there was any distress in the principality he also was distressed, but his own sorrow he had to share alone. for some days he had found no comfort in whatever direction he might turn. the turks had made him feel their tyranny everywhere, and the foreign courts had listened to his tale of distress with selfish indifference; while the great men of the realm dubbed him a tyrant, the common folks sung lampoons upon his cowardice beneath his very windows; and when he took refuge in the bosom of his family he was met by a sick wife, who had ceased to find any joy in life ever since he had been made prince. a sick wife is omnipotent as regards her husband. if anna had insisted upon _her_ husband's quitting his princely palace, and returning with her to their quiet country house at ebesfalu--where there was no kingdom but the kingdom of heaven--perhaps he would even have done that for her. as the princely pair stood on the castle battlements, the din of the town grew deeper, and suddenly the rumble of a carriage, driven at full tilt, broke upon the dreamy stillness of the castle courtyard, and dashing into it stopped before the staircase; the door of the coach was quickly thrown open and out of it rushed a pale woman, who, rallying her last remaining strength, ran up the staircase and collapsed at the feet of the prince as he hastened to meet her, exclaiming as she did so: "i am mariska sturdza." "for the love of god," cried the agitated prince, "why did you come here? you have destroyed the state and me; you have brought ruin on yourself and on us." the unfortunate lady was unable to utter another word. her energy was exhausted. she lay there on the marble floor, half unconscious. the princess apafi summoned her ladies-in-waiting, who, at her command, hastened to raise the lady in their arms and began to sprinkle her face with eau-de-cologne. "i cannot allow her to be brought into my house," cried the terrified apafi; "it would bring utter destruction on me and my family." the princess cast a look full of dignity upon her husband. "what do you mean? would you hand this unfortunate woman over to her pursuers? in her present condition, too? suppose _i_ was obliged to fly in a similar plight, would you fling _me_ out upon the high road instead of offering me a place of refuge?" "but the wrath of the sultan?" "yes; and the contempt of posterity?" "then would you have me bring ruin upon my throne and my family for the sake of a woman?" "better perish for the sake of a woman than do that woman to death. if you shut your rooms against her, i will open mine wide to receive her, and then you can tell the sultan if you like that i have taken her." apafi felt that his wife's obstinacy was getting him into a hideous muddle. this audacious woman would listen to no reasons of state in any matter which interested her humanity. what was he to do? he pitied the persecuted lady from the bottom of his heart, but the emissary of the sublime porte, olaj beg, had come to demand her with plenipotentiary power. if he did _not_ shelter the persecuted lady he would pronounce himself a coward in the face of the whole world; if he _did_ shelter her, the porte would annihilate him! in the midst of this dilemma, one of the gate-keepers came in hot haste to announce that a band of turkish soldiers was at that moment galloping along the road, inquiring in a loud voice for the princess of wallachia. apafi leant in dumb despair against a marble pillar whilst anna quickly ordered her women to carry the unconscious lady to her innermost apartments and summon the doctor. she then went out on the balcony, and perceiving that the cavasses had just halted in front of the palace, she cried to the gate-keepers: "close the gates!" apafi would have very much liked to have countermanded the order; but while he was still thinking about it, the gates were snapped to under the very noses of the cavasses. they began angrily beating with the shafts of their lances against the closed gate, whereupon the princess called down to them from the balcony with a sonorous, authoritative voice: "ye good-for-nothing rascals, wherefore all that racket? this is not a barrack, but the residence of the prince. perchance ye know it not, because fresh human heads are wont to be nailed over the gates of your princes every day as a mark of recognition? if that is what you are accustomed to, your error is pardonable." the cavasses were considerably startled at these words, and, looking up at the imperious lady, began to see that she really meant what she said. for a while they laid their heads together, and then turned round and departed. apafi sighed deeply. "there is some hidden trick in this," said he, "but what it is god only knows." a few moments later a müderris appeared from olaj beg at the gate of the prince, and, being all alone, was admitted. "olaj beg greets thee, and thou must come to him quickly," said he. anna had drawn near to greet her guest, but hearing that olaj beg summoned the prince to appear before him, she approached the messenger, boiling over with wrath. "whoever heard," she said, "of a servant ordering his master about, or an ambassador summoning the prince to whose court he is accredited?" but apafi could only take refuge in a desperate falsehood. "poor olaj beg," he explained, "is very sick and cannot stir from his bed, and, indeed, he humbly begs me to pay him a visit. there is no humiliation in this--none at all, if i am graciously pleased to do it. he is an old man of eighty. i might be his grandson, he is wont to scold me as if i were his darling; i will certainly go to him, and put this matter right with him. you go to your sick guest and comfort her. i give you my word i will do everything to get her set free. for her sake i will humble myself." the princess apafi's foresight already suggested to her that this humiliation would be permanent, but, perceiving that her own strength of mind was not contagious, she allowed her husband to depart. apafi prepared himself for his visit upon olaj beg. with a peculiar feeling of melancholy he did _not_ put on his princely dolman of green velvet, but only the _köntös_ of a simple nobleman, imagining that thus it would not be the prince of transylvania but the squire of ebesfalu who was paying a visit on olaj beg. he went on foot to the house of olaj beg, accompanied by a single soldier, who had to put on his everyday clothes. the dogs had been let loose in the courtyard, for the beg was a great protector of animals, and used to keep open table in front of his dwelling for the wandering dogs of every town he came to. making his way through them, apafi had to cross a hall and an ante-chamber, brimful with praying dervishes, who, squatting down with legs crossed, were reading aloud from books with large clasps, only so far paying attention to each other as to see which could yell the loudest. the prince did not address them, as it was clear that he would get no answer, but went straight towards the third door. the chamber beyond was also full of spiders'-webs and dervishes, but a red cushion had been placed in the midst of it, and on this cushion sat a big, pale, grey man in a roomy yellow caftan. he also was holding a large book in front of him and reading painfully. apafi approached, and even ventured to address him. "merciful olaj beg, my gracious master, find a full stop somewhere in that book of yours, turn down the leaf at the proper spot, put it down, and listen to me." olaj beg, on hearing the words of the prince, put the book aside, and turning with a sweet and tender smile towards him, remarked with emotion: "the angels of the prophet bear thee up in all thy ways, my dear child. heaven preserve every hair of thy beard, and the archangel izrafil go before thee and sweep every stone from thy path, that thy feet may not strike against them!" with these words the beg graciously extended his right hand to be kissed, blinking privily at the prince; nor would apafi have minded kissing it if they had been all alone, but in the presence of so many dervishes it would have been derogatory to his dignity; so, instead of doing so, he took the beg's hand and provisionally placed it in his left hand and gave it a resounding thump with his right, and then shook it amicably as became a friend. "don't trouble thyself, my dear son, i will not suffer thee to kiss my hand," cried olaj beg, drawing back his hand and making a show of opposition so that everyone might fancy that apafi was angry with him for not being allowed to kiss it. "you have deigned to send for me," said apafi, taking a step backwards; "tell me, i pray, what you desire, for my time is short. i am overwhelmed with affairs of state." these last words apafi pronounced with as majestic an intonation as possible. olaj beg thereupon folded his hands together. "oh, my dear son!" said he, "the princely dignity is indeed a heavy burden. i see that quite well, nor am i in the least surprised that thou wishest to be relieved of it; but be of good cheer, the blessing of heaven will come upon us when we are not praying for it; when thou dost least expect it the sublime sultan will have compassion upon thee, and will deliver thee of the heavy load which presses upon thy shoulders." apafi wrinkled his brows. the exordium was bad enough; he hastened towards the end of the business. "perchance, you have heard, gracious olaj beg! that the unfortunate mariska sturdza has taken refuge with us." "it matters not," signified the beg, with a reassuring wave of the hand. "she took refuge in my palace without my knowledge," observed apafi apologetically, "and what could i do when she was all alone? i couldn't turn her out of my house." "there was no necessity. thou didst as it became a merciful man to do." "if you had seen her you would yourself have felt sorry for her--sick, half-dead, desperate, she flung herself at my feet, imploring compassion, and before i could reply to her she had fainted away. perhaps even now she is dead." "oh, poor child!" cried olaj beg, folding both his hands and raising his eyes to heaven. "her husband had left her in great misery, and alone she plunged into jeopardy," continued apafi, trying to justify the persecuted woman in every possible manner. "oh, poor, unhappy child!" cried olaj beg, shaking his head. "and more than that," sighed apafi, "the poor woman is big with child." "what dost thou say?" "yes, sir, and flying day and night in all sorts of weathers from her pursuers in such a condition, you can imagine her wretched condition; she was scarce alive, she was on the very threshold of death." "allah be gracious to her and extend over her the wings of his mercy!" apafi began to think that he had found olaj beg in a charitable humour. "i knew that you would not be angry about her." "i am not angry, my son, i am not angry. my eyes overflow at her sad fate." "she, you know, had no share in her husband's faults." "far from it." "and it would not be right that an innocent woman should atone for what her husband has committed." "certainly not." "then do you think, my lord, that the sublime sultan will be merciful to this woman?" "what a question! have no fear for her!" apafi was not so simple as not to be struck by this exaggerated indulgence, the more satisfactory were the beg's replies the keener grew his feeling of anxiety. at last, much perturbed, he ventured to put this question: "gracious beg! will you allow this unfortunate woman to rest in peace at my house, and can you assure me that the sublime sultan will espouse her cause?" "the holy book says: 'be merciful to them that suffer and compassionate them that weep.' therefore, behold i grant thee thy desire: let this poor innocent woman repose in thy house in peace, let her rest thoroughly from her sufferings and let her enjoy the blessedness of peace till such time as i must take her from thee by the command of the grand seignior." apafi felt his brain reel, so marvellous, so terrible was this graciousness of the turk towards him. "and when think you you will require this woman to be handed over?" olaj beg, with a reassuring look, tapped apafi on the shoulder, and said with a voice full of unction: "fret not thyself, my dear son! in no case will it be earlier than to-morrow morning." apafi almost collapsed in his fright. "to-morrow morning, do you say, my lord?" "i promise thee she shall not be disturbed before." apafi perceived that the man had been making sport with him all along. rage began to seethe in his heart. "but, my lord, i said nothing about one day. one day is the period allowed to condemned criminals." "days and seasons come from allah, and none may divide them." "damn you soft sawder!" murmured apafi between his teeth. "my lord," he resumed, "would you carry away with you a sick woman whom only the most tender care can bring back from the shores of death, and who, if she were now to set out for buda, would never reach it, for she would die on the way?" olaj beg piously raised his hands to heaven. "life and death are inscribed above in the book of thora, and if it there be written in letters embellished with roses and tulips that mariska sturdza must die to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow, die she will most certainly, though she lay upon musk and were anointed with the balm of life, and neither the prayers of the saints nor the lore of the sages could save her--but if it be written that she is to live, then let the angels of death come against her with every manner of weapon and they shall not harm her." apafi saw that he would have to speak very plainly to this crafty old man. "worthy olaj beg! you know that this realm has a constitution which enjoins that the prince himself must not issue ordinances in the more weighty matters without consulting his counsellors. now, the present case seems to me to be so important that i cannot inform you of my resolution till i have communicated it to my council." "it is well, my dear son, i have no objection. speak with those servants of thine whom thou hast made thy masters; sit in thy council chamber and let the matter be well considered as it deserves to be; and if thereafter ye decide that the princess shall accompany me, i will take her away and take leave of thee with great honour; but if it should so fall out that ye do not give her up to me, my dear son, or should allow her to escape from me--then will i take thee instead of her, together with thy brave counsellors, my sweet son." the beg said these words in the sweetest, tenderest voice, as old grandfathers are wont to address their grandchildren, and descending from his pillows he stroked the prince's face with both his hands, and kissed him on the temples with great good will, quite covering his head with his long white beard. apafi felt as if the whole room were dancing around him. he did not speak a word, but turned on his axis and went right out. he himself did not know how he got through the first door, but by the time he had shut the second door behind him he bethought him that he was still the prince of transylvania, and by descent one of the first noblemen of the land, whereas olaj beg was only a nasty, dirty turkish captain, who had been a camel-driver in the days of his youth, and yet had dared to speak to him, the prince, like that! by the time he had reached the third door he had reflected that in the days when he was nothing but the joint-tenant of ebesfalu, if olaj beg had dared to treat him so shamefully, he would have broken his bald head for him with a stout truncheon. but had he not just such a stout truncheon actually hanging by his side? yes, he had! and he would go back and strike olaj beg with it, not exactly on the head perhaps, but, at any rate, on the back that he might remember for the rest of his life the _stylus curialis_ of transylvania. and with that he turned back from the third door with very grave resolves. but when he had re-opened the second door he bethought him once more that such violence might be of great prejudice to the realm, and besides, there was not very much glory after all in striking an old man of eighty. but at any rate he would tell him like a man what it had not occurred to him to say in the first moment of his surprise. so when he had opened the first door and was in the presence of olaj beg, he stood there on the threshold with the door ajar, and said to him in a voice of thunder: "hearken, olaj beg! i have come back simply to tell you----" olaj beg looked at him. "what dost thou say, my good son?" "this," continued apafi in a very much lower key, "that it will take time to summon the council, for béldi lives at bodola, teleki at gernyeszeg, csaky at déva, and until they come together you can do what you think best: you may remain here or go"--and with that he turned back, and only when he had slammed to the door he added--"to hell!" chapter xv. the women's defence. this incident was the occasion of great affliction to the estates of transylvania. the counsellors assembled at the appointed time at the residence of the prince, who at that moment would have felt happier as a tartar captive than as the ruler of transylvania. on the day of the session everyone appeared in the council chamber with as gloomy a countenance as if he were about to pronounce his own death-warrant. they took their places in silence, and everyone took great care that his sword should not rattle. there were present: old john and young michael bethlen, paul béldi, caspar kornis, ladislaus csaky, joshua kapi, and the protonotarius, francis sárpataky. for the prince, there had just been prepared a new canopied throne, with three steps; it was the first time he had sat on it. beside it was an empty arm-chair, reserved for michael teleki. as soon as the guard of the chamber announced that the counsellors had assembled, the prince at once appeared, accompanied by michael teleki and stephen naláczi. it could be seen from the prince's face that for at least two hours teleki had been filling his head with talk. nalaczi greeted everyone present with a courtly smile, but nobody smiled back at him. teleki, with cold gravity, led the prince to the throne. the latter on first looking up at the throne, stood before it as if thunderstruck, and seemed to be deliberating for a moment whether it ought not to be taken away and a simple chair put in its place. but after thinking it well out he mounted the steps, and, sighing deeply, took his seat upon it. michael teleki stood silent in his place for some time, as if he was collecting his thoughts. his eyes did not travel along the faces of those present as they generally did to watch the effect of his words, but were fixed on the clasp of his kalpag, and his voice was much duller than at other times, often sinking to tremulous depths, except when he pulled himself together and tried to give it a firmer tone. "your highness, your excellencies,--god has reserved peculiar trials for our unfortunate nation. one danger has scarce passed over us when we plump into another; when we try to avoid the lesser perils, we find the greater ones directly in our path, and we end in sorrow what we began in joy. scarcely have we got over the tidings of the battle of st. gothard (we had our own melancholy reasons for not participating therein), and the consequent annihilation of the far-reaching designs of the turkish empire, by the peace contracted between the two great powers, amidst whose quarrels our unhappy country is buffeted about as if between hammer and anvil, when we have a fresh and still greater occasion for apprehension. for the generals of the turkish sultan impute the loss of the battle to the premature flight of prince ghyka, and at the same time hold us partly responsible for it--and certainly, had our soldiers stood in the place of the wallachian warriors, although they would not have liked fighting their fellow-magyars, nevertheless, if once they had been in for it, they would not have ran away and so the battle would not have been lost--wherefore the wrath of the sublime sultan was so greatly kindled against both the neighbouring nations, that he sent his cavasses to seize the prince of moldavia and carry him in chains to stambul with his whole family. as for transylvania, but for the mercy of god and the goodwill of certain turkish statesmen, we might have seen it suddenly converted into a sandjak or province, and a fez-wearing pasha on the throne of his highness. now it has so happened that the prince of moldavia, wresting himself and his wife out of the hands of their pursuers, took the shortest road to transylvania. we sent a message to them that on no account were they to try to come here, as their flight would cost us more than a tartar invasion. the prince, therefore, took refuge in the mountains, but let his wife continue her journey, and, in an evil hour for us and herself, she arrived here a few days ago with the knowledge and under the very eyes of the sultan's plenipotentiary. the husband having escaped, the whole wrath of the sultan is turned upon the wife and upon us also if we try to defend her. what, then, are we to do? if we had to choose between shame and death, i should know what to say; but here our choice is only between two kinds of shame: either to hand over an innocent, tender woman, who has appealed to us for protection, or see a turkish pasha sitting on the throne of the prince!" "but there's a third course, surely," said béldi, "by way of petition?" "i might indeed make the request," interrupted apafi, "but i know very well what answer i should get." "i do not mean petitioning the envoy," returned béldi. "who would humiliate himself by petitioning the servant when he could appeal to the master?" at this apafi grew dumb; he could not bring forward the fact that he had already petitioned the servant. "i believe that béldi is right," said young michael bethlen, "and that is the only course we can take. i am well acquainted with the mood of an eastern despot when he gets angry, and i know that at such times it is nothing unusual for him to level towns to the ground and decapitate viceroys; but fortunately for transylvania it is situated in europe, where one state has some regard for another, and it is the interest of all the european kingdoms to maintain a free state between themselves and the ottoman empire, even if it be only a small one like transylvania. and it seems to me that if our petition be supported at stambul by the french, austrian, and polish ambassadors, there will be no reason for the sultan, especially after such a defeat as the last one, to send a pasha to transylvania. and, finally, if we show him that our swords have not rusted in their scabbards, and that we know how to draw them on occasion, he will not be disposed to do so." the youth's enthusiastic speech began to pour fresh confidence into the souls of those who heard him, and their very faces appeared to brighten because of it. teleki shook his head slowly. "i tell your excellencies it will be a serious business," said he. "i am obliged to arouse you from an agreeable dream by confronting you with a rigorous fact. europe has not the smallest care for our existence; we only find allies when they have need of our sacrifices; let us begin to petition, and they know us no more. it is true that at one time i said something very different, but time is such a good master that it teaches a man more in one day than if he had gone through nine schools. in consequence of the battle of st. gothard, peace has been concluded between the two emperors. i have read every article of it, every point, and we are left out of it altogether, as if we were a nation quite unworthy of consideration. yet the french, the english, and the polish ministers were there, and i can say that not one of them received so much pay from his own court as he received from us. if they want war, oh! then we are a great and glorious nation; but when peace is concluded they do not even know that we are there. in war we may lead the van, but in the distribution of rewards we are left far behind. and now the pasha of buda, who is bent upon our destruction and would like to set a pasha over transylvania, after the last defeat, has sent down yffim beg to us to go from village to village demanding why the arrears of taxes have not been paid, and then he is coming to the prince to ask the cause of the remissness and threaten him with the vengeance of the pasha of buda." there was a general murmur of indignation. "ah, gentlemen, let us confess to each other that we play at being masters in our own home, but in fact we are masters there no longer. we may trust to our efforts and rely upon our rights, but we have none to help us; we have no allies either on the right hand or on the left; we have only our masters. we may change our masters, but we shall never win confederates. the power which stands above us is only awaiting an opportunity to carry out its designs upon us, and no one could render it a better service in transylvania than by raising his head against it. we have all of us a great obligation laid upon us: to recognise the little we possess, take care to preserve it, and, if the occasion arise, insist upon it. it is true that while the sword is in our hands we may defend all europe with it; but let our sword once be broken and our whole realm falls to pieces and the heathen will trample upon us in the sight of all the nations. we shall bleed for a half-century or so, and nobody will come to our assistance; the gates of our realm will be guarded by our enemies; and, like the scorpion in a fiery circle, we shall only turn the bitterness of our hearts against ourselves. do you want reasons, then, why we should not defend those hunted creatures who seek a refuge with us? the world and fate have settled their accounts with us; this realm is left entirely to its own devices. matters standing thus, if we refuse to deliver up to olaj beg the above-mentioned princess of moldavia, the armies of the pashas of buda and grosswardein will instantly receive orders to reduce transylvania to the rank of a vassal state of the porte. there is no room here for regret or humanity, self-preservation is our one remaining duty and the duty of self-preservation demands that where we have no choice, we should do voluntarily what we may be forced to do." teleki had scarce finished these words than an attendant announced that the princess of moldavia requested admittance into the council chamber. apafi would have replied in the negative, but teleki signified that she might as well come in. a few moments later the attendant again appeared and requested permission for the ladies of the princess's suite to accompany their mistress, as she was too weak to walk alone. teleki consented to that also. the counsellors cast down their eyes when the door opened. but there is a sort of spell which forces a man to look in the very direction in which he would not, in which he fears to look, and lo and behold! when the door opened and the hunted woman entered with her suite, a cry of astonishment resounded from every lip. for of what did the woman's suite consist? it consisted of the most eminent ladies of transylvania. the wives and daughters of all the counsellors present accompanied the unfortunate lady, foremost among them being the princess and dame michael teleki, on whose shoulders she leaned; and last of all came old dame bethlen, with dove-white hair. all the most respectable matrons, the loveliest wives, and fairest maidens of the realm were there. the unfortunate princess, whose pale face was full of suffering, advanced on the arms of her supporters towards the throne of the prince. her knees tottered beneath her, her whole body trembled like a leaf, she opened her lips, but no sound proceeded from them. "courage, my child," whispered anna bornemissza, pressing her hand; whereupon the tears suddenly burst from the eyes of the unfortunate woman, and, breaking from her escort, she flung herself at the feet of the prince, embracing his knees with her convulsive arms, and raising towards him her tear-stained face, exclaimed with a heart-rending voice: "mercy! ... mercy!" a cold dumbness sat on every lip; it was impossible for a time to hear anything but the woman's deep sobbing. the prince sat like a statue on his throne, the steps of which mariska sturdza moistened with her tears. the silence was painful to everyone, yet nobody dared to break it. teleki smoothed away his forelock from his broad forehead, but he could not smooth away the wrinkles which had settled there. he regretted that he had given occasion to this scene. "mercy!" sobbed the poor woman once more, and half unconsciously her hand slipped from apafi's knees. aranka béldi rushed towards her and rested her declining head on her own pretty childlike bosom. then anna bornemissza stepped forward, and after throwing a stony glance upon all the counsellors present, who cast down their eyes before her, looked apafi straight in the face with her own bright, penetrating, soul-searching eyes, till her astonished husband was constrained to return her glance almost without knowing it. "my petition is a brief one," said dame apafi in a low, deep, though perfectly audible voice. "an unfortunate woman, whom the lord of destiny did not deem to be sufficiently chastened by a single blow, has lost in one day her husband, her home, and her property; she implores us now for bare life. you see her lying in the dust asking of you nothing more than leave to rest--a petition which dzengis khan's executioners would have granted her. that is all she asks, but we demand more. the destiny of transylvania is in your hands, but its honour is ours also; ye are summoned to decide whether our children are to be happy or miserable. but speak freely to us and say if you wish them to be honourable men or cowards. and i ask you which of us women would care to bear the name of a kornis, a csaky, or an apafi, if posterity shall say of the bearers of these names that they surrendered an innocent woman to her heathen pursuers and constrained their own sons thereby to renounce the names of their fathers? look not so darkly upon me, master michael teleki, for my soul is dark enough without that. an unhappy woman is on her knees before you, hoping that she will find you to be men. the women of transylvania stand before you, hoping to find you patriots. we beg you to have compassion for the sake of the honour of our children." teleki, upon whom the eyes of the princess had flashed fiercely during the speech, as if accepting the challenge, answered in a cold, stony voice: "here, madam, we dispense justice only, not mercy or honour." "justice!" exclaimed anna. "what! if a husband has offended, is his innocent wife, whose only fault is that she loves the fugitive, is she, i say, to suffer punishment in his stead? where is the justice of that?" "justice is often another name for necessity." "then who are all ye whom i see here? are ye the chief men of transylvania or turkish slaves? this is what i ask, and what we should all of us very much like to know: is this the council chamber of the free and constitutional state of transylvania, or is it the ante-chamber of olaj beg?" the gentlemen present preserved a deep silence. this was a question to which they could not give a direct answer. "i demand an answer to my question," cried dame apafi in a loud voice. "and what good will the answer do you, my lady?" inquired teleki, pressing his index-finger to his lips. "i shall at any rate know whether the place in which we now stand is worthy of us." "it is not worthy, my lady. the present is no time for the magyars to be proud that they dwell in transylvania; we are ashamed to be the responsible ministers of a down-trodden, deserted, and captive nation. this your highness ought to know as well as any of us, for it was a turkish pasha who placed your husband on the prince's seat. and, assuredly, it would be a far less grief to us to lose our heads than to bend them humbly beneath the derisive honour of being the leaders of a people lying among ruins. but, at the most, history will only be able to say of us that we humbly bowed before necessity, that we bore the yoke of the stranger without dignity, that running counter to the feelings of our hearts and the persuasions of our minds, we covered our faces with shame, and yet that that very shame and dishonour saved the life of transylvania, and that poor spot of earth which remained in our hands saved the whole country from a bloody persecution. we are the victims of the times, madam; help us to conceal the blush of shame and share it with us. there, you have the answer to your question." dame apafi grew as pale as death, her head drooped, and she clasped her hands together. "so we have come to this at last? formerly valour was the national virtue, now it is cowardice. what is our own fate likely to be if we reject this poor woman? what has happened to-day to a princess ghyka might easily happen to the wives of kornis and csaky and béldi to-morrow. for their husbands' faults they may be carried away captive, brought to the block, if only god does not have mercy upon them, for you yourselves say that this would be right. why do you look at us? you, béldi, kornis, teleki, csaky, bethlen, here stand your wives and daughters. draw forth your coward swords, and if you dare not slay men, at least slay women; kill them before it occurs to the turkish padishah to drag them by the hair into his harem." as dame apafi mentioned the names of the men one after another, their wives and daughters, loudly weeping, rushed towards them, and hiding their heads in their bosoms, with passionate sobs, begged for the unfortunate princess, and behold the eyes of the men also filled with tears, and nothing could be heard in the room but the sobbing of the husbands mingled with the sobbing of their wives. on teleki's breast also hung the gentle judith veér and his own daughter flora, and the great stony-hearted counsellor stood trembling between them; and although his cast-iron features assumed with an effort a rigorous expression, nevertheless a couple of unrestrainable tears suddenly trickled down the furrows of his face. the prince turned aside on his throne, and covering his face, murmured: "no more, anna! no more!" "oh, apafi!" cried the princess bitterly; "if perish i must it shall not be by your hand. anna bornemissza has strength enough to meet death if there be no choice between that and shame. be content, if olaj beg demands my death, i shall at least be spared the unpleasantness of falling at your feet in supplication. and now, pronounce your decision, but remember that every word you say will resound throughout the christian world." teleki dried the tears from his face, made his wife and daughter withdraw, and said in a voice tremulous with emotion: "in vain should i deny it, my tears reveal that i have a feeling heart. i am a man, i am a father, and a husband. if i were nothing but michael teleki, i should know how to sacrifice myself on behalf of persecuted innocence; and if my colleagues around me were only companions-in-arms, i should say to them, gird on your swords, lie in wait, rush upon the turkish escort of the princess, and deliver her out of their hands--if we perish, a blessing will be upon us. but in this place, in these chairs, it is not ourselves who feel and speak. the life, the death of all transylvania depends upon us. and my last word is that we incontinently deliver up mariska sturdza to the ambassador of the porte. if my colleagues decide otherwise, i will agree to it, i will take my share of the responsibility, but i shall have saved my soul anyhow. speak, gentlemen, and if you like, vote against me." the silence of death ensued, nobody spoke a word. "what, nobody speaks?" cried dame apafi in amazement. "nobody! ah! let us leave this place! there is not a man in the whole principality." and with these words the lady withdrew from the council chamber. her attendants followed her sorrowfully, one by one, tearfully bidding adieu to the unfortunate princess. aranka béldi was the last to part from her. during the whole of this mournful scene her eyes had remained tearless, but she had knelt down the whole time by mariska's side, holding her closely embraced, and assuring her that god would deliver her, she must fear nothing. when all the ladies had withdrawn, and dame béldi beckoned her daughter to follow her, she tenderly kissed the face of her friend and whispered in her ear: "i have still hope, fear not, we will save you!" and smiling at her with her bright blue eyes like an angel of consolation, got up and withdrew. the princess, tearless, speechless, then allowed herself to be conducted away by the officers of the council chamber. the men remained sitting upon their chairs, downcast and sorrowful. every bosom was oppressed, and every heart was empty, and the thought of their delivered fatherland was a cold consolation for the grief they felt that the government of transylvania should fling an innocent woman back into the throat of the monster which was pursuing her. the silence still continued when, suddenly, the door was violently burst open, and shoving aside the guards right and left, yffim beg entered the room. he had been sent by hassan pasha to levy contributions on the prince and the people. the rough turkish captain looked round with boorish pride upon the silent gentlemen, who were still depressed by the preceding incident, and perceiving that here he had to do with the humble, without so much as bowing, he strode straight up to the prince, and placing one foot on the footstool before the throne, and throwing his head haughtily back, flung these words at him: "in the name of my master, the mighty hassan pasha, i put this question to thee, thou prince of the giaurs, why hast thou kept back for so long the tribute which is due to the porte? who hath caused the delay--thou, or the farmers of the taxes, or the tax-paying people? answer me directly, and take care that thou liest not!" the prince looked around with wrinkled brows as if looking for something to fling at the head of the fellow. he regretted that the inkstand was so far off. but teleki handed a sheet of parchment to sárpataky, the clerk of the council. "read our answer to the pasha's letter," said he; "as for you--sir i will not call you--listen to what is written therein. 'beneficent hassan pasha, we greatly regret that you bother yourself about things which are already settled. we do not ask you why you came so late to the battle of st. gothard. why do you ask us, then, why we are so late with the taxes? we will answer for ourselves at the proper time and place. till then, heaven bless you, and grant that misfortune overwhelm you not just when you would ruin others.' when you have written all that down, hand it to his highness the prince for signature." the gentlemen present had fallen from one surprise into another. michael teleki, who a moment before, against the inclinations of his own heart and mind, had tried to compel the land to submit to the demand of olaj beg, could in the next moment send such a message to the powerful vizier of buda. but teleki knew very well that the storm which was passing over the country on account of the princess of moldavia was sure to rebound on the head of the vizier of buda. the sultan was seeking for an object on which to wreak his wrath because of the lost battle, and if the pasha of buda did not succeed in making the government of transylvania the victim, he would fall a victim himself. as for yffim beg, he did not quite know whether a thunder-bolt had plunged down close beside him, or whether he was dreaming. there he stood like a statue, unable to utter a word, and only looked on stupidly while the letter was being written before his very eyes, while apafi's pen scraped the parchment as he subscribed his signature, while they poured the sand over it, folded it up, impressed it with an enormous seal, and thrust it into his palm. only then did he emerge somewhat from his stupor. "do ye think i am mad enough to carry this letter back with me to buda?" and with these words he seized the letter at both ends, tore it in two, and flung it beneath the table. "write another!" said he, "write it nicely, for my master, the mighty hassan pasha, will strangle the whole lot of you." teleki turned coldly towards him. "if you don't like the letter, worthy müderris, you may go back without any letter at all." "i am no müderris, but yffim beg. i would have thee know that, thou dog; and i won't go without a letter, and i won't let you all go till ye have written another." and with these words he sat down on the steps of the prince's throne and crossed his legs, so that two were sitting on the throne at the same time, the beg and apafi. "guards!" cried apafi in a commanding voice, "seize this shameless fellow, tie him on to a horse's back and drive him out of the town." they needed not another word. one of the guards immediately rushed forward to where yffim beg was still sitting on a footstool with legs crossed, and took him under the arm, while another of them grasped him firmly by the collar, and raising him thus in the air, kicking and struggling, carried him out of the room in a moment. the beg struck, bit, and scratched, but it was all of no avail. the merciless drabants set him on the back of a horse in the courtyard, without a saddle, tied his feet together beneath the horse's belly, placed the bridle of the steed in the hands of a stable-boy, while another stable-boy stood behind with a good stout whip; and so liberally did they interpret the commands of the chief counsellor, that they escorted the worthy gentleman, not only out of the town, but beyond the borders of the realm. chapter xvi. a fight for his own head. at buda, while hassan pasha was fighting with the army of the german emperor, yffim beg was preparing the triumphal arches through which the victors were to pass on their return, adorning them with green branches and precious carpets, and leaving room for the standards to be captured from the germans and hungarians. the bridge was also repaired and strengthened to support the weight of the heavy gun-carriages and cannon which montecuculi was to have abandoned, and at the same time a large space on the rákás was railed in where all the slaves of all the nations, including women and children, were to be impounded. and after all these amiable preparations the terrible message reached the worthy yffim beg from hassan pasha that he was to place all his movable chattels, gold and silver, on a fugitive footing, barricade the fortress, cut away the bridge so that the enemy might not be able to cross it, and follow him with the whole harem, beyond the raab, for who could tell whether they would ever see the fortress of buda again. yffim beg was not particularly pleased with this message, but without taking long to think about it, he put the damsels of the harem into carriages, sent them off along the covered way adjoining the water-gate, in order to make as little disturbance as possible, and, as soon as they were on the other side of the bridge, ordered it to be destroyed and the garrison of the fortress to defend themselves as best they could. he reached the turkish army to find the opposing hosts drawn up against each other on different sides of the river, across which they bombarded each other from time to time, without doing much damage. the pasha's pavilion was well in the rear, out of cannon-shot; he was delighted when he saw yffim beg, and could not take his fill of kissing azrael, who was lovelier and more gracious than ever. "remain here," he said to his favourites, embracing the pair of them. "i must retire now to the interior of my pavilion to pray for an hour or so with the dervishes, for a great and grievous duty will devolve upon me in an hour's time--two great turkish nobles, kucsuk pasha and his son, are to be condemned to death." azrael started as violently as if a serpent had crept into her bosom. "how have they offended?" she asked, scarce able to conceal her agitation. "against the precepts of the prophet they engaged in battle on a day of ill-omen; they have cast dirt on the victorious half-moon, and must wash off the stain with their blood." hassan withdrew; azrael remained alone in the tent with the beg. "i saw thee shudder," said yffim, fixing his sharp eyes on the face of azrael. "death chooses the thirteenth; he leaped past me at this very moment." "and on whom has the fatal thirteen fallen?" "on someone who stands beside me or behind me." "behind thee in the tent outside is feriz beg." "but thou art beside me." "i am too young to die yet." "and is not he also?" "he of whom hassan saith: 'he hath sinned!' becomes old and withered on the spot." "and hast thou done nothing for which thou shouldst die?" "my beard will grow white because of my loyalty; life is long in the shadow of hassan." "but how long will hassan have a shadow?" "till his night cometh--but that is still far off." "hast thou not heard of the case of ajas pasha, yffim?--of ajas, who was the mightiest of all the pashas?" "he was the sultan's son-in-law." "the grand seignior gave him his own daughter to wife, and loaded him with every favour. one day ajas lost a battle against the zrinyis. it was not a great defeat, but the sultan was wrath and beheaded ajas pasha." "h'm! i recollect, it was a sad story." "and dost thou remember the story of the faithful hiassar? ajas charged him to bring to him before his death his favourite wife, not his whole harem which thou hast brought to hassan pasha, but only his favourite wife, that he might take leave of her; and dost thou know that for doing this thing the sultan had hiassar roasted to death in a copper ox? for a disgraced favourite possesses nothing--all he had is the sultan's, his treasures, his wives and his children; and whoever lays his hand upon them is robbing the sultan. who knows, yffim beg, but what at this moment i may not be the sultan's slave-girl? and from slave-girl to favourite is but a step, and thou knowest it would be but a short step for me." "what accursed things thou art saying." "the wife of ajas beg was the sultan's favourite at the time when hiassar was burnt, and a word from her would have saved him. but she said it not, because she was wrath with him; methinks the woman loved him once, and the slave despised her love. give me my mandoline, yffim, i would sing a song." the odalisk lay back upon the bed, while yffim anxiously paced to and fro like a hyena fallen into a snare. the story just related had a striking resemblance to his own, and it would not take very much to give it a similar termination. suddenly he stood before the damsel, who nonchalantly strummed the strings of her instrument. "what dost thou want?" "ask not what thou knowest." "thou wouldst save feriz?" "i will save him." "i swear by allah it is not to be done. die he must, if only to tame thee; for if he remain alive thou wilt destroy the lot of us sooner or later." azrael collapsed at the feet of the beg. sobbing, she embraced his knees. "oh, be merciful! say but a word for him to the general. i love the youth as thou canst see and dost very well know. do not let him perish!" like all little souls, yffim beg became all the bolder at these supplicating words, and seizing azrael by the arms, roughly pulled her to her feet, and whispered in her ear with malicious joy: "i'll make thee a present of his head." at these words the woman raised her head, her eyes like those of a furious she-wolf seemed to glow with green fire, her tresses curled like serpents round her bosom. she said not a word, but her tightly clenched teeth kept back a whole hell of dumb fury. at that moment the vizier returned. azrael at once put on a smile. hassan could not see what was seething in her heart. yffim approached the pasha confidentially. "does the sultan know of thy disaster?" "he has heard it since." "it would be as well to send me with gifts to the porte." "ask not that honour for thyself, yffim; learn, rather, that whomsoever i send to stambul now is as good as sent to paradise. the sultan's wrath is kindled, and he can only quench it with blood." all the blood quitted yffim's own face. "then thou hast thy fears, my master?" "his rage demands blood, and the blood of a great man, too. which of us? that is all one, but a great man must die. if i cannot sacrifice someone in my place i shall perish myself, but there are men of equal value to myself from whom i can choose. there are two especially--kucsuk and his son. they began the battle; if they had not begun it, there would have been no battle; and if there had been no battle, there would have been no disaster. they are death's sons already. the third is the prince of moldavia. he was the first to fly from the fight; he had a secret understanding with the christians. he is a son of death also. i can throw in the prince of transylvania also, because he kept away from the battle altogether and was late with his tribute. had he sent it sooner, we should have had money; and if we had had money, we should have been able to have bought hay; and if we had had hay the soldiers would not have hastened on the battle and so lost it. he also is a son of death, therefore. go thou into transylvania and bring him hither to me." azrael listened to all this with great attention. yffim beg regarded her with a radiant countenance, as much as to say: "you see our heads won't ache yet!" the odalisk, however, trembled no longer; she pressed her lips tightly together, and as if she was quite certain of what she was about to do, she pressed her sweetly smiling face close to that of the vizier, and hanging on his arms, whispered to him: "o hassan, how my soul would rejoice if i could see flow the blood of thine enemies." hassan sat the damsel on his knees, and his lips sported with her twining tresses. yffim beg was in such a mighty good humour at being commissioned by hassan to go as ambassador to the prince of transylvania, and so blindly exalted by such a mark of confidence, that he fancied he could well afford to torment azrael a little. "whilst thou wert away, my master," said he, "thy damsel implored me to grant her a favour, which i dare not do without first asking thy permission." azrael regarded the smiling beg with sparkling eyes, anxiously awaiting what he would be bold enough to betray. "what was it?--speak, yffim beg," remarked hassan wildly. "thou and the other pashas are about to condemn a youth to death--young feriz beg, i mean." "well?" said hassan frowning, while the odalisk whom he held embraced trembled all over. "azrael would like to see the young man die." the girl grew pale at these words; her heart for a moment ceased to beat, and then began fiercely to throb again. "a foolish wish," said hassan; "but if thou desire it, be it so! be present at the meeting of the pashas, stand behind the curtains by my side, and thou shalt hear and see everything." azrael imprinted a long and burning kiss on hassan's forehead with a face full of death, and stood behind the curtain holding the folds together with her hands. "if thou shouldst faint," whispered yffim beg sarcastically, "thou shalt have a vessel of musk from me." azrael laughed so loudly that yffim fancied she must have gone mad. "and now call the pashas and draw the curtain of the tent," commanded hassan. at the invitation of yffim all the officers of the camp came to the pavilion and took their seats in a circle on cushions. last of all came the grand vizier, kiuprile, a big, stout, angry man, who, without looking at anyone, sat down on the cushion beside hassan and turned his back upon him. then the roll of drums was heard, and kucsuk pasha and feriz beg, well guarded, were brought in from different sides--kucsuk on the left hand, and feriz on the right. "look!" whispered azrael to hassan from behind the curtain; "look how proud they are, the son on the right, the father on the left. they seem to be encouraging each other with their glances." hassan nodded his head as if thanking his favourite for assisting his weak eyes, and as both figures came within the obscurity of the tent, where the light was not very good at the best of times, acting on the hint given, he turned towards the aged kucsuk pasha and cried: "thou immature youth, step back till i speak to thee." then, turning to young feriz beg, he said: "step forward, thou hardened old traitor! wherefore didst thou leave the armies of the sublime sultan in the lurch?" feriz beg, as if a weapon against his persecutors had suddenly been put into his hand, stepped boldly right up to hassan pasha, and exclaimed in a bold voice, which rang though the tent: "thou art the traitor, not i; for thou darest to hold the office of general when thou art blind and canst not distinguish two paces off father from son, or an enemy from a friend." hassan sprang in terror from his carpet when he heard kucsuk's son speak instead of kucsuk. "that is not true," he stammered, changing colour. "not true!" replied feriz stiffly; "then, if thine eyes be good, wilt thou tell me what regiment is now passing thy tent with martial music?" the tent be it understood was open towards the plain overlooking the whole camp and the river beyond. a military band was just then crossing the ground not far from the tent, quite alone; no regiment was coming after it. "methinks, thou mutinous dog, 'tis no answer to my question to inquire what regiment is now passing by, for it maybe that i know better than thou why it has arrived; nor is it part of my duty to mention the rabble by name; suffice it that i hear the trumpets and see the banners." the pashas looked at each other; there was neither regiment nor banners. "so that's it, eh?" said kiuprile, spitting in front of him; and with that he rose from his place, and, without looking at hassan, took kucsuk and feriz by the arm. "come!" said he to the other generals--"you can go now!" he cried to the guards, and the whole assembly withdrew from the tent. hassan fell back on his carpet. he himself had betrayed his great defect. azrael rushed from her hiding-place. "oh, my master!" she cried; "thou didst wrongly interpret my words, and so made everything go wrong." "i am lost," he stammered, and quite beside himself he plunged into the interior of the tent to pray with the dervishes. yffim beg stood there as if his soul had been filched from him; while azrael approached him with a smile of devilish scorn and stroked his face down with her hand. "dost thou fancy thou wilt require another good word for thee?" "i can betray thee." "thou couldst if thou didst but know which of the two is to live longest--hassan or i." * * * * * two hours after this scene there was a private conversation between hassan pasha and yffim beg, from which even azrael was excluded. the interview over, yffim beg departed quickly from the camp. the general had sent him to transylvania to go in his name from village to village to make a general inspection, and ask the magistrates why the common folks did not pay the taxes at the proper time. he was thence to go to the prince and ask the cause of this delay in the transmission of taxes; thus either the people or the prince would be held responsible. hassan for a long time had had a scheme in his head of seizing transylvania by force of arms, whereby, on the one hand, he would win the favour of the porte, by adding a new subject state to turkish territory, and, on the other hand, would secure for himself a good easy princely chair instead of a dangerously-jolting general's saddle. at the same time olaj beg was worrying apafi to seize the escaped princess of moldavia and send her to hassan pasha, who was well aware that the silken cord would be constantly dangling before his eyes till he had found someone else whose neck he could jeopardise instead of his own. kucsuk and his son had escaped from his talons, but he had just heard from olaj beg that the moldavian princess was with apafi, and in an interesting condition, so that there was every prospect of a young prince being born. here, then, in case of necessity, was a person who could be handed over, and in case she escaped, the silken cord would remain round apafi's neck. a few days after the departure of yffim beg, peace was hastily concluded between the porte and the king of the romans. in consequence thereof hassan avoided a collision with the other generals, and, quitting them, hastened back to buda with his army. kiuprile marched right off to belgrade, kucsuk was dispatched to the fortress of szekelyhid; only feriz remained at buda, for the simple reason that he was confined to his bed by a feverish cold in a kiosk, which was erected for him by the express command of kiuprile. just about this time azrael had an excess of devotion, and was constantly plagued by terrifying dreams in which she saw hassan pasha walking up and down without his head, and every morning she got leave from him to pay a visit to an old dervish to pray against the apparition of evil spirits. hassan was much affected by this devotion towards him and true mussulman fervour, and made no opposition to his favourite damsel going every morning to the mosque to pray, and only returning from thence late every evening; but he impressed it upon her suite to keep a watchful eye upon the girl lest she should deceive them. they therefore permitted pious azrael to visit the worthy dervish so wrapped up that only her eyes were visible, and soon afterwards saw her return with the gracious old man. the dervish had a white beard and white eyebrows, as if he were well frosted; his eyes were cast down, and he wore such a frightfully big turban that not even the tips of his ears were visible. he was also not very lavish of speech, dumbly he pointed out to the veiled damsel the great clasped book and she knelt down before it and began to read with edifying devotion, touching it from time to time with her forehead; while the dervish, raising his hand, blessed one by one the slaves standing outside the door, and, after indicating by dumb show that he must now go to the kiosk where the sick feriz beg was lying and cure him by the efficacy of his prayers, he hobbled away. all four slaves glued their faces to the iron lattice work of the door, thrust their cheeks between its ornaments, and saw how the kneeling damsel kept praying all the time before the large open book. she must have had an unconscionable fondness for prayer, for even when the evening grew late she had not moved from the spot till the dervish, leaning on his crutch, came hobbling back from feriz beg. then she accompanied him into the interior of the mosque, and after a short hymn, returned to make her way back to the fortress. and thus it went on for ten days. the slaves of her escort now began to think that azrael wanted to learn the koran by heart and grew tired of watching her praying and bowing and genuflecting with unwearied devotion. let us leave them gazing and marvelling, and seek out feriz beg, whom now, as at other times, the old dervish was tending. there sat the good old man by the bedside of the pale and handsome youth. nobody else was in the room. with his hand he dried the dripping sweat from the youth's forehead, every hour he put red healing drops into his mouth with a golden spoon, he guessed what was wanted immediately from every sigh, from every groan of the invalid. when he slept he fanned fresh air upon him, when he woke and stretched forth his burning hands, he felt the throbbing pulse and comforted and soothed him with gentle and consolatory words; and if he flung about impatiently in the fever of delirium, he covered him up carefully, like a tender mother, moistened his lips with fresh citron-water; and if he perceived from his flushed face how he was suffering he would raise his head, and press his burning temples to his bosom. on the tenth day the youth's illness took a turn for the better. early in the morning, when he awoke, he had a clear consciousness of his condition. there by the side of his bed still sat the old man with his eyes fixed on the youth's face. "so thou hast been my nurse, eh?" sighed the youth gratefully, and he extended his hand to take that of the dervish, and he respectfully impressed upon it a long burning kiss, closing his eyes piously as he did so. and when he again opened his eyes, holding continually the kissed hand between his own hands, behold! by his bedside no longer sat the old dervish, but a young and tremulous damsel, with black tresses rolling down her shoulders, with a blushing face and timidly smiling lips--it was azrael. feriz fancied that he was the sport of some delirious dream or enchantment, and only when he looked about him in his bewilderment and perceived the cast-off false beard and turban and the other lying symbols of age, did he regain his presence of mind; and immediately the expression of gratitude and devotion disappeared from the face of feriz beg, his features took in a rigorous expression and he withdrew his hand from the pressure of those other hands. speak he could not, both mind and body were too much broken for that; but he pointed to the door and signified to the damsel in dumb show that she was to withdraw. "thou knowest me, for thou hatest me," stammered azrael; "if thou didst not know me thou wouldst not hate me, and if thou didst know me better thou wouldst love me." the youth shook his head. "then--thou--lovest--another?" said the trembling girl. feriz beg nodded: yes. azrael rose from her place as if some venomous spider had bitten her, her face was convulsed by a burning grief, she pressed her hands to her bosom; then slowly her form lost all its proud rigidity, and her eyes their savage brightness, her features softened, and collapsing before the bed of the youth she hid her face in his pillows and murmured in a scarce audible voice: "and therefore i love thee all the more." then, resuming her disguise, she calmly piled upon herself all the tokens of old age till once more before the sick man stood the gentle honest dervish who hobbled away on his crutches, blessing everyone he encountered till he returned again to the mosque. after azrael had withdrawn, feriz at once dismissed the dervish, who, at the youth's command, confessed everything to him. the general's favourite damsel, he said, had come to the mosque to pray ten days ago and had changed garments with him in his hiding-place in order to tend the dear invalid all day long while the dervish, enwrapped in her veil, had prayed in the sight of the slaves. feriz beg threatened the dervish with death if he did not confess everything, and, as it became a true cavalier, richly rewarded him when he had revealed the secret intrigue, forbidding him at the same time to assist it any further. * * * * * several days had passed by. hassan pasha spent his days in the mosque, and his nights behind the trellised gates of his harem; he scented an evil report in every new arrival, and avoided all intercourse with his fellows. the whole day he was praying, the whole night he was drunk; from morning to evening he was occupied with the priests and the koran, and from the evening to the morning he amused himself among his damsels, listened to their songs, bathed in ambergris-water, drank wine mingled with poppies, and had his body rubbed with cotton-wool that he might sleep and be in paradise. frequently he had bad dreams, an evil foreboding, like the pressure of a night-hag, lay upon his heart, and when he awoke he seemed to see it all vividly before his eyes and durst not sleep any more, but dressed himself, sought out the room of azrael and made the damsel sit down beside him and amuse him with merry stories. the odalisk held unlimited sway over the mind of hassan, and could, at will, tune his mind to a good or evil humour by anticipating his thoughts. the pasha trusted her implicitly. it is a bad old custom with oriental potentates to go to bed fuddled and dream all manner of nonsense, and then incontinently to demand a clear interpretation of the nebulous stuff from their wise men--or wise women. this happened to be the case one morning with hassan pasha and azrael who just then was watering with a silver watering-can a gorgeous gobæa, whose luxurious offshoots clambered like a living ladder to the roof of the greenhouse, thence casting down to the ground again tendrils as thick as ropes. "last night i was dreaming of this very plant that thou dost nourish in yon large tub," said hassan in a voice that sounded as if he thought it an extraordinary thing to be listening to his own words. "i dreamt that it put forth a long and flowery shoot which grew into a tall tree, and from the end of one of the branches of this tree hung a large yellow fruit. then i thought i had some important and peculiar reason for breaking off the fruit, and i sent a big white-bearded ape up into the tree to fetch it. the ape reached the fruit, and for a long time plucked at it and shook it, but was unable to break it off. at last, however, he fell down with it at my feet, the golden fruit burst in two, and a red apple rolled out of it, and i picked them both up and was delighted. what does that signify?" azrael kept plucking the yellow leaves off her dear plant and throwing them through the window, beckoned to the pasha to sit down beside her, and tapping him on the shoulder, began to tick off the events on her pretty fingers. "the golden fruit is the moldavian princess, and the white ape thou didst send for her is none other than olaj beg. thy dream signifies that the beg is about to arrive with the princess, who in the meantime has borne a son, and thou wilt rejoice greatly." hassan was well content with this interpretation, when a eunuch entered and brought him a sealed letter on a golden salver. it was from the pasha of grosswardein. the letter was anything but pleasant. ali pasha begged to inform the vizier that the government of transylvania, having delivered mariska sturdza into the hands of olaj beg, the beg at once set off with her, and had got as far as királyhágó, when some persons hidden in the forest had suddenly rushed out upon him, massacred his suite to the last man, and left the princess' carriage empty on the high road. the princess had in all probability been helped to rejoin her husband in poland. the letter fell from the hand of hassan pasha. "thou hast interpreted my dream backwards," he roared, turning upon azrael; "everything has turned topsy-turvy. the ape descended from the tree with the fruit, but knocked his brains out." at that moment the door-keeper announced: "olaj beg has arrived with the moldavian princess." at these words hassan pasha, in the joy of his heart, leaped from his cushions, and after kissing azrael over and over again, rushed forward to meet olaj beg, and meeting him in the doorway, caught him round the neck and exclaimed, beside himself with joy: "then my ape has not knocked his brains out, after all!" olaj beg smilingly endured the title and the embrace, but on looking around and perceiving azrael standing in the window he began doing obeisance to her with the greatest respect. "hast thou brought her? where is she? thou hast not lost her, eh? thou hast well looked after her?" asked hassan in one breath. by this time olaj beg had bowed his head down to his very knees before the damsel, and was saying to her in a mollified voice: "may i hope that the beautiful princess will not find it tiresome if we talk of grave affairs in her presence?" azrael at once perceived the object of all this bowing and scraping. olaj beg wished her to withdraw. "thou mayest speak before me, worthy olaj beg, though what thou art about to say is no secret to me, for i can read the future, and my secrets i tell to none." and now hassan intervened. "thou mayest speak freely before her, worthy olaj beg. azrael is the root of my life." olaj beg made another deep and long obeisance. he had heard enough of that name to need no further recommendation. he made up his mind on the spot to tell hassan, who was in the power of this infernal woman, no more than he deserved to know. "then thou hast brought the princess with thee?" insisted hassan, whose joy beamed upon his face in spite of himself. "did the transylvanian gentlemen make much difficulty in handing her over?" "they handed her over, but it would have been very much better if they had not. i should have preferred it if they had risen in her behalf, stirred up all klausenberg against me and beaten me to death. at any rate, i should then have died gloriously. but alas! the magyar race is degenerating, it has begun to be sensible. those good old times have gone when they used to fire a whole village for the sake of a runaway female slave; and it was possible to seize a whole county in exchange for one burnt village; if the hungarian gentry continue to be as wise as they are now the younger generation of them may strike root in our very empire." "i was alarmed on thy account, for i have just received a letter from the pasha of grosswardein, in which he informed me that certain persons had attacked the princess's escort at királyhágó and cut them down to a man." "i anticipated that," replied olaj beg slily. "when with much shedding of tears they handed the princess over to me, i heard them whisper in her ear: 'fear nothing!' and i well understood from that that those same gentlemen who in the council chamber, with wise precautions, resolved to deliver up the fugitive princess, had agreed among themselves over their cups at dinner-time that as i left transylvania they would lie in wait for, fall upon me, and liberate and take away with them the princess whom, by the way, they did not deliver over immediately, giving out that she was sick and suffering torments. while i was awaiting her recovery, nobody but her ladies was allowed admittance to her, and as soon as she was on her legs again, i made all my preparations for the journey next day, marshalling all the carriages and baggage-wagons in the courtyard. i myself, however, got into a sorry matted conveyance with the princess and her child, and set off the same night in the direction of déva. my suite, with the empty carriages, was to follow next morning in the direction of grosswardein. the masked men cut them down as arranged, but the princess and her son were in safe hands all the time. olaj beg is an old fox, and a fox knows his way about." hassan pasha rubbed his hands delightedly. "nevertheless," continued olaj beg, "imagine not, my good general, that because this woman is now in thy hands thou wilt be able to keep her. sleeplessness will enter thy house as soon as thou hast admitted her within thy doors. if it be hard to guard any woman, it will be particularly hard to guard this one. the men and women of a whole kingdom have sworn to set her free by force or fraud, and will use every effort to do so. they will open thy bedroom doors with skeleton keys, they will dig beneath thy cellars, they will strew sleeping powder in thy evening potions, they will corrupt thy most faithful servants, and if no other poison make any impression upon thee they will pour into thy heart the most potent of all poisons, the tears of a supplicating woman. i have brought the treasure, and i deliver it into thy hands. allah requites me for my pains by taking her from me. thou art now her guard, conceal her as best thou canst. thy greatest worry will be that thou canst not slay her, for indeed she were best hidden beneath the ground. but thou art to see to it that she is delivered alive into the hands of the sultan's envoys, for shouldst thou kill her thyself be sure thou wilt soon feel the silken cord around thine own neck. meanwhile, peace be with thee and to all who abide in the shadow of the prophet!" with these words olaj beg stepped into the adjoining room, and leading in the princess, placed her hand in the hand of hassan; then he raised his eyes to heaven. "allah is my witness," said he, "that i have delivered her and her child into thy hands!" in the first moment hassan pasha was amazed at the woman's loveliness, and thought with regret that it was necessary for his own safety that she must die. olaj beg, however, had yet another piece of good advice to impart, and, with that object, drew nigh to him to whisper in his ear; but, as if his courage failed him at the last moment, he delivered his sentiments in the arabic tongue. "thou wouldst guard this woman best if thou tookest her child from her and locked it up separately. the mother certainly would not escape without the child." the princess ghyka did not understand these words, but she saw how the old fox indicated her little one with a glance and with what a greedy look hassan regarded it; and she pressed the child all the closer to her bosom as she saw him come a step closer. the unhappy woman trembled when she saw hassan smile upon the child like a hungry wolf would smile if he encountered it on his path. she guessed from their play of feature the terrible idea which the two men were discussing in a foreign tongue, and in her despair cast her eyes upon azrael, as if hoping that she would find a response to her agony in a woman's heart. the odalisk pretended she had not observed the look, as if those present were not worthy of the slightest attention from her; when, however, hassan gratefully embraced the beg for this fresh piece of advice, azrael intervened with a peculiar smile. "thou dost act like one who, bending beneath the weight of a burden too heavy for him, would pass it on to his neighbour." hassan looked at his favourite damsel inquiringly, while olaj beg, who was unaccustomed to hear women talk at all when men were holding counsel together, looked back with offended surprise over his shoulder. azrael reclined lazily back upon her cushions, and swung one leg over her knee as she conversed with the two men. "worthy hassan," said she, "thou wouldst make two troubles out of one, if thou didst separate thy captives; while thou keepest thine eye on one of them, they will steal away the other behind thy back." hassan cast a troubled look upon olaj beg, who stroked his long white beard and smiled. "if thou dost permit thy damsels to ask questions, thou must needs answer them," said he. at these words azrael leaped from her place and boldly approached the two men, her flaming black eyes measured the beg from head to foot, and when she spoke it was with a determined, startling voice. "listen to me, hassan--yes, i say, thou shouldst listen to me before all thy friends just because i am a woman. a man can only give advice, but a woman loves, and before a man thinks of danger a woman already sees it coming from afar, and while a man may grow into a crafty old fox, a woman is born crafty. hassan knows very well that of all those who wear a mask of friendship for him, there is but one on whom he can absolutely rely, whose love all the treasures in india can as little destroy as they can lull her hatred asleep, who watches over him while he sleeps, and if she sleeps is dreaming of his destiny--that person am i." hassan confirmed the words of the damsel by throwing his arm round her shoulders and drawing her towards him. "if this woman requires a sleepless, uncorruptible guardian," continued azrael, "i will be that guardian. make for us a long chain, and let one end of it be fastened to my arm and the other to her girdle. thus the slave will be chained to the jailer, and, sleeping or waking, will be unable to escape from me. i shall be a good janitor. i will not let her, or her child, out of my hands." the damsel accompanied these words with such an infernal smile that olaj beg involuntarily edged away from her; while hassan was enchanted by this noble specimen of loyalty. but mariska's face was bright and resigned again, for she understood from the words of the odalisk, threatening as they were, that she and her child were not to be separated, and to all else she was indifferent. olaj beg drew the folds of his caftan over his lean, dry bosom, and after peering at the two women, remarked to hassan: "'tis well thou canst trust a woman to look after a woman." with that he backed out of the room, blessing all four corners of it as he went, and in the gateway distributed with great condescension to every one of the servants who had done anything for him some money ingeniously twisted up in pieces of paper (which, by the way, were found to contain a half-penny each when at last unfolded), and sitting in his mat-covered carriage, gave strict orders to the coachman not to look back till he saw the citadel of buda. but hassan the same hour sent for his goldsmith, and bade him prepare immediately a silver chain, four yards long, with golden shackles at each end, for azrael and mariska. the goldsmith took the measure of the hands of the two damsels, and brought in the evening a chain made of beaten silver, whose shackles were fastened by masterly-constructed padlocks, which hassan himself fastened on the hands of the damsels, thrusting the key which opened the padlocks into his girdle, which he tapped a hundred times a day to discover whether it was still there or not. then he dismissed the pair of them into azrael's dormitory. mariska endured everything--the chain, the shame, and rough words--for the privilege of being able to embrace her child. she lay down content on the carpets as far from azrael as the chain would permit it, and folding her hands above the baby's innocent head, prayed with burning devotion to the god of mercy, and calmly went to sleep holding the child in her arms. * * * * * a little beyond midnight the child began softly wailing. at the first sound of its crying mariska awoke, and as she moved her hand the chain rattled. azrael was instantly alert. "hast thou had evil dreams?" inquired the odalisk of mariska; "the rattling of the chain aroused me." "the weeping of my child awoke me," said mariska softly; and drawing the little one to her bosom, as it embraced its mother's beautiful velvet breast with its chubby little finger, and drank from the sweetest of all sources the draught of life, the young mother gazed upon it with unspeakable joy, smiled, laughed, caught the child's rosy little fingers in her mouth, and implanted resounding kisses on its rosy, chubby cheeks. she had no thought at that moment for chain and dungeon. azrael felt in her heart the torments of the demons--it was that jealousy which those who are rocked in the lap of happiness feel at the sight of a luckless wretch who is happier than they are in spite of all his wretchedness. "wherefore dost thou rejoice?" she asked, gazing upon the lady with the eyes of a serpent. "because my child is with me." "but the whole world has abandoned thee." "it is more to me than the whole world." "more than thy husband?" mariska reflected for a moment, and then, instead of replying, hugged the child still closer to her bosom and imprinted a kiss upon its forehead. "wert thou ever a mother?" she asked azrael in her turn. "never," stammered the odalisk, and involuntarily her bosom heaved beneath a sigh. it was plain from the face of mariska how much she pitied this poor woman. azrael perceived the look, and it wounded her that she should be pitied. "dost thou not know that both of you must die?" she asked with a darkened countenance. "i am ready." "and art thou not terrified at the thought? they will strangle thy child with a silken cord, and hang it dead upon thy breast, and then they will strangle thee likewise, and put you both in the grave, in the cold earth." "we shall see each other in a better world," said mariska with fervent devotion. "where?" inquired the astounded azrael. mariska, with holy confidence, raised her little one in her arms, and, lifting her eyes, said: "god will take us unto himself." "and what need hath god of you?" "he is the father of those who suffer, and in the other world he rewards those who suffer grief here below." "and who told thee this?" mariska, as one inspired, placed her hand upon her heart and said: "it is written here!" azrael regarded the woman abashed. truly, many mysterious words are written in the heart, why cannot everyone read them? she also had listened to such mystic voices, but they were words shouted in a desert, in her savage breast there was no manner of love which could interpret their meaning. mariska again put down her child on the edge of the cushion. "place not thy child there," cried azrael impatiently; "it might easily fall, place it between us!" mariska accepted the offer, and placed the little one between herself and azrael. when the first ray of dawn penetrated the large window mariska awoke, and, folding her hands together above the head of the little child, again began to pray. azrael looked on darkly. "dost thou never pray?" said mariska, turning towards her. "why should women pray? their destiny is not in their own hands. their fate depends upon their masters; if their masters are happy, they are happy also; if their masters perish, they perish with them. this is their earthly lot--and that is all. allah never gave them a soul--what have they to do with the life beyond this? in paradise the houris take their places and the houris remain young for ever. the breath of a woman vanishes with the autumn mist like the fumes of a dead animal, and allah has no thought for them." mariska, with only half intelligible sorrow, looked at this woman who wished to seem worse than she really was. azrael crept closer up to her. "and dost thou really believe that there is someone who listens to what the worms say, to what the birds twitter, and to what women pray?" "certainly," replied the young christian woman; "turn to him, and thou wilt feel for thyself his goodness." "how can it be so? why should he pay any attention to me?" "it is not enough i know to clasp thy hands and close thy eyes. thy petition must come straight from thy heart, and thy soul must believe that it will gain its desire." azrael's face flushed red. hastily she cast herself down on her knees on the carpet, and pressing her folded hands to her bosom, stammered in a scarce audible voice: "god! grant me one moment in my life in which i can say: i am happy." her eyes were still closed when the door of the dormitory opened, and hayat, the oldest duenna of the harem, entered with an air of great secrecy. she was now a shrivelled up bundle of old bones, but formerly she had been the first favourite of hassan pasha, and now she was the slave and secret confidante of all the favourites in turn. azrael leaned towards her, perceiving from the face of the duenna that she brought some message for her; whereupon the latter advanced and, looking around in case anyone should be lurking there, whispered some words in azrael's ear. on hearing these words the odalisk leaped from her seat with a face flushed with joy, while unspeakably tender tears trembled in her eyes. her hands were involuntarily pressed against her heaving bosom, and her lips seemed to murmur some voiceless prayer. some great unusual joy had come upon her, some joy which she had always longed but never dared to hope for. scarce able to restrain herself she turned towards her comrade, who, after listening to her, gazed wonderingly at her and pressed her hand, exclaiming in a voice of strong conviction: "then it is true, our prayer has indeed been heard!" azrael began merrily putting on her garments, and helped mariska also to dress; then she sent the duenna with a message to hassan. she must go again to the mosque of the old dervish to pray, for she had been dreaming of hassan. soon afterwards hassan himself came to her, took from her arm the golden shackle which fastened the chain that bound her to mariska, and, ordering her palanquin to be brought up to the door, sent her away to the old dervish; while, seizing the end of the princess's chain, he led her, together with her child, into his own apartments and there sat down on his cushions, drawing his rosary from his girdle and mumbling the first prayers of the naáma, constantly holding in his hand the end of the princess's chain. the vizier had of late been much given to prayer, for since the lost battle not a soul had come to visit him. the envoys of the sultan, the country petitioners, the foreign ministers, the begging brotherhoods, all of them had avoided his threshold as if he were dead. the first day he was painfully affected by this manifestation, but on the second day he commanded the door-keepers to admit none to his presence. thus, at any rate, he could make himself believe that if nobody came to visit him it was by his express command. he knew right well that a sentence of death had been written down and that this sentence was meant for one of two persons, either the princess or himself, where their two shadows mingled a double darkness was cast, and israfil, the angel of death, stood over them with a drawn sword. hassan knew this right well, and he pressed in his hand convulsively the silver chain to which his prisoner was attached, that prisoner whom he regarded as the ransom for his own life. chapter xvii. the extravagances of love after that melancholy scene, when the ladies of transylvania vainly drew tears and blushes from the faces of their husbands, a ray of hope still remained in one heart alone. it was pretty aranka béldi, who, when everyone else's eyes were full of tears, could whisper words of encouragement to her unhappy friend, and who, when everyone else abandoned her, embraced her last of all, and said to her with firm conviction: "fear not, we will save you!" the youths of transylvania also said: "fear not, we will save you!" but fate flung the dice blindly, the marked men in ambush captured only the escort, not the captive, and had all their fine trouble for nothing. aranka béldi, however, begged her father to let her go to gernyeszeg to visit her friend flora teleki, and there the two noble young damsels agreed together to write two letters to acquaintances in hungary. one of them wrote to tököly, the other to feriz beg, and when the letters were ready, they read to each other what they had written. flora's letter to tököly was as follows: "sir, "the fact that _i_ write these lines to you shows the desperate position i am in, when i have to hide my blushes and apply to him whom of all men i ought to avoid. but it is a question of life and death. do you recollect the moment when, in the castle of rumnik, you saw three maids embrace each other, of whom i was one? we then swore friendship and good fellowship to each other. one of the three at the present moment stands at the brink of death; i mean mariska sturdza, whose misfortunes cannot be unknown to you, and this is not the first mode of deliverance which we have attempted--but the last. your excellency is a powerful and magnanimous man, who has great influence with the sultan, and where one expedient fails, you can employ another. i have always pictured your excellency to myself as a valiant and chivalrous cavalier, and from what i know of the respect which all honourable persons of my acquaintance have for your excellency, i have the utmost confidence that the unfortunate princess of moldavia will not wait in vain for deliverance. do what you can, and may i add to the esteem in which you are held the fervent blessings of a heart which sincerely prays for your excellency's welfare. "flora teleki." flora's calculations were most just. tököly, in those days, stood high in the favour of the sultan, was on terms of intimacy with all the pashas and viziers, and very frequently a casual word from him had more effect than other people's supplications. and flora showed a fine knowledge of character when she appealed to the magnanimity of the very man who had so grievously offended her, feeling certain that just for that very reason, although tököly might not recognise the force of his former obligations, he would be magnanimous enough instantly to grant a favour to the lady who asked him for it, especially as the woman to be liberated had been the original cause of their separation. aranka kissed her friend over and over again when she had read this letter, and then she suddenly grew sad. "oh, _my_ letter is not nearly so pretty, i am ashamed to show it to you." flora looked at her friend with gentle bashfulness as aranka handed over her letter, and blushed like a red rose all the time she was perusing it. "noble-hearted feriz! "when we were both children you maintained that you loved me (here she inserted within brackets: 'like a sister,' and a good thing for her that she did put these three words in brackets). if you still recollect what you said, now is the time to prove it. my dearest friend, mariska sturdza, is at buda, a prisoner in the hands of hassan pasha. my only hope of her deliverance depends on you. i have heard such splendid things of you. if you see her, for whom i now implore you, with a sad face and tearful eyes, think how i should look if i were there, and if you give her back to me, and i can embrace her again, and look into her smiling eyes, then i will think of you, too. "aranka bÉldi." the girls entrusted these letters to faithful servants, sending the first letter to temesvár, where tököly was then residing, and the second to feriz beg, who, as we know, lay ill at buda. the news first reached tököly at supper-time. on receiving the letter and reading it through, he at once put down his glass, girded on his sword, and telling his comrades that he was about to take a little stroll, he mounted his horse and vanished from the town. feriz was lying half-delirious on his carpet. his health mended but slowly, as is often the case with men of strong constitutions, and the tidings of the smallest disaster which befell the turks threw him into such a state of excitement that a relapse was incessantly to be feared, so that at last they would not allow any messages at all to be brought to him, for even when they brought good news to him he always managed to look at them from the worst side, so that news of any kind was absolute poison to him. at last his greek physician made it a rule to read every letter addressed to his patient beforehand; and if it contained the least disturbing element, he let feriz know nothing at all about it. what especially annoyed feriz were any letters from women, and these were simply sent back. thus aranka's letter might very easily have had the fate of being suppressed altogether had it not been entrusted to master gregory biró, a shrewd and famous szekler courier, whose honourable peculiarity it was to go wherever he was sent, and do whatsoever he was told, be the obstacles in the way what they might. if he had been told to give something to the sultan of turkey, he would have wormed his way to him somehow--all inquiries, all threats would have been in vain; he would have insisted on seeing and speaking to him if his head had to be cut off the next moment. one day, then, worthy gregory biró appeared before the kiosk of feriz beg and asked to be admitted. at these words a moor popped out, and, seizing him by the collar, conducted him to a room where a half-dressed man was standing before a fire cooking black potions in all sorts of queer-shaped crooked glasses. the moor presented gregory to the doctor as another messenger. "what is your name?" he asked, venomously regarding him from over his shoulder, and treating him to the most terrifying grimace he could think of. "gregory biró," replied the szekler, nodding his head twice as was his custom. "gregory, gregory, what do you want here?" "i want to see feriz beg." "i am he; what have you brought?" gregory twisted his mug derisively at these words, and immediately reflected that the business was beginning badly, for the person before him did not in the least resemble feriz beg as described to him. "i have brought a letter--from a pretty girl." "give it to me quickly, and be off." gregory twisted round his short jacket that he might get at his knapsack; but while he was fumbling inside it he was cute enough to extract the contents of the letter from its cover, and only handed the empty envelope to the doctor. "'tis well, gregory, now you may go," said he gently, and without so much as opening the envelope he thrust it into the fire and held the blazing paper under a retort which he wanted to warm. "is that the way they read letters here?" asked gregory, scratching his head, and he crept to the door; but there he stopped, and while half his body remained outside he thrust his arm up to the elbow into the long pocket of his _szüre_,[ ] drew from thence a diamond-clasp, and holding it between two fingers cried: "look! i found this ring on the road not far from here, perchance feriz beg has lost it." [footnote : sheepskin mantle.] the doctor took the splendid jewel, and feeling convinced that only a nobleman could have lost such a thing, he said he would show it to feriz beg immediately. "ho! then you are not feriz beg after all!" cried the humorist. the doctor burst out laughing. "gregory! gregory! don't jest with me. i am the cook, and if i like you i will let you stay to dinner." gregory pulled a wry face at the sight of the doctor's stews. the doctor thereupon took in the diamond-clasp to feriz beg, after bidding the moor, whom he left behind him, not to drink anything out of the glasses standing there, or it would make him ill. shortly afterwards the doctor returned in great astonishment, planted himself in front of gregory with frowning eyebrows and roared at him in a voice which alarmed even the szekler: "where did you get that jewel from?" "where did i get it from?" said gregory, shrugging his shoulders; he was very pleased they wanted to frighten him. "come, speak!--quick!" "not now." "why not?" snapped the doctor firmly. "not to you, if you were to break me on the wheel." "i'll bastinado you." "not if you impaled me, i say." "gregory! if you anger me, i'll make you drink three pints of physic." "they are here, eh!" exclaimed gregory, approaching the hearth, skipping among the flasks of the doctor, and seizing one of them, but he had the sense to choose alcohol, and dragging it from its case, sipped away at it till there was not a drop of it left. "leave a little in it, you dog!" yelled the doctor, snatching the flask away from him, "don't drink it all!" "i'll drink up the whole shop, but speak i won't unless i like." the doctor perceived that he had met his match. "then will you speak before feriz beg?" he asked. "i'll speak the whole truth then." so there was nothing for it but to open feriz beg's door before gregory and shove him inside. feriz beg was sitting there on a couch, a feverish flush was burning upon his pale face; he still held the jewel in his hand, and his eyes were fastened upon it; just such a similar clasp he had given to aranka béldi when they were both children together. "how did you come by this jewel?" inquired feriz in a soft, mournful voice. "she to whom you gave it gave it to me that you might believe she sent me to you." at these words feriz beg arose with flashing eyes. "she sent you to me! she! so she remembers me! she thinks of me sometimes, then." "she sent you a letter through me." feriz beg stretched out a tremulous hand. "where is the letter?" "i flung it into the fire," interjected the doctor. "how dared you do that?" exclaimed feriz angrily. but the doctor was not afraid. "i am your doctor, and every letter injures your health." "panajot! you are an impertinent fellow!" thundered feriz, with a face of inflamed purple; and he smote the table such a blow with his fist that all the medicine bottles tumbled off it. "don't be angry, sir!" said gregory, twisting his moustache at both ends, while panajot coolly swept together the fragments of the broken bottles and boxes on the floor; "the worthy man did not burn the letter but only the envelope. i had gumption enough not to entrust the inside of it to him." and with these words he drew from his pouch a letter written on all four sides of the sheet and handed it to feriz, who before reading it covered with kisses the lines traced by that dear hand, while master panajot looked at gregory in amazement. "go along, you old fox, gregory," said he; "next time you come, i'll throw _you_ into the fire to boot." but gregory, highly delighted, feasted his eyes on the youth's face all the time he was reading the letter. as if his soul had changed within him, as if he had passed from the troubles of this world to the joys of paradise, every feature of the youth's face became smiling and joyful. the farther he read the brighter grew his eyes; and when he came to the last word he pressed the leaf to his heart with an expression of the keenest rapture, and held it there a long time, closing his eyes as if in a happy dream, as if he had shut them to see no other object when he conjured up her image before his mind. master panajot was alarmed, fancying some mischief had happened to the invalid, and turned upon gregory with gnashing teeth: "what infernal document have you brought along with you, gregory?" feriz meanwhile smilingly nodded his head as if he would thank some invisible shape, and whispered softly: "so it shall be, so it shall be." "i'm afraid you feel bad, my master," said the doctor. feriz looked up, and his face had grown quite round. "i?--i feel very well. take your drugs from my table, and bring me wine and costly meats dear to the eyes and mouth. i would rejoice my soul and my palate. call hither musicians, and open wide my gate. pile flowers upon my windows, i would be drunk with the fragrance of the flowers that the breeze brings to me." panajot fancied that the invalid had gone out of his mind, and yet full of the joy of life he rose from his couch, laid aside his warm woollen garment, put on instead a light silk robe, wound round his head a turban of the finest linen instead of the warm shaggy shawl, and he who had hitherto been brooding and fretting apathetically, had suddenly become as light as a bird, paced the room with rapid steps, with proudly erected face, from which the livid yellow of sickness had suddenly disappeared, and his eyes sparkled like fire. panajot could not account for the change, and really believed that the patient had fallen into some dangerous paroxysm and in this persuasion bawled for all the members of the negro family. the old egyptian door-keeper, a young nubian huntsman, a chinese cook, trampling upon each other in their haste, all rushed into the room at his cry. feriz beg, with boyish mirth, stopped them all before the doctor could say a word. "thou, ali," he said to the old door-keeper, "go to the mosque and cast this silver among the poor that they may give thanks to allah for my recovery. and thou, o cook! prepare a dinner for twelve persons, looking to it that there is wine and flowers and music; and thou, my huntsman, bring forth the fieriest steed and put upon him the most costly wrappings; and ye others, take this worthy doctor and lock him up among his drugs that he may not get away, and call hither all my friends and acquaintances, and tell them we will celebrate the festival of my recovery." the servants with shouts of joy fulfilled the commands of feriz. first of all they shoved good panajot into his drug-brewing kitchen, and then they dispersed to do their master's bidding. feriz then took the hand of the szekler who had brought the message and shook it violently, saying to him in a loud firm voice: "thou must remain with me till i have accomplished thy mistress's commands. for she has laid a command upon me which i must needs obey." meanwhile, the ostlers had brought forward the good charger. it was a fiery white arab, ten times as restless as usual because of its long rest; not an instant were its feet still. two men caught it by the head and were scarce able to hold it, its pink, wide open nostrils blew forth jets of steam, and through its smooth white mane could be seen the ruddy hue of the full blood. the unfortunate panajot poked his head through the round window of his laboratory, and from thence regarded with stupefaction his whilom invalid bestride the back of the wild charger, that same invalid who, if anyone knocked at his door an hour or two before, complained that his head was bursting. the charger pranced and caracolled and the doctor with tears in his eyes besought the bystanders if they had any sense of feeling at all not to let the beg ride on such a winged griffin. they only laughed at him. feriz flung himself into the saddle as lightly as a grasshopper. the two stablemen let go the reins, the steed rose up erect on his hind legs and bucked along as a biped for several yards. then the beg struck the sharp stirrups into its flank, and the steed, snorting loudly, bowed its head over its fore-quarters and galloped off like lightning. the doctor followed him with a lachrymose eye, every moment expecting that feriz would fall dead from his horse; but he sat in the saddle as if grown to it, as he had always been wont to do. when the road meandered off towards the fortress he turned into it and disappeared from the astonished gaze of those who were looking after him. a few moments later the horseman was in the courtyard of the fortress. he demanded an interview with the general, and was told that he was receiving nobody. he applied therefore to his favourite eunuch instead. he arrived at the fortress with a full purse, he quitted it with an empty one; but he now knew everything he wanted to know, viz., that hassan had entrusted the captive princess to azrael; that the two girls were tied by the hands to one chain; that he greatly feared someone would come and filch the princess from him; that he got up ten times every night to see whether anyone had stolen into the palace; and that since mariska had been placed in his hands he had drunk no wine and smoked no opium, and would eat of no dish save from the hands of his favourite damsel. feriz beg knew quite enough. again he mounted his horse and galloped back to his kiosk, taking the neighbouring mosque on his way, on reaching which he called from his horse to the old dervish, who immediately appeared in answer to his summons. "tell her who was wont to visit me in thy stead that i want to see and speak to her early to-morrow morning." and with that he threw some gold ducats to the dervish and galloped off. the dervish looked after him in astonishment, and picking up the ducats, instantly toddled off to the fortress, prowled about the gate all night, met hajat at early dawn, and gave her the message for azrael. this was the joyful tidings which the odalisk had received in response to her first prayer, and which had made her so happy. * * * * * next morning she ordered her servants to admit none but the old dervish, and to close every door as soon as he had entered. shortly afterwards, azrael with her retinue of servants arrived at the mosque, and a few moments after she had disappeared behind the trellised railings the form of the old dervish appeared in the street, hobbling along with his crutch till he reached the kiosk. feriz beg perceived him through the window, and sent everyone from the room that he might remain alone with him. the dervish entered, closed the door behind him, let down the tapestries, took off his false beard and false raiment, and there before feriz--tremulous, blushing, and shamefaced--stood the odalisk. "thou hast sent for me," she stammered softly, "and behold--here i am!" "i would beg something of thee," said feriz, half leaning on his elbow. "demand my life!" cried the odalisk impetuously, "and i will lay it at thy feet!" and at these words she flung herself at the foot of the divan on which the youth was sitting. "i ask thee for nothing less than thy life. once thou saidst that thou didst love me. is that true now also?" "is it not possible to love thee, and yet live?" "say then that i might love thee if i knew thee better. good! i wish to know thee." the damsel regarded the youth tremblingly, waiting to hear what he would say to her. the youth rose and said in a solemn, lofty voice: "in my eyes not the roses of the cheeks, or the fire of the eyes, or bodily charms make a woman beautiful, but the beauty of the soul, for i recognise a soul in woman, and she is no mere plaything for the pastime of men. what enchants me is noble feeling, self-sacrifice, loyalty, resignation. canst thou die for him whom thou lovest?" "it would be rapture to me." "canst thou die for her whom thou hatest in order to prove how thou dost love?" "i do not understand," said azrael hesitating. "thou wilt understand immediately. there is a captive woman in hassan's castle who is entrusted to thy charge. this captive woman must be liberated. wilt _thou_ liberate her?" at these words azrael's heart began to throb feverishly. all the blood vanished from her face. she looked at the youth in despair, and said with a gasp: "dost _thou_ love this woman?" "suppose that i love her and thou dost free her all the same." the woman collapsed at the feet of feriz beg, and embracing his knees, said, sobbing loudly: "oh, say that thou dost not love her, say that thou dost not know her, and i will release her--i will release her for thee at the risk of my own life." the reply of feriz was unmercifully cold. "believe that i love her, and in that belief sacrifice thyself for her. this night i will wait for her wherever thou desirest, and will take her away if thou wilt fetch her. it was thy desire to know me, and i would know thee also. thou art free to come or go as thou choosest." the odalisk hid her tearful face in the carpets on the floor, and writhed convulsively to the feet of feriz, moaning piteously. "oh, feriz, thou art merciless to me." "thou wouldst not be the first who had sacrificed her life for love." "but none so painfully as i." "and art thou not proud to do so, then?" at these words the woman raised a pale face, her large eyes had a moonlight gleam like the eyes of a sleep-walker. she seized the hand of feriz in order to help herself to rise. "yes, i am proud to die for thee. i will show that here--within me--there is a heart which can feel nobly--which can break for that which it loves, for that which kills it--that pride shall be mine. i will do it." and then, as if she wished to clear away the gathering clouds from her thoughts, she passed her hand across her forehead and continued in a lower, softer voice: "this night, when the muezzin calls the hour of midnight, be in front of the fortress-garden on thy fleetest horse. thou wilt not have to wait long; there is a tiny door there which conceals a hidden staircase which leads from the fortress to the trenches. i will come thither and bring her with me." feriz involuntarily pressed the hand of the girl kneeling before him, and felt a burning pressure in his hand, and when he looked at the young face before him he saw the smile of a sublime rapture break forth upon her radiantly joyful features. azrael parted from feriz an altogether transformed being, another heart was throbbing in her breast, another blood was flowing to her heart, earth and heaven had a different colour to her eyes. she believed that the youth would love her if she died for him, and that thought made her happy. but feriz summoned gregory biró, and having recompensed him, sent him back to his mistress with the message: "thy wish hath been accomplished." so sure was he that azrael would keep her word--if only she were alive to do so. * * * * * hassan pasha waited and waited for azrael. if the odalisk was not with him he felt as helpless as a child who has strayed away from its nurse. in the days immediately following the lost battle, the shame attaching to him and his agonized fear for his life had quite confused his mind; and the drugs employed at that time, combined with restless nights, the prayers of the dervishes, the joys of the harem and opium, had completed the ruin of his nervous system. if he were left alone for an hour he immediately fainted, and when he awoke it was in panic terror--he gazed around him like one in the grip of a hideous nightmare. for some days he would leave off his opium, but as is generally the case when one too suddenly abandons one's favourite drug, the whole organism threatened to collapse, and the renunciation of the opium did even more mischief than its enjoyment. when azrael rejoined him he was asleep, the chain by which he held the princess had fallen from his hand and when he awoke there was a good opportunity of persuading him that mariska had escaped from him while he slept. hassan looked long and blankly at her, it seemed as if he would need some time wherein to rally his scattered senses sufficiently to recognise anyone. but azrael was able to exercise a strange magnetic influence over him, and he would awake from the deepest sleep whenever she approached him. azrael sat down beside the couch and embraced the vizier, while mariska, with tender bashfulness, turned her head away from them; and hassan, observing it, drew azrael's head to his lips and whispered in her ear: "i have had evil dreams again. hamaliel, the angel of dreams, appeared before me, and gave me to understand that if i did not kill this woman, he would kill me. my life is poisoned because she is here. my mind is not in proper order. i often forget who i am. i fancy i am living at stambul, and looking out of the window am amazed that i do not see the bosphorus. this woman must die. this will cure me. i will kill her this very day." mariska did not hear these words, all her attention was fixed upon the babbling of her child; and azrael, with an enchanting smile, flung herself on the breast of the vizier, embracing his waggling head and covering his face with kisses, and the smile of her large dark eyes illuminated his gloomy soul. poor hassan! he fancies that that enchanting smile, that embrace, those kisses are meant for him, but the shape of a handsome youth hovers before the mind of the odalisk, and that is why she kisses hassan so tenderly, embraces him so ardently, and smiles so enchantingly. she fancies 'tis her ideal whom she sees and embraces. ah, the extravagances of love! chapter xviii. sport with a blind man. azrael had felt afraid when hassan said: "i must kill this woman to-day." a fearful spectre was haunting the mind of the vizier; he must be freed from this spectre, and made to forget it. so azrael devised an odd sport for the man on the verge of imbecility. the seven days had passed during which hassan had forbidden that anyone should be admitted to his presence, and it occurred to azrael that in the ante-chamber crowds of brilliant envoys, and couriers, and supplicants were waiting, all eagerly desirous of an audience, many of them with rich gifts; others came to render homage, others with joyful tidings from the seat of war; whilst one of them had come all the way from the grand vizier with a very important message from the sultan himself. hassan's stupid mind brightened somewhat at these words, a fatuously good-natured smile lit up his face. "let them come in, let them appear before me," he said joyfully to the girl; "and remain thou beside me and introduce them to me one by one; thine shall be the glory of it." but in reality none was awaiting an audience in the ante-room, there were no splendid envoys there, no humble petitioners, no agas, no messengers, none but the vizier's own slaves. but these azrael dressed up one by one to look like splendid magnates, village magistrates, and soldiers; put sealed letters, purses, and banners in their hands, and placing hassan in the reception-room on a lofty divan, sat down with the princess on stools at his feet, and ordered the door-keepers to admit the disguised slaves one by one. the mockery was flagrant, but was there among them all any who dared to enlighten hassan? who would undertake to undeceive him when a mere nod from azrael might annihilate before the vizier could realise that they were making sport of him? it was a fleet-winged demon fooling a sluggish mammoth with strength enough to crush her but with no wings to enable it to get at her, and the rabble always takes the part of the mocker, not of the mocked, especially if the former be lucky and the latter unlucky. the loutish slaves came one by one into the room, and hassan turned his face towards them, remaining in that position while azrael told him who they were and what they wanted. "this is ferhad aga," said the odalisk, pointing at a stable-man, "who, hearing of thy martial prowess in all four corners of the world has come hither begging thee with veiled countenance to include him among thy armour-bearers." hassan most graciously extended his hand to the stable-man and granted him his petition. azrael next presented to hassan a cook from a foreign court, who, dressed in a large round mantle of cloth of silver, might very well have passed for a burgomaster of debreczen, and whose shoulders bent beneath the weight of two sacks of gold and silver from hassan's own treasury. "this is the magistrate of the city of debreczen," said the odalisk, "who hath brought thee a little gift in the name of the municipality, with the petition that when thou dost become the pasha of transylvania thou wilt not forget them." hassan smiled at the word money, had the sacks placed before him, thrust his arms into them up to his very wrists with great satisfaction, had their contents emptied at his feet, and dismissed the envoy with a hearty pressure of the hand. and now followed a negro, who brought some recaptured turkish banners from the bed of a river which did not exist, in which the turks had drowned the whole army of montecuculi. hassan was now in such a weak state of mind that he no longer recognised his own people in their unwonted garments, and the more extraordinary the things reported to him the more readily he believed them. and so azrael kept on exhibiting to him envoys, couriers, and captains till, at last, it came to the turn of the envoy of the grand vizier, whose part the odalisk had entrusted to a clever eunuch who had been instructed to present to hassan a sealed firman, which azrael was to read because hassan could not see the letters. it was to the effect that hassan was to endeavour to preserve the life of the captive princess, as the grand vizier himself intended in a few days to take her over alive. when thus it seemed good to azrael that the most striking scene of the whole game should begin she exclaimed in a loud voice to the door-keepers: "admit the ambassador of the grand vizier with the message from the sublime padishah!" the guards drew back the curtains and in came--olaj beg! "truly i must needs admit," said he turning towards the odalisk, who stood there petrified with fear and amazement, "truly i must admit that thou art blessed with the faculty of seeing through walls and reading fast-closed letters, for thou hast announced me before i appeared officially and thou hast seen the firman hidden in my bosom before i have had time to produce it." azrael arose. she felt her blood throbbing in her brain for terror. at that moment she had that keen sensation of danger when every atom of the body--heart, brain, hands, and the smallest nerve--sees, hears, and thinks. "thou hast brought the firman of the sultan?" she inquired of olaj beg with wrapt attention. "thou knowest also what is written in it, o enchantress!" said olaj, in a tone of homage, "therefore ask not." there was something in the yellow face of olaj beg which made him most formidable, most menacing at the very time when he seemed to be utterly abject in his humility. "what doth the sublime sultan command?" inquired hassan, gazing abstractedly in front of him. "that thou prepare a scaffold in the courtyard of thy palace by to-morrow morning." "for whom?" inquired hassan in alarm. it was curious that it was he who trembled at this word, and not the princess. "that is the secret of to-morrow. thou shalt break open and read this firman to-morrow, in it thou wilt find who is to die to-morrow." at these words olaj beg looked at the faces of all who were present, as if he would read their innermost thoughts, but in vain. he recognised none of those on whom his eyes fell. although many of them seemed to be great men he could not remember meeting any of them in the empire of the grand turk; and the face of azrael was as cold and motionless as marble, he could read nought from that. but azrael had already read the sealed firman through the eyes of olaj beg. she had read it, and it said that if by to-morrow morning the princess was not set free then the scaffold would be erected for her, but if she had escaped, then it would be raised for hassan and for whomsoever had set her free. "i must hasten to set her free," she thought. chapter xix. the night before death. the angel of death had already spread his wings over the palace of hassan. it was already known that on the morning of the morrow someone of those who now dwelt beneath that roof would quit the world--only the name of the condemned mortal was not pronounced. till late at evening the carpenters were at work in front of the palace gates, and every nail knocked into the fabric of the scaffold was audible in the rooms. when the structure was ready they covered it with red cloth, and placed upon it a three-legged chair and by the side of the chair leaned a bright round headsman's sword. a gigantic kurd then mounted the scaffolding, and stamped about the floor with his big feet to see whether it would break down beneath him. the chair was badly placed, he observed it, put it right and shook his head while he did so. to think that people did not understand how to set a chair! then he stripped his muscular arms to the shoulder, took up the sword in his broad palm and tested the edge of it, running his fingers along the blade as if it were some musical instrument and could not conceal his satisfaction. then he made some sweeping blows with it, and as if everything was now in perfect order, he leaned it against the chair again and descended the ladder like a man well content with himself. the hands of hassan pasha trembled unusually when that evening he locked the golden padlocks on the hands of azrael and mariska. a hundred times he tapped the key hidden in his girdle to convince himself that it had not fallen out. scarcely had he left the two women alone than he came back to them again to ascertain whether he had really locked their hands together, for he had forgotten all about it by the time he had reached the door. then he came back a second time, looked all round the room, tapped the walls repeatedly, for he was afraid or had dreamt that there was another door somewhere which led out of the room. however, he convinced himself at last that there was not. then he went to the window and looked out. there was a fall of fifteen feet to the bastions, and the ditch below was planted with sharp stakes; all round the room there was nothing whatever which could serve as a rope. the curtains were all of down and feathers; the dresses were of the lightest transparent material; the shawls which formed azrael's turban and were twisted round her body were the finest conceivable; and the garments the odalisk actually wore were of silk, and so light that they stuck to the skin everywhere. azrael saw through the mind of the vizier. "why dost though look at me?" she exclaimed aloud so that he trembled all over; "thou dost suspect me. if thou fearest this woman whom thou hast confided to me, take and guard her thyself." "azrael," said hassan meekly, "be not angry with me, at least not now." "thou hast never suspected me, then?" "have i not always loved thee? if even thou didst want my life would i not trust it with thee?" "then wander not about the room so. go and rest!" "rest to-night? the messenger of death stands before the door." "what care i about the messenger of death? i know _when_ i am going to die! and _till_ then i will not lower my eyes before death." "and when will hassan die?" asked the vizier, seizing the hand of his favourite and watching eagerly for her answer with parted lips. "thou wilt survive me a day and no longer," said azrael. there was a tremulousness in the intonation of her voice. she felt that what she said was true. the tears trickled from hassan's face, and he covered it with his hands. then the imbecile old man kissed the robe of the odalisk again and again, and folding her in his ardent embrace, actually sobbed over her. and he kept on babbling: "thou wilt die before me?" "so it is written in the book of the future," said azrael proudly; "so long as thou seest me alive, have no fear of death! but the sound of the horn of the angel of death which summons me away will also be a signal for thee to make ready." hassan, having dried his tears, quitted azrael's room, and on reaching his own, sank down upon a divan, and was immediately overcome by sleep. when he had gone, mariska knelt down before the bed on which her little child was softly sleeping, and drawing a little ivory cross from her breast, began to pray. azrael touched her hand. "pray not now, thou wilt have time to pray later." mariska looked at her in wonder. "i? are not the hours of my life numbered?" "no. listen to my words and act accordingly. i will free thee." the princess was astonished, she fancied she was dreaming. the odalisk now drew a small fine steel file from her girdle, and, seizing the princess's hand, began to file the chain from off it. after the first few rubs the sharp file bit deeply into the silver circlet, but suddenly it stopped, and, press it as hard as she would, it would bite the chain no more. "what is this? it won't go on. what is the chain made of? even if it were of steel, another steel would file it." azrael hastily filed right round the whole of the link which hassan's smith had thought good to form of silver only on the outside, thinking that the fraud would never be discovered, and behold, the hard impervious substance which resisted the file was nothing but--glass. "ah!" said azrael, "all the better for us, the work will be quicker;" and seizing an iron candlestick, she broke in pieces with a single blow the whole of the glass chain which was only covered by a light varnish of silver, only the two locked golden manacles remained in their hands. "we shall be ready all the sooner," she whispered to mariska, "now we must make haste and get you off." but mariska still stood before her like one who knows not what is befalling her. "hast thou thought how we are to escape?" she inquired of azrael. "the guards of hassan pasha stand at every door, and all the doors have been locked by his own hand. in front of the gates of the fortress the sentinels have been doubled. i heard what commands he gave." "i have nought to do with doors or guards; we are going to escape through the window." mariska looked at azrael incredulously; she fancied she had gone mad. she could see nothing in the room by which they could descend from the window, and below stood the thickly planted sharp stakes. "help me to let down this gobæa ladder!" said azrael, and quick as a squirrel herself, she leaped on the edge of the great porcelain tub, and thrust aside the vigorous shoots of the plant from its natural ladder within, which grew right up to the roof and thence descended again to its own roots. mariska began to see that her companion knew what she was about. she hastened to give her assistance, lowered the pliable trunk, and, looking round to see if anyone was watching, bent the branches towards the window. but still it was too short. the longest creepers only reached to the edges of the palisade, and one could not count upon the green sprouts at the end of the creepers. even if the ladder which formed the flower were attached to it, it would still not reach to the bottom of the trench. azrael looked around the room to see if she could find anything. suddenly she had hit upon it. "give me those scissors," she said to mariska, and when the latter had returned to her, the odalisk had already let down her flowing tresses. four long locks as black as night, reaching below her knee, the crown of a woman's beauty which make men rejoice in her, were twining there on the floor. "give me the scissors!" she said to mariska. "wouldst thou cut off thy hair?" asked the princess, holding back. "yes, yes, what does it matter? it is wanted for the rope, and it will be quite strong enough." "rather cut off mine!" said mariska. with noble emulation she took from her head her small pearl haube, and loosened her own tresses, which, if not so long and so full of colour, at least rivalled those of her comrade in quantity. "good; the two together will make the rope stronger," said azrael; and with that the two ladies began clipping off their luxurious locks one by one with the little scissors. one marvellously beautiful tress after another flowed from the head of the odalisk. when the last had fallen, a tear-drop also followed it. then she picked up the splendid tresses and began plaiting them together into strong knots. "wouldst thou ever have thought," said azrael, "that the locks of thy hair would be so intermingled?" mariska gratefully pressed the hand of the odalisk. "how can i ever thank you for your goodness?" "think not of it. fate orders it so--and someone else," she muttered softly. and now the attached ladder was long enough to reach the bottom of the palisades. then they pitched down all the pillows and cushions of the divans till they covered the sharp stakes, so that their points might not hurt the fugitives. moreover, azrael tied the tough shoots of the gobæa to the cross piece of the window with the wraps of her turban and girdle. "and now let me go first," said the odalisk, when all was ready; "if the branches of the creeper do not break beneath me, then thou canst come boldly after me, for thou and the child together are not heavier than i am." the sky was dark and obscured by clouds; no one saw a white shape descending from one of the black windows of the fortress down the wall, lower and lower, till at last it got to the bottom and vanished in the depths of the ditch. mariska was waiting above there with a beating heart till the odalisk had descended; a tug at the gobæa-rope informed her that azrael was already below, and mariska could come after her. a supplicating sigh to god ascended from the anxious bosom of the princess at that supreme moment of trial; then she fastened to her breast with the folds of her garment the little one, who, fortunately, was still sound asleep, and stepping from the window entrusted herself to the yawning abyss below. and, indeed, she had need of the most confident trust in god during this hazardous experiment, for if the child had awoke, the komparajis pacing the bastions would have heard his tearful little wail at once, and it would have been all over with the fugitives. nothing happened. mariska reached the ditch in safety, together with her child. azrael assisted her to descend, and then they began to creep along among the trenches on the river's bank. it was not advisable to clamber upon the trenches, as there they might have encountered a sentinel at any moment. at last they came to the end of the ditch where two bastions joined together, forming a little oblique opening, through which one could look down on the town of pesth. before the little opening stood a komparaji leaning on his long lance. as his back was turned towards them, he did not notice the women, while they started back in terror when they saw him. the man stood right in front of the opening completely barring their way, and was gaping at pesth, facing the steep declivity. azrael quickly caught mariska's hand and whispered in her ear: "remain here! sit down with the child, and see that he does not make a noise." and with that, quitting her companion and pressing against the wall of the bastion, she slowly and noiselessly began creeping along behind the back of the komparaji. the sentinel remained standing there, as motionless as a statue, gazing at the danube flying in front of him, when suddenly, like the panther leaping upon its prey, the odalisk leaped upon the komparaji, and before he had time to call out, pushed him so violently that he plunged over into the abyss. then quickly seizing mariska's hand, the odalisk exclaimed: "and now forward quickly!" like two spirits the forms of the women flitted across the bastions. in azrael's hand was the key of the castle garden; in a few moments they reached the subterranean staircase, and when azrael had locked the door behind her she turned to mariska and said: "now thou canst pray, for thou art saved." * * * * * the report had already spread through the two towns that early at dawn someone would be executed, and here and there people whispered that it would be the princess of moldavia. the population living outside the town were able to give full reins to their imagination, for the gates of the fortress, by hassan pasha's command, were already locked fast at six o'clock in the evening, and after that time nobody was allowed to enter out or in except the sentinels outside, and these only by the szombat gate. the later grew the hour the more numerous became the crowd assembled in front of the gates thus unwontedly bolted and barred, consisting for the most part of people who lived inside the town of every rank, who thus waited patiently for the chance of reaching their houses again. knocking at the gates was useless, the guards had been ordered to take no notice of such demonstrations. the darker grew the night, the more numerous became the throng before the gate, and the more closely they pressed together the plainer it became to them all that they would have to sleep outside. the largest concourse was in front of the fejérvár gate, for that was the chief entrance. it was already close upon midnight, when some dozen horsemen, in the uniforms of spahis, arrived at the gate, forcing their way through the throng, led, apparently, by a handsome youth (it was too dark to distinguish very clearly), who thundered at the gate with the butt-end of his lance. "you may bang away at it till morning," said a cobbler of buda, who was lying prone, chawing bacon at his ease, "they won't let you in." "then why are you all here?" cried the youth in the purest hungarian. "because they locked us out at six o'clock in the evening, and would not let us in." "why was that?" "they say that at dawn of day someone in the fortress is to be executed." "who is it?" said the youth, visibly affected. "why, the princess of moldavia, of course." "oh, that cannot be in any case," exclaimed the leader of the spahis. "i have just come from the sultan, and i have brought with me his firman, in which he summons her to stambul; not a hair of her head is to be crumpled." "then it will be just as well, sir, if you try to get into the fortress, for it may be you have come with the sermon after the festival is over, and that letter may remain in your pocket if once they cut off her head." the youth seemed for a moment to be reflecting, then, turning to those who stood around, he said: "through which gate do they admit the soldiers on guard?" "through the szombat gate." the youth immediately turned his horse's head, and beckoned to his comrades to follow him. but at the first words he had uttered, a figure enwrapped in a mantle had emerged from a corner of the gate, and when he began to talk about the princess and the firman, this figure, with great adroitness, had crept quite close to him, and when he turned round had swiftly followed him till, having made its way through the throng, it overtook him, and, placing its hand on the horseman's knee, said in a low voice: "tököly!" "hush!" hissed the horseman, with an involuntary start, and bending his head so that he might look into the face of his interlocutor, whereupon his wonder was mingled with terror, and throwing himself back in his saddle, he exclaimed: "prince! can it be you?" for prince ghyka stood before him. "could i be anywhere else when they want to kill my wife?" he said mournfully. "do not be cast down, there will be plenty of time till to-morrow morning. i have plenty of confidence in my good star. when i really wish for a thing i generally get it even if the devil stand in the opposite camp against me, and never have i wished for anything so much as to save mariska." the prince, with tears in his eyes, pressed the hand of the youth, and did not take it at all amiss of him that he called his wife mariska. "well, of course, you have brought the firman with you, and if you come with the suite of the sultan----" "firman, my friend? i have not brought a bit of a firman with me, and those who are with me are my good kinsfolk in turkish costumes, worthy magyar chums everyone of them, who have agreed to help me through with whatsoever i take it into my head to set about; but i have got something about me which can make firmans and athnamés, and whatever else i may require, whether it be the key of a dungeon, or a marshal's bâton, or a prince's sceptre--a golden knapsack, i mean." "and what are you going to get with that?" "everything. i will corrupt the sentinels so that they will let me into the fortress; and once let me get in, and i'll either make hassan pasha sell olaj beg, or olaj beg sell hassan pasha. if a good word be of no avail i will use threats, and if my whole scheme falls through, heaven only knows what i won't do. i'll chop hassan pasha and his guards into a dozen pieces, or i'll set the castle on fire, or i'll blow up the powder magazine--in a word, i won't desist till i have brought out your consort." "how can i thank you for your noble enthusiasm?" "you mustn't thank me, my friend; you must thank flora teleki, who is your wife's friend, and expects this of me." "then you are re-engaged?" "no, my friend. helen is my bride. ah, that is the only real woman in the whole round world. i should be with her now if i were not engaged in this business, and as soon as i have finished with it, the pair of us will give you a wedding the like of which has never yet been seen in hungary." the prince sadly bowed his head. he means well, he thought, but there is a very poor chance of his succeeding. the mercurial youth seems to have no idea that within an hour he will be jeopardizing his head by engaging in a foolhardy enterprise which runs counter to the whole policy of the turkish empire. but tököly's mind never impeded his heart. his motto always was: "_virtus nescia freni_." "then what do you intend to do?" tököly casually asked ghyka, just as if he considered it the most extraordinary thing in the world to find him there. "i also want to save mariska, and i have hopes of doing so," said the prince. "how? tell me! perchance we may be able to unite our efforts." "scarcely, i think. my plan is simply to give myself up instead of my wife. they would execute her for my fault; it is only right that i should appear on the scaffold and take her place." "a bad idea!" exclaimed tököly, "a stupid notion. if you deliver yourself up, they will seize you as well as your wife and do for the pair of you. i know a dodge worth two of that. take horse along with us, and let us make our way into the fortress sword in hand; we shall do much more that way than if we went hobbling in on crutches. luck belongs to the audacious." "you know, tököly, that i do not much rely on turkish humanity; and i am quite prepared, if i deliver myself up, for them to kill both me and her; but at least we shall die together, and that will be some consolation." "it is no good talking like that," cried the young magyar impatiently. "stop! a good idea occurs to me. yes, and it will be better if you come with us and we all act in common. we will say openly at the gate that we bring with us the fugitive prince of moldavia as a captive. at the mere rumour of such a thing they will instantly admit us, not only into the fortress, but into the presence of hassan likewise. the pasha knows me pretty well, and if i tell him that i bring you a captive, he will believe me, or i'll break his head for him. he will be delighted to see you. but i will not give you up. i am responsible for you, and must mount guard over you. this will make it necessary to postpone the execution, for we shall have to write to stambul that the husband has fallen into our hands, and inquire whether the wife is to be sacrificed, and we shall have time to elope ten times over before we get a reply." the prince hesitated. if this desperate expedient had been a mere joke, tököly could not have spoken of it with greater nonchalance. the prince gave him his hand upon it. "the only question now is: which is the easiest way into the fortress. let us draw near the first sentinel whom we find on the bridge or in the garden and wait until they change guard." the horsemen thereupon surrounded the prince as if he was their captive, and escorted him along the river's bank. it was late. on the black surface of the danube rocked the shapeless turkish vessels, their sails creaking in the blast of the strong south wind. it was scarce possible to see ahead at all, nevertheless the little band of adventurers, constantly pushing forward, kept looking around to see where the sentinels were, keeping very quiet themselves that they might catch the watchword. suddenly a cry was heard, but a cry which ended abruptly, as if the mouth from which it proceeded had been clapped to in mid-utterance. on reaching the walls of the palace garden, however, one of them perceived that an armed figure was standing in the little wicket gate. "there's the sentinel!" said tököly. "the rascal must certainly be asleep to let us come right up to him without challenging us," said tököly; and he approached the armed man, who still stood motionless in the gate, and addressed him in the turkish tongue: "hie, timariot, or whoever you are! are you guarding this gate?" "you see that i am." "then why don't you challenge those who approach you?" "that's none of my business." "then what is your business?" "to stand here till i am relieved." "and when will they relieve you?" "any time." "does the relief watch come by this gate?" "not by this gate." "and by which gate can one get into the fortress?" "by no gate." "you give very short answers, my friend, but we must get at hassan pasha this very night without fail." "you must learn to fly then." "don't joke with me, sir! i have very important tidings for the vizier; you may possibly find it easier to get into the fortress than we could. you shall receive from me a hundred ducats on the spot if you inform the pasha that i, emeric tököly, bring with me as a captive the fugitive prince of moldavia, and the vizier himself will certainly reward you for it richly." the count had no sooner mentioned his name, and pointed at the captive prince, than the turkish sentinel quickly came forth from beneath the archway, and tököly and ghyka, in astonishment, exclaimed with one voice: "feriz beg!" "yes, 'tis i. keep still. you want to save mariska, so do i." "so it is," said tököly. "i promised the woman i do not love that i would do it, and i will keep my promise. you need have no secrets from us, for we shall require your assistance." "your secrets are nought to me." the prince listened with downcast head to the conversation of the two young men; then he intervened, took their hands, and said with deep emotion: "feriz! tököly! once upon a time we faced each other as antagonists, and now as self-sacrificing friends we hold each other's hands. i don't want to be smaller than you. a scaffold has been put up in the courtyard of the fortress of buda, that scaffold awaits a victim, whoever it may be, for the sword which the sultan draws in his wrath will not remain unsatisfied. that scaffold was prepared for my wife, you must let me take her place. i am well aware that whoever liberates her must be prepared to perish instead of her. let me perish. you, feriz, can easily get into the fortress. tell hassan that the scaffold shall have the husband instead of the wife--let him surrender the wife for the husband." "leave the scaffold alone, prince. he who deserves it most shall get to the scaffold." "don't listen to the prince!" said tököly to feriz; "he has lost his head evidently, as he wants to make a present of it to hassan. all i ask of you is to let me into the fortress; once let me get inside, and no harm shall be done. i was born with a caul, so good-luck goes with me." "good. wait here till the muezzin proclaims midnight, which will not be long, i fancy, as the night is already well advanced; meanwhile, keep your eye on those horsemen below there." the men fancied feriz wanted to join the sentinels when the watch was relieved, and taking him at his word, hid themselves and their horses behind the lofty bank. the night was now darker than ever, only here and there a lofty star looked down upon them from among the wind-swept clouds. * * * * * hassan had a restless night. horrible dreams awoke him every instant, and yet he never wholly awoke, one phantom constantly supplanted the other in his agitated brain. the raging blast broke open one of the windows and beat furiously against the wall, so that the coloured glasses crashed down upon the floor. aroused by the uproar, and gazing but half awake at the window, he saw the long curtain slowly approaching him as if some dzhin were inside and had come thither to terrify him. "who is that?" cried hassan in terror, laying his hand on his sword. it was no one. it was only the wind which had stiffened out the curtains, expanding them like a banner and blowing gustily into the room. hassan seized the curtain, pulled it away from the window, fastened it up by its golden tassels, and laid him down again. the wind returned to torment him and again worried the curtain till it had succeeded in unravelling the tassels, and again blew the curtain into the room. and then the tapestries of the door and the divans began fluttering and flapping as if someone was tugging away at their ends, and the flame of the night-lamp on the tripod flickered right and left, casting galloping shadows on the wall. "what is that? have the devils been let loose in this palace?" hassan asked himself in amazement. the closed doors jarred in the blast as if someone was banging at them from the outside, and every now and then the bang of a window-shutter would respond to the howling of the blast. men have curious supernatural faculties through which their minds are suddenly illuminated. at that moment the idea flashed through hassan's brain that, in the apartments of the wing beyond, a window must needs be open, which was the cause of the unwonted current of air which fluttered the curtains of his palace and made the doors rattle, and this window could be none other than azrael's, and if it were open, then the two women must have escaped. at this horrible idea he quickly leaped out on to the floor, seized his sword, which was lying at his bedside, and, bursting open the door, rushed like a madman through all the apartments to azrael's dormitory. at the instant of their escape azrael had turned over the long divan and placed it right across the room in such a way that one end of it was jammed against the door, whilst the other end pressed against the wall, so that when hassan tried to open the door, he found it impossible to do so. everything was now quite clear to him. he called to nobody to open the door; he knew that they had escaped. in the fury of despair he snatched a battle-axe from the wall and began to break open the hard oaken door, so that the whole palace resounded with the noise of the blows, and the guards and the domestics all came running up together. having beaten in the door at last, hassan rushed into the room, cast a glance around, and even _his_ eyes could see that his slave had flown. howling with rage he rushed to the window, and when he saw the dependent branches of the gobæa, he beat his forehead with his fists and laughed aloud as if something had broken loose inside him. "they have run off!" he yelled; "they have escaped, they have stolen their lives, and they have stolen my life, too. run after them into every corner of the globe, pursue them, bring them back tied together, tied together so that the blood may flow through their fingers. oh, azrael, azrael! how have i deserved this of thee?" and with that the old man burst into tears, and perceiving the odalisk's girdle on the window-frame, to which the plant was attached, he took it down, kissed it hundreds of times, hid his tearful face in it, and collapsed senseless on the floor. * * * * * "hasten, princess, hasten!" the odalisk pressed her companion's hand, and dragged her down along the bushy hillside. and now they had reached the hollow forming the entrance to the underground passage which terminated at the gates of the garden on the banks of the danube. the odalisk had succeeded in filching the keys of the door of this secret passage from hassan. while she was trying which of the two it was that belonged to the lock of the inner door, a cry resounded through the stillness of the night. "hassan!" exclaimed the two girls together. they had recognised the voice. "they have discovered our escape," said azrael. "oh, god! do not leave me!" cried mariska, pressing her hands together. "my child!" azrael quickly opened the grating door. it took a few moments, and during that time a commotion was audible in the town, no doubt caused by the cry of hassan. cries of alarm and consternation spread from bastion to bastion, the whole garrison was aroused, and there was a confused murmur within the fortress. "let us hasten!" cried azrael, quickly opening the door and dragging after her the princess into the blind-black corridor. at that moment a cannon-shot thundered from the fortress as an alarm-signal. mariska, at the sound of the shot, collapsed in terror at azrael's feet, and lay motionless in the corridor, still holding her child fast clasped in her arms. "hah! the woman has fainted," cried the odalisk in alarm; "we shall both perish here," she cried in her despair. the din in the fortress grew louder every instant, from every bastion the signal-guns thundered. "no, no, we must not perish!" exclaimed the heroine, and with a strength multiplied by the extremity of the danger, she caught up the moaning woman and child in her arms, and raising them to her bosom began making her way with them along the covered corridor. pitch darkness engulfed everything around them; the odalisk groped her way along by the feel of the wet, sinuous walls, stumbling from time to time beneath the burden of the dead weight in her arms, but at every fresh shot she started forward again and went on without resting. onwards, ever onwards!--till the last gasp! till the last heart-throb! the awakened child also began to cry. azrael's knees tottered, her bosom heaved beneath the double load, her staring eyes saw nothing; and the world was as dark before her soul as it was before her eyes. heavy was the load upon her shoulder; but heavier still was the thought in her heart that this woman whom she was saving at the risk of her own life was the darling of him whom she loved herself, yet save her she must, for she had promised to do so. at every step she felt her strength diminishing; with swimming head she staggered against the wall, the steps seemed to have no end; if only she could hold out till she reached the door with her, and then for a moment might see feriz beg and hear from his lips the words: "well done!"--then israfil, the angel of death might come with his flaming sword. for some time she had gathered from the hollower resonance of the steps in the darkness that she was approaching the door; rallying her remaining strength, she tottered forward a few paces with her load, and when the latch of the door was already in her hand, her knees gave way beneath her, and along with the princess and the child, she fell in a heap on the threshold, being just able to shove the key into the lock and turn it twice. * * * * * feriz beg, with the magyar nobles, plunged again beneath the shade of the deep arch of the gate of the fortress garden and with wrapt attention listened for the muezzin to proclaim midnight. it was then that azrael had said she would come. it never occurred to him that the woman could not come, so deeply had he looked into her heart that he felt sure she would fulfil her promise. if only the muezzin would proclaim midnight from the mosque. at last a cry sounded through the stillness of the night, but it was not the voice of the muezzin from the mosque, but hassan's yell of terror from the fortress window and the din which immediately followed it, proclaiming that there was danger. feriz's heart was troubled, but he never moved from the spot. he knew right well what that noise meant. they had tried to help the princess to escape and her escape was discovered. "what is that noise?" asked the prince apprehensively, sticking up his head. feriz did not want to alarm him. "it is nothing," he answered. "some one has stolen away on the bastions, perhaps, and they are pursuing him." then the first cannon-shot resounded. feriz, for the first time in his life, was agitated at the sound of a cannon. "that is an alarm-signal," cried tököly, drawing his sword. "keep quiet!" whispered feriz, "perhaps they are shooting at the people who are thronging the gates." nevertheless the shots were repeated from every bastion; the tumult, the uproar increased; a tattoo was beaten, the trumpets rang out and a whole concourse of people could be seen running along the bastions with torches and flashing swords in their hands. "they are pursuing someone!" cried the prince, and unable to endure it any longer, he leaped upon the bank. "i know not what it is," stammered feriz, and a cold shudder ran through his body. ghyka grasped his sword, and would have rushed up the hill as if obeying some blind instinct. "what would you do?" whispered feriz, grasping the hand of the prince, and pulling him back by force under the gate. for a few moments they stood there in a dead silence, the tumult, the uproar seemed to be coming nearer and nearer--if it were to overtake them? "hush!" whispered feriz, holding his ear close to the door. he seemed to hear footsteps approaching from within and the plaintive wail of a child. a few moments afterwards there was a fumbling at the latch and a key was thrust into the lock and twice turned. feriz hastened to open the door and the senseless forms of the two women fell at his feet. the youth quickly dragged the prince after him, and recognising mariska, who still lay in the embrace of azrael, he placed her in her husband's arms together with the weeping child. "here are your wife and child," said he, "and now hasten!" "mariska!" exclaimed the prince, beside himself; and embracing the child whom he now saw for the first time, he kissed the rosy face of the one and the pallid face of the other again and again. that voice, that kiss, that embrace awoke the fainting woman, and as soon as she opened her eyes, she quickly, passionately, flung her arms round her husband's neck while he held the child on his arm. no sound came from her lips, all her life was in her heart. "quick! quick!" feriz whispered to them. "get into this skiff. when you get to the other side it will be time to rejoice in each other; till then we have cause to fear, for the whole of the buda side of the river is on the alert. but i'll look after them here. on the other bank my servant is awaiting you with the swift horses; mention my name, and he will hand them over to you. on the banks of the raab you will find another of my servants with fresh relays. choose your horses, and then to nógrád as fast as you can. thence it will be easy to escape into poland. do not linger. every moment is precious. forward!" with that he conducted the fugitives to the skiff which was ready waiting for them, and at the bottom of which two muscular servants of his were lying out of sight. these helped them in, feriz undid the rope, and at a few strokes of the oars they were already some distance from the shore. then only did feriz breathe freely, as if a huge load had fallen from his heart. "may they not pursue them?" inquired tököly anxiously. "they may," returned feriz; "but they cannot transport the horses in boats, as the fugitives now sit in the only boat here; the bridge, too, has been removed and they will hardly be able to build another in time on such a night as this." the fugitives had now reached the middle of the danube, when mariska, who had scarce been herself for joy and terror in her half-unconscious state, suddenly bethought her of her companion who had saved her with such incomprehensible self-sacrifice and energy, and standing up in the skiff waved her handkerchief as if she would thereby make up for the leave-taking which she had neglected in her joy and haste. "what are they doing?" cried feriz angrily, seeing that they were attracting attention in consequence. fortunately the night was dark and the people rushing down from the bastions could not see the skiff making its way across the danube; presently its shape even began to vanish out of sight of the young eyes that were watching it. feriz looked up to the sky with a transfigured face. two stars, close together, looked down very brightly from amidst the fleeting clouds. did he not see aranka's eyes in that twin stellar radiance? tököly took the hands of the young hero and pressed them hard. "once before we stood face to face," he said with a feeling voice, which came from the bottom of his heart, "then i prevailed, now you prevail. god be with you!" then the young count mounted his horse, and beckoning to his comrades, galloped off in the direction of gellérthegy. feriz stood there alone on the shore with folded arms and tried to distinguish once more the shape of the skiff already vanishing in the darkness. nobody thought of the poor odalisk who had saved them. all at once the youth felt the contact of a burning hand upon his arm. broken in mind and body, the odalisk dragged herself to his knees, and seizing his hand drew it to her breast and to her lips. she could not speak, she could only sob and weep. feriz looked at her compassionately. "thou hast done well," he said gently. the girl embraced the youth's knees, and it was well with her that he suffered her to do so. "i thank thee for keeping thy word," said feriz; "look now! that woman was not my beloved. she has a husband who loves her." indescribably sweet were these words to the damsel. in them she found the sweetest reward for her sufferings and self-sacrifice. then it was not love after all which made feriz save this woman through her! the uproar meanwhile was extending along the shore, the pursuers could see that they were on the track of the fugitives. "we must be off," said feriz; "wouldst thou like to come with me?" "come with him!" what a thought was that for azrael! to be able to live under the same roof with him! yet she answered: "i will not come." it occurred to her that if she were found with the dear youth he would perish because of her. and besides, she knew that the invitation was due not to love but to magnanimous gratitude. "i want to go over to the island," she said in a faint voice. "then i'll help thee to find thy skiff," said the youth, extending his hand to the odalisk to raise her up. she was still kneeling on the ground before him. she fixed upon him her large eyes swimming with tears, and whispered in a tremulous voice: "feriz! thou wert wont to reward those damsels who sacrificed themselves for thee, who died nobly and valiantly because they loved thee. have not i also won that reward?" feriz beg sadly lowered his head as if it afflicted him to think of the significance of these words; then softly, gently, he bent over the damsel, and drawing her lovely head towards him, pressed a warm, feeling kiss on her marble forehead. the odalisk trembled with rapture beneath the load of that more than earthly sensation of pleasure, and leaping up and stretching her arms to heaven, she whispered: "i am happy!--for the first time in my life. now i may go--and die." feriz, tenderly embracing her, led the damsel to her skiff. then she stopped suddenly, and leaning her head against the shoulder of the youth, murmured in his ear: "when thou reachest thy kiosk, lie not down to sleep! sit at thy window and look towards the island in the direction of sunrise. the night will be over ere long, and the dawn will come sooner than at other times. when thou seest this portent think of me and say for me the prayer which is used before the cold dawn, and say from thy heart: 'that woman does penance for her sins!'" the odalisk felt two tear-drops falling upon her cheek. they fell from the eyes of the youth. she could never feel happier in this world than she felt now. a few minutes later the skiff was flying over the rocking waves. chapter xx. the victim. the princess was saved, but she who had saved her was doomed. along the banks of the rivers, and on the summits of the bastions, alarm-beacons had been kindled announcing the flight of the fugitives. it was late. on the shore the swift arab horses of the pursuers were racing with the wind. but the wind was not idle, but blew and raged and fought with the foaming waves of the danube, and tossed and pitched about every little boat that lay upon it. there was only one skiff, however, that ventured to cross the danube and rise and fall with its billows, which were like the waves of the sea. a white form stood stonily motionless in the boat, and the blast kept twisting its soft garments round its body. the trembling boatman called upon the name of allah. "fear not, when you carry me," azrael said to him, and her eyes hung upon a star which shone above her head, shining through the tatters of the scurrying clouds. the skiff reached the shore of the margaret island. the damsel got out, and her last bracelet dropped from her hand into the hand of the boatman. "remember me, and begone." "dost thou remain here?" "no." "whither wilt thou go?" azrael answered nothing, but pointed mutely to the sky. the boatman did not understand much about it; but, anyhow, he understood that he could not give the damsel a lift up there, so he drew back his canoe and departed. azrael remained alone on the island, quite alone; for that day everyone had been withdrawn by command of the vizier; the damsels, the guards, and the eunuchs had all migrated to the fortress, the paradise was empty and uninhabited. azrael strolled the whole length of the shore of the island. the mortars were still thundering down from the fortress, the horsemen were still shouting on the river's bank, the signal fires were blazing on the bastions, the night was dark, the wind blew tempestuously and scattered the leaves of the trees--but she saw neither the beacon fires, nor the darkness; she heard neither the tumult of men nor the howling of the blast; in her soul there was the light of heaven and an angelic harmony with which no rumour, no shape of the outer world would intermingle. she came to the kiosk in the centre of the island. wandering aimlessly she had hit upon the labyrinthine way to it unawares. the sudden view of the summer-house startled her, and it awoke a two-fold sensation in her heart, it appealed equally to her memory and her imagination. she bethought her of the resolve she had made on coming to the island. she remembered that when she parted from the youth of her heart she had said: "when thou comest to thy kiosk, do not lie down to sleep; sit down at thy window, and look towards the island in the direction of the dawn. this night will be soon over, and the dawn will dawn more quickly than at other times. when thou seest it think of me and say for me the prayer of direction for the departing." she reflected that the youth must now be sitting at the window, looking towards the island, with his fine eyes weary of staring into the darkness. she would not weary those fine eyes for long. she hastily opened the door with her silver key and entered the hall. a hanging lamp was burning in the room just as the servants had left it in the morning. she drew forth a wax taper, and having lit it, proceeded to the other rooms, which opened one out of another, and whose floors were covered by precious oriental carpets, whose walls were inlaid with all manner of woods brought from foreign countries, and covered with tapestries, all splendid masterpieces of eastern art; the atmosphere of the rooms was heavy with intoxicating perfumes. all this was frightful, abominable to her now. as she walked over the carpets, it was as if she were stepping on burning coals; when she inhaled the scented atmosphere, it was as though she were breathing the corruption of the pestilence; everything in these rooms awoke memories of sin and disgust in her heart--costly costumes, porcelain vases, silver bowls, all of them the playthings of loathsome moments, whose keenest punishment was that she was obliged to remember them. but they shall all perish. and if they all perish, if these symbols of sin and the hundred-fold more sinful body itself become dust, then surely the soul will remember them no more? surely it will depart far, far away--perchance to that distant star--and will be happy like the others who are near to god and know nothing of sin, but are full of the comfort of the infinite mercy of god, who has permitted them to escape from hence? with the burning torch in her hand she went all through the rooms, tearing down the curtains and tapestries, and piling them all on the divan; and when she entered the last of the rooms she saw a pale white figure coming towards her from its dark background. the shape was as familiar to her as if she had seen it hundreds of times, although she knew not where; and its face was so gentle, so unearthly--a grief not of this world suffused its handsome features and the joy of heaven flashed from its calm, quiet eyes--its hair clung round its head in tiny curls, as guardian-angels are painted. the damsel gazed appalled at this apparition. she fancied heaven had sent her the messenger of the forgiveness of her sins; but it was her own figure reflected from a mirror concealed in the dark background--that gentle, downcast, sorrowful face, those pure, shining eyes she had never seen in a mirror before; the cut-off hair increased the delusion. tremblingly she sank on her knees before this apparition, and touching the ground with her face, lay sobbing there for some time; and when she again rose up, it appeared to her as if that apparition extended towards her its snow-white arms full of pity, full of compassion; and when she raised her hands to heaven it also pointed thither, raising a face transformed by a sublime desire. no, she could not recognise that face as her own, never before had she seen it so beautiful. azrael placed her hands devoutly across her breast and beckoned to the apparition to follow her, and raising the curtain she returned into that room where she had already raised a funeral pyre for herself. there, piled up together, lay cushions of cloth of gold, indian feather-stuffs, divans filled with swansdown, light, luxurious little tables, harps of camphor-wood adorned with pearls, lutes with the silvery voices of houris, a little basin filled with fine fragrant oils composed from the aroma of a thousand oriental flowers; this she everywhere sprinkled over the heaped-up stuff, and also saturated the thick carpets with it, the volatile essence filled the whole atmosphere. then she pressed her hand upon her throbbing heart, and said: "god be with me!" and then she fired the heaped-up materials at all four corners, and, as if she were ascending her bridal bed, mounted her cushions with a smiling, triumphant face, and lay down among them, closing her eyes with a happy smile. in a few moments the flames burst forth at all four corners, fed freely by the light dry stuff, and combining above her like a wave of fire, formed a flaming canopy over her head. and she smiled happily, sweetly, all the time. the air, filled with volatile oil, also burst into flame, turning into a sea of burning blue; white clouds of smoke began to gather above the pyre; the strings of the harp caught by the flames burst asunder one by one from their burning frame, emitting tremulous, woeful sounds as if weeping for her who was about to die. when the last harp-string had burnt--the odalisk was dead. * * * * * the night was now drawing to a close. feriz beg, quietly intent, was sitting at the window of his kiosk, as he had promised the odalisk. he had not understood her mysterious words, but he did as she asked, for he knew instinctively that it was the last wish of one about to die. suddenly, as he gazed at the black waves of the danube and the still blacker clouds in the sky, he saw a bright column of fire ascend with the rapidity of the wind from the midst of the opposite island, driving before it round white clouds of smoke. a few moments later the flames of the burning kiosk lit up the whole region. the startled inhabitants gazed at the splendid conflagration, whose flames mounted as high as a tower in the roaring blast. nobody thought of saving it. "no human life is lost, at any rate," they said quietly; "the harem and its guards were transferred yesterday." the wind, too, greatly helped the fire. the kiosk, built entirely of the lightest of wood, was a heap of ashes by the morning, when feriz, accompanied by the müderris in his official capacity, got into a skiff and were rowed across to the island. not even a remnant of embers was to be found, everything had been burnt to powder. nothing was to be seen but a large, black, open patch powdered with ashes. the fire had utterly consumed the abode of sin and vice. nothing remained but a black spot. in the coming spring it will be a green meadow. * * * * * in the afternoon of the following day we see a familiar horseman trotting up to the gates of the fortress--if we mistake not, it is yffim beg. all the way from klausenburg he had been cudgelling his brains to find words sufficiently dignified to soften the expression of the insulting message which the estates of transylvania had sent through him to his gracious master. on arriving in front of hassan's palace he dismounted as usual, without asking any questions, and gave the reins to the familiar eunuchs that they might lead the horse to the stables. there was no trace of the scaffold that had been erected in front of the gate the day before. yffim beg entered and passed through all the rooms he knew so well, all the doors of which were still guarded by the drabants of hassan as of yore; at last he reached hassan's usual audience chamber, and there he found olaj beg sitting on a divan reading the alkoran. yffim beg gazed around him, and after a brief inspection, not discovering what he sought, he addressed olaj beg: "i want to speak to hassan pasha," said he. olaj beg looked at him, rose with the utmost aplomb, and approached a table on which was a silver dish covered by a cloth. this cloth he removed, and a severed bloody head stared at yffim beg with stony eyes. "there he is--speak to him!" said olaj beg gently. chapter xxi. other times--other men. great men are the greatest of all dangers to little states. there are men born to be great generals who die as robber-chiefs. if michael teleki had sat at the head of a great kingdom, his name perchance would have ranked with that of richelieu, and that kingdom would have been proud of the years during which he governed it. it was his curse that transylvania was too small for his genius, but it was also the curse of transylvania that he was greater than he ought to have been. the battle of st. gothard was a painful wound to turkish glory, and it left behind it a constant longing for revenge, though a ten-years' peace had actually been concluded; and presently a more favourable opportunity than the prognostications of the ulemas or the wisdom of the lords of transylvania anticipated presented itself, an opportunity far too favourable to be neglected. treaty obligations had compelled the kaiser to take part in the war of the spanish succession against louis xiv., and the kaiser's enemies at once saw that the time for raising their standards against him had arrived. the war was to begin from transylvania, and the reward dangled before the prince of transylvania for his participation in this war was what his ancestors had often but vainly attempted to gain in the same way--the kingdom of hungary. it was, of course, a dangerous game to risk one kingdom in order to gain another, for both might be sacrificed. there was even a party in transylvania itself which was indisposed to risk the little principality for the sake of the larger kingdom, and though the most powerful arm of this party, dionysius banfy, had been cut off, it still had two powerful heads in paul béldi and nicholas bethlen. so one fine day at the diet assembled at fogaras, the prince's guard suddenly surrounded the quarters of paul béldi and nicholas bethlen, and informed those gentlemen that they were state prisoners. what had they done? what crime had they committed that they should be arrested so unceremoniously? good michael apafi believed that they were aiming at the princely coronet. this was a crime he was ready to believe in at a single word, and he urged the counsellors who had ordered the arrest at once to put the law into execution against the arrestants. but that is what these gentlemen took very good care not to do. it was much easier to kill the arrestants outright than to find a law which would meet their case. in those days worthy master cserei was the commandant of the fortress of fogaras, and the castle in which the arrestants were lodged was the property of the princess. as soon as anna heard of the arrest she summoned cserei, and showing him the signet-ring on her finger, said to him: "look at that ring, and whatever death-warrant reaches you, if it bears not the impression of that seal, you will take care not to execute the prisoners; the castle is mine, so you have to obey my orders rather than the orders of the prince." the prince and his wife then returned together to fejérvár. on the day after their arrival the chief men of the realm met together in council at the prince's palace, and it was teleki's idea that only those should remain to dinner who were of the same views as himself. so they all remained at the prince's till late in the evening, and thoroughly enjoyed the merry jests of the court buffoon, gregory biró, who knew no end of delightful tricks, and swallowed spoons and forks so dextrously that nobody could make out what had become of them. apafi had not noticed how much he had drunk, for every time he had filled his beaker from the flagon standing beside him, the flagon itself had been replenished, so that he fancied he had drunk nothing from sheer forgetfulness. but his face had got more inflamed and bloodshot than usual, and suddenly perceiving that the chair next to his was empty, he exclaimed furiously: "who else has bolted? it is denis banfy who has bolted now, i know it is. what has become of denis banfy, i say?" the gentlemen were all silent; only teleki was able to reply: "denis banfy is dead." "dead?" inquired apafi, "how did he die?" "paul béldi formed a league against him and he was beheaded." "béldi?" cried apafi, rising from his seat in blind rage, "and where is that man?" "he is in a dungeon at present, but it will not be long before he sits on the throne of the prince." "on the scaffold, you mean!" thundered apafi, beside himself, in a bloodthirsty voice, "on the scaffold, not the throne. i'll show that crafty szekler who i am if he raises his head against me. call hither the protonotarius, the law must be enforced." "the sentences are now ready, sir," said nalaczi, drawing from his pocket three documents of equal size; "only your signature is required." he was also speedily provided with ink and a pen, which they thrust into the trembling hand of the prince, indicating to him at the same time the place on the document where he was to sign his name. the thing was done. "is there any stranger among us?" asked teleki, looking suspiciously around. "only the fool, but he doesn't count." the fool at that moment was making a sword dance on the tip of his nose, and on the sword he had put a plate, and he kept calling on the gentlemen to look at him--he certainly had paid no attention to what was going on at the table. the three letters were three several commands. the first was directed to cserei, telling him to put the prisoners to death at once; the second was to the provost-marshal, zsigmond boer, to the effect that if cserei showed any signs of hesitation he was to be killed together with the gentlemen; the third was to the garrison of the fortress, impressing upon them in case of any hesitation on the part of the provost to make an end of him forthwith along with the others. all three letters, sealed with yellow wax, were handed over to stephen nalaczi, who, placing them in his kalpag, pressed his kalpag down upon his head and hastened quickly from the room. he had to pass close to the jester on his way out, and the fool, rushing upon him, exclaimed. "o ho! you have got on my kalpag; off with it, this is yours!" and before nalaczi had recovered from his surprise he found a cap and bells on his head instead of a kalpag. the magnate considered this jest highly indecent, and seized the jester by the throat. "you scoundrel, you, where have you put my kalpag? speak, or i'll throttle you." "don't throttle me, sir," said the jester apologetically, "for then you would be the biggest fool at the court of the prince." "my kalpag!" cried nalaczi furiously, "where have you put it?" "i have swallowed it, sir." "you worthless rascal," roared nalaczi, throttling the jester, "would you play your pranks with me!" "truly, sir, i shall not be able to bring it up again if you press my throat like that." "stop, i mean to search you," said nalaczi; and he began to tear up the coat of the jester, whereupon the kalpag came tumbling out from between its folds. "you clumsy charlatan," laughed nalaczi, "well, you hid it very well, i must say." then he put on his kalpag again, in which were all three letters well sealed with yellow wax, but he now hastened outside as rapidly as possible in case the fool should spirit them away again. the same night he galloped to fogaras, though it cost him his horse to get there, summoned cserei, and giving him the letter addressed to him said: "you, sir, are to execute this strict command to the very letter." the commandant took the letter, broke the seal, and then looked at the magnate in amazement: "i know not, sir, whether you or i have been made a fool of--but there's not a scrap of writing in this letter." nalaczi incredulously examined the letter. it was a perfect blank. hastily he broke open the other two letters. in these also there was nothing but the bare paper. the fool, while the nobleman was throttling him, had substituted blanks for the letters sent, and sent the sentences the same evening to the princess, who thereby had discovered all that the prince and his councillors were doing. in the morning the princess went to apafi with the three sentences in her hand, and reproached him for wanting to murder his ministers. the worthy prince was amazed at seeing these orders signed by himself. he knew nothing about it, and embracing his wife, thanked her for watching over him and not allowing him to send forth such orders. as for nalaczi, the shame of the thing made it impossible for him to show himself at court, and he could only nourish a grudge against the fool. this accident greatly upset the worthy prince, and he immediately rushed to release the captives. first of all, however, they had to sign deeds in which they solemnly engaged not to seek to revenge themselves on their accusers. paul béldi was wounded to the heart, but he regarded this calamity as a just retribution for having been the first to sign the league[ ] against denis banfy; it was a weapon which now recoiled upon himself. [footnote : see "'midst the wild carpathians," book ii., chapter vii.] but this private grief was the least of his misfortunes, for while paul béldi and nicholas bethlen had been sitting in their dungeon the war party had had a free hand, so that when the two gentlemen were released they were astounded to learn from their partisans that only the sanction of the diván was now necessary for a rupture of the peace. béldi perceived that to remain silent any longer would be equivalent to looking on while the state rushed to its destruction. he immediately assembled all those who were of the same opinion as himself--ladislaus csaky, john haller, george kapy--and consulted with them as to the future of the realm. béldi opined throughout that the prince should be spared, but he was to be compelled to dismiss such councillors as teleki, székely, mikes, and nalaczi, and form a new council of state. kapy would have done more than this. "if we want as much as that," said he, "it would be better to declare ourselves openly; and if we draw the sword, we shall have no need to petition, but can fight, and whoever wins let him profit by it and become prince." "no!" said béldi, "i have sworn allegiance to the prince, and though i love my country, and am prepared to fight for it, yet i will never break my oath. my proposition is that we assemble in arms at the diet which is convened to meet at nagy-sink, together with the szekler train-bands, and if we show our strength the prince assuredly will not hesitate to change his counsellors, for i know him to be a good man who rather fears than loves them." the gentlemen present accepted béldi's proposition. "then here i will leave your excellencies," said kapy, stiffly buttoning his mente.[ ] "i am not afraid of war, for there i see my enemy before me, and can fight him; but i do not like these armed appeals, for they are apt to twist a man's sword from his hand and turn it against his own neck." [footnote : fur pelisse.] and he withdrew. the other gentlemen resolved, however, that they would all arm their retainers. at a word from béldi the armed szeklers of háromszék, csik, and udvarhelyszék rose at once; they were ready at an hour's notice to rise in obedience to the command of their generalissimo. the news of this audacious insurrection reached michael teleki at gernyeszeg, who was beside himself with joy, well aware that béldi was not the sort of man who was likely to prevail in a civil war whilst the contrary case would bring about his ruin, as he had now gone too far to draw back again. he immediately hastened to the prince and, arousing him from his bed, told him that béldi had risen against him, and so terrified apafi that he immediately got into his coach, and fled by torchlight to fogaras. gregory bethlen, farkas, and the other counsellors also took to their heels in a panic--only teleki remained cool. he knew the character of béldi too well to be afraid of him. so the spark of ambition and rage was kindled in paul béldi's heart, and for some days it looked as if he would be the master of transylvania, for nothing could resist him with the szekler bands at his side, and all the regular troops were scattered among the frontier fortresses. but béldi thought it enough to show his weapons without letting them be felt. instead of a declaration of war he sent a manifesto full of loyalty to the prince, in which he assured his highness that he had taken up arms not against his highness but in the name of the state; all he demanded was that the counsellors of the prince should be tried by the laws of the realm. whilst this wild missive was on its way, teleki had had time to call together the troops from the frontier fortresses, and send orders to those of the szeklers who had not risen to assemble under clement mikes in defence of the prince; and while béldi awaited an attack, he proceeded to take the offensive against him at once. one day béldi was sitting in the castle of bodola along with ladislaus csáky, when news was brought them that gregory bethlen, with the army of the prince, was already before kronstadt. "war can no longer be avoided," sighed csáky. "we can avoid it if we lay down our arms," returned béldi. "surely you do not think of that?" inquired csáky in alarm. "why should i not? i will take no part in a civil war." "then we are lost." "rather we shall save thousands." the same day he ordered his forces to disperse and return home. the next day gregory bethlen sent michael vay to bodola, who brought with him the prince's pardon. csáky ground his teeth together. it occurred to him that he had got denis banfy beheaded, yet he too had received a pardon, and he inquired of vay in some alarm: "can we really rely on this letter of pardon?" michael vay was candid enough to reply: "well, my dear brethren, though you had a hundred pardons it would be as well if you courageously resolved to quit transylvania notwithstanding." csáky gave not another moment's thought to the matter, but packed up his trunks, and while it was still daylight escaped through the bozza pass. béldi decided to remain; shame prevented him from flying. nevertheless, michael vay told his wife and children of his danger and they insisted, supplicating him on their knees, that he should hasten away and save himself. "and what about you?" asked béldi, looking at his tearful family. he had two handsome sons, and his daughter aranka had grown up a lovely damsel; she was the apple of her father's eye, his pride and his glory. "what about you?" he asked with a troubled voice. "you can more easily defend us at stambul than here," said dame béldi; and béldi saw that that was a word spoken in season. that word changed his resolve, for, indeed, by seeking a refuge at the porte, he would be able to help himself and his family much more, and perhaps even give a better turn to the fortunes of his country. there, too, many of the highest viziers were his friends who had very great influence in affairs. he immediately had his horse saddled, and after taking leave of his family with the utmost confidence, he escaped through the bozza pass the same night with an escort of a few chosen servants into wallachia, where he found many other fugitive colleagues, and with them he took refuge at the porte--then the highest court of appeal for transylvania. chapter xxii. the divÁn. the gates of the seraglio were thrown wide open, the discordant, clanging, and ear-piercing music was put to silence by a thundering roll of drums, and twelve mounted cavasses with great trouble and difficulty began clearing a way for the corps of viziers among the thronging crowd, belabouring all they met in their path with stout cudgels and rhinoceros whips. the indolent, gaping crowd saw that it was going to be flogged, yet didn't stir a step to get out of the reach of the whips and bludgeons. the members of the diván dismounted from their horses in the courtyard and ascended the steps, which were guarded by a double row of janissaries with drawn scimitars, the blue and yellow curtains of the assembly hall of the diván were drawn aside before them, and the mysterious inner chamber--the hearth and home of so much power and splendour, once upon a time--lay open before them. it was a large octagonal chamber without any of those adornments forbidden by the koran; its marble pavement covered by oriental carpets, its walls to the height of a man's stature inlaid with mother-o'-pearl. along the walls were placed a simple row of low sofas covered with red velvet and without back-rests, behind them was a pillared niche concealing a secret door where amurath was wont to listen unperceived to the consultations of his councillors. through the parted curtains passed the members of the council of the diván. first of all came the grand vizier, a tall, dry man with rounded projecting shoulders; his head was constantly on the move and his eyes peered now to the right and now to the left as if he were perpetually watching and examining something. his brown, mud-coloured face wore an expression of perpetual discontent; every glance was full of scorn, rage, and morbid choler; when he spoke he gnashed his black teeth together through which he seemed to filter his voice; and his face was never for an instant placid, at one moment he drew down his eyebrows till his eyes were scarce visible, at the next instant he raised them so that his whole forehead became a network of wrinkles and the whites of his eyes were visible; the corners of his mouth twitched, his chin waggled, his beard was thin and rarely combed, and the only time he ever smiled was when he saw fear on the face of the person whom he was addressing; finally, his robes hung about him so slovenly that despite the splendid ornaments with which they were plastered he always looked shabby and sordid. after the grand vizier came kiuprile, a full-bodied, red-faced pasha, with a beard sprawling down to his knees; the broad sword which hung by his side raised the suspicion that the hand that was wont to wield it was the hand of no weakling; his voice resembled the roar of a buffalo, so deep, so rumbling was it that when he spoke quietly it was difficult to understand him, while on the battle-field you could hear him above the din of the guns. among the other members of the diván there were three other men worthy of attention. the first was kucsuk pasha, a muscular, martial man; his sunburnt face was seamed with scars, his eyes were as bright and as black as an eagle's; his whole bearing, despite his advanced age, was valiant and defiant; he carried his sword in his left hand; his walk, his pose, his look were firm; he was slow to speak, and rapid in action. beside him stood his son, feriz beg, the sharer of his father's dangers and glory, a tall, handsome youth in a red caftan and a white turban with a heron's plume. last of all came the sultan's christian doctor, the court interpreter, alexander maurocordato, a tall, athletic man, in a long, ample mantle of many folds; his long, bright, black beard reaches almost to his girdle, his features have the intellectual calm of the ancient greek type, his thick black hair flows down on both shoulders in thick locks. the viziers took their places; the sultan's divan remains vacant; nearest to it sits the grand vizier; farther back sit the pashas, agas, and begs. "most gracious sir," said maurocordato, turning towards the grand vizier, "the poor magyar gentlemen have been waiting at thy threshold since dawn." the grand vizier gazed venomously at the interpreter, protruding his head more than ever. "let them wait! it is more becoming that they should wait for us than we for them." and with that he beckoned to the chief of the cavasses to admit the petitioners. the refugees were twelve in number, and the chief cavasse, drawing aside the curtains from the door of an adjoining room, at once admitted them. foremost among them was paul béldi, the others entered with anxious faces and unsteady, hesitating footsteps; he alone was brave, noble, and dignified. his gentle, large blue eyes ran over the faces of those present, and his appearance excited general sympathy. only the grand vizier regarded him with a look of truculent indifference--it was his usual expression, and he knew no other. "fear not!--open your hearts freely!" signified the grand vizier. béldi stepped forward, and bowed before the grand vizier. one of the hungarians approached still nearer to the vizier and kissed his hand; the others were prevented from doing the same by the intervention of maurocordato, who at the same time beckoned to béldi to speak without delay. "your excellencies!" began béldi, "our sad fate is already well-known to you, as fugitives from our native land we come to you, as beggars we stand before you; but not as fugitives, not as beggars do we petition you at this moment, but as patriots. we have quitted our country not as traitors, not as rebels, but because we would save it. the prince is rushing headlong into destruction, carrying the country along with him. his chief counsellor lures him on with the promise of the crown of hungary in the hope that he himself will become the palatine. your excellencies are aware what would be the fate of hungary after such a war. a number of the great men of the realm joined me in a protest against this policy. we knew what we were risking. for some years past i have been one of those who disapproved of an offensive war--we are the last of them, the rest sit in a shameful dungeon, or have died a shameful death. once upon a time, as happy fathers of families, we dwelt by our own firesides; now our wives and children are cast into prison, our castles are rooted up, our escutcheons are broken; but we do not ask of you what we have lost personally, we ask not for the possession of our properties, we ask not for the embraces of our wives and children, we do not even ask to see our country; we are content to die as beggars and outcasts; we only petition for the preservation of the life of the fatherland which has cast us forth, and which is rushing swiftly to destruction--hasten ye to save it." kucsuk pasha, who well understood hungarian, angrily clapped his hand upon his sword, half drew it and returned it to its sheath again. feriz beg involuntarily wiped away a tear from his eyes. "gracious sirs," continued béldi, "we do not wish you to be wrath with the prince for the tears and the blood that have been shed; we only ask you to provide the prince with better counsellors than those by whom he is now surrounded, binding them by oath to satisfy the nation and the grand seignior, for none will break such an oath lightly and with impunity; and these new counsellors will constrain him to be a better father to those who remain in the country than he was to us." when béldi had finished, maurocordato came forward, took his place between the speaker and the grand vizier, and began to interpret the words of béldi. at the concluding words the face of the interpreter flushed brightly, his resonant, sonorous voice filled the room, his soul, catching the expression of his face, changed with his changing feelings. where béldi calmly and resignedly had described his sufferings, the voice of the interpreter was broken and tremulous. where béldi had sketched the future in a voice of solemn conviction, maurocordato assumed a tone of prophetic inspiration; and finally, when in words of self-renunciation he appealed for the salvation of his country, his oratory became as penetrating, as bitterly ravishing, as if his speech were the original instead of the copy. passion in its ancient greek style, the style of demosthenes, seemed to have arisen from the dead. the listening pashas seemed to have caught the inspiration of his enthusiasm, and bent their heads approvingly. the grand vizier contracted his eyelids, puckered up his lips, and hugging his caftan to his breast, began to speak, at the same time gazing around abstractedly with prickling eyes, every moment beating down the look of whomsoever he addressed or glaring scornfully at them. his screeching voice, which he seemed to strain through his lips, produced an unpleasant impression on those who heard it for the first time; while his features, which seemed to express every instant anger, rage, and scorn in an ascending scale, accentuated by the restless pantomime of his withered, tremulous hand, could not but make those of the magyars who were ignorant of turkish imagine that the grand vizier was atrociously scolding them, and that what he said was nothing but the vilest abuse from beginning to end. mr. ladislaus csaky, who was standing beside paul béldi, plucked his fur mantle and whispered in his ear with a tremulous voice: "you have ruined us. why did you not speak more humbly? he is going to impale the whole lot of us." the vizier, as usual, concluded his speech with a weary smile, drew back his mocking lips, and exposed his black, stumpy teeth. the heart's blood of the magyars began to grow cold at that smile. then maurocordato came forward. a gentle smile of encouragement illumined his noble features, and he began to interpret the words of the grand vizier: "worshipful magyars, be of good cheer. i have compassion on your petition, your righteousness stands before us brighter than the noonday sun, your griefs shall have the fullest remedy. ye did well to supplicate the garment of the sublime sultan; cling fast to the folds of it, and no harm shall befall you. now depart in peace; if we should require you again, we will send for you." everyone breathed more easily. béldi thanked the vizier in a few simple sentences, and they prepared to withdraw. but ladislaus csaky, who was much more interested in his sóva property than in the future of transylvania, and to whom béldi's petition, which only sought the salvation of the fatherland, and said nothing about the restitution of confiscated estates, appeared inadequate, scarce waited for his turn to speak, and, what is more, threw himself at the feet of the vizier, seized one of them, which he embraced, and began to weep tremendously. indeed, his words were almost unintelligible for his weeping, and mr. csaky's oratory was always difficult to understand at the best of times, so that it was no wonder that the grand vizier lost his usual phlegm and now began to curse and swear in real earnest; till the other magyar gentlemen rushed up, tore csaky away by force, while maurocordato angrily pushed them all out, and thus put an end to the scandalous scene. "if you kneel before a man," said béldi, walking beside him, "at least do not weep like a child." before béldi could reach the door he felt his hand warmly pressed by another hand. he looked in that direction, and there stood feriz. "did you say that your wife was a captive?" asked the youth with an uncertain voice. "and my child also." the face of feriz flushed. "i will release them," he said impetuously. béldi seized his hand. "wait for me at the entrance." the hungarian refugees withdrew, everyone of them weaving for himself fresh hopes from the assurances of the vizier. only ladislaus was not content with the result, and going to his quarters he immediately sat down and wrote two letters, one to the general of the kaiser, and the other to the minister of the king of france, to both of whom he promised everything they could desire if they would help forward his private affairs, thinking to himself if the sultan does not help me the kaiser will, and if both fail me i can fall back upon the french king; at any rate a man ought to make himself safe all round. * * * * * scarce had the refugees quitted the diván when an aga entered the audience-chamber and announced: "the magyar lords." "what magyar lords?" cried the grand vizier. "those whom the prince has sent." "they're in good time!" said the vizier, "show them in;" and he at once fell into a proper pose, reserving for them his most venomous expression. the curtains were parted, and the prince's embassy appeared, bedizened courtly folks in velvet with amiable, simpering faces. their spokesman, farkas bethlen, stood in the very place where paul béldi had stood an hour before, in a velvet mantle trimmed with swan's-down, a bejewelled girdle worthy of a hero, and a sword studded with turquoises, the magnificence of his appointments oddly contrasting with his look of abject humility. "well! what do ye want? out with it quickly!" snapped the grand vizier, with an ominous air of impatience. farkas bethlen bent his head to his very knees, and then he began to orate in the roundabout rhetoric of those days, touching upon everything imaginable except the case in point. "most gracious and mighty, glorious and victorious lords, dignified grand vizier, unconquerable pashas, mighty begs and agas, most potent pillars of the state, lords of the three worlds, famous and widely-known heroes by land and sea, my peculiarly benevolent lords!" all this was merely prefatory! kiuprile began to perspire; kucsuk pasha twirled his sword upon his knee; feriz beg turned round and contemplated the fountains of the seraglio through the window. "make haste, do!" interrupted maurocordato impatiently; whereupon farkas bethlen, imagining that he had offended the interpreter by omitting him from the exordium, turned towards him with a supplementary compliment: "great and wise interpreter, most learned and extraordinarily to be respected court physician of the most mighty sultan!" kiuprile yawned so tremendously that the girdle round his big body burst in two. farkas bethlen, however, did not let himself be put out in the least, but continued his oration. "our worthy prince, his highness michael apafi, has been much distressed to learn that those seditious rebels who have dared to raise their evil heads, not only against the prince but against the sublime porte also, as represented in his person, in consequence of the frustration of their plans, have fled hither to damage the prince by their falsehoods and insinuations. nevertheless, although our worthy prince is persuaded that the wisdom of your excellencies must needs confute their lying words, your goodwill confound their devices, and your omnipotence chastise their audacity, nevertheless it hath also seemed good to his highness to send us to your excellencies in order that we may refute all these complaints and accusations whereby they would falsely, treacherously and abominably disturb the realm ..." maurocordato here took advantage of a pause made by the orator to take breath after this exordium, and before he was able to proceed to the subject-matter of his address, began straightway to interpret what he had said so far for the benefit of the grand vizier, being well aware that the vizier would not allow anyone to speak a second time before he had spoken himself. the speech of the interpreter was this time dry and monotonous. all farkas bethlen's homiletical energy was thrown away in maurocordato's drawling, indifferent reproduction. the grand vizier replied with flashing eyes, his face was twice as venomous as it had been before, and his gestures plainly indicated an intention to show the envoys the door. maurocordato interpreted his reply. "the grand vizier says that not those whom ye persecute but you yourselves are the rebels who have broken the oath ye made to the sublime porte, inasmuch as your ambitious projects aim at the separation of transylvania from its dependence on the porte and at the conquest of hungary--both sure ways of destruction for yourselves. wherefore the grand vizier gives you to understand that if you cannot sit still and live in peace with your own fellow-countrymen, he will send to you an intermediary, who will leave naught but tears behind him." the hungarian gentlemen regarded each other in astonishment. not a trace of simpering amiability remained on the face of farkas bethlen, who was furious at the failure of the speech he had so carefully learnt by heart. he bowed still deeper than before, and sacrificing with extraordinary self-denial the remainder of his oration, especially as he perceived that any further parleying would not be permitted, he had resort to more drastic expedients. "oh, sir! how can such accusations affect us who have always been willing faithfully to fulfil your wishes? we pay tribute, we give gifts, and now also our worthy prince hath not sent us to you empty-handed, having commanded master michael teleki not to neglect to provide us with suitable gifts, who has, moreover, sent to your excellencies through me two hundred purses of money,[ ] as a token of his respect and homage, beseeching your excellencies to accept this little gift from us your humble servants." [footnote : equivalent to , thalers.] with these words the orator beckoned to one of the deputation, at whose summons, four porters appeared carrying between them, suspended on two poles, a large iron chest, which farkas bethlen opened, discharging its contents at the feet of the grand vizier. the jingling thalers fell in heaps around the diván, and the sound of the rolling coins filled the room. the features of the grand vizier suddenly changed. maurocordato stepped back. bethlen's last words had needed no interpreter; the vizier could not keep back from his face a hideous smile, the grin of the devil of covetousness. his eyes grew large and round, he no longer clenched his teeth together, he was rather like a wild beast eager to pounce upon his prey. farkas bethlen humbly withdrew among his colleagues; the vizier could not resist the temptation, he descended from the diván, rubbing his hands, tapping the shoulders of the last speaker, smiling at all the deputies, and even going so far as to extend his hand to one or two of them, which those fortunate beings hastened to kiss, and spoke something to them in turkish, to which they felt bound to reply with profound obeisances. during this scene maurocordato had quitted the diván, and as in default of an interpreter the envoys were unable to understand the words of the vizier, and could only bow repeatedly, kiuprile, who had learnt hungarian while he was pasha of eger, arose and roared at them in a voice which made the very ceiling shake: "the vizier bids you go to hell, ye dogs of giaours, and if we want you again we will send for you!" whereupon he gave a vicious kick at a thaler which had rolled to his feet, while the deputies, after innumerable salutations, left the diván. * * * * * on the departure of the prince's envoys, the grand vizier immediately sent for béldi and his comrades. when the refugees entered the diván, not one of them yet knew that the envoys of the prince had been there and brought the money which they saw piled up before them, though they could not for the life of them understand what the grand vizier and themselves had to do with all that money; and inasmuch as maurocordato had also departed, and the cavasses sent after him could not find him anywhere, the hungarians, in the absence of an interpreter, stood there for some time in the utmost doubt, striving to explain as best they could the signification of the peculiar signs which the grand vizier kept making to them from time to time, pointing now at the heaps of money and now at them, and expounding his sayings with all ten fingers. every time he glanced at the money he could not restrain his disgusting, hyæna-like smile. "don't you see," whispered csaky to béldi, "the grand vizier intends all that money for us?" béldi could not help smiling at this artless opinion. at last, as the interpreter did not come, kiuprile was constrained, very much against the grain, to arise and interpret the wishes of the grand vizier as best he could. "worthy sirs, this is what the grand vizier says to you. the prince's deputies have been here. they ought to have their necks broken--that's what _i_ say. they brought with them this sum of money, and they said all sorts of things which are not true, but the money which they brought is true enough. having regard to which the grand vizier says to you that he recognises the justice of your cause and approves of it, but the mere recognition of its justice will make no difference to it, for it will remain just what it was before. but if you would make your righteous cause progress and succeed, promise him seventy more purses than those of the prince's envoys, and then we will close with you. we will then fling _them_ into the bosphorus sewn up in sacks, but you we will bring back into your own land and make you the lords of it." a bitter smile crossed the lips of paul béldi, he sighed sorrowfully, and looked back upon his comrades. "you know right well, sir," said he to kiuprile, "that we have no money, nor do i know from whence to get as much as you require, and my colleagues are as poor as i am. we never used the property of the state as a means of collecting treasures for ourselves, and what little remained to us from our ancestors has already been divided among the servants of the prince. we have no money wherewith to buy us justice, and if there be no other mode of saving our country, then in god's name dismiss us and we will throw ourselves at the feet of some foreign prince, and supplicate till we find one who must listen to us. god be with you; money we have none." "then i have!" cried a voice close beside béldi; and, looking in that direction, they saw kucsuk pasha approach paul béldi and warmly press the right hand of the downcast hungarian gentleman. "if you want two hundred and seventy purses i will give it; if you want as much again i will give it; as much as you want you shall have; bargain with them, fix your price; i am here. i will pay instead of you." feriz beg rushed towards his father, and, full of emotion, hid his face in his bosom. béldi majestically clasped the hand of the old hero, and was scarce able to find words to express his gratitude at this offer. "i thank you, a thousand times i thank you, but i cannot accept it; that would be a debt i should never be able to repay, nor my descendants after me. blessed are you for your good will, but you cannot help me that way." kiuprile intervened impatiently. "be sensible, paul béldi, and draw not upon thee my anger; weigh well thy words, and hearken to good counsel. to demand so much money from thee as a private man in exile would be a great folly, but assume that thou art a prince, and that this amount, which it would be impossible to drag out of one pocket, could easily be distributed over a whole kingdom and not be felt. do no more then than promise us the amount; it is not necessary that thou shouldst pay us before we have made thee prince." béldi shuddered, and said to kiuprile with a quavering voice: "i do not understand you, sir, or else i have not heard properly what you said." "then understand me once for all. if it be true what thou sayest--to wit, that the present prince of transylvania rules amiss, why then, depose him from his principality; and if it also be true what thou sayest--to wit, that thou dost love thy country so much and seest what ought to be done--why then, defend it thyself. i will send a message to the frontier pashas, and they will immediately declare war upon this state, seize master michael apafi and all his counsellors, clap them into the fortress of jedikula, and put thee and thy comrades in their places. thou art only to promise the grand vizier two hundred and seventy purses, and he will engage to make thee prince as soon as possible, and then thou wilt be able to pay it; which, if thou dost refuse, of a truth i tell thee, that i will clap thee into jedikula in the place of michael apafi." the heart of paul béldi beat violently throughout this speech. his emotion was visible in his face, and more than once he would have interrupted kiuprile if the hungarian gentlemen had not restrained him. when, however, kiuprile had finished his speech. paul béldi took a step forward, and proudly raising his head so that he seemed to be taller than usual, he replied in a firm, strong voice: "i thank you, gracious sir, for your offer, but i cannot accept it. a sacred oath binds me to the present prince of transylvania, and if he has forgotten the oath which he swore to the nation it is no answer to say that we should also violate ours, nay, rather should we remind him of his. i have raised my head to ask for justice, not to pile one injustice upon another. transylvania needs not a new prince, but its old liberties; and if i had only wanted to make war upon the prince, the country would rise at a sign from me, the whole of the szeklers would draw their swords for me, but it was i who made them sheath their swords again. i do not come to the porte for vengeance, but for judgment; not my own fate, but the fate of my country i submit to your excellencies. i do not want the office of prince. i do not want to drive out one usurper only to bring in a hundred more. i will not set all transylvania in a blaze for the sake of roasting master michael teleki, nor for the sake of freeing a dozen people from a shameful dungeon will i have ten thousand dragged into captivity. may i suffer injustice rather than all transylvania. accursed should i be, and all my posterity with me, if i were to sell my oppressed nation for a few pence and bring armies against my native land. as to your threats--i am prepared for anything, for prison, for death. i came to you for justice, slay me if you will." kiuprile, disgusted, flung himself back on his divan; he did not count upon such opposition, he was not prepared for such strength of mind. the other gentlemen who, from time to time, had fled to the porte from transylvania had been wont to beg and pray for the very favour which this man so nobly rejected. the grand vizier, perceiving from the faces of those present the impression made on them by béldi's speech, turned now to the right and now to the left for an explanation, and dismay gradually spread over his pallid face as he began to understand. béldi's colleagues, pale and utterly crushed, awaited the result of his alarming reply; while ladislaus csaky, unable to restrain his dismay, rushed up to béldi, flung himself on his neck in his despair, and implored him by heaven and earth to accept the offer of the grand vizier. if the offer had been made to him he would most certainly have accepted it. "never, never," replied béldi, as cold as marble. the other gentlemen knelt down before him, and with clasped hands besought him not to make himself, his children, and themselves for ever miserable. "arise, i am not god!" said béldi, turning from his tearful colleagues. the grand vizier, on understanding what it was all about, leaped furiously from his place, and tearing off his turban, hurled it in uncontrollable rage to the ground, exclaiming with foaming mouth: "hither, cavasses!" "put that accursed dog in chains!" he screeched, pointing with bloodshot eyes at béldi, who quietly permitted them to load him with fetters weighing half-a-hundredweight each, which the army of slaves always had in readiness. "wouldst thou speak, puppy of a giaour?" cried the vizier, when he was already chained. "what i have said i stand to," solemnly replied the patriot, raising his chained hand to heaven. "god is my refuge." "to the dungeon with him!" yelled kara mustafa, beckoning to the drabants to drag béldi away. just as a hard stone emits sparks when it is struck, so béldi turned suddenly upon the vizier and said, shaking his chains, "thine hour will also strike!" then he suffered them to lead him away to prison. * * * * * immediately afterwards, the grand vizier sent for the envoys of the prince, and commending them and those who sent them, gave each of them a new caftan, and with the most gracious assurances sent them back to their native land, where nevertheless master farkas bethlen had never been accounted a very great orator. in the gates of the seraglio the dismissed envoys encountered master ladislaus csaky. the worthy gentleman at once perceived from their self-satisfied smiles and the new caftans they were wearing that they had been sent away with a favourable reply; whereupon, notwithstanding that he had already agreed with paul béldi to render homage to the french and german ministers, he did not consider it superfluous to pay his court to master farkas bethlen also, and offer to surrender himself body and soul if the prince would agree to pardon him and restore his estates. farkas bethlen accepted the proposal and not only promised csaky an amnesty, but high office to boot if he would separate from béldi; nay, he rewarded on the spot that gentleman who had thus very wisely fastened the threads of his fate to four several places at the same time, so that if one of them broke he could still hold on to the other three. * * * * * "béldi has ruined his affairs utterly," said kucsuk pasha to his son, as they retired from the diván; "i give up every idea of saving him." "i don't," sighed feriz. "i'll either save or perish with him." "let us go to maurocordato, he may perhaps advise us." after an hour's interview with maurocordato, feriz beg, with fifty armed albanian horsemen, took the road towards grosswardein. chapter xxiii. the turkish death. in the gate of the pasha of grosswardein, amidst the gaping throng of armed retainers there, could be seen a pale wizened moslem idly sprawling on the threshold, apparently regardless of everything, but sometimes looking up, cat-like, with half-shut, dreamy eyes, and at such times he would smile craftily to himself. suddenly a handsome, chivalrous youth galloped out of the gate before whom the soldiers bowed down to the earth; this was the pasha's favourite horseman, feriz beg, who had just arrived from stambul. the beg, as if he had only by accident caught sight of the sprawling moslem, turned towards him, tapped him on the shoulder with his lance, and while the latter, feigning ignorance and astonishment, gazed up at him, he drew nearer to him and said: "what zülfikar! dost thou not recognise me?" the person so addressed bowed himself to the earth. "allah is gracious! by the soul of the prophet, is it thou, gracious sir?" and with that he got up and began walking by the side of the horse of the beg, who beckoned him to follow. "i have lost a good deal of money and a good many horses over the dice-box at stambul, zülfikar," said feriz beg, "so i have come into these parts to rehabilitate my purse a little. where dost thou go a-robbing now, zülfikar?" "la illah, il allah! god is gracious and mohammed is his holy prophet," said zülfikar, rolling his eyes heavenwards. "a truce to this piety, zülfikar; ye renegades, with unendurable shamelessness, are always glorifying the prophet, born turks don't mention him half as much. what i ask thee is, where dost thou go a-plundering now of nights?" "i thank thee, gracious sir," answered zülfikar, making a wooden picture of his face, "my wife is quite well, and there is nothing amiss with me either." "zülfikar, i value in thee that peculiarity of thine which enables thee to become deaf whenever thou desirest it, but i possess a very good remedy for that evil, and if thou wilt i will cure thee of it." zülfikar dodged the lance which was turned in his direction, and said with a pharisaical air: "what does your honour deign to inquire of me?" "didst thou hear what i said to thee just now?" "dost thou mean: where i went robbing? i swear by the beard of the prophet that i go nowhither for such a purpose." "i know very well, thou cat, that thou goest nowhither where there is trouble, but thou dost ferret out where a fat booty lies hidden, and thou leadest our spahis on the track of it, wherefore they give thee also a portion of it; so answer me at once whom thou art wont to visit at night, as otherwise i shall open a hole in thy head." "but, sir, betray me not; for the spahis would tie me to a horse's tail and the pasha would impale me. thou knowest that he does not allow robbery, but if it happens he looks through his fingers." "so far from betraying thee i would go with thee, i only know one mode of getting hold of booty. while the others storm a village, i stand a little distance off at the farther end of the village; whoever has anything to save always makes for the farther end of the village, and so falls into my hands." the renegade began to feel in his element. "my good sir, at night the spahis will go to Élesd. there dwell rich wallachians away from the high road. they have never had blackmail levied on them and there's lots of gold and silver there; if we get a good haul, do not betray me." "but may we not fall in with the soldiers of ladislaus székely?" "nay, sir," said zülfikar, winking his eyes, "they are far from here. do not betray thy faithful servant." feriz beg put spurs to his horse and galloped off. zülfikar sat down in the gate again, very sleepily blinking his eyes, and smiling mysteriously. towards evening four-and-twenty spahis crept out of the fortress and made off in the direction of Élesd. feriz beg kept an eye upon them, and when they had disappeared in the woods he aroused his albanian horsemen and quietly went after them. it was past midnight when feriz beg and his company reached the hillside covering Élesd. the spahis had already plundered the place as was evident from the distant uproar, the loud shrieks, the pealing of bells, and a couple of flaming haystacks which the mauraders had set on fire to assist their operations. feriz beg posted his albanian horsemen at the mouth of a narrow pass, divided them into four bands and ordered them all to remain as quiet as possible and wait patiently till the spahis returned. after some hours of plundering the distant tumult died away, and instead of it could be heard approaching a sound of loud wrangling. presently, in the deep valley below, the spahis became visible, staggering under the stolen goods, dispersed into twos and threes and quarrelling together over their booty. feriz beg let them come into the narrow pass and when they were quite unsuspiciously at the height of their dispute, he suddenly blew his horn and then suddenly fell upon them from all sides with his albanian horsemen, surrounded and attacked the marauders, and before they had had time to use their weapons began to cut them down. the tussle was a short one. not one of the albanians fell, not one of the spahis escaped. feriz dried his sword and leaving the dead spahis on the road, galloped back with his band to grosswardein. in the pasha's gate he again encountered zülfikar and, shaking his fist at him, dismounted from his horse. "thou dog! thou hast betrayed us to ladislaus székely; the spahis have all been cut down." zülfikar turned yellow with fear. it is true that he usually did something like this: when the spahis would only promise him a small portion of the booty, he would for a few ducats extra let the hungarian generals know of their coming, when one or two of them would bite the dust and the rest return without the booty. last night also he had told the captain of klausenberg of this particular adventure, but the commandant had been unable to make any use of it, for it had been the prince's birthday, and he had been obliged to treat the soldiers. zülfikar felt a lump in his throat when he heard that all twenty-four of the spahis had perished, and he immediately quitted the fortress and made his way to klausenberg through the woods as hard as he could pelt. feriz beg, however, in great wrath, paid a visit upon the pasha. "your excellency," said he, assuming a very severe countenance, "this is the sort of allies we have. last night i went on an excursion, taking four-and-twenty spahis with me, in order to purchase horses for myself in the neighbourhood. we dealt honourably with the dealers. i entrusted the horses to the spahis and myself galloped on in front. in a narrow pass the soldiers of ladislaus székely laid an ambush for the spahis, surrounded them and cut them off to a man. when i came to their assistance there they were all lying slain and the slayers had trotted off on my own good steeds. most gracious sir, that is treachery, our own allies do us a mischief. i will not put up with it, but if thou dost not give me complete satisfaction, i will go myself to klausenberg and put every one of them to the sword, from master michael apafi down to master ladislaus székely." ajas pasha, whose special favourite feriz beg was, laughed loudly at this demonstration, patted the youth's cheek, and said in a consolatory voice: "nay, my dear son, do not so, nor waste the fire of thy enthusiasm upon these infidels. i have a short method of doing these things--leave it to me." and thereupon he sent for an aga, and gave him a command in the following terms: "sit on thy horse and go quickly to klausenberg. there go to the commandant, ladislaus székely, and speak to him thus: ajas pasha wishes thee good-day, thou unbelieving giaour, and sends thee this message: inasmuch as thy dog-headed servants during the night last past have treacherously fallen upon the men of feriz beg and cut down four-and-twenty of them, now therefore i require of thee to search for and send me instantly these murderers, otherwise the whole weight of my wrath shall descend upon thine own head. moreover, in the place of the horses stolen from him, see that thou send to me without delay just as many good chargers of wallachia, and beware lest i come for them myself, for then thou wilt have no cause to thank me." when the aga had learnt the message by heart he withdrew, and ajas pasha turned to feriz beg complacently: "trouble not thyself further," said he, "in a couple of days the murderers will be here." "i want the prince to intercede for them himself," said feriz beg. "and dost thou not believe then that the little finger of the sublime porte is able to give thee the lives of a few giaour hirelings, when it sends forth thousands to perish on the battle-field?" "and i will venture to bet a hundred ducats that master ladislaus székely will reply that his soldiers were not out of the fortress at all last night." "i am sorry for thy hundred ducats, my dear son, but i will take thy bet all the same; and, if i lose, i will cut just as many pieces out of the skin of master ladislaus székely." * * * * * the terrified zülfikar was almost at his last gasp by the time he reached the courtyard of master ladislaus székely, where, greatly exhausted, he obtained an audience of the commandant, who was resplendent in a great mantle trimmed with galloon and adorned with rubies and emeralds. this love of display was the good old gentleman's weak point. he had the most beautiful collection of precious stones in all transylvania; the nearest way to his heart was to present him with a rare and beautiful jewel. he was engaged in furbishing up a necklace of chrysoprases and jacinths with a hare's foot when the renegade breathlessly rushed through the door unable to utter a word for sheer weariness. ladislaus székely fancied that zülfikar had come for the reward of his treachery, and very bluntly hastened to anticipate him. "i was unable to make any use of your information, zülfikar; it was the prince's name-day, and the soldiers were not at liberty to leave the town." "how can your honour say so," stuttered zülfikar; "you had four-and-twenty spahis cut down at Élesd. what fool told your honour to kill them? you should merely have deprived them of their booty." ladislaus székely let fall his necklace in his fright and gazed at the renegade with big round eyes. "don't be a fool, zülfikar, my son! not a soul was outside this fortress to-day or yesterday." "your honour has been well taught what to say," said the renegade, with the insolence of fury; "you put on as innocent a face over the business as a new-born lamb." "i swear to you i don't understand a word of your nonsense." "of course, of course! capital! excellent! but your honour would do well to keep these falsehoods for the messengers of ajas pasha, who will be with your honour immediately; try and fool them if you like, but don't fool me." ladislaus székely, well aware that every word he said was the sacred truth, fancied that zülfikar's assertion was only a rough joke which he wanted to play upon him, so he cast an angry look on the renegade. "be off, my son zülfikar, and cease joking; or i'll beat you about the head with this hare's foot till i knock all the moonshine out of you." "your honour had best keep your hare's foot to yourself, for if i draw my turkish dagger i'll make you carry your own head." "be off, be off, my son!" cried székely, looking around for a stick, and perceiving a cane in the corner with a large silver knob he seized it. "and now are you going, or i shall come to you?" he added. zülfikar had just caught sight, meanwhile, through the window of the aga sent by ajas pasha, and fearing to encounter him, hastily skipped through the door, which sudden flight was attributed by master ladislaus székely to his own threats of violence. he followed close upon the heels of the fugitive, and ran almost into the very arms of the aga; whereupon, the aga, also flying into a rage, belaboured the commandant with his fists, reviled his father, his mother, and his remotest ancestry, and only after that began to deliver the message of ajas pasha, which he enlarged and embellished with the choicest flowers of an angry man's rhetoric. at these words ladislaus székely changed colour as often as a genuine opal, or as a fractured polyporus fungus. it was clear to him that someone or other had just slain a number of marauding spahis, but he knew very well that neither he nor his men had performed this heroic deed, for that particular evening they had all been safe and sound at ten o'clock, and yet he was expected to pay the piper! "gracious sir, unconquerable aga," he said at last, "my men the whole of that evening were on duty beneath the windows of the prince, and the same evening i myself closed the city gates, so that no living thing except a bird could get out. therefore, i pray you ask not of me the slayers of the spahis, for never in my life have i killed one of them." the aga gnashed his teeth, and stared wildly about, as if seeking for big words worthy of the occasion. "darest thou say such things to me, thou wine-drinking infidel?" he cried at last. "i know very well that thou, single-handed, hast not cut down four-and-twenty spahis; rather do i believe there were two thousand of you that fell upon them, but these thou must give up to me, every man-jack of them." large drops of perspiration began to ooze out upon the forehead of the commandant, and in his embarrassment it occurred to him that deeds were better than words, so he seized the chain covered with chrysoprases and jacinths, which he had just been polishing, and handed them in a deprecating manner to the turk, knowing that such a line of defence was most likely to obtain a hearing. but the envoy gave the chain handed to him such a kick that the precious stones were scattered all over the deal boards, and, trampling them beneath his feet, he roared with a blood-red face: "i want the murderers, not your precious stones." the commandant thereupon seeing that the aga's embassy was really a serious matter, took him down to the soldiers, who were drawn up in the courtyard, in order to ask each one of them in the hearing of the envoy: "where were you during the night in question?" naturally everyone of them was able to prove an alibi, not one of them could be suspected. the aga very nearly had an overflow of gall. he said nothing, he only rolled his eyes; and when the last soldier had denied any share in the death of the turks, he leaped upon his horse, and threatening them with his fist, growled through his gnashing teeth: "wait, ye also shall have your st. demetrius' day!"[ ] and with that he galloped back to grosswardein. [footnote : _i.e._ you shall be stoned to death.] on his arrival he found feriz beg with the pasha, and at once told his story, exaggerating the details to the uttermost. "what did i tell thee?" said feriz to the pasha; "didn't i say they would send back the message that they had never quitted the town. i am sorry for your honour's hundred ducats." at these words ajas pasha kicked over his chibouk and his saucer of sherbet, and in a hoarse, scarce intelligible voice, said to the aga: "be off this instant to stambul as fast as thou canst. tell the grand vizier what has happened, and say to him that if he does not give me the amplest satisfaction, i myself will go against these unbelieving devourers of unruminating beasts who have dared to send me such a message, and will destroy them, together with their strongholds; or else i will cast my sword to the ground, and tie a girdle round my loins, and go away and join the brotherhood of iskender! say that, and forget it not!" * * * * * very soon one firman after another reached the prince from stambul, each one of which, with steadily rising wrath, demanded the extradition of the assassins of the spahis. the prince made inquiries and searched for them everywhere, but nobody could be found to take upon his shoulders this uncommitted deed of heroism. the messages from the porte assumed a more and more furious tone every day. in itself the death of four-and-twenty spahis was no very serious stumbling-block, but what more than anything lashed the turkish generals into a fury was the persistent refusal of the prince to acknowledge the offence. yet with the best will in the world he was unable to do anything else, for not a single person on whom suspicion might fall could he find throughout the principality. * * * * * in those days the dungeons of klausenburg were well filled with condemned robbers; in the past year alone no fewer than thirty incendiaries had been discovered who had resolved to fire all transylvania. one day the noble martin pók, the provost-marshal of the place, appeared before the robbers, and attracted the attention of the most evil-disposed of these cut-throats and incendiaries by shouting at them: "you worthless gallows-dogs, which of you would like to be set free at any price?" "i would! i would!" cried a whole lot of them. "bread is going to be dear, so we cannot waste it on the like of you, so master ladislaus székely has determined that whoever of you would like to become turks are to be handed over to our gracious master, ajas pasha, who will make some of you janissaries, and send the rest to the isle of samos; so whoever will be a turk, let him speak." everyone of them wanted to be a turk. "very well, you rascals, just attend to me! i must tell you what to say when you stand before the pasha, for if you answer foolishly you will be bastinadoed. first of all he will ask you: 'are you master ladislaus székely's men?' you will answer: 'yes, we are!' then he will ask you: 'were you at Élesd on a certain day?' and you must admit that you were. finally, he will ask you if you met feriz beg there? you will admit everything, and then he will instantly release you from servitude. do you understand?" "yes, yes!" roared the incendiaries; and dancing in their fetters they followed the provost-marshal upstairs, who turned his extraordinary small head back from time to time to smile at them, at the same time twisting the ends of his poor thin moustache with an air of crafty self-satisfaction. * * * * * one day two letters reached grosswardein from stambul. one of these letters was from kucsuk pasha to his son, the other was from the sultan to ajas pasha. the letter to feriz beg was as follows: "my son,--let thy heart rejoice: kiuprile and maurocordato have not been wasting their time. the grand vizier is very wrath with the prince and his court. the death of the four-and-twenty spahis is an affair of even greater importance in stambul just now than the capture of candia. i fancy we shall very soon get what we want." feriz beg understood the allusion, and went at once to the pasha in the best of humours. "listen to what the omnipotent sultan writes," said the pasha, producing a parchment sealed with green wax, adorned below with the official signature of the sultan, the so-called tugra, which was not unlike a bird's-nest made of spiders'-webs. feriz beg pressed the parchment to his forehead and his lips, and the further he read into it the more his face filled with surprise and joy. "valiant ajas pasha my faithful servant!--i wish thee always all joy and honour. inasmuch as i learn from thee that the faithless servants of the prince, in time of peace and amity, have slain four-and-twenty spahis, and that their masters not only have not punished this misdeed but even presumed to deceive me with lying reports thereof, thereby revealing their ill-will towards me, now therefore i charge and authorise thee in case the counsellors of the prince do not surrender the murderers in response to my ultimatum, which even now is on its way to them, or in case they make any objection whatsoever, or even if they simply pass over the matter in silence; in any such case i charge and authorise thee instantly to invade transylvania with all the armies at thy disposal, and by the nearest route. kucsuk pasha also will immediately be ready at hand with his bands at vöröstorony, and the tartar king hath also our command to lend thee assistance. this done, i will either drive the prince into exile or take him prisoner, when i will at once strike off the chains of master paul béldi--who, because of his stubbornness, now sits in irons at jedekula--and whether he will or not, i will place him incontinently on the throne of the prince, etc., etc." "dost thou believe now that we shall get the murderers?" asked ajas pasha triumphantly. "never!" said feriz beg, laughing aloud and beside himself with joy. "what dost thou say?" growled the astonished ajas; "but suppose we go for them ourselves?" "well!" said feriz, perceiving that he had nearly betrayed himself, "in that case--yes." but he said to himself "not then or ever; and paul béldi will be released, and paul béldi will become prince, and his wife will be princess consort, and aranka will be a princess too, and we shall see each other again." at that moment an aga entered the room and announced with a look of satisfaction: "master ladislaus székely has now sent the murderers." feriz beg reeled backwards. the word "impossible" hung upon his lips, and he nearly let it escape. it _was_ impossible. "let them come in!" said ajas pasha viciously. he would have preferred to carry out the sultan's conditional command, seize the principality, and conduct the campaign personally. feriz beg fancied he was dreaming when he saw the forty or fifty selected rascals who, led by martin pók, drew up before ajas pasha; the rogues were dressed up as soldiers but thief, criminal, was written on the face of each one of them. master martin pók exhibited them to the pasha and feriz beg, and very wisely stood aside from them. feriz beg clapped his hands together in astonishment. he knew better than anyone that these fellows had never seen the spahis, and he waited to hear what they would say. ajas pasha sat on his sofa with a countenance as cold as marble, and at a sign from him a file of janissaries formed behind the backs of the rascals, who tried to look as pleasant and smiling as possible before the pasha to gain his favour. "ye are master ladislaus székely's men, eh?" inquired the pasha of the false heroes. "we are--at thy service, unconquerable pasha," they replied with one voice, folding their hands across their breasts and bowing down to the very ground. the pasha beckoned to the janissaries to come softly up behind each one of them. "ye were at Élesd at midnight on the day of st. michael the archangel, eh?" he asked again. "we were indeed--at thy service invincible pasha!" they repeated striking their knees with their foreheads. feriz beg rent his clothes in his rage. he would have liked to have roared at them: "ye lie, you rascals! you were not there at all!" but he was obliged to keep silence. ajas beckoned again to the janissaries, and very nicely and quietly they drew their swords from their sheaths, and, grasping them firmly, concealed them behind their backs. the pasha put the third question to the robbers. "ye met feriz beg, eh?" "lie not!" cried feriz furiously. "look well at me! have you ever seen me anywhere before? did you ever meet me at Élesd?" the interrogated, bowing to the earth, replied with the utmost devotion: "yes--at your service, invincible pasha and most valiant beg!" at that same instant the swords flashed in the hands of the janissaries, and the heads of the robbers suddenly rolled at their feet. "oh, ye false knaves!" cried feriz beg, striking his forehead with his clenched fist. ajas pasha turned coolly towards martin pók: "greet thy master, and tell him from me that another time he must be quicker, and not make me angry.--as for thee, feriz, my son, pay me back those hundred ducats!" chapter xxiv. the hostage. one evening two horsemen dressed as turks rode into the courtyard of the fortress of szamosújvár, and demanded an audience of the noble danó sólymosi, the commandant. a soldier conducted to him the two moslems, one of whom seemed to be a man advanced in years, whose sunburnt face was covered with scars; the other was a youth, whose face was half hidden in the folds of a large mantle, only his dark eyes were visible. "good evening, captain," said the elder turk, greeting the commandant, who at the first moment recognised the intruder and joyfully hastened towards him and grasped his hand. "so god has brought kucsuk pasha to my humble dwelling." "then thou dost recognise me, worthy old man?" said kucsuk, just touching the hand of the worthy old magyar. "how could i help it, my good sir? thou didst free my only daughter from the hands of the filthy tartars, thou didst deliver her from grievous captivity, thou didst give her a place of refuge, food, and pleasant words in a foreign land. i should not be a man if i were to forget thee." "well, for all these things i have come hither to beg something of thee." "command me! my life and goods are at thy service." "dost thou not detain here the family of paul béldi?" "yes, sir; they brought the unfortunate creatures hither." "i must have paul béldi's consort out of this prison for a fortnight, at the accomplishment of which time i will bring her back again." the captain was thunderstruck. "sir," said he, "you are playing with my head." "none will know, and in two weeks' time she will be here again." "but if they discover it?" "have no fear of that. during that time i will leave in thy hands as a hostage my own son." the young cavalier approached, threw back his mantle, and the captain recognised feriz beg. he fancied he was dreaming. "dost thou not suppose that i will bring back the woman for the sake of my son?" "do what you think well," said the commandant. "i owe you a life, i will now pay it back to you; follow me!" the commandant led his visitors up a narrow corkscrew fortress into the corner tower, which was used as a dungeon for state prisoners. the circular windows were guarded by heavy iron bars, the heavy iron-plated oaken doors groaned upon their hinges, indicating thereby that they were very seldom opened. "why did you put them in this lonely place?" asked kucsuk pasha; "is there not some other prison in the town?" "don't blame me, sir; my orders were to lock the lady up securely, apart from her child, and in this tower are two adjacent chambers with a common window, and in one of them i have put the mother and in the other the child. i knew that they would not mind if they could speak to each other through the window, and press each other's hands, and even kiss each other through the bars." "thou art a true man, my good old fellow," said kucsuk pasha, patting the commandant's shoulder; while feriz beg warmly pressed his hand. "thou wouldst put me into just such another dungeon, eh?" he asked. "there would be no need of that, good feriz beg; you should dwell in my apartments." "but i would not have it so," said the youth, thinking with glowing cheeks of the fair aranka who would thus be his next-door neighbour and fellow-prisoner. at last the iron door of the prison was opened, the jailor remained outside, and the two osmanlis entered. by the side of a rude oak table was sitting a lady in deep mourning in front of the narrow window, reading aloud from a large bible with silver clasps; her children at the window of the other dungeon were listening devoutly to the word of god. when the men entered the woman started and looked up; the dim ray of light coming through the narrow window made her face appear still paler than it used to be; she looked up seriously, sadly--sorrow had lent a gentle gravity to the face that used to be so bright and gay. kucsuk pasha approached, and taking the lady's soft transparent hand in his own, briefly introduced himself. "i am kucsuk pasha, thy husband's most faithful friend in this world after thyself." "i thank you for your visit; my husband has often mentioned your name. do you perchance bring me any message from him?" "he would have thee with him." "then i am free?" cried the lady, tremulous between joy and doubt. "rejoice not, lady; it is not in my power to give thee freedom, i only promise thee a brief interview with paul béldi, just time enough for thee to tell him how much thou hast suffered. he cannot come to thee, so thou must come to him. with me thou canst come most quickly, for the greatest part of the time we shall be travelling together." "will my children come with me?" "they will remain here. but thou wilt see them again soon. either thou wilt conquer paul béldi with thy tears, and melt his iron will, and then he will come back to transylvania as prince and every gate will be open before him; or else he will stand fast to his determination, and then thou wilt return to thy dungeon and he to his, and so you will both die in the dungeons of different realms. now take leave of thy children and hasten. it depends upon thee whether they become princes and princesses or slaves for ever." "and who will defend them, who will watch over them, who will pray with them while i am away?" "be not distressed. i will leave my own son here as a hostage while thou art away. feriz will occupy thy dungeon, he will watch over thy children, and not let them be afraid. hasten now and take leave of them." dame béldi rushed to the round window. loudly sobbing, she called her children one by one, and then embraced them all as best she could. the cold iron bars stood between her breast and theirs. the tears of their weeping faces could not dissolve them. "give this kiss to father!--and this kiss from me!--and this from me!" lisped the children, putting their little arms round their mother's neck through the bars. "my child, my good aranka!" said dame béldi to the girl, who being about fifteen or sixteen was the eldest of them all; "look after thy little brothers and sisters! and you, my good little lads, comfort aranka. god bless you! god defend you! one more kiss, aranka! and one more for you, little david?" "madame, time is passing, and paul béldi is waiting for thee to open his prison!" intervened kucsuk pasha, withdrawing dame béldi from the window of her children's prison, who thereupon turned her tear-stained face towards feriz beg, and in a passion of grief flung herself on the youth's neck, and said to him in a voice almost indistinguishable for her sobbing: "thou noble heart! promise me that thou wilt love my children when i am far away!" "by allah, i swear it!" exclaimed the youth, pressing to his bosom the poor woman who was half-fainting for sorrow, "i swear that i will love them for ever!" ah! there was one among them whom he had already loved for a long, long time. "hasten, lady!" urged the pasha; "cast this mantle over thee, and place this turban on thy head that the guards may not recognise thee in the distance. the way is long, the time is short." "god be with you, god be with you!" sobbed dame béldi, casting with tremulous hands hundreds of kisses towards her children, who waved their goodbyes to her from their window and then, violently repressing her emotion, she rushed from the dungeon. kucsuk pasha pressed the hand of his son in silence, and left him in dame béldi's room. the children kept on weeping behind their window. the youth drew nearer to them. "weep not," he said cheerfully, "your mother will soon come again and bring your father with her, and then you will all rejoice together." "ah, but then they'll kill father!" sobbed one of the children timidly. "so long as feriz beg can use his sword none shall touch paul béldi," cried the youth, with flashing eyes. "my sword and my father's will flash around him, his enemies will be my enemies. fear not! when i get back my sword, i will win back his liberty with it." "i thank you, i thank you," whispered a gentle voice overcome by emotion. feriz beg recognised the silvery voice of aranka, and the weeping blue eyes of the seraph face which regarded him, like heaven after rain, flashed upon him a burning ray of gratitude which was to haunt him in his dreams and in his memory for ever. feriz felt his heart leap with a great joy. pressing close up to the prison bars that he might get as close to the girl as possible he said to her with a tender voice: "how happy i am now that we dwell together as neighbours in the same dungeon, but oh, how much happier shall we be when no doors are closed upon us? let me then have a place beside thy hearth and within thy heart!" the fair, sad girl, with a face full of foreboding, stretched through the bars of the dungeon a hand whiter than a lily, whiter than snow. feriz beg solemnly raised it to his lips and falling on his knees, in an outburst of sublime devotion touched his lips and his forehead with that beloved hand. chapter xxv. the husband. at the very hour when kucsuk pasha arrived at stambul, master ladislaus székely, whom master michael teleki had sent with rich presents to the porte, likewise dismounted from his carriage. it was his mission to win the favour of the infuriated grand vizier and the pashas, who had again begun violently to urge paul béldi to accept the princely throne. master ladislaus székely had also brought with him zülfikar to be his guide and interpreter through the tortuous streets of stambul. as we already know, this worthy gentleman's particular hobby was the collection of jewels, and the prince had sent through him such a heap of precious stones that the heart of the good gentleman when he saw them all spread out before him died away within him at the thought that the whole collection was ruthlessly to be broken up and distributed among a lot of foreigners and pashas. "what a shame to lose them all," he thought. "and even then who knows whether we shall be safe after all. it is like casting pearls before swine. a much quicker way would be to get master paul béldi assassinated. that would be cutting the knot once for all, and we should have no further danger from that quarter. michael teleki wouldn't kill me for a trifle like that, i know. you, zülfikar, my son, could you undertake to poison someone?" he inquired, turning towards the renegade. "the whole town if you like." "no, only master paul béldi. it is all one to him whether he dies or remains a prisoner for life." "i'll do it for two hundred ducats, if you pay me half in advance." "i'll pay you, zülfikar, but how will you get at him?" "that's my affair, all you have to do is to get the money ready." accordingly ladislaus székely gave the earnest-money to the renegade, and the renegade went home and wrote a letter in the name of the beglerleg of the following tenour: "be assured that our affairs are in the best order, and we shall shortly gain our object." he strewed over these lines a fine blue dust which was the strongest of poisons, calculating that whoever wanted to read the letter would first brush the dust off it, whereupon the fine dust would rise in the air, and the person reading the letter would inhale the dust and die. after attaching the letter to his turban, he began prowling round the dungeon of paul béldi, awaiting an opportunity of worming his way into it. * * * * * paul béldi was sitting alone in the darkest corner of the dungeon of jedikula. at his feet lay his faithful bloodhound, körtövely, with his eyes fixed sadly on his master. whenever his master slept the dog would sit up, never take his eyes off him, and begin growling at the lightest noise. béldi, with folded arms, was sitting on the stone bench to which he was chained. his face had grown terribly pale and as if turned to stone. the pale gleam of light which filtered through the narrow window and lit up his face, found there no trace of that weary longing which the dweller in prisons generally has for the sun's rays. the whole man, body and soul, was hardened into steel. suddenly the dog lying at his feet impatiently raised its sagacious head, and then with a whimper of joy ran towards the door; there it stood for a time merrily barking, and then ran back to its master and stood before him wagging its tail with one foot on his shoulder, whining and whimpering with such lively joy that one might almost have understood what it wanted to say. "what's the matter? good dog!" said béldi, stroking the dog's head. "what is it? nobody's coming to see me that can make you happy." at that moment the key turned in the door of the dungeon and a group of men by the light of torches descended the steps and entered béldi's prison; whereupon körtövely quickly left his master and burrowing his way through the throng, began to yelp merrily over someone, and then rushing back to his master, planted his fore-paws on his breast and barked as if he would burst because he could not express more plainly the joy which his wonderful canine instinct had anticipated. béldi, perceiving among those who visited him the grand vizier, kiuprile, and maurocordato, ordered his dog to be quiet, and standing up before them, saluted them with a deep bow. "well, thou obstinate man!" said the grand vizier, "how long wilt thou torment thyself and offend the sultan and thine own good friends? wilt thou ever perceive that to sit on a stone bench in a damp dungeon is a very different thing to sitting on a princely throne?" "the more i suffer," said béldi, in a strangely calm voice, "the more reason i have to rejoice that my country does not suffer instead of me." the grand vizier thereupon said something in turkish which maurocordato sadly interpreted: "the grand seignior informs thee that because of money thou hast been cast into prison, and only money can release thee; promise, therefore, two hundred and seventy purses, and thou shalt get the principality to enable thee to pay it." "i have told you my determination," said béldi, "and i will not depart from it. i will not promise money to the detriment of my country. i will not lead an army against it, and i will not break my oath. these were and will be my words from which i can never depart." "never!" cried kucsuk pasha, pressing through the crowd. "wilt thou not even now?"--and with that he led a pale female figure towards béldi. "my wife!" exclaimed the captive, and he gripped fast his chains lest he should collapse for joy, terror, and surprise. the pale woman in mourning fell upon his bosom, her tears became his fetters. paul béldi burst into tears, he fell back upon his stone bench, his very soul was shattered. he remained clinging upon his wife's neck, speechless, unable to utter a word, and the whining dog licked now the hand of his master and now the lady's hand. "let us turn aside," said kucsuk pasha; "let us leave them together"--and the turks withdrew from the dungeon, leaving paul béldi alone with his wife. "i fancied," said dame béldi when she was able to utter a word amidst her choking sobs. "i fancied i was suffering instead of you, and oh! you were suffering more than i." "how did you come here?" asked béldi, in a low stifled voice. "kucsuk pasha left his son as a hostage in my stead." "worthy man! what useless sacrifices he is making for my sake. and my children?" "they remain in the dungeon whither also i must return, if you will not accept the sultan's offer." "have they taken away my girl aranka also?" asked béldi, with a heavy heart. "yes, they have taken her too, and if we are released we shall have no whither to go. they have taken everything of ours. the bethlen property has become the prey of farkas bethlen; the haromszeki estate is now in the hands of clement mikes, although it is not lawful to deprive a székler of his lands, even for high-treason. our castle at bodola has been totally destroyed, our escutcheon has been torn to pieces, and your name has been recorded in the journals of the diet as a traitor." "oh, ye men!" roared béldi, shaking his chains in the bitterness of his anger; "if i were not paul béldi the wrath of god would descend upon your heads. but ah!--i love my country even if worms are gnawing it. dry your eyes, my good wife! you see i am not weeping. what we suffer is the visitation of god upon us. i remain a christian and a patriot. i leave my cause to god!" "you will not accept the offer of the sultan?" inquired dame béldi, approaching her husband with fear and despair in her eyes. "never!" replied béldi, in a low voice. the wife, with a loud scream, flung herself at the feet of her husband, and, seizing his knees in a convulsive embrace, begged and besought him: "you would send me back to my dungeon? you would separate me from you for ever? never, never, not even in the hour of death, shall i see you again." "comfort yourself with the thought that you loved me, and were worthy of me, if you can suffer as i do and for the same reason." "you would plunge your children into eternal captivity?" "tell them that their father lived honourably and died honourably, and teach them to live and die like him." "think of your girl, aranka; your favourite, your dearest child." "rather may she fade away than transylvania be plunged in the flames of war." "béldi! drive me not to despair!" cried the wife trembling violently. "i am afraid, horribly afraid, of my dungeon. twice have i had fever from the close, damp air. there was none to care for me in my sickness; i was calling your name continually, and you were far from me; i saw your image, and was unable to embrace you. oh, béldi! i shall die without you! the most terrible form of death--despair--will kill me!" béldi knelt down by the side of his wife and embraced and kissed her. the woman fainted in his arms as the turks entered his prison. béldi beckoned kucsuk pasha to him. a sort of leaden, death-like hue had begun to spread over his face; he could scarce see with whom he was conversing. he laid his swooning wife in the arms of the pasha, and stammered with barely intelligible words: "i thank you for your good will. here is my wife--take her--back to her dungeon!" the turks, in speechless astonishment, lifted up the fainting woman, and left the dungeon without plaguing béldi with any more questions. béldi stood stonily there as they went out, with open lips and a dull light in his eyes. when the last turk had gone, and he saw his wife no longer, his head began to nod and droop down, and suddenly he fell prone upon the floor. körtövely, the old hound, began sorrowfully, bitterly, to whine. at that moment zülfikar entered the dungeon with the poisoned letter. he was too late. paul béldi had already departed from this world. * * * * * when ladislaus székely heard of béldi's death he gave a magnificent banquet, and when the company was at its merriest zülfikar came rushing in. "come! out with those hundred ducats!" he whispered in the ear of master ladislaus székely. "what do you mean?" cried székely in a voice flushed with wine. "paul béldi had a stroke; be content with what you have had already." "thou faithless dog of a giaour!" cried the renegade at the top of his voice so that everyone could hear him, "is this the way thou dost deceive me? thou didst bargain with me for the death of paul béldi for two hundred ducats, and now thou wouldst beat me down by one half. thou art a rogue meet for the hangman's hands. is it thus thou dost treat an honest man? i'll not kill a man for thee another time until thou pay me in advance, thou faithless robber!" the company laughed aloud at this scene, but master ladislaus székely seemed very much put out by the joke. "what are you talking about, you crazy fellow?" said he. "who asked you to do anything? i never saw you in my life before!" "what!" cried zülfikar. "i suppose thou wilt deny next that thou didst write this letter to paul béldi!" and with that he gave ladislaus székely the poisoned letter. he seized it, broke the seal, brushed away the dust, and ran his eye over it, whereupon he flung it at the feet of zülfikar, exclaiming: "i never wrote that." then he beckoned to the servants to seize zülfikar by the collar and pitch him into the street. but the renegade stood outside in front of the windows and began to curse székely before the assembled crowd for not paying him the price of the poison. inside the house the guests laughed more heartily than ever, and at last székely himself began to look upon the matter in the light of a joke, and laughed like the rest; but when he returned home to transylvania he felt a pain in his stomach, and did not know what was the matter. he became deaf, could neither eat nor drink, and his bowels began to rot. nobody could cure him of his terrible malady, till at last he fell in with a german leech, who persuaded him that he could cure him with the dust of genuine diamonds and sapphires. ladislaus székely handed to the charlatan his collection of precious stones. he abstracted the stones from their settings, but ground up common stones instead of them in his medical mortar, and stampeded himself with the real stones, leaving ladislaus székely to die the terrible death by poison which he had intended for paul béldi. * * * * * paul béldi they buried in foreign soil; none visited his grave. only his faithful dog sat beside it. for eight days it neither ate nor drank. on the ninth day it died on the deserted grave of its master. chapter xxvi. the fading of flowers. and now let us see what became of aranka and feriz. at last they were beneath one roof together--this roof was a little better than the roof of a tomb, but not much, for it was the roof of a dungeon. they could only see each other through a narrow little window, but even this did them good. they were able to press each other's hands through the iron bars, console each other, and talk of their coming joys and boundless happiness. the walls of the prison were so narrow, so damp, the narrow opening scarce admitted the light of day; but when the youth began to talk of his native land, damascus, rich in roses, of palm-trees waving in the breeze, of warm sunny skies, where the housetops were planted with flowers, and the evergreens give a shade against the ever-burning sun, at such times the girl forgot her dungeon and fancied she was among the rose-groves of damascus, and when the youth spoke of the future she forgot the rose-groves of damascus and fancied she was in heaven. days and days passed since the departure of dame béldi, and there were no news of her. every day the spirits of the girl declined, every evening she parted more and more sadly with feriz, and every morning he found it more and more difficult to comfort her. and now with great consternation the youth began to perceive that the girl was very pale, the colour of life began to fade from her round, rosy cheeks, and there was something new in the brightness of her eyes--it was no earthly light there which made him tremble as he gazed upon her. the youth durst not ask her: "what is the matter?" but the girl said to him: "oh, feriz! i am dying here; i shall never see your smiling skies." "i would rather see the sky black than thee dead." "the sky will smile again, but i never shall. i feel something within me which makes my heart's blood flow languidly, and at night i see my dead kinsfolk, and walk with them in unknown regions which i never saw before, and which appear before me so vividly that i could describe every house and every bush by itself." "that signifies that thou wilt visit unknown regions with me." "oh, feriz, i no longer feel any pleasure in those lands of yours, nor am i glad when i think of your palms, and as often as i see you darkness descends upon my soul, for i feel that i am going to leave you." "speak not so, joy of my existence. grieve not god with thy words, for god is afflicted when the innocent complain." "i am not complaining. i go from a bad into a good world, and there i shall see you in my dreams." "but if this bad world should become better, and you lived happily in it?" aranka sadly shook her pretty, angelic head. "that it is not necessary for this world to grow better you can see from the fact that the good must die while the wicked live a long time. god seeks out those that love him, and takes them unto himself, for he will not let them suffer long." feriz shuddered. what could have put these solemn, melancholy thoughts into the heart of this girl, this child? it was the approach of death, the worm-bitten fruit ripens more quickly than the rest. slow, creeping death had seized upon the childish mind and made it speak like the aged--and sad it was to listen to its words. "cheer up," said feriz, with an effort, skimming with his lips the girl's white hand which she thrust out to him through the bars. "thy mother will soon be here; thy father will sit on the throne of the prince as he deserves; thou wilt be a princess, and i will strive and struggle till i am high enough to sue for thee, and then i will lay my glory and renown at thy feet, and thou shalt be my bride, my queen, my guardian angel." the girl shook her head sorrowfully. "and we will walk along by the banks of the quiet streams in those ancient lands where not craft but valour rules, where the wise are only learned in the courses of the stars and the healing virtues of the plants, not in the science of the rise and fall of kingdoms. there from the window of my breeze-blown kiosk, which is built on the slopes of lebanon, thou wilt view the whole region round about. above, the shepherds kindle their fires in the blackness of the cedar forests; below, the mountain stream runs murmuring along, and all round about us the nightingale is singing, and what he singeth is the happiness of love. in the far distance thou seest the mirror of the great sea, and the white-sailed pleasure boat rocks to and fro on the transparent becalmed billows, and the moon looks down upon the limitless mirror, and a fair maiden sits in the pleasure-boat, and at her feet lies a youth, and both of them are silent, only a throbbing heart is speaking, and it speaks of the happiness of love." a couple of tears dropped from the eyes of the girl--the future was so seductive--and that picture, that fair country, she did not seem to be regarding them from the earth, it seemed to her as if she was looking down upon them from the sky and regretting that she was forced to leave--the beautiful world. aranka adored her father. the man who was respected for his virtues by a whole kingdom was the highest ideal of his child. when feriz began to speak of him, the girl's face brightened, and at the recital of his heroic deeds the tears dried up in her flashing eyes; and when the youth told her how the great patriot would return, glorious and powerful, supported by the mightiest of monarchs, and how he would throw open the prison doors of his children and be parted from them no more, then a smile would gradually transfigure the girl's face, and she would feel happy. and then she would steal apart into her own dungeon, and kneel down before her bed, and pray ardently that she might see her father soon, very soon. and she was to see him before very long. paul béldi's body was now six feet deep in the ground, and his soul a star farther off in the sky--to see him one must go to him. paler and paler she became every day, her waking moments were scarcely different from her dreams, and her dreams from her waking moments. the provost-marshal now had compassion on the withered flower, and allowed it on the sunny afternoons to walk about on the bastions and breathe the fresh air. but neither moonlight nor fresh air could cure her now. frequently she would take the hand of feriz beg and press it to her forehead. "see how it burns, just like fire! oh, if only i might live till my father comes. how he would grieve for me!" feriz beg saw her wither from day to day, and still there was no sign of liberty. the youth used frequently to walk about the courtyard half a day at a time, like a lion in a cage, beating the walls with his forehead at the thought that that for which he had been striving his whole life long, and the possession whereof was the final goal of his existence, was drawing nearer and nearer to death every hour, and no human power could hold it back! the wife of the provost-marshal, a good, true woman, nursed the rapidly declining girl. medical science was then of very small account in transylvania; the sick had resort to well-known herbs and domestic remedies based on the experience of the aged; they trusted for the most part to our blessed mother nature and the mercy of god. the worthy woman did all she could, but her honest heart told her that the arrival of aranka's father, and the sooner the better, would do more good than all her remedies. that would transform the invalid, and joy would give her back her failing vital energy. feriz beg had not been able to speak to aranka for two days; the girl had suffered greatly during the night, and feriz was condemned to listen to the moaning of his beloved, and to hear her in the delirium of fever through the prison windows without being able to go to her, without being able to wipe the sweat from her forehead, or put a glass of cold water to her lips, or whisper to her words of comfort, and had to be content with knowing that she was with those who carefully nursed her. oh, it is not to the dying that death is most bitter. by the morning the fever left her. the rising sun was just beginning to shine through the narrow round window and the sick girl begged to be carried out into the open air and the warm morning sunshine. she was no longer able to walk by herself, and they carried her out on to the bastions in an arm-chair. it was a beautiful autumn morning, a sort of transparent light rested upon the whole region, giving a pale lilac blue to the sunlit scene. where the road wound down from the szekler hills a light cloud of dust was visible in the morning vapour; it seemed to be coming from the direction of szamosújvár. "ah! there is my mother coming!" whispered aranka, with a smiling face. the young turk held his hand before his face and fixed his eagle eyes in that direction; and when for a moment the breeze swept the dust off the road, and a carriage on springs drawn by five horses appeared, he exclaimed with a beating heart: "yes, that is indeed the carriage in which they took away thy mother." aranka was dumb with joy and surprise; she could not speak a word, she only squeezed feriz beg's hands and fixed her tearful eyes upon him with a grateful look. the carriage seemed to be rapidly approaching. "that is how people hasten who have something joyful to say," thought feriz, and then he began to fear less boundless joy might injure the life of his darling. soon the carriage arrived in front of the fortress and rumbled noisily over the drawbridge. aranka, supported by the arm of feriz, descended into the courtyard. they pressed onward to meet the carriage, and the smile upon her pallid face was so melancholy. the glass door of the carriage was opened, and who should come out but kucsuk pasha. there was nothing encouraging in his look; he said not a word either to his son or to the girl who clung to him, but the castellan was standing hard by, and he beckoned to him. "in the carriage," said kucsuk, "is the prisoner for whom i left my son as an hostage; take her back, and look well after her, for she is very ill." dame béldi lay in the carriage unconscious, motionless. aranka, paler than ever and trembling all over, asked: "where is my father?" kucsuk pasha would have spoken, but tears came instead of words and ran down his manly face; silently he raised his hand, pointed upwards, and said, in a scarce audible voice: "in heaven!" the gentle girl, like a plucked flower, collapsed at these words. feriz beg caught her moaning in his arms, she raised her eyes, a long sigh escaped her lips, then her beautiful lips drooped, her beautiful eyes closed, and all was over. the beloved maiden had gone to her father in heaven. chapter xxvii. the sword of god. for some time past god's marvels had been multiplied over transylvania. no longer were they disquieting rumours which popular agitators invented for the disturbance of the public peace, but extraordinary natural phenomena whose rapid sequence stirred the heart of even the coldest sceptic. one summer morning at dawn, after a clear night, an unusually thick heavy mist descended upon the earth, which only dispersed in the afternoon, spread over the whole sky in the shape of an endless black cloud, and there remained like a heavy motionless curtain. not a drop of water fell from it, and at noonday in the houses it was impossible to see anything without a candle. towards evening every bird became silent, the flowers closed their calices, the leaves of the trees hung limply down. the people walking about outside began to complain of a stifling cough, and from that time forth the germs of every disease antagonistic to nature were seen in every herb, in every fruit; even the water of the streams was corrupted. the hot blood of man, the earth itself was infected by a kind of epidemic, so that weeds never seen before sprang up and ruined the richest crops, and the strongest oaks of the forest withered beneath the assault of grey blight and funguses, and the good black soil of the fruitful arable land was covered with a hideous green mould. for three whole days the sky did not clear. on the evening of the fourth day the stifling stillness was followed by a frightful hurricane, which tore off the roofs of the houses, wrenched the stars and crosses from the steeples of the churches, swept up the dust from the high-roads, caused such a darkness that it was impossible to see, and bursting open the willow trees, which had just begun to bloom, drove the red pollen before it in clouds, so that when the first big rain-drops began to fall they left behind them blood-red traces on the white walls of the houses. "it is raining blood from heaven!" was the terrified cry. not long afterwards came the cracking thunderbolts flashing and flaming as if they would flog the earth with a thousand fiery whips, while one perpendicular flash of lightning plumped right down into the middle of the town, shaking the earth with its cracking concussion, so that everyone believed the hour of judgment was at hand. nevertheless the storm had scattered the clouds, and by eventide the sky had cleared, and lo! before the eyes of the gaping multitude a gigantic comet stood in the firmament, all the more startling as nobody had been aware of its proximity because for three days the sky had been blotted out by clouds. the nucleus of the comet stood just over the place where the sun had gone down, and the blood-red light of evening was not sufficient to dim the brightness of the lurid star; it appeared as if it had just slain the sun and was now bathing in its blood. the comet was so long that it seemed to stretch across two-thirds of the firmament, and the end of it bulged out broadly like a turkish scimitar. "the sword of god!" whispered the people with instinctive fear. for two weeks this phenomenon stood in the sky, rising late one day and early the next. sometimes it appeared with the bright sun, and in the solar brightness it looked like a huge streak of blue enamel in the sky and spread around it a sort of febrile pallor as if the atmosphere itself were sick: on bright afternoons the sun could be regarded with the naked eye. the people were in fear and terror at this extraordinary phenomenon, and when the blind masses are in an unconscious panic then a storm is close at hand, then they are capable of anything to escape from their fear. in those days the priests of every faith could give strange testimony of the general consternation which prevailed in transylvania. the churches were kept open all day long, and the indefatigable curers of souls spoke words of consolation to the assembled hosts of the faithful. magyari, the prince's chaplain, preached four sermons every day in the cathedral, which was so crowded at such times that half the people could not get in at all but remained standing outside the doors. one evening the church was so filled with faithful worshippers that the very steps were covered with them, and all sorts of klausenberg burgesses intermingled with travelling szeklers in a group before the principal door, and after the hymn was finished they clapped to their clasped psalm-books and began to talk to each other while the sermon was going on inside. "we live in evil times," said an old master-tanner, shaking his big cap. "we can say a word about that too," interrupted a szekler, who was up in town about a law-suit, and who seized the opportunity of saying what he knew because he had come from far. "then you also have seen the sword of god?" inquired a young man. "not only have we seen it, my little brother, but we have felt it also. not a single evening do we lay down to rest without reciting the prayers for the dead and dying, and scarce a night passes but what we see the sky a fiery red colour, either on the right hand or to the left." "what would that be?" "some village or town burning to ashes. they say the whole kingdom is full of destroying angels; one never knows whose roof will be fired over his head next." "god and all good spirits guard us from it." "we hear all sorts of evil reports," said a gingerbread baker. "yesterday i was talking to a wallachian woman whose husband was faring on the járas-water on a raft taking cheese to yorda. he was not a day's journey from his home when the járas turned, began to flow upwards, and took the wallachian back to his house from which he had started." a listening clergyman here explained the matter by saying that the aranyos, into which the járas flows, was greatly flooded just then, and it was its overflow which filled up the járas; in fact it was divine providence which brought the wallachian back, for if he had been able to go on farther, the tartars would certainly have fallen upon him and cut him to pieces. "i have experienced everything in my time," said the oldest of the burgesses, "war, plague, flood and pestilence, but there's only one thing i am afraid of, and that is earthquake, for a man cannot even go to church to pray against that." at that moment the preacher in the church began to speak so loudly that those standing outside could hear his words, and, growing suddenly silent, they pressed nearer to the door of the church to hear what he was saying. the right rev. magyari was trouncing the gentlemen present unmercifully: "god prepares to war against you, for ye also are preparing to war against him. you have broken the peace ye swore to observe right and left, and ye shall have what you want, war without and war within, so that ye may be constrained to say: 'enough, enough, o lord!' and ye shall not see the end of what you have so foolishly begun." magyari already knew that teleki, at the diet of szamosújvár, had announced the impending war. just at this very time two men of the patrician order in sable kalpags were seen approaching, in whom the klausenbergers at once recognised michael teleki and ladislaus vajda, and so far as they were able they made room for them to get into the church through the crowd; but the szekler did not recognise either of them, and when ladislaus vajda very haughtily shoved him aside with his elbows, he turned upon him and said: "softly, softly, sir! this is the house of god, not the house of a great lord. here i am just as good a man as you are." those standing beside him tried to pull him aside, but it is the peculiarity of the szeklers that they grow more furious than ever when people try to pacify them; and on perceiving that ladislaus vajda, unable to make his way through the throng, began to look about him to see how he best could get to his seat, the szekler cried in front of him: "cannot you let these two gentlemen get into the church? don't you see that the lesson is meant for them?" teleki meanwhile had forced his way just over the threshold, and taking off his kalpag, exposed his bald, defenceless head in the sight of all the people, with his face turned in the direction indicated by the boisterous szekler. magyari continued his fulminating discourse from the pulpit. "nobody dare speak against you now, for your words are very thunderbolts and strike down those with whom you are angry--nay, rather, men bow the knee before you and say, 'your excellency! your excellency!' but the judgment of the lord shall descend upon you, the lord will slay you, and then men will point the finger of scorn at you and say: 'that is the consort of the accursed one who betrayed his country!--these are the children of that godless man!' and your descendants will blush to bear the shameful name you have left them, for then the tongue of every man will wag in his mouth against you, and they will cry after your posterity: 'it was the father of those fellows who betrayed transylvania and plunged us into slime from which we cannot now withdraw our feet' ..." "come away, your excellency!" said ladislaus vajda to teleki, whom the parson seemed to have seen, for he turned straight towards him as he spoke. "what are you thinking of?" teleki whispered back; "the parson is speaking the truth, but it doesn't matter." "whither would ye go, ye senseless vacillators!" continued magyari, "who empowered you to make the men of transylvania fugitives, their wives widows, and their children orphans? verily i say to you, ye shall fare like the camel who went to jupiter for horns and got shorn of his ears instead." "it may be so," said teleki to vajda, "but we shall pursue our course all the same." the parson saw that the minister of state was paying attention to his discourse, so he wrinkled his forehead, and thus proceeded: "when king louis perished on the field of mohács, the turkish emperor had the dead body brought before him, and recognising at the same time the corpse of an evil hungarian politician lying there, he struck off its head with his sword, and said: 'if thou hadst not been there, thou dog! this honest child-king would not be lying dead here.' god grant that a foreign nation may not so deal with you." teleki scratched his head, and whispered: "it may happen to me likewise, but that makes no difference." shortly afterwards another hymn was sung, the two magnates put on their kalpags and withdrew, and the emerging crowd of people flowed along all around them, among whom the szekler, as recently mentioned, followed hard upon the heels of the two gentlemen with singular persistency, lauding to the skies before everyone, in a loud voice, the sermon he had just heard, so as to insult the two gentlemen walking in front of him as much as possible. "that was something like a sermon," he cried, "that is just how our masters ought to have their heads washed--without too much soap. and quite right too! why saddle the realm with war at all? why should transylvania put on a mustard plaster because hungary has a pain in its stomach? what has all this coming and going of foreigners to do with us? why should we poor transylvanians suffer for the sake of the lean foreigners among us?" ladislaus vajda could put up with this no longer, and turning round, shouted at the szekler: "keep your distance, you rascal, speak like a man at any rate; don't bark here like some mad beast when it sees a better man than itself." at these words the szekler thrust his neck forward, stuck his face beneath the very nose of the gentleman who had spoken to him, looked him straight in the face with bright eyes that pricked like pins, and said, twisting his moustaches fiercely: "don't you try to fix any of your bastard names on me, sir, for if i go home for my sword i will pretty soon make you a present of a head, and that head shall be your own." ladislaus vajda would have made some reply, but teleki pulled him by the arm and dragged him away. "nothing aggravates your excellency," said the offended gentleman. "let him growl, he'll be all the better soldier if we do have war; never quarrel with a szekler, my friend, for he always has a greater respect for his own head than for anyone else's." and so the two gentlemen disappeared through the gates of the prince's palace. * * * * * the prince himself was present at this sermon, and it produced this much impression that he enjoined a fast upon his whole household and then went to bed. in the night, however, he awoke repeatedly, and had so many tormenting visions that he woke up all his pages, and it was even necessary at last to send for the princess herself, and only then did he become a little calmer when she appeared at his bedside; in fact, he kept her with him till dawn of day, continually telling her all sorts of sad and painful things so that the princess's cries of horror could be heard through the door. in the morning, after the princess had retired to her own apartments, she immediately summoned to her presence michael teleki, who, living at that time at the prince's court as if it were his own home, was not very long in making his appearance, and obeyed the command to be seated with as much cheerful alacrity as if he had been asked to sit down at a banquet, though well aware that a bitter cup had been prepared for him which he must drain to the dregs. "sir," said the princess, "apafi was very ill last night." "that was owing to the fast, he isn't used to such practices. generally, he has a good supper, and if he departs from his usual course of life he is bound to sleep badly. bad dreams plague an empty stomach just as much as an overburdened one." "and how about an overburdened conscience, sir? i have spent the whole night at his bedside, only this instant have i quitted him; he would not let me leave him, he pressed my hand continually, and he talked, soberly and wide-awake, of things which i should have thought could only have been talked about in the delirium of typhus. he said that that night he had stood before the judgment-seat of god, before a great table--which was so long that he could not see the end of it--and at this table sat the accusing witnesses, first of all denis banfy, and then béldi, dame béldi and their daughter, and eldest son, who died in prison; kepi, too, was there, and young kornis, and old john bethlen, and the rest of them; all these familiar faces were before him, and as tremblingly he approached the throne of god they all fixed their eyes upon him and pointed their fingers at him. sir, it was a terrible picture." "does your highness fancy that i am an interpreter of dreams?" asked teleki maliciously. "sir, this is more than a dream--it is a vision, a revelation." "it may be so; the souls of the gentlemen enumerated are, no doubt, in heaven, and it is possible that countless other souls will follow them thither." "and will the soul that shed their blood ascend thither too?" "will your highness deign to speak quite plainly--i suppose you mean me? of course, i am the cause of all the evils of transylvania. till i came upon the scene, none but lamb-like men inhabited this state, in whose veins flowed milk and honey instead of blood! king sigismund, bethlen, bocskai, george rákóczy, for instance! under them only some fifty or sixty thousand men lost their lives in their party feuds and ambitious struggles! fine fellows, every one of them of course, everyone calls them great patriots. but i, whose sword has never aimed at a self-sought crown, i, who am animated by a great and mighty thought, a sublime idea, i am a murderer, and responsible not only for those who have fallen in battle, but also for those who have died quietly in their beds, if they were not my good friends." "there was a time, sir, when you used every effort to prevent transylvania from going to war." "that was the very time when your highness pleaded before the prince for war in the name of your exiled hungarian kinsfolk. other times, other men." "i knew not then that such a desire would lead to the ruin of so many great and honourable men." "you feared war, and yet you fanned it. he who resists a snow-storm is swept away. not the fate of men alone, but the fate of kingdoms also is here in question. apafi may console himself with the reflection that god regards us both as far too petty instruments to lay upon our souls what he himself has decreed in the fullness of time, and what will and must happen in spite of us, for the weeping and mourning which we listen to here is also heard in heaven. the mottoes of our escutcheons go very well together. apafi's is '_fata viam inveniunt_,' mine is '_gutta cavat lapidem_.' let us trust ourselves to our mottoes." the princess, with folded arms, gazed out of the window and remained in a brown study for some time. and now, as though her thoughts were wandering far away, she suddenly sighed: "ah! this béldi family so unhappily ruined, and how many more must be ruined likewise!" "your highness!" rejoined the minister, without moving a muscle of his face, "when, in time of drought, we pray for rain the whole day, does anybody inquire what will become of the poor travellers who may be caught in the downpour? yet it may well happen that some of them may take a chill and die in consequence." "i don't grasp the metaphor." "well, the whole principality is now praying for rain--a rain of blood, i admit--and there is every sign that god will grant it. i do not mean those signs and wonders in which the common folks believe, but those signs of the times which rivet the attention of thinking men. formerly there was a large party in transylvania which had engaged to uphold an indolent peace, and which had so many ties, amongst the leading men both of the kaiser and the sultan, that denis banfy could at one time boldly tell me to my face that that party was a hand with a hundred fingers, which could squeeze everything it laid hold of like a sponge. and lo! the fingers have all dropped off one by one. denis banfy has perished--they say i killed him. paul béldi has died in prison--they say i have poisoned him. god hath called john bethlen also to himself. kapi has died. the boldest of my enemies, gabriel kornis, has also died in the flower of his youth--naturally they attribute his death to me likewise. all those, too, who opposed war in the diván have disappeared one by one. kucsuk pasha has been shot down by a bullet at lippa. kiuprile pasha has been stifled by his own fat; and the youngest of the viziers, feriz beg, has gone mad. "gone mad!" cried the princess, covering her face with her hands; "that noble, worthy youth who loved transylvania so well?" "do you not see the hand of god in all this?" asked the minister. "no, sir," said the princess, rising with a face full of sadness and approaching the minister so as to look him straight in the face while she spoke to him, "it is your hand that i see everywhere. denis banfy perished, but it was you who had him beheaded. béldi is dead, but it was you who drove him to despair. it was you, too, who threw his family into prison, and only let them out when the foul air had poured a deadly sickness into their blood. and feriz beg has gone mad because he loved béldi's daughter, and she is dead." "very well, your highness, let it be so," replied the imperturbable minister. "to attribute to me the direction of destiny is praise indeed. believe, then, that everything which happens in the council chamber of this realm and in the heart of its members derives from me. i'll be responsible. and if your highness believes that that flaming comet, which they call the sword of god, is also in my hand--why--be it so! i will hurl it forth, and strike the earth with it so that all its hinges shall be out of joint." at that very moment the palace trembled to its very foundations. the princess leaped to her feet, shrieking. "ah! what was that?" she asked, as pale as death. "it was an earthquake, madame," replied teleki with amazing calmness. "there is nothing to be afraid of, the palace has very strong vaults; but if you _are_ afraid, stand just beneath the doorway, that cannot fall." on recovering from her first alarm the princess quickly regained her presence of mind. "god preserve us! i must hasten to the prince. will not you come too?" "i'll remain here," replied teleki coolly. "we are in the hands of god wherever we may be, and when he calls me to him i will account to him for all that i have done." the princess ran along the winding corridor, and, finding her husband, took him down with her into the garden. it was terrible to see from the outside how the vast building moved and twisted beneath the sinuous motion of the earth; every moment one might fear it would fall to pieces. the prince asked where teleki was; the princess said she had left him in her apartments. "we must go for him this instant!" cried the prince, but amongst all the trembling faces around him he could find none to listen to his words, for a man who fears nothing else is a coward in the presence of an earthquake. meanwhile the minister was sitting quietly at a writing-table and writing a letter to kara mustafa, who had taken the place of the dead kiuprile. he was a great warrior and the sultan's right hand, who not long before had been invited by the cossacks to help them against the poles, which he did very thoroughly, first of all ravaging numerous polish towns, and then, turning against his confederate cossacks, he cut down a few hundred thousands of them and led thirty thousand more into captivity. to him teleki wrote for assistance for the hungarians. every bit of furniture was shaking and tottering around him, the windows rattled noisily as if shaken by an ague, the very chair on which he sat rocked to and fro beneath him, and the writing-table bobbed up and down beneath his hand so that the pen ran away from the paper; but for all that he finished his letter, and when he came to the end of it he wrote at the bottom in firm characters: "si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinæ!" mustafa puzzled his brains considerably when he came to that part of the letter containing the verse which had nothing to do with the text, which the minister, under the influence of an iron will struggling against terror, had written there almost involuntarily. when the menacing peril had passed, and the pages had returned to the palace, he turned to them reproachfully with the sealed letter in his hand. "where have you been? not one of you can be found when you are wanted. take this letter at once, with an escort of two mounted drabants, to varna, for the grand vizier." and then he began to walk up and down the room as if nothing had happened. chapter xxviii. the mad man. in the most secret chamber of the diván were assembled the viziers for an important consultation. the impending war was the subject of their grave deliberations. for as mohammed had said, there ought to be one god in heaven and one lord on earth, so many of the faithful believed that the time for the accomplishment of this axiom had now arrived. those wise men of the empire, those honourable counsellors, kucsuk and kiuprile, were dead. kara mustafa, an arrogant, self-confidant man, directed the mind of the diván, and everyone followed his lead. the sultan himself was present, a handsome man with regular features, but with an expression of lassitude and exhaustion. during the whole consultation he never uttered a word nor moved a muscle of his face; he sat there like a corpse. one by one the ambassadors of the foreign powers were admitted. the orator of louis xiv. declared that the french king was about to attack the kaiser with all his forces; if the sultan would also rise up against him, he would be able to seize not only all hungary but vienna likewise. the sultan was silent. the grand vizier, answering for him, replied that hungary had long since belonged to the sultan, and no doubt vienna and poland would shortly share the same fate. the sultan could only suffer tributary kings on the earth. the ambassador drew a somewhat wry face at these words, reflecting that france also was on the earth; then he withdrew. after him came the envoys of emeric tököly, offering the blood and the swords of the hungarian malcontents to the sultan if he would help them to win back hungary. this time the sultan replied instead of mustafa. "the grand seignior greets his servants, and will be gracious to them if they will help him to win back hungary." the envoys noticed that their words had ingeniously been twisted, but as they also had their own _arrière-pensées_ in regard to the turks, they only looked at each other with a smile and withdrew. then came the transylvanian embassy--gentle, mild-looking men, whose orator delivered an extraordinarily florid discourse. his highness, michael apafi, they said, and all the estates of transylvania, were ready to draw their swords for the glory of the grand seignior and invade hungary. mustafa replied: "the grand seignior permits you to help your comrades in hungary." the orator would like to have heard something different--for example, that the crown of hungary was reserved for michael apafi, the dignity of palatine for teleki, etc., etc., and there he stood scratching his ear till the grand vizier told him he might go. ha, ha! the turkish policy was written in turkish. after the foreign envoys came the messengers from the various pashas and commandants in hungary, who brought terrible tidings of raids, incursions, and outrages on the part of the magyar population against the turks. the grand vizier exclaimed angrily at every fresh report, only the sultan was silent. last of all came the ulemas. on their decisions everything depended. very solemnly they appeared before the diván. first of all advanced the chief mufti in a long mantle reaching to his heels, and with a large beehive-shaped hat upon his head; his white beard reached to his girdle. after him came two imams, one of whom carried a large document in a velvet case, whose pendant seal swung to and fro beneath its long golden cord; the other bent beneath the weight of an enormous book--it was the alkoran. the alkoran is a very nice large book, larger than our _corpus juris_ of former days, and in it may be found everything which everyone requires: accusatory, condemnatory, and absolvatory texts for one and the same thing. the mufti presented the alkoran to the sultan and all the viziers in turn, and each one of them kissed it with deep reverence; then he beckoned to one of the imams to kneel down on a stool before the diván and remain there resting on his hands and knees, and placing the koran on his back, began to select expressly marked texts. for seventy years he had thoroughly studied the sacred volume, and could say that he had read it through seven hundred and ninety-three times. he, therefore, knew all its secrets, and could turn at once to the leaf on which the text he wanted to read aloud could be found. "the alkoran saith," he read with unctuous devotion, "'the knot which hath been tied in the name of allah the hand of allah can unloose!' the alkoran saith moreover: 'wherever we may be, and whatever we may be, everywhere we are all of us in the hand of allah.' therefore this treaty of peace is also in the hand of allah, and the hand of allah can unloose everything. furthermore, the alkoran saith: 'if any among thy suffering father's children implore help from thee, answer him not: come to me to-morrow, for my vow forbids me to rise up to-day; or, if any ask an alms of thee answer him not: to-day it cannot be, for my vow forbids me to touch money; or, if anyone beg thee to slay someone, answer him not: to-morrow i will help thee, for my vow forbids me to draw the sword to-day; verily the observance of thy vow will be a greater sin to thee than its violation.' moreover, thus saith the alkoran: 'the happiness of the nations is the first duty of the rulers of the earth, yet the glory of allah comes before it.' and finally it is written: 'whoso formeth a league with the infidel bindeth himself to wage war upon allah, yet vainly do the nations of the earth bind themselves together that they may live long, for let allah send his breath upon them and more of them are destroyed in one day than in ten years of warfare: kings and beggars--it is all one.'" at each fresh sentence the viziers and the ulemas bowed their heads to the ground. mustafa could not restrain a blood-thirsty smile, which distorted his face more and more at each fresh sentence, and at the last word, with a fanatical outburst, he threw off the mask altogether, and with a howl of joy kissed repeatedly the hem of the chief mufti's mantle. the mufti then unclasped the velvet case which contained the treaty of peace, and drawing forth the parchment, which was folded fourfold, he unfolded it with great ceremony, and placing it in the hands of the second imam that he might hold it spread open at both ends, he exhibited the document to the viziers. it was a long and beautiful script. the initial letter was as big as a painted castle and wreathed around with a pattern of birds and flowers. the whole of the first line of it was in ultramarine letters, the other lines much smaller on a gradually diminishing scale, and whenever the name of allah occurred, it was written in letters of gold. the sultan's name was always in red, the kaiser's in bright green letters. at the foot of it was the fantastic flourish which passed for the sultan's signature, which he would never have been able to write, but which was always engraved on the signet ring which he wore on his finger. "lo! here is the treaty," said the mufti, pointing to the document, "from which, by the command of allah, i will now wash off the writing." thereupon he drew across the document a large brush which he had previously dipped into a large basin of water in which sundry chemicals had been dissolved, and suddenly the writing began to fade away, the sultan's name written in red letters disappeared instantly from the parchment, then the lines written in black ink visibly grew dimmer. the kaiser's name written in bright green letters resisted more obstinately, but at last these also vanished utterly, and nothing more remained on the white parchment but the name of god written in letters of gold--the corrosive acid was powerless against that. deep silence prevailed in the diván, every eye was fixed with pious attention on the bleaching script. then, seizing a drawn sword, the mufti raised it aloft and said: "having wiped away the writing which cast dishonour on the name of allah, i now cut this document in four pieces with the point of my sword." and speaking thus, and while the imam stretched the parchment out with both hands, the mufti cut it into four pieces with the sword he held in his hand, and placing the fragments in a pan, filled it up with naptha from a little crystal flask. "lo! now i burn thee before the face of allah!" then he passed an ignited wax taper over the pan, whereupon the naptha instantly burst into flame, and the fragments of the torn document were hidden by the blue fire and the white smoke. presently the flame turned to red, the smoke subsided, and the parchment was burnt to ashes. "and now i scatter thy ashes that thou mayst be dispersed to nothing," said the mufti; and, taking the ashes, he flung them out of the palace window. the burnt paper rags, like black butterflies, descended gently through the air and were cast by the wind into the bosphorus below. no sooner was this accomplished than the pashas and viziers all leaped from their seats and drew their swords, swearing with great enthusiasm by the beard of the prophet that they would not return their weapons to their sheaths till the crescent should shine on the top of the tower of the church of st. stephen at vienna. at that moment the door-curtains were thrust aside, and into the diván rushed--feriz beg. the face of the youth was scarce recognisable, his turban was awry upon his forehead, his eyes, full of dull melancholy, stared stonily in front of him, his dress was untidy and dishevelled, his sword was girded to his side, but its handle was broken. nobody had prevented him from rushing through the numerous halls into the diván, and when he entered the ulemas parted before him in holy horror. when the youth reached the middle of the room, he stood there glancing round upon the viziers with folded arms, just as if he were counting how many of them there were, one by one they all stood up before him--nay, even the sultan did so, and awaited his words tremblingly. everyone in the east regards the insane with awe and reverence, and if a crazy fakir were to stop the greatest of the caliphs in the way and say to him: "dismount from thy horse, and change garments with me," he would not dare to offer any opposition, but would fulfil his desire, for a strange spirit is in the man and god has sent it. how will it be then when the terrible spirit of madness descends upon such a valiant warrior, such a distinguished soldier as feriz beg, who, when only six-and-twenty, had fought a hundred triumphant battles, and frequently put to shame the grey beards with his wisdom. and lo! suddenly he goes mad, and stops people in the street, and speaks such words of terror to them that they cannot sleep after it. the youth, with quiet, gentle eyes and a sorrowful countenance passes in review the faces of all who are present, and heartrending was the expression of deep unutterable anguish in his voice when he spoke. "pardon me, high and mighty lords, for appearing among you without an invitation--i who have now no business at all in the world anywhere. the world in which i lived is dead, it has withdrawn to heaven far from me; all those who possessed my heart are now high above my head, and now, i have no heart and no feeling: neither love, nor valour, nor the desire of fame and glory; in my veins the blood flows backwards and forwards so that oftentimes i rush roaring against the walls round about me and tear carpets and pillows which have never offended me; and now again the blood stands still within me, my arteries do not beat at all, so that i lie stiff and staring like a dead man. i beg you all, ye high and mighty lords, who in a brief time will go to paradise, to take a message from me thither." the high lords listened horror-stricken to the calm way in which the youth uttered these words, and they saw each other's faces growing pale. feriz paid no attention to their horrified expressions. "tell to them whom i love, and with whom my heart is, to give me back my heart, for without it i am very poor. i perceive not the fragrance of the rose, wine is not sweet to my lips, neither fire nor the rays of the sun have any warmth, and the note of the bugle-horn and the neighing of my charger find no response in me. high and mighty lords, tell this to those who are above if i myself go not thither shortly." there were present, besides mustafa, rezlán pasha, ajas beg, rifát aga, kara ogli the kapudan pasha, and many more who promised themselves a long life. the grand seignior had always made a particular favourite of feriz, and he now addressed him in a gentle, fatherly voice. "my dear son, go back home; my viziers are preparing to subdue the world with unconquerable armies. go with them, in the din of battle thou wilt find again thy heroic heart and be cured of thy sickness." an extraordinary smile passed across the face of feriz, he waved aside the idea with his hand and bent his head forwards, which is a way the turks have of expressing decided negation. "this war cannot be a triumphant war, for men are the cause thereof. allah will bring it to nought. ye draw the sword at the invitation of murderers, deceivers, and traitors. i have broken the hilt of my own sword in order that i may not draw it forth. they have killed those whom i love, how can i fight in that army which was formed for them who were the occasion of the ruin of my beloved?" at this thought the blood flew to the youth's face, the spirit of madness flamed up in his eyes, he rose to his full height before the sultan, and he cried with a loud, audacious voice: "thou wilt lose the war for which thou dost now prepare, for thy viziers are incapable, thy soldiers are cowards, thy allies are traitors, thy wise men are fools, thy priests are hypocrites, and thou thyself art an oath-breaker." then, as if he were suddenly sorry of what he had said to the sultan, he bent humbly over him and taking hold of the edge of his garment raised it up and kissed it--and then, regarding him with genuine sympathy, murmured softly: "poor sultan!--so young, so young--and yet thou must die." and thereupon, with hanging head, he turned away and prepared to go out. none stayed him. on reaching the door, he fumbled for his sword, and perceiving when he touched it that the hilt was missing, he suddenly turned back again, and exclaimed in a low whisper: "think not that it will rust in its sheath. the time will come when i shall again draw it, and it will drink its fill of blood. when those who now urge us on to war shall turn against us, when those who now stand in line with us shall face us with hostile banners, then also will i return, though then ye will no longer be present. but ye shall look on from paradise above. so it will be: ye shall look on ... poor young sultan!" having whispered these prophetic words, the mad youth withdrew, and the gentlemen in the diván were so much disturbed by his words that, with faces bent to the earth, they prayed allah that he would turn aside from them the evil prophesy and not suffer to be broken asunder the weapons they had drawn for the increase of his glory. chapter xxix. pleasant surprises. all the chief generals, all the border pashas, had received the sultan's orders to gather their hosts together and lead them against the armies of the king of the romans, and besiege the places which were the pretext of the rupture--to wit, the fortresses of fülek, böszörmény, and nagy kallá. at the same time the government of transylvania also received permission to attack hungary with its armies, as had already been decided at the diet of szamosújvár. vast preparations were everywhere made. the magyar race is very hard to move to war, but once in a quarrel it does not waste very much time in splitting straws. teleki, too, had attained at last to the dream of his life and the object of all his endeavours, for which he had knowingly sacrificed his own peace of mind, and the lives of so many good patriots--he was the generalissimo of the armies of transylvania. the hungarian exiles in transylvania hailed him as their deliverer, and he saw himself a good big step nearer to the place of esterházy--the place of palatine of hungary. and why not? why should he not stand among the foremost statesmen of his age? all the way to the camp at fülek he was the object of flattery and congratulation; the hungarians gathered in troops beneath his banner, colonels and captains belauded him. as for the worthy prince, he did not show himself at all, but sat in his tent and read his books, and when he felt tired he took his watch to pieces and put it together again. at fülek the transylvanian army joined the camp of kara mustafa. teleki dressed up the prince in his best robes, and trotted with him and his suite to the tent of the grand vizier with growing pride when he heard the guards blow their trumpets at their approach, and the grand vizier as a special favour admitted them straightway to his presence, allowed them to kiss his hand, made the magnates sit down, and praised them for their zeal and fidelity, giving each of them a new caftan; and when they were thus nicely tricked out, he dismissed them with an escort of an aga, a dragoman, and twelve cavasses to see the whole turkish camp to their hearts' content. teleki regarded this permission as a very good omen. turkish generals are wont to be very sensitive on this point, and it is a great favour on their part when they allow foreigners to view their camps. the dragoman took the hungarian gentlemen everywhere. he told them which aga was encamped on this hill and which on that, how many soldiers made up a squadron of horse, and how many guns, and how many lances were in every company. he pointed out to them the long pavilion made of deal boards in which the gunpowder lay in big heaps, and gigantic cannon balls were piled up into pyramids, and round mortars covered with pitchy cloths, and gigantic culverines, and siege-guns, and iron howitzers lay on wooden rollers. the accumulated war material would have sufficed for the conquest of the world. the gentlemen sightseers returned to their tents with the utmost satisfaction, and, overjoyed at what he had seen, the prince gave a great banquet, to which all the hungarian gentlemen in his army were also invited. the tables were placed beneath a quickly-improvised baldachin; and at the end of an excellent dinner the noble feasters began to make merry, everyone at length saw his long-deferred hopes on the point of fulfilment, and none more so than michael teleki. one toast followed another, and the healths of the prince and of teleki were interwoven with the healths of everyone else present, so that worthy apafi began to think that it would really be a very good thing if he were king of hungary, while teleki held his head as high as if he were already sitting in the seat of the palatine. just when the revellers were at their merriest, a loud burst of martial music resounded from the plain outside, and a great din was audible as if the turkish armies were saluting a prince who had just arrived. the merry gentry at once leaped from their seats and hurried to the entrance of the tent to see the ally who was received with such rejoicing, and a cry of amazement and consternation burst from their lips at the spectacle which met their eyes. emeric tököly had arrived at the head of a host of ten thousand magyars from upper hungary. his army consisted of splendid picked warriors on horseback, hussars in gold-braided dolmans, wolf-skin pelisses, and shakos with falcon feathers. tököly himself rode at the head of his host with princely pomp; his escort consisted of the first magnates of hungary, jewel-bedizened cavaliers in fur mantles trimmed with swansdown, among whom tököly himself was only conspicuous by his manly beauty and princely distinction. the face of teleki darkened at the sight, while the faces of all who surrounded him were suddenly illuminated by an indescribable joy, and their enthusiasm burst forth in _eljens_ of such penetrating enthusiasm at the sight of the young hero that teleki felt himself near to fainting. ah! it was in a very different voice that they had recently cried "_viva!_" to him, it was a very different sort of smile with which they had been wont to greet _him_. meanwhile tököly had reached the front of the marshalled turkish army, which was drawn up in two rows right up to the pavilion of the grand vizier, allowing the youth and his suite to pass through between them amidst a ceremonious abasement of their horse-tail banners. the young general had only passed half through their ranks when the grand vizier came to meet him in a state carriage drawn by six white horses. from the hill on which teleki stood he could see everything quite plainly. on reaching the carriage of the grand vizier, tököly leaped quickly from his horse, whereupon kara mustafa also descended from his carriage, and, hastening to the young general, embraced him and kissed him repeatedly on the forehead, made him take a seat in the carriage beside him, and thus conveyed him to his tent amidst joyful acclamations. teleki had to look on at all this! that was very different from the reception accorded to him and the prince of transylvania. he looked around him--gladness, a radiant smile shone on every face. oh! those smiles were so many dagger-thrusts in his heart! in half an hour's time tököly emerged from the tent of the grand vizier. his head was encircled by a diamond diadem which the sultan had sent for all the way to belgrade, and in his hand was a princely sceptre. when he remounted and galloped away close beside the tents of the transylvanians, the hungarians in teleki's company could restrain themselves no longer, but rushed towards tököly and covered his hands, his feet, his garments, with kisses, took him from his horse on to their shoulders, and carried him in their arms back to camp. teleki could endure the sight no more; he fled into his tent, and, throwing himself on his camp-bedstead, wept like a child. the whole edifice which he had reared so industriously, so doggedly, amidst innumerable perils, during the arduous course of a long life--for which he had sacrificed relations, friends, and all the great and wise men of a kingdom, and pledged away the repose of his very soul--had suddenly collapsed at the appearance of a mere youth, whose only merit was the exaggerated fame of a few successful engagements! it was the heaviest blow he had ever staggered under. oh! fortune is indeed ingenious in her disappointments. evening came, and still teleki had not quitted his tent. then the prince went to see him. teleki wanted to hear nothing, but the prince told him everything. "hearken, mr. michael teleki! the hungarian gentlemen have not come back to us, but remain with tököly. and tököly also, it appears, doesn't want to have much to do with us, for instead of encamping with us he has withdrawn to the furthest end of the turkish army, and has pitched his tents there." teleki groaned beneath the pain which the distilled venom of these words poured into his heart. "apparently, mr. michael teleki, we have been building castles in the air," continued apafi with jovial frankness. "we are evidently not of the stuff of which kings and palatines of hungary are made. i cannot but think of the cat in the fable, who pulled the chestnuts out of the fire with the claws of others." teleki shivered as if with an ague. apafi continued in his own peculiar vein of cynicism: "really, my dear mr. michael teleki, i should like it much better if we were sitting at home, and denis banfy and paul béldi and the other wise gentlemen were sitting beside me, and i were listening to what they might advise." teleki clenched his fists and stamped his feet, as much as to say: "i would not allow that." then with a bitter smile he watched the prince as he paced up and down the tent, and said with a cold, metallic voice: "one swallow does not make a summer. if ten or twelve worthless fellows desert to tököly, much good may it do him! the army of the real hungarian heroes will not follow their example, and when it can fight beneath the banner of a prince it will not fling itself into the arms of a homeless adventurer." "then it would be as well if your excellency spoke to them at once, for methinks that this night the whole lot of them may turn tail." teleki seemed impressed by these words. he immediately ordered his drabants to go to the captains of the army collected from hungary who had joined apafi at fülek, and invite them to a conference in his tent at once. the officers so summoned, with a good deal of humming and hahing, met together in teleki's tent, and there the minister harangued them for two good hours, proving to demonstration what a lot of good they might expect from cleaving to apafi, and what a lot of evil if they allowed themselves to be deluded by tököly, till the poor fellows were quite tired out and cried: "hurrah!" in order that he might let them go the sooner. but that same night they all fled to the camp of tököly. none remained with apafi but his faithful transylvanians. but even now teleki could not familiarise himself with the idea of playing a subordinate part here, but staked everything on a last, desperate cast--he went to the grand vizier. he announced himself, and was admitted. the grand vizier was alone in his tent with his dragoman, and when he saw teleki he tried to make his unpleasant face more repulsive than it was by nature, and inquired very viciously: "who art thou? who sent thee hither? what dost thou want?" "i, sir, am the general of the transylvanian armies, michael teleki; you know me very well, only yesterday i was here with the prince." just as if the two speakers did not understand each other's language, the dragoman had to interpret their questions and answers. "i hope," replied the grand vizier, "thou dost not expect me to recognise at sight the names of all the petty princes and generals whom i have ever cast eyes on? my master, the mighty sultan, has so many tributary princes in europe, asia, and africa, that their numbers are incalculable, and all of them are superior men to thee, how canst thou expect me to recognise thee among so many?" teleki swallowed the insult, and seeing that the grand vizier was anxious to pick a quarrel with him, he came straight to the point. "gracious sir, i have something very important to say to you if you will grant me a private interview." the grand vizier pretended to fly into a rage at these words. "art thou mad or drunk that thou wouldst have a private interview with me, although i don't understand hungarian and thou dost not understand turkish, or perchance thou wouldst like me to learn hungarian to please thee? ye learn latin, i suppose, though no living being speaks it? and ye learn german and french and greek, yet ye stop short at the language of the turks, though the turks are your masters and protectors! for a hundred and fifty years our armies have passed through your territories, yet how many of you have learned turkish? 'tis true our soldiers have learnt hungarian, for thy language is as sticky as resin on a growing tree. therefore, if thou art fool enough to ask me for a private interview--go home and learn turkish first!" teleki bowed low, went home and learnt turkish--that is to say, he packed up a couple of thousand thalers in a sack--and, accompanied by two porters to carry them, returned once more to the tent of the grand vizier. and now the grand vizier understood everything which the magnate wished to say. the dragoman interpreted everything beautifully. he said the sultan was building a fortress on the ice when he entrusted the fate of the hungarians to such a flighty youth as emeric tököly. how could a young man, who was such a bad manager of his own property, manage the affairs of a whole kingdom? and so fond was he of being his own master, that he suffered himself to be exiled from transylvania with the loss of all his property rather than submit to the will of his lawful prince. the man who had already rebelled against two rulers would certainly not be very loyal to a third; while apafi, on the other hand, had all his life long been a most faithful vassal of the sublime porte, and, modest, humble man as he was, would be far more useful than tököly, whom the porte would always be obliged to help with men and money, whereas the latter would always be able to help with men and money the porte and its meritorious viziers--_uti figura docet_. mustafa listened to the long oration, took the money, and replied that he would see what could be done. teleki was not quite clear about the impression his words had made, but he did not remain in uncertainty for long; for scarcely had he reached the tent of the prince than a defterdar with twelve cavasses came after him, and signified that he was commanded by the grand vizier immediately to seize michael teleki, fling him into irons, and bring him before a council of pashas. michael teleki turned pale at these words. the faithless dragoman had told everything to tököly, who had demanded satisfaction from the grand vizier, who, without the least scruple of conscience, was now ready to present to another the head of the very man from whom he had accepted presents only an hour before. the magnate now gave himself up for lost, but the prince approached him, and tapping him on the shoulder, said: "if i were the man your excellency is pleased to believe me and make other people believe too--that is to say, a coward yielding to every sort of compulsion--in an hour's time your excellency would not have a head remaining on your shoulders. but everyone shall see that they have been deceived in me." then, turning towards the defterdar, he said to him in a firm, determined voice: "go back to your master, and say to him that michael teleki is the generalissimo of my armies and under my protection, and at the present moment i have him in my tent. let anyone therefore who has any complaint against him, notify the same to me, and i will sit in judgment over him. but let none dare to lay a hand upon him within the walls of my tent, for i swear by the most holy trinity that i will break open the head of any such person with my cudgel. i would be ready to go over to the enemy with my whole army at once rather than permit so much as a mouse belonging to my household to be caught within my tent by a foreign cat, let alone the disgrace of handing over my generalissimo!" the defterdar duly delivered the message of the enraged prince to the grand vizier. emeric tököly was with him at the time, and the two gentlemen on hearing the vigorous assertion of the prince agreed that after all michael apafi was really a very worthy man, and sending back the defterdar, instructed him to say with the utmost politeness and all due regard for the prince that so long as michael teleki remained in the prince's tent not a hair of his head should be crumpled; but he was to look to it that he did not step out of the tent, for in that case the cavasses who were looking out for him would pounce upon him at once and treat him as never a transylvanian generalissimo was treated before; and now, too, he had only the prince to thank for his life. teleki was annihilated. nothing could have wounded his ambitious soul so deeply as the consciousness that the prince was protecting him. to think that this man, whom the whole kingdom regarded as cowardly and incapable, could be great when he himself had suddenly become so very small! his nimbus of wisdom, power, and valour had vanished, and he saw that the man whom he had only consulted for the sake of obtaining his signature to prearranged plans was wiser and more powerful and more valiant than he. peering through the folds of the tent he could see that, faithful to the threatening message, the cavasses were prowling around the tent and telling the loutish soldiers that if teleki stepped out they would seize him forthwith. the szeklers laughed and shouted with joy thereat. then the magnate began to reflect whether it would not be best if he drew his sword, and rushing out, slash away at them till he himself were cut to pieces. what a ridiculous ending that would be! towards evening emeric tököly paid a visit to the prince. he approached the old man with the respect of a child, did obeisance, and would have kissed his hand, but apafi would not permit it, but embraced him, kissed him on the forehead repeatedly, and made him sit down beside him on the bear-skin of his camp-bed. the young leader feelingly begged the old man's pardon for all the trouble that he had caused him and transylvania. "it is i who ought to beg pardon of your excellency," said apafi in a submissive voice. "not at all, your highness and dear father. i know that you have always loved me, but evil counsellors have whispered such scandalous things to you about me that you were bound to hate me--but god requite them for it if i cannot." "be magnanimous towards them, my dear son; forgive them, for my sake." tököly was silent. he knew that teleki was in the tent, he saw him, but he would not take any notice of him. at last, without even looking towards him, he said, in the most passionate, threatening voice: "look, ye, teleki, you have practised all sorts of devices against me, but if you put your nose outside the tent of the prince you will eat his bread no more. you would be in my power now, and here your head would lie, but for his highness whom i look upon as a father." michael teleki was silent, but future events were to prove that he had heard very well what was now spoken. after surrendering the fortress of fülek to the turks, the transylvanian gentlemen returned home with their army; and michael teleki, when he got home, paid a visit to the church where lay the ashes of denis banfy, and hiding his face on the tomb, he wept bitterly over the noble patriot whom he had sacrificed to his ambitious plans. chapter xxx. a man abandoned by his guardian-angel. one blow followed hard upon another. in the following year the sultan assembled a formidable host against vienna, and the transylvanian bands also had to go. teleki would have avoided the war, but his representations and pretexts fell not upon listening ears. they asked him why he, who had hitherto urged on the campaign, wanted to withdraw from it now that it was in full swing? if he had liked the beginning, the end also should please him. but the end was exceedingly bitter. the formidable host surrounding vienna was scattered in a single night by the heroic sword of sobieski, the gigantic military enterprise was ruined. the transylvanian forces took no part in these operations. during the siege of vienna they had been left at raab, and teleki did not let the opportunity pass. while the stupid turks were fighting in the trenches, he entered into communication with the german commander at raab and attached himself to the winning side. everything which the insane feriz had prophesied in the diván was literally fulfilled. the turkish armies were everywhere routed. they lost the fortresses of grand visegrad and Érsekújvár one after the other. the fortress of nograd was struck by lightning, which fired the powder-magazine and blew up the garrison. finally buda was besieged and captured in the sight of the grand vizier, and after a domination of one hundred and fifty years, the half-moons were hauled down from the bastions and crosses re-occupied their places. and all those who were present at the diván fulfilled, one by one, the prophecy that they should see paradise before long. rislán pasha fell beneath the walls of buda at the head of the janissaries, the vizier of buda was throttled by order of kara mustafa after the battle was lost, rifa aga was drowned in the danube among the fugitives, kara ogli fell defending the ramparts of buda, tököly killed ajas pasha at the sultan's command; and, after the fall of buda, olaj beg brought to kara mustafa for his own use the silken cord and the purple purse. it was the last purse which kara mustafa ever saw, for after his decapitation his head was put inside it. and, finally, the people of stambul, maddened by so many losses and reinforced by the rebellious janissaries, rushed upon the seraglio, cut down the counsellors of the sultan, and threw the sultan himself into the same dungeon in which he had let his own brother languish for thirty-nine years. the brother was now set on the throne, and the dethroned sultan died in the dungeon. and this also was fulfilled that those who had stirred up the turks to begin the war turned against them at the end of it. transylvania deposited its oath of homage in the hands of caraffa, and michael teleki, who became a count of the holy roman empire, opened the gates of the towns and fortresses to german garrisons. the prince paid the victors thirteen thousand florins, which it took heavy wagons two weeks to convey from fogaras to nagyszeben. but michael teleki, in addition to his countly escutcheon, got a present of a silver table service which cost ten thousand florins. so transylvania became imperial territory, and its alliance with the porte was dissolved. and then it was that god called to himself the last lovable figure in our history, the virtuous and magnanimous anna bornemissza. only after her death did apafi feel what his wife had been to him, his guardian-angel, his consoler in all his sorrows, the brightest part of his life, and when that light set, everything around him was doubly dark. every misfortune, every trouble, now weighed doubly heavy on his mind and heart; he had no longer any refuge against persecuting sorrow. he fled from one town to another like a hunted wild beast which can find no refuge from the dart which transfixes it. at last he barricaded himself in his room, which he did not quit for six weeks; and if visitors came to see him he complained to them like a child: "i am starving to death. i have lost everything. it is a year since i got a farthing from my estates or my mines or my salt-works. if the farrier comes i cannot pay him his bill for my mantle, for i haven't got a stiver. what will become of my son when i am gone, poor little prince? there's not enough to send him to school." he began to get quite crazy, and could neither eat, drink, nor sleep. the whole day he would stride up and down his room, and utter strange things in a loud voice. what troubled him most was that he must die of hunger. at last those about him hit upon a remedy. every day they laid purses of money before him and said: "this sum stephen apor has sent from your property, and that amount paul inezedi has collected from your salt-works. why should your highness be anxious when there is such lots of money?" and the next day they presented the same purses to him over again, and invented some fresh story. and this simple deceit somewhat pacified the poor old man, but the old worries had so affected his mind, never very strong at any time, that he could never recover his former spirits. he grew duller and more stupid every day, and often when he lay down he would sleep a couple of days at a stretch. and at last the almighty had mercy upon him and called him away from this vale of tears; and he went to that land where the turks plunder not, and there is no warfare. chapter xxxi. the newly-drawn sword. the german armies were now in complete possession of transylvania, the turks were everywhere driven back and trampled down, the hereditary prince of bavaria took belgrade by storm and put twelve thousand janissaries to the edge of the sword. thus the gate of the turkish empire was broken open, and the victoriously advancing host, under the prince of baden, crushed the remains of the turkish army at nish. then bulgaria and albania were subjugated, the sea shore was reached, and only the hæmus mountains stood between the invaders and stambul. the deluge left nothing untouched, even little wallachia, whose fortunate situation, wild mountains, and villainous roads had hitherto saved it from invasion, saw the approach of the conquering banners. old s---- was still the prince, and he now gave a brilliant example of the dexterity of wallachian diplomacy, which at the same time illustrates the simplicity of his character. the armies invading wallachia were entrusted to the care of general heissler, who consequently wrote to prince s---- informing him that he was advancing on bucharest through the transylvanian alps with ten thousand men, therefore he was to provide winter quarters and provisions for his army, as he intended to winter there. at exactly the same time the tartar khan gave the prince to understand that he intended to invade moldavia in order that he might follow the movements of the transylvanian army close at hand. the prince liked the one proposition as little as the other, so he sent the tartar khan's letter to general heissler bidding him beware, as a great force was coming against him, and he sent heissler's letter to the tartar khan advising him in a friendly sort of way not to move too far as heissler was now advancing in his rear. consequently both armies turned aside from the principality, and wallachia had to support neither the germans nor the tartars. this is the diplomacy of little states. * * * * * amidst the wildly romantic hills of lebanon is a pleasant valley for which nature herself has a peculiar preference. amidst the gigantic mountains which encircle a vast hollow on every side of it, rises a roundish mound. on level ground it would be accounted a hill, but in the midst of such a range of snowy giants it emerges only like a tiny heap of earth, and to this day nothing grows on it but the cedar--the finest, darkest, most widely spreading specimens of that noble and fragrant tree are here to be found. a foaming mountain stream gurgles down it on both sides, a little wooden bridge connects the opposing banks, and in the midst of the bridge a rock projecting from the water clings to the mountain side. far away among the blue forests shine forth the white roofless little houses of the city of edena, which, built against the mountain side, peer forth like some card-built castle, and still farther away through gaps in the hills the syrian sea is visible. here in former days on the heights stood the romantic and poetical kiosk of feriz beg. the youth, with dogged persistence, continued to live for years in this sublime solitude with the din of battle all around him. the prophecy which he had once pronounced in the diván was whispered abroad among the people, ran through the army, and as every one of his sayings was severally fulfilled, the more widely there spread in the hearts of the soldiers the superstitious belief that till he seized his sword they would everywhere be defeated, but when he should again appear on the battlefield the fortune of war would turn and become favourable once more to the ottoman arms. long ago the diván had wished to profit by this blind belief, and countless embassies had been sent to the youthful hermit in his solitude announcing the fall of generals, the loss of battles, the pressure of peril. nothing could move feriz. to all these tidings he replied: "thus it must come to pass! doves do not spring from serpents' eggs. your rulers are those who took it upon them to wipe out a sacred oath from the patient pages, who tore up and burnt and scattered to the winds the vow that was made before god, and now ye likewise shall be wiped from the page of history and your memory shall be laden with reproaches. learn ye, therefore, that it is dangerous to play with the name of allah, and though many of you grow so high that his head touches the heavens--yet he is but a man, and the earth moves beneath his feet, and presently he shall fall and perish." the men perceived that these words were not so bad as they seemed to be at first sight, and after every fresh defeat, more and more of his old acquaintances came to see him and begged and prayed him to seize his sword once more and let himself be chosen leader of the host. he sternly rejected every offer. no allurement was capable of making him change his resolution. "when the time comes for me to draw my sword," he said, "i will come without asking. that time will come none the quicker for anyone's beseeching, but come it will one day and not tarry." and, indeed, the advent of that time had become a matter of necessity for the ottoman empire. the banners of the german empire were waving in the very heart of turkey; the poles had recovered podolia, the venetians were on the turkish islands, and at last transylvania also broke with the porte and opened her fortresses to the enemies of the padishah. the new sultan collected fresh armies, military enthusiasm was stimulated by great rewards, fresh alliances were formed, and among the new allies the one who enjoyed the greatest confidence was emeric tököly, who was proclaimed prince of transylvania, and orders were given to the tartar khan and the prince of moldavia to support him with their forces. tököly, always avid of fame and glory, threw himself heart and soul into this new enterprise, but it was only when he saw the army with which he was to conquer transylvania that he had misgivings. his soldiers were good for robbing and burning, they had been used to that for a long time, but when it came to fighting there was no power on earth capable of keeping them together. what could he make of soldiers whose sole knowledge of the art of warfare consisted in running backwards and forwards, whose most sensible weapon was the dart, and who, whenever they heard a gun go off, stuffed up their ears and bolted like so many mice? and with these ragamuffins he was expected to fight regular, highly-disciplined troops. suddenly an idea occurred to him. he sat down and wrote a letter and delivered it to a swift courier, enjoining him not to rest or tarry till he had placed it in the proper hands. this letter was addressed to feriz beg. in it tököly informed him of the course of events in transylvania, and it concluded thus: "behold, what you prophesied has come to pass, those who began the war along with us now continue the war against us. remember that you held out the promise of joining us when such a time came; fulfil your promise." feriz beg got this letter early in the morning, and the moment after he had read it he ordered his stableman instantly to saddle his war-charger, he chose from among his swords those which smote the heaviest, exchanged his grey mantle for a splendid and costly costume, gave a great banquet to all his retainers, and bade them make merry, for in an hour's time, he would be off to the wars. * * * * * the imperial army was making itself quite at home in albania. beautiful scenery and beautiful women smiled upon the victors; there was money also and to spare. and soon came the rumour that a gigantic tartar host was approaching the albanian mountains, in number exceeding sixty thousand. the imperial army was no more than nine thousand; but they only laughed at the rumour, they had seen far larger armies fly before them. the pick of the turkish host, the spahis, the janissaries, had cast down their arms before them in thousands; while it was the talk of the bazaars that all that the tartars were good for was to devastate conquered territory. besides, reinforcements were expected from hungary, where the prince of baden was encamped beneath nándor-fehérvár with a numerous army. the leader of the albanian forces was the prince of hanover. he was a pupil of the lately deceased piccolomini, and though he inherited his valour he was scarcely his equal in wisdom. on hearing of the approach of the tartar army he assembled his captains and held a council of war. the enemy was assumed to be the old mob which used to turn tail at the first cannon-shot, and could not be overtaken because of the superior swiftness of its horses. and indeed it was the old mob, but a new spirit now inspired it; it followed a new leader whom the enemy had never put to flight or beaten, and that leader was feriz beg. tököly's letter had speedily brought the young hero all the way from syria to stambul to offer his sword and his genius to the new sultan, and the sultan had charged him to lead the tartar hordes against the imperial army. when feriz, from the top of a hill, saw the forces of the prince of hanover all wedged together in a compact mass on the plain before him like a huge living machine only awaiting a propelling hand to set it in motion, he quickly sent the tartars who were with him back into the fir-woods that they might well cover their darts with the tar and turpentine exuding from the trees, and this done, he sent them to gallop round the prince's camp and take up their position well within range. the prince observed the movement but left them alone; oftentimes had the turks attempted a simple assault upon the german camp; oftentimes had their threefold superior forces surrounded the small, well-ordered camp and assaulted it from every side, and the germans used always politely to allow them to come within range of their guns and then discharge all their artillery at once--and generally that was the end of the whole affair. feriz, however, made no assault upon them, but got his tartars to surround them, commanding them to set their darts on fire and discharge them into the air so that they might fall down into the german camp. according to this plan they could fire at the enemy at a much greater distance off than the enemy could fire upon them, for the dart, flying in a curve could reach further than the straight-going musket balls of those days, and wherever it fell its sharp point inflicted a wound, whereas the bullet was often spent before it reached its mark. suddenly a flaming flood of darts darkened the air and the burning resinous bolts fell from all sides into the crowded ranks of the imperial army; the points of the darts fastened in the backs of the horses, the burning drops fell upon the faces and garments of the warriors, burning through the texture and inflicting grievous wounds; the horses began to rear violently at this unexpected attack; the gunners, cursing and swearing, began to discharge their guns anyhow at the enemy; nobody paid any attention to the orders of the general, discipline was quite at an end; the burning darts were destructive of all military tactics, for there was no refuge from them, and every dart struck its man. then feriz beg blew with the trumpets, and suddenly the imperial troops were attacked from all sides. they were unable to repel the attack in the regular way, but intermingled with their assailants, fought man to man. the picked german troopers quitted themselves like men, not one of them departed without taking another with him to the next world, but the turks outnumbered them, and just when the prince's army was exhausted by the attacks of the tartars, feriz brought forward his well-rested reserves, who burned with the desire to wash out the shame of former defeats. the prince of hanover fell on the battle-field with the rest of his army. not one escaped to tell the tale. this was the first victory which turned the fortunes of war once more in favour of the turks after so many defeats. chapter xxxii. the last day. it was well known in transylvania that the porte had proclaimed tököly prince and given into his hands armies wherewith he might invade the principality and conquer it, so general heissler gave orders to the counties and the szeklers to rise up in defence of the realm, which they accordingly did. the hungarian forces were commanded by balthasar mackási and michael teleki himself; the leader of the germans was heissler, with generals noscher and magni, and colonel doria under him, all of them heroic soldiers of fortune, who, all the way from vienna to wallachia, had never seen the turks otherwise than as corpses or fugitives. when tököly was approaching through wallachia with his forces, heissler quickly closed all the passes, and placed three regiments at the iron gates, while he himself took up a position in the pass of bozza, and there pitched his camp amidst the mountains. the encamped forces were merry and sprightly enough, there was lots to eat and drink of all sorts, and the szeklers were quite close to their wives and houses, so that they did not feel a bit homesick--only teleki was perpetually dissatisfied. he would have liked the forces to be marching continually from one pass to another and sentinels to be standing on guard night and day on every footpath which led into the kingdom. the third week after the camp had been pitched at bozza he suddenly said to the general with a very anxious face: "sir, what if tököly were to appear at some other gate of the kingdom while we are lying here?" "every avenue is closed against him," answered heissler. "but suppose he got in before we came here?" "the trouble then would not be how he got in but how he could get out again." but teleki wanted to show that he also knew something of the science of warfare, so he said with the grave face of an habitual counsellor: "i do not think it expedient that we worthy soldiers should be crammed up into a corner of the kingdom. in my opinion it would be much safer if, after guarding every pass, we took up a position equi-distant between törcsvár and bozza." now for once teleki was right, but for that very reason heissler was all the more put out. it was intolerable that a lay-general should suggest something to him which he could not gainsay. and the worst of it was teleki would not leave the general alone. "i am participating in nothing here," said he, "make use of me, give me something to do, and i will do it--occupation is what i want." "i'll give it you at once," said heissler, and putting his arm through teleki's he led him to his tent, there made him sit down beside him at a round table, sent one of the yawning guards to summon noscher, magni, doria and the other generals, made them sit down by the side of teleki, sat down at the table himself, and drawing a pack of cards from his pocket, gave it to teleki with the words: "here's some occupation for you--you deal!" "what, sir!" burst forth teleki, quite upset by the jest, "play at cards when the enemy stands before us?" "how can we be better employed when the enemy is _not_ before us? do you know how to play at landsknecht?" "i do not." "then we'll teach you." and they did teach him, for in a couple of hours they had won from him a couple of hundred ducats, whereupon teleki, on the pretext that he had no more money, retired from the game. it was not the loss of a little money which vexed him so much as the scant respect paid to his counsels. the other gentlemen continued the game. heissler suddenly by a grand coup won all the ready-money of the other generals, so that at last there was a great heap of thalers and ducats in front of him, and his three-cornered hat was filled to the brim with money. the losing party tried to console itself with jests. "well, well! lucky at cards, luckless in love!" "eh!" said heissler, sweeping together his winnings, "i have only had one love in my life, and that is on a battlefield, but there i have always been lucky." at that moment a rapid galloping was heard, and after a brief parley with the guard outside, a dusty dragoon courier entered the tent and whispered breathlessly in heissler's ear: "tököly's advance guard is before törcsvár, it attacked and cut down the troops posted in the pass, only the szeklers still hold out; if we don't come quickly the pass will be taken." heissler suddenly swept the cards from the table, and snatching up his hat so that the money in it rolled away in every direction, he clapped it on his head, and drawing his sword exclaimed: "to horse, gentlemen! quick! towards törcsvár! we shall arrive in good time, i know!" "well! wasn't i right?" growled teleki. "oh, there's no harm done! blow the trumpets, we must strike our tents; let the camp fires burn, and at the third sound of the trumpet let everyone advance towards törcsvár. a company and a couple of mortars will be enough to guard the pass. all right now, mr. michael teleki!" then he also took horse. teleki too hastened back to his levies, and soon the whole host was trotting on in the dark towards törcsvár. it was the th august, such a silent summer night that not a leaf was stirring. against the beautiful starry sky rose the majestic snowy alps which encircle transylvania within their mighty chain; everything was still, only now and then through the melancholy night resounded the din and bustle of the warriors hurrying towards törcsvár. here in the mountain-chasm a wide opening is visible which presently contracts so much that two carriages can scarce advance along it abreast. the road goes deep down between two rocks, and if a few hundred resolute and determined men planted themselves in that place, they could hold it against the largest armies. on the other side of moldavia, looking downwards, could be seen the camp-fires of the hosts of tököly, who was encamped on the farther side of the alps, occupying a vast extent of ground. in front all was dark. after the first surprise caused by some hundreds of dragoons who had penetrated into moldavia, the szeklers had quickly blocked the pass by felling trees across it, retired to the mountain summits, and received the advancing tartars with such showers of stones that they were compelled to desist from any further advance and turn back again. great commotion was observable in the turkish camp. the tartars were roasting a whole ox on a huge spit, and cut pieces off it while it was roasting; some jovial wallachians, a little elated by wine, began dancing their national dances; on a hill the hungarian hussars were blaring their _farogatos_, whose penetrating voices frequently pierced the most distant recess of the snowy alps. but just because the camp had begun making merry the outposts had been carefully disposed. the leaders of the host were youths in age but veterans in military experience; they were keeping watch for everyone. they met as they were going their rounds and, without observing it, strayed somewhat from the camp and advanced without a word along a mountain path. at last feriz broke the silence by remarking gravely to tököly: "is it not desperating to see a mountain before you and not be able to fly?" "especially when your desires are on the other side of that mountain." "what are your desires?" said feriz bitterly, "in comparison with mine; you have only a thirst for glory, i have a thirst for blood." "but mine is a still stronger impulse," said tököly; "i have a wife." "ah! i understand, and you want to see your wife? i also should like to see her if i am not slain. and is the lady worthy of you?" "one must have lived very far from this kingdom not to have heard of her," said tököly proudly. "my name has not given such glory to helen as her name has to me. when everyone in hungary laid down their arms, and i myself fled from the kingdom, she herself remained in the fortress of munkács and defended it as valiantly as any man could do. helen stood like a man upon the bastions amidst the whirring of the bullets and the thunder of the guns, extinguished the bombs cast into the fortress with huge moistened buffalo-skins, fired off the cannons against the besiegers with her own hands, and cut down the soldiers who attempted to storm the walls, spiked their guns, and burnt their tents." at this feriz grew enthusiastic. "we will save this brave woman; is she still defending herself?" "no. my chief confidant--a man whom i trusted would carry out my ideas, a man whom i found a beggar and made a gentleman--betrayed her, and they now hold her captive. believe me, feriz, if they gave her back to me i would perchance for ever forget my dream of glory and renounce the crown i seek, but to win her back i'll go through hell itself, and you will see that i shall go through this mountain chain also, for though i have not the strength to fly over it, i have the patience to crawl over it." feriz beg sighed gloomily. "alas! i have no one for whose sake i might hasten into battle." early next morning tököly came over to feriz's quarters and told him that he had just received tidings that heissler had arrived during the night, having galloped without stopping through szent peter to törcsvár. teleki, too, was with him. that name seemed to electrify the young turk. he leapt quickly from his couch, and, seizing his sword, raised it towards heaven and cried with a savage expression which had never been on his face before: "i thank thee, allah, that thou hast delivered him into my hands!" the two young generals then consulted together in private for about an hour, after sending everyone out of their tent. then they came forth and reviewed their forces. feriz selected his best janissaries and spahis, tököly the hungarian hussars and the swiftest of the tartars, and with this little army, numbering about six thousand, they marched off without saying whither. the vast camp meanwhile was intrusted to the care of the prince of moldavia, who was charged to stand face to face night and day over against the transylvanian army, and not move from the spot. meanwhile the two young leaders, with their picked band, made their way among the hills by the dark, sylvan mountain paths, whose wilderness no human foot had ever yet trod. anyone looking down upon them from the rocks above would have called their enterprise foolhardy. now they had to crawl down precipitous slopes on their hands and knees; now gigantic rocks barred their way, which enclosed them within a narrow, mountainous gorge whence there was no exit; here and there they had to cling on to the roots of the stout shrubs growing out of the crevices of the rocks, or pull themselves up, man by man, and horse by horse, by means of ropes fastened to the trunks of trees. in these regions nought dwelt but savage birds of prey, and the startled golden eagle looked down in wonder from his stony lair at the panting, toiling host--what did such a multitude of men seek in that desolate wilderness? * * * * * the transylvanian gentlemen from the vantage-point of a lofty mountain ridge watched the two opposing hosts facing each other in front of the defiles. now the szeklers would burst forth from the woods on the straying tartars and drive them back to their tents, and now like a disturbing swarm of wasps the tartars and wallachians would force the szeklers back to the very borders of the forest. it was great fun to watch all this from the lofty ridge where stood heissler, doria, and teleki observing the manly sport through long telescopes. suddenly the sentinels brought to heissler a wallachian who had given the pickets to understand that he had brought a message from the prince of wallachia to the commander-in-chief. "no doubt it is to tell you once more not to go into wallachia again, for the enemy has eaten it up," said teleki, turning to heissler, who had got to the bottom of the prince's former craftiness. "what is your master's message?" he said, turning towards the wallachian. "he sends his respects, and bids you be on your guard against tököly, for he has a large army and is very crafty; but instead of opposing him in the direction of wallachia you would do better if you saw to it that he did not break into transylvania, and you ought to beware of this all the more as only three days ago he departed from the main host along with his chief sirdar, with a picked army of six thousand men, which has since vanished as completely as if the earth had swallowed it up." "what did i say?" remarked heissler, with a smile to teleki. "you may go back, my son, from whence you came," he said to the szekler. but teleki shook his head at this. "it is quite possible," said he, "that while we are halting here, tököly may issue forth somewhere behind our very backs." heissler pointed at the snow-capped mountains. "can anything but a bird get through those?" "if tököly lead the way--yes." "your excellency has a great respect for that gentleman." "truly, mr. general, i should advise you to summon hither the regiments left at the iron gate, and bring up some more cannons." heissler did not even reply, but beckoned to him to be silent. at that instant a wild yell suddenly struck upon the ear of the general, and looking back towards zernyest he saw a large column of smoke rising heavenwards, while the outposts came galloping up towards the camp. "what is that?" "tököly has got through the mountains!" was the terrifying report, "the tartars have burnt toháir and plundered the camp." "to horse, to arms, every man!" roared heissler, and drawing his sword leaped upon his horse. doria, noscher, and magni quickly marshalled their squadrons, macskári quickly got together his squadrons, and descended into the plain. they had scarce got into battle array when they were joined by the boyar balacsán, the refugee moldavian nobleman, who kept on foot two regiments of the hungarians and wallachians at his own expense. the cry of the ravaging tartars was now audible close at hand in the village of toháir, which was blazing away under the very eyes of the transylvanian hosts. balacsán's soldiers, eager for the fray, begged leave of heissler to drive them from the village, and rushing upon them with a wild yell, quickly drove the tartars back through the burning streets; while heissler, with the main body of the army, galloped towards zernyest with the greatest haste. he also succeeded in occupying it before tököly had reached it. here the soldiers rested after their tiring gallop. heissler distributed wine and brandy among them, then marshalled them, and sent to the front the military chaplains. two jesuits, crucifix in hand, confessed all the german soldiers, and the rev. mr. gernyeszeg preached a pious discourse to the calvinists. meanwhile tököly's army had advanced upon zernyest. on one side of him were the snowy alps, on the other a reed-grown morass, which in the hot days of august was quite dried up and could easily be crossed. as soon as the szeklers saw the turks, with their characteristic pigheadedness they seized their pikes and would have rushed upon them with their usual war-cry: "jesus! help, jesus! help!" their leaders drove them back by beating them with their sword-blades, and exhausted the whole vocabulary of abuse and condemnation before they could prevent them prematurely from beginning the battle. teleki meanwhile summoned to his side his trusty servant, and as he was dressed in a black habit--for they were still in mourning for the prince--with few jewels on it, he detached his diamond aigrette and gold chain, and adding his signet-ring to them, gave them to the servant that he might take them before the battle to gernyeszeg, and give them to his daughter, dame michael vay. the old servant would have asked why he did this, but teleki turned away from him and beckoned him to go away. then he had his favourite charger, kálmán, brought forth, and after stroking its neck tenderly, trotted off to the front of his forces and addressed them in these words: "my brave transylvanians, now is the time to fight together valiantly for glory and liberty in the service of his imperial majesty in order to deliver our country, our wives and children, from turkish bondage and the tyranny of that evil ally of theirs, tököly, for otherwise you and your descendants have nought but eternal slavery to expect. grieve not for me if i, your general, fall on the field of battle. behold, i bring my white beard among you, and am ready to die." while he was saying these words his adjutant, macskári, came to him and began to explain that the transylvanians had been placed in the rear and were grumbling loudly at having been so set aside. on hearing this teleki at once galloped up to heissler. "sir," said he, "you are a bad judge of the hungarian temperament in warfare if you place them in the rear; the szekler, in particular, has a great aptitude for the assault, but don't expect help from him if you keep him waiting in the rear till the front ranks are broken." generals, on the eve of a battle are, very naturally, somewhat impatient of advice, especially if it be delivered by a civilian. heissler therefore snubbed the minister somewhat unmercifully, whereupon teleki galloped back to his men without saying another word. meanwhile the turkish army had slowly begun to move; on the left wing a regiment of tartars stealthily entered the reeds of the morass and began to surround the right wing of the transylvanians; but their experienced general, perceiving their approach from the undulatory movement of the reed-stalks, speedily ordered doria to advance against them with six squadrons of dragoons, whereupon teleki also sent thirteen regiments of szeklers against them under michael henter, and soon the two stealthily crouching hosts could be seen in collision. the szeklers, with a wild yell, rushed upon the tartars, who turned tail after the first onset, and fled still deeper among the reeds. doria pursued them everywhere, the discharge of the artillery fired the reeds in several places, and they began to burn over the heads of the combatants. at that moment tököly suddenly blew the trumpets and advanced into the plain with thirty-two squadrons, who rushed upon the foe with a sky-rending howl. there was a roll of musketry as the assailants drew near, and nine of the thirty-two squadrons bit the dust, hundreds of riders fell from their horses. but the rest did not turn back as they used to do. feriz beg was leading them, they saw his sword flashing in front of them, and felt sure of victory. at the moment of the firing a bullet had struck the youth in the breast; but he regarded it not, he only saw teleki before him, dressed in black. he recognised him from afar, and galloped straight towards him. beneath the savage assault of the turkish horsemen the german dragoons gave way in a moment, their ranks were scattered; against the slim darts of the spahis and the light csakanyis of the hussars the straight sword and the heavy cuirass were but a poor defence. the first line was cast back upon the second, and when general noscher was struck down by a dart in the forehead, the centre also was broken. the szeklers simply looked on at the battle from the rear. "what think you, comrades," they said to one another, "if they only brought us here to look on, wouldn't it be better to look on from yonder hill?" and with that they shouldered their pikes, and without doing the slightest harm to the turks, went off in a body. the cavalry, who still had some stomach in them, on perceiving the flight of the infantry, also suddenly lost heart, and giving their horses the reins, scampered off in every direction. heissler thus was left alone on the battle-field, and up to the last moment strenuously endeavoured to retrieve the fortunes of the day. all in vain. balacsán fell before his very eyes on the left wing, and shortly afterwards, general magni staggered towards him scarce recognisable, for he had a fearful slash right across his head, which covered his face with blood, and his left arm was pierced by a dart. it was not about himself that he was anxious, however, for he grasped heissler's bridle and dragged him away. heissler, full of desperation, fought against his own men, who carried him from the field by force. at last he reached the top of a hillock and, looking back, perceived one division still fighting on the battlefield. it was the picked division of doria who, in its pursuit of the tartars, had been cut off from the rest of the army, and seeing that it was isolated had hastily formed into a square and stood against the whole of the victorious host, fighting obstinately and refusing to surrender. this was too much for heissler. he tore himself loose from his escort, and returned alone to the battlefield. a few stray horsemen followed him, and he tried to cut his way to doria through the intervening hussars. a tall and handsome cavalier intercepted him. "surrender, general, it is no shame to you. i am emeric tököly." heissler returned no answer but galloped straight at him, and, whirling his sword above his head, aimed a blow at the hungarian leader. tököly called to those around him to stand back. alone he fought against so worthy an enemy till a violent blow broke in twain the sword of the german general, and he was obliged to surrender. meanwhile doria's division was overborne by superior forces; he himself fell beneath his horse, which was shot under him, and was taken prisoner. the rest fled. michael teleki fled likewise, trusting in his good steed kálmán. he heard behind him the cries of his pursuers; there was one form in particular that he did not wish to have behind him, and it seemed to teleki as if he were about to see this form. this was the chief sirdar, feriz beg. mortally wounded though he was, he did not forget his mortal anger, and though his blood flowed in streams, he still felt strength enough in his arm to shed the blood of his enemy. suddenly michael directed his flight towards a field of wheat, when his horse stumbled and fell with him. here feriz beg overtook the minister, and whirling around his sword, exclaimed: "that blow is from denis banfy!" teleki raised his sword to defend himself, but at that name his hand shook and he received a slash across the face, whereupon his sword fell from his hand; but he still held his hand before his streaming eyes and only heard these words: "this blow is for paul béldi! this blow is for the children of paul béldi! this blow is for transylvania!" that last blow was the heaviest of all! teleki sank down on the ground a corpse. feriz beg gazed upwards with a look of transport, sighed deeply, and then drooped suddenly over his horse's neck. he was dead. * * * * * next day when they found teleki among the slain, and brought him to tököly, the young prince cried: "heh! bald head! bald head! if you had never lived in transylvania so much blood would not have flowed here." thus the prophecy of magyari was fulfilled. then tököly ordered the naked, plundered corpse to be clothed in garments of his own and sent to his widow at görgéncy. in exchange for the captured generals, heissler and doria, tököly got back his wife helen. this was his greatest gain from the war. both of them now sleep far away from their native land in the valley of nicomedia. the end. _jarrold and sons, limited, the empire press, norwich._ dr. maurus jókai's novels _the green book_ _black diamonds_ _pretty michal_ _the lion of janina_ _a hungarian nabob_ _dr. dumany's wife_ _the poor plutocrats_ _the nameless castle_ _debts of honor_ _the day of wrath_ _eyes like the sea_ _halil the pedlar (the white rose)_ _'midst the wild carpathians_ _the slaves of the padishah._ new & recent fiction. _crown vo, s._ =the slaves of the padishah=, or, "the turks in hungary." by maurus jÓkai. =the daughter of the dawn.= by reginald hodder. illustrated by harold piffard. ='neath the hoof of the tartar=, or, "the scourge of god." by baron nicholas jÓsika. translated by selina gaye. with preface by r. nisbet bain. =the golden dwarf.= by r. norman silver. =more tales from tolstoi.= translated from the russian by r. nisbet bain. with biography brought up to date. =distant lamps.= by jessie reuss. =the jest of fate.= by paul lawrence dunbar. =over stony ways:= a romance of tennyson-land. by emily m. bryant. =liege lady.= by lilian s. arnold. fourth edition. =tales from tolstoi.= translated from the russian by r. nisbet bain. with biography of count leo tolstoi. sixth edition. =tales from gorky.= translated from the russian of maxim gorky by r. nisbet bain. =halil the pedlar.= by maurus jÓkai. translated by r. nisbet bain. =autumn glory.= by renÉ bazin. translated by ellen waugh. london: jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c. transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. the advertisements were moved from the front of the book to the back. a period was added after "distant lamps". in chapter i, "deposited it in front of the divan" was changed to "deposited it in front of the diván". in chapter iii, "feriz beg grew quiet furious at tököly's cold repose" was changed to "feriz beg grew quite furious at tököly's cold repose". in chapter iv, a quotation mark was added after "commandants of the fortress of szathmár". in chapter v, "as to everyone of which he was able to prove" was changed to "as to every one of which he was able to prove", "found everthing wasted and ravaged" was changed to "found everything wasted and ravaged", and "we are have not come here for you to pepper us" was changed to "we have not come here for you to pepper us". in chapter vi, "s ized his shaggy little horse" was changed to "seized his shaggy little horse". in chapter vii, "he had put the szathmàrians" was changed to "he had put the szathmárians", "for the szathmàr army" was changed to "for the szathmár army", "he had only required of kàszonyi" was changed to "he had only required of kászonyi", and "kept them well supplied them with drinking-water" was changed to "kept them well supplied with drinking-water". in chapter viii, a malformed ellipsis in "that damsel's name is azrael ... allah is mighty!" was corrected. in chapter ix, "they ward of with their bosoms" was changed to "they ward off with their bosoms", and "a female ibbis" was changed to "a female iblis". in chapter x, a quotation mark was removed before "eh, eh! worthy beg, thou must needs have been drinking". in chapter xi, a quotation mark was added before "the camp is now aroused". in chapter xii, "ersekújvar" was changed to "Érsekújvár". in chapter xiii, "a dirty turkish cavasse in sordid rags, entered the courtyard" was changed to "a dirty turkish cavasse in sordid rags entered the courtyard", "without stopping from szamosujvár" was changed to "without stopping from szamosújvár", and "she reached szamosujvár in the early morning" was changed to "she reached szamosújvár in the early morning". in chapter xiv, "the panic of nagyened" was changed to "the panic of nagyenyed", and "for béldi lives at bodolá" was changed to "for béldi lives at bodola". in chapter xv, "well aquainted with the mood of an eastern despot" was changed to "well acquainted with the mood of an eastern despot", "for him it to level towns to the ground" was changed to "for him to level towns to the ground", and a malformed ellipsis in "mercy! ... mercy!" was corrected. in chapter xvi, "the time when haissar was burnt" was changed to "the time when hiassar was burnt", "i sware by allah it is not to be done" was changed to "i swear by allah it is not to be done", "whispered in her hear with malicious joy" was changed to "whispered in her ear with malicious joy", "in all probabilty been helped" was changed to "in all probability been helped", and "sorry matted coveyance" was changed to "sorry matted conveyance". in chapter xix, a period was added after the chapter number, "rest to night?" was changed to "rest to-night?", and "plunged over into the abss" was changed to "plunged over into the abyss". in chapter xx, "the muderris in his official capacity" was changed to "the müderris in his official capacity". in chapter xxi, a period was changed to a question mark after "where have you put it", and "reached michael teleki at gernyizeg" was changed to "reached michael teleki at gernyeszeg". in chapter xxii, a period was changed to a comma after "shaking his chains". in chapter xxiv, "demanded an audience of the noble danó sôlymosi" was changed to "demanded an audience of the noble danó sólymosi". in chapter xxv, "you, züfikar, my son" was changed to "you, zülfikar, my son", and "körtörely, the old hound" was changed to "körtövely, the old hound". in chapter xxvii, "thus aranki's letter" was changed to "thus aranka's letter", a missing period was added after "as if nothing had happened", and a missing quotation mark was added after "we cannot now withdraw our feet". in chapter xxx, "ersekujvár" was changed to "Érsekújvár", and "during the seige of vienna" was changed to "during the siege of vienna". in chapter xxxi, "always arid of fame and glory" was changed to "always avid of fame and glory". in chapter xxxii, a period was added after the chapter number, and a period was changed to a question mark after "and is the lady worthy of you". the original text contained numerous inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation, frequently reflecting inconsistent anglicization of hungarian names. in some cases, when the translator's preferred form was obvious, the spelling has been modified to reflect the dominant usage or to conform with the original hungarian text; in many cases, where no single spelling was obviously preferred, inconsistent spellings have been retained. the kalevala the epic poem of finland into english by john martin crawford [ ] to dr. j.d. buck, an encouraging and unselfish friend, and to his affectionate family, these pages are gratefully inscribed. contents. preface proem rune i. birth of wainamoinen rune ii. wainamoinen's sowing rune iii. wainamoinen and youkahainen rune iv. the fate of aino rune v. wainamoinen's lamentation rune vi. wainamoinen's hapless journey rune vii. wainamoinen's rescue rune viii. maiden of the rainbow rune ix. origin of iron rune x. ilmarinen forges the sampo rune xi. lemminkainen's lament rune xii. kyllikki's broken vow rune xiii. lemminkainen's second wooing rune xiv. death of lemminkainen rune xv. lemminkainen's restoration rune xvi. wainainoinen's boat-building rune xvii. wainamoinen finds the lost word rune xviii. the rival suitors rune xix. ilmarinen's wooing rune xx. the brewing of beer rune xxi. ilmarinen's wedding-feast rune xxii. the bride's farewell rune xxiii. osmotar, the bride-adviser rune xxiv. the bride's farewell rune xxv. wainamoinen's wedding-songs rune xxvi. origin of the serpent rune xxvii. the unwelcome guest rune xxviii. the mother's counsel rune xxix. the isle of refuge rune xxx. the frost-fiend rune xxxi. kullerwoinen, son of evil rune xxxii. kullervo as a shepherd rune xxxiii. kullervo and the cheat-cake rune xxxiv. kullervo finds his tribe-folk rune xxxv. kullervo's evil deeds rune xxxvi. kullerwoinen's victory and death rune xxxvii ilmarinen's bride of gold rune xxxviii. ilmarinen's fruitless wooing rune xxxix. wainamoinen's sailing rune xl. birth of the harp rune xli. wainamoinen's harp-songs rune xlii. capture of the sampo rune xliii. the sampo lost in the sea rune xliv. birth of the second harp rune xlv. birth of the nine diseases rune xlvi. otso the honey-eater rune xlvii. louhi steals sun, moon, and fire rune xlviii. capture of the fire-fish rune xlix. restoration of the sun and moon rune l. mariatta--wainamoinen's departure epilogue preface. the following translation was undertaken from a desire to lay before the english-speaking people the full treasury of epical beauty, folklore, and mythology comprised in the kalevala, the national epic of the finns. a brief description of this peculiar people, and of their ethical, linguistic, social, and religious life, seems to be called for here in order that the following poem may be the better understood. finland (finnish, suomi or suomenmaa, the swampy region, of which finland, or fen-land is said to be a swedish translation,) is at present a grand-duchy in the north-western part of the russian empire, bordering on olenetz, archangel, sweden, norway, and the baltic sea, its area being more than , square miles, and inhabited by some , , of people, the last remnants of a race driven back from the east, at a very early day, by advancing tribes. the finlanders live in a land of marshes and mountains, lakes and rivers, seas, gulfs, islands, and inlets, and they call themselves suomilainen, fen-dwellers. the climate is more severe than that of sweden. the mean yearly temperature in the north is about °f., and about °f., at helsingfors, the capital of finland. in the southern districts the winter is seven months long, and in the northern provinces the sun disappears entirely during the months of december and january. the inhabitants are strong and hardy, with bright, intelligent faces, high cheek-bones, yellow hair in early life, and with brown hair in mature age. with regard to their social habits, morals, and manners, all travellers are unanimous in speaking well of them. their temper is universally mild; they are slow to anger, and when angry they keep silence. they are happy-hearted, affectionate to one another, and honorable and honest in their dealings with strangers. they are a cleanly people, being much given to the use of vapor-baths. this trait is a conspicuous note of their character from their earliest history to the present day. often in the runes of the kalevala reference is made to the "cleansing and healing virtues of the vapors of the heated bathroom." the skull of the finn belongs to the brachycephalic (short-headed) class of retzius. indeed the finn-organization has generally been regarded as mongol, though mongol of a modified type. his color is swarthy, and his eyes are gray. he is not inhospitable, but not over-easy of access; nor is he a friend of new fashions. steady, careful, laborious, he is valuable in the mine, valuable in the field, valuable oil shipboard, and, withal, a brave soldier on land. the finns are a very ancient people. it is claimed, too, that they began earlier than any other european nation to collect and preserve their ancient folk-lore. tacitus, writing in the very beginning of the second century of the christian era, mentions the fenni, as he calls them, in the th chapter of his de moribus germanoram. he says of them: "the finns are extremely wild, and live in abject poverty. they have no arms, no horses, no dwellings; they live on herbs, they clothe themselves in skins, and they sleep on the ground. their only resources are their arrows, which for the lack of iron are tipped with bone." strabo and the great geographer, ptolemy, also mention this curious people. there is evidence that at one time they were spread over large portions of europe and western asia. perhaps it should be stated here that the copper, so often mentioned in the kalevala, when taken literally, was probably bronze, or "hardened copper," the amount and quality of the alloy used being not now known. the prehistoric races of europe were acquainted with bronze implements. it may be interesting to note in this connection that canon isaac taylor, and professor sayce have but very recently awakened great interest in this question, in europe especially, by the reading of papers before the british philological association, in which they argue in favor of the finnic origin of the aryans. for this new theory these scholars present exceedingly strong evidence, and they conclude that the time of the separation of the aryan from the finnic stock must have been more than five thousand years ago. the finnish nation has one of the most sonorous and flexible of languages. of the cultivated tongues of europe, the magyar, or hungarian, bears the most positive signs of a deep-rooted similarity to the finnish. both belong to the ugrian stock of agglutinative languages, i.e., those which preserve the root most carefully, and effect all changes of grammar by suffixes attached to the original stein. grimin has shown that both gothic and icelandic present traces of finnish influence. the musical element of a language, the vowels, are well developed in finnish, and their due sequence is subject to strict rules of euphony. the dotted o; (equivalent to the french eu) of the first syllable must be followed by an e or an i. the finnish, like all ugrian tongues, admits rhyme, but with reluctance, and prefers alliteration. their alphabet consists of but nineteen letters, and of these, b, c, d, f, g, are found only in a few foreign words, and many others are never found initial. one of the characteristic features of this language, and one that is likewise characteristic of the magyar, turkish, mordvin, and other kindred tongues, consists in the frequent use of endearing diminutives. by a series of suffixes to the names of human beings, birds, fishes, trees, plants, stones, metals, and even actions, events, and feelings, diminutives are obtained, which by their form, present the names so made in different colors; they become more naive, more childlike, eventually more roguish, or humorous, or pungent. these traits can scarcely be rendered in english; for, as robert ferguson remarks: "the english language is not strong in diminutives, and therefore it lacks some of the most effective means for the expression of affectionate, tender, and familiar relations." in this respect all translations from the finnish into english necessarily must fall short of the original. the same might be said of the many emotional interjections in which the finnish, in common with all ugrian dialects, abounds. with the exception of these two characteristics of the ugrian languages, the chief beauties of the finnish verse admit of an apt rendering into english. the structure of the sentences is very simple indeed, and adverbs and adjectives are used sparingly. finnish is the language of a people who live pre-eminently close to nature, and are at home amongst the animals of the wilderness, beasts and birds, winds, and woods, and waters, falling snows, and flying sands, and rolling rocks, and these are carefully distinguished by corresponding verbs of ever-changing acoustic import. conscious of the fact that, in a people like the finns where nature and nature-worship form the centre of all their life, every word connected with the powers and elements of nature must be given its fall value, great care has been taken in rendering these finely shaded verbs. a glance at the mythology of this interesting people will place the import of this remark in better view. in the earliest age of suomi, it appears that the people worshiped the conspicuous objects in nature under their respective, sensible forms. all beings were persons. the sun, moon, stars, the earth, the air, and the sea, were to the ancient finns, living, self-conscious beings. gradually the existence of invisible agencies and energies was recognized, and these were attributed to superior persons who lived independent of these visible entities, but at the same time were connected with them. the basic idea in finnish mythology seems to lie in this: that all objects in nature are governed by invisible deities, termed haltiat, regents or genii. these haltiat, like members of the human family, have distinctive bodies and spirits; but the minor ones are somewhat immaterial and formless, and their existences are entirely independent of the objects in which they are particularly interested. they are all immortal, but they rank according to the relative importance of their respective charges. the lower grades of the finnish gods are sometimes subservient to the deities of greater powers, especially to those who rule respectively the air, the water, the field, and the forest. thus, pilajatar, the daughter of the aspen, although as divine as tapio, the god of the woodlands, is necessarily his servant. one of the most notable characteristics of the finnish mythology is the interdependence among the gods. "every deity", says castren, "however petty he may be, rules in his own sphere as a substantial, independent power, or, to speak in the spirit of the kalevala, as a self-ruling householder. the god of the polar-star only governs an insignificant spot in the vault of the sky, but on this spot he knows no master." the finnish deities, like the ancient gods of italy and greece, are generally represented in pairs, and all the gods are probably wedded. they have their individual abodes and are surrounded by their respective families. the primary object of worship among the early finns was most probably the visible sky with its sun, moon, and stars, its aurora-lights, its thunders and its lightnings. the heavens themselves were thought divine. then a personal deity of the heavens, coupled with the name of his abode, was the next conception; finally this sky-god was chosen to represent the supreme ruler. to the sky, the sky-god, and the supreme god, the term jumala (thunder-home) was given. in course of time, however, when the finns came to have more purified ideas about religion, they called the sky taivas and the sky-god ukko. the word, ukko, seems related to the magyar agg, old, and meant, therefore, an old being, a grandfather; but ultimately it came to be used exclusively as the name of the highest of the finnish deities. frost, snow, hail, ice, wind and rain, sunshine and shadow, are thought to come from the hands of ukko. he controls the clouds; he is called in the kalevala, "the leader of the clouds," "the shepherd of the lamb-clouds," "the god of the breezes," "the golden king," "the silvern ruler of the air," and "the father of the heavens." he wields the thunder-bolts, striking down the spirits of evil on the mountains, and is therefore termed, "the thunderer," like the greek zeus, and his abode is called, "the thunder-home." ukko is often represented as sitting upon a cloud in the vault of the sky, and bearing on his shoulders the firmament, and therefore he is termed, "the pivot of the heavens." he is armed as an omnipotent warrior; his fiery arrows are forged from copper, the lightning is his sword, and the rainbow his bow, still called ukkon kaari. like the german god, thor, ukko swings a hammer; and, finally, we find, in a vein of familiar symbolism, that his skirt sparkles with fire, that his stockings are blue, and his shoes, crimson colored. in the following runes, ukko here and there interposes. thus, when the sun and moon were stolen from the heavens, and hidden away in a cave of the copper-bearing mountain, by the wicked hostess of the dismal sariola, he, like atlas in the mythology of greece, relinquishes the support of the heavens, thunders along the borders of the darkened clouds, and strikes fire from his sword to kindle a new sun and a new moon. again, when lemminkainen is hunting the fire-breathing horse of piru, ukko, invoked by the reckless hero, checks the speed of the mighty courser by opening the windows of heaven, and showering upon him flakes of snow, balls of ice, and hailstones of iron. usually, however, ukko prefers to encourage a spirit of independence among his worshipers. often we find him, in the runes, refusing to heed the call of his people for help, as when ilmatar, the daughter of the air, vainly invoked him to her aid, that wainamoinen, already seven hundred years unborn, might be delivered. so also wainamoinen beseeches ukko in vain to check the crimson streamlet flowing from his knee wounded by an axe in the hands of hisi. ukko, however, with all his power, is by no means superior to the sun, moon, and other bodies dwelling in the heavens; they are uninfluenced by him, and are considered deities in their own right. thus, paeivae means both sun and sun-god; kun means moon and moon-god; and taehti and ottava designate the polar-star and the great bear respectively, as well as the deities of these bodies. the sun and the moon have each a consort, and sons, and daughters. two sons only of paeivae appear in the kalevala, one comes to aid wainamoinen in his efforts to destroy the mystic fire-fish, by throwing from the heavens to the girdle of the hero, a "magic knife, silver-edged, and golden-handled;" the other son, panu, the fire-child, brings back to kalevala the fire that bad been stolen by louhi, the wicked hostess of pohyola. from this myth castren argues that the ancient finns regarded fire as a direct emanation from the sun. the daughters of the sun, moon, great bear, polar-star, and of the other heavenly dignitaries, are represented as ever-young and beautiful maidens, sometimes seated on the bending branches of the forest-trees, sometimes on the crimson rims of the clouds, sometimes on the rainbow, sometimes on the dome of heaven. these daughters are believed to be skilled to perfection in the arts of spinning and weaving, accomplishments probably attributed to them from the fanciful likeness of the rays of light to the warp of the weaver's web. the sun's career of usefulness and beneficence in bringing light and life to northland is seldom varied. occasionally he steps from his accustomed path to give important information to his suffering worshipers. for example, when the star and the moon refuse the information, the sun tells the virgin mariatta, where her golden infant lies bidden. "yonder is thy golden infant, there thy holy babe lies sleeping, hidden to his belt in water, hidden in the reeds and rushes." again when the devoted mother of the reckless hero, lemminkainen, (chopped to pieces by the sons of nana, as in the myth of osiris) was raking together the fragments of his body from the river of tuoui, and fearing that the sprites of the death-stream might resent her intrusion, the sun, in answer to her entreaties, throws his powerful rays upon the dreaded shades, and sinks them into a deep sleep, while the mother gathers up the fragments of her son's body in safety. this rune of the kalevala is particularly interesting as showing the belief that the dead can be restored to life through the blissful light of heaven. among the other deities of the air are the luonnotars, mystic maidens, three of whom were created by the rubbing of ukko's hands upon his left knee. they forthwith walk the crimson borders of the clouds, and one sprinkles white milk, one sprinkles red milk, and the third sprinkles black milk over the hills and mountains; thus they become the "mothers of iron," as related in the ninth rune of the kalevala. in the highest regions of the heavens, untar, or undutar, has her abode, and presides over mists and fogs. these she passes through a silver sieve before sending them to the earth. there are also goddesses of the winds, one especially noteworthy, suvetar (suve, south, summer), the goddess of the south-wind. she is represented as a kind-hearted deity, healing her sick and afflicted followers with honey, which she lets drop from the clouds, and she also keeps watch over the herds grazing in the fields and forests. second only to air, water is the element held most in reverence by the finns and their kindred tribes. "it could hardly be otherwise," says castren, "for as soon as the soul of the savage began to suspect that the godlike is spiritual, super-sensual, then, even though he continues to pay reverence to matter, he in general values it the more highly the less compact it is. he sees on the one hand how easy it is to lose his life on the surging waves, and on the other, he sees that from these same waters he is nurtured, and his life prolonged." thus it is that the map of finland is to this day full of names like pyhojarvi (sacred lake) and pyhajoki (sacred river). some of the finlanders still offer goats and calves to these sacred waters; and many of the ugrian clans still sacrifice the reindeer to the river ob. in esthonia is a rivulet, vohanda, held in such reverence that until very recently, none dared to fell a tree or cut a shrub in its immediate vicinity, lest death should overtake the offender within a year, in punishment for his sacrilege. the lake, eim, is still held sacred by the esthonians, and the eim-legend is thus told by f. thiersch, quoted also by grimm and by mace da charda: "savage, evil men dwelt by its borders. they neither mowed the meadows which it watered, nor sowed the fields which it made fruitful, but robbed and murdered, insomuch that its clear waves grew dark with the blood of the slaughtered men. then did the lake him mourn, and one evening it called together all its fishes, and rose aloft with them into the air. when the robbers heard the sound, they exclaimed: 'eim hath arisen; let us gather its fishes and treasures.' but the fishes had departed with the lake, and nothing was found on the bottom but snakes, and lizards, and toads. and eim rose higher, and higher, and hastened through the air like a white cloud. and the hunters in the forest said: 'what bad weather is coming on!' the herdsmen said: 'what a white swan is flying above there!' for the whole night the lake hovered among the stars, and in the morning the reapers beheld it sinking. and from the swan grew a white ship, and from the ship a dark train of clouds; and a voice came from the waters: 'get thee hence with thy harvest, for i will dwell beside thee.' then they bade the lake welcome, if it would only bedew their fields and meadows; and it sank down and spread itself out in its home to the full limits. then the lake made all the neighborhood fruitful, and the fields became green, and the people danced around it, so that the old men grew joyous as the youth." the chief water-god is ahto, on the etymology of which the finnish language throws little light. it is curiously like ahti, another name for the reckless lemminkainen. this water-god, or "wave-host," as he is called, lives with his "cold and cruel-hearted spouse," wellamo, at the bottom of the sea, in the chasms of the salmon-rocks, where his palace, ahtola, is constructed. besides the fish that swim in his dominions, particularly the salmon, the trout, the whiting, the perch, the herring, and the white-fish, he possesses a priceless treasure in the sampo, the talisman of success, which louhi, the hostess of pohyola, dragged into the sea in her efforts to regain it from the heroes of kalevala. ever eager for the treasures of others, and generally unwilling to return any that come into his possession, ahto is not incapable of generosity. for example, once when a shepherd lad was whittling a stick on the bank of a river, he dropped his knife into the stream. ahto, as in the fable, "mercury and the woodman," moved by the tears of the unfortunate lad, swam to the scene, dived to the bottom, brought up a knife of gold, and gave it to the young shepherd. innocent and honest, the herd-boy said the knife was not his. then ahto dived again, and brought up a knife of silver, which he gave to the lad, but this in turn was not accepted. thereupon the wave-host dived again, and the third time brought the right knife to the boy who gladly recognized his own, and received it with gratitude. to the shepherd-lad ahto gave the three knives as a reward for his honesty. a general term for the other water-hosts living not only in the sea, but also in the rivers, lakes, cataracts, and fountains, is ahtolaiset (inhabitants of ahtola), "water-people," "people of the foam and billow," "wellamo's eternal people." of these, some have specific names; as allotar (wave-goddess), koskenneiti (cataract-maiden), melatar (goddess of the helm), and in the kalevala these are sometimes personally invoked. of these minor deities, pikku mies (the pigmy) is the most noteworthy. once when the far-outspreading branches of the primitive oak-tree shut out the light of the sun from northland, pikku mies, moved by the entreaties of wainamoinen, emerged from the sea in a suit of copper, with a copper hatchet in his belt, quickly grew from a pigmy to a gigantic hero, and felled the mighty oak with the third stroke of his axe. in general the water-deities are helpful and full of kindness; some, however, as wetehilien and iku-turso, find their greatest pleasure in annoying and destroying their fellow-beings. originally the finlanders regarded the earth as a godlike existence with personal powers, and represented as a beneficent mother bestowing peace and plenty on all her worthy worshipers. in evidence of this we find the names, maa-emae (mother-earth), and maan-emo (mother of the earth), given to the finnish demeter. she is always represented as a goddess of great powers, and, after suitable invocation, is ever willing and able to help her helpless sufferers. she is according to some mythologists espoused to ukko, who bestows upon her children the blessings of sunshine and rain, as ge is wedded to ouranos, jordh to odhin, and papa to rangi. of the minor deities of the earth, who severally govern the plants, such as trees, rye, flax, and barley, wirokannas only is mentioned in the kalevala. once, for example, this "green robed priest of the forest" abandoned for a time his presidency over the cereals in order to baptize the infant-son of the virgin mariatta. once again wirokannas left his native sphere of action, this time making a most miserable and ludicrous failure, when he emerged from the wilderness and attempted to slay the finnish taurus, as described in the runes that follow. the agricultural deities, however, receive but little attention from the finns, who, with their cold and cruel winters, and their short but delightful summers, naturally neglect the cultivation of the fields, for cattle-raising, fishing, and hunting. the forest deities proper, however, are held in high veneration. of these the chief is tapio, "the forest-friend," "the gracious god of the woodlands." he is represented as a very tall and slender divinity, wearing a long, brown board, a coat of tree-moss, and a high-crowned hat of fir-leaves. his consort is mielikki, "the honey-rich mother of the woodland," "the hostess of the glen and forest." when the hunters were successful she was represented as beautiful and benignant, her hands glittering with gold and silver ornaments, wearing ear-rings and garlands of gold, with hair-bands silver-tinseled, on her forehead strings of pearls, and with blue stockings on her feet, and red strings in her shoes. but if the game-bag came back empty, she was described as a hateful, hideous thing, robed in untidy rags, and shod with straw. she carries the keys to the treasury of metsola, her husband's abode, and her bountiful chest of honey, the food of all the forest-deities, is earnestly sought for by all the weary hunters of suomi. these deities are invariably described as gracious and tender-hearted, probably because they are all females with the exception of tapio and his son, nyrikki, a tall and stately youth who is engaged in building bridges over marshes and forest-streams, through which the herds must pass on their way to the woodland-pastures. nyrikki also busies himself in blazing the rocks and the trees to guide the heroes to their favorite hunting-grounds. sima-suu (honey-mouth), one of the tiny daughters of tapio, by playing on her sima-pilli (honey-flute), also acts as guide to the deserving hunters. hiisi, the finnish devil, bearing also the epithets, juntas, piru, and lempo, is the chief of the forest-demons, and is inconceivably wicked. he was brought into the world consentaneously with suoyatar, from whose spittle, as sung in the kalevala, he formed the serpent. this demon is described as cruel, horrible, hideous, and bloodthirsty, and all the most painful diseases and misfortunes that ever afflict mortals are supposed to emanate from him. this demon, too, is thought by the finlanders to have a hand in all the evil done in the world. turning from the outer world to man, we find deities whose energies are used only in the domain of human existence. "these deities," says castren, "have no dealings with the higher, spiritual nature of man. all that they do concerns man solely as an object in nature. wisdom and law, virtue and justice, find in finnish mythology no protector among the gods, who trouble themselves only about the temporal wants of humanity." the love-goddess was sukkamieli (stocking-lover). "stockings," says castren gravely, "are soft and tender things, and the goddess of love was so called because she interests herself in the softest and tenderest feelings of the heart." this conception, however, is as farfetched as it is modern. the love-deity of the ancient finns was lempo, the evil-demon. it is more reasonable therefore to suppose that the finns chose the son of evil to look after the feelings of the human heart, because they regarded love as an insufferable passion, or frenzy, that bordered on insanity, and incited in some mysterious manner by an evil enchanter. uni is the god of sleep, and is described as a kind-hearted and welcome deity. untamo is the god of dreams, and is always spoken of as the personification of indolence. munu tenderly looks after the welfare of the human eye. this deity, to say the least is an oculist of long and varied experience, in all probability often consulted in finland because of the blinding snows and piercing winds of the north. lemmas is a goddess in the mythology of the finns who dresses the wounds of her faithful sufferers, and subdues their pains. suonetar is another goddess of the human frame, and plays a curious and important part in the restoration to life of the reckless lemminkainen, as described in the following runes. she busies herself in spinning veins, and in sewing up the wounded tissues of such deserving worshipers as need her surgical skill. other deities associated with the welfare of mankind are the sinettaret and kankahattaret, the goddesses respectively of dyeing and weaving. matka-teppo is their road-god, and busies himself in caring for horses that are over-worked, and in looking after the interests of weary travellers. aarni is the guardian of hidden treasures. this important office is also filled by a hideous old deity named mammelainen, whom renwall, the finnish lexicographer, describes as "femina maligna, matrix serpentis, divitiarum subterranearum custos," a malignant woman, the mother of the snake, and the guardian of subterranean treasures. from this conception it is evident that the idea of a kinship between serpents and hidden treasures frequently met with in the myths of the hungarians, germans, and slavs, is not foreign to the finns. nowhere are the inconsistencies of human theory and practice more curiously and forcibly shown than in the custom in vogue among the clans of finland who are not believers in a future life, but, notwithstanding, perform such funereal ceremonies as the burying in the graves of the dead, knives, hatchets, spears, bows, and arrows, kettles, food, clothing, sledges and snow-shoes, thus bearing witness to their practical recognition of some form of life beyond the grave. the ancient finns occasionally craved advice and assistance from the dead. thus, as described in the kalevala, when the hero of wainola needed three words of master-magic wherewith to finish the boat in which he was to sail to win the mystic maiden of sariola, he first looked in the brain of the white squirrel, then in the mouth of the white-swan when dying, but all in vain; then he journeyed to the kingdom of tuoni, and failing there, he "struggled over the points of needles, over the blades of swords, over the edges of hatchets" to the grave of the ancient wisdom-bard, antero wipunen, where he "found the lost-words of the master." in this legend of the kalevala, exceedingly interesting, instructive, and curious, are found, apparently, the remote vestiges of ancient masonry. it would seem that the earliest beliefs of the finns regarding the dead centred in this: that their spirits remained in their graves until after the complete disintegration of their bodies, over which kalma, the god of the tombs, with his black and evil daughter, presided. after their spirits had been fully purified, they were then admitted to the kingdom of manala in the under world. those journeying to tuonela were required to voyage over nine seas, and over one river, the finnish styx, black, deep, and violent, and filled with hungry whirlpools, and angry waterfalls. like helheim of scandinavian mythology, manala, or tuonela, was considered as corresponding to the upper world. the sun and the moon visited there; fen and forest gave a home to the wolf, the bear, the elk, the serpent, and the songbird; the salmon, the whiting, the perch, and the pike were sheltered in the "coal-black waters of manala." from the seed-grains of the death-land fields and forests, the tuoni-worm (the serpent) had taken its teeth. tuoui, or mana, the god of the under world, is represented as a hard-hearted, and frightful, old personage with three iron-pointed fingers on each hand, and wearing a hat drawn down to his shoulders. as in the original conception of hades, tuoni was thought to be the leader of the dead to their subterranean home, as well as their counsellor, guardian, and ruler. in the capacity of ruler he was assisted by his wife, a hideous, horrible, old witch with "crooked, copper-fingers iron-pointed," with deformed head and distorted features, and uniformly spoken of in irony in the kalevala as "hyva emanta," the good hostess; she feasted her guests on lizards, worms, toads, and writhing serpents. tuouen poika, "the god of the red cheeks," so called because of his bloodthirstiness and constant cruelties, is the son and accomplice of this merciless and hideous pair. three daughters of tuoni are mentioned in the runes, the first of whom, a tiny, black maiden, but great in wickedness, once at least showed a touch of human kindness when she vainly urged wainamoinen not to cross the river of tuoui, assuring the hero that while many visit manala, few return, because of their inability to brave her father's wrath. finally, after much entreaty, she ferried him over the finnish styx, like charon, the son of erebus and nox, in the mythology of greece. the second daughter of tuoni is lowyatar, black and blind, and is described as still more malignant and loathsome than the first. through the east-wind's impregnation she brought forth the spirits of the nine diseases most dreaded by mankind, as described in the th rune of the kalevala: "colic, pleurisy, and fever. ulcer, plague, and dread consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer." the third daughter of tuoni combines the malevolent and repugnant attributes of her two sisters, and is represented as the mother and hostess of the impersonal diseases of mankind. the finns regarded all human ailments as evil spirits or indwelling devils, some formless, others taking the shapes of the most odious forms of animal life, as worms and mites; the nine, however, described above, were conceived to have human forms. where the three arms of the tuoni river meet a frightful rock arises, called kipu-kivi, or kipuvuori, in a dungeon beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. on this rock the third daughter of tuoui sits, constantly whirling it round like a millstone, grinding her subjects until they escape and go forth to torture and slay the children of men; as in hindu mythology, kali (black) sits in judgment on the dead. various other spiritual powers than gods and goddesses are held in high reverence by the finns. tontu is represented as a kind-hearted house-spirit, a sort of diminutive cyclops, and offerings of bread and broth are made to him every morning. putting a mare's collar on one's neck and walking nine times around a church is thought to be a certain means of attracting one to the place desired. para is a mystical, three-legged being, constructed in many ways, and which, according to castren, attains life and action when its possessor, cutting the little finger of his left hand, lets three drops of blood fall upon it, and at the same time pronouncing the proper magic word. the possessor, by whatever means, of this mystic being, is always supplied with abundance of milk and cheese. the maahiset are the dwarfs of finnish mythology. their abode is under stumps, trees, blocks, thresholds and hearth-stones. though exceedingly minute and invisible to man they have human forms. they are irritable and resentful, and they punish with ulcers, tetter, ringworms, pimples, and other cutaneous affections, all those who neglect them at brewings, bakings, and feastings. they punish in a similar manner those who enter new houses without making obeisance to the four corners, and paying them other kindly attentions; those who live in untidy houses are also likewise punished. the kirkonwaeki (church-folk) are little deformed beings living under the altars of churches. these misshapen things are supposed to be able to aid their sorrowing and suffering worshipers. certain beasts, and birds, and trees, are held sacred in finland. in the kalevala are evident traces of arctolatry, bear-worship, once very common among the tribes of the north, otso, the bear, according to finnish mythology, was born on the shoulders of otava, in the regions of the sun and moon, and "nursed by a goddess of the woodlands in a cradle swung by bands of gold between the bending branches of budding fir-trees." his nurse would not give him teeth and claws until he had promised never to engage in bloody strife, or deeds of violence. otso, however, does not always keep his pledge, and accordingly the hunters of finland find it comparatively easy to reconcile their consciences to his destruction. otso is called in the runes by many endearing titles as "the honey-eater," "golden light-foot," "the forest-apple," "honey-paw of the mountains," "thepride of the thicket," "the fur-robed forest-friend." ahava, the west-wind, and penitar, a blind old witch of sariola, are the parents of the swift dogs of finland, just as the horses of achilles, xanthos and belios, sprang from zephyros and the harpy podarge. as to birds, the duck, according to the kalevala, the eagle, according to other traditions, lays the mundane egg, thus taking part in the creation of the world. puhuri, the north-wind, the father of pakkanen (frost) is sometimes personified as a gigantic eagle. the didapper is reverenced because it foretells the approach of rain. linnunrata (bird-path) is the name given to the milky-way, due probably to a myth like those of the swedes and slavs, in which liberated songs take the form of snow-white dovelets. the cuckoo to this day is sacred, and is believed to have fertilized the earth with his songs. as to insects, honey-bees, called by the finns, mehilainen, are especially sacred, as in the mythologies of many other nations. ukkon-koiva (ukko's dog) is the finnish name for the butterfly, and is looked upon as a messenger of the supreme deity. it may be interesting to observe here that the bretons in reverence called butterflies, "feathers from the wings of god." as to inanimate nature, certain lakes, rivers, springs, and fountains, are held in high reverence. in the kalevala the oak is called pun jumalan (god's tree). the mountain-ash even to this day, and the birch-tree, are held sacred, and peasants plant them by their cottages with reverence. respecting the giants of finnish mythology, castren is silent, and the following notes are gleaned from the kalevala, and from grimm's teutonic mythology. "the giants," says grimm, "are distinguished by their cunning and ferocity from the stupid, good-natured monsters of germany and scandinavia." soini, for example a synonym of kullervo, the here of the saddest episode of the kalevala when only three days old, tore his swaddling clothes to tatters. when sold to a forgeman of karelia, he was ordered to nurse an infant, but he dug out the eyes of the child, killed it, and burned its cradle. ordered to fence the fields, he built a fence from earth to heaven, using entire pine-trees for fencing materials, and interweaving their branches with venomous serpents. ordered to tend the herds in the woodlands, he changed the cattle to wolves and bears, and drove them home to destroy his mistress because she had baked a stone in the centre of his oat-loaf, causing him to break his knife, the only keepsake of his people. regarding the heroes of the kalevala, much discussion has arisen as to their place in finnish mythology. the finns proper regard the chief heroes of the suomi epic, wainamoinen, ilmarinen, and lemminkainen, as descendants of the celestial virgin, ilmatar, impregnated by the winds when ilma (air), light, and water were the only material existences. in harmony with this conception we find in the kalevala, a description of the birth of wainamoinen, or vaino, as he is sometimes called in the original, a word probably akin to the magyar ven, old. the esthonians regard these heroes as sons of the great spirit, begotten before the earth was created, and dwelling with their supreme ruler in jumala. the poetry of a people with such an elaborate mythology and with such a keen and appreciative sense of nature and of her various phenomena, was certain, sooner or later, to attract the attention of scholars. and, in fact, as early as the seventeenth century, we meet men of literary tastes who tried to collect and interpret the various national songs of the finns. among these were palmskold and peter bang. they collected portions of the national poetry, consisting chiefly of wizard-incantations, and all kinds of pagan folk-lore. gabriel maxenius, however, was the first to publish a work on finnish national poetry, which brought to light the beauties of the kalevala. it appeared in , and bore the title: de effectibus naturalibus. the book contains a quaint collection of finnish poems in lyric forms, chiefly incantations; but the author was entirely at a loss how to account for them, or how to appreciate them. he failed to see their intimate connection with the religious worship of the finns in paganism. the next to study the finnish poetry and language was daniel juslenius, a celebrated bishop, and a highly-gifted scholar. in a dissertation, published as early as , entitled, aboa vetus et nova, he discussed the origin and nature of the finnish language; and in another work of his, printed in , he treated of finnish incantations, displaying withal a thorough understanding of the finnish folk-lore, and of the importance of the finnish language and national poetry. with great care he began to collect the songs of suomi, but this precious collection was unfortunately burned. porthan, a finnish scholar of great attainments, born in , continuing the work of juslenius, accumulated a great number of national songs and poems, and by his profound enthusiasm for the promotion of finnish literature, succeeded in founding the society of the fennophils, which to the present day, forms the literary centre of finland. among his pupils were e. lenquist, and chr. ganander, whose works on finnish mythology are among the references used in preparing this preface. these indefatigable scholars were joined by reinhold becker and others, who were industriously searching for more and more fragments of what evidently was a great epic of the finns. for certainly neither of the scholars just mentioned, nor earlier investigators, could fail to see that the runes they collected, gathered round two or three chief heroes, but more especially around the central figure of wainamoinen, the hero of the following epic. the kalevala proper was collected by two great finnish scholars, zacharias topelius and elias lonnrot. both were practicing physicians, and in this capacity came into frequent contact with the people of finland. topelius, who collected eighty epical fragments of the kalevala, spent the last eleven years of his life in bed, afflicted with a fatal disease. but this sad and trying circumstance did not dampen his enthusiasm. his manner of collecting these songs was as follows: knowing that the finns of russia preserved most of the national poetry, and that they came annually to finland proper, which at that time did not belong to russia, he invited these itinerant finnish merchants to his bedside, and induced them to sing their heroic poems, which he copied as they were uttered. and, when he heard of a renowned finnish singer, or minstrel, he did all in his power to bring the song-man to his house, in order that he might gather new fragments of the national epic. thus the first glory of collecting the fragments of the kalevala and of rescuing it from literary oblivion, belongs to topelius. in he published his first collections, and in his last. elias lonnrot, who brought the whole work to a glorious completion, was born april , . he entered the university of abo in , and in , received the degree of doctor of medicine from the university of helsingfors. after the death of castren in , lonnrot was appointed professor of the suomi (finnish) language and literature in the university, where he remained until , at which time he withdrew from his academical activity and devoted himself exclusively to the study of his native language, and its epical productions. dr. lonnrot had already published a scholarly treatise, in , on the chief hero of the kalevala, before he went to sava and karjala to glean the songs and parts of songs front the lips of the people. this work was entitled: de wainainoine priscorum fennorum numine. in the year , he travelled as far as kajan, collecting poems and songs of the finnish people, sitting by the fireside of the aged, rowing on the lakes with the fishermen, and following the flocks with the shepherds. in he published at helsingfors a work under the following title: kantele taikka suomee kansan sek vazhoja etta nykysempia runoja ja lauluja (lyre, or old and new songs and lays of the finnish nation). in another work edited in , written in swedish, entitled: om finnarues magiska medicin (on the magic medicine of the finns), he dwells on the incantations so frequent in finnish poetry, notably in the kalevala. a few years later he travelled in the province of archangel, and so ingratiated himself into the hearts of the simple-minded people that they most willingly aided him in collecting these songs. these journeys were made through wild fens, forests, marshes, and ice-plains, on horseback, in sledges drawn by the reindeer, in canoes, or in some other forms of primitive conveyance. the enthusiastic physician described his journeyings and difficulties faithfully in a paper published at helsingfors in swedish in . he had the peculiar good luck to meet an old peasant, one of the oldest of the runolainen in the russian province of wuokiniem, who was by far the most renowned minstrel of the country, and with whose closely impending death, numerous very precious runes would have been irrevocably lost. the happy result of his travels throughout finland, dr. lonnrot now commenced to arrange under the central idea of a great epic, called kalevala, and in february, , the manuscript was transmitted to the finnish literary society, which had it published in two parts. lonnrot, however, did not stop here; he went on searching and collecting, and, in , had brought together more than one thousand fragments of epical poetry, national ballads, and proverbs. these he published in two works, respectively entitled, kanteletar (lyre-charm), and the proverbs of the suomi people, the latter containing over proverbs, adages, gnomic sentences, and songs. his example was followed by many of his enthusiastic countrymen, the more prominent of whom are castren, europaeus, polen and reniholm. through the collections of these scholars so many additional parts of the epical treasure of finland were made public that a new edition of the kalevala soon became an imperative necessity. the task of sifting, arranging, and organizing the extensive material, was again allotted to dr. lonnrot, and in his second editions of the kalevala, which appeared in , the epic, embracing fifty runes and , lines, had reached its mature form. the kalevala was no sooner published than it attracted the attention of the leading scholars of europe. men of such world-wide fame as jacob grimm, steinthal, uhland, carrière and max müller hastened to acknowledge its surpassing value and intrinsic beauty. jacob grimm, in a separate treatise, published in his kleinere schriften, said that the genuineness and extraordinary value of the kalevala is easily proved by the fact that from its mythological ideas we can frequently interpret the mythological conceptions of the ancient germans, whereas the poems of ossian manifest their modern origin by their inability to clear up questions of old saxon or german mythology. grimm, furthermore, shows that both the gothic and icelandic literatures display unmistakable features of finnish influence. max müller places the kalevala on a level with the greatest epics of the world. these are his words: "from the mouths of the aged an epic poem has been collected equalling the iliad in length and completeness; nay, if we can forget for a moment, all that we in our youth learned to call beautiful, not less beautiful. a finn is not a greek, and wainamoinen was not a homer [achilles?]; but if the poet may take his colors from that nature by which he is surrounded, if he may depict the men with whom he lives, the kalevala possesses merits not dissimilar from those of the illiad, and will claim its place as the fifth national epic of the world, side by side with the ionian songs, with the mahabharata, the shalinameth, and the nibelunge." steinthal recognizes but four great national epics, viz., the iliad, kalevala, nibelunge and the roland songs. the kalevala describes finnish nature very minutely and very beautifully. grimm says that no poem is to be compared with it in this respect, unless it be some of the epics of india. it has been translated into several european languages; into swedish by alex. castren, in ; into french prose by l. leduc, in ; into german by anton schiefuer, in ; into hungarian by ferdinand barna, in ; and a very small portion of it--the legend of aino--into english, in , by the late prof. john a. porter, of yale college. it must remain a matter of universal regret to the english-speaking people that prof. porter's life could not have been spared to finish the great work he had so beautifully begun. some of the most convincing evidences of the genuineness and great age of the kalevala have been supplied by the hungarian translator. the hungarians, as is well known, are closely related to the finns, and their language, the magyar dialect, has the same characteristic features as the finnish tongue. barna's translation, accordingly, is the best rendering of the original. in order to show the genuineness and antiquity of the kalevala, barna adduces a hungarian book written by a certain peter bornemissza, in , entitled ordogi kisertetekrol (on satanic specters), the unique copy of which he found in the library of the university of budapest. in this book bornemissza collected all the incantations (raolvasasok) in use among hungarian country-people of his day for the expulsion of diseases and misfortunes. these incantations, forming the common stock of all ugrian peoples, of which the finns and hungarians are branches, display a most satisfactory sameness with the numerous incantations of the kalevala used for the same purpose. barna published an elaborate treatise on this subject; it appeared in the, transactions of the hungarian academy of sciences, philological department, for . again, in , twenty-two hungarian deeds, dating from - , were sent to the hungarian academy of sciences, as having been found in the hegyalja, where the celebrated wine of tokay is made. these deeds contained several contracts for the sale of vineyards, and at the end of each deed the customary cup of wine was said to have been emptied by both parties to the contract. this cup of wine, in the deeds, was termed, "ukkon's cup." ukko, however, is the chief god according to finnish mythology, and thus the coincidence of the magyar ukkon and the finnish ukko was placed beyond doubt. the kalevala (the land of heroes) relates the ever-varying contests between the finns and the "darksome laplanders", just as the iliad relates the contests between the greeks and the trojans. castren is of the opinion that the enmity between the finns and the lapps was sung long before the finns had left their asiatic birth-place. a deeper and more esoteric meaning of the kalevala, however, points to a contest between light and darkness, good and evil; the finns representing the light and the good, and the lapps, the darkness and the evil. like the niebelungs, the heroes of the finns woo for brides the beauteous maidens of the north; and the similarity is rendered still more striking by their frequent inroads into the country of the lapps, in order to possess themselves of the envied treasure of lapland, the mysterious sampo, evidently the golden fleece of the argonautic expedition. curiously enough public opinion is often expressed in the runes, in the words of an infant; often too the unexpected is introduced after the manner of the greek dramas, by a young child, or an old man. the whole poem is replete with the most fascinating folk-lore about the mysteries of nature, the origin of things, the enigmas of human tears, and, true to the character of a national epic, it represents not only the poetry, but the entire wisdom and accumulated experience of a nation. among others, there is a profoundly philosophical trait in the poem, indicative of a deep insight into the workings of the human mind, and into the forces of nature. whenever one of the heroes of the kalevala wishes to overcome the aggressive power of an evil force, as a wound, a disease, a ferocious beast, or a venomous serpent, he achieves his purpose by chanting the origin of the inimical force. the thought underlying this idea evidently is that all evil could be obviated had we but the knowledge of whence and how it came. the numerous myths of the poem are likewise full of significance and beauty, and the kalevala should be read between the lines, in order that the fall meaning of this great epic may be comprehended. even such a hideous impersonation as that of kullerwoinen, is rich with pointed meaning, showing as it does, the incorrigibility of ingrained evil. this legend, like all others of the poem, has its deep-running stream of esoteric interpretation. the kalevala, perhaps, more than any other, uses its lines on the surface in symbolism to point the human mind to the brighter gems of truth beneath. the three main personages, wainamoinen, the ancient singer, ilmarinen, the eternal forgeman, and lemminkainen, the reckless wizard, as mentioned above, are conceived as being of divine origin. in fact, the acting characters of the kalevala are mostly superhuman, magic beings. even the female actors are powerful sorceresses, and the hostess of pohyola, especially, braves the might of all the enchanters of wainola combined. the power of magic is a striking feature of the poem. here, as in the legends of no other people, do the heroes and demi-gods accomplish nearly everything by magic. the songs of wainamoinen disarm his opponents; they quiet the angry sea; they give warmth to the new sun and the new moon which his brother, ilmarinen, forges from the magic metals; they give life to the spouse of ilmarinen, which the "eternal metal-artist" forges from gold, silver, and copper. in fact we are among a people that endows everything with life, and with human and divine attributes. birds, and beasts, and fishes, and serpents, as well as the sun, the moon, the great bear, and the stars, are either kind or unkind. drops of blood find speech; men and maidens transform themselves into other shapes and resume again their native forms at will; ships, and trees, and waters, have magic powers; in short, all nature speaks in human tongues. the kalevala dates back to an enormous antiquity. one reason for believing this, lies in the silence of the kalevala about russians, germans, or swedes, their neighbors. this evidently shows that the poem must have been composed at a time when these nations had but very little or no intercourse with the finns. the coincidence between the incantations adduced above, proves that these witch-songs date from a time when the hungarians and the finns were still united as one people; in other words, to a time at least years ago. the whole poem betrays no important signs of foreign influence, and in its entire tenor is a thoroughly pagan epic. there are excellent reasons for believing that the story of mariatta, recited in the th rune, is an ante-christian legend. an additional proof of the originality and independent rise of the kalevala is to be found in its metre. all genuine poetry must have its peculiar verse, just as snow-flakes cannot exist without their peculiar crystalizations. it is thus that the iliad is inseparably united, and, as it were, immersed in the stately hexametre, and the french epics, in the graceful alexandrine verse. the metre of the kalevala is the "eight-syllabled trochaic, with the part-line echo," and is the characteristic verse of the finns. the natural speech of this people is poetry. the young men and maidens, the old men and matrons, in their interchange of ideas, unwittingly fall into verse. the genius of their language aids to this end, inasmuch as their words are strongly trochaic. this wonderfully versatile metre admits of keeping the right medium between the dignified, almost prancing hexameter, and the shorter metres of the lyrics. its feet are nimble and fleet, but yet full of vigor and expressiveness. in addition, the kalevala uses alliteration, and thus varies the rhythm of time with the rhythm of sound. this metre is especially fit for the numerous expressions of endearment in which the finnish epic abounds. it is more especially the love of the mother for her children, and the love of the children for their mother, that find frequent and ever-tender expression in the sonorous lines of the kalevala. the swedish translation by castren, the german, by schiefner, and the hungarian, by barna, as well as the following english translation, are in the original metre of the kalevala. to prove that this peculiar and fascinating style of verse is of very ancient origin, the following lines have been accurately copied from the first edition in finnish of the kalevala, collated by dr. lonnrot, and published in at helsingfors, the quotation beginning with the th line of the nd rune: louhi pohjolan emanta sanan wirkko, noin nimesi: "niin mita minulleannat, kun saatan omille maille, oman pellon pientarelle, oman pihan rikkasille?" sano wanha wainamoinen: "mitapa kysyt minulta, kun saatat omille maille, oman kaën kukkumille, oman kukon kukkluwille, oman saunan lampimille?" sano pohjolan emanta: "ohoh wiisas wainamoinen! taiatko takoa sammon, kirjokannen kirjaëlla, yhen joukkosen sulasta, yhen willan kylkyesta, yhen otrasen jywasta, yhen warttinan muruista." as to the architecture of the kalevala, it stands midway between the epical ballads of the servians and the purely epical structure of the iliad. though a continuous whole, it contains several almost independent parts, as the contest of youkahainen, the kullervo episode, and the legend of mariatta. by language-masters this epic of suomi, descending unwritten from the mythical age to the present day, kept alive from generation to generation by minstrels, or song-men, is regarded as one of the most precious contributions to the literature of the world, made since the time of milton and the german classics. acknowledgment is hereby made to the following sources of information used in the preparation of this work: to e. lenquist's de superstitione veterum fennorum theoretica et practica; to chr. ganander's mythologia fennica; to becker's de vainamoine; to max müller's oxford essays; to prof. john a. porter's selections from the kalevala; to the writings of the two grimms; to latham's native races of the russian empire; to the translations of the kalevala by alex. castren, anton schieffier, l. leduc and ferdinand barna; and especially to the excellent treatises on the kalevala, and on the mythology of the finns, by mace da charda and alex. castren; to prof. helena klingner, of cincinnati, a linguist of high rank, and who has compared very conscientiously the manuscript of the following pages with the german translation of the kalevala by anton schiefner; to dr. emil reich, a native hungarian, a close student of the ugrian tongues, who, in a most thorough manner, has compared this translation with the hungarian by ferdinand barna, and who, familiar with the habits, customs, and religious notions of the finns, has furnished much valuable material used in the preparation of this preface; and, finally, to prof. thomas c. porter, d.d., ll.d., of lafayette college, who has become an authority on the kalevala through his own researches for many years, aided by a long and intimate acquaintance with prof. a. f. soldan, a finn by birth, an enthusiastic lover of his country, a scholar of great attainments, acquainted with many languages, and once at the head of the imperial mint at helsingfors, the capital of finland. prof. porter has very kindly placed in the hands of the author of these pages, all the literature on this subject at his command, including his own writings; he has watched the growth of this translation with unusual interest; and, with the eye of a gifted poet and scholar, he has made two careful and critical examinations of the entire manuscript, making annotations, emendations, and corrections, by which this work has been greatly improved. with this prolonged introduction, this, the first english translation of the kalevala, with its many imperfections, is hesitatingly given to the public. john martin crawford. october , . the kalevala. proem. mastered by desire impulsive, by a mighty inward urging, i am ready now for singing, ready to begin the chanting of our nation's ancient folk-song handed down from by-gone ages. in my mouth the words are melting, from my lips the tones are gliding, from my tongue they wish to hasten; when my willing teeth are parted, when my ready mouth is opened, songs of ancient wit and wisdom hasten from me not unwilling. golden friend, and dearest brother, brother dear of mine in childhood, come and sing with me the stories, come and chant with me the legends, legends of the times forgotten, since we now are here together, come together from our roamings. seldom do we come for singing, seldom to the one, the other, o'er this cold and cruel country, o'er the poor soil of the northland. let us clasp our hands together that we thus may best remember. join we now in merry singing, chant we now the oldest folk-lore, that the dear ones all may hear them, that the well-inclined may hear them, of this rising generation. these are words in childhood taught me, songs preserved from distant ages, legends they that once were taken from the belt of wainamoinen, from the forge of ilmarinen, from the sword of kaukomieli, from the bow of youkahainen, from the pastures of the northland, from the meads of kalevala. these my dear old father sang me when at work with knife and hatchet these my tender mother taught me when she twirled the flying spindle, when a child upon the matting by her feet i rolled and tumbled. incantations were not wanting over sampo and o'er louhi, sampo growing old in singing, louhi ceasing her enchantment. in the songs died wise wipunen, at the games died lemminkainen. there are many other legends, incantations that were taught me, that i found along the wayside, gathered in the fragrant copses, blown me from the forest branches, culled among the plumes of pine-trees, scented from the vines and flowers, whispered to me as i followed flocks in land of honeyed meadows, over hillocks green and golden, after sable-haired murikki, and the many-colored kimmo. many runes the cold has told me, many lays the rain has brought me, other songs the winds have sung me; many birds from many forests, oft have sung me lays n concord waves of sea, and ocean billows, music from the many waters, music from the whole creation, oft have been my guide and master. sentences the trees created, rolled together into bundles, moved them to my ancient dwelling, on the sledges to my cottage, tied them to my garret rafters, hung them on my dwelling-portals, laid them in a chest of boxes, boxes lined with shining copper. long they lay within my dwelling through the chilling winds of winter, in my dwelling-place for ages. shall i bring these songs together from the cold and frost collect them? shall i bring this nest of boxes, keepers of these golden legends, to the table in my cabin, underneath the painted rafters, in this house renowned and ancient? shall i now these boxes open, boxes filled with wondrous stories? shall i now the end unfasten of this ball of ancient wisdom, these ancestral lays unravel? let me sing an old-time legend, that shall echo forth the praises of the beer that i have tasted, of the sparkling beer of barley. bring to me a foaming goblet of the barley of my fathers, lest my singing grow too weary, singing from the water only. bring me too a cup of strong-beer, it will add to our enchantment, to the pleasure of the evening, northland's long and dreary evening, for the beauty of the day-dawn, for the pleasure of the morning, the beginning of the new-day. often i have heard them chanting, often i have heard them singing, that the nights come to us singly, that the moon beams on us singly, that the sun shines on us singly; singly also, wainamoinen, the renowned and wise enchanter, born from everlasting ether of his mother, ether's daughter. rune i. birth of wainamoinen. in primeval times, a maiden, beauteous daughter of the ether, passed for ages her existence in the great expanse of heaven, o'er the prairies yet enfolded. wearisome the maiden growing, her existence sad and hopeless, thus alone to live for ages in the infinite expanses of the air above the sea-foam, in the far outstretching spaces, in a solitude of ether, she descended to the ocean, waves her coach, and waves her pillow. thereupon the rising storm-wind flying from the east in fierceness, whips the ocean into surges, strikes the stars with sprays of ocean till the waves are white with fervor. to and fro they toss the maiden, storm-encircled, hapless maiden; with her sport the rolling billows, with her play the storm-wind forces, on the blue back of the waters; on the white-wreathed waves of ocean, play the forces of the salt-sea, with the lone and helpless maiden; till at last in full conception, union now of force and beauty, sink the storm-winds into slumber; overburdened now the maiden cannot rise above the surface; seven hundred years she wandered, ages nine of man's existence, swam the ocean hither, thither, could not rise above the waters, conscious only of her travail; seven hundred years she labored ere her first-born was delivered. thus she swam as water-mother, toward the east, and also southward, toward the west, and also northward; swam the sea in all directions, frightened at the strife of storm-winds, swam in travail, swam unceasing, ere her first-born was delivered. then began she gently weeping, spake these measures, heavy-hearted: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! woe is me, in this my travail! into what have i now fallen? woe is me, that i unhappy, left my home in subtle ether, came to dwell amid the sea-foam, to be tossed by rolling billows, to be rocked by winds and waters, on the far outstretching waters, in the salt-sea's vast expanses, knowing only pain and trouble! better far for me, o ukko! were i maiden in the ether, than within these ocean-spaces, to become a water-mother! all this life is cold and dreary, painful here is every motion, as i linger in the waters, as i wander through the ocean. ukko, thou o god, up yonder, thou the ruler of the heavens, come thou hither, thou art needed, come thou hither, i implore thee, to deliver me from trouble, to deliver me in travail. come i pray thee, hither hasten, hasten more that thou art needed, haste and help this helpless maiden!" when she ceased her supplications, scarce a moment onward passes, ere a beauteous duck descending, hastens toward the water-mother, comes a-flying hither, thither, seeks herself a place for nesting. flies she eastward, flies she westward, circles northward, circles southward, cannot find a grassy hillock, not the smallest bit of verdure; cannot find a spot protected, cannot find a place befitting, where to make her nest in safety. flying slowly, looking round her, she descries no place for resting, thinking loud and long debating, and her words are such as follow: "build i in the winds my dwelling, on the floods my place of nesting? surely would the winds destroy it, far away the waves would wash it." then the daughter of the ether, now the hapless water-mother, raised her shoulders out of water, raised her knees above the ocean, that the duck might build her dwelling, build her nesting-place in safety. thereupon the duck in beauty, flying slowly, looking round her, spies the shoulders of the maiden, sees the knees of ether's daughter, now the hapless water-mother, thinks them to be grassy hillocks, on the blue back of the ocean. thence she flies and hovers slowly, lightly on the knee she settles, finds a nesting-place befitting, where to lay her eggs in safety. here she builds her humble dwelling, lays her eggs within, at pleasure, six, the golden eggs she lays there, then a seventh, an egg of iron; sits upon her eggs to hatch them, quickly warms them on the knee-cap of the hapless water-mother; hatches one day, then a second, then a third day sits and hatches. warmer grows the water round her, warmer is her bed in ocean, while her knee with fire is kindled, and her shoulders too are burning, fire in every vein is coursing. quick the maiden moves her shoulders, shakes her members in succession, shakes the nest from its foundation, and the eggs fall into ocean, dash in pieces on the bottom of the deep and boundless waters. in the sand they do not perish, not the pieces in the ocean; but transformed, in wondrous beauty all the fragments come together forming pieces two in number, one the upper, one the lower, equal to the one, the other. from one half the egg, the lower, grows the nether vault of terra: from the upper half remaining, grows the upper vault of heaven; from the white part come the moonbeams, from the yellow part the sunshine, from the motley part the starlight, from the dark part grows the cloudage; and the days speed onward swiftly, quickly do the years fly over, from the shining of the new sun from the lighting of the full moon. still the daughter of the ether, swims the sea as water-mother, with the floods outstretched before her, and behind her sky and ocean. finally about the ninth year, in the summer of the tenth year, lifts her head above the surface, lifts her forehead from the waters, and begins at last her workings, now commences her creations, on the azure water-ridges, on the mighty waste before her. where her hand she turned in water, there arose a fertile hillock; wheresoe'er her foot she rested, there she made a hole for fishes; where she dived beneath the waters, fell the many deeps of ocean; where upon her side she turned her, there the level banks have risen; where her head was pointed landward, there appeared wide bays and inlets; when from shore she swam a distance, and upon her back she rested, there the rocks she made and fashioned, and the hidden reefs created, where the ships are wrecked so often, where so many lives have perished. thus created were the islands, rocks were fastened in the ocean, pillars of the sky were planted, fields and forests were created, checkered stones of many colors, gleaming in the silver sunlight, all the rocks stood well established; but the singer, wainamoinen, had not yet beheld the sunshine, had not seen the golden moonlight, still remaining undelivered. wainamoinen, old and trusty, lingering within his dungeon thirty summers altogether, and of winters, also thirty, peaceful on the waste of waters, on the broad-sea's yielding bosom, well reflected, long considered, how unborn to live and flourish in the spaces wrapped in darkness, in uncomfortable limits, where he had not seen the moonlight, had not seen the silver sunshine. thereupon these words be uttered, let himself be heard in this wise: "take, o moon, i pray thee, take me, take me, thou, o sun above me, take me, thou o bear of heaven, from this dark and dreary prison, from these unbefitting portals, from this narrow place of resting, from this dark and gloomy dwelling, hence to wander from the ocean, hence to walk upon the islands, on the dry land walk and wander, like an ancient hero wander, walk in open air and breathe it, thus to see the moon at evening, thus to see the silver sunlight, thus to see the bear in heaven, that the stars i may consider." since the moon refused to free him, and the sun would not deliver, nor the great bear give assistance, his existence growing weary, and his life but an annoyance, bursts he then the outer portals of his dark and dismal fortress; with his strong, but unnamed finger, opens he the lock resisting; with the toes upon his left foot, with the fingers of his right hand, creeps he through the yielding portals to the threshold of his dwelling; on his knees across the threshold, throws himself head foremost, forward plunges into deeps of ocean, plunges hither, plunges thither, turning with his hands the water; swims he northward, swims he southward, swims he eastward, swims he westward, studying his new surroundings. thus our hero reached the water, rested five years in the ocean, six long years, and even seven years, till the autumn of the eighth year, when at last he leaves the waters, stops upon a promontory, on a coast bereft of verdure; on his knees he leaves the ocean, on the land he plants his right foot, on the solid ground his left foot, quickly turns his hands about him, stands erect to see the sunshine, stands to see the golden moonlight, that he may behold the great bear, that he may the stars consider. thus our hero, wainamoinen, thus the wonderful enchanter was delivered from his mother, ilmatar, the ether's daughter. rune ii. wainamoinen's sowing. then arose old wainamoinen, with his feet upon the island, on the island washed by ocean, broad expanse devoid of verdure; there remained be many summers, there he lived as many winters, on the island vast and vacant, well considered, long reflected, who for him should sow the island, who for him the seeds should scatter; thought at last of pellerwoinen, first-born of the plains and prairies, when a slender boy, called sampsa, who should sow the vacant island, who the forest seeds should scatter. pellerwoinen, thus consenting, sows with diligence the island, seeds upon the lands he scatters, seeds in every swamp and lowland, forest seeds upon the loose earth, on the firm soil sows the acorns, fir-trees sows he on the mountains, pine-trees also on the hill-tops, many shrubs in every valley, birches sows he in the marshes, in the loose soil sows the alders, in the lowlands sows the lindens, in the moist earth sows the willow, mountain-ash in virgin places, on the banks of streams the hawthorn, junipers in hilly regions; this the work of pellerwoinen, slender sampsa, in his childhood. soon the fertile seeds were sprouting, soon the forest trees were growing, soon appeared the tops of fir-trees, and the pines were far outspreading; birches rose from all the marshes, in the loose soil grew the alders, in the mellow soil the lindens; junipers were also growing, junipers with clustered berries, berries on the hawthorn branches. now the hero, wainamoinen, stands aloft to look about him, how the sampsa-seeds are growing, how the crop of pellerwoinen; sees the young trees thickly spreading, sees the forest rise in beauty; but the oak-tree has not sprouted, tree of heaven is not growing, still within the acorn sleeping, its own happiness enjoying. then he waited three nights longer, and as many days he waited, waited till a week had vanished, then again the work examined; but the oak-tree was not growing, had not left her acorn-dwelling. wainamoinen, ancient hero, spies four maidens in the distance, water-brides, he spies a fifth-one, on the soft and sandy sea-shore, in the dewy grass and flowers, on a point extending seaward, near the forests of the island. some were mowing, some were raking, raking what was mown together, in a windrow on the meadow. from the ocean rose a giant, mighty tursas, tall and hardy, pressed compactly all the grasses, that the maidens had been raking, when a fire within them kindles, and the flames shot up to heaven, till the windrows burned to ashes, only ashes now remaining of the grasses raked together. in the ashes of the windrows, tender leaves the giant places, in the leaves he plants an acorn, from the acorn, quickly sprouting, grows the oak-tree, tall and stately, from the ground enriched by ashes, newly raked by water-maidens; spread the oak-tree's many branches, rounds itself a broad corona, raises it above the storm-clouds; far it stretches out its branches, stops the white-clouds in their courses, with its branches hides the sunlight, with its many leaves, the moonbeams, and the starlight dies in heaven. wainamoinen, old and trusty, thought awhile, and well considered, how to kill the mighty oak-tree, first created for his pleasure, how to fell the tree majestic, how to lop its hundred branches. sad the lives of man and hero, sad the homes of ocean-dwellers, if the sun shines not upon them, if the moonlight does not cheer them is there not some mighty hero, was there never born a giant, that can fell the mighty oak-tree, that can lop its hundred branches? wainamoinen, deeply thinking, spake these words soliloquizing: "kape, daughter of the ether, ancient mother of my being, luonnotar, my nurse and helper, loan to me the water-forces, great the powers of the waters; loan to me the strength of oceans, to upset this mighty oak-tree, to uproot this tree of evil, that again may shine the sunlight, that the moon once more may glimmer." straightway rose a form from oceans, rose a hero from the waters, nor belonged he to the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest, long was he as man's forefinger, taller than the hand of woman; on his head a cap of copper, boots upon his feet were copper, gloves upon his hands were copper, and its stripes were copper-colored, belt around him made of copper, hatchet in his belt was copper; and the handle of his hatchet was as long as hand of woman, of a finger's breadth the blade was. then the trusty wainamoinen thought awhile and well considered, and his measures are as follow: "art thou, sir, divine or human? which of these thou only knowest; tell me what thy name and station. very like a man thou lookest, hast the bearing of a hero, though the length of man's first finger, scarce as tall as hoof of reindeer." then again spake wainamoinen to the form from out the ocean: "verily i think thee human, of the race of pigmy-heroes, might as well be dead or dying, fit for nothing but to perish." answered thus the pigmy-hero, spake the small one from the ocean to the valiant wainamoinen "truly am i god and hero, from the tribes that rule the ocean; come i here to fell the oak-tree, lop its branches with my hatchet." wainamoinen, old and trusty, answers thus the sea-born hero: "never hast thou force sufficient, not to thee has strength been given, to uproot this mighty oak-tree, to upset this thing of evil, nor to lop its hundred branches." scarcely had he finished speaking, scarcely had he moved his eyelids, ere the pigmy full unfolding, quick becomes a mighty giant. with one step he leaves the ocean, plants himself, a mighty hero, on the forest-fields surrounding; with his head the clouds he pierces, to his knees his beard extending, and his locks fall to his ankles; far apart appear his eyeballs, far apart his feet are stationed. farther still his mighty shoulders. now begins his axe to sharpen, quickly to an edge he whets it, using six hard blocks of sandstone, and of softer whetstones, seven. straightway to the oak-tree turning, thither stalks the mighty giant, in his raiment long and roomy, flapping in the winds of heaven; with his second step he totters on the land of darker color; with his third stop firmly planted, reaches he the oak-tree's branches, strikes the trunk with sharpened hatchet, with one mighty swing he strikes it, with a second blow he cuts it; as his blade descends the third time, from his axe the sparks fly upward, from the oak-tree fire outshooting; ere the axe descends a fourth time, yields the oak with hundred branches, shaking earth and heaven in falling. eastward far the trunk extending, far to westward flew the tree-tops, to the south the leaves were scattered, to the north its hundred branches. whosoe'er a branch has taken, has obtained eternal welfare; who secures himself a tree-top, he has gained the master magic; who the foliage has gathered, has delight that never ceases. of the chips some had been scattered, scattered also many splinters, on the blue back of the ocean, of the ocean smooth and mirrored, rocked there by the winds and waters, like a boat upon the billows; storm-winds blew them to the northland, some the ocean currents carried. northland's fair and slender maiden, washing on the shore a head-dress, beating on the rocks her garments, rinsing there her silken raiment, in the waters of pohyola, there beheld the chips and splinters, carried by the winds and waters. in a bag the chips she gathered, took them to the ancient court-yard, there to make enchanted arrows, arrows for the great magician, there to shape them into weapons, weapons for the skilful archer, since the mighty oak has fallen, now has lost its hundred branches, that the north may see the sunshine, see the gentle gleam of moonlight, that the clouds may keep their courses, may extend the vault of heaven over every lake and river, o'er the banks of every island. groves arose in varied beauty, beautifully grew the forests, and again, the vines and flowers. birds again sang in the tree-tops, noisily the merry thrushes, and the cuckoos in the birch-trees; on the mountains grew the berries, golden flowers in the meadows, and the herbs of many colors, many kinds of vegetation; but the barley is not growing. wainamoinen, old and trusty, goes away and well considers, by the borders of the waters, on the ocean's sandy margin, finds six seeds of golden barley, even seven ripened kernels, on the shore of upper northland, in the sand upon the sea-shore, hides them in his trusty pouches, fashioned from the skin of squirrel, some were made from skin of marten; hastens forth the seeds to scatter, quickly sows the barley kernels, on the brinks of kalew-waters, on the osma-hills and lowlands. hark! the titmouse wildly crying, from the aspen, words as follow: "osma's barley will not flourish, not the barley of wainola, if the soil be not made ready, if the forest be not levelled, and the branches burned to ashes." wainamoinen, wise and ancient, made himself an axe for chopping, then began to clear the forest, then began the trees to level, felled the trees of all descriptions, only left the birch-tree standing for the birds a place of resting, where might sing the sweet-voiced cuckoo, sacred bird in sacred branches. down from heaven came the eagle, through the air be came a-flying, that he might this thing consider; and he spake the words that follow: "wherefore, ancient wainamoinen, hast thou left the slender birch-tree, left the birch-tree only standing?" wainamoinen thus made answer: "therefore is the birch left standing, that the birds may liest within it, that the eagle there may rest him, there may sing the sacred cuckoo." spake the eagle, thus replying: good indeed, thy hero-judgment, that the birch-tree thou hast left us, left the sacred birch-tree standing, as a resting-place for eagles, and for birds of every feather, even i may rest upon it." quickly then this bird of heaven, kindled fire among the branches; soon the flames are fanned by north-winds, and the east-winds lend their forces, burn the trees of all descriptions, burn them all to dust and ashes, only is the birch left standing. wainamoinen, wise and ancient, brings his magic grains of barley, brings he forth his seven seed-grains, brings them from his trusty pouches, fashioned from the skin of squirrel, some were made from skin of marten. thence to sow his seeds he hastens, hastes the barley-grains to scatter, speaks unto himself these measures: "i the seeds of life am sowing, sowing through my open fingers, from the hand of my creator, in this soil enriched with ashes, in this soil to sprout and flourish. ancient mother, thou that livest far below the earth and ocean, mother of the fields and forests, bring the rich soil to producing, bring the seed-grains to the sprouting, that the barley well may flourish. never will the earth unaided, yield the ripe nutritious barley; never will her force be wanting, if the givers give assistance, if the givers grace the sowing, grace the daughters of creation. rise, o earth, from out thy slumber, from the slumber-land of ages, let the barley-grains be sprouting, let the blades themselves be starting, let the verdant stalks be rising, let the ears themselves be growing, and a hundredfold producing, from my plowing and my sowing, from my skilled and honest labor. ukko, thou o god, up yonder, thou o father of the heavens, thou that livest high in ether, curbest all the clouds of heaven, holdest in the air thy counsel, holdest in the clouds good counsel, from the east dispatch a cloudlet, from the north-east send a rain-cloud, from the west another send us, from the north-west, still another, quickly from the south a warm-cloud, that the rain may fall from heaven, that the clouds may drop their honey, that the ears may fill and ripen, that the barley-fields may rustle." thereupon benignant ukko, ukko, father of the heavens, held his counsel in the cloud-space, held good counsel in the ether; from the east, he sent a cloudlet, from the north-east, sent a rain-cloud, from the west another sent he, from the north-west, still another, quickly from the south a warm-cloud; joined in seams the clouds together, sewed together all their edges, grasped the cloud, and hurled it earthward. quick the rain-cloud drops her honey, quick the rain-drops fall from heaven, that the ears may quickly ripen, that the barley crop may rustle. straightway grow the seeds of barley, from the germ the blade unfolding, richly colored ears arising, from the rich soil of the fallow, from the work of wainamoinen. here a few days pass unnoted and as many nights fly over. when the seventh day had journeyed, on the morning of the eighth day, wainamoinen, wise and ancient, went to view his crop of barley, how his plowing, how his sowing, how his labors were resulting; found his crop of barley growing, found the blades were triple-knotted, and the ears he found six-sided. wainamoinen, old and trusty, turned his face, and looked about him, lo! there comes a spring-time cuckoo, spying out the slender birch-tree, rests upon it, sweetly singing: "wherefore is the silver birch-tree left unharmed of all the forest? " spake the ancient wainamoinen: "therefore i have left the birch-tree, left the birch-tree only growing, home for thee for joyful singing. call thou here, o sweet-voiced cuckoo, sing thou here from throat of velvet, sing thou here with voice of silver, sing the cuckoo's golden flute-notes; call at morning, call at evening, call within the hour of noontide, for the better growth of forests, for the ripening of the barley, for the richness of, the northland, for the joy of kalevala." rune iii. wainamoinen and youkahainen. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, passed his years in full contentment, on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala, singing ever wondrous legends, songs of ancient wit and wisdom, chanting one day, then a second, singing in the dusk of evening, singing till the dawn of morning, now the tales of old-time heroes, tales of ages long forgotten, now the legends of creation, once familiar to the children, by our children sung no longer, sung in part by many heroes, in these mournful days of evil, evil days our race befallen. far and wide the story travelled, far away men spread the knowledge of the chanting of the hero, of the song of wainamoinen; to the south were heard the echoes, all of northland heard the story. far away in dismal northland, lived the singer, youkahainen, lapland's young and reckless minstrel, once upon a time when feasting, dining with his friends and fellows, came upon his ears the story that there lived a sweeter singer, on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala, better skilled in chanting legends, better skilled than youkahainen, better than the one that taught him. straightway then the bard grew angry, envy rose within his bosom, envy of this wainamoinen, famed to be a sweeter singer; hastes he angry to his mother, to his mother, full of wisdom, vows that he will southward hasten, hie him southward and betake him to the dwellings of wainola, to the cabins of the northland, there as bard to vie in battle, with the famous wainamoinen. "nay," replies the anxious father, "do not go to kalevala." "nay," replies the fearful mother, "go not hence to wainamoinen, there with him to offer battle; he will charm thee with his singing will bewitch thee in his anger, he will drive thee back dishonored, sink thee in the fatal snow-drift, turn to ice thy pliant fingers, turn to ice thy feet and ankles." these the words of youkahainen: good the judgement of a father, better still, a mother's counsel, best of all one's own decision. i will go and face the minstrel, challenge him to sing in contest, challenge him as bard to battle, sing to him my sweet-toned measures, chant to him my oldest legends, chant to him my garnered wisdom, that this best of boasted singers, that this famous bard of suomi, shall be worsted in the contest, shall become a hapless minstrel; by my songs shall i transform him, that his feet shall be as flint-stone, and as oak his nether raiment; and this famous, best of singers, thus bewitched, shall carry ever, in his heart a stony burden, on his shoulder bow of marble, on his hand a flint-stone gauntlet, on his brow a stony visor." then the wizard, youkahainen, heeding not advice paternal, heeding not his mother's counsel, leads his courser from his stable, fire outstreaming from his nostrils, from his hoofs, the sparks outshooting, hitches to his sledge, the fleet-foot, to his golden sledge, the courser, mounts impetuous his snow-sledge, leaps upon the hindmost cross-bench, strikes his courser with his birch-whip, with his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled. instantly the prancing racer springs away upon his journey; on he, restless, plunges northward, all day long be onward gallops, all the next day, onward, onward, so the third from morn till evening, till the third day twilight brings him to the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala. as it happened, wainamoinen, wainamoinen, the magician, rode that sunset on the highway, silently for pleasure driving down wainola's peaceful meadows, o'er the plains of kalevala. youkahainen, young and fiery, urging still his foaming courser, dashes down upon the singer, does not turn aside in meeting, meeting thus in full collision; shafts are driven tight together, hames and collars wedged and tangled, tangled are the reins and traces. thus perforce they make a stand-still, thus remain and well consider; water drips from hame and collar, vapors rise from both their horses. speaks the minstrel, wainamoinen: "who art thou, and whence? thou comest driving like a stupid stripling, wainamoinen and youkahainen. careless, dashing down upon me. thou hast ruined shafts and traces; and the collar of my racer thou hast shattered into ruin, and my golden sleigh is broken, box and runners dashed to pieces." youkahainen then make answer, spake at last the words that follow: "i am youthful youkahainen, but make answer first, who thou art, whence thou comest, where thou goest, from what lowly tribe descended?" wainamolinen, wise and ancient, answered thus the youthful minstrel: "if thou art but youkahainen, thou shouldst give me all the highway; i am many years thy senior." then the boastful youkahainen spake again to wainamoinen: "young or ancient, little matter, little consequence the age is; he that higher stands in wisdom, he whose knowledge is the greater, he that is the sweeter singer, he alone shall keep the highway, and the other take the roadside. art thou ancient wainamoinen, famous sorcerer and minstrel? let us then begin our singing, let us sing our ancient legends, let us chant our garnered wisdom, that the one may hear the other, that the one may judge the other, in a war of wizard sayings." wainamoinen, wise and ancient, thus replied in modest accents: "what i know is very little, hardly is it worth the singing, neither is my singing wondrous: all my days i have resided in the cold and dreary northland, in a desert land enchanted, in my cottage home for ayes; all the songs that i have gathered, are the cuckoo's simple measures, some of these i may remember; but since thou perforce demandest, i accept thy boastful challenge. tell me now, my golden youngster, what thou knowest more than others, open now thy store of wisdom." thus made answer youkahainen, lapland's young and fiery minstrel: "know i many bits of learning this i know in perfect clearness: every roof must have a chimney, every fire-place have a hearth-stone; lives of seal are free and merry, merry is the life of walrus, feeding on incautious salmon, daily eating perch and whiting; whitings live in quiet shallows, salmon love the level bottoms; spawns the pike in coldest weather, and defies the storms of winter. slowly perches swim in autumn, wry-backed, hunting deeper water, spawn in shallows in the summer, bounding on the shore of ocean. should this wisdom seem too little, i can tell thee other matters, sing thee other wizard sayings: all the northmen plow with reindeer, mother-horses plow the southland, inner lapland plows with oxen; all the trees on pisa-mountain, know i well in all their grandeur; on the horna-rock are fir-trees, fir-trees growing tall and slender; slender grow the trees on mountains. three, the water-falls in number, three in number, inland oceans, three in number, lofty mountains, shooting to the vault of heaven. hallapyora's near to yaemen, katrakoski in karyala; imatra, the falling water, tumbles, roaring, into wuoksi." then the ancient wainimoinen: "women's tales and children's wisdom do not please a bearded hero, hero, old enough for wedlock; tell the story of creation, tell me of the world's beginning, tell me of the creatures in it, and philosophize a little." then the youthful youkahainen thus replied to wainamoinen: "know i well the titmouse-fountains, pretty birdling is the titmouse; and the viper, green, a serpent; whitings live in brackish waters; perches swim in every river; iron rusts, and rusting weakens; bitter is the taste of umber; boiling water is malicious; fire is ever full of danger; first physician, the creator; remedy the oldest, water; magic is the child of sea-foam; god the first and best adviser; waters gush from every mountain; fire descended first from heaven; iron from the rust was fashioned; copper from the rocks created; marshes are of lands the oldest; first of all the trees, the willow; fir-trees were the first of houses; hollowed stones the first of kettles." now the ancient wainamoinen thus addresses youkahainen: "canst thou give me now some wisdom, is this nonsense all thou knowest?" youkahainen thus made answer: "i can tell thee still a trifle, tell thee of the times primeval, when i plowed the salt-sea's bosom, when i raked the sea-girt islands, when i dug the salmon-grottoes, hollowed out the deepest caverns, when i all the lakes created, when i heaped the mountains round them, when i piled the rocks about them. i was present as a hero, sixth of wise and ancient heroes, seventh of all primeval heroes, when the heavens were created, when were formed the ether-spaces, when the sky was crystal-pillared, when was arched the beauteous rainbow, when the moon was placed in orbit, when the silver sun was planted, when the bear was firmly stationed, and with stars the heavens were sprinkled." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "thou art surely prince of liars, lord of all the host of liars; never wert thou in existence, surely wert thou never present, when was plowed the salt-sea's bosom, when were raked the sea-girt islands, when were dug the salmon-grottoes, when were hollowed out the caverns, when the lakes were all created, when were heaped the mountains round them, when the rocks were piled about them. thou wert never seen or heard of when the earth was first created, when were made the ether-spaces, when the air was crystal-pillared, when the moon was placed in orbit, when the silver sun was planted, when the bear was firmly stationed, when the skies with stars were sprinkled." then in anger youkahainen answered ancient wainamoinen: "then, sir, since i fail in wisdom, with the sword i offer battle; come thou, famous bard and minstrel, thou the ancient wonder-singer, let us try our strength with broadswords, let our blades be fully tested." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "not thy sword and not thy wisdom, not thy prudence, nor thy cunning, do i fear a single moment. let who may accept thy challenge, not with thee, a puny braggart, not with one so vain and paltry, will i ever measure broadswords." then the youthful youkahainen, mouth awry and visage sneering, shook his golden locks and answered: "whoso fears his blade to measure, fears to test his strength at broadswords, into wild-boar of the forest, swine at heart and swine in visage, singing i will thus transform him; i will hurl such hero-cowards, this one hither, that one thither, stamp him in the mire and bedding, in the rubbish of the stable." angry then grew wainamoinen, wrathful waxed, and fiercely frowning, self-composed he broke his silence, and began his wondrous singing. sang he not the tales of childhood, children's nonsense, wit of women, sang he rather bearded heroes, that the children never heard of, that the boys and maidens knew not known but half by bride and bridegroom, known in part by many heroes, in these mournful days of evil, evil times our race befallen. grandly sang wise wainamoinen, till the copper-bearing mountains, and the flinty rocks and ledges heard his magic tones and trembled; mountain cliffs were torn to pieces, all the ocean heaved and tumbled; and the distant hills re-echoed. lo! the boastful youkahainen is transfixed in silent wonder, and his sledge with golden trimmings floats like brushwood on the billows; sings his braces into reed-grass, sings his reins to twigs of willow, and to shrubs his golden cross-bench. lo! his birch-whip, pearl-enameled, floats a reed upon the border; lo! his steed with golden forehead, stands a statue on the waters; hames and traces are as fir-boughs, and his collar, straw and sea-grass. still the minstrel sings enchantment, sings his sword with golden handle, sings it into gleam of lightning, hangs it in the sky above him; sings his cross-bow, gaily painted, to a rainbow o'er the ocean; sings his quick and feathered arrows into hawks and screaming eagles; sings his dog with bended muzzle, into block of stone beside him; sings his cap from off his forehead, sings it into wreaths of vapor; from his hands he sings his gauntlets into rushes on the waters; sings his vesture, purple-colored, into white clouds in the heavens; sings his girdle, set with jewels, into twinkling stars around him; and alas! for youkahainen, sings him into deeps of quick-sand; ever deeper, deeper, deeper, in his torture, sinks the wizard, to his belt in mud and water. now it was that youkahainen comprehended but too clearly what his folly, what the end was, of the journey he had ventured, vainly he had undertaken for the glory of a contest with the grand, old wainamoinen. when at last young youkahainen, pohyola's old and sorry stripling, strives his best to move his right foot, but alas! the foot obeys not; when he strives to move his left foot, lo! he finds it turned to flint-stone. thereupon sad youkahainen, in the deeps of desperation, and in earnest supplication, thus addresses wainamoinen: "o thou wise and worthy minstrel, thou the only true, magician, cease i pray thee thine enchantment,. only turn away thy magic, let me leave this slough of horror, loose me from this stony prison, free me from this killing torment, i will pay a golden ransom." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "what the ransom thou wilt give me if i cease from mine enchantment, if i turn away my magic, lift thee from thy slough of horror, loose thee from thy stony prison, free thee from thy killing torment?" answered youthful youkahainen: "have at home two magic cross-bows, pair of bows of wondrous power, one so light a child can bend it, only strength can bend the other, take of these the one that pleases." then the ancient wainamoinen: "do not wish thy magic cross-bows, have a few of such already, thine to me are worse than useless i have bows in great abundance, bows on every nail and rafter, bows that laugh at all the hunters, bows that go themselves a-hunting." then the ancient wainamoinen sang alas! poor youkahainen deeper into mud and water, deeper in the slough of torment. youkahainen thus made answer: "have at home two magic shallops, beautiful the boats and wondrous; one rides light upon the ocean, one is made for heavy burdens; take of these the one that pleases." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "do not wish thy magic shallops, have enough of such already; all my bays are full of shallops, all my shores are lined with shallops, some before the winds are sailors, some were built to sail against them." still the wainola bard and minstrel sings again poor youkahainen deeper, deeper into torment, into quicksand to his girdle, till the lapland bard in anguish speaks again to wainamoinen: "have at home two magic stallions, one a racer, fleet as lightning, one was born for heavy burdens; take of these the one that pleases." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "neither do i wish thy stallions, do not need thy hawk-limbed stallions, have enough of these already; magic stallions swarm my stables, eating corn at every manger, broad of back to hold the water, water on each croup in lakelets." still the bard of kalevala sings the hapless lapland minstrel deeper, deeper into torment, to his shoulders into water. spake again young youkahainen: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, thou the only true magician, cease i pray thee thine enchantment, only turn away thy magic, i will give thee gold abundant, countless stores of shining silver; from the wars my father brought it, brought it from the hard-fought battles." spake the wise, old wainamoinen: "for thy gold i have no longing, neither do i wish thy silver, have enough of each already; gold abundant fills my chambers, on each nail hang bags of silver, gold that glitters in the sunshine, silver shining in the moonlight." sank the braggart, youkahainen, deeper in his slough of torment, to his chin in mud and water, ever praying, thus beseeching: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, greatest of the old magicians, lift me from this pit of horror, from this prison-house of torture; i will give thee all my corn-fields, give thee all my corn in garners, thus my hapless life to ransom, thus to gain eternal freedom." wainamoinen thus made answer: "take thy corn to other markets, give thy garners to the needy; i have corn in great abundance, fields have i in every quarter, corn in all my fields is growing; one's own fields are always richer, one's own grain is much the sweeter." lapland's young and reckless minstrel, sorrow-laden, thus enchanted, deeper sinks in mud and water, fear-enchained and full of anguish, in the mire, his beard bedrabbled, mouth once boastful filled with sea-weed, in the grass his teeth entangled, youkahainen thus beseeches: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, wisest of the wisdom-singers, cease at last thine incantations, only turn away thy magic, and my former life restore me, lift me from this stifling torment, free mine eyes from sand and water, i will give thee sister, aino, fairest daughter of my mother, bride of thine to be forever, bride of thine to do thy pleasure, sweep the rooms within thy cottage, keep thy dwelling-place in order, rinse for thee the golden platters, spread thy couch with finest linens, for thy bed, weave golden covers, bake for thee the honey-biscuit." wainamoinen, old and truthful, finds at last the wished-for ransom, lapland's young and fairest daughter, sister dear of youkahainen; happy he, that he has won him, in his age a beauteous maiden, bride of his to be forever, pride and joy of kalevala. now the happy wainamoinen, sits upon the rock of gladness, joyful on the rock of music, sings a little, sings and ceases, sings again, and sings a third time, thus to break the spell of magic, thus to lessen the enchantment, thus the potent charm to banish. as the magic spell is broken, youkahainen, sad, but wiser, drags his feet from out the quicksand, lifts his beard from out the water, from the rocks leads forth his courser, brings his sledge back from the rushes, calls his whip back from the ocean, sets his golden sledge in order, throws himself upon the cross-bench, snaps his whip and hies him homeward, hastens homeward, heavy-hearted, sad indeed to meet his mother, aino's mother, gray and aged. careless thus be hastens homeward, nears his home with noise and bustle, reckless drives against the pent-house, breaks the shafts against the portals, breaks his handsome sledge in pieces. then his mother, quickly guessing, would have chided him for rashness, but the father interrupted: "wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge, wherefore dash thy thills in fragments, wherefore comest home so strangely, why this rude and wild behavior?" now alas! poor youkahainen, cap awry upon his forehead, falls to weeping, broken-hearted, head depressed and mind dejected, eyes and lips expressing sadness, answers not his anxious father. then the mother quickly asked him, sought to find his cause for sorrow: "tell me, first-born, why thou weepest, why thou weepest, heavy-hearted, why thy mind is so dejected, why thine eyes express such sadness." youkahainen then made answer: "golden mother, ever faithful, cause there is to me sufficient, cause enough in what has happened, bitter cause for this my sorrow, cause for bitter tears and murmurs: all my days will pass unhappy, since, o mother of my being, i have promised beauteous aino, aino, thy beloved daughter, aino, my devoted sister, to decrepit wainamoinen, bride to be to him forever, roof above him, prop beneath him, fair companion at his fire-side." joyful then arose the mother, clapped her hands in glee together, thus addressing youkahainen: "weep no more, my son beloved, thou hast naught to cause thy weeping, hast no reason for thy sorrow, often i this hope have cherished; many years have i been praying that this mighty bard and hero, wise and valiant wainamoinen, spouse should be to beauteous aino, son-in-law to me, her mother." but the fair and lovely maiden, sister dear of youkahainen, straightway fell to bitter weeping, on the threshold wept and lingered, wept all day and all the night long, wept a second, then a third day, wept because a bitter sorrow on her youthful heart had fallen. then the gray-haired mother asked her: "why this weeping, lovely aino? thou hast found a noble suitor, thou wilt rule his spacious dwelling, at his window sit and rest thee, rinse betimes his golden platters, walk a queen within his dwelling." thus replied the tearful aino: "mother dear, and all-forgiving, cause enough for this my sorrow, cause enough for bitter weeping: i must loose my sunny tresses, tresses beautiful and golden, cannot deck my hair with jewels, cannot bind my head with ribbons, all to be hereafter hidden underneath the linen bonnet that the wife. must wear forever; weep at morning, weep at evening, weep alas! for waning beauty, childhood vanished, youth departed, silver sunshine, golden moonlight, hope and pleasure of my childhood, taken from me now forever, and so soon to be forgotten at the tool-bench of my brother, at the window of my sister, in the cottage of my father." spake again the gray-haired mother to her wailing daughter aino: "cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden, by thy tears thou art ungrateful, reason none for thy repining, not the slightest cause for weeping; everywhere the silver sunshine falls as bright on other households; not alone the moonlight glimmers through thy father's open windows, on the work-bench of thy brother; flowers bloom in every meadow, berries grow on every mountain; thou canst go thyself and find them, all the day long go and find them; not alone thy brother's meadows grow the beauteous vines and flowers; not alone thy father's mountains yield the ripe, nutritious berries; flowers bloom in other meadows, berries grow on other mountains, there as here, my lovely aino." rune iv. the fate of aino. when the night had passed, the maiden, sister fair of youkahainen, hastened early to the forest, birchen shoots for brooms to gather, went to gather birchen tassels; bound a bundle for her father, bound a birch-broom for her mother, silken tassels for her sister. straightway then she hastened homeward, by a foot-path left the forest; as she neared the woodland border, lo! the ancient wainamoinen, quickly spying out the maiden, as she left the birchen woodland, trimly dressed in costly raiment, and the minstrel thus addressed her: "aino, beauty of the northland, wear not, lovely maid, for others, only wear for me, sweet maiden, golden cross upon thy bosom, shining pearls upon thy shoulders; bind for me thine auburn tresses, wear for me thy golden braidlets." thus the maiden quickly answered: "not for thee and not for others, hang i from my neck the crosslet, deck my hair with silken ribbons; need no more the many trinkets brought to me by ship or shallop; sooner wear the simplest raiment, feed upon the barley bread-crust, dwell forever with my mother in the cabin with my father." then she threw the gold cross from her, tore the jewels from her fingers, quickly loosed her shining necklace, quick untied her silken ribbons, cast them all away indignant into forest ferns and flowers. thereupon the maiden, aino, hastened to her mother's cottage. at the window sat her father whittling on an oaken ax-helve: "wherefore weepest, beauteous aino, aino, my beloved daughter? "cause enough for weeping, father, good the reasons for my mourning, this, the reason for my weeping, this, the cause of all my sorrow: from my breast i tore the crosslet, from my belt, the clasp of copper, from my waist, the belt of silver, golden was my pretty crosslet." near the door-way sat her brother, carving out a birchen ox-bow: "why art weeping, lovely aino, aino, my devoted sister?" "cause enough for weeping, brother, good the reasons for my mourning therefore come i as thou seest, rings no longer on my fingers, on my neck no pretty necklace; golden were the rings thou gavest, and the necklace, pearls and silver!" on the threshold sat her sister, weaving her a golden girdle: "why art weeping, beauteous aino, aino, my beloved sister?" "cause enough for weeping, sister, good the reasons for my sorrow: therefore come i as thou seest, on my head no scarlet fillet, in my hair no braids of silver, on mine arms no purple ribbons, round my neck no shining necklace, on my breast no golden crosslet, in mine ears no golden ear-rings." near the door-way of the dairy, skimming cream, sat aino's mother. "why art weeping, lovely aino, aino, my devoted daughter?" thus the sobbing maiden answered; "loving mother, all-forgiving, cause enough for this my weeping, good the reasons for my sorrow, therefore do i weep, dear mother: i have been within the forest, brooms to bind and shoots to gather, there to pluck some birchen tassels; bound a bundle for my father, bound a second for my mother, bound a third one for my brother, for my sister silken tassels. straightway then i hastened homeward, by a foot-path left the forest; as i reached the woodland border spake osmoinen from the cornfield, spake the ancient wainamoinen: 'wear not, beauteous maid, for others, only wear for me, sweet maiden, on thy breast a golden crosslet, shining pearls upon thy shoulders, bind for me thine auburn tresses, weave for me thy silver braidlets.' then i threw the gold-cross from me, tore the jewels from my fingers, quickly loosed my shining necklace, quick untied my silken ribbons, cast them all away indignant, into forest ferns and flowers. then i thus addressed the singer: 'not for thee and not for others, hang i from my neck the crosslet, deck my hair with silken ribbons; need no more the many trinkets, brought to me by ship and shallop; sooner wear the simplest raiment, feed upon the barley bread-crust, dwell forever with my mother in the cabin with my father.'" thus the gray-haired mother answered aino, her beloved daughter: "weep no more, my lovely maiden, waste no more of thy sweet young-life; one year eat thou my sweet butter, it will make thee strong and ruddy; eat another year fresh bacon, it will make thee tall and queenly; eat a third year only dainties, it will make thee fair and lovely. now make haste to yonder hill-top, to the store-house on the mountain, open there the large compartment, thou will find it filled with boxes, chests and cases, trunks and boxes; open thou the box, the largest, lift away the gaudy cover, thou will find six golden girdles, seven rainbow-tinted dresses, woven by the moon's fair daughters, fashioned by the sun's sweet virgins. in my young years once i wandered, as a maiden on the mountains, in the happy days of childhood, hunting berries in the coppice; there by chance i heard the daughters of the moon as they were weaving; there i also heard the daughters of the sun as they were spinning on the red rims of the cloudlets, o'er the blue edge of the forest, on the border of the pine-wood, on a high and distant mountain. i approached them, drawing nearer, stole myself within their hearing, then began i to entreat them, thus besought them, gently pleading: 'give thy silver, moon's fair daughters, to a poor, but worthy maiden; give thy gold, o sun's sweet virgins, to this maiden, young and needy.' thereupon the moon's fair daughters gave me silver from their coffers; and the sun's sweet shining virgins gave me gold from their abundance, gold to deck my throbbing temples, for my hair the shining silver. then i hastened joyful homeward, richly laden with my treasures, happy to my mother's cottage; wore them one day, than a second, then a third day also wore them, took the gold then from my temples, from my hair i took the silver, careful laid them in their boxes, many seasons have they lain there, have not seen them since my childhood. deck thy brow with silken ribbon, trim with gold thy throbbing temples, and thy neck with pearly necklace, hang the gold-cross on thy bosom, robe thyself in pure, white linen spun from flax of finest fiber; wear withal the richest short-frock, fasten it with golden girdle; on thy feet, put silken stockings, with the shoes of finest leather; deck thy hair with golden braidlets, bind it well with threads of silver; trim with rings thy fairy fingers, and thy hands with dainty ruffles; come bedecked then to thy chamber, thus return to this thy household, to the greeting of thy kindred, to the joy of all that know thee, flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries, coming as thy father's sunbeam, walking beautiful and queenly, far more beautiful than moonlight." thus she spake to weeping aino, thus the mother to her daughter; but the maiden, little bearing, does not heed her mother's wishes; straightway hastens to the court-yard, there to weep in bitter sorrow, all alone to weep in anguish. waiting long the wailing aino thus at last soliloquizes: "unto what can i now liken happy homes and joys of fortune? like the waters in the river, like the waves in yonder lakelet, like the crystal waters flowing. unto what, the biting sorrow of the child of cold misfortune? like the spirit of the sea-duck, like the icicle in winter, water in the well imprisoned. often roamed my mind in childhood, when a maiden free and merry, happily through fen and fallow, gamboled on the meads with lambkins, lingered with the ferns and flowers, knowing neither pain nor trouble; now my mind is filled with sorrow, wanders though the bog and stubble, wanders weary through the brambles, roams throughout the dismal forest, till my life is filled with darkness, and my spirit white with anguish. better had it been for aino had she never seen the sunlight, or if born had died an infant, had not lived to be a maiden in these days of sin and sorrow, underneath a star so luckless. better had it been for aino, had she died upon the eighth day after seven nights had vanished; needed then but little linen, needed but a little coffin, and a grave of smallest measure; mother would have mourned a little, father too perhaps a trifle, sister would have wept the day through, brother might have shed a tear-drop, thus had ended all the mourning." thus poor aino wept and murmured, wept one day, and then a second, wept a third from morn till even, when again her mother asked her: "why this weeping, fairest daughter, darling daughter, why this grieving? thus the tearful maiden answered: therefore do i weep and sorrow, wretched maiden all my life long, since poor aino, thou hast given, since thy daughter thou hast promised to the aged wainamoinen, comfort to his years declining prop to stay him when he totters, in the storm a roof above him, in his home a cloak around him; better far if thou hadst sent me far below the salt-sea surges, to become the whiting's sister, and the friend of perch and salmon; better far to ride the billows, swim the sea-foam as a mermaid, and the friend of nimble fishes, than to be an old man's solace, prop to stay him when be totters, hand to aid him when he trembles, arm to guide him when he falters, strength to give him when he weakens; better be the whiting's sister and the friend of perch and salmon, than an old man's slave and darling." ending thus she left her mother, straightway hastened to the mountain? to the store-house on the summit, opened there the box the largest, from the box six lids she lifted, found therein six golden girdles, silken dresses seven in number. choosing such as pleased her fancy, she adorned herself as bidden, robed herself to look her fairest, gold upon her throbbing temples, in her hair the shining silver, on her shoulders purple ribbons, band of blue around her forehead, golden cross, and rings, and jewels, fitting ornaments to beauty. now she leaves her many treasures, leaves the store-house on the mountain, filled with gold and silver trinkets, wanders over field and meadow, over stone-fields waste and barren, wanders on through fen and forest, through the forest vast and cheerless, wanders hither, wanders thither, singing careless as she wanders, this her mournful song and echo: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! woe to aino, broken-hearted! torture racks my heart and temples, yet the sting would not be deeper, nor the pain and anguish greater, if beneath this weight of sorrow, in my saddened heart's dejection, i should yield my life forever, now unhappy, i should perish! lo! the time has come for aino from this cruel world to hasten, to the kingdom of tuoni, to the realm of the departed, to the isle of the hereafter. weep no more for me, o father, mother dear, withhold thy censure, lovely sister, dry thine eyelids, do not mourn me, dearest brother, when i sink beneath the sea-foam, make my home in salmon-grottoes, make my bed in crystal waters, water-ferns my couch and pillow." all day long poor aino wandered, all the next day, sad and weary, so the third from morn till evening, till the cruel night enwrapped her, as she reached the sandy margin, reached the cold and dismal sea-shore, sat upon the rock of sorrow, sat alone in cold and darkness, listened only to the music of the winds and rolling billows, singing all the dirge of aino. all that night the weary maiden wept and wandered on the border through the sand and sea-washed pebbles. as the day dawns, looking round her, she beholds three water-maidens, on a headland jutting seaward, water-maidens four in number, sitting on the wave-lashed ledges, swimming now upon the billows, now upon the rocks reposing. quick the weeping maiden, aino, hastens there to join the mermaids, fairy maidens of the waters. weeping aino, now disrobing, lays aside with care her garments, hangs her silk robes on the alders, drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore, on the aspen hangs her ribbons, on the rocks her silken stockings, on the grass her shoes of deer-skin, in the sand her shining necklace, with her rings and other jewels. out at sea a goodly distance, stood a rock of rainbow colors, glittering in silver sunlight. toward it springs the hapless maiden, thither swims the lovely aino, up the standing-stone has clambered, wishing there to rest a moment, rest upon the rock of beauty; when upon a sudden swaying to and fro among the billows, with a crash and roar of waters falls the stone of many colors, falls upon the very bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea. with the stone of rainbow colors, falls the weeping maiden, aino, clinging to its craggy edges, sinking far below the surface, to the bottom of the blue-sea. thus the weeping maiden vanished. thus poor aino sank and perished, singing as the stone descended, chanting thus as she departed: once to swim i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone or many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty son-bird. perished. never come a-fishing, father, to the borders of these waters, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest daughter aino. "mother dear, i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone of many colors, sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty song-bird perished. never mix thy bread, dear mother, with the blue-sea's foam and waters, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest daughter aino. brother dear, i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone of many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty song-bird perished. never bring thy prancing war-horse, never bring thy royal racer, never bring thy steeds to water, to the borders of the blue-sea, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest sister aino. "sister dear, i sought the sea-side, there to sport among the billows; with the stone of many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, like a pretty song-bird perished. never come to lave thine eyelids in this rolling wave and sea-foam, never during all thy life-time, as thou lovest sister aino. all the waters in the blue-sea shall be blood of aino's body; all the fish that swim these waters shall be aino's flesh forever; all the willows on the sea-side shall be aino's ribs hereafter; all the sea-grass on the margin will have grown from aino's tresses." thus at last the maiden vanished, thus the lovely aino perished. who will tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings to the cottage of her mother, once the home of lovely aino? will the bear repeat the story, tell the tidings to her mother? nay, the bear must not be herald, he would slay the herds of cattle. who then tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings to the cottage of her father, once the home of lovely aino? shall the wolf repeat the story, tell the sad news to her father? nay, the wolf must not be herald, he would eat the gentle lambkins. who then tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings. to the cottage of her sister? 'will the fox repeat the story tell the tidings to her sister? nay, the fox must not be herald, he would eat the ducks and chickens. who then tell the cruel story, who will bear the evil tidings to the cottage of her brother, once the home of lovely aino? shall the hare repeat the story, bear the sad news to her brother? yea, the hare shall be the herald, tell to all the cruel story. thus the harmless hare makes answer: "i will bear the evil tidings to the former home of aino, tell the story to her kindred." swiftly flew the long-eared herald, like the winds be hastened onward, galloped swift as flight of eagles; neck awry he bounded forward till he gained the wished-for cottage, once the home of lovely aino. silent was the home, and vacant; so he hastened to the bath-house, found therein a group of maidens, working each upon a birch-broom. sat the hare upon the threshold, and the maidens thus addressed him: "hie e there, long-legs, or we'll roast thee, hie there, big-eye, or we'll stew thee, roast thee for our lady's breakfast, stew thee for our master's dinner, make of thee a meal for aino, and her brother, youkahainen! better therefore thou shouldst gallop to thy burrow in the mountains, than be roasted for our dinners." then the haughty hare made answer, chanting thus the fate of aino: "think ye not i journey hither, to be roasted in the skillet, to be stewed in yonder kettle let fell lempo fill thy tables! i have come with evil tidings, come to tell the cruel story of the flight and death of aino, sister dear of youkahainen. with the stone of many colors sank poor aino to the bottom of the deep and boundless waters, like a pretty song-bird perished; hung her ribbons on the aspen, left her gold-cross on the sea-shore, silken robes upon the alders, on the rocks her silken stockings, on the grass her shoes of deer-skin, in the sand her shining necklace, in the sand her rings and jewels; in the waves, the lovely aino, sleeping on the very bottom of the deep and boundless blue-sea, in the caverns of the salmon, there to be the whiting's sister and the friend of nimble fishes." sadly weeps the ancient mother from her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops, as in sad and wailing measures, broken-hearted thus she answers: "listen, all ye mothers, listen, learn from me a tale of wisdom: never urge unwilling daughters from the dwellings of their fathers, to the bridegrooms that they love not, not as i, inhuman mother, drove away my lovely aino, fairest daughter of the northland." sadly weeps the gray-haired mother, and the tears that fall are bitter, flowing down her wrinkled visage, till they trickle on her bosom; then across her heaving bosom, till they reach her garment's border; then adown her silken stockings, till they touch her shoes of deer-skin; then beneath her shoes of deer-skin, flowing on and flowing ever, part to earth as its possession, part to water as its portion. as the tear-drops fall and mingle, form they streamlets three in number, and their source, the mother's eyelids, streamlets formed from pearly tear-drops, flowing on like little rivers, and each streamlet larger growing, soon becomes a rushing torrent in each rushing, roaring torrent there a cataract is foaming, foaming in the silver sunlight; from the cataract's commotion rise three pillared rocks in grandeur; from each rock, upon the summit, grow three hillocks clothed in verdure; from each hillock, speckled birches, three in number, struggle skyward; on the summit of each birch-tree sits a golden cuckoo calling, and the three sing, all in concord: "love! o love! the first one calleth; sings the second, suitor! suitor! and the third one calls and echoes, "consolation! consolation!" he that "love! o love!" is calling, calls three moons and calls unceasing, for the love-rejecting maiden sleeping in the deep sea-castles. he that "suitor! suitor!" singeth, sings six moons and sings unceasing for the suitor that forever sings and sues without a hearing. he that sadly sings and echoes, "consolation! consolation!" sings unceasing all his life long for the broken-hearted mother that must mourn and weep forever. when the lone and wretched mother heard the sacred cuckoo singing, spake she thus, and sorely weeping: "when i hear the cuckoo calling, then my heart is filled with sorrow; tears unlock my heavy eyelids, flow adown my, furrowed visage, tears as large as silver sea pearls; older grow my wearied elbows, weaker ply my aged fingers, wearily, in all its members, does my body shake in palsy, when i hear the cuckoo singing, hear the sacred cuckoo calling." rune v. wainavoinen's lamentation. far and wide the tidings travelled, far away men heard the story of the flight and death of aino, sister dear of youkahainen, fairest daughter of creation. wainamoinen, brave and truthful, straightway fell to bitter weeping, wept at morning, wept at evening, sleepless, wept the dreary night long, that his aino had departed, that the maiden thus had vanished, thus had sunk upon the bottom of the blue-sea, deep and boundless. filled with grief, the ancient singer, wainamoinen of the northland, heavy-hearted, sorely weeping, hastened to the restless waters, this the suitor's prayer and question: "tell, untamo, tell me, dreamer, tell me, indolence, thy visions, where the water-gods may linger, where may rest wellamo's maidens?" then untamo, thus made answer, lazily he told his dreamings: "over there, the mermaid-dwellings, yonder live wellamo's maidens, on the headland robed in verdure, on the forest-covered island, in the deep, pellucid waters, on the purple-colored sea-shore; yonder is the home or sea-maids, there the maidens of wellamo, live there in their sea-side chambers, rest within their water-caverns, on the rocks of rainbow colors, on the juttings of the sea-cliffs." straightway hastens wainamoinen to a boat-house on the sea-shore, looks with care upon the fish-hooks, and the lines he well considers; lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets, places in a boat of copper, then begins he swiftly rowing to the forest-covered island, to the point enrobed in verdure, to the purple-colored headland, where the sea-nymphs live and linger. hardly does he reach the island ere the minstrel starts to angle; far away he throws his fish-hook, trolls it quickly through the waters, turning on a copper swivel dangling from a silver fish-line, golden is the hook he uses. now he tries his silken fish-net, angles long, and angles longer, angles one day, then a second, in the morning, in the evening, angles at the hour of noontide, many days and nights he angles, till at last, one sunny morning, strikes a fish of magic powers, plays like salmon on his fish-line, lashing waves across the waters, till at length the fish exhausted falls a victim to the angler, safely landed in the bottom of the hero's boat of copper. wainamoinen, proudly viewing, speaks these words in wonder guessing: "this the fairest of all sea-fish, never have i seen its equal, smoother surely than the salmon, brighter-spotted than the trout is, grayer than the pike of suomi, has less fins than any female, not the fins of any male fish, not the stripes of sea-born maidens, not the belt of any mermaid, not the ears of any song-bird, somewhat like our northland salmon from the blue-sea's deepest caverns." in his belt the ancient hero wore a knife insheathed with silver; from its case he drew the fish-knife, thus to carve the fish in pieces, dress the nameless fish for roasting, make of it a dainty breakfast, make of it a meal at noon-day, make for him a toothsome supper, make the later meal at evening. straightway as the fish he touches, touches with his knife of silver, quick it leaps upon the waters, dives beneath the sea's smooth surface, from the boat with copper bottom, from the skiff of wainamoinen. in the waves at goodly distance, quickly from the sea it rises on the sixth and seventh billows, lifts its head above the waters, out of reach of fishing-tackle, then addresses wainamoinen, chiding thus the ancient hero: "wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, do not think that i came hither to be fished for as a salmon, only to be chopped in pieces, dressed and eaten like a whiting make for thee a dainty breakfast, make for thee a meal at midday, make for thee a toothsome supper, make the fourth meal of the northland." spake the ancient wainamoinen: "wherefore didst thou then come hither, if it be not for my dinner?" thus the nameless fish made answer: "hither have i come, o minstrel, in thine arms to rest and linger, and thyself to love and cherish, at thy side a life-companion, and thy wife to be forever; deck thy couch with snowy linen, smooth thy head upon the pillow, sweep thy rooms and make them cheery, keep thy dwelling-place in order, build a fire for thee when needed, bake for thee the honey-biscuit, fill thy cup with barley-water, do for thee whatever pleases. "i am not a scaly sea-fish, not a trout of northland rivers, not a whiting from the waters, not a salmon of the north-seas, i, a young and merry maiden, friend and sister of the fishes, youkahainen's youngest sister, i, the one that thou dost fish for, i am aino whom thou lovest. "once thou wert the wise-tongued hero, now the foolish wainamoinen, scant of insight, scant of judgment, didst not know enough to keep me, cruel-hearted, bloody-handed, tried to kill me with thy fish-knife, so to roast me for thy dinner; i, a mermaid of wellamo, once the fair and lovely aino, sister dear of youkahainen." spake the ancient wainamoinen, filled with sorrow, much regretting: "since thou'rt youkahainen's sister, beauteous aino of pohyola, come to me again i pray thee!" thus the mermaid wisely answered; nevermore will aino's spirit fly to thee and be ill-treated." quickly dived the water-maiden from the surface of the billow to the many-colored pebbles, to the rainbow-tinted grottoes where the mermaids live and linger. wainamoinen, not discouraged, thought afresh and well reflected, how to live, and work, and win her; drew with care his silken fish-net, to and fro through foam and billow, through the bays and winding channels, drew it through the placid waters, drew it through the salmon-dwellings, through the homes of water-maidens, through the waters of wainola, through the blue-back of the ocean, through the lakes of distant lapland, through the rivers of youkola, through the seas of kalevala, hoping thus to find his aino. many were the fish be landed, every form of fish-like creatures, but be did not catch the sea-maid, not wellamo's water-maiden, fairest daughter of the northland. finally the ancient minstrel, mind depressed, and heart discouraged, spake these words, immersed in sorrow: "fool am i, and great my folly, having neither wit nor judgment; surely once i had some knowledge, had some insight into wisdom, had at least a bit of instinct; but my virtues all have left me in these mournful days of evil, vanished with my youth and vigor, insight gone, and sense departed, all my prudence gone to others! aino, whom i love and cherish, all these years have sought to honor, aino, now wellamo's maiden, promised friend of mine when needed, promised bride of mine forever, once i had within my power, caught her in wellamo's grottoes, led her to my boat of copper, with my fish-line made of silver; but alas! i could not keep her, did not know that i had caught her till too late to woo and win her; let her slip between my fingers to the home of water-maidens, to the kingdom of wellamo." wainamoinen then departed, empty-handed, heavy-hearted, straightway hastened to his country, to his home in kalevala, spake these words upon his journey: "what has happened to the cuckoo, once the cuckoo bringing gladness, in the morning, in the evening, often bringing joy at noontide? what has stilled the cuckoo's singing, what has changed the cuckoo's calling? sorrow must have stilled his singing, and compassion changed his calling, as i hear him sing no longer, for my pleasure in the morning, for my happiness at evening. never shall i learn the secret, how to live and how to prosper, how upon the earth to rest me, how upon the seas to wander! only were my ancient mother living on the face of northland, surely she would well advise me, what my thought and what my action, that this cup of grief might pass me, that this sorrow might escape me, and this darkened cloud pass over." in the deep awoke his mother, from her tomb she spake as follows: "only sleeping was thy mother, now awakes to give thee answer, what thy thought and what thine action, that this cup of grief may pass thee, that this sorrow may escape thee, and this darkened cloud pass over. hie thee straightway to the northland, visit thou the suomi daughters; thou wilt find them wise and lovely, far more beautiful than aino, far more worthy of a husband, not such silly chatter-boxes, as the fickle lapland maidens. take for thee a life-companion, from the honest homes of suomi, one of northland's honest daughters; she will charm thee with her sweetness, make thee happy through her goodness, form perfection, manners easy, every step and movement graceful, full of wit and good behavior, honor to thy home and kindred." rune vi. wainamoinen's hapless journey. wainamoinen, old and truthful, now arranges for a journey to the village of the northland, to the land of cruel winters, to the land of little sunshine, to the land of worthy women; takes his light-foot, royal racer, then adjusts the golden bridle, lays upon his back the saddle, silver-buckled, copper-stirruped, seats himself upon his courser, and begins his journey northward; plunges onward, onward, onward, galloping along the highway, in his saddle, gaily fashioned, on his dappled steed of magic, plunging through wainola's meadows, o'er the plains of kalevala. fast and far he galloped onward, galloped far beyond wainola, bounded o'er the waste of waters, till he reached the blue-sea's margin, wetting not the hoofs in running. but the evil youkahainen nursed a grudge within his bosom, in his heart the worm of envy, envy of this wainamoinen, of this wonderful enchanter. he prepares a cruel cross-bow, made of steel and other metals, paints the bow in many colors, molds the top-piece out or copper, trims his bow with snowy silver, gold he uses too in trimming, then he hunts for strongest sinews, finds them in the stag of hisi, interweaves the flax of lempo. ready is the cruel cross-bow, string, and shaft, and ends are finished, beautiful the bow and mighty, surely cost it not a trifle; on the back a painted courser, on each end a colt of beauty, near the curve a maiden sleeping near the notch a hare is bounding, wonderful the bow thus fashioned; cuts some arrows for his quiver, covers them with finest feathers, from the oak the shafts be fashions, makes the tips of keenest metal. as the rods and points are finished, then he feathers well his arrows from the plumage of the swallow, from the wing-quills of the sparrow; hardens well his feathered arrows, and imparts to each new virtues, steeps them in the blood of serpents, in the virus of the adder. ready now are all his arrows, ready strung, his cruel cross-bow. waiting for wise wainamoinen. youkahainen, lapland's minstrel, waits a long time, is not weary, hopes to spy the ancient singer; spies at day-dawn, spies at evening, spies he ceaselessly at noontide, lies in wait for the magician, waits, and watches, as in envy; sits he at the open window, stands behind the hedge, and watches in the foot-path waits, and listens, spies along the balks of meadows; on his back he hangs his quiver, in his quiver, feathered arrows dipped in virus of the viper, on his arm the mighty cross-bow, waits, and watches, and unwearied, listens from the boat-house window, lingers at the end of fog-point, by the river flowing seaward, near the holy stream and whirlpool, near the sacred river's fire-fall. finally the lapland minstrel, youkahainen of pohyola, at the breaking of the day-dawn, at the early hour of morning, fixed his gaze upon the north-east, turned his eyes upon the sunrise, saw a black cloud on the ocean, something blue upon the waters, and soliloquized as follows: "are those clouds on the horizon, or perchance the dawn of morning? neither clouds on the horizon, nor the dawning of the morning; it is ancient wainamoinen, the renowned and wise enchanter, riding on his way to northland; on his steed, the royal racer, magic courser of wainola." quickly now young youkahainen, lapland's vain and evil minstrel, filled with envy, grasps his cross-bow, makes his bow and arrows ready for the death of wainamoinen. quick his aged mother asked him, spake these words to youkahainen: "for whose slaughter is thy cross-bow, for whose heart thy poisoned arrows?" youkahainen thus made answer: "i have made this mighty cross-bow, fashioned bow and poisoned arrows for the death of wainamoinen, thus to slay the friend of waters; i must shoot the old magician, the eternal bard and hero, through the heart, and through the liver, through the head, and through the shoulders, with this bow and feathered arrows thus destroy my rival minstrel." then the aged mother answered, thus reproving, thus forbidding. do not slay good wainamoinen, ancient hero of the northland, from a noble tribe descended, he, my sister's son, my nephew. if thou slayest wainamoinen, ancient son of kalevala, then alas! all joy will vanish, perish all our wondrous singing; better on the earth the gladness, better here the magic music, than within the nether regions, in the kingdom of tuoni, in the realm of the departed, in the land of the hereafter." then the youthful youkahainen thought awhile and well considered, ere he made a final answer. with one hand he raised the cross-bow but the other seemed to weaken, as he drew the cruel bow-string. finally these words he uttered as his bosom swelled with envy: "let all joy forever vanish, let earth's pleasures quickly perish, disappear earth's sweetest music, happiness depart forever; shoot i will this rival minstrel, little heeding what the end is." quickly now he bends his fire-bow, on his left knee rests the weapon, with his right foot firmly planted, thus he strings his bow of envy; takes three arrows from his quiver, choosing well the best among them, carefully adjusts the bow-string, sets with care the feathered arrow, to the flaxen string he lays it, holds the cross-bow to his shoulder, aiming well along the margin, at the heart of wainamoinen, waiting till he gallops nearer; in the shadow of a thicket, speaks these words while he is waiting "be thou, flaxen string, elastic; swiftly fly, thou feathered ash-wood, swiftly speed, thou deadly missile, quick as light, thou poisoned arrow, to the heart of wainamoinen. if my hand too low should hold thee, may the gods direct thee higher; if too high mine eye should aim thee, may the gods direct thee lower." steady now he pulls the trigger; like the lightning flies the arrow o'er the head of wainamoinen; to the upper sky it darteth, and the highest clouds it pierces, scatters all the flock of lamb-clouds, on its rapid journey skyward. not discouraged, quick selecting, quick adjusting, youkahainen, quickly aiming shoots a second. speeds the arrow swift as lightning; much too low he aimed the missile, into earth the arrow plunges, pierces to the lower regions, splits in two the old sand mountain. nothing daunted, youkahainen, quick adjusting shoots a third one. swift as light it speeds its journey, strikes the steed of wainamoinen, strikes the light-foot, ocean-swimmer, strikes him near his golden girdle, through the shoulder of the racer. thereupon wise wainamoinen headlong fell upon the waters, plunged beneath the rolling billows, from the saddle of the courser, from his dappled steed of magic. then arose a mighty storm-wind, roaring wildly on the waters, bore away old wainamoinen far from land upon the billows, on the high and rolling billows, on the broad sea's great expanses. boasted then young youkahainen, thinking waino dead and buried, these the boastful words be uttered: "nevermore, old wainamoinen, nevermore in all thy life-time, while the golden moonlight glistens, nevermore wilt fix thy vision on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala; full six years must swim the ocean, tread the waves for seven summers, eight years ride the foamy billows, in the broad expanse of water; six long autumns as a fir-tree, seven winters as a pebble; eight long summers as an aspen." thereupon the lapland minstrel hastened to his room delighting, when his mother thus addressed him "hast thou slain good wainamoinen, slain the son of kalevala?" youkahainen thus made answer: "i have slain old wainamoinen, slain the son of kalevala, that he now may plow the ocean, that he now may sweep the waters, on the billows rock and slumber. in the salt-sea plunged he headlong, in the deep sank the magician, sidewise turned he to the sea-shore on his back to rock forever, thus the boundless sea to travel, thus to ride the rolling billows." this the answer of the mother: "woe to earth for this thine action, gone forever, joy and singing, vanished is the wit of ages! thou hast slain good wainamoinen. slain the ancient wisdom-singer, slain the pride of suwantala, slain the hero of wainola, slain the joy of kalevala." rune vii. wainioinen's rescue. wainamoinen, old and truthful, swam through all the deep-sea waters, floating like a branch of aspen, like a withered twig of willow; swam six days in summer weather, swam six nights in golden moonlight; still before him rose the billows, and behind him sky and ocean. two days more he swam undaunted, two long nights be struggled onward. on the evening of the eighth day, wainamoinen grew disheartened, felt a very great discomfort, for his feet had lost their toe-nails, and his fingers dead and dying. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, sad and weary, spake as follows: "woe is me, my old life fated! woe is me, misfortune's offspring! fool was i when fortune, favored, to forsake my home and kindred, for a maiden fair and lovely, here beneath the starry heavens, in this cruel waste of waters, days and nights to swim and wander, here to struggle with the storm-winds, to be tossed by heaving billows, in this broad sea's great expanses, in this ocean vast and boundless. "cold my life and sad and dreary, painful too for me to linger evermore within these waters, thus to struggle for existence! cannot know how i can prosper, how to find me food and shelter, in these cold and lifeless waters, in these days of dire misfortune. build i in the winds my dwelling? it will find no sure foundation. build my home upon the billows? surely would the waves destroy it." comes a bird from far pohyola, from the occident, an eagle, is not classed among the largest, nor belongs he to the smallest; one wing touches on the waters, while the other sweeps the heavens; o'er the waves he wings his body, strikes his beak upon the sea-cliffs, flies about, then safely perches, looks before him, looks behind him, there beholds brave wainamoinen, on the blue-back of the ocean, and the eagle thus accosts him: "wherefore art thou, ancient hero, swimming in the deep-sea billows? thus the water-minstrel answered: "i am ancient wainamoinen, friend and fellow of the waters i, the famous wisdom-singer; went to woo a northland maiden, maiden from the dismal darkland, quickly galloped on my journey, riding on the plain of ocean. i arrived one morning early, at the breaking of the day-dawn. at the bay of luotola, near youkola's foaming river, where the evil youkahainen slew my steed with bow and arrow, tried to slay me with his weapons. on the waters fell i headlong, plunged beneath the salt-sea's surface, from the saddle of the courser, from my dappled steed of magic. "then arose a mighty storm-wind, from the east and west a whirlwind, washed me seaward on the surges, seaward, seaward, further, further, where for many days i wandered, swam and rocked upon the billows, where as many nights i struggled, in the dashing waves and sea-foam, with the angry winds and waters. "woe is me, my life hard-fated! cannot solve this heavy problem, how to live nor how to perish in this cruel salt-sea water. build i in the winds my dwelling? it will find no sure foundation. build my home upon the waters? surely will the waves destroy it. must i swim the sea forever, must i live, or must i perish? what will happen if i perish, if i sink below the billows, perish here from cold and hunger?" thus the bird of ether answered "be not in the least disheartened, place thyself between my shoulders, on my back be firmly seated, i will lift thee from the waters, bear thee with my pinions upward, bear thee wheresoe'er thou willest. well do i the day remember where thou didst the eagle service, when thou didst the birds a favor. thou didst leave the birch-tree standing, when were cleared the osmo-forests, from the lands of kalevala, as a home for weary song-birds, as a resting-place for eagles." then arises wainamoinen, lifts his head above the waters, boldly rises from the sea-waves, lifts his body from the billows, seats himself upon the eagle, on the eagle's feathered shoulders. quick aloft the huge bird bears him, bears the ancient wainamoinen, bears him on the path of zephyrs, floating on the vernal breezes, to the distant shore of northland, to the dismal sariola, where the eagle leaves his burden, flies away to join his fellows. wainamoinen, lone and weary, straightway fell to bitter weeping, wept and moaned in heavy accents, on the border of the blue-sea. on a cheerless promontory, with a hundred wounds tormented, made by cruel winds and waters, with his hair and beard dishevelled by the surging of the billows. three long days he wept disheartened wept as many nights in anguish, did not know what way to journey, could not find a woodland foot-print, that would point him to the highway, to his home in kalevala, to his much-loved home and kindred. northland's young and slender maiden, with complexion fair and lovely, with the sun had laid a wager, with the sun and moon a wager, which should rise before the other, on the morning of the morrow. and the maiden rose in beauty, long before the sun had risen, long before the moon bad wakened, from their beds beneath the ocean. ere the cock had crowed the day-break, ere the sun had broken slumber she had sheared six gentle lambkins, gathered from them six white fleeces, hence to make the rolls for spinning, hence to form the threads for weaving, hence to make the softest raiment, ere the morning dawn had broken, ere the sleeping sun had risen. when this task the maid had ended, then she scrubbed the birchen tables, sweeps the ground-floor of the stable, with a broom of leaves and branches from the birches of the northland, scrapes the sweepings well together on a shovel made of copper, carries them beyond the stable, from the doorway to the meadow, to the meadow's distant border, near the surges of the great-sea, listens there and looks about her, hears a wailing from the waters, hears a weeping from the sea-shore, hears a hero-voice lamenting. thereupon she hastens homeward, hastens to her mother's dwelling, these the words the maiden utters: "i have heard a wail from ocean, heard a weeping from the sea-coast, on the shore some one lamenting." louhi, hostess of pohyola, ancient, toothless dame of northland, hastens from her door and court-yard, through the meadow to the sea-shore, listens well for sounds of weeping, for the wail of one in sorrow; hears the voice of one in trouble, hears a hero-cry of anguish. thus the ancient louhi answers: "this is not the wail of children, these are not the tears of women, in this way weep bearded heroes; this the hero-cry of anguish." quick she pushed her boat to water, to the floods her goodly vessel, straightway rows with lightning swiftness, to the weeping wainamoinen; gives the hero consolation, comfort gives she to the minstrel wailing in a grove of willows, in his piteous condition, mid the alder-trees and aspens, on the border of the salt-sea, visage trembling, locks dishevelled. ears, and eyes, and lips of sadness. louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus addresses wainamoinen: "tell me what has been thy folly, that thou art in this condition." old and truthful wainamoinen lifts aloft his bead and answers: "well i know that it is folly that has brought me all this trouble, brought me to this land of strangers, to these regions unbefitting happy was i with my kindred, in my distant home and country, there my name was named in honor." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus replied to wainamoinen: "i would gain the information, should i be allowed to ask thee, who thou art of ancient heroes, who of all the host of heroes? this is wainamoinen's answer: "formerly my name was mentioned, often was i heard and honored, as a minstrel and magician, in the long and dreary winters, called the 'singer of the northland, in the valleys of wainola, on the plains of kalevala; no one thought that such misfortune could befall wise wainamoinen." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus replied in cheering accents "rise, o hero, from discomfort, from thy bed among the willows; enter now upon the new-way, come with me to yonder dwelling, there relate thy strange adventures, tell the tale of thy misfortunes." now she takes the hapless hero, lifts him from his bed of sorrow, in her boat she safely seats him, and begins at once her rowing, rows with steady hand and mighty to her home upon the sea-shore, to the dwellings of pohyola. there she feeds the starving hero, rests the ancient wainamoinen, gives him warmth, and food, and shelter, and the hero soon recovers. then the hostess of pohyola questioned thus the ancient singer: "wherefore didst thou, wainamoinen, friend and fellow of the waters, weep in sad and bitter accents, on the border of the ocean, mid the aspens and the willows?" this is wainamoinen's answer: had good reason for my weeping, cause enough for all my sorrow; long indeed had i been swimming, had been buffeting the billows, in the far outstretching waters. this the reason for my weeping; i have lived in toil and torture, since i left my home and country, left my native land and kindred, came to this the land of strangers, to these unfamiliar portals. all thy trees have thorns to wound me, all thy branches, spines to pierce me, even birches give me trouble, and the alders bring discomfort, my companions, winds and waters, only does the sun seem friendly, in this cold and cruel country, near these unfamiliar portals." louhi thereupon made answer, weep no longer, wainamoinen, grieve no more, thou friend of waters, good for thee, that thou shouldst linger at our friendly homes and firesides; thou shalt live with us and welcome, thou shalt sit at all our tables, eat the salmon from our platters, eat the sweetest of our bacon, eat the whiting from our waters." answers thus old wainamoinen, grateful for the invitation: "never do i court strange tables, though the food be rare and toothsome; one's own country is the dearest, one's own table is the sweetest, one's own home, the most attractive. grant, kind ukko, god above me, thou creator, full of mercy, grant that i again may visit my beloved home and country. better dwell in one's own country, there to drink its healthful waters from the simple cups of birch-wood, than in foreign lands to wander, there to drink the rarest liquors from the golden bowls of strangers." louhi, hostess of pohyola, thus replied to the magician: "what reward wilt thou award me, should i take thee where thou willest, to thy native land and kindred, to thy much-loved home and fireside, to the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala?" these the words of wainamoinen: "what would be reward sufficient, shouldst thou take me to my people, to my home and distant country, to the borders of the northland, there to hear the cuckoo singing, hear the sacred cuckoo calling? shall i give thee golden treasures, fill thy cups with finest silver?" this is louhi's simple answer: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, only true and wise magician, never will i ask for riches, never ask for gold nor silver; gold is for the children's flowers, silver for the stallion's jewels. canst thou forge for me the sampo, hammer me the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins? "i will give thee too my daughter, will reward thee through the maiden, take thee to thy much-loved home-land, to the borders of wainola, there to hear the cuckoo singing, hear the sacred cuckoo calling." wainamoinen, much regretting, gave this answer to her question: "cannot forge for thee the sampo, cannot make the lid in colors. take me to my distant country, i will send thee ilmarinen, he will forge for thee the sampo, hammer thee the lid in colors, he may win thy lovely maiden; worthy smith is ilmarinen, in this art is first and master; he, the one that forged the heavens. forged the air a hollow cover; nowhere see we hammer-traces, nowhere find a single tongs-mark." thus replied the hostess, louhi: "him alone i'll give my daughter, promise him my child in marriage, who for me will forge the sampo, hammer me the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers, from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins." thereupon the hostess louhi, harnessed quick a dappled courser, hitched him to her sledge of birch-wood, placed within it wainamoinen, placed the hero on the cross-bench, made him ready for his journey; then addressed the ancient minstrel, these the words that louhi uttered: "do not raise thine eyes to heaven, look not upward on thy journey, while thy steed is fresh and frisky, while the day-star lights thy pathway, ere the evening star has risen; if thine eyes be lifted upward, while the day-star lights thy pathway, dire misfortune will befall thee, some sad fate will overtake thee." then the ancient wainamoinen fleetly drove upon his journey, merrily he hastened homeward, hastened homeward, happy-hearted from the ever-darksome northland from the dismal sariola. rune viii. maiden of the rainbow. pohyola's fair and winsome daughter, glory of the land and water, sat upon the bow of heaven, on its highest arch resplendent, in a gown of richest fabric, in a gold and silver air-gown, weaving webs of golden texture, interlacing threads of silver; weaving with a golden shuttle, with a weaving-comb of silver; merrily flies the golden shuttle, from the maiden's nimble fingers, briskly swings the lathe in weaving, swiftly flies the comb of silver, from the sky-born maiden's fingers, weaving webs of wondrous beauty. came the ancient wainamoinen, driving down the highway homeward, from the ever sunless northland, from the dismal sariola; few the furlongs he had driven, driven but a little distance, when he heard the sky-loom buzzing, as the maiden plied the shuttle. quick the thoughtless wainamoinen lifts his eyes aloft in wonder, looks upon the vault of heaven, there beholds the bow of beauty, on the bow the maiden sitting, beauteous maiden of the rainbow, glory of the earth and ocean, weaving there a golden fabric, working with the rustling silver. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, quickly checks his fleet-foot racer, looks upon the charming maiden, then addresses her as follows: "come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge, by my side i wish thee seated." thus the maid of beauty answers: "tell me what thou wishest of me, should i join thee in the snow-sledge." speaks the ancient wainamoinen, answers thus the maid of beauty: "this the reason for thy coming: thou shalt bake me honey-biscuit, shalt prepare me barley-water, thou shalt fill my foaming beer-cups, thou shalt sing beside my table, shalt rejoice within my portals, walk a queen within my dwelling, in the wainola halls and chambers, in the courts of kalevala." thus the maid of beauty answered from her throne amid the heavens: "yesterday at hour of twilight, went i to the flowery meadows, there to rock upon the common, where the sun retires to slumber; there i heard a song-bird singing, heard the thrush simple measures, singing sweetly thoughts of maidens, and the minds of anxious mothers. "then i asked the pretty songster, asked the thrush this simple question: 'sing to me, thou pretty song-bird, sing that i may understand thee, sing to me in truthful accents, how to live in greatest pleasure, and in happiness the sweetest, as a maiden with her father, or as wife beside her husband.' "thus the song-bird gave me answer, sang the thrush this information: 'bright and warm are days of summer, warmer still is maiden-freedom; cold is iron in the winter, thus the lives of married women; maidens living with their mothers are like ripe and ruddy berries; married women, far too many, are like dogs enchained in kennel, rarely do they ask for favors, not to wives are favors given.'" wainamoinen, old and truthful, answers thus the maid of beauty: "foolish is the thrush thus singing, nonsense is the song-bird's twitter; like to babes are maidens treated, wives are queens and highly honored. come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, i am not despised as hero, not the meanest of magicians; come with me and i will make thee wife and queen in kalevala." thus the maid of beauty answered-- "would consider thee a hero, mighty hero, i would call thee, when a golden hair thou splittest, using knives that have no edges; when thou snarest me a bird's egg with a snare that i can see not." wainamoinen, skilled and ancient, split a golden hair exactly, using knives that had no edges; and he snared an egg as nicely with a snare the maiden saw not. "come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, i have done what thou desirest." thus the maiden wisely answered: "never enter i thy snow-sledge, till thou peelest me the sandstone, till thou cuttest me a whip-stick from the ice, and make no splinters, losing not the smallest fragment." wainamoinen, true magician, nothing daunted, not discouraged, deftly peeled the rounded sandstone, deftly cut from ice a whip-stick, cutting not the finest splinter, losing not the smallest fragment. then again be called the maiden, to a seat within his snow-sledge. but the maid or beauty answered, answered thus the great magician: i will go with that one only that will make me ship or shallop, from the splinters of my spindle, from the fragments of my distaff, in the waters launch the vessel, set the little ship a-floating, using not the knee to push it, using not the arm to move it, using not the hand to touch it, using not the foot to turn it, using nothing to propel it." spake the skilful wainamoinen, these the words the hero uttered: "there is no one in the northland, no one under vault of heaven, who like me can build a vessel, from the fragments of the distaff, from the splinters of the spindle." then he took the distaff-fragments, took the splinters of the spindle, hastened off the boat to fashion, hastened to an iron mountain, there to join the many fragments. full of zeal be plies the hammer, swings the hammer and the hatchet; nothing daunted, builds the vessel, works one day and then a second, works with steady hand the third day; on the evening of the third day, evil hisi grasps the hatchet, lempo takes the crooked handle, turns aside the axe in falling, strikes the rocks and breaks to pieces; from the rocks rebound the fragments, pierce the flesh of the magician, cut the knee of wainamoinen. lempo guides the sharpened hatchet, and the veins fell hisi severs. quickly gushes forth a blood-stream, and the stream is crimson-colored. wainamoinen, old and truthful, the renowned and wise enchanter, thus outspeaks in measured accents: "o thou keen and cruel hatchet, o thou axe of sharpened metal, thou shouldst cut the trees to fragments, cut the pine-tree and the willow, cut the alder and the birch-tree, cut the juniper and aspen, shouldst not cut my knee to pieces, shouldst not tear my veins asunder." then the ancient wainamoinen thus begins his incantations, thus begins his magic singing, of the origin of evil; every word in perfect order, makes no effort to remember, sings the origin of iron, that a bolt he well may fashion, thus prepare a look for surety, for the wounds the axe has given, that the hatchet has torn open. but the stream flows like a brooklet, rushing like a maddened torrent, stains the herbs upon the meadows, scarcely is a bit of verdure that the blood-stream does not cover as it flows and rushes onward from the knee of the magician, from the veins of wainamoinen. now the wise and ancient minstrel gathers lichens from the sandstone, picks them from the trunks of birches, gathers moss within the marshes, pulls the grasses from the meadows, thus to stop the crimson streamlet, thus to close the wounds laid open; but his work is unsuccessful, and the crimson stream flows onward. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, feeling pain and fearing languor, falls to weeping, heavy-hearted; quickly now his steed he hitches, hitches to the sledge of birch-wood, climbs with pain upon the cross-bench, strikes his steed in quick succession, snaps his whip above the racer, and the steed flies onward swiftly; like the winds he sweeps the highway, till be nears a northland village, where the way is triple-parted. wainamoinen, old and truthful, takes the lowest of the highways, quickly nears a spacious cottage, quickly asks before the doorway: "is there any one here dwelling, that can know the pain i suffer, that can heal this wound of hatchet. that can check this crimson streamlet?" sat a boy within a corner, on a bench beside a baby, and he answered thus the hero: "there is no one in this dwelling that can know the pain thou feelest, that can heal the wounds of hatchet, that can check the crimson streamlet; some one lives in yonder cottage, that perchance can do thee service." wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, whips his courser to a gallop, dashes on along the highway; only drives a little distance, on the middle of the highways, to a cabin on the road-side, asks one standing on the threshold, questions all through open windows, these the words the hero uses: "is there no one in this cabin, that can know the pain i suffer, that can heal this wound of hatchet, that can check this crimson streamlet?" on the floor a witch was lying, near the fire-place lay the beldame, thus she spake to wainamoinen, through her rattling teeth she answered. "there is no one in this cabin that can know the pain thou feelest, that can heal the wounds of hatchets, that can check the crimson streamlet; some one lives in yonder cottage, that perchance can do thee service." wainamoinen, nothing daunted, whips his racer to a gallop, dashes on along the highway; only drives a little distance, on the upper of the highways, gallops to a humble cottage, asks one standing near the penthouse, sitting on the penthouse-doorsill: "is there no one in this cottage, that can know the pain i suffer, that can heal this wound of hatchet, that can check this crimson streamlet?" near the fireplace sat an old man, on the hearthstone sat the gray-beard, thus he answered wainamoinen: "greater things have been accomplished, much more wondrous things effected, through but three words of the master; through the telling of the causes, streams and oceans have been tempered, river cataracts been lessened, bays been made of promontories, islands raised from deep sea-bottoms." rune ix. origin of iron. wainamoinen, thus encouraged, quickly rises in his snow-sledge, asking no one for assistance, straightway hastens to the cottage, takes a seat within the dwelling. come two maids with silver pitchers, bringing also golden goblets; dip they up a very little, but the very smallest measure of the blood of the magician, from the wounds of wainamoinen. from the fire-place calls the old man, thus the gray-beard asks the minstrel: "tell me who thou art of heroes, who of all the great magicians? lo! thy blood fills seven sea-boats, eight of largest birchen vessels, flowing from some hero's veinlets, from the wounds of some magician. other matters i would ask thee; sing the cause of this thy trouble, sing to me the source of metals, sing the origin of iron, how at first it was created." then the ancient wainamoinen made this answer to the gray-beard: "know i well the source of metals, know the origin of iron; f can tell bow steel is fashioned. of the mothers air is oldest, water is the oldest brother, and the fire is second brother, and the youngest brother, iron; ukko is the first creator. ukko, maker of the heavens, cut apart the air and water, ere was born the metal, iron. ukko, maker of the heavens, firmly rubbed his hands together, firmly pressed them on his knee-cap, then arose three lovely maidens, three most beautiful of daughters; these were mothers of the iron, and of steel of bright-blue color. tremblingly they walked the heavens, walked the clouds with silver linings, with their bosoms overflowing with the milk of future iron, flowing on and flowing ever, from the bright rims of the cloudlets to the earth, the valleys filling, to the slumber-calling waters. "ukko's eldest daughter sprinkled black milk over river channels and the second daughter sprinkled white milk over hills and mountains, while the youngest daughter sprinkled red milk over seas and oceans. whero the black milk had been sprinked, grew the dark and ductile iron; where the white milk had been sprinkled. grew the iron, lighter-colored; where the red milk had been sprinkled, grew the red and brittle iron. "after time had gone a distance, iron hastened fire to visit, his beloved elder brother, thus to know his brother better. straightway fire began his roarings, labored to consume his brother, his beloved younger brother. straightway iron sees his danger, saves himself by fleetly fleeing, from the fiery flame's advances, fleeing hither, fleeing thither, fleeing still and taking shelter in the swamps and in the valleys, in the springs that loudly bubble, by the rivers winding seaward, on the broad backs of the marshes, where the swans their nests have builded, where the wild geese hatch their goslings. "thus is iron in the swamp-lands, stretching by the water-courses, hidden well for many ages, hidden in the birchen forests, but he could not hide forever from the searchings of his brother; here and there the fire has caught him, caught and brought him to his furnace, that the spears, and swords, and axes, might be forged and duly hammered. in the swamps ran blackened waters, from the heath the bears came ambling, and the wolves ran through the marshes. iron then made his appearance, where the feet of wolves had trodden, where the paws of bears had trampled. "then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, came to earth to work the metal; he was born upon the coal-mount, skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields; in one hand, a copper hammer, in the other, tongs of iron; in the night was born the blacksmith, in the morn he built his smithy, sought with care a favored hillock, where the winds might fill his bellows; found a hillock in the swamp-lands, where the iron hid abundant; there he built his smelting furnace, there he laid his leathern bellows, hastened where the wolves had travelled, followed where the bears had trampled, found the iron's young formations, in the wolf-tracks of the marshes, in the foot-prints of the gray-bear. "then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, 'thus addressed the sleeping iron: thou most useful of the metals, thou art sleeping in the marshes, thou art hid in low conditions, where the wolf treads in the swamp-lands, where the bear sleeps in the thickets. hast thou thought and well considered, what would be thy future station, should i place thee in the furnace, thus to make thee free and useful?' "then was iron sorely frightened, much distressed and filled with horror, when of fire he heard the mention, mention of his fell destroyer. "then again speaks ilmarinen, thus the smith addresses iron: 'be not frightened, useful metal, surely fire will not consume thee, will not burn his youngest brother, will not harm his nearest kindred. come thou to my room and furnace, where the fire is freely burning, thou wilt live, and grow, and prosper, wilt become the swords of heroes, buckles for the belts of women.' "ere arose the star of evening, iron ore had left the marshes, from the water-beds had risen, had been carried to the furnace, in the fire the smith had laid it, laid it in his smelting furnace. ilmarinen starts the bellows, gives three motions of the handle, and the iron flows in streamlets from the forge of the magician, soon becomes like baker's leaven, soft as dough for bread of barley. then out-screamed the metal, iron: 'wondrous blacksmith, ilmarinen, take, o take me from thy furnace, from this fire and cruel torture.' "ilmarinen thus made answer: 'i will take thee from my furnace, 'thou art but a little frightened, thou shalt be a mighty power, thou shalt slay the best of heroes, thou shalt wound thy dearest brother.' "straightway iron made this promise, vowed and swore in strongest accents, by the furnace, by the anvil, by the tongs, and by the hammer, these the words he vowed and uttered: 'many trees that i shall injure, shall devour the hearts of mountains, shall not slay my nearest kindred, shall not kill the best of heroes, shall not wound my dearest brother; better live in civil freedom, happier would be my life-time, should i serve my fellow-beings, serve as tools for their convenience, than as implements of warfare, slay my friends and nearest. kindred, wound the children of my mother.' "now the master, ilmarinen, the renowned and skilful blacksmith, from the fire removes the iron, places it upon the anvil, hammers well until it softens, hammers many fine utensils, hammers spears, and swords, and axes, hammers knives, and forks, and hatchets, hammers tools of all descriptions. "many things the blacksmith needed, many things he could not fashion, could not make the tongue of iron, could not hammer steel from iron, could not make the iron harden. well considered ilmarinen, deeply thought and long reflected. then he gathered birchen ashes, steeped the ashes in the water, made a lye to harden iron, thus to form the steel most needful. with his tongue he tests the mixture, weighs it long and well considers, and the blacksmith speaks as follows: 'all this labor is for nothing, will not fashion steel from iron, will not make the soft ore harden.' "now a bee flies from the meadow, blue-wing coming from the flowers, flies about, then safely settles near the furnace of the smithy. "'thus the smith the bee addresses, these the words of ilmarinen: 'little bee, thou tiny birdling, bring me honey on thy winglets, on thy tongue, i pray thee, bring me sweetness from the fragrant meadows, from the little cups of flowers, from the tips of seven petals, that we thus may aid the water to produce the steel from iron.' "evil hisi's bird, the hornet, heard these words of ilmarinen, looking from the cottage gable, flying to the bark of birch-trees, while the iron bars were heating while the steel was being tempered; swiftly flew the stinging hornet, scattered all the hisi horrors, brought the blessing of the serpent, brought the venom of the adder, brought the poison of the spider, brought the stings of all the insects, mixed them with the ore and water, while the steel was being, tempered. "ilmarinen, skilful blacksmith, first of all the iron-workers, thought the bee had surely brought him honey from the fragrant meadows, from the little cups of flowers, from the tips of seven petals, and he spake the words that follow: 'welcome, welcome, is thy coming, honeyed sweetness from the flowers thou hast brought to aid the water, thus to form the steel from iron!' "ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, dipped the iron into water, water mixed with many poisons, thought it but the wild bee's honey; thus he formed the steel from iron. when he plunged it into water, water mixed with many poisons, when be placed it in the furnace, angry grew the hardened iron, broke the vow that he had taken, ate his words like dogs and devils, mercilessly cut his brother, madly raged against his kindred, caused the blood to flow in streamlets from the wounds of man and hero. this, the origin of iron, and of steel of light blue color." from the hearth arose the gray-beard, shook his heavy looks and answered: "now i know the source of iron, whence the steel and whence its evils; curses on thee, cruel iron, curses on the steel thou givest, curses on thee, tongue of evil, cursed be thy life forever! once thou wert of little value, having neither form nor beauty, neither strength nor great importance, when in form of milk thou rested, when for ages thou wert hidden in the breasts of god's three daughters, hidden in their heaving bosoms, on the borders of the cloudlets, in the blue vault of the heavens. "thou wert once of little value, having neither form nor beauty, neither strength nor great importance, when like water thou wert resting on the broad back of the marshes, on the steep declines of mountains, when thou wert but formless matter, only dust of rusty color. "surely thou wert void of greatness, having neither strength nor beauty, when the moose was trampling on thee, when the roebuck trod upon thee, when the tracks of wolves were in thee, and the bear-paws scratched thy body. surely thou hadst little value when the skilful ilmarinen, first of all the iron-workers, brought thee from the blackened swamp-lands, took thee to his ancient smithy, placed thee in his fiery furnace. truly thou hadst little vigor, little strength, and little danger, when thou in the fire wert hissing, rolling forth like seething water, from the furnace of the smithy, when thou gavest oath the strongest, by the furnace, by the anvil, by the tongs, and by the hammer, by the dwelling of the blacksmith, by the fire within the furnace. "now forsooth thou hast grown mighty, thou canst rage in wildest fury; thou hast broken all thy pledges, all thy solemn vows hast broken, like the dogs thou shamest honor, shamest both thyself and kindred, tainted all with breath of evil. tell who drove thee to this mischief, tell who taught thee all thy malice, tell who gavest thee thine evil! did thy father, or thy mother, did the eldest of thy brothers, did the youngest of thy sisters, did the worst of all thy kindred give to thee thine evil nature? not thy father, nor thy mother, not the eldest of thy brothers, not the youngest of thy sisters, not the worst of all thy kindred, but thyself hast done this mischief, thou the cause of all our trouble. come and view thine evil doings, and amend this flood of damage, ere i tell thy gray-haired mother, ere i tell thine aged father. great indeed a mother's anguish, great indeed a father's sorrow, when a son does something evil, when a child runs wild and lawless. "crimson streamlet, cease thy flowing from the wounds of wainamoinen; blood of ages, stop thy coursing from the veins of the magician; stand like heaven's crystal pillars, stand like columns in the ocean, stand like birch-trees in the forest, like the tall reeds in the marshes, like the high-rocks on the sea-coast, stand by power of mighty magic! "should perforce thy will impel thee, flow thou on thine endless circuit, through the veins of wainamoinen, through the bones, and through the muscles, through the lungs, and heart, and liver, of the mighty sage and singer; better be the food of heroes, than to waste thy strength and virtue on the meadows and the woodlands, and be lost in dust and ashes. flow forever in thy circle; thou must cease this crimson out-flow; stain no more the grass and flowers, stain no more these golden hill-tops, pride and beauty of our heroes. in the veins of the magician, in the heart of wainamoinen, is thy rightful home and storehouse. thither now withdraw thy forces, thither hasten, swiftly flowing; flow no more as crimson currents, fill no longer crimson lakelets, must not rush like brooks in spring-tide, nor meander like the rivers. "cease thy flow, by word of magic, cease as did the falls of tyrya, as the rivers of tuoni, when the sky withheld her rain-drops, when the sea gave up her waters, in the famine of the seasons, in the years of fire and torture. if thou heedest not this order, i shall offer other measures, know i well of other forces; i shall call the hisi irons, in them i shall boil and roast thee, thus to check thy crimson flowing, thus to save the wounded hero. "if these means be inefficient, should these measures prove unworthy, i shall call omniscient ukko, mightiest of the creators, stronger than all ancient heroes, wiser than the world-magicians; he will check the crimson out-flow, he will heal this wound of hatchet. "ukko, god of love and mercy, god and master of the heavens, come thou hither, thou art needed, come thou quickly i beseech thee, lend thy hand to aid thy children, touch this wound with healing fingers, stop this hero's streaming life-blood, bind this wound with tender leaflets, mingle with them healing flowers, thus to check this crimson current, thus to save this great magician, save the life of wainamoinen." thus at last the blood-stream ended, as the magic words were spoken. then the gray-beard, much rejoicing, sent his young son to the smithy, there to make a healing balsam, from the herbs of tender fibre, from the healing plants and flowers, from the stalks secreting honey, from the roots, and leaves, and blossoms. on the way he meets an oak-tree, and the oak the son addresses: "hast thou honey in thy branches, does thy sap run full of sweetness?" thus the oak-tree wisely answers: "yea, but last night dripped the honey down upon my spreading branches, and the clouds their fragrance sifted, sifted honey on my leaflets, from their home within the heavens." then the son takes oak-wood splinters, takes the youngest oak-tree branches, gathers many healing grasses, gathers many herbs and flowers, rarest herbs that grow in northland, places them within the furnace in a kettle made of copper; lets them steep and boil together, bits of bark chipped from the oak-tree, many herbs of healing virtues; steeps them one day, then a second, three long days of summer weather, days and nights in quick succession; then he tries his magic balsam, looks to see if it is ready, if his remedy is finished; but the balsam is unworthy. then he added other grasses, herbs of every healing virtue, that were brought from distant nations, many hundred leagues from northland, gathered by the wisest minstrels, thither brought by nine enchanters. three days more be steeped the balsam, three nights more the fire be tended, nine the days and nights be watched it, then again be tried the ointment, viewed it carefully and tested, found at last that it was ready, found the magic balm was finished. near by stood a branching birch-tree. on the border of the meadow, wickedly it had been broken, broken down by evil hisi; quick he takes his balm of healing, and anoints the broken branches, rubs the balsam in the fractures, thus addresses then the birch-tree: "with this balsam i anoint thee, with this salve thy wounds i cover, cover well thine injured places; now the birch-tree shall recover, grow more beautiful than ever." true, the birch-tree soon recovered, grew more beautiful than ever, grew more uniform its branches, and its bole more strong and stately. thus it was be tried the balsam, thus the magic salve he tested, touched with it the splintered sandstone, touched the broken blocks of granite, touched the fissures in the mountains, and the broken parts united, all the fragments grew together. then the young boy quick returning with the balsam he had finished, to the gray-beard gave the ointment, and the boy these measures uttered "here i bring the balm of healing, wonderful the salve i bring thee; it will join the broken granite, make the fragments grow together, heat the fissures in the mountains, and restore the injured birch-tree." with his tongue the old man tested, tested thus the magic balsam, found the remedy effective, found the balm had magic virtues; then anointed he the minstrel, touched the wounds of wainamoinen, touched them with his magic balsam, with the balm of many virtues; speaking words of ancient wisdom, these the words the gray-beard uttered: "do not walk in thine own virtue, do not work in thine own power, walk in strength of thy creator; do not speak in thine own wisdom, speak with tongue of mighty ukko. in my mouth, if there be sweetness, it has come from my creator; if my bands are filled with beauty, all the beauty comes from ukko." when the wounds had been anointed, when the magic salve had touched them, straightway ancient wainamoinen suffered fearful pain and anguish, sank upon the floor in torment, turning one way, then another, sought for rest and found it nowhere, till his pain the gray-beard banished, banished by the aid of magic, drove away his killing torment to the court of all our trouble, to the highest hill of torture, to the distant rocks and ledges, to the evil-bearing mountains, to the realm of wicked hisi. then be took some silken fabric, quick he tore the silk asunder, making equal strips for wrapping, tied the ends with silken ribbons, making thus a healing bandage; then he wrapped with skilful fingers wainamoinen's knee and ankle, wrapped the wounds of the magician, and this prayer the gray-beard uttered "ukko's fabric is the bandage, ukko's science is the surgeon, these have served the wounded hero, wrapped the wounds of the magician. look upon us, god of mercy, come and guard us, kind creator, and protect us from all evil! guide our feet lest they may stumble, guard our lives from every danger, from the wicked wilds of hisi." wainamoinen, old and truthful, felt the mighty aid of magic, felt the help of gracious ukko, straightway stronger grew in body, straightway were the wounds united, quick the fearful pain departed. strong and hardy grew the hero, straightway walked in perfect freedom, turned his knee in all directions, knowing neither pain nor trouble. then the ancient wainamoinen raised his eyes to high jumala, looked with gratitude to heaven, looked on high, in joy and gladness, then addressed omniscient ukko, this the prayer the minstrel uttered: "o be praised, thou god of mercy, let me praise thee, my creator, since thou gavest me assistance, and vouchsafed me thy protection, healed my wounds and stilled mine anguish, banished all my pain and trouble, caused by iron and by hisi. o, ye people of wainola, people of this generation, and the folk of future ages, fashion not in emulation, river boat, nor ocean shallop, boasting of its fine appearance, god alone can work completion, give to cause its perfect ending, never hand of man can find it, never can the hero give it, ukko is the only master." rune x. ilmarinen forges the sampo. wainamoinen, the magician, takes his steed of copper color, hitches quick his fleet-foot courser, puts his racer to the snow-sledge, straightway springs upon the cross-seat, snaps his whip adorned with jewels. like the winds the steed flies onward, like a lightning flash, the racer makes the snow-sledge creak and rattle, makes the highway quickly vanish, dashes on through fen and forest, over hills and through the valleys, over marshes, over mountains, over fertile plains and meadows; journeys one day, then a second, so a third from morn till evening, till the third day evening brings him to the endless bridge of osmo, to the osmo-fields and pastures, to the plains of kalevala; when the hero spake as follows: "may the wolves devour the dreamer, eat the laplander for dinner, may disease destroy the braggart, him who said that i should never see again my much-loved home-land, nevermore behold my kindred, never during all my life-time, never while the sunshine brightens, never while the moonlight glimmers on the meadows of wainola, on the plains of kalevala." then began old wainamoinen, ancient bard and famous singer, to renew his incantations; sang aloft a wondrous pine-tree, till it pierced the clouds in growing with its golden top and branches, till it touched the very heavens, spread its branches in the ether, in the ever-shining sunlight. now he sings again enchanting, sings the moon to shine forever in the fir-tree's emerald branches; in its top he sings the great bear. then be quickly journeys homeward, hastens to his golden portals, head awry and visage wrinkled, crooked cap upon his forehead, since as ransom he had promised ilmarinen, magic artist, thus to save his life from torture on the distant fields of northland in the dismal sariola. when his stallion he had halted on the osmo-field and meadow, quickly rising in his snow-sledge, the magician heard one knocking, breaking coal within the smithy, beating with a heavy hammer. wainamoinen, famous minstrel, entering the smithy straightway, found the blacksmith, ilmarinen, knocking with his copper hammer. ilmarinen spake as follows: "welcome, brother wainamoinen, old and worthy wainamoinen! why so long hast thou been absent, where hast thou so long been hiding?" wainamoinen then made answer, these the words of the magician: "long indeed have i been living, many dreary days have wandered, many cheerless nights have lingered, floating on the cruel ocean, weeping in the fens and woodlands of the never-pleasant northland, in the dismal sariola; with the laplanders i've wandered, with the people filled with witchcraft." promptly answers ilmarinen, these the words the blacksmith uses: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, famous and eternal singer, tell me of thy journey northward, of thy wanderings in lapland, of thy dismal journey homeward." spake the minstrel, wainamoinen: "i have much to tell thee, brother, listen to my wondrous story: in the northland lives a virgin, in a village there, a maiden, that will not accept a lover, that a hero's hand refuses, that a wizard's heart disdaineth; all of northland sings her praises, sings her worth and magic beauty, fairest maiden of pohyola, daughter of the earth and ocean. from her temples beams the moonlight, from her breast, the gleam of sunshine, from her forehead shines the rainbow, on her neck, the seven starlets, and the great bear from her shoulder. "ilmarinen, worthy brother, thou the only skilful blacksmith, go and see her wondrous beauty, see her gold and silver garments, see her robed in finest raiment, see her sitting on the rainbow, walking on the clouds of purple. forge for her the magic sampo, forge the lid in many colors, thy reward shall be the virgin, thou shalt win this bride of beauty; go and bring the lovely maiden to thy home in kalevala." spake the brother, ilmarinen: o thou cunning wainamoinen, thou hast promised me already to the ever-darksome northland, thy devoted head to ransom, thus to rescue thee from trouble. i shall never visit northland, shall not go to see thy maiden, do not love the bride of beauty; never while the moonlight glimmers, shall i go to dreary pohya, to the plains of sariola, where the people eat each other, sink their heroes in the ocean, not for all the maids of lapland." spake the brother, wainamoinen: "i can tell thee greater wonders, listen to my wondrous story: i have seen the fir-tree blossom, seen its flowers with emerald branches, on the osmo-fields and woodlands; in its top, there shines the moonlight, and the bear lives in its branches." ilmarinen thus made answer: "i cannot believe thy story, cannot trust thy tale of wonder, till i see the blooming fir-tree, with its many emerald branches, with its bear and golden moonlight." this is wainamoinen's answer: "wilt thou not believe my story? come with me and i will show thee if my lips speak fact or fiction." quick they journey to discover, haste to view the wondrous fir-tree; wainamoinen leads the journey, ilmarinen closely follows. as they near the osmo-borders, ilmarinen hastens forward that be may behold the wonder, spies the bear within the fir-top, sitting on its emerald branches, spies the gleam of golden moonlight. spake the ancient wainamoinen, these the words the singer uttered: climb this tree, dear ilmarinen, and bring down the golden moonbeams, bring the moon and bear down with thee from the fir-tree's lofty branches." ilmarinen, full consenting, straightway climbed the golden fir-tree, high upon the bow of heaven, thence to bring the golden moonbeams, thence to bring the bear of heaven, from the fir-tree's topmost branches. thereupon the blooming fir-tree spake these words to ilmarinen: "o thou senseless, thoughtless hero, thou hast neither wit nor instinct; thou dost climb my golden branches, like a thing of little judgment, thus to get my pictured moonbeams, take away my silver starlight, steal my bear and blooming branches." quick as thought old wainamoinen sang again in magic accents, sang a storm-wind in the heavens, sang the wild winds into fury, and the singer spake as follows: `take, o storm-wind, take the forgeman, carry him within thy vessel, quickly hence, and land the hero on the ever-darksome northland, on the dismal sariola." now the storm-wind quickly darkens, quickly piles the air together, makes of air a sailing vessel, takes the blacksmith, ilmarinen, fleetly from the fir-tree branches, toward the never-pleasant northland, toward the dismal sariola. through the air sailed ilmarinen, fast and far the hero travelled, sweeping onward, sailing northward, riding in the track of storm-winds, o'er the moon, beneath the sunshine, on the broad back of the great bear, till he neared pohyola's woodlands, neared the homes of sariola, and alighted undiscovered, was dot noticed by the hunters, was not scented by the watch-dogs. louhi, hostess of pohyola, ancient, toothless dame of northland, standing in the open court-yard, thus addresses ilmarinen, as she spies the hero-stranger: "who art thou of ancient heroes, who of all the host of heroes, coming here upon the storm-wind, o'er the sledge-path of the ether, scented not by pohya's watch-dogs? this is ilmarinen's answer: "i have surely not come hither to be barked at by the watch-dogs, at these unfamiliar portals, at the gates of sariola." thereupon the northland hostess asks again the hero-stranger: "hast thou ever been acquainted with the blacksmith of wainola, with the hero, ilmarinen, with the skilful smith and artist? long i've waited for his coming, long this one has been expected, on the borders of the northland, here to forge for me the sampo." spake the hero, ilmarinen: "well indeed am i acquainted with the blacksmith, ilmarinen, i myself am ilmarinen, i, the skilful smith and artist." louhi, hostess of the northland, toothless dame of sariola, straightway rushes to her dwelling, these the words that louhi utters: "come, thou youngest of my daughters, come, thou fairest of my maidens, dress thyself in finest raiment, deck thy hair with rarest jewels, pearls upon thy swelling bosom, on thy neck, a golden necklace, bind thy head with silken ribbons, make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, and thy visage fair and winsome, since the artist, ilmarinen, hither comes from kalevala, here to forge for us the sampo, hammer us the lid in colors." now the daughter of the northland, honored by the land and water, straightway takes her choicest raiment, takes her dresses rich in beauty, finest of her silken wardrobe, now adjusts her silken fillet, on her brow a band of copper, round her waist a golden girdle, round her neck a pearly necklace, shining gold upon her bosom, in her hair the threads of silver. from her dressing-room she hastens, to the hall she bastes and listens, full of beauty, full of joyance, ears erect and eyes bright-beaming, ruddy cheeks and charming visage, waiting for the hero-stranger. louhi, hostess of pohyola, leads the hero, ilmarinen, to her dwelling-rooms in northland, to her home in sariola, seats him at her well-filled table, gives to him the finest viands, gives him every needed comfort, then addresses him as follows: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, master of the forge and smithy, canst thou forge for me the sampo, hammer me the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers, from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins? thou shalt have my fairest daughter, recompense for this thy service." these the words of ilmarinen: "i will forge for thee the sampo, hammer thee the lid in colors, from the tips of white-swan feathers, from the milk of greatest virtue, from a single grain of barley, from the finest wool of lambkins? since i forged the arch of heaven, forged the air a concave cover, ere the earth had a beginning." thereupon the magic blacksmith went to forge the wondrous sampo, went to find a blacksmith's workshop, went to find the tools to work with; but he found no place for forging, found no smithy, found no bellows, found no chimney, found no anvil, found no tongs, and found no hammer. then the-artist, ilmarinen. spake these words, soliloquizing: "only women grow discouraged, only knaves leave work unfinished, not the devils, nor the heroes, nor the gods of greater knowledge." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, sought a place to build a smithy, sought a place to plant a bellows, on the borders of the northland, on the pohya-hills and meadows; searched one day, and then a second; ere the evening of the third day, came a rock within his vision, came a stone with rainbow-colors. there the blacksmith, ilmarinen, set at work to build his smithy, built a fire and raised a chimney; on the next day laid his bellows, on the third day built his furnace, and began to forge the sampo. the eternal magic artist, ancient blacksmith, ilmarinen, first of all the iron-workers, mixed together certain metals, put the mixture in the caldron, laid it deep within the furnace, called the hirelings to the forging. skilfully they work the bellows, tend the fire and add the fuel, three most lovely days of summer, three short nights of bright midsummer, till the rocks begin to blossom, in the foot-prints of the workmen, from the magic heat and furnace. on the first day, ilmarinen downward bent and well examined, on the bottom of his furnace, thus to see what might be forming from the magic fire and metals. from the fire arose a cross-bow, "with the brightness of the moonbeams, golden bow with tips of silver; on the shaft was shining copper, and the bow was strong and wondrous, but alas! it was ill-natured, asking for a hero daily, two the heads it asked on feast-days. ilmarinen, skilful artist, was not pleased with this creation, broke the bow in many pieces, threw them back within the furnace, kept the workmen at the bellows, tried to forge the magic sampo. on the second day, the blacksmith downward bent and well examined, on the bottom of the furnace; from the fire, a skiff of metals, came a boat of purple color, all the ribs were colored golden, and the oars were forged from copper; thus the skiff was full of beauty, but alas! a thing of evil; forth it rushes into trouble, hastens into every quarrel, hastes without a provocation into every evil combat. ilmarinen, metal artist, is not pleased with this creation, breaks the skiff in many fragments, throws them back within the furnace, keeps the workmen at the bellows, thus to forge the magic sampo. on the third day, ilmarinen, first of all the metal-workers, downward bent and well examined, on the bottom of the furnace; there be saw a heifer rising, golden were the horns of kimmo, on her head the bear of heaven, on her brow a disc of sunshine, beautiful the cow of magic; but alas! she is ill-tempered, rushes headlong through the forest, rushes through the swamps and meadows, wasting all her milk in running. ilmarinen, the magician. is not pleased with this creation, cuts the magic cow in pieces, throws them in the fiery furnace, sets the workmen at the bellows, thus to forge the magic sampo. on the fourth day, ilmarinen downward bent and well examined, to the bottom of the furnace; there beheld a plow in beauty rising from the fire of metals, golden was the point and plowshare, and the beam was forged from copper, and the handles, molten silver, beautiful the plow and wondrous; but alas! it is ill-mannered, plows up fields of corn and barley, furrows through the richest meadows. ilmarinen, metal artist, is not pleased with this creation, quickly breaks the plow in pieces, throws them back within the furnace, lets the winds attend the bellows, lets the storm-winds fire the metals. fiercely vie the winds of heaven, east-wind rushing, west-wind roaring, south-wind crying, north-wind howling, blow one day and then a second, blow the third from morn till even, when the fire leaps through the windows, through the door the sparks fly upward, clouds of smoke arise to heaven; with the clouds the black smoke mingles, as the storm-winds ply the bellows. on the third night ilmarinen, bending low to view his metals, on the bottom of the furnace, sees the magic sampo rising, sees the lid in many colors. quick the artist of wainola forges with the tongs and anvil, knocking with a heavy hammer, forges skilfully the sampo; on one side the flour is grinding, on another salt is making, on a third is money forging, and the lid is many-colored. well the sampo grinds when finished, to and fro the lid in rocking, grinds one measure at the day-break, grinds a measure fit for eating, grinds a second for the market, grinds a third one for the store-house. joyfully the dame of northland, louhi, hostess of pohyola, takes away the magic sampo, to the hills of sariola, to the copper-bearing mountains, puts nine locks upon the wonder, makes three strong roots creep around it; in the earth they grow nine fathoms, one large root beneath the mountain, one beneath the sandy sea-bed, one beneath the mountain-dwelling. modestly pleads ilmarinen for the maiden's willing answer, these the words of the magician: "wilt thou come with me, fair maiden, be my wife and queen forever? i have forged for thee the sampo, forged the lid in many colors." northland's fair and lovely daughter answers thus the metal-worker: "who will in the coming spring-time, who will in the second summer, guide the cuckoo's song and echo? who will listen to his calling, who will sing with him in autumn, should i go to distant regions, should this cheery maiden vanish from the fields of sariola, from pohyola's fens and forests, where the cuckoo sings and echoes? should i leave my father's dwelling, should my mother's berry vanish, should these mountains lose their cherry, then the cuckoo too would vanish, all the birds would leave the forest, leave the summit of the mountain, leave my native fields and woodlands, never shall i, in my life-time, say farewell to maiden freedom, nor to summer cares and labors, lest the harvest be ungarnered, lest the berries be ungathered, lest the song-birds leave the forest, lest the mermaids leave the waters, lest i sing with them no longer." ilmarinen, the magician, the eternal metal-forger, cap awry and head dejected, disappointed, heavy-hearted, empty-handed, well considers, how to reach his distant country, reach his much-loved home and kinded, gain the meadows of wainola, from the never-pleasant northland, from the darksome sariola. louhi thus addressed the suitor: "o thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, why art thou so heavy-hearted, why thy visage so dejected? hast thou in thy mind to journey from the vales and hills of pohya, to the meadows of wainola, to thy home in kalevala? this is ilmarinen's answer: "thitherward my mind is tending, to my home-land let me journey, with my kindred let me linger, be at rest in mine own country." straightway louhi, dame of northland, gave the hero every comfort, gave him food and rarest viands, placed him in a boat of copper, in a copper-banded vessel, called the winds to his assistance, made the north-wind guide him homeward. thus the skilful ilmarinen travels toward his native country, on the blue back of the waters, travels one day, then a second, till the third day evening brings him to wainola's peaceful meadows, to his home in kalevala. straightway ancient wainamoinen thus addresses ilmarinen: "o my brother, metal-artist, thou eternal wonder-worker, didst thou forge the magic sampo, forge the lid in many colors?" spake the brother, ilmarinen, these the words the master uttered: "yea, i forged the magic sampo, forged the lid in many colors; to and fro the lid in rocking grinds one measure at the day-dawn, grinds a measure fit for eating, grinds a second for the market, grinds a third one for the store-house. louhi has the wondrous sampo, i have not the bride of beauty." rune xi. lemminkainen's lament. this the time to sing of ahti, son of lempo, kaukomieli, also known as lemminkainen. ahti was the king of islands, grew amid the island-dwellings, at the site of his dear mother, on the borders of the ocean, on the points of promontories. ahti fed upon the salmon, fed upon the ocean whiting, thus became a mighty hero, in his veins the blood of ages, read erect and form commanding, growth of mind and body perfect but alas! he had his failings, bad indeed his heart and morals, roaming in unworthy places, staying days and nights in sequences at the homes of merry maidens, at the dances of the virgins, with the maids of braided tresses. up in sahri lived a maiden, lived the fair and winsome kulli, lovely as a summer-flower, from a kingly house descended, grew to perfect form and beauty, living in her father's cottage, home of many ancient heroes, beautiful was she and queenly, praised throughout the whole of ehstland; from afar men came to woo her, to the birthplace of the virgin, to the household of her mother. for his son the day-star wooes her, but she will not go to sun-land, will not shine beside the day-star, in his haste to bring the summer. for her son, the bright moon wooes her, but she will not go to moon-land, by the bright moon will not glimmer, will not run through boundless ether. for his son the night-star wooes her, but she will not go to star-land, will not twinkle in the starlight, through the dreary nights in winter. lovers come from distant ehstlaud, others come from far-off ingern, but they cannot win the maiden, this the answer that she gives them "vainly are your praises lavished vainly is your silver offered, wealth and praise are no temptation; never shall i go to ehstland, never shall i go a-rowing on the waters of the ingern, shall not cross the sahri-waters, never eat the fish of ehstland, never taste the ehstland viands. ingerland shall never see me, will not row upon her rivers, will not step within her borders; hunger there, and fell starvation, wood is absent, fuel wanting, neither water, wheat, nor barley, even rye is not abundant." lemminkainen of the islands, warlike hero, kaukomieli, undertakes to win the maiden, woo and win the sahri-flower, win a bride so highly honored, win the maid with golden tresses, win the sahri maid of beauty; but his mother gives him warning: "nay," replies his gray-haired mother, "do not woo, my son beloved, maiden of a higher station; she will never make thee happy with her lineage of sahri." spake the hero, lemminkainen, these the words of kaukomieli: "should i come from lowly station, though my tribe is not the highest, i shall woo to please my fancy, woo the maiden fair and lovely, choose a wife for worth and beauty." this the anxious mother's answer: "lemminkainen, son beloved, listen to advice maternal: do not go to distant sahri, to her tribe of many branches; all the maidens there will taunt thee, all the women will deride thee." lemminkainen, little hearing, answers thus his mother's pleading: "i will still the sneers of women, silence all the taunts of maidens, i will crush their haughty bosoms, smite the hands and cheeks of infants; surely this will check their insults, fitting ending to derision!" this the answer of' the mother: "woe is me, my son beloved! woe is me, my life hard-fated! shouldst thou taunt the sahri daughters. or insult the maids of virtue, shouldst thou laugh them to derision, there will rise a great contention, fierce the battle that will follow. all the hosts of sahri-suitors, armed in thousands will attack thee, and will slay thee for thy folly." nothing listing, lemminkainen, heeding not his mother's warning, led his war-horse from the stables, quickly hitched the fiery charger, fleetly drove upon his journey, to the distant sahri-village, there to woo the sahri-flower, there to win the bride of beauty. all the aged sahri-women, all the young and lovely maidens laughed to scorn the coming stranger driving careless through the alleys, wildly driving through the court-yard, now upsetting in the gate-way, breaking shaft, and hame, and runner. then the fearless lemminkainen, mouth awry and visage wrinkled, shook his sable locks and answered: "never in my recollection have i heard or seen such treatment, never have i been derided, never suffered sneers of women, never suffered scorn of virgins, not in my immortal life-time. is there any place befitting on the sahri-plains and pastures, where to join in songs and dances? is there here a hall for pleasure, where the sahri-maidens linger, merry maids with braided tresses?" thereupon the sahri-maidens answered from their promontory., "room enough is there in sahri, room upon the sahri-pastures, room for pleasure-halls and dances; sing and dance upon our meadows, be a shepherd on the mountains, shepherd-boys have room for dancing; indolent the sahri-children, but the colts are fat and frisky." little caring, lemminkainen entered service there as shepherd, in the daytime on the pastures, in the evening, making merry at the games of lively maidens, at the dances with the virgins, with the maids with braided tresses. thus it was that lemminkainen, thus the shepherd, kaukomieli, quickly hushed the women's laughter, quickly quenched the taunts of maidens, quickly silenced their derision. all the dames and sahri-daughters soon were feasting lemminkainen, at his side they danced and lingered. only was there one among them, one among the sahri-virgins, harbored neither love nor wooers, favored neither gods nor heroes, this the lovely maid kyllikki, this the sahri's fairest flower. lemminkainen, full of pleasure, handsome hero, kaukomieli, rowed a hundred boats in pieces, pulled a thousand oars to fragments, while he wooed the maid of beauty, tried to win the fair kyllikki. finally the lovely maiden, fairest daughter of the northland, thus addresses lemminkainen: "why dost linger here, thou weak one, why dost murmur on these borders, why come wooing at my fireside, wooing me in belt of copper? have no time to waste upon thee, rather give this stone its polish, rather would i turn the pestle in the heavy sandstone mortar; rather sit beside my mother in the dwellings of my father. never shall i heed thy wooing, neither wights nor whisks i care for, sooner have a slender husband since i have a slender body; wish to have him fine of figure, since perchance i am well-shapen; wish to have him tall and stately, since my form perchance is queenly; never waste thy time in wooing saliri's maid and favored flower." time had gone but little distance, scarcely had a month passed over, when upon a merry evening, where the maidens meet for dancing, in the glen beyond the meadow, on a level patch of verdure, came too soon the maid kyllikki, sahri's pride, the maid of beauty; quickly followed lemminkainen, with his stallion proudly prancing, fleetest racer of the northland, fleetly drives beyond the meadow, where the maidens meet for dancing, snatches quick the maid kyllikki, on the settle seats the maiden, quickly draws the leathern cover, and adjusts the brichen cross-bar, whips his courser to a gallop. with a rush, and roar, and rattle, speeds he homeward like the storm-wind, speaks these words to those that listen: "never, never, anxious maidens, must ye give the information, that i carried off kyllikki to my distant home and kindred. if ye do not heed this order, ye shall badly fare as maidens; i shall sing to war your suitors, sing them under spear and broadsword, that for months, and years, and ages, never ye will see their faces, never hear their merry voices, never will they tread these uplands, never will they join these dances, never will they drive these highways." sad the wailing of kyllikki, sad the weeping flower of sahri! listen to her tearful pleading: "give, o give me back my freedom, free me from the throes of thralldom, let this maiden wander homeward, by some foot-path let me wander to my father who is grieving, to my mother who is weeping; let me go or i will curse thee! if thou wilt not give me freedom, wilt not let me wander homeward, where my loved ones wait my coming, i have seven stalwart brothers, seven sons of father's brother, seven sons of mother's sister, who pursue the tracks of red-deer, hunt the hare upon the heather; they will follow thee and slay thee, thus i'll gain my wished-for freedom." lemminkainen, little heeding, would not grant the maiden's wishes, would not heed her plea for mercy. spake again the waiting virgin, pride and beauty of the northland: "joyful was i with my kindred, joyful born and softly nurtured merrily i spent my childhood, happy i, in virgin-freedom, in the dwelling of my father, by the bedside of my mother, with my lineage in sahri; but alas! all joy has vanished, all my happiness departed, all my maiden beauty waneth since i met thine evil spirit, shameless hero of dishonor, cruel fighter of the islands, merciless in civil combat." spake the hero, lemminkainen, these the words of kaukomieli: "dearest maiden, fair kyllikki, my sweet strawberry of pohya, still thine anguish, cease thy weeping, be thou free from care and sorrow, never shall i do thee evil, never will my hands maltreat thee, never will mine arms abuse thee, never will my tongue revile thee, never will my heart deceive thee. "tell me why thou hast this anguish, why thou hast this bitter sorrow, why this sighing and lamenting, tell me why this wail of sadness? banish all thy cares and sorrows, dry thy tears and still thine anguish, i have cattle, food, and shelter, i have home, and friends, and kindred, kine upon the plains and uplands, in the marshes berries plenty, strawberries upon the mountains i have kine that need no milking, handsome kine that need no feeding, beautiful if not well-tended; need not tie them up at evening, need not free them in the morning, need not hunt them, need not feed them, need not give them salt nor water. "thinkest thou my race is lowly, dost thou think me born ignoble, does my lineage agrieve thee? was not born in lofty station, from a tribe of noble heroes, from a worthy race descended; but i have a sword of fervor, and a spear yet filled with courage, surely these are well descended, these were born from hero-races, sharpened by the mighty hisi, by the gods were forged and burnished; therefore will i give thee greatness, greatness of my race and nation, with my broadsword filled with fervor, with my spear still filled with courage." anxiously the sighing maiden thus addresses lemminkainen: "o thou ahti, son of lempo, wilt thou take this trusting virgin, as thy faithful life-companion, take me under thy protection, be to me a faithful husband, swear to me an oath of honor, that thou wilt not go to battle, when for gold thou hast a longing, when thou wishest gold and silver?" this is lemminkainen's answer: i will swear an oath of honor, that i'll never go to battle, when for gold i feel a longing, when i wish for gold and silver. swear thou also on thine honor, thou wilt go not to the village, when desire for dance impels thee, wilt not visit village-dances." thus the two made oath together, registered their vows in heaven, vowed before omniscient ukko, ne'er to go to war vowed ahti, never to the dance, kyllikki. lemminkainen, full of joyance, snapped his whip above his courser, whipped his racer to a gallop, and these words the hero uttered: "fare ye well, ye sahri-meadows, roots of firs, and stumps of birch-trees. that i wandered through in summer, that i travelled o'er in winter, where ofttimes in rainy seasons, at the evening hour i lingered, when i sought to win the virgin, sought to win the maid of beauty, fairest of the sahri-flowers. fare ye well, ye sahri-woodlands, seas and oceans, lakes and rivers, vales and mountains, isles and inlets, once the home of fair kyllikki!" quick the racer galloped homeward, galloped on along the highway, toward the meadows of wainola, to the plains of kalevala. as they neared the ahti-dwellings, thus kyllikki spake in sorrow: "cold and drear is thy cottage, seeming like a place deserted; who may own this dismal cabin, who the one so little honored?" spake the hero, lemminkainen, these the words that ahti uttered: "do not grieve about my cottage, have no care about my chambers; i shall build thee other dwellings, i shall fashion them much better, beams, and posts, and sills, and rafters, fashioned from the sacred birch-wood." now they reach the home of ahti, lemminkainen's home and birthplace, enter they his mother's cottage; there they meet his aged mother, these the words the mother uses: "long indeed hast thou been absent, long in foreign lands hast wandered, long in sahri thou hast lingered!" this is lemminkainen's answer: "all the host of sahri-women, all the chaste and lovely maidens, all the maids with braided tresses, well have paid for their derision, for their scorn and for their laughter, that they basely heaped upon me. i have brought the best among them in my sledge to this thy cottage; well i wrapped her in my fur-robes, kept her warm enwrapped in bear-skin, brought her to my mother's dwelling, as my faithful life-companion; thus i paid the scornful maidens, paid them well for their derision. "cherished mother of my being, i have found the long-sought jewel, i have won the maid of beauty. spread our couch with finest linen, for our heads the softest pillows, on our table rarest viands, so that i may dwell in pleasure with my spouse, the bride of honor, with the pride of distant sahri." this the answer of the mother: "be thou praised, o gracious ukko, loudly praised, o thou creator, since thou givest me a daughter, ahti's bride, my second daughter, who can stir the fire at evening, who can weave me finest fabrics, who can twirl the useful spindle, who can rinse my silken ribbons, who can full the richest garments. "son beloved, praise thy maker, for the winning of this virgin, pride and joy of distant sahri kind indeed is thy creator, wise the ever-knowing ukko! pure the snow upon the mountains, purer still thy bride of beauty; white the foam upon the ocean, whiter still her virgin-spirit; graceful on the lakes, the white-swan, still more graceful, thy companion: beautiful the stars in heaven, still more beautiful, kyllikki. larger make our humble cottage, wider build the doors and windows, fashion thou the ceilings higher, decorate the walls in beauty, now that thou a bride hast taken from a tribe of higher station, purest maiden of creation, from the meadow-lands of sahri, from the upper shores of northland." rune xii. kyllikki's broken vow. lemminkainen, artful husband, reckless hero, kaukomieli, constantly beside his young wife., passed his life in sweet contentment, and the years rolled swiftly onward; ahti thought not of the battles, nor kyllikki of the dances. once upon a time it happened that the hero, lemminkainen, went upon the lake a-fishing, was not home at early evening, as the cruel night descended; to the village went kyllikki, to the dance of merry maidens. who will tell the evil story, who will bear the information to the husband, lemminkainen? ahti's sister tells the story, and the sister's name, ainikki. soon she spreads the cruel tidings, straightway gives the information, of kyllikki's perjured honor, these the words ainikki utters: "ahti, my beloved brother, to the village went kyllikki, to the hall of many strangers, to the plays and village dances, with the young men and the maidens, with the maids of braided tresses, to the halls of joy and pleasure." lemminkainen, much dejected, broken-hearted, flushed with anger, spake these words in measured accents: "mother dear, my gray-haired mother, wilt thou straightway wash my linen in the blood of poison-serpents, in the black blood of the adder? i must hasten to the combat, to the camp-fires of the northland, to the battle-fields of lapland; to the village went kyllikki, to the play of merry maidens, to the games and village dances, with the maids of braided tresses." straightway speaks the wife, kyllikki: "my beloved husband, ahti, do not go to war, i pray thee. in the evening i lay sleeping, slumbering i saw in dream-land fire upshooting from the chimney, flames arising, mounting skyward, from the windows of this dwelling, from the summits of these rafters, piercing through our upper chambers, roaring like the fall of waters, leaping from the floor and ceiling, darting from the halls and doorways." but the doubting lemminkainen makes this answer to kyllikki: "i discredit dreams or women, have no faith in vows of maidens! faithful mother of my being, hither bring my mail of copper; strong desire is stirring in me for the cup of deadly combat, for the mead of martial conquest." this the pleading mother's answer: "lemminkainen, son beloved, do not go to war i pray thee; we have foaming beer abundant, in our vessels beer of barley, held in casks by oaken spigots; drink this beer of peace and pleasure, let us drink of it together." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "i shall taste no more the viands, in the home of false kyllikki; rather would i drink the water from the painted tips of birch-oars; sweeter far to me the water, than the beverage of dishonor, at my mother's home and fireside! "hither bring my martial doublet, bring me now the sword of battle, bring my father's sword of honor; i must go to upper northland, to the battle-fields of lapland, there to win me gold and silver." this the anxious mother's answer: "my beloved kaukomieli, we have gold in great abundance, gold and silver in the store-room; recently upon the uplands, in the early hours of morning, toiled the workmen in the corn-fields, plowed the meadows filled with serpents, when the plowshare raised the cover from a chest of gold and silver, countless was the gold uncovered, hid beneath the grassy meadow; this the treasure i have brought thee, take the countless gold in welcome." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "do not wish thy household silver, from the wars i'll earn my silver; gold and silver from the combat are to me of greater value than the wealth thou hast discovered. bring me now my heavy armor, bring me too my spear and broadsword; to the northland i must hasten, to the bloody wars of lapland, thither does my pride impel me, thitherward my heart is turning. "i have heard a tale of lapland, some believe the wondrous story, that a maid in pimentola lives that does not care for suitors, does not care for bearded heroes." this the aged mother's answer: "warlike athi, son beloved, in thy home thou hast kyllikki, fairest wife of all the islands; strange to see two wives abiding in the home of but one husband." spake the hero, lemminkainen: "to the village runs kyllikki; let her run to village dances, let her sleep in other dwellings, with the village youth find pleasure, with the maids of braided tresses." seeks the mother to detain him, thus the anxious mother answers: "do not go, my son beloved, ignorant of pohya-witchcraft, to the distant homes of northland till thou hast the art of magic, till thou hast some little wisdom do not go to fields of battle, to the fires of northland's children, to the slaughter-fields of lapland, till of magic thou art master. there the lapland maids will charm thee, turyalanders will bewitch thee, sing thy visage into charcoal, head and shoulders to the furnace, into ashes sing thy fore-arm, into fire direct thy footsteps." spake the warlike lemminkainen: wizards often have bewitched me, and the fascinating serpents; lapland wizards, three in number, on an eve in time of summer, sitting on a rock at twilight, not a garment to protect them, once bewitched me with their magic; this much they have taken from me, this the sum of all my losses: what the hatchet gains from flint-stone, what the auger bores from granite, what the heel chips from the iceberg, and what death purloins from tomb-stones. "horribly the wizards threatened, tried to sink me with their magic, in the water of the marshes, in the mud and treacherous quicksand, to my chin in mire and water; but i too was born a hero, born a hero and magician, was not troubled by their magic. "straightway i began my singing, sang the archers with their arrows, sang the spearmen with their weapons, sang the swordsmen with their poniards, sang the singers with their singing, the enchanters with their magic, to the rapids of the rivers, to the highest fall of waters, to the all-devouring whirlpool, to the deepest depths of ocean, where the wizards still are sleeping, sleeping till the grass shoots upward through the beards and wrinkled faces, through the locks of the enchanters, as they sleep beneath the billows." still entreats the anxious mother, still beseeches lemminkainen, trying to restrain the hero, while kyllikki begs forgiveness; this the language of the mother: "do not go, my son beloved, to the villages of northland, nor to lapland's frigid borders; dire misfortune will befall thee, star of evil settle o'er thee, lemminkainen's end, destruction. "couldst thou speak in tongues a hundred, i could not believe thee able, through the magic of thy singing, to enchant the sons of lapland to the bottom of the ocean, dost not know the tury-language, canst but speak the tongue of suomi, canst not win by witless magic." lemminkainen, reckless hero, also known as kaukomieli, stood beside his mother, combing out his sable locks and musing, brushing down his beard, debating, steadfast still in his decision, quickly hurls his brush in anger, hurls it to the wall opposing, gives his mother final answer, these the words that ahti uses: "dire misfortune will befall me, some sad fate will overtake me, evil come to lemminkainen, when the blood flows from that hair-brush, when blood oozes from those bristles." thus the warlike lemminkainen goes to never-pleasant lapland, heeding not his mother's warning, heeding not her prohibition. thus the hero, kaukomieli, quick equips himself for warfare, on his head a copper helmet, on his shoulders caps of copper, on his body iron armor, steel, the belt around his body; as he girds himself for battle, ahti thus soliloquizing: "strong the hero in his armor, strong indeed in copper helmet, powerful in mail of iron, stronger far than any hero on the dismal shores of lapland, need not fear their wise enchanters, need not fear their strongest foemen, need not fear a war with wizards." grasped he then the sword of battle, firmly grasped the heavy broadsword that tuoni had been grinding, that the gods had brightly burnished, thrust it in the leathern scabbard, tied the scabbard to his armor. how do heroes guard from danger, where protect themselves from evil? heroes guard their homes and firesides, guard their doors, and roofs, and windows, guard the posts that bold the torch-lights, guard the highways to the court-yard, guard the ends of all the gate-ways. heroes guard themselves from women, carefully from merry maidens; if in this their strength be wanting, easy fall the heroes, victims to the snares of the enchanters. furthermore are heroes watchful of the tribes of warlike giants, where the highway doubly branches, on the borders of the blue-rock, on the marshes filled with evil, near the mighty fall of waters, near the circling of the whirlpool, near the fiery springs and rapids. spake the stout-heart, lemminkainen: "rise ye heroes of the broadsword, ye, the earth's eternal heroes, from the deeps, ye sickle-bearers, from the brooks, ye crossbow-shooters, come, thou forest, with thine archers, come, ye thickets, with your armies, mountain spirits, with your powers, come, fell hisi, with thy horrors, water-mother, with thy dangers, come, wellamo, with thy mermaids, come, ye maidens from the valleys, come, ye nymphs from winding rivers, be protection to this hero, be his day-and-night companions, body-guard to lemminkainen, thus to blunt the spears of wizards, thus to dull their pointed arrows, that the spears of the enchanters, that the arrows of the archers, that the weapons of the foemen, may not harm this bearded hero. "should this force be insufficient, i can call on other powers, i can call the gods above me, call the great god of the heavens, him who gives the clouds their courses, him who rules through boundless ether, who directs the march of storm-winds. "ukko, thou o god above me, thou the father of creation, thou that speakest through the thunder, thou whose weapon is the lightning, thou whose voice is borne by ether, grant me now thy mighty fire-sword, give me here thy burning arrows, lightning arrows for my quiver, thus protect me from all danger, guard me from the wiles of witches, guide my feet from every evil, help me conquer the enchanters, help me drive them from the northland; those that stand in front of battle, those that fill the ranks behind me, those around me, those above me, those beneath me, help me banish,. with their knives, and swords, and cross-bows, with their spears of keenest temper, with their tongues of evil magic; help me drive these lapland wizards to the deepest depths of ocean, there to wrestle with wellamo." then the reckless lemminkainen whistled loudly for his stallion, called the racer from the hurdles, called his brown steed from the pasture, threw the harness on the courser, hitched the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge, leaped upon the highest cross-bench, cracked his whip above the racer, and the steed flies onward swiftly, bounds the sleigh upon its journey, and the golden plain re-echoes; travels one day, then a second, travels all the next day northward, till the third day evening brings him to a sorry northland village, on the dismal shores of lapland. here the hero, lemminkainen, drove along the lowest highway, through the streets along the border, to a court-yard in the hamlet, asked one standing in the doorway: "is there one within this dwelling, that can loose my stallion's breastplate, that can lift his heavy collar, that these shafts can rightly lower?" on the floor a babe was playing, and the young child gave this answer: "there is no one in this dwelling that can loose thy stallion's breastplate, that can lift his heavy collar, that the shafts can rightly lower." lemminkainen, not discouraged, whips his racer to a gallop, rushes forward through the village, on the middle of the highways, to the court-yard in the centre, asks one standing in the threshold, leaning on the penthouse door-posts: "is there any one here dwelling that can slip my stallion's bridle, that can loose his leathern breast-straps, that can tend my royal racer?" from the fire-place spake a wizard, from her bench the witch made answer: "thou canst find one in this dwelling, that can slip thy courser's bridle, that can loose his heavy breastplate, that can tend thy royal racer. there are here a thousand heroes that can make thee hasten homeward, that can give thee fleet-foot stallions, that can chase thee to thy country, reckless rascal and magician, to thy home and fellow minstrels, to the uplands of thy father, to the cabins of thy mother, to the work-bench of thy brother, to the dairy or thy sister, ere the evening star has risen, ere the sun retires to slumber." lemminkainen, little fearing, gives this answer to the wizard: "i should slay thee for thy pertness, that thy clatter might be silenced." then he whipped his fiery charger, and the steed flew onward swiftly, on the upper of the highways, to the court-yard on the summit. when the reckless lemminkainen had approached the upper court-yard, uttered he the words that follow: "o thou hisi, stuff this watch-dog, lempo, stuff his throat and nostrils, close the mouth of this wild barker, bridle well the vicious canine, that the watcher may be silent while the hero passes by him." then he stepped within the court-room, with his whip he struck the flooring, from the floor arose a vapor, in the fog appeared a pigmy, who unhitched the royal racer, from his back removed the harness, gave the weary steed attention. then the hero, lemminkainen, carefully advanced and listened. no one saw the strange magician, no one heard his cautious footsteps; heard he songs within the dwelling, through the moss-stuffed chinks heard voices. through the walls he beard them singing, through the doors the peals of laughter. then he spied within the court-rooms, lurking slyly in the hall-ways, found the court-rooms filled with singers, by the walls were players seated, near the doors the wise men hovered, skilful ones upon the benches, near the fires the wicked wizards; all were singing songs of lapland, singing songs of evil hisi. now the minstrel, lemminkainen, changes both his form and stature, passes through the inner door-ways, enters he the spacious court-hall, and these words the hero utters: "fine the singing quickly ending, good the song that quickly ceases; better far to keep thy wisdom than to sing it on the house-tops." comes the hostess of pohyola, fleetly rushing through the door-way, to the centre of the court-room, and addresses thus the stranger: formerly a dog lay watching, was a cur of iron-color, fond of flesh, a bone-devourer, loved to lick the blood of strangers. who then art thou of the heroes, who of all the host of heroes, that thou art within my court-rooms, that thou comest to my dwelling, was not seen without my portals, was not scented by my watch-dogs? spake the reckless lemminkainen: "do not think that i come hither having neither wit nor wisdom, having neither art nor power, wanting in ancestral knowledge, lacking prudence of the fathers, that thy watch-dogs may devour me. "my devoted mother washed me, when a frail and tender baby, three times in the nights of summer, nine times in the nights of autumn, that upon my journeys northward i might sing the ancient wisdom, thus protect myself from danger; when at home i sing as wisely as the minstrels of thy hamlet." then the singer, lemminkainen, ancient hero, kaukomieli, quick began his incantations, straightway sang the songs of witchcraft, from his fur-robe darts the lightning, flames outshooting from his eye-balls, from the magic of his singing from his wonderful enchantment. sang the very best of singers to the very worst of minstrels, filled their mouths with dust and ashes, piled the rocks upon their shoulders, stilled the best of lapland witches, stilled the sorcerers and wizards. then he banished all their heroes, banished all their proudest minstrels, this one hither, that one thither, to the lowlands poor in verdure, to the unproductive uplands, to the oceans wanting whiting, to the waterfalls of rutya, to the whirlpool hot and flaming, to the waters decked with sea-foam, into fires and boiling waters, into everlasting torment. then the hero, lemminkainen, sang the foemen with their broadswords? sang the heroes with their weapons, sang the eldest, sang the youngest, sang the middle-aged, enchanted; only one he left his senses, he a poor, defenseless shepherd, old and sightless, halt and wretched, and the old man's name was nasshut. spake the miserable shepherd: "thou hast old and young enchanted, thou hast banished all our heroes, why hast spared this wretched shepherd?" this is lemminkainen's answer: "therefore have i not bewitched thee: thou art old, and blind, and wretched feeble-minded thou, and harmless, loathsome now without my magic. thou didst, in thy better life-time, when a shepherd filled with malice, ruin all thy mother's berries, make thy sister, too unworthy, ruin all thy brother's cattle, drive to death thy father's stallions, through the marshes, o'er the meadows, through the lowlands, o'er the mountains, heeding not thy mother's counsel." thereupon the wretched nasshut, angry grew and swore for vengeance, straightway limping through the door-way, hobbled on beyond the court-yard, o'er the meadow-lands and pastures, to the river of the death-land, to the holy stream and whirlpool, to the kingdom of tuoni, to the islands of manala; waited there for kaukomieli, listened long for lemminkainen, thinking he must pass this river on his journey to his country, on. the highway to the islands, from the upper shores of pohya, from the dreary sariola. rune xiii. lemminikainen's second wooing. spake the ancient lemminkainen to the hostess of pohyola: "give to me thy lovely daughter, bring me now thy winsome maiden, bring the best of lapland virgins, fairest virgin of the northland." louhi, hostess of pohyola, answered thus the wild magician: "i shall never give my daughter, never give my fairest maiden, not the best one, nor the worst one, not the largest, nor the smallest; thou hast now one wife-companion, thou has taken hence one hostess, carried off the fair kyllikki." this is lemminkainen's answer: to my home i took kyllikki, to my cottage on the island, to my entry-gates and kindred; now i wish a better hostess, straightway bring thy fairest daughter, worthiest of all thy virgins, fairest maid with sable tresses." spake the hostess of pohyola: "never will i give my daughter to a hero false and worthless, to a minstrel vain and evil; therefore, pray thou for my maiden, therefore, woo the sweet-faced flower, when thou bringest me the wild-moose from the hisi fields and forests." then the artful lemminkainen deftly whittled out his javelins, quickly made his leathern bow-string, and prepared his bow and arrows, and soliloquized as follows: "now my javelins are made ready, all my arrows too are ready, and my oaken cross-bow bended, but my snow-shoes are not builded, who will make me worthy snow-shoes?" lemminkainen, grave and thoughtful, long reflected, well considered, where the snow-shoes could be fashioned, who the artist that could make them; hastened to the kauppi-smithy, to the smithy of lylikki, thus addressed the snow-shoe artist: "o thou skilful woyalander, kauppi, ablest smith of lapland, make me quick two worthy snow-shoes, smooth them well and make them hardy, that in tapio the wild-moose, roaming through the hisi-forests, i may catch and bring to louhi, as a dowry for her daughter." then lylikki thus made answer, kauppi gave this prompt decision: "lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, thou wilt hunt in vain the wild-moose, thou wilt catch but pain and torture, in the hisi fens and forests." little heeding, lemminkainen spake these measures to lylikki "make for me the worthy snow-shoes, quickly work and make them ready; go i will and catch the blue-moose where in tapio it browses, in the hisi woods and snow-fields." then lylikki, snow-shoe-maker, ancient kauppi, master artist, whittled in the fall his show-shoes, smoothed them in the winter evenings, one day working on the runners, all the next day making stick-rings, till at last the shoes were finished, and the workmanship was perfect. then he fastened well the shoe-straps, smooth as adder's skin the woodwork, soft as fox-fur were the stick-rings; oiled he well his wondrous snow-shoes with the tallow of the reindeer; when he thus soliloquizes, these the accents of lylikki: "is there any youth in lapland, any in this generation, that can travel in these snow-shoes, that can move the lower sections?" spake the reckless lemminkainen, full of hope, and life, and vigor: surely there is one in lapland. in this rising generation, that can travel in these snow-shoes, that the right and left can manage." to his back he tied the quiver, placed the bow upon his shoulder, with both hands he grasped his snow-cane, speaking meanwhile words as follow: "there is nothing in the woodlands, nothing in the world of ukko, nothing underneath the heavens, in the uplands, in the lowlands, nothing in the snow-fields running, not a fleet deer of the forest, that could not be overtaken with the snow-shoes of lylikki, with the strides of lemminkainen." wicked hisi heard these measures, juntas listened to their echoes; straightway hisi called the wild-moose, juutas fashioned soon a reindeer, and the head was made of punk-wood, horns of naked willow branches, feet were furnished by the rushes, and the legs, by reeds aquatic, veins were made of withered grasses, eyes, from daisies of the meadows, ears were formed of water-flowers, and the skin of tawny fir-bark, out of sappy wood, the muscles, fair and fleet, the magic reindeer. juutas thus instructs the wild-moose, these the words of wicked hisi: flee away, thou moose of juutas, flee away, thou hisi-reindeer, like the winds, thou rapid courser, to the snow-homes of the ranger, to the ridges of the mountains, to the snow-capped hills of lapland, that thy hunter may be worn out, thy pursuer be tormented, lemminkainen be exhausted." thereupon the hisi-reindeer, juutas-moose with branching antlers, fleetly ran through fen and forest, over lapland's hills and valleys, through the open fields and court-yards, through the penthouse doors and gate-ways, turning over tubs of water, threw the kettles from the fire-pole, and upset the dishes cooking. then arose a fearful uproar, in the court-yards of pohyola, lapland-dogs began their barking, lapland-children cried in terror, lapland-women roared with laughter, and the lapland-heroes shouted. fleetly followed lemminkainen, followed fast, and followed faster, hastened on behind the wild-moose, over swamps and through the woodlands, over snow-fields vast and pathless, over high uprising mountains, fire out-shooting from his runners, smoke arising from his snow-cane: could not hear the wild-moose bounding, could not sight the flying fleet-foot; glided on through field and forest, glided over lakes and rivers, over lands beyond the smooth-sea, through the desert plains of hisi, glided o'er the plains of kalma, through the kingdom of tuoni, to the end of kalma's empire, where the jaws of death stand open, where the head of kalma lowers, ready to devour the stranger, to devour wild lemminkainen; but tuoni cannot reach him, kalma cannot overtake him. distant woods are yet untraveled, far away a woodland corner stands unsearched by kaukomieli, in the north's extensive, borders, in the realm of dreary lapland. now the hero, on his snow-shoes, hastens to the distant woodlands, there to hunt the moose of piru. as he nears the woodland corner, there he bears a frightful uproar, from the northland's distant borders, from the dreary fields of lapland, hears the dogs as they are barking, hears the children loudly screaming, hears the laughter or the women, hears the shouting of the heroes. thereupon wild lemminkainen hastens forward on his snow-shoes, to the place where dogs are barking, to the distant woods of lapland. when the reckless kaukomieli had approached this hisi corner, straightway he began to question: "why this laughter or the women, why the screaming of the children, why the shouting of the heroes, why this barking of the watch-dogs? this reply was promptly given: "this the reason for this uproar, women laughing, children screaming, heroes shouting, watch-dogs barking hisi's moose came running hither, hither came the piru-reindeer, hither came with hoofs of silver, through the open fields and court-yards, through the penthouse doors and gate-ways, turning over tubs or water, threw the kettles from the fire-pole, and upset the dishes cooking." then the hero, lemminkainen, straightway summoned all his courage, pushed ahead his mighty snow-shoes, swift as adders in the stubble, levelled bushes in the marshes, like the swift and fiery serpents, spake these words of magic import, keeping balance with his snow-staff: come thou might of lapland heroes, bring to me the moose of juutas; come thou strength of lapland-women, and prepare the boiling caldron; come, thou might of lapland children, bring together fire and fuel; come, thou strength of lapland-kettles, help to boil the hisi wild-moose." then with mighty force and courage, lemminkainen hastened onward, striking backward, shooting forward; with a long sweep of his snow-shoe, disappeared from view the hero; with the second, shooting further, was the hunter out of hearing, with the third the hero glided on the shoulders of the wild-moose; took a pole of stoutest oak-wood, took some bark-strings from the willow, wherewithal to bind the moose-deer, bind him to his oaken hurdle. to the moose he spake as follows: "here remain, thou moose of juutas skip about, my bounding courser, in my hurdle jump and frolic, captive from the fields of piru, from the hisi glens and mountains." then he stroked the captured wild-moose, patted him upon his forehead, spake again in measured accents: "i would like awhile to linger, i would love to rest a moment in the cottage of my maiden, with my virgin, young and lovely." then the hisi-moose grew angry, stamped his feet and shook his antlers, spake these words to lemminkainen: "surely lempo soon will got thee, shouldst thou sit beside the maiden, shouldst thou linger by the virgin." now the wild-moose stamps and rushes, tears in two the bands of willow, breaks the oak-wood pole in pieces, and upturns the hunter's hurdle, quickly leaping from his captor, bounds away with strength of freedom, over hills and over lowlands, over swamps and over snow-fields, over mountains clothed in heather, that the eye may not behold him, nor the hero's ear detect him. thereupon the mighty hunter angry grows, and much disheartened, starts again the moose to capture, gliding off behind the courser. with his might he plunges forward; at the instep breaks his snow-shoe, breaks the runners into fragments, on the mountings breaks his javelins, in the centre breaks his snow-staff, and the moose bounds on before him, through the hisi-woods and snow-fields, out of reach of lemminkainen. then the reckless kaukomieli looked with bended head, ill-humored, one by one upon the fragments, speaking words of ancient wisdom: "northland hunters, never, never, go defiant to thy forests, in the hisi vales and mountains, there to hunt the moose of juutas, like this senseless, reckless hero; i have wrecked my magic snow-shoes, ruined too my useful snow-staff, and my javelins i have broken, while the wild-moose runs in safety through the hisi fields and forests." rune xiv. death of lemminkainen. lemminkainen, much disheartened, deeply thought and long considered, what to do, what course to follow, whether best to leave the wild-moose in the fastnesses of hisi, and return to kalevala, or a third time hunt the ranger, hoping thus to bring him captive, thus return at last a victor to the forest home of louhi, to the joy of all her daughters, to the wood-nymph's happy fireside. taking courage lemminkainen spake these words in supplication: "ukko, thou o god above me, thou creator of the heavens, put my snow-shoes well in order, and endow them both with swiftness, that i rapidly may journey over marshes, over snow-fields, over lowlands, over highlands, through the realms of wicked hisi, through the distant plains of lapland, through the paths of lempo's wild-moose, to the forest hills of juutas. to the snow-fields shall i journey, leave the heroes to the woodlands, on the way to tapiola, into tapio's wild dwellings. "greeting bring i to the mountains, greeting to the vales and uplands, greet ye, heights with forests covered, greet ye, ever-verdant fir-trees, greet ye, groves of whitened aspen, greetings bring to those that greet you, fields, and streams, and woods of lapland. bring me favor, mountain-woodlands, lapland-deserts, show me kindness, mighty tapio, be gracious, let me wander through thy forests, let me glide along thy rivers, let this hunter search thy snow-fields, where the wild-moose herds in numbers where the bounding reindeer lingers. "o nyrikki, mountain hero, son of tapio of forests, hero with the scarlet head-gear, notches make along the pathway, landmarks upward to the mountains, that this hunter may not wander, may not fall, and falling perish in the snow-fields of thy kingdom, hunting for the moose of hisi, dowry for the pride of northland. "mistress of the woods, mielikki, forest-mother, formed in beauty, let thy gold flow out abundant, let thy silver onward wander, for the hero that is seeking for the wild-moose of thy kingdom; bring me here thy keys of silver, from the golden girdle round thee; open tapio's rich chambers, and unlock the forest fortress, while i here await the booty, while i hunt the moose of lempo. "should this service be too menial give the order to thy servants, send at once thy servant-maidens, and command it to thy people. thou wilt never seem a hostess, if thou hast not in thy service, maidens ready by the hundreds, thousands that await thy bidding, who thy herds may watch and nurture, tend the game of thy dominions. "tall and slender forest-virgin, tapio's beloved daughter, blow thou now thy honey flute-notes, play upon thy forest-whistle, for the hearing of thy mistress, for thy charming woodland-mistress, make her hear thy sweet-toned playing, that she may arise from slumber. should thy mistress not awaken at the calling of thy flute-notes, play again, and play unceasing, make the golden tongue re-echo." wild and daring lemminkainen steadfast prays upon his journey, calling on the gods for succor, hastens off through fields and moorlands, passes on through cruel brush-wood, to the colliery of hisi, to the burning fields of lempo; glided one day, then a second, glided all the next day onward, till he came to big-stone mountain, climbed upon its rocky summit, turned his glances to the north-west, toward the northland moors and marshes; there appeared the tapio-mansion. all the doors were golden-colored, shining in the gleam of sunlight through the thickets on the mountains, through the distant fields of northland. lemminkainen, much encouraged, hastens onward from his station through the lowlands, o'er the uplands, over snow-fields vast and vacant, under snow-robed firs and aspens, hastens forward, happy-hearted, quickly reaches tapio's court-yards, halts without at tapio's windows, slyly looks into her mansion, spies within some kindly women, forest-dames outstretched before him, all are clad in scanty raiment, dressed in soiled and ragged linens. spake the stranger lemminkainen: "wherefore sit ye, forest-mothers, in your old and simple garments, in your soiled and ragged linen? ye, forsooth! are too untidy, too unsightly your appearance in your tattered gowns appareled. when i lived within the forest, there were then three mountain castles, one of horn and one of ivory, and the third of wood constructed; in their walls were golden windows, six the windows in each castle, through these windows i discovered all the host of tapio's mansion, saw its fair and stately hostess; saw great tapio's lovely daughter, saw tellervo in her beauty, with her train of charming maidens; all were dressed in golden raiment, rustled all in gold and silver. then the forest's queenly hostess, still the hostess of these woodlands, on her arms wore golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, in her hair were sparkling, jewels, on her bead were golden fillets, in her ears were golden ear-rings, on her neck a pearly necklace, and her braidlets, silver-tinselled. "lovely hostess of the forest, metsola's enchanting mistress, fling aside thine ugly straw-shoes, cast away the shoes of birch-bark, doff thy soiled and ragged linen, doff thy gown of shabby fabric, don the bright and festive raiment, don the gown of merry-making, while i stay within thy borders, while i seek my forest-booty, hunt the moose of evil hisi. here my visit will be irksome, here thy guest will be ill-humored, waiting in thy fields and woodlands, hunting here the moose of lempo, finding not the hisi-ranger, shouldst thou give me no enjoyment, should i find no joy, nor respite. long the eve that gives no pleasure, long the day that brings no guerdon! "sable-bearded god of forests, in thy hat and coat of ermine, robe thy trees in finest fibers, deck thy groves in richest fabrics, give the fir-trees shining silver, deck with gold the slender balsams, give the spruces copper belting, and the pine-trees silver girdles, give the birches golden flowers, deck their stems with silver fret-work, this their garb in former ages, when the days and nights were brighter, when the fir-trees shone like sunlight, and the birches like the moonbeams; honey breathed throughout the forest, settled in the glens and highlands spices in the meadow-borders, oil out-pouring from the lowlands. "forest daughter, lovely virgin, golden maiden, fair tulikki, second of the tapio-daughters, drive the game within these borders, to these far-extending snow-fields. should the reindeer be too sluggish, should the moose-deer move too slowly cut a birch-rod from the thicket, whip them hither in their beauty, drive the wild-moose to my hurdle, hither drive the long-sought booty to the hunter who is watching, waiting in the hisi-forests. "when the game has started hither, keep them in the proper highway, hold thy magic hands before them, guard them well on either road-side, that the elk may not escape thee, may not dart adown some by-path. should, perchance, the moose-deer wander through some by-way of the forest, take him by the ears and antlers, hither lead the pride of lempo. "if the path be filled with brush-wood cast the brush-wood to the road-side; if the branches cross his pathway, break the branches into fragments; should a fence of fir or alder cross the way that leads him hither. make an opening within it, open nine obstructing fences; if the way be crossed by streamlets, if the path be stopped by rivers, make a bridge of silken fabric, weaving webs of scarlet color, drive the deer-herd gently over, lead them gently o'er the waters, o'er the rivers of thy forests, o'er the streams of thy dominions. "thou, the host of tapio's mansion, gracious host of tapiola, sable-bearded god of woodlands, golden lord of northland forests, thou, o tapio's worthy hostess, queen of snowy woods, mimerkki, ancient dame in sky-blue vesture, fenland-queen in scarlet ribbons, come i to exchange my silver, to exchange my gold and silver; gold i have, as old as moonlight, silver of the age of sunshine, in the first of years was gathered, in the heat and pain of battle; it will rust within my pouches, soon will wear away and perish, if it be not used in trading." long the hunter, lemminkainen, glided through the fen and forest, sang his songs throughout the woodlands, through three mountain glens be sang them, sang the forest hostess friendly, sang he, also, tapio friendly, friendly, all the forest virgins, all of metsola's fair daughters. now they start the herds of lempo, start the wild-moose from his shelter, in the realms of evil hisi, tapio's highest mountain-region; now they drive the ranger homeward, to the open courts of piru, to the hero that is waiting, hunting for the moose of juutas. when the herd had reached the castle, lemminkainen threw his lasso o'er the antlers of the blue-moose, settled on the neck and shoulders of the mighty moose of hisi. then the hunter, kaukomieli, stroked his captive's neck in safety, for the moose was well-imprisoned. thereupon gay lemminkainen filled with joyance spake as follows: "pride of forests, queen of woodlands, metsola's enchanted hostess, lovely forest dame, mielikki, mother-donor of the mountains, take the gold that i have promised, come and take away the silver; spread thy kerchief well before me, spread out here thy silken neck-wrap, underneath the golden treasure, underneath the shining silver, that to earth it may not settle, scattered on the snows of winter." then the hero went a victor to the dwellings of pohyola, and addressed these words to louhi: "i have caught the moose of hisi, in the metsola-dominions, give, o hostess, give thy daughter, give to me thy fairest virgin, bride of mine to be hereafter." louhi, hostess of the northland, gave this answer to the suitor: "i will give to thee my daughter, for thy wife my fairest maiden, when for me thou'lt put a bridle on the flaming horse of hisi, rapid messenger of lempo, on the hisi-plains and pastures." nothing daunted, lemminkainen hastened forward to accomplish louhi's second test of heroes, on the cultivated lowlands, on the sacred fields and forests. everywhere he sought the racer, sought the fire-expiring stallion, fire out-shooting from his nostrils. lemminkainen, fearless hunter, bearing in his belt his bridle, on his shoulders, reins and halter, sought one day, and then a second, finally, upon the third day, went he to the hisi-mountain, climbed, and struggled to the summit; to the east he turned his glances, cast his eyes upon the sunrise, there beheld the flaming courser, on the heath among the far-trees. lempo's fire-expiring stallion fire and mingled smoke, out-shooting from his mouth, and eyes, and nostrils. spake the daring lemminkainen, this the hero's supplication: "ukko, thou o god above me, thou that rulest all the storm-clouds, open thou the vault of heaven, open windows through the ether, let the icy rain come falling, lot the heavy hailstones shower on the flaming horse of hisi, on the fire-expiring stallion." ukko, the benign creator, heard the prayer of lemminkainen, broke apart the dome of heaven, rent the heights of heaven asunder, sent the iron-hail in showers, smaller than the heads of horses, larger than the heads of heroes, on the flaming steed of lempo, on the fire-expiring stallion, on the terror of the northland. lemminkainen, drawing nearer, looked with care upon the courser, then he spake the words that follow: "wonder-steed of mighty hisi, flaming horse of lempo's mountain, bring thy mouth of gold, assenting, gently place thy head of silver in this bright and golden halter, in this silver-mounted bridle. i shall never harshly treat thee, never make thee fly too fleetly, on the way to sariola, on the tracks of long duration, to the hostess of pohyola, to her magic courts and stables, will not lash thee on thy journey; i shall lead thee gently forward, drive thee with the reins of kindness, cover thee with silken blankets." then the fire-haired steed of juutas, flaming horse of mighty hisi, put his bead of shining silver, in the bright and golden bead-stall, in the silver-mounted bridle. thus the hero, lemminkainen, easy bridles lempo's stallion, flaming horse of evil piru; lays the bits within his fire-mouth, on his silver head, the halter, mounts the fire-expiring courser, brandishes his whip of willow, hastens forward on his journey, bounding o'er the hills and mountains, dashing through the valleys northward, o'er the snow-capped hills of lapland, to the courts of sariola. then the hero, quick dismounting, stepped within the court of louhi, thus addressed the northland hostess: "i have bridled lempo's fire-horse, i have caught the hisi-racer, caught the fire-expiring stallion, in the piru plains and pastures, ridden him within thy borders; i have caught the moose of lempo, i have done what thou demandest; give, i pray thee, now thy daughter, give to me thy fairest maiden, bride of mine to be forever." louhi, hostess of pohyola, made this answer to the suitor: "i will only give my daughter, give to thee my fairest virgin, bride of thine to be forever, when for me the swan thou killest in the river of tuoni, swimming in the black death-river, in the sacred stream and whirlpool; thou canst try one cross-bow only, but one arrow from thy quiver." then the reckless lemminkainen, handsome hero, kaukomieli, braved the third test of the hero, started out to hunt the wild-swan, hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer, in tuoni's coal-black river, in manala's lower regions. quick the daring hunter journeyed, hastened off with fearless footsteps, to the river of tuoni, to the sacred stream and whirlpool, with his bow upon his shoulder, with his quiver and one arrow. nasshut, blind and crippled shepherd, wretched shepherd of pohyola, stood beside the death-land river, near the sacred stream and whirlpool, guarding tuonela's waters, waiting there for lemminkainen, listening there for kaukomieli, waiting long the hero's coming. finally he hears the footsteps of the hero on his journey, hears the tread of lemminkainen, as he journeys nearer, nearer, to the river of tuoni, to the cataract of death-land, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. quick the wretched shepherd, nasshut, from the death-stream sends a serpent, like an arrow from a cross-bow, to the heart of lemminkainen, through the vitals of the hero. lemminkainen, little conscious, hardly knew that be was injured, spake these measures as he perished. "ah! unworthy is my conduct, ah! unwisely have i acted, that i did not heed my mother, did not take her goodly counsel, did not learn her words of magic. oh i for three words with my mother, how to live, and bow to suffer, in this time of dire misfortune, how to bear the stings of serpents, tortures of the reed of waters, from the stream of tuonela! "ancient mother who hast borne me, who hast trained me from my childhood, learn, i pray thee, where i linger, where alas! thy son is lying, where thy reckless hero suffers. come, i pray thee, faithful mother, come thou quickly, thou art needed, come deliver me from torture, from the death-jaws of tuoni, from the sacred stream and whirlpool." northland's old and wretched shepherd, nasshut, the despised protector of the flocks of sariola, throws the dying lemminkainen, throws the hero of the islands, into tuonela's river, to the blackest stream of death-land, to the worst of fatal whirlpools. lemminkainen, wild and daring, helpless falls upon the waters, floating down the coal-black current, through the cataract and rapids to the tombs of tuonela. there the blood-stained son of death-land, there tuoni's son and hero, cuts in pieces lemminkainen, chops him with his mighty hatchet, till the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks from the rocks within his chamber, chops the hero into fragments, into five unequal portions, throws each portion to tuoni, in manala's lowest kingdom, speaks these words when he has ended: "swim thou there, wild lemminkainen, flow thou onward in this river, hunt forever in these waters, with thy cross-bow and thine arrow, shoot the swan within this empire, shoot our water-birds in welcome!" thus the hero, lemminkainen, thus the handsome kaukomieli, the untiring suitor, dieth in the river of tuoni, in the death-realm of manala. rune xv. lemminkainen's restoration. lemminkainen's aged mother anxious roams about the islands, anxious wonders in her chambers, what the fate of lemminkainen, why her son so long has tarried; thinks that something ill has happened to her hero in pohyola. sad, indeed, the mother's anguish, as in vain she waits his coming, as in vain she asks the question, where her daring son is roaming, whether to the fir-tree mountain, whether to the distant heath-land, or upon the broad-sea's ridges, on the floods and rolling waters, to the war's contending armies, to the heat and din of battle, steeped in blood of valiant heroes, evidence of fatal warfare. daily does the wife kyllikki look about her vacant chamber, in the home of lemminkainen, at the court of kaukomieli; looks at evening, looks at morning, looks, perchance, upon his hair-brush, sees alas! the blood-drops oozing, oozing from the golden bristles, and the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. then the beauteous wife, kyllikki, spake these words in deeps of anguish: "dead or wounded is my husband, or at best is filled with trouble, lost perhaps in northland forests, in some glen unknown to heroes, since alas! the blood is flowing from the brush of lemminkainen, red drops oozing from the bristles." thereupon the anxious mother looks upon the bleeding hair-brush and begins this wail of anguish: "woe is me, my life hard-fated, woe is me, all joy departed! for alas! my son and hero, valiant hero of the islands, son of trouble and misfortune! some sad fate has overtaken my ill-fated lemminkainen! blood is flowing from his hair-brush, oozing from its golden bristles, and the drops are scarlet-colored." quick her garment's hem she clutches, on her arm she throws her long-robes, fleetly flies upon her journey; with her might she hastens northward, mountains tremble from her footsteps, valleys rise and heights are lowered, highlands soon become as lowlands, all the hills and valleys levelled. soon she gains the northland village, quickly asks about her hero, these the words the mother utters: "o thou hostess of pohyola, where hast thou my lemminkainen? tell me of my son and hero!" louhi, hostess of the northland, gives this answer to the mother: "nothing know i of thy hero, of the hero of the islands; where thy son may be i know not, cannot lend the information; once i gave thy son a courser, hitched the racer to his snow-sledge, this the last of lemminkainen; may perchance be drowned in wuhne, frozen in the icy ocean, fallen prey to wolves in hunger, in a bear's den may have perished." lemminkainen's mother answers: "thou art only speaking falsehoods, northland wolves cannot devour us, nor the bears kill kaukomieli; he can slay the wolves of pohya with the fingers of his left hand; bears of northland he would silence with the magic of his singing. "hostess of pohyola, tell me whither thou hast sent my hero; i shall burst thy many garners, shall destroy the magic sampo, if thou dost not tell me truly where to find my lemminkainen." spake the hostess of pohyola: "i have well thy hero treated, well my court has entertained him, gave him of my rarest viands, fed him at my well-filled tables, placed him in a boat of copper, thus to float adown the current, this the last of lemminkainen; cannot tell where he has wandered. whether in the foam of waters, whether in the boiling torrent, whether in the drowning whirlpool." lemminkainen's mother answers: thou again art speaking falsely; tell me now the truth i pray thee, make an end of thy deception, where is now my lemminkainen, whither hast thou sent my hero, young and daring son of kalew? if a third time thou deceivest, i will send thee plagues, unnumbered, i will send thee fell destruction, certain death will overtake thee." spake the hostess of pohyola: "this the third time that i answer, this the truth that i shall tell thee: i have sent the kalew-hero to the hisi-fields and forests, there to hunt the moose of lempo; sent him then to catch the fire-horse, catch the fire-expiring stallion, on the distant plains of juutas, in the realm of cruel hisi. then i sent him to the death-stream, in the kingdom of tuoni, with his bow and but one arrow, there to shoot the swan as dowry for my best and fairest daughter; have not heard about thy hero since he left for tuonela; may in misery have fallen, may have perished in manala; has not come to ask my daughter, has not come to woo the maiden, since he left to hunt the death-swan." now the mother seeks her lost one, for her son she weeps and trembles, like the wolf she bounds through fenlands, like the bear, through forest thickets, like the wild-boar, through the marshes, like the hare, along the sea-coast, to the sea-point, like the hedgehog like the wild-duck swims the waters, casts the rubbish from her pathway, tramples down opposing brush-wood, stops at nothing in her journey seeks a long time for her hero, seeks, and seeks, and does not find him. now she asks the trees the question, and the forest gives this answer: "we have care enough already, cannot think about thy matters; cruel fates have we to battle, pitiful our own misfortunes! we are felled and chopped in pieces, cut in blocks for hero-fancy, we are burned to death as fuel, no one cares how much we suffer." now again the mother wanders, seeks again her long-lost hero, seeks, and seeks, and does not find him. paths arise and come to meet her, and she questions thus the pathways: "paths of hope that god has fashioned, have ye seen my lemminkainen, has my son and golden hero travelled through thy many kingdoms?" sad, the many pathways answer: "we ourselves have cares sufficient, cannot watch thy son and hero, wretched are the lives of pathways, deep indeed our own misfortunes; we are trodden by, the red-deer, by the wolves, and bears, and roebucks, driven o'er by heavy cart-wheels, by the feet of dogs are trodden, trodden under foot of heroes, foot-paths for contending armies." seeks again the frantic mother, seeks her long-lost son and hero, seeks, and seeks, and does not find him; finds the moon within her orbit, asks the moon in pleading measures: "golden moon, whom god has stationed in the heavens, the sun's companion, hast thou seen my kaukomieli, hast thou seen my silver apple, anywhere in thy dominions? " thus the golden moon makes answer: "i have trouble all-sufficient, cannot watch thy daring hero; long the journey i must travel, sad the fate to me befallen, pitiful mine own misfortunes, all alone the nights to wander, shine alone without a respite, in the winter ever watching, in the summer sink and perish." still the mother seeks, and wanders, seeks, and does not find her hero, sees the sun in the horizon, and the mother thus entreats him: silver sun, whom god has fashioned, thou that giveth warmth and comfort, hast thou lately seen my hero, hast thou seen my lemminkainen, wandering in thy dominions?" thus the sun in kindness answers: "surely has thy hero perished, to ingratitude a victim; lemminkainen died and vanished in tuoni's fatal river, in the waters of manala, in the sacred stream and whirlpool, in the cataract and rapids, sank within the drowning current to the realm of tuonela, to manala's lower regions." lemminkainen's mother weeping, wailing in the deeps of anguish, mourns the fate of kaukomieli, hastens to the northland smithy, to the forge of ilmarinen, these the words the mother utters: "ilmarinen, metal-artist, thou that long ago wert forging, forging earth a concave cover, yesterday wert forging wonders, forge thou now, immortal blacksmith, forge a rake with shaft of copper, forge the teeth of strongest metal, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and five hundred long the handle." ilmarinen does as bidden, makes the rake in full perfection. lemminkainen's anxious mother takes the magic rake and hastens to the river of tuoni, praying to the sun as follows: "thou, o sun, by god created, thou that shinest on thy maker, shine for me in heat of magic, give me warmth, and strength, and courage, shine a third time full of power, lull to sleep the wicked people, still the people of manala, quiet all tuoni's empire." thereupon the sun of ukko, dearest child of the creator, flying through the groves of northland, sitting on a curving birch-tree, shines a little while in ardor, shines again in greater fervor, shines a third time full of power, lulls to sleep the wicked people in the manala home and kingdom, still the heroes with their broadswords, makes the lancers halt and totter, stills the stoutest of the spearmen, quiets tuoni's ghastly empire. now the sun retires in magic, hovers here and there a moment over tuoni's hapless sleepers, hastens upward to his station, to his jumala home and kingdom. lemminkainen's faithful mother takes the rake of magic metals, rakes the tuoni river bottoms, rakes the cataract and whirlpool, rakes the swift and boiling current of the sacred stream of death-land, in the manala home and kingdom. searching for her long-lost hero, rakes a long time, finding nothing; now she wades the river deeper, to her belt in mud and water, deeper, deeper, rakes the death-stream, rakes the river's deepest caverns, raking up and down the current, till at last she finds his tunic, heavy-hearted, finds his jacket; rakes again and rakes unceasing, finds the hero's shoes and stockings, sorely troubled, finds these relies; now she wades the river deeper, rakes the manala shoals and shallows, rakes the deeps at every angle; as she draws the rake the third time from the tuoni shores and waters, in the rake she finds the body of her long-lost lemminkainen, in the metal teeth entangled, in the rake with copper handle. thus the reckless lemminkainen, thus the son of kalevala, was recovered from the bottom of the manala lake and river. there were wanting many fragments, half the head, a hand, a fore-arm, many other smaller portions, life, above all else, was missing. then the mother, well reflecting, spake these words in bitter weeping: "from these fragments, with my magic, i will bring to life my hero." hearing this, the raven answered, spake these measures to the mother: "there is not in these a hero, thou canst not revive these fragments; eels have fed upon his body, on his eyes have fed the whiting; cast the dead upon the waters, on the streams of tuonela, let him there become a walrus, or a seal, or whale, or porpoise." lemminkainen's mother does not cast the dead upon the waters, on the streams of tuonela, she again with hope and courage, rakes the river lengthwise, crosswise, through the manala pools and caverns, rakes up half the head, a fore-arm, finds a hand and half the back-bone, many other smaller portions; shapes her son from all the fragments, shapes anew her lemminkainen, flesh to flesh with skill she places, gives the bones their proper stations, binds one member to the other, joins the ends of severed vessels, counts the threads of all the venules, knits the parts in apposition; then this prayer the mother offers: "suonetar, thou slender virgin, goddess of the veins of heroes, skilful spinner of the vessels, with thy slender, silver spindle, with thy spinning-wheel of copper, set in frame of molten silver, come thou hither, thou art needed; bring the instruments for mending, firmly knit the veins together, at the end join well the venules, in the wounds that still are open, in the members that are injured. "should this aid be inefficient; there is living in the ether, in a boat enriched with silver, in a copper boat, a maiden, that can bring to thee assistance. come, o maiden, from the ether, virgin from the belt of heaven, row throughout these veins, o maiden, row through all these lifeless members, through the channels of the long-bones, row through every form of tissue. set the vessels in their places, lay the heart in right position, make the pulses beat together, join the smallest of the veinlets, and unite with skill the sinews. take thou now a slender needle, silken thread within its eyelet, ply the silver needle gently, sew with care the wounds together. "should this aid be inefficient, thou, o god, that knowest all things, come and give us thine assistance, harness thou thy fleetest racer call to aid thy strongest courser, in thy scarlet sledge come swiftly, drive through all the bones and channels, drive throughout these lifeless tissues, drive thy courser through each vessel, bind the flesh and bones securely, in the joints put finest silver, purest gold in all the fissures. "where the skin is broken open, where the veins are torn asunder, mend these injuries with magic; where the blood has left the body, there make new blood flow abundant; where the bones are rudely broken, set the parts in full perfection; where the flesh is bruised and loosened, touch the wounds with magic balsam, do not leave a part imperfect; bone, and vein, and nerve, and sinew, heart, and brain, and gland, and vessel, heal as thou alone canst heal them." these the means the mother uses, thus she joins the lifeless members, thus she heals the death-like tissues, thus restores her son and hero to his former life and likeness; all his veins are knit together, all their ends are firmly fastened, all the parts in apposition, life returns, but speech is wanting, deaf and dumb, and blind, and senseless. now the mother speaks as follows: "where may i procure the balsam, where the drops of magic honey, to anoint my son and hero, thus to heal my lemminkainen, that again his month may open, may again begin his singing, speak again in words of wonder, sing again his incantations? "tiny bee, thou honey-birdling, lord of all the forest flowers, fly away and gather honey, bring to me the forest-sweetness, found in metsola's rich gardens, and in tapio's fragrant meadows, from the petals of the flowers, from the blooming herbs and grasses, thus to heal my hero's anguish, thus to heal his wounds of evil." thereupon the honey-birdling flies away on wings of swiftness, into metsola's rich gardens, into tapio's flowery meadows, gathers sweetness from the meadows, with the tongue distills the honey from the cups of seven flowers, from the bloom of countless grasses; quick from metsola returning, flying, humming darting onward, with his winglets honey-laden, with the store of sweetest odors, to the mother brings the balsam. lemminkainen's anxious mother takes the balm of magic virtues, and anoints the injured hero, heals his wounds and stills his anguish; but the balm is inefficient, for her son is deaf and speechless. then again out-speaks the mother: lemminkainen's restoration. "little bee, my honey-birdling, fly away in one direction, fly across the seven oceans, in the eighth, a magic island, where the honey is enchanted, to the distant turi-castles, to the chambers of palwoinen; there the honey is effective, there, the wonder-working balsam, this may heal the wounded hero; bring me of this magic ointment, that i may anoint his eyelids, may restore his injured senses." thereupon the honey-birdling flew away o'er seven oceans, to the old enchanted island; flies one day, and then a second, on the verdure does not settle, does not rest upon the flowers; flies a third day, fleetly onward, till a third day evening brings him to the island in the ocean, to the meadows rich in honey, to the cataract and fire-flow, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. there the honey was preparing, there the magic balm distilling in the tiny earthen vessels, in the burnished copper kettles, smaller than a maiden's thimble, smaller than the tips of fingers. faithfully the busy insect gathers the enchanted honey from the magic turi-cuplets in the chambers of palwoinen. time had gone but little distance, ere the bee came loudly humming flying fleetly, honey-laden; in his arms were seven vessels, seven, the vessels on each shoulder; all were filled with honey-balsam, with the balm of magic virtues. lemminkainen's tireless mother quick anoints her speechless hero, with the magic turi-balsam, with the balm of seven virtues; nine the times that she anoints him with the honey of palwoinen, with the wonder-working balsam; but the balm is inefficient, for the hero still is speechless. then again out-speaks the mother: "honey-bee, thou ether birdling, fly a third time on thy journey, fly away to high jumala, fly thou to the seventh heaven, honey there thou'lt find abundant, balsam of the highest virtue, only used by the creator, only made from the breath of ukko. god anoints his faithful children, with the honey of his wisdom, when they feel the pangs of sorrow, when they meet the powers of evil. dip thy winglets in this honey, steep thy plumage in his sweetness, hither bring the all-sufficient balsam of the great creator; this will still my hero's anguish, this will heal his wounded tissues, this restore his long-lost vision, make the northland hills re-echo with the magic of his singing, with his wonderful enchantment." thus the honey-bee made answer: "i can never fly to heaven, to the seventh of the heavens, to the distant home of ukko, with these wings of little virtue." lemminkainen's mother answered: "thou canst surely fly to heaven, to the seventh of the heavens, o'er the moon, beneath the sunshine, through the dim and distant starlight. on the first day, flying upward, thou wilt near the moon in heaven, fan the brow of kootamoinen; on the second thou canst rest thee on the shoulders of otava; on the third day, flying higher, rest upon the seven starlets, on the heads of hetewanè; short the journey that is left thee, inconsiderable the distance to the home of mighty ukko, to the dwellings of the blessed." thereupon the bee arising, from the earth flies swiftly upward, hastens on with graceful motion, by his tiny wings borne heavenward, in the paths of golden moonbeams, touches on the moon's bright borders, fans the brow of kootamoinen, rests upon otava's shoulders, hastens to the seven starlets., to the heads of hetewanè, flies to the creator's castle, to the home of generous ukko, finds the remedy preparing, finds the balm of life distilling, in the silver-tinted caldrons, in the purest golden kettles; on one side, heart-easing honey, on a second, balm of joyance, on the third, life-giving balsam. here the magic bee, selecting, culls the sweet, life-giving balsam, gathers too, heart-easing honey, heavy-laden hastens homeward. time had traveled little distance, ere the busy bee came humming to the anxious mother waiting, in his arms a hundred cuplets, and a thousand other vessels, filled with honey, filled with balsam, filled with the balm of the creator. lemminkainen's mother quickly takes them on her, tongue and tests them, finds a balsam all-sufficient. then the mother spake as follows: "i have found the long-sought balsam, found the remedy of ukko, where-with god anoints his people, gives them life, and faith, and wisdom, heals their wounds and stills their anguish, makes them strong against temptation, guards them from the evil-doers." now the mother well anointing, heals her son, the magic singer, eyes, and ears, and tongue, and temples, breaks, and cuts, and seams, anointing, touching well the life-blood centres, speaks these words of magic import to the sleeping lemminkainen: "wake, arise from out thy slumber, from the worst of low conditions, from thy state of dire misfortune!" slowly wakes the son and hero, rises from the depths of slumber, speaks again in magic accents, these the first words of the singer: "long, indeed, have i been sleeping, long unconscious of existence, but my sleep was full of sweetness, sweet the sleep in tuonela, knowing neither joy nor sorrow!" this the answer of his mother: "longer still thou wouldst have slumbered, were it not for me, thy, mother; tell me now, my son beloved, tell me that i well may hear thee, who enticed thee to manala, to the river of tuoni, to the fatal stream and whirlpool?" then the hero, lemminkainen, gave this answer to his mother: "nasshut, the decrepit shepherd of the flocks of sariola, blind, and halt, and poor, and wretched, and to whom i did a favor; from the slumber-land of envy nasshut sent me to manala, to the river of tuoni; sent a serpent from the waters, sent an adder from the death-stream, through the heart of lemminkainen; did not recognize the serpent, could not speak the serpent-language, did not know the sting of adders." spake again the ancient mother: "o thou son of little insight, senseless hero, fool-magician, thou didst boast betimes thy magic to enchant the wise enchanters, on the dismal shores of lapland, thou didst think to banish heroes, from the borders of pohyola; didst not know the sting of serpents, didst not know the reed of waters, nor the magic word-protector! learn the origin of serpents, whence the poison of the adder. "in the floods was born the serpent, from the marrow of the gray-duck, from the brain of ocean-swallows; suoyatar had made saliva, cast it on the waves of ocean, currents drove it outward, onward, softly shone the sun upon it, by the winds 'twas gently cradled, gently nursed by winds and waters, by the waves was driven shoreward, landed by the surging billows. thus the serpent, thing of evil, filling all the world with trouble, was created in the waters born from suoyatar, its maker." then the mother of the hero rocked her son to rest and comfort, rocked him to his former being, to his former life and spirit, into greater magic powers; wiser, handsomer than ever grew the hero of the islands; but his heart was full of trouble, and his mother, ever watchful, asked the cause of his dejection. this is lemminkainen's answer: "this the cause of all my sorrow; far away my heart is roaming, all my thoughts forever wander to the northland's blooming virgins, to the maids of braided tresses. northland's ugly hostess, louhi, will not give to me her daughter, fairest maiden of pohyola, till i kill the swan of mana, with my bow and but one arrow, in the river of tuoni. lemminkainen's mother answers, in the sacred stream and whirlpool. "let the swan swim on in safety, give the water-bird his freedom, in the river of manala, in the whirlpool of tuoni; leave the maiden in the northland., with her charms and fading beauty; with thy fond and faithful mother, go at once to kalevala, to thy native fields and fallows. praise thy fortune, all sufficient, praise, above all else, thy maker. ukko gave thee aid when needed, thou wert saved by thy creator, from thy long and hopeless slumber, in the waters of tuoni, in the chambers of manala. i unaided could not save thee, could not give the least assistance; god alone, omniscient ukko, first and last of the creators, can revive the dead and dying, can protect his worthy people from the waters of manala, . from the fatal stream and whirlpool, in the kingdom of tuoni." lemminkainen, filled with wisdom, with his fond and faithful mother, hastened straightway on his journey to his distant home and kindred, to the wainola fields and meadows, to the plains of kalevala. * * * * * here i leave my kaukomieli, leave my hero lemminkainen, long i leave him from my singing, turn my song to other heroes, send it forth on other pathways, sing some other golden legend. rune xvi. wainamoinen's boat-building. wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, the eternal wisdom-singer, for his boat was working lumber, working long upon his vessel, on a fog-point jutting seaward, on an island, forest-covered; but the lumber failed the master, beams were wanting for his vessel, beams and scantling, ribs and flooring. who will find for him the lumber, who procure the timber needed for the boat of wainamoinen, for the bottom of his vessel? pellerwoinen of the prairies, sampsa, slender-grown and ancient, he will seek the needful timber, he procure the beams of oak-wood for the boat of wainamoinen, for the bottom of his vessel. soon he starts upon his journey to the eastern fields and forests, hunts throughout the northland mountain to a second mountain wanders, to a third he hastens, searching, golden axe upon his shoulder, in his hand a copper hatchet. comes an aspen-tree to meet him of the height of seven fathoms. sampsa takes his axe of copper, starts to fell the stately aspen, but the aspen quickly halting, speaks these words to pellerwoinen: "tell me, hero, what thou wishest, what the service thou art needing?" sampsa pellerwoinen answers: "this indeed, the needed service that i ask of thee, o aspen: need thy lumber for a vessel, for the boat of wainamoinen, wisest of the wisdom-singers." quick and wisely speaks the aspen, thus its hundred branches answer: "all the boats that have been fashioned from my wood have proved but failures; such a vessel floats a distance, then it sinks upon the bottom of the waters it should travel. all my trunk is filled with hollows, three times in the summer seasons worms devour my stem and branches, feed upon my heart and tissues." pellerwoinen leaves the aspen, hunts again through all the forest, wanders through the woods of northland, where a pine-tree comes to meet him, of the height of fourteen fathoms. with his axe he chops the pine-tree, strikes it with his axe of copper, as he asks the pine this question: "will thy trunk give worthy timber for the boat of wainamoinen, wisest of the wisdom-singers?" loudly does the pine-tree answer: "all the ships that have been fashioned from my body are unworthy; i am full of imperfections, cannot give thee needed timber wherewithal to build thy vessel; ravens live within ray branches, build their nests and hatch their younglings three times in my trunk in summer." sampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree, wanders onward, onward, onward, to the woods of gladsome summer, where an oak-tree comes to meet him, in circumference, three fathoms, and the oak he thus addresses: "ancient oak-tree, will thy body furnish wood to build a vessel, build a boat for wainamoinen, master-boat for the magician, wisest of the wisdom-singers?" thus the oak replies to sampsa: "i for thee will gladly furnish wood to build the hero's vessel; i am tall, and sound, and hardy, have no flaws within my body; three times in the months of summer, in the warmest of the seasons, does the sun dwell in my tree-top, on my trunk the moonlight glimmers, in my branches sings the cuckoo, in my top her nestlings slumber." now the ancient pellerwoinen takes the hatchet from his shoulder, takes his axe with copper handle, chops the body of the oak-tree; well he knows the art of chopping. soon he fells the tree majestic, fells the mighty forest-monarch, with his magic axe and power. from the stems he lops the branches, splits the trunk in many pieces, fashions lumber for the bottom, countless boards, and ribs, and braces, for the singer's magic vessel, for the boat of the magician. wainamoinen, old and skilful, the eternal wonder-worker, builds his vessel with enchantment, builds his boat by art of magic, from the timber of the oak-tree, from its posts, and planks, and flooring. sings a song, and joins the frame-work; sings a second, sets the siding; sings a third time, sets the row-locks; fashions oars, and ribs, and rudder, joins the sides and ribs together. when the ribs were firmly fastened, when the sides were tightly jointed, then alas! three words were wanting, lost the words of master-magic, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the boat's forecastle. then the ancient wainamoinen, wise and wonderful enchanter, heavy-hearted spake as follows: "woe is me, my life hard-fated! never will this magic vessel pass in safety o'er the water, never ride the rough sea-billows." then he thought and long considered, where to find these words of magic, find the lost-words of the master: "from the brains of countless swallows, from the heads of swans in dying, from the plumage of the gray-duck?" for these words the hero searches, kills of swans a goodly number, kills a flock of fattened gray-duck, kills of swallows countless numbers, cannot find the words of magic, not the lost-words of the master. wainamoinen, wisdom-singer, still reflected and debated: "i perchance may find the lost-words on the tongue of summer-reindeer, in the mouth of the white squirrel." now again he hunts the lost-words, hastes to find the magic sayings, kills a countless host of reindeer, kills a rafterful of squirrels, finds of words a goodly number, but they are of little value, cannot find the magic lost-word. long he thought and well considered: "i can find of words a hundred in the dwellings of tuoni, in the manala fields and castles." wainamoinen quickly journeys to the kingdom of tuoni, there to find the ancient wisdom, there to learn the secret doctrine; hastens on through fen and forest, over meads and over marshes, through the ever-rising woodlands, journeys one week through the brambles, and a second through the hazels, through the junipers the third week, when appear tuoni's islands, and the manala fields and castles. wainamoinen, brave and ancient, calls aloud in tones of thunder, to the tuonela deeps and dungeons, and to manala's magic castle: "bring a boat, tuoni's daughter, bring a ferry-boat, o maiden, that may bear me o'er this channel, o'er this black and fatal river." quick the daughter of tuoni, magic maid of little stature, tiny virgin of manala, tiny washer of the linen, tiny cleaner of the dresses, at the river of tuoni, in manala's ancient castles, speaks these words to wainamoinen, gives this answer to his calling: "straightway will i bring the row-boat, when the reasons thou hast given why thou comest to manala in a hale and active body." wainamoinen, old and artful., gives this answer to the maiden: "i was brought here by tuoni, mana raised me from the coffin." speaks the maiden of manala: "this a tale of wretched liars; had tuoni brought thee hither, mana raised thee from the coffin, then tuoni would be with thee, manalainen too would lead thee, with tuoni's hat upon thee, on thy hands, the gloves of mana; tell the truth now, wainamoinen, what has brought thee to manala?" wainamoinen, artful hero, gives this answer, still finessing: "iron brought me to manala, to the kingdom of tuoni." speaks the virgin of the death-land, mana's wise and tiny daughter: "well i know that this is falsehood, had the iron brought thee hither, brought thee to tuoni's kingdom, blood would trickle from thy vesture, and the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. speak the truth now, wainamoinen, this the third time that i ask thee." wainamoinen, little heeding, still finesses to the daughter: "water brought me to manala, to the kingdom of tuoui." this the tiny maiden's answer: "well i know thou speakest falsely; if the waters of manala, if the cataract and whirlpool, or the waves had brought thee hither, from thy robes the drops would trickle, water drip from all thy raiment. tell the truth and i will serve thee, what has brought thee to manala?" then the wilful wainamoinen told this falsehood to the maiden: "fire has brought me to manala, to the kingdom of tuoni." spake again tuoni's daughter: "well i know the voice of falsehood. if the fire had brought thee hither, brought thee to tuoni's empire, singed would be thy locks and eyebrows, and thy beard be crisped and tangled. o, thou foolish wainamoinen, if i row thee o'er the ferry, thou must speak the truth in answer, this the last time i will ask thee; make an end of thy deception. what has brought thee to manala, still unharmed by pain or sickness, still untouched by death's dark angel spake the ancient wainamoinen: "at the first i spake, not truly, now i give thee rightful answer: i a boat with ancient wisdom, fashioned with my powers of magic, sang one day and then a second, sang the third day until evening, when i broke the magic main-spring, broke my magic sledge in pieces, of my song the fleetest runners; then i come to mana's kingdom, came to borrow here a hatchet, thus to mend my sledge of magic, thus to join the parts together. send the boat now quickly over, send me, quick, tuoni's row-boat, help me cross this fatal river, cross the channel of manala." spake the daughter of tuoni, mana's maiden thus replying: "thou art sure a stupid fellow, foresight wanting, judgment lacking, having neither wit nor wisdom, coming here without a reason, coming to tuoni's empire; better far if thou shouldst journey to thy distant home and kindred; man they that visit mana, few return from maria's kingdom." spake the good old wainamoinen: "women old retreat from danger, not a man of any courage, not the weakest of the heroes. bring thy boat, tuoni's daughter, tiny maiden of manala, come and row me o'er the ferry." mana's daughter does as bidden, brings her boat to wainamoinen, quickly rows him through the channel, o'er the black and fatal river, to the kingdom of manala, speaks these words to the magician: "woe to thee! o wainamoinen! wonderful indeed, thy magic, since thou comest to manala, comest neither dead nor dying." tuonetar, the death-land hostess, ancient hostess of tuoni, brings him pitchers filled with strong-beer, fills her massive golden goblets, speaks these measures to the stranger: "drink, thou ancient wainamoinen, drink the beer of king tuoni!" wainamoinen, wise and cautious, carefully inspects the liquor, looks a long time in the pitchers, sees the spawning of the black-frogs, sees the young of poison-serpents, lizards, worms, and writhing adders, thus addresses tuonetar: "have not come with this intention, have not come to drink thy poisons, drink the beer of tuonela; those that drink tuoni's liquors, those that sip the cups of mana, court the devil and destruction, end their lives in want and ruin." tuonetar makes this answer: "ancient minstrel, wainamoinen, tell me what has brought thee hither, brought thee to the, realm of mana, to the courts of tuonela, ere tuoni sent his angels to thy home in kalevala, there to cut thy magic life-thread." spake the singer, wainamoinen: "i was building me a vessel, at my craft was working, singing, needed three words of the master, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the boat's forecastle. this the reason of my coming to the empire of tuoni, to the castles of manala: came to learn these magic sayings, learn the lost-words of the master." spake the hostess, tuonetar: "mana never gives these sayings, canst not learn them from tuoni, not the lost-words of the master; thou shalt never leave this kingdom, never in thy magic life-time, never go to kalevala, to wainola's peaceful meadows. to thy distant home and country." quick the hostess, tuonetar, waves her magic wand of slumber o'er the head of wainamoinen, puts to rest the wisdom-hero, lays him on the couch of mana, in the robes of living heroes, deep the sleep that settles o'er him. in manala lived a woman, in the kingdom of tuoni, evil witch and toothless wizard, spinner of the threads of iron, moulder of the bands of copper, weaver of a hundred fish-nets, of a thousand nets of copper, spinning in the days of summer, weaving in the winter evenings, seated on a rock in water. in the kingdom of tuoni lived a man, a wicked wizard, three the fingers of the hero, spinner he of iron meshes, maker too of nets of copper, countless were his nets of metal, moulded on a rock in water, through the many days of summer. mana's son with crooked fingers, iron-pointed, copper fingers, pulls of nets, at least a thousand, through the river of tuoni, sets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise, in the fatal, darksome river, that the sleeping wainamomen, friend and brother of the waters, may not leave the isle of mana, never in the course of ages, never leave the death-land castles, never while the moonlight glimmers on the empire of tuoni. wainamoinen, wise and wary, rising from his couch of slumber, speaks these words as he is waking: "is there not some mischief brewing, am i not at last in danger, in the chambers of tuoni, in the manala home and household?" quick he changes his complexion, changes too his form and feature, slips into another body; like a serpent in a circle, rolls black-dyed upon the waters; like a snake among the willows, crawls he like a worm of magic, like an adder through the grasses, through the coal-black stream of death-land, through a thousand nets of copper interlaced with threads of iron, from the kingdom of tuoni, from the castles of manala. mana's son, the wicked wizard, with his iron-pointed fingers, in the early morning hastens to his thousand nets of copper, set within the tuoni river, finds therein a countless number of the death-stream fish and serpents; does not find old wainamoinen, wainamoinen, wise and wary, friend and fellow of the waters. when the wonder-working hero had escaped from tuonela, spake he thus in supplication: "gratitude to thee, o ukko, do i bring for thy protection! never suffer other heroes, of thy heroes not the wisest, to transgress the laws of nature; never let another singer, while he lives within the body, cross the river of tuoni, as thou lovest thy creations. many heroes cross the channel, cross the fatal stream of mana, few return to tell the story, few return from tuonela, from manala's courts and castles." wainamoinen calls his people, on the plains of kalevala, speaks these words of ancient wisdom, to the young men, to the maidens, to the rising generation: "every child of northland, listen: if thou wishest joy eternal, never disobey thy parents, never evil treat the guiltless, never wrong the feeble-minded, never harm thy weakest fellow, never stain thy lips with falsehood, never cheat thy trusting neighbor, never injure thy companion, lest thou surely payest penance in the kingdom of tuoni, in the prison of manala; there, the home of all the wicked, there the couch of the unworthy, there the chambers of the guilty. underneath manala's fire-rock are their ever-flaming couches, for their pillows hissing serpents, vipers green their writhing covers, for their drink the blood of adders, for their food the pangs of hunger, pain and agony their solace; if thou wishest joy eternal, shun the kingdom of tuoui!" rune xvii. wainamoinen finds the lost-word. wainamoinen, old and truthful, did not learn the words of magic in tuoni's gloomy regions, in the kingdom of manala. thereupon he long debated, well considered, long reflected, where to find the magic sayings; when a shepherd came to meet him, speaking thus to wainamoinen: "thou canst find of words a hundred, find a thousand wisdom-sayings, in the mouth of wise wipunen, in the body of the hero; to the spot i know the foot-path, to his tomb the magic highway, trodden by a host of heroes; long the distance thou must travel, on the sharpened points of needles; then a long way thou must journey on the edges of the broadswords; thirdly thou must travel farther on the edges of the hatchets." wainamoinen, old and trustful, well considered all these journeys, travelled to the forge and smithy, thus addressed the metal-worker: "ilmarinen, worthy blacksmith, make a shoe for me of iron, forge me gloves of burnished copper, mold a staff of strongest metal, lay the steel upon the inside, forge within the might of magic; i am going on a journey to procure the magic sayings, find the lost-words of the master, from the mouth of the magician, from the tongue of wise wipunen." spake the artist, ilmarinen: "long ago died wise wipunen, disappeared these many ages, lays no more his snares of copper, sets no longer traps of iron, cannot learn from him the wisdom, cannot find in him the lost-words." wainamoinen, old and hopeful, little heeding, not discouraged, in his metal shoes and armor, hastens forward on his journey, runs the first day fleetly onward, on the sharpened points of needles; 'wearily he strides the second, on the edges of the broadswords swings himself the third day forward, on the edges of the hatchets. wise wipunen, wisdom-singer, ancient bard, and great magician, with his magic songs lay yonder, stretched beside him, lay his sayings, on his shoulder grew the aspen, on each temple grew the birch-tree, on his mighty chin the alder, from his beard grew willow-bushes, from his mouth the dark green fir-tree, and the oak-tree from his forehead. wainamoinen, coming closer, draws his sword, lays bare his hatchet from his magic leathern scabbard, fells the aspen from his shoulder, fells the birch-tree from his temples, from his chin he fells the alder, from his beard, the branching willows, from his mouth the dark-green fir-tree, fells the oak-tree from his forehead. now he thrusts his staff of iron through the mouth of wise wipunen, pries his mighty jaws asunder, speaks these words of master-magic: "rise, thou master of magicians, from the sleep of tuonela, from thine everlasting slumber!" wise wipunen, ancient singer, quickly wakens from his sleeping, keenly feels the pangs of torture, from the cruel staff of iron; bites with mighty force the metal, bites in twain the softer iron, cannot bite the steel asunder, opens wide his mouth in anguish. wainamoinen of wainola, in his iron-shoes and armor, careless walking, headlong stumbles in the spacious mouth and fauces of the magic bard, wipunen. wise wipunen, full of song-charms, opens wide his mouth and swallows wainamoinen and his magic, shoes, and staff, and iron armor. then outspeaks the wise wipunen: "many things before i've eaten, dined on goat, and sheep, and reindeer, bear, and ox, and wolf, and wild-boar, never in my recollection, have i tasted sweeter morsels!" spake the ancient wainamoinen: "now i see the evil symbols, see misfortune hanging o'er me, in the darksome hisi-hurdles, in the catacombs of kalma." wainamoinen long considered how to live and how to prosper, how to conquer this condition. in his belt he wore a poniard, with a handle hewn from birch-wood, from the handle builds a vessel, builds a boat through magic science; in this vessel rows he swiftly through the entrails of the hero, rows through every gland and vessel of the wisest of magicians. old wipunen, master-singer, barely feels the hero's presence, gives no heed to wainamoinen. then the artist of wainola straightway sets himself to forging, sets at work to hammer metals; makes a smithy from his armor, of his sleeves he makes the bellows, makes the air-valve from his fur-coat, from his stockings, makes the muzzle, uses knees instead of anvil, makes a hammer of his fore-arm; like the storm-wind roars the bellows, like the thunder rings the anvil; forges one day, then a second, forges till the third day closes, in the body of wipunen, in the sorcerer's abdomen. old wipunen, full of magic, speaks these words in wonder, guessing: "who art thou of ancient heroes, who of all the host of heroes? many heroes i have eaten, and of men a countless number, have not eaten such as thou art; smoke arises from my nostrils, from my mouth the fire is streaming, in my throat are iron-clinkers. "go, thou monster, hence to wander, flee this place, thou plague of northland, ere i go to seek thy mother, tell the ancient dame thy mischief; she shall bear thine evil conduct, great the burden she shall carry; great a mother's pain and anguish, when her child runs wild and lawless; cannot comprehend the meaning, nor this mystery unravel, why thou camest here, o monster, camest here to give me torture. art thou hisi sent from heaven, some calamity from ukko? art, perchance, some new creation, ordered here to do me evil? if thou art some evil genius, some calamity from ukko, sent to me by my creator, then am i resigned to suffer god does not forsake the worthy, does not ruin those that trust him, never are the good forsaken. if by man thou wert created, if some hero sent thee hither, i shall learn thy race of evil, shall destroy thy wicked tribe-folk. "thence arose the violation, thence arose the first destruction, thence came all the evil-doings: from the neighborhood of wizards, from the homes of the magicians, from the eaves of vicious spirits, from the haunts of fortune-tellers, from the cabins of the witches, from the castles of tuoni, from the bottom of manala, from the ground with envy swollen, from ingratitude's dominions, from the rocky shoals and quicksands, from the marshes filled with danger, from the cataract's commotion, from the bear-caves in the mountains, from the wolves within the thickets, from the roarings of the pine-tree, from the burrows of the fox-dog, from the woodlands of the reindeer, from the eaves and hisi-hurdles, from the battles of the giants, from uncultivated pastures, from the billows of the oceans, from the streams of boiling waters, from the waterfalls of rutya, from the limits of the storm-clouds, from the pathways of the thunders, from the flashings of the lightnings, from the distant plains of pohya, from the fatal stream and whirlpool, from the birthplace of tuoni. "art thou coming from these places? hast thou, evil, hastened hither, to the heart of sinless hero, to devour my guiltless body, to destroy this wisdom-singer? get thee hence, thou dog of lempo, leave, thou monster from manala, flee from mine immortal body, leave my liver, thing of evil, in my body cease thy forging, cease this torture of my vitals, let me rest in peace and slumber. "should i want in means efficient, should i lack the magic power to outroot thine evil genius, i shall call a better hero, call upon a higher power, to remove this dire misfortune, to annihilate this monster. i shall call the will of woman, from the fields, the old-time heroes? mounted heroes from the sand-hills, thus to rescue me from danger, from these pains and ceaseless tortures. "if this force prove inefficient, should not drive thee from my body, come, thou forest, with thy heroes, come, ye junipers and pine-trees, with your messengers of power, come, ye mountains, with your wood-nymphs, come, ye lakes, with all your mermaids, come, ye hundred ocean-spearmen, come, torment this son of hisi, come and kill this evil monster. "if this call is inefficient, does not drive thee from my vitals, rise, thou ancient water-mother, with thy blue-cap from the ocean, from the seas, the lakes, the rivers, bring protection to thy hero, comfort bring and full assistance, that i guiltless may not suffer, may not perish prematurely. "shouldst thou brave this invocation, kapè, daughter of creation, come, thou beauteous, golden maiden, oldest of the race of women, come and witness my misfortunes, come and turn away this evil, come, remove this biting torment, take away this plague of piru. "if this call be disregarded, if thou wilt not leave me guiltless, ukko, on the arch of heaven, in the thunder-cloud dominions, come thou quickly, thou art needed, come, protect thy tortured hero, drive away this magic demon, banish ever his enchantment, with his sword and flaming furnace, with his fire-enkindling bellows. "go, thou demon, hence to wander, flee, thou plague of northland heroes; never come again for shelter, nevermore build thou thy dwelling in the body of wipunen; take at once thy habitation to the regions of thy kindred, to thy distant fields and firesides; when thy journey thou hast ended, gained the borders of thy country, gained the meads of thy creator, give a signal of thy coming, rumble like the peals of thunder, glisten like the gleam of lightning, knock upon the outer portals, enter through the open windows, glide about the many chambers, seize the host and seize the hostess, knock their evil beads together, wring their necks and hurl their bodies to the black-dogs of the forest. "should this prove of little value, hover like the bird of battle, o'er the dwellings of the master, scare the horses from the mangers, from the troughs affright the cattle, twist their tails, and horns, and forelocks, hurl their carcasses to lempo. "if some scourge the winds have sent me, sent me on the air of spring-tide, brought me by the frosts of winter, quickly journey whence thou camest, on the air-path of the heavens, perching not upon some aspen, resting not upon the birch-tree; fly away to copper mountains, that the copper-winds may nurse thee, waves of ether, thy protection. "didst those come from high jumala, from the hems of ragged snow-clouds, quick ascend beyond the cloud-space, quickly journey whence thou camest, to the snow-clouds, crystal-sprinkled, to the twinkling stars of heaven there thy fire may burn forever, there may flash thy forked lightnings, in the sun's undying furnace. "wert thou sent here by the spring-floods, driven here by river-torrents? quickly journey whence thou camest, quickly hasten to the waters, to the borders of the rivers, to the ancient water-mountain, that the floods again may rock thee, and thy water-mother nurse thee. "didst thou come from kalma's kingdom, from the castles of the death-land? haste thou back to thine own country, to the kalma-halls and castles, to the fields with envy swollen, where contending armies perish. "art thou from the hisi-woodlands, from ravines in lempo's forest, from the thickets of the pine-wood, from the dwellings of the fir-glen? quick retrace thine evil footsteps to the dwellings of thy master, to the thickets of thy kindred; there thou mayest dwell at pleasure, till thy house decays about thee, till thy walls shall mould and crumble. evil genius, thee i banish, got thee hence, thou horrid monster, to the caverns of the white-bear, to the deep abysm of serpents, to the vales, and swamps, and fenlands, to the ever-silent waters, to the hot-springs of the mountains, to the dead-seas of the northland, to the lifeless lakes and rivers, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. "shouldst thou find no place of resting, i will banish thee still farther, to the northland's distant borders, to the broad expanse of lapland, to the ever-lifeless deserts, to the unproductive prairies, sunless, moonless, starless, lifeless, in the dark abyss of northland; this for thee, a place befitting, pitch thy tents and feast forever on the dead plains of pohyola. "shouldst thou find no means of living, i will banish thee still farther, to the cataract of rutya, to the fire-emitting whirlpool, where the firs are ever falling, to the windfalls of the forest; swim hereafter in the waters of the fire-emitting whirlpool, whirl thou ever in the current of the cataract's commotion, in its foam and boiling waters. should this place be unbefitting, i will drive thee farther onward, to tuoni's coal-black river, to the endless stream of mana, where thou shalt forever linger; thou canst never leave manala, should i not thy head deliver, should i never pay thy ransom; thou canst never safely journey through nine brother-rams abutting, through nine brother-bulls opposing through nine brother-stallions thwarting, thou canst not re-cross death-river thickly set with iron netting, interlaced with threads of copper. "shouldst thou ask for steeds for saddle, shouldst thou need a fleet-foot courser, i will give thee worthy racers, i will give thee saddle-horses; evil hisi has a charger, crimson mane, and tail, and foretop, fire emitting from his nostrils, as he prances through his pastures; hoofs are made of strongest iron, legs are made of steel and copper, quickly scales the highest mountains, darts like lightning through the valleys, when a skilful master rides him. "should this steed be insufficient, i will give thee lempo's snow-shoes, give thee hisi's shoes of elm-wood, give to thee the staff of piru, that with these thou mayest journey into hisi's courts and castles, to the woods and fields of juutas; if the rocks should rise before thee, dash the flinty rocks in pieces, hurl the fragments to the heavens; if the branches cross thy pathway, make them turn aside in greeting; if some mighty hero hail thee, hurl him headlong to the woodlands. "hasten hence, thou thing of evil, heinous monster, leave my body, ere the breaking of the morning ere the sun awakes from slumber, ere the sinning of the cuckoo; haste away, thou plague of northland, haste along the track of' moonbeams, wander hence, forever wander, to the darksome fields or pohya. "if at once thou dost not leave me, i will send the eagle's talons, send to thee the beaks of vultures, to devour thine evil body, hurl thy skeleton to hisi. much more quickly cruel lempo left my vitals when commanded, when i called the aid of ukko, called the help of my creator. flee, thou motherless offendant, flee, thou fiend of sariola, flee, thou hound without a master, ere the morning sun arises, ere the moon withdraws to slumber!" wainamoinen, ancient hero, speaks at last to old wipunen: "satisfied am i to linger in these old and spacious caverns, pleasant here my home and dwelling; for my meat i have thy tissues, have thy heart, and spleen, and liver, for my drink the blood of ages, goodly home for wainamoinen. "i shall set my forge and bellows deeper, deeper in thy vitals; i shall swing my heavy hammer, swing it with a greater power on thy heart, and lungs, and liver; i shall never, never leave thee till i learn thine incantations, learn thy many wisdom-sayings, learn the lost-words of the master; never must these words be bidden, earth must never lose this wisdom, though the wisdom-singers perish." old wipunen, wise magician, ancient prophet, filled with power, opens fall his store of knowledge, lifts the covers from his cases, filled with old-time incantations, filled with songs of times primeval, filled with ancient wit and wisdom; sings the very oldest folk-songs, sings the origin of witchcraft, sings of earth and its beginning sings the first of all creations, sings the source of good and evil sung alas! by youth no longer, only sung in part by heroes in these days of sin and sorrow. evil days our land befallen. sings the orders of enchantment. how, upon the will of ukko, by command of the creator, how the air was first divided, how the water came from ether, how the earth arose from water, how from earth came vegetation, fish, and fowl, and man, and hero. sings again the wise wipunen, how the moon was first created, how the sun was set in heaven, whence the colors of the rainbow, whence the ether's crystal pillars, how the skies with stars were sprinkled. then again sings wise wipunen, sings in miracles of concord, sings in magic tones of wisdom, never was there heard such singing; songs he sings in countless numbers, swift his notes as tongues of serpents, all the distant hills re-echo; sings one day, and then a second, sings a third from dawn till evening, sings from evening till the morning; listen all the stars of heaven, and the moon stands still and listens fall the waves upon the deep-sea, in the bay the tides cease rising, stop the rivers in their courses, stops the waterfall of rutya, even jordan ceases flowing, and the wuoksen stops and listens. when the ancient wainamoinen well had learned the magic sayings, learned the ancient songs and legends, learned the words of ancient wisdom, learned the lost-words of the master, well had learned the secret doctrine, he prepared to leave the body of the wisdom-bard, wipunen, leave the bosom of the master, leave the wonderful enchanter. spake the hero, wainamoinen: "o, thou antero wipunen, open wide thy mouth and fauces, i have found the magic lost-words, i will leave thee now forever, leave thee and thy wondrous singing, will return to kalevala, to wainola's fields and firesides." thus wipunen spake in answer: "many are the things i've eaten, eaten bear, and elk, and reindeer, eaten ox, and wolf, and wild-boar, eaten man, and eaten hero, never, never have i eaten such a thing as wainamoinen; thou hast found what thou desirest, found the three words of the master; go in peace, and ne'er returning, take my blessing on thy going." thereupon the bard wipunen opens wide his mouth, and wider; and the good, old wainamoinen straightway leaves the wise enchanter, leaves wipunen's great abdomen; from the mouth he glides and journeys o'er the hills and vales of northland, swift as red-deer or the forest, swift as yellow-breasted marten, to the firesides of wainola, to the plains of kalevala. straightway hastes he to the smithy of his brother, ilmarinen, thus the iron-artist greets him: hast thou found the long-lost wisdom, hast thou heard the secret doctrine, hast thou learned the master magic, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the ship's forecastle? wainamoinen thus made answer: "i have learned of words a hundred, learned a thousand incantations, hidden deep for many ages, learned the words of ancient wisdom, found the keys of secret doctrine, found the lost-words of the master." wainamoinen, magic-builder, straightway journeys to his vessel, to the spot of magic labor, quickly fastens in the ledges, firmly binds the stern together and completes the boat's forecastle. thus the ancient wainamoinen built the boat with magic only, and with magic launched his vessel, using not the hand to touch it, using not the foot to move it, using not the knee to turn it, using nothing to propel it. thus the third task was completed, for the hostess of pohyola, dowry for the maid of beauty sitting on the arch of heaven, on the bow of many colors. rune xviii. the rival suitors wainamoinen, old and truthful, long considered, long debated, how to woo and win the daughter of the hostess of pohyola, how to lead the bride of beauty, fairy maiden of the rainbow, to the meadows of wainola, from the dismal sariola. now he decks his magic vessel, paints the boat in blue and scarlet, trims in gold the ship's forecastle, decks the prow in molten silver; sings his magic ship down gliding, on the cylinders of fir-tree: now erects the masts of pine-wood, on each mast the sails of linen, sails of blue, and white, and scarlet, woven into finest fabric. wainamoinen, the magician, steps aboard his wondrous vessel, steers the bark across the waters, on the blue back of the broad-sea, speaks these words in sailing northward, sailing to the dark pohyola: "come aboard my ship, o ukko, come with me, thou god of mercy, to protect thine ancient hero, to support thy trusting servant, on the breasts of raging billows, on the far out-stretching waters. "rock, o winds, this wondrous vessel, causing not a single ripple; rolling waves, bear ye me northward, that the oar may not be needed in my journey to pohyola, o'er this mighty waste of waters." ilmarinen's beauteous sister, fair and goodly maid, annikki, of the night and dawn, the daughter, who awakes each morning early, rises long before the daylight, stood one morning on the sea-shore, washing in the foam her dresses, rinsing out her silken ribbons, on the bridge of scarlet color, on the border of the highway, on a headland jutting seaward, on the forest-covered island. here annikki, looking round her, looking through the fog and ether, looking through the clouds of heaven, gazing far out on the blue-sea, sees the morning sun arising, glimmering along the billows, looks with eyes of distant vision toward the sunrise on the waters, toward the winding streams of suomi, where the wina-waves were flowing. there she sees, on the horizon, something darkle in the sunlight, something blue upon the billows, speaks these words in wonder guessing: what is this upon the surges, what this blue upon the waters, what this darkling in the sunlight? 'tis perhaps a flock of wild-geese, or perchance the blue-duck flying; then upon thy wings arising, fly away to highest heaven. "art thou then a shoal of sea-trout, or perchance a school of salmon? dive then to the deep sea-bottom, in the waters swim and frolic. "art thou then a cliff of granite, or perchance a mighty oak-tree, floating on the rough sea-billows? may the floods then wash and beat thee break thee to a thousand fragments." wainamoinen, sailing northward, steers his wondrous ship of magic toward the headland jutting seaward, toward the island forest-covered. now annikki, goodly maiden, sees it is the magic vessel of a wonderful enchanter, of a mighty bard and hero, and she asks this simple question: "art thou then my father's vessel, or my brother's ship of magic? haste away then to thy harbor, to thy refuge in wainola. hast thou come a goodly distance? sail then farther on thy journey, point thy prow to other waters." it was not her father's vessel, not a sail-boat from the distance, 'twas the ship of wainamoinen, bark of the eternal singer; sails within a hailing distance, swims still nearer o'er the waters, brings one word and takes another, brings a third of magic import. speaks the goodly maid, annikki, of the night and dawn, the daughter, to the sailor of the vessel: "whither sailest, wainamoinen, whither bound, thou friend of waters, pride and joy of kalevala?" from the vessel wainamomen gives this answer to the maiden: "i have come to catch some sea-trout, catch the young and toothsome whiting, hiding in tbese-reeds and rushes." this the answer of annikki: "do not speak to me in falsehood, know i well the times of fishing; long ago my honored father was a fisherman in northland, came to catch the trout and whiting, fished within these seas and rivers. very well do i remember how the fisherman disposes, how he rigs his fishing vessel, lines, and gaffs, and poles, and fish-nets; hast not come a-fishing hither. whither goest, wainamoinen, whither sailest, friend of waters? spake the ancient wainamoinen: "i have come to catch some wild-geese, catch the hissing birds of suomi, in these far-extending borders, in the sachsensund dominions." good annikki gives this answer: "know i well a truthful speaker, easily detect a falsehood; formerly my aged father often came a-hunting hither, came to hunt the hissing wild-geese, hunt the red-bill of these waters. very well do i remember how the hunter rigs his vessel, bows, and arrows, knives, and quiver, dogs enchained within the vessel, pointers hunting on the sea-shore, setters seeking in the marshes, tell the truth now wainamoinen, whither is thy vessel sailing?" spake the hero of the northland: "to the wars my ship is sailing, to the bloody fields of battle, where the streams run scarlet-colored, where the paths are paved with bodies!' these the words of fair annikki: "know i well the paths to battle. formerly my aged father often sounded war's alarum, often led the hosts to conquest; in each ship a hundred rowers, and in arms a thousand heroes, oil the prow a thousand cross-bows, swords, and spears, and battle-axes; know i well the ship of battle. speak do longer fruitless falsehoods, whither sailest, wainamoinen, whither steerest, friend of waters? these the words of wainamoinen: "come, o maiden, to my vessel, in my magic ship be seated, then i'll give thee truthful answer." thus annikki, silver-tinselled, answers ancient wainamoinen: "with the winds i'll fill thy vessel, to thy bark i'll send the storm-winds and capsize thy ship of magic, break in pieces its forecastle, if the truth thou dost not tell me, if thou dost not cease thy falsehoods, if thou dost not tell me truly whither sails thy magic vessel." these the words of wainamoinen: "now i make thee truthful answer, though at first i spake deception: i am sailing to the northland to the dismal sariola, where the ogres live and flourish, where they drown the worthy heroes, there to woo the maid of beauty sitting on the bow of heaven, woo and win the fairy virgin, bring her to my home and kindred, to the firesides of walnola." then aunikki, graceful maiden, of the night and dawn, the daughter, as she heard the rightful answer, knew the truth was fully spoken, straightway left her coats unbeaten, left unwashed her linen garments, left unrinsed her silks and ribbons on the highway by the sea-shore, on the bridge of scarlet color on her arm she threw her long-robes, hastened off with speed of roebuck to the shops of ilmarinen, to the iron-forger's furnace, to the blacksmith's home and smithy, here she found the hero-artist, forging out a bench of iron, and adorning it with silver. soot lay thick upon his forehead, soot and coal upon his shoulders. on the threshold speaks annikki, these the words his sister uses: "ilmarinen, dearest brother, thou eternal artist-forger, forge me now a loom of silver, golden rings to grace my fingers, forge me gold and silver ear-rings, six or seven golden girdles, golden crosslets for my bosom, for my head forge golden trinkets, and i'll tell a tale surprising, tell a story that concerns thee truthfully i'll tell the story." then the blacksmith ilmarinen spake and these the words he uttered: "if thou'lt tell the tale sincerely, i will forge the loom of silver, golden rings to grace thy fingers, forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, six or seven golden girdles, golden crosslets for thy bosom, for thy head forge golden trinkets; but if thou shouldst tell me falsely, i shall break thy beauteous jewels, break thine ornaments in pieces, hurl them to the fire and furnace, never forge thee other trinkets." this the answer of annikki: "ancient blacksmith, ilmarinen, dost thou ever think to marry her already thine affianced, beauteous maiden of the rainbow, fairest virgin of the northland, chosen bride of sariola? shouldst thou wish the maid of beauty, thou must forge, and forge unceasing, hammering the days and nights through; forge the summer hoofs for horses, forge them iron hoofs for winter, in the long nights forge the snow-sledge, gaily trim it in the daytime, haste thou then upon thy journey to thy wooing in the northland, to the dismal sariola; thither journeys one more clever, sails another now before thee, there to woo thy bride affianced, thence to lead thy chosen virgin, woo and win the maid of beauty; three long years thou hast been wooing. wainamoinen now is sailing on the blue back of the waters, sitting at his helm of copper; on the prow are golden carvings, beautiful his boat of magic, sailing fleetly o'er the billows, to the never-pleasant northland, to the dismal sariola." ilmarinen stood in wonder, stood a statue at the story; silent grief had settled o'er him, settled o'er the iron-artist; from one hand the tongs descended, from the other fell the hammer, as the blacksmith made this answer: "good annikki, worthy sister, i shall forge the loom of silver, golden rings to grace thy fingers, forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, six or seven golden girdles, golden crosslets for thy bosom; go and heat for me the bath-room, fill with heat the honey-chambers, lay the faggots on the fire-place, lay the smaller woods around them, pour some water through the ashes, make a soap of magic virtue, thus to cleanse my blackened visage, thus to cleanse the blacksmith's body, thus remove the soot and ashes." then annikki, kindly sister, quickly warmed her brother's bath-room, warmed it with the knots of fir-trees, that the thunder-winds had broken; gathered pebbles from the fire-stream, threw them in the heating waters; broke the tassels from the birch-trees, steeped the foliage in honey, made a lye from milk and ashes, made of these a strong decoction, mixed it with the fat and marrow of the reindeer of the mountains, made a soap of magic virtue, thus to cleanse the iron-artist, thus to beautify the suitor, thus to make the hero worthy. ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, the eternal metal-worker, forged the wishes of his sister, ornaments for fair annikki, rings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops, forged for her six golden girdles, forged a weaving loom of silver, while the maid prepared the bath-room, set his toilet-room in order. to the maid he gave the trinkets, gave the loom of molten silver, and the sister thus made answer: "i have heated well thy bath-room, have thy toilet-things in order, everything as thou desirest; go prepare thyself for wooing, lave thy bead to flaxen whiteness, make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, lave thyself in love's aroma, that thy wooing prove successful." ilmarinen, magic artist, quick repairing to his bath-room, bathed his head to flaxen whiteness, made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy, laved his eyes until they sparkled like the moonlight on the waters; wondrous were his form and features, and his cheeks like ruddy berries. these the words of ilmarinen: "fair annikki, lovely sister, bring me now my silken raiment, bring my best and richest vesture, bring me now my softest linen, that my wooing prove successful." straightway did the helpful sister bring the finest of his raiment, bring the softest of his linen, raiment fashioned by his mother; brought to him his silken stockings, brought him shoes of marten-leather, brought a vest of sky-blue color, brought him scarlet-colored trousers, brought a coat with scarlet trimming, brought a red shawl trimmed in ermine fourfold wrapped about his body; brought a fur-coat made of seal-skin, fastened with a thousand bottons, and adorned with countless jewels; brought for him his magic girdle, fastened well with golden buckles, that his artist-mother fashioned; brought him gloves with golden wristlets, that the laplanders had woven for a head of many ringlets; brought the finest cap in northland, that his ancient father purchased when he first began his wooing. ilmarinen, blacksmith-artist, clad himself to look his finest, when he thus addressed a servant: "hitch for me a fleet-foot racer, hitch him to my willing snow-sledge, for i start upon a journey to the distant shores of pohya, to the dismal sariola." spake the servant thus in answer: "thou hast seven fleet-foot racers, munching grain within their mangers, which of these shall i make ready?" spake the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "take the fleetest of my coursers, put the gray steed in the harness, hitch him to my sledge of magic; place six cuckoos on the break-board, seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, thus to charm the northland maidens, thus to make them look and listen, as the cuckoos call and echo. bring me too my largest bear-skin, fold it warm about the cross-bench; bring me then my marten fur-robes, as a cover and protection." straightway then the trusty servant of the blacksmith, ilmarinen, put the gray steed in the harness, hitched the racer to the snow-sledge, placed six cuckoos on the break-board, seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, on the front to sing and twitter; then he brought the largest bear-skin, folded it upon the cross-bench; brought the finest robes of marten, warm protection for the master. ilmarinen, forger-artist, the eternal metal-worker, earnestly entreated ukko: "send thy snow-flakes, ukko, father, let them gently fall from heaven, let them cover all the heather, let them hide the berry-bushes, that my sledge may glide in freedom o'er the hills to sariola!" ukko sent the snow from heaven, gently dropped the crystal snow-flakes, lending thus his kind assistance to the hero, ilmarinen, on his journey to the northland. reins in hand, the ancient artist seats him in his metal snow-sledge, and beseeches thus his master: "good luck to my reins and traces, good luck to my shafts and runners! god protect my magic snow-sledge, be my safeguard on my journey to the dismal sariola!" now the ancient ilmarinen draws the reins upon the racer, snaps his whip above the courser, to the gray steed gives this order, and the charger plunges northward: "haste away, my flaxen stallion, haste thee onward, noble white-face, to the never-pleasant pohya, to the dreary sariola!" fast and faster flies the fleet-foot, on the curving snow-capped sea-coast, on the borders of the lowlands, o'er the alder-hills and mountains. merrily the steed flies onward, bluebirds singing, cuckoos calling, on the sea-shore looking northward, through the sand and falling snow-flakes blinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam, cloud the hero, ilmarinen, as he glides upon his journey, looking seaward for the vessel of the ancient wainamoinen; travels one day, then a second, travels all the next day northward, till the third day ilmarinen overtakes old wainamoinen, rails him in his magic vessel, and addresses thus the minstrel: "o thou ancient wainamoinen, let us woo in peace the maiden, fairest daughter or the northland, sitting on the bow of heaven, let each labor long to win her, let her wed the one she chooses, him selecting, let her follow." wainamoinen thus makes answer: "i agree to thy proposal, let us woo in peace the maiden, not by force, nor faithless measures, shall we woo the maid of beauty, let her follow him she chooses; let the unsuccessful suitor harbor neither wrath nor envy for the hero that she follows." thus agreeing, on they journey, each according to his pleasure; fleetly does the steed fly onward, quickly flies the magic vessel, sailing on the broad-sea northward; ilmarinen's fleet-foot racer makes the hills of northland tremble, as he gallops on his journey to the dismal sariola. wainamoinen calls the south-winds, and they fly to his assistance; swiftly sails his ship of beauty, swiftly plows the rough sea-billows in her pathway to pohyola. time had gone but little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, ere the dogs began their barking, in the mansions of the northland, in the courts of sariola, watch-dogs of the court of louhi; never had they growled so fiercely, never had they barked so loudly, never with their tails had beaten northland into such an uproar. spake the master of pohyola: "go and learn, my worthy daughter, why the watch-dogs have been barking, why the black-dog signals danger." quickly does the daughter answer: "i am occupied, dear father, i have work of more importance, i must tend my flock of lambkins, i must turn the nether millstone, grind to flour the grains of barley, run the grindings through the sifter, only have i time for grinding." lowly growls the faithful watch-dog, seldom does he growl so strangely. spake the master of pohyola: "go and learn, my trusted consort, why the northland dogs are barking, why the black-dog signals danger." thus his aged wife makes answer; "have no time, nor inclination, i must feed my hungry household, must prepare a worthy dinner, i must bake the toothsome biscuit, knead the dough till it is ready, only have i strength for kneading." spake the master of pohyola: "dames are always in a hurry, maidens too are ever busy, whether warming at the oven, or asleep upon their couches; go my son, and learn the danger, why the black-dog growls displeasure," quickly does the son give answer: "have no time, nor inclination, am in haste to grind my hatchet; i must chop this log to cordwood, for the fire must cut the faggots, i must split the wood in fragments, large the pile and small the fire-wood, only have i strength for chopping." still the watch-dog growls in anger, growl the whelps within the mansion, growl the dogs chained in the kennel, growls the black-dog on the hill-top, setting northland in an uproar. spake the master of pohyola: "never, never does my black-dog growl like this without a reason; never does he bark for nothing, does not growl at angry billows, nor the sighing of the pine-trees." then the master of pohyola went himself to learn the reason for the barking of the watch-dogs; strode he through the spacious court-yard, through the open fields beyond it, to the summit of the uplands. looking toward his black-dog barking, he beholds the muzzle pointed to a distant, stormy hill-top, to a mound with alders covered; there he learned the rightful reason, why his dogs had barked so loudly, why had growled the wool-tail bearer, why his whelps had signalled danger. at full sail, he saw a vessel, and the ship was scarlet-colored, entering the bay of lempo; saw a sledge of magic colors, gliding up the curving sea-shore, o'er the snow-fields of pohyola. then the master of the northland hastened straightway to his dwelling, hastened forward to his court-room, these the accents of the master: "often strangers journey hither, on the blue back of the ocean, sailing in a scarlet vessel, rocking in the bay of lempo; often strangers come in sledges to the honey-lands of louhi." spake the hostess of pohyola: how shall we obtain a token why these strangers journey hither? my beloved, faithful daughter, lay a branch upon the fire-place, let it burn with fire of magic if it trickle drops of scarlet, war and bloodshed do they bring us; if it trickle drops of water, peace and plenty bring the strangers." northland's fair and slender maiden, beautiful and modest daughter, lays a sorb-branch on the fire-place, lights it with the fire of magic; does not trickle drops of scarlet, trickles neither blood, nor water, from the wand come drops of honey. from the corner spake suowakko, this the language of the wizard: "if the wand is dripping honey, then the strangers that are coming are but worthy friends and suitors." then the hostess of the northland, with the daughter of the hostess, straightway left their work, and hastened from their dwelling to the court-yard; looked about in all directions, turned their eyes upon the waters, saw a magic-colored vessel rocking slowly in the harbor, having sailed the bay of lempo, triple sails, and masts, and rigging, sable was the nether portion, and the upper, scarlet-colored, at the helm an ancient hero leaning on his oars of copper; saw a fleet-foot racer running, saw a red sledge lightly follow, saw the magic sledge emblazoned, guided toward the courts of louhi; saw and heard six golden cuckoos sitting on the break-board, calling, seven bluebirds richly colored singing from the yoke and cross-bar; in the sledge a magic hero, young, and strong, and proud, and handsome, holding reins upon the courser. spake the hostess of pohyola: "dearest daughter, winsome maiden, dost thou wish a noble suitor? should these heroes come to woo thee, wouldst thou leave thy home and country, be the bride of him that pleases, be his faithful life-companion? "he that comes upon the waters, sailing in a magic vessel, having sailed the bay of lempo, is the good, old wainamoinen; in his ship are countless treasures, richest presents from wainola. "he that rides here in his snow-sledge in his sledge of magic beauty, with the cuckoos and the bluebirds, is the blacksmith, ilmarinen, cometh hither empty-handed, only brings some wisdom-sayings. when they come within the dwelling, bring a bowl of honeyed viands, bring a pitcher with two handles, give to him that thou wouldst follow give it to old wainamoinen, him that brings thee countless treasures, costly presents in his vessel, priceless gems from kalevala." spake the northland's lovely daughter, this the language of the maiden "good, indeed, advice maternal, but i will not wed for riches, wed no man for countless treasures; for his worth i'll choose a husband, for his youth and fine appearance, for his noble form and features; in the olden times the maidens were not sold by anxious mothers to the suitors that they loved not. i shall choose without his treasures ilmarinen for his wisdom, for his worth and good behavior, him that forged the wondrous sampo, hammered thee the lid in colors." spake the hostess of pohyola: "senseless daughter, child of folly, thus to choose the ancient blacksmith, from whose brow drips perspiration, evermore to rinse his linen, lave his hands, and eyes, and forehead, keep his ancient house in order; little use his wit and wisdom when compared with gold and silver." this the answer of the daughter: "i will never, never, never, wed the ancient wainamoinen with his gold and priceless jewels; never will i be a helpmate to a hero in his dotage, little thanks my compensation." wainamoinen, safely landing in advance of ilmarinen, pulls his gaily-covered vessel from the waves upon the sea-beach, on the cylinders of birch-wood, on the rollers copper-banded, straightway hastens to the guest-room of the hostess of pohyola, of the master of the northland, speaks these words upon the threshold to the famous maid of beauty: "come with me, thou lovely virgin, be my bride and life-companion, share with me my joys and sorrows, be my honored wife hereafter!" this the answer of the maiden: "hast thou built for me the vessel, built for me the ship of magic from the fragments of the distaff, from the splinters of the spindle?" wainamoinen thus replying: "i have built the promised vessel, built the wondrous ship for sailing, firmly joined the parts by magic; it will weather roughest billows, will outlive the winds and waters, swiftly glide upon the blue-back of the deep and boundless ocean it will ride the waves in beauty, like an airy bubble rising, like a cork on lake and river, through the angry seas of northland, through pohyola's peaceful waters." northland's fair and slender daughter gives this answer to her suitor: "will not wed a sea-born hero, do not care to rock the billows, cannot live with such a husband storms would bring us pain and trouble, winds would rack our hearts and temples; therefore thee i cannot follow, cannot keep thy home in order, cannot be thy life-companion, cannot wed old wainamoinen." rune xix. ilmarinen's wooing. ilmarinen, hero-blacksmith, the eternal metal-worker, hastens forward to the court-room of the hostess of pohyola, of the master of the northland, hastens through the open portals into louhi's home and presence. servants come with silver pitchers, filled with northland's richest brewing; honey-drink is brought and offered to the blacksmith of wainola, ilmarinen thus replying: "i shall not in all my life-time taste the drink that thou hast brought me, till i see the maid of beauty, fairy maiden of the rainbow; i will drink with her in gladness, for whose hand i journey hither." spake the hostess of pohyola: "trouble does the one selected give to him that wooes and watches; not yet are her feet in sandals, thine affianced is not ready. only canst thou woo my daughter, only canst thou win the maiden, when thou hast by aid of magic plowed the serpent-field of hisi, plowed the field of hissing vipers, touching neither beam nor handles. once this field was plowed by piru, lempo furrowed it with horses, with a plowshare made of copper, with a beam of flaming iron; never since has any hero brought this field to cultivation." ilmarinen of wainola straightway hastens to the chamber of the maiden of the rainbow, speaks these words in hesitation: "thou of night and dawn the daughter, tell me, dost thou not remember when for thee i forged the sampo, hammered thee the lid in colors? thou didst swear by oath the strougest, by the forge and by the anvil, by the tongs and by the hammer, in the ears of the almighty, and before omniscient ukko, thou wouldst follow me hereafter, be my bride, my life-companion, be my honored wife forever. now thy mother is exacting, will not give to me her daughter, till by means of magic only, i have plowed the field of serpents, plowed the hissing soil of hisi." the affianced bride of beauty gives this answer to the suitor: "o, thou blacksmith, ilmarinen, the eternal wonder-forger, forge thyself a golden plowshare, forge the beam of shining silver, and of copper forge the handles; then with ease, by aid of magic, thou canst plow the field of serpents, plow the hissing soil of hisi." ilmarinen, welcome suitor, straightway builds a forge and smithy, places gold within the furnace, in the forge he lays the silver, forges then a golden plowshare, forges, too, a beam of silver, forges handles out of copper, forges boots and gloves of iron, forges him a mail of metal, for his limbs a safe protection, safe protection for his body. then a horse of fire selecting, harnesses the flaming stallion, goes to plow the field of serpents, plow the viper-lands of hisi. in the field were countless vipers, serpents there of every species, crawling, writhing, hissing, stinging, harmless all against the hero, thus he stills the snakes of lempo: "vipers, ye by god created, neither best nor worst of creatures, ye whose wisdom comes from ukko, and whose venom comes from hisi, ukko is your greater master, by his will your heads are lifted; get ye hence before my plowing, writ-he ye through the grass and stubble, crawl ye to the nearest thicket, keep your heads beneath the heather, hunt our holes to mana's kingdom if your poison-heads be lifted, then will mighty ukko smite them 'with his iron-pointed arrows, with the lightning of his anger." thus the blacksmith, ilmarinen, safely plows the field of serpents, lifts the vipers in his plowing, buries them beneath the furrow, harmless all against his magic. when the task had been completed, ilmarinen, quick returning, thus addressed pohyola's hostess: "i have plowed the field of hisi, plowed the field of hissing serpents, stilled and banished all the vipers; give me, ancient dame, thy daughter, fairest maiden of the northland. spake the hostess of pohyola: "shall not grant to thee my daughter, shall not give my lovely virgin, till tuoni's bear is muzzled, till manala's wolf is conquered, in the forests of the death-land, in the boundaries of mana. hundreds have been sent to hunt him, so one yet has been successful, all have perished in manala." thereupon young ilmarinen to the maiden's chamber hastens, thus addresses his affianced: "still another test demanded, i must go to tuonela, bridle there the bear of mana, bring him from the death-land forests, from tuoni's grove and empire! this advice the maiden gives him: "o thou artist, ilmarinen, the eternal metal-worker, forge of steel a magic bridle, on a rock beneath the water, in the foaming triple currents; make the straps of steel and copper, bridle then the bear of mana, lead him from tuoni's forests." then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, forged of steel a magic bridle, on a rock beneath the water, in the foam of triple currents; made the straps of steel and copper, straightway went the bear to muzzle, in the forests of the death-land, spake these words in supplication: "terhenetar, ether-maiden, daughter of the fog and snow-flake, sift the fog and let it settle o'er the bills and lowland thickets, where the wild-bear feeds and lingers, that he may not see my coming, may not hear my stealthy footsteps!" terhenetar hears his praying, makes the fog and snow-flake settle on the coverts of the wild-beasts; thus the bear he safely bridles, fetters him in chains of magic, in the forests of tuoni, in the blue groves of manala. when this task had been completed, ilmarinen, quick returning, thus addressed the ancient louhi: "give me, worthy dame, thy daughter, give me now my bride affianced, i have brought the bear of mana from tuoni's fields and forests." spake the hostess of pohyola to the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "i will only give my daughter, give to thee the maid of beauty, when the monster-pike thou catchest in the river of tuoni, in manala's fatal waters, using neither hooks, nor fish-nets, neither boat, nor fishing-tackle; hundreds have been sent to catch him, no one yet has been successful, all have perished in manala." much disheartened, ilmarinen hastened to the maiden's chamber, thus addressed the rainbow-maiden: "now a third test is demanded, much more difficult than ever; i must catch the pike of mana, in the river of tuoni, and without my fishing-tackle, hard the third test of the hero! this advice the maiden gives him: "o thou hero, ilmarinen, never, never be discouraged: in thy furnace, forge an eagle, from the fire of ancient magic; he will catch the pike of mana, catch the monster-fish in safety, from the death-stream of tuoni, from manala's fatal waters." then the suitor, ilmarinen, the eternal artist-forgeman, in the furnace forged an eagle from the fire of ancient wisdom; for this giant bird of magic forged he talons out of iron, and his beak of steel and copper; seats himself upon the eagle, on his back between the wing-bones, thus addresses he his creature, gives the bird of fire, this order: "mighty eagle, bird of beauty, fly thou whither i direct thee, to tuoni's coal-black river, to the blue deeps of the death-stream, seize the mighty fish of mana, catch for me this water-monster." swiftly flies the magic eagle, giant-bird of worth and wonder, to the river of tuoni, there to catch the pike of mana; one wing brushes on the waters, while the other sweeps the heavens; in the ocean dips his talons, whets his beak on mountain-ledges. safely landing, ilmarinen, the immortal artist-forger, hunts the monster of the death-stream, while the eagle hunts and fishes in the waters of manala. from the river rose a monster, grasped the blacksmith, ilmarinen, tried to drag him to his sea-cave; quick the eagle pounced upon him, with his metal-beak he seized him, wrenched his head, and rent his body, hurled him back upon the bottom of the deep and fatal river, freed his master, ilmarinen. then arose the pike of mana, came the water-dog in silence, of the pikes was not the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest; tongue the length of double hatchets, teeth as long as fen-rake handles, mouth as broad as triple streamlets, back as wide as seven sea-boats, tried to snap the magic blacksmith, tried to swallow ilmarinen. swiftly swoops the mighty eagle, of the birds was not the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest; mouth as wide as seven streamlets, tongue as long as seven javelins, like five crooked scythes his talons; swoops upon the pike of mana. quick the giant fish endangered, darts and flounders in the river, dragging down the mighty eagle, lashing up the very bottom to the surface of the river; when the mighty bird uprising leaves the wounded pike in water, soars aloft on worsted pinions to his home in upper ether; soars awhile, and sails, and circles, circles o'er the reddened waters, swoops again on lightning-pinions, strikes with mighty force his talons into the shoulder of his victim; strikes the second of his talons on the flinty mountain-ledges, on the rocks with iron hardened; from the cliffs rebound his talons, slip the flinty rocks o'erhanging, and the monster-pike resisting dives again beneath the surface to the bottom of the river, from the talons of the eagle; deep, the wounds upon the body of the monster of tuoni. still a third time soars the eagle, soars, and sails, and quickly circles, swoops again upon the monster, fire out-shooting from his pinoins, both his eyeballs flashing lightning; with his beak of steel and copper grasps again the pike of mana firmly planted are his talons in the rocks and in his victim, drags the monster from the river, lifts the pike above the waters, from tuoni's coal-black river, from the blue-back of manala. thus the third time does the eagle bring success from former failures; thus at last the eagle catches mana's pike, the worst of fishes, swiftest swimmer of the waters, from the river of tuoni; none could see manala's river, for the myriad of fish-scales; hardly could one see through ether, for the feathers of the eagle, relicts of the mighty contest. then the bird of copper talons took the pike, with scales of silver, to the pine-tree's topmost branches, to the fir-tree plumed with needles, tore the monster-fish in pieces, ate the body of his victim, left the head for ilmarinen. spake the blacksmith to the eagle: "o thou bird of evil nature, what thy thought and what thy motive? thou hast eaten what i needed, evidence of my successes; thoughtless eagle, witless instinct, thus to mar the spoils of conquest!" but the bird of metal talons hastened onward, soaring upward, rising higher into ether, rising, flying, soaring, sailing, to the borders of the long-clouds, made the vault of ether tremble, split apart the dome of heaven, broke the colored bow of ukko, tore the moon-horns from their sockets, disappeared beyond the sun-land, to the home of the triumphant. then the blacksmith, ilmarinen, took the pike-head to the hostess of the ever-dismal northland, thus addressed the ancient louhi: "let this head forever serve thee as a guest-bench for thy dwelling, evidence of hero-triumphs; i have caught the pike of mana, i have done as thou demandest, three my victories in death-land, three the tests of magic heroes; wilt thou give me now thy daughter, give to me the maid of beauty?" spake the hostess of pohyola: "badly is the test accomplished, thou has torn the pike in pieces, from his neck the head is severed, of his body thou hast eaten, brought to me this worthless relic! these the words of ilmarinen: "when the victory is greatest, do we suffer greatest losses! from the river of tuoni, from the kingdom of manala, i have brought to thee this trophy, thus the third task is completed. tell me is the maiden ready, wilt thou give the bride affianced? spake the hostess of pohyola: "i will give to thee my daughter, will prepare my snow-white virgin, for the suitor, ilmarinen; thou hast won the maid of beauty, bride is she of thine hereafter, fit companion of thy fireside, help and joy of all thy lifetime." on the floor a child was sitting, and the babe this tale related. "there appeared within this dwelling, came a bird within the castle, from the east came flying hither, from the east, a monstrous eagle, one wing touched the vault of heaven, while the other swept the ocean; with his tail upon the waters, reached his beak beyond the cloudlets, looked about, and eager watching, flew around, and sailing, soaring, flew away to hero-castle, knocked three times with beak of copper on the castle-roof of iron; but the eagle could not enter. "then the eagle, looking round him, flew again, and sailed, and circled, flew then to the mothers' castle, loudly rapped with heavy knocking on the mothers' roof of copper; but the eagle could not enter. "then the eagle, looking round him, flew a third time, sailing, soaring, flew then to the virgins' castle, knocked again with beak of copper, on the virgins' roof of linen, easy for him there to enter; flew upon the castle-chimney, quick descending to the chamber, pulled the clapboards from the studding, tore the linen from the rafters, perched upon the chamber-window, near the walls of many colors, on the cross-bars gaily-feathered, looked upon the curly-beaded, looked upon their golden ringlets, looked upon the snow-white virgins, on the purest of the maidens, on the fairest of the daughters, on the maid with pearly necklace, on the maiden wreathed in flowers; perched awhile, and looked, admiring, swooped upon the maid of beauty, on the purest of the virgins, on the whitest, on the fairest, on the stateliest and grandest, swooped upon the rainbow-daughter of the dismal sariola; grasped her in his mighty talons, bore away the maid of beauty, maid of fairest form and feature, maid adorned with pearly necklace, decked in feathers iridescent, fragrant flowers upon her bosom, scarlet band around her forehead, golden rings upon her fingers, fairest maiden of the northland." spake the hostess of pohyola, when the babe his tale had ended: "tell me bow, my child beloved, thou hast learned about the maiden, hast obtained the information, how her flaxen ringlets nestled, how the maiden's silver glistened, how the virgin's gold was lauded. shone the silver sun upon thee, did the moonbeams bring this knowledge?" from the floor the child made answer: "thus i gained the information, moles of good-luck led me hither, to the home, of the distinguished, to the guest-room of the maiden, good-name bore her worthy father, he that sailed the magic vessel; better-name enjoyed the mother, she that baked the bread of barley, she that kneaded wheaten biscuits, fed her many guests in northland. "thus the information reached me, thus the distant stranger heard it, heard the virgin had arisen: once i walked within the court-yard, stepping near the virgin's chamber, at an early hour of morning, ere the sun had broken slumber whirling rose the soot in cloudlets, blackened wreaths of smoke came rising from the chamber of the maiden, from thy daughter's lofty chimney; there the maid was busy grinding, moved the handles of the millstone making voices like the cuckoo, like the ducks the side-holes sounded, and the sifter like the goldfinch, like the sea-pearls sang the grindstones. "then a second time i wandered to the border of the meadow in the forest was the maiden rocking on a fragrant hillock, dyeing red in iron vessels, and in copper kettles, yellow. "then a third time did i wander to the lovely maiden's window; there i saw thy daughter weaving, heard the flying of her shuttle, heard the beating of her loom-lathe, heard the rattling of her treddles, heard the whirring of her yarn-reel." spake the hostess of pohyola: "now alas! beloved daughter, i have often taught this lesson: 'do not sing among the pine-trees, do not call adown the valleys, do not hang thy head in walking, do not bare thine arms, nor shoulders, keep the secrets of thy bosom, hide thy beauty and thy power.' "this i told thee in the autumn, taught thee in the summer season, sang thee in the budding spring-time, sang thee when the snows were falling: 'let us build a place for hiding, let us build the smallest windows, where may weave my fairest daughter, where my maid may ply her shuttle, where my joy may work unnoticed by the heroes of the northland, by the suitors of wainola.'" from the floor the child made answer, fourteen days the young child numbered; "easy 'tis to hide a war-horse in the northland fields and stables; hard indeed to hide a maiden, having lovely form and features! build of stone a distant castle in the middle of the ocean, keep within thy lovely maiden, train thou there thy winsome daughter, not long hidden canst thou keep her. maidens will not grow and flourish, kept apart from men and heroes, will not live without their suitors, will not thrive without their wooers; thou canst never hide a maiden, neither on the land nor water." now the ancient wainamoinen, head down-bent and heavy-hearted, wanders to his native country, to wainola's peaceful meadows, to the plains of kalevala, chanting as he journeys homeward: "i have passed the age for wooing, woe is me, rejected suitor, woe is me, a witless minstrel, that i did not woo and marry, when my face was young and winsome, when my hand was warm and welcome! youth dethrones my age and station, wealth is nothing, wisdom worthless, when a hero goes a-wooing with a poor but younger brother. fatal error that a hero does not wed in early manhood, in his youth does not be master of a worthy wife and household." thus the ancient wainamoinen sends the edict to his people: "old men must not go a-wooing, must not swim the sea of anger, must not row upon a wager, must not run a race for glory, with the younger sons of northland." rune xx. the brewing of beer. now we sing the wondrous legends, songs of wedding-feasts and dances, sing the melodies of wedlock, sing the songs of old tradition; sing of ilmarinen's marriage to the maiden of the rainbow, fairest daughter of the northland, sing the drinking-songs of pohya. long prepared they for the wedding in pohyola's halls and chambers, in the courts of sariola; many things that louhi ordered, great indeed the preparations for the marriage of the daughter, for the feasting of the heroes, for the drinking of the strangers, for the feeding of the poor-folk, for the people's entertainment. grew an ox in far karjala, not the largest, nor the smallest, was the ox that grew in suomi; but his size was all-sufficient, for his tail was sweeping jamen, and his head was over kemi, horns in length a hundred fathoms, longer than the horns his mouth was; seven days it took a weasel to encircle neck and shoulders; one whole day a swallow journeyed from one horn-tip to the other, did not stop between for resting. thirty days the squirrel travelled from the tail to reach the shoulders, but he could not gain the horn-tip till the moon had long passed over. this young ox of huge dimensions, this great calf of distant suomi, was conducted from karjala to the meadows of pohyola; at each horn a hundred heroes, at his head and neck a thousand. when the mighty ox was lassoed, led away to northland pastures, peacefully the monster journeyed by the bays of sariola, ate the pasture on the borders; to the clouds arose his shoulders, and his horns to highest heaven. not in all of sariola could a butcher be discovered that could kill the ox for louhi, none of all the sons of northland, in her hosts of giant people, in her rising generation, in the hosts of those grown older. came a hero from a distance, wirokannas from karelen, and these words the gray-beard uttered: "wait, o wait, thou ox of suomi, till i bring my ancient war-club; then i'll smite thee on thy forehead, break thy skull, thou willing victim! nevermore wilt thou in summer browse the woods of sariola, bare our pastures, fields, and forests; thou, o ox, wilt feed no longer through the length and breadth of northland, on the borders of this ocean!" when the ancient wirokannas started out the ox to slaughter, when palwoinen swung his war-club, quick the victim turned his forehead, flashed his flaming eyes upon him; to the fir-tree leaped the hero, in the thicket hid palwoinen, hid the gray-haired wirokannas. everywhere they seek a butcher, one to kill the ox of suomi, in the country of karelen, and among the suomi-giants, in the quiet fields of ehstland, on the battle-fields of sweden, mid the mountaineers of lapland, in the magic fens of turya; seek him in tuoni's empire, in the death-courts of manala. long the search, and unsuccessful, on the blue back of the ocean, on the far-outstretching pastures. there arose from out the sea-waves, rose a hero from the waters, on the white-capped, roaring breakers, from the water's broad expanses; nor belonged he to the largest, nor belonged he to the smallest; made his bed within a sea-shell, stood erect beneath a flour-sieve, hero old, with hands of iron, and his face was copper-colored; quick the hero full unfolded, like the full corn from the kernel. on his head a hat of flint-stone, on his feet were sandstone-sandals, in his hand a golden cleaver, and the blade was copper-handled. thus at last they found a butcher, found the magic ox a slayer. nothing has been found so mighty that it has not found a master. as the sea-god saw his booty, quickly rushed he on his victim, hurled him to his knees before him, quickly felled the calf of suomi, felled the young ox of karelen. bountifully meat was furnished; filled at least a thousand hogsheads of his blood were seven boatfuls, and a thousand weight of suet, for the banquet of pohyola, for the marriage-feast of northland. in pohyola was a guest-room, ample was the hall of louhi, was in length a hundred furlongs, and in breadth was nearly fifty; when upon the roof a rooster crowed at break of early morning, no one on the earth could hear him; when the dog barked at one entrance, none could hear him at the other. louhi, hostess of pohyola, hastens to the hall and court-room, in the centre speaks as follows: "whence indeed will come the liquor, who will brew me beer from barley, who will make the mead abundant, for the people of the northland, coming to my daughter's marriage, to her drinking-feast and nuptials? cannot comprehend the malting, never have i learned the secret, nor the origin of brewing." spake an old man from his corner: "beer arises from the barley, comes from barley, hops, and water, and the fire gives no assistance. hop-vine was the son of remu, small the seed in earth was planted, cultivated in the loose soil, scattered like the evil serpents on the brink of kalew-waters, on the osmo-fields and borders. there the young plant grew and flourished, there arose the climbing hop-vine, clinging to the rocks and alders. "man of good-luck sowed the barley on the osmo hills and lowlands, and the barley grew and flourished, grew and spread in rich abundance, fed upon the air and water, on the osmo plains and highlands, on the fields of kalew-heroes. "time had travelled little distance, ere the hops in trees were humming, barley in the fields was singing, and from kalew's well the water, this the language of the trio: 'let us join our triple forces, join to each the other's powers; sad alone to live and struggle, little use in working singly, better we should toil together.' "osmotar, the beer-preparer, brewer of the drink refreshing, takes the golden grains of barley, taking six of barley-kernels, taking seven tips of hop-fruit, filling seven cups with water, on the fire she sets the caldron, boils the barley, hops, and water, lets them steep, and seethe, and bubble brewing thus the beer delicious, in the hottest days of summer, on the foggy promontory, on the island forest-covered; poured it into birch-wood barrels, into hogsheads made of oak-wood. "thus did osmotar of kalew brew together hops and barley, could not generate the ferment. thinking long and long debating, thus she spake in troubled accents: 'what will bring the effervescence, who will add the needed factor, that the beer may foam and sparkle, may ferment and be delightful?' kalevatar, magic maiden, grace and beauty in her fingers, swiftly moving, lightly stepping, in her trimly-buckled sandals, steps upon the birch-wood bottom, turns one way, and then another, in the centre of the caldron; finds within a splinter lying from the bottom lifts the fragment, turns it in her fingers, musing: 'what may come of this i know not, in the hands of magic maidens, in the virgin hands of kapo, snowy virgin of the northland!' "kalevatar took the splinter to the magic virgin, kapo, who by unknown force and insight. rubbed her hands and knees together, and produced a snow-white squirrel; thus instructed she her creature, gave the squirrel these directions: 'snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel, flower of the field and forest, haste thee whither i would send thee, into metsola's wide limits, into tapio's seat of wisdom; hasten through the heavy tree-tops, wisely through the thickest branches, that the eagle may not seize thee, thus escape the bird of heaven. bring me ripe cones from the fir-tree, from the pine-tree bring me seedlings, bring them to the hands of kapo, for the beer of osmo's daughter.' quickly hastened forth the squirrel, quickly sped the nimble broad-tail, swiftly hopping on its journey from one thicket to another, from the birch-tree to the aspen, from the pine-tree to the willow, from the sorb-tree to the alder, jumping here and there with method, crossed the eagle-woods in safety, into metsola's wide limits, into tapio's seat of wisdom; there perceived three magic pine-trees, there perceived three smaller fir-trees, quickly climbed the dark-green branches, was not captured by the eagle, was not mangled in his talons; broke the young cones from the fir-tree, cut the shoots of pine-tree branches, hid the cones within his pouches, wrapped them in his fur-grown mittens brought them to the hands of kapo, to the magic virgin's fingers. kapo took the cones selected, laid them in the beer for ferment, but it brought no effervescence, and the beer was cold and lifeless. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, kapo, brewer of the liquor, deeply thought and long considered: 'what will bring the effervescence, who will lend me aid efficient, that the beer may foam and sparkle, may ferment and be refreshing?' "kalevatar, sparkling maiden, grace and beauty in her fingers, softly moving, lightly stepping, in her trimly-buckled sandals, steps again upon the bottom, turns one way and then another, in the centre of the caldron, sees a chip upon the bottom, takes it from its place of resting, looks upon the chip and muses 'what may come of this i know not, in the hands of mystic maidens, in the hands of magic kapo, in the virgin's snow-white fingers.' "kalevatar took the birch-chip to the magic maiden, kapo, gave it to the white-faced maiden. kapo, by the aid of magic, rubbed her hands and knees together, and produced a magic marten, and the marten, golden-breasted; thus instructed she her creature, gave the marten these directions. 'thou, my golden-breasted marten, thou my son of golden color, haste thou whither i may send thee, to the bear-dens of the mountain, to the grottoes of the growler, gather yeast upon thy fingers, gather foam from lips of anger, from the lips of bears in battle, bring it to the hands of kapo, to the hands of osmo's daughter.' "then the marten golden-breasted, full consenting, hastened onward, quickly bounding on his journey, lightly leaping through the distance leaping o'er the widest rivers, leaping over rocky fissures, to the bear-dens of the mountain, to the grottoes of the growler, where the wild-bears fight each other, where they pass a dread existence, iron rocks, their softest pillows, in the fastnesses of mountains; from their lips the foam was dripping, from their tongues the froth of anger; this the marten deftly gathered, brought it to the maiden, kapo, laid it in her dainty fingers. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, brewer of the beer of barley, used the beer-foam as a ferment; but it brought no effervescence, did not make the liquor sparkle. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, thought again, and long debated: 'who or what will bring the ferment, th at my beer may not be lifeless?' "kalevatar, magic maiden, grace and beauty in her fingers, softly moving, lightly stepping, in her trimly-buckled sandals, steps again upon the bottom, turns one way and then another, in the centre of the caldron, sees a pod upon the bottom, lifts it in her snow-white fingers, turns it o'er and o'er, and muses: 'what may come of this i know not, in the hands of magic maidens, in the hands of mystic kapo, in the snowy virgin's fingers?' "kalevatar, sparkling maiden, gave the pod to magic kapo; kapo, by the aid of magic, rubbed the pod upon her knee-cap, and a honey-bee came flying from the pod within her fingers, kapo thus addressed her birdling: 'little bee with honeyed winglets, king of all the fragrant flowers, fly thou whither i direct thee, to the islands in the ocean, to the water-cliffs and grottoes, where asleep a maid has fallen, girdled with a belt of copper by her side are honey-grasses, by her lips are fragrant flowers, herbs and flowers honey-laden; gather there the sweetened juices, gather honey on thy winglets, from the calyces of flowers, from the tips of seven petals, bring it to the hands of kapo, to the hands of osmo's daughter.' "then the bee, the swift-winged birdling, flew away with lightning-swiftness on his journey to the islands, o'er the high waves of the ocean; journeyed one day, then a second, journeyed all the next day onward, till the third day evening brought him to the islands in the ocean, to the water-cliffs and grottoes; found the maiden sweetly sleeping, in her silver-tinselled raiment, girdled with a belt of copper, in a nameless meadow, sleeping, in the honey-fields of magic; by her side were honeyed grasses, by her lips were fragrant flowers, silver stalks with golden petals; dipped its winglets in the honey, dipped its fingers in the juices of the sweetest of the flowers, brought the honey back to kapo, to the mystic maiden's fingers. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, placed the honey in the liquor; kapo mixed the beer and honey, and the wedding-beer fermented; rose the live beer upward, upward, from the bottom of the vessels, upward in the tubs of birch-wood, foaming higher, higher, higher, till it touched the oaken handles, overflowing all the caldrons; to the ground it foamed and sparkled, sank away in sand and gravel. "time had gone but little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, ere the heroes came in numbers to the foaming beer of northland, rushed to drink the sparkling liquor. ere all others lemminkainen drank, and grew intoxicated on the beer of osmo's daughter, on the honey-drink of kalew. "osmotar, the beer-preparer, kapo, brewer of the barley, spake these words in saddened accents: 'woe is me, my life hard-fated, badly have i brewed the liquor, have not brewed the beer in wisdom, will not live within its vessels, overflows and fills pohyola!' "from a tree-top sings the redbreast, from the aspen calls the robin: 'do not grieve, thy beer is worthy, put it into oaken vessels, into strong and willing barrels firmly bound with hoops of copper.' "thus was brewed the beer or northland, at the hands of osmo's daughter; this the origin of brewing beer from kalew-hops and barley; great indeed the reputation of the ancient beer of kalew, said to make the feeble hardy, famed to dry the tears of women, famed to cheer the broken-hearted, make the aged young and supple, make the timid brave and mighty, make the brave men ever braver, fill the heart with joy and gladness, fill the mind with wisdom-sayings, fill the tongue with ancient legends, only makes the fool more foolish." when the hostess of pohyola heard how beer was first fermented, heard the origin of brewing, straightway did she fill with water many oaken tubs and barrels; filled but half the largest vessels, mixed the barley with the water, added also hops abundant; well she mixed the triple forces in her tubs of oak and birch-wood, heated stones for months succeeding, thus to boil the magic mixture, steeped it through the days of summer, burned the wood of many forests, emptied all the, springs of pohya; daily did the, forests lesson, and the wells gave up their waters, thus to aid the hostess, louhi, in the brewing of the liquors, from the water, hops, and barley, and from honey of the islands, for the wedding-feast of northland, for pohyola's great carousal and rejoicings at the marriage of the malden of the rainbow to the blacksmith, ilmarinen, metal-worker of wainola. smoke is seen upon the island, fire, upon the promontory, black smoke rising to the heavens from the fire upon the island; fills with clouds the half of pohya, fills karelen's many hamlets; all the people look and wonder, this the chorus of the women: "whence are rising all these smoke-clouds, why this dreadful fire in northland? is not like the smoke of camp-fires, is too large for fires of shepherds!" lemminkainen's ancient mother journeyed in the early morning for some water to the fountain, saw the smoke arise to heaven, in the region of pohyola, these the words the mother uttered: "'tis the smoke of battle-heroes, from the beat of warring armies!" even ahti, island-hero, ancient wizard, lemminkainen, also known as kaukomieli, looked upon the scene in wonder, thought awhile and spake as follows: "i would like to see this nearer, learn the cause of all this trouble, whence this smoke and great confusion, whether smoke from heat of battle, or the bonfires of the shepherds." kaukomieli gazed and pondered, studied long the rising smoke-clouds; came not from the heat of battle, came not from the shepherd bonfires; heard they were the fires of louhi brewing beer in sariola, on pohyola's promontory; long and oft looked lemminkainen, strained in eagerness his vision, stared, and peered, and thought, and wondered, looked abashed and envy-swollen, "o beloved, second mother, northland's well-intentioned hostess, brew thy beer of honey-flavor, make thy liquors foam and sparkle, for thy many friends invited, brew it well for lemminkainen, for his marriage in pohyola with the maiden of the rainbow." finally the beer was ready, beverage of noble heroes, stored away in casks and barrels, there to rest awhile in silence, in the cellars of the northland, in the copper-banded vessels, in the magic oaken hogsheads, plugs and faucets made of copper. then the hostess of pohyola skilfully prepared the dishes, laid them all with careful fingers in the boiling-pans and kettles, ordered countless loaves of barley, ordered many liquid dishes, all the delicacies of northland, for the feasting of her people, for their richest entertainment, for the nuptial songs and dances, at the marriage of her daughter with the blacksmith, ilmarinen. when the loaves were baked and ready. when the dishes all were seasoned, time had gone but little distance, scarce a moment had passed over, ere the beer, in casks imprisoned, loudly rapped, and sang, and murmured: "come, ye heroes, come and take me, come and let me cheer your spirits, make you sing the songs of wisdom, that with honor ye may praise me, sing the songs of beer immortal!" straightway louhi sought a minstrel, magic bard and artist-singer, that the beer might well be lauded, might be praised in song and honor. first as bard they brought a salmon, also brought a pike from ocean, but the salmon had no talent, and the pike had little wisdom; teeth of pike and gills of salmon were not made for singing legends. then again they sought a singer, magic minstrel, beer-enchanter, thus to praise the drink of heroes, sing the songs of joy and gladness; and a boy was brought for singing; but the boy had little knowledge, could not praise the beer in honor; children's tongues are filled with questions, children cannot speak in wisdom, cannot sing the ancient legends. stronger grew the beer imprisoned in the copper-banded vessels, locked behind the copper faucets, boiled, and foamed, and sang, and murmured: "if ye do not bring a singer, that will sing my worth immortal, that will sing my praise deserving, i will burst these bands of copper, burst the heads of all these barrels; will not serve the best of heroes till he sings my many virtues." louhi, hostess of pohyola, called a trusted maiden-servant, sent her to invite the people to the marriage of her daughter, these the words that louhi uttered: "o my trusted, truthful maiden, servant-maid to me belonging, call together all my people, call the heroes to my banquet, ask the rich, and ask the needy, ask the blind and deaf, and crippled, ask the young, and ask the aged; go thou to the hills, and hedges, to the highways, and the by-ways, urge them to my daughter's wedding; bring the blind, and sorely troubled, in my boats upon the waters, in my sledges bring the halting, with the old, and sick, and needy; ask the whole of sariola, ask the people of karelen, ask the ancient wainamoinen, famous bard and wisdom-singer; but i give command explicit not to ask wild lemminkainen, not the island-dweller, ahti!" this the question of the servant: "why not ask wild lemminkainen, ancient islander and minstrel?" louhi gave this simple answer: "good the reasons that i give thee why the wizard, lemminkainen, must not have an invitation to my daughter's feast and marriage ahti courts the heat of battle, lemminkainen fosters trouble, skilful fighter of the virtues; evil thinking, acting evil, he would bring but pain and sorrow, he would jest and jeer at maidens in their trimly buckled raiment, cannot ask the evil-minded!" thus again the servant questions: "tell me how to know this ahti, also known as lemminkainen, that i may not ask him hither; do not know the isle of ahti, nor the home of kaukomieli spake the hostess of pohyola: "easy 'tis to know the wizard, easy find the ahti-dwelling: ahti lives on yonder island, on that point dwells lemminkainen, in his mansion near the water, far at sea his home and dwelling." thereupon the trusted maiden spread the wedding-invitations to the people of pohyola, to the tribes of kalevala; asked the friendless, asked the homeless asked the laborers and shepherds, asked the fishermen and hunters, asked the deaf, the dumb, the crippled, asked the young, and asked the aged, asked the rich, and asked the needy; did not give an invitation to the reckless lemminkainen, island-dweller of the ocean. rune xxi. ilmarinen's wedding-feast. louhi, hostess of the northland, ancient dame of sariola, while at work within her dwelling, heard the whips crack on the fenlands, heard the rattle of the sledges; to the northward turned her glances, turned her vision to the sunlight, and her thoughts ran on as follow: "who are these in bright apparel, on the banks of pohya-waters, are they friends or hostile armies?" then the hostess of the northland looked again and well considered, drew much nearer to examine, found they were not hostile armies, found that they were friends and suitors. in the midst was ilmarinen, son-in-law to ancient louhi. when the hostess of pohyola saw the son-in-law approaching she addressed the words that follow: "i had thought the winds were raging, that the piles of wood were falling, thought the pebbles in commotion, or perchance the ocean roaring; then i hastened nearer, nearer, drew still nearer and examined, found the winds were not in battle, found the piles of wood unshaken, found the ocean was not roaring, nor the pebbles in commotion, found my son-in-law was coming with his heroes and attendants, heroes counted by the hundreds. "should you ask of me the question, how i recognized the bridegroom mid the hosts of men and heroes, i should answer, i should tell you: 'as the hazel-bush in copses, as the oak-tree in the forest, as the moon among the planets; drives the groom a coal-black courser, running like the famished black-dog, flying like the hungry raven, graceful as the lark at morning, golden cuckoos, six in number, twitter on the birchen cross-bow; there are seven bluebirds singing on the racer's hame and collar." noises hear they in the court-yard, on the highway hear the sledges, to the court comes ilmarinen, with his body-guard of heroes; in the midst the chosen suitor, not too far in front of others, not too far behind his fellows. spake the hostess of pohyola: "hie ye hither, men and heroes, haste, ye watchers, to the stables, there unhitch the suitor's stallion, lower well the racer's breast-plate, there undo the straps and buckles, loosen well the shafts and traces, and conduct the suitor hither, give my son-in-law good welcome!" ilmarinen turned his racer into louhi's yard and stables, and descended from his snow-sledge. spake the hostess of pohyola: "come, thou servant of my bidding, best of all my trusted servants, take at once the bridegroom's courser from the shafts adorned with silver, from the curving arch of willow, lift the harness trimmed in copper, tie the white-face to the manger, treat the suitor's steed with kindness, lead him carefully to shelter by his soft and shining bridle, by his halter tipped with silver; let him roll among the sand-hills, on the bottoms soft and even, on the borders of the snow-banks, in the fields of milky color. "lead the hero's steed to water, lead him to the pohya-fountains, where the living streams are flowing, sweet as milk of human kindness, from the roots of silvery birches, underneath the shade of aspens. "feed the courser of the suitor, on the sweetest corn and barley, on the summer-wheat and clover, in the caldron steeped in sweetness; feed him at the golden manger, in the boxes lined with copper, at my manger richly furnished, in the warmest of the stables; tie him with a silk-like halter, to the golden rings and staples, to the hooks of purest silver, set in beams of birch and oak-wood; feed him on the hay the sweetest, feed him on the corn nutritious, give the best my barns can furnish. "curry well the suitor's courser with the curry-comb of fish-bone, brush his hair with silken brushes, put his mane and tail in order, cover well with flannel blankets, blankets wrought in gold and silver, buckles forged from shining copper. "come, ye small lads of the village, lead the suitor to my chambers, with your auburn locks uncovered, from your hands remove your mittens, see if ye can lead the hero through the door without his stooping, lifting not the upper cross-bar, lowering not the oaken threshold, moving not the birchen casings, great the hero who must enter. "ilmarinen is too stately, cannot enter through the portals, not the son-in-law and bridegroom, till the portals have been heightened; taller by a head the suitor than the door-ways of the mansion." quick the servants of pohyola tore away the upper cross-bar, that his cap might not be lifted; made the oaken threshold lower that the hero might not stumble; made the birch-wood portals wider, opened full the door of welcome, easy entrance for the suitor. speaks the hostess of the northland as the bridegroom freely passes through the doorway of her dwelling: "thanks are due to thee, o ukko, that my son-in-law has entered! let me now my halls examine; make the bridal chambers ready, finest linen on my tables, softest furs upon my benches, birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness, all my rooms in perfect order." then the hostess of pohyola visited her spacious dwelling, did not recognize her chambers; every room had been remodeled, changed by force of mighty magic; all the halls were newly burnished, hedge-hog bones were used for ceilings, bones of reindeer for foundations, bones of wolverine for door-sills, for the cross-bars bones of roebuck, apple-wood were all the rafters, alder-wood, the window-casings, scales of trout adorned the windows, and the fires were set in flowers. all the seats were made of silver, all the floors of copper-tiling, gold-adorned were all the tables, on the floor were silken mattings, every fire-place set in copper, every hearth-stone cut from marble, on each shelf were colored sea-shells, kalew's tree was their protection. to the court-room came the hero, chosen suitor from wainola, these the words of ilmarinen: "send, o ukko, health and pleasure to this ancient home and dwelling, to this mansion richly fashioned!" spake the hostess of pohyola: "let thy coming be auspicious to these halls of thee unworthy, to the home of thine affianced, to this dwelling lowly fashioned, mid the lindens and the aspens. "come, ye maidens that should serve me, come, ye fellows from the village, bring me fire upon the birch-bark, light the fagots of the fir-tree, that i may behold the bridegroom, chosen suitor of my daughter, fairy maiden of the rainbow, see the color of his eyeballs, whether they are blue or sable, see if they are warm and faithful." quick the young lads from the village brought the fire upon the birch-bark, brought it on the tips of pine-wood; and the fire and smoke commingled roll and roar about the hero, blackening the suitor's visage, and the hostess speaks as follows; "bring the fire upon a taper, on the waxen tapers bring it!" then the maidens did as bidden, quickly brought the lighted tapers, made the suitor's eyeballs glisten, made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy; made his eyes of sable color sparkle like the foam of waters, like the reed-grass on the margin, colored as the ocean jewels, iridescent as the rainbow. "come, ye fellows of the hamlet, lead my son-in-law and hero to the highest seat at table, to the seat of greatest honor, with his back upon the blue-wall, looking on my bounteous tables, facing all the guests of northland." then the hostess of pohyola served her guests in great abundance, richest drinks and rarest viands, first of all she, served the bridegroom on his platters, honeyed biscuit, and the sweetest river salmon, seasoned butter, roasted bacon, all the dainties of pohyola. then the helpers served the others, filled the plates of all invited with the varied food of northland. spake the hostess of pohyola: "come, ye maidens from the village, hither bring the beer in pitchers, in the urns with double handles, to the many guests in-gathered, ere all others, serve the bridegroom." thereupon the merry maidens brought the beer in silver pitchers from the copper-banded vessels, for the wedding-guests assembled; and the beer, fermenting, sparkled on the beard of ilmarinen, on the beards of many heroes. when the guests had all partaken of the wondrous beer of barley, spake the beer in merry accents through the tongues of the magicians, through the tongue of many a hero, through the tongue of wainamoinen, famed to be the sweetest singer of the northland bards and minstrels, these the words of the enchanter: "o thou beer of honeyed flavor, let us not imbibe in silence, let some hero sing thy praises, sing thy worth in golden measures; let the hostess start the singing, let the bridegroom sound thy virtues! have our songs thus quickly vanished, have our joyful tongues grown silent? evil then has been the brewing, then the beer must be unworthy, that it does not cheer the singer, does not move the merry minstrel, that the golden guests are joyless, and the cuckoo is not singing. never will these benches echo till the bench-guests chant thy virtues; nor the floor resound thy praises till the floor-guests sing in concord; nor the windows join the chorus till the window-guests have spoken; all the tables will keep silence till the heroes toast thy virtues; little singing from the chimney till the chimney-guests have chanted." on the floor a child was sitting, thus the little boy made answer: "i am small and young in singing, have perchance but little wisdom; be that as it may, my seniors, since the elder minstrels sing not, nor the heroes chant their legends, nor the hostess lead the singing, i will sing my simple stories, sing my little store of knowledge, to the pleasure of the evening, to the joy of the invited." near the fire reclined an old man, and the gray-beard thus made answer: "not the time for children's singing, children's wisdom is too ready, children's songs are filled with trifles, filled with shrewd and vain deceptions, maiden-songs are full of follies; leave the songs and incantations to the ancient wizard-singers; leave the tales of times primeval to the minstrel of wainola, to the hero of the northland, to the, ancient wainamoinen." thereupon osmoinen answered: "are there not some sweeter singers in this honored congregation, that will clasp their hands together, sing the ancient songs unbroken, thus begin the incantations, make these ancient halls re-echo for the pleasure of the evening, for the joy of the in-gathered?" from the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard "not a singer of pohyola, not a minstrel, nor magician, that was better skilled in chanting legends of the days departed, than was i when i was singing, in my years of vain ambition; then i chanted tales of heroes, on the blue back of the waters, sang the ballads of my people, in the vales and on the mountains, through the verdant fields and forests; sweet my voice and skilled my singing, all my songs were highly lauded, rippled like the quiet rivers, easy-flowing like the waters, easy-gliding as the snow-shoes, like the ship upon the ocean. "woe is me, my days are ended, would not recognize my singing, all its sweetness gone to others, flows no more like rippling waters, makes no more the hills re-echo! now my songs are full of discord, like the rake upon the stubble, like the sledge upon the gravel, like the boat upon the sea-shore!" then the ancient wainamoinen spake these words in magic measures: "since no other bard appeareth that will clasp my hand in singing, i will sing some simple legends, sing my, garnered store of wisdom, make these magic halls re-echo with my tales of ancient story, since a bard i was created, born an orator and singer; do not ask the ways of others, follow not the paths of strangers." wainamoinen, famous minstrel, song's eternal, wise supporter, then began the songs of pleasure, made the halls resound with joyance, filled the rooms with wondrous singing; sang the ancient bard-magician all the oldest wisdom-sayings, did not fail in voice nor legends, all the wisest thoughts remembered. thus the ancient wainamoinen sang the joy of all assembled, to the pleasure of the evening, to the merriment of maidens, to the happiness of heroes; all the guests were stilled in wonder at the magic of his singing, at the songs of the magician. spake again wise wainamoinen, when his wonder-tales had ended: "l have little worth or power, am a bard of little value, little consequence my singing, mine abilities as nothing, if but ukko, my creator, should intone his wisdom-sayings, sing the source of good and evil, sing the origin of matter, sing the legends of omniscience, sing his songs in full perfection. god could sing the floods to honey, sing the sands to ruddy berries, sing the pebbles into barley, sing to beer the running waters, sing to salt the rocks of ocean, into corn-fields sing the forests, into gold the forest-fruitage, sing to bread the hills and mountains, sing to eggs the rounded sandstones; he could touch the springs of magic, he could turn the keys of nature, and produce within thy pastures, hurdles filled with sheep and reindeer, stables filled with fleet-foot stallions, kine in every field and fallow; sing a fur-robe for the bridegroom, for the bride a coat of ermine, for the hostess, shoes of silver, for the hero, mail of copper. "grant o ukko, my creator, god of love, and truth, and justice, grant thy blessing on our feasting, bless this company assembled, for the good of sariola, for the happiness of northland! may this bread and beer bring joyance, may they come in rich abundance, may they carry full contentment to the people of pohyola, to the cabin and the mansion; may the hours we spend in singing, in the morning, in the evening, fill our hearts with joy and gladness! hear us in our supplications, grant to us thy needed blessings, send enjoyment, health, and comfort, to the people here assembled, to the host and to the hostess, to the bride and to the bridegroom, to the sons upon the waters, to the daughters at their weavings, to the hunters on the mountains, to the shepherds in the fenlands, that our lives may end in honor, that we may recall with pleasure ilmarinen's magic marriage to the maiden of the rainbow, snow-white virgin of the northland." rune xxii. the bride s farewell. when the marriage was completed, when the many guests had feasted, at the wedding of the northland, at the dismal-land carousal, spake the hostess of pohyola to the blacksmith, ilmarinen: "wherefore, bridegroom, dost thou linger, why art waiting, northland hero? sittest for the father's pleasure, for affection of the mother, for the splendor of the maidens, for the beauty of the daughter? noble son-in-law and brother, wait thou longer, having waited long already for the virgin, thine affianced is not ready, not prepared, thy life-companion, only are her tresses braided. "chosen bridegroom, pride of pohya, wait thou longer, having waited long already for the virgin, thy beloved is preparing, only is one hand made ready. "famous artist, ilmarinen, wait still longer, having waited long already for the virgin, thy beloved is not ready, only is one foot in fur-shoes," spake again the ancient louhi: "chosen suitor of my daughter, thou hast thrice in kindness waited, wait no longer for the virgin, thy beloved now is ready, well prepared thy life-companion, fairy maiden of the rainbow. "beauteous daughter, join thy suitor, follow him, thy chosen husband, very near is the uniting, near indeed thy separation. at thy hand the honored bridegroom, near the door he waits to lead thee, guide thee to his home and kindred; at the gate his steed is waiting, restless champs his silver bridle, and the sledge awaits thy presence. "thou wert anxious for a suitor, ready to accept his offer, wert in haste to take his jewels, place his rings upon thy fingers; now, fair daughter, keep thy promise; to his sledge, with happy footsteps, hie in haste to join the bridegroom, gaily journey to the village with thy chosen life-companion, with thy suitor, ilmarinen. little hast thou looked about thee, hast not raised thine eyes above thee, beauteous maiden of the northland, hast thou made a rueful bargain, full of wailing thine engagement, and thy marriage full of sorrow, that thy father's ancient cottage thou art leaving now forever, leaving also friends and kindred, for the, blacksmith, ilmarinen? "o how beautiful thy childhood, in thy father's dwelling-places, nurtured like a tender flower, like the strawberry in spring-time soft thy couch and sweet thy slumber, warm thy fires and rich thy table; from the fields came corn in plenty, from the highlands, milk and berries, wheat and barley in abundance, fish, and fowl, and hare, and bacon, from thy father's fields and forests. "never wert thou, child, in sorrow, never hadst thou grief nor trouble, all thy cares were left to fir-trees, all thy worry to the copses, all thy weeping to the willows, all thy sighing to the lindens, all thy thinking to the aspens and the birches on the mountains, light and airy as the leaflet, as a butterfly in summer, ruddy as a mountain-berry, beautiful as vernal flowers. "now thou leavest home and kindred, wanderest to other firesides, goest to another mother, other sisters, other brothers, goest to a second father, to the servant-folk of strangers, from thy native hills and lowlands. there and here the homes will differ, happier thy mother's hearth-stone; other horns will there be sounded, other portals there swing open, other hinges there be creaking; there the doors thou canst not enter like the daughters of wainola, canst not tend the fires and ovens as will please the minds of strangers. "didst thou think, my fairest maiden, thou couldst wed and on the morrow couldst return, if thou shouldst wish it, to thy father's court and dwelling? not for one, nor two, nor three days, wilt thou leave thy mother's chambers, leave thy sisters and thy brothers, leave thy father's hills and lowlands. long the time the wife must wander, many months and years must wander, work, and struggle, all her life long, even though the mother liveth. great, indeed, must be the changes when thou comest back to pohya, changed, thy friends and nearest kindred, changed, thy father's ancient dwellings, changed, the valleys and the mountains, other birds will sing thy praises!" when the mother thus had spoken, then the daughter spake, departing: "in my early days of childhood often i intoned these measures: 'art a virgin, yet no virgin, guided by an aged mother, in a brother's fields and forests, in the mansion of a father! only wilt become a virgin, only when thou hast a suitor, only when thou wedst a hero, one foot on the father's threshold, and the other for the snow-sledge that will speed thee and thy husband to his native vales and highlands!' "i have wished thus many summers, sang it often in my childhood, hoped for this as for the flowers, welcome as the birds of spring-time. thus fulfilled are all my wishes, very near is my departure, one foot on my father's threshold, and the, other for the journey with my husband to his people; cannot understand the reason that has changed my former feelings, cannot leave thee now with gladness, cannot go with great rejoicing from my dear, old home and kindred, where as maiden i have lingered, from the courts where i was nurtured, from my father's band and guidance, from my faithful mother's counsel. now i go, a maid of sorrow, heavy-hearted to the bridegroom, like the bride of night in winter, like the ice upon the rivers. "such is not the mind of others, other brides of northland heroes; others do not leave unhappy, have no tears, nor cares, nor sorrows, i alas! must weep and murmur, carry to my grave great sadness, heart as dark as death's black river. "such the feelings of the happy, such the minds of merry maidens: like the early dawn of spring-time, like the rising sun in summer no such radiance awaits me, with my young heart filled with terror; happiness is not my portion, like the flat-shore of the ocean, like the dark rift of the storm-cloud, like the cheerless nights of winter! dreary is the day in autumn, dreary too the autumn evening, still more dreary is my future!" an industrious old maiden, ever guarding home and kindred, spake these words of doubtful comfort: "dost thou, beauteous bride, remember, canst thou not recall my counsels? these the words that i have taught thee: 'look not joyfully for suitors, never heed the tongues of wooers, look not in the eyes of charmers, at their feet let fall thy vision. he that hath a mouth for sweetness, he that hath an eye for beauty, offers little that will comfort; lempo sits upon his forehead, in his mouth dwells dire tuoni.' "thus, fair bride, did i advise thee, thus advised my sister's daughter: should there come the best of suitors, noblest wooers, proudest lovers, give to all these wisdom-sayings, let thine answer be as follows: 'never will i think it wisdom, never will it be my pleasure, to become a second daughter, linger with my husband's mother; never shall i leave my father, never wander forth to bondage, at the bidding of a bridegroom: never shall i be a servant, wife and slave to any hero, never will i be submissive to the orders of a husband.' "fairest bride, thou didst not heed me, gav'st no thought to my advices, didst not listen to my counsel; wittingly thy feet have wandered into boiling tar and water, hastened to thy suitor's snow-sledge, to the bear-dens of thy husband, on his sledge to be ill-treated, carried to his native country, to the bondage of his people, there, a subject to his mother. thou hast left thy mother's dwelling, to the schooling of the master; hard indeed the master's teachings, little else than constant torture; ready for thee are his bridles, ready for thy bands the shackles, were not forged for any other; soon, indeed, thou'lt feel the hardness, feel the weight of thy misfortune, feel thy second father's censure, and his wife's inhuman treatment, hear the cold words or thy brother, quail before thy haughty sister. "listen, bride, to what i tell thee: in thy home thou wert a jewel, wert thy father's pride and pleasure, 'moonlight,' did thy father call thee, and thy mother called thee 'sunshine,' 'sea-foam' did thy brother call thee, and thy sister called thee 'flower.' when thou leavest home and kindred goest to a second mother, often she will give thee censure, never treat thee as her daughter, rarely will she give thee counsel, never will she sound thy praises. 'brush-wood,' will the father call thee, 'sledge of rags,' thy husband's mother, 'flight of stairs,' thy stranger brother, 'scare-crow,' will the sister call thee, sister of thy blacksmith-husband; then wilt think of my good counsels, then wilt wish in tears and murmurs, that as steam thou hadst ascended, that as smoke thy soul had risen, that as sparks thy life had vanished. as a bird thou canst not wander from thy nest to circle homeward, canst not fall and die like leaflets, as the sparks thou canst not perish, like the smoke thou canst not vanish. "youthful bride, and darling sister, thou hast bartered all thy friendships, hast exchanged thy loving father, thou hast left thy faithful mother for the mother of thy husband; hast exchanged thy loving brother, hast renounced thy gentle sister, for the kindred of thy suitor; hast exchanged thy snow-white covers for the rocky couch of sorrow; hast exchanged these crystal waters for the waters of wainola; hast renounced these sandy sea-shores for the muddy banks of kalew; northland glens thou hast forsaken for thy husband's barren meadows; thou hast left thy berry-mountains for the stubble-fields and deserts. "thou, o maiden, hast been thinking thou wouldst happy be in wedlock; neither work, nor care, nor sorrow, from this night would be thy portion, with thy husband for protection. not to sleep art thou conducted, not to happiness, nor joyance, wakefulness, thy night-companion, and thy day-attendant, trouble; often thou wilt drink of sorrow, often long for vanished pleasures. "when at home thou hadst no head-gear, thou hadst also little sadness; when thy couch was not of linen, no unhappiness came nigh thee; head-gear brings but pain and sorrow, linen breeds bad dispositions, linen brings but deeps of anguish, and the flax untimely mourning. "happy in her home, the maiden, happy at her father's fireside, like the master in his mansion, happy with her bows and arrows. 'tis not thus with married women; brides of heroes may be likened to the prisoners of moskva, held in bondage by their masters. "as a wife, must weep and labor, carry trouble on both shoulders; when the next hour passes over, thou must tend the fire and oven, must prepare thy husband's dinner, must direct thy master's servants. when thine evening meal is ready, thou must search for bidden wisdom in the brain of perch and salmon, in the mouths of ocean whiting, gather wisdom from the cuckoo, canst not learn it from thy mother, mother dear of seven daughters; cannot find among her treasures where were born the human instincts, where were born the minds of heroes, whence arose the maiden's beauty, whence the beauty of her tresses, why all life revives in spring-time. "weep, o weep, my pretty young bride. when thou weepest, weep sincerely, weep great rivers from thine eyelids, floods of tears in field and fallow, lakelets in thy father's dwelling; weep thy rooms to overflowing, shed thy tears in great abundance, lest thou weepest on returning to thy native hills and valleys, when thou visitest thy father in the smoke of waning glory, on his arm a withered tassel. "weep, o weep, my lovely maiden, when thou weepest, weep in earnest, weep great rivers from thine eyelids; if thou dost not weep sincerely, thou wilt weep on thy returning to thy northland home and kindred, when thou visitest thy mother old and breathless near the hurdles, in her arms a barley-bundle. "weep, o weep, sweet bride of beauty, when thou weepest, weep profusely; if thou dost not weep in earnest, thou wilt weep on thy returning to thy native vales and highlands, when thou visitest thy brother lying wounded by the way-side, in his hand but empty honors. "weep, o weep, my sister's daughter, weep great rivers from thine eyelids; if thou dost not weep sufficient, thou wilt weep on thy returning to the scenes of happy childhood, when thou visitest thy sister lying, prostrate in the meadow, in her hand a birch-wood mallet." when the ancient maid had ended, then the young bride sighed in anguish, straightway fell to bitter weeping, spake these words in deeps of sorrow: "o, ye sisters, my beloved, ye companions of my childhood, playmates of my early summers, listen to your sister's counsel: cannot comprehend the reason, why my mind is so dejected, why this weariness and sadness, this untold and unseen torture, cannot understand the meaning of this mighty weight of sorrow! differently i had thought it, i had hoped for greater pleasures, i had hoped to sing as cuckoos, on the hill-tops call and echo, when i had attained this station, reached at last the goal expectant; but i am not like the cuckoo, singing, merry on the hill-tops; i am like the songless blue-duck, as she swims upon the waters, swims upon the cold, cold ocean, icicles upon her pinions. "ancient father, gray-haired mother, whither do ye wish to lead me, whither take this bride, thy daughter, that this sorrow may pass over, where this heavy heart may lighten, where this grief may turn to gladness? better it had been, o mother, hadst thou nursed a block of birch-wood, hadst thou clothed the colored sandstone, rather than this hapless maiden, for the fulness of these sorrows, for this keen and killing trouble. many sympathizers tell me: 'foolish bride, thou art ungrateful, do not grieve, thou child of sorrow, thou hast little cause for weeping.' "o, deceive me not, my people, do not argue with me falsely, for alas! i have more troubles than the waterfalls have pebbles, than the ingerland has willows, than the suomi-hills have berries; never could the pohya plow-horse pull this mighty weight of sorrow, shaking not his birchen cross-bar, breaking not his heavy collar; never could the northland reindeer heavy shod and stoutly harnessed, draw this load of care and trouble." by the stove a babe was playing, and the young child spake as follows: "why, o fair bride, art thou weeping, why these tears of pain and sadness? leave thy troubles to the elk-herds, and thy grief to sable fillies, let the steeds of iron bridles bear the burden of thine anguish, horses have much larger foreheads, larger shoulders, stronger sinews, and their necks are made for labor, stronger are their bones and muscles, let them bear thy heavy burdens. there is little good in weeping, useless are thy tears of sorrow; art not led to swamps and lowlands, nor to banks of little rivers; thou art led to fields of flowers, led to fruitful trees and forests, led away from beer of pohya to the sweeter mead of kalew. at thy shoulder waits thy husband, on thy right side, ilmarinen, constant friend and life-protector, he will guard thee from all evil; husband ready, steed in waiting, gold-and-silver-mounted harness, hazel-birds that sing and flutter on the courser's yoke and cross-bar; thrushes also sing and twitter merrily on hame and collar, seven bluebirds, seven cuckoos, sing thy wedding-march in concord. "be no longer full of sorrow, dry thy tears, thou bride of beauty, thou hast found a noble husband, better wilt thou fare than ever, by the side of ilmarinen, artist husband, metal-master, bread-provider of thy table, on the arm of the fish-catcher, on the breast of the elk-hunter, by the side of the bear-killer. thou hast won the best of suitors, hast obtained a mighty hero; never idle is his cross-bow, on the nails his quivers hang not, neither are his dogs in kennel, active agents is his bunting. thrice within the budding spring-time in the early hours of morning he arises from his fare-couch, from his slumber in the brush-wood, thrice within the sowing season, on his eyes the deer has fallen, and the branches brushed his vesture, and his locks been combed by fir-boughs. hasten homeward with thy husband, where thy hero's friends await thee, where his forests sing thy welcome. "ilmarinen there possesses all the birds that fly in mid-air, all the beasts that haunt the woodlands, all that feed upon the mountains, all that graze on hill and valley, sheep and cattle by the thousands; sweet the grass upon his meadows, sweet the barley in his uplands, in the lowlands corn abundant, wheat upon the elm-wood fallows, near the streamlets rye is waving, waving grain on many acres, on his mountains gold and silver, rich his mines of shining copper, highlands filled with magic metals, chests of jewels in his store-house, all the wealth of kalevala." rune xxiii. osmotar the bride-adviser now the bride must be instructed, who will teach the maid of beauty, who instruct the rainbow-daughter? osmotar, the wisdom-maiden, kalew's fair and lovely virgin, osmotar will give instructions to the bride of ilmarinen, to the orphaned bride of pohya, teach her how to live in pleasure, how to live and reign in glory, win her second mother's praises, joyful in her husband's dwelling. osmotar in modest accents thus the anxious bride addresses; "maid of beauty, lovely sister, tender plant of louhi's gardens, hear thou what thy sister teaches, listen to her sage instructions: go thou hence, my much beloved, wander far away, my flower, travel on enwrapped in colors, glide away in silks and ribbons, from this house renowned and ancient, from thy father's halls and court-yards haste thee to thy husband's village, hasten to his mother's household; strange, the rooms in other dwellings, strange, the modes in other hamlets. "full of thought must be thy going, and thy work be well considered, quite unlike thy home in northland, on the meadows of thy father, on the high-lands of thy brother, singing through thy mother's fenlands, culling daisies with thy sister. "when thou goest from thy father thou canst take whatever pleases, only three things leave behind thee: leave thy day-dreams to thy sister, leave thou kindness for thy mother, to thy brother leave thy labors, take all else that thou desirest. throw away thine incantations, cast thy sighing to the pine-trees, and thy maidenhood to zephyrs, thy rejoicings to the couches, cast thy trinkets to the children, and thy leisure to the gray-beards, cast all pleasures to thy playmates, let them take them to the woodlands, bury them beneath the mountain. "thou must hence acquire new habits, must forget thy former customs, mother-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's mother, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "thou must hence acquire new habits, must forget thy former customs, father-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's father, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "thou must hence acquire new habits, must forget thy former customs, brother-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's brother, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "thou must hence acquire new habits must forget thy former customs, sister-love must be forsaken, thou must love thy husband's sister, lower must thy head be bended, kind words only must thou utter. "never in the course of ages, never while the moonlight glimmers, wickedly approach thy household, nor unworthily, thy servants, nor thy courts with indiscretion; let thy dwellings sing good manners, and thy walls re-echo virtue. after mind the hero searches. and the best of men seek honor, seek for honesty and wisdom; if thy home should be immoral, if thine inmates fail in virtue, then thy gray-beards would be black-dogs in sheep's clothing at thy firesides; all thy women would be witches, wicked witches in thy chambers, and thy brothers be as serpents crawling through thy husband's mansion; all thy sisters would be famous for their evil thoughts and conduct. "equal honors must be given to thy husband's friends and kindred; lower must thy head be bended, than within thy mother's dwelling, than within thy father's guest-room, when thou didst thy kindred honor. ever strive to give good counsel, wear a countenance of sunshine, bear a head upon thy shoulders filled with wise and ancient sayings; open bright thine eyes at morning to behold the silver sunrise, sharpen well thine ears at evening, thus to hear the rooster crowing; when he makes his second calling, straightway thou must rise from slumber, let the aged sleep in quiet; should the rooster fail to call thee, let the moonbeams touch thine eyelids, let the great bear be thy keeper often go thou and consult them, call upon the moon for counsel, ask the bear for ancient wisdom, from the stars divine thy future; when the great bear faces southward, when his tail is pointing northward, this is time to break with slumber, seek for fire within the ashes, place a spark upon the tinder, blow the fire through all the fuel. if no spark is in the ashes, then go wake thy hero-husband, speak these words to him on waking: 'give me fire, o my beloved, give a single spark, my husband, strike a little fire from flintstone, let it fall upon my tinder.' "from the spark, o bride of beauty, light thy fires, and heat thine ovens, in the holder, place the torch-light, find thy pathway to the stables, there to fill the empty mangers; if thy husband's cows be lowing, if thy brother's steeds be neighing, then the cows await thy coming, and the steeds for thee are calling, hasten, stooping through the hurdles, hasten through the yards and stables, feed thy husband's cows with pleasure, feed with care the gentle lambkins, give the cows the best of clover, hay, and barley, to the horses, feed the calves of lowing mothers, feed the fowl that fly to meet thee. "never rest upon the haymow, never sleep within the hurdles, when the kine are fed and tended, when the flocks have all been watered; hasten thence, my pretty matron, like the snow-flakes to thy dwelling, there a crying babe awaits thee, weeping in his couch neglected, cannot speak and tell his troubles, speechless babe, and weeping infant, cannot say that he is hungry, whether pain or cold distresses, greets with joy his mother's footsteps. afterward repair in silence to thy husband's rooms and presence, early visit thou his chambers, in thy hand a golden pitcher, on thine arm a broom of birch-wood, in thy teeth a lighted taper, and thyself the fourth in order. sweep thou then thy hero's dwelling, dust his benches and his tables, wash the flooring well with water. "if the baby of thy sister play alone within his corner, show the little child attention, bathe his eyes and smoothe his ringlets, give the infant needed comforts; shouldst thou have no bread of barley, in his hand adjust some trinket. "lastly, when the week has ended, give thy house a thorough cleansing, benches, tables, walls, and ceilings; what of dust is on the windows, sweep away with broom of birch-twigs, all thy rooms must first be sprinkled, at the dust may not be scattered, may not fill the halls and chambers. sweep the dust from every crevice, leave thou not a single atom; also sweep the chimney-corners, do not then forget the rafters, lest thy home should seem untidy, lest thy dwelling seem neglected. "hear, o maiden, what i tell thee, learn the tenor of my teaching: never dress in scanty raiment, let thy robes be plain and comely, ever wear the whitest linen, on thy feet wear tidy fur-shoes, for the glory of thy husband, for the honor of thy hero. tend thou well the sacred sorb-tree, guard the mountain-ashes planted in the court-yard, widely branching; beautiful the mountain-ashes, beautiful their leaves and flowers, still more beautiful the berries. thus the exiled one demonstrates that she lives to please her husband, tries to make her hero happy. "like the mouse, have ears for hearing, like the hare, have feet for running, bend thy neck and turn thy visage like the juniper and aspen, thus to watch with care thy goings, thus to guard thy feet from stumbling, that thou mayest walk in safety. "when thy brother comes from plowing, and thy father from his garners, and thy husband from the woodlands, from his chopping, thy beloved, give to each a water-basin, give to each a linen-towel, speak to each some pleasant greeting. "when thy second mother hastens to thy husband's home and kindred, in her hand a corn-meal measure, haste thou to the court to meet her, happy-hearted, bow before her, take the measure from her fingers, happy, bear it to thy husband. "if thou shouldst not see distinctly what demands thy next attention, ask at once thy hero's mother: 'second mother, my beloved, name the task to be accomplished by thy willing second daughter, tell me how to best perform it.' "this should be the mother's answer: 'this the manner of thy workings, thus thy daily work accomplish: stamp with diligence and courage, grind with will and great endurance, set the millstones well in order, fill the barley-pans with water, knead with strength the dough for baking, place the fagots on the fire-place, that thy ovens may be heated, bake in love the honey-biscuit, bake the larger loaves of barley, rinse to cleanliness thy platters, polish well thy drinking-vessels. "if thou hearest from the mother, from the mother of thy husband, that the cask for meal is empty, take the barley from the garners, hasten to the rooms for grinding. when thou grindest in the chambers, do not sing in glee and joyance, turn the grinding-stones in silence, to the mill give up thy singing, let the side-holes furnish music; do not sigh as if unhappy, do not groan as if in trouble, lest the father think thee weary, lest thy husband's mother fancy that thy groans mean discontentment, that thy sighing means displeasure. quickly sift the flour thou grindest, take it to the casks in buckets, bake thy hero's bread with pleasure, knead the dough with care and patience, that thy biscuits may be worthy, that the dough be light and airy. "shouldst thou see a bucket empty, take the bucket on thy shoulder, on thine arm a silver-dipper, hasten off to fill with water from the crystal river flowing; gracefully thy bucket carry, bear it firmly by the handles, hasten houseward like the zephyrs, hasten like the air of autumn; do not tarry near the streamlet, at the waters do not linger, that the father may not fancy, nor the ancient dame imagine, that thou hast beheld thine image, hast admired thy form and features, hast admired thy grace and beauty in the mirror of the fountain, in the crystal streamlet's eddies. "shouldst thou journey to the woodlands, there to gather aspen-fagots, do not go with noise and bustle, gather all thy sticks in silence, gather quietly the birch-wood, that the father may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, that thy calling came from anger, and thy noise from discontentment. "if thou goest to the store-house to obtain the flour of barley, do not tarry on thy journey, on the threshold do not linger, that the father may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, that the meal thou hast divided with the women of the village. "if thou goest to the river, there to wash thy birchen platters, there to cleanse thy pans and buckets, lest thy work be done in neatness, rinse the sides, and rinse the handles, rinse thy pitchers to perfection, spoons, and forks, and knives, and goblets, rinse with care thy cooking-vessels, closely watch the food-utensils, that the dogs may not deface them, that the kittens may not mar them, that the eagles may not steal them, that the children may not break them; many children in the village, many little heads and fingers, that will need thy careful watching, lest they steal the things of value. "when thou goest to thy bathing, have the brushes ready lying in the bath-room clean and smokeless; do not, linger in the water, at thy bathing do not tarry, that the father may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, thou art sleeping on the benches, rolling in the laps of comfort. "from thy bath, when thou returnest, to his bathing tempt the father, speak to him the words that follow: 'father of my hero-husband, clean are all the bath-room benches, everything in perfect order; go and bathe for thine enjoyment, pour the water all-sufficient, i will lend thee needed service.' "when the time has come for spinning, when the hours arrive for weaving, do not ask the help of others, look not in the stream for knowledge, for advice ask not the servants, nor the spindle from the sisters, nor the weaving-comb from strangers. thou thyself must do the spinning, with thine own hand ply the shuttle, loosely wind the skeins of wool-yarn, tightly wind the balls of flax-thread, wind them deftly in the shuttle fit the warp upon the rollers, beat the woof and warp together, swiftly ply the weaver's shuttle, weave good cloth for all thy vestments, weave of woolen, webs for dresses from the finest wool of lambkins, one thread only in thy weaving. "hear thou what i now advise thee: brew thy beer from early barley, from the barley's new-grown kernels, brew it with the magic virtues, malt it with the sweets of honey, do not stir it with the birch-rod, stir it with thy skilful fingers; when thou goest to the garners, do not let the seed bring evil, keep the dogs outside the brew-house, have no fear of wolves in hunger, nor the wild-beasts of the mountains, when thou goest to thy brewing, shouldst thou wander forth at midnight. "should some stranger come to see thee, do not worry for his comfort; ever does the worthy household have provisions for the stranger, bits of meat, and bread, and biscuit, ample for the dinner-table; seat the stranger in thy dwelling, speak with him in friendly accents, entertain the guest with kindness, while his dinner is preparing. when the stranger leaves thy threshold, when his farewell has been spoken, lead him only to the portals, do not step without the doorway, that thy husband may not fancy, and the mother not imagine, thou hast interest in strangers. "shouldst thou ever make a journey to the centre of the village, there to gain some needed object, while thou speakest in the hamlet, let thy words be full of wisdom, that thou shamest not thy kindred, nor disgrace thy husband's household. "village-maidens oft will ask thee, mothers of the hamlet question: 'does thy husband's mother greet thee as in childhood thou wert greeted, in thy happy home in pohya?' do not answer in negation, say that she has always given thee the best of her provisions, given thee the kindest greetings, though it be but once a season. "listen well to what i tell thee: as thou goest from thy father to thy husband's distant dwelling, thou must not forget thy mother, her that gave thee life and beauty, her that nurtured thee in childhood, many sleepless nights she nursed thee; often were her wants neglected, numberless the times she rocked thee; tender, true, and ever faithful, is the mother to her daughter. she that can forget her mother, can neglect the one that nursed her, should not visit mana's castle, in the kingdom of tuoni; in manala she would suffer, suffer frightful retribution, should her mother be forgotten; should her dear one be neglected, mana's daughters will torment her, and tuoni's sons revile her, they will ask her much as follows: 'how couldst thou forget thy mother, how neglect the one that nursed thee? great the pain thy mother suffered, great the trouble that thou gavest when thy loving mother brought thee into life for good or evil, when she gave thee earth-existence, when she nursed thee but an infant, when she fed thee in thy childhood, when she taught thee what thou knowest, mana's punishments upon thee, since thy mother is forgotten!'" on the floor a witch was sitting, near the fire a beggar-woman, one that knew the ways of people, these the words the woman uttered: "thus the crow calls in the winter: 'would that i could be a singer, and my voice be full of sweetness, but, alas! my songs are worthless, cannot charm the weakest creature; i must live without the singing leave the songs to the musicians, those that live in golden houses, in the homes of the beloved; homeless therefore i must wander, like a beggar in the corn-fields, and with none to do me honor.' "hear now, sister, what i tell thee, enter thou thy husband's dwelling, follow not his mind, nor fancies, as my husband's mind i followed; as a flower was i when budding, sprouting like a rose in spring-time, growing like a slender maiden, like the honey-gem of glory, like the playmates of my childhood, like the goslings of my father, like the blue-ducks of my mother, like my brother's water-younglings, like the bullfinch of my sister; grew i like the heather-flower, like the berry of the meadow, played upon the sandy sea-shore, rocked upon the fragrant upland, sang all day adown the valley, thrilled with song the hill and mountain, filled with mirth the glen and forest, lived and frolicked in the woodlands. "into traps are foxes driven by the cruel pangs of hunger, into traps, the cunning ermine; thus are maidens wooed and wedded, in their hunger for a husband. thus created is the virgin, thus intended is the daughter, subject to her hero-husband, subject also to his mother. "then to other fields i hastened, like a berry from the border, like a cranberry for roasting, like a strawberry for dinner; all the elm-trees seemed to wound me, all the aspens tried to cut me, all the willows tried to seize me, all the forest tried to slay me. thus i journeyed to my husband, thus i travelled to his dwelling, was conducted to his mother. then there were, as was reported, six compartments built of pine-wood, twelve the number of the chambers, and the mansion filled with garrets, studding all the forest border, every by-way filled with flowers streamlets bordered fields of barley, filled with wheat and corn, the islands, grain in plenty in the garners, rye unthrashed in great abundance, countless sums of gold and silver, other treasures without number. when my journey i had ended, when my hand at last was given, six supports were in his cabin, seven poles as rails for fencing. filled with anger were the bushes, all the glens disfavor showing, all the walks were lined with trouble, evil-tempered were the forests, hundred words of evil import, hundred others of unkindness. did not let this bring me sorrow, long i sought to merit praises, long i hoped to find some favor, strove most earnestly for kindness; when they led me to the cottage, there i tried some chips to gather, knocked my head against the portals of my husband's lowly dwelling. "at the door were eyes of strangers, sable eyes at the partition, green with envy in his cabin, evil heroes in the back-ground, from each mouth the fire was streaming, from each tongue the sparks out-flying, flying from my second father, from his eyeballs of unkindness. did not let this bring me trouble, tried to live in peace and pleasure, in the homestead of my husband in humility i suffered, skipped about with feet of rabbit, flew along with steps of ermine, late i laid my head to slumber, early rose as if a servant, could not win a touch of kindness, could not merit love nor honor, though i had dislodged the mountains, though the rocks had i torn open. "then i turned the heavy millstone, ground the flour with care and trouble, ground the barley-grains in patience, that the mother might be nourished, that her fury-throat might swallow what might please her taste and fancy,. from her gold-enamelled platters, from the corner of her table. "as for me, the hapless daughter, all my flour was from the siftings on the table near the oven, ate i from the birchen ladle; oftentimes i brought the mosses gathered in the lowland meadows, baked them into loaves for eating; brought the water from the river, thirsty, sipped it from the dipper, ate of fish the worst in northland, only smelts, and worthless swimmers, rocking in my boat of birch-bark never ate i fish or biscuit from my second mother's fingers. "blades i gathered in the summers, twisted barley-stalks in winter, like the laborers of heroes, like the servants sold in bondage. in the thresh-house of my husband, evermore to me was given flail the heaviest and longest, and to me the longest lever, on the shore the strongest beater, and the largest rake in haying; no one thought my burden heavy, no one thought that i could suffer, though the best of heroes faltered, and the strongest women weakened. "thus did i, a youthful housewife, at the right time, all my duties, drenched myself in perspiration, hoped for better times to follow; but i only rose to labor, knowing neither rest nor pleasure. i was blamed by all the household, with ungrateful tongues derided, now about my awkward manners, now about my reputation, censuring my name and station. words unkind were heaped upon me, fell like hail on me unhappy, like the frightful flash of lightning, like the heavy hail of spring-time. i did not despair entirely, would have lived to labor longer underneath the tongue of malice, but the old-one spoiled lay temper, roused my deepest ire and hatred then my husband grew a wild-bear, grew a savage wolf of hisi. "only then i turned to weeping, and reflected in my chamber, thought of all my former pleasures of the happy days of childhood, of my father's joyful firesides, of my mother's peaceful cottage, then began i thus to murmur: 'well thou knowest, ancient mother, how to make thy sweet bud blossom, how to train thy tender shootlet; did not know where to ingraft it, placed, alas! the little scion in the very worst of places, on an unproductive hillock, in the hardest limb of cherry, where it could not grow and flourish, there to waste its life, in weeping, hapless in her lasting sorrow. worthier had been my conduct in the regions that are better, in the court-yards that are wider, in compartments that are larger, living with a loving husband, living with a stronger hero. shoe of birch-bark was my suitor, shoe of laplanders, my husband; had the body of a raven, voice and visage like the jackdaw, mouth and claws were from the black-wolf, the remainder from the wild-bear. had i known that mine affianced was a fount of pain and evil, to the hill-side i had wandered, been a pine-tree on the highway, been a linden on the border, like the black-earth made my visage, grown a beard of ugly bristles, head of loam and eyes of lightning, for my ears the knots of birches, for my limbs the trunks of aspens.' "this the manner of my singing in the hearing of my husband, thus i sang my cares and murmurs thus my hero near the portals heard the wail of my displeasure, then he hastened to my chamber; straightway knew i by his footsteps, well concluded be was angry, 'knew it by his steps implanted; all the winds were still in slumber, yet his sable locks stood endwise, fluttered round his bead in fury, while his horrid mouth stood open; to and fro his eyes were rolling, in one hand a branch of willow, in the other, club of alder; struck at me with might of malice, aimed the cudgel at my forehead. "when the evening had descended, when my husband thought of slumber took he in his hand a whip-stalk, with a whip-lash made of deer-skin, was not made for any other, only made for me unhappy. "when at last i begged for mercy, when i sought a place for resting, by his side i courted slumber, merciless, my husband seized me, struck me with his arm of envy, beat me with the whip of torture, deer-skin-lash and stalk of birch-wood. from his couch i leaped impulsive, in the coldest night of winter, but the husband fleetly followed, caught me at the outer portals, grasped me by my streaming tresses, tore my ringlets from my forehead, cast in curls upon the night-winds to the freezing winds of winter. what the aid that i could ask for, who could free me from my torment? made i shoes of magic metals, made the straps of steel and copper, waited long without the dwelling, long i listened at the portals, hoping he would end his ravings, hoping he would sink to slumber, but he did not seek for resting, did not wish to still his fury. finally the cold benumbed me; as an outcast from his cabin, i was forced to walk and wander, when i, freezing, well reflected, this the substance of my thinking: 'i will not endure this torture, will not bear this thing forever, will not bear this cruel treatment, such contempt i will not suffer in the wicked tribe of hisi, in this nest of evil piru.' "then i said, 'farewell forever!' to my husband's home and kindred, to my much-loved home and husband; started forth upon a journey to my father's distant hamlet, over swamps and over snow-fields, wandered over towering mountains, over hills and through the valleys, to my brother's welcome meadows, to my sister's home and birthplace. "there were rustling withered pine-trees. finely-feathered firs were fading, countless ravens there were cawing, all the jackdaws harshly singing, this the chorus of the ravens: 'thou hast here a home no longer, this is not the happy homestead of thy merry days of childhood.' "heeding not this woodland chorus, straight i journeyed to the dwelling of my childhood's friend and brother, where the portals spake in concord, and the hills and valleys answered, this their saddened song and echo: 'wherefore dost thou journey hither, comest thou for joy or sorrow, to thy father's old dominions? here unhappiness awaits thee, long departed is thy father, dead and gone to visit ukko, dead and gone thy faithful mother, and thy brother is a stranger, while his wife is chill and heartless!' "heeding not these many warnings, straightway to my brother's cottage were my weary feet directed, laid my hand upon the door-latch of my brother's dismal cottage, but the latch was cold and lifeless. when i wandered to the chamber, when i waited at the doorway, there i saw the heartless hostess, but she did not give me greeting, did not give her hand in welcome; proud, alas! was i unhappy, did not make the first advances, did not offer her my friendship, and my hand i did not proffer; laid my hand upon the oven, all its former warmth departed! on the coal i laid my fingers, all the latent heat had left it. on the rest-bench lay my brother, lay outstretched before the fire-place, heaps of soot upon his shoulders, heaps of ashes on his forehead. thus the brother asked the stranger, questioned thus his guest politely: 'tell me what thy name and station, whence thou comest o'er the waters!' this the answer that i gave him: hast thou then forgot thy sister, does my brother not remember, not recall his mother's daughter we are children of one mother, of one bird were we the fledgelings, in one nest were hatched and nurtured.' "then the brother fell to weeping, from his eyes great tear-drops flowing, to his wife the brother whispered, whispered thus unto the housewife. 'bring thou beer to give my sister, quench her thirst and cheer her spirits.' "full of envy, brought the sister only water filled with evil, water for the infant's eyelids, soap and water from the bath-room. "to his wife the brother whispered, whispered thus unto the housewife: 'bring thou salmon for my sister, for my sister so long absent, thus to still her pangs of hunger.' "thereupon the wife obeying, brought, in envy, only cabbage that the children had been eating, and the house-dogs had been licking, leavings of the black-dog's breakfast. "then i left my brother's dwelling, hastened to the ancient homestead, to my mother's home deserted; onward, onward did i wander, hastened onward by the cold-sea, dragged my body on in anguish, to the cottage-doors of strangers, to the unfamiliar portals, for the care of the neglected, for the needy of the village, for the children poor and orphaned. "there are many wicked people, many slanderers of women, many women evil-minded, that malign their sex through envy. many they with lips of evil, that belie the best of maidens, prove the innocent are guilty of the worst of misdemeanors, speak aloud in tones unceasing, speak, alas! with wicked motives, spread the follies of their neighbors through the tongues of self-pollution. very few, indeed, the people that will feed the poor and hungry, that will bid the stranger welcome; very few to treat her kindly, innocent, and lone, and needy, few to offer her a shelter from the chilling storms of winter, when her skirts with ice are stiffened, coats of ice her only raiment! "never in my days of childhood, never in my maiden life-time, never would believe the story though a hundred tongues had told though a thousand voices sang it, that such evil things could happen, that such misery could follow, such misfortune could befall one who has tried to do her duty, who has tried to live uprightly, tried to make her people happy." thus the young bride was instructed, beauteous maiden of the rainbow, thus by osmotar, the teacher. rune xxiv. the bride's farewell. osmotar, the bride-instructor, gives the wedding-guests this counsel, speaks these measures to the bridegroom: "ilmarinen, artist-brother, best of all my hero-brothers, of my mother's sons the dearest, gentlest, truest, bravest, grandest, listen well to what i tell thee of the maiden of the rainbow, of thy beauteous life-companion bridegroom, praise thy fate hereafter, praise forever thy good fortune; if thou praisest, praise sincerely, good the maiden thou hast wedded, good the bride that ukko gives thee, graciously has god bestowed her. sound her praises to thy father, praise her virtues to thy mother, let thy heart rejoice in secret, that thou hast the bride of beauty, lovely maiden of the rainbow! "brilliant near thee stands the maiden, at thy shoulder thy companion, happy under thy protection, beautiful as golden moonlight, beautiful upon thy bosom, strong to do thy kindly bidding, labor with thee as thou wishest, rake the hay upon thy meadows, keep thy home in full perfection, spin for thee the finest linen, weave for thee the richest fabrics, make for thee the softest raiment, make thy weaver's loom as merry as the cuckoo of the forest; make the shuttle glide in beauty like the ermine of the woodlands; make the spindle twirl as deftly as the squirrel spins the acorn; village-maidens will not slumber while thy young bride's loom is humming, while she plies the graceful shuttle. "bridegroom of the bride of beauty, noblest of the northland heroes, forge thyself a scythe for mowing, furnish it with oaken handle, carve it in thine ancient smithy, hammer it upon thine anvil, have it ready for the summer, for the merry days of sunshine; take thy bride then to the lowlands, mow the grass upon thy meadows, rake the hay when it is ready, make the reeds and grasses rustle, toss the fragrant heads of clover, make thy hay in kalevala when the silver sun is shining. "when the time has come for weaving, to the loom attract the weaver, give to her the spools and shuttles, let the willing loom be worthy, beautiful the frame and settle; give to her what may be needed, that the weaver's song may echo, that the lathe may swing and rattle, ma y be heard within the village, that the aged may remark it, and the village-maidens question: 'who is she that now is weaving, what new power now plies the shuttle?' "make this answer to the question: 'it is my beloved weaving, my young bride that plies the shuttle.' "shall the weaver's weft be loosened, shall the young bride's loom be tightened? do not let the weft be loosened, nor the weaver's loom be tightened; such the weaving of the daughters of the moon beyond the cloudlets; such the spinning of the maidens of the sun in high jumala, of the daughters of the great bear, of the daughters of the evening. bridegroom, thou beloved hero, brave descendant of thy fathers, when thou goest on a journey, when thou drivest on the highway, driving with the rainbow-daughter, fairest bride of sariola, do not lead her as a titmouse, as a cuckoo of the forest, into unfrequented places, into copses of the borders, into brier-fields and brambles, into unproductive marshes; let her wander not, nor stumble on opposing rocks and rubbish. never in her father's dwelling, never in her mother's court-yard, has she fallen into ditches, stumbled hard against the fences, run through brier-fields, nor brambles, fallen over rocks, nor rubbish. "magic bridegroom of wainola, wise descendant of the heroes, never let thy young wife suffer, never let her be neglected, never let her sit in darkness, never leave her unattended. never in her father's mansion, in the chambers of her mother, has she sat alone in darkness, has she suffered for attention; sat she by the crystal window, sat and rocked, in peace and plenty, evenings for her father's pleasure, mornings for her mother's sunshine. never mayest thou, o bridegroom, lead the maiden of the rainbow to the mortar filled with sea-grass, there to grind the bark for cooking, there to bake her bread from stubble, there to knead her dough from tan-bark never in her father's dwelling, never in her mother's mansion, was she taken to the mortar, there to bake her bread from sea-grass. thou shouldst lead the bride of beauty to the garner's rich abundance, there to draw the till of barley, grind the flour and knead for baking, there to brew the beer for drinking, wheaten flour for honey-biscuits. "hero-bridegroom of wainola, never cause thy bride of beauty to regret her day of marriage; never make her shed a tear-drop, never fill her cup with sorrow. should there ever come an evening when thy wife shall feel unhappy, put the harness on thy racer, hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sled; take her to her father's dwelling, to the household of her mother; never in thy hero-lifetime, never while the moonbeams glimmer, give thy fair spouse evil treatment, never treat her as thy servant; do not bar her from the cellar, do not lock thy best provisions never in her father's mansion, never by her faithful mother was she treated as a hireling. honored bridegroom of the northland, proud descendant of the fathers, if thou treatest well thy young wife, worthily wilt thou be treated; when thou goest to her homestead, when thou visitest her father, thou shalt meet a cordial welcome. "censure not the bride of beauty, never grieve thy rainbow-maiden, never say in tones reproachful, she was born in lowly station, that her father was unworthy; honored are thy bride's relations, from an old-time tribe, her kindred; when of corn they sowed a measure, each one's portion was a kernel; when they sowed a cask of flax-seed, each received a thread of linen. never, never, magic husband, treat thy beauty-bride unkindly, teach her not with lash of servants, strike her not with thongs of leather; never has she wept in anguish from the birch-whip of her mother. stand before her like a rampart, be to her a strong protection, do not let thy mother chide her, let thy father not upbraid her, never let thy guests offend her; should thy servants bring annoyance, they may need the master's censure; do not harm the bride of beauty, never injure her thou lovest; three long years hast thou been wooing, hoping every mouth to win her. "counsel with the bride of heaven, to thy young wife give instruction, kindly teach thy bride in secret, in the long and dreary evenings, when thou sittest at the fireside; teach one year, in words of kindness, teach with eyes of love a second, in the third year teach with firmness. if she should not heed thy teaching, should not hear thy kindly counsel after three long years of effort, cut a reed upon the lowlands, cut a nettle from the border, teach thy wife with harder measures. in the fourth year, if she heed not, threaten her with sterner treatment, with the stalks of rougher edges, use not yet the thongs of leather, do not touch her with the birch-whip. if she does not heed this warning, should she pay thee no attention, cut a rod upon the mountains, or a willow in the valleys, hide it underneath thy mantle, that the stranger may not see it, show it to thy wife in secret, shame her thus to do her duty, strike not yet, though disobeying. should she disregard this warning, still refuse to heed thy wishes, then instruct her with the willow, use the birch-rod from the mountains in the closet of thy dwelling, in the attic of thy mansion; strike, her not upon the common, do not conquer her in public, lest the villagers should see thee, lest the neighbors hear her weeping, and the forests learn thy troubles. touch thy wife upon the shoulders, let her stiffened back be softened. do not touch her on the forehead, nor upon the ears, nor visage; if a ridge be on her forehead, or a blue mark on her eyelids, then her mother would perceive it, and her father would take notice, all the village-workmen see it, and the village-women ask her 'hast thou been in heat of battle, hast thou struggled in a conflict, or perchance the wolves have torn thee, or the forest-bears embraced thee, or the black-wolf be thy husband, and the bear be thy protector?'" by the fire-place lay a gray-beard, on the hearth-stone lay a beggar, and the old man spake as follows: "never, never, hero-husband, follow thou thy young wife's wishes, follow not her inclinations, as, alas! i did, regretful; bought my bride the bread of barley, veal, and beer, and best of butter, fish and fowl of all descriptions, beer i bought, home-brewed and sparkling, wheat from all the distant nations, all the dainties of the northland; all of this was unavailing, gave my wife no satisfaction, often came she to my chamber, tore my sable locks in frenzy, with a visage fierce and frightful, with her eyeballs flashing anger, scolding on and scolding ever, ever speaking words of evil, using epithets the vilest, thought me but a block for chopping. then i sought for other measures, used on her my last resources, cut a birch-whip in the forest, and she spake in tones endearing; cut a juniper or willow, and she called me 'hero-darling'; when with lash my wife i threatened, hung she on my neck with kisses." thus the bridegroom was instructed, thus the last advices given. then the maiden of the rainbow, beauteous bride of ilmarinen, sighing heavily and moaning, fell to weeping, heavy-hearted, spake these words from depths of sorrow: "near, indeed, the separation, near, alas! the time for parting, near the time for my departure; o the anguish of the parting, o the pain of separation, from these walls renowned and ancient, from this village of the northland, from these scenes of peace and plenty, where my faithful mother taught me, where my father gave instruction to me in my happy childhood, when my years were few and tender! as a child i did not fancy, never thought of separation from the confines of this cottage, from these dear old hills and mountains, but, alas! i now must journey, since i now cannot escape it; empty is the bowl of parting, all the farewell-beer is taken, and my husband's sledge is waiting, with the break-board looking southward, looking from my father's dwelling. "how shall i give compensation, how repay, on my departure, all the kindness of my mother, all the counsel of my father, all the friendship of my brother, all my sister's warm affection? gratitude to thee, dear father, for my former-life and blessings, for the comforts of thy table, for the pleasures of my childhood! gratitude to thee, dear mother, for thy tender care and guidance, for my birth and for my culture, nurtured by thy purest life-blood! gratitude to thee, dear brother, gratitude to thee, sweet sister, to the servants of my childhood, to my many friends and playmates! "never, never, aged father, never, thou, beloved mother, never, ye, my kindred spirits, never harbor care, nor sorrow, never fall to bitter weeping, since thy child has gone to others, to the distant home of strangers, to the meadows of wainola, from her father's fields and firesides. shines the sun of the creator, shines the golden moon of ukko, glitter all the stars of heaven, in the firmament of ether, full as bright on other homesteads; not upon my father's uplands, not upon my home in childhood, shines the star of joyance only. "now the time has come for parting from my father's golden firesides, from my brother's welcome hearth-stone, from the chambers of my sister, from my mother's happy dwelling; now i leave the swamps and lowlands, leave the grassy vales and mountains, leave the crystal lakes and rivers, leave the shores and sandy shallows, leave the white-capped surging billows, where the maidens swim and linger, where the mermaids sing and frolic; leave the swamps to those that wander, leave the corn-fields to the plowman, leave the forests to the weary, leave the heather to the rover, leave the copses to the stranger, leave the alleys to the beggar, leave the court-yards to the rambler, leave the portals to the servant, leave the matting to the sweeper, leave the highways to the roebuck, leave the woodland-glens to lynxes, leave the lowlands to the wild-geese, and the birch-tree to the cuckoo. now i leave these friends of childhood, journey southward with my husband, to the arms of night and winter, o'er the ice-grown seas of northland. "should i once again, returning, pay a visit to my tribe-folk, mother would not hear me calling, father would not see me weeping, calling at my mother's grave-stone, 'weeping o'er my buried father, on their graves the fragrant flowers, junipers and mournful willows, verdure from my mother's tresses, from the gray-beard of my father. "should i visit sariola, visit once again these borders, no one here would bid me welcome. nothing in these hills would greet me, save perchance a few things only, by the fence a clump of osiers, and a land-mark at the corner, which in early youth i planted, when a child of little stature. "mother's kine perhaps will know me, which so often i have watered, which i oft have fed and tended, lowing now at my departure, in the pasture cold and cheerless; sure my mother's kine will welcome northland's daughter home returning. father's steeds may not forget me, steeds that i have often ridden, when a maiden free and happy, neighing now for me departing, in the pasture of my brother, in the stable of my father; sure my father's steeds will know me, bid pohyola's daughter welcome. brother's faithful dogs may know me, that i oft have fed and petted, dogs that i have taught to frolic, that now mourn for me departing, in their kennels in the court-yard, in their kennels cold and cheerless; sure my brother's dogs will welcome pohya's daughter home returning. but the people will not know me, when i come these scenes to visit, though the fords remain as ever, though unchanged remain the rivers, though untouched the flaxen fish-nets on the shores await my coming. "fare thou well, my dear old homestead, fare ye well, my native bowers; it would give me joy unceasing could i linger here forever. now farewell, ye halls and portals, leading to my father's mansion; it would give me joy unceasing could i linger here forever. fare ye well, familiar gardens filled with trees and fragrant flowers; it would give me joy unceasing, could i linger here forever. send to all my farewell greetings, to the fields, and groves, and berries; greet the meadows with their daisies, greet the borders with their fences, greet the lakelets with their islands, greet the streams with trout disporting, greet the hills with stately pine-trees, and the valleys with their birches. fare ye well, ye streams and lakelets, fertile fields, and shores of ocean, all ye aspens on the mountains, all ye lindens of the valleys, all ye beautiful stone-lindens, all ye shade-trees by the cottage, all ye junipers and willows, all ye shrubs with berries laden, waving grass and fields of barley, arms of elms, and oaks, and alders, fare ye well, dear scenes of childhood, happiness of days departed!" ending thus, pohyola's daughter left her native fields and fallows, left the darksome sariola, with her husband, ilmarinen, famous son of kalevala. but the youth remained for singing, this the chorus of the children: "hither came a bird of evil' flew in fleetness from the forest, came to steal away our virgin, came to win the maid of beauty; took away our fairest flower, took our mermaid from the waters, won her with his youth and beauty, with his keys of ancient wisdom. who will lead us to the sea-beach, who conduct us to the rivers? now the buckets will be idle, on the hooks will rest the fish-poles, now unswept will lie the matting, and unswept the halls of birch-wood, copper goblets be unburnished, dark the handles of the pitchers, fare thou well, dear rainbow maiden." ilmarinen, happy bridegroom, hastened homeward with the daughter of the hostess of pohyola, with the beauty of the northland fleetly flew the hero's snow-sledge, loudly creaked, and roared, and rattled down the banks of northland waters, by the side of honey-inlet, on the back of sandy mountain. stones went rolling from the highway, like the winds the sledge flew onward, on the yoke rang hoops of iron, loud the spotted wood resounded, loudly creaked the bands of willow, all the birchen cross-bars trembled, and the copper-bells rang music, in the racing of the fleet-foot, in the courser's gallop homeward; journeyed one day, then a second, journeyed still the third day onward, in one hand the reins of magic, while the other grasped the maiden, one foot resting on the cross-bar, and the other in the fur-robes. merrily the steed flew homeward, quickly did the highways shorten, till at last upon the third day, as the sun was fast declining, there appeared the blacksmith's furnace, nearer, ilmarinen's dwelling, smoke arising high in ether, clouds of smoke to lofty heaven, from the village of wainola, from the suitor's forge and smithy, from the chimneys of the hero, from the home of the successful. glossary. aar'ni (ar'ni). the guardian of hidden treasures. a-ha'va. the west-wind; the father of the swift dogs. ah'ti. the same as lemminkainen. ah'to. the great god of the waters. ah'to-la. the water-castle of ahto and his people. ah'to-lai'set. the inhabitants of ahtola. ai-nik'ki. a sister of ahti. ai'no (i'no). youkahainen's sister. an'te-ro. a goddess of the waves. ai'ue-lake. the lake into which the fire-child falls. an-nik'ki. ilmarinen's sister. an'te-ro. another name for wipanen, or antero wipunen. dus'ter-land. the northland; pimentola. et'e-le'tar. a daugter of the south-wind. fire-child. a synonym of panu. frost. the english for pakkanen. hal'lap-yo'ra. a lake in finland. hal'ti-a (plural haltiat). the genius of finnish mythology. het'e-wa'ne. the finnish name of the pleiades. hi'si (original hiisi). the evil principle; also called jutas, lempo, and piru. mon'ja-tar. the daughter of the pine-tree. hor'na. a sacred rock in finland. i'ku-tur'so. an evil giant of the sea. il'ma-ri'nem. the worker of the metals; a brother of wainamoinen. il'ma-tar. daughter of the air, and mother of wainamoinen. il'po-tar. believed to be the daughter of the snow flake; the same as louhi. im-a'tra. a celebrated waterfall near wiborg. in'ger-land. the present st. petersburg. ja'men (ya'men). a river of finland. jor'dan. curiously, the river of palestine. jou'ka-hai'nen (you-ka-hai'nen). a celebrated minstrel of pohyola. jou-ko'la (you-ko'la). the home or dwelling of youkahainen. ju-ma'la (you-ma'la). originally the heavens, then the god of the heavens, and finally god. ju'tas (yu'tas). the evil principle; hisi, piru, and lempo are synonyms, kai'to-lai'nen. a son of the god of metals; from his spear came the tongue of the serpent. ka-ler'vo. the father of kullervo. ka-le'va (kalewai'nen). the father of heroes; a hero in general. kal'e-va'la (kaleva, hero, and la, the place of). the land of heroes; the name of the epic poem of finland. kal'e-va'tar (kalewa'tar). daughter of kaleva. kal-e'vo. the same as kaleva. ka'lew. often used for kaleva. kal'ma. the god of death. kam'mo. the father of kimmo. kan'ka-hat'ta-ret. the goddesses of weaving. ka'pe. a synonym of ilmatar, the mother of wainamoinen. ka'po. a synonym of osmotar. ka-re'len. a province of finland. kar-ja'la, (karya'la). the seat of the waterfall, kaatrakoski. kat'e-ja'tar (kataya'tar). the daughter of the pine-tree. kat'ra-kos'ki (kaatrakos'ki). a waterfall in karjala. kau'ko. the same as kaukomieli. kau'ko-miel'li. the same as lemminkainen. kaup'pi. the snowshoe-builder; lylikki. ke'mi. a river of finland. kim'mo. a name for the cow; the daughter of kammo, the patron of the rocks. ki'pu-ki'vi. the name of the rock at hell-river, beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. kir'kon-woe'ki. church dwarfs living under altars. knik'ka-no. same as knippana. knip'pa-no. same as tapio. koot'a-moi'nen. the moon. kos'ken-nei'ti. the goddess of the cataract. kul-ler'vo. the vicious son of kalervo. kul'ler-woi'nen. the same as kullervo. kul'li. a beautiful daughter of sahri. kun. the moon, and the moon-god. kun'tar. one of the daughters of the moon. ku'ra (kuura). the hoar-frost; also called tiera, a ball of ice. kul-lik'ki (also kyl'li). the sahri-maiden whom lemminkainen kidnapped. lak'ka. mother of ilmarinen. lak-ko. the hostess of kalevala. lem'min-kai'nen. one of the brothers of wainamoinen; a son of lempi. lem'pi-bay. a bay of finland. lem'po. the evil principle; same as hisi, piru, and jutas. lin'nun-ra'ta (bird-way). the milky-way. lou'hi. the hostess of pohyola. low-ya'tar. tuoni's blind daughter, and the originator of the plagues. lu'on-no'tar. one of the mystic maidens, and the nurse of wainamoinen. lu'o-to'la. a bay of finland, named with joukola. ly-lik'ki (lyylik'ki). maker of the snow-shoe. maan-e'mo (man-e'mo). the mother of the earth. ma'hi-set (maa'hi-set). the invisibly small deities of finnish mythology. mam'me-lai'nen. the goddess of hidden treasures. ma'na. a synonym of tuoni, the god of death. man'a-lai'nen. the same as mana. masr'i-at'ta (marja, berry). the virgin mary of finnish mythology. mat'ka-tep'po. the road-god. meh'i-lai'nen. the honey-bee. mel'a-tar. the goddess of the helm. met'so-la. the same as tapiola, the abode of the god of the forest, mie-lik'ki. the hostess of the forest. mi-merk'ki. a synonym of mielikki. mosk'va. a province of suomi. mu-rik'ki (muurik'ki). the name of the cow. ne'wa. a river of finland. ny-rik'ki. a son of tapio. os'mo. the same as osmoinen. os-noi'nen. a synonym of wainola's hero. os'mo-tar. the daughter of osmo; she directs the brewing of the beer for ilmarinen's wedding-feast. o-ta'va. the great bear of the heavens. ot'so. the bear of finland. poe'ivoe. the sun, and the sun god. pai'va-tar. the goddess of the summer. pak'ka-nen. a synonym of kura. pal-woi'nen. a synonym of turi, and also of wirokannas. pa'nu. the fire-child, born from the sword of ukko. pa'ra. a tripod-deity, presiding over milk and cheese. pel'ler-woi'nen. the sower of the forests. pen'i-tar. a blind witch of pohyola; and the mother of the dog. pik'ku mies. the water-pigmy that felled the over-spreading oak-tree for wainamoinen. pil'a-ya'tar (pilaja'tar). the daughter of the aspen; and the goddess of the mountain-ash. pilt'ti. the maid-servant of mariatta. pi'men-to'la. a province of finland; another name for pohyola. pi'ru. the same as lempo, jutas, and hisi. pi'sa. a mountain of finland. poh'ya (poh'ja). an abbreviated form for pohyola. poh-yo'la (poh-jo'la). the northland; lapland. pok-ka'nen. the frost, the son of puhuri; a synonym of tiera. puh-hu'ri. the north-wind; the father of pokkanen. rem'men. the father of the hop-vine. re'mu. the same as remmen. ru-o'tus. a persecutor of the virgin mariatta. rut'ya (rut'ja). a waterfall of northland. sah'ri (saari). the home of kyllikki. sam'po. the jewel that ilmarinen forges from the magic metals; a talisman of success to the possessor; a continual source of strife between the tribes of the north. samp'sa. a synonym of pellerwoinen. sa'ra. the same as sariola. sar'i-o'la. the same as pohyola. sat'ka. a goddess of the sea. sa'wa (sa'wo). the eastern part of finland. sim'a pil'li (honey-flute). the flute of sima-suu. sim'a-suu. one of the maidens of tapio. sin'e-tar. the goddess of the blue sky. si-net'ta-ret. the goddesses of dyeing. suk'ka-mie'li. the goddess of love. suo'mi (swo'mi). the ancient abode of the finns. suo'ne-tar (swone-tar). the goddess of the veins. suo-wak'ko. an old wizard of pohyola. suo'ya-tar (syo'jatar). the mother of the serpent. su've-tar (suve, summer). goddess of the south-wind su-wan'to-lai'nen. another name for wainamoinen. taeh'ti. the polar star. ta-he'tar. the daughter of the stars. tai'vas. the firmament in general. ta-ni'ka. a magic mansion of pohja. ta'pi-o. the god of the forest. tel-le'rvo. a daughter of tapio. ter'he-ne'tar. daughter of the fog. tie'ra. same as kura; the hoar-frost. tont'tu. a little house-spirit. tu'a-me'tar. daughter of the alder-tree. tu-le'tar (tuule'tar). a goddess of the winds. tu-lik'ki (tuullk'ki). one of the daughters of tapio. tu'o-ne'la. the abode of tuoni. tuo'nen poi'ka. the son of tuoni. tu'o-ne'tar. the hostess of death-land; a daughter of tuoni. tu-o'ni. the god of death. tu'ri (tuuri). the god of the honey-land. turja (tur'ya). another name for pohya. tur'ya-lan'der. an epithet for one of the tribe of louhi. tur'ya (tyrja). a name for the waterfall of rutya. uk'ko. the great spirit of finnish mythology; his abode is in jumala. uk'on-koi'va (ukko's dog). the messenger of ukko; the butterfly. u'lap-pa'la. another term for the abode of tuoni. un'du-tar. goddess of the fog. u'ni. the god of sleep. un'ta-ma'la. a synonym for "the dismal sariola." un-ta'mo. the god of dreams; the dreamer; a brother of kalervo, and his enemy. un'tar. the same as undutar. un'to. the same as untamo. utu-tyt'to. the same as undutar. wai'nam-oi'nen (vainamoinen). the chief hero of the kalevala; the hero of wainola, whose mother, ilmatar, fell from the air into the ocean. wai'no (vai'no). the same as wainamoinen. wai-no'la. the home of wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of kalevala. wel-la'mo. the hostess of the waters. wet'e-hi'nen. an evil god of the sea. wi-pu'nen (vipu'nen). an old song-giant that swallowed wainamoinen searching for the "lost words." wi'ro-kan'nas (virokan'nas). ruler of the wilderness; the slayer of the huge bull of suomi; the priest that baptizes the son of mariatta. wo'ya-lan'der (vuojalan'der). an epithet for laplander. wuok'sen (vuo'ksen). a river in the east of finland. wuok'si. the same as wuoksen. the end. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) st. peter's umbrella [illustration: "joined hands under the sacred umbrella"] st. peter's umbrella a novel by kÁlmÁn mikszÁth translated from the hungarian by b. w. worswick, with introduction by r. nisbet bain [illustration] illustrated harper & brothers, publishers new york and london, mdcccci copyright, , by jarrold & sons. all rights reserved. contents introduction, vii part i.--the legend. i. little veronica is taken away, ii. glogova as it used to be, iii. the new priest at glogova, iv. the umbrella and st. peter, part ii.--the gregorics family. i. the tactless member of the family, ii. dubious signs, iii. pÁl gregorics's death and will, iv. the avaricious gregorics, part iii.--traces. i. the umbrella again, ii. our rosÁlia, iii. the traces lead to glogova, iv. the earring, part iv.--intellectual society in bÁbaszÉk. i. the supper at the mravucsÁns, ii. night brings counsel, part v.--the third devil. i. maria czobor's rose, the precipice, and the old pear-tree, ii. three sparks, iii. little veronica is taken away, illustrations "joined hands under the sacred umbrella" frontispiece "the child was in the basket" facing p. introduction kálmán mikszáth, perhaps the most purely national, certainly, after jókai, the most popular of all the magyar novelists, was born at szklabonya, in the county of nográd, on january th, . educated at rimaszombáth and pest, he adopted the legal profession, and settled down as a magistrate in his native county, where his family had for generations lived the placid, patriarchal life of small country squires. a shrewd observer, with a strong satirical bent and an ardent love of letters, the young advocate made his _début_ as an author, at the age of twenty-five, with a volume of short stories, which failed, however, to catch the public taste. shortly afterward he flitted to szeged, and contributed to the leading periodical there a series of sketches, whose piquant humor and perfection of style attracted so much notice as to encourage a bookseller in the famous city on the theiss to publish, in , another volume of tales, the epoch-making "tót atyafiak," which was followed, four months later, by a supplementary volume, entitled "a jó palóczok." critics of every school instantly hailed these two little volumes as the finished masterpieces of a new and entirely original _genre_, the like of which had hitherto been unknown in hungary. the short story had, indeed, been previously cultivated, with more or less of success, by earlier magyar writers; but these first attempts had, for the most part, been imitations of foreign novelists, mere exotics which struck no deep root in the national literature. mikszáth was the first to study from the life the peculiarities and characteristics of the peasantry among whom he dwelt, the first to produce real, vivid pictures of magyar folk-life in a series of humoresks, dramas, idylls--call them what you will--of unsurpassable grace and delicacy, seasoned with a pleasantly pungent humor, but never without a sub-flavor of that tender melancholy which lies at the heart of the hungarian peasantry. and these exquisite miniatures were set in the frame of a lucid, pregnant, virile style, not unworthy of maupassant or kjelland. henceforth mikszáth was sure of an audience. in he removed to pest, and in the following year a fresh series of sketches, "a tisztelt házból," appeared in the columns of the leading hungarian newspaper, the "pesti hirlap," which established his reputation once for all. during the last twelve years mikszáth has published at least a dozen volumes, and, so far, his productivity shows no sign of exhaustion. the chief literary societies of his native land, including the hungarian academy, have all opened their doors to him, and since he has been twice, unanimously, elected a member of the hungarian parliament, in the latter case, oddly enough, representing a constituency vacated by his illustrious compeer and fellow-humorist, maurus jókai. fortunately for literature, he has shown no very remarkable aptitude for politics. when i add that in mikszáth married miss ilona mauks, and has two children living, who have frequently figured in his tales, i have said all that need be said of the life-story of this charming and interesting author. as already implied, the _forte_ of mikszáth is the _conte_, and as a _conteur_ he has few equals in modern literature. "a jó palóczok," in particular, has won a world-wide celebrity, and been translated into nearly every european language except english, the greater part of the swedish version being by the accomplished and versatile pen of king oscar. but mikszáth has also essayed the romance with eminent success, and it is one of his best romances that is now presented to the reader. "szent péter esernyöje," to give it its magyar title, is a quaintly delightful narrative in a romantic environment of out-of-the-world slovak villages, with a ragged red umbrella and a brand-new brass caldron as the good and evil geniuses of the piece respectively. the umbrella, which is worth a king's ransom, is sold for a couple of florins to the "white jew" of the district, becomes the tutelary deity--or shall i say the fetish?--of half a dozen parishes, and is only recovered, after the lapse of years, by its lawful owner, when, by a singular irony of fate, it has become absolutely valueless--from a pecuniary point of view. the caldron, on the other hand, which is erroneously supposed to contain countless treasures, and is the outcome of a grimly practical joke, proves a regular box of pandora, and originates a famous lawsuit which lasts ten years and ruins three families--who deserve no better fate. how the umbrella and the caldron first come into the story the reader must be left to find out for himself. suffice it to say that grouped around them are very many pleasant and--by way of piquant contrast--a sprinkling of unpleasant personages, whose adventures and vicissitudes will, i am convinced, supply excellent entertainment to all lovers of fine literature and genuine humor. r. nisbet bain. the legend part i chapter i. little veronica is taken away. the schoolmaster's widow at the haláp was dead. when a schoolmaster dies there is not much of a funeral, but when his widow follows him, there is still less fuss made. and this one had left nothing but a goat, a goose she had been fattening, and a tiny girl of two years. the goose ought to have been fattened at least a week longer, but the poor woman had not been able to hold out so long. as far as the goose was concerned she had died too soon, for the child it was too late. in fact, she ought never to have been born. it would have been better had the woman died when her husband did. (dear me, what a splendid voice that man had to be sure!) the child was born some months after its father's death. the mother was a good, honest woman, but after all it did not seem quite right, for they already had a son, a priest, a very good son on the whole, only it was a pity he could not help his mother a bit; but he was very poor himself, and lived a long way off in wallachia, as chaplain to an old priest. but it was said that two weeks ago he had been presented with a living in a small village called glogova, somewhere in the mountains between selmeczbánya and besztercebánya. there was a man in haláp, jános kapiczány, who had passed there once when he was driving some oxen to a fair, and he said it was a miserable little place. and now the schoolmaster's widow must needs go and die, just when her son might have been able to help her a little. but no amount of talking would bring her back again, and i must say, for the honor of the inhabitants of haláp, that they gave the poor soul a very decent funeral. there was not quite enough money collected to defray the expenses, so they had to sell the goat to make up the sum; but the goose was left, though there was nothing for it to feed on, so it gradually got thinner and thinner, till it was its original size again; and instead of waddling about in the awkward, ungainly way it had done on account of its enormous size, it began to move in a more stately manner; in fact, its life had been saved by the loss of another. god in his wisdom by taking one life often saves another, for, believe me, senseless beings are entered in his book as well as sensible ones, and he takes as much care of them as of kings and princes. the wisdom of god is great, but that of the judge of haláp was not trifling either. he ordered that after the funeral the little girl (veronica was her name) was to spend one day at every house in the village in turns, and was to be looked after as one of the family. "and how long is that to last?" asked one of the villagers. "until i deign to give orders to the contrary," answered the judge shortly. and so things went on for ten days, until máté billeghi decided to take his wheat to besztercebánya to sell, for he had heard that the jews down that way were not yet so sharp as in the neighborhood of haláp. this was a good chance for the judge. "well," he said, "if you take your wheat there, you may as well take the child to her brother. glogova must be somewhere that way." "not a bit of it," was the answer, "it is in a totally different direction." "it _must_ be down that way if i wish it," thundered out the judge. billeghi tried to get out of it, saying it was awkward for him, and out of his way. but it was of no use, when the judge ordered a thing, it had to be done. so one wednesday they put the sacks of wheat into billeghi's cart, and on the top of them a basket containing veronica and the goose, for the latter was, of course, part of the priest's inheritance. the good folks of the village had made shortbread and biscuits for the little orphan to take with her on her journey out into the great world, and they also filled a basket with pears and plums; and as the cart drove off, many of them shed tears for the poor little waif, who had no idea where they were taking her to, but only saw that when the horses began to move, she still kept her place in the basket, and only the houses and trees seemed to move. chapter ii. glogova as it used to be. not only the worthy kapiczány had seen glogova, the writer of these pages has also been there. it is a miserable little place in a narrow valley between bare mountains. there is not a decent road for miles around, much less a railway. nowadays they say there is some sort of an old-fashioned engine, with a carriage or two attached, which plies between besztercebánya and selmeczbánya, but even that does not pass near to glogova. it will take at least five hundred years to bring it up to that pitch of civilization other villages have reached. the soil is poor, a sort of clay, and very little will grow there except oats and potatoes, and even these have to be coaxed from the ground. a soil like that cannot be spoken of as "mother earth," it is more like "mother-in-law earth." it is full of pebbles, and has broad cracks here and there, on the borders of which a kind of whitish weed grows, called by the peasants "orphans' hair." is the soil too old? why, it cannot be older than any other soil, but its strength has been used up more rapidly. down below in the plain they have been growing nothing but grass for about a thousand years, but up here enormous oak-trees used to grow; so it is no wonder that the soil has lost its strength. poverty and misery are to be found here, and yet a certain feeling of romance takes possession of one at the sight of it. the ugly peasant huts seem only to heighten the beauty of the enormous rocks which rise above us. it would be a sin to build castles there, which, with their ugly modern towers, would hide those wild-looking rocks. the perfume of the elder and juniper fills the air, but there are no other flowers, except here and there in one of the tiny gardens, a mallow, which a barefooted, fair-haired slovak girl tends, and waters from a broken jug. i see the little village before me, as it was in , when i was there last; i see its small houses, the tiny gardens sown partly with clover, partly with maize, with here and there a plum-tree, its branches supported by props. for the fruit-trees at least did their duty, as though they had decided to make up to the poor slovaks for the poverty of their harvest. when i was there the priest had just died, and we had to take an inventory of his possessions. there was nothing worth speaking of, a few bits of furniture, old and well worn, and a few shabby cassocks. but the villagers were sorry to lose the old priest. "he was a good man," they said, "but he had no idea of economy, though, after all, he had not very much to economize with." "why don't you pay your priest better?" we asked. and a big burly peasant answered: "the priest is not our servant, but the servant of god, and every master must pay his own servant." after making the inventory, and while the coachman was harnessing the horses, we walked across the road to have a look at the school, for my companion was very fond of posing as a patron of learning. the schoolhouse was small and low, with a simple, thatched roof. only the church had a wooden roof, but even the house of god was very simply built, and there was no tower to it, only a small belfry at one side. the schoolmaster was waiting for us. if i remember rightly his name was györgy majzik. he was a strong, robust-looking man, with an interesting, intelligent face, and a plain, straightforward way of speaking which immediately awoke a feeling of friendship in one. he took us in to see the children; the girls sat on one side, the boys on the other, all as tidy and clean as possible. they rose on our entrance, and in a singing voice said: "vitajtye panyi, vitajtye!" (good-morning, honored sirs!) my companion put a few questions to the rosy, round-faced children, who stared at us with their large brown eyes. they all had brown eyes. the questions were, of course, not difficult, but they caused the children an amount of serious thinking. however, my friend was indulgent, and he only patted the schoolmaster on the back and said: "i am quite contented with their answers, my friend." the schoolmaster bowed, then, with his head held high, he accompanied us out to the road. chapter iii. the new priest at glogova. the new priest had arrived in the only cart the villagers had at their disposal. two cows were harnessed to it, and on the way the sacristan stopped to milk them, and then offered some of the milk to the young priest. "it's very good milk," he said, "especially bimbo's." his reverence's luggage was not bulky; it consisted of a plain wooden box, a bundle of bed-clothes, two walking-sticks, and some pipes tied together with string. as they passed through the various villages the sacristan was often chaffed by the inhabitants. "well," they called out to him, "couldn't you find a better conveyance than that for your new priest?" whereupon the sacristan tried to justify his fellow-villagers by saying with a contemptuous look at the luggage in the cart: "it's good enough, i'm sure. why, a calf a month old could draw those things." but if he had not brought much with him in the way of worldly goods, jános bélyi did not find much either in his new parish, which appeared to be going to wreck and ruin. the relations of the dead priest had taken away every stick they could lay hands on, and had only left a dog, his favorite. it was a dog such as one sees every day, as far as his shape and coat were concerned, but he was now in a very unpleasant position. after midday he began to wander from house to house in the village, slinking into the kitchens; for his master had been in the habit of dining every day with one or other of his parishioners, and always took his dog with him. the dog's name was vistula, but his master need not have gone so far to find the name of a river, when the bjela voda flowed right through the meadows outside the village. (the hungarian peasants generally give their dogs the name of a river, thinking it prevents hydrophobia.) the dog had already begun to feel that he and the priest together had been better received than he alone, though, until now, he had always imagined, with his canine philosophy, that his master had in reality been eating more than his share of the food. but now he saw the difference, for he was driven away from the houses where he had once been an honored guest. so altogether he was in a very miserable, lean condition when the new priest arrived. the sacristan had shown him his new home, with its four bare walls, its garden overgrown with weeds, its empty stable and fowl-house. the poor young man smiled. "and is that all mine?" he asked. "all of it, everything you see here," was the answer, "and this dog too." "whose dog is it?" "it belonged to the poor dead priest, god rest his soul. we wanted to kill the poor beast, but no one dares to, for they say that the spirit of his old master would come back and haunt us." the dog was looking at the young priest in a melancholy, almost tearful way; perhaps the sight of the cassock awoke sad memories in him. "i will keep him," said the priest, and stooping down he patted the dog's lean back. "at all events there will be some living thing near me." "that will be quite right," said the sacristan. "one must make a beginning, though one generally gets something worth watching first, and then looks out for a watch-dog. but it doesn't matter if it is the other way about." jános bélyi smiled (he had a very winning smile, like a girl's), for he saw that old vistula would not have much to do, in fact would be quite like a private gentleman in comparison to his companions. all this time people had been arriving in the yard to have a look at the new priest; the women kept at a distance, and said: "dear me! so young and already in holy orders!" the men went up and shook hands with him, saying, "god bless you! may you be happy with us!" an old woman called out, "may you be with us till your death!" the older women admired his looks, and remarked how proud his mother must be of him. in fact the new priest seemed to have taken every one's fancy, and he spoke a few words with them all, and then said he was tired, and went across to the schoolmaster's, for he was to live there for a time till he could get his own place a bit straight, and until he saw some signs of an income. only a few of the more important villagers accompanied him to talk over the state of affairs: péter szlávik, the sacristan; mihály gongoly, the nabob of glogova; and the miller, györgy klincsok. he began to question them, and took out his note-book, in order to make notes as to what his income was likely to be. "how many inhabitants are there in the village?" "rather less than five hundred." "and how much do they pay the priest?" they began to reckon out how much wood they had to give, how much corn, and how much wine. the young priest looked more and more serious as they went on. "that is very little," he said sadly. "and what are the fees?" "oh, they are large enough," answered klincsok; "at a funeral it depends on the dead person, at a wedding it depends on the people to be married; but they are pretty generous on that occasion as a rule; and at a christening one florin is paid. i'm sure that's enough, isn't it?" "and how many weddings are there in a year?" "oh, that depends on the potato harvest. plenty of potatoes, plenty of weddings. the harvest decides it; but as a rule there are at least four or five." "that is not many. and how many deaths occur?" "that depends on the quality of the potato harvest. if the potatoes are bad, there are many deaths, if they are good, there are less deaths, for we are not such fools as to die then. of course now and then a falling tree in the woods strikes one or the other dead; or an accident happens to a cart, and the driver is killed. you may reckon a year with eight deaths a good one as far as you are concerned." "but they don't all belong to the priest," said the nabob of glogova, smoothing back his hair. "why, how is that?" asked the priest. "many of the inhabitants of glogova are never buried in the cemetery at all. the wolves eat them without ever announcing it in the parish." "and some die in other parts of the country," went on györgy klincsok, "so that only very few of them are buried here." "it is a bad lookout," said the priest. "but the parish fields, what about them?" now they all wanted to speak at once, but klincsok pulled the sacristan aside, and stood up in front of the priest. "fields?" he said. "why you can have as much ground as you like. if you want one hundred acres ..." "one hundred acres!" shouted szlávik, "five hundred if you like; we shall not refuse our priest any amount of ground he likes to ask for." the priest's countenance began to clear, but honest szlávik did not long leave him in doubt. "the fact is," he began, "the boundaries of the pasture-lands of glogova are not well defined to this day. there are no proper title-deeds; there was some arrangement made with regard to them, but in there was a great fire here, and all our documents were burnt. so every one takes as much of the land as he and his family can till. each man ploughs his own field, and when it is about used up he looks out a fresh bit of land. so half the ground is always unused, of course the worst part, into which it is not worth while putting any work." "i see," sighed the priest, "and that half belongs to the church." it was not a very grand lookout, but by degrees he got used to the idea of it, and if unpleasant thoughts would come cropping up, he dispersed them by a prayer. when praying, he was on his own ground, a field which always brought forth fruit; he could reap there at any minute all he was in need of--patience, hope, comfort, content. he set to work to get his house in order, so that he could at least be alone. luckily he had found in the next village an old school friend, tamás urszinyi, a big, broad-shouldered man, plain-spoken, but kind-hearted. "glogova is a wretched hole," he said, "but not every place can be the bishopric of neutra. however, you will have to put up with it as it is. daniel was worse off in the lions' den, and after all these are only sheep." "which have no wool," remarked his reverence, smiling. "they have wool, but you have not the shears." in a few days he had furnished his house with the money he had borrowed of his friend, and one fine autumn afternoon he was able to take possession of his own house. oh, how delightful it was to arrange things as he liked! what pleasant dreams he would have lying in his own bed, on pillows made by his own mother! he thought over it all when he lay down to sleep, and before going to sleep he counted the corners of the room so as to be sure and remember his dreams. (the hungarian peasants say, that when you sleep in a room for the first time you must count the corners, then you will remember your dream, which is sure to come true.) he remembered his dream the next morning, and it was a very pleasant one. he was chasing butterflies in the fields outside his native village, looking for birds' nests, playing games with the boys and girls, having a quarrel with pali szabó, and they were just coming to blows when some one tapped at the window outside. the priest awoke and rubbed his eyes. it was morning, the sun was shining into the room. "who is it?" he called out. "open the door, jankó!" jankó! who was calling him jankó? it seemed to him as though it were one of his old schoolfellows, from whom he had just parted in his dream. he jumped out of bed and ran to the window. "who is it?" he repeated. "it is i," was the answer, "máté billeghi from your old home. come out, jankó, no, i mean of course, please come out, your reverence. i've brought something." the priest dressed hastily. his heart was beating fast with a kind of presentiment that he was to hear bad news. he opened the door and stepped out. "here i am, mr. billeghi; what have you brought me?" but mr. billeghi had left the window and gone back to the cart, where he was unfastening the basket containing little veronica and the goose. the horses hung their heads, and one of them tried to lie down, but the shaft was in the way, and when he tried the other side, he felt the harness cutting into his side, which reminded him that he was not in the stable, and a horse's honorable feeling will not allow of its lying down, as long as it is harnessed to the cart. there must be something serious the matter to induce it to lie down in harness, for a horse has a high sense of duty. máté billeghi now turned round and saw the priest standing near him. "hallo, jankó! why, how you have grown! how surprised your mother would be if she were alive! bother this rope, i did make a firm knot in it!" the priest took a step toward the cart, where billeghi was still struggling with the knot. the words, "if your mother were alive," had struck him like a blow, his head began to swim, his legs to tremble. "are you speaking of my mother?" he stammered. "is my mother dead?" "yes, poor woman, she has given up the ghost. but" (and here he took out his knife and began to cut the rope) "here is your little sister, jankó, that is, i mean, your reverence; my memory is as weak as a chicken's, and i always forget whom i am talking to. i've brought your reverence's little sister; where shall i put her down?" and with that he lifted up the basket in which the child was sleeping soundly with the goose beside her. the bird seemed to be acting the part of nurse to her, driving off the flies which tried to settle on her little red mouth. the autumn sunlight fell on the basket and the sleeping child, and máté was standing with his watery blue eyes fixed on the priest's face, waiting for a word or a sign from him. "dead!" he murmured after a time. "impossible. i had no feeling of it." he put his hand to his head, saying sadly, "no one told me, and i was not there at the funeral." "i was not there either," said máté, as though that would console the other for his absence; and then added, as an afterthought: "god almighty took her to himself, he called her to his throne. he doesn't leave one of us here. bother those frogs, now i've trodden on one!" there were any amount of them in the weedy courtyard of the presbytery; they came out of the holes in the damp walls of the old church. "where shall i put the child?" repeated mr. billeghi, but as he received no answer, he deposited her gently on the small veranda. the priest stood with his eyes fixed on the ground; it seemed to him as though the earth, with the houses and gardens, máté billeghi and the basket, were all running away, and only he was standing there, unable to move one way or the other. from the ukrica woods in the distance there came a rustling of leaves, seeming to bring with it a sound that spoke to his heart, the sound of his mother's voice. he listened, trembling, and trying to distinguish the words. again they are repeated; what are they? "jános, jános, take care of my child!" but while jános was occupied in listening to voices from a better land, máté was getting tired of waiting, and muttering something to himself about not getting even a "thank you" for his trouble, he prepared to start. "well, if that's the way they do things in these parts, i'll be off," he grumbled, and cracking his whip he added, "good-by, your reverence. gee-up, sármány!" father jános still gave no answer, did not even notice what was going on around him, and the horses were moving on, máté billeghi walking beside them, for they had to go uphill now, and the good man was muttering to himself something about its being the way of the world, and only natural that if a chicken grows into a peacock, of course the peacock does not remember the time when it was a chicken. when he got up to the top of the hill he turned round and saw the priest still standing in the same place, and, making one last effort to attract his attention, he shouted: "well, i've given you what i was told to, so good-by." the priest's senses at last returned from the paths in which they had been wandering, far away, with his mother. in imagination he was kneeling at her death-bed, and with her last breath she was bidding him take care of his little sister. there was no need for it to be written nor to be telegraphed to him; there were higher forces which communicated the fact to him. jános's first impulse was to run after máté, and ask him to stop and tell him all about his mother, how she had lived during the last two years, how she had died, how they had buried her, in fact, everything. but the cart was a long way off by now, and, besides, his eyes at that moment caught sight of the basket and its contents, and they took up his whole attention. his little sister was still asleep in the basket. the young priest had never yet seen the child, for he had not been home since his father's funeral, and she was not born then; so he had only heard of her existence from his mother's letters, and they were always so short. jános went up to the basket and looked at the small rosy face. he found it bore a strong resemblance to his mother's, and as he looked the face seemed to grow bigger, and he saw the features of his mother before him; but the vision only lasted a minute, and the child's face was there again. if she would only open her eyes! but they were firmly closed, and the long eyelashes lay like silken fringes on her cheeks. "and i am to take care of this tiny creature?" thought jános. "and i will take care of her. but how am i to do it? i have nothing to live on myself. what shall i do?" he did as he always had done until now, when he had been in doubt, and turned toward the church in order to say a prayer there. the church was open, and two old women were inside, whitewashing the walls. so the priest did not go quite in but knelt down before a crucifix at the entrance. chapter iv. the umbrella and st. peter. father jános remained kneeling a long time and did not notice that a storm was coming up. when he came out of the church it was pouring in torrents, and before long the small mountain streams were so swollen that they came rushing down into the village street, and the cattle in their fright ran lowing into their stables. jános's first thought was that he had left the child on the veranda, and it must be wet through. he ran home as fast as he could, but paused with surprise before the house. the basket was where he had left it, the child was in the basket, and the goose was walking about in the yard. the rain was still coming down in torrents, the veranda was drenched, but on the child not a drop had fallen, for an immense red umbrella had been spread over the basket. it was patched and darned to such an extent that hardly any of the original stuff was left, and the border of flowers round it was all but invisible. [illustration: "the child was in the basket"] the young priest raised his eyes in gratitude to heaven, and taking the child into his arms, carried it, under the red umbrella, into his room. the child's eyes were open now; they were a lovely blue, and gazed wonderingly into the priest's face. "it is really a blessing," he murmured, "that the child did not get wet through; she might have caught her death of cold, and i could not even have given her dry clothes." but where had the umbrella come from? it was incomprehensible, for in the whole of glogova there was not a single umbrella. in the next yard some peasants were digging holes for the water to run into. his reverence asked them all in turn, had they seen no one with the child? no, they had seen the child, but as far as they knew no one had been near it. old widow adamecz, who had run home from the fields with a shawl over her head, had seen something red and round, which seemed to fall from the clouds right over the child's head. might she turn to stone that minute if it were not true, and she was sure the virgin mary had sent it down from heaven herself to the poor orphan child. widow adamecz was a regular old gossip; she was fond of a drop of brandy now and then, so it was no wonder she sometimes saw more than she ought to have done. the summer before, on the eve of the feast of sts. peter and paul, she had seen the skies open, and heaven was before her; she had heard the angels sing, as they passed in procession before god, sitting on a throne of precious stones. and among them she had seen her grandson, jános plachta, in a pretty red waistcoat which she herself had made him shortly before his death. and she had seen many of the inhabitants of glogova who had died within the last few years, and they were all dressed in the clothes they had been buried in. you can imagine that after that, when the news of her vision was spread abroad, she was looked upon as a very holy person indeed. all the villagers came to ask if she had seen their dead relations in the procession; this one's daughter, that one's father, and the other one's "poor husband!" they quite understood that such a miracle was more likely to happen to her than to any one else, for a miracle had been worked on her poor dead father andrás, even though he had been looked upon in life as something of a thief. for when the high road had had to be made broader eight years before, they were obliged to take a bit of the cemetery in order to do it, and when they had opened andrás's grave, so as to bury him again, they saw with astonishment that he had a long beard, though five witnesses swore to the fact that at the time of his death he was clean-shaven. so they were all quite sure that old andrás was in heaven, and having been an old cheat all his life he would, of course, manage even up above to leave the door open a bit now and then, so that his dear agnes could have a peep at what was going on. but pál kvapka, the bell-ringer, had another tale to tell. he said that when he had gone up the belfry to ring the clouds away, and had turned round for a minute, he saw the form of an old jew crossing the fields beyond the village, and he had in his hands that immense red thing like a plate, which his reverence had found spread over the basket. kvapka had thought nothing of it at the time, for he was sleepy, and the wind blew the dust in his eyes, but he could take an oath that what he had told them had really taken place. (and pál kvapka was a man who always spoke the truth.) others had also seen the jew. he was old, tall, gray-haired, his back was bent, and he had a crook in his hand, and when the wind carried his hat away, they saw that he had a large bald place at the back of his head. "he was just like the picture of st. peter in the church," said the sacristan, who had seen him without his hat. "he was like it in every respect," he repeated, "except that he had no keys in his hand." from the meadow he had cut across stropov's clover-field, where the krátki's cow, which had somehow got loose, made a rush at him; in order to defend himself he struck at it with his stick (and from that time, you can ask the krátki family if it is not true, the cow gave fourteen pints of milk a day, whereas they used to have the greatest difficulty in coaxing four pints from it). at the other end of the village the old man had asked the miller's servant-girl which was the way to lehota, and erzsi had told him, upon which he had started on the footpath up the mountains. erzsi said she was sure, now she came to think of it, that he had a glory round his head. why, of course it must have been st. peter! why should it not have been? there was a time when he walked about on earth, and there are many stories told still as to all he had done then. and what had happened once could happen again. the wonderful news spread from house to house, that god had sent down from heaven a sort of red-linen tent, to keep the rain off the priest's little sister, and had chosen st. peter himself for the mission. thereupon followed a good time for the child, she became quite the fashion in the village. the old women began to make cakes for her, also milk puddings, and various other delicacies. his reverence had nothing to do but answer the door all day, and receive from his visitors plates, dishes, or basins wrapped up in clean cloths. the poor young priest could not make out what was going on in his new parish. "oh, your reverence, please, i heard your little sister had come, so i've brought her a trifle for her dinner; of course it might be better, but it is the best such poor folks as we can give. our hearts are good, your reverence, but our flour might be better than it is, for that good-for-nothing miller burned it a bit the last time--at least, that part of it which he did not keep for his own use. may i look at the little angel? they say she's a little beauty." of course his reverence allowed them all to look at her in turn, to pat her and smooth her hair; some of them even kissed her tiny feet. the priest was obliged to turn away now and then to hide the tears of gratitude. he reproached himself, too, for his hard thoughts of the good villagers. "how i have misjudged them!" he thought to himself. "there are no better people in the world. and how they love the child!" at tea-time widow adamecz appeared on the scene; until now she had not troubled much about the new priest. she considered herself entitled to a word in the management of the ecclesiastical affairs of the village, and based her rights on the fact of her father having grown a beard in his grave, which, of course, gave him a place among the saints at once. "your reverence," she began, "you will want some one to look after the child." "yes, of course, i ought to have some one," he replied, "but the parish is poor, and ..." "nobody is poor but the devil," burst out widow adamecz, "and he's poor because he has no soul. but we have souls. and after all, your reverence won't know how to dress and undress a child, nor how to wash it and plait its hair. and then she will often be hungry, and you can't take her across to the schoolmaster's each time. you must have some one to cook at home, your reverence. the sacristan is all very well for sweeping and tidying up a bit, but what does he know about children?" "true, true; but where am i to ..." "where? and am _i_ not here? the lord created me for a priest's cook, i'm sure." "yes, i daresay. but how am i to pay your wages?" widow adamecz put her hands on her hips, and planted herself in front of father jános. "never mind about that, your honor. leave it to god and to me. he will pay me. i shall enter your service this evening, and shall bring all my saucepans and things with me." the priest was more and more surprised, but even more astonished was his friend urszinyi when he came over toward evening and the priest related the events of the day, and told him of widow adamecz's offer. "what!" he exclaimed, "widow adamecz? that old witch? and without payment? why, jános, a greater miracle never yet happened. an inhabitant of glogova working for payment from heaven! you seem to have bewitched the people." the priest only smiled, but his heart was full of gratitude. he also felt that a miracle had taken place; it was all so strange, so incomprehensible. but he guessed at the cause of the change. the prayer he had said at the entrance to the church had been heard, and this was the answer. yes, it really was a miracle! he had not heard all the stories that were spread abroad about the red umbrella, and he only smiled at those that had come to his ears. it is true he did not understand himself how the umbrella came to be where he had found it; he was surprised at first, but had not thought any more about it, and had hung it on a nail in his room, so that if the owner asked for it he could have it at once, though it was not really worth sixpence. but the day's events were not yet done. toward evening the news spread that the wife of the miller, the village nabob, had been drowned in the bjela voda, which was very swollen from the amount of rain that had fallen. the unfortunate woman had crossed the stepping-stones in order to bring back her geese, which had strayed to the other side. she had brought back two of them, one under each arm, but as she was re-crossing to fetch the third, her foot slipped, and she fell into the stream. in the morning there had been so little water there, that a goat could have drank it all in half a minute, and by midday it was swollen to such an extent that the poor woman was drowned in it. they looked for her the whole afternoon in the cellar, in the loft, everywhere they could think of, until in the evening her body was taken out of the water near lehota. there some people recognized her, and a man was sent over on horseback to tell mihály gongoly of the accident. all this caused great excitement in the village, and the people stood about in groups, talking of the event. "yes, god takes the rich ones too," they said. györgy klincsok came running in to the priest. "there will be a grand funeral the day after to-morrow," he exclaimed. the sacristan appeared at the schoolmaster's in the hope of a glass of brandy to celebrate the event. "collect your thoughts," he exclaimed, "there will be a grand funeral, and they will expect some grand verses." two days later the funeral took place, and it was a long time since anything so splendid had been seen in glogova. mr. gongoly had sent for the priest from lehota too, for, as he said, why should not his wife have two priests to read the burial service over her. he sent all the way to besztercebánya for the coffin, and they took the wooden cross that was to be put at the head of the grave to kopanyik to have it painted black, with the name and the date of her death in white letters. there were crowds of people at the funeral in spite of the bad weather, and just as the priest was starting in full canonicals, with all the little choir-boys in their clean surplices, it began to pour again; so father jános turned to kvapka, the sacristan, and said: "run back as fast as you can and fetch the umbrella out of my room." kvapka turned and stared; how was he to know what an umbrella was? "well," said father jános, "if you like it better, fetch the large, round piece of red linen i found two days ago spread over my little sister." "ah, now i understand!" the priest took shelter in a cottage until the fleet-footed kvapka returned with the umbrella, which his reverence, to the great admiration of the crowd, with one sweeping movement of his hand spread out in such a fashion that it looked like a series of bats' wings fastened together. then, taking hold of the handle, he raised it so as to cover his head, and walked on with stately step, without getting wet a bit; for the drops fell angrily on the strange tent spread over him, and, not being able to touch his reverence, fell splashing on to the ground. the umbrella was the great attraction for all the peasants at the funeral, and they exchanged many whispered remarks about the (to them) strange thing. "that's what st. peter brought," they said. only the beautiful verses the schoolmaster had composed for the occasion distracted their attention for a while, and sobs broke forth as the various relations heard their names mentioned in the lines in which the dead woman was supposed to be taking leave of them: "good-by, good-by, my dearest friends; pál lajkó my brother, györgy klincsok my cousin," etc. the whole of pál lajkó's household began to weep bitterly, and mrs. klincsok exclaimed rapturously: "how on earth does he manage to compose such beautiful lines!" which exclamation inspired the schoolmaster with fresh courage, and, raising his voice, he continued haranguing the assembled friends in the dead woman's name, not forgetting a single one, and there was not a dry eye among them. for some time after they had buried mrs. gongoly the grand doings at the funeral were still the talk of the place, and even at the funeral the old women had picked out pretty anna tyurek as the successor of mrs. gongoly, and felt sure it would not be long before her noted "mentyék" had an owner. (every well-to-do slovak peasant buys a long cloak of sheepskin for his wife; it is embroidered outside in bright colors, and inside is the long silky hair of the hungarian sheep. it is only worn on sundays and holidays, and is passed on from one generation to another.) the mourners had hardly recovered from the large quantities of brandy they had imbibed in order to drown their sorrow, when they had to dig a new grave; for jános srankó had followed mrs. gongoly. in olden times they had been good friends, before mrs. gongoly was engaged; and now it seemed as though they had arranged their departure from this world to take place at the same time. they found srankó dead in his bed, the morning after the funeral; he had died of an apoplectic fit. srankó was a well-to-do man, in fact a "mágná." (the fifteen richest peasants in a slovak village are called "mágnás" or "magnates.") he had three hundred sheep grazing in his meadows and several acres of ploughed land, so he ought to have a grand funeral too. and mrs. srankó was not idle, for she went herself to the schoolmaster, and then to the priest, and said she wished everything to be as it had been at mrs. gongoly's funeral. let it cost what it might, but the srankós were not less than the gongolys. she wished two priests to read the funeral service, and four choir-boys to attend in their best black cassocks, the bell was to toll all the time, and so on, and so on. father jános nodded his head. "very well, all shall be as you wish," he said, and then proceeded to reckon out what it would cost. "that's all right," said mrs. srankó, "but please, your reverence, put the red thing in too, and let us see how much more it will cost." "what red thing?" "why, what you held over your head at mrs. gongoly's funeral. oh, it _was_ lovely!" the young priest could not help smiling. "but that is impossible," he said. mrs. srankó jumped up, and planted herself before him, with her arms crossed. "and why is it impossible i should like to know? my money is as good as the gongolys', isn't it?" "but, my dear mrs. srankó, it was raining then, and to-morrow we shall in all probability have splendid weather." but it was no use arguing with the good woman, for she spoke the dialect of the country better than father jános did. "raining, was it?" she exclaimed. "well, all the more reason you should bring it with you to-morrow, your honor; at all events it won't get wet. and, after all, my poor dear husband was worthy of it; he was no worse than mrs. gongoly. every one honored him, and he did a lot for the church; why, it was he who five years ago sent for those lovely colored candles we have on the altar; they came all the way from besztercebánya. and the white altar-cloth my husband's sister embroidered. so you see we have a right to the red thing." "but i can't make myself ridiculous by burying some one with an umbrella held over me when the sun is shining. you must give up the idea, mrs. srankó." thereupon mrs. srankó burst into tears. what had she done to be put to such shame, and to be refused the right to give her husband all the honors due to the dead, and which were a comfort to the living too? what would the villagers say of her? they would say, "mrs. srankó did not even give her husband a decent funeral, they only threw him into the grave like a beggar." "please do it, your reverence," she begged tearfully, and kept on wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, until one of the corners which had been tied in a knot came unfastened, and out fell a ten-florin note. mrs. srankó picked it up, and put it carefully on the table. "i'll give this over and above the other sum," she said, "only let us have all the pomp possible, your honor." at this moment widow adamecz rushed in from the kitchen, flourishing an immense wooden spoon in the air. "yes, your reverence, srankó was a good, pious man; not all the gossip you hear about him is true. and even if it were, it would touch mrs. gongoly as much as him, may god rest her soul. if the holy umbrella was used at her funeral, it can be used at his too. if god is angry at its having been used for her, he will only be a little more angry at its being used for him; and if he was not angry then, he won't be angry now either." "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, widow adamecz, talking such nonsense. don't bother me any more with your superstitions. the whole thing is simply ridiculous." but the two women were not to be put off. "we know what we know," they said, nodding their heads sagely, "your honor can't deceive us." and they worried him to such an extent that he was obliged at last to give way, and agreed to bring the red umbrella to jános srankó's funeral, but he added as an afterthought, "that is, of course, if the owner does not come for it before then. for it is certain that some one left it here, and if they come for it, i shall be obliged to give it them." "well," said widow adamecz, "as far as that goes we can sleep in peace, for the one who brought it only walks on our planet once in a thousand years." nobody appeared to claim the umbrella, and so the next day, though it was a lovely afternoon, and not a cloud was to be seen on the horizon, the young priest opened his umbrella, and followed the coffin to the grave. four strong men carried the bier on which the coffin was placed, and as chance willed it, when they passed the smithy, one of the bearers stumbled and fell, which so startled the one walking behind him, that he lost his presence of mind, the bier lurched to one side, and the coffin fell to the ground. it cracked, then the fastenings gave way, and it broke to pieces; first the embroidered shirt was visible, and then the supposed dead man himself, who awoke from the trance he had been in, moved slightly, and whispered: "where am i?" of course every one was as surprised as they could be, and there was plenty of running backward and forward to the smithy for blankets, shawls, and pillows, of which they made a bed in a cart that was outside waiting to be repaired. into this they put the man on whom such a miracle had been worked, and the funeral procession returned as a triumphant one to srankó's house. he had so far recovered on the way home as to ask for something to eat immediately on his arrival. they brought him a jug of milk, at which he shook his head. lajkó offered him a flask of brandy he had taken with him to cheer his drooping spirits. he smiled and accepted it. this ridiculous incident was the beginning of the umbrella legend, which spread and spread beyond the village, beyond the mountains, increasing in detail as it went. if a mark or impression were found on a rock it was said to be the print of st. peter's foot. if a flower of particularly lovely color were found growing on the meadow, st. peter's stick had touched the spot. everything went to prove that st. peter had been in glogova lately. after all it was no common case. the only real mystery in the whole affair was how the umbrella had come to be spread over little veronica's basket; but that was enough to make the umbrella noted. and its fame spread far and wide, as far as the bjela voda flows; the slovak peasants told the tale sitting round the fire, with various additions, according to the liveliness of their imagination. they imagined st. peter opening the gates of heaven, and coming out with the umbrella in his hand, in order to bring it down to the priest's little sister. the only question they could not settle was how st. peter had got down to the earth. but they thought he must have stood on a cloud which let him gently down, and set him on the top of one of the neighboring hills. then they discussed the power the umbrella possessed of raising the dead to life, and so the legend was spread abroad. and whenever a rich peasant died, even in the villages miles off, father jános was sent for, with the red umbrella, to read the burial services. he was also sent for to sick persons who wished the umbrella spread over them while they confessed their sins. it must have a good effect, and either the sick person would recover, or if he did not do that he was at least sanctified. if a newly married couple wished to do things very grandly (and they generally do), they were not only married at home by their own priest, but they made a pilgrimage to glogova in order to join hands once more under the sacred umbrella. and that, to them, was the real ceremony. the bell-ringer held it over their heads, and in return many a piece of silver found its way into his pocket. and as for the priest, money and presents simply poured in upon him. at first he fought against all this superstition, but after a while even he began to believe that the red umbrella, which day by day got more faded and shabby, was something out of the common. had it not appeared on the scene as though in answer to his prayer, and was it not the source of all his good fortune? "oh, lord!" he had prayed, "unless thou workest a miracle, how am i to bring up the child?" and lo and behold, the miracle had been worked! money, food, all the necessaries of life flowed from that ragged old umbrella. its fame spread to higher circles too. the bishop of besztercebánya heard of it and sent for father jános and the umbrella; and after having examined it and heard the whole story, he crossed his hands on his breast and exclaimed: "deus est omnipotens." which was equivalent to saying he believed in it. a few weeks later he went still further, and sent orders for the umbrella to be kept in the church, instead of in the priest's room. upon which father jános answered that in reality the umbrella belonged to his little sister, who was still a minor, so that he had no right to it, nor to give it away. but he was sure, as soon as veronica was of age, she would make a present of it to the church. but the umbrella not only brought good fortune to the priest, who soon started a small farm, and in a few years built himself a new house, and kept a horse and trap, but it made a great difference in glogova too. every summer numbers of ladies came from the small watering-places round about, very often countesses too (mostly old countesses), in order to say a prayer under the umbrella, and for these an inn was built opposite the priest's house, called the "miraculous umbrella." in fact, glogova increased in size and importance from day to day. in time the villagers began to feel ashamed of the simple wooden belfry, and had a tower built to the church, and hung two bells in it from besztercebánya. jános srankó had a splendid statue of the holy family erected in front of the church, to commemorate his resurrection from the dead. the governess (for a time father jános had a governess for little veronica) filled the priest's garden with dahlias, fuchsias, and other flowers which the inhabitants of glogova had never yet seen. everything improved and was beautified (except widow adamecz, who got uglier day by day), and the villagers even went so far as to discuss on sunday afternoons the advisability of building a chapel upon the mountain st. peter had been seen on, in order to make it a place of pilgrimage and attract even more visitors. the gregorics family part ii chapter i. the tactless member of the family. many years before our story begins, there lived in besztercebánya a man of the name of pál gregorics, who was always called a tactless man, whereas all his life was spent in trying to please others. pál gregorics was always chasing popularity, and instead of finding it came face to face with criticism, a much less pleasing figure. he was born nine months after his father's death, an act of tactlessness which gave rise to plenty of gossip, and much unpleasantness to his mother, who was a thoroughly good, honest woman. if he had only arrived a little earlier ... but after all _he_ could not help it. as far as the other gregorics were concerned, he had better not have been born at all, for of course the estates were cut up more than they would otherwise have been. the child was weak and sickly, and his grown-up brothers always hoped for his death; however, he did not die, but grew up, and when of age took possession of his fortune, most of which he had inherited from his mother, who had died during his minority and left him her whole fortune; whereas the children of the first wife only had their share of the father's fortune, which, however, was not to be sneered at, for old gregorics had done well in the wine trade. in those days it was easier to get on in that line than it is now, for, in the first place, there was wine in the country, and in the second place there were no jews. in these days there is plenty of danube water in the wine-cellars, but not much juice of the grapes. nature had blessed pál gregorics with a freckly face and red hair, which made people quote the old saying, "red-haired people are never good." so pál gregorics made up his mind to prove that it was untrue. all these old sayings are like pots in which generations have been cooking for ages, and pál gregorics intended to break one of them. he meant to be "as good as a piece of bread, and as soft as butter, which allows itself to be spread equally well on white bread or black." (this is a favorite phrase among the peasants, when describing a very good man.) and he was as good a man as you could wish to see, but what was the good of it? some evil spirit always seemed to accompany him and induce people to misunderstand his intentions. the day he came back from pest, where he had been completing his studies, he went into a tobacconist's shop and bought some fine havanas, which at once set all the tongues in besztercebánya wagging. "the good-for-nothing fellow smokes seven-penny cigars, does he? that is a nice way to begin. he'll die in the workhouse. oh, if his poor dead father could rise from his grave and see him! why, the old man used to mix dry potato leaves with his tobacco to make it seem more, and poured the dregs of the coffee on it to make it burn slower." pál gregorics heard that he had displeased the good townsfolk by smoking such dear cigars, and immediately took to short halfpenny ones. but this did not suit them either, and they remarked: "really, pál gregorics is about the meanest man going, he'll be worse than his father in time!" gregorics felt very vexed at being called mean, and decided to take the very next opportunity to prove the contrary. the opportunity presented itself in the form of a ball, given in aid of a hospital, and of which the mayoress of the town was patroness. the programme announced that though the tickets were two florins each, any larger sum would be gratefully accepted. so pál gregorics gave twenty florins for his two-florin ticket, thinking to himself "they shan't say i am mean this time." upon that the members of the committee put their heads together and decided that pál gregorics was a tactless fellow. it was the greatest impertinence on his part to outbid the mayor, and a baron to boot! baron radvánszky had given ten florins for his ticket, and gregorics throws down twenty. why, it was an insult! the son of a wine merchant! what things do happen in the nineteenth century, to be sure! whatever pál gregorics did was wrong; if he quarrelled with some one and would not give in, they said he was a brawler; and if he gave in, he was a coward. though he had studied law, he did nothing particular at first, only drove to his estate a mile or two out of the town and spent a few hours shooting; or he went for a few days to vienna, where he had a house inherited from his mother; and the rest of his time he spent in besztercebánya. "pál gregorics," they said, "is a lazy fellow; he does nothing useful from one year's end to the other. why are such useless creatures allowed to live?" pál heard this too, and quite agreed with them that he ought to get some work to do, and not waste his life as he was doing. of course, every one should earn the bread they eat. so he looked for some employment in the town. that was enough to set all the tongues wagging again. what? gregorics wanted work in the town? was he not ashamed of himself, trying to take the bread out of poor men's mouths, when he had plenty of cake for himself? let him leave the small amount of employment there was in the town to those who really needed it. gregorics quite understood the force of this argument, and gave up his idea. he now turned his thoughts toward marriage, and determined to start a family; after all that was as good an occupation as any other. so he began to frequent various houses where there were pretty girls to be met, and where he, being a good match, was well received; but his step-brothers, who were always in hopes that the delicate little man would not live long, did their best to upset his plans in this case too. so pál gregorics got so many refusals one after the other, that he was soon renowned in the whole neighborhood. later on he could have found many who would have been glad of an offer from him, but they were ashamed to let him see it. after all, how could they marry a man whom so many girls had refused? on the eve of st. andrew's any amount of lead was melted by the young girls of the town, but not one of them saw in the hardened mass the form of gregorics. in fact, none of the young girls wanted to marry him. what they looked for was romance, not money. perhaps some old maid would have jumped at his offer, but between the young maids and the old maids there is a great difference--they belong to two different worlds. the young girls were told that pál gregorics spat blood, and of course, the moment they heard that, they would have nothing more to do with him, so that at his next visit their hearts would beat loudly, but not in the same way they had done last time he drove up in his coach and four. poor gregorics! what a pity! the horses outside may paw the ground, and toss their manes as much as they like, what difference does it make? pál gregorics spits blood! oh, you silly little marys and carolines. of course pál gregorics is an ugly, sickly man, but think how rich he is; and after all, he only spits his own blood. so what can it matter to you? believe me, rosália, who is ten years older than you, would not be such a silly little goose, if she had your chances, for she is a philosopher, and if she were to be told that pál gregorics spits blood she would only think to herself, "what an interesting man!" and aloud she would say, "i will nurse him." and deep down in her mind where she keeps the ideas that cannot be put into words, which, in fact, are hardly even thoughts as yet, she would find these words, "if gregorics spits blood already, he won't last so very long." you silly little girls, you know nothing of life as yet; your mothers have put you into long dresses, but your minds have not grown in proportion. don't be angry with me for speaking so plainly, but it is my duty to show my readers why pál gregorics did not find a wife among you. the reason is a simple one. the open rose is not perfectly pure; bees have bathed in its chalice, insects have slept in it. but in the heart of an opening bud, not a speck of dust is to be found. that is why pál gregorics was refused by so many young girls, and by degrees he began to see that they were right (for, as i said before, he was a good, simple man), marriage was not for him, as he spat blood; for after all, blood is one of the necessaries of life. when he had once made up his mind not to marry, he troubled his head no more about the girls, but turned his attention to the young married women. he had beautiful bouquets sent from vienna for mrs. vozáry, and one fine evening he let five hundred nightingales loose in mrs. muskulyi's garden. he had the greatest difficulty in getting so many together, but a bird-fancier in transylvania had undertaken to send them to him. the beautiful young woman, as she turned on her pillows, was surprised to hear how delightfully the birds were singing in her garden that night. he had no success with the young married women either, and was beginning to get thoroughly sick of life, when the war broke out. they would not take him for a soldier either, they said he was too small and thin, he would not be able to stand the fatigues of war. but he wanted to do something at any cost. the recruiting sergeant, who was an old friend of his, gave him the following advice: "i don't mind taking you if you particularly wish to work with us, but you must look out for some occupation with no danger attached to it. the campaign is fatiguing; we'll give you something in the writing business." gregorics was wounded in his pride. "i intend accepting only the most dangerous employment," he said; "now which do you consider the most dangerous?" "why, that of a spy," was the answer. "then i will be a spy." and he kept his word. he dressed himself as one of those vagrants of whom so many were seen at that time, and went from one camp to the other, carrying information and letters. old soldiers remember and still talk of the little old man with the red umbrella, who always managed to pass through the enemy's camp, his gaze as vacant as though he were unable to count up to ten. with his thin, bird-like face, his ragged trousers, his battered top-hat, and his red umbrella, he was seen everywhere. if you once saw him it was not easy to forget him, and there was no one who did not see him, though few guessed at his business. some one once wrote about him: "the little man with the red umbrella is the devil himself, but he belongs to the better side of the family." in the peaceful time that succeeded the war, he returned to besztercebánya, and became a misanthrope. he never moved out of his ugly, old stone house, and thought no more of making a position for himself, nor of marrying. and like most old bachelors he fell in love with his cook. his theory now was to simplify matters. he needed a woman to cook for him and to wait on him, and he needed a woman to love; that means two women in the house. why should he not simplify matters and make those two women one? anna wibra was a big stout woman, somewhere from the neighborhood of detvár. she was a rather good-looking woman, and used to sing very prettily when washing up the plates and dishes in the evening. she had such a nice soft voice that her master once called her into his sitting-room, and made her sit down on one of the leather-covered chairs. she had never sat so comfortably in her life before. "i like your voice, anna; sing me something here, so that i can hear you better." so anna started a very melancholy sort of song, "the recruit's letter," in which he complains to the girl he loves of all the hardships of war. gregorics was quite softened by the music, and three times he exclaimed: "what a wonderful voice!" and he kept moving nearer and nearer to anna, till all at once he began to stroke her cheek. at this she turned scarlet, and jumped up from her chair, pushing him away from her. "that's not in my contract, sir!" she exclaimed. gregorics blushed too. "don't be silly, anna," he said. but anna tossed her head and walked to the door. "don't run away, you stupid, i shan't eat you." but anna would not listen, and took refuge in her kitchen, from which she was not to be coaxed again that evening. the next day she gave notice to leave, but her master pacified her by the gift of a golden ring, and a promise never to lay a finger on her again. he told her he could not let her go, for he would never get any one to cook as well as she did. anna was pleased with the praise and with the ring, and stayed, on condition that he kept his promise. he did keep it for a time, and then forgot it, and anna was again on the point of leaving. but gregorics pacified her this time with a necklace of corals with a golden clasp, like the baronesses radvánszky wore at church. the necklace suited her so well, that she no longer thought of forbidding her master to touch her. he was rich enough, let him buy her a few pretty things. in fact, the same afternoon she paid a visit to the old woman who kept a grocer's shop next door, and asked whether it would hurt very much to have her ears pierced. the old woman laughed. "oh, you silly creature," she said, "you surely don't want to wear earrings? anna, anna, you have bad thoughts in your head." anna protested and then banged the door behind her, so that the bell fastened to it went on ringing for some moments. of course she wanted some earrings, why should she not have some? god had given her ears the same as to all those grand ladies she saw at church. and before the day was over she had found out that it would hardly hurt her at all to have her ears pierced. yes, she wanted to have some earrings, and now she did all she could to bring gregorics into temptation. she dressed herself neatly, wore a red ribbon in her hair, in fact, made herself thoroughly irresistible. gregorics may have been wily enough to be a spy for a whole russian and austrian army, but a woman, however simple, was far deeper than he. next sunday she went to church with earrings in her ears, much to the amusement of the lads and lasses of the town, who had long ago dubbed her "the grenadier." and in a few weeks' time the whole town was full of gossip about gregorics and his cook, and all sorts of tales were told, some of them supremely ridiculous. his step-brothers would not believe it. "a gregorics and a servant! such a thing was never heard of before!" the neighbors tried to pacify them by saying there was nothing strange in the fact, on the contrary it was quite natural. pál gregorics had never done things correctly all his life. how much was true and how much false is not known, but the gossip died away by degrees, only to awaken again some years later, when a small boy was seen playing about with a pet lamb in pál gregorics's courtyard. who was the child? where did he come from? gregorics himself was often seen playing with him. and people, who sometimes out of curiosity looked through the keyhole of the great wooden gates, saw gregorics, with red ribbons tied round his waist for reins, playing at horses with the child, who with a whip in his hand kept shouting, "gee-up, ráró." and the silly old fellow would kick and stamp and plunge, and even race round the courtyard. and now he was rarely seen limping through the town in his shabby clothes, to which he had become accustomed when he was a spy, and under his arm his red umbrella; he always had it with him, in fine or wet weather, and never left it in the hall when he paid a visit, but took it into the room with him, and kept it constantly in his hand. sometimes the lady of the house asked if he would not put it down. "no, no," he would answer, "i am so used to having it in my hand that i feel quite lost without it. it is as though one of my ribs were missing, upon my word it is!" there was a good deal of talk about this umbrella. why was he so attached to it? it was incomprehensible. supposing it contained something important? somebody once said (i think it was istván pazár who had served in the war), that the umbrella contained all sorts of notes, telegrams, and papers written in his spying days, and that they were in the handle of the umbrella, which was hollow. well, perhaps it was true. the other members of the gregorics family looked with little favor on the small boy in the gregorics's household, and never rested till they had looked through all the baptismal registers they could lay hands on. at last they came upon the entry they wanted, "györgy wibra, illegitimate; mother, anna wibra." he was a pretty little fellow, so full of life and spirits that every one took a fancy to him. chapter ii. dubious signs. little gyuri wibra grew to be a fine lad, strong and broad chested. pál gregorics was always saying, "where on earth does he take that chest from?" he was so narrow-chested himself that he always gazed with admiration at the boy's sturdy frame, and was so taken up in the contemplation of it, that he hardly interested himself in the child's studies. and he was a clever boy too. an old pensioned professor, márton kupeczky, gave him lessons every day, and was full of his praises. "there's plenty in him, sir," he used to say. "he'll be a great man, sir. what will you bet, sir?" gregorics was always delighted, for he loved the boy, though he never showed it. on these occasions he would smile and answer: "i'll bet you a cigar, and we'll consider i've lost it." and then he would offer the old professor, who was very fond of betting, one of his choicest cigars. "i never had such a clever pupil before," the old professor used to say. "i have had to teach very ordinary minds all my life, and have wasted my talents on them. a sad thing to say, sir. i feel like that nugget of gold which was lost at the mint. you know the tale, sir? what, you have never heard it? why, a large nugget of gold was once lost at the mint. it was searched for everywhere, but could not be found. well, after a long examination of all the clerks, it turned out that the gold had been melted by accident with the copper for the kreutzers. you understand me, sir? i have been pouring my soul into two or three generations of fools, but, thank goodness, i have at last found a worthy recipient for my knowledge. of course, you understand me, sir?" but pál gregorics needed no spurring on in this case; he had fixed intentions as far as the boy was concerned, and folks were not far wrong when they (mostly in order to vex the other gregorics) prophesied the end would be that gregorics would marry anna wibra, and adopt her boy. kupeczky himself often said: "yes, that will be the end of it. who will bet with me?" it would have been the end, and the correct way too, for gregorics was fond enough of the boy to do a correct thing for once in a way. but two things happened to prevent the carrying out of this plan. first of all anna fell from a ladder and broke her leg, so that she limped all her life after, and who wants a lame wife? the second thing was, that little gyuri was taken ill very suddenly. he turned blue in the face and was in convulsions; they thought he would die. gregorics fell on his knees by the side of the bed of the sick child, kissed his face and cold little hands, and asked despairingly: "what is the matter, my boy? tell me what hurts you." "i don't know, uncle," moaned the child. at that moment gregorics suffered every pain the child felt, and his heart seemed breaking. he seized hold of the doctor's hand, and his agony pressed these words from him: "doctor, save the child, and i'll give you a bag full of gold." the doctor saved him, and got the bag of money too, as gregorics had promised in that hour of danger. (of course the doctor did not choose the bag, gregorics had one made on purpose.) the doctor cured the boy, but made gregorics ill, for he instilled suspicion into his mind by swearing that the boy's illness was the result of poison. nothing could have upset gregorics as much as this declaration. how could it have happened? had he eaten any poisonous mushrooms? gyuri shook his head. well, what could he have eaten? the mother racked her brains to find out what could have been the cause. perhaps this, perhaps that, perhaps the vinegar was bad, or the copper saucepans had not been quite clean? gregorics shook his head sorrowfully. "don't talk nonsense, anna," he said. deep down in his heart was a thought which he was afraid to put into words, but which entirely spoiled his life for him, and robbed him of sleep and appetite. he had thought of his step-brothers; they had something to do with it, he was sure. there was an end to all his plans for adopting the boy, giving him his own name, and leaving him his fortune. no, no, it would cost gyuri his life; they would kill him if he gave them the chance. but he did not intend to give them the chance. he trembled for the child, and hardly dared to love him. he started a new line of conduct, a very mad one too. he ordered the boy to address him as "sir" for the future, and forbade him to love him. "it was only a bit of fun, you know, my allowing you to call me 'uncle.' do you understand?" tears stood in the boy's eyes, and seeing them old gregorics bent down and kissed them away; and his voice was very sad as he said: "don't tell any one i kissed you, or you will be in great danger." precaution now became his mania. he took kupeczky into his house, and the old professor had to be with the boy day and night, and taste every bit of food he was to eat. if gyuri went outside the gates, he was first stripped of his velvet suit and patent leather shoes, and dressed in a ragged old suit kept on purpose, and allowed to run barefoot. let people ask in the streets, "who is that little scarecrow?" and let those who knew answer, "oh, that is gregorics's cook's child." and, in order thoroughly to deceive his relations, he undertook to educate one of his step-sister's boys; took him up to vienna and put him in the terezianum, and kept him there in grand style with the sons of counts and barons. to his other nephews and nieces he sent lots of presents, so that the gregorics family, who had never liked the younger brother, came at last to the conclusion that he was not such a bad fellow after all, only something of a fool. little gyuri himself was sent away to school after a time; to kolozsvár and then to szeged, as far away as possible, so as to be out of reach of the family. at these times kupeczky secretly disappeared from the town too, though he might as well have been accompanied by a drum and fife band, for not a soul would have asked where he was going. doubtless there was a lot of exaggeration in all this secrecy and precaution, but exaggeration had a large share in gregorics's character. if he undertook something very difficult he was more adventurous than the devil himself, and once his fear was overcome, he saw hope in every corner. his love for the child and his fear were both exaggerated, but he could not help it. while the boy was pursuing his studies with success, the little man with the red umbrella was placing his money in landed estate. he said he had bought a large estate in bohemia, and in order to pay for it had been obliged to sell his house in vienna. not long after he had built a sugar factory on the estate, upon which he began to look out for a purchaser for his privorec estates. he soon found one in the person of a rich merchant from kassa. there was something strange and mysterious in the fact of the little man making so many changes in his old age. one day he had his house in besztercebánya transferred to anna wibra's name. and the little man was livelier and more contented than he had ever been in his life before. he began to pay visits again, interested himself in things and events, chattered and made himself agreeable to every one, dined with all his relations in turn, throwing out allusions and hints, such as, "after all, i can't take my money with me into the next world," and so on. he visited all the ladies who had refused him years ago, and very often went off by train, with his red umbrella under his arm, and stayed away for months and weeks at a time. no one troubled about him, every one said: "i suppose the old fellow has gone to look after his property." he never spoke much about his bohemian estates, though his step-brothers were much interested in them. they both offered in turns to go there with him, for they had never been in bohemia; but gregorics always had an answer ready, and to tell the truth he did not seem to trouble himself much about the whole affair. which was not to be wondered at, for he had no more possessions in bohemia than the dirt and dust he brought home in his clothes from carlsbad, where he spent a summer doing the cure. the whole story was only trumped up to put his relations off the scent, whereas the truth was that he had turned all he had into money, and deposited it in a bank in order to be able to give it to the boy. gyuri's inheritance would be a draft on a bank, a bit of paper which no one would see, which he could keep in his waistcoat pocket, and yet be a very rich man. it was well and carefully thought out. so he did not really go to his estates, but simply to the town where gyuri was studying with his old professor. those were his happiest times, the only rays of light in his lonely life; weeks in which he could pet the boy to his heart's content. gyuri was a favorite at school, always the first in his class, and a model of good behavior. the old man used to stay for weeks in szeged and enjoy the boy's society. they were often seen walking arm in arm on the banks of the tisza, and when they and kupeczky talked slovak together, every one turned at the sound of the strange language, wondering which of the many it was that had been invented at the tower of babel. when the last lesson was over, gregorics was waiting at the gate, and the delighted boy would run and join him--though his comrades, who, one would have thought, would have had enough to occupy their thoughts elsewhere, teased him about the old man. they swore he was the devil in _propria persona_, that he did gyuri wibra's exercises for him, and that he had a talisman which caused him to know his lessons well. it was easy to be the first in his class at that rate. there were even some silly enough to declare the old gentleman had a cloven foot, if you could only manage to see him with his boots off. the old red umbrella, too, which he always had with him, they thought must be a talisman, something after the style of aladdin's lamp. pista paracsányi, the best classical verse writer, made up some lines on the red umbrella; which were soon learnt by most of the boys, and spouted on every possible occasion, in order to annoy the "head boy." but the poet had his reward in the form of a black eye and a bleeding nose, bestowed upon him by gyuri wibra, who, however, began to be vexed himself at the sight of the red umbrella, which made his old friend seem ridiculous in the eyes of his schoolfellows, and one day he broached the subject to the old gentleman. "you might really buy a new umbrella, uncle." the old gentleman smiled. "what, you don't like my umbrella?" "you only get laughed at, and the boys have even made verses about it." "well, my boy, tell your schoolfellows that 'all that glitters is not gold,' as they may have heard; but tell them, too, that very often things that do not glitter may be gold. you will understand that later on when you are grown up." he thought for a bit, idly making holes in the sand with the umbrella, and then added: "when the umbrella is yours." gyuri made a wry face. "thank you, uncle, but i hope you don't mean to give it me on my birthday instead of the pony you promised me?" and he laughed heartily, upon which the old gentleman began to laugh too, contentedly stroking his mustache, consisting of half a dozen hairs. there was something strange in his laugh, as though he had laughed _inward_ to his own soul. "no, no, you shall have your pony. but i assure you that the umbrella will once belong to you, and you will find it very useful to protect you from the wind and clouds." gyuri thought this great nonsense. such old gentlemen always attached themselves so to their belongings, and thought such a lot of them. why, one of his professors had a penholder he had used for forty years! one episode in connection with the umbrella remained fixed in gyuri's memory ever after. one day they rowed out to the "yellow," as they call a small island situated just where the maros and the tisza met, and where the fishermen of szeged cook their far-famed "fish with paprika" (a kind of cayenne grown in hungary, and much used in the national dishes). we read in márton's famous cookery book that "fish with paprika" must only be boiled in tisza water, and the same book says that a woman cannot prepare the dish properly. well, as i said before, the three of them rowed out to the "yellow." as they were landing they struck against a sand heap, and gregorics, who was in the act of rising from his seat, stumbled and lost his balance, and in trying to save himself from falling dropped his umbrella into the water, and the current carried it away with it. "my umbrella, save it!" shouted gregorics, who had turned as white as a sheet, and in whose eyes they read despair. the two boatmen smiled, and the elder one, slowly removing his pipe from his mouth, remarked laconically: "no great loss that, sir; it was only fit to put in the hands of a scarecrow." "one hundred florins to the one who brings it me back," groaned the old gentleman. the boatmen, astonished, gazed at one another, then the younger man began to pull off his boots. "are you joking, sir, or do you mean it?" "here are the hundred florins," said gregorics, taking a bank-note from his pocket-book. the young man, a fine specimen of a szeged fisherman, turned to kupeczky. "is the old chap mad?" he asked in his lackadaisical way, while the umbrella quietly floated down the stream. "oh dear no," answered kupeczky, who, however, was himself surprised at gregorics's strange behavior. "it's not worth it, domine spectabilis," he added, turning to the old gentleman. "quick, quick!" gasped gregorics. another doubt had arisen in the boatman's mind. "is the bank-note a real one, sir?" he asked. "of course it is. make haste!" the man, who had by this time taken off both his boots and his jacket, now sprang into the water like a frog, and began to swim after the umbrella, the old boatman shouting after him: "you're a fool, jankó; come back, don't exert yourself for nothing." gregorics, afraid the warning would take effect, flew at the old man and seized hold of his tie. "hold your tongue or i'll murder you. do you want to ruin me?" "well, what would that matter? do you want to throttle me? leave go of my neck-tie." "well, let the boy go after my umbrella." "after all, what is the hen good for if not to look after the chickens?" muttered the old boatman. "the current just here is very strong, and he won't be able to reach the umbrella. and what's the good of it, when it will come back of itself when the tide turns in half an hour's time, to the other side of the 'yellow.' in half an hour the fishermen will spread their nets, and the gentleman's umbrella will be sure to be caught in them; even if a big fish swallows it we can cut it open." and as the old fisherman had said, so it came to pass; the umbrella was caught in one of the fishing nets, and great was the joy of old gregorics when he once more held his treasure in his hand. he willingly paid the young fisherman the promised one hundred florins, though it was not really he who had brought the umbrella back; and in addition he rewarded the fishermen handsomely, who, the next day, spread the tale through the whole town of the old madman, who had given one hundred florins for the recovery of an old torn red umbrella. they had never before caught such a big fish in the tisza. "perhaps the handle of the umbrella was of gold?" "not a bit of it; it was only of wood." "perhaps the linen was particularly fine?" "rubbish! is there any linen in the world worth one hundred florins? it was plain red linen, and even that was torn and ragged." "then you have not told us the tale properly." "i've told you the whole truth." kupeczky remarked to gyuri: "i would not mind betting the old gentleman has a tile loose." "a strange man, but a good one," answered gyuri. "who knows what memories are attached to that umbrella!" chapter iii. pÁl gregorics's death and will. no signification was attached to the above-mentioned incident till years after, when every one had forgotten all about it, gyuri included. as for kupeczky, he could not remember it, for as soon as the news came from besztercebánya that old gregorics was dead, he took to his bed and never rose from it again. "i am dying, gyuri," he said to his sobbing pupil, "i feel it. it was only gregorics kept me alive, or rather i kept myself alive for his sake. but now i'm done for. i don't know if he has provided for your future, my poor boy, but it's all over with me, i'm dying, i wouldn't mind betting it." and he would have won his bet too. gyuri went home for gregorics's funeral, and a week later the landlady sent word that the old professor was dead, and he was to send money for the funeral. but what was kupeczky's death to that of gregorics? the poor old fellow was quite right to take his departure, for no one wanted him, no one took any notice of him. he slipped quietly into the next world, just as one ought to do; even during his life he caused no disturbance; he was here, he went, and there was an end of it. but pál gregorics went to work in quite a different style. he was taken ill with cramp on the thursday in holy week, and went to bed in great pain. after a time the cramp ceased, but left him very weak, and he fell asleep toward evening. some hours after he opened his eyes and said: "anna, bring me my umbrella, and put it here, near my bed. that's it! now i feel better!" he turned over and went to sleep again, but soon woke up with a start. "anna," he said, "i have had a fearful dream. i thought i was a horse, and was being taken to a fair to be sold. my step-brothers and nephews appeared on the scene, and began to bid for me, and i stood trembling there, wondering which of them i was to belong to. my brother boldizsár pulled open my mouth, examined my teeth, and then said, 'he is not worth anything, we could only get five florins for his skin.' as he was speaking, up came a man with a scythe. he poked me in the ribs (it hurts me still), and exclaimed, 'the horse is mine, i'll buy it.' i turned and looked at him, and was horrified to see it was death himself. 'but i will not give the halter with the horse,' said my owner. 'it does not matter,' answered the man with the scythe, 'i can get one from the shop round the corner; wait a minute, i'll be back directly.' and then i awoke. oh, it was dreadful!" his red hair stood on end, and beads of perspiration rolled down his face, which anna wiped with a handkerchief. "nonsense," she said, "you must not believe in dreams; they do not come from heaven, but from indigestion." "no, no," said the sick man, "i'm going, i feel it. my time will be up when they bring the halter. don't waste words trying to console me, but bring me pen and paper, i want to send a telegram to the boy; he must come home at once. i'll wait for his arrival, yes, i'll wait till then." they brought a table to his bed, and he wrote the following words: "come at once, uncle is dying and wants to give you something.--mother." "send the servant with this at once." he was very restless while the man was away, and asked three times if he had returned. at length he came back, but with bad news; the telegraph office was closed for the night. "well, it does not matter," said anna, "we will send it in the morning. the master is not really so bad, it is half imagination; but he is so nervous we must not excite him, so go in and tell him the telegram is sent." he was quieter after that, and began to reckon at what time the boy would arrive, and decided he might be there by the afternoon of the second day. he slept quietly all night, and got up the next morning very pale and weak, but went about putting things straight and turning out drawers. "it is unnecessary to send the telegram," thought anna to herself. "he seems nearly himself again, and will be all right in a day or two." the whole day he pottered about, and in the afternoon shut himself up in his study and drank a small bottle of tokay wine, and wrote a great deal. anna only went in once to see if he wanted anything. no, he wanted nothing. "have you any pain?" "my side hurts me, just where the man with the scythe touched me. there is something wrong inside." "does it hurt very much?" "yes, very much!" "shall i send for a doctor?" "no." in the evening he sent for his lawyer, jános sztolarik. he was quite lively when he came, made him sit down, and sent for another bottle of tokay. "the february vintage, anna," he called after her. the wine had been left him by his father, and dated from the year when there had been two vintages in tokay in twelve months, one in february, and one in october. only kings can drink the like of it. on account of the mildness of the winter the vines had been left uncovered, had flowered and borne fruit, so that in february they were able to have a vintage, and you can imagine what a flavor those grapes had. there was never anything like it before nor after. old gregorics's father used to call it the "life-giver," and often said: "if a man intending to commit suicide were to drink a thimbleful of it beforehand, he would, if unmarried, go and look up a 'best man,' or, if married, would go and sue for a divorce; but kill himself he would not." the two friends drank to each other's health, and gregorics smacked his lips. "it's devilish good," he said. then he gave the lawyer a sealed packet. "in that you will find my will," he said. "i sent for you in order to give it you." he rubbed his hands and smiled. "there will be some surprises in that." "why are you in such a hurry with it? there is plenty of time," said sztolarik, taking the packet. gregorics smiled. "i know more about that than you, sztolarik. but take a drop more, and don't let us talk of death. and now i'll tell you how my father got this wine. well, he was a very sly customer, and if he couldn't get a thing by fair means, he got it by foul, and i have inherited some of his slyness from him. but mine is not the genuine article; however, that does not matter. in zemplin there lived a very, very rich man, a count, and an ass into the bargain; at least he was a good-hearted man, and liked to give pleasure to others, thus proving that he was an ass. my father used to buy his wine of him, and if they had struck a good bargain the count used to give him a glass of this nectar. being an assiduous wine merchant, of course my father was always worrying him to sell him some of the wine, but the count would not hear of it, and said, 'the emperor ferdinand has not enough money to buy it!' well, once when they were drinking a small glass of the 'life-giver,' my father began sighing deeply: 'if my poor wife could only drink a thimbleful of this every day for two months, i am sure she would get quite well again.' upon which the count's heart softened, and he called up his major-domo and said: 'fill mr. gregorics's cask with the "life-giver."' a few days later several visitors arrived at the castle, and the count ordered some of the wine to be brought. 'there is none left, sir,' said the butler. 'why, what has become of it?' asked the count. 'mr. gregorics took it with him, there was not even enough to fill his cask!' it was true, for my father had ordered an enormous cask of mr. pivák (old pivák is still alive and remembers the whole story), took the cask in a cart to zemplin, and, after filling it with the wine, brought it home. not bad, was it? drink another glass before you go, sztolarik." when the lawyer had gone, gregorics called his man-servant in. "go at once to the ironmonger's and buy a large caldron; then find me two masons and bring them here; but don't speak to a soul about it." now that was matykó's weak point, but if he had not been told to hold his tongue he might have managed to do so later on, when the opportunity for speaking came. "off you go, and mind you are back in double quick time!" before dark the masons had arrived, and the caldron too. gregorics took the two men into his room, and carefully shut the door. "can you keep silence?" he asked. the masons looked at each other surprised, and the elder one answered. "why, of course we can keep silence, that is the first thing a man does on his arrival in this world." "yes, until he has learnt to talk," answered gregorics. "and even afterward you can make the trial if it is worth your while," said the younger man slyly. "it will be worth your while, for you shall have fifty florins each if you will make a hole in a wall large enough to put this caldron in, and then close it again so that no one can see where it was put." "is that all?" "that is all. but besides that you will receive fifty florins each from the owner of this house every year, as long as you keep silence." the masons again exchanged glances, and the elder said: "we will do it. where is it to be done?" "i will show you." gregorics took down a rusty key from a nail, and went out with the men into the courtyard. "now follow me," he said, and led them through the garden to an orchard, in which was a small house built of stone. the most delicious apples grew here, and that had induced old gregorics to buy the orchard and house from the widow of the clergyman; he had made a present of both to little gyuri, and it was entered in his name. when the boy was at home he used to study there with kupeczky, but since he left it had been quite deserted. gregorics led the masons to this little house, and showed them the wall in which he wished an opening made large enough to receive the caldron, and told them when they were ready to come and tell him, as he wished to be present when they walled it in. by midnight the hole was ready, and the masons came and tapped at the window. gregorics let them in, and they saw the caldron in the middle of the room. the top was covered with sawdust, so that they could not see what was in it, but it was so heavy the two masons could hardly carry it. gregorics followed them step for step, and did not move until they had built up the wall again. "if you have it whitewashed to-morrow, sir, no one will find the place." "i am quite satisfied with the work," said gregorics. "here is the promised reward, and now you may go." the elder of the two masons was surprised at being let off so easily. "i've heard and read of this sort of thing," he said, "but they did things differently then. they used to put the masons' eyes out, so that even they could not find the place again, but of course they got a hundred times as much as we do." "ah, that was in the good old times," sighed the other. gregorics troubled his head no more about them, but closed the heavy oaken door of the house, and went home to bed. the next morning the cramp returned, and was only partially relieved by the medicine anna gave him. he was frightfully weak, and only now and then showed interest in what was going on around him. "give us a good dinner, anna," he said once, "and make dumplings, the boy likes them." and half an hour afterward: "make the dumplings with jam, anna, the boy likes them best so." the only thing he would take himself was mineral water. toward afternoon the cramp was much worse, and he began to spit blood. anna was frightened, and began to cry, and ask if he would not have a doctor or a priest. gregorics shook his head. "no, no, i am quite ready to die, everything is in order. i am only waiting for gyuri. what time is it?" the church clock just then struck twelve. "it is time the coach arrived. go and tell matykó to wait outside by the gate, and carry gyuri's bag in when he comes." anna wrung her hands in despair. should she own she had not sent off the telegram? no, she dare not tell him; she would carry on the deception, and send matykó out to the gate. but the sick man got more and more restless. "anna," he said, "take the horn out, and tell matykó to blow it when the boy arrives, so that i may know at once." so anna took down the horn, and had less courage than ever to own the truth. the sick man was quieter after that, and listened attentively, raising his head at every sound, and feeling for his umbrella every now and then. "open the window, anna, or i shan't hear matykó blow the horn." the sunlight streamed in through the open window, and the perfume of acacia blossoms was borne in on the breeze. "put your hand on my forehead, anna." she did as she was told, and found his skin cold and dry. the sick man sighed. "your hand is too rough, anna. the boy's is so soft and warm." he smiled faintly, then opened his eyes. "did you not hear anything? listen! was that the horn?" "i don't think so. i heard nothing." gregorics pointed to a clock in the next room. "stop it," he said. "i can't hear anything. quick, quick!" anna got on a chair, and stopped the clock. in that moment she heard a sound in the next room, something like a groan, then the muttered words: "i hear the horn!" then another groan. anna jumped off the chair, and ran into the next room. there all was still; on the bed were large spots of blood, and gregorics lay there dead, his face white, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. one hand hung down by his side, the other firmly held the umbrella. thus died poor pál gregorics, and the news of his death soon spread among his relations and his neighbors. the doctor said he had died of some illness with a long latin name, which no one had ever heard, and said that if he had been called sooner he might have saved him. boldizsár was soon on the spot, also his brother gáspár with all his family. mrs. panyóki, the eldest sister, was in the country at the time, and on receipt of the news late the same evening, exclaimed despairingly: "what a deception! here have i been praying all my life for him to die in the winter, and he must needs go and die in the summer. is there any use in praying nowadays? what a deception! those two thieves will take everything they can lay their hands on." she ordered the horses to be harnessed, and drove off as fast as she could, arriving about midnight, by which time the two brothers were in possession of everything, had even taken up their abode in the house, and driven anna out in spite of her protests that the house was hers, and she was mistress there. "only the four walls are yours, and those you shall have. the rest is ours, and a good-for-nothing creature like you has no right here. so off you go!" gáspár was a lawyer, and understood things; how was poor anna to take her stand against him. she could only cry, put on her hat, pack up her box, and limp over the road to matykó's mother. but before she went the two brothers turned her box out, to see she took nothing with her to which she had no right. the funeral took place on the third day. it was not a grand one by any means; no one shed a tear except poor anna, who did not dare go near the coffin for fear of being sent off by the relations. the boy had not yet arrived from szeged, and it was better so, for he would probably have been turned out of the courtyard by the two brothers of the dead man. but even though anna did not walk with the mourners, she was the centre of all eyes, for did not that big house outside the town belong to her now? and when she dropped her handkerchief wet with her tears, did not all the unmarried men, one of them even a lawyer, rush to pick it up for her? this incident went to prove how much she had risen in people's estimation. after the funeral, there was a general gathering of all the family at sztolarik's in order to hear the will read. well, it was a rather strange one on the whole. the old gentleman had left florins to the academy of arts and sciences, and florins to each of the ladies at whose houses he had visited years before, and to those who had refused to marry him. nine ladies were mentioned by name, and the legacy had been placed in the hands of sztolarik to be paid at once to the legatees. the relations listened with bated breath, every now and then throwing in a remark, such as, "very good. quite right of him," etc. only mrs. panyóki muttered, when the nine ladies' names were read out: "dear me, how very strange!" boldizsár, who was of opinion it was not worth while worrying over such trifles (after all, pál had been slightly mad all his life), said grandly: "please continue, mr. sztolarik." the lawyer answered shortly: "there is no more!" their surprise was great, and there was a general rush to look at the will. "impossible!" they all exclaimed at once. the lawyer turned his back on them repeating: "i tell you there is not another word!" "and the rest of his fortune, his estates in bohemia?" "there is no mention of them. i can only read what i see written here; you must at least understand that, gentlemen." "it is incomprehensible," groaned gáspár. "the curious part of it is," remarked boldizsár, "that there is no mention of that woman and her son." "yes, of course," answered gáspár, "it does seem strange." the lawyer hastened to reassure them. "it can make no difference to you," he said. "whatever fortune there may be that is not mentioned in the will falls to you in any case." "yes, of course," said gáspár, "and that is only right. but the money? where is it? there must be any amount of it. i'm afraid some wrong has been done." mrs. panyóki said nothing, only looked suspiciously at her two brothers. chapter iv. the avaricious gregorics. the contents of the will soon became known in the town, and caused quite a little storm in the various patriarchal drawing-rooms, with their old-fashioned cherry-wood pianos, over which hung the well-known picture, the "march of miklós zrínyi," and their white embroidered table-cloths on small tables, in the centre of which stands a silver candlestick, or a glass brought from some watering-place with the name engraved on it, and a bunch of lilac in it. yes, in those dear little drawing-rooms, there was any amount of gossip going on. it was really disgraceful of gregorics, but he was always tactless. the idea of compromising honest old ladies, mothers and grandmothers! the nine ladies were the talk of the town, their names were in every mouth, and though there were many who blamed gregorics, there were also some who took his part. "after all," they said, "who knows what ties there were between them? gregorics must have been a lively fellow in his youth." and even those who defended gregorics decided that after all there must have been some friendship between him and the nine ladies at some time or other, or why should he have remembered them in his will; but his behavior was not gentlemanly in any case, even if they were to believe the worst. in fact, in that case it was even more tactless. "for such behavior he ought to be turned out of the club, i mean he ought to have been turned out; in fact, i mean, if he were alive he might be turned out. i assure you, if they write on his gravestone that he was an honorable man, i'll strike it out with my own pencil." these were the words of the notary. the captain of the fire-brigade looked at it from a different point of view. "it is a cowardly trick," he declared. "women only reckon until they are thirty-five years of age, and these are all old women. a little indiscretion of this kind cannot hurt them. if you breathe on a rusty bit of steel it leaves no mark. we only remove caterpillars from those trees which have flowers or leaves, or which will bear fruit, but on old, dried-up trees we leave them alone. but it is the husbands gregorics has offended, for it is cowardly to affront people who cannot demand satisfaction from you. and i think i may affirm with safety that gregorics is now incapable of giving satisfaction." the next morning istván vozáry (whose wife was one of the nine ladies mentioned in the will) appeared at the lawyer's and informed him that as his wife had never had anything to do with the dead man, she had no intention of accepting the florins. when this was known in the town, the eight remaining ladies arrived, one after the other, at the lawyer's, in order to make known to him their refusal of the legacy, as they also had nothing to do with gregorics. i do not know when sztolarik had had such a lively time of it as on that day, for it was really amusing to see those wrinkled old dames, toothless and gray-haired, coming to defend their honor. but it was even livelier for the gregorics family, for they thus got back the , florins they had been cheated out of--that is, with the exception of the florins left to the academy of arts and sciences, for, of course, the academy accepted the legacy, though it also had had nothing to do with gregorics. but the academy (the tenth old woman) was not so conscientious as the other nine. the joy of the gregorics soon turned to bitterness, for they could not manage to find out where the bohemian estates were. gáspár went off to prague, but came back after a fruitless search. they were unable to find any papers referring to the estates; not a bill, not a receipt, not a letter was to be found. "it was incomprehensible, such a thing had never happened before," boldizsár said. they were wild with anger, and threatened matykó and anna to have them locked up, if they would not tell them where the estates were in bohemia; and at length they were brought before the court and examined. matykó at least must know all about it, for he had travelled everywhere with his master. so matykó had to own that his master had never been to bohemia at all, but had always gone to szeged or to kolozsvár, where gyuri had been at school. oh! that sly pál gregorics, how he had cheated his relations! now it was as clear as day why he had turned all his possessions into money, of course he had given it all to that boy. but _had_ he given it him? how could he have trusted hundreds of thousands to a child of that age? then, where had he put it? to whom had he given it? that was the riddle the gregorics were trying to solve. the lawyer, the last person who had spoken to gregorics, declared he had not mentioned any money, and anna swore by heaven and earth that she and her son had not received a kreutzer from him, and were much embittered at the fact of his leaving them without any provision. she had not a good word to say for the dead man. he had made the boy unhappy for life, spending so much on him and his education, and then leaving him totally without providing for him; so that the boy, for whom expensive professors had been kept, would now be reduced to giving lessons himself, in order to enable him to live, for the house would hardly bring in enough to pay for his keep, while attending the lectures at the university. "well," said sztolarik, "if he had intended the boy to have his money, he could have given it straight into his hands, no one could prevent it." this was quite true, and that was the very reason it seemed so strange he had not done so. the house in vienna had been sold for , florins, the privorec estates for , , which made over a quarter of million florins. good heavens! where had he put it to? if he had exchanged the paper notes for gold, melted it, and eaten it by spoonfuls ever since, he could not have finished it yet. but gregorics had been a careful man, so the money must be in existence somewhere. it was enough to drive one mad. it did not seem likely that anna or the boy should have the money, nor sztolarik, who was gyuri wibra's guardian; so the brothers gregorics did not despair of finding it, and they engaged detectives to keep their eyes on anna, and looked up a sharp boy in pest to let them know how gyuri lived there, and to find out from his conversation whether he knew anything of the missing money. for gyuri had gone to pest, to attend the university lectures, and study law. the boy sent word that gyuri lived very simply, attended every lecture, lived at the "seven owls," and dined at a cheap eating-house known by the name of the "first of april." this little restaurant was mostly frequented by law students. on the daily bill of fare was the picture of a fat man speaking to a very thin man, and underneath was the following conversation: thin man: "how well you look; where do you dine?" fat man: "why here, at the 'first of april.'" thin man: "really? well, i shall dine there too for the future." all the same, the fare was not of the best, and perhaps the above conversation was intended to make april fools of people. for the restaurant-keepers of olden times were frank, and even if they lied, they did it so naively, that every one saw through the lie. gáspár gregorics received the following particulars as to gyuri's mode of life: "he breakfasts at a cheap coffee-house, attends lectures all the morning, dines at the 'first of april,' the afternoon he passes at a lawyer's office, copying deeds, etc., and in the evening he buys a little bacon or fried fish for supper, then goes home and studies till midnight. every one likes him, and he will make his way in the world." that avaricious gáspár gregorics began to wish the boy had the quarter of a million after all, for he might in a few years' time marry his daughter minka, who was just eleven. anna had let the house, and sztolarik sent gyuri thirty florins every month out of the rent. the gregorics divided the , florins refused by the nine ladies, among the three of them, and also the few hundreds obtained by the sale of the dead man's furniture and personal property, but the rest of the money was still missing. the whole town was discussing the question of its whereabouts, and all sorts of silly tales were set afloat. some said the old gentleman had sent it to klapka, and that one day klapka would return with it in the form of guns and cannon. others said he had a castle, somewhere away in the woods, where he kept a very beautiful lady, and even if he had not been able to eat up his fortune in the form of melted gold, a pretty woman would soon know how to dispose of it. but what made the most impression on every one was, that an ironmonger appeared at gáspár's house with a bill for a large caldron gregorics had bought the day before his death, but had not paid for. gáspár gave a long whistle. "that caldron was not among the things we sold," he said. and he went through the inventory again; but no, the caldron was not there. "i am on the right road," thought gáspár. "he did not buy the caldron for nothing. consequently, what did he buy it for? why, to put something in it of course, and that something is what we are looking for!" boldizsár was of the same opinion, and positively beamed with delight. "it is god's finger," he said. "now i believe we shall find the treasure. pál must have buried the caldron somewhere, thinking to do us out of our rights; and he would have succeeded if he had not been so stupid as not to pay for the caldron. but luckily in cases of this kind the wrongdoer generally makes some stupid mistake." the ironmonger remembered that it was matykó who had chosen the caldron and taken it with him; so gáspár one day sent for the servant, gave him a good dinner with plenty of wine, and began to question him about pál's last days, introducing the incident of the caldron, the bill for which the ironmonger had just sent him he said. "what about it, matykó," he asked. "did your master really order it? i can hardly believe it, for what could he have wanted it for? i'm afraid you have been buying things for yourself, in your master's name." that was the very way to make matykó speak, to doubt his honor; and now he let out the whole story in order to clear himself. the day before his death, his master had told him to go and buy a caldron, and bring it him, together with two masons. he had done as he was told, and toward evening had taken the caldron into his master's bedroom; the masons had arrived at the same time, and had seen the caldron, so they could bear witness to the fact. "well, that's right, matykó, you're a lucky fellow, for if you have two witnesses, your honor is as intact as ever, and you must consider my words as unspoken. drink another glass of wine, and don't be offended at my suspicion; after all, it was only a natural conclusion; we could find no traces of the caldron, and the ironmonger wanted to be paid for it, and said you had taken it away. where can it have got to?" "heaven only knows," answered matykó. "did you never see it again?" "never." "and what became of the masons? what did they come for?" "i don't know." gáspár smiled pleasantly at the man. "you are like 'john don't-know' in the fairy tale. he always answered, 'i don't know' to everything that was asked him. of course you don't know the two witnesses either who could establish your innocence? in that case, my good fellow, you're no better off than you were before." "but i do know one of them." "what is his name?" "oh, i don't know his name." "well, how do you know him, then?" "he has three hairs at the end of his nose." "rubbish! he may have cut them off since then." "i should know him all the same by his face; it is just like an owl's." "and where did you pick up the two masons?" "they were mending the wall of the parish church." by degrees gáspár gregorics got all particulars out of the man; and now the ground seemed to be burning under his feet, so he went straight into the town to look for the man with the three hairs on his nose. it was not difficult to find him, and at the first place he asked at, three voices answered at once: "that must be andrás prepelicza. his mustache made a mistake, and grew on the top of his nose instead of on his lip." after that it was mere child's play, for every workman knew that prepelicza was "building pest," as they expressed it. he was working at a large house in the kerepesi street. gáspár immediately had the horses harnessed, and drove to pest, not stopping till he reached the capital; and there he set to work to find prepelicza among the slovak workmen. the mason was just going up on a pulley to the third story when he found him, and gáspár shuddered as he thought: "supposing the cords were to give way now!" "hallo, prepelicza!" he shouted. "wait a bit, i was just looking for you. i want to have a talk with you." "all right," called out the mason, examining the newcomer from above. "come up if you want to talk." "you come down to me, it is very important." "well, shout it out, i can hear it all right up here." "i can't do that, i must speak to you in private at any cost." "good or bad?" "very good." "good for me?" "yes, good for you." "well, if it is good for me it can wait till the evening. i shall be down by then, but i want to finish this top window first." "don't argue, but come down at once. you won't be sorry for it." "why, i don't even know who you are." "i'll send you word in a minute." and with the next pulley he sent prepelicza up a nice new crisp ten-florin note. the man who took it up got a florin for doing so. at the sight of this novel visiting-card prepelicza threw down his hammer and trowel, and with the next pulley returned to his mother earth, where miracles have been going on ever since the time of moses. "what can i do for you, sir?" "follow me." "to the end of the world, sir." "we need not go as far as that," said gregorics, smiling. and they only went as far as "the cock," a small public-house, where they ordered some wine, after drinking which, the wily gáspár began, smiling blandly: "can you speak, prepelicza?" the mason began to wonder what was going to happen, and looked long and attentively into the steely gray eyes of his new acquaintance, and then said guardedly: "a jay can speak, sir." "i am from besztercebánya." "really? there are very decent people there. i seem to know your face too, sir." "you probably mistake me for my half-brother," said gáspár. "you know, the one who had the caldron put away so secretly." "the caldron!" prepelicza's mouth was wide open from astonishment. "was that your brother? now i understand where the likeness is, at least ... i mean ... (and he began to scratch his ear doubtfully). what caldron are you speaking of? i can't be expected to remember every pot and pan i have seen in my life." gáspár was prepared for such hitches as this, so was not surprised, and offered the mason a cigar, which he immediately wetted to make it burn slower, then lit it, and began to drum on the table like a man who has just found out that he has something to sell, and has the right purchaser before him. now he must be as phlegmatic as possible, and the price of the article would rise in proportion. his heart beat loud and fast, and the white cock framed on the wall above the green table seemed to awake to life before his eyes, and to crow out these words: "good afternoon, andrás prepelicza! cock-a-doodledo. you have luck before you! seize hold of it!" "what do you say, prepelicza, you don't remember the caldron? what do you take me for? do i look like a fool? but i daresay in your place i should do the same. this wine is very good, isn't it? what do you say? it tastes of the cask? why, my good fellow, it can't taste of mortar, can it? here, waiter, fetch another bottle of wine, and then be off and leave us alone. well, what were we speaking of? ah, yes, you said a short time ago that the jay could speak, and that is quite true; you are a wise man, prepelicza, and the right man for me, for we shall soon come to terms. yes, the jay can speak, but only if they cut its tongue. that is what you meant, isn't it?" "h'm!" was the answer, and the three hairs on the mason's nose began to move, as though a breath of air had passed through them. "i know of course that they cut the jay's tongue with a knife, but as you are not a bird, prepelicza ..." "no, no," stammered the man hastily. "well, instead of a knife i take these two bank-notes to cut your tongue with." and with that he took two hundred-florin bank-notes out of his pocket-book. the eyes of the mason fixed themselves greedily upon the bank-notes, upon the two figures printed on them, one holding a sheaf of wheat, the other a book; his eyes nearly dropped out of his head he stared so hard, and then he said: "the caldron was heavy, very heavy indeed." that was all he could get out, while he continued gazing at the two cherubs on the paper notes. he had six of his own at home, but they were not as pretty as these. "well, my good man," said gregorics surprised, "still silent?" "it would be like a stone on my heart if i were to speak," sighed the mason--"a very big stone. i don't think i could bear it." "don't talk such nonsense! a stone, indeed! why, you have had to do with nothing else all your life, you need not cry about having one on your heart! you can't expect me to give you two hundred florins, and then give you a hot roll to carry in your heart. don't be a fool, man." prepelicza smiled at this, but he put his big red hands behind his back, a sign that he did not intend to touch the money. "perhaps you find it too little?" not a word did he answer, only pushed his hair up in front, till he looked like a sick cockatoo; then, after a few moments, raised his glass to his lips, and drained it to the dregs, and then put it back on the table so brusquely that it broke. "it is disgraceful!" he burst out; "a poor man's honor is only worth two hundred florins, though god created us all equal, and he gave me my honor as well as to the bishop or to baron radvánszky. and yet you tax mine at two hundred florins. it's a shame!" upon that gáspár decided to play his trump. "very well, prepelicza, you needn't be so cross. if your honor is so dear, i'll look for cheaper." and with that he put back the two bank-notes in his pocket. "i'll look up your companion, the other mason." then he called the head waiter, in order to pay for the wine. prepelicza smiled. "well, well, can't a poor man give his opinion? of course you can look up the other man, and he won't be as honest as i, probably. but ... well, put another fifty to it, and i'll tell you all." "very well. it's a bargain!" and the mason began to relate the events of that memorable night, and how they had carried the caldron through the courtyard and garden to a small house. "to the 'lebanon'!" exclaimed gáspár excitedly. "to that boy's house!" and the mason went on to tell how gregorics had stood by while they had walled in the caldron, and watched every movement, gáspár throwing in a question now and then. "was it heavy?" "very heavy." "did no one see you as you passed through the courtyard?" "no one; every one had gone to bed." gáspár was quite excited, and seemed to enjoy every word he heard; his eyes shone, his thoughts were occupied with the future, in which he imagined himself a rich man, the owner of untold wealth. he might even buy a baronetcy! baron gáspár gregorics! how well it sounded! and minka would be a little baroness. that fool of a pál had not known how to make proper use of his wealth, so it must have increased immensely, he had been so economical! "and what did my brother pay you for your work?" "he gave us each fifty florins." "that was quite right of him." a weight had fallen from his heart at these words, for he had begun to fear gregorics had given them some thousands to buy their silence, and that would have been a great pity, as it would have diminished the sum he hoped to possess before long. for he had decided to buy "lebanon," with its caldron and its orchard. he would go to-morrow to that boy's guardian and make an offer for it. and he rejoiced inwardly at the trick he was playing his brother and sister. he returned home as fast as horses could take him, and did not even stop at his own house, but went straight on to sztolarik's and informed him he would like to buy "lebanon." this was the name they had given to the orchard and house old gregorics had bought of the clergyman's widow. he had tried to grow cedars there at first, but the soil of besztercebánya was not suitable for these trees, and the sarcastic inhabitants of the small town christened the orchard "lebanon." mr. sztolarik showed no surprise at the offer. "so you want to buy 'lebanon'?" he said. "it is a good orchard, and produces the finest fruit imaginable. this year a well-known hotel-keeper bought all the fruit, and paid an enormous price for it. but what made you think of buying 'lebanon'?" "i should like to build a house there, a larger house than the present one." "h'm! there is always a good deal of bother attached to a purchase of that kind," said sztolarik coldly; "the present owner is a minor, and the court of chancery must give permission for the sale to take place. i would rather leave things as they are. when the boy is of age he may do what he likes, but if i sell it now he may be sorry for it later on. no, no, mr. gregorics, i can't agree to it. after all the house and orchard are a _pretium affectionis_ for the boy; he spent his childhood there." "but if i offer a good sum for it," broke in gáspár, nervously. sztolarik began to feel curious. "what do you consider a good sum? what do you think of offering for it?" "why, i would give--" and here he was overcome by a fit of coughing, which made him turn as red as a peony--"i would give , florins." well, that was a brilliant offer, for pál gregorics had bought it of the clergyman's widow for florins. it was only a small bit of ground, and a good way from the market, which decreased its value exceedingly. "utcumque," said sztolarik, "your offer is a good one. but, but ... well, i'll tell you what, mr. gregorics, i'll consider your offer a bit, and i must write to the boy about it too, and also speak to his mother." "but i want to settle it as soon as possible." "i'll write about it to-day." gáspár did not wish to say any more about the matter, for fear of awakening the lawyer's suspicions, but a day or two afterward he sent a tiny cask of tokay wine to him (some pál gregorics had left in his cellar, and which they had divided among them), with the inquiry as to whether he had any answer from budapest. sztolarik sent back word he expected a letter every minute, and thanked him very much for the wine; he also remarked to the footman who had brought it that he hoped it would go smoothly, but whether he meant the wine, or something else, the footman did not quite understand. hardly had the man gone, when the expected letter arrived, containing the news that gyuri agreed to the sale of the orchard, and sztolarik was just going to send one of his clerks to gáspár, when the door opened, and in walked boldizsár gregorics, puffing and blowing from the haste he had made. "pray take a seat, mr. gregorics. to what do i owe the honor of your visit?" "i've brought you a lot of money," gasped boldizsár, still out of breath. "we can always do with plenty of that," said the lawyer. "i want to buy that poor orphan's little bit of property, 'lebanon.'" "'lebanon'?" repeated sztolarik, surprised. "what on earth is the matter with them all?" he muttered to himself; then continued out loud: "perhaps you want it for your brother?" "no, no, i want it for myself. it would suit me nicely; the view from there is so lovely, and the fruit-trees are so good." "it is really strange, very strange!" "why is it strange?" said the other, surprised. "because i have already one purchaser in view." "well, we won't let him have it. i daresay i can offer you more than he." "i doubt it," said the lawyer; "the first offer was , florins." boldizsár showed no surprise. "well, i offer , ." not till after he had said it did it occur to him that the orchard was not worth even , florins, and he turned impatiently and asked: "who is the fool who offers so much?" "your brother gáspár." at this name boldizsár turned deathly pale, and dropped gasping on to a chair. his lips moved, but no sound came from them, and sztolarik thought he would have a stroke, and rushed out for some water, calling for help as he went; but when he returned with the cook armed with a rolling-pin and a jug of water, the old gentleman had recovered, and began to excuse himself. "i felt a bit giddy; i often have attacks like this. i'm getting old, you see. and now to return to our discussion. yes, i'll give you , florins for 'lebanon,' and pay the money down." the lawyer thought a minute, then said: "we can't manage things so quickly, for we must have the consent of the court of chancery. i'll see about it at once." and he was as good as his word, for such an advantageous sale of the orchard he had never dared to hope for. but all the time he was wondering why the two gregorics were so anxious to have it. there must be some reason for it. supposing they had struck upon some treasure there, it was not impossible, for had not king arpád and his successors lived about here? he decided to send istván drotler, the civil engineer, to have a look at the place, and see if it contained gold or coal. but before he had time to start for the engineer's, gáspár gregorics appeared on the scene, to ask if there were any letter from pest. sztolarik was in difficulties. "the letter is here, yes, the letter is here; but something else has happened. another purchaser has turned up, and he offers , florins for 'lebanon.'" this was evidently a great blow for gáspár. "impossible," he stammered. "is it boldizsár?" "yes." gáspár was furious; he began to swear like a trooper, and waved his stick about, thereby knocking down one of mrs. sztolarik's flower-pots, in which a rare specimen of hyacinth was just blossoming. "the wretch!" he hissed. and then he sat staring fixedly in front of him for some time. how did he get to know of it? was the question he was revolving in his mind. it was very simple. that sly prepelicza had easily found out in besztercebánya that pál gregorics had more than one brother living, and he decided that if one of them paid him florins for the secret, the other would perhaps be inclined to pay something too. so he got into the train, travelled to besztercebánya, and looked up boldizsár. there was nothing surprising in that except, perhaps, the fact that prepelicza was not such a fool as he looked. "oh, the wretch!" gáspár kept on saying. "but he shall not have it, i _will_ buy it. i'll give you , florins for it." sztolarik smiled and rubbed his hands. "it will belong to the one who gives most for it. if it were mine, i would give it you for the , florins you offered at first, for i always keep my word. but as it belongs to a minor, and i have his interests at heart, i must do the best i can for him. now don't you think i am right?" gáspár agreed with him, and tried to make him promise to give him the preference. but what was the good of it? sztolarik met boldizsár that evening at the club, and made no secret of the fact that gáspár had been to see him that morning, and offered him florins more for the orchard. but boldizsár was not surprised, and only answered: "well, i will give , ." and this mad auction went on for days, until the attention of the whole town was drawn to it, and people began to think the gregorics must have gone mad, or that there must be some important reason for their wishing to have possession of "lebanon." gáspár came and offered , florins, and as soon as boldizsár heard of it, he came and offered florins more; and so on, until people's hair began to stand on end. "let them go on as long as they like," thought the lawyer. and they did go on, until they reached the sum of , florins, which was boldizsár's last offer. and heaven only knows how long it would have gone on still. the engineer had been to look at the place, and had declared there was nothing of any value to be found there, not even a bit of gold, unless it were the stoppings of some dead woman's teeth. "but supposing there is coal there?" "not a sign of it." "then what on earth are the gregorics thinking of?" whatever the reason was, it was certainly to gyuri's advantage, and his guardian meant to make the most of the opportunity, so he let the two brothers go on bidding till the sum promised was , florins. he intended to wait till gáspár capped it with , , and then close the bargain. but he had reckoned without his host, for one fine day it suddenly occurred to gáspár it was strange mrs. panyóki showed no signs of taking part in the auction. she evidently knew nothing of the existence of the treasure; prepelicza had not told her the secret, and had thus proved himself a clever man, for if he had told her too, his part in the play was over. whereas now, when the two brothers had the caldron in their possession, they would be obliged to pay him hush-money to hold his tongue. as gáspár turned all this over in his mind, he began to find it ridiculous for him and boldizsár to keep on outbidding each other, thus attracting every one's attention to them, putting money into the boy's pocket, and awakening mrs. panyóki's suspicions. and whichever bought "lebanon" at last would certainly not be left to enjoy it unmolested. so he decided it would be cheaper if they were to work together, buy the estate, share the contents of the caldron, and pay prepelicza a certain sum yearly to hold his tongue. so one day the brothers came to terms, and sztolarik was very surprised when, the next day, the door opened, and in walked boldizsár and announced that he had thought things over, and come to the conclusion that "lebanon" was decidedly not worth , florins, and he had given up all idea of buying it. "that does not matter," said sztolarik, "your brother will give us , for it." and he waited impatiently till he had a chance of speaking to gáspár about it. but that good man calmly answered: "it was very stupid of me to offer so much for it, and i am really grateful to you, sztolarik, for not taking me at my word at once. why, i can buy a good-sized estate for the money i offered for it." the lawyer hardly knew what to do next. he was afraid he had made them go back on their bargain, by letting them carry it on so long, and felt sure he would be the laughing stock of the town, and that gyuri would reproach him with not looking after his interests properly. so off he rushed to boldizsár and offered him "lebanon" for , florins; but boldizsár only laughed, and said: "do you take me for a fool?" whereupon he went to gáspár and said: "well, you may have 'lebanon' for , florins." gáspár shook his head and answered: "i'm not quite mad yet." and now the auction began again, but this time it went _backward_, until at last, with the greatest difficulty, sztolarik got , florins out of them. they bought it together, and both signed their names to the deeds. on the day they received the key of the house from the guardian, they both went there, shut themselves in, and began to pull down the inner wall with the pickaxes they had brought with them under their cloaks. of course they found the caldron, but what was in it has not become clear to this day, though that was the chief point to be settled in the gregorics lawsuit, which took up the attention of the besztercebánya law courts for ten years. it began in this way. a few months after the purchase of "lebanon," prepelicza appeared on the scene, and demanded his share of the treasure discovered in the wall, otherwise he would make known the whole affair to mrs. panyóki. the brothers got mad with rage at the sight of him. "you miserable thief!" they cried. "you were a party to the fraud practised upon us by that good-for-nothing brother of ours, who wanted to rob us in order to benefit that boy. you helped him to fill the caldron with rusty nails and bits of old iron. now you are here, you may as well have your share." with that they each seized hold of a stick, and began to beat prepelicza till he was black and blue. off he went to a doctor for a certificate as to his wounds, and then to the barber, who had to write a long letter to the king in his name, complaining of the behavior of the two brothers gregorics toward one of his honest (?) subjects. "if the king is not ashamed of them as subjects, i am not ashamed of owning how i have been beaten; they were two to one!" then he hired a cart (for it was impossible for him to walk in his present state), and drove to varecska, where mrs. panyóki spent the summer, and told her the whole tale from beginning to end. the result was the lawsuit panyóki _versus_ gregorics, which furnished the neighborhood with gossip for ten years. a whole legion of witnesses had to be examined, and the deeds and papers increased to such an extent that at the end they weighed seventy-three pounds. mrs. panyóki could only prove the existence of the caldron, its having been walled in, and its appropriation later on by the two brothers, who, on their part, tried to prove that it contained nothing of value, only a number of rusty nails and odd bits of iron. as the dead man had no lawyer to defend him, _he_ lost the lawsuit, for it was certain he had played the trick on his relations, and thus brought about the lawsuit, which only ended when it was all the same which side lost or won it, for the seventy-three pounds of paper and the six lawyers had eaten up the whole of the gregorics and panyóki fortunes. by degrees all the members of the family died in poverty, and were forgotten; only pál gregorics lived in the memories of the six lawyers, who remarked from time to time: "he was a clever man!" but in spite of all researches, the dead man's fortune was still missing, not a trace of it was to be found, no one had inherited it except rumor, which did as it liked with it, decreased it, increased it, placed it here or there at pleasure. traces part iii chapter i. the umbrella again. many years passed, and things had changed very much in besztercebánya, but the thing that will interest us most is the door-plate on the house formerly inhabited by old gregorics, on which is to be read: "györgy wibra, lawyer." yes, little gyuri is now a well-known lawyer; people come to him from all sides for advice, and young girls smile at him from their windows as he passes. he is a very handsome young man, and clever. he has youth and health, and his whole life before him, what more can he want? but the narrow-minded inhabitants of the little town are at present only occupied with one question, viz., whom will he marry? why, katka krikovszky would marry him any day, and she is the prettiest girl in the town. then there is mathilda hupka, who would receive him with open arms if he came to her with a proposal, though she is very high and mighty. and even mariska biky would not refuse him, and she belongs to the nobility, and has , florins. girls are very cheap nowadays! but gyuri wibra paid no attention to any of them; he was a serious and retiring young man, and his friends soon saw that he was infinitely above them in every way. as a rule young men first take their diploma, then start an office, look out for clients who do not come, and by their absence make the place seem so large and empty, that the young lawyer feels he must have company of some kind. so he brings home a wife to cheer his solitude. but it never occurred to gyuri to marry. and once when mrs. krikovszky broached the subject to him and asked when they would hear of his engagement, he answered absently: "i am not in the habit of marrying." it certainly is a bad "habit," but one that does not seem inclined to go out of fashion. for thousands of years people have been marrying, repenting of it, and considering it madness to have done so, but they never get over the madness, and marriage is as fashionable as ever. as long as pretty young girls are growing up, they are always growing up for some one. gyuri's business was a brilliant success from the beginning; fortune smiled on him from every side, but he received it with a tolerably sour face. he worked, but only from habit, just the same as he washed himself and brushed his hair every day. his mind was elsewhere; but where? his friends thought they knew, and often asked him: "why don't you marry, old fellow?" "because i am not rich enough." "why, that is the very reason you should marry. your wife will bring the money with her." (that is the usual opinion of young men.) gyuri shook his head, a handsome, manly head, with an oval face, and large black eyes. "that is not true. it is the money brings the wife!" what sort of a wife had he set his heart on? his friends decided he must be chasing very high game. perhaps he wanted a baroness, or even a countess? he was like the virginian creeper they said, which first climbs very high and then blossoms. but if he were to marry, he could be successful later on all the same. look at the french beans; they climb and blossom at the same time. but this was all empty talk. there was nothing whatever to prevent gyuri getting on in his profession; nothing troubled him, neither a pretty girl's face, nor a wish for rank and riches, only the legend of the lost wealth disturbed him. for to others it was a legend, but to him it was truth, which danced before his eyes like a jack-o'-lantern; he could neither grasp it nor leave it alone; yet there it was by day and by night, and he heard in his dreams a voice saying: "you are a millionaire!" when he wrote out miserable little bills for ten or fifteen florins, these words seemed to dance before him on the paper: "lay down your pen, gyuri wibra, you have treasures enough already, heaven only knows how much. your father saved it up for you, so you have a right to it. you are a rich man, gyuri, and not a poor lawyer. throw away those deeds and look for your treasure. where are you to look for it? why, that is just the question that drives one mad. perhaps sometimes, when you are tired out, and throw yourself down on the ground to rest, it may be just beneath you, it is, perhaps, just beginning to get warm under your hand when you take it away to do something else, and it may be you will never find it at all. and what a life you could lead, what a lot you could do with the money. you could drive a four-in-hand, drink champagne, keep a lot of servants. a new world, a new life would be open to you. and to possess all this you only need a little luck; but as you have none at present, take up your pen again, my friend, and go on writing out deeds and bills, and squeezing a few florins out of the poor slovaks." it was a great pity he had heard anything about the missing treasure. he felt it himself, and often said he wished he knew nothing about it, and would be very glad if something were to happen which would go to prove that the treasure did not really exist; for instance, if some one would remark: "oh, yes, i met old gregorics once in monte carlo; he was losing his money as fast as he could." but no such thing happened; on the contrary, new witnesses were always turning up to assure him: "old gregorics must certainly have left an immense fortune, which he intended you to have. don't you really know anything about it?" no, he knew nothing at all about it, but his thoughts were always running on the subject, spoiling all his pleasure in life. the promising youth had really become only half a man, for he had two separate and distinct persons in him. sometimes he entirely gave himself up to the idea that he was the child of a servant, and began to feel he had attained to a really good position by means of his own work, and was happy and contented in this thought. but only a word was needed to make the lawyer a totally different man. he was now the son of rich old pál gregorics, waiting to find and take possession of his property. and from time to time he suffered all the pangs of tantalus, and left his office to look after itself for weeks at a time, while he went to vienna to look up some of his father's old acquaintances. the rich carriage-builder, who had bought gregorics's house in vienna, gave him valuable information. "your father," he said, "once told me when i paid him for the house, that he should put the money in some bank, and asked me which would be the best and safest way to set to work about it." gyuri wandered then from one bank to another, but without success. thoroughly worn out he returned to besztercebánya with the full intention of not thinking any more about the subject. "i am not going on making a fool of myself," he said. "i won't let the golden calf go on lowing in my ears forever. i will not take another step in the affair, and shall imagine i dreamed it all." but it was easier said than done. you can throw ashes on a smouldering fire--it will put it out, but not prevent it smoking. sometimes one friend referred to it, sometimes another. his mother, who now walked on crutches, often spoke of the good old times, sitting in her arm-chair by the fire. and at length she owned that old gregorics had wanted to telegraph for gyuri on his deathbed. "he seemed as though he could not die till he had seen you," she said. "but it was my fault you came too late." "and why did he so much want to see me?" "he said he wanted to give you something." a light broke in upon gyuri's brain. the vienna carriage-builder had given him to understand that his father's fortune was represented by a receipt for money placed in a bank, and from the information his mother now gave him, he concluded that the old gentleman had intended giving him the receipt before his death. so he must always have kept it by him. but what had become of it? in which bank was the money deposited? could he, knowing what he did, give up the idea of finding it? no, no, it was impossible! it could not be lost! why, a grain of wheat, if dropped in a ditch, would reappear in time, however unexpectedly. and in a case of this kind, a chance word, a sign, could clear up every doubt. he had not long to wait. one day, the dying mayor of the town, tamás krikovszky, sent for him to make his will. several people, holding high positions in the town, were assembled in the room. there lay the mayor, pale and weak, but he still seemed to retain some of the majesty of his office, in the manner in which he took leave of his inferiors in office, recommending the welfare of the town to them, and then taking from under his pillow the official seal, he put it into their hands, saying: "for twenty years i have sealed the truth with it!" then he dictated his will to gyuri, and while doing so, referred now and then to various incidents in his life. "dear me, what times those were," he said once, addressing himself to gyuri. "your father had a red umbrella, with a hollow handle, in which he used to carry valuable papers from one camp to another, in the days when he was a spy." "what!" stammered gyuri. "the red umbrella?" and his eyes shone. like a flash of lightning a thought had entered his head. the receipt was in that umbrella! his blood began to course madly in his veins, as the certitude of the truth of his suspicion grew upon him. yes, there it was, he was sure of it; and all at once he remembered the incident in szeged, how gregorics had let his umbrella fall in the water, his anxiety, and offer of a large reward for its discovery. then again, the old gentleman's words rang in his ear: "the umbrella will once belong to you, and you will find it useful to protect you from the rain." the bystanders could not imagine why gyuri seemed so much put about at the mayor's death; in their opinion it was quite right of the old man to take his departure, he had dragged on with his gouty old leg quite long enough, and should now make room for younger men; he had not lived his life for nothing, for were they not going to have his portrait painted and hung in the town hall, a grand ending to his life? if he lived for ten years longer he could have no greater honor done him, and his portrait would be even uglier than now. they were even more surprised at the strange question which gyuri, in spite of the solemnity of the occasion, put to the dying man. "and was the hole big, sir?" "what hole?" asked the mayor, who had already forgotten the subject. "the hole in the handle of the umbrella." "i really don't know, i never asked gregorics." he closed his eyes, and in a weak voice added, with that phlegma which only a hungarian displays on his deathbed: "but if you wait a bit, i'll ask him." and he probably kept his promise, for half an hour later a black flag was flying from the roof of the town hall, and the bell of the roman catholic church was tolling. gyuri wibra had hurried home, nervous and excited, and was now marching up and down his office, his heart beating wildly with joy. "i have the treasure at last!" he kept on repeating to himself, "at least, i should have it if i had the umbrella. but where is it?" he could neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep till he had settled it. he questioned his mother on the subject, and she did her best to answer him, but could only repeat: "how am i to remember that, my dear boy, after so long a time? and what do you want that ragged umbrella for?" gyuri sighed. "if i have to dig it out of the ground with my ten fingers, i will do it." "perhaps matykó will remember something about it?" matykó was soon found; he sat smoking his pipe in the anteroom of the office, for he was now gyuri's servant. but he also said he had forgotten far more important things than that in all these years; but this much he did remember, that the dead man had kept the umbrella near him till the hour of his death. "heaven only knows," he added, "why he took such care of the ragged old thing." (not only heaven knew the reason now, but gyuri too!) he got more information from the old woman who kept the grocer's shop in old gregorics's house; she had been in the house when he died, and had helped to lay him out. she swore by heaven and earth that the umbrella had been tightly clutched in the dead man's hand, and they had had the greatest difficulty in freeing it from his grasp. "yes," said the old woman, "the umbrella was certainly in his hand, may i never move from this spot if it is not true." "it is all the same," muttered gyuri; "we want to know where it is now." "i suppose it was sold with the rest of the things." that seemed very likely, so gyuri went and looked up the list of things that had been sold at the auction. all sorts of things were mentioned--tables, chairs, cupboards, coats, etc.--but there was no mention of an umbrella. he read it over ten times, but it was of no use, he could find no mention of it, unless the following could be considered as such. "various useless objects, bought for two florins by the white jew." perhaps the umbrella was one of those useless objects, and had been bought by the "white jew." well, the first thing was to find the "white jew." but who was he? for in those good old days there were not as many jews in hungary as there are now; there were perhaps one or two in the town, so it was easy to find them; for one was called "red," another "gray," another "white," a fourth "black," according to the color of their hair; and by means of these four colors the townsfolk were able to distinguish any jew who lived in their town. but now there were some hundred jewish families, and heaven had not increased the shades of their hair to such an extent that each family could be distinguished in the old way. it was not difficult to find out about the old jew, and gyuri soon knew that he was called jónás müncz, and it was very likely he had bought the things, for all the coats and vests found their way into his tiny shop in wheat street, before starting on the second chapter of their existence. many people remember the little shop in which top-boots, cloaks, and dresses hung on nails, and the following announcement was written with chalk on the door: "only the lilies of the field can dress themselves cheaper than you can in this shop!" (that was quite true, only with this difference, that the lilies of the field were more becomingly dressed than müncz's customers.) in spite of all this information gyuri was by no means satisfied, so he walked across the road to his old guardian's to see if he could find out anything more on the subject from him, for he had been the first lawyer in the town for many years, and must know every one. the young man told sztolarik the whole story, openly and frankly, adding that the receipt for the money, which was probably deposited in some foreign bank, was all but found, for it was most certainly in the handle of the red umbrella, and that had in all probability been bought by an old jew of the name of jónás müncz. all of this gyuri poured out quickly and breathlessly into the ears of his old guardian. "that much i know. now, what am i to do next?" "it is a great deal, much more than i ever hoped for. you must continue the search." "but where am i to search? we don't yet know where müncz is, and even if we had him, who knows on which dust-heap the umbrella has rotted since then?" "all the same, you must not lose the thread." "did you know the 'white jew'?" "oh, yes; he was a very honest jew, that is why he never got very rich. he often came to me; i can see him now, with his head bald at the back, and a fringe of white hair round it. 'pon my word! (and here the lawyer skipped like a young lamb) the last time i saw him he had pál gregorics's umbrella in his hand; i can swear to it, and i remember i joked him about it. 'it seems to me, jónás,' i said, 'that you wander about the next world, too, to buy "ole clo'," and bought that umbrella there of pál gregorics.' at which he smiled, and said he had not gone as far as that yet, for he only kept to the two counties of zólyom and hont, and had divided the neighboring counties among his sons; móricz had trencsin and nyitra, számi had szepes and liptó, and the youngest, kóbi, had only last week been given bars, but they none of them intended to go into the next world until they were obliged to." gyuri's eyes shone with delight. "bravo, sztolarik!" he exclaimed, "only the gods had such memories as you have." "you are a lucky fellow, gyuri. i have an impression we are on the right track at last, and that you will find the money." "i begin to think so too," answered gyuri, who was in turns optimist or pessimist, as the occasion presented itself. "but what can have become of old müncz?" "we christians have a legend about the jews which says, that on the long day every year a jew disappears from the earth and is never seen again. old jónás disappeared thus fourteen years ago (you may be sure none of the rothschilds will disappear in that way). his wife and children waited for him in vain, jónás never returned. so his sons set out to look for him, and it turned out the old fellow had got soft-headed, and had taken to wandering about in the slovak villages, where the sons now and then heard of him from people who had seen him; and then one day, they found his dead body in the garam." the young lawyer's face was clouded again. "why, in that case the umbrella will be in the garam too, probably." "perhaps not," was the answer. "he may have left it at home, and if so, it will still be among the old rags and bones of the müncz's, for i am sure no one would ever buy it. try your luck, my boy! if i were you i would get into a carriage, and drive and drive until ..." "but where am i to drive to?" "yes, of course, of course." then, after a minute's thought: "müncz's sons have gone out into the world, and the boxes of matches with which they started have probably become houses since then. but i'll tell you what; go to bábaszék, their mother lives there." "whereabouts is bábaszék?" "quite near to zólyom, among the mountains. there is a saying that all the sheep there were frozen to death once, in the dog-days." "and are you sure mrs. müncz lives there?" "quite sure. a few years ago they came and fetched her away to be the 'jewess of bábaszék.'" chapter ii. our rosÁlia. yes, they had taken old mrs. müncz to bábaszék to be their "jew," with forty florins salary, for they had no jew there, and had to find one at any cost. this is how it came to pass (and it is difficult for an inhabitant of budapest to understand it). bábaszék was one of those small towns which in reality was only a larger village, though it rejoiced in what it called its "mayor," and on one day in the year a few miserable horses, cows, and pigs were driven in from the neighboring farms and villages, and the baker from zólyom put up a tent, in which he sold gingerbread in the shape of hearts, of soldiers, of cradles, all of which was soon bought up by the young men and fathers of families and taken home to sweethearts or children, as the case might be. in one word, there was a fair at bábaszék. and for centuries every inhabitant has divided the year and its events into two parts, one before the fair, and one after it. for instance, the death of francis deák took place just two days after the fair at bábaszék. and the reason of all this was, that the old kings of hungary who lived during the hunting season in the castles of zólyom and végles, instead of making grants to the inhabitants, raised the villages to the position of towns. well, of course, it was a privilege, for in a town everything seems grander than in a village, and is worth a good deal more, even man himself. the little straw-thatched house in which questions of moment are discussed is called the town hall, and the "hajdu" (town-servant) must know how to beat a drum (for the town has a drum of its own), the richer ones even have a small fire-engine. after all, position is position, and one must do all one can to keep it up. zólyom and tót-pelsöc were rivals. "that's not a town," said the latter of the former; "why, they have not even a chemist there!" (well, after all, not every village or town can be as big as besztercebánya or london!) pelsöc could not even leave poor little bábaszék alone. "that is no town," they said. "there is not even a single jew there. if no jew settle in a town, it cannot be considered as such; it has, in fact, no future." but it is not my intention now to write about the quarrels of two small towns, i only want to tell you how mrs. müncz came to live in bábaszék. well, they sent word to her in besztercebánya, to come and take possession of the little shop just opposite the market-place near the smithy, the best position in the town. on either side of the door was written in colored letters: "soap, whips, starch, scrubbing-brushes, nails, salt, grease, saffron, cinnamon, linseed oil;" in fact, the names of all those articles which did not grow in the neighborhood, or were not manufactured there. so that is how mrs. müncz came to live in bábaszék, where she was received with great honors, and made as comfortable as possible. it is a wonder they did not bring her into the town in triumph on their shoulders, which would have been no joke, for she weighed at least two hundredweight. some of the townsfolk were very discontented that the mayor had only brought a jewess into the town, and not a jew, for it would sound grander if they could say: "our jew says this, or our móricz or tobias did that," than if they had said: "our rosália says this, that, or the other;" it sounds so very mild. they would have liked a jew with a long beard, and hooked nose, and red hair if possible; that was the correct thing! but mr. konopka, the cleverest senator in the town, who had made the contract with mrs. müncz, and who had even gone himself to fetch her and her luggage from besztercebánya with two large carts, the horses of which had flowers and rosettes on, coldly repudiated these aspersions on their jewess, with an argument which struck as heavily as the stones in david's sling. "don't be so foolish," he said. "if a woman was once king in hungary, why should not a jewess fill the place of jew in bábaszék?" (this was a reference to the words of the nation addressed to maria theresa: "we will fight for our 'king' and our country.") of course they soon saw the truth of this, and ceased grumbling; and they were in time quite reconciled to their jewess, for every year, on the feast of tents, all mrs. müncz's sons, seven in number, came to see their mother, and walked about the market-place in their best clothes, laced boots, and top-hats. the townsfolk were glad enough then, their hearts swelled with pride as they gazed at the seven jews, and they would exclaim: "well, if this is not a town, what is?" "you won't see as many jews as that in pelsöc in ten years," answered another proudly. old mrs. müncz feasted her eyes on her sons when she sat, as she usually did, in the doorway of her shop, her knitting in her hands, her spectacles on her nose (those spectacles lent her an additional charm in the eyes of her admirers). she was a pleasant-looking old woman in her snow-white frilled cap, and seemed to suit her surroundings, the whitewashed walls of the neighboring houses, the important-looking town hall, and no one could pass her without raising their hat, just as they did before the statue of st. john nepomuk. (those were the only two things worth seeing in bábaszék.) every one felt that the little old woman would have her share in the success of the town. "good-morning, young woman. how are you?" "very well, thank you, my child." "how is business, young woman?" "thank you, my child, i get on very well." they were all glad, oh, so glad, that the "young woman" was so healthy and strong, and that she got richer day by day; they boasted of it where-ever they went. "our rosália is getting on well. it is easy to get on in bábaszék, we are good-natured people." they really made things very comfortable for rosália. she was over seventy, but they still called her "mlada pani" (young woman). as the king reserves to himself the right of conferring various titles, so the people have adopted the plan of conferring the "title of youth," and make use of it when and where they like. well, as i said before, they took great care of rosália, and when, a few years after her arrival there, she decided to build a stone house, every one who owned a cart placed it at her disposal, for the carting of stones, sand, wood, etc.; the bricklayers gave a day's work without wages; only one or two of the lazier ones did not join the rest on that day, but were sent to coventry for it. "good-for-nothing fellows," said every one, "they have no respect for any one, neither for god, the priest, nor a jew!" their respect went so far as to make them (at the mayor's instigation) set apart two pieces of ground, one for a (future) synagogue, and one for a jewish burial-ground (for the one jewess they had in the town). but what did that matter? they had the future before them, and who could tell what it held for them? and it was so nice to be able to say to strangers: "just a stone's throw from the jewish burial-ground," or "near to the foundation of the synagogue," etc. and the inhabitants of the villages round about would say when the good folks turned their backs: "poor things! their brains have been turned with the joy of having a jew in their town!" chapter iii. the traces lead to glogova. one fine spring afternoon, a light sort of dog-cart stopped before mrs. müncz's shop, and a young man sprang out of it, gyuri wibra, of course. rosália, who was just standing at her door, speaking to mr. mravucsán, the mayor, and mr. galba, one of the senators, immediately turned to the young man with the question: "what can i do for you, sir?" "are you mrs. müncz?" "yes, sir." "i want to buy an umbrella." the two gentlemen, surprised, looked up at the cloudless sky. "what the devil does he want to buy an umbrella for?" muttered mravucsán. then added aloud: "where are you from, sir?" "from besztercebánya." mravucsán was even more surprised. fancy any one coming all the way from besztercebánya to bábaszék to buy an umbrella! how proud he was it had happened under his mayorship! he nudged galba: "do you hear?" he said. "this is only a small village shop, sir," answered rosália. "we don't keep umbrellas." "pity enough!" muttered mravucsán, biting savagely at his mustache. "but i heard," went on the stranger, "that you had second-hand umbrellas to sell." second-hand umbrellas! well, what next! mravucsán, who was asthmatic, began to breathe heavily, and was just going to say something disparaging to the stranger, when some runaway horses attracted his attention, as they rushed across the market-place, dragging a handsome phaeton with them. "that will never be fit for use again," said the smith, as he stood looking on, his hands folded under his leather apron. the phaeton had probably been dashed against a wall, for the left side was smashed to bits, the shaft was broken, one of the wheels had been left somewhere on the road, and the reins were dragging on the ground between the two horses. "they are beautiful animals," said galba. "they belong to the priest of glogova," answered mravucsán. "i'm afraid some one may have been thrown out of the carriage; let us go and see." during this time the number of customers in mrs. müncz's shop had increased, and as they had to be attended to, she first turned to the stranger before serving them, and said: "there are a lot of old umbrellas somewhere on the loft, but they would not do for a fine gentleman like you." "i should like to look at them all the same." mrs. müncz had her hand on the door to let her customers in, and only answered without turning round: "i can assure you you would not take them in your hand." but the young man was not to be put off so easily; he followed her into the shop, and waited till the customers were all served, then remarked again that he would like to see the umbrellas. "but, my good sir, don't bother me about the umbrellas. i tell you they would be of no use to you. they are some that were left from the time of my poor husband; he knew how to mend umbrellas, and most of these are broken and torn, and they certainly will not have improved, lying on the dusty loft so long. besides, i cannot show you them, for my son is at the fair, the servant has a bad foot and cannot move, and when there is a fair my shop is always full, so i cannot leave it to go with you." the young lawyer took a five-florin note out of his pocket. "i don't want you to do it for nothing, mrs. müncz, but i must see the umbrellas at any price. so let me go up alone to the loft, and please take this in return for your kindness." mrs. müncz did not take the money, and her small black eyes examined the young man suspiciously. "now i shall certainly not show you the umbrellas." "and why not?" "my poor dead husband used to say: 'rosália, never do anything you don't understand the reason of,' and my husband was a very clever man." "of course, of course, you are quite right, and can't understand why i offer five florins for an old ragged umbrella." "just so; for five florins you might see something better." "well, it is very simple after all. my father had a very old umbrella, to which he was much attached, and i heard that it had come by chance into your husband's hands, and i should very much like to have it as a souvenir." "and who was your father, sir? perhaps i may have heard of him." the lawyer blushed a little. "pál gregorics," he said. "ah, gregorics! wait a bit! yes, i remember, the funny little man in whose will ..." "yes, yes. he left florins to nine ladies in besztercebánya." --"i remember, but i don't think he was ..." "yes ... no ... of course not ... i mean ..." and here he stopped in confusion. "i am gyuri wibra, lawyer." now it was mrs. müncz's turn to be confused. "of course, sir, i understand. how stupid of me! i have heard of you, sir, and i knew your poor father; dear me, how very like him you are, and yet so handsome. i knew him _very_ well," she added, smiling, "though he did not leave me florins. i was an old woman when he was still young. well, sir, please go up and look at the umbrellas. i will show you the way, and tell you just where to look for them. follow me, please, and i hope you will find the old gentleman's umbrella." "i would give you fifty florins for it, mrs. müncz." at the words "fifty florins" the old woman's eyes shone like two glowworms. "oh! what a good son!" she sighed, turning her eyes up to heaven. "there is nothing more pleasing to god than a good son, who honors the memory of his father." she got quite active and lively at the thought of the fifty florins, and shutting the door of the shop, she tripped across the yard with gyuri to the ladder of the loft, and even wanted to go up with him herself. "no, no, stay down below, mrs. müncz. what would the world say, if we two were to go up to the loft together?" said gyuri jokingly. old rosália chuckled. "oh, dear heart alive!" she said, "there's no danger with me. why, your father didn't even remember me in his will, though once upon a time ... (and here she complacently smoothed her gray hair). well, my dear, please go up." gyuri wibra searched about among the rubbish on the loft for quite half an hour, during which time the old woman came twice to the foot of the ladder to see if he were coming down. she was anxious about the fifty florins. "well?" she asked, as he appeared at last empty-handed. "i have looked through everything," he said, in a discouraged tone, "but the umbrella i want is not among the others." the old jewess looked disappointed. "what can that tiresome jónás have done with it?" she exclaimed. "fifty florins! dreadful! but he never had a reason for anything he did." "in all probability your husband used that umbrella himself. mr. sztolarik of besztercebánya says he distinctly remembers seeing him with it once." "what was it like?" "the stuff was red, with patches of all sorts on it, and it had a pale green border. the stick was of black wood, with a bone handle." "may i never go to heaven!" exclaimed rosália, "if that was not the very umbrella he took with him last time he left home! yes, i know he took that one!" "it was a great pity he took just that one." rosália felt bound to defend her husband. "how was he to know that?" she said. "he never had a reason for anything he did." "well, there's no help for it now," sighed gyuri, as he stood on the last rung of the ladder, wondering what he was to do next, and feeling like marius among the ruins of carthage, only there were not even ruins to his carthage; all hopes had returned to the clouds from which they had been taken. slowly he walked through the shop to his dog-cart, which was waiting outside, and the old woman waddled after him, like a fat goose. but once out in the street, she suddenly seemed to wake up, and seized hold of the lawyer's coat. "wait a bit. i had nearly forgotten it, but my son móricz, who is a butcher in ipolyság, was here at the time; he had come to buy oxen, i remember. my son móricz knows everything, and may i never go to heaven (rosália evidently had a strong objection to leaving this world) if he can't throw some light on the subject. go to the fair, my dear boy, to the place where the sheep stand, and speak to the handsomest man you see there, that will be my son móricz; he's handsome, very handsome, is móricz. speak to him, and promise him the fifty florins. i am sure he once told me something about that umbrella. for when my poor dear jónás died, móricz went to look for him, and when he found traces of him, he went from village to village making inquiries, till everything was clear. (here rosália gazed tearfully heavenward.) oh, jónás, jónás, why did you treat us so? if your senses had left you, why must you follow them? you had enough sons who would have taken care of you!" she would have gone on like this all day, if gyuri had not stepped into his dog-cart and driven off to the scene of the fair as she had advised him. after putting a few questions to the bystanders, he found móricz müncz, a short, stout man, his pock-marked face looking like a turkey's egg. he was as ugly as a faun. his butcher's knife and steel hung from a belt round his waist, and on his arm was tattooed the head of an ox. he was just bargaining for a cow, and its owner, a tanner, was swearing by heaven and earth that such a cow had never been seen in bábaszék before. "it will eat straw," he assured him, "and yet give fourteen pints of milk a day!" "rubbish!" answered móricz. "i'm not a calf, and don't intend to look upon this cow as my mother. i'm a butcher, and want to kill it and weigh it." "that's true," said the honest tanner; and of his own free will he lowered the price by five florins. móricz did not seem to think that enough, and began poking at the ribs of the cow. "what bones!" he exclaimed, and then pulled open its mouth to look at its teeth. "why, it has not got a tooth in its head!" "what do you want it to have teeth for?" asked the honest tanner. "i don't suppose you want to weigh its teeth too?" "but it kicks!" "well, it won't kick once it is killed; and i don't suppose you want to weigh it before it is killed?" the honest tanner laughed at his own wit, which had put him into such a good humor, that he again took five florins off the price. but móricz was not yet satisfied, for he still gazed at the cow, as though trying to find more faults in her. and just at that moment gyuri wibra called out: "mr. müncz, i should like to have a word with you." the tanner, fearing to lose his purchaser, took five florins more off the price, and móricz, being a sensible man, at once struck the bargain; he always bought of an evening from such as had not been able to sell their cattle during the day, and gave it for a low price to save their having to drive it home again. "what can i do for you, sir?" "i should like to buy something of you, which belongs neither to you nor to me." "there are plenty of things in the world answering to that description," said móricz, "and i can assure you, i will let you have it as cheap as possible." "let us move on a bit." gyuri led him out of the crowd to the village pump, near which grew an elder-tree. this tree, round which they had put some palings, was also a part of the future greatness of bábaszék, for the green, evil-smelling insects which housed in its branches, and which are used in various medicines (spanish flies), induced them to believe that they might, once upon a time, have a chemist in bábaszék. the young girls of the town used to collect the insects, and sell them to the chemist at zólyom for a few kreutzers; but that was forbidden now, for the people had decided: "near that tree there will once be a chemist's shop, so we will not have the insects taken away." they evidently considered them the foundation of the future chemist's store. gyuri told the jew what he wanted; that he was interested in his father's favorite umbrella, and would buy it if he could find it. did móricz know anything about it? "yes, i do," was the disappointed answer, for now he knew what a trifle it was, he saw the price fall in proportion. "i will give you fifty florins for any information that will lead to its discovery." móricz quickly took off his cap, which until now he had not considered it necessary to remove. fifty florins for an old umbrella! why, this young man must be the prince of coburg himself from szent-antal! now he noticed for the first time how very elegantly he was dressed. "the umbrella can be found," he said; and then added more doubtfully, "i think." "tell me all you know." "let me see, where shall i begin? it is now about fourteen years since my father disappeared, and i have forgotten most of the details, but this much i remember, that i started to look for him with my brother sámi, and in podhrágy i found the first trace of him, and following this up, i was told that when there he was still quite in his right mind, had sold a few trifles to the villagers, slept at the inn, and had bought a very old seal from a certain raksányi for two florins. he must have had all his senses about him then, for when we took him out of the garam, he had the seal in his coat pocket, and we sold it for fifty florins to an antiquary, as it turned out to be the seal of vid mohorai, of the time of king arpád." "yes, but these particulars have nothing to do with the subject in question," interrupted the young man. "you will see, sir, that they will be useful to you." "well, perhaps so; but i don't see what they have to do with the umbrella." "you will see in time, if you will listen to the rest of my tale. i heard in podhrágy that he went from there to abelova, so i went there too. from what i heard, i began to fear that my father was beginning to lose his senses, for he had always inclined toward melancholy. here they told us that he had bought a lot of 'angel kreutzers' (small coins, on which the crown of hungary is represented, held by two angels; they were issued in , and many people wear them as amulets, and believe they bring luck) from the villagers for four kreutzers each; but later on i found i was mistaken in my surmise." "how was that? was he not yet mad?" "no, for a few days later, two young jews appeared in abelova, each bringing a bag of 'angel kreutzers,' which they sold to the villagers for three kreutzers each, though they are really worth four." "so it is possible ..." "not only possible, but certain, that the two young cheats had been told by the old man to buy up all the 'angel kreutzers' they could, and he thus became their confederate without knowing it. so it is very probable he may have been mad then, or he would have had nothing to do with the whole affair. from abelova he went through the viszoka hor forest to dólinka, but we could find out nothing about his doings, though he spent two days there. but in the next village, sztrecsnyó, the children ran after him, and made fun of him, like of the prophet elijah, and he, unfastening his pack (not the prophet elijah, but my poor father), began throwing the various articles he had for sale at them. in fifty years' time they will still remember that day in sztrecsnyó, when soap, penknives, and pencils fell among them like manna from heaven. since then it is a very common saying there: 'there was once a mad jew in sztrecsnyó.'" "bother sztrecsnyó, let us return to our subject." "i have nearly done now. in kobolnyik my poor old father was seen without his pack; in one hand he had his stick, in the other his umbrella, with which he drove off the dogs which barked at him. so in kobolnyik he still had his umbrella you see." tears were rolling down móricz's pock-marked face, his heart was quite softened at the remembrance of all these incidents. "after that we looked for a long time for traces of him, but only heard of him again in lehota. one stormy summer night he knocked at the door of the watchman's house, the last in the village, but when they saw he was a jew, they drove him away. they told me he had neither a hat nor an umbrella then, only the heavy, rough stick he used to beat us with when we were children." "now i begin to understand the drift of your remarks. you want to show that the umbrella was lost between kobolnyik and lehota." "yes." "but that proves nothing, for your father may have lost it in the wood, or among the rocks, and if any one found it, they would probably make use of it to put in the arms of a scarecrow." "no, that is not it, i know what happened. i heard it by chance, for i was not looking for the umbrella; what did i care for that! i wanted to find my father. well, among the kvet mountains i met a tinker walking beside his cart, a very chatty man he seemed to be. i asked him, as i did every one we met, if he had not seen an old jew about there lately. 'yes,' he answered, 'i saw him a few weeks ago in glogova during a downpour of rain; he was spreading an umbrella over a child on the veranda of a small house, and when he had done so he moved on.'" the lawyer sprang up hastily. "go on," he cried. "there is nothing more to tell, sir. but from the description the tinker gave me, i am sure it was my father, and, besides, glogova lies just between lehota and kobolnyik." "well, you have given me valuable information," exclaimed the lawyer, and, taking a fifty-florin note out of his pocketbook, he added: "accept this as a slight return for your kindness. good-by." and off he went like a hound which has just found the scent; over some palings he vaulted, in order to get to his cart as quickly as possible. on he raced, but as he passed the gingerbread stall, móricz müncz stood before him again. "excuse me for running after you," he exclaimed breathlessly, "but it suddenly occurred to me that i might give you a word of advice, which is this. there are a good many people from glogova here at the fair, so you really might get the crier to go round and find out if they know anything of the umbrella. if you would promise a reward for any information, in an hour's time you will have plenty, i am sure. in a small village like glogova, every one knows everything." "it is quite unnecessary," replied the lawyer, "for i am going to glogova myself. thanks all the same." "oh, sir, it is i who have to thank you; you have behaved in a princely fashion. fifty florins for such a trifle! why, i would have done it for one florin." the lawyer smiled. "and i would willingly have given a thousand, mr. müncz." and with that he walked away, past the stall where they were selling nuts, and onions tied up in strings. móricz stood gazing after him till he was out of sight. "a thousand florins!" he repeated, shaking his head. "if i had only known!" and off he went, driving his cow before him. chapter iv. the earring. from the inn opposite schramek's house lively sounds proceeded. i beg pardon, i ought to call it "hotel," at least, that is the name the inhabitants of bábaszék delighted in giving it, and the more aristocratic of them always patronized it in preference to the other inns. the gypsies from pelsöc were there, and the sound of their lively music could be heard far and wide through the open windows. handsome slovak brides in their picturesque dresses, with their pretty white headgear, and younger girls with red ribbons plaited into their hair, all run in to join the dance, and if the room is too full, late-comers take up their position in the street and dance there. but curiosity is even stronger than their love of dancing, and all at once the general hopping and skipping ceases, as jános fiala, the town-servant and crier, appears on the scene, his drum hung round his neck and his pipe in his mouth. he stops in front of the "hotel," and begins to beat his drum with might and main. what can have happened? perhaps the mayor's geese have strayed? ten or twelve bystanders begin to ply him with questions, but fiala would not for the world take his beloved pipe out of his mouth, nor would he divulge state secrets before the right moment came. so he first of all beat his drum the required number of times, and then with stentorian voice, shouted the following: "be it known to all whom it may interest, that a gold earring, with a green stone in it (how was he to know it was called an emerald?), has been lost, somewhere between the brickfield and the church. whoever will bring the same to the town hall will be handsomely rewarded." gyuri paused a moment at the sound of the drum, listened to the crier's words, and then smiled at the look of excitement on the peasant girls' faces. "i wouldn't give it back if i found it," said one. "i'd have a hairpin made of it," said another. "heaven grant me luck!" said a third, turning her eyes piously heavenward. "don't look at the sky, you stupid," said another; "if you want to find it look at the ground." but as chance would have it, some one found it who would rather not have done so, and that some one was gyuri wibra. he had only walked a few steps, when a green eye seemed to smile up at him from the dust under his feet. he stooped and picked it up; it was the lost earring with the emerald in it. how tiresome, when he was in such a hurry! why could not one of those hundreds of people at the fair have found it? but the green eye looked so reproachfully at him, that he felt he could not give way to his first impulse and throw it back into the dust, to be trampled on by the cattle from the fair. who wore such fine jewelry here? well, whoever it belonged to, he must take it to the town hall; it was only a few steps from there after all. he turned in at the entrance to the town hall, where some watering-cans hung from the walls, and a few old rusty implements of torture were exhibited (_sic transit gloria mundi!_), went up the staircase, and entered a room where the senators were all assembled round a green baize-covered table, discussing a serious and difficult question. a most unpleasant thing had happened. one of the watchmen in the liskovina wood (the property of the town) had arrived there breathlessly not long before, with the news that a well-dressed man had been found hanging on a tree in the wood; what was to be done with the body? this was what was troubling the worthy senators, and causing them to frown and pucker their foreheads. senator konopka declared that the correct thing to do was to bring the body to the mortuary chapel, and at the same time give notice of the fact to the magistrate, mr. mihály géry, so that he could tell the district doctor to dissect the body. galba shook his head. he was nothing if not a diplomat, as he showed in the present instance. he said he considered it would be best to say nothing about it, but to remove the body by night a little further on, to the so-called kvaka wood, which was in the travnik district, and let _them_ find the body. mravucsán was undecided which of the two propositions to accept. he hummed and hawed and shook his head, and then complained it was hot enough to stifle one, that he had gout in his hand, and that one leg of the senators' table was shorter than the others. this latter was soon remedied by putting some old deeds under the short leg. then they waited to see which side would have the majority, and as it turned out it was on galba's side. but the galba party was again subdivided into two factions. the strict galba faction wanted the dead man's body transported to the travnik district. the moderated galba faction, headed by andrás kozsehuba, would have been contented with merely taking down the body, and burying it under the tree; they wanted, at all costs, to prevent its being carried through the village to the cemetery, which would certainly be the case if the magistrate were informed of the circumstances. for if a suicide were carried through a place, that place was threatened with damage by hail! "superstitious rubbish!" burst out konopka. "of course, of course, mr. konopka, but who is to help it if the people are so superstitious?" asked senator fajka, of the kozsehuba faction. konopka wildly banged the table with his fat, be-ringed hand, upon which every one was quiet. "it is sad enough to hear a senator say such a thing! i can assure you, gentlemen, that the lord will not send his thunder-clouds in our direction just on account of that poor dead body. he will not punish a thousand just men because one unfortunate man has given himself to the devil, especially as the dead man himself would be the only one not hurt by the hail!" mravucsán breathed freely again at these wise words, which certainly raised one's opinion of the magistrates; he hastened to make use of the opportunity, and as once the tiny wren, sitting on the eagle's wings, tried to soar higher than the eagle, so did mravucsán try to rise above the senators. "what is true is true," he said, "and i herewith beg to call your attention to the fact that there is nothing to be feared from hail if we bring the body through the town." up sprang mr. fajka at these words. "that is all the same to us," he said; "if matters stand so, let us have hail by all means, for when once all the villagers are insured by the trieste insurance company, i see no difference whether there is hail or not. in fact, it would be better if there were some, for, if i know the villagers well, they will immediately go and insure the harvest far beyond its worth if the dead body is taken through the village. so the hail would not be such a great misfortune, but the carriage of the corpse through the village would be." he was a grand debater after all, that senator fajka, for he had again hit the right nail on the head, and at the same time enlightened the galba and the kozsehuba factions. "what a brain!" they exclaimed. the word brain reminded galba of the dissecting part of the business--per _associationem idearum_--and he at once began to discuss the point. "why dissect the man? we know who he is, for it is as plain as pie-crust that he is an agent for some insurance company, and has hanged himself here in our neighborhood in order to make people insure their harvest. it's as clear as day!" "you are mad, galba," said konopka crossly. upon which the senators all jumped up from their places, and then the noise broke forth, or, as fiala, the town-servant and crier, used to say, "they began to boil the town saucepan," and every eye was fixed on the mayor, the spoon which was to skim the superfluous froth. but the mayor drew his head down into the dark blue collar of his coat, and seemed quite to disappear in it; he gnawed his mustache, and stood there helplessly, wondering what he was to say and do now, when all at once the door opened, and gyuri wibra stood before them. in spite of all folks may say, the powers above always send help at the right moment. at sight of the stranger, who, an hour or two before, had wanted to buy an old umbrella of mrs. müncz, the mayor suddenly pushed back his chair and hurried toward him (let the senators think he had some important business to transact with the new arrival). "ah, sir," he said hurriedly, "you were looking for me, i suppose?" "if you are the mayor, yes." "of course, of course!" (who else could be mayor in bábaszék but mravucsán, he wondered?) "they have been crying the loss of an earring, and i have found it. here it is." the mayor's face beamed with delight. "now that is real honesty, sir. that is what i like. this is the first earring that has been lost since i have been in office, and even that is found. that's what i call order in the district." then turning to the senators, he went on: "it is only an hour since i sent the crier round the town, and here we have the earring. they couldn't manage that in budapest!" just then he noticed that the stranger was preparing to leave. "why, you surely don't mean to leave us already, sir? there is a reward offered for the finding of this earring." "i do not want the reward, thank you." "oh, come, don't talk like that, young man, don't run away from luck when it comes in your way. you know the story of the poor man who gave his luck away to the devil without knowing it, and how sorry he was for it afterward?" "yes, he was sorry for it," answered the lawyer, smiling, as he remembered the fable, "but i don't think we can compare this case with that." "i am sure you have no idea to whom the earring belongs?" "not the slightest. whose is it?" "it belongs to the sister of the glogova priest." gyuri screwed up his mouth doubtfully. "don't be too quick in your conclusions; just come here a minute; you won't repent it." "where am i to go?" "come into the next room." the mayor wanted to keep him there at any cost, so as to gain time before deciding as to the dead man's future. "but, my dear sir, i have important business to get through." "never mind, you must come in for a minute," and with that he opened the door and all but pushed the young man into the other room. "my dear young lady," he called out over gyuri's shoulder, "i have brought you your earring!" at these words a young girl turned from her occupation of putting cold-water bandages on the shoulder of an elderly lady, lying on a sofa. gyuri was not prepared for this apparition, and felt as confused and uncomfortable as though he had committed some indiscretion. the elder woman, partly undressed, was lying on a sofa, her wounded right shoulder (a remarkably bony one) was bare. the young man at the door stammered some apology, and turned to go, but mravucsán held him back. "don't go," he said, "they won't bite you!" the young girl, who had a very pretty attractive face, hastened to throw a cloak over her companion, and sprang up from her kneeling position beside the lady. what a figure she had! it seemed to gyuri as though a lily, in all its simple grandeur, had risen before him. "this gentleman has found your earring, and brought it you back, my dear." a smile broke over her face (it was as though a ray of sunlight had found its way into the mayor's dark office), she blushed a little, and then made a courtesy, a real schoolgirl courtesy, awkward, and yet with something of grace in it. "thank you, sir, for your kindness. i am doubly glad to have found it, for i had given up all idea of ever seeing it again." and taking it in her hand she gazed at it lovingly. she was a child still, you could see it in every movement. gyuri felt he ought to say something, but found no suitable words. this child disconcerted him, but there was something delightful in her artless manner which quite charmed him. there he stood, helpless and speechless, as though he were waiting for something. was it the reward he wanted? the silence was getting painful, and the position awkward. at last the girl saw that the young man did not move, so she broke the silence. "oh dear! i had nearly forgotten in my delight that i had offered ... i mean ... how am i to say it?" it now occurred to gyuri that she was offering him the reward, so he thought it time to make known his name. "i am dr. wibra," he said, "from besztercebánya." "oh, how lucky!" exclaimed the girl, clapping her hands gleefully. "we are just in want of a doctor for poor madame." this little misunderstanding was just what was wanted. gyuri smiled. "i am very sorry, my dear young lady; i am not a doctor of medicine, but a doctor of law." the young girl looked disappointed at this announcement, and blushed a little at her mistake; but mravucsán was quite excited. "what's that i hear? you are young wibra, the noted lawyer? well, that is nice! who would have thought it? now i understand. of course, you are here to try and find out particulars about one of your cases. i might have thought of it when i met you at mrs. müncz's. of course a gentleman like you must have some special reason for buying an old umbrella. well, the fates must have sent you here now, for we are discussing such a very difficult question in the next room, that our minds are too small for it. how strange, miss veronica, that your earring should be found by such a renowned lawyer." veronica stole a look at the "renowned lawyer," and noticed for the first time how handsome he was, and how gentlemanly, and her heart began to beat at the thought that she had nearly offered him the five florins reward. mravucsán hastened to offer the lawyer a chair, and cast an anxious look round his office, and remarked with horror what an untidy state it was in; deeds lying about everywhere, coats and cloaks, belonging to the senators, empty glasses and bottles, for they were in the habit of drinking a glass now and then when they had settled some particularly important business, which was quite right of them, for the truth that emanated from them must be replaced by a fresh supply, and as the hungarians say: "there is truth in wine." the sight of that office would really have discouraged mr. mravucsán if his eye had not at that moment fallen on the portrait of baron radvánszky, the lord lieutenant of the county, hanging on the wall in front of him. that, after all, lent some distinction to the room. he wished from his heart that the baron were there in person to see what an illustrious guest they were harboring. but as the baron was not present, he felt it devolved on him to express his satisfaction at the fact. "i am a poor man," he said, "but i would not accept a hundred florins in place of the honor that is done to my poor office to-day. it is worth something to have the most renowned lawyer in the county, and the prettiest young lady ..." "oh, mr. mravucsán!" exclaimed veronica, blushing furiously. "well," said mravucsán, "what's true is true. one need not be ashamed of being pretty. i was good-looking myself once, but i was never ashamed of it. besides, a pretty face is of great use to one, isn't it, mr. wibra?" "yes, it is a very lucky thing," answered gyuri quickly. mravucsán shook his head. "let us simply say it is a great help, for luck can easily turn to misfortune, and misfortune to luck, as was the case now, for if it had not been for to-day's accident, i should not now have the pleasure of seeing you all here." "what is that?" asked gyuri. "an accident?" veronica was going to answer, but that talkative mayor put in his word again. "yes, there was an accident, but in a short time there will be no traces of it, for the earring is here, madame's shoulder is here, it will be blue for some days, but what the devil does that matter, it is not the color makes the shoulder. and the carriage will be all right, too, when the smith has mended it." "so those horses that were running away with a broken carriage...?" "were ours," said veronica. "they took fright near the brickfield, the coachman lost his hold of the reins, and when he stooped to gather them up, he was thrown out of the carriage. in our fright we jumped out too. i did not hurt myself, but poor madame struck her shoulder on something. i hope it will be nothing serious. does it hurt very much, madame krisbay?" madame opened her small yellow eyes, which till then had been closed, and the first sight that met them was veronica's untidy hair. "smooth your hair," she said in french in a low voice, then groaned once or twice, and closed her eyes again. veronica, greatly alarmed, raised her hand to her head, and found that one of her plaits was partly undone. "oh, my hair!" she exclaimed. "the hairpins must have fallen out when i jumped out of the carriage. what am i to do?" "let down the other plait," advised mravucsán. "that's it, my dear; it is much prettier so, isn't it, wibra?" "much prettier," answered gyuri, casting an admiring glance at the two black, velvety plaits, with a lovely dark bluish tinge on them, which hung nearly down to the edge of her millefleurs skirt. so that was the priest's sister. he could hardly believe it, for he had imagined a fat, waddling, red-faced woman, smelling of pomade. that is what parish priests' sisters are generally like. the lawyer thought it was time to start a conversation. "i suppose you were very frightened?" "not very; in fact, i don't think i was startled at all. but now i begin to fear my brother will be anxious about me." "the priest of glogova?" "yes. he is very fond of me, and will be so anxious if we do not return. and yet i hardly know how we are to manage it." "well," said mravucsán, consolingly, "we have the horses, and we will borrow a cart from some one." veronica shuddered and shook her head. "with those horses? never again!" "but, my dear young lady, you must never take horses seriously, they have no real character. you see, this is how it was. near the brickfield there is that immense windmill, for of course every town must have one. the world is making progress, in spite of all senator fajka says. well, as i said, there is the windmill. i had it built, for every one made fun of us because we had no water in the neighborhood. so i make use of the wind. of course, the horses don't understand that; they are good mountain horses, and had never seen a beast with such enormous wings, turning in the air, so of course they were frightened and ran away. you can't wonder at it. but that is all over now, and they will take you quietly home." "no, no, i'm afraid of them. oh, how dreadful they were! if you had only seen them! i won't go a step with them. as far as i am concerned, i could walk home, but poor madame krisbay ..." "now that would be a nice sort of thing to do," remarked mravucsán. "fancy my allowing my best friend's little sister to walk all the way home with those tiny feet of hers! how she would stumble and trip over the sharp stones in the mountain paths! and his reverence would say: 'my friend mravucsán is a nice sort of fellow to let my sister walk home, after all the good dinners and suppers i have given him.' why, i would rather take you home on my own back, my dear, right into glogova parish!" veronica looked gratefully at mravucsán, and gyuri wondered, if it came to the point, would mravucsán be able to carry out his plan, or would he have to be carried himself. the mayor was an elderly man, and looked as though he were breaking up. he found himself glancing curiously at the old gentleman, measuring his strength, the breadth of his chest, and of his shoulders, as though the most important fact now were, who was to take veronica on his back. he decided that mravucsán was too weak to do it, and smiled to himself when he discovered how glad this thought made him. mravucsán's voice broke in upon his musings. "well, my dear," he was saying, "don't you worry yourself about it; take a rest first, and then we will see what is to be done. of course it would be better to have other horses, but where are we to get them from? no one in bábaszék keeps horses, we only need oxen. i myself only keep oxen. for a mountain is a mountain, and horses are of no use there, for they can, after all, only do what an ox can, namely, walk slowly. you can't make a grand show here with horses, and let them gallop and prance about, and toss their manes. this is a serious part, yes, i repeat it, a serious part. the chief thing is to pull, and that is the work of an ox. a horse gets tired of it, and when it knows the circumstances it loses all pleasure in life, and seems to say: 'i'm not such a fool as to grow for nothing, i'll be a foal all my life.' and the horses round about here are not much bigger than a dog, and are altogether wretched-looking." he would have gone on talking all night, and running the poor horses down to the ground, if gyuri had not interrupted him. "but i have my dog-cart here, miss veronica, and will take you home with pleasure." "will you really," exclaimed mravucsán. "i knew you were a gentleman. but why on earth didn't you say so before?" "because you gave me no chance to put in a word edgeways." "that is true," laughed mravucsán good-humoredly. "so you will take them?" "of course, even if i were not going to glogova myself." "are you really going there?" asked veronica, surprised. "yes." she looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, and then said: "don't try to deceive us." gyuri smiled. "on my word of honor, i intended going to glogova. shall we all go together?" veronica nodded her head, and was just going to clap her hands like the child she was, when madame began to move on the sofa, and gave a deep sigh. "oh dear," said veronica, "i had quite forgotten madame. perhaps after all i can't go with you." "and why not? the carriage is big enough, there will be plenty of room." "yes, but may i?" "go home? who is to prevent it?" "why, don't you know?" "what?" asked gyuri, surprised. "why, etiquette, of course," she said shyly. (gyuri smiled. oh, what a little simpleton she was!) "yes, yes," she assured them, seeing they were laughing at her, "it says in the book on etiquette: 'you must not accept the arm of a stranger.'" "but a carriage is not an arm," burst out mravucsán. "how could it be? if it were, i should have two carriages myself. my dear child, leave etiquette to look after itself. in bábaszék i decide what is etiquette, not the french mamselles. and _i_ say a carriage is not an arm, so there's an end of it." "of course you are right, but all the same, i must speak to madame about it." "just as you like, my dear." veronica again knelt down by the sofa, and a whispered conversation ensued, the result of which was, as gyuri understood from the few words he could hear, that madame quite shared mravucsán's view of the case, that a carriage is not an arm, and that if two people have been introduced to each other, they are not strangers, and consequently, in madame krisbay's opinion, they ought to accept the young man's offer. besides, in times of danger there is no such thing as etiquette. beautiful blanche montmorency on the occasion of a fire was saved by the marquis privadière with nothing on but her nightgown, and yet the tower of notre dame is still standing! gyuri felt as impatient as a card-player when the cards are being dealt, and a large stake has been placed on one of them, until at length veronica turned round. "we shall be very thankful if you will take us in your carriage," she said, smiling, as she was sure blanche montmorency would have done under the same conditions. gyuri received the announcement with delight. "i will go and see after the carriage," he said, taking up his hat. but mravucsán stood in his way. "oh, no, you don't," he said. "_pro primo_, even if veronica can go, i am sure madame krisbay cannot start yet; it would be a sin to make her drive now; she must rest a bit first, after her fright and her bruises. if my wife puts some of her wonderful plaster on it to-night, she'll be perfectly well in the morning. _pro secundo_, you can't go because i won't allow you to. _pro tertio_, because it is getting dark. please look out of the window." he was right; the sun had disappeared behind the dark blue lines of the zólyom hills, and the fir-trees in front of the town hall cast their long shadows down the road, right up to the mravucsán garden, where a lean cat was performing its evening ablutions among the oleanders. all the same gyuri began to plead (it was part of his business). "it will be a quiet, warm night," he said. "why should we not start? after all it can make no difference to madame whether she groans in bed or in the carriage." "but it will be dark," objected mravucsán, "and there are some very bad bits of road between here and glogova, and two or three precipices. in spite of my being mayor, i cannot order moonlight for you." "we don't need it; we can light the lamps." veronica seemed undecided, and glanced from one to the other of the gentlemen, till at length mravucsán put in the finishing touch. "there will be a storm to-night, for there is the dead body of a man hanging on a tree in the wood you have to pass through." veronica shuddered. "i would not go through that wood by night for anything," she exclaimed. that settled the question. gyuri bowed, and received a bright smile in return, and mravucsán rushed into the next room, and told konopka to take his place (oh, his delight at getting rid of his responsibility!), as he had visitors, and had no time to think of other things; and then he whispered in the ears of some of the senators (those who had on the best coats) that he would be pleased to see them to supper. then off he trotted home, to announce the arrival of visitors, and give orders for their reception. on the staircase he caught sight of fiala, and sent him to tell wibra's coachman, who was waiting with the dog-cart outside mrs. müncz's shop, to go and put up in his courtyard. after a few minutes, mrs. mravucsán appeared at the town hall to take the ladies home with her. she was a short, stout, amiable woman, whose broad, smiling face spoke of good temper and kindheartedness. she was dressed like all women of the middle class in that part, in a dark red skirt and black silk apron, and on her head she wore a black silk frilled cap. she entered the room noisily, as such simple village folks do. "well, i never!" she exclaimed. "mravucsán says you are going to be our guests. is it true? what an honor for us! but i knew it, i felt it, for last night i dreamed a white lily was growing out of my basin, and this is the fulfilment of the dream. well, my dear, get all your things together, and i'll carry them across, for i'm as strong as a bear. but i forgot to tell you the most important thing, which i really ought to have said at the beginning: i am mrs. mravucsán. oh, my dear young lady, i should never have thought you were so pretty! holy virgin! now i understand her sending down an umbrella to keep the rain off your pretty face! so the poor lady is ill, has hurt her shoulder? well, i've got a capital plaster we'll put on it; come along. don't give way, my dear, it has to be borne. why, i had a similar accident once, mravucsán was driving too. we fell into a ditch, and two of my ribs were broken, and i've had trouble with my liver ever since. such things will happen now and then. does it hurt you very much?" "the lady does not speak slovak," said veronica, "nor hungarian." "good gracious!" exclaimed mrs. mravucsán, clasping her hands. "so old, and can't even speak hungarian! how is that?" and veronica was obliged to explain that madame had come direct from munich to be her companion, and had never yet been in hungary; she was the widow of a french officer, she added, for mrs. mravucsán insisted on having full particulars. they had received a letter from her the day before yesterday, saying she was coming, and veronica had wanted to meet her at the station. "so that is how it is. and she can't even speak slovak nor hungarian! poor unhappy woman! and what am i to do with her?--whom am i to put next her at table?--how am i to offer her anything? well, it will be a nice muddle! luckily the schoolmaster can speak german, and perhaps the young gentleman can too?" "don't you worry about that, mrs. mravucsán, i'll amuse her at supper, and look after her wants," answered gyuri. with great difficulty they got ready to go, madame krisbay moaning and groaning as they tried to dress her, after having sent gyuri into the passage. mrs. mravucsán collected all the shawls, rugs, and cloaks, and hung them over her arm. "we will send the servant for the lady's box," she said. then she made madame lean on her, and they managed to get her downstairs. madame was complaining, half in french, half in german, and the mayor's wife chatted continually, sometimes to the young couple walking in front, sometimes to madame, who, with her untidy hair, looked something like a poor sick cockatoo. "this way, this way, my dear young lady. that is our house over there. only a few more steps, my dear madame. oh, the dog won't bite you. go away, garam! we shall be there directly. you will see what a good bed i will give you to sleep in to-night; such pillows, the softest you can imagine!" it made no difference to her that madame krisbay did not understand a word of what she was saying. many women talk for the sake of talking. why should they not? they are probably afraid a spider might spin its web before their mouth. "it hurts you, does it not? but it will hurt still more to-morrow; that is always the way with a bruise of that kind. why, you will feel it in two weeks' time." then, casting a sly glance at the pair walking in front: "they make a handsome couple, don't they?" it was not far to the mravucsáns' house, and it would have been nearer still if there had not been an immense pool of water just in front of the town hall, to avoid which they had to go a good bit out of their way. but this pool was a necessity, for all the geese and ducks in the village swam on it, the pigs came and wallowed in the mud round it, and last, but not least, the firemen took their water from here in case of fire. oh, i forgot to say that all the frogs from the whole neighborhood had taken up their abode in it, and gave splendid concerts to the villagers. so, as i said before, they needed the pool and gladly put up with its presence, and it was considered common property. once a civil engineer had been sent there by the county authorities, and he had called their attention to the fact that the pool ought to be filled up; but they just laughed at him, and left it as it was. so now they had to go right round the pool to the "hotel," which strangers always named the "frozen sheep," in reference to the story i mentioned before. the gypsies were still playing inside, and outside several couples were turning in time to music, and some peasants were standing about drinking their glass of "pálinka" (a kind of brandy), while a wagoner from zólyom sat alone at a table drinking as hard as he could. he was already rather drunk, and was keeping up a lively conversation all by himself, gazing now and then with loving eyes at the lean horse harnessed to his cart, and which, with drooping head, was awaiting his master's pleasure to move on. "my neighbor says," philosophized the wagoner aloud, "that my horse is not a horse. and why is it not a horse, pray? it was a horse in the time of kossuth! what? it can't draw a load? of course not, if the load is too heavy. it is thin, is it? of course it is thin, for i don't give it any oats. why don't i give it any? why, because i have none, of course. what's that you say? the other day it couldn't drag my cart? no, because the wheel was stuck in the mud. my neighbor is a great donkey, isn't he?" upon which, up he got, and stumbled over to the dancers, requesting them to give their opinion as to whether his neighbor was a donkey or not. they got out of his way, so, like a mad dog, which sees and hears nothing, the wagoner rushed upon madame krisbay. "is mine a horse, or is it not?" madame was frightened, and the smell of brandy, which emanated from the good man, made her feel faint. "_mon dieu!_" she murmured, "what a country i have come to!" but mrs. mravucsán, gentle as she was generally, could also be energetic if necessary. "i don't know if yours is a horse or not," she said, "but i can tell you you're a drunken beast!" and with that she gave him a push which sent him rolling over on his back. he lay there murmuring: "my neighbor says my horse is blind in one eye. nonsense! he can see the road just as well with one eye as with two." then up he got, and began to follow them, and madame krisbay, leaving go of mrs. mravucsán's arm, and in her fright forgetting her wounded shoulder, took to her heels and ran. the dancers seeing her went into fits of laughter at the pair of thin legs she showed. "how on earth can she run so fast with such thin legs?" they asked each other. still more surprised were veronica and gyuri (who had seen nothing of the incident with the wagoner); they could not imagine why the sick woman was running at the top of her speed. "madame! madame! what is the matter?" she gave no answer, only rushed to the mravucsáns' house, where she again had a fright at the sight of three enormous watch-dogs, who received her with furious barks. she would have fallen in a faint on the floor, but at that moment mravucsán appeared on the scene to receive his guests, so she fell into his arms instead. the good mayor just held her quietly, with astonished looks, for he had never yet seen a fainting woman, though he had heard they ought to be sprinkled with water, but how was he to go for water? then he remembered he had heard that pinching was a good remedy, that it would, in fact, wake a dead woman; but in order to pinch a person, she must have some flesh, and madame krisbay had nothing but bones. so he waited with christian patience till the others arrived on the scene, and then gave her up to their tender mercies. "phew!" he breathed, "what a relief!" intellectual society in bábaszék part iv chapter i. the supper at the mravucsÁns' i am not fond of drawing things out to too great a length, so will only give a short description of the mravucsáns' supper, which was really excellent, and if any one were discontented, it could only have been madame krisbay, who burned her mouth severely when eating of the first dish, which was lamb with paprika. "oh," she exclaimed, "something is pricking my throat!" but the pudding she found still less to her taste (a plain paste rolled out very thin, and cut into squares, boiled and served up with curds and whey, and small squares of fried bacon). "_mon dieu!_" she said, "it looks like small bits of wet linen!" poor mrs. mravucsán was inconsolable at her guest's want of appetite. "it is such a disgrace for me," she said. then it occurred to her to offer her some of her preserved fruit, and to this madame seemed to take a fancy, for she finished up the dish, and in proportion as her hunger was appeased, her liking for her surroundings increased. she had the lutheran clergyman, sámuel rafanidesz, on her right, and the schoolmaster, teofil klempa, on her left, and to them was deputed the task of entertaining the unfortunate foreigner. their invitations had been put in this form: "you _must_ come, for there is to be a german lady at supper, whom you are to entertain." and they did all they could to prove to the rest of the company how much at ease they were in good german society. madame krisbay seemed very contented with her neighbors, especially when she discovered that the rev. sámuel rafanidesz was a bachelor. what! did clergymen marry there? (perhaps, after all, she had not come to such a bad country!) the schoolmaster was a much handsomer man, but he was older, and was, besides, married. he had an intelligent face, and a long, flowing black beard; he had, too, a certain amount of wit, which he dealt out in small portions. madame krisbay smiled at his sallies. poor woman! she would have liked to have laughed at them, but did not dare to, for her throat was still burning from the effects of that horrid paprika. now and then her face (which was otherwise like yellow wax) got quite red from the efforts she made to keep from coughing, which, besides being the forerunner of old age, she also considered very demeaning. "don't mind us, my dear," called out the mayor's wife, "cough away as much as you like. a cough and poverty cannot be hidden." madame began to feel more and more at home, for, as it turned out, the clergyman had been at school at munich, and could tell a lot of anecdotes of his life there, in the munich dialect, much to madame's delight. the rev. sámuel rafanidesz did not belong to the stiff, unpleasant order of clergymen, and there was a slovak sentence composed by teofil klempa, often repeated by the good people of bábaszék, which bore reference to him, and which, if read backward, gave his name: "szedi na fare, rafanidesz" ("stay in your parish, rafanidesz".) but he never took this advice, and had already been sent away from one living (somewhere in nográd) because of an entanglement with some lady in the parish. mrs. mravucsán knew the whole story, and even the lady, a certain mrs. bahó. she must have been a silly woman, for it was she herself who let the cat out of the bag, to her own husband too; and she was not a beauty either, as we can see from mrs. mravucsán's words: "rafanidesz was a fool. you should never ask a kiss from an ugly woman, nor a loan from a poor man, for they immediately go and boast of it." thus mrs. mravucsán. it is true she added: "but if any one were to call me as a witness, i should deny the whole thing." so you see, i can't stand good for the truth of it either. but that is neither here nor there. madame krisbay certainly enjoyed the company of her two neighbors, and those gentlemen soon raised the whole country in her estimation. but it was lucky she understood no slovak, and could not hear the conversation carried on by the intelligence of bábaszék. of course they were clever people too, in their way, and veronica often smiled at the jokes made, for they were all new to her, though the natives of bábaszék knew them all by heart; for instance, the rich butcher, pál kukucska, always got up when the third course was on the table, and drank to his own health, saying: "long life to my wife's husband!" it would really be waste of time to try and describe the supper, for nothing of any real importance happened. they ate, they drank, and then they went home. perhaps they spoke of important matters? not they! only a thousand trifles were discussed, which it would be a pity to put in print; and yet the incidents of that supper were the talk of bábaszék for weeks after. for instance, mr. mravucsán upset a glass of wine with the sleeve of his coat, and while they were wiping it up, and strewing salt on the stain, senator konopka, turning to the lady of the house, exclaimed: "that means a christening, madam!" of course mrs. mravucsán blushed, but veronica asked in a most innocent tone: "how can you know that?" (she was either a goose, that young girl, or she was a good actress.) now who was to answer her with a face as innocent as the blessed virgin's must have been when she was a girl in short frocks? they all looked at each other, but luckily the forester's wife, mrs. wladimir szliminszky, came to the rescue with this explanation: "you see, my dear, the stork which brings the children generally lets one know beforehand, and the knocking over a glass is one of the signs it gives." veronica thought for a bit, and then shook her head unbelievingly. "but i saw the gentleman knock the glass over himself," she objected. to this mrs. szliminszky had no answer ready, so, according to her usual custom, she turned to her husband and began worrying him. "wladin, cut the fat off that meat." wladin frowned. "but, my dear, that is just the best bit." "never mind, wladin, i can't allow it. your health is the first consideration." and wladin obediently cut off the fat bits. "why is your coat unbuttoned? don't you feel how cold it is? button it up at once, wladin." the forester did as he was told, and with the pleasant feeling of having done his duty, turned his attention to his plate again. "not another bit, wladin, you've had enough. we don't want you to dream of bulls to-night." wladin obediently put down his knife and fork, and prepared to drink a glass of water. "give it me first," cried his wife excitedly. "i want to see that it is not too cold." wladin handed over his glass of water. "you may drink a little of it, but not too much. stop, stop, that will do!" poor wladin! he was a martyr to conjugal love! for sixteen years he had suffered under this constant thoughtfulness, and though he was a strong man when he married, and had never been ill since, yet every minute of his life he expected some catastrophe; for, through constant warnings, the unfortunate pole had worked himself up to the belief that a current of air or a drop of water could be disastrous to him. he felt that nature had bad intentions toward him. "take care, wladin, or the dog will bite your foot!" one of the watch-dogs was under the table gnawing at a bone he had possessed himself of, and a little farther off the cat was looking on, longingly, as much as to say: "give me some of that superfluous food." now began the so-called "amabilis confusio." every one spoke at once, and every one about a different subject. the senators had returned to the important question of the corpse hanging in the wood; mrs. mravucsán complained that no one was eating anything, and looked as wretched as she could. each one drank to the other's health, and during the quiet moment that followed, a voice was heard: "oh, wladin, wladin!" it was mrs. szliminszky's voice; she evidently objected to her husband drinking, and her neighbor, mr. mokry, the lawyer's clerk, objected to her constant distractions, in spite of the interesting theme they were discussing. "that strong cigar will harm you, wladin; you had better put it down. well, and why did you go to besztercebánya, mr. mokry?" "i had a lot to do there, but, above all, i bought the suit i have on." he looked admiringly at his dark blue suit for about the hundredth time that evening. "it is a very nice suit. what did you pay for it?" "i had it made to measure at klener's, and went to try it on myself." "what was the price?" "it is real gács cloth, and quite impervious to rain; you should see it by daylight!" "yes, of course, but what did it cost?" asked the polish lady, her thoughts still occupied with her husband. "i saw the piece of cloth myself; this was the first length cut off it. it has a peculiar look in the sunlight." "yes, yes; but i asked the price of it." but it was difficult to bring mokry to think of other things when he was once launched on the subject of his new suit. "klener has a tailor working for him, a certain kupek, who used to work at one of the court tailors' in vienna, and he said to me: 'don't grudge the money, mr. mokry, for this is such a durable stuff that your own skin will wear out first.' please feel it." "it's as soft as silk. wladin, my dear, i think you had better change places with me. you are in a draught there each time the door is opened. what are you making such a face for? you surely don't mean to argue with me? over you come now!" the beloved martyr changed places with his wife, and now mrs. szliminszky was on the opposite side of the table, next to wibra; but he was entirely taken up with veronica, who was chattering to her heart's content. the clever young man, of whom it was said he would once be the first lawyer in besztercebánya, was listening to the girl with as much attention as though a bishop were speaking, and would not for a moment have taken his eyes off her. they spoke quietly, as though they were discussing very important questions, though they were in reality speaking of the most innocent things. what did veronica do at home? she read a good deal, and took long walks. what did she read, and where did she walk? and veronica gave the titles of some books. gyuri had read them all too, and they began exchanging notes regarding some of them, such as "elemér the eagle," "iván berend," "aranka béldi." gyuri considered pál béldi very stupid for not accepting the title of prince when it was offered him. veronica thought it was better he had not done so, for if he had, the novel would never have been written. then gyuri began to question her about glogova. was it very dull? veronica looked at him, surprised. how could glogova be dull? it was as though some ignorant person had asked if paris were dull. "is there a wood there?" "a beautiful one." "do you ever go there?" "of course." "are you not afraid?" "afraid of what?" "well, you know, woods sometimes have inhabitants one might be afraid of." "oh, but the inhabitants of our woods are more afraid of me than i of them." "can any one be afraid of you?" "oh, yes they are, because i catch them." "the robbers?" "don't be so silly, or i shall be cross!" "i should like to see what you look like when you are cross." "well, i shall be if you talk such rubbish again. i catch butterflies in the wood." "are there pretty butterflies there? i had a collection when i was a student; i believe i have it still." at this a desire for rivalry seized hold of veronica. "you should see my collection," she said. "i have all kinds. tigers, admirals, apollos; only, it is such a pity, my apollo has lost one of its wings." "have you a hebe?" "oh, yes, it is nearly as big as the palm of my hand." "and how big is that? let me see it." veronica spread out her hand on the table; it was not so very big after all, but fine and pink as a roseleaf. gyuri took a match and began to measure it, and in doing so, accidentally touched her hand with his finger, upon which she hastily drew it away and blushed furiously. "it is very hot," she said, putting up her hand to her hot face, as though she had drawn it away for that purpose. "yes, the room has got quite hot," broke in mrs. szliminszky. "unbutton your coat, wladin!" wladin heaved a sigh of relief, and undid his coat. veronica returned to the subject of the butterflies. "i think butterfly catching must be the same to me as hunting is to a man." "i am very fond of butterflies," answered gyuri, "because they only love once." "oh, i have another reason for liking them." "perhaps because of their mustaches?" veronica turned her head away impatiently. "mr. wibra, you are beginning to be unpleasant." "thank you for the compliment." "what compliment?" "you say i am beginning to be unpleasant, which is as much as to say i was pleasant till now." "i see it is dangerous to talk with you, for you put words into my mouth i never intended saying. i shall not speak again." "i'll never do it again, never, i assure you. only do talk," pleaded gyuri. "do the butterflies really interest you?" "upon my honor, they interest one more at this moment than lions and tigers." "i think butterflies are so pretty--like a beautifully dressed woman. and what tasteful combinations of color! i always look at their wings as though they were so many patterns of materials. for instance, look at a hebe, with its black and red under-wings, do not they match beautifully with the yellow and blue-top wings! and then the tiger, with its brown and yellow-spotted dress! believe me, the renowned worth might with advantage take a walk in the woods, and learn the art of combining shades from the butterflies." "gently, wladin!" called out mrs. szliminszky at this moment. "how many lungs have you? a three-kreutzer stamp is sufficient for local letters." wladin and senator fajka were wondering how matters would stand if they were both very deaf, and wladin was talking so loudly that his loving spouse felt bound to put in a word of remonstrance, and request him to have some respect for his lungs. "they are quite close to each other, and yet they shout as though they were trying to persuade some one not to put a fifteen-kreutzer stamp on a local letter. oh dear! when will people be more sensible?" at that moment, senator konopka rose and drank to the health of the host, the "regenerator" of bábaszék. he spoke in exactly the same thin, piping voice as mr. mravucsán; when the guests closed their eyes, they really believed the master of the house himself was speaking, and sounding his own praises; of course this caused great amusement. upon that up sprang the mayor, and answered the toast in konopka's voice, with just the same grimaces and movements he always made, and the merriment rose in proportion. kings do this too in another form, for at meetings and banquets they pay each other the compliment of dressing up in each other's uniforms; and yet no one thinks of laughing at them. toast succeeded toast. "you have let the dogs loose now," whispered fajka to konopka. mokry drank to the health of the lady of the house, and then mravucsán stood up a second time to return thanks in his wife's name. he remarked that, to their great disappointment, one of those invited had been unable to come, namely, mrs. müncz, who had at the last moment had an attack of gout in her foot, which was no wonder, considering the amount of standing and running about she did when there was a fair in their town. then they all emptied their glasses to the health of the old jewess. after the shouts of acclamation had died away, wladin szliminszky called out: "now it is my turn!" "wladin, don't make a speech!" cried his wife. "you know it is bad for your lungs to speak so loud." but she could do nothing now to prevent him; a henpecked husband is capable of everything; he will button or unbutton his coat, eat or drink to order, but refrain from making the speech his brain has conceived he will not; at least, it has never yet been heard of in the annals of hungarian history. "i take up my glass, gentlemen, to drink to the fairest flower of the company, beloved by god, who on one occasion sent down his servant from heaven, saying: 'go down at once, peter, with an umbrella; don't let the child get wet.' long life to miss veronica bélyi!" veronica was as red as a rose, especially when the guests all got up one after the other, and went and kissed her hand; some of them even knelt to do it, and pious mrs. mravucsán bent down and kissed the hem of her dress. gyuri thought at first on hearing wladin's peculiar speech that the good man had gone mad, and now seeing every one following his example, was more surprised than ever, and a strange feeling crept over him. "what miracle is it your husband is referring to?" he asked, turning to mrs. szliminszky. that good lady looked at him surprised. "what! don't you know the story? why, it is impossible. it is even printed in slovak verse." "what is printed?" "why, the story of the umbrella ... wladin, you are very hot, your face is the color of a boiled lobster. shall i give you my fan?" "what about the umbrella?" queried gyuri impatiently. "it is really strange you have never heard anything about it. well, the story runs, that when your fair neighbor was a little child, they once left her out on the veranda of the priest's house. her brother, the priest of glogova, was in the church praying. a storm came on, it poured in torrents, and the child would have been wet through and have got inflammation of the lungs, or something of the kind, if a miracle had not taken place. an old man appeared on the scene, no one knows from where; he seemed to have fallen from heaven, and he spread an umbrella over the child's head." "my umbrella!" burst unconsciously from the lawyer. "what did you say?" "nothing, nothing." his blood coursed more quickly through his veins, his heart beat faster, he raised his head quickly, with the result that he also knocked his glass over. "a christening, another christening!" called out every one. "my best wishes," said mr. rafanidesz, turning to mrs. szliminszky, who blushed becomingly and told him not to talk nonsense. but the young lawyer would not let her continue the conversation; he drew his chair nearer to hers, and said: "please go on." "well, the gray-haired man disappeared, no one knew how nor where, and those who saw him for a moment swore it was st. peter." "it was müncz!" "did you speak?" gyuri bit his lip, and saw that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "nothing, nothing; please go on." "well, st. peter disappeared, and left the umbrella behind him." "and does it still exist?" "i should think it does indeed. they keep it as a relic in the church of glogova." "thank god!" he drew a deep breath, as though a great weight had fallen from him. "found!" he murmured. he thought he would have fallen from his chair in his joy. "and to whom does it belong? to the church?" asked gyuri. "it may be yours once," said mrs. szliminszky. "it will be veronica's when she marries; the priest of glogova told me so himself. 'it will belong to my sister,' he said, 'unless she makes a present of it to the church when she marries.'" "oh, no," said the lawyer, shaking his head. "at least, i mean ... what am i saying? what were we speaking about? it is fearfully warm, i'm stifling. please, mr. mravucsán, could we have the window open?" "of course," and the mayor ran to open it. "button up your coat, wladin!" a fresh spring air entered by the window, and a slight breeze put out both the candles. "kisses allowed," called out klempa. a branch of lilac was just outside the window, and spread its delicious perfume through the room, decidedly more pleasant than the fumes of tobacco smoke which had filled it a minute before. madame krisbay, startled by the sudden darkness, gave vent to a little scream, and klempa seized the opportunity to exclaim: "i assure you it was not i!" there was a general confusion in the darkness, but mrs. szliminszky, wanting to prove she was above being troubled by such trifles, quietly continued her conversation with gyuri. "it is a pretty little legend, mr. wibra. i am not easily imposed upon, and, besides, we are lutherans; but i must say it is a very pretty legend. but the umbrella is really wonderful. sick people are cured if they stand under it; a dead man rose to life again when it touched him. it is of no use your shaking your head, for it is true. i know the man himself, he is still alive. altogether the things that umbrella has done are wonderful, especially the fact that it has brought luck and riches to the priest of glogova." a dark suspicion took possession of gyuri, and when the candles were relighted, it was to be seen he was as pale as death. "is the priest rich?" he asked. "very rich," answered mrs. szliminszky. he drew nearer to her, and suddenly seized hold of her hand, pressing it convulsively. the good lady could not make out why. (if he had done so a minute sooner, she could have understood it, but the candles were alight now!) "he found something in the umbrella, did he not?" he asked, panting. mrs. szliminszky shrugged her white shoulders, half visible through the lace insertion of her dress. "why, what could he find in an umbrella? it is not a box, nor an iron case. but for the last fourteen years people have come from great distances to be married under the umbrella, and they pay generously for it. and then when a rich person is dying anywhere beyond the bjela voda, from the szitnya right as far as kriván, they send for the priest of glogova to hear their confession, and after their death, to bury them under the umbrella." veronica, to whom the mayor's wife had been showing the embroidered table-cloth, calling her attention to the fineness of the linen, now caught a few words of the conversation. "are you speaking of our umbrella?" she asked amiably, leaning toward them. gyuri and mrs. szliminszky started. "yes, my dear," answered the latter, slightly confused. gyuri smiled mischievously. "i see," said veronica, "you don't believe the story." "no, i do not." "really?" asked the girl reproachfully; "and why?" "because i never believe nonsense, and because ..." he had nearly said too much, but he kept back the words that rose to his lips when he saw how wounded the girl appeared at his incredulity. she smiled, turned her head away, and gazed silently at her plate. gyuri was silent too, though he felt inclined to cry out: "i am rich at last, for in the handle of that umbrella there are unknown treasures." it is remarkable that if good luck befalls a man, his first wish (for he still has wishes, even if they are all fulfilled) is to communicate it to others; he would like trumpets sounded, heralds to be sent round to announce it to the whole world. but then comes doubt, the everlasting "perhaps." and so it was with gyuri. "what is the umbrella like, miss veronica?" he asked. veronica closed her lips firmly, as though she considered it unnecessary to answer him, then thought better of it, and said: "it is not much to look at; it is of faded red stuff, looks a thousand years old, and is patched all over." "with a border of small green flowers?" "have you seen it?" "no, i only asked." "yes, there is a border of green flowers on it." "could i see it?" "certainly. do you wish to?" "that is what i am going to glogova for." "why, if you don't believe in it?" "just for that very reason. if i believed in it i should not go." "you are a heathen." she drew her chair away from him, at which he at once became serious. "have i hurt you?" he asked contritely. "no, but you frighten me," and her lovely oval face expressed disappointment. "i will believe anything you like, only don't be afraid of me." veronica smiled slightly. "it would be a shame not to believe it," struck in mrs. szliminszky, "for it is a fact--there is plenty to prove it. if you don't believe that, you don't believe anything. either the miracles in the bible are true, and if so, this is true too, or ..." but she could not finish her sentence, for at that moment madame krisbay rose from the table, saying she was tired, and would like to retire to her room, and mrs. mravucsán led her and veronica to two small rooms opening on to the courtyard. in the doorway gyuri bowed to veronica, who returned it with a slight nod. "shall we start early in the morning?" he asked. she bowed with mock humility. "as you like, mr. thomas," she said. gyuri understood the reference, and answered in the same strain: "it depends upon how long the saints sleep." veronica turned her head, and shook her fist playfully at him. "i will pay you out!" she said. gyuri could hardly take his eyes off her, she looked so pretty as she spoke. let the saints look like that if they could! soon after the szliminszky pair started for home, accompanied by a man carrying a lantern. mrs. szliminszky had made wladin put on a light spring coat, hung a long cloak over his shoulders, tied a big woollen scarf round his neck, and having ordered him only to breathe through his nose, once they were out, she turned to gyuri again. "yes, it is a beautiful legend, it made a great impression on me." "poor legends!" returned gyuri. "if we were to pick some of them to pieces, and take the romance out of them, their saintly odor, their mystery, what strange and simple truths would be left!" "well, they must not be picked to pieces, that is all. wladin, turn up the collar of your coat." the lawyer thought for a minute. "perhaps you are right," he said. after a short time gyuri also asked to be shown to his room. "the magnet has gone!" muttered the lawyer's clerk. hardly had the door closed when kukucska, the butcher, exclaimed: "now we are free!" he took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, thus showing the head of an ox tatooed on his left arm, then winked knowingly at mravucsán. the mayor seemed to understand the look, for he went to a cupboard and pulled out one of the drawers, from which he took a pack of cards. the knave of spades was missing, but that did not make any difference to the intelligent members of bábaszék society, for they had once before played "preference" with those cards, and the last player had simply received one card less when they were dealt out, though he was supposed to have the knave of spades, and it was called the "spirit card." if they were playing spades, the last player in imagination threw the knave on it, saying: "i play the spirit card!" so now, in spite of this small difficulty, they decided to play, and the game lasted till daylight. the senators, the butcher, and the clergyman played, the lawyer's clerk dealt, and klempa looked on, having no money to lose, and went from one player to the other, looking over their shoulders, and giving them advice what to play. but one after the other sent him away, declaring he brought them bad luck, which rather depressed him. so the poor schoolmaster wandered from one to the other, till at last he took a seat between the clergyman and the butcher, dropped his weary head on the table, and went to sleep, his long beard doubled up, and serving as a pillow. but he was to have a sad awakening, for that mischievous pál kukucska, seeing the beard on the table, conceived the idea of sealing it there; and fetching a candle and sealing-wax, they dropped some on the beard in three places, and mravucsán pressed his own signet ring on it. then they went on playing, until he should awake. other incidents, and not very pleasant ones either, were taking place in the house. madame krisbay, to whom the mayor's wife had given her own bedroom, would not go to bed with the enormous eider-down quilt over her, for she was afraid of being suffocated during the night. she asked for a "paplan" (a kind of wadded bed cover), but mrs. mravucsán did not possess such a thing, so she brought in her husband's enormous fur-lined cloak and threw it over madame, which so frightened the poor nervous woman that she was attacked by migraine, and the mayor's wife had to spend the night by her bed, putting horse-radish on her temples. an unpleasant thing happened to veronica too. as soon as she was alone in the mravucsáns' best bedroom, she locked the door, hung a cloak on the door-handle so that no one could look through the key-hole, drew the curtains across the tiny windows which opened on to the courtyard, and then began to undress. she had taken off the bodice of her dress and unfastened her skirt, when all at once she became aware of two bright eyes watching her intently from under the bed. it was a kitten, and it was gazing at her as intently and admiringly as though it had been a prince changed by some old witch into the form of a cat. veronica, alarmed, caught up her skirt and bodice, and put them on again. "go along, you tiresome kitten," she said; "don't look at me when i'm undressing." she was such an innocent child, she was ashamed to undress before the kitten. she dressed again, and tried to drive it out of the room, but it hid itself under the bed, then jumped on a cupboard, and it was quite impossible to get rid of it. mrs. mravucsán, hearing the noise from the next room, called out: "what is the matter, my dear?" "i can't drive the cat out." "never mind, she won't hurt you." "but she always watches me," answered veronica. she put her candle out, and began to undress in the dark, but that tiresome cat walked into the middle of the room again, and her eyes shone more than ever. "wait a bit, you curious little thing," said veronica. "i'll get the best of you yet." she made a barricade of chairs, then got inside it, as though she were in a fortress, and began to undo her boots. do you think that barricade made any impression on the kitten? not a bit of it. there she was again, on the top of the chairs, from there one jump took her on to the washing-stand, and another on to veronica's bed. there she was seized upon and a shawl bound round her head. "now, kitty, stare at me if you can!" and after that she managed to undress in peace. chapter ii. night brings counsel. while the two ladies were occupied with these trifles, and klempa with his beard sealed to the table slept the sleep of the just, gyuri had also retired to his bed, but found it impossible to sleep. it was not from indigestion, for mrs. mravucsán's excellent supper had not disagreed with him; it was his brain which was hard at work, going over all the incidents that had taken place that day. he seemed to have lived through years in the last few hours. what an age it seemed since he had looked for the umbrella in mrs. müncz's shop! and it was found quite unexpectedly. god had given it into the charge of an angel. from the umbrella his thoughts flew to the "angel." she was a nice little thing, he decided; not a bit unpleasant like other girls of that age he knew, who were thoughtless, useless creatures. veronica was an exception. and she seemed to have taken to him too. he passed again in revision all her words, her movements, and as he went on, he found among the smiles, the softened voice, the unwatched moments, certain signs of coldness here and there, as though she were putting a restraint upon herself. but he was so happy now, that he did not need the friendship of a silly girl. he was a rich man now, a nabob beginning from to-day. he would live like a prince henceforward, spend the winter in budapest, or on the riviera, in monaco, and the summer at ostend; in fact, he would be a grand gentleman, and not even look at poor priests' sisters. (how tiresome it was, his thoughts would always return to veronica.) sleep would not come, how could it be expected? one scheme after the other passed before his mind's eye, like the butterflies in the glogova woods. and he chased them all in turn. oh! if it were only daylight, and he could move on. his watch was ticking on the table beside his bed; he looked at it, the hands pointed to midnight. impossible! it must be later than that; his watch must be slow! somewhere in the distance a cock crew, as much as to say: "your watch is quite right, mr. wibra." he heard faint sounds of music proceeding from the "frozen sheep" in the distance, and some one on his way home was singing a slovak shepherd's song. gyuri lighted a cigar, and sat down to smoke it and think things over. how strangely the umbrella had been found--at least _he_ had not found it yet, it was not yet in his possession, and when he came to look at the facts, he found he was not much nearer to it than he had been. until now he had supposed it had been thrown away as a useless rag, and he had had little hope of finding it. and now, what had happened? things were quite different to what they had imagined them; for as it turned out, the umbrella was a treasure, a relic in a church. what was to be done about it? what was he to say to the priest to-morrow? "i have come for my umbrella"? the priest would only laugh at him, for, either he was bigoted and superstitious, in which case he would believe st. peter had brought the umbrella to his sister, or he was a pharisee, and in that case he would not be such a fool as to betray himself. the wind was rising, and the badly fitting windows and door of the little room that had been allotted to him were rattling, and the furniture cracked now and then. he could even hear the wind whistling through the liskovina wood, not far from the house. gyuri blew out the light and lay down again under the big eider-down quilt, and imagined he saw the corpse mr. mravucsán had spoken of, hanging from a tree, waving from side to side in the wind, and nodding its head at him, saying: "oh, yes, mr. wibra, you'll be well laughed at in the parish of glogova." the lawyer tossed about on the snow-white pillows, from which an odor of spring emanated (they had been out in the garden to air the day before). "never mind," thought he, "the umbrella is mine after all. i can prove it in a court of justice if necessary. i have witnesses. there are mr. sztolarik, mrs. müncz and her sons, the whole town of besztercebánya." then he laughed bitterly. "and yet, what am i thinking of? i can't prove it, for, after all, the umbrella does not belong to me, but to the müncz family, for the old man bought it. so only that which is in the handle belongs to me. but can i go to the priest and say: 'your reverence, in the handle of the umbrella is a check for , or , florins, please give it to me, for it belongs of right to me'?" then gyuri began to wonder what the priest would answer. he either believed the legend of the umbrella, and would then say: "go along, do! st. peter is not such a fool as to bring you a check on a bank from heaven!" or if he did look in the handle and find the receipt, he would say: "well, if he did bring it, he evidently meant it for me." and he would take it out and keep it. why should he give it to gyuri? how was he to prove it belonged to him? "supposing," thought our hero, "i were to tell him the whole story, about my mother, about my father, and all the circumstances attending his death. let us imagine he would believe it from alpha to omega; of what use would it be? does it prove that the treasure is mine? certainly not. and even if it did, would he give it to me? a priest is only a man after all. could i have a lawsuit, if he would not give it me? what nonsense! of course not. he might take the receipt out of the handle, and what proofs can i bring then that it was ever in it?" the perspiration stood on his forehead; he bit the bed-clothes in his helpless rage. to be so near to his inheritance, and yet not be able to seize hold of it! "black night, give counsel!" was gyuri's prayer. and it is best, after all, to turn to the night for help. gyuri was right to ask its advice, for it is a good friend to thought. among the golden rules should be written: "think over all your actions by night, even if you have decided by day what course to take!" for a man has night thoughts and day thoughts, though i do not know which are the better. i rather think neither kind is perfect. for daylight, like a weaver, works its colors into one's thoughts, and night covers them with its black wings. both of them paint, increase and decrease things--in one word, falsify them. night shows the beloved one more beautiful than he is, it strengthens one's enemies, increases one's troubles, diminishes one's joy. it is not kind of it; but night is sovereign, and is answerable to no one for its actions. take things as they come, but do not put aside serious thought when you are seeking the truth. though, of course, you do not really seek the truth; even if it comes to meet you, you get out of its way. i ought to have said, do not despise the night when you are trying to find the way out of a thing. night will show you what to do, without your even noticing it. if it can do it in no other way, it brings you gentle sleep, and gives you advice in dreams. after a time the wind dropped, the music at the "frozen sheep" ceased, and gyuri heard nothing but a rhythmic murmur, and all at once he seemed to be in the woods of glogova, chasing butterflies with veronica. as they ran on among the bushes, an old man suddenly appeared before them, with a golden crook, a glory round his head, and his hat hanging by a bit of string from his neck. "are you mr. wibra?" he inquired. "yes; and you?" "i am st. peter." "what do you want?" "i wish to sign a receipt for your happiness." "for my happiness?" "i see you cannot get your umbrella, and my friend gregorics has asked me to help you. so i am quite willing to sign a paper declaring that i did not give the umbrella to the young lady." "it is very good of you, but i have neither paper nor ink here. let us go back to the village." "i have no time for that; you know i have to be at the gates of heaven, and i can't stay away for long." "well, what am i to do, how am i to get my umbrella?" st. peter turned his back, and began to walk back the way he had come, but stood still beside a large oak-tree, and made a sign to gyuri to approach. gyuri obeyed. "i'll tell you what, my friend, don't think too long about it, but marry veronica, and then you will have the umbrella too." "come," said gyuri, catching hold of the golden crook. "come and ask her brother to give his permission." he pulled hard at the crook, but at that moment a strong hand seemed to pull him back, and he awoke. some one was knocking at the door. "come in," he said sleepily. it was the mravucsáns' farm-servant. "i've come for your boots," he announced. gyuri rubbed his eyes. it was day at last, the sun was smiling at him through the window. his thoughts were occupied with his dream, every incident of which was fresh in his mind. he thought he heard st. peter's voice again saying: "marry veronica, my friend, and then you will have the umbrella too." "what a strange dream," thought gyuri; "and how very much logic it contains! why, i might have thought of that solution myself!" * * * * * by the time gyuri was dressed, it was getting late, and every member of the mravucsán household was on foot. one was carrying a pail to the stables, another a sieve, and near the gate which last night's wind had partly lifted off its hinges, gyuri's coachman was examining the damage done. seeing his master advancing toward him, he took off his hat with its ostrich feathers (part of the livery of a hungarian coachman is a kind of round hat, with two ends of black ribbon hanging from it at the back, and some small ostrich tips in it). "shall i harness the horses, sir?" "i don't know yet. here, my good girl, are the ladies up?" "they are breakfasting in the garden," answered the maid he had accosted. "please walk this way." "well, then, you may harness, jános." gyuri found the ladies seated round a stone table under a large walnut-tree. they had finished breakfast, only madame was still nibbling a bit of toast. he was received with ironical smiles, and veronica called out: "here comes the early riser!" "that title belongs to me," said mravucsán, "for i have not been to bed at all. we played cards till daybreak. klempa is still asleep with his beard sealed to the table." "a nice sort of thing for grown-up folks to do!" remarked mrs. mravucsán. gyuri shook hands with them all, and veronica got up and made a deep courtesy. "good-morning, early riser," she said. "why are you staring at me so?" "i don't know how it is," stammered gyuri, gazing at the girl's beautiful face, "but you seem to me to have grown." "in one night?" "you were quite a little girl yesterday." "you appear to be dazed!" "i certainly am when i look at you." "you seem to be sleepy still. is this the time of day to get up?" the playful, gentle tone was delightful to gyuri, and he began to be quite talkative. "i fell asleep for a short time, and if the servant had not woke me, i should be asleep still. oh, if he had only waited five minutes longer!" "had you such a pleasant dream?" asked mrs. mravucsán. "will you take some coffee?" "if you please." "won't you tell us your dream?" "i was going to marry--in fact, had got as far as the proposal." "did she refuse you?" asked veronica, raising her head, the beauty of which was enhanced by the rich coronet of hair, in which she had stuck a lovely pink. "i don't know what would have happened, for at the critical moment the servant woke me." "what a pity, we shall never know how it would have turned out!" "you shall know some time." "how?" "i will tell you." "how can you do that? dreams cannot be continued from one night to another like novels in a periodical." gyuri drank his coffee, lit a cigar, and from out the cloud of smoke he replied in a mysterious voice, his eyes turned heavenward: "there are such dreams, as you will see. and how did you sleep?" thereupon mrs. mravucsán began to tell the story of veronica's adventure with the kitten. every one laughed, poor veronica was covered with blushes, and mrs. mravucsán, finding the opportunity a good one, launched upon a little lecture. "my dear child, exaggeration is never good, not even in modesty. you will have to get used to such things. what will you do when you are married? you will not be able to shut your husband out of your room." "oh, dear!" exclaimed veronica. "how can you say such dreadful things!" and she jumped up, blushing furiously, and ran away to the gooseberry-bushes, where her dress got caught, and in trying to move on, the gathers got torn. thereupon there was a rush for needle and thread, and the confusion was heightened when the carriage drove up, the two handsome black horses pawing the ground impatiently. (the lawyer's business must be a good one; he must have lied a lot to be able to buy such horses!) every member of the household had some task allotted to her. anka must wrap up the ham in a cloth, zsuzsa must run and fetch the fresh bread that had been baked for the occasion. some one else must bring knives and forks. would they like a little fruit packed in the basket? the foreign lady would be glad of something of the kind. and should she put a small pot of jam in too? "but, my dear mrs. mravucsán, we shall be at home by dinner-time!" "and supposing something happens to prevent it? you never can know." and off she went to her storeroom, while the mayor tried to persuade them to stay at least an hour longer; but it was of no use, the travellers had made up their minds to start; not even the possibility of seeing klempa wake up would induce them to change their plans. they got into the carriage, the two ladies on the back seat, and gyuri on the box with the coachman, but his face turned toward the ladies. whether he would hold out in that uncomfortable position till glogova remained to be seen. "to glogova," said gyuri to the coachman, and jános cracked his whip and the horses started, but hardly were they out of the yard, when the mayor's wife came tripping after them, calling out to them at the top of her voice to stop. they did so, wondering what had happened. but nothing serious was the matter, only mrs. mravucsán had unearthed a few apples in her storeroom, with which she filled their pockets, impressing upon them that the beautiful rosy-cheeked one was for veronica. then they started again, with a great amount of waving of handkerchiefs and hats, until the house, with its smoking chimneys and its large walnut-tree, was out of sight. as they passed mrs. müncz's shop she was standing at the door in her white cap, nodding to them with her gray head, which seemed cut into two parts by the broad-rimmed spectacles. at the smithy they were hammering away at the priest's broken chaise, and farther on various objects which had been left unsold at yesterday's fair were being packed in boxes, and then put in carts to be taken home again. they passed in turn all the tiny houses, with their brightly-painted doors, on which the names of the owners were printed in circles. at the last house, opposite the future jewish burial-ground, two pistol-shots were fired. the travellers turned their heads that way, and saw mr. mokry in his new suit, made by the noted tailor of besztercebánya, with his hat in one hand, and in the other the pistol he had fired as a farewell greeting. on the other side of the road was the dangerous windmill, its enormous sails throwing shadows over the flowering clover-fields. luckily it was not moving now, and looked like an enormous fly pinned on the blue sky. there was not a breath of wind, and the ears of wheat stood straight and stiff, like an army of soldiers. only the sound of the horses' hoofs was to be heard, and the woods of liskovina stretched before them like a never-ending green wall. the third devil part v chapter i. maria czobor's rose, the precipice, and the old pear-tree. madame krisbay was very much interested in the neighborhood they were driving through, and asked many questions. they passed a small chapel in the wood, and veronica explained that a rich innkeeper had once been killed there by robbers, and the bereaved widow had built this chapel on the spot. "perhaps out of gratitude?" suggested gyuri. "don't be so horrid," exclaimed veronica. the liskovina wood is quite like a park, with the exception that there is not much variety in the way of trees, the birch, the favorite tree of the slovaks, being predominant. but of flowers there were any amount. the ferns grew to a great height, the anthoxantum had flowered, and in its withered state filled the whole wood with its perfume. among plants, as among people, there are some which are only pleasant and agreeable to others after their death. what a difference there is in the various kinds of plants! there is the gladiolus, the most important part of which is the bulb it hides under the earth; whoever eats it dreams of the future. much simpler is the ox-eye daisy, for it will tell you without any ceremonies if the person you are thinking of loves you very much, a little, or not at all; you have only to pull off its snow-white petals one by one, and the last one tells you the truth. the wild pink provides food for the bee, the lily serves as a drinking-cup for the birds, the large dandelion is the see-saw of the butterflies. for the liskovina woods are generous, and provide beds for all kinds of insects, strawberries for children, nosegays for young girls, herbs for old women, and the poisonous aconite, which the peasants in that part called the "wolf-killer." whether it ever caused the death of a wolf is doubtful, for wolves have their fair share of sense, and probably, knowing something of botany, they tell their cubs: "don't touch the aconitum lycotinum, children; it is better to eat meat." it was delightful driving in the shady woods, though madame krisbay was alarmed each time a squirrel ran up a tree, and was in constant fear of the robbers who had killed the rich innkeeper. "why, that was eighty years ago, madame!" "well, and their sons?" she was restless till they had got clear of the wood and had come to a large barren plain, with here and there a small patch of oats, stunted in their growth. but after that they came to another wood, the far-famed "zelena hruska," in the shape of a pear. supposing robbers were to turn up there! and gyuri was just wishing for their appearance while madame was thinking with horror of them. as he sat face to face with the girl, he decided to marry her--because of the umbrella. the girl was certainly pretty, but even had she not been so, the umbrella was worth the sacrifice. st. peter had told him what to do, and he would follow his advice. superstition, at which he had laughed the day before, had taken possession of him, and made a place for itself among his more rational thoughts. he felt some invisible power pushing him on to take this step. what power was it? probably st. peter, who had advised him in his dream to take it. but how was he to set to work? that was what was troubling him the whole time. how convenient it would be if there were some romance nowadays, as in olden times or in novels; for instance, if robbers were now to appear on the scene, and he could shoot them down one after the other with his revolver, and so free veronica, who would then turn to him and say: "i am yours till death!" but as matters were at present, he did not dare to take any steps in the right direction; the words he had so well prepared seemed to stick in his throat. doubts arose in his mind; supposing she had not taken a fancy to him! supposing she were already in love! she must have seen other men besides himself, and if so, they _must_ have fallen in love with her. something ought to happen to help matters on a little. but no robbers came, there probably were none; it was a poor neighborhood, nothing grew there, not even a robber. after they had passed the wood, they saw an old castle among the trees, on the top of a hill. it was the castle of slatina, had formerly belonged to the czobors, and was now the property of the princes of coburg. they had to stop at an inn to feed the horses, and veronica proposed their going to look at the castle, of which an old man had charge; he would show them over it. the innkeeper assured them some of the rooms were just as the czobors had left them; in the court were a few old cannon, and in the house a collection of curious old armor, and some very interesting family portraits, among them that of a little girl, katalin czobor, who had disappeared from her home at the age of seven. veronica was very interested in the child. "and what happened to her?" she asked. "the poor child has never turned up to this day!" sighed the innkeeper. "and when was it she disappeared?" "about three hundred years ago," he answered with a smile, and then accompanied his guests up the mountain path that led to the castle. they were silent on their return, only madame krisbay remarking: "what a mouldy smell there was in there!" veronica had caught sight of a beautiful rose on a large bush near the half-ruined walls of the bastion. "what an exquisite flower!" she exclaimed. the old caretaker had a legend about that too. from this spot beautiful maria czobor had sprung from the walls, and thrown herself down the precipice, for her father wished her to marry an officer in the emperor's army, and she was in love with a shepherd. the latter had planted a rose-bush on this spot, and every year it bore one single blossom. gyuri dropped behind the others, and begged the old man to give him the rose. "my dear sir, what are you thinking of? why, the poor girl's spirit would haunt me if i were to do such a thing!" gyuri took out his purse and pressed two silver florins into the man's hand, upon which, without further ado, he took out his knife and cut the rose. "won't the young lady's spirit haunt you now?" asked gyuri, smiling. "no, because with part of the money i will have a mass said for the repose of her soul." gyuri ran after the ladies with the rose in his hand, and offered it to veronica. "here is maria czobor's rose," he said. "will you give me your pink in exchange?" but she put her hands behind her back, and said coldly: "how could you have the heart to pick it?" "i did it for your sake. will you not exchange?" "no; i would not for the world wear that flower; i should think i had stolen it from that poor girl." "will you really not accept it?" "no!" gyuri threw the rose away, and it rolled down the hillside in the dust and dirt. veronica gazed pityingly after the flower as long as it was visible, then turned angrily to gyuri. "is that the way to treat a flower? had it hurt you in any way?" "yes," answered the lawyer shortly. "did it prick you?" "it informed me of a very unpleasant fact." "what was it?" "it whispered the continuation of my last night's dream to me." "what a little chatterbox!" she turned her big eyes upon gyuri and spoke in a jesting tone. "i should have had a refusal!" veronica threw back her head, and turned her eyes toward heaven. "poor mr. wibra!" she exclaimed. "what misfortune to be refused in a dream!" "pray go on, make as much fun of it as you like," he said bitterly. "and are you sure you would have been refused?" "yes, now i am sure of it," he answered sadly. "you might guess now of whom i dreamed." "of me?" she asked surprised, and the smile died away on her lips. "of me?" she stammered again, then was silent, descending the hill quietly in madame's wake with bent head. she had lifted the skirt of her dress a little to prevent its dragging in the dust, and her little feet were partly visible as she tripped along with regular steps, treading on the grass and flowers, which, however, were not crushed by her footsteps, but rose again as she passed on. a tiny lizard crossed their path, its beautiful colors shining in the sunlight. but what a sad fate befell it! just at that moment a giant (well known in besztercebánya) came that way, murmuring: "why should it live?" and bringing down a heavy heel severed the poor lizard's head from its body. veronica just then turned round, and saw the cruel action; she felt inclined to cry over the poor lizard, but did not dare to say anything, for she herself began to be afraid of this goliath, so she only murmured under her breath: "wretch!" when they were farther down the hill she saw before her the rose he had thrown away; there it lay, dirty and dusty, among the stones by the roadside, and, obeying a sudden impulse, she bent and picked it up, blowing the dust off its rosy petals, and then she placed it in the bosom of her dress, where it seemed as though it were in its right place at last. she did not say a word, nor did she look at that dreadful goliath, but turned away her head, so that he could not see her face. but goliath was quite satisfied at seeing the rose where he had wished it to be, and out of gratitude would have liked to restore the lizard to life, but that was of course impossible. at the foot of the hill the carriage was waiting, and the travellers took their places again, this time with an uncomfortable feeling. silently they sat opposite each other, one looking to the right, the other to the left, and if their eyes happened to meet they hastily turned them away. when they spoke, their remarks were addressed to madame krisbay, who began to notice that something had happened. but what? only a few childish words to which their minds had given a more serious meaning than they were meant to have, and had increased in size as once the professor's narrow cell in hatvan, which the devil enlarged to such an extent that the whole town had place in it. well, in those few words, everything was contained. but now something else happened. i don't know how it was, but i think a pin dropped, and at the same moment veronica bent down as though to look for it. in doing so the pink fell out of her hair into gyuri's lap, and he picked it up in order to return it to her. but she made him a sign to keep it. "if it _would_ not stay in my hair, and fell into your lap, you may as well keep it." _would_ it not have stayed in her hair? was it quite an accident? thought gyuri, as he smelt the flower. what a pleasant odor it had! was it from her hair? now they were driving beside the brána, the far-famed brána, which quite shuts this part of the country off from the rest of the world, like an immense gate. that is why it is called the brána, or gate. it is no common mountain, but an aristocrat among its kind, and in fine weather it wears a hat, for its summit is hidden in clouds. several small streams make their way down its side, flowing together at the foot, and making one broad stream. "that is the bjela voda," explained veronica to madame krisbay, "we are not far from home now." they still had to drive through one wood, and then the little white cottages of glogova would be before them. but this was the worst bit of the road, crooked and curved, full of ruts and rocks, and so narrow that there was hardly room for the carriage to pass. jános turned round and said with a shake of his head: "the king himself would grow crooked here!" "take care, jános, that you don't upset us!" jános got down from his seat, and fastened one of the wheels firmly, for there was no brake to the carriage; and now the horses had to move at a funeral pace, and sometimes the road was so narrow between two hills that they could see nothing but the blue sky above them. "this place is only fit for birds," muttered jános. "don't you like this part of the country?" "it is like a pock-marked face," he replied. "it is not the sort of place one would come to to choose a wife." gyuri started. had the man discovered his intentions? "why do you think so?" "my last master, the baron (jános had been at some baron's before in sáros county), used to say to his sons, and he was a clever man too, 'never look for a wife in a place where there are neither gnats, good air, nor mineral springs!'" at this both veronica and gyuri were obliged to laugh. "that's a real sáros way of looking at things. but, you see, you have vexed this young lady." "according to your theory i shall have to be an old maid!" said veronica. but jános vigorously denied the possibility of such a thing. "why, dear me, that is not likely; why ... you ..." he wanted to say something complimentary, but could not find suitable words, and as chance would have it, his next words were nearer to swearing than to a compliment, for the shaft of the carriage broke. the ladies were alarmed, and gyuri jumped down from his seat to see the extent of the damage done. it was bad enough, for it had broken off just near the base. "what are we to do now?" exclaimed jános. "i said this place was only fit for birds, who neither walk nor drive." "oh, that is nothing serious," said gyuri, who at that moment was not to be put out by a shaft, nor by a hundred shafts. "give me your axe, and you go and hold the horses. i'll soon bring you something to fasten the shaft to, and strengthen it." he took the axe out of the tool-box under the coachman's seat, said a few words to reassure the ladies, and then jumped the ditch by the side of the road. there were some trees there, but they were as rare as the hairs on the head of an old man. first came a birch, then a hazelnut bush, then a black-thorn, then a bare piece of ground without any trees, and then again a few old trees. so it was rather difficult to find a suitable tree; one was too big, another too small; so gyuri went on and on in search of one, and got so far that soon the carriage was out of sight, and only veronica's red sunshade was to be seen in the distance, like a large mushroom. at length his eyes fell on a young birch, which grew near to a small precipice. it was too big for a seedling and too small for a tree, but well-grown and promising. all the same it must be sacrificed, and down came the axe. but hardly had two or three blows been struck, when a voice was heard, crying out: "reta! reta!" (help! help!) gyuri started and turned round. who had called? the voice seemed quite close, but no one was visible far and near. again the call for help was repeated, and now it seemed to come out of the earth, and gyuri immediately concluded it came from the precipice, and ran toward it. "here i am!" he called out. "where are you and what is the matter?" "i am down the precipice," was the answer; "help me, for god's sake!" gyuri looked down, and saw a figure there in a black coat, but he could not see much of it, for it would have been dangerous to have gone too near to the edge. "how did you manage to get down there?" "i fell in yesterday evening," answered the man in the black coat. "what! yesterday evening! and can't you get out?" "it is impossible, for there is nothing to hold on to, and if i catch hold of any projecting bits, they give way, and i fall back with them." "you are in a bad way altogether! and has no one passed here since then?" "no one comes this way. i was prepared for the worst when i heard the sound of blows in the neighborhood. thank god you came! help me if you can, good man, whoever you may be, and i will reward you!" "i will help you of course with the greatest pleasure, but i must think first how to manage it. if i let down the trunk of a small tree could you climb up it?" "i am very weak from want of sleep and from hunger," answered the man, his voice getting weaker from shouting. "poor fellow! wait a moment!" he had suddenly remembered the apples mrs. mravucsán had put in his pockets that morning. "hallo, there! lookout! i am going to throw down a few apples to go on with while i think over what i am to do." he took the apples out of his pockets, and rolled them down one after the other. all of a sudden he remembered that veronica's was among them. supposing she were vexed at his giving it away! "have you got them?" "yes, thank you." "please don't eat the red one, it is not mine." "very well, i will not eat it." "you seem to be of the better class?" "i am the parish priest of glogova." gyuri, surprised, fell a step backward. how strange! the parish priest of glogova! could anything more unexpected have happened? "i will get you out, your reverence; only wait a few minutes." back he ran to the carriage, which was waiting in the valley below. from this point the country round about looked like the inside of a poppy head cut in two. he did not go quite up to the carriage, but as soon as he was within speaking distance, shouted at the top of his voice to jános: "take the harness off the horses, and bring it here to me; but first tie the horses to a tree." jános obeyed, grumbling and shaking his head. he could not make out what his master needed the harness for. he had once heard a wonderful tale of olden times, in which a certain fatépö gábor (tree-felling gábor) had harnessed two bears to a cart in a forest. could gyuri be going to do the same? but whatever it was wanted for, he did as his master told him, and followed him to the precipice. here they fastened the various straps together, and let them down. "catch hold of them, your reverence," called out gyuri, "and we will pull you up." the priest did as gyuri said, but even then it was hard work to get him up, for the ground kept giving way under his feet; however, at length they managed it. but what a state he was in, covered with dirt and dust; on his face traces of the awful night he had passed, sleepless and despairing, suffering the pangs of hunger. he hardly looked like a human being, and we (that is, my readers and i) who knew him years before would have looked in vain for the handsome, youthful face we remember. he was an elderly man now, with streaks of gray in his chestnut hair. only the pleasant, amiable expression in his thin face was the same. he was surprised to see such a well-dressed young man before him--a rarity on the borders of the glogova woods. "how can i show you my gratitude?" he exclaimed, with a certain pathos which reminded one strongly of the pulpit. he took a few steps in the direction of the stream, intending to wash his hands and face, but he stumbled and felt a sharp pain in his back. "i must have hurt myself last night, when i fell, i cannot walk very well." "lean on me, your reverence," said gyuri. "luckily my carriage is not far off. jános, you go on cutting down that tree, while we walk slowly on." they certainly did go slowly, for the priest could hardly lift his left foot, and frequently stumbled over the roots of trees. the carriage was some way off, so they had plenty of time for conversation, and every now and then they sat down to rest on the trunk of a fallen tree. "tell me, your reverence, how did you come to be in this part of the country late at night?" and then the priest related how he had expected his sister home yesterday, who had gone to meet her governess. as time went on, and there were no signs of them, he began to feel anxious, and toward evening became so restless that he did as he had often done before, and walked to the borders of the little wood. he walked on and on, finding the way by keeping his eye on the hills on both sides, and listened for the sounds of wheels in the distance. all at once it occurred to him that they might have gone round by the pribalszky mill, which was a longer but prettier way to glogova, and veronica, his sister, was fond of the shade there. of course that was what they had done, and they must have arrived at home long ago while he was looking for them. so the best way was to turn back at once, and in order to get home as soon as possible, he unfortunately struck across a side path. in his haste he must have stepped too near to the edge of the precipice and had fallen in. "my poor little sister!" he sighed. "how anxious she must be about me!" gyuri would have liked to turn the priest's sorrow into joy. "we will soon reassure the young lady, and your reverence will feel all right after a night's rest. in two or three days it will seem like an amusing incident." "but which might have ended in a horrible death if divine providence had not sent you to help me." "it really does seem as though divine providence had something to do with it. the shaft of my carriage broke, or i should never have come near that precipice." "if i live to be a hundred i shall never forget your kindness to me, and your name will always have a place in my prayers. but how thoughtless of me! i have not even asked you your name yet." "gyuri wibra." "the well-known lawyer of besztercebánya? and so young! i am glad to make the acquaintance of such an honorable man, sir, who is beloved in the whole of besztercebánya; but i should be much more pleased if a poor man now stood before me, to whom i could give a suitable reward. but how am i to prove my gratitude to you? there is nothing i possess which you would accept." a smile played around gyuri's mouth. "i am not so sure of that. you know we lawyers are very grasping." "is there really something, or are you joking?" the lawyer did not answer immediately, but walked on a few steps toward an old wild pear-tree, which had been struck by lightning, and not far from which the carriage was standing. "well, yes," he answered then, slowly, almost in a trembling voice, "there is something i would gladly accept from you." "and what is it?" "it has just struck me that there is something in my carriage which you might give me." "in your carriage?" "yes, something you do not know of yet, and which i should be very happy to possess." the priest took him by the hand. "whatever it may be, it is yours!" in another minute they had reached the pear-tree. "there is my carriage." the priest looked that way, and saw, first a red sunshade, then a black straw hat under it, with some white daisies in it, and beneath it a sweet, girlish face. it all seemed so familiar to him, the sunshade, the hat, and the face. he rubbed his eyes as though awaking from a dream, and then exclaimed, catching hold of the lawyer's arm: "why, that is my veronica!" the lawyer smiled quietly and bowed. "that is," went on the priest in his kind, gentle voice, "for the future she is your veronica, if you wish." by this time veronica had seen and recognized her brother, had jumped out of the carriage and run to meet him, calling out: "here we are, safe and sound. how anxious you must have been! and our carriage is broken to bits; and oh! if you had only seen the horses! all sorts of things have happened, and i have brought madame krisbay." the priest embraced her, and was glad she seemed to know nothing of his accident. how sensible of gyuri not to have mentioned it! "yes, yes, my darling, you shall tell me everything in order later on." but veronica wanted to tell everything at once, the carriage accident in bábaszék, the supper at mravucsáns' (oh, yes! she had nearly forgotten, mr. mravucsán had sent his kind regards), then to-day's journey, the loss of her earring and its recovery ... the priest, who was slowly beginning to understand things, here broke in upon her recital. "and did you give the finder of it a reward?" she was silent at first at the unexpected question, then answered hurriedly: "no, of course not, how can you think of such a thing? what was i to give? besides, he would not accept anything." "i am surprised at that, for he has since then applied to me for a reward." "impossible!" said veronica, casting a side-glance at gyuri. strange doubts had arisen in her mind, and her heart began to beat. "and what does he ask for?" she asked in a low voice. "he wants a good deal. he asks for the earring he found, and with it its owner. and i have promised him both!" veronica bent her head; her face was suffused with burning blushes, her bosom heaved. "well? do you give no answer? did i do right to promise, veronica?" gyuri took a step toward her, and said, in a low, pleading voice: "only one word, miss veronica!" then stood back under the shade of the pear-tree. "oh! i am so ashamed!" said veronica trembling, and bursting into tears. a breeze came up just then across the brána, and shook the pear-tree, which shed its white petals, probably the last the old tree would bear, over veronica's dress. chapter ii. three sparks. madame sits in the carriage, and can understand nothing of what is going on. the young lady entrusted to her charge springs out of the carriage, runs up to a strange man in a long black coat, throws her arms round his neck, and then they all begin to talk with excited gestures, standing under the pear-tree. then her pupil comes back to the carriage, mild as a lamb, arm in arm with the young man who had found her earring yesterday. all of this is so unexpected, so surprising. and while they are mending the broken shaft and reharnessing the horses, the man in the black coat, who turns out to be the girl's brother, turns to her and whispers in her ear: "your pupil has just engaged herself!" good gracious! when and where? why, now, under the tree! ah, madame krisbay, you feel you ought to faint now, partly because you are a correct woman, and consequently horrified at the way the event has taken place, and partly because you have fallen among such strange people; but your bottle of eau de cologne is quite at the bottom of your travelling-bag, and so it will be better not to faint now. but it is very shocking all the same! for though a tree is suitable for flirting under, or for declarations of love, it is not the correct place to ask a parent or guardian for a girl's hand. the proper place for that (especially in novels) is a well-furnished drawing-room. if the girl is very shy she runs out of the room; if not very shy she falls on her knees and asks the blessing of her parents or guardian, as the case may be. but how is one to kneel under a tree? these were the thoughts that were troubling madame krisbay, not veronica. she, on the contrary, was thinking that one fine day she would return to this spot with her sketch-book, and draw the old tree as a souvenir. all this time the carriage was rolling along the dusty road. there was no room for the coachman, so he had to follow on foot, and gyuri took the reins into his own hands, veronica sitting on the box beside him. oh dear! she thought, what would they think of her in the village as they drove through? the road was better now, and they could drive faster, so gyuri loosened the reins, and began to think over the events that had taken place. was it a dream or not? no, it could not be, for there was veronica sitting near to him, and behind him father jános was talking to madame krisbay in the language of the gauls. no, it was simple truth, though it seemed stranger than fiction. who would have believed yesterday that before the sun set twice he would find his inheritance, and a wife into the bargain? twenty-four hours ago he had not known of the existence of miss veronica bélyi. strange! and now he was trying to imagine what the world had been like without her. it seemed impossible that he had not felt the want of her yesterday. but the wheels were making such a noise, that he found it difficult to collect his thoughts. wonders had happened. one legend, that of the umbrella, was done away with, but on its ruins another had built itself up. heaven and earth had combined to help him to his inheritance. heaven had sent a dream and earth a protector. his heart swelled as he thought of it. oh, if the girl next him only knew to what a rich man she had promised her hand! after passing the kopanyicza hills, which seem like a screen to the entrance of the valley, glogova, with its little white houses, lay before them. "we are nearly at home now," said veronica. "where is the presbytery?" asked gyuri. "at the end of the village." "tell me when to turn to the right or the left." "very well, mr. coachman! at present keep straight on." a smell of lavender pervaded the street, and the tidy little gardens were filled with all sorts of flowers. in front of the houses children were playing, and in most of the courtyards a foal was running about, with a bell tied round its neck. otherwise the village seemed quite deserted, for all who could work were out in the fields, and the women, having cooked the dinner at home, had carried it out to their husbands. only on the grass-plot in front of the school-house was there life; there the children were at play, and their greetings to those in the carriage was in hungarian. of the villagers only the "aristocratic" were at home. at the threshold of a pretty little stone house stood gongoly, much stouter than some years before. in front of the smithy sat klincsok, quietly smoking, while the smith mended a wheel. "hallo!" he called out. "so you've come back! why, we were thinking of looking out for another priest!" which showed that father jános' absence had been noticed. how glogova had changed in the last few years! there was a tower to the church, the like of which was not to be seen except in losoncz; only that on the tower of losoncz there was a weathercock. in the middle of the village was a hotel, "the miraculous umbrella," with virginian creeper climbing all over it, and near it a pretty little white house, looking as though it were made of sugar; behind it a garden with a lot of young trees in it. "whose house is that?" asked gyuri, turning round. "the owner is on the box-seat beside you." "really? is it yours, veronica?" she nodded her head. "there is a small farm belonging to it," said father jános modestly. "well, we won't take it with us, but leave it here for your brother, shall we, veronica?" then he turned to the priest again, saying: "veronica has a fortune worthy of a countess, but neither you nor she knows of it." both the priest and veronica were so surprised at this announcement, that they did not notice they were in front of the presbytery, and gyuri would have driven on if vistula, the old watch-dog, had not rushed out barking with joy; and old widow adamecz called out, with the tears rolling down her face: "holy mary! you have heard the prayers of your servant!" "stop! here we are. open the gate, mrs. adamecz." the widow wiped away her tears, dropped her book, and got up to open the gate. "is dinner ready?" asked father jános. "dinner? of course not. whom was i to cook for? we all thought your reverence was lost. i have not even lighted the fire, for my tears would only have put it out again." "never mind, mrs. adamecz. i feel sure you were anxious on my account, but now go and see about some dinner for us, for we are dying of hunger." veronica had become suspicious at the widow's words, and began to storm her brother with questions; then burst out crying and turned her back upon gyuri, declaring they were hiding something from her. so they were obliged to tell her the truth, and her poor little heart nearly broke when she thought of what her brother had gone through, and what danger he had been in. while this was going on, mrs. adamecz was bustling about in the kitchen, and giving every one plenty of work to do. both the maids were called in to help, and the farm-servant too. "come and whip this cream, hanka. and you, borbála, go and fetch some salt. is the goose plucked? now, mátyás, don't be so lazy, run and pick some parsley in the garden. dear me! how very thin the good lady is whom miss veronica has brought home with her. did you see her? i shall have hard work to feed her up and make her decently fat. give me a saucepan; not that one, the other. and, borbála, grate me some bread-crumbs. but the young man is handsome. i wonder what he wants here? what did you say? you don't know? of course you don't know, silly, if i don't. but this much is certain (between ourselves of course), there is something strange in miss veronica's eyes. something has happened, but i can't make out what." widow adamecz thought of all sorts of things, both good and bad, but her cooking was excellent, and she gave them such a dinner, that even the lovers found their appetites. after dinner, gyuri sent a man on horseback with a letter to mr. sztolarik in besztercebánya. "my dear guardian: "i have great things to communicate to you, but at present can only write the outlines. i have found the umbrella, partly through mrs. müncz, partly by chance. at present i am in glogova, at the priest's house, whose sister veronica i have asked in marriage. she is a very pretty girl; besides, there is no way of getting at the money unless i marry her. please send me by the messenger two gold rings from samuel huszák's shop, and the certificate of my birth; it must be among your papers somewhere. i should like the banns to be published the day after to-morrow. "i remain," etc. he told the messenger to hurry. "i'll hurry, but the horse won't!" "well, use your spurs." "so i would, but there are no spurs on sandals!" the horse was a wretched one, but all the same, next day they heard a carriage stop at the door, and who should get out but sztolarik himself. great man though he was, no one was glad to see him except the priest. veronica felt frightened. she hardly knew why, but it seemed as though a breath of cold air had entered with him. why had he come here just now? the old lawyer was very pleasant to her. "so this is little veronica?" he asked. "yes," answered gyuri proudly. the old gentleman took her small hand in his large one, and pinched her cheek in fatherly fashion. but no amount of pinching would bring the roses back just then. her heart was heavy with fear. why, oh, why had he come? gyuri was surprised too, for sztolarik hated to leave his home. "have you brought them?" he asked. "yes." veronica drew a breath of relief, for gyuri had mentioned that he expected the engagement rings from besztercebánya. "give them to me," he said. "later on," answered the old lawyer. "first of all i must speak to you." he must speak to him first? then he must have something to say which could not be said after they had exchanged rings! veronica again felt a weight on her heart. gyuri got up discontentedly from his place next to veronica, whose fingers began to play nervously with the work she had in her hands. "come across to my room then." gyuri's room was at the other end of the house, which was built in the shape of an l. it used to be the schoolroom before the new school was built. (widow adamecz had learnt her a b c there.) the priest who had been there before father jános had divided the room into two parts by a nicely painted wooden partition, and of one half he had made a spare bedroom, of the other a storeroom. veronica was feeling as miserable as she could, and her one wish at that moment was to hear the two gentlemen's conversation, for everything depended on that. some demon who had evidently never been to school, and had never learned that it was dishonorable to listen at doors or walls, whispered to her: "run quickly, veronica, into the storeroom, and if you press your ear to the wall, you will be able to hear what they say." off went veronica like a shot. it is incredible what an amount of honey a demon of that description can put into his words; he was capable of persuading this well-educated girl to take her place among the pickled cucumbers, basins of lard, and sacks of potatoes, in order to listen to a conversation which was not meant for her ears. not a sound was to be heard in the storeroom but the dripping of the fat from a side of bacon hanging from the rafters, and which the great heat there was causing it to melt. some of it even fell on her pretty dress, but what did she care for that just then? "so you have found out all about the umbrella," she heard sztolarik say, "but have you seen it yet?" "why should i?" asked gyuri. "i cannot touch its contents till after the wedding." "why not sooner?" "because, for various reasons, i do not wish the story of the umbrella known." "for instance?" "first of all, because father jános would be the laughing-stock of the place." "why do you trouble your head about the priest?" "secondly, because it would give veronica reason to think i am only marrying her for the sake of the umbrella." "but she will know it later on in any case." "i shall never tell her." "have you any other reasons?" "oh, yes. i dare say they would not even give me the check; it is probably not made out in any particular name; so how am i to prove to them that it is mine? it really belongs to the person who has it in his possession. and perhaps they would not even give me the girl, for if her fortune is as large as we think it, she can find as many husbands as she has fingers on her hands." veronica felt giddy. it was as though they were driving nails into her flesh. she could not quite understand all they were talking about--of umbrellas, receipts, large fortunes. what fortune? but this much she had begun to understand, that she was only the means to some end. "well, well," began sztolarik again after a short pause, "the affair seems to be pretty entangled at present, but there is still worse to come." "what more can come?" asked gyuri in an uncertain voice. "don't do anything at present. let us find out first of all whether you love the girl." poor little veronica was trembling like a leaf in her hiding-place. she shut her eyes like a criminal before his execution, with a sort of undefined feeling that the blow would be less painful so. what would he answer? "i think i love her," answered gyuri, again in that uncertain voice. "she is so pretty, don't you think so?" "of course. but the question is, would you in other circumstances have asked her to marry you? answer frankly!" "i should never have thought of such a thing." a sob was heard in the next room, and then a noise as though some pieces of furniture had been thrown down. sztolarik listened for a few moments, and then, pointing to the wall, asked: "do you know what is on the other side?" "i think it is the storeroom." "i thought i heard some one sob." "perhaps one of the servants saw a mouse!" and that is how a tragedy looks from the next room when the wall is thin. if there is a thick wall it does not even seem so bad. one of the servants had seen a mouse, or a heart had been broken; for who was to know that despair and fright only have one sound to express them? veronica, with her illusions dispersed, ran out into the open air; she wished to hear no more, only to get away from that hated place, for she felt suffocating; away, away, as far as she could go.... and this all seemed, from the next room, as though widow adamecz or hanka had seen a mouse. but, however it may have seemed to them, they had forgotten the whole thing in half a minute. "you say it would never have occurred to you to marry her. so you had better not hurry with the wedding. let us first see the umbrella and its contents, and then we shall see what is to be done next." gyuri went on quietly smoking his cigarette and thought: "sztolarik is getting old. fancy making such a fuss about it!" "i have thought it well over," he went on aloud, "and there is no other way of managing it; i must marry the girl." sztolarik got up from his chair, and came and stood in front of the young man, fixing his eyes on him. "but supposing you could get at your inheritance without marrying veronica?" gyuri could not help smiling. "why, i have just said," he exclaimed impatiently, "that it cannot be done, but even if it could, i would not do it, for i feel as though she also had a right to the fortune, as it has been in her possession so long, and providence seems to have sent it direct to her." "but supposing you could get at it through veronica?" "that seems out of the question too." "really? well, now listen to me, gyuri, for i have something to tell you." "i am listening." but his thoughts were elsewhere, as he drummed on the table with his fingers. "well," went on sztolarik, "when i went in to huszák's this morning to buy the two rings you wanted sent by the messenger (for i had no intention of coming here myself then), huszák was not in the shop, so the rabbit-mouthed young man waited on me. you know him?" yes, gyuri remembered him. "i told him to give me two rings, and he asked whom they were for. so i said they were going a good distance. then he asked where to, and i told him to glogova. 'perhaps to the priest's sister?' he asked. 'yes,' i said. 'she's a beauty,' he remarked. 'why, do you know her?' asked i. 'very well,' he answered." gyuri stopped tapping, and jumped up excitedly. "did he say anything about veronica?" "you shall hear in a minute. while he was wrapping up the rings he went on talking. how had he got to know the priest's sister? 'i was in glogova last year.' 'and what the devil were you doing in glogova?' 'why, the villagers were having a silver handle made here for a wretched-looking old umbrella, which they keep in their church, and the stupid things were afraid to send the umbrella here for fear any one should steal it, though it was not worth twopence; so i was obliged to go there in order to fasten the handle on.'" "why, this is dreadful!" exclaimed gyuri, turning pale. sztolarik smiled. "that is only why i said, my friend, that we had better wait a bit before deciding anything." "let us go at once to father jános and ask him to show us the umbrella." he could not wait a minute longer. he had been so near to his object, and now it was slipping from him again, like a fata morgana, which lures the wanderer on to look for it. it was easy to find the priest; he was feeding his pigeons in the garden. "father jános," began gyuri, "now mr. sztolarik is here he would like to look at your wonderful umbrella. can we see it?" "of course. mrs. adamecz," he called out to the old woman, who was plucking a fowl at the kitchen door, "will you bring me out the key of the church, please?" she did as she was asked, and the priest, going on in front, led his visitors through the church. "this way, gentlemen, into the sacristy." as they stepped in there it was before them! pál gregorics's old umbrella smiled at them, and seemed like an old friend, only the handle, yes, the handle was unknown to them, for it was of silver. gyuri gazed at it speechlessly, and felt that the end was near. a demon was behind him, constantly urging him on, and whispering: "go on, go on, and look for your inheritance!" a second demon ran on before him, beckoning and crying: "come along, it is this way!" but there was a third one, the liveliest of all, who followed in the wake of the second one, and each time gyuri thought he had attained his end, this demon turned round, and laughed in his face, saying: "there is nothing here!" sztolarik kept his countenance, and carefully examined the handle of the umbrella, as though he were admiring the work. "had it always this same handle?" he asked. "oh dear no, this is of real silver, and very finely chased. the jeweller in besztercebánya made it, and he is quite an artist. just look at the style, and what taste is displayed in it. my parishioners had it made last summer as a surprise for me while i was away at the baths. the old handle had been broken off, and it was almost impossible to make use of the umbrella. i expect it was klincsok's idea, for he started the collection. there are still plenty of good christian hearts to be found." then he turned to gyuri. "i will introduce you to klincsok, he is a very worthy man." gyuri wished the worthy klincsok in jericho, and he could even have found him a companion for the journey, for behind him was the first demon, again whispering: "go and look for your inheritance!" "but i suppose they kept the old handle?" he asked. "i do not think so," answered the priest. "it was only of common wood; i believe mrs. adamecz asked veronica for it." (it must have been the second demon speaking through the priest: "the handle of the umbrella is in mrs. adamecz's possession.") sztolarik now became curious too. "who is mrs. adamecz?" he asked. "my old cook, who just now brought me the keys." mr. sztolarik burst out laughing, the walls of the empty church re-echoing with the sound. when they were outside, and the priest had gone in with the keys, the old lawyer took the two rings out of the paper they were wrapped in and pressed them into gyuri's palm, saying quaintly: "according to your logic of half an hour ago, you must now marry old mrs. adamecz, so go and ask for her hand at once." gyuri gave no answer to this cruel thrust, and went into the kitchen, where the widow was frying pancakes. "i say, mrs. adamecz, where have you put the old handle of the church umbrella?" widow adamecz finished frying her pancake, put it on a wooden platter with those she had already fried, and then turned round to see who was speaking to her. "what have i done with the old handle, my dear? well, you see, this is how it was. my little grandson, matykó, got ill last year just at cabbage-cutting time--no, i believe it was earlier in the year ..." "i don't care when it was, only go on." widow adamecz quietly poured some more of the batter into the frying-pan. "let me see, what was i saying? ah, yes, i was speaking of matykó. well, it was the result of the staring." (the peasants think that if a child is much looked at and admired it pines away.) gyuri began impatiently to tap with his foot on the floor. "will you tell me where it is?" "it is there under the table." "what, the handle?" "no, the child." yes, there was matykó, sitting on a basin turned upside down, a fat-faced, blue-eyed slovak child, playing with some dried beans, its face still dirty from the pancakes it had eaten. "bother you, woman! are you deaf?" burst out the lawyer. "i asked you about the handle of the umbrella, not about the child." mrs. adamecz tossed her head. "well, that's just what i am talking about. i tell you, they persisted in admiring matykó, and the poor little angel was fading away. there is only one remedy for that; you must take a burning stick, and let three sparks fall from it into a glass of water, and of this the child must drink for three days. i did this, but it was of no use; the child went on suffering and getting thinner from day to day, and my heart nearly broke at the sight of him; for i have a very soft heart, as his reverence will tell you ..." "i don't doubt it for a minute, but for heaven's sake answer my question." "i'm coming to it in a minute, sir. just at that time they were having the silver handle made to the umbrella, and our young lady, pretty dear, gave me the old handle. why, thought i, that will be just the thing for matykó; if three sparks from that holy wood are of no use, then matykó will be entered in the ranks of god's soldiers." at the thought of little matykó as one of god's soldiers her tears began to flow. it was lucky if none of them fell into the frying-pan. "mrs. adamecz!" exclaimed gyuri, alarmed, his voice trembling. "you surely did not burn the handle?" the old woman looked at him surprised. "how was i to get the three sparks from it if i did not burn it?" gyuri fell back against the wall, the kitchen and everything in it swam before his eyes, the plates and basins seemed to be dancing a waltz together; a tongue of fire arose from the fireplace, bringing with it the third demon, who exclaimed: "there is nothing here!" but all at once he felt a hand laid on his arm. it was sztolarik. "it was, and is no more," he said. "but never mind, fate intended it to be so. for the future you will not, at all events, run after a shadow, you will be yourself again, and that is worth a good deal, after all." chapter iii. little veronica is taken away. but it was of no use sztolarik preaching about the uselessness of worldly goods, for those worldly goods are very pleasant to have. when a favorite child dies, the members of the family always pronounce very wise words, which are supposed to comfort one another, such as: "who knows how the child would have turned out? it might have come to the gallows in time; perhaps it was better it had died now," etc. but for all that, wisdom has never yet dried our tears. sztolarik said all he could think of to console gyuri, but the young lawyer was quite cast down at the thought that his dreams would never now be realized; his whole life was before him, dark and threatening. but the world was the same as of old, and everything went just the same as though widow adamecz had never burned the handle of the umbrella. the hands of the parish clock pointed to the roman figure ii., and the chimes rang out on the air; the servants laid the table for dinner, mrs. adamecz brought in the soup, and his reverence led his guests into the dining-room, and placed them right and left of madame krisbay, when all at once they noticed that veronica was missing. "i was just going to ask," said madame krisbay, "if she had been with the gentlemen?" "i thought she was with you," said the priest. "i have not seen her for two hours." "nor i." "nor we." "perhaps she is in the kitchen?" madame krisbay looked vexed, got up from her seat, and went into the kitchen to call her pupil, but returned at once with the remark that she had not been seen there either. "where can she be?" exclaimed the priest, and ran out to look for her, sending the servants to some of her favorite seats in the garden, thinking she might have gone there to read, and have forgotten the time. mrs. adamecz grumbled in the kitchen, for the dinner was spoiling. "well, serve the dinner," said father jános, for, of course, he could not keep his guests waiting, especially as sztolarik wanted to return home as soon as possible. so the dishes were brought in one after the other, but still there was no sign of veronica; and hanka had returned with the news that no one had seen her. gyuri sat in his place, pale and quiet. "perhaps she is in the apiary," suggested her brother, "or perhaps" (here he hesitated a minute, not knowing how to continue), "perhaps something unpleasant has taken place between you?" gyuri looked up surprised. "nothing has taken place between us," he said coldly. "then, hanka, run across to the new house and look in the apiary. please excuse her, gentlemen, she is such a child still, and follows her own whims. she is probably chasing a butterfly. take some more wine, mr. sztolarik." he was trying to reassure himself, not his guests, as he sat there listening to every sound, paying scant attention to the conversation, and giving many wrong answers. sztolarik asked if the bad weather this year had made much difference to the harvest. "one or two," answered the priest. "have you any other brothers or sisters?" "i don't know." his answers showed the perturbed state of his mind, and it was with difficulty he kept his seat at table. at length the old lawyer said: "perhaps it would be better if your reverence were to go and look for miss veronica yourself; and i should be glad if you would send word to my coachman that i wish to start as soon as possible, for it is a long drive to besztercebánya." the priest seized the opportunity, and begging madame krisbay to excuse him, hurried away, for he found veronica's absence very strange, and was beginning to get anxious. so, madame krisbay having retired, the two gentlemen were left alone, and a painful silence ensued. gyuri was gazing with melancholy eyes at the canary, which was also silent now. "you had better order your carriage, too," said sztolarik, breaking the silence at last. "we could leave at the same time." gyuri murmured some unintelligible answer, and shook his head. "but you will have to leave soon, for our part here is played out." "i tell you it is impossible." "why?" "don't you see that veronica is lost?" "what does that matter to you? the umbrella handle is lost too." gyuri made an impatient gesture. "what do i care about the umbrella?" "so it is the girl you want? you told me a different tale before dinner." gyuri turned round. "i did not know then." "and now you know?" "yes, now i know," he answered shortly. "and may i ask," said sztolarik, "when did amor light this flaming fire? for you did not seem to take much interest in the girl before her disappearance." "and yet it is causing me at the present moment all the tortures of hell. believe me, my dear guardian, the loss of my inheritance seems to me a trifle beside the loss of veronica." sztolarik was impressed by the apparent sincerity of gyuri's sorrow. "that's quite another thing," he said. "if that is how you feel i will stay here with you. let us go and look for the girl ourselves, and find out what she thinks on the subject." when they went out, they found great confusion reigning in the courtyard, but mrs. adamecz was loudest in her lamentations. "i knew this would be the end of it. a legend should never be tampered with by a mortal's hand, or it will fall to pieces. oh, our dear young lady! she was god's bride, and they wanted to make her the bride of a mortal, so god has taken her to himself." sztolarik sprang toward her, and caught hold of her hand. "what is that you say? have you heard anything?" "gundros, the cowherd, has just told us that he saw our young lady this morning running straight toward the bjela voda, across the meadows, and her eyes were red, as though she had been crying. there is only one conclusion to be drawn from that." a lot of women and children were gathered round the kitchen door, and one of them had also seen veronica earlier than gundros had. "did she look sad?" asked gyuri. "she was crying." "oh dear!" exclaimed gyuri despairingly. "we will look for her," sztolarik assured him. "where?" "out in the meadows or in the village, for it is certain she must be somewhere about, and we shall soon know where." "that will not be so easy," sighed gyuri, "for we have no glass to show us things, as they have in fairy-tales." "i'll have the whole village round us in a few minutes." gyuri shook his head doubtfully. had sztolarik gone mad to think he could call all the people together from the fields, from the woods, from everywhere round about? but the old lawyer was as good as his word. veronica must be found at any cost. "where is his reverence?" he asked of the bystanders. "he has gone to the pond where the hemp is soaked, to see if the young lady has fallen in there." "where is the bell-ringer?" "here i am, sir." "go up at once into the tower, and ring the big bell." "but there is no fire!" "that does not matter. if i order it to be done, you must do it. do you know me?" of course he knew mr. sztolarik, who had often been to glogova since he had been made president of the courts. so off ran pál kvapka, and in a few minutes the big fire-bell was tolling. there was no wind, and the sound was carried for miles around over the meadows, into the woods, over the mountains, and soon the people came running up from every side. it was astonishing how soon the villagers were assembled round the presbytery. those who saw it will never see its like again, until the archangel gabriel sounds his trumpet at the last day. sztolarik gazed placidly at the crowd assembled around him. "now," he said, "i have only to stand up in their midst and ask them if any of them have seen veronica. but it will be quite unnecessary, for veronica herself will soon be here. look out of the window," he called up to the bell-ringer, "and tell me if you can see the young lady." "yes, i can see her, she is running through the srankós' maize-field." "she lives!" exclaimed gyuri ecstatically, but his joy was soon at an end, for he thought: "if there is nothing the matter with her she must have run away from me." and he began to wonder if it would not have been better if she were dead, for then he could have believed she loved him, and could have loved her and sorrowed for her. the bell-ringer still went on tolling the bell, so sztolarik called up to him: "stop tolling, you fool, can't you? show us which way the srankós' maize-field lies." the bell-ringer pointed to the right. "you run on in front, gyuri, and try and get out of her what is the matter with her." but gyuri was already gone, through the priest's garden, across magát's clover-field, and his heart began to beat, for from there he could see veronica in her green dress, without a hat, only a little red silk shawl round her shoulders. across szlávik's corn-field, then into gongoly's meadow, and they were face to face. the girl drew a sobbing breath when she saw him, and began to tremble violently. "where is the fire?" she asked. "don't be frightened, there is no fire. my guardian had the bell rung so as to make you return home. why did you run away?" the girl turned pale, and bit her lip. "it is enough if i know the reason," she said in a low voice. "please leave me alone." and she turned round as though to return to the woods. "veronica, for heaven's sake don't torture me; what have i done?" the girl looked at him coldly, her eyes were like two bits of ice. "leave me alone," she said, "what do you want with me?" the young man caught hold of her hand, and veronica did her best to free herself from his grasp, but he would not let go her hand till he had forced a ring on to her finger. "that is what i want," he said. "that is what you want, is it?" laughed the girl bitterly. "and this is what i want!" and she tore off the ring and threw it away, across the meadow, into the grass. poor gyuri fell back a few steps. "oh!" he exclaimed, "why did you do it? why?" "do not try to deceive me any longer, mr. wibra. you should not put a ring on my finger, but on the umbrella, for that is what you really want to marry." gyuri began to understand what had taken place. "good heavens! you listened to our conversation!" "yes, i know all!" said veronica, blushing slightly. "it is no good your denying it." "i don't wish to deny anything. but listen to me, please." they walked quietly through the meadow, gyuri talking, the girl listening, while the thousands of insects which peopled the fields flew away before their feet. gyuri related the story of his life, and of his father's, of the supposed inheritance, of his search for it, and how he had gathered the threads together till they led him to bábaszék. the girl listened to him, first with reproach in her eyes, then as judge, trying to find out the truth, and as the story began to interest her more and more, she became quite excited. now she was neither plaintiff nor judge, only an interested listener, surprised that the threads led nearer and nearer to herself. now gyuri is speaking of mrs. müncz's son, now móricz is telling his story, which shows that the umbrella must be in glogova. then the forester's wife tells the tale of st. peter's bringing the umbrella to the orphan child. a few more words and the story was complete. veronica knew all, and her eyes were swimming in tears. "oh, dear, how dreadful! mrs. adamecz burned the handle!" "god bless her for it!" said gyuri brightly, seeing the girl's depression, "for now at least i can prove to you that i love you for yourself alone." veronica had taken off the small red shawl and was swinging it in her hand. suddenly she caught hold of gyuri's arm, and smiled at him through her tears. "do you really mean that you still want to marry me?" "of course. what do you say to it?" "i say that ..." she ceased speaking, for there was a queer feeling in her throat. "well?" "that you are very volatile, and ..." "and?" "and that ... let us run back and look for my ring." with that she turned, and ran as fast as she could to the part of the meadow in which they had been standing when she threw the ring away. gyuri could hardly keep up with her. they looked for the ring a long time, but it was not to be found. and soon father jános appeared on the scene. "i say, gyuri, don't say anything about the umbrella to my brother." "no, my darling, i will never mention it." his reverence gave veronica a good scolding. "you naughty girl! is that the way to behave? how you frightened us! of course you were chasing a butterfly?" "no, i was running away from one, but it caught me." "what, the butterfly?" "yes, that ugly, big butterfly standing beside you." his reverence understood as much as he was meant to, and set to work, too, to look for the ring. but they might have looked for it till doomsday if mr. gongoly had not passed that way. veronica had quite despaired of finding the ring. "well, well, my dear," said the nabob of glogova, shaking back his long gray hair, "never mind, trust in gongoly, he will find it for you. there is only one way to do it, so in an hour's time they will be making hay in this field." * * * * * though the grass was not two inches high (it had only been cut a fortnight before), mr. gongoly sent his men there to mow it, with the result that next day the ring was safely resting on veronica's finger. and for years the people spoke of the wonderful fact that in that year mr. gongoly's meadow gave two crops of hay, and it was always mentioned if any one spoke disparagingly of the glogova fields. what more am i to say? i think i have told my story conscientiously. all the same there are some things that will never be known for certain; for instance, what really became of pál gregorics' fortune, for there is no sign of it to this day. was the supposed receipt in the handle of the umbrella or not? no one will ever know, not even little matykó, who drank the water with three sparks in it. no king drinks such precious liquid as he did--if the story be true. the legend of the holy umbrella is still believed in in those parts. mr. sztolarik, who was fond of a gossip, certainly told his version of the story, how old müncz the jew had made a present to christianity of a holy relic, and so on; but the old belief was strongly rooted, and he was only laughed at when he told his tale. and after all, there was something mystic and strange in the whole affair, and the umbrella had brought worldly goods to every one, gyuri included, for it had given him the dearest little wife in the world. they were married very soon and never had such a wedding taken place in glogova before. according to veronica's special wish, every one who had been at the mravucsáns' supper was invited to the wedding, for she wanted all those who had been present at their first meeting to take part in their happiness. there were a lot of guests from besztercebánya too, among them the mother of the bridegroom, in a black silk dress, the president of the courts, the mayor, and lots of others. then there were the urszinyis from kopanyica, two young ladies from lehota in pink dresses, and mrs. müncz from bábaszék, with lovely golden earrings on. there were so many different kinds of conveyances in glogova that day, it would have taken a week to look at them all. dear me, what a lovely procession it was too; the peasants stood and gazed open-mouthed at all the people in their beautiful dresses, but most of all at the bride, who walked at the head of the procession in a lovely white dress with a long veil and a wreath of orange-blossoms. oh, how pretty she was! but the bridegroom was splendid too, in the same kind of dress in which the king has his portrait painted sometimes. his sword, in a velvet sheath mounted in gold, clattered on the pavement as he walked up the church. they stood in a semicircle round the altar, each lady with a nosegay of flowers in her hand, and perfumed to such an extent that the church smelled like a perfumer's shop. it was a little cool in the church, and the young ladies from lehota were seen to shiver now and then in their thin pink dresses; but everything went off very well. the bridegroom spoke his "yes" in a loud, firm voice, the walls seemed to re-echo it, but the bride spoke it almost in a whisper, it sounded like the buzzing of a fly. poor child! she got so nervous toward the end of the ceremony that she began to cry. then she looked for her handkerchief, but was there ever a pocket in a wedding dress? she could not find it, so some one from behind offered her one, then turned and said: "button up your coat, wladin!" the end. transcriber's note: the following typographical errors and spelling inconsistencies present in the original edition have been corrected. in the table of contents, "maria czÓbor's rose" was changed to "maria czobor's rose". in the introduction, "strong satrical bent" was changed to "strong satirical bent". in part ii, chapter i, "believe me, rosalia" was changed to "believe me, rosália", and a missing quotation mark was added after "something in the writing business". in part ii, chapter iii, "pal gregorics's death and will" was changed to "pÁl gregorics's death and will". in part ii, chapter iv, "appeared at gáspar's house" was changed to "appeared at gáspár's house". in part iii, chapter ii, "our rosalia" was changed to "our rosÁlia". in part iii, chapter iv, an extraneous quotation mark was removed after "threatened with damage by hail!" at the head of part iv, "intellectual society in babaszek" was changed to "intellectual society in bábaszék". in part iv, chapter i, "the supper at the mravucsans'" was changed to "the supper at the mravucsÁns'", and a missing parenthesis was added after "stay in your parish, rafanidesz". in part iv, chapter ii, extraneous quotation marks were removed after "seize hold of it!" and "a small pot of jam in too?" in part v, chapter ii, "visztula, the old watch-dog" was changed to "vistula, the old watch-dog". (images generously made available by the internet archive.) the devil by ferenc molnar adapted by oliver herford by exclusive arrangement with the author new york mitchell kennerley (copyright by henry w. savage) [illustration: olga and dr. miller (the devil)] as originally produced by henry w. savage at hartford, july th, staged by robert milton, with the assistance of julius herzka, director-general of the volks-theatre, vienna cast of characters in order of appearance karl mahler, an artist paul mcallister heinrich, his valet w. chrystie miller mimi, his model marion lorne olga hofmann, the banker's wife dorothy dorr herman hofmann, a banker frank monroe the devil (calling himself dr. miller) edwin stevens elsa berg, an heiress marguerite snow madame zanden nan lewald madame reineke jane murray madame schleswig guests at the theodosia de cappet madame lassen hofmanns' ball tina marshall herr grosser john mckee herr besser arthur hoyt man servant franklin bixby synopsis of scenes act i.--karl mahler's studio, vienna. (afternoon.) act ii.--conservatory reception room at the hofmanns'. (evening.) act iii.--at karl's studio. (the next morning.) stage directions _up._ away from audience _down._ toward audience _up c._ centre of stage, away from audience _r._ right of stage _l._ left of stage _c._ centre of stage _r. c._ to right of centre _l. c._ to left of centre the devil act i scene.--_room next to_ karl's _studio. at the back of the stage to the l. is a glass door with portière towards the stage. when this door is opened one can see the studio. bach of the stage to the r. a fireplace with burning fire. round the fireplace an elevation about half a yard high reaching into the middle of the room. this elevation is bordered by a wooden railing with an opening on each side--in the middle of the railing an ancient gothic chair, with back towards the public; the back of the chair must be so high that a person sitting in it cannot be seen by the public. on the r. a door leading into the entrance hall of the apartment. there is a little invisible door covered as the rest of the room, with wall paper, on the l. near the footlights. about a yard from this door, a settee with the head end towards the glass door of the studio. next to this settee a small, ancient table, about one yard high. on the l. a curio cabinet (small); next to it a hall stand with some shawls of different colors. on l. next the settee a large, gilded, stand-up candelabra, as used in churches._ _there are many sketches, framed and unframed, about the room--some statues, some heads, and a very elegant electric candelabra hanging in the middle of the room. the whole thing unharmonious but artistic. down stage on the r. a medium-sized table littered with books, magazines and bric-à-brac; a large palette lies on the top of some books and scattered among the other things some tubes of paint and paint brushes._ (_when the curtain rises the stage is empty for a few minutes._) karl, _comes in with hat and overcoat which he takes off_ heinrich! heinrich! [heinrich, _coming from studio_. karl where were you? heinrich nowhere, sir. karl the door is wide open; anybody could have walked in. [heinrich _goes into the studio and comes out with a velvet house-jacket. calling after him:_ where's today's paper? [_he finds the newspaper._ well, hurry up. [heinrich _comes back and helps_ karl _put on his jacket._ karl, _lights a cigarette_ did you take my dress suit to be pressed? heinrich yes, sir: he will bring it back in an hour. [_starts r._ karl good! here's a crown. get me a white tie, same as the last one. [heinrich _starts r._ hold on! put out a dress shirt on the bed, then look for my pearl buttons--they are probably in the top drawer--in a match-box. stop! give me that crown. take this. [_gives him a bill._ get me a pair of white gloves, seven and a half. oh! and heinrich, before you go, put the venetian chair next to the window. at three o'clock mrs. zanden will be here to have her portrait painted, and i shall be at home to nobody. [_reclines on the settee._ give me an ash tray. [heinrich _gives it to him._ all right; go along. heinrich beg your pardon, sir-- karl, _seated on couch l._ what is it? heinrich mimi is here. karl where? heinrich waiting in the studio. karl, _indifferent, reading newspaper_ send her away. heinrich, _goes to the glass door_ fräulein, herr marler does not need you today. [_exit l._ mimi, _coming in_ hallo. [karl _is silent, continues reading his paper._ [mimi _comes down l._ don't you want to work today? karl no. [_continues reading paper._ [heinrich _goes into the studio._ mimi, _in bad humor, crosses to c._ good-bye. [_turns around._ and tomorrow? karl no. mimi, _sad_ good-bye. (_wipes her eyes._) you don't love me any more ... you don't love me any more. karl oh! it's going to start again! mimi ever since last fall you've been different. i knew it right away when you started to paint landscapes. when you are in love you paint venuses. i know what it means when you start to paint trees. karl you're silly, mimi. mimi i know it. with her hat and coat on every model is silly. karl go home, mimi. mimi, _goes to head of couch_ yes, yes. go home! be a good girl. for a week now you've sent me home without my even taking my gloves off. i'm no use any more. [_begins to cry but stops it at once._ look here: i know everything. karl really? mimi [_from behind him, raises his head._ look at me! look at me! you want to get married? tell me no--you don't dare. karl no. mimi, _comes to l. of him_ oh, you tell me anything you want to my face; but i know you're going to marry a girl named elsa--the wife of your friend mr. zanden has arranged everything--look at me and deny it, if you dare. after all, what's the use! you wouldn't tell me the truth anyway. karl you little mind-reader. mimi she's a nice one, mrs. zanden! instead of taking you on herself, she marries you to a friend of hers. but i don't care; you don't love me any more--doing landscapes all the time. karl well, what do you want? mimi, _crosses to r. of him and kneels_ tell me you do love me. (_pouting_.) karl, _bored_ yes, yes--of course. mimi, _imitating him_ yes, yes, of course. is that the best you can do? karl well, what shall i say? mimi oh! you painters! it's always the same. first you say: "what an angel! what a madonna! what a venus! what color! what hair! what lines!" then all of a sudden, it's: "oh, my dear! why, you've gone yellow." the next day you're green, and then it's: "i have no time today." and, first thing you know, you're--pooh! landscapes. (_scornfully_.) [_she goes to him above table at head of couch, takes his head in her hands._ don't you _like_ me? karl, smiling why, yes. mimi if you were really nice, you would at least promise to marry me. all the other artists promised. they weren't so mean as you are! oh yes, i know i am annoying you. i'm absolutely boring you. karl if you were not such a dear little nuisance-- [_reaches up and draws her down to him._ --i would have done with you a long time ago. [_kisses her._ and now, run away, little girl: go home. mimi don't you want me tomorrow? or the day after tomorrow? karl no. mimi, _crossing to him at couch_ you will never have me pose any more for you at all? karl, _rises; crosses with her to door r._ i'll look in on you this evening on my way to the zandens'. mimi but you can't work in my house. i've only a lamp! karl ha! ha! ha! well, we'll put that out! [_has taken her to the door._ mimi oh, will we! [_laughing._ maybe _you'll_ get put out. karl bye, bye! [_mimi exits._ [_lights another cigarette--the bell rings sharply. calls, somewhat excited._ heinrich! heinrich! heinrich, _comes in from studio_ yes, sir. [_runs through the door on the r., which he leaves open, and goes off to open the hall door._ karl [_fixes his tie nervously, puts away newspaper, puts out his cigarette in ash tray, and arranges his hair. he goes towards the door through which_ herman _and_ olga _enter_, heinrich _closes the door from the outside_, karl _bows_. madame! [_bows silently to_ herman. herman, _in a hurry_ i only came to bring olga, my boy: i must go back at once. [olga _has been looking around._ olga, _going to c. and over to l._ so this is the famous studio. karl, _looking around_ funny, isn't it? more like a junk shop. herman we might have chosen another day to begin olga's portrait--we have waited six years, so we could just as well have waited until tomorrow; but the preparations for tonight's ball made olga so nervous that i thought it best to bring her here. you know this ball is a kind of house-warming. [_crosses over to c._ olga we were obliged to invite such a _lot_ of people, to clear off our social obligations. herman i wish it was over. i hate these functions. old freebody, in whose business i started, was worth ninety millions, and he never gave a party in his life--or anything else, for that matter. when do you want me to call for olga? karl, _r. c._ well, it gets dark very early now: in three quarters of an hour we won't be able to see any more. herman well, then-- karl, _looking at his watch_ let's say four o'clock. olga, _after looking at a picture l. very closely_ who is that? karl oh, some model. olga wasn't that the girl we just met on the stairs? herman _crosses quickly to l._ i must have a look at her. [_looks at picture._ [olga _stands so as to hide picture._ oh, better not. [_makes a gesture as if he had seen something indecent._ well, every minute counts--i must be off. [_shakes his finger at_ karl. you'll have to stop that sort of thing, now, karl. you know you are one of the reasons of tonight's ball. isn't he, olga? olga yes--tonight karl is to fall in love with his future wife. karl, _goes l. c._ i shall do my best. [_to_ herman. sentenced to marry! well, i'm prepared to meet my doom. olga, _seated on couch, with a little sigh_ at last! i shall be glad. herman so shall i. so will the girl. so will karl. karl i hope so. she's a charming girl. olga wait till you-- karl i know--i know. i shall adore her. but i have till this evening, you know. herman, _crossing to_ olga well, i'm off. my agent may telephone any minute. [_he kisses_ olga's _hand_. i shall call for you at four o'clock, my dear. and don't worry about tonight: the caterer has his instructions. [_crossing to r., shaking hands with_ karl, _who holds him back._ karl, _shaking_ herman's _hand_ aren't you afraid to leave your wife? herman shall i tell you the truth? i'm hurrying because i'm afraid of changing my mind and taking olga away with me. olga you're not jealous? herman, _at door_ if i wasn't afraid of appearing ridiculous, i would say: be good! and now, good-bye. [_he goes off_, karl _bringing him to the door of entrance hall._ karl [_coming back, closes the door, stands still for a minute--when he comes back_, olga _shivers slightly and touches her forehead with her hand._ [_crosses to l. c. by_ olga. what is it? olga, _with a nervous, soft laugh_ nothing--nothing at all. karl, _tenderly_ are you frightened? [olga _does not answer._ tell me. olga, _nervous, confused, as if she was afraid of him_ i don't know, but--i feel as if--as if-- karl what do you mean? olga, _trying to laugh, but very nervously_ i had the same feeling once in dresden, when my mother took me to a boarding-school and left me there. i felt as if i were quite alone in this wide, strange world--and now--you know yourself. i have fought against coming here for six years. [_looks around._ what a queer place. i don't think i like it. [karl _crosses c. and up laughing._ strange monsters, cut off heads, and you in the middle of all this like a wizard. while my husband was here i did not feel it, but now these heads seem to stare at me. [_she shivers._ karl don't be nervous--every woman i paint comes here. olga, _seated on couch, quietly_ and do you paint every woman that comes here? karl no. [_silence._ olga did you understand my husband just now? karl i think i did. olga he has often pretended to be jealous, but this time there was a ring in his voice that made me feel that there was something behind it. karl you don't really think he's jealous? olga, _crosses to chair_ no. but this is the first time i've been alone with you. karl now we can talk things over. i've wanted to for a long time. olga, _leans against r. back of chair_ we've done well to avoid it all these years. a good conscience is like a warm bath--one feels so comfortable in it. karl last thursday, when we spoke about my painting your portrait, you seemed embarrassed. olga, _looks at him; their eyes meet_ don't let us talk about it. i don't want to. karl don't be afraid of me. if i were not i, your fear might be justified; but as it is, surely we can trust ourselves to talk things over quietly. to think that seven years ago i was a teacher in herman's family--and i was there the day your engagement was announced--it was the evening of the day we-- olga, _puts her hand on his, softly reproaching him_ karl. karl --we kissed each other for the first time. oh, i know. i was only a drawing teacher--but you--what were you? just a poor little friend of herman's sisters. sometimes you were asked to tea in their grand house. and there we met--a beggar boy and a beggar girl at the rich man's table. do you wonder? and then, just as we realized what we were to each other, one fine day herman up and proposed to you. such a dazzling offer--who could blame you? olga, _hurt_ please--please, karl. karl we were two poor little souls who found one another in the wilderness of wealth--only to lose each other. even the memory of that one little kiss.... olga dear karl, don't. we have grown up to be sensible people--we have put it out of our thoughts. karl oh, i know it's all over. to-day i'm--(_humorously_) the famous painter, your husband is my friend, and though we see one another every day, we have never spoken of it again. i wouldn't even have the courage to ask you to sit for your portrait. i was afraid, and i think you were afraid. and so was your husband. and that is why until this day-- olga, _steps down one pace from chair, gives him her hand_ you _are_ a real friend. karl, _goes to her, gently_ there's nothing to be afraid of. olga oh, it was only my husband's voice--something in his manner that frightened me. he must know what we were to one another, though he has never made the slightest allusion to it, not one single word in all these years. but when he left us here alone, he seemed to feel-- [_breaks off._ but there is no reason for it, is there? we are not in love with one another, are we? and it's just lovely to think that we have not entirely forgotten old times. don't you think so, karl? karl, _goes to chair_ of course i do. olga because if we still loved one another, you would not marry, would you? [_taking off gloves._ karl of course not. olga so you will be married and you will be very, very happy--and i shall be happy, too, because it is my own idea, and i have picked out a nice girl for you--pretty and clever-- [karl _bows silent acquiescence._ and now-- [_goes up and knocks on back of chair--business of entering imaginary door, etc. she speaks in an everyday voice, in marked contrast to former tone._ how do you do, professor? i have come to have my portrait painted. karl, _quite enthusiastic, r. c._ last night i made a sketch of you from memory.... oh, i've made lots of sketches of you; but now, now i see you in another light. olga, _r._ how do you mean? karl yesterday i looked upon you as a model. to-day you are a motif--you are a revelation...? there is something in your eyes.... olga please, please, karl, we agreed that--that-- karl pardon me, i'll try to remember. [_goes up on platform._ olga let's go to work now--it's getting late. karl whenever you are ready-- olga what am i to do? karl, _steps behind her to take hat pins out of her hat_ take off your hat and your coat, please. olga thanks, i can do that myself. [_she takes her hat and coat off. karl takes her coat up on platform._ karl, _passing her chair as he goes up_ do you use perfume in your hair? olga i? never! [_at chair up in alcove._ karl oh, then it is the natural perfume of your hair. [_she looks at him reproachfully._ pardon me: i stood too near. [_looks at her in silence. she crosses back of large chair to couch l., and sits facing audience._ olga, _nervously, turns her head to him_ what is it? karl, _leaning against big chair, looking at her dress_ i was just thinking--didn't your husband say an evening frock? olga yes. herman wants me painted décolletée--in an evening gown; just a head and shoulders, you know. i would have preferred a street dress. karl i'm afraid i agree with herman on that point. but have you?... didn't you?... where is the dress? olga oh, i thought you would only be painting my face the first sitting. karl, _comes c., laughs_ so you thought i began at the top of a portrait and painted down? olga, _hesitating_ yes. karl why, the drawing of the shoulders is almost more important than the head in the first sketch. olga oh, dear. how stupid of me. karl, crossing l. i'll tell you what-- [_he selects some draperies from those hanging in the corner._ i have some draperies here-- olga well-- karl you can arrange one of these around your shoulders like--like an evening gown. olga, _mechanically_ yes. karl, _hanging drapery on cabinet l._ you will have to be quick because it will soon be dark. here are the draperies--you'll find some pins over here, and i'll go into the studio while you--until you-- [_goes to door of studio._ olga, _seated_ until when? why? karl why, if i'm to paint your shoulders--well-- [_turns away towards studio._ --your blouse? olga, _terribly embarrassed_ of course-- karl do just as if you were at home. i'll close this door. [_goes to door r. to entrance hall and locks it._ and now i'll go into the studio ... and you can lock this door yourself. [_he has opened the door of the studio and has made one step into studio, and now says in a low tone:_ oh! it's snowing. [_he looks at olga._ olga snowing? karl snowing hard. [_silence_. olga hadn't we better?--perhaps--perhaps--tomorrow--or--or-- [_she has been saying this very slowly, as if afraid, but now suddenly regains confidence, as if she had had a saving idea._ tomorrow i could bring my maid. karl oh, no, no. your husband would certainly want to know the reason, and really--if this door is closed-- [_he goes back to his studio._ it's too bad! this snow takes all the light away. but never mind--never mind; the snow shovellers will be glad of it. [_he has spoken the last few sentences in a very low voice, as if the situation was painful to him. he goes backwards into the studio and now closes the door._ [olga _is standing with her back towards the studio, staring in front of her. she now shrinks together, shivers, turns around. sudden resolution, she turns the key, locking the door to the studio. slowly unbuttons her blouse, looks at the shawls, of which she chooses one, afterwards takes her blouse off quietly, putting the shawl around her shoulders. she has put the blouse on the settee before she arranges the shawl. she now picks up the blouse and wants to put it on the chair in front of the fireplace; her arm is already stretched out when she suddenly drops the blouse, utters a suppressed shriek, dropping blouse by chair, and crosses quickly to foot of couch._ [_the_ devil, _in fashionable frock coat, a crimson carnation in buttonhole, a man of from thirty-five to thirty-eight years old, resembling in face classical mephisto, very elegant, picks up the blouse and offers to_ olga _in a most polite manner._ devil pardon, madame. [_comes c. a little._ i think you dropped something. [olga takes the blouse mechanically and looks at him frightened. i must beg your pardon, madame. i came from lunch. karl was not at home. i waited and i fell asleep in this very comfortable chair. [_he rubs his eyes._ forgive me, madame, for opening my eyes at a moment when, for propriety's sake, i should have at least kept one eye shut. olga,_ puts blouse on couch and goes l., horrified and disgusted_ oh! devil, _right of couch l._ i am aware this is a base insinuation--of course you only come here-- [_ironical_. olga to have my portrait painted. devil i once had a similar encounter at a dentist's; and the lady, to prove that my insinuations were false, did not hesitate to sacrifice a perfectly good tooth. olga i tell you, i-- devil, _very polite_ oh, i know--you speak the truth. i am even at liberty to believe it, though _your_ truth is only partly in style. _truth_ should have nothing on at all, you know. olga the insolence! what right have you to speak to me? who are you? what are you doing here? karl! [karl _tries door outside_. karl! [_she opens the door of the studio_, karl _appears on the threshold and looks surprised at the_ devil. devil, _crosses up r. c. very quickly_ how do you do? karl, _taken aback_ how do you do?--er--how are you? devil, _quickly_ you don't seem to remember me--we met at monte carlo-- karl, _up l. c._ oh, yes. devil quite an eventful day it was. karl, _comes down a little_ yes, yes, i remember. it was last fall, and i had just lost all my money at roulette. as i turned from the table, i caught sight of a stranger frowning at me. [_pointing to_ devil. it was you. i was startled, because only a moment before i had seen you next to the croupier, and i thought i heard you laugh when i lost. but now i remember--you stood behind me, and when i had lost everything, you offered me, a total stranger, a handful of louis d'or. devil you refused--beggingly. karl yes, but-- devil, _continuing_ you took them--protestingly. karl in five minutes i had won everything back, and , francs besides. your gold seemed to have magic power, i remember. when you gave it to me it seemed to burn. devil but you paid me back and invited me to supper. i had to refuse, because i was obliged to leave for spain the same evening, but i promised to look you up the next time you needed me-- [_crosses to r._ and here i am. karl well, i'll be-- devil, _interrupting quickly_ don't mention it. i took a little nap in your chair. [_goes up to back of big chair._ olga, _goes c., pointing to big chair. frightened_ it's very strange--this chair was empty; there was nobody there. devil, _stepping towards her, bowing; in a tone allowing no contradiction_ then i was mistaken, madame. [olga _goes over behind couch l. silence._ [olga _and_ karl _look at the_ devil _suspiciously_. karl, _l. c., embarrassed_ won't you please sit down? allow me to introduce you. i quite forget your name.... devil, r. c. call me anything you like: we only call names when the party is absent; but i am here now--call me miller, or brown, or black. [_start from_ karl. devil _stops him._ if you think doctor sounds better, why not call me doctor miller? karl, _very much embarrassed_ doctor miller-- [_crosses to r. c. the_ devil _kisses_ olga's _hand devoutly at foot of couch_. under ordinary circumstances, i should now take my hat and leave; [_goes up c.; turns._ but my infinite tact compels me to force my presence upon you in this disagreeable situation. [_sits down in chair c._ olga, _crossing to_ karl; _to the_ devil how dare you! karl! this man has the insolence to-- devil, _seated c. very quickly_ your husband has been dead some time? olga, _r._ i'm not a widow. devil, _very quick_ oh, divorced? olga no. devil well, if you think that i have insulted you, i should say the proper person to refer me to would be your husband. [_rises_; _to_ karl: of course, if you wish, i am at your disposal also. [_to_ olga: but, madame, this would be admitting-- karl what's it all about? i don't understand you. you come in here, i don't know how or where from, and you--you act as if you had trapped us-- olga, _goes to_ karl _r. c._ the idea! devil say what you like: i cannot go. olga why not? devil if i were to go now, it would be as much as to say: "pardon me, i fear i intrude." but if i remain, i show that i suspect nothing. karl we don't need your assurance. [olga _crosses to l. below couch._ devil, _bows politely; embarrassing silence_ suppose we talk about something else. i think we are in for a snowstorm. [_standing r. of studio door. silence._ [olga _stands near the door leading to the studio, quite astonished._ are you sending anything to this year's exhibition? karl, _uncomfortable_ perhaps--i may send something. [_silence. the_ devil _lights a cigarette at table l. c._ devil,_ puffs cigarette. on second puff_ permit me, madame. [olga,_ picking up blouse, as if suddenly awakened and realizing her position, goes into the studio, closing the door behind her._ full of temperament--full of temperament. and pretty, too. [karl _starts to light cigarette at table l. c._ karl, _dropping cigarette, crosses to chair up c., sits and looks at the_ devil _without speaking_ devil too bad she doesn't love her husband. [karl _turns quickly towards the devil. quick_: how do i know? the way she turned to you just now when she fancied herself insulted--it didn't escape me. [karl _takes up the ash tray and throws it angrily on table._ no; she doesn't love her husband. he must be either a genius or a very common man. marriage with them is always unlucky. believe me, common men live so low that women are afraid somebody will steal in at night through the window which they forgot to lock. and genius, well! that lives on the top floor--so many stairs, no elevator. her ideal is-- [_a motion of the hand, wanting to express an even, middle position._ --the second floor. [karl _looks impatiently at his watch and goes towards the door of the studio. the_ devil _leans back blowing the smoke of his cigarette, indifferently._ this is the second time i have seen her shoulders. karl, _coming down left of couch_ what do you mean? devil the first time i saw them was in paris-- [_start from_ karl. at the louvre--only they were on the _aphrodite_. am i right? karl, _crossing to large chair r. c. in bad humor_ how should i know? devil, _lifting himself upright, cynically_ which shoulders have you not seen? karl, _angry_ i've seen the aphrodite. devil, _seated on couch_ well, you may take my word. i have seen them both. and, believe me, since alcamenes, i have only known one sculptor who could model such shoulders. karl who's that? devil good living. such tender, soft lines are only possible for a woman who lives exquisitely well. i take it she is the wife of a millionaire? [karl _goes again towards door of studio impatiently._ is she dressing? karl, _nervously_ i suppose so. devil is there a looking-glass in your studio? karl, _comes down l. of couch_ yes. devil she must be very respectable. [karl _looks at him astonished._ if a lady takes as long as that to dress before a looking-glass, she's not a--model--anyway. karl, _crosses around foot of couch to table l. c._ look here! i think your remarks are, to say the least, in very bad taste. devil, _standing erect_ do you mean that? karl, _aggressively_ i do. devil, _patting_ karl's _cheek_ then _you_ must be respectable, too. [_crosses to big chair, karl stares at him astonished._ in a situation like this, only a very respectable man can be so infernally stupid. [karl _crosses to r._ olga _opens door of studio, goes towards_ karl _without looking at the_ devil, _who is hidden in chair._ olga, _dropping shawl on couch_ what's the time? [_crosses to_ karl, _r._ devil, _looking up over back of chair_ he'll be here in ten minutes. olga, _angry_ who? devil your husband. olga oh! so you weren't asleep after all. devil oh, yes, i was. [_rises._ but "what's the time?" always means the husband. a woman's intuition invariably anticipates her husband's coming by ten minutes. if it wasn't for that ten minutes, there would be more divorced women-- [_he goes and unlocks the door of the hall._ --and less locked doors. [karl _crosses to l. c._ olga, _taking her hat_ will this never stop! devil i tried to change the subject. i started to speak about the weather--the exhibition--but karl wouldn't have it. olga karl! karl i? i haven't said a single word. devil, _crosses to big chair_ but your actions fairly shouted. the way you jumped up, looked at your watch, went to the door-- [_to_ olga: he was afraid, the poor fellow. karl afraid of what? [_l. c._ devil, _to_ olga that your husband would come before you had finished dressing. i don't blame him. olga, _r._ what, again! [_goes up to hat._ karl, _l. c._ can't you-- devil come now! let us be logical--let us look the situation in the face. enter your husband-- [olga _comes down r._ "well, here i am: where is the picture?" "the picture?" [_shrugs his shoulders._ "there is no picture. karl hasn't even touched a brush." your husband is astonished--he tries to speak--the words stick in his throat--he gasps: "well, if you didn't paint, why is she dressing?" imagine the situation! you look at one another horribly embarrassed; karl stammers something, but that only makes it worse. nothing has happened--and yet the mischief is done. what mischief? appearances--appearances. they're like fly-paper. there's no getting away from them. [_speaking to olga:_ you go home with your husband, and he doesn't speak--and if you ask him: "why don't you say something?" his blood seems to boil. if you ask him to take a cab, he suspects that you want to avoid meeting somebody--every word that you utter tortures him. and if-- karl, _c._ and if it _were_ so, we are not alone, you are here. devil, _icy and cynical_ just so, i am here--one word from me would save the situation--but--i know myself--i'm a strange, whimsical, almost cruel man--and i'm afraid i won't say the word. tableau! embarrassing silence! then i say: "i regret that i should have come at such an inopportune moment." i take my hat and walk out discreetly. if necessary, i can even stammer my excuses. olga if this is a jest, it's a cruel one. devil, _bowing low_ possible, madame--but i can do better still. of course, if you prefer it, i can make conversation--when your husband comes in, i can tell him that the portrait has not been touched and ask his pardon-- olga pardon? pardon for what? devil, _bowing_ for having--quite accidentally--seen your shoulders. olga, _horrified_ who are you? devil i am one who always comes at the right moment--i come from nowhere. [_very bitingly._ i am here-- [_touching_ olga's _forehead_. olga what do you want with me? you turn everything to evil. i have scarcely known you five minutes, and i seem to feel your fingers at my throat. devil that's because i like you. with most pretty women i take longer. karl, _furiously, starts towards him_ look here: this has gone far enough! [_makes a few steps towards the_ devil, _who stands erect without moving. at the same time_, heinrich _comes to the door, which he opens, and starts speaking at once._ heinrich the tailor has sent an evening suit, but it is not yours, sir. devil put it on the chair in the bedroom. karl but it's not mine. devil, _gives a sign to_ heinrich _to go out and do as he was told. speaking to_ karl it's mine. karl yours? devil, _makes motion to_ heinrich, _who goes out_ [_during speech_ olga _goes up and gets her hat._ karl _walks back and forth l. c._ i had to have it pressed. i told the tailor to send it here. i must dress for tonight. i'm going to a ball the prettiest woman in vienna is giving at the house of the duke of maranse. olga, _coming down r., frightened_ but the duke does not live there now--he's ambassador in madrid; he has sold his house--to us. devil i know. i met him in paris. he told me-- olga we are living there now--we are giving the ball. devil am i mistaken? am i not invited? olga, _in a very low voice, dropping her head_ yes--yes, you are. devil, _very polite_ madame, you asked me a little while ago what i wanted. that's what i wanted. thank you. [_bows and turns towards c. silence._ olga but my husband-- devil, _turning to her_ will be delighted. i've just come from odessa. i have good news. wheat is rising--this year's crop turned out worse than they thought it would. olga, _greatly pleased_ yes? the crop is bad? [_the_ devil _goes to big chair and kneels on it l._ devil so you do love your husband? you're glad the crop is a failure? olga of course i am. [_as if she was somewhat ashamed about her husband's speculations._ we want the wheat to be bad because that will drive the price up. karl what of that? olga my husband will make lots of money. devil, _to_ olga and you will get that new gown. olga how do you know i want a new dress? devil you have a new hat--a very pretty one--and you will certainly want a new dress to wear with it. olga you must be married. devil married? not the least--but i have an eye for feminine vanities. oh, no! a wife is like a single eyeglass--it looks very nice, but one is better off without it. olga, _r._ you seem to have strong views against marriage. may i ask why? devil, _shaking his finger_ because you are plotting matrimony against karl, and i want to save him. karl, _starts toward him; stops c._ i beg your pardon-- devil an artist ought never to marry--his wife will swear on the wedding day to stand by his side all through life. the day after the wedding she will stand in his way. olga not the real wife. devil the real wife is always the other man's wife. olga you're a cynic. devil oh, no, not cynical, only careful. a tigress who has married--i mean eaten--a man, is no longer dangerous--you can ride on her back through the jungle. but, you must wait till she has married--i mean eaten--somebody; then she is quite safe. karl better to keep away from the tigress--and stay at home. devil then why didn't _you_ stay at home p why did you refuse a legitimate position--good, everyday morals--a decent occupation at so much a week? you wanted to go into the jungle--and there you are. now fight your battle--hunt tigers--but don't get married! [_he now changes his tone, goes into the church chair, on whose back he leans his two arms, speaking as if from a pulpit. it is almost dark, and during this scene it becomes darker yet._ and yet--what a splendid couple you two would make. [olga, _standing quite near the_ devil _but not looking at him, buries her face in her hands._ wake up! [to karl: you, with your talent, your splendid youth! [to olga: you, with your temperament, and beauty and longing! karl _crosses to r._ stop! stop! i beg you-- [olga _backs to r. of back of chair, as though to protect_ devil. --for years we have been just good friends. devil [_he now begins to speak in almost a whisper, but getting warmer and warmer, the more embarrassed_ karl _and_ olga _become._ you may say what you like, but i can read your eyes; they say to me: "don't believe him, he lies." [_goes to fire and warms his hands_, karl _stands below_ olga. karl don't interrupt me. for six years we have been --good friends, nothing else. olga cares nothing for me--and i--and i-- devil, _quickly_ what will you give me to interrupt you now? olga i don't know what you, who profess to know everything, know about us, but anyone who thinks karl capable of one base thought must be very low and contemptible himself. devil [_goes behind_ olga _and whispers into her ear. at the end of the speech he is a little to the l. of them by the big chair_. it's not a base thought: it's a great thought--a thought that brings joy and warmth and light into your wretched little lives. but joy has its price--and you must pay it, you misers! the drunkard dies of drink, but while he is drunk angels in heaven sing to him. the poet dies in the ecstasy of his sweetest song. it is a coward's bravery that turns away from the wine, the song--and the lips of woman. the smallest candle-end shows you it is worth while to burn up for the sake of a little warmth--a little light. the only end of life is to burn--to burn yourself up. you must flame and blaze like a torch and toss the fire about you. i know: your moralists tell you to love one another--don't believe them--your grubby little earth with its paltry million years is not ripe for such a love as that. it can only breed monks, madmen, methodists. don't be a fool, be a rogue--but be a jolly rogue--and the world is yours! look at me! i own the earth. here is the key of life--love yourself--only yourself. dress yourself in the softest garments--kiss the sweetest lips--drink of the wine of life--drink! drink! drink! [_bell rings sharply--nobody moves._ olga, _after a pause, in a low voice_ my husband-- devil [_steps down from the chair, crossing c., snaps his fingers angrily, and says afterwards, in a cold, cynical tone_: mr. wheat. [heinrich _opens the door, and_ herman _comes in._ heinrich _follows him, but stops short at the door._ herman i'm afraid i'm late. my agent hasn't telephoned me yet, but i didn't want to make you wait too long. rather dark in here! [heinrich _touches a button, lighting the lights, and exits._ herman, _sees the_ devil, _presenting himself_ i'm herman zanden, of zanden brothers & wilde. [devil _mutters something and shakes hands with him c._ olga, _coming down r._ karl _goes behind big chair_ strange man. herman pleased to meet you. [_converses with_ karl _a few moments; then to_ olga: well, my dear, where's the picture? mayn't i see it? karl, _in the big chair, leaning over back_ there's nothing to see--there is no picture. herman, _looking at his watch_ what have you been doing? karl nothing. (_silence_.) it's been dark for the last hour. herman yes, but i've been gone two hours. devil, _steps to the front l. c. very politely_ it was all my fault. we have been chatting. we've had a very interesting discussion. and madame was kind enough to invite me for this evening. herman oh! i'm very pleased. devil, _crosses to couch l. and sits_ thank you. i have just come from odessa. i had a talk with the russian wheat king. he tells me-- herman yes, i've heard; wheat's going up. olga, _frightened_ isn't that good for us? herman no, dear. i did not tell you this is the first year i am short on wheat. karl what does it mean to be short on wheat? devil,_ seated on couch l._ it means digging a ditch for others and falling into it yourself. [_to_ herman: i don't think you've any cause for uneasiness. i have inside information that the american crop will be excellent. herman, c. if that is the case, i shall be safe. devil you will be quite safe. herman do you also deal in wheat? devil yes and no. i dabble in everything. and always at improper moments. (_rises_.) karl, _has been talking to_ olga, _but now goes over to_ herman i'm afraid i can't come before eleven o'clock this evening. [_continues talking to_ herman, _and both go to fire._ olga, _crosses and meets_ devil, _c._ i must speak to you at once--alone. [_looks around as if she wanted to say that her husband and_ karl _were in the way_. devil alone? delighted! [_crosses by her and goes up c._ olga _goes behind couch and_ devil _addresses_ herman. by the way, if you want to see something delightfully bad, you ought to take a look at the sketch karl made yesterday of your wife. herman, _coming down_ where is the sketch? devil in the studio. [herman _takes_ karl's arm _and walks to door of the studio; in going into the studio speaks to_ karl. herman i'm sorry you didn't start olga's portrait today. what were you talking about all the time? [_goes into studio._ devil, _to_ olga i'll wait for you here. [_he steps back into the room just in time to see_ mimi _enter from the hall._ mimi, _comes right in, crossing to c._ excuse me-- devil you want to see the painter? mimi, _excited_ yes, please. devil, _very gently, pushing_ mimi _out of the door into the hall and speaking through the door_ one minute, my dear. there are some visitors here. sit down there. i'll call you. olga, _comes quickly from the studio_ i wanted to tell you--to tell you-- devil, _r. c._ it is not true. olga what is not true? devil whatever you are going to tell me. olga but believe me. devil surely no woman can expect that. olga but i am telling you the truth. devil ah! i might believe you if you said you were not speaking the truth. olga must i think and speak only as you wish me to? devil not yet. now what can i do for you? olga, _very earnestly l. c._ don't come tonight. now my husband has come, i am myself again, and your manner grates upon me. i had begun to feel as if some strange force--some invisible hand--was clutching me --holding me in spite of myself. there is a mystery about you. it frightens me. i thanked god when i heard that bell ring. he came just in time. devil to point a moral and break up a charming party. we were just beginning to understand each other. olga oh please stop! devil are you afraid? olga no, but i _ask_ you not to come to our house this evening. devil, _with a very polite bow, then drawing himself up_ i shall come. olga and if my husband asks you not to come? devil your husband has already asked me to come. olga and if, in the presence of my husband, i ask you not to come? devil well, i'll make a compromise with you. if you repeat your invitation in your husband's presence, i shall accept; if you do not, i will not come. olga, _breathing freely_ that's nice of you--the first really nice thing you've said. i like you much better. [karl and herman come back from the studio, and herman starts to talk at once to the devil, karl goes toward olga, who meets karl up c. olga, _to_ herman shall we go? herman yes, dear; put your coat on. [_comes down_ l. devil _crosses to_ herman. karl, _meets_ olga, _they go up to recess. he helps_ olga _to put her coat on._ i see now how bad the sketch is. [_holds mirror for_ olga _while she puts her hat on._ olga please don't look at me like that. karl even if i don't look at you, i see you just the same, olga. olga, _covering her face with her hand_ we must give up the portrait, karl ... i'm going away ... away somewhere. devil, _l., with_ herman. you don't say? you represent holman & co. in london? when i am in odessa i am always old mr. holman's guest. a charming old gentleman. no doubt you have heard the rumors. it seems they've been mixed up with some unfortunate ventures which have seriously affected their standing. herman, _seated on couch_ strange! another friend of mine spoke to me about it only yesterday. devil yes, but that isn't all. he's the president of some trust company, and in order to boom the stocks he--but it's a long story, i won't bore you with it now. [_makes as if he wanted to go._ herman my dear sir, this concerns me more than i can tell you. the fact is--i--i am heavily interested. [olga _has her hat on and turns, listening to_ herman _and the_ devil. devil you don't say. but it's a long story. herman well, then--tonight. devil oh, i am so sorry. i have excused myself already to madame, but i had forgotten all about a call i must pay at the russian embassy this evening. herman well, lunch with me tomorrow? devil, _with a gesture of regret_ i'm afraid it will be impossible. i leave tomorrow at nine o'clock for--spain. herman, _to himself_ h'm! i must have this information. [herman _crosses to c., speaking to his wife_ my dear, won't you please ask the doctor to try and arrange to come to our house this evening? olga, _somewhat embarrassed_ well, but if pressing business.... devil, _l. c._ it is not so very pressing. of course, it would mean a little sacrifice. herman, _c., looking at_ olga well-- olga, _r. c._ much as i would like to see you, doctor, i cannot ask you to sacrifice anything for our sake. devil, _as if suddenly remembering something_ come to think of it, the russian ambassador left town yesterday, so if madame-- herman, _goes up c._ devil _crosses to her r. c._ well, my dear? olga, _in a tone of resignation_ i hope we shall have the pleasure this evening-- devil, _crosses to_ olga pardon me. you said-- olga, _very slowly_ i hope we shall have the pleasure of your company this evening? [_goes to door r._ devil, _ironically_ madame, i thank you for your invitation; i shall be most charmed. herman, _coming down to_ karl and you don't come before eleven? karl, _by big chair_ no; i expect an art dealer. herman, _suggestively_ i know your art dealers. fie! and you going to be married. olga, _curiously, and a bit jealous_ what is it? karl oh, nothing. devil, _up c. as if listening_ i think somebody knocked at the door. herman i didn't hear anything. devil yes, there it goes again. [_cynically_. probably the art dealer. [_goes to hall door, which he opens, steps out, speaking into the hall._ oh, it's you, my dear. come in. /# [_swings_ mimi _into room past olga, landing her c._ mimi, _as she comes in embarrassed_ good evening. [heinrich _enters from studio._ karl, _up c. embarrassed_ good evening. [mimi _goes up l._ devil, _r. c., in a low tone to_ herman we'd better go. [mimi _and_ olga _stare at one another._ [_cynically to_ herman: the art dealer! herman, _laughing, going to door_ well, au revoir. [_exit_. devil, _to_ olga quite a little comedy. olga, _at door r._ you think so? karl, _to_ mimi, _pointing to the studio_ please step in there, fräulein; i'll be with you in a minute. [karl _turns to_ olga _with hand out-stretched, as if to say good-bye._ olga _pretends not to see it and bows coldly._ devil, _whispers to_ olga you were good enough to invite me for this evening: i am now going to repay your kindness. in five minutes i shall be back here to interrupt this tête-à-tête. watch me forget my overcoat. [_he takes the overcoat which_ karl _had put on a chair at the beginning of the act when he came in._ heinrich _helps the_ devil _to put on the overcoat, but notices that it is his master's._ heinrich pardon, sir; but this is not your overcoat. this-- devil, _aside to_ heinrich shut up! [devil _goes off_; heinrich _follows him out._ karl, _comes c. to_ mimi didn't i promise you i'd come? what do you want? mimi, _coming to him_ were you ashamed to have those people see me? karl i told you, i'd come. what more do you want? mimi i was downstairs in the lunch room and thought it all over. dear karl, don't be mean--don't get married. karl but--mimi! mimi i never used to care, but now that i've seen those people i--i can't bear it. don't get married! [_cries_. karl you mustn't cry--it spoils your beauty. mimi oh, i'm a fool. karl now, you're talking sense. mimi i've been a silly girl--but it's all over now. i'm sensible again. you are going to settle down and marry elsa and be the most famous portrait painter in all europe. karl mimi, child--don't speak of portraits. i feel at this moment as if i never wanted to hear the word portrait again. i'd like to run away from everything, mimi. what do you say? [illustration: mimi and karl] [_goes to couch l. and sits._ suppose you and i get married and go away--far away into the country--or to the united states, where we'd never be heard of again. mimi, _kneels beside him_ do you mean that? karl, _recklessly_ yes--yes! mimi, gives him her hand that's mighty nice of you, karl. [_rises, goes l. c._ but no! even if you really mean it--which you don't-- [_makes an effort to control herself._ karl, _interrupting_ mimi! mimi no, karl; i'd only keep you back--you must marry in your own set. [_changes tone._ but don't run away--with--with anybody. good-bye.----- karl no, don't go! now you have come, you might as well stay a while--take your hat off. [_helps her off with her hat and jacket._ i'm glad you came back. now, let's be sensible--and talk it over. you know i really am fond of you--after all, i am your best friend and you are my--my-- [_the_ devil _has silently opened the door and comes in._ devil my--my overcoat must be somewhere. your stupid servant gave me yours. [_takes coat off._ it's funny, but every time i come here, you are helping some lady to take off her things. [mimi _goes to couch._ mimi, horrified well, i never. [_exit_. devil you have every qualification for a ladies' tailor. karl you are very kind. devil don't mention it. karl, _impolitely_ i'll fetch your overcoat; i don't want to detain you. [_puts out lights and goes towards studio._ devil the hanger was torn off. i asked your man to mend it and bring it here when it was done. [_sits up c. silence._ i just saw something very touching. karl what? [_goes to c. and sits on arm of chair by_ devil. devil the way that woman clung to her husband's arm as if for protection. karl for protection? (_sneeringly_.) from you? devil look here, my boy; do you think you are wise to be such a fool? [karl _rises, starts away_, devil _catches him by hand._ karl i don't want to talk about it. you don't seem to understand my position. i have seen this woman for years every day, and i never even thought--and if i had thought--i should have laughed at myself. devil, _rises, takes both_ karl's _hands_ look at her! she's yours. think what it means --joy, unspeakable joy--the most supreme joy one can have. and to think that you are too lazy to stretch out your hand! why, another one would toil day and night, would risk life and limb for such a prize--and it just drops at your feet--a windfall. karl i suppose that's why-- [_in a tone as if he didn't think much of it._ --just a windfall. [_sits on couch._ devil, _sits on table l. c._ last fall, on the sixth of september--i shall never forget the date--something strange happened to me. i put on an old suit i hadn't worn for a long time, and as i picked up the waistcoat, a sovereign fell out. god knows how long it had been there. as i turned this sovereign over to look at it, it suddenly slipped through my fingers and rolled away. i looked and looked, but my sovereign was gone. i become nervous: i can't find the sovereign. i search around for half an hour, three quarters of an hour, still i can't find it. i get angry, i get furious. i shift the furniture--no sovereign. i call my man--we both look everywhere until it's dark. i'm perspiring and trembling--i have but one idea: i must get that sovereign back. suddenly a suspicion comes into my mind--i get up from my knees. i scream at the top of my voice to my servant: "you thief, you have found the sovereign and put it into your pocket." the man gets angry and answers me disrespectfully. i am about to strike him when i see the blade of a knife shining in his hands. i draw my revolver-- [_takes a shining revolver out of his pocket and rises._ --and with this revolver i nearly killed a man for a sovereign-- [_look from karl._ --i didn't need and had never missed--just a found sovereign. [_puts revolver on table._ karl, _embarrassed_ i give found money away. [_turns on couch from him._ devil i would have given it away, but--it slipped through my fingers, and whatever slips through our fingers, that is just the one thing we want. [_goes to_ karl. we break our necks for it: that's human nature. and if it once slips through your fingers, you will run after your found sovereign. and then, when it is too late, you will discover it was worth having. karl to draw a revolver for a found sovereign? devil, _sitting by him_ and that little woman will become dearer and more precious to you every day--you will realize that she could have given you wings--that her temperament, her beauty, her passion, would have been the inspiration of your work-- all this you'll realize when she has slipped away. you could have become a master--a giant! not by loving your art, but by loving her--but you won't know it till it is too late--too late. [_he now takes the shawl with which_ olga _had draped her shoulders._ this shawl has touched her bosom-- [_throws one end over_ karl's _shoulder, forcing him to see it._ karl _clasps the shawl and touches his lips to it_. think what you might have been to one another! what divine happiness, not because she is beautiful--no, but because you-- karl, _throws shawl l. of couch_ be quiet! be quiet! do you want to drive me mad? devil, _rises and goes to head of couch_ a life that has not been squandered--has not been lived-- karl why do you tell me all this? why? what do you want? [_throws himself face down on couch._ what do you want? [_horrified, turns to him._ who sent you? devil, _darkly_ nobody! no one! i am here. [_touches_ karl's _forehead_. karl no! and a thousand times no. [_throws himself face down again on couch. screams very loud._ no! do you hear me? no! i have known her all these years, and we've been good friends only--and we'll remain good friends, nothing else. i don't want the found sovereign! [_moving to end of couch._ devil, _coming down l. of couch; very emphatically_ and if it slips away? [_silence. then quickly:_ if another man runs away with it--? karl, _suddenly jumping at a conclusion_ who? [_looks at the_ devil. devil, _triumphant_ i. (_silence_.) karl you? [_laughs and turns from him._ devil tonight! this very night she'll be mine! [_laughs_. oh, what joy! what exquisite joy. for ten thousand years i have had no prettier mistress! karl, _turning to him_ what do you say? devil, _sitting l. head of couch_ mistress, i said. come tonight--to her house--when the lights are burning--when the air seems to be filled with music and perfume. you'll see--before day dawns. karl enough! enough! devil how you will run after your lost sovereign! every hour when you wonder where she is, she spends with me. a carriage passes: your heart stands still. who's in that carriage? shall i tell you? we! you see a couple vanish around a corner, clinging lovingly to one another. who were they? we! always we. a light goes out in some window. who put that light out? we! we sit in every carriage, we vanish around every corner--clinging lovingly together; we stand behind every window curtain in close embrace, looking into your tortured face, your maddened eyes--and we cling closer--closer--and we laugh---we laugh! [_laughs long._ karl [_throws himself face down, back to audience, on couch, in terrible state of excitement, screaming at top of his voice:_ you fiend! [_reaches for revolver with r. hand._ devil _grabs his hand and holds revolver._ karl _draws away and sits staring straight ahead_, devil _rises, leaves revolver on table, lights cigarette, then comes below table._ [heinrich _enters the room noiselessly, carrying a lighted candle, goes behind the devil and helps him to put his fur coat on_. [devil _puts his silk hat on, gives a tip to_ heinrich, _takes up the revolver, puts it into his pocket, and says to_ karl _with a sad smile, in a warm tone like a father speaking to his son_: devil you see, my boy, one may draw a revolver for a lost sovereign. [_goes to the door. as he opens the door, a look of devilish satisfaction comes into his eyes._ act ii scene.--_a conservatory in zanden's house. the l. side of the stage as well as the whole back of the stage is taken up by large bay windows, through which one sees into the garden. in the distance the wall surrounding the house, and some trees in the garden. it is winter. bright weather, but it has been snowing. in the garden as well as in the street, electric lamps. on the r. side of the stage there are two doors, one quite near to the footlights, leading into the apartment--one in the rear, leading to the hall. there is a platform about two yards long and two yards wide, between these two doors. five steps lead from this platform towards the footlights, and five steps on the side of the platform to the middle of the stage. on the top of the platform a door leading to the ball-room. when this door is opened, one generally hears the ball music. at the foot of the stairs, about three yards from the footlights, two square columns having a brass ornament with eight electric lamps attached. there are heaps of plants and flowers about the room. two chairs and a table stand on the r. side of the stage, about three yards from the footlights, two chairs and a table on the l. side of the stage, about five yards from the footlights. there are two settees, l. and r. on the table l. writing material. it is about one o'clock at night._ [_guests in fancy costumes are moving about as the curtain goes up._ first lady guest, _sitting l. of table r._ who is the dark man you left so suddenly in the ball room? second lady guest, _enters and comes down stairs to back of table l._ i don't know his name. first lady guest a most disagreeable man. second lady guest, _crosses to group l. c._ oh, dreadful! he behaved shockingly to my husband. he told him that it will be so cold tonight that his teeth will shiver in their box. first lady guest olga tells me he is a friend of herr karl's, and she only invited him as a compliment to him. second lady guest (_stout_) he insisted on telling me of a remedy for obesity. i don't consider myself stout--do you? elsa, _c., laughingly_ no! i think i'm just right. he sounds interesting--i'd like to meet him. first lady guest you'll be sorry if you do. elsa oh, indeed. second lady guest he'll be very disagreeable, i assure you. elsa i'm not afraid of him. [_wants to go up steps._ first gentleman guest,_ l. c._ miss elsa, i really think you had better not. second lady guest if miss elsa wants to speak to him let her do so. i think she is the only one really capable of putting him in his place. third lady guest, _seated l. of table r._ oh, she'll make him sit up. elsa thanks, awfully. oh, i know what you call me--the blue-stocking--sassy elsa-- second lady guest elsa, i never said you were a blue-stocking. first lady guest i never called you sassy elsa. elsa but i am--you know i am-- [_pointing at herself._ that's why nobody dares to tell me how to get thin. second lady guest the impertinence! elsa well--you asked for it. second lady guest, to first lady guest it will serve her right if-- elsa, on the stairs i'd just like to see him-- [_the_ devil _is standing in front of her. everybody is silent._ devil, _in evening dress, red carnation in buttonhole; after some silence_ i never dreamed how quiet it could be when seven ladies are not talking. [_protesting movement on the part of the_ guests. oh, i know--you have been very merciful to me in my absence. elsa, _on stairs_ you needn't think i am afraid to say what i think to your face. i was just about to-- [_she makes a movement showing that she wanted to look for him._ devil you did well to stay. they would have said much worse things about you--they would have spoken about your approaching engagement to karl. elsa what! [_astonished_. you know? devil to my friend karl--they want to throw you into his arms. [_the_ others _laugh_. [_in a low voice to_ elsa: i'd like to speak to you--alone. elsa here? [_gesture that she thinks this impossible in a crowded room._ devil we'll be alone in no time. [elsa _goes to sofa and sits l. of table l._ fourth lady guest, _crosses to him; to_ devil i'm very glad you spoke that way to elsa. you have quite won me over, and i don't mind telling you i came very near having to pick a bone with you. devil, _r. c., to_ fourth lady guest, _who is very thin_--_looking at her from head to foot_ by the way, speaking of bones-- fourth lady guest what! again!--oh! [_walks off highly offended._ first gentleman guest, _very effeminate, smiling to the_ devil bravo! i couldn't do that--not that i lack courage. i am famous for my courage--i just love a fight--i once slapped the face of an athlete who dared to insult a lady. devil you coward! first gentleman guest what--coward? devil yes, coward. if you dared to slap the face of a cripple i might admire your courage. [first gentleman guest _starts to answer, but afterwards makes a gesture seeming to say nothing can be done with the_ devil--_going off slowly up the stairs._ second gentleman guest, _after a few seconds talking quietly to the_ devil oh-h-h! you are a free-thinker. so am i! devil, _as if astonished_ you think? second gentleman guest i do. devil what with? [_exit_ second gentleman guest, _angrily_. [_to_ second lady guest, _the stout one, seated r. of table l._ a pity you _don't_ dance--there's nothing like it for reducing the figure. [second lady guest _rushes of._ devil, l. _to the_ third lady guest, _pointing at_ fourth _her_ husband must be in the furniture business. third lady guest yes, who told you? devil her dress--it is the very latest pattern for arm-chairs and settees--but please don't say i said so. third lady guest, smiling certainly not. [_goes to chair of_ first lady guest. jane-- devil, _joins_ elsa. _to_ elsa look--she's telling her. third lady guest, _to_ first lady guest but promise me not to be angry. devil she promises. first lady guest i promise. third lady guest he said that-- devil look out for the explosion. first lady guest, _rises_ oh, i never-- devil now--watch her go. first lady guest i never! [_goes off over the staircase._ third lady guest, _going after her_ but, jane, you promised me-- [_exit_. devil voilà! i am now at your disposal. elsa, _on settee l._ aren't you surprised i haven't gone? you insulted me, too. i only stay because i want to speak to you. devil, _l. c., ironically_ charmed, i'm sure. elsa oh, don't try to be polite--just be yourself. i'm not afraid of you. devil i know it. elsa, _crosses up to c._ perhaps you know my nickname--saucy elsa? [devil _nods his head._ devil yes. elsa politeness would only embarrass me--and i have chosen you to deliver a message to that crowd --only because you can be so delightfully rude. devil i am at your entire disposal. elsa now, how can i be saucy when you talk like that? devil i am your devoted servant. elsa you're impossible. devil shall we end this conference? [devil _starts up c._ elsa, _goes to table r. c. and leans against it_ not yet, please. you informed me just now that i am the girl they want to throw into the arms of your friend karl. devil yes. elsa you forget to say i am the girl who _allows_ herself to be thrown in your friend's arms. is that right? devil yes. elsa, _stands and pushes forward chair_ please sit down. [devil _bows, but remains standing._ elsa, _in a very loud voice. crosses and sits_ please sit down. i don't ask you out of politeness, but because i want to set you right in this matter--and it is much easier for me to set you right when you sit down and i stand up. i don't want people to make fun of me--i know what they say--do you understand me? devil, _gets up_ i do. elsa sit down, please. (_he does so._) i don't want people to smile and congratulate me to my face, and laugh behind my back. i won't have it--and as you started this subject i shall entrust you with the mission of enlightening our friends out there. devil your confidence honors me. elsa don't think for a moment that i have taken these people seriously--i have no more interest in them than i have for yesterday's newspaper. but i don't choose to have them think that they have fooled me into marrying karl. and-- devil, _starts to rise. she stops him_ pardon me. elsa i see through their scheme. but i shall marry him just the same, if he will have me. do you understand me? i shall marry him-- devil pardon me. i don't think you will. elsa you will see. devil you have been kind enough to honor me with your confidence, and now i will be quite frank with you. this marriage cannot come off. [_stands up._ elsa, _points to chair_ please sit down. devil, _takes her hands and swings her into chair_ no! you will sit down now because i am going to set you right. i know the reason of this marriage--but you-- [a man servant _crosses stage_; devil _calls him._ you will find in my overcoat a small leather satchel--bring it here. [man servant _goes off._ [_continuing to_ elsa: but you don't know the reason--or you don't want to know it. and you are about to consent to-- elsa, _interrupting_ to what? to marry a man who is not madly in love with me--any more than i am with him. what of it? we are two perfectly sane people about to make a serious contract with our eyes wide open, instead of blinded by infatuation like crazy lovers in magazine stories. what other contract made by crazy people would be valid for one minute--and this is for a life-time-- [enter servant _and hands bag to_ devil and exits. devil, _smiling_ true--for a lifetime. elsa you are a man of the world? devil, _gravely_ of many worlds. elsa [_looks up quickly as if about to ask the_ devil _what he means, but checks herself and continues_: well, in this world--is it the man chooses the woman, or the woman who chooses the man? devil, _smiling_ _we_ are the weaker sex. elsa answer me! which chooses? devil the man _sometimes_ chooses the engagement ring-- elsa, _holding up her head proudly, and looking her very prettiest, straight into his eyes_ look at me, please. [_the_ devil _looks into her eyes._ elsa, _proudly_ now tell me, can i or can i not choose the man i will marry? devil, _leaning on table r., in a courtly manner_ it is written in your eyes--but--i never thought this subject would excite you so. _elsa_, _seated l. of him, with animation_ i won't be laughed at--i don't care what those people think (_becoming excited_). i know what i am doing, and in spite of everything i _choose_ to become his wife. devil, _takes out little red satchel and opens it_ why? elsa, _beginning to lose control of herself_ because--because-- [_breaks down._ --because i love him. [_begins to sob bitterly._ devil allow me-- [_takes a little handkerchief out of the satchel and gives it to her._ i always carry this with me--it's my weeping satchel--everything a woman needs for weeping. elsa, _weeps a little harder; sobbing, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief_ i love him. [_during the following dialogue the_ devil _takes out of the weeping satchel a little looking-glass, small comb, powder and puff, and gives her one after another._ devil and _this_ is saucy elsa! elsa no. until tonight i was a young girl afraid of nobody--now i feel like an old woman. [_takes mirror._ _what_ am i to do? [_looks, smiles quickly._ devil don't be discouraged. you will have to fight--you must attack the enemy. but first you must be pretty. elsa, _takes puff and powder from him_ i shall try to. [_reaches out for it._ devil you must show a bold front--you will perhaps feel that it is hard for a young girl to fight a woman--your weapons are not quite so numerous as those of the married woman--who knows love already--who understands--may i say something shocking? [_during this speech_ elsa _hands back or the_ devil _takes all the articles except the handkerchief._ elsa, _looks at him, opening her eyes widely_ do you ever say anything that isn't? [_gives him handkerchief, rises._ devil well, i won't. but remember, you have one weapon which will deal the death blow to the most attractive woman--to the woman who knows every card in the game of love--that one weapon is purity. elsa this sounds strange from _you_! devil all the same--it may do you some good. and now--go dance with karl--but don't try to be a woman, be a girl. don't try to be saucy. elsa, _l. c._ i'm not really saucy--i'm afraid it's only a pose-- devil _don't_ pose. be yourself--be bashful--look at the young man as if you were only waiting for a pirate to steal you away from girl-land--and show you the way into woman's land. head high, my little girl---that's it--and if anybody dares to call you saucy again, tell him that you once met a gentleman at a ball to whom you thought to give a piece of your mind, that would make him feel very, very small--and instead you left with a piece of his mind, that made you feel very, very small--and made him feel--as if he were the greatest scoundrel in the world-- [_taking a few steps to the footlights._ which _perhaps_ he is. [elsa _goes up the stairs, when_ karl _appears on the top of the stairs_, devil _is standing at this moment behind one of the columns unseen by_ karl--_but quite near_ elsa. elsa _turns towards the_ devil, _showing her back_ to karl. [illustration: elsa and karl] elsa so you don't want me to be saucy? devil, _whispering_ no. [elsa _goes up one step._ karl, on top step oh, elsa, there you are! elsa, _dropping her eyelids_ yes. karl why aren't you in the ball-room? elsa i wanted to be alone. if anybody wants me he can find me. [_to_ devil, _whispers_: is that better? karl you look sad. are you worried? devil, _whispering to_ elsa say no. elsa, _leaning against pillar r._ no. karl, _coming down_ what has happened? [_sees the_ devil, devil _comes from behind pillar between them, meets_ karl _on lower step._ oh, i understand-- devil, _finishing_ karl's _sentence_ --nothing. [_goes up stairs._ karl, _nearing_ elsa you look lovely, elsa. do you know, this pensive air is very becoming to you--you've always been so cold and--haughty--it's like finding a little white flower under the deep snow; you want to pick it up and kiss it-- [_takes both of_ elsa's _hands in his._ this is the elsa for me! elsa, _ashamed_ karl! devil you will excuse me. i must pay my respects to our hostess. [_he goes off quickly_. karl _and_ elsa _sit down on the l. side of the stage._ elsa i don't like that man. who is he? [_sits r. of table l._ karl, _sits on sofa l._ a casual acquaintance who insists upon posing as my friend. don't let us talk about him. i'm glad i found you here--something natural in this stifling artificial atmosphere. doesn't it seem close to you? elsa yes, as if some hot wind had passed through these rooms--it seems to take my breath away. karl i've never heard you speak like that before. why have you tried to hide--your real self from me? [devil _appears on the platform, with_ olga. _they come down the steps._ olga hadn't we better leave the young couple alone? devil you are much too considerate. elsa, to karl olga--i suppose you'd like to speak to her? karl i much prefer to talk to you. [_they continue talking._ [devil _and olga come down. she sits on sofa r._, devil _in chair r._ olga they seem to have found each other. devil possibly. are you sorry? olga oh, no. devil shall we leave? olga no, i like to see my plan bearing fruit. [_they continue speaking slowly._ elsa they are speaking about us. karl what do we care? let's be happy--elsa! i feel as if i had never known you before tonight. elsa, _moves chair so she can hide_ olga _from_ karl. devil _repeats business_ why do you keep looking over there? karl oh, that's only--i was quite unconscious-- [_they continue speaking slowly._ olga let's talk about something else. you are very naughty. you have come here in spite of my-- devil, smiling invitation. i would have respected your wish but for one very good reason--i made a bold wager this afternoon. olga what? devil i made a bet that you would fall in love with me this evening. olga made a bet that _i_ would fall in love with you? and with whom did you bet? devil karl. olga karl? (_quickly_.) and what did he say? devil his answer was curious. i had better not tell you--i am afraid it would hurt you. olga no, it won't. please tell me. [_turns and looks at_ karl. devil, _following her glance_ well, perhaps later. your little plan bids fair to succeed. olga, _looking away quickly_ i had forgotten their existence. [_changing quickly the conversation._ [devil _pats_ olga's _hands_. you have fascinating eyes [_during the following few words between_ elsa _and_ karl, _the_ devil _whispers into the ear of_ olga, _stroking her hand gently in order to arouse_ karl's _jealousy_. karl i never saw you look so charming. elsa i feel as if i had changed, perhaps you have something to do with it. devil you seem like a different woman this evening--there is something about you-- olga it is because i am with somebody i don't quite understand--but who seems to me a man in every sense of the word. [_this last a little louder, for_ karl's _benefit_. devil your confession is charming. but i should be more ready to believe it, if you hadn't made it. [devil _kisses_ olga's _hand_. karl our first love is generally our last, but our last love always our first--don't you think so? elsa i don't know. i've never been really in love before--but have twice been disillusionized. devil love at first sight-- [_the following eight sentences are spoken very rapidly, almost at the same time._ olga, _distraite_ you are right--for the first sight--that is to say-- karl [_now always looking at_ olga--olga _always looking at_ karl; _the_ devil _looking pleased_, elsa _looking furious._ disillusions--well--yes, disillusions are--disillusions. devil i should hate to have to give an account of myself. olga yes, indeed--but, of course--it's all a matter of taste. elsa the way girls are brought up nowadays-- karl exactly! our bringing up--that is--i mean to say--of course--of course. olga we mustn't forget-- karl i quite agree with you--if--if you know what i mean. elsa, _getting up quickly and slapping her hand on the table_ no, i don't know what you mean. [_crosses to stairs._ take me to the ball-room--i'm engaged for the next dance. karl, _also rising_ well,-- elsa, _almost crying, insisting_ let us go--i wish to go-- [_she goes towards the stairs_; karl _follows her, goes up side stairs, meeting her at the top as she passes_ olga. olga oh! you are not in the ball-room. elsa, _saucily_ can't you see? olga you'd better hurry, dear. elsa i hate dancing, but i shan't miss one single dance tonight, just to spite some people. i shall dance to the last step. [elsa _looks at_ olga _in a very impertinent way_. olga _steps forward as if to give a reply, when_ karl _comes between them; offers his arm to_ elsa. [_exit_ elsa _and_ karl _up the staircase_. olga, _angry_ did you hear that? devil i did. olga, _rises, goes c._ what language! how dare she--she must think he loves her! devil, _rises, goes to her c._ wait! i'll tell you now what karl said to me this afternoon. olga when you wanted to bet? devil when i bet you would fall in love with me. [_after a short silence._ he wanted to shoot me. olga, _trying to hide her joy_ karl! devil karl, with his own hands--with this pistol-- [_takes revolver out of his pocket._ i took it away from him. olga karl wanted to kill you--why, doctor miller-- devil, _patting revolver_ yes, with this simple prescription--six pills. [_puts revolver back in pocket._ olga this afternoon, when you only spoke about me--he wanted to kill you--and now when he saw us here--saw you whisper in my ear--saw you take my hand-- [_goes l. to where_ karl _and_ elsa _had sat._ he _must_ be in love with her. devil, _crossing to l. c._ don't you think a man's a fool to try to shoot his friend on account of a woman? olga oh! karl's not a fool--he thinks the world of me. and you must have said things--but there is no doubt--that he and elsa--like--perhaps love each other. devil, _very cold, leaning over chair at table l._ strange! your being so annoyed at the apparent success of your pet scheme. olga you think it will succeed? devil i don't know. but it's easy enough to find out. olga how? devil this afternoon, when i told him i'd make you fall in love with me, he wanted to shoot--that's love--don't talk to me about respect-- and thinking the world of you--they may fire cannons out of respect, but pistols--no--that's love every time. [olga _protesting silently as if the matter was not quite important enough._ of course, i know--this only interests you because it was you who planned the marriage, and after all you take a pride in the success of your scheme. am i right? olga, _c. near him_ yes, yes. devil, _behind pillar c._ karl shall tell us himself which was the real thing --the attempted murder of this afternoon, or this little--flirtation with elsa. olga you don't mean to ask him-- [devil _shakes his head slowly, smiling._ you don't mean to _listen_? devil certainly not. olga what then? devil very simple. but you must take my advice unconditionally--ask for no reasons--do exactly what i tell you. olga, _after careful reflection, slowly_ y-e-s. devil i think i remember having seen you once at the opera in a very beautiful cloak--fur--was it not?--and cloth-- olga yes. devil with a long train? you must put that cloak on--close it as high as you can--and wrap yourself in it as if you were feeling cold. only show the tips of your shoes--then come back here-- [_she starts towards him_. olga _looks at the_ devil, _as if she wanted to ask the reason_. no questions. olga, l. _of pillar c._ it's all very, very mysterious, but when you look at me that way, i--i--can't refuse ... your eyes seem to have all the world's wisdom behind them. devil,_ r. of pillar c._ you have a poor opinion of me. olga, _turns from him_ shall i go at once? devil at once. and if anyone remarks on it, say you felt cold in the conservatory. olga, _doubtfully_ but suppose he says.... devil, _interrupting_ quick! he's coming. [karl _is coming down the stairs towards the footlights._ [olga _has gone to the side stairs so that_ karl _cannot see her. she rushes off when he is down the stairs._ karl [_who has not seen her--hears the rustling of the silk and runs to the side stairs and looks off r._ who was that? devil who? karl, _coming down to c._ somebody just ran out--does she want to avoid me? devil, _goes r., lights cigarette_ nobody ran away from me. a very pretty girl, miss elsa! karl, _goes to window l._ yes. [_silence._ devil what's the matter? karl oh, nothing--i am not in particularly good humor--but why should i be? devil, _lights a cigarette; offers one to_ karl will you have one? karl, _roughly_ no, thank you. [_uncomfortable silence._ devil you seem annoyed-- karl, _comes back c., as if in a mood to quarrel_ do you want to know why? devil no. karl, _nervous_ well, i'll tell you-- devil [_as if he wanted to go away and evade the conversation._ better keep it to yourself. karl but i will tell you. i'm astonished at the change that has come over you since this afternoon. i admit it upsets me, but don't imagine it is on olga's account--if you don't mind, we'll leave her out of the discussion. devil by all means. karl i've made up my mind to propose to elsa. devil, _holds out his hand in an approving tone, takes_ karl's _hand and shakes it_ i am very, very glad. karl you are glad? devil i am indeed. [karl _stares at him._ what's the matter with you? karl, _approaching the_ devil _threateningly_ look here, that was olga who ran away just now. devil don't be absurd. [_looking at floor as if his secret was discovered._ why should she run away from me-- karl you behave like a school boy. devil what do you mean? karl i mean, my dear doctor--that you are not a gentleman. devil i don't quite follow you. karl when a gentleman would be discreet--he even conceals his discretion. devil very thoughtless of me--but since you have found me out--by the way, what you said about your marriage--is it settled? karl, c. it is. devil you will not change your mind? karl i shall not. [_crosses to settee l. and sits._ devil, _sits in chair l._ very good. now i can tell you in confidence about--look here, you are quite sure you won't change your mind? karl no fear. what is it you want to tell me--tell me everything. i'd like to learn some of the tricks of the trade. i may need them-- devil tricks of the trade? this from a man about to marry? i'm shocked. karl, _ironically_ you look it. what did you want to tell me about her? devil about her? karl about olga. devil, _looks to the ground as if he were ashamed_ oh, nothing. karl look here, i don't mind telling you her husband is? devil deaf, blind, dumb. [_indicating ears, eyes, mouth and forehead._ karl, _concealing his pain very badly_ and to think--and this afternoon--at my house--was the first time-- devil, _goes back of settee_ she's a wonder! believe me, karl, she's a wonder. it's just possible she's good--a dash of goodness won't hurt a pretty woman--but i hope not. i should then have to attribute my conquest to hypnotism--and that doesn't flatter my vanity. what do you think? we had agreed--just now when she ran away--ah-- [_checks himself_ so it _was_ olga! devil well, yes, it was--i hardly know how to tell you--it was a mad impulse. i proposed, just for fun, without the least idea she would take it up; it means risking her reputation and social position--everything--not to mention the risk of catching cold-- devil karl, _startled_ what do you mean? devil well, this evening--before all her guests--there are a hundred and thirty i believe-- karl, _impatient_ yes, go on. devil --before the élite of vienna i may say--she will walk through the ball-room on my arm--in (_suggestive pause_)--an opera cloak. karl, _not quite grasping it_ an opera cloak? devil, _suggestively_ that's all. karl you mean to tell me--she-- devil she will be here in a moment--and then--before all vienna--amid the bacchanalian ecstasy--of music, perfume, dancing--i will escort her through the ball-room like a classic goddess--like a modern _mona vanna_--in an opera cloak-- karl you liar! devil, _apparently frightened_ but, karl-- karl it's a lie. it's a damnable lie. devil you tried to catch me--and i have caught you. you love this woman. karl, _l. c., very loudly_ yes, i love her. i have listened to all your lies--i have seen you as i've seen a hundred like you--steal a good woman's reputation and call it success, social success--and boast about it as you drag her in the mud. you have trapped me, it's true--but you will suffer for it. it is my turn now--and i'll put you out of this house, you blackguard--get out before i kick you out. devil, _c. backs up onto second step; stands_ wait! she is coming now. [_points to door down r._ karl get out, i said. [_the_ devil _goes back slowly up the stairs._ karl _is about to follow him up as_ devil _is on third step_, olga _comes on in her opera cloak and comes down__ stairs to r. the_ devil _goes behind her._ karl _backs over l. long silence,_ karl _stares at_ olga _and the_ devil, _speechless_. olga karl, you have not spoken to me once tonight. devil, _stands very near to_ olga, _cynically_ the opera cloak-- olga everybody is gay, the girls dance as if it were their first ball--the young men as if it were their last. devil strange! that amidst all this gaiety karl should be so sad. olga sad? karl, _with forced gaiety_ oh, _no_--never felt happier in my life. olga i am glad to hear it. karl i feel like--like a boy--of twenty--like a fool. devil, _coming down to c._ no! no! karl i am going to take your advice from this on--i'm going to get drunk tonight. olga, _shocked_ you, karl? you drunk? karl, _l._ yes. i am doing things today that i never did before. i've never been engaged before. olga,_ r._ and tonight? karl tonight i shall become engaged. devil i have already offered him my congratulations--she's a charming girl. karl a splendid girl. much too good for me--but marrying is something new to me--i want to try it. it is a sensation i have never had. devil you don't seem very gay for a bridegroom. karl that's only the last drop of single bitterness--the dregs of bachelorhood--i'll soon get rid of that and then-- olga bravo, bravo! karl oh spare yourself. i'm only thinking of my own pleasure. olga karl, i am afraid you have been drinking already. karl you are at liberty to think what you please. devil he is in a bad humor to-day. i told you. karl, _cannot keep himself any longer_ you will catch cold. why don't you take off your cloak? [_goes c._ devil, _very quiet_ perhaps madame _is_ feeling cold. olga, _wrapping herself tighter in her cloak_ yes, i feel cold. devil any one not knowing you might think you wear this cloak just to show it off. olga don't let us speak about the cloak. [_to_ karl _in a different tone; crosses to_ karl _l. c._ you seemed to get on very well with elsa? karl did i? devil it was really charming to watch them. olga i feel very cold. devil i thought you would. karl cold. i find it hot in here. olga, _crosses back r._ i feel cold. devil perhaps your dress is thin. the way lovely woman flirts with pneumonia--she wears her lung upon her sleeve. olga everything sweet in life comes through carelessness. karl, _l. c., very excited_ and do you find boldness sweet? olga what's that to you? were you ever bold? karl, _crosses to c., losing his self-control completely_ aren't you afraid of me--you two? [olga _shivers_. devil, _r. c., coldly_ i? not even of the legitimate husband--much less a moralising bridegroom. [herman _enters quickly from above stairs, comes down l., stands next to_ karl. herman, _banteringly_ ah, olga! i see you are well taken care of. devil, _bowing_ it is a privilege. herman, _taking_ karl _aside_ well, how are you and elsa getting along? [_goes with_ karl _towards the back of the stage._ olga, _quickly to the_ devil what have you said to him about my cloak? devil about your cloak? why should i speak of your cloak? olga you must have said something about my cloak--i felt it he moment i came in. devil what do you mean? olga the way he seemed to look through me. it was almost as if he imagined--what did you say? what did you insinuate? devil just what you are thinking. olga, _her hands dropping, her head falling backwards with closed eyes, shivering_ oh! how _could_ you? devil, _cynically_ come now, don't pretend to be shocked. you admitted you felt it the moment you came in. the thought seemed to please you. olga how dare you speak to me like that! oh! if i had known. devil then why didn't you take off your cloak? when you saw--you didn't even open it. why don't you open it now? the idea seems to please you still. karl, _re-enters, angrily._ olga! olga [_a little scream._ your arm, doctor. [devil _gives her his arm. as they are about to go upstairs,_ karl _comes back from r._ olga, _looking coldly over shoulder at_ karl are you going to stay here? karl yes; and you, too! olga what do you mean? karl you stay here. devil what's that? [olga _tries to go away with the devil into the ball-room, but_ karl _steps into their way on the stairs._ karl olga, you shall not go into the ball-room! [devil, _as if about to leave them alone, is held off by_ karl, _who steps in front of him now_. you shall not leave--it concerns you, too. olga doctor, give me your arm. doctor! karl, _in tone of command_ stop! we'll settle this thing now--right here! olga are you mad? devil, _goes up stairs below_ karl if i didn't think he was mad-- karl take off that cloak. olga, _at l. foot of stairs firmly_; no karl take, off that cloak. olga, _to_ devil please, doctor, protect me. karl, _half maddened_ then i'll make you! [karl _rushes down stairs_, devil _catches him before he reaches the bottom and holds him back_. olga, _standing very erect, to_ devil why did you stop him--? [devil _lets_ karl _go_. devil, _at foot of stairs, in a very low voice as if ashamed_ really, madame, for all i know-- [_feigns embarrassment._ olga, _to_ devil will you please help me off with my cloak? devil, _starts to help, then crosses to l. of her, with gesture of refusal._ madame! ah! karl, _comes down to her, c._ i will. olga, _very loud_ no. [_wraps herself closer in the cloak._ [devil _and_ karl _stare at each other. the_ devil _shrugs his shoulders_, olga _goes up the stairs._ herman, _coming through the door_ oh! there you are. my dear! his excellency is looking for you. he is about to leave. olga, _as if very tired_ all right. please help me off with my cloak. herman all right, darling. [_takes off her cloak and puts it over his arm_. [olga _stands in the same gown as she had on at the beginning of the act, with her back to the audience._ olga, _looking at_ karl _and_ devil, _and speaking with ironical courtliness, taking_ herman's _arm_. gentlemen. [_exit_ herman _with_ olga. [karl _has been standing on one side of the stage as if dreaming, suddenly runs to the other side of the stage as if to choke the devil who stands there_. karl, _crossing to_ devil, _l. c._ what have you done? [devil _thrusts revolver into_ karl's _hand_. devil look out! it's loaded! [karl _stands absolutely still, holding revolver._ [_to_ karl, _insolently_: if i hadn't given you that pistol you might have slapped my face. believe me, there's nothing like turning the other cheek--if you turn it quickly enough--your enemy will miss both cheeks. [karl _turns away angrily, lays revolver on table r._ [devil _goes down and takes revolver from table r._ [karl _stands absent-minded, when_ elsa _enters with her cloak ready to leave._ elsa karl, i wanted to say good-bye to you. karl, _as if the tone of her voice was awakening him_ oh! my dear, dear elsa! [_about to go towards her to kiss her._ [_the_ devil _comes back and steps between them._ [man servant _enters from behind stairs and speaks to_ elsa. man servant your mother is waiting for you in the hall, fräulein, karl may i see you to your carriage? [_offers_ elsa _his arm and they go off_. devil, _to_ man servant will you accompany miss elsa to her carriage? it is slippery outside, she might fall. [_exit_ man servant, _following_ karl _and_ elsa. olga, _enters from r., agitated_; _sits at table l._ your scheme was a great success. devil what are you going to do? olga, _writes on an envelope_ i'm going to write to him. devil, _crosses to her, reads the envelope_ to karl--but what will you write? olga he wanted to settle my account. i will settle his. i will never see him again. oh! to have thought me capable--of.... how could he? i despise him! devil _pour quoi_, madame? olga because--because-- devil because you love him? olga, _frightened_ what! [_tries to get her thoughts together._ after what has happened, i hate him. and i shall tell him so. devil i am very sorry. [_takes pen from her._ olga don't be sorry. i have much to thank you for. you have rendered me a service. i shall feel better when i have sent this letter off. devil you'd better make it plain. olga i shall speak my mind--there shall be no mistake. devil that's it; express your real feelings. [_with ironical emphasis._ cold. harsh. olga cold? harsh? devil make an end of it--once for all. [_dipping pen._ olga, _taking pen_ once for all. devil now write. [olga _speaks the first sentence as she writes it. at the word "longer" the devil takes it up, finishing the sentence with a different meaning, and dictates rest of letter walking up and down._ [illustration: dr. miller (the devil)] olga, _in hard voice, speaks while writing_ sir, your behavior of this evening has shown me that you are no longer-- devil, _continuing_ --able to keep up the wretched farce of mere friendship. i read your inmost thought tonight and--karl--the knowledge that you love me has made me unspeakably happy. dearest-- [olga _looks up at the_ devil, _who is standing now at her l. he repeats "dearest" and points to letter. she resumes writing_. --why should we struggle any longer against the resistless tide that is drawing us together? my strength is gone. [olga _looks up again. the_ devil _repeats "my strength is gone" by motion of lips, making no sound. she writes:_ --without you i am lost in the black waters--save me, karl. with your strong arms about me--with your lips to mine--i care not where we drift. i am yours, all yours. you are the master of my soul. do not leave me, karl; i love you, i cannot live without you. god bless you! [olga's _head falls forward on her arm_ olga, _as if awakening_ what have i written? devil, _folding letter_ what was in your heart! olga, _laughs hysterically_ i have written everything i had meant never to say. devil, _taking up letter_ if women wrote time tables, they would tell all the hours that the trains didn't start and all the places you mustn't stop at to get to your destination. [devil _puts the letter into envelope._ olga, _horrified_ what are you doing? devil, _coldly_ i will deliver the letter. women sometimes do not write what they want, but they always want what they write. olga he must not. he _shall_ not see it. [herman _comes down stairs_ herman good! you're the kind of guest i like--when all the rest have deserted the ship you stay and keep the hostess company. devil, _crosses to c., putting letter into his pocket_ madame has been so entertaining, that i-- herman, _crossing to bell r._ well, let's have another cognac before you go--quite _en famille_. devil thank you very much, but i have an important call very early in the morning. madame,-- [_goes to_ olga, _kisses her hand._ [_to_ herman: i have spent a very pleasant evening at your house. herman, _coming to him c., they shake hands_ the pleasure is mine. [devil starts to go. olga utters a suppressed cry. devil madame? olga, _frightened to death, with a forced smile trying to appear undisturbed_ there was a piece of paper here. did you perhaps take it by mistake? [_she is almost crying from fright._ devil, _coming down stairs, taking the letter out of his pocket_ [_going towards_ herman _as if he was going to give him the letter._ do you mean this? olga, _deathly pale_ no, no it was not that. [_laughing bitterly._ devil, _bowing_ madame. [_bows to_ herman. _goes off upstairs. bows low to both and goes out._ herman _crosses to_ olga well, i'm glad it's over. you look tired, dearie. olga, _standing by table l._ i am tired. herman you look flushed. but it's very becoming, you never looked prettier. [olga _is leaning backwards over the table, he takes her hand._ my darling wife. [_goes to kiss her._ olga, _unkind_ please, please don't. herman, _crosses to c. looks at his watch_ it is after four o'clock, olga. [_tries to kiss her again._ olga please, please don't. i feel so nervous. herman your cheeks are burning. [_pats her cheeks._ olga, _nervous, impatient_ please-- herman all right, all right, i'm going. [_he goes towards the door on the r._ are you going to stay here? olga, _at table l._ let me rest a minute. herman as you please. [man servant _comes in above platform, and goes up side stairs._ olga, _to servant_ what do you want? man servant the lights, madame. olga turn off the lights. [_the_ man servant _puts all the lights out. the lamps in the street and the garden are lighted, but the room is dark_. herman it would be wiser to sleep, my dear. [_he waits a minute, shrugs his shoulders, then goes out r._ olga, _stands leaning on the table_ to go to sleep.... [_the_ devil _can be seen outside in his fur overcoat, crossing through the garden. as he passes a lamp in the garden his shadow reaching up to the ceiling is thrown on the white wall of the room_, olga _is crossing to r. he takes his hat off, at which moment she sees the shadow on the wall,_ olga _shrieks_. no! [_she drops into a chair_. curtain act iii scene.--_like act i. the afternoon of the next day, about three o'clock. when the curtain rises, the_ devil _is seated in a big chair. bell rings off stage r._ heinrich _enters r._ devil, _rising from chair_ what do you want? heinrich there is a lady, sir. devil what kind of a lady? heinrich a real lady, sir. devil what does she want? heinrich she wants to see my master. i told her he was not up yet, but she said she would wait. devil do you know who the lady is? have you seen her before? heinrich never. devil ask her to step in here. [heinrich _goes off, shows_ elsa _in_. [devil _bows_. ah! elsa you seem to be everywhere. what are you doing here? are you his secretary? devil no, merely a good friend. nothing else. i just happened in. by the way, how do you do? elsa how do you do? [_crosses to couch, sits._ i didn't know there was anybody in this room or i would not have come in. but as it is only you i don't mind. [elsa _sits down, intentionally turning her back to the_ devil. devil karl is expecting you, then? elsa oh, no. devil will you permit me to prepare him for this pleasant surprise? elsa no, thank you. don't disturb him. i can look around while i'm waiting. i have never been here before. devil i know it. elsa who told you? devil the man--a lady might come every day and escape notice--but coming for the first time she would be sure to attract his attention. elsa i feel embarrassed coming here alone. devil i know that, too. elsa from the same source? devil yes; he said you were a real lady. elsa he is the only one here who has spoken to me like a gentleman. devil he must have thought you were a model. elsa, _rises; angrily_ how dare you? devil a servant can only speak like a gentleman to--his equals. elsa, _sits down again; sarcastically_ then i was mistaken--it is not heinrich who is the servant. devil who knows--perhaps he is a clergyman. elsa i don't understand you. devil only two people in the world may open the door of a bachelor's apartment to a young lady--the man servant, or a clergyman with a marriage certificate --you can take your choice. elsa let me tell you i was once left alone with a gentleman who tried to kiss me, and i slapped his face. devil indeed? i was once left alone with a lady who tried to slap me and i _kissed_ her face. [_enter_ heinrich. elsa, _controlling herself with difficulty_ oh! devil heinrich! there's a little leather satchel in the pocket of my overcoat. [heinrich _goes out_. elsa don't be afraid. this is not my day for crying. devil it's when a girl laughs that i'm most afraid. [heinrich _brings the satchel, puts it on the table l. c. and goes into studio_. why did you come here? elsa i intend to sit for my portrait--to do that, i must come every day. devil you intend to come here every day, and to do that you must have your portrait painted. elsa you are clever at twisting words. devil perhaps you know there is another lady coming every day to have her portrait painted? elsa yes, i know. that's why i want mine painted--we'll see which will be the better likeness. devil come now--you must let me sit down--this time i want you to be right. [_raises her and swings her in front of him._ [devil _sits on couch, elsa leans on table._ are you aware-- elsa this is awful--you question me like a judge. devil it is you who answer like a prisoner. do you know that karl is in love with olga? elsa, _bitterly_ do i know it! devil and you still mean to fight? elsa yes, i mean to fight--you gave me good advice. devil that was yesterday. elsa well--this is to-day. devil, _impressively_ yesterday was your winning day. yesterday it was written that you, elsa, would succeed in whatever thing you made up your mind to do, with the whole strength of your will. elsa last night i made up my mind to-- devil, interrupting gravely --to dance every dance-- [_pause_ you danced every dance. elsa, _defiantly_ karl asked me to marry him last night. devil --and you refused. elsa yes--but to-day i shall-- devil to-day is not your winning day--yesterday you chose--to-day you will have no choice. elsa i won't give him up--i can't--i don't know how. devil you will have to learn--let me see--i think i know some one who has learned the lesson and can teach it to you-- [_goes to hall door which he opens._ why, mimi! why do you wait out there? come in here where it's warm! [mimi _comes in_--devil _seats_ mimi _c. he regards them both with a satanic smile--begins to hum a tune and exits l., singing as he gets out; he laughs--his laugh dies away outside._ mimi, _sitting on small chair c. after a silence_ are you waiting for the painter, too, madame? elsa, _seated on couch_ yes. mimi yes-- [_pause_. he must have been on a spree last night. [_smiling_. when he goes on a spree he always sleeps late. elsa, _somewhat embarrassed_ yes? mimi, _making conversation_ yes. if you haven't slept for a long time, then--you must sleep a long time. elsa yes? mimi yes. madame-- [_silence_. is madame going to have her portrait painted? elsa yes. mimi yes, madame--i know all the ladies that come here-- [_quick look from_ elsa. i'm quite at home here--i'm his model [_explaining_. i don't pay for my portraits. [_regarding_ elsa. you have a splendid profile, madame. elsa you always say "madame"--i am not married. my name is-- mimi, _interrupting_ i know your name. i've heard it often. you belong to a very rich family. i know what that means, i used to be well off, too. i wasn't always obliged to work for a living. elsa no? mimi i was a chorus girl, but i had bad luck. elsa i am so sorry for you. mimi [_silence_. i know all about you and herr karl. [_rises, goes c._ elsa from whom? mimi i know everything that goes on in this house. i told you i was his model--i sew on buttons and count the laundry. [_importantly_. elsa does the laundry-woman steal? mimi no. but she uses strong blueing--i know everything herr karl thinks of. [_pointing at_ elsa. elsa, _as if she was getting interested_ and does that interest you? mimi yes, indeed it does. but that's all over now elsa why so? mimi because he is going to get married elsa but he will paint just the same--he will want models. mimi yes, but-- [_ingeniously_. you know, when one has sewn on buttons--and counted the laundry--then to be--just a plain model--that hurts. [_goes up c._; elsa _crosses_. elsa and you like herr karl? mimi, _repressing her feelings_ yes--i--i like him--he's such a dear boy. elsa does he paint you now? mimi, _coming to head of couch; sadly_ no. he only paints landscapes and--bank presidents. elsa then you did not come to pose to-day? mimi a model always comes to pose. it's tiring work, too, i can tell you--and if the artist wants to make love --it isn't her fault--and-- [_sighs_. oh, it's such a rest. elsa oh, please. [_draws herself up stiffly, offended._ mimi now i've offended you--i ought to have known better--my people are all refined--i wasn't born a model. elsa i'm sorry i showed it--but--i--i'm nervous to-day. mimi, _brightening_ oh, i know what it is--i used to suffer dreadfully from nervousness when i was in the chorus. elsa come over here, mimi; i want to talk to you. mimi, goes over and sits on the couch you can talk to me about everything, i'm not a bad sort, really i'm not. i've known all along about herr karl and--and you--he's such a kind man. i was crying when i went away yesterday, and he felt sorry for me and he came to see me on his way to the ball--in his evening clothes--but i didn't receive him. if it's over, it may as well be over. elsa was he fond of you? mimi i loved him, but what's the use? it's like the railway --the station is there and the train comes and then the train goes away, and the station cannot run after it; if the station is small, the train only stops a minute, and-- [_sighs_. one must wait until another train comes elsa you loved him and can speak like that? mimi yes, i loved him, but it's all over now. i was foolish to come here again when i'd made up my mind i wouldn't, but now i'm sensible again; i'll go away and try to forget him, i hope he will be--hap-hap--happy! [_begins to cry, looks for handkerchief in muff, but can't find it_. elsa _takes handkerchief out of "weeping satchel," and gives it to her._ elsa poor mimi! poor mimi! mimi, _wiping her eyes with handkerchief, then returning it to_ elsa. i--hope--you will be--hap--happy--too! elsa i--happy? mimi you are going to marry karl-- elsa no--no--i'm not. mimi but it's you he's in love with-- elsa no, mimi; i'm not the one--it's some one else. mimi you don't mean mrs. zanden--it can't be--why, she's your friend. elsa she was. mimi i don't believe it--it's not love--it's a madness--a-- elsa, _jumping at the idea_ an infatuation? mimi yes, that's it--he's not in love with her--he's not himself. elsa you think so? mimi yesterday he acted as if he were under some strange-- [_rises_. [mimi _looks nervously behind her on both sides_, elsa _follows her example_. under some strange-- elsa influence? mimi yes. [_the two girls look at each other in silence---for what seems like a minute._ elsa mimi, who is that man? mimi, _looks behind her again nervously_ i don't know--i _hate_ him. elsa, _after looking behind her_ so do i. [_they grasp each other's hands across the table._ [_a pause._ mimi, _holding_ elsa's _hand_ i'm glad i came, i feel better already for having seen you. i'm going to be sensible now. i'm going away--and i'm never coming back! [_in altered voice._ what time is it? elsa it's almost three o'clock. mimi three o'clock! then i must hurry. i have an appointment at half past--he's an illustrator--such a talented boy; he's just had a picture accepted by the _fleigende blatter_. elsa and you are posing for him? mimi oh, yes; but tonight he goes to the artists' dinner, and i have to find his dress studs, and iron a tie for him, and trim his cuffs. [_makes gesture of cutting with scissors outside the edge of her cuff._ good-bye. [_goes out quickly._ elsa [_looks after_ mimi, _then around the room, suddenly begins to sob, and calls in frightened voice_: mimi! mimi! [_runs off._ [devil _enters just_ _as_ elsa _leaves_. [devil _rings bell on table_. heinrich, _entering_ did you ring, sir? devil where is my tea? have you any rum in the house? heinrich yes, sir. devil i'll have some with my tea. is your master getting up? heinrich yes, sir. devil has anyone called to see him this morning? heinrich mrs. zanden's maid has been here three times. devil what did she want? heinrich she inquired whether mrs. zanden could see my master. i told her i had strict orders not to call him before three. devil hurry with the tea. [_door bell rings._ i'll have it in here. [devil _goes into studio._ [heinrich _goes out to hall, door slams,_ olga _speaking outside_. olga is your master at home? heinrich yes, madame. olga, entering my maid told me i could not see him until three--it is three o'clock now. heinrich i am very sorry, madame, but you will have to wait a few minutes longer. i will tell him that you are here. olga thank you. [heinrich _crosses to studio door_. wait! has anyone called to see your master this morning? heinrich no, madame. olga didn't anyone leave a letter for him? heinrich no, madame. olga, _aside_ thank god! please tell him i'm here. heinrich i'm afraid, madame, you will have to wait a moment; but i will tell the doctor---- olga, _quickly_ what doctor? heinrich the gentleman who was here with you yesterday. olga, _aside_ dr. miller? _he_--is--in--there? heinrich yes, madame. olga, _aside_ then i'm too late. [_to_ heinrich, _reluctantly_ did you see dr. miller give a letter to your master? a piece of paper? heinrich possibly, madame, but i don't remember. olga tell dr. miller to come at once. say a lady wishes to speak to him, but don't give him my name. [heinrich _goes out_. [olga _walks up and down terribly agitated_. [devil _enters_. devil are you the lady who wishes to see me at once? olga oh, tell me--did you--have you...? devil, _nods_ yes--delivered. [olga _sinks into chair, clasping her hands tightly._ [_enter_ heinrich, _busy with tea things._ put it here. thank you. olga [_without looking at the_ devil. did he read it? devil yes. [_is busy with his tea._ [_silence_. olga my god! devil [_now standing behind olga, tea cup in his hand._ after he read it, he buried his face in the pillow and cried. olga he cried? devil i hate men who cry. olga i did not want him to have that letter. i wanted to speak to him first. i wanted to ask him to give me my letter back unopened i am too late. devil you were not too late. it's i that was too early. olga he cried? devil from joy. olga i haven't the courage to speak to him, and yet i feel that i must. i would like to go away, but something holds me; something i cannot--i cannot--oh, what will become of me? heinrich, _at door_ my master will be here in a moment, sir. [heinrich _goes out._ devil i must be going. olga don't go! please stay. i don't want to be alone with him. devil but if i am here you cannot speak to him about the letter. i shall only be in the way. olga, _very weak_ very well, then, i shall speak to him quite frankly. i shall ask him for the last time-- karl, _voice from the studio_ heinrich! devil, _quick_ there he is. olga, _very weak_ please stay. devil,_ pointing to the small door at l._ i shall be here. if you need me, call. [devil _goes out_. [karl _comes in from the studio._ karl, _kisses_ olga's _hand passionately_ olga! i ought to go on my knees and beg your pardon for what i did last night. olga speak low--dr. miller is in there. karl olga--can you ever---- olga no, no; it is i who should ask forgiveness i was to blame. i lost control of myself. after what happened, i wanted to know--i wanted to make sure--but, you understand now, my letter has told you everything. karl what letter? olga, _reproachfully_ karl, i understand. you want to spare me--you're being discreet; but you don't know me; i mean every word of that letter, i'm glad i wrote it---- karl but i didn't get any letter. olga didn't doctor miller give you a letter? karl no, no; really. [illustration: olga and karl] olga [_angry and almost crying, crossing to door._ doctor miller. [devil enters. my--my letter. devil ah, pardon me, madame, a thousand pardons, i quite forgot. the only excuse i can offer is that there are some letters which ought never to be delivered. [_takes letter out of his pocket_ olga [_takes a step towards_ karl, _looks at_ devil _over her shoulder, shivers slightly_. who is that man? [_silence_, karl _looks at_ devil, olga _is terrified_. [devil _crosses, gives the letter to_ karl _with a smile_. [olga, _quickly, to_ karl. tear that letter up. [karl _tears up letter_. put it in the fire. [karl _crumples up the pieces and throws them in the fire. as he does so,_ olga _makes an involuntary movement with her hand as if to stop him, but he does not see it as his back is turned. the_ devil _sees it, however, and smiles_ devil i sincerely regret if my forgetfulness has caused any inconvenience karl, _at alcove, pointing to door r_ [_offensively_. pray don't let me detain you-- devil my train doesn't leave for an hour. once more a thousand pardons. [_crossing to c., turning to both._ if i could have foreseen what terrible distress the non-delivery of this letter---- karl, _firmly_ you may be quite sure it contained nothing--er--nothing-- [_at a loss for a word._ devil, _looking at_ olga nothing. karl, _at large chair_ you will miss your train. devil, _to_ olga, _bowing_ madame-- [_to_ karl, _offering hand._ [karl _turns his back_. good-bye, a thousand pardons. [_exit_ devil _at door to hall._ olga i would have given anything in the world if you had not burned that letter. karl why--you told--me-- [olga _shrugs her shoulders as if to say, "what can one expect of a man?"_ what does it matter anyway, whatever it is? i would rather hear it from your lips. olga, _firmly_ no! the letter is burned; it is nothing but ashes--it is dead--no human power can bring it back to life. karl but, olga! olga a moment ago i would have given all i possessed to save it from the fire--and now-- karl what has happened? olga i can't tell you. i only know i am glad--i'm glad. [olga _here seems to have suddenly become composed, almost happy, as if something had been settled, though not as she had wished, still it is a relief_. karl, _takes her hand_ olga, do you mean you will never-- olga, smiling i mean _you_ will never know what was in that letter--it is as if it had never been written--it has ceased to exist, and we are past the day of miracles. karl, _impatiently_ miracles? olga no, no! only the devil himself would re-create that letter from its burnt ashes. good-bye, karl. i'm going now--i shan't see you again. [_shakes hands naturally._ [_at word "devil" the_ devil _enters silently from hall door. he has his fur coat on. he smiles wickedly, and at_ olga's _words "re-create that letter," pulls_ olga's _letter out of his pocket, and stands so that the chair hides him from_ karl _and_ olga, _who are close to studio door._ karl olga, you are afraid of something. what is it? olga i'm afraid of--myself--good-bye! karl good-bye, olga. [_they turn and see the devil._ [_to_ devil, _angrily_. i thought you'd gone! [_goes abruptly into the studio,_ olga _stands as if hypnotized._ devil, _to_ olga i _beg_ your pardon, i am so upset to-day-- [_holding out letter._ i made a mistake--i gave you my tailor's bill instead of your letter--here is your letter! [devil _gives the letter to_ olga, _who snatches it from him in a frightened manner and tears it open. she recognizes her letter._ olga karl! my letter! i have my letter-- [_she runs into the studio._ [the devil _goes to the door of the studio, smiles diabolically, listens a minute at the door and rubs his hands as if he was very pleased with himself._ devil voilà! curtain. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) the yellow rose [illustration: budapest iii dr. jókai mór] the yellow rose a novel by maurus jÓkai author of "black diamonds," "the green book," "eyes like the sea," "pretty michal," "doctor dumany's wife," etc. [illustration] london jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c. [all rights reserved] translated by beatrice danford from the original hungarian. copyright:-- london: jarrold & sons. contents. page chapter i. chapter ii. chapter iii. chapter iv. chapter v. chapter vi. chapter vii. chapter viii. chapter ix. chapter x. chapter xi. chapter xii. the yellow rose chapter i. this happened when no train crossed the hortobágy, when throughout the alföld there was not a railway, and the water of the hortobágy had not been regulated. the two-wheeled mill clattered gaily in the little river, and the otter lived happily among the reeds. at the first streak of dawn, a horseman came riding across the flat zám puszta, which lies on the far side of the hortobágy river (taking debreczin as the centre of the world). whence did he come? whither was he going? impossible to guess. the puszta has no pathway, grass grows over hoof-print and cart track. up to the endless horizon there is nothing but grass, not a tree, a well pole, or a hut to break the majestic green plain. the horse went its way instinctively. its rider dozing, nodded in the saddle, first on one side, then the other, but never let slip his foot from the stirrup. he was evidently a cowherd, for his shirt sleeves were tight at the wrists--wide sleeves would be in the way among horned beasts. his waistcoat was blue, his jacket, with its rows of buttons, black, and so was his cloak, worked in silken flowers, and hanging loosely strapped over his shoulder. the slackly gathered reins were held in the left hand, while from the right wrist dangled a thick stock whip. a long loaded cudgel was fastened to the horn of the saddle in front. in the wide upturned brim of his hat he wore a single yellow rose. once or twice the horse tossed its head, and shaking the fringed saddle cloth, woke the rider for an instant. his first movement was to his cap, to feel whether the rose was there, or if perchance it had dropped out. then removing the cap, he smelt the flower with keen enjoyment (although it had no rose's scent), and replacing it well to one side, threw back his head as if he hoped, in that way, to catch sight of the rose. presently (and very probably to keep himself awake) he began humming his favourite song: "if only the inn were not so near, if only i did not find such cheer in golden quart and copper gill, i would not linger, my love, until it ever should grow so late." but soon his head fell forward again, and he went on nodding, till all at once, with a frightened start, he saw that the yellow rose was gone! turning his horse he commenced searching for the flower amid that sea of grass, and the yellow blossoms of cinquefoil, and stitchwort, and water-lilies. at last he found it, stuck it in his hat, and continued his song: "an apple-tree stands in my garden small, the blossoms it bears they hide it all. oh there where the full carnation blows, and a maiden's heart with a true love glows is the place where i would be." and then he went to sleep again, lost the rose, and once more turned to look for it. when found this time, nestling among a cluster of pink thistle-heads, he nearly kicked the plant to pieces. because--because it had dared to kiss his rose! then he sprang back to the saddle. now had this cowboy been superstitious he would not have decorated his hat for the third time with the yellow rose. had he understood bird language, he would have known what the hundreds of little larks were twittering as they rose up out of sight, to greet the dawn. "wear not--wear not your yellow rose!" but this hortobágy peasant was hard-headed; he knew neither fear nor superstition. he had wasted a good deal of time, however, in seeking this rose--though possibly more in winning it--for at the watering-hour he should have reached the zám herd. by this time the overseer must be cursing him roundly. well, let him curse! when one has a yellow rose in one's cap one is not afraid of an overseer! the sudden neighing of his horse roused him. a horseman was approaching, whose steed, a bay with a white star, was evidently an old friend of its own. the rider was a "csikós," or horseherd, as could be seen by his wide flying sleeves, white cloak, tulip embroidered, the lasso thrown around his shoulders, and best of all, by the way he had saddled his bay--without a girth. the two herdsmen recognised one another, as well as their horses, and quickening their trot drew close together. both men, though distinctly different, were of the true hungarian type, such as were the first hungarians who wandered in from asia. the cowherd was broad-shouldered, thickset, and bony, his face roundish and his cheeks red, while there was something of impudence in the chin, mouth, eyebrows, and little waxed moustache. his chestnut hair was cropped short, and his eyes hazel, though at first sight seeming almost green. the other, the csikós, was strong and square-chested, yet withal slightly built. he had an oval face, burnt to a golden bronze, with perfectly regular clear-cut features, eyes dark and shining, and a black moustache that turned up of itself. over his shoulders his jet black hair fell in loose wavy ringlets. the two horses snorted in friendly fashion, and the csikós was the first to hail his friend. "good day, comrade! you are up early. but maybe you have not slept at all?" "thanks. that's true. there was someone to send me asleep and to wake me up!" "and where are you from now?" "only from the mata puszta. i was at the vet's." "at the vet's? better kill your horse at once." "why?" "than let the doctor and his old nag overtake it. he went by in his gig half an hour ago, jogging along towards the mata herd." "well, well, comrade! the shepherd's white donkey has often beaten your little bay mare." "hm'm. what a pretty yellow rose you have got in your cap, comrade!" "who wins one can wear one." "and may he never repent it!" the csikós held up his fist with a threatening gesture, till the wide sleeve slipping back disclosed a muscular sunburnt arm. then both riders putting spurs to their horses went their several ways. chapter ii. the cowboy trotted towards the herd, and soon the hills of zám, the little acacia wood, and the three tall well poles began to peep above the horizon. but it is a good ride there! presently he took the tell-tale rose from his cap, folded it in his scarlet handkerchief, and pushed it up the knotted sleeve of his coat. the horse-herd meanwhile spurred his horse in the opposite direction, where a low lying line of bluish mist marked the course of the hortobágy river. he was on his way to the rose-bush where the yellow roses grew. for on the whole hortobágy there was but one yellow rose, and that bloomed in the innkeeper's garden. some foreigner had brought it from belgium, they said; and its wonderful yellow flowers blossomed the whole summer through, from whitsuntide to advent, when there were still buds on the branches; yellow as pure gold they were, though their scent was more like muscatel wine than roses. many a man had felt that scent rise to his head! and the girl who used to gather these roses, though not for herself, they called "the yellow rose" also. it was quite a mystery where the old innkeeper had picked up this maiden, for wife he had none. some stranger had evidently forgotten her there, and the old man had kept her till she grew into a delicate, slender flower. her cheeks were not rosy like those of other girls, but a clear, creamy colour, not the tint of sickness, for the life glowed beneath, and, when she smiled, seemed to dazzle and shine like a fire within. her mouth, with its turned-up corners, was made for laughter, and suited the darkness of her eyes, eyes so dark that none could tell whether they were black or blue, because if once a man looked into them he forgot all else in the world. her hair was black, twisted into a plait, with yellow ribbon. other girls damp their hair with quince juice to make it curly, but hers waved and curled of itself. and the songs she knew! how sweetly she could sing when she liked! if happy she sang, if sad she sang, for there is a song for everything, and, without singing, a peasant maiden cannot live. nothing makes the work so easy, the time pass so quickly, and the way so short. early in the morning, when the sky was pink at sunrise, she might be heard singing as she weeded in the garden. the old innkeeper did not concern himself with business, but had given the whole management of the inn into the girl's hands. she served out the wine, cooked, did the accounts. he meanwhile looked after his beehives, and was busy now, for the bees were swarming. suddenly a horse's hoofs resounded from the yard, the dogs barked in the joyous tone with which they were wont to greet an old friend, and the old man called out: "klári! go in! don't you hear the dogs barking; a customer must be here. see to him!" the girl dropped her striped gown, tucked up for weeding, put on her buckled shoes, washed her hands from the watering can, and dried them with her apron, which she then threw aside, for, under it, she wore another very wide and clean, and with the household keys dangling from her waistband. she untied her gay-coloured kerchief, and smoothed her hair with her moistened palms. then she broke off a rose from the rose-bush, and stuck it in her hair at one side. "picking a rose again!" grumbled the old man. "maybe only for a gendarme!" "why only? why mayn't a gendarme wear a rose in his shako as well as another fellow? perhaps you don't think him good enough? that depends on the gendarme." but after all it was no gendarme whom the girl found sitting at one end of the long table, but the smartest csikós on the whole puszta--sándor decsi. "sándor!" screamed the girl when she saw him, and clapping her hands, "sándor! you have come back, my darling." he was standing there, drumming on the table with the empty glasses, and only looked up to call out in a most sullen fashion, "bring wine." "sándor!" cried the girl. but the lad only growled, "i told you to bring wine," and let his head fall back on his hands. "that is a nice 'good morning' after such a long absence!" exclaimed the girl, at which the herdsman came somewhat to his senses, for he knew how to be polite. removing his cap and laying it on the table, "good morning, miss," he said. "whew!" the girl pointed the rosy tip of her tongue at him, and shrugging her shoulders angrily, stamped off to the bar, shaking her shoes as she went. when she had brought the wine, however, she asked in an unaltered voice: "why do you call me 'miss'?" "because . . . . you are 'miss.'" "i always was, but you never used to say so." "that was another time, it was different then." "well, here is the wine anyway. do you want anything else?" "thank you," said the man, "not now. later perhaps." the girl responded by a clicking noise with her tongue, and then sat down near him, at the end of the long bench. the csikós raised the bottle to his lips, drained it dry, and flung it on the floor, where it smashed into a thousand fragments. "why have you broken the bottle?" she asked softly. "that no one else may drink out of it." next he tossed three ten kreuzer notes on the table--"dog tongues" the country people call them--two being for the red wine, one for the bottle. the girl meanwhile had seized a broom, and was diligently sweeping up the broken glass. then, knowing the rule, she dived behind the wooden lattice railing off the bar, and brought out a fresh bottle. how she longed to look in his eyes! but he, evidently guessing it, pulled his hat lower over his face than before. finally, she did manage to get possession of his cap, and then tried to transfer the yellow rose in her hair to the silk ribbon decorating its brim. but the herdsman saw, and snatched it out of her hands. "keep your roses for some worthier person," he said shortly. "sándor," began the girl at last, "do you wish to make me cry?" "that would be false, as your words are false. did not ferko lacza leave you this morning with one of your roses in his cap?" she did not turn red at this, only so much the paler. "god knows i----" but a hand laid across her mouth stopped all further speech. "do not take god's name in vain!" cried the herdsman; "and how did those golden ear-rings get into your ears, i wonder?" "you donkey!" klári laughed outright. "you gave them to me yourself, only i had them gilded by the jeweller in Újváros." then the csikós caught hold of both her hands, and spoke his mind slowly and earnestly. "dearest klári," he said, "i won't call you 'miss' any more--i beg you from the bottom of my heart not to lie to me. nothing is so detestable as lying. they say, 'lying dog,' though dogs never lie; for a dog has a different bark when he smells a thief round the farm, or scents danger, or hears his master coming, and his bark never misleads. a dog is honest enough, it is men who know how to lie, and theirs is the true yelping. as for me, it never came into my mind to lie, my tongue is not fashioned that way. lying ill-suits a moustache, and it's a bad business when bearded lips speak lying words like a coward who fears a beating. now, see, when the conscription was here last autumn, they summoned us all from the puszta. but the townspeople wanted to keep us, for, without herdsmen the cattle and horses would fare badly. so, first they took care to cross the palms of the committee with silver, and then the doctors whispered to us what sort of bodily defect we could feign, so as to be discharged as unfit. ferko lacza took to the trick! he swore he was as deaf as a door-post, could not hear a trumpet even; he, who has such good ears that if a beast lows in the blackest midnight, he can tell whether it is a stray one wandered in among the herd or a cow calling her lost calf. my eyes nearly fell out of my head! eh, he knew how to lie, the scoundrel! when my turn came to be inspected they made out that my heart beat irregularly. 'well, if it beats irregularly,' said i, 'it is not my heart that's in fault, but the yellow rose yonder, at the hortobágy inn.' the gentlemen all nudged me to trust to the doctor, who said i had enlargement of the heart! 'why, it's just big enough to hold one little bit of a girl, and nothing else. there is nothing in the world the matter with me!' so they took me for a soldier, but respected me. they never even cut my hair, but sent me to be 'soldier csikós' to the military stud at mezöhegyes. and before half a year was over the town council put down the thousand florins ransom to buy me off, and send me back to the horses again. but i will work out those thousand florins with my two hands, though not with a lying tongue--that is another matter!" the girl attempted to get her hands free, and to turn off the affair as a joke. "my word, sándor, did you learn to preach when you were eating the emperor's bread? really, you're so eloquent you ought to go as probationer every sunday to balmaz-Újváros!" "now, now, do not jest," said the man. "i know what is in your little head. you are thinking that maids are but a feeble folk, and have no other weapon but lying, otherwise they would be overmatched. the swift feet for the hare, the wings for the bird, and for the girl--her lying lips! but, sweetheart, i am a man who has never hurt the weaker. the hare can bide in the cover, and the bird on her nest for me, i would never disturb them. neither would i harm the girl who speaks the truth with as much as a hard word or look. but if you lie to me, why, then i must judge you as hardly as if those pretty cheeks of yours were smeared with vienna rouge! look at the rose in your hand, it has hardly opened, but if i blow on it with my hot breath, one after another all the petals will unfold. be such a rose, then, my darling, and open your heart and your soul to me. i will not be angry whatever you confess, and i will forgive you, even if it breaks my heart." "and then what will you give me?" "as much of it as you have left me," said the man. the girl, knowing the herdsmen's custom of eating bacon, paprika (the red pepper), and white bread with their morning wine, rose, and set this before him, and was glad to see it was not scorned. indeed, the csikós, drawing out his long knife with its inlaid handle from his top boot, cut off a slice of bread and bacon, and fell to work heartily. meanwhile, through the open door appeared the watch-dog, wagging his tail, and going to the herdsman, he rubbed his nose against his legs, and then lay down near him, yawning with great affability. "even bodri knows you," said the girl. "yes, dogs are faithful. it is only girls who forget." "sándor, sándor," she cried. "what a pity it was you could not tell that one little lie when it was so needful! then they would not have taken you as a soldier to mezöhegyes. it is not wise to leave a girl to herself. it is not wise to let a lilac-bush in blossom overhang the paling, because then every passer-by who chooses can break off a piece!" at these words the very morsel of bread fell from the herdsman's mouth, and he cast it to the dog. "is this truth that you are saying?" "truth? don't you know the song about 'when the girl's out in the storm, under his cloak the boy keeps her warm'?" "yes, and how it goes on too. 'the maid keeps near to the lad in the showers, his cloak being worked with silken flowers.' get away, dog! even you only wag your tail when there is a question of bacon!" just then the horse in the yard outside began to neigh, and the girl went out, reappearing in a few minutes. "where have you been?" asked the man. "tying up your horse in the stable." "who bid you tie him up?" "i always did so till now." "now it is different; i am off directly!" "what? you won't take a bite? isn't bread and bacon good enough? maybe you got better from the emperor? but stop, i can bring you something nicer." she went to the cupboard in the wall and brought out a plate of fried fowl, or "back hendli"--for fowl fried in bread-crumbs, and then left cold, was a favourite tit-bit of the herdsman's. "whose remains are these?" he demanded suspiciously. "well, first think a little! all sorts of people come to an inn, and anyone who pays can have 'back hendli.'" "then you had grand folks here last night?" "certainly," said the girl. "two gentlemen from vienna, and two from debreczin. they stayed up till two o'clock and then went on. if you don't believe me, i can show you their names in the guest book." "oh! i believe you." the great tabby tom, who had been washing his face by the stove, rose at this moment, stretched himself, arched his back, jumped down, and going to the csikós, measured his claws on his boots, showing how high the snow would lie next winter. then he sprang into his friend's arms, rubbing and pushing his head against his hand, and slowly licking every one of the five fingers. at last he lay down and began purring. "look how the cat is trying to coax you," said klári. "i am not going to ask him whose arms he purred in yesterday. how much do i pay for the 'back hendli'?" "_you!_ nothing, of course, somebody else did that. but where are you off to in such a terrible hurry?" "to the vet, on the mata puszta--i am taking him a letter." "you won't find him at home, for he passed here at three this morning, looking for those gentlemen. when he heard they had gone, he went jogging on in his gig to the zám puszta. one gentleman was the steward of a moravian count, who wants to buy some of our cattle to breed on his estate; the other german was an artist. he drew me in his little book, and the cowherd also." "so the cowherd was here also?" "of course he was here, since he was sent to show the gentlemen across the puszta to the zám herd." "only it seems funny to me," remarked the csikós, "that the cowboy left an hour later than the gentlemen he was meant to guide." "dear me! you can cross-examine like the district judge! well, he came to bid me good-bye. he is going far away, and we will never see him any more." as if to prove the truth of her words, a real shining tear dropped from the girl's eyes, though she tried her best to hide it. not that the csikós minded that, for it was an honest tear, at any rate, and he preferred to turn his head aside when she dried her eyes with her apron. then he stuck his short clay pipe in his mouth. a pipe in the mouth signifies no kisses. "and what takes the cowboy so far away?" he inquired. "he is going to moravia as head herdsman to the cattle which they are buying at zám. he is to get a stone house, so much corn, and six hundred florins as wages. he'll be quite the gentleman! and they will respect him there, because only a hungarian herdsman can manage a hungarian herd." "and you? aren't you going to moravia as head herdsman's wife?" "you rascal!" said the girl. "you know i'm not. you know, quite well, i love no one but you. i might if i weren't chained fast to you and to this puszta. why, i am your slave." "not exactly," said the man. "you know it is not like that; but whoever you have bewitched with those eyes of yours must come back from the ends of the earth to you. you give him a charm to drink that compels him to think of you. or you sew one of your hairs in his shirt sleeve, that you may draw him back, even from beyond the stars. it's just the same with me! since i looked into your eyes i have been made a fool of." "and have i not been fool enough?" she asked. "haven't i often wondered what would become of me! whom did i ask to melt lead with me on christmas eve? whose kerchief did i wear, though he never said it was a betrothal gift? did i ever go spying after you when you danced with other girls and giddy young wives at Újváros fair?" "if only you had not put the rose in his cap!" "well, give me yours, and here is a match to it, which is easily stuck in!" "no," said the lad. "i want _that_ rose which you gave to the cowherd, and i will never rest till i have it in my hands." at that the girl clasped her hands imploringly. "sándor! sándor! don't talk like that. you two must not fight about me--_about a yellow rose_!" "it must be. either he kills me, or i him, but one of us must fall." "and that is what _you_ call telling the truth!" cried the girl. "you who have just promised not to be angry with me any more?" "with you, yes. a girl can't help forgetting, but a man should bear in mind." "god knows, i never forgot you." "perhaps not; like in the song:-- "'whome'er within my arms i pressed, yet in my heart i loved thee best.' "no, dearest, i am not a hard man, and i did not come to quarrel with you, but only to show you that i am alive, and not dead, though i know how happy you would be if i were." "sándor! then you want me to go and buy matches?" "matches, is it?" said the man. "that's the way with you girls. if you fall into the ditch, then it's three boxes of matches from the jew, a cup of hot coffee, and it is all over. but surely the wiser plan would be to avoid the ditches altogether!" "don't speak about it. do you remember," the girl asked, "how, when first we met, we were playing that game, 'i fell into the well. who pulled you out? sándor decsi!' and you did pull me out!" "but if i had thought it was for someone else . . . !" "heigho!" sighed the herdsman, "that was long ago. before ever the dorozsma mill was sung about." "is that something new?" the girl stooped over the bench closer to the lad. "sing it first, and then i will learn it." so sándor decsi set his back against the wall, put one hand to his cap and the other on the table and commenced the tune, the sad air suiting the sadness of its words:-- "dorozsma's mill, dorozsma's mill, the wind has dropped, 'tis standing still. ah! faithless thou hast flown, my dove! another claims thy life, thy love, this is the reason, if you will, why turns no more dorozsma's mill." such a song it was as is born on the plains and blown hither and thither like the thistledown scattered by the wind. the girl tried the air after him, and where she failed the csikós helped her, and so it went on till they both knew it, and sang it together perfectly. and then, at the finish, they kissed each other. this was the end of the song. but hardly had klári sung the last note before sándor decsi had stuck the short clay pipe in his mouth again. "there you go, putting that horrid pipe in your mouth!" she exclaimed sulkily. "well, it matches me, i'm horrid too," said the lad. "you are, just a horrid rascal! a lad like you is good for nothing else but to be turned into a distaff, and stuck up behind the door!" so saying she gave him a shove with her elbow. "now what are you coming round me for?" he asked. "i coming round you? do i want you! if lads like you were sold by the dozen, never a one would i buy. i was blind and cracked for sure to have loved you? why, i could have ten such lads as you for every one of my ten fingers!" she stormed in so genuine a manner that at last even bodri was deceived, and believing that his mistress was offended with this horrid man, jumped up and began growling at him. it made the girl laugh heartily, but the csikós neither caught her merriment nor saw any cause for laughter. he just sat there, moody and silent, holding his pipe between his teeth. the pipe was not alight, for indeed it was empty. then the girl tried teasing him. "well, dear! you are quite aware of your own good looks!" she said, "you wouldn't laugh for the world, would you? why it would squeeze up your two black eyes, and make your two red lips quite crooked, and all your beauty would be spoiled!" "debreczin town does not pay me for being beautiful." "but i do. wasn't my payment big enough for you?" "it was. there was even enough for another person left over." "are you beginning again? all about that one yellow rose? are you so jealous of your comrade then, your own close companion? how could he help himself, poor fellow? if a gallant of the town feels his heart aching for a rose, why he has the whole flower garden to choose from, full of all sorts and shades of roses--red, pink, yellow, and cream! but how does the song go? "'only the peasant maid can still the peasant's heart in good and ill!'" "so you take his part?" "well, whose fault is it? the girl's who sings, 'an' he knew he could, an' he knew it still he would,' or the man's who listens and understands?" "do you take the blame then?" "you said you would forgive me everything." "i will keep my word." "and love me again?" "later." "ah! it's a big word that 'later,'" said the girl. "i love you now." "as you have shown me." the csikós rose from the table, stuck the short pipe into the wide brim of his hat, and going to the girl, put his arms round her, gazing, as he spoke, into her large dark eyes. "my darling, you know there are two kinds of fever--the hot and the cold. the hot is more violent, but the cold lasts longer; the one passes quickly, the other returns again and again. but i will just speak plainly, and not mince matters. mine was the fault, for if i had not breathed on my yellow rosebud, it would not have opened, and others would not have found out the sweet scent which has brought all the wasps and moths. i do love you indeed, but differently now, with the constancy of the cold sort of fever. i will deal as truly by you as thine own mother, and as soon as i am made head herdsman we will go to the priest and live faithfully together ever afterwards. but if i find anyone else fluttering around, then god help me, for were he my father's own son, i will crack his head for him. here's my hand on it." he stretched out his hand to the girl, and she, in answer, pulled out her golden ear-rings, placing them in his open palm. "but, dearest, wear them," he insisted, "if as you say they are my silver ones gilded, and i must believe you!" so she put them back in her ears, and in so doing she put something back in her heart that had lain hidden there till now. somehow this sort of love, likened to the shivering stage of fever, was not altogether to her taste. she understood the burning fit better. next the girl, after reflecting, slipped the cloak from the herdsman's neck and hung it up behind the lattice of the bar, as she was accustomed to take the coats of customers in pledge, who could not pay their reckoning. "don't hurry," she said, "there is time. the vet can't possibly be back at the mata farm before noon, because he must examine all the cattle that are sold, and write a certificate for each. you will only find his old housekeeper, and here you are safe and dry. neither the storm can drench you, nor your sweetheart's tears. look how glad your last words have made me! they will be in my head all day long." "and see how far away i thought of those last words, since i have brought you a present. it is in my cloak sleeve yonder, go and fetch it out." many things were in that sleeve--steel, flint, and tinder, tobacco pouch, money bag, and among it all the girl discovered a new packet, done up in silver paper. when it was unfolded, and she beheld a comb of yellow tortoise-shell, her face beamed with happiness. "this is for _me_?" "whom _else_?" now when a peasant maid twists her plait of hair round a comb, it means she is betrothed, has a lover of her own, and is "ours" no longer. nor can she any more sing the song about "i know not whose darling am i." standing before the mirror, klári "did up" her hair in a knot round the comb, and then she looked prettier than ever. "now you shall kiss me," she said. she offered the kiss herself in fact, stretching out her arms, but the man held her back. "not yet," he said, "i will be hot presently, but i am still shivering." it was a rebuff, and the girl drew her brows together, for she felt shamed, and besides something burned in her heart. however, she only tried harder to be loving and gentle, love and anger meanwhile striving madly together in her heart--anger just because of the love. "shall i sing your favourite song," she asked, "while the fish is roasting?" "if you like." she went to the fireplace, took a fish out of a big barrel full of the hortobágy fish, called "kárász," slashed it with a kitchen knife on both sides, sprinkled it well with salt and pepper, and sticking a skewer through it, placed it beside the red hot embers. then she sang in her sweet, clear voice: "ho! good dame of the puszta inn, bake me fish, bring lemon and wine, set your wench on the watch without, bid her tell what she sees in time." the song has a fascination of its own, bringing visions of the endless puszta with the mirage overhanging its horizon, and echoes, too, of the lone shepherd's pipe, and the sad sounding horn of the herdsman. besides, is not the whole romance of the "betyárs'," the puszta robbers', life contained in the words: "set your wench on the watch without, bid her tell what she sees in time"? as soon as the fish was browned enough, the girl brought it to the csikós. never is this dish eaten otherwise than by holding the end of the spit in the fingers, and picking off the fish with a pocket knife. it tastes best like that, and a girl cannot show her love for her sweetheart more distinctly than by roasting him a fish on the spit. then what a delight it is to watch him enjoying the work of her hands! meanwhile klári went on singing: "'nine gendarmes and their weapons flash!' cries the girl in her frightened haste; but the betyár gallops his swift bay steed where the mirage plays o'er the boundless waste." once, when they sang this together, at the line "gallops his swift bay steed," the herdsman would throw up his cap to the rafters, and bring down his fist with a crash on the table. but now he did not heed it. "don't you care for the song nowadays?" asked the girl. "even that doesn't please you?" "why should it? i'm no 'betyár,' and have nothing to do with thieves. gendarmes are honest men, and do their duty. as for a good-for-nothing 'betyár,' he sets a girl to watch outside, and as soon as he sees so much as the tip of a gendarme's helmet, he is off and away, 'o'er the boundless waste,' leaving fish and wine and all behind him. and he shouts it out in his own praise too! the cowardly thief!" "well, you _have_ changed since you ate the emperor's bread!" "i've not changed, but the times. you can turn a coat inside out if you like. after all it is only a coat. a bunda--fur-lined cloak--is always a bunda." "and do you know," said the girl, "the greatest insult a man can pay his sweetheart is to quote a worn-out old saw like that----" "but if i know none better! perhaps the gentlemen from moravia, who were here last night, had newer jokes to amuse you with?" "better jokes!" said the girl. "anyway they didn't sit here looking like stuck pigs. the painter especially was a very proper young fellow. if he had only been a hair's breadth taller! as it was he just came up to my chin!" "did you measure yourselves then?" "rather! why i taught him to dance csárdás, and he jumped about like a two months old kid on the barn floor!" "and the cowherd?" asked the man, "did he see you dancing with the german artist, and yet not wring his neck?" "wring his neck! why they drank eternal friendship together!" "well, it is not my business. get me some more wine, but better stuff than this vinegar. i shall have to come out with another old saying, 'the fish is unhappy in the third water,' for the third water should be wine." "that's a double insult to call my wine--water." "never mind," said the herdsman, "just get me a sealed bottle!" now it was the undoing of sándor decsi that he asked for a sealed bottle, one brought from the town, sealed with green wax, with a pink or blue label pasted on one side, covered with golden letters. such wine is only fit for gentlefolk, or perhaps for people in the emperor's pay! klári's heart beat loud and fast as she went into the cellar to fetch a bottle of this gentlefolk's wine. for, suddenly, the girl remembered about a gipsy woman, who had once told her fortune for some old clothes, and, out of pure gratitude, had said this to her as well, "should your lover's heart grow cold, my dear, and you wish to make it flame again, that is easily managed, give him wine mixed with lemon juice, and drop a bit of this root called 'fat mannikin' into it. then his love will blaze up again, till he would break down walls to reach you!" it flashed across the girl's mind that now was the very moment to test the charm, and the roots, stumpy and black, like little round-headed, fat-legged mannikins, were lying safe in a drawer of her chest. in the olden days much was believed of this magic plant, how it shrieked when pulled from the ground, and that those who heard it died. how, at last, they took dogs to uproot it, tying them to it by the tail! how circe bewitched ulysses and his comrades with it. the chemist, who has another use for it, calls it "atropa mandragora." but how could the girl know that it was poisonous? chapter iii. early, ere the dawn, the strangers at the hortobágy inn started on their way. this inn, though only a "csárda," or wayside house of call, was no owl-haunted, tumble-down, reed-thatched place, such as the painter had imagined, but a respectable brick building, with a shingle roof, comfortable rooms, and a capital kitchen and cellar quite worthy of any town. below the flower garden, the hortobágy river wound silently along, between banks fringed with reeds and willows. not far from the inn, the high road crossed it on a substantial stone bridge of nine arches. debreczin folk maintain that the solidity of this bridge is due to the masons having used milk to slake their lime; jealous people say that they employed wine made from hortobágy grapes, and that this drew it together. the object of the early start was æsthetic as well as practical. the painter looked forward to seeing a sunrise on the puszta, a sight which no one, who has not viewed it with his own eyes, can form the slightest idea of. the practical reason was that the cattle to be sold could only be separated from the herd in the early morning. in spring, most of them have little calves, and at dawn, when these are not sucking, the herdsmen going in among the herd, catch those whose mothers have been selected and take them away. the mothers then follow of their own accord. a stranger would be gored to death by these wild creatures, who have never seen anyone but their own drovers, but to them they are quite accustomed. so the strangers set off for those wild parts of the plain, where even the puszta dwellers need a guide, in a couple of light carriages. the two coachmen, however, knew the district, and needed no pilot. they therefore left the cowboy, who had been sent as guide, to amuse himself at the inn, he promising to overtake them before they reached the herd. the artist was a famous landscape painter from vienna, who often came to hungary for the sake of his work, and who spoke the tongue of the people. the other viennese was manager of the stables to the moravian landowner, count engelshort. it would, perhaps, have been wiser to have sent some farmer who knew about cattle, for a lover of horses has little mind left for anything else. but he had this advantage over the rest of the staff, that he knew hungarian, for when a lieutenant of dragoons he had long been stationed in hungary, where the fair ladies had taught him to speak it. two of the count's drovers had been told off to escort him--strong, sturdy fellows, each armed with a revolver. as for the gentlemen from debreczin, one was the chief constable, the other the worthy citizen from whose herd the twenty-four stock cows and their bull were to be selected. now, at the time of starting, the waning moon and the brightest of the stars were still visible, while over in the east dawn was already breaking. the townsman, a typical magyar, explained to the painter how the star above them was called "the wanderer's lamp," and how the "poor lads," or "betyárs," looking up at it, would sigh, "god help us," and so escape detection when stealing cattle. this quite enchanted the painter. "what a shakespearian idea," he said. he grew more and more impressed with the endless vision of puszta, when, an hour later, their galloping steeds brought them where nothing could be seen save sky above and grass below, where there was not a bird or frog-eating stork to relieve the marvellous monotony. "what tones! what tints! what harmony in the contrasts!" "it's all well enough," said the farmer, "till the mosquitoes and the horse-flies come." "and that fresh, velvety turf, against those dark pools!" "those puddles there? 'tocsogo' as we call them." meanwhile, high above, sounded the sweet song of the lark. "ah, those larks; how wonderful, how splendid!" "they're thin enough now, but wait till the wheat ripens," replied the farmer. slowly the light grew, the purple of the sky melted into gold; the morning star, herald of the sun, already twinkled above the now visible horizon, and a rainbow-like iridescence played over the dewy grass, keeping pace with the movements of the dark figures. the horses, four to each carriage, flew over the pathless green meadow-land, till, presently, something began to show dark on the horizon--a plantation, the first acacias on the hitherto treeless puszta, and some bluish knolls. "those are the tartar hills of zám," explained the debreczin farmer to his companions. "there stood some village destroyed by the tartars. the ruins of the church still peep out of the grass, and the dogs, when they dig holes, scrape out human bones." "and there, what sort of a golgotha is that?" "that," said the farmer, "is no golgotha, but the three poles of the cattle wells. we are close to the herd." they halted at the acacias, and there agreed to await the doctor who was to come jogging along from the mata puszta, in his one-horse trap. meanwhile the painter made notes in his sketch-book, falling from ecstasy to ecstasy. "what subjects! what motives!" in vain his companions urged him to draw a fine solitary acacia, rather than a group of nasty old thistles! at last appeared the doctor and his gig, coming up from a slanting direction, but he did not stop, only shouted "good morning" from the box, and then, "hurry, hurry! before the daylight comes!" so after a long enough drive they reached "the great herd." this is the pride of the hortobágy puszta--one thousand five hundred cattle all in one mass. now all lay silent, but whether sleeping or not, who could tell? no one has ever seen cattle with closed eyes and heads resting on the ground, and to them hamlet's soliloquy, "to sleep, perchance to dream," in no wise applies. "what a picture!" cried the painter, enchanted. "a forest of uplifted horns, and there in the middle the old bull himself with his sooty head and his wrinkled neck. the jet black litter surrounded by green pasture, the grey mist in the background, and, far away, the light of a shepherd's fire! this must be perpetuated!" thereupon he sprang from the carriage, saying, "please follow the others. i see the shelter, and will meet you there." so, taking his paint-box and camp-stool, and laying his sketch-book on his knees, he began rapidly jotting down the scene, while the carriage with the farmer drove on. all at once, the two watch dogs of the herd, observing this strange figure on the puszta, rushed towards him, barking loudly. it was, however, not the painter's way to be frightened. the dogs, moreover, with their white coats and black noses, fell into the scheme of colour. nor did they attack the man, peacefully squatting there, but when quite close to him, stood still. "what could he be?" sitting down, they poked out their heads inquisitively at the sketch-book. "what was this?" the painter pursued the joke, for he daubed the cheek of the one with green, and the other with pink; and these attentions they seemed to find flattering, but when they by-and-by saw each other's pink or green face, they fancied it was that of a strange dog, and took to fighting. luckily the "taligás," or wheel-barrow boy, came up at that moment. the taligás is the youngest boy on the place, and his duty is to follow the cattle with his wheel-barrow, and scrape up the "poor man's peat" which they leave on the meadow. this serves as fuel on the puszta, and its smoke is alike grateful to the nose of man and beast. the taligás rushed his barrow between the fighting dogs, separated and pursued them, shouting, "get away there!" for the puszta watch-dog does not fear the stick, but of the wheel-barrow he is in terror. the taligás was a very smart little lad, in his blue shirt and linen breeches worked with scarlet. he delivered the message entrusted to him by the gentlemen, very clearly. it was "that the painter should join them at the shelter, where there was much to sketch." but the striking picture of the herd was not yet completed. "can you run me along in your barrow?" asked the painter, "for this silver piece?" "oh, sir!" said the lad, "i've wheeled a much heavier calf than you! please step in, sir." so utilising this clever idea, the painter gained both his ends. he got to the "karám," seated in the barrow, and managed to finish his characteristic sketch by the way. meanwhile the others had left their carriages, and were introducing the vienna cattle buyer to the herdsman in charge. this man was an exceptionally fine example of the hungarian puszta-dweller. a tall, strong fellow, with hair beginning to turn grey, and a curled and waxed moustache. his face was bronzed from exposure to hard weather, and his eyebrows drawn together from constant gazing into the sun. by "karám" is understood on the puszta that whole arrangement which serves as shelter against wind and storm for both man and beast. wind is the great enemy. rain, heat, and cold the herdsman ignores. he turns his fur-lined cloak inside out, pulls down his cap, and faces it, but against wind he needs protection, for wind is a great power on the plains. should the whirlwind catch the herd on the pastures, it will, unless there be some wood to check them, drive them straight to the theiss. so the shelter is formed of a planking of thick boards, with three extended wings into the corners of which the cattle can withdraw. the herdsmen's dwelling is a little hut, its walls plastered like a swallow's nest. it is not meant for sleeping in, there is not room enough, but is only a place where the men keep their furs and their "bank." this is just a small calf's skin with the feet left on, and a lock in place of the head. it holds their tobacco, red pepper, even their papers. round the walls hang their cloaks, the embroidered "szür" for summer, for winter the fur-lined bunda. these are the herdsman's coverings, and in them he sleeps beneath god's sky. only the overseer reposes under the projecting eaves, on a wooden bench for bedstead, above his head the shelf with the big round loaves, and the tub that holds the week's provisions. his wife, who lives in the town, brings them every sunday afternoon. before the hut stands a small circular erection woven out of reeds, with a brick-paved flooring and no roof. this is the kitchen, the "vásalo," and here the herdsman's stew, "gulyáshús" and meal porridge are cooked in a big pot hung on a forked stick. the taligás does the cooking. a row of long-handled tin spoons are stuck in the reed wall. "but where did the gentlemen leave the cowboy?" asked the overseer. "he had some small account to settle with the innkeeper's daughter," answered the farmer. his name was sajgató. "well, if he comes home drunk the betyár!" "betyár," interrupted the painter, delighted at hearing the word. "is our cowboy a betyár?" "i only used the expression as a compliment," the overseer explained. "ah!" sighed the painter, "i should so like to see a _real_ betyár, to put him in my sketch-book!" "well, the gentleman won't find one here, we don't care for thieves. if one comes roaming around we soon kick him out." "so there are no betyárs left on the hortobágy puszta?" "there's no saying! certainly there are plenty of thieves among the shepherds, and some of the swineherds turn brigands, and it does sometimes happen that when a csikós gets silly and loses his head, he sinks to a vagabond betyár, but no one can ever remember a cowboy having taken to robbery." "how is that?" "because the cowboy works among quiet, sensible beasts. he never sits drinking with shepherds and swineherds." "then the cowherd is the aristocrat of the puszta?" remarked the manager of the stables. "that's it, exactly. just as counts and barons are among grand folk, so are csikós and cowboys among the other herdsmen." "so there is no equality on the puszta?" "as long as men are on the earth, there will never be equality," said the overseer. "he who is born a gentleman will remain one, even in a peasant's coat. he will never steal his neighbour's cow or horse, even if he find it straying, but will drive it back to its owner. but whether he won't try a little cheating at the market, that i am not prepared to say." "for gentlemen to take in each other at the horse fair is, however, quite an aristocratic custom!" "still more so at the cattle market, so i would recommend you to use your eyeglass while you are with us, for when once you have driven off your cattle i am no longer responsible." "thanks for the warning," said the manager. here the doctor interrupted the discussion. "come out, gentlemen," he cried, "in front of the kitchen, and see the sunrise." the painter rushed forward, and began to sketch, but soon fell into utter despair. "why, this is absurd! what colour! dark blue ground, violet mist on the horizon, above it orange sky, and over that a long streak of rosy cloud. what, a purple glory announces the coming of the sun! a glowing fire is rising above the sharply defined horizon! just like a burning pyramid, now like red hot iron! yet not so dazzling that one cannot look at it with the naked eye. now look, do! the sun is five-sided, the upper part grows egg-shaped! the lower contracts, the top flattens out, now it is quite like a mushroom! no, no, a roman urn. this is absurd, it can't be painted. now there comes a thin cloud which turns it into a blindfolded cupid, or a bearded deputy. no! if i painted the sun five-sided and with a moustache they would shut me up in an asylum." the painter threw down his brushes. "these hungarians," he said, "must always have something out of the common. here they are giving us a sunrise which is a reality, but at the same time an impossibility. that is not as it should be." the doctor began to explain that this was only an optical delusion, like the _fata morgana_, and was due to the refraction of the rays through the differently heated strata of the atmosphere. "all the same it is impossible," said the painter. "why, i can't believe what i see." but the sun did not leave him in wonder much longer. hitherto, the whole display had been but a dazzling effect of mirage, and when the real orb rose with floods of light, the human eye could no longer gaze at it with impunity. then the rosy heavens suddenly brightened into gold, and the line of the horizon appeared to melt into the sky. at the first flash of sunlight the whole sleeping camp stirred. the forest of horns of fifteen hundred cattle moved. the old bull shook the bell at his neck, and at its sound uprose the puszta chorus. one thousand five hundred cattle began to low. "splendid! good lord," exclaimed the painter ecstatically. "this is a wagner chorus! oboes, hunting horns, kettledrums! what an overture! what a scene! it is a finale from the götterdämmerung!" "yes, yes," said mr. sajgató. "but now they are going to the well. every cow is calling her calf, that is why they are lowing." three herdsmen ran to the well--the beam of which testified to the skill of the carpenter--and setting the three buckets in motion, emptied the water into the large drinking trough--fatiguing work which has to be done three times a day. "would it not be simpler to use some mechanism worked by horse-power?" inquired the german gentleman of the overseer. "we have such a machine," he replied, "but the cowboy would rather wear out his own hands than frighten his horse with it." meanwhile a fourth cowboy had been occupied in picking out those cows which belonged to mr. sajgató, and in removing their calves, which he drove into the corral, the mothers following them meekly into the fenced enclosure. "these are mine," said mr. sajgató. "but how can the herdsman tell among a thousand cattle which belong to mr. sajgató?" asked the manager of the stables. "how do you know one from the other?" the overseer cast a compassionate glance over his shoulder at the questioner. "has the gentleman ever seen two cows just alike?" "to my eyes they are all alike." "but not to the herdsman's," said the overseer. the manager, however, professed himself perfectly satisfied with the selected cattle. the barrow-boy now came up, and announced that from the look-out tree he had seen the other cowherd coming up at a gallop. "running his horse!" growled the overseer. "just let him show his face here. i'll thrash him till he forgets even his own name." "but you won't really strike him?" "no, for whoever beats a cowherd will have to kill him before he cures him in that way, and he's my favourite lad too! i brought him up and christened him. he is my godson, the rascal!" "yet you part with him? he is taking the herd to moravia!" "yes," said the overseer. "just because i have a leaning towards the boy. i don't like the way he is going on--head over ears in love with that pale-faced girl at the hortobágy inn. 'tis a bad business. the girl has a sweetheart already. a csikós, who is away soldiering; and if he comes home on leave and the lads meet, it will be like two angry bulls who mean business. much better that he should go away and take to some pretty little annie up there, and forget all about his yellow rose." in the meantime the veterinary had examined every beast separately, and had made out a certificate for each. then the taligás marked the buyer's initials in vermilion on their hides--for all the herdsmen can write. the clattering hoofs of the horse which carried the cowboy could now be heard. his sleepiness had vanished with the sharp ride, and the morning air had cleared his head. he sprang smartly from the saddle, at some distance from the corral, and came up leading his horse by the bridle. "you rag-tag and bobtail!" called out the overseer from the front of the enclosure. "where the devil have you been?" not a word said the lad, but slipped the saddle and bridle off his horse. it was white with foam, and taking a corner of his coat he rubbed its chest, wiped it down, and fastened on the halter. "where were you? by pontius pilate's copper angel! coming an hour behind the gentry you should have brought with you. eh, scoundrel?" still the lad was silent, fiddled with the horse, and hung saddle and bridle on the rack. the overseer's face grew purple. he screamed the louder, "will you answer me, or shall i have to bore a hole in your ears?" then the cowboy spoke. "you know, master, that i am deaf and dumb." "damn the day you were born!" cried the overseer. "do you think i invented that story that you should mock me? don't you see the sun is up?" "well, is it my fault that the sun is up?" the others began to laugh, while the overseer's wrath increased. "take care, you blackguard, better not attempt to trifle with me, for if i once lay hands on you, i'll mangle you like unbleached linen." "i'll be there too, you bet!" "indeed you won't, rascal," exclaimed the overseer, who himself could not help laughing. "there! talk to him in german any of you who can!" the manager of the stables thereupon thought he might have a talk with the herdsman in german. "you're a fine strong fellow!" he said, "i wonder they didn't make an hussar of you. why did they not enlist you? what defect could they find?" the cowboy made a wry grimace, for peasant lads do not much care for those sort of questions. "i think they did not take me for a soldier," he answered, "because there are two holes in my nose." "there, you see, he can't talk sense!" exclaimed the overseer. "clear out, you betyár, to the watering--not there! what did i tell you? are you tipsy? can't you see the cows are all corralled, and who is to bring out the bull?" it takes a man, and no mere stripling, to take a bull out of the herd, and this ferko lacza was a master of the art. with sweet words and caresses, such as he might use to a pet lamb, he coaxed out the beast which belonged to mr. sajgató, and led him in front of the gentlemen. a splendid animal he was too; massive head, sharp horns, and great black-ringed eyes. there he stood, allowing the cowboy to scratch his shaggy forehead, and licking his hand with his rough, rasping tongue. "and the beast has only seen the third grass," said its owner. the herdsmen reckon the age of their cattle according to the grass, that is the summers they have lived through. meanwhile the painter did not let slip the opportunity of making a sketch of the great horned beast and its companion. "the cowboy must stand just like that with his hand on the horns." the lad, however, was not used to posing, and it injured his dignity. when their models are restless, artists often try and amuse them with conversation. "tell me," asked the painter--the others were inspecting the cows--"is it true that you herdsmen can cheat about your cattle at the market?" "why, yes. the master has this very moment taken in the gentleman with the bull. he made it out to be three years old, and see, there is not an eye tooth left in its head!" he opened the animal's mouth as he spoke to prove the fact of the deception. the painter's sense of honour was even keener than his passion for art. he immediately stopped painting. "i have finished," he said, and hastily closing his sketch-book, he departed in search of his friends, who were standing among the chosen cattle in the enclosure. then he revealed the great secret. the manager of the stables was horror-struck. opening the mouths of two or three cows, he called out: "look here, overseer! you warned us that cattle sellers like to 'green' their customers, but i won't be done like this. everyone of these cows is so old that there is not an eye tooth left in its head." the overseer stroked his moustache, and answered with a broad grin, "yes, i know that joke; it came out in last year's calendar. the general who was cheated in the franco-prussian war through not knowing that cattle have no eye teeth." "haven't they?" asked the manager in surprise, and when the doctor assured him that it was so, he said petulantly, "well, how should i know about a cow's mouth? i am no cattle dentist. all my work has lain among horses!" but he must needs vent his anger on somebody, so he flew upon the painter for having led him into such a trap. "how could you?" he demanded. the painter, however, was too much of a gentleman to betray the cowboy, who had first taken him in. at last the taligás put an end to the dispute by respectfully announcing that breakfast was waiting. the taligás is cook on the puszta. all this time he had been preparing the herdsman's breakfast of "tesztás kása," or meal porridge. now, bringing out the pot, he set it on a three-legged stool. the guests sat round it, and to each he handed a long tin spoon with which to help himself. "excellent," pronounced the gentlemen, and when they had eaten, the overseer and the herdsmen devoured what remained. the scrapings of the pot fell to the taligás. meanwhile, mr. sajgató was in the kitchen preparing the "hungarian coffee," which all who have been on the puszta know so well. "hungarian coffee" is red wine heated up with brown sugar, cinnamon, and cloves. it tastes most delicious after such an early outing on the plains. then the taligás took the pot, rinsed it, filled it with water, and hung it over the fire. the gulyás stew would be ready when the gentlemen returned from their walk. they would then taste something really good! ferko lacza showed the company round, pointing out to the strangers all the sights of the puszta, such as the wind shelter and the railed-in burying place for cattle. "in the good old days," he explained, "if a beast died, we just left it where it fell, and the vultures came in flocks and picked it clean. now, since this new order has come out, we have to inform the vet over at the mata farm, who comes and inspects it, writes down what it died of, and bids us bury it without fail. but we are sorry to see so much good meat wasted, so we manage to take a chunk or two, which we cut up small, cook, and spread out in the sun to dry. this we stuff into our bags, and whenever we want gulyás, why we throw as many dried handfuls of meat into the pot as there are men to eat it." the painter looked the cowboy hard in the face, then turned to his master. "does this worthy herdsman of yours ever happen to speak the truth, overseer?" "very rarely, but this time he has, for once in his life." "then thank you very much for your delightful gulyás." "oh don't be alarmed!" said the overseer, "there's nothing bad about it. since god laid out the flat hortobágy, that has always been the custom. look at those lads, can you desire healthier or stronger fellows? yet they have all grown up on carrion. the learned professors may talk as much as they like, it doesn't hurt us hungarians." the manager, however, listening to this revelation, strictly forbade his moravian drovers to touch the dish. "though who knows," said the painter, "whether the old humbug has not invented the whole story to scare us from the feast, and then have a good laugh at us!" "we'll see," rejoined his comrade, "whether the vet eats it or not, for he must know all about it." and now came the mirage, that seems like the realisation of a fairy dream. along the horizon lay a quivering sea, where high waves chased each other from east to west, the real hills standing out as little islands in their midst, and the stumpy acacias magnified into vast forests. oxen, grazing in the distance, were transformed into a street of palaces. boats which appeared to cross the ocean turned out on reaching the shore to be nothing but some far off horses. the fantastic deception is always at its height directly after sunrise, when whole villages are often raised into the air, and brought so close that, with a glass, the carts in their streets can be distinguished, their towers and houses being all mirrored upside down on the billowy fairy sea. during cloudy weather, however, they remain below the horizon. "let the germans copy this," exclaimed mr. sajgató to the admiring group, while the painter tore his hair in despair. "why am i compelled to see things i can't put on canvas? what _is_ this?" "why the mirage," said the overseer. "and what is the mirage?" "the mirage is the mirage of the hortobágy." but ferko lacza knew more than his master. "the mirage is god's miracle," he told them, "sent to keep us poor herdsmen from growing weary of the long day on the puszta." finally the painter turned to the doctor for an explanation. "i know even less," said he. "i have read flammarion's book on the atmosphere, where he speaks of the fata morgana as seen on the african deserts, the coasts of the arctic ocean, on the orinoco, and in sicily, also humboldt and bompland's descriptions. but learned men know nothing of the hortobágy mirage, though it may be seen every hot summer's day from sunrise to sundown. thus are hungary's wonderful natural phenomena utterly ignored by the scientific world." it did the doctor good to pour out the bitterness of his heart before the strangers, but he had no time to admire the marvels of nature, being obliged to hurry back to his animal hospital and pharmacy at mata. so, bidding adieu to both his old and new friends, he jumped into his gig, and jogged away over the plain. the herd was already scattered far out on the puszta, the cowboys driving it forward. the grass near at hand is more luscious, but in spring the cattle graze far afield, so that when summer scorches the distant pastures, the nearer still remain for them. very touching was the farewell between the main herd and their companions in the enclosure--like a chorus of druids and valkyre. the head of the stables had meanwhile been occupied with the financial side of the business and in arranging the line of march. in crisp brand new hundred florin notes he paid mr. sajgató, who stuffed them into his pocket so carelessly, that the manager thought it not superfluous to remind him to look after his money on the puszta. whereupon the proud citizen of debreczin answered phlegmatically, "sir, i have been plundered and deceived during the course of my existence, but never by robbers or rogues. they were always 'honourable gentlemen,' who knew how to thieve and cheat!" the overseer likewise received his fee. "if," said the old herdsman, "i might--out of pure friendliness--give you a word of advice, i would recommend you, as you have bought the cows, to take the calves as well." "what, we don't want a crowd of noisy brutes! why should we take carts for them?" "they will go on their own feet." "yes, and hinder us at every step, by stopping the cows to drink. besides, the duke's chief reason for buying this herd, is, as i know, not to experiment with pure hungarian cattle, but to cross them with his spanish breed." "of course that is quite another thing," said the overseer. there now remained nothing else to do but to start the new bought herd. the manager gave the herdsman his credentials, and the chief constable handed him his pass. these documents, together with the cattle certificates, he put into his bag. then he tied the bell round the bull's neck, knotted his cloak round its horns, and bidding everyone good day, sprang into the saddle. the overseer brought him his knapsack, filled with bacon, bread, and garlic, enough for the week that they would take to reach miskolcz. then he described the whole route to him. how they must first go by polgár, because of the mud at csege, caused by the spring rains, and sleep on the way in the little wood. they would cross the theiss by the ferry-boat, but should the water be high, it would be better to wait there, and give hay to the beasts rather than risk an accident. then he impressed on his godson the necessity of so behaving in a foreign country that debreczin need never blush for him. "he must obey his employers, hold his high spirits in check, never forget hungarian, nor abandon his faith, but keep all the church feasts, and not squander his earnings. if he married he must take care of his wife, and give his children hungarian names, and when he had time he might write a line to his godfather, who would willingly pay the postage." then, with a godfather's blessing, he left the young fellow to set out on his journey. now the two moravian drovers had undertaken the task of driving the herd, when free from the enclosure, in the desired direction, but naturally the beasts, as soon as they were set at liberty, rushed about on all sides, and when the drovers attempted to force them, turned, and prepared to run at them. then they again made for the corral and their calves. "go and help those poor christians!" said the overseer to the herdsman. "better crack the whip among them," suggested the painter. "the devil take your whip," growled the overseer; "do you want them to run to the four ends of the earth? these are no horses!" "i said they ought to be tied together in pairs by their horns," cried the manager. "all right, just leave it to me." with that the cowherd whistled, and a little sheep-dog jumped from the karám, and barking loudly, scampered after the disordered herd, dashed round the scattered animals, snapped at the heels of the lazy ones, and in less than two minutes had brought the whole drove into a well-ordered military file, marching behind the bull with the bell. then the cowherd also bounded after them, crying "hi, rosa! csáko! kese!" he knew the name of everyone of the twenty-four, and they obeyed. as for the bull, it was called "büszke"--"proud one." thus, under this leadership, the herd moved quietly off over the wide plain. for long the gentlemen gazed after it, till it arrived at the brink of the quivering fairy sea. then suddenly each beast grew gigantic, more like a mammoth than a cow, jet black in colour, and with legs growing to a fearful length, until at last there appeared to be attached to them a second cow, moving along with the other, only upside down. herdsmen, dog, drovers, all followed them head downwards. the painter sank back on the grass, his arms and legs extended. "well, if i tell this at the art club in vienna, they will kick me out at the door." "a bad sign," said mr. sajgató, shaking his head. "it's well the money is in my pocket." "yes, the cattle are not home yet," muttered the overseer. "what i wonder at," observed the manager, "is why some enterprising individual has not taken the whole show on lease." "ah!" said mr. sajgató with proud stolidity. "no doubt they would take it to vienna if they could. but debreczin won't give it up." chapter iv. the veterinary and his gig jolted merrily over the puszta. his good little horse knew its lesson by heart, and needed neither whip nor bridle. so, the doctor could take out his note-book, reckon, and scribble. all at once, looking up, he noticed a csikós approaching, his horse galloping wildly. the pace was so mad that both rider and steed seemed to be out of their minds. suddenly the horse rushed towards him, stood still, reared, and then swerved aside, taking another direction. its rider sat with head thrown back, and arched body, clutching the bridle in both hands, while the horse shook itself, and began to neigh and snort in a frightened manner. seeing this, the doctor seized whip and reins, and made every endeavour to overtake the horseman. as he got closer he recognised the csikós. "sándor decsi!" he exclaimed. and the rider appeared to know him also, and to slacken the bridle as if to allow the horse to go nearer. the clever animal reached the doctor's gig, puffing and blowing, and there stopped of its own accord. it shook its head, snorted, and, in fact, did everything but speak. the lad sat in the saddle, bent backwards, his face staring at the sky. the bridle had dropped from his fingers, but his legs still gripped the sides of his horse. "sándor, lad! sándor decsi!" called the doctor. but the boy seemed not to hear him, or hearing, to be incapable of speech. jumping from his trap, the doctor went up to the rider, caught him round the waist, and lifted him out of the saddle. "what ails you?" he said. but the lad was silent. his mouth was shut, his neck bent back, and his breath came in quick gasps. his eyes, wide open, had a ghastly gleam, which the dilation of the pupils rendered all the more hideous. laying him flat on the turf, the doctor began to examine him. "pulse irregular, sometimes quick, sometimes stopping completely, pupils widely dilated, jaws tightly closed, back curved. this young fellow has been _poisoned_!" he cried, "and with some vegetable poison, too." the doctor had found the csikós midway between the hortobágy inn and the little settlement at mata. probably he was on his way to the hamlet when the poison first began to act, and had tried as long as consciousness lasted to get there; but when the spasms seized him, his movements became involuntary, and the convulsive twitching of his arms had startled the horse. it was also foaming at the mouth. the doctor next attempted to lift him into the gig, but the lad was too heavy, and he could not manage it. still, to leave him on the puszta was impossible. before he could return with help the eagles would already be there, tearing at the unfortunate man. all this time the horse looked on intelligently, as if it would speak, and, now bending its head over its master, it gave some short abrupt snorts. "well, help me then," said the doctor. why should he not understand, a puszta steed, who has three-quarters of a soul at least? seeing the doctor struggling with his master, it caught hold of his waistcoat with his teeth, and raised him, and so between them, they managed to get the csikós into the gig. then the doctor knotted the horse's halter to the back of the trap, and galloped on to the settlement. there, it is true, were hospital and pharmacy, but only for animals. the doctor himself was but a cattle doctor. in such cases, however, he may help who can. the question was, could he? the first thing to do was to discover what poison was at work, strychnine or belladonna. at all events, black coffee could do no harm. arrived at the farm, the doctor called out his assistant and his housekeeper. coffee was ready, but aid was necessary before the patient could swallow. his jaws were so tightly locked that they had to force his teeth apart with a chisel before it could be poured down. "ice on his head, a mustard plaster on his stomach," ordered the doctor; and there being no spare person at hand, he carried out his own directions, at the same time giving instructions to his assistant, and writing a letter at the table. "listen," he said, "and think of what i am telling you. hurry in the gig to the hortobágy inn, and hand this letter to the innkeeper. if he is not at home, then tell the coachman my orders are to put the horses in the caléche, and go as fast as he possibly can to town, and give this sealed letter to the head doctor there. he must wait and bring him back. i am a veterinary surgeon, and on oath not to practise on beasts 'with souls.' the case needs help urgently, and the doctor will bring his own medicine. but ask the innkeeper's daughter for every grain of coffee she may have in the house, for that the patient must drink until the real doctor comes. now, see how sharp you can be!" the assistant understood the task imposed on him, and made all haste to get under way. the poor little grey had hardly had breathing time before it was rattling back to the inn. klári happened to be on the verandah, watering her musk-geraniums, when the gig drove up. "what brings you, pesta," she asked, "in such a fearful hurry?" "a letter for the master." "well, it will be difficult to get a word out of him, because he is just putting a new swarm into the hive." "but it is an order from the vet," said pesta, "to send the carriage to town immediately for the best doctor." "the doctor? is someone ill? who has the ague now?" "none of us, for the doctor picked him up on the meadow. it is sándor decsi, the csikós." the girl gave a cry, and the watering-can fell from her hands. "sándor? sándor is ill?" "so ill that he is trying to climb up the wall, and bite the bed-clothes in his agony. somebody has poisoned him." the girl had to clutch the door with both hands to prevent herself falling. "our doctor is not sure what is killing the herdsman, so he is obliged to summon the town doctor to inspect him." then klári muttered something, but what could not be heard. "see, leave go the door, miss," said the assistant, "and let me in to look for the master." "doesn't he know what has hurt him?" stammered the girl. "and the doctor's message to you," added pesta, "is to collect all the ground coffee in the house, and give it to me. till the other doctor comes with medicine, he is treating sándor decsi with coffee, for he can't tell what poison they gave the poor fellow." then he hurried off to search for the innkeeper. "he can't tell what poison," murmured klári to herself, "but i can--if that be the danger, why i could tell the doctor, and then he would at once know what to give him." she ran into her room, and opening the chest took from its bottom, the man-shaped witch roots. these she stuffed into her pocket. cursed be she who had given the evil counsel, and cursed be she who had followed it! then she set to work grinding coffee, so that by the time the assistant returned from the garden, where he had been forced to help with the swarm, the tin box was quite full. "now give me the coffee, miss," said he. "i am coming with you." the assistant was a sharp lad and saw through the sieve. "do not come, miss," he said, "you really must not see sándor decsi in such a state. it is enough to freeze one's marrow to look at his agony. besides, the doctor would never allow it." "it is just the doctor i want to speak to," said the girl. "but then who will attend to the customers?" "the servant-girl is here, and the lad, they'll manage." "but at least ask the master's permission," begged pesta. "not i!" cried klári, "he would not let me go. there, get out of the way." so saying, she pushed the assistant aside, flew out into the courtyard, and with one bound was seated in the gig. there she seized the reins, flourished the whip about the poor grey's back, and drove where she wished. the assistant left behind gasping, shouted after her, "miss klári! miss klári! stop a bit!" but though he ran till he was breathless, he only caught the gig at the bridge, where the tired horse had to go slowly up the incline. then he too jumped on to the seat. never had the grey's back felt such thwacks as on this drive to mata! by the time they reached the sandy ground, it could only go at a walk, and, the girl, impatient, sprang from the gig, and catching hold of the canister, rushed over the clover field to the doctor's farm, which she reached panting and speechless. through the window the doctor saw her coming and went to meet her, barring her way at the verandah. "you come here, klárika! how is that?" "sándor?" gasped the girl. "sándor is ill." through the open door the girl could hear the groans of the sick man. "what has happened to him?" "i don't know myself, and i don't want to accuse anyone." "but i know!" cried the girl, "someone--a wicked girl--gave him something bad to drink. i know who it was too! she stirred it into his wine, to make him love her, and that made him ill. i know who it was, and how it was." "miss klári, do not play the traitor. this is a serious crime, and must be proved." "here are the proofs." and with that girl took the roots out of her pocket, and laid them before the doctor. "oh!" cried the doctor, stupefied, "why, this is _atropa mandragora_--a deadly poison!" the girl clapped her hands to her face, "how did i know it was poison?" she asked. "klárika," said the doctor, "do not startle me more or i shall jump out of the window. surely _you_ did not poison sándor?" the girl nodded mutely. "and what in thunder did you do it for?" "he was so unkind to me, and once a gypsy woman made me believe that if i steeped that root in his wine i should have him at my feet again." "well, i never! . . . you must hold traffic with gypsy women, must you? to school you won't go, where the master would teach you to distinguish poisonous plants. no, no, you will only learn from a gypsy vagabond! well, you have made your lad nice and obedient!" "will he die?" asked the girl with an imploring look. "die? must he die next? no, his body and soul are not stitched together in such a ramshackle fashion." "then he will live!" cried the girl, and knelt down before the doctor, snatching his hands, and kissing them repeatedly. "don't kiss my hand," said he, "it is all over mustard plaster, and will make your mouth swell." so she kissed his feet, and when he forbade that, also his footprints. down on the brick floor she went and kissed the muddy footprints with her pretty, rosy lips. "now, stand up and talk sense," said the doctor. "have you brought the coffee? ground and roasted? right--for that is what he must drink till the doctor comes. it is well you told me what poison the lad took, for now i know the antidote. but as for you, child, make up your mind to vanish from these parts as soon as you like, for what you have done is a crime, which the town doctor will report, and the matter will come before the court and judge. so fly away, where there are no tongues to tell on you." "i won't fly," said the girl, drying her tears with her apron. "here is my neck, more i can't offer. if i have done wrong, it is only just that i should suffer for it, but from this spot i won't stir! the groaning i hear through the door binds me faster than if my feet were in fetters. doctor! sir! for god's sake let me be near to nurse him, to foment his head, smooth his pillows, and wipe the sweat from his brow." "indeed! is that your idea? why, they would clap me into the madhouse, if i entrusted the nursing of the victim to the poisoner." a look of unspeakable pain came over the girl's face. "does the doctor believe that i am really bad then?" she asked. glancing round she caught sight of the damnatory root lying on the window-sill, and before he could stop her, had grasped it, and was putting it into her mouth. "no, no, klárika," said the doctor, "do not play with that poison. don't bite it, take it out of your mouth instantly. i would rather allow you to go to the patient, though it is no sight for you, as i tell you beforehand. no tender-hearted person should see such suffering." "i know; your assistant told me everything. how one cannot recognise him, his face is so changed. dark blotches instead of healthy red colour, death-like shadow on his forehead, and cold perspiration shining on his cheeks. his eyes are wide open with a glassy stare, his lips seem gummed together, and if he opens them they foam. how he groans, struggles, gnashes his teeth, tosses his arms about, and contorts his back! an agonising sight! but let this be my punishment, to feel his moans and sufferings, like so many sharp knives stabbing my heart. and if i do not actually witness them with my own eyes and ears, i shall still seem to see and hear them as acutely as if i was really present." "well," said the doctor, "let us see if you are really brave enough. take charge of the coffee-pot, and have black coffee always ready; but if you burst out crying i will push you out of the room." then he opened the door and allowed her to enter. the world went blue and green to the girl as her eyes fell on her sweetheart lying there. where was the radiant young fellow who had left her such a short time ago? now it was painful to look at him, to endure the sight of him. the doctor called in his assistant, and the girl stifled her sobs as best she might, over the coffee-pot. if the doctor caught the sound of one he would glance at her reproachfully, and she would pretend it was a cough. the two men applied mustard plasters to the patient's feet. "now bring your coffee and pour it into his mouth," said the doctor. but that was a business! both had to exert their full strength to hold down the lad's arms, and prevent his flinging them about. "now, klárika, open his mouth; not like that! you must force his teeth apart with the chisel. don't be afraid, he won't swallow it. see, he holds it as fast as a vice." the girl obeyed. "now pour in the coffee by the spout, gently. there you are a clever girl. i can recommend you to the sisters of mercy as a sick nurse!" there was a smile on the girl's face, but her heart was breaking. "if only he would not look at me with those eyes!" "yes," said the doctor, "that is the worst of all, those two staring eyes. i think so too." at length there seemed some little improvement, possibly the effect of the remedy. the patient's groans became less frequent, and the cramp in his limbs relaxed, but his forehead burned like fire. the doctor instructed the girl how to wring out the cold water bandage--lay it on the aching head, leave it a little, and then change it again. she did all that he bade her. "now i see that you have a brave heart," he said, and in time came her reward, for to her joy the sufferer suddenly closed his eyelids, and the terrible stare of those black-shadowed eyes ceased altogether. later his mouth relaxed and they were able to open the close-shut jaws without difficulty. maybe it was the prompt application of the antidote; maybe the dose of poison had not been strong, but by the time the doctor from town had arrived, the patient was very unmistakably better. the veterinary and the doctor conversed in latin, which the girl could not understand, but her instinct told her that it was of her they were speaking. then the doctor ordered this and that, and after writing the _usum repertum_, returned to his carriage, and hastened back to town. not so the gendarme whom he had brought with him on the box. he remained. hardly had the physician gone, when another trap rumbled into the yard. this was the hortobágy innkeeper, who had come to demand his daughter. "gently now, master," they said, "the young woman is under arrest. don't you see the gendarme?" "i always did say that when once a girl loses her head she goes mad altogether. well, it's no concern of mine." and with charming indifference the old innkeeper thereupon turned and drove back to the hortobágy inn. chapter v. all night long the girl watched beside him--to no one would she yield her place at the sick bed. she had been up till dawn the night before as well, but how differently occupied! this was her penance. now and then she nodded sleepily in her chair, but the slightest moan from the sick man sufficed to wake her. sometimes she renewed the cold bandage on his head, and bathed her own eyes to keep herself awake. at the first cock-crow kindly sleep settled softly on the patient. he stretched himself out and began to snore with beautiful regularity. at first the girl was terrified, and thought the death struggle was at hand, but presently she grew very happy. this was a good honest snore, such as could only emanate from healthy lungs; and besides, as she reflected, it kept her wide awake. when the cock crew for the second time, he was in a sound slumber. then he started from sleep and yawned widely. thank heaven! he could yawn again. the spasms had quite ceased, and all who suffer from their nerves know the worth of a good yawn after the attack. it is as good as a lottery prize. the girl wished to give him more coffee, but the man shook his head. "water," he murmured. so she rapped through to the doctor, who was reposing in the next room, to know if she might give the patient water, as he was asking for it. the doctor rose, and came out in dressing-gown and slippers, to see for himself. he was most satisfied. "he is going on well; to be thirsty is a good sign. give him as much water as he wants." the invalid drank a whole carafe and then dropped into a quiet slumber. "now he is fast asleep," said the doctor to klári, "so you may go and lie down on the bed in the housekeeper's room. i will leave my door open, and take care of him." but the girl pleaded so hard to be allowed to stay, to lean her head on the table and thus steal a nap, that he at last let her do as she pleased. suddenly she awoke with a start to find it was day, and the sparrows were twittering at the windows. the patient was then dreaming as well as sleeping. his lips moved, he murmured something and laughed. his eyes half opened, but evidently with a great effort, for they closed immediately. but his parched lips seemed to be asking for something. "shall i give you water?" whispered the girl. "yes," he muttered, with his eyes shut. so she brought him the water bottle, but he had not strength enough in his arms--this great fellow--even to raise the tumbler to his mouth. she had to lift his head and give it to him. even while drinking he fell half asleep. hardly had his head touched the pillow when he began to hum aloud--probably a continuation of the gay air of his dreams: "why not love this world of ours? gypsy maid, magyar maid, both are flowers." chapter vi. a day or two later the lad was on his feet again. such tough fellows as he, born and bred on the puszta, do not linger long on the sick list when once the crisis is past. they abhor bed. so on the third day he told the doctor that he wished to get back to the horses at his place of service. "wait a bit, sándor, my boy. somebody has to speak with you first." "somebody" turned out to be the examining magistrate. on the third day, after the report, this official, with his notary and a gendarme, arrived at mata to conduct the formal inquiry. the accused--the young woman--had already been examined, and had given a full account of everything. she denied nothing, only saying in her defence that she was very much in love with sándor, and wished to make him love her as well. all this was taken down in the protocol and signed. nothing now remained but to confront the prisoner with her victim. and this was done as soon as the herdsman had regained sufficient strength. meanwhile he never once uttered the girl's name in the doctor's presence, pretending not to know that she had been in the house nursing him, and as the young man recovered consciousness, she ceased to show herself at all. before confronting her with him, the magistrate read out the deposition to the girl, who confirmed it anew, and would not have a word altered. then sándor decsi was brought forward. as soon as the csikós entered the room he began to act a preconcerted rôle. his swaggering betyár airs were such that one would have thought he had only learnt to play the csikós on the stage. when the judge asked his name he stared at him over his shoulder. "my worthy name? sándor decsi! i have hurt no one, nor have i stolen anything, that i should be dragged here by gendarmes. besides, i am not under civil authority. i am still a soldier of the emperor, and if anyone has a complaint against me, let him go before the regimental authorities, and there i will answer him." the magistrate silenced him. "gently, young man, no one is accusing you of anything. we only want enlightenment in an affair closely concerning yourself. that is the object of this investigation. tell us when were you last in the taproom of the hortobágy inn?" "i can inform you exactly. what is there to hide? but first send away this gendarme at my back. because if he should happen to come too near, i am touchy and might give him a blow." "now, now, not so fast, young fellow. the gendarme is not guarding you. tell us when it was that you visited miss klári here--the day she served you with wine?" "well, i will as soon as i have got my wits together. the last time i was at the hortobágy inn was last year, on demeter's day, when they engage the shepherds. then they took me for a soldier, and i have not been in the place since." "sándor!" broke in the girl. "yes, sándor is my name. so they christened me." "then you were not there three days ago, when the barmaid gave you the wine mixed with mandragora, which made you so ill?" "i _never_ was at the hortobágy inn, nor did i see miss klári. it is half a year since i asked for any of her wine!" "sándor, you are lying for my sake!" cried the girl. the judge grew angry. "do not try to mislead the authorities with your denials. the girl has already confessed everything--that she made you drink wine poisoned with mandrake roots." "why, then, the young woman lied," said the herdsman. "but what reason could she have for accusing herself of a crime which entails such heavy punishment?" "why, what reason? because when the mad fit comes upon a girl, she simply raves without rhyme or reason. miss klári fancies our eyes don't meet each other's often enough, so she has an ill will against me, and now she takes to accusing herself to compel me to let out the _other one's_ name, out of sheer compassion--the pretty lass, to whom i went to lose my soul and cure my heart, and who gave me the charm to drink. well, if i choose i'll tell, but if i don't, i won't. this is miss klári's revenge for my having neither called on her, nor gone near her since i came home on leave." at these words the girl turned on him like a fury. "sándor!--you who have never lied in your life--what ails you? when the one little lie, which they put in your mouth, would have saved you from soldiering, that you could not tell! now you deny being with me three days ago. then who brought me the comb that i have done up my hair with?" the csikós laughed grimly. "who brought it, and why? surely the young lady knows better than i!" "sándor, this is not right of you! i don't mind if they put me in the pillory for my wrong-doing, and lash and scourge me. here is my head; let them cut it off if they like. but don't tell me you never cared for me, nor came to see me, for that is worse than death." the judge flew into a rage. "confound you," he cried. "settle your love affairs between yourselves. since a flagrant case of poisoning has been committed, i want to know who was the culprit!" "now answer!" exclaimed the girl, with flaming cheeks. "answer that!" "well, well. since i must, so be it, i can tell you all about it. on the ohát puszta i fell in with a gypsy band in tents. one of them, a lovely girl, with eyes like sloes, who was standing outside, spoke to me, and invited me in. they were roasting a sucking pig, and we enjoyed ourselves. i drank their wine, and at once felt that it had a bitter taste; but the kisses of the gypsy lass were so sweet that i forgot all about it." "you _lie_, _lie_, _lie_!" shrieked the girl. "you have invented that story this very minute!" the herdsman laughed loudly, clapped one hand to the crown of his head, snapped his fingers in the air, and started his favourite song: "why not love this world of ours? gypsy maid, magyar maid, both are flowers." not this very minute had he invented this tale, but on that night of pain when the "yellow rose" had sat smoothing his pillows and bathing his brow. then, with his aching head, he had thought out a plan to save his faithless sweetheart. the judge struck his fist on the table. "none of your nonsense before me, making fun of the matter." "i make fun of the matter!" exclaimed the csikós, becoming serious instantly. "i swear before god above, all i have said is true." he raised his three fingers, and the girl screamed out, "no, no! do not perjure yourself! do not risk the salvation of your soul!" "the devil take you both, for you are both mad." this was the judge's verdict. "notary, take down the herdsman's statement regarding the gypsy, who will be charged with committing the crime. as to her whereabouts, that the police must discover. it is their business. you two can go; if necessary, we will summon you again." then they let the girl free. she deserved a little fatherly rebuke, and that she got. the lad remained behind to hear his deposition taken down, and to sign it. the girl waited on the verandah for him to come out, his horse being tethered to an acacia hard by. the lad, however, first went to the doctor to thank him for his unremitting kindness. the doctor having attended the inquiry, had, of course, heard everything. "well, sándor," he said, as soon as the thanks had been got over, "i have seen many famous actors on the stage, but never one who played the betyár as you did!" "i did right, didn't i?" asked the lad gravely. "yes, indeed, you are an honourable fellow. but say a kind word to the girl if you meet her. poor thing, she never meant to do such wrong." "i am not angry with her. may god bless you, sir, for your great goodness." as he stepped out on to the verandah, the girl stopped him, and seized his hand. "sándor, what have you done? sent your soul to perdition, sworn falsely, told a lying tale, all to set me free! you have denied ever having loved me, that my body may escape the lash, and my slender neck the blow that would sever it. why have you done this?" "that is my affair. this much i will tell you; from henceforth, one of us two i must hate and despise. do not cry, you are not that one! i dare no longer look in your eyes, because i see myself reflected there, and i am worth no more than the broken button that is coming off my waistcoat. god bless you." with that he untied his horse from the acacia, sprang on to it, and dashed off into the puszta. the girl gazed and gazed after him, till her sight grew dim from tears. then she sought till she found the broken button he had cast on the floor. this she placed next her heart. chapter vii. it happened just as the overseer had predicted. when the herd reached the polgár ferry it was impossible to cross. the theiss, the sajó, the hernád, all were in flood. the water touched the planking of the foot-bridge. the ferry-boat had been hauled up, and moored to the willows on the bank. great trees, torn up by their roots, were coming down on the turbulent dirty flood; and flocks of wild ducks, divers, and cormorants were disporting themselves on the waters, fearless of the gun at such a time. but that communication should be stopped was a dire misfortune, not only for the duke's cattle, but much more so for all the market-goers from debreczin and Újváros, striving to reach the onod fair. there stood their carts, out among the puddles, under the open sky, while their owners bewailed the bad luck in the one small drinking-room of the polgár ferry-house. ferko lacza went off to buy hay for the herd, and purchased a whole stack. "for here we can sit kicking our heels for three days at the shortest!" now, by good luck, there was, among those bound for the market, a purveyor of cooked meat, with her enormous iron frying pan, and fresh pork, ready sliced. she found a ready sale for her wares, setting up a makeshift cook-shop in a hut constructed of maize stalks. firewood she did not need to buy, the theiss brought plenty. wine the old innkeeper had, sharp, but good, since none better was to be got. besides, every hungarian carries his pipe, tobacco, and his bag of provisions when he gives his mind to travel. so the time passed in forming new acquaintances. the debreczin bootmaker and the tanner from balmaz-Újváros were old friends, while the vendor of cloaks was universally addressed as "daddy." the ginger-bread baker, who thought himself better than the others because he wore a long coat with a scarlet collar, sat at a separate table, but, nevertheless, joined in the conversation. later, a horse-cooper appeared; but as his nose was crooked, he was only allowed to talk standing. when the cowherd entered, a place was squeezed out for him at the table, for even townsfolk respect a herdsman's position of trust. the moravian drovers stayed outside to watch the cattle. the tittle-tattle went on pleasantly and quietly as yet, young mistress pundor not having arrived. when she put in an appearance, nobody would get in a word edgeways. but her cart had evidently stuck on the way, at some seductive inn, she having seized the opportunity of travelling with the carpenter, her brother-in-law. he was taking tulip-decorated chests to the onod fair, while young mistress pundor supplied the world with soap and tallow candles. when the herdsman entered, the room was so full of smoke that he could hardly see. "then tell us, 'daddy,'" the shoemaker was saying to the tanner, "for you at Újváros are nearer the hortobágy inn than we; how did the innkeeper's girl poison the csikós?" at these words the cowboy felt as if he had been shot through the heart. "how was it? well, pretty little klárika there peppered the stew she was making him with crows' claws." "i know otherwise," interrupted the ginger-bread baker. "little klári put datura in the honeymead--the stuff they use for stupefying fish." "well, of course, the gentleman must know best, for he has a gold watch chain! they sent for the regimental surgeon from Újváros to dissect the deceased csikós, and he found the claws in his inside. they put them in spirits, to be produced as evidence at the trial!" "so you have killed the poor fellow! we didn't hear he died from the poison, only went mad, and was sent up to buda to have a hole bored in his head, for all the strength of the poison had gone there." "sent him up to buda, did they? sent him underground, you mean! why, my wife herself spoke to the very maker of imitation flowers who made those strewn over decsi's shroud. that is a fact!" "now, now! mistress csikmak is here with her fried meat, and as she came a day later from debreczin, she must know the truth. let us call her in." but mistress csikmak, being unable to leave her frizzling pan, could only give her opinion through the window. she, likewise, buried the poisoned csikós. the debreczin clerk had chanted over his grave, and the priest had preached a farewell sermon. "and what happened to the girl?" inquired three voices at once. "the girl! she ran off with her lover--a cowboy; by whose advice she poisoned the csikós. they are setting up a robber band together." ferko lacza listened quietly to all this. "stuff and nonsense. bosh!" exclaimed the ginger-bread baker, capping her version. "i'm afraid you've not heard right, dear mistress csikmak. they caught the girl directly, put her in irons, and brought her in between gendarmes. my lad was there when they took her to the town-house." still the cowherd listened without stirring. suddenly, amid great commotion, arrived the above-mentioned laggard--young mistress pundor, she foremost, then the driver, lastly the brother-in-law, dragging a large chest. how polite a language is hungarian, even an individual like the soap-making lady has her title of respect, "ifjasszony" (young mistress). "now mistress pundor will tell us what happened to the girl at the inn who poisoned the csikós," cried everyone. "yes, of course. dear soul. just let me get my breath a bit." with that she sat down on the large chest, a chair or bench would have smashed to atoms under her form. "did they catch pretty klári? or has she run away?" "oh, my dears, why they have tried her already, condemned to death she is, to-morrow they put her in the convict's cell, and the execution is the day after. the headsman comes to-day from szeged, and they have taken a room for him at the white horse, because the folks at the bull refused him. 'tis as true as i'm sitting here. i have it from the porter himself, who comes to me for candles." "and what sort of death is she to have?" "well, under the old rule--and richly she deserves it--they would set her on straw and burn her. but seeing she is of the better class, and her father of good family, they will only cut off her head. they generally behead gentlefolk." "ah, quit that, mistress," contradicted the ginger-bread man. "do they heed such things nowadays? not a bit of it! why, before ' , if i put on my mantle with the silver buttons, they took me for--a gentleman, and never asked me for toll on the bridge at pest, but now i may wear my mantle----" "oh, drop your mantle with the silver buttons!" said the cloth merchant, taking the word out of his mouth. "let the young mistress here tell us what she has heard. what object could the pretty lass have for contriving such a murder?" "ah, 'tis a very strange business. one murder leads to another. a while ago, a rich moravian cattle-dealer came here buying cattle. he had much money. pretty klári, there, talked it over with her lover, the cowherd, and together they murdered the dealer, and threw him into the hortobágy. but the horseherd, who was also sweet on the girl, caught them at it, and so first they divided the stolen money between them, and then poisoned the csikós to put him out of the way." "and what about the cowherd then, has he been caught?" inquired the bootmaker excitedly. "they would if they could, but he has vanished utterly. gendarmes are searching the whole puszta for him, and a price is set on his head. they have stuck up his description, as i have read for myself, a hundred dollars to whoever catches him alive. i know him well enough too!" now, had sándor decsi been sitting there instead of ferko lacza, great would have been the scene, for here was the moment for a real effective bit of drama. to fling his loaded cudgel on the table, knock the chair from under him, and shout out, "i am the herdsman on whose head they have set a price. which of you wants the hundred dollars?" then the whole worthy company would have taken to their heels and fled, some to the cellar, some up the chimney. but the cowboy was of a different temperament, and had been used all his life to act with care and caution. besides, his work among the cattle had impressed upon him the imprudence of catching the bull by the horns. so leaning his elbows on the table, he asked calmly, "would you then recognise the herdsman from the description, mistress?" "why not indeed! how could i help knowing him? he has bought my soap often enough to be sure!" "but, dear me, ma'am," said the horse-cooper, who desired to display his knowledge, "what use can a herdsman have for soap? surely, all cowboys wear blue shirts and breeches which never need washing, because the linen has been first boiled in lard!" "deary me! sakes alive! did you ever! so soap is only wanted for dirty clothes, is it? a cowboy never shaves, does he? perhaps he always wears as long a beard as a jew horse-cooper?" everyone shrieked with laughter, much to the discomfiture of the snubbed intruder. "now, need i have exposed myself to that?" grumbled the unhappy man. "you don't happen to know the name," continued the herdsman, in a quiet voice, "of that cowboy, mistress?" "not know his name! it has but just slipped out of my mind. 'tis on the tip of my tongue, for i know him as well as my own child." "is it ferko lacza?" "yes, yes, that's it. why, you've taken it out of my mouth. perhaps you know him yourself?" but the herdsman refrained from announcing that he knew him as well as his father's only son. quietly knocking out the ashes from his pipe, he refilled it, rose, and propped up his cudgel against the straw-bottomed chair to show it was engaged, and no one else might occupy it. then, relighting his pipe at the solitary candle burning on the middle of the table, he left the room. those remaining made remarks about him. "surely something heavy as lead is weighing on that man!" "i don't like the look of his eyes!" "could he know aught about the csikós' murder, think you?" again the horse-dealer committed the offence of meddling in the discussion. "ladies and gentlemen," he said, "permit me to make the humble observation that yesterday, when i was on the ohát puszta, buying horses, i there saw the murdered and poisoned sándor decsi, looking as fresh and blooming as a rosy apple! he lassoed the colts for me. this is as true as i live!" "_what?_ and you let us sit here telling lies to one another?" stormed the whole assembly. "here, clear out; get away!" no sooner said than done, they seized him by the collar and flung him out of the room. the chucked-out traveller, smoothing his crumpled hat, spluttered and swore, till he found a moral to fit the case. "now, need i have exposed myself to that? what is the good of a jew speaking the truth?" meanwhile, the cowherd going to the cattle proposed to the moravian drovers that they should go inside for a change and drink a glass of wine; he would watch the cows. the chair with the stick beside it was his. while he watched he picked up a bit of "poor man's peat," stuffing it up his coat sleeve. what could he want with it? chapter viii. lucky it is that no one outside the hortobágy knows about this "poor man's peat" which is gathered on the meadow-land. one thing is certain--it is no lily-of-the-valley. it is the sole fuel of the puszta herdsman, in fact, a sort of zoological peat. we remember the tale of the hungarian landowner who, finding it advisable to go abroad after the revolution, chose free switzerland as a temporary place of residence. but his eyes never grew used to the high mountains. every evening, on withdrawing to his room, he would take a piece of "peat," found on the pasture, and laying it on the hearth, kindle it. then, as he sat with closed eyes in the smell of the smoke, he would once more fancy himself back on the wide, wide plains, among the moving herds and tinkling cow bells, and all the rest for which his soul longed. . . . well, if this peat-smoke can exert such a strong influence on an educated mind, how were it possible to doubt the following story? the travellers had to wait two more days at the polgár ferry. on the third, about midnight, the ferry-man brought the glad tidings to the expectant crowd, whose patience and provisions were alike exhausted, that the theiss had fallen greatly. the ferry-boat had been replaced, and by morning they would be able to cross. those with carts lost no time in running them on board, and arranging them side by side. next they took the horses. then came the turn for the cattle. room was made for them with difficulty. the crush was great, but mild, after all, to what theatre-goers usually endure! last of all, the bull, the terror of everyone, was brought, and now no one remained but the herdsman and his horse. the two moravian drovers took their places between the cows and the carts. but as yet no start could be made. the tow-rope was strained taut by the water, and they were obliged to wait till the sunshine could relax it somewhat. moisture was rising like steam all along its surface. so the cowherd, wishing to utilise the time, suggested that the ferry-man might cook them a "paprikás" of fish. nothing else eatable was to be had, but a pot was at hand, likewise plenty of fish, left by the receding waters. the boatmen caught them by sticking an oar under their gills--fat carp, silurius, and sturgeon. these they hastily cleaned, cut up, and cast into the pot, underneath which a little fire was kindled. now all was ready, when the question rose: "who has 'paprika'?" every ordinary, self-respecting hungarian carries his own supply in his knapsack; but after a three days' famine even "paprika" will give out! nevertheless, no "paprika," no fish stew. "i have some," said the cowboy, and pulled a wooden box from his sleeve. every one noted what a far-seeing man he must be to reserve his own "paprika" for the last extremity, and henceforth regarded him as the saviour of the party. the stew-pot was in the end of the ferry-boat, and to reach it the herdsman traversed its whole length, the cattle being stationed about the middle. but, then, who cares to let his box of "paprika" out of his own hand? while the ferry-man was busy seasoning the fish with the red pepper (oken, writing about it, calls it _poison_; but that some wild tribes dare to eat it), the cowboy took the opportunity to drop his piece of "peat," unobserved into the fire. "i say! that 'paprikás' must be singeing! what a smell it has!" remarked the cobbler presently. "smell! stink i would call it," corrected the itinerant cloak vendor. but the heavy greasy odour affected the noses of the cattle more markedly. first, the bull grew restless, snuffed in the air, shook the bell at his neck and lowed, then lowering his head and lifting his tail began to bellow dangerously. at that the cows got excited, capered to and fro, reared up on each others backs, and jostled to the side of the ferry-boat. "mother mary! holy anna! protect the ship!" shrieked the fat soap-maker. "hurry up, mistress! seat yourself opposite. that will steady her again," joked the shoemaker. but it was no joke. every man on board had to clutch the rope to keep the ferry-boat from tilting over; the other side dipped nearly to the water. suddenly the bull gave a bellow, and with one great bound, jumped into the river. another moment, and everyone of the four and twenty cows had followed him over the edge. the ferry was just about half-way across. "turn back! turn back!" screamed the moravian drovers, as the cattle swam straight towards the bank they had left. they wanted the ferry-boat to return instantly, that they might go after their beasts. "the devil a bit of turning back!" shrieked the market folk. "we must cross! we are late enough for the fair as it is!" "no need to howl, lads," said the herdsman, with exceeding calm. "i'll bring them to their right minds." he jumped on his horse, led it along to the end of the ferry, and sticking spurs into its sides, leapt over the rail into the water. "see, the cowherd will overtake them, no fear!" so the cobbler assured the despairing drovers. but the horse-cooper, left behind on the bank, for he had not managed to find room for his horses on board, nor had wished to frighten them among so many cattle, was of a contrary opinion. "you'll never see more of that herd!" he yelled to the travellers on the ferry-boat. "you may whistle for them!" "there goes that jonah again! where is there a ham bone to shoot him with?" stormed the cobbler. the herd neared the bank in straggling order, and reaching the shallows, waded out to dry land. the herdsman was behind, for cattle swim faster than a horse. when he too landed, he undid the stock-whip from his neck and cracked it loudly. "there! he's turning them!" said the market people to console the drovers. but the cracking of a whip only serves to make cattle run on the faster. the passengers found much exercise for their wit in this cattle incident. the ferry-men assured them with oaths that it was not the first time by any means that it had happened. beasts brought from the hortobágy so often were assailed by home sickness that no sooner was the ferry-boat put in motion than they would turn restive and spring overboard, swim to the bank, and run back to the puszta. "men have the same love of home and country," said the ginger-bread man, who, having often read of it in books, recognised the complaint. "ah, yes!" exclaimed mistress pundor, "no doubt the cows have gone home to their little calves. that was the mistake, to separate the children from their dear mothers!" "now my idea is different," said the cobbler, who was nothing if not sceptical. "i have heard often enough that those cunning betyárs, when they want to scatter a herd, put some grease in their pipes. the beasts, when they smell it, go stark, staring mad, and scuttle away in all directions. then it is easy enough for the betyár to catch a nice little lot for himself. now i scent something of the sort in this business." "what you smell something, daddy, and you don't run away from it?" everyone laughed. "wait a bit! just you wait till we get on shore!" said the cobbler. the moravian drovers, however, saw nothing laughable in the vagaries of their herd, nor even matter suitable for a discussion on natural history, but began howling and lamenting like burnt-out gypsies. the old ferry-man, who talked slav, attempted to console them. "now don't howl, lads. 'nye stekat.' he's not stolen your cows, the good herdsman. those two letters, 'd.t.,' on the copper plate at the side of his cap don't mean 'dastard, thief,' but debreczin town. he can't run off with them. when we come over again they'll all be standing there in a group. he'll drive them back, sure enough. why even his dog went after him! but when we take the cattle on board again we must fasten the cows three together, and tie the bull by the horns to that iron ring. it will be all right, only you must pay the passage money twice." a good hour and a half elapsed before the ferry-boat reached the other bank, unloaded, reloaded, and returned to the hortobágy side of the river. then the drovers ran up the hill to the ferry-house, and sought their cattle everywhere. but none were to be seen. the horse-dealer said that the angry beasts had galloped madly past towards the brushwood, and had quickly disappeared among the willows. they did not go towards the high road, but ran down wind, heads to the ground, tails up, like beasts attacked by a plague of flies. a belated potter, coming up from Újváros with a crockery-laden cart, related how somewhere on the puszta he had met with a herd of cattle, which with a horseman and dog at their heels, had dashed roaring along, towards the zám hills. coming to the hortobágy river, they had all jumped in, and he had lost sight of both rider and cows among the thick reeds. the ferry-man turned to the gaping drovers, "now you _may_ howl, countrymen!" he said. chapter ix. the ohát puszta is the pasture ground of the "mixed" stud. from the corral in the centre, all round to the wide circle of horizon, nothing can be seen but horses grazing. horses of all colours, which only the richness of the hungarian language can find names for: bay, grey, black, white-faced, piebald, dappled, chestnut, flea-bitten, strawberry, skewbald, roan, cream-coloured, and, what is rarest among foals, milk-white. well does this variety of shade and colour deserve to be called the "mixed" herd. a gentleman's stud is something very different, there only horses of one breed and colouring are to be found. all the horse owners in debreczin turn out their mares here, where, summer or winter, they never see a stable, and only the head csikós keeps account of their yearly increase. here, too, the famous pacers are raised, which are sought for from afar; for not every horse can stand a sandy country, a mountain-bred one, for example, collapses if it once treads an alföld road. scattered groups are to be seen grazing industriously round the stallions. for the horse is always feeding. learned men say that when jupiter created minerva, he cast this curse on the horse, that it might always eat, yet never be filled. four or five mounted csikós watch over the herd, with its thousand or so unruly colts, and use their thick stock-whips to drive back the more adventurous. the arrangement here is the same as with the cattle herd, the "karám" or shanty, kitchen, wind shelter and well. only, there is neither barrow-boy, nor "poor man's peat," nor protecting watch-dog, for the horse cannot endure any of the canine tribe, and whether it be dog or wolf, both get kicked. noon was approaching, and the widely scattered troops of horses began to draw towards the great well. two carriages were also nearing from the direction of the hortobágy bridge. the head csikós, a thick-set, bony old man, shading his eyes with his hand, recognised the new-comers from afar--by their horses. "one is mr. mihály kádár, the other, pelikan, the horse-dealer. i knew, when i looked in my calendar, that they would honour me to day." "then, is that written in the calendar?" asked sándor, the herdsman, surprised. "yes, my boy! everything is in 'csathy's almanack.' the onod cattle market is on sunday, and pelikan must take horses there." his prognostications were correct. the visitors had come about horses, mr. mihály kádár, being the seller, and mr. samuel pelikan, the buyer. surely everyone can recognise mr. mihály kádár--a handsome, round-faced man, with his smiling countenance and waxed moustache, and figure curving outwards at the waist. he wore a braided mantle, a round hat, and held a long, thin walking-stick, the top carved to represent a bird's head. his was the group of horses standing beside the pool, with the roan stallion leading them. samuel pelikan was a bony individual, with a large, crooked nose, long beard and moustache, his back and legs somewhat bent from continually trying of horses. there was a crane's feather in his high, wide-brimmed hat, his waistcoat was checked, his jacket short, and his baggy, nankeen trousers tucked into his top-boots. a cigar case was pushed into his side pocket, and he carried a long riding-whip. these gentlemen, leaving their carriages, walked to the "karám" and shook hands with the overseer, who awaited them there. then an order was given to the herdsmen, and they all went out to the herd. two mounted csikós, with tremendous cracking of whips, rounded up the lot of horses, among which were mr. kádár's. there were about two hundred colts in all, some of which had never felt the hand of man. as they drove them in a long curved line before the experts, the horse-dealer pointed out a galloping roan mare to the herdsman on the grass at his side. "i would like that one!" thereupon, sándor decsi, casting aside jacket and cloak, seized the coiled-up lasso in his right hand, wound the other end round his left, and stepped towards the advancing herd. swift as lightning, he flung out the long line at the chosen mare, and with mathematical precision the noose caught its neck instantly, half throttling it. the other colts rushed on neighing; the prisoner remained, tossed its head, kicked, reared, all in vain. there stood the man, holding on to the lasso, as if made of cast-iron, and with his loose sleeves slipping back, he resembled one of those ancient greek or roman statues--"the horse-tamers." gradually, in spite of all resistance, and pulling hand over hand, he hauled in the horse. its eyes protruded, the nostrils were dilated, its breathing came in gasps. then flinging his arms round its neck, the csikós whispered something in its ear, loosened the noose from its neck, and the wild, frightened animal became straightway as gentle as a lamb, readily resigning its head to the halter. they fastened it directly to the horse-cooper's trap, who hastened to reconcile his victim with a piece of bread and salt. this athletic display was three times repeated; nor did sándor decsi once bungle his work. but it happened the fourth time, that the noose was widely distended, and slipped down to the horse's chest. not being choked, it did not yield so easily; but commenced kicking and capering, and dragged the csikós, at the other end of the line, quite a considerable distance. but he put forth his strength at last, and led the captive before his owners. "truly that is a finer amusement than playing billiards in the 'bull,'" said pelikan, turning to mr. kádár. "well, it's his only work!" returned the worthy civilian. the horse-dealer, opening his cigar case, offered one to the herdsman. sándor decsi took it, struck a match, lit up, and puffed away. the four raw colts were distributed round the purchaser's carriage; two behind, one beside the near, and the fourth beside the off horse. "well, my friend, you're a great, strong fellow!" observed mr. pelikan, lighting himself a cigar from sándor's. "yes! if he had not been ill!" grumbled the overseer. "i wasn't ill!" bragged the herdsman, and tossed back his head contemptuously. "what on earth, were you then? when a man lies three days in the mata hospital----" "how can a man lie in the mata hospital? it is only for horses!" "what were you doing then?" "_drunk!_" said sándor decsi. "as a man has a right to be!" the old man twisted his moustache, and muttered, half-pleased, half-vexed, "there, you see these 'betyárs'! not for all the world would they confess anything had ailed them." then the time for payment came round. they settled the price of the four young horses at eight hundred florins. mr. pelikan took from his inner pocket a square folded piece of crocodile leather, this was his purse, and selected a paper from the pile it contained. there was not a single bank-note, only bills, filled in and blank. "i never carry money about me," said the horse-dealer, "only these. they can steal these if they like, the thieves would only lose by it." "which i will accept," said mr. kádár in his turn. "mr. pelikan's signature is as good as ready-money." pelikan had brought writing materials, a portable inkstand in his trouser pocket, and a quill pen in his top-boot. "we'll soon have a writing-table, too," he remarked, "if you will kindly bring us your horse here, herdsman." the saddle of decsi's horse came in very handy as a table on which to fill in the bill. the herdsman watched with the greatest interest. and not alone the herdsman, but the horses also. those same wild colts which had been scared four times and from whose midst four of their comrades had just been lassoed, crowded round like inquisitive children, and without the slightest fear. (it is true mr. mihály kádár was bribing them with debreczin rolls.) one dapple bay actually laid its head on the dealer's shoulder and looked on in wonder. none of them had ever seen a bill filled in before. it is probable that sándor decsi expressed the silent thought of each, when he inquired, "why do you write florins kreuzers, sir, when the price was settled at eight hundred florins?" "well, herdsman, the reason is that i must pay the sum in ready-money. worthy mr. kádár here will write his name on the back, and then the bill will be 'endorsed.' to-morrow morning he will take it to the savings bank, where they will pay out eight hundred florins, but deduct twelve florins--eighteen kreuzers--as discount, and, therefore, i don't require to pay the money for three months." "and if you do not repay it, sir?" "why, then, they will take it out of mr. kádár. that is why they give me credit." "i see. so that is the good of a bill of exchange?" "did you never see a bill before?" asked mr. pelikan. sándor decsi laughed loud, till his row of fine white teeth flashed. "a csikós, and a bill!" "well, your worthy friend, mr. ferko lacza is quite another gentleman, and he is only a cowherd. he knows what a bill means. i have just such a long paper of his, if you would like to see it." he searched among his documents, and holding one before the csikós, finally handed him the paper. the bill amounted to ten florins. "does mr. pelikan know the cowboy?" asked the astonished csikós. "as far as i know, you do not deal with cattle, sir." "it is not i, but my wife who has that honour. you see she carries on a little goldsmith business on her own account. i don't meddle in it at all. about two months ago, in comes mr. ferko lacza with a pair of ear-rings, which he wants gilded, very heavily gilded too!" sándor started at that, as if a wasp had stung him. "silver ear-rings?" "yes, very pretty silver, filagree ear-rings, and the gilding came to ten florins. when done, off he went with them--they were certainly not for his own use--and as he had no money he left this bill behind him. on demeter day he is to meet it." "this bill?" sándor decsi stared blankly at the paper, and his nostrils quivered. he might have been laughing from the grin on his face, only the writing shook in his two hands. he did not let go of it, but grasped it tightly. "as the bill appears to please you so well, i will give it you as a tip," said mr. pelikan, in a sudden fit of generosity. "but ten florins, sir, that is a great deal!" "of course, it is a great deal for you, and i am no such duffer as to chuck away ten florins every time i buy a horse. but to tell the truth, i should be glad to get rid of the bill under such good auspices, like the shoemaker and his vineyard in the story----" "is there something false in it, then?" "no, nothing false, only too much truth in fact. see, i will explain it to you, please look here. on this line stands 'mr. ferencz lacza,' then comes 'residence,' and after that 'payable in.' now, in both places 'debreczin' should be written, but that idiotic wife of mine put 'hortobágy' instead--which is true enough--for mr. ferko lacza does live on the hortobágy. had she written, 'hortobágy inn' even, i should have known where to find him, but how can i go roaming about the hortobágy, and the zám puszta, searching the 'karáms' of goodness knows how many herds, and risking my calves among the watch-dogs? i have fought with the woman quite enough about it. now, at least, i can say i have handed it over at cent. per cent. interest, and we will have no more rows. so accept it, herdsman. you will know how to get the ten florins out of the cowboy, for you fear neither himself nor his dog." "thank you, sir, thank you very, very much." the csikós folded up the paper and stowed it away in his jacket pocket. "the young man seems deeply grateful for the ten florin tip," whispered mr. kádár to the overseer. "generosity brings its own reward." mr. mihály kádár was a great newspaper reader, and took the _sunday news_ and the _political messenger_; hence his lofty style of speech. "that hasn't much to do with his gladness," growled the overseer. "he knows well enough that ferko lacza went off to moravia last friday; small chance of seeing him or his blessed ten florins again! but he is glad to be clear about the ear-rings, for there is a girl in that business." mr. kádár raised the bird's-head top of his cane to his lips significantly. "aha!" he murmured, "that entirely alters the case!" "you see the boy's my godson, and i'm fond enough of the cub. no one can manage the herd as he does, and i did my best to free him from soldiering. ferko is the godchild of my old friend, the cattle overseer, and a good lad also. both would be the best friends in the world, if the devil, or goodness knows what evil fate, hadn't thrown that pale-faced girl in between them. now they are ready to eat each other. luckily my old friend had a capital idea, and has sent ferko to be head herdsman to a moravian duke. so peace will once more reign on the hortobágy." sándor guessed from the whispering that it was of him they were talking, and turned away. eavesdropping is not congenial to the hungarian nature. so he drove the herd to the watering-place, where the other horses were already assembled. five herdsmen there were, three well-poles, one thousand and fifty horses. each csikós had to lower the pole, fill the bucket, raise the bucket and empty it into the trough, exactly two hundred and ten times. this is their daily amusement, three times repeated, and they certainly cannot complain of lack of exercise! sándor decsi, let no one notice that anything had gone amiss with him. he was merry as a lark, and sang and whistled all day long, till the wide plain resounded with his favourite song: "poor and nameless though i be, my six black horses i'll drive along. my six black horses are good to see, and the puszta lad is ruddy and strong." first one, then another csikós caught up the air, filling the whole puszta with their singing. the next day he seemed just as gay, from dawn till dark, as good-humoured in fact, "as one who feels himself fey." after sundown the herds were driven to their night quarters near the "karám," where they would keep together till morning. meanwhile the boy brought the bundles of "cserekely," that is, down-trodden reeds, which serve to light the herdsman's fire and to warm up his supper in the kitchen. very different is the cowherd's meal to that of the csikós. here is no stolen mutton or pork, such as the csikós of the stage love to talk about. all the swine and flocks pasture on the far side of the hortobágy river, and it would be a day's journey for the aspiring csikós desirous of bagging a little pig or yearling lamb. neither is there any of the carrion stew known to and spoken of by the cowboy. the overseer's wife in the town cooks provisions for the herdsmen enough to last a week. as to the fare, any gentleman could sit down to it--sour rye soup, pork stew, "calvanistic heaven," or stuffed cabbage, larded meat. all five csikós sup together with the old herdsman, nor is the serving lad forgotten. a herd of horses differs from a herd of cows after nightfall. once the cows have been watered, they all settle down in a mass to chew their cud, but the horse is no such philosopher. he feeds on into the night, and as long as there is moon, keeps munching grass incessantly. sándor decsi was in a gay mood that evening, and as they sat round the glowing fire, he asked the overseer, "dear godfather, how comes it that a horse can eat all day long? if the meadows were covered with cakes, i could never go on stuffing the whole day!" "well, godson, i can tell you, only you must not laugh. it is an old tale and belongs to the days when students wore three-cornered hats. i had it from such an inkslinger myself, and may his soul suffer, if every word of it be not true! once upon a time there was a very famous saint called martin--he is still about, only nowadays he never comes to the hortobágy. we know he was a hungarian saint too, because he always went on horseback. then there was a king here, and his name was horse marot. they called him that because he once managed to cheat saint martin of the steed which used to carry him about the world. saint martin was his guest, and he tied up his steed in the stable yard. then one morning early, when saint martin wanted to set off on his travels, he said to the king: 'now give me my horse, and let me start!' 'impossible,' said the king, 'the horse is just eating.' saint martin waited till noon, then he asked for it again. 'you can't go now,' said the king, 'the horse is eating.' saint martin waited till sunset, then urged the king once more for his horse. 'i tell you, you can't have your horse, because it's _still eating_!' then saint martin grew angry, cast his little book on the ground, and cursed the king and the horse. 'may the name of 'horse' stick to you for ever! may you never be free of it, but may the two names be said in one breath! as for the horse, may it graze the livelong day yet never be filled!' since then the horse is always eating, yet never has enough. and you, if you don't believe this story, go to the land of make-believe, and there on a peak you will find a blind horse. ask him. he can tell you better maybe, seeing he was there himself." all the csikós thanked the old man for the pleasant tale. then each hastened to find his horse, and to trot away through the silent night to his own herd. chapter x. it was a lovely spring evening. the sunset glow lingered long in the sky, till night drew on her garment of soft fleecy mists lying all round the horizon. the sickle of the new moon grazed the zám hill, with the lovers' star shining radiant just above--that star which rises so early and sets so soon! some distance from the herd, the csikós sought out a resting-place for the night, and there carefully unsaddled his horse and removed the bridle from its head, hanging it on his stick, rammed into the ground. then he spread the saddle-cloth over the saddle; this was his pillow; his covering the embroidered "szür." but first he broke up some bread, left from his supper, and gave it, in his hand, to the horse. "now you may go and graze also, little vidám (vidám means gay and lively). you do not feed all day long like the others! you are always saddled, and yet, after you have been ridden the whole day, they want to put you to the machine, and make you draw water. well, they can want! do they fancy that 'a horse is as much a dog as a man'?" then he gently wiped the horse's eyes with his loose sleeve. "now, go and search out good grass for yourself; but don't go far! when the moon has sunk, and with her that shining star, then come back here. see, i don't tether you like a cowherd does, nor shackle your feet as peasants do. 'tis enough for me to call, 'here, vidám!' and you are here directly." vidám understood. why not? freed from saddle and bridle, he gave a jump, kicked up his hind legs, threw himself on the ground, and rolled over and over several times with his heels to the sky. then regaining his feet, he shook his mane, neighed once, and started off for the flowery pastures, snorting and flicking his long tail to keep off the humming night insects. the csikós meanwhile lay down on his grassy bed. what a splendid couch! for pillow the wide circle of plain, and for curtains the star-strewn sky! it was late already. nevertheless, the earth, like a restless, naughty child, refused to slumber yet. could not sleep in fact. everywhere there was sound, soft, indistinct, and full of mystery. the pealing of bells from the town, or the barking of dogs with the cattle were too far away to be heard here. but the bittern boomed among the reeds hard by, like a lost soul, the reed-warbler, the nightingale of the marsh, gurgled and twittered with thousands of frogs to swell the chorus; and through it all came the monotonous clack of the hortobágy mill. high overhead sounded the mournful wail of flights of wild geese and cranes, flying in long lines, scarcely to be distinguished against the sky. here and there a dense cloud of gnats whirled into the air, making a ghostly whirring music. now and then a horse neighed. poor lad! formerly your head would hardly touch the saddle before you were fast asleep, now you can only gaze and gaze at the dark blue sky overhead, and the stars, whose names your old godfather taught you. there in the midst is the pole star, which never moves from its place; those two are the "herdsman's team," while that with the changing colour is the "eye of an orphan maid." the brilliant one, just over the horizon, is the "reaper's star;" still the "wanderer's lamp" is brighter. those three are the "three kings," that cluster the "seven sisters," and the star which is sinking into the mist is called the "window of heaven." but why look at the stars when one cannot speak to them? a heavy load weighs down the heart, a cruel wound makes the soul bleed. if one could pour out the bitterness, if one could complain, perhaps it might be easier. but how vast is the puszta and how void! the shining star set, also the moon. the horse left the pasture and returned to its master. very gently he stepped along, as if fearing to wake him, and stretching out his long neck, bent his head over him to see if he slept. "no, i'm not asleep. come here, old fellow," said the csikós. at that the horse began to whinny joyously, and lay down near his master. the herdsman raised himself on his elbows, and rested his head on his hand. here was someone to speak with--an intelligent beast. "you see!" he said. "you see, my vidám? that is the way with a girl! outside gold, inside silver. when she speaks the truth it is half false; when she lies it is half true! no one will ever learn to understand her. . . . you know how much i loved her! . . . how often i made your sides bleed as i spurred you on to carry me the quicker to her! . . . how often i tied you up at the door in snow and mud, in freezing cold and burning sunshine! i never thought of you, my dear old horse, only of how i loved her!" the horse seemed to laugh at the notion of not remembering. of course his master had done so. "and you know how much she loved me! . . . how she stuck roses behind your ears, plaited your mane with ribbons, and fed you with sweet cakes from her own hand! . . . how often she drew me back with her kisses, even from the saddle, and hugged your neck that i might remain the longer!" vidám answered him with a low whinny. certainly the girl had done all that. "till that confounded beggar slunk in and stole half her heart. if he had but stolen the whole of it! taken her to himself and gone off with her! but to leave her here; half a heavenly blessing and half a deadly curse----" the horse evidently wanted to comfort him, and laid his head on his master's knee. "strike him, god!" muttered the csikós in an agony of grief. "do not leave the man unpunished who has plucked another's rose for himself. did i kill him, i know his mother would weep!" the horse lashed the ground with his tail, as had his master's rage been transmitted to him. "but how can i kill him? he is over the hills and far away by now! and you are not able, my poor vidám, to fly all over the kingdom with me. no, you must stay here with me in my trouble." nothing vidám could do indeed could alter the situation. so he signified his acquiescence in the harsh decree of fate by lying down and stretching out his great head and neck. but the csikós would not let him turn his thoughts to slumber, he had yet something to tell him. a smacking of the lips, very like a kiss, aroused the horse. "don't sleep yet. . . . . i'm not sleeping. we'll have time enough some day when we take our long rest! . . . . till then we'll keep together we two. . . . . never shall you leave your master. . . . . never will he part with you, not though they offer him your weight in gold . . . . my one faithful friend! do you know how you caught hold of my waistcoat and helped the doctor to lift me up from the ground when i lay on the puszta as good as dead, with the eagles shrieking over me? you seized my clothes with your teeth, and raised me, you did! . . . . yes? . . . . you know all about it? . . . . my darling! do not fear, we will never cross the hortobágy bridge again, never turn in at the hortobágy inn. . . . . i swear it, here, by the starry sky, that never, never, _never_ will i step over the threshold where that false girl dwells. . . . . may the stars cease to shine on me, if i break my word----" at this great oath the horse stood up on his fore-feet, and sat like a dog on his hindquarters. "but don't think we will grow old here," went on the csikós, "we are not going to stick for ever on this meadow-land. when i was a little child i saw beautiful tri-colour banners waving, and splendid hussars dashing after them. . . . . how i envied them! . . . . then later, i saw those same hussars dying and wounded, and the beautiful tri-colour flag dragged through the mire, . . . . but that will not always last. there will come a day when we will bring out the old flag from under the eaves, and ride after it, brave young lads, to crack the bones of those wicked cossacks! and you will come with me, my good old horse, at the trumpet's call." as if he heard the trumpet sounding, vidám sprang up, pawed the turf with his forefeet, and, with mane bristling and head erect, neighed into the night. like the outposts of the camp, all the stallions on the puszta neighed back an answer. "there we'll put an end to this business! . . . . there we'll heal the sorrow and the bitterness, though not by shedding tears! not the poisoned glass of a faithless maid, nor her more poisonous kisses will destroy this body of mine, but the swordthrust of a worthy foe. then as i lie on the bloody battle-field, you will be there, standing beside me, and watching over me, till they come to bury me." and as though to test the fidelity of his horse, the lad pretended to be dead, threw himself limply on the grass, and stretched his arms stark and stiff at his sides. the horse looked at him for a second, and seeing his master motionless, stepped up with his ears flattened back, and began rubbing his nose against his master's shoulder, then as he did not move, trotted noisily round him. when the clatter of hoofs still failed to waken his master, the horse stood over him, fastened his teeth in the cloak buckled over his shoulders, and began to lift him, till at last the csikós ended the joke by opening his eyes and hugging vidám with both arms round his neck. "you are my only true comrade!" and the horse really laughed! bared his gums to express his joy, and pranced and capered like any foolish little foal, in his high joy at finding that this dying was only mere fun and pretence. finally he lay down and stretched himself on the grass. now _he_ was cheating his master and pretending to be dead. now the herdsman might talk to him and smack his lips all in vain. vidám would not budge. so when the csikós laid down his head on the horse's neck, it did very well as a pillow. vidám raised his head, saw that his master was asleep, and did not make a move till break of dawn. even then he would not have stirred, had not his ear been caught by a sudden sound. giving a loud snort he woke his master. the csikós jumped from his couch and the horse stood up. day was dawning already, and in the east the sky was golden. in the distance the dark form of an approaching horse was visible through the shadowy mist. it was riderless. this is what vidám had scented. it was probably a strayed animal, escaped from some herd. for in spring-time, when the fit seizes them, the cowboys' horses, weary of their lonely life among the cattle, and if only they can succeed in breaking their tether, will run, following the scent, to the nearest stud. there a fight takes place, that usually ends badly for the intruders, who are not even shod as are the other horses. so the runaway would have to be caught. hastily bridling his horse, and throwing the saddle on his back, the csikós held the lasso in readiness, and galloped towards the ownerless steed. but no lasso was needed for its capture! as it neared, it headed of its own accord straight to the csikós, and gave a joyful neigh, to which vidám responded--these were old acquaintances! "now what can this mean?" exclaimed the herdsman, "surely this is very like ferko's white-faced bay! yet that must be in moravia!" his wonder increased when the two horses meeting, exchanged friendly grunts and began lovingly snuffing each other's chests. "it is ferko's horse! there are his initials, 'f.l.,' and for stronger proof, here is actually the scar of the kick it got as a colt!" the bay had brought the rope along with it, also the peg which it had torn from the ground. "how come you on the hortobágy, eh! whiteface?" asked sándor, while the runaway let him catch it easily enough by the halter still knotted to its head. "whence come you? where is your master?" but this horse was not in sympathy with him, and did not understand his questions. what can one expect of a horse that spends its life in the company of cattle? the csikós led his captive to the corral, and there shut it in. then he recounted the affair to the overseer. but as the day advanced, so too did light break on the mystery. from the zám puszta came the barrow-boy, tearing along in such a hurry that he had even forgotten his cap. he recognised sándor decsi from afar, and made straight for him. "morning, sándor bácsi ('bácsi,' uncle, is a title of respect applied to one's elders. trans.) did the bay come here?" "yes, indeed. how did it get loose?" "had a mad fit. neighed the whole day. when i tried to groom it, nearly knocked out my eyes with its tail. then broke loose in the night, and went off with the halter. i've been looking for it ever since." "and where is its master, then?" "he's still sleeping--the exertion has quite knocked him up!" "what exertion?" "why, what happened three days back. what, you've not heard of it, sándor bácsi? how the cows, that the moravian gentry bought, lost their heads at the polgár ferry, and slap-bang, bull and all, jumped over the side of the ferry-boat, and tore straight home to the zám herd. the cowboy could not turn them. he was obliged to come back with them himself." "so ferko lacza is at home again?" "yes, but a little more and the overseer would have killed him outright! no, i _never_ heard the overseer curse and swear as he did that evening when the herd came rushing over the puszta, ferko bácsi at their heels. the foam dripped off the horse, and the bull's nose was bleeding. the air was just thick with 'devils,' and 'damns,' and 'gallows-trees!' he raised his stick twice to strike the cowboy too, and it swished through the air. 'tis a marvel he did not beat him." "and what did ferko say?" "nothing much, only that he couldn't help it, if the beasts chose to go mad. "'you have bewitched them, you devil!' said the overseer. "'why should i do that?' says ferko bácsi. "'why? because you've been bewitched yourself first. that "yellow rose" has given you a charm as she did to sándor decsi.' "then they began talking about you, sándor bácsi, but what i could not hear, because they sent me off with a box on the ears, and 'pray what was i listening for? it was none of my business.'" "so they spoke about me, did they? and about the 'yellow rose'?" "as if i knew or cared about their 'yellow rose'! but this i do know, that last friday when they drove off the cows, ferko bácsi went into the shanty to fetch his knapsack, and there he pulled out a coloured kerchief from his sleeve, and in it a yellow rose was wrapped up. he snuffed at it, and pressed it to his lips till i thought he was going to eat it! then he unpicked the lining of his cap, pushed in the rose and put it on his head again. perhaps that was the charm?" the csikós swinging the loaded end of his cudgel, struck a yellow mullein standing in his path, scattering the blossoms far and wide. "what harm has the poor 'king's candle' done you?" asked the boy. but the intent of the blow had been in another direction. "and now what will happen?" questioned the csikós. "well, yesterday, the moravian drovers turned up on foot, and they discussed the matter with the overseer. so now the cows are to be driven towards tisza-füred, and all their calves with them, for over the bridge they surely can't jump! they say the cows ran back to their calves. but ferko lacza only laughs to himself." "and will ferko lacza go with them this time?" "apparently, since the master never gives him a moment's peace. but the cowboy doesn't want to clear out just yet. he says the cattle must have a day or two breathing time after their race, and he himself sleeps the whole day like a log. well, 'tis no joke to gallop from polgár to zám puszta at one stretch! so the overseer has granted him two days' rest." "two days? two? surely that is over much." "i don't know." "but i do--or else the two days will lengthen into a rest much longer!" "well, i must hurry and get the bay home before they are up. because when the overseer swears at the herdsman, then the cowboy vents all his rage on me. just wait till i'm herdsman, and then i'll have a barrow-boy of my own to knock about! god bless you, sándor bácsi." "he has done that already." the little lad jumped on the bay, bareback as it was, and stuck his naked feet into its sides. but the bay absolutely refused to stir, turned suddenly right round, and tried to return to the stud. finally the csikós, taking pity on the boy, brought out his stock-whip, caught it a good thwack in the hind-legs and cracked it two or three times, whereupon the horse, lowering its head, set out full tilt over the puszta, as straight as it could go. the boy had hard enough work to keep his seat, clutching the mane with both hands. the csikós, meanwhile, was quite clear as to his own course. "tell ferko lacza that sándor decsi sends him his respects!" he shouted out after the vanishing "taligás." but whether the boy heard this message is doubtful. chapter xi. next day the csikós went into the "karám," and said to the head herdsman, "i have some business on hand, godfather, may i take a half-holiday this afternoon? by evening i will be back." "certainly you can have leave, my son," replied the old man, "but on one condition. your are not to enter the hortobágy inn. do you understand me?" "i give you my word of honour not to put a foot inside the hortobágy inn." "very well, i know you will keep your word." but this, the csikós had omitted to add, "unless i am carried in on a sheet." it was a hot sultry afternoon when he started, the sky was the colour of buttermilk, and the air charged with moisture. the play of the mirage seemed specially fantastic. not a bird sang overhead, but all sank nestling in the grass. on the other hand the swarms of horse-flies, gad-flies, and midges appeared more wickedly inclined than ever, and the horse could only get along slowly, having to drive off the blood-thirsty torments, now with its hind-foot, now with its head. still it never missed the path though the bridle lay slack between the csikós' fingers. man too feels the approach of a storm. suddenly, as they reached that substantial triumph of scythian architecture--the hortobágy bridge--the csikós started. "no, no!" he cried. "here we can't go, old fellow. you know how i swore by the starry heavens never to cross that bridge again." but never to _ford_ the hortobágy river was not included in his oath. so he turned down below the mill, and where the water widens into the shallows, waded easily across. the horse had to swim a little, but the herdsman took no heed of that; his fringed linen trousers would soon dry in the hot sunshine. then he trotted on to the hortobágy inn. here the horse tried to go at a brisker pace, whinnying joyously the while. a glad neigh answered it, for there, tied up to an acacia, stood its comrade--the white-faced bay. properly speaking, the hortobágy inn has no courtyard, for the wide grassy expanse fronting house, stable, and sheds is without fence of any sort. still it serves as such. a table is put there, and two long benches where the customers sit tippling under the trees. the csikós sprang from his horse, and tied it up to the other acacia, not that same tree to which the white-faced bay was tethered. a couple of long-eared steeds were also meditating in the shade of the garden paling, stretching out their necks for the overhanging sprays of barberry, just out of their reach. their riders were seated at the table, under the acacia, with their fur-lined "bundas" slung over their shoulders, inside out, despite the sweltering weather. in fact, they wore them for shade. as they tippled away, drinking cheap acid stuff out of green glasses, they hummed an endless shepherd's song, monotonous and wearisome. both were shepherds, whose steed is the donkey. sándor decsi sat down at the further end of the bench, placed his cudgel on the table, and studied the glittering clouds looming heavy on the horizon, and the dark rim of earth beneath. a great yellow pillar rose swirling in one quarter--the whirlwind. meanwhile the shepherds sang: "when the shepherd takes his glass, sad and mournful grows his ass. cheer up, little donkey, grey! behind the flock we'll ride away." this was too much for the csikós to stand. "see, that's enough, pista!" he snapped. "for goodness' sake stop that doleful ditty, and get on your grey donkey and trundle after your flock before you're too tipsy to move." "dear, dear! sándor decsi does seem upset to-day!" "i'll upset you worse if you try aggravating me!" said the csikós, and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. now he was "ready" for anyone who crossed his path. the shepherds whispered. well they knew the puszta rule that when a csikós sits at a table a shepherd may only squat down there with his express permission. if he says, "get out!" why then the shepherd has to go. one of them rapped on the table with the bottom of his glass. "we had better pay, the storm is coming." the innkeeper's daughter came out at the sound. she made as if she did not see the csikós at all, but attended to the two shepherds, counted up the wine, gave them back the change out of their "dog-tongues," and wiped the table where wine had been spilled. they mounted their donkeys, and being once more in full security, rattled on with their song defiantly: "wolves all fear my dogs so strong. two lads lead the flock along. i? why i ride all the day on my little donkey grey." only when they had quite taken themselves off did the girl address the csikós. "well, haven't you even 'good-day' for me, my dearest treasure?" "sándor decsi is my name," growled the herdsman savagely. "i beg your honour's pardon! won't you please step into the tap-room, sir?" "thanks! i'm well enough out here." "there you would find fitting society." "so i see by the horse. he'll come out to me soon enough." "well, what can i bring you? red wine? white wine?" "no, i won't drink wine," said the csikós. "bring me bottled beer." bottled beer cannot be poisoned. once the cork is drawn it all froths out. the girl understood the insinuation. crushing down the bitterness in her heart she soon returned with a bottle, which she placed before the lad. "what is this?" he cried. "am i a cobbler's apprentice, to have _one_ bottle brought me?" "very well, sir. please don't be angry. i'll bring more directly." this time she came back with a whole bundle, and set all six in a row before him. "that is better," said he. "shall i draw the cork?" "thanks! i can do it myself." he took the first bottle, broke off the neck against the edge of the table, and poured the foaming beer into the tall glass beside him. it costs more like this, because the broken bottle has to be paid for; but then, "a gentleman is always the gentleman." the girl moved off airily, shaking her sides flippantly as she went. her golden ear-rings tinkled. her hair was down again, no longer twisted round the comb, and the ribbon ends fluttered coquettishly behind her. "as thou to me. so i to thee." the csikós sat quietly drinking his beer, and the girl sang on the verandah: "hadst thou known what i know, or whose sweetheart am i! not alone would i weep, thou wouldst cry." at the fourth line the door was shut with a bang. by the time she reappeared again, three empty broken-necked bottles stood on the table. klári took them, picking up the broken bits of glass into her apron. after the third bottle, the lad's humour had changed, and as the girl fussed round him, he suddenly slipped his arm round her waist. she made no demur on her part. "well, may one call you 'sándor' again?" she asked. "you always could. what did you want to say?" "did you ask anything?" "why are your eyes so red?" "because i am so happy. i have a suitor." "who?" "the old innkeeper at vervölgy. he is a widower with lots of money." "shall you accept him?" "why not, if they take me to him? let me go!" "_you lie, lie!_ you cover up your lying, and so lie worse than ever!" cried the lad. he removed his hand from the girl's waist. "will you drink more?" she asked. "why not?" "but you'll get fuddled from so much beer." "much need of it too to quench the fire burning in me. see you give the one in there plenty of strong wine. heat him up with it, so that we may match each other." but she took good care not to tell "the one inside" "about the other" out here. the csikós took the matter into his own hands. he began to sing, selecting the mocking air with which they are wont to tease the cowherds: "oh i am the petri cowboy bold, i guard the herd on the petri wold. my comrades can go through the mire and snow; i lie on my feather-bed safe from cold." well thought! hardly was the verse at an end before out came his man. in one hand he carried his bottle of red wine, with the tumbler turned over the top, in the other his cudgel. setting down his wine opposite the csikós, he next laid his cudgel beside the other one, and then took his seat at the table exactly facing the other lad. they neither shook hands nor spoke a word of greeting. each gave a silent nod, like two between whom speech is unnecessary. "so you are back from your journey, comrade?" asked the csikós. "i'll be off again directly if i have the mind." "to moravia?" "yes, if i don't change my plans." they both drank. after a pause the csikós began again. "are you taking a wife with you this time?" "where should i get a wife?" "i'll tell you. ---- take your own mother!" "she wouldn't give up being a debreczin market-woman for the whole of moravia!" they both drank again. "well, have you bidden your mother farewell?" asked the csikós. "i have bidden her farewell." "and squared all your accounts with the overseer?" "certainly." "you owe _nobody_ anything?" "what extraordinary questions you do ask to be sure!" exclaimed the cowboy. "no, i am not in debt, even to the priest. what does it matter to you?" the csikós shook his head, and broke the neck of another bottle. he wished to fill his friend's glass, but the cowboy placed his hand over it. "you won't drink my beer?" "i'm keeping to the rule. wine on beer--never fear. beer on wine--no time." the csikós poured himself out the whole bottle, and then began to moralise (the not unfrequent result of beer-drinking). "see, comrade," he said, "there is no uglier sin in the world than lying. i once lied myself, though not in my own defence, and it has oppressed my soul ever since. lying does well enough for shepherds, but not for lads on horseback. the first shepherd of all was a liar. jacob, the patriarch, lied when he deceived his own father, making his hands rough like esau's. so little wonder if his followers, who keep flocks, should live by lies. it may suit a shepherd, but it is not for a cowboy." the cowherd went into roars of laughter. "i say, sándor, what a good parson you would make! you can preach as well as the whit-sunday probationer at balmaz Újváros." "yes? well, comrade, maybe you would not mind my turning out a good preacher, but if i turned out a good lawyer, you might care more. so you say you don't owe a crooked kreuzer to any human being?" "not to any human soul." "without lying?" "no need for it." "then what is this? this long paper? do you recognise it?" the csikós pulled out the bill from his pocket, and held it before his companion's nose. the cowboy turned suddenly crimson with anger and shame. "how did that come into your hands?" he demanded angrily, and springing from his seat. "honestly enough. sit down, comrade," said the csikós. "i am not asking any questions, only preaching. the good man who got this bill instead of money came to our place not long ago to buy horses. he paid with a bill of exchange, and when i asked what it meant, explained, mentioned that you knew the use of a bill, and then showed me your writing, complaining bitterly that there was some omission, that it was only made payable on the hortobágy, and that the hortobágy is a wide word. so now i have brought you the bill for you to correct the mistake. don't let a horse-cooper say that a hortobágy cowboy cheated him! fill in the line, 'payable on the hortobágy, in the inn courtyard.'" the csikós spoke so mildly that he entirely misled his companion. he began to think that after all nothing was called into question here but the honour of csikós and cowboys. "all right, i will do as you wish," he said. they rapped on the table, and klárika came out (she had been lurking near the door). great was her surprise when, instead of witnessing a bloody encounter, she beheld the two young men conferring peaceably together. "fetch us pen and ink, klári, dear," they said. so she brought writing materials from the town commissioner's room. then she looked on to see what would be done. the csikós showed the paper to the cowherd, pointing with his finger where, and dictating what to write. "'payable on the hortobágy,' so much is written already, now add, 'in the inn courtyard.'" "why in the _courtyard_?" inquired the cowboy. "because--because it can't be otherwise." meanwhile the storm was nearing rapidly. a hot wind preceded the tempest, covering earth and sky with yellowish clouds of dust. birds of prey hovered shrieking over the hortobágy, while flocks of swallows and sparrows hurried under the shelter of the eaves. a loud roar swept over the puszta. "won't you come indoors?" urged the girl. "no, no, we can't," answered the csikós, "our work is out here." when the cowherd had finished writing, then the csikós took the pen from his hand, and turning over the bill, inscribed his name on the back, in big roundhand characters. "now, what is the sense of you writing your name there?" asked the cowboy, inquisitively. "the use is, that when the pay-day comes round, then _i_ and _not you_ will pay those ten florins." "why should you, instead of me?" "because it is _my debt_!" said the csikós, and clapped his cap to his head. his eyes flashed. the cowboy paled all at once. now he knew what awaited him. the girl had learnt nothing from the scribbling nor from the discourse. she shook her head. "they were very foolish," she thought, and the gilded ear-rings tinkled in her ears. "'this,' and 'that,' and 'yellow rose,' they must be talking about her!" but the csikós carefully folded the paper, and handed it to her. very gently he spoke, "dear klári," he said, "please be so very kind and put this safely away in your drawer. then should mr. pelikan, the horse-dealer, come in here to dine on his way back from onod fair, give it him. tell him that we sent it, we two old comrades, ferko lacza, and sanyi decsi, with our best respects. one of us will meet it, which, time will show." the girl shrugged her shoulders. "funny people! not a thought of quarrelling in their heads! signing their names to the same paper." she collected the writing materials and carried them back to the commissioner's room, at the end of the long pillared verandah. the two lads were left alone together. chapter xii. the csikós quietly emptied his last bottle of beer. the cowboy poured out the rest of his red wine into the glass. they clinked glasses. "your health!" it was drained at a breath. then the csikós began. leaning on his elbows he remarked, "this is a fine large puszta, this hortobágy, eh, comrade?" "truly it is!" "i hardly think the desert could have been larger where moses kept the jewish people wandering for forty years!" "you must know best, you are always poring over the bible!" "still, though the hortobágy be so large, there is not room enough on it for both you and me." "i say the same." "then let us rid it of one of us!" with that they caught up their cudgels, two oak saplings from the csát forest, the club end heavily loaded. each went to his horse. cowboys do not fight on foot. when the girl returned from the house, both were in the saddle. after that no word was spoken. silently turning their backs on each other, one went right, one left, as if flying before the approaching storm. when there was about two hundred paces between them, they glanced back simultaneously, and turned their horses. then swinging their cudgels, both lads put spurs in their horses, and rushed at each other. this is the duel of the puszta. it is not as easy as it looks. fighting with swords on horseback is an art, but the sword where it strikes inflicts a wound not easily forgotten. he who wields the cudgel must aim his blow for the one instant when his galloping steed meets his opponent's. there is no parrying possible, no thrusting aside of the stroke. who strikes truest wins the day. the two herdsmen, meeting at the cudgel's length, struck at each other's head, then dashed past on their horses. sándor decsi shook in the saddle, his head fell forward from the force of the blow, but tossing it back directly, he straightened his crumpled cap. evidently his crown had only felt the handle of the cudgel. his stroke had been better aimed. the loaded end hit his adversary's skull, who, turning sideways, tumbled out of the saddle, and fell face downwards on the ground. the victor bringing up his horse, thereupon promptly cudgelled his fallen foe from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, nor spared a square inch of him. for such is the custom. if gentlemen of higher rank would only adopt it, god knows how rare duels would become! having ended this business, the csikós picked up his opponent's cap on the point of his stick, tore out the lining, and found beneath a withered yellow rose. he threw it up in the air, giving it a knock which sent the petals flying in a hundred pieces, and floating like butterflies down the wind. "i told you beforehand, didn't i?" shouted the csikós from on horseback to the girl, who had watched this decisive combat from the inn door. he pointed to his mangled opponent. "there! take him in and nurse him! you may have him _now_!" a hissing thunderbolt fell before the mill close by. here was the storm. all round them the sky crashed and crackled. "you see," said the girl, "had he struck you instead, i would have thrown my own body over you, and protected you from his blows! then you would have known how truly i loved you!" the csikós put spurs to his horse, and galloped off into the storm. sheets of rain and hail fell in torrents, thunder crashed with a blinding flash. the girl gazed after the horseman till the storm hid him from view. once or twice when it lightened his figure shone visible through the fiery rain, then she lost sight of it, till at last it vanished utterly. perhaps she never saw him again. _jarrold & sons, limited, the empire press, norwich._ maurus jÓkai's famous novels _crown vo, red cloth, gilt, / each, net._ with photogravure portrait of dr. jókai. uniform with "the yellow rose." black diamonds. ninth edition. with a special preface by dr. jókai. translated by frances a. gerard. the green book; or, freedom under the snow. eighth edition. translated by mrs. waugh. pretty michal. fifth edition. translated from the first hungarian edition by r. nisbet bain. the day of wrath. sixth edition. translated from the hungarian by r. nisbet bain. _london:_ _jarrold & sons, & , warwick lane, e.c._ * * * * * * transcriber's note: the advertisement for other works by jókai was moved from the front of the book to the back. the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in the advertisement, "nett" was changed to "net". in chapter ii, "he never said it was a bethrothal gift" was changed to "he never said it was a betrothal gift", "ferka lacza took to the trick" was changed to "ferko lacza took to the trick" and "two from debreczen" was changed to "two from debreczin". (debreczen is the correct th century spelling, but the translator consistently uses debreczin elsewhere in the text.) in chapter iii, a single quote (') was changed to a double quote (") after "why should we take carts for them?", and "enough for the week, that they would take to reach miskolcz" was changed to "enough for the week that they would take to reach miskolcz". in chapter iv, "no, no, klarika" was changed to "no, no, klárika". in chapter vi, "when were you last in the taproom of the horotobágy inn" was changed to "when were you last in the taproom of the hortobágy inn". in chapter ix, "an alfold road" was changed to "an alföld road", "first one, then another csikos" was changed to "first one, then another csikós", "all five csikos sup together" was changed to "all five csikós sup together", and "sándor decsi, let no one notice" was changed to "sándor decsi let no one notice". in chapter x, quotation marks were added after "i've been looking for it ever since" and "but ferko lacza only laughs to himself". in chapter xi, a single quote (') was changed to a double quote (") before "i beg your honour's pardon!", and "came out) she had been lurking near the door)" was changed to "came out (she had been lurking near the door)". [illustration: "stay, constable, i want to see what you put into that fire pot--open it"] told by the death's head a romantic tale by maurus jÓkai translated by s. e. boggs _translator of prof. haeckel's "india and ceylon," maurus jokai's "the nameless castle," etc._ illustrated the saalfield publishing company chicago akron, ohio new york copyright, , by the saalfield publishing company made by the werner company akron, ohio preface. in part ii, vol. , of the rhenish _antiquarius_, i once came across a skull that is said--see page --to swing, enclosed in a metal casket, from an iron bar in the foundry of ehrenbreitstein fortress. distinction of this order does not fall to an ordinary mortal. yon empty shell of human wisdom once bore the burden of no less than twenty-one mortal sins--the seven _originalia_ trebled. each crime is noted. the criminal confessed to the entire three-times-seven, and yet the death sentence was not passed upon him because of the twenty-one crimes. his fate was decided by the transgression of a military regulation. what if this skull could speak? what if it could defend itself?--relate, with all the grim humor of one on the rack, the many pranks played--the mad follies committed, from the banks of the weichsel to the delta of the ganges! if my highly esteemed readers will promise to give me their credulous attention, i will relate what was told to me by the death's head. the author. table of contents preface part i i the "fire-pot." ii the trial. part ii i with the robbers--the prsjaka caves. ii the berdiczov monastery. part iii in the service of the duke. i malachi. ii persida. part iv with the templars. i in the hollow tree. part v the homicide. i on board mynheer's ship. ii the moo-calf. part vi i the forgery.--one cipher. ii the legacy. part vii i peaceful repose. part viii in bengal. i begum sumro. ii idol worship. iii maimuna, and danesh. part ix on the high seas. i the pirates. part x uxoricide. i the secundogenitur. ii the quicksands. part xi in satan's realm. i the satyrs. ii witch-sabbath. part xii the bread of shame. i the magic thaler. ii the husband of the wife of another man. part xiii the exchange of bodies. i the quack doctor. part xiv i the white dove list of illustrations _by charles hope provost_ "stay, constable, i want to see what you put into that fire pot--open it" _frontispiece_ "i took my lamp, descended to the crypt" "i could read in her radiant countenance how overjoyed she was to be with me again; and i was enraptured to clasp her once more in my arms" "thus i managed to propel my body slowly, painfully toward the stable earth" part i. chapter i. the "fire-pot." the hero of our romantic narrative, or better, narratives, was a constable. not one of that useful class appointed, in our day, to direct the vehicles which pass over the two approaches to the suspension-bridge in budapest; rather, he was the chief of a body whose task it is to provoke disturbance, who win all the more praise and glory the greater the havoc and destruction they create. in a word: he was a gunner. the chronicle of his exploits gives only his christian name, which was "hugo." in the year , when the french beleaguered coblentz, hugo had charge of the battery in the outermost tower of ehrenbreitstein fortress--the "montalembert tower." coblentz and ehrenbreitstein are opposite one another on the banks of the rhine, as are pesth and ofen; and the blocksberg looks down on us, as does the citadel of ehrenbreitstein on coblentz. the city, which is strongly fortified on all sides, had become accustomed to being beleaguered--now by the french, now by the prussians; today by the austrians, tomorrow by the swedes. on the occasion of which i write, coblentz was under a terrible fire from the french guns, which created great havoc in that portion of the city known as the "old town." specially memorable and remarkable was the manner in which the "fire-balls" seemed to know just where to find the abodes of the duke, and the commandant of the fortress. it mattered not how often they changed their quarters, the frenchmen would always discover them, and aim accordingly--though it was impossible to see into the city from outside the walls. there certainly must have been some witch-craft at work. hugo's montalembert tower was on the side of the fortress most exposed to the assaults of the enemy; its successful defense, therefore, was all the more worthy of praise. the management of ordnance in those days was not the comparatively simple matter it is today, with the krupp and the uchatius guns. it was a real science to fetch from the furnace a white-hot cannon-ball, ram it into the long, slender culverin, and if, after the discharge, the ball remained sticking in the throat of the gun, to remove it with the various forceps, nippers, and tongs; and, after every shot, to examine with a curious implement resembling mercury's caducens, the interior of the culverin to learn whether the discharge had caused a rupture anywhere. however, it is not necessary to be a great genius in order to master all the intricacies and technicalities of a gunner's trade. an ordinary man might even learn, after some practice, how to handle an "elephant;" and, if he were intrusted with the quadrant, he might also manage to discharge the heavier bombs with satisfactory result. it must be remembered, though, that a gunner needs to possess considerable skill as well as experience in order to hurl successfully against the approaching foe a "fire-shield," which discharges simultaneously from every one of its thirty-five holes as many bullets; and the "storm-tub" requires even more dexterity. this implement of warfare runs on two wheels. the axles are spiked with keen-edged knives, and the wheels are filled with gunpowder, which ignites and explodes when the machine is set in motion. if the powder ignites promptly in both wheels at the same instant, the infernal thing dashes like an infuriated bull into the ranks of the enemy, burning the eyes of some, scorching the beards of others, and hacking and slashing everything with which its revolving knives come in contact. if the powder in only one of the wheels explodes, the machine spins around on the motionless wheel like a top, and scatters an entire company; if the second wheel explodes only half a second after the first, then those who have the management of the demon will do well to take to their heels with all speed possible. it is not necessary to explain at length the advantages of the chain-shot. anyone will be able to understand its operation if he will but remember that, when two balls connected by a chain are discharged toward the enemy, and one of the balls strikes a man, the other ball will, naturally, circle around the unfortunate until the entire length of chain is wound tightly about him; the circling ball, meanwhile, will strike with various results: the head, the nose, the ear, or some other portion of the bodies of the soldiers within its radius. it is greatly to be regretted that the use of the "handle-ball" has been discontinued. this weapon was shaped very much like two pot-ladles, bound together at the handles by an iron ring. the man who chanced to be caught between the two ladles might congratulate himself that he escaped with nothing worse than a choking; while the two soldiers on his right and left, whose heads had been caught in the bowls of the ladles, would remember, to the end of their days, the peculiar and disagreeable sensation experienced. there were two more wonderful implements of warfare: one a german, the other a french invention. the former, which was an emanation from hugo's brain, was called a "_bombenjungen-werfer_."[ ] it was a huge mortar, the central cavity capable of holding a bomb of fifty pounds weight; surrounding this cavity were eight smaller bores, each holding a five-pound bomb. the same charge hurled every one of the nine bombs in rapid succession from the mortar; and one can imagine the astonishment of the frenchman when, after hearing but one report, the eight "babies" followed, one after the other, the mother bomb. [footnote : anglice: "hurler of baby-bombs."] this was a diversion hugo prepared for the beleaguerers, who in return invented an amusement for him. it was a "fire-pot," was shaped exactly like the earthen water-jug the hungarian reaper carries with him to the harvest field to preserve his drinking-water fresh and cool. the machine was made of iron, and filled with a diabolical mixture. it had four spouts--precisely like our water-jug--from which the fire would hiss and sputter; it was intended to set fire to everything combustible where it fell. the germans also had what are called "fire-balls," which hiss and spit, and set fire to everything about them; and other bombs which explode the moment they touch the earth. the french fire-pot, however, combined these two properties: it set fire first, and exploded afterward. the beleaguered understood very well how to manage a fire-ball. like helene zrinyi, the heroine who defended the fortress of munkács, the germans had learned, so soon as a fire-ball fell inside the walls, to cover it with a wet bullock's-hide, which would at once smother the fire-spitting monster, and render it harmless. but the fire-pot was not to be treated so summarily. if the germans attempted to smother the fire-demon, to prevent the air from reaching his four noses, he would burst, and woe to him who chanced to be in the way of the flying splinters! he, at least, would have no further desire to sport with a fire-pot. it happened one day that a fire-pot, which had fallen inside the fortress, did not explode after it had hissed and spit out its fury. when it became cool enough it was taken to hugo. "now i shall find out what is inside this dangerous missile," remarked the constable; "then i'll make some like it and send them to our friends over yonder." over the neck of the fire-pot was a sort of hat, shaped like those covering the necks of the hungarian wooden bottles (_esutora_). this hat, of course, could be removed. after this discovery hugo invited the commandant, the grand-duke, the governor and mayor of the city, the syndic, and the duke's alchemist to be present at the opening of the fire-pot. now each one of the invited said to himself: "it will be enough if the others are there--why should i go? the infernal machine may explode when they are opening it." and so they all stopped bravely at home and hugo alone found out what was in the fire-pot. after it was opened, and hugo had convinced himself of the nature of the diabolical compound it contained, he proceeded to cast several fire-pots like the french one; and, in the presence of the commandant and the grand-duke, shot them into the enemy's camp. the two distinguished gentlemen, who were peering through their telescopes, were highly delighted when they saw the bombs, which flew through the air like dragons with tails of fire, reach the points at which they had been aimed, ignite everything inflammable, and afterward explode. now and again it would happen that one of hugo's fire-pots would fail to explode in the frenchmen's camp, just as theirs would sometimes fail to do what was expected of them. but hugo always collected the enemy's unexploded bombs, and, after opening and refilling them with fresh explosives, would hurl them back whence they came. oh, i tell you war was conducted in those good old days on economical lines! as late even as the year napoleon had his men collect , of the enemy's cannon-balls on the battle-field of wagram, and shot them back at the austrians; and had the fight continued two days longer, the opposing armies would have ricocheted the same balls back and forth so long as the cannonading made it necessary. the grand-duke, as was proper, rewarded the constable for his discovery by an increase of pay--from sixteen to twenty thalers a month; and in addition made him a present of a barrel of strong beer, which gave offence to the commandant, who was obliged to quench his thirst with a weaker brew. hugo had many enviers, but none of them ventured to pick a quarrel with him. he had the frame of an athlete; his face, with its luxuriant red-beard, resembled that of a lion. he was always in a good humor; no one had ever seen hugo angry, embarrassed, or frightened. there were no traces of trouble and grief on his countenance. he was perhaps forty years of age, was somewhat disfigured by small-pox pits, but wherever there was a pretty girl or woman to be won, hugo was sure to attract her. he was fond of good living--liked everything to be of the best, consequently his money never remained long in his pockets. the constable's epicurean tastes irritated the mayor, who, as chief of the city militia, outranked the artillerist. but hugo managed on all occasions to out-do his superior officer. rieke, the trim little suttler-wife, would slap the militia captain's fingers if he ventured to give her a chin-chuck, but a hearty hug from the smiling constable never met with a repulse. in consequence of the siege prices for the necessaries, as well as for the luxuries of life, had become exorbitant in both cities. three thalers was the unheard-of price asked at market for a fat goose. the mayor's wife haggled for a long time about the price without success, when along came pretty rieke. "how much for your goose?" she asked. "three thalers." "i'll take it." she paid the money and marched away with the goose. by some means the mayor learned that hugo had a baked fat goose for his dinner. "look here, constable," he said next day to the artillerist, "how comes it that you can afford to feast on fat goose while i, the mayor, and your superior officer, must content myself with lean herring, cheese and bread? your pay is only twenty thalers a month; mine is three florins a day. pray tell me how you manage it?" to which hugo made answer: "well, mayor, if i wanted to deceive you, i should say that the money for all the good things i enjoy does not come from my pocket; that rieke, who is infatuated with me (how i managed _that_ part of the business i shouldn't tell you), supplies me with whatever i want. but i'll be honest with you and tell you the truth--but pray don't betray my secret, for i don't want to have anything to do with the priests. what i tell you is in strictest confidence and must not go any farther: i have a magic thaler, one of those coins, vulgarly called a 'breeding-penny,' that always returns to my pocket no matter how often i may spend it--" "you don't say so! and how came you by such a coin, constable?" "i'll tell you that, too, mayor, only be careful not to let the capuchins hear of it. i got the thaler in the hochstatt marshes, from a _bocksritter_--"[ ] [footnote : satyr.] "i hope you didn't bond your soul to him for it?" interrupted the mayor. "not i. i outwitted the devil by giving the ritter an ignorant jew lad in my stead." "you must keep that transaction a secret," cautioned the mayor; then he hastened to repeat what he had heard to the grand-duke. "would to heaven every thaler i possess were a breeding-penny!" exclaimed the high-born gentleman. "it would make the carrying on a war an easy matter." from the day it became known that constable hugo possessed that never-failing treasure, a magic coin, and was in league with the all-powerful bocksritter, he rose in the esteem of his fellows. meanwhile ehrenbreitstein and coblentz continued under bombardment from the frenchmen. the enemy's fire-pots never failed to find the grand-duke's quarters, notwithstanding the fact that he changed them every day. this at last became so annoying that treason began to be suspected, and the duke offered a reward for the detection of the spy who gave the information to the enemy. that a spy was at work in the german camp was beyond question, though the outlets of both cities were so closely guarded that it would have been impossible for a living mortal to pass through them. nor could the treason have been committed by means of carrier-pigeons, for, whatever of domestic fowl-kind had been in the cities had long since been devoured by the hungry citizens. the mayor, ever on the alert for transgressors, had his suspicions as to who might be the spy. every man but one in the beleaguered cities fasted, lamented, prayed, cursed, wept, as the case might be, save this one man, who remained constantly cheerful, smiling, well-fed. when one of the frenchmen's fiery monsters came hissing and spitting into the fortress this one man, instead of taking to his heels and seeking the shelter of a cellar, as did the rest of his comrades, would coolly wait until the fire-pot fell to the ground, and, if it failed to burst he would dig it out of the earth into which it had bored itself and carry it to the foundry. surely this was more than foolhardiness! the constable always opened the enemy's unexploded fire-pots in his subterranean work-room; refilled them there, then hurled them back without delay. there was something more than amusement behind this. one day, when hugo came up from his subterranean workroom, he encountered the mayor, who said to him: "stay, constable, i want to see what you put into that fire-pot--open it." without a moment's hesitation hugo unscrewed the lid and revealed the explosives wrapped in coarse linen; at the same time he explained how much gunpowder, hazel-wood charcoal, sulphur, resin, pitch, sal-ammoniac, borax and acetate of lead were necessary to make up the amount of unquenchable fire required for the bomb. "very good," quoth the city functionary, "but what beside these is there in the bottom of the pot?" "under this earthen plate, your honor, is more gunpowder. when the explosives on top are burnt out this plate, which has become red-hot, explodes the powder and bursts the bomb--that is the whole secret of the infernal machine." "i should like to see what is under the earthen plate." as the mayor spoke these words the constable gave a sudden glance over his shoulder. in the glance was expressed all the temerity of the adventurer, mingled with rage, determination and alarm. but only for an instant. the mayor's bailiffs surrounded him, closing every avenue of escape. then he burst into a loud laugh, shrugged his shoulders, and said: "very well, your honor, see for yourself what is under the earthen plate." the mayor forced open with the blade of his pocket-knife the earthen plate. there was no powder in the bottom of the bomb, only some ordinary sand; but in it was concealed a folded paper that contained a minute description of the situation in the german camp. "bind him in chains!" exclaimed the mayor in a triumphant voice. "at last we have the proofs of your treachery, knave! i'll give you a pretty rieke! i'll serve up a fat goose for you!" hugo continued to laugh while the bailiffs were placing the fetters on his hands and feet. as if to complete the evidence against him, there came hissing at that moment a fire-pot from the french camp. when it was opened and the earthen plate removed it was found to contain two hundred albert thalers! chapter ii. the trial. [illustration: pointing finger] the hand with the two lines under it signifies, in the court records (for the sake of brevity), that at this point in the trial, the chief of the tribunal gave the signal to the executioner for another turn of the wheel. when this had been done, the notary would take down the confession until the prisoner on the rack would cry out: "have mercy!--compassion!" the prince was seated at a separate table, on a black-draped throne-like arm-chair with a canopy. the mayor occupied the inquisitor's chair. first question addressed to the accused: "what is your name?" "my name, in podolia, is 'jaroslav tergusko;' in zbarasz it is 'zdenko kohaninsky;' in odessa it is 'frater hilarius;' in hamburg, 'elias junker;' in münster it is 'william stramm;' in amsterdam, 'mynheer tobias van der bullen;' in singapore, 'maharajah kong;' on the high seas, 'captain rouge;' in the hague, it is 'ritter malchus;' in lille, 'chevalier de mont olympe;' in pfalz, 'doctor sarepta;' here, i am called 'hugo von habernik.' "have you any more names?" inquired the chair. at this question everybody began to laugh--the prince, the judges, the prisoner, even the skull on the table. the chair alone remained grim and dignified. "i can't remember any more of my names," was the prisoner's reply. [illustration: pointing finger] second question: "what is your religion?" "i was born an augsburg confession heretic. when i went to cracow i became a socinian; in the ukraine i joined the greek church; afterward i became an orthodox catholic; later, a rosicrucian; then a quaker. i have also professed the faith of brahma; and once i was a member of the community of atheists and devil-worshipping manichees, called also cainists." "a fine array, truly!" commented the chair, as the notary entered the list in the register. [illustration: pointing finger] third question: "what is your occupation, prisoner?" "i have been ensign; prisoner; slave; robber-chief; parasite; ducal grand-steward; mendicant friar; recruiting sergeant; sacristan; knight; shell-fish dealer; stock-jobber; ship-captain; viceroy; pirate; teacher; knacker's assistant; conjuror; bocksritter; hangman; pikeman; quack-doctor; prophet; constable--" "stop! stop!" interrupted the chair. "the notary cannot keep up with you." again the court-room resounded with laughter; the prisoner on the rack, as well as the skull on the table, again joined in the merriment. everybody seemed in a good humor--that is, everybody but the mayor. he alone was grave. after the signal to the executioner the fourth question followed: "of what crimes are you guilty?" (for the purpose of greater perspicuity the chair dictated to the recording secretary the latin nomenclature of the crimes confessed.) prisoners: "i was a member of a band of robbers and incendiaries." "_primo, latrocinium_," dictated the chair. prisoner: "i won the affections of my benefactor's wife." chair: "_secundo, adulterium._" prisoner: "i robbed a church." chair: "_tertio, sacrilegium._" prisoner: "i masqueraded as a nobleman under a false name." chair: "_quarto, larvatus._" prisoner: "i committed a forgery." chair: "_quinto, falsorium._" prisoner: "i killed my friend in a duel." chair: "_sexto, homicidium ex duello._" prisoner: "i cheated my partners in business." chair: "_septimo, stellionatus._" prisoner: "i betrayed state secrets confided to me." chair: "_octavo, felonia._" prisoner: "i used for my own purpose money belonging to others." chair: "_nono, barattaria._" prisoner: "i worshipped idols." chair: "_decimo, idololatria._" prisoner: "i married a second wife while the first was still living." chair: "_undecimo, bigamia._" prisoner: "i also took a third, fourth, fifth and sixth wife." chair: "_eodem numero trigamia, polygamia._" prisoner: "i murdered a king." chair: "_decimo secundo, regicidium._" prisoner: "i have been a pirate." chair: "_decimo tertia, pirateria._" prisoner: "i killed my first wife." chair: "_decimo quarto, uxoricidium._" prisoner: "i practiced conjuring." chair: "_decimo quinto, sorcellaria._" prisoner: "i have been in league with satan." chair: "_decimo sexto, pactum diabolicum implicitum._" prisoner: "i have coined base money." chair: "_decimo septimo, adulterator monetarium._" prisoner: "i preached a new faith." chair: "_decimo octavo, hæresis schisma._" prisoner: "i have been a quack doctor." chair: "_decimo nono, veneficus._" prisoner: "i betrayed a fortress intrusted to my guardianship." chair: "_vigesimo, crimen traditorum._" prisoner: "i have eaten human flesh." chair: "_vigesimo primo, anthropophagia. cannibalismus!_" cried the mayor in a loud tone, bringing his fist with considerable force down on the pandects lying before him on the table. the perspiration was rolling in great beads over his forehead. the prisoner on the rack laughed heartily; but this time no one laughed with him. the executioner had mistaken the chief's wink for a signal to turn the wheel, which he did, and the sound which came from the victim's throat was a strange mixture of merriment and agony--as if he were being tickled and strangled at the same moment. what the chief's dictation was really intended to signify was that the proceedings were concluded for the day; that the accused should be released from the rack and taken back to his dungeon. it was a most unusual case--unique in the annals of the criminal court. never before had a prisoner acknowledged himself guilty of, or accessory to, so many crimes. it was the first time such a combination of misdemeanors had come before the tribunal. the accused would certainly have to be tried without mercy; no extenuating circumstances would be allowed to interfere with justice. the prince was extremely interested in the case. he was curious to learn the coherence between the individual transgressions, in what manner one led to the other, and gave orders that the trial should not be resumed the next day until he should arrive in court. the prisoner had cause for laughter. before his confession reached its conclusion, before he could relate the history of his one-and-twenty crimes, the frenchmen would capture coblentz and release him from imprisonment and death. but one may laugh too soon! what was to be done with this fellow? that the death penalty was his just desert was unquestionable; but in what manner should it be imposed? had he confessed only the crime for which he was now under arrest--treason--the matter might be settled easily enough: he would be shot in the back. but with so many transgressions to complicate the matter it was going to be difficult exceedingly to pronounce judgment. for instance: the wheel is the punishment for robbery; the polygamist must be divided into as many portions as he has wives; the regicide must be torn asunder by four horses. but how are you going to carry out the last penalty if the accused has already been carved into six portions? also, it is decreed that the right hand of a forger be cut off; the servitor of satan must suffer death by fire. but if the accused has been consumed by flames, how will it be possible to bray him to pulp in a mortar for having committed uxoricide? or, how carry out the commands of the law which prescribes death by starvation for the wretch who is guilty of cannibalism? after much deliberation the prince, with the wisdom of a solomon, decided as follows: "the prisoner, who is arraigned at the bar for treason, having confessed to twenty-one other transgressions, shall relate to the court a detailed account of each individual crime, after which he shall be sentenced according to the crime or crimes found by the judges to be the most heinous." this decision was perfectly satisfactory to the mayor; and the judges gave it as their opinion that, as the accused would require all his strength for so prolonged an examination, it would be advisable to substitute the torture by water for that of the rack, as was first decided. "no! no!" objected the prince. "the man who is forced to drink nothing but water is not in the mood to relate adventures (i know that by experience!) let the prisoner be subjected to mental torture. sentence him at once to death, and when he is not before the tribunal let him be shut up in the death-cell. the hours spent in that gloomy hole are a torture sufficient to bring any criminal, however hardened he may have become, to repentance. besides, it will be a saving of expense to the city. the curious citizens, who like to gape at a condemned prisoner, will, out of compassion, supply this one also with food and drink. when he has eaten and drunk his fill, we will have him brought to the court-room. the man who has had all he wants to eat and drink is talkative!" the judges concurred with his highness; but the mayor growled in a dissatisfied tone: "this knave, who confesses to having committed twenty-one crimes in addition to the treachery in which we detected him, will, by the decision of his highness, fare better than his judges, who have learned during the siege what it is to hunger and thirst." to which the syndic responded consolingly: "never mind, god-father! let the poor wretch gormandize between the rack and the gallows. remember the old saw: 'today, i--tomorrow, you.'" part ii. chapter i. with the robbers--the prsjaka caves. i was ensign in a regiment under command of general melchior hatzfeld of the imperial forces. (thus hugo began his confession the next day when he had been brought to the court-room from the death-cell.) my conduct at that time was exemplary; i acquired so much skill in handling fire-arms that, at the siege of cracow, i was advanced to the position of chief gunner of a battery. cracow at that time was in the hands of george rákóczy, prince of transylvania, who had leagued with sweden to subdue poland; and he would most likely have succeeded had not the imperial army come to the assistance of the poles. i shall not dwell long on the siege of cracow lest i awake in the minds of the honorable gentlemen of the court a suspicion that, by relating incidents not immediately connected with my transgressions, i am purposely prolonging my recital. i shall therefore speak only of those occurrences which it will be necessary to mention in order to explain why i committed the crimes of which i am guilty. while with the army before cracow i made the acquaintance of the daughter of a polish noble. the young lady, who took a great fancy to me--i wasn't a bad-looking youth in those days, your honors--was a charming creature of sixteen years, with the most beautiful black eyes. if i remember rightly her name was marinka. she taught me how to speak her language--and something else, too: how to love--the fatal passion which has all my life been the cause of much of my trouble. during the siege my general frequently sent me to reconnoiter among the hungarian camps; and as i was a fearless youth, i would venture to the very gates of the manor-houses in the neighborhood of cracow. at one of these houses i met my sweetheart; and after that, you may guess, honored sirs, that it was not for the general's "yellow boys" alone i risked my neck night after night. no, my little marinka's sparkling eyes were as alluring as the gold pieces; and i knew when i set out on my nightly tour that my sweetheart would be waiting for me at the gates of her father's place. but our secret meetings were at last discovered. there was an old witch of a housekeeper who ferreted out her young mistress' secret, and informed the old noble. one moonlight night marinka was teaching me in her own little cozy chamber how to say: "_kocham pana z calego zersa_"--which is "mistress, i love you with my whole heart,"--when we heard her father's heavy footsteps ascending the staircase. i tell you i was frightened and said to myself, "this is the end of you, my lad!" but marinka whispered in my ear: "_nebojsa!_ (don't be afraid), go into the corridor, walk boldly toward my father, and to whatever he may say to you, do you reply 'god is one.'" then she softly opened the door, pushed me into the corridor, closed and locked the door behind me. the old gentleman was coming up the stairs very slowly because of a lame leg which he had to drag after him step by step. he had a square red face which i could see only indistinctly above the burning lunt he carried in one hand, blowing it continually to prevent it from going out. in the other hand he held a musket. the blazing lunt must have blinded him, for he did not see me until the muzzle of the musket came in contact with my breast. then he stopped and cried in a stern voice: "_kto tam? stoj!_" (who are you? stand!) "god is one," i made answer. what else could i have said? the old gentleman's aggressive mien changed at once. he became quite friendly; he extinguished the lunt by stamping on it with his foot, tapped my shoulder in a confidential manner and called me little brother. then taking me by the arm he led me down the stairs to a room where a huge fire was blazing on the hearth. here he bade me seat myself on a settee covered with a bear skin and placed before me an english flagon of spirits. after he had arranged everything for my comfort he fetched from a secret cupboard a small book--it was so small i could have hidden it in the leg of my boot--and began to read to me all manner of heretical phrases such as "there is no need for a holy trinity, because the little which is done on earth in the name of god can easily be done by one alone." my hair stood on end as i listened to the sinful words and i found what a trap i had fallen into. my marinka's father was a socinian, a leader of the heretical sect, and he was trying to make a proselyte of me. the doctrines of blandrata had spread extensively throughout poland, but, owing to the persecution of its adherents, they could meet and work only in secret. the old noble's manor was one of their retreats, where recent converts were received for instruction. when the old gentleman believed he had enlightened me sufficiently he produced a heavy volume, bade me lay my right hand on it and repeat after him the vows of the society. you may believe i was in a dilemma! if i refused to repeat the vows i should have to confess that i had come to the manor for marinka's sake, then the old noble would fetch his musket and send me straightway to paradise. if, on the other hand, i repeated the vows, then i was sure to journey to hades. which was i to choose? should i elect to travel by extra-post, direct, without stopping, into the kingdom of heaven, or should i journey leisurely by a circuitous route, with frequent halts, to hades? i was a mere lad; i was sorry for my pretty curly head--i chose the latter alternative! from that time i became a daily visitor in the retreat of the followers of socinus. being a neophyte i was permitted to take part in their meetings only during the singing; when the sermon began i was sent to the gates to guard against a surprise. this was a welcome duty; for, once outside the house, all thought of taking up my station at the gates would leave me and, instead, i would climb the tree which grew close to my marinka's window, swing myself by a branch into her room, in which she was kept a prisoner by her father to prevent our meeting; and there, while the sages below-stairs expounded the dogma of the unity of god, we two ignorant young people demonstrated how two human hearts can become as one. one day our little community received an unexpected addition to its membership. there arrived from cracow a troop of hungarian soldiers who announced themselves as followers of socinus. they received a hospitable welcome from the old noble, whom they overwhelmed with joy by telling him the prince of transylvania had become an adherent of socinus; that his highness had averred that, were he the king of poland, all persecution of the heretics should cease at once and that some of the churches should be given over to them for their worship. when i repeated this piece of news to my general he became so excited he sprang from his seat--his head almost struck the roof of the tent--and shouted: "it is perfectly outrageous how those hungarians will stoop to base methods in order to win allies! if they succeed in inveigling the polish socinians to their ranks then we may as well stop trying to get them out of poland!" fortunately, however, there arose dissensions between the hungarian and the polish adherents of socinus. i must mention here, in order to explain how i became cognizant of the facts i am about to relate, that marinka's father had begun to suspect me. instead of sending me to stand guard at the gates when the sermon began, i was permitted to hear it and take part in the disputations. the hungarian troopers maintained that it was the duty of all pious socinians to commemorate, at every one of their meetings, the death of the savior by drinking wine; and they were so extremely devout that an entire quarter-cask of their host's best tokay was emptied at every celebration. after the meetings, when the old noble would lift and shake the empty wine-cask, i could read in his countenance signs that heterodoxy was gradually taking root in him. at first he contented himself with remonstrating against the frequency of the celebration; surely it ought to satisfy the most devout member of the sect to observe the ceremony on sundays, and holy days. but the troopers met his arguments with scriptural authority for their practices. then the old gentleman, finding his remonstrances of no avail, made an assault upon the dogma itself. he delivered an impassioned address in which he sought to disprove the divinity of jesus. to this blasphemous assertion the magyars made reply: "if what you say be true, then he was the son of an honest man, and a good man himself. therefore, it is meet and right for us to show him all honor and respect." and another quarter-cask was brought from the cellar. the old noble became daily more fanatical in his assaults upon the tenets to which he had so devoutly adhered before the accession to his little congregation of the hungarian troopers; and, at last declared that jesus was a jew; that he deserved to be put to death, because he had promulgated the unjust law of taxation. but not even this fearful blasphemy deterred the hungarians from their frequent celebrations. they said: "if the nazarene is so unworthy, then it is our plain duty to shed his blood, the symbol of which is wine--" "tremendously clever fellows, those magyars!" here interrupted the prince. "they were impious devils!" exclaimed the mayor reprovingly. "impious devils!" "_habet rectum_," responded his highness. then to the prisoner: "continue, my son." hugo resumed his confession: when the last cask was brought from the cellar the old noble declared to his congregation that the entire story of the divine birth was a myth invented by the priests-- "and you took part in those blasphemous meetings?" sternly interrupted the mayor. no, indeed, your honor! that is a crime of which i am guiltless. i never said one word; and escaped from the meetings whenever i could manage to do so. i had determined to flee with marinka from the sinful community. our plan was: i was to steal from the meeting on a certain night, assist my pretty marinka to descend from her room by means of the tree outside her window and then set fire to the sheep-stables. the conflagration would scatter the blasphemers; everybody would run to the stables to release the horses, and in the general confusion marinka would hastily secure as many of the family jewels as could be packed into a portmanteau. then she and i would mount two of the freed horses and gallop straightway to my camp, where i would introduce her as my wife-- "a pious idea, certainly," commented the prince. "how can your highness say so!" in a tone of reproof, exclaimed the mayor. "it was incendiarism pure and simple: _incendiarii ambitiosi comburantur_; and further: _raptus decem juvencis puniatur_, and _rapina palu affigatur_." "very well, then," assented his highness. "my son, for the incendiarism you shall be burned at the stake; for the rape of the maid you shall pay a fine of ten calves; for the theft of the jewels, the punishment is impalement. continue." unfortunately, resumed the prisoner, our plans miscarried, through the intermeddling of the old housekeeper i spoke of. her suspicions had been aroused by marinka's preparations for flight; she informed the old noble, who set spies to watch me. i was caught in the act of firing the stables and was flogged with hazel rods until i confessed that i was a spy from the enemy's camp. the old noble wanted to bind me to the well-sweep; but one of the hungarian troopers took compassion on me and offered to buy me for sixteen polish groschen. his offer was accepted; i was sold to him and taken to cracow. i should not have had such a hard time as a slave had i not been compelled to grind all the pepper used in the hungarian army. i ground enormous quantities, for the magyars like all their food strongly seasoned with the condiment. my eyes were red constantly; my nose was swollen to the size of a cucumber. the only other complaint i had to make was that my master compelled me to eat everything that was set before me. he would say, when he placed before me enough for three men: "you shall not be able to say that you hungered while you were my slave." when i had eaten until i could not swallow another morsel, my master would seize me by the shoulders, shake me as one shakes a full bag in order to get more into it, and he would repeat the operation until the contents of every dish had been emptied into me. i used to sicken at the approach of meal-times, and whenever i saw the huge spoon--twice the size of my mouth--with which the food was ladled into me. your honors will hardly believe that there is no greater torture than to be stuffed with food-- "we have never tried that method," remarked the prince. "nor are we likely to test it very soon," supplemented the mayor, with a grim expression on his countenance. i yearned to be released from my unpleasant situation, resumed the prisoner. for the first time i realized the enormity of the transgression i had committed in joining the socinian community. now i had no one to intercede for me with the supreme ruler of the earth. had i become a mussulman i should have had mohammed; had i adopted the jewish faith i should have been able to call to my aid abraham, or some one of the other fathers in israel. but i had no one. however, my desire to be released from the tortures of food-stuffing and pepper-grinding was at last fulfilled; i was captured, together with the entire hungarian army, by the tartars-- "hold! hold!" interrupted the chair. "you must not tell untruths. you forget that you were in poland. the tartars could not have fallen from the sky." i was about to explain how they came to be at cracow when your honor interrupted me. it was this way: his majesty, the sultan of turkey, who had become angry because his vassal, george rákóczy, prince of transylvania, had presumed to aspire to the crown of poland, had commanded the khan of crim-tartary to attack the hungarians with , cavalry. the khan obeyed. he devastated transylvania in his march, surrounded the hungarian army in poland and captured every man jack of them-- "the explanation is satisfactory," enunciated the prince. "it was easy enough for the tartars to appear at cracow." yes, your highness; but i wish they hadn't, continued the accused. no one regretted it more bitterly than did i. after the capture of the transylvanian army by the tartars the victors divided the spoils as follows: the commanding officers took possession of all the valuables; the under-officers took the prisoners' horses; the captives themselves were sold to the common soldiers, each of whom bought as many slaves as he had money to spare. my former master was sold for five groschen; my broad shoulders brought a higher price--nine groschen. the same tartar--an ugly, filthy little rascal for whom i would not have paid two groschen--bought my master and me. the first thing our tartar master did was to strip us of our good clothes and put on us his own rags. he couldn't talk to us, as we did not understand his language; but he managed in a very clever manner to convey his meaning to us. he examined the material of which our shirts were made--the hungarian's was of fine, mine of coarse homespun linen, and concluded that one of us was a man of means--the other a poor devil. then he took from his purse a gold coin, held it in his open palm toward the hungarian, while with the other hand he hung a rope of horse-hair around his captive's neck. then he closed his fingers over the coin, opened them again, at the same time drawing the rope more tightly about the captive's neck. this pantomime signified: "how many coins like this gold one will your friends pay to ransom you?" the hungarian closed and opened his fist ten times to indicate "one hundred." the tartar brought his teeth together, which was meant to say, "not enough." then the hungarian indicated as before, "two hundred," whereupon the tartar placed the end of the rope in the captive's hand--he was satisfied with the ransom. then came my turn. how much ransom would be paid for me? i shook my head to indicate "nothing;" but in tartary, to shake one's head means consent. the little fellow smiled, and wanted to know "how much?" not knowing how else to express my meaning, i spat in his palm, which he understood. he put the gold coin back into his purse, took out a silver one and held it toward me. i treated it as i had the gold coin. then he produced a copper coin; but i indicated with such emphasis that not even so small a sum would be paid for me that he raised his whip and gave me a sound cut over the shoulders. the tartars then set out on their return to tartary. my former master and i were bound together and driven on foot in front of our owner. how forcibly my sainted grandmother's words, "he that reviles his savior will be turned into an ass," came home to me when i was given dried beans to eat--the sort we feed to asses at home. dried beans every meal, and my tartar master did not think it necessary to stuff into me what i could not eat. what were left at one meal were served up again the next. still more forcibly were my grandam's words impressed on my mind when, the fifth day of our journey, i became a veritable beast of burden. my hungarian yoke-fellow declared his feet were so sore he could go no farther. his was certainly a weighty body to drag over the rough roads, especially as he had never been accustomed to travel on foot _per pedes apostolorum_. the little tartar became alarmed; he feared he might lose the ransom if he left his rich captive behind, so he alighted from his horse, examined the hungarian's feet and ordered him to get into the saddle. then my feet were examined, and i imagined i too was to be given a mount. but i was mistaken. before i could guess what he intended the little tartar was seated astride my shoulders, with his feet crossed over my breast, and his hands clutching my hair for reins. luckily for me it was a lean little snips, not much heavier than the soldier's knapsack i was accustomed to carrying. it would have been worse had the hungarian been saddled on my shoulders. that gentleman was greatly amused by the turn affairs had taken, and from his seat on our master's horse made all manner of fun of me. he ridiculed my prayers, said they were of no avail where the enemy was concerned; that a hearty curse would give me more relief. i tell you he was a master of malediction! there was an imprecation he used to repeat so often that i remember it to this hour. i will repeat it for you--it is in that fearful magyar lingo: "_tarka kutya tarka magasra kutyorodott kaeskaringós farka!_"[ ] [footnote : the imprecation is really quite harmless, as are many other of the dreadful things attributed to the magyars. it is, literally: "the spotted dog's straight upright spotted tail."--translator's observation.] "hold!" commanded the prince. "that sounds like an incantation." "like 'abraxas,' or 'ablanathanalba,'" added the mayor, shuddering. "we must make a note of it; the court astronomer may, with the assistance of the professors, be able to tell us its portent." when the notary had taken down the imprecation, his highness, the prince, said to the prisoner: "continue, my son. how long were you compelled to remain in that deplorable condition of slavery?" one day, resumed the accused, while i was fervently praying that heaven, or satan, would relieve me from my ignominious situation, we turned into an oak forest. we had hardly got well into it, when, with a fearful noise, as if heaven and earth were crashing together, the huge trees came toppling over on us, burying the entire vanguard of the tartar horde, together with their captives, under the trunks and branches. every one of the trees in the forest had been sawn clear through the trunk, but left standing upright, thus forming a horrible trap for the tartars. the first tree that toppled over, of course, threw over the one against which it fell, that one in turn throwing over the next one, and so on until the entire wood was laid low. my tartar rider and i were crushed to the earth by the same tree. it was fortunate for me that i had him on my back, for he received the full force of the falling tree; his head was crushed, while mine was so firmly wedged between his knees i couldn't move. the horrible noise and confusion robbed me of my senses; i became unconscious. it is, therefore, impossible for me to tell how i escaped with my life. i only know that when i came to my senses i found myself in the camp of the "haidemaken," a company of thieves and murderers, made up of all nationalities, the worst of all the robber bands that infested the country. the members were the outcasts of every land--the flower of the gallows. when inflamed with wine, they fought each other with axes; settled all disputes with knife and club. he who had become notorious for the worst crimes was welcomed to their ranks; the boldest, the most reckless dare-devil, became their leader. they would release condemned criminals, often appearing as if sprung from the earth at the place of execution, bear away the miscreants, who, naturally, became members of the band. was a pretty woman condemned to the stake for violation of the marriage vow or for witchcraft, the haidemaken would be on hand before the match was applied to the faggots, and bear away the fair culprit. in a word, the haidemaken were the hope, the comfort, the providence of every miscreant that trembled in shackles. the band claimed no country as fatherland. every wilderness, every savage ravine, from the matra mountains to the volga, offered them a secure retreat. they knew no laws save the commands of their leader, which were obeyed to the letter. none kept for himself his stealings; all booty was delivered into the hands of the leader, who divided it equally among the members of the band. to him who, through special valor, deserved special reward, was given the prettiest woman rescued from the stake, the dungeon, the rack. where the haidemaken set up their camp, the roman king, the prince of transylvania, the wallachian woiwode, the king of poland, the hetman of the cossacks, ruled only in name. the leader of the robbers alone was the law-giver; he alone levied taxes, exacted duties. the trading caravans passing from turkey to warsaw, if they were wise, paid without a murmur the duty levied by the haidemaken, who would then give the traders safe conduct through all the dangerous forests, over suspicious mountain passes, so that not a hair of their heads would be hurt or a coin in their purses touched. if, on the other hand, the caravan leaders were unwise, they would employ a military escort. then, woe to them! the robbers would lure them into ambush, scatter the soldiers and plunder the caravan. he who resisted would be put to death. there was constant war between certain nobles and the robbers. if the band, however, could be brought to seal a compact of peace with an individual or a community, it was kept sacred, inviolable, as we shall see later. the haidemaken never entered a church unless they desired to secure the treasures it contained. yet, they numbered several priests among their ranks. they were such as had been excommunicated for some transgression. the band never set out on a predatory expedition without first celebrating mass, and receiving a blessing from one of these renegados. if the expedition proved to be successful, the priest would share the spoils, and dance with the robbers to celebrate the victory. when one of the band took unto himself a wife, a renegado would perform the marriage ceremony. the haidemaken were as great sticklers for form as are the members of good society. to abduct a maid, or a woman, was not considered a crime; but for one member to run away with the wife of another was strictly prohibited. they did not erect strongholds, for they knew where to hide in mountain caverns and in morasses, from which no human power could drive them. in their various retreats they had stores of food, enough to stand a siege for many months. how great was their daring is best illustrated by the plot which threw me into their power. the prince of transylvania had invaded poland with an army of , men. this army was captured by the tartar khan with his , men. four hundred of the robbers laid in wait for this combined force, and slaughtered the vanguard of , men in the oak forest, as i have described. when i opened my eyes after the catastrophe, i was lying on a bundle of faggots on the bank of a purling brook. by my side stood a gigantic fellow, with a hideous red face--compared to him the herr mayor, there, is a very st. martin!--his beard and eyebrows were also red, but of a lighter shade. his nose was cleft lengthwise--a sign that he had had to do with the russian administration of justice. he had the muscles of a st. christopher. at a little distance apart stood a group of similar figures, but none was so repulsive in appearance as the giant by my side. he was leaning on his sword, looking down at me, and when he saw my eyes open he said, or rather bellowed, for his voice was more like the sound that comes from the throat of a bull: "well, young fellow, are you alive? can you get up on your knees? if so, swear that you will join our band, or i'll fling you out yonder whence i brought you, to perish with the rest of your comrades." i had heard many fearful tales of the dreaded haidemaken, and knew them to be capable of any atrocity. moreover, i was indifferent as to what became of me, so i said i would join the band if my life were spared. "what are you?" then asked the red one, who was the leader of the band, "peasant or noble?" i was not lying when i answered that i was as poor a devil as ever caught flies to satisfy a craving for food. "that is well," returned the leader, "we have no use for nobles in our ranks. you shall stand the test at once." he blew a whistle, and two sturdy ruffians dragged from a cave nearby the loveliest maid i had ever set eyes on. her complexion was of milk and roses; every virtue beamed in her gentle countenance. i can see her now, with her golden hair falling to her ankles--and she was very tall for a woman. "now lad," continued the leader, "we shall see how you stand the test. you are to cut off this maid's head. she is the daughter of a noble, whom we stole for a ransom; and, as her people have seen fit to ignore our demands, she must die. here, take this sword, and do as you are bid." he handed me his sword, which was so heavy i could lift it only by grasping it with both hands. the maid knelt in the grass at my feet, bent meekly forward, and parted her beautiful hair at the back of her snowy neck, so that i might the more easily strike the fatal blow. but i didn't do anything of the sort! instead, i flung the sword at the feet of the leader and cried: "go to perdition, you red devil! you may devour me alive--i won't harm a hair of this pretty child's head." "ho-ho," bellowed the red one, "you have betrayed yourself, my lad! were you a peasant you would cut off the girl's head rather than lose your own. you are a noble--you would rather die yourself than harm a woman. very well; so be it! on your knees! the maid will show you how to cut off a head at one blow. she is my own daughter." he handed the sword to the maid, who had risen to her feet and was laughing at me. she took the heavy weapon in one hand and swung it as lightly as if it had been a hazel rod, several times about her head. i have always been fortunate enough to be able to command my feelings, no matter what the situation; no matter how extreme the danger, i never allow myself to yield to fear. i looked at the wonderful maid confronting me with mocking eyes, her white teeth gleaming between her red lips, her beautiful hair shining like gold. "kneel!" she cried, stamping her foot. "kneel and say your prayers." a faint-hearted fellow would, most likely, have lost courage; but, as i said before, i had never made the acquaintance of fear. so i laughed, and said: "i am not going to kneel; and i am not going to pray. i don't want to part with my head, i have too much need of it myself." then i turned boldly toward her father, and addressed him: "captain, i want to marry your daughter," i said. "let me serve under you for one year, and, if at the end of that time i have not proved myself worthy to be your son-in-law, you may cut off my head, and welcome!" the robber chief received this daring speech with a grin that was like the grimace of a hungry wolf preparing to devour a lamb. "fellow, do you know what you ask?" he bellowed. "the suitor for the hand of my daughter is tortured to death by that hand if he fails to perform the tasks she sets for him." "all right!" i returned jauntily, "you needn't give yourself any trouble about me." he held out his hand; i gave him mine, and the pressure it received in the powerful grasp was so severe that the blood spurted from under the finger-nails. but i did not betray by look or sign how badly it hurt me. nay, i even gave a playful pinch with the crushed fingers to the cheek of the golden-haired maid and received from her in return a sound slap on my hand. i could see that my behavior won favor in the eyes of the robbers. but we had little time for merry-making. the main body of the tartar army now drew near, and we were face to face with an infuriated enemy outnumbering our band a hundred to one. in face of the extreme danger which threatened, our leader remained calm. at a signal from him, his men with lightning speed set fire in fifty different places to the fallen trees, among which a considerable number of the vanguard, who had not been crushed to death, were hiding. of course the poor wretches, tartars and captives alike, were consumed in the flames; we could hear their shrieks of agony when we were half way up the mountain, to which we had made our escape. the tartar army not being able to follow us, because of the burning forest, made our escape easy; and, by the time the trees had been reduced to ashes, we were far enough away, and in a place of safety. instead of giving me weapons to carry, i was compelled to continue in the role of beast of burden; a heavy bag of treasure was strapped on my back. we marched until the next morning. the haidemaken travelled only by night, consequently they were familiar with all roads and mountain passes. when day broke we halted to rest and partake of a scanty meal. while we were eating, the leader asked me my name, and i gave him the first one that came into my head: "jaroslaw terguko," which was the name of marinka's father. if i couldn't steal anything else from him i could at least steal his name? late in the afternoon we set out again on our journey, which led us over rugged paths and through savage gorges where no signs of human life were to be seen. at last we entered a deep defile between two mountain spurs. the walls of rock on either side seemed, with their projections and hollows, as if they might once have been joined together. they were nearer together at the top than at the base, and when i looked up at the narrow strip of sky far, far above me, i had a sensation as if the two walls were coming together. in this almost inaccessible defile was the chief retreat of the haidemaken. it was a stronghold that could successfully defy all human assaults. in the south wall, about twenty yards from the base, yawns the mouth of a huge cavern. at that point the wall is so steep, and inclines forward to such a degree, that access to the cavern cannot be gained by means of a ladder. the robbers, however, had contrived a clever hoisting apparatus. from the top of the opposite wall a mountain brook had once leaped into the defile, to continue its way over the rocky bed into the valley. when the haidemaken first established themselves in the cavern, it happened frequently that they would be blockaded in their retreat by the nobles and their followers, who had pursued the predatory band to the defile. at such times the robbers suffered greatly from the scarcity of fresh water, especially if they chanced to be out of wine. therefore, they conceived the plan of conducting the brook from the opposing wall into the cavern through a stout oaken gutter, and the water at the same time served to turn a series of wheels. over one of the wheels ran a stout iron chain, to which were securely attached several large baskets; and so skillfully was the apparatus manipulated that the entire band might be hoisted into, or let down from, the cavern in the short space of two hours. it was a most admirable contrivance for the robbers, but not so admirable for the dwellers in the valley. the intercepted brook now flowed into the cave, and, as the water did not fill the cave, the most natural conclusion was that it found an outlet through various subterranean fissures. the turning of the water from its original channel caused prince siniarsky considerable inconvenience, in that all his saw-mills, flour-mills and leather factory were left without a motor; while the inhabitants of the surrounding hamlets, who were dependent on their looms for a livelihood, were compelled to remove to another region, because they now were unable to bleach the linen. still greater was the misfortune which had overtaken count potocky. he was the owner of extensive salt mines on the further side of the mountain, which contains an illimitable deposit of the saliferous substance. the haidemaken were unable to drink the water of the lakelet in the bottom of their cavern, because of its saline character. after the course of the brook had been changed, the worthy count potocky discovered one day that innumerable springs of fresh water were bursting from his side of the mountain, and flooding his most profitable mines. if he attempted to obstruct the flow of water in one place it would break out in another. at last the two magnates discovered the cause of the mischief, and determined to oust the thievish haidemaken from their retreat by fumigation. so long as the band confined their depredations to the trading caravans they might be tolerated; but, when they became insolent enough to interfere with the comfort and convenience of the magnates, it was high time to put a stop to their pestiferous conduct! and so an expedition against the cavern was planned. before it could be carried out the war against the transylvanians and swedes broke out, and the noble gentlemen were compelled to march with their followers toward the invaders; but when hostilities ceased and the succoring tartars had returned home, a formal blockade of the robbers was constituted. the entrance to their cavern, which is about as large as the door of the cathedral at coblentz, was fortified by a double parapet furnished with loop-holes. the intercepted brook did not pour its waters into the main entrance, but into a side opening, underneath which was the hoisting wheel. this wheel also turned the mill-stone, which ground the rye used by the robbers. the band included a miller as well as a smith, a shoemaker and a tailor. as it is dark in the cave, all work was performed by torchlight. where all the torches used in the cavern were procured i learned afterward. the fore part of the cavern, into which the rays of the blessed sun penetrate as far as the opposite wall permits, is like a vaulted hall. in it were stored the weapons: all manner of fire-arms, all patterns of cutting, thrusting and hurling implements, which had been purloined from the armories of noble castles. here, for the first time, i saw an old-time culverin, rusty with age and for want of care. in this part of the cavern were stored also the provisions in huge stone receptacles--enough to feed four hundred men during a long siege. from the provision chamber a low, narrow passage leads to the mill-cave, but, as i never entered it, i cannot tell you just what it contained. the main cavern is spacious as a church. when the entire band were assembled in the vast hall they were as lost in it. the arched roof is so high above the floor it is invisible in the gloom, which not even the light of many torches can dispel. from this hall numerous narrow passages and corridors lead to smaller caves, in which the artisans of the band performed their labors. these unfortunates certainly must have been captives; for it is hardly possible that any man would, of his own free will, consent to pass his life toiling in so gloomy a hole. when we arrived at the cavern the leader asked me if i had a trade, and, as i could truthfully reply that the only one i was perfectly familiar with was that of bombardier, i did so. "very good; you shall soon have an opportunity to prove that you understand your trade as thoroughly as you say," he growled. "it is not safe to boast here, my lad, and not be able to perform--as you shall soon learn." meanwhile the robbers had hoisted to the cavern the booty taken from the tartars. it was stored in one of the smaller chambers, into which i merely got a glimpse, as they rolled the huge slab of granite from the entrance, but that fleeting glance was enough to dazzle my eyes. there were heaps on heaps of costly articles: robes, mantles, vestments, richly embroidered with gold and precious gems, gold and silver chalices, shrines, _ciboria_, pastoral staffs, and a host of valuables too numerous to remember. had the haidemaken only decided to disband then, every one of them would have received a fortune as his share of the plunder. it is not to be wondered at that such stores of gold and silver had accumulated. the robbers never had occasion to need money. the provision chamber was filled with food and drink. such quantities of meat and bread were served that every man had all he wanted to eat, while casks of metheglin were constantly on tap. the secret of this inexhaustible food supply was known only to the leader and his daughter. no matter how much was taken from the provision chamber, no decrease was ever noticeable. the first evening of our return, the successful expedition was celebrated by a feast. after the robbers had eaten their fill, they lighted a huge fire and danced wildly around it; and when they had drunk all they wanted, they gathered about their leader and his daughter, who had taken their seats on an estrade draped with purple cloth. then a pale-faced young man was dragged into the hall and placed in front of the leader. i saw now that a sort of trial was about to be held, a singular tribunal, where the judge and the jury first get tipsy! "jurko," said the leader to the youth, "you are accused of cowardice--of having run away at the approach of the enemy; also, of having neglected to give warning of the coming of the tartars." "i am not guilty," responded the youth in defence. "you placed me on guard to watch for the tartars. instead of the tartars came wolves. ten of the beasts attacked me--maybe there were fifty. if i had allowed the wolves to eat me, how could i have signaled to you? i didn't run away--i hid in a hollow tree to defend myself--one against fifty! i call that brave, not cowardly." "silly chatter!" bellowed the leader. "no matter what happened, you should have obeyed the command of your leader. if you are not the coward you are accused of being, then prove it by standing the test." "that i will!" cried the youth, striking his breast with his fist. the leader rose, took his daughter's hand, stepped down from the estrade, and, bidding his comrades follow, moved with the maid toward the rear of the cavern, which, until now, had been buried in midnight gloom. here the ground slopes steeply downward, and i could see by the light of the torches that we were on the verge of an abyss, at the bottom of which was water. the leader held a wisp of straw to a torch, then tossed it into the abyss, which was lighted for a few seconds by the circling wreath of blazing straw; but it was quite long enough for me to see the terrible grandeur of the yawning gulf. after tossing the straw into the abyss, the leader snatched the red and yellow striped silken kerchief from his daughter's neck, leaving the lovely snow-white shoulders and bosom uncovered, and flung it also into the abyss. "there, jurko," he cried, "you have often boasted that you are the bravest of our band, and you have aspired to the hand of my daughter madus. if you are what you pretend to be, fetch the bride's kerchief from the lake down yonder." the youth stepped boldly enough to the rim of the yawning gulf, and every one believed he was going to dive into it. but he halted on the edge, leaned forward and peered down at the water far below. after a moment's survey, he drew back, rubbed his ear with his fingers and made a wry face. "why don't you jump?" cried his comrades, tauntingly. jurko cautiously thrust one leg over the edge, bent forward and took another look; then he drew back his leg and rose to his feet. "the devil may jump into this hell for me!" he exclaimed; "there's no getting out of it again for him who is fool enough to enter it!" "ho, coward! coward!" derisively shouted his comrades, rushing upon him. they disarmed him and dragged him by the hair toward a cleft in the wall of the cavern, wide enough only to admit the body of a man. this opening was closed by a block of granite that required the combined strength of six men to move it. a lighted candle was placed in the trembling youth's hand; then he was thrust into the rock-tomb, and the granite door moved back to its place. the wild laughter of his comrades drowned the shrieks of the victim who had been buried alive. then followed the "dance of death," and i never witnessed anything more terrifying. the lovely madus feigned death and looked it, too! and every member had to dance a turn with her. when it came my turn, the leader said to me: "hold, lad, you may not dance with madus until you have become really one of us--until you have stood the test. moreover, you, too, presume to aspire to the hand of my daughter." "yes, i do!" i replied, "and i will do whatever i am bid." "very good; the bride's kerchief lies down yonder in the lake; let us see if you are courageous enough to go after it." "you surely did not undertake so foolhardy a task?" here interrupted the prince; and the chair dictated to the notary as follows: "sinful tempting of providence, prompted by criminal desire for an impure female." "yes, your highness, i performed the task," continued hugo, "but i beg your honors not to register the leap as an additional transgression. i am not responsible for it. i was compelled to jump or be buried alive in the wall of the cavern. besides, i knew the danger was not so great as it appeared. when a boy, i once visited a salt mine. i had seen by the light of the blazing straw that the walls of the abyss were formed of the dark blue strata peculiar to salt mines, and guessed that the lake was strongly impregnated with salt. i had also noticed on the further wall of the abyss a flight of steps hewn in the rock, and concluded that i had nothing to fear from drowning in the buoyant water, if i reached it in safety. but, before i proceed farther, i desire to enter a formal protest against the chair's designating my beloved madus an 'impure female.' she was pure and innocent--an angel on earth, a saint in heaven. he that defames her must do battle with me--my adversary in coat of mail, i in doublet of silk. the weapons: lances, swords, or maces--whatever he may select; and i positively refuse to proceed with my confession until his honor, the mayor, has given me satisfaction, or amended the protocol." "well, mayor," said the prince, addressing the chair, "i think the prisoner is justified in his protest. either you must amend the protocol, or fight him." the former expedient was chosen, and the notary erased the latter clause of the protocol. it read, when corrected: "sinful temptation of providence by chaste affection for a respectable maid." "now, my son, you may jump." hugo thanked the prince and resumed his confession: i pressed my ankles together, bent forward, and sprang, head foremost, into the abyss. as i sped swiftly downward, there was a sound like swelling thunder in my ears, then i became stone deaf, and the water closed over me. my eyes and mouth told me it was salt water, and whatever apprehension i had had vanished. the next moment i was floating on the surface, my head and shoulders above the water. i soon found the kerchief, which i tied about my neck, amid the acclamations and cheers of my comrades, which were multiplied by the echoing walls to the most infernal roaring. the torches held over the mouth of the abyss gleamed through the darkness like a blood-red star in the firmament of hades. a few vigorous strokes propelled me to the steps leading from the lake to the upper gallery of the abyss, which is really an abandoned salt mine. there are one hundred and eighty steps, but by taking two at a time i reduced them to ninety; and three minutes after i had taken my leap, i stood, encrusted from head to foot with salt--like a powdered imp!--before my blushing madus. she received me with a bashful smile when the robbers carried me on their shoulders to her, and i was about to kiss her, when the leader seized me by the collar and drew me back. "not yet, lad, not yet!" he cried. "you have only been through the christening ceremony. confirmation comes next. you must become a member of our faith before you can become my daughter's husband. every man that marries a princess must adopt her belief." now, as your honors may have guessed, the question of religion was one i did not require much time to answer. i consented without a moment's hesitation to adopt my madus' faith. the leader then signed to one of the band to prepare for the ceremony of confirmation. it was one of the priests of whom i have spoken--i had taken particular notice of him during the feast, because he ate and drank more than any one else. "he that becomes a member of our society"--the leader informed me--"must take a different name from the one he has borne elsewhere. i am called 'nyedzviedz,' which signifies either 'the bear,' or 'without equal.' what name shall we give you?" some one suggested that, as i was an expert swimmer, i should be called "szczustak" (perch); another thought "lyabedz" (swan), more suitable and prettier, but i told them that, as i excelled most in hurling bombs, "baran" (ram), would be still more appropriate; and baran it was decided i should be called. in the meantime the robber priest had donned his vestments. on his plentifully oiled hair rested a tall, gold-embroidered hat; over his coarse peasant coat he had drawn a richly decorated cassock; his feet were thrust into a pair of slippers, also handsomely embroidered--relics, obviously, of some gigantic saint; for the robber priest's feet, from which he had not removed his boots, were quite hidden in them. in his hands he held a silver crucifix; and as i looked at him, the thought came to me that he had, without a doubt, made way with the original wearer and bearer of the rich vestments, and the crucifix. he ordered me to kneel before him. i did so, and he began to perform all sorts of hocus-pocus over me. i couldn't understand a word of it, for he spoke in greek, and i had not yet become familiar with that language. i learned it later. after mumbling over me for several minutes, he smeared some ill-smelling ointment on my nose; then he fumigated me with incense until i was almost suffocated. in concluding, when he bestowed on me my new name, he gave me such a vigorous box on the ear, that it rang for several seconds, and i almost fell backward. the blow was not given with the hand of the priest, but with the sturdy fist of the robber. this is carrying the joke too far, i said to myself; and, before the ruffian could guess what i intended, i was on my feet, and had delivered a right-hander on the side of his head that sent his gold hat spinning across the floor, and himself, and his slippers after it. "_actus majoris potentiae contra ecclesiasticam personam!_" dictated the mayor to the notary; while his highness, the prince, held his stomach, and laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. "i should like to have seen that performance!" he exclaimed when he had got his breath again. "did the padre excommunicate you?" not much, he didn't, your highness! from that moment i became a person of consequence among the haidemaken. the leader slapped me heartily on the shoulder, and said approvingly: "you're the right sort, lad--we need no further proof." after a bumper all 'round, to celebrate my entrance to the community, every man wrapped himself in his bear-skin, and lay down on the floor of the cavern. although the torches had been extinguished i could see, by the faint light which penetrated from the entrance, that madus ascended a rope ladder to a deep hollow high up in the wall, and drew the ladder up after her. in a very few minutes the snores from the four hundred robbers proclaimed them oblivious to this work-a-day world. at day-break the watchman's horn brought every man to his feet; at the same moment the leader appeared from an adjoining chamber, and gave to each one his task for the day. after we had breakfasted, nyedzviedz conducted me, in company with madus and several of the band, to the armory. "here baran," he said,--thrusting his foot against the culverin i mentioned before--"you claim to be a skilled bombardier. let us see if you understand how to manage a thing like this. we stole it from count potocky's castle, and brought it here with great difficulty. sixteen men would carry it two hundred steps, then other sixteen would relieve them, and so on. we didn't find out until we had got it up here that it would be of no use to us. the first time we tried to fire it off--it lay on the ground as now--four men sat astride of it, as on a horse, to steady it. i, myself, directed the shot toward the mouth of the cavern, and three men stood behind me to observe operations. when i applied the fuse, the infernal thing sprang into the air flinging the four men astride it to the roof of the cave; while the ball, instead of going where i had aimed--out of the entrance--imbedded itself in the wall over yonder, where it still sticks." i laughed heartily at his amusing description of the gun's behavior; whereupon he said soberly: "oh, you may laugh, but it was no laughing matter i can tell you! i made a second attempt. i tied a rope around the rascal's neck to prevent him from kicking again, and fastened the ends securely to two stout pegs driven into the ground. 'there, sir,' i said, 'now kick if you want to!' i lighted the fuse--the demon didn't kick this time; instead he rushed backward dragging both pegs with him; broke the right leg of one of the men, the left of another, and both legs of the third; and the ball bored itself into the corner over there. now let us see if you can do any better." "oh, you stupid bear!" i exclaimed, unable to restrain my mirth, "you may thank your stars that the rusty old gun didn't burst into flinders and kill every one of you!--as you deserved! the first thing to be done with the culverin is to clean and polish it until it shines like a mirror. then--who ever heard of laying a cannon on the ground to fire it off?--it must have a sort of platform on wheels so it can be moved about." the leader immediately gave orders to the smith and the wagon-maker of the band to obey my instructions and complete as quickly as possible the sort of gun-carriage i should describe to them, and i set about at once to clean and scour the old culverin which, with the accumulated rust of years, was no light task. there was no time to lose, for the tartars, with their hungarian captives, having vacated poland, the polish magnates returned to their castles, and prepared to carry out the plans for punishing the insolent haidemaken, which had been interrupted by the war. those members of the band who were sent on various errands into the regions adjacent to the prsjaka gorge, brought back, instead of booty, bloody heads, and the startling news that the roads leading to the gorge were filled with armed troopers. the two despoiled magnates had combined their forces, and were prepared for a regular siege of the plundering haidemaken. the latter, however, merely laughed at the warlike preparations. they were not afraid of a siege! nyedzviedz, on learning of the approach of the beleaguerers, instead of curtailing our rations, doubled them, mystifying all of us by the seemingly illimitable supplies in the provision chamber. we received, every day, double rations of fresh goats' meat and mutton, and yet there was not in any of the caves even the sign of a living animal. meanwhile the beleaguerers advanced steadily. there was a stratagem the robbers had frequently resorted to in order to vanquish a beleaguering foe. they opened an underground sluice through which the water of the salt lake in the bottom of the abyss would rush into the defile and drown the enemy. but prince siniarsky's troopers had become familiar with this trick; and one morning, when we awoke, we found that a stone wall had been built across the gorge while we slept. an arched opening in the center of the base would give egress to all the water we might choose to let out of the lake. this was bad enough, but worse came later. the wall increased in height every night. i told nyedzviedz at the beginning what would be the outcome of such a proceeding; when the top of the wall should have reached to the height of the wooden gutter which conveyed the brook into the cavern, siniarsky's men would fling a line over it, attach a stout chain to the line, and when they had drawn it over the gutter it would be easy enough to pull it down. "in that case we shall die of thirst," growled the leader, "for there isn't any other water in the cavern fit to drink. but a still greater danger, of which you know nothing, threatens us." he did not tell me what it was, but he became so morose and ill-tempered, that no one but his daughter ventured to speak to him. the haidemaken made several assaults on the wall, but the troopers returned the fire with such volleys from the numerous loop-holes in it, that our men were always forced to retreat. all hopes were now centered in me, and on the culverin, which i had polished until it shone like gold. the carriage for it had been completed, and balls cast under my directions. the wall grew higher and higher, until at last the top was on a level with our conduit. its completion was celebrated in the enemy's camp by the blaring of trumpets, and beating of drums, and what i had foretold came to pass; the arquebusier mounted to the top of the wall, adjusted his arquebuse on its forked rest, and prepared to take aim at our water conduit. "now, watch me!" said i to nyedzviedz, pointing the culverin's muzzle toward the cornice of the wall. two shots sounded simultaneously, and when the smoke had cleared away, there was neither arquebuse, nor arquebusier--nor yet the cornice of the wall, to be seen. all three had vanished. i took aim a second time--this time at the base of the wall; and at the sixth shot, the entire structure of solid masonry tumbled down with a deafening crash, burying under it the musketeers who were at the loop-holes. not one of them escaped alive. the haidemaken, with loud cries of triumph, now hastily descended from the cavern in their baskets, and flung themselves on the enemy, and while the combat raged in the defile below me, i wheeled my culverin to the mouth of the cavern, and hurled shot after shot toward the troopers who were hurrying to the aid of their comrades. the enemy was completely routed, and our men returned to the cavern richly laden with spoils. so all-powerful is a cannon when its management is thoroughly understood. "that will do for today;" at this point observed the prince. "the confession will be continued tomorrow." the viszpa ogrod. the next morning hugo resumed his confession: when the haidemaken, after having put to flight the troopers returned with their booty to the cavern, the leader said to me: "well, baran, you certainly earned your name today, by proving yourself a most effective 'ram.' to your assaults with the culverin we owe our victory. here is the treasure we took from the vanquished foe--take of it what you want, you have the first choice." gold and silver galore lay before me, but i answered: "thank you, nyedzviedz, you know very well i have no use for money; instead, i want your daughter--for her alone i have served you; she is the reward i desire." to this reply the leader shook his head irritably, and said: "i am disappointed in you, baran. you are, after all, only a tender-hearted dove that wants to bill and coo. the man who has a wife is only half a man. the true haidemak embraces his sweetheart, then slays her--or better: slays her first. why do you desire to marry? be wise, lad, and remain a celibate. if you will think no more of madus i will make you my second in command." "but i can't, and won't think of anything but madus," i returned, stubbornly; "and if you don't give her to me, you are not a man of your word." "you don't know what you are asking, baran," again said the leader. "if you persist in your demand you will compel me to send you the way all our members have gone who proved themselves to be soft-hearted doves. the man who wants to bill and coo cannot remain with us. if you marry madus you must leave us." i told him i would manage somehow to endure such a calamity, which made him laugh heartily. "i know very well, baran, my lad, that it would not grieve you to leave us, if you were allowed to depart with madus to the outside world. but that may not be. the man we pronounce a 'dove,' must go a different route. the youth who refused to leap into the abyss the day you arrived, was a dove. you saw what became of him. a hundred and more love-lorn swains, and cowards have gone the same way. you will find in every crevice the skeletons of the unfortunates. do you still desire to join the ghastly company?" it did not sound very alluring--to celebrate one's nuptials among cadavers; but when i looked at madus, who was standing by her father's side, the glance which met mine from her beaming eyes banished from my thoughts everything but her beautiful image, and i said: "it matters not whither i go if my madus goes with me--be the journey to hades itself!" when madus also declared she had no dread of undertaking the journey with me, her father summoned a priest--the same bearded rascal that had performed the ceremony of confirmation over me. his vestments this time were even more magnificent--('acquired,' i have not the least doubt, from some wealthy cathedral by my respected father-in-law and his comrades) and with all manner of unintelligible mummery he performed the ceremony, which united me and my beloved madus in the holy bonds of matrimony. when the marriage ceremony was concluded, my wife and i each received from her father a costly, gold ornamented cap, and a richly embroidered mantle; a bag of provisions, and a jug of wine were also given to us. then we were conducted to the same cleft in the wall of the cavern, in which the unfortunate jurko had been entombed. when the heavy rock had been removed from the opening the robbers, one after the other, shook hands with us. the leader was so deeply affected he embraced both of us. after a lighted taper had been placed in my hand, we were thrust into the narrow passage which was immediately closed behind us. the noises in the cavern sounded like the low murmur one hears in a sea-shell held close to the ear. by the faint light from our taper i could see a smile of encouragement on my madus' face, and obeyed without a question when she bade me follow her. we had forced our way through the narrow passage, which was hardly wide enough for one person, a considerable distance, when we suddenly came to a small chamber about the size of a room in a pleasant cottage. here, madus said, we should have to rest and pass the night. "night?" i repeated. "we can easily bring the blackness of midnight upon us in this hole! we have only to extinguish the candle. but we shall never know when it is morning. daylight never enters here. no cheerful cock-crow ever reaches this tomb. here, no one will come to rouse us, and say: 'rise, rise! morning, beauteous morning, is come.'" "fie, fie, baran," chided my madus. "do you already regret the step you have taken? should you be sorry never again to see daylight--now that you have me with you?" "no, no," i answered, promptly, ashamed of my momentary regret. "no, no," and i set about preparing for our night's rest. we spread our bear skins on the floor of the cave, sat down on them, and ate our supper, becoming quite cheerful as the wine sped with pleasurable warmth through our veins. suddenly madus turned toward me and asked: "where do you imagine we are, baran?" "in paradise," i made answer, kissing her. thereupon she roguishly blew out the light and asked again: "can you see me?" "no," i answered, for i could see nothing at all. "look again, baran, and repeat after me what i say." i fixed my eyes where i believed her to be, and repeated after her, word for word, the lord's prayer, the _ave maria_ and the _credo_, and as i did so, it seemed to me as if the dear child's countenance came into view, gradually growing brighter and brighter, until the gloom disappeared, and the subterranean grotto became irradiated as with the sunlight of noon. i did not tell her so, though, for women are so easily made vain; but from that moment i became convinced that madus was my guardian angel. never, in all my life, have i been so happy as i was with my beloved madus in that underground cave, and i should have been content to stop there with her until the end of time! i would not have inquired if ever a morning would dawn again for us, had not madus roused me from a sound slumber, and lighted the taper. "what do you imagine will become of us?" she asked, and i replied: "i believe the haidemaken are playing a trick on us, and that they will fetch us away from here after a while." "no, you are mistaken, baran, we shall never again return to the cavern. the haidemaken do not expect to see us again." "but, surely, nyedzviedz will not allow his only daughter to perish miserably in this hole?" i exclaimed. "alas, you don't know him, my poor baran," returned madus sorrowfully. "my father's heart is impervious to pity. those whom he banishes, as we have been banished, can never return to the cavern." i now became alarmed in earnest. until that moment i had entertained a suspicion that the haidemaken were only trying to frighten me. i was cursing my folly--mentally of course--for having allowed the fascinations of a love-dream to lure me to so wretched a fate, when madus rose from her bear skin couch, and bade me follow her. i remembered her radiant countenance of the preceding evening, and my confidence in her was restored. we passed onward, through the narrow corridor which traversed numerous caves, larger and smaller than the one in which we had rested. i kept glancing furtively, right and left, expecting every moment to see the helpless skeletons with which nyedzviedz had tried to intimidate me. on, on we pressed, occasionally passing the entrance to a cave that was stored with all manner of plunder. at last i noticed that the corridor began to widen, and suddenly my soul was rejoiced to discover, far ahead, a faint gleam of light that became brighter and brighter as we approached. it was daylight! "hurrah!" i shouted aloud, in my ecstacy clasping madus to my heart. "we are free! we are free!" "free? no, my baran, far from it!" she returned gently and sadly. "we are approaching our life-prison. you will soon see it." the passage was now wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side. we did not need the taper now, for we had sunlight from the strip of blue sky we could see overhead. i pressed eagerly forward to see more of it. i could have drunk in at one long breath the entire heaven. at last we arrived at the end of the passage between the two tall walls of rock, and there below us lay the viszpa ogrod, which means: "island garden." and it is a veritable island; only, instead of water, it is encompassed by rocks--rocks so high, and so steep, that nothing wingless can ever hope to escape over them into the world outside. heaven-towering walls of basalt, naked cliffs, sheer inaccessible, dome-shaped, and truncated, ranged one against the other in a compact mass like the facade of a vast cathedral, environ the viszpa ogrod, which, with its verdant fields, forest, fruit and vegetable gardens, lies like a gleaming emerald in a setting of rock, at the bottom of the deep crater. from the dizzy heights of the cavern wall leaps a stream, that is transformed to iridescent spray before it reaches the valley, there to pursue its sinuous course amid the fields, gardens, and tiny white dwellings upon which we looked down as through a misty veil. "that is our future home," whispered madus. "our life-prison from which there is no escape. to this island garden is banished all those haidemaken who prove too tender-hearted for their cruel trade, or tire of their adventurous life; also those who refuse to desert the women they love. here, the banished dwell together and till the ground--they will never again see any other portion of the globe than this little valley." the viszpa ogrod revealed the secret of the haidemaken's power to defy a siege. this island garden made it possible for them to defy all the troops sent against them, for it contained an inexhaustible supply of provisions. when the robbers discovered it, it was a wilderness of stunted fir trees. no living creature could exist in it, for there was no water until the brook, conducted into the cavern from the opposite side of the defile, found an outlet into it, thence, through the ground, into prince siniarsky's salt mines. the water very soon wrought a wonderful change in the aspect of the valley. a portion of the stunted forest was cleared, and the ground planted with rye, vegetables, and various shrubs and plants which throve luxuriantly in this "garden" sheltered from the cold winds by the wall of rock. the firs left standing put forward new growth, and became stately trees--everything, even the human beings that came to dwell here, underwent a complete transformation. true, those whom the haidemaken sent to the valley had already become tender-hearted, or, weary of the wild life of the robbers; but, no matter what the life of a man had been before he became a member of the little community in the island garden, there he would forget the entire world, become an entirely new being. i speak from experience, for i, who have enjoyed a full share of this world's pleasures--everything that can rejoice the king in his palace, and the dreams of the prisoner in his dungeon--i never was truly happy until i went to dwell with my beloved madus in the viszpa ogrod. a narrow path winds from the outlet of the rock-corridor down into the valley. madus, who was perfectly familiar with the path, led the way, recognizing, while still at a distance from them, each occupant of the little cottages. the children ran to meet us, and, on hearing from madus who i was, seized our hands, and with shouts of joy drew us toward the village. a bell was rung to announce our arrival. later i learned from the inscription on this bell that it had formerly swung in the tower of bicloviez monastery. like everything else in the valley, it had been stolen. everything, even the beautiful cloth and silk garments which clothed the women--nay the women themselves, were plunder. robber and robbed dwelt together amid plunder in harmony, happy as adam and eve in eden. they ploughed, planted, and gathered the harvest in perfect contentment. they shared their abundance with the cavern, and received in return plunder from all parts of the world. as i have said before, there were no animals in the viszpa ogrod when the robbers discovered it, and as it was impossible to convey full-grown cattle through the narrow passage from the cavern, calves, goats, and lambs instead were brought to the valley, which had become so well stocked with everything necessary to sustain a large army, that no potentate on earth could have reduced the haidemaken to starvation, no matter to what length the siege might have been extended. the only danger which threatened the cavern was the stoppage of their water supply. were that cut off, the luxuriance and fruitfulness of the valley would vanish, and it would become again an arid wilderness uninhabitable for man and beast. this was the danger dreaded by nyedzviedz when the troopers began to build their wall in the defile. the dwellers in the viszpa ogrod lived together like the family of father abraham in the promised land. the eldest of the men was the patriarch. he made all the laws; issued all the commands; allotted to each one his task and share of the harvest, giving to everyone as much as was required for the needs of himself and his household. there was no priest in the valley. there was no sabbath. the pleasant days were working-days; when it rained everybody rested. there was no praying, no cursing, no quarreling. there, where every head of a household had once been a thief, no disputing about mine and thine was ever heard. there, every woman--and not one of them had been given an opportunity to vow fidelity to her mate before the altar, but had been forcibly conveyed to the valley--was so faithful, so modest, that no stranger could have told what was the color of her eyes. when madus and i arrived in the valley, zoraw, the patriarch, prepared for us a feast, to which were invited the rest of the community to the number of eighty. after the feast, zoraw conducted us to the brook, where we drank with everyone the pledge of fraternity from a wooden bottle of fresh water--that being the only beverage in the valley. at the conclusion of this ceremony, the bottle was broken in pieces, to symbolize unalterable alliance. then zoraw measured off and assigned to us our plot of ground. the entire community lent a hand, and in two days our cottage was under roof, modestly furnished, and ready for occupancy. in the stable stood a cow and a goat for the housewife. when we were comfortably settled in our new home i was asked by the patriarch what manner of tools he should give me; and finding that i should be compelled to work--something i had never learned at school, or in the field--i chose the trade of smith, which would at least give me the handling of iron, without which i never felt contented. i became accustomed in a very short time to my new mode of life. i would work at my trade the allotted time every day, then go home to my wife, who would tell me how the ducklings had got smothered in the shell, how the milk had turned sour, and such like prattle. and one day she whispered blushingly in my ear the secret which makes the husband's heart beat faster with joy and pride. in listening to it, i forgot everything else in the world. the thought that i was to become the father of a family, that would grow up to know no other home but this peaceful valley, filled my soul with joy and content. this thought became to me what roots are to a tree; it attached me so securely to my little plot of ground, that i felt as if no power on earth could tear me away from it. my beloved madus, and our little home, became doubly dear to me. had all the wealth, all the splendor that came to me later, been offered me then in exchange for my madus and the humble little home she filled with her joyous presence, i should have refused with scorn. the koltuk-dengenegi. i had become perfectly satisfied with my peaceful and uneventful existence. my entire world now lay within the rocky rim of the viszpa ogrod. my entire happiness lay in the beaming smile with which my madus greeted my home-coming every day. my labors in the smithy were always over by noon; the afternoons were devoted to work required to be done at home. one day i was siting in the hall-way of our cottage busily employed fashioning, from some crimson willow withes, a pretty basket-cradle, when a shadow suddenly shut out the sunlight from me. i looked up and was startled to see nyedzviedz standing in the door-way. "you here!" i exclaimed. "have you, too, been relegated to the viszpa ogrod because of the softened heart? or have you come here to hide from an enemy?--which?" "neither, my good baran," answered the leader. "i am not come to stop in this happy valley, but to fetch you away from it. we need you in the cavern. we cannot get on without you. we are planning a most important expedition, and need your assistance. a rich caravan is on the road to mohilow; it is made up of russian, turkish and jew traders, and is accompanied by a military escort. we propose to capture this caravan, and take possession of all the treasure and valuables, after which, we shall proceed to berdiczov and loot the monastery. as the monastery is strongly fortified, and garrisoned, we shall have to batter down the walls; therefore we must take you with us, as you are the only one who understands how to handle our field gun. i shall appoint you second in command of the expedition." madus had come from the kitchen while her father was speaking. she was not in the least glad to see him; on the contrary, she greeted him with a frown, and demanded angrily: "why do you try to lure my gentle-hearted baran away from me? he does not need your stolen treasure. he has all he wants here in his humble home. you buried us here--we are dead to you, therefore leave us here in peace." to which nyedzviedz made answer by saying: "baran, does the father or the husband control the wife? if you, the husband, don't know how to control your wife, i, her father, will show you what to do with the woman who speaks when she is not spoken to." i well knew what a hasty temper was the leader's, and persuaded madus to come with me to the kitchen, where i gently argued away her opposition to my leaving home. i assured her it would be for our good; that when i had got together enough money to keep us in comfort i should return, and find a way to escape with her from the valley to some large city, where we should be safe from the haidemaken, and where she might sweep the dusty streets with a long-tailed silk gown, and be addressed as "gracious lady." this had the desired effect. she wept bitterly; but she bade me go with her father. when i turned to cast a last look into the valley, before we entered the rock-corridor, i could see my poor little wife's red kerchief still gleaming in the doorway of our cottage. her favorite dove had flown after me to the entrance of the corridor; there it settled down on my shoulder and began to coo into my ear. i had to fling it away from me quite forcibly in order to frighten it back to its mistress. my former comrades greeted me with loud cries of welcome, and celebrated my return by a tremendous drinking-bout. when, after my long abstention from it, i again tasted wine, i forgot the viszpa ogrod and everything connected with it--as one will, when awake, forget even the most enchanting dreams. it is a well-known fact that the wine-drinker who abstains for a long period from his favorite beverage, then yields again to the temptation, becomes a more inveterate drunkard than before he resisted the fascinations of the cup. the haidemaken drank only tokay; they made a point of selecting from the cellars of the prelates, and magnates whom they plundered, only the best vintages. the following night we set out for mohilow, a twelve days' journey. i am almost willing to wager that not a soul, in the region to which we were going, really believed such a band of robbers as the haidemaken was in existence--or, if it had ever been heard of, the tales of its marvelous exploits were looked upon as kindred to the fables repeated in the nursery. as i said before, the band always traveled by night. during the day we rested, hidden in a dense forest, or in an uninhabited valley. we never entered a village to procure food, but carried with us rations of dried meat, varying our diet with mushrooms collected on the way. on learning definitely from the scouts we had sent to reconnoiter that the caravan was expected to reach mohilow on a certain day, we concealed ourselves in a swampy thicket by the side of the road over which it would have to pass. here we were forced to wait two days, during which our meat gave out, and we had to eat raw frogs and birds' eggs. the peasant carts passing along the road, with pretzels, smoked sausages, cheese, mead and wine for the market at mohilow, were not molested by the hungry robbers, who would only have needed to stretch out their hands to secure the good things for which they languished. but the leader would not allow it. "we are here to fight, not feast," he said. our patience was well nigh at an end, when, one day, the sound of a trumpet and drum announced the approach of the caravan. on mules, on horses, camels, and ox-carts, came the fifteen-hundred-odd human souls, their escort, a valiant company of soldiers in coats of mail, and helmets, and armed with halberds, and muskets. it was a motly crowd, outnumbering our band in souls; but inferior to us in strength. when, at a preconcerted signal, our men dashed from the thicket, the entire caravan fell into confusion. the soldiers fired off their muskets, heedless where they aimed; we, on the other hand, sent our shots where they would prove most effective. a frightful tumult ensued--it was: save himself who can; while the heavily laden carts and vans were left behind. i must admit that the haidemaken behaved atrociously. never, in all my experience on the battlefield, did i witness such a scene of carnage. it made me ill; i became so faint with horror and disgust i sank unconscious to the ground. when i came to my senses, i saw a turkish merchant hobbling on a crutch toward me. he was old, and seemed to have been seriously wounded, for he was covered with blood. he came straight toward me, and, sinking to the ground by my side, said in a pleading tone: "my son, i beg you, take my yataghan, and cut off my head." your honors may believe that i was startled by so singular a request. "i shan't do any such thing!" i replied promptly, and with decision. "pray do," he urged. "cut off my head without further parley, and you shall have this koltuk-dengenegi," which is turkish for "beggar's staff." "no, baba," i returned, with the same decision as before. "i can't cut off your head, for i have no grudge against you. i am not an assassin--though i do belong to the haidemaken; i was forced into this band, much as pilate was thrust into the _credo_--against his will, i'll warrant!" "your countenance tells me, my son, that you are better than your comrades," said the old turk. "for that reason i ventured to ask a favor of you. come, hesitate no longer to perform the deed of mercy for which you shall be handsomely rewarded. decapitate this old body; it will not be assassination; one can murder only a living being--so says the koran, the only truthful book on earth--and i cannot strictly be called a living being. i have a deadly wound in the abdomen, and am bound to die sooner or later. besides, i am prepared and desire to die. i can't flee any farther; and if i fall into the hands of your cruel comrades i shall be horribly tortured. therefore, i beg you to release me from further suffering; cut off my head with this beautiful yataghan, which shall also be yours." but, not even then could i bring myself to grant his prayer, and relieve him of his sufferings and his bald head. "leave me, baba," i exclaimed impatiently. "if you want to get rid of your head, cut it off yourself with that beautiful yataghan; or else, hang yourself on one of those beautiful trees over yonder." to this the old turk responded with pious mien: "that i dare not do, my son. the koran--the only truthful book on earth--says, there are seven hells: one underneath the other, and each one more terrible than the one above it. the first hell is for true believers, like myself; the second is for christians; the seventh is for the atheists. the fourth, morhut, is for those persons who commit suicide. were i to take my own life, i should have to descend to the fourth hell, where, as well as in every one of the three hells above it, i should be obliged to remain three-hundred and thirty-three years before i should be permitted to enter paradise. whereas, if i should lose my life at the hands of an unbeliever like yourself, i should--so says the koran, the only truthful book on earth--go straightway to paradise." and still i hesitated; though it seemed but kindness to grant the old turk's request, and send him speeding straightway into paradise. but, i remembered that our bible (really the only truthful book on earth) says: "thou shalt not kill;" and thrust the importunate old fellow away from me. but he renewed his pleading with increased urgency: "see, my son, i will give you this koltuk-dengenegi--" "of what use would that crutch be to me?" i interrupted. "if you will screw off the top you will see that the crutch is filled with gold pieces," he replied; and to prove that he spoke the truth, he unscrewed the shoulder rest and shook several gold coins into the palm of his hand. the yellow metal dazzled my eyes: "the crutch would hold a good many coins," i said to myself, to which added the turk's pleading voice: "you shall have it all, my son, if you will but grant my prayer." and still i hesitated. "i can't do it, baba," i said. "even if you gave me the crutch, i should not be allowed to keep the gold. no member of our band is allowed to keep for his own use alone any valuables that may come into his possession. everything must be placed at once in the common treasury for the use of the entire band--and woe to the haidemak who would dare to keep for himself even a single polish groschen! so, you see, baba, your gold would be of no use to me." "listen to me, my son," again urged the wounded turk, who was growing visibly weaker; "you are young; i can see that this wild life is not suited to you. if you had my gold, you could escape to wallachia, buy an estate--a castle--serfs, and marry. perhaps you already have a sweetheart--if so, why shouldn't you live in happiness with her, instead of skulking about in caves and swamps like a wild animal?" this suggestion made me thoughtful. it brought back to my mind my dear good madus. ah! if only i might fly with her, far away, to some region where she might become a respected lady. if i had the turk's gold! i could easily keep it secreted in the crutch. some day, when the haidemaken were away on an expedition, i could easily stupefy the few members of the band remaining in the cavern by drugging their mead with venice treacle; and when they were sound asleep i could fetch my madus from the viszpa ogrod and with her escape to a far away land. this thought impressed itself so deeply on my mind--it became so alluring that, unconsciously, my hand went out toward the beautiful yataghan. "if i thought i could keep the gold hidden!" i said, unconscious that i had given voice to the thought. "that will be easy enough; just leave it in the crutch," promptly responded the turk. "when you join your comrades make believe to have taken cold in the swamp yonder, say that the muscles of your leg have contracted and made you lame. that will not only give you an excuse to use the crutch, but it will most likely get your discharge; a hobbling cripple is not a desirable comrade in a band of robbers." without waiting to see how i might take his suggestion, the turk proceeded at once to show me how to bandage my left leg, so that it could not be straightened at the knee; how to keep my ankle against the crutch, and hobble along on the right leg. i thought of madus, for whom i would have hobbled on one leg to jerusalem, and let him show me how to transform myself to a cripple. "now, my son," he said, when he had delivered his instructions, "take my yataghan, my beautiful yataghan, and cut off my head--only don't hack it off as a butcher would with a cleaver. swing the yataghan, thus, in a half-circle--easily, gracefully, as you would the bow of a violin. i will kneel here at your feet, bend forward, thus; then do you strike just here: between these two segments of the vertebræ. be sure to keep firm hold on the handle to prevent the blade from slipping--" he gave me so many directions, kept on talking so long that satan, who is ever at one's elbow, gave my arm a sudden thrust, and, before i knew what had happened, a body minus a head lay at my feet, while a head minus a body was rolling down the hill-- "_homicidium!_" dictated the chair to the notary. to this the prince appended: "under extenuating circumstances. we must not ignore the fact that the deed was committed at the urgent request of the decapitated--under approval of the koran, and instigated, i might say, forced, to the act by the wicked one at the perpetrator's elbow." "it was killing a human being, all the same!" said hugo, "and i had cause soon afterward to repent most bitterly what i had done. after i had committed the bloody deed i set out to overtake my comrades. they had secured much valuable booty which they were carrying on their backs. when i came up with them, hobbling on one leg and leaning on my crutch, they broke into loud laughter: "what the devil is the matter with you?" queried the leader. "i am all used up!" i groaned. "i killed an old turk, whose lame leg prevented him from running away with the rest of them; and before he gave up the ghost he cursed me and prayed that i might be compelled to hobble along on a crutch for the rest of my life. he had hardly got the words out of his throat before my leg became as you see it, and i can't straighten it." "that comes of standing in the swamp--cold water will affect effeminate fellows like you in that way," observed nyedzviedz. "but don't worry, we have among us one who understands how to cure such maladies. ho, there! przepiorka, come hither." i was frightened, i can tell you! if my leg were examined it would be found to be in a sound and healthy condition. but there was no help for it--i could not escape an examination. so i drew up the calf of the leg so tightly against the lower part of the thigh that przepiorka, after he had tried several times in vain to straighten it pronounced it permanently crippled. on hearing this decision, i forgot my role and would have straightened the leg to convince myself that it could be done; but, what was my consternation and alarm to find that i was unable to do it. the affliction i had pretended had come upon me in earnest! god had punished me. i was a miserable cripple, unable to take a single step without the koltuk-dengenegi. how i cursed him who had left it to me in legacy! chapter ii. the berdiczov monastery. "don't worry," said nyedzviedz again, when he saw my distress. "don't worry! you can still be of great service to us, even if you are lame. we have long wanted to add to our number just such a cripple." then he summoned a sturdy, broad-shouldered robber and bade him take me on his back and in this fashion i journeyed with the band, the stronger members taking turns in carrying me. when we arrived at oezakover forest, where we halted to rest, the leader said to me: "you will leave us here, baran, and hobble to berdiczov as best you can. i want you to spy out the situation there for us and get all the information you can. then you will return to the cavern and on the news you bring will depend our plans of attack; i propose to capture the monastery." the extraordinary success of the mohilow expedition had made our leader so arrogant that, because he had, with three-hundred men vanquished two-thousand, half of whom were armed, he now aspired to nothing of less importance than a garrisoned castle. and the wedge with which he proposed to force an entrance was my crippled leg! from near and far--from distant lands even, all manner of crippled folk, and invalids afflicted with divers maladies, journeyed to berdiczov in search of healing. the indigent limped and hobbled on crutches to the miracle-working spot; the well-to-do rode on mules; the peasant was trundled in a barrow by his sturdy spouse; the tradesman travelled in his two-wheeled ox-cart; and the magnate was borne in his sedan-chair by his servants. berdiczov monastery was the property of the premonstrant monks. it stood on an elevation in the center of a charming valley. it was strongly fortified, and surrounded by thick walls, which were protected outside by a deep moat and palisades. a thermal spring at the foot of the hill fed the moat and turned the wheels of a grist mill. the only entrance to the monastery was over a narrow drawbridge that spanned the moat at its deepest part. the multitude of visitors to the healing spring found lodgings in the little village outside the walls of the monastery; and only one hundred worshippers at a time were permitted to enter the chapel inside the gates. if the crowd gathered at the drawbridge at the hour for services exceeded that number then mass was celebrated all day long, one hundred of the faithful entering at one door, as the hundred that had worshipped passed out by the other. day and night guards armed to the teeth patrolled the walls and the court-yard; and no visitor was allowed to enter with weapons of any sort, for enormous wealth lay heaped within the walls of the monastery. when i saw the heaps on heaps of valuables in the treasure-chamber, i no longer wondered that nyedzviedz desired to possess it. there was a massive altar of pure silver, the gift of king stanislaus; golden alms basins, engraved with the name and history of the donor, count leszinsky; images of saints with mosaics of priceless gems; golden chalices; shrines glittering with rubies and diamonds; gemmed thuribles; antique crowns which had once adorned crania twice the size of the heads of our day; costly reliquaries; and, amid all this splendor, countless numbers of crutches and staves, the votive offerings of the afflicted who had found healing in the waters of the spring. the crutches and staves were the first objects to attract my eye, and i said to myself: "how gladly would i add to this collection the old turk's koltuk-dengenegi with all its gold, could i but find healing for my crippled leg." when the choral began, i can't describe the feeling which took possession of me as i listened to the beautiful melody. i had no thought then for the treasures of gold and silver--no glance for anything but the image of the saint above the altar. i could not escape from the reproachful eyes it fixed on me. i felt that it was reading all the wicked thoughts in my breast. but, as i listened to the beautiful music, all the evil intentions i had brought with me to the monastery faded from my heart; and when the last sounds died away, there was not, in all the devout company, a more bitterly repentant wretch than i. when the service was concluded, the worshippers passed in front of the prior to receive his benediction. the prior was a venerable saint with a flowing white beard; his countenance expressed infinite goodness and benevolence. we had been told not to offer any gifts to the monks on entering the monastery; but to leave whatever we might think fit to bestow, on departing. the venerable prior dispensed his blessing to all alike. he did not inquire if the recipient were a believer, or a heretic. christians, jews, mohammedans, all alike, received the godly man's benediction. i quitted the chapel wholly repentant. i had completely forgotten the errand on which i had been sent. not once did it occur to me that i was there as a spy, to examine the walls, the mortars, to learn the strength of the garrison. i took my place in the procession of cripples, and hobbled along with them, mumbling the prayers prescribed for us. when we arrived at the miracle-working spring, i and my fellow-sufferers were undressed and placed on rafts in the water--rich and poor alike, no distinction was made between the magnate and the beggar. i can't say exactly how long i remained in the water; but when i came out, the crook had left my leg, it was straight and sound as before i came into possession of the old turk's crutch. "miraculum! miraculum!" shouted the entire company; while i wept like a little child, for joy and gratitude. with my crutch over my shoulder, instead of under it i returned to the prior, who received me with a benignant smile. i knelt at his feet and asked him to receive my confession. i told him every thing; that i was there at the behest of the haidemaken leader to spy out the strength of the fortifications and the garrison; that the band was preparing to assault the monastery, so soon as they should hear from me; that they intended to bring with them a powerful field-gun, with which to force a breach in the walls through which the four-hundred fearless robbers would enter and overpower the soldiery. when i had concluded, and the prior had given me absolution, he said: "now, my son, go back to those who sent you here and tell them what you have learned. let them come with their field-gun, and do you come with them. when you are ordered to bombard the walls, do you obey--" "what? father;" i interrupted in astonishment. "you advise me to do that?" "yes. on the bombardier depends the effect of the bombardment! it rests with him to aim well, or ill! better you at the gun than another!" i understood the sagacious reply, and said: "i shall take good care not to aim well, father." "on you, my son, will it depend that the relief troops i shall send for reach here in time to save us from the robbers." "and you may rest assured, father, that i shall know how to prolong the siege!" as a pledge that i would keep faith with him i gave him my crutch, gratitude also prompting the gift, for, not even a gold-filled crutch is too great a price to pay for a sound leg! "i will keep it for you, my son," said the benevolent sage. "if you succeed in averting the danger which threatens us you shall have the crutch back, and something in addition--something of more value than gold: aid to reform. take this image of the holy virgin to your wife with my blessing." a changed man at heart, i returned to the cavern, where, however, i was forced again to tell untruths, in order to deceive the robbers. but it was for a good cause. my comrades received me with gratulatory shouts when they saw me walking on two healthy legs. i told them i had been healed by magic--by the incantations of a witch, and they believed me! had i told the truth, and that i had received the blessing of the prior, it would have made them suspicious. we now held a council of war, at which i delivered my report. i knew from experience that, to gain credence for a lie, one must invest it with a modicum of truth. therefore, i described, without deviating one iota from the truth, the treasures i had seen, and even added to them--as, for instance: i said there were barrels filled with gold and silver, which made the robbers' mouths water. nyedzviedz was full of ambitious plans. he intended, so soon as he got money enough, to combine under his leadership all the predatory bands in the carpathian region, and with them invade and plunder the wealthy galician cities, castles, and monasteries. he felt confident that the common people would be glad to aid in plundering the prelates and nobles. i described the fortifications of berdiczov monastery as almost impregnable, when the truth was, that i could, with the culverin, have battered down the walls the first day while the rusty old mortars would do little damage among the beleaguerers. i ascribed to the prior the strategic talents of a field-marshall. my description of the moat, with the formidable palisades concealed under the water, quite discouraged the robbers from the plan they had made to swim across it, and storm the walls. indeed, i told such astounding tales about the powder mines under the walls and moat, that their confidence in me became absolute when i sketched my plan of assault. i proposed to batter the fortifications in such a manner, that the _debris_ would fall into and fill up the moat, which would enable us to cross it without injury, and enter through the breaches i had made in the walls. i won the leader's favor and approval to such an extent that he committed the entire conduct of the important expedition into my hands. at the conclusion of the council, i asked as a special favor to be allowed to spend a day with my beloved madus before we set out on the expedition. nyedzviedz at first was unwilling to consent. "i know," he said, "just how women-folk are. it is best for a soldier to have nothing to do with them. their tears are sure to melt a soft heart." but i persisted in my request, and at last received permission to visit the viszpa ogrod. it was a beautiful autumn afternoon when i descended the steep path to the secluded valley. while yet some distance from our little cottage, i heard my madus singing sweetly--i can hear her now, and see her as she came joyfully to meet me. how happy she was! the poor child believed i had come to stop, and as i did not want to cloud her joy, i put off until the moment of my departure, telling her that i was again to accompany her father on a distant expedition. one day at least i would spend happily. so, i let my madus tell me all that had happened in the valley during my absence; i heard also how much dried fruit, how many smoked trout, how many cheeses, she had in store for the winter; how many yards of beautiful linen she had woven from the flax she had cultivated with her own hands. last of all, she exhibited, with blushing cheeks, her little treasures: cunning little caps, and jackets, at sight of which my heart leapt for joy in my bosom. she confided to me in a whisper that, when christmas should arrive, her bethlehem crib would have received its occupant. oh, how gladly would i have remained with her! but it could not be. i had more ambitious plans for her. i was bent on escaping with her to the great world, where she should--as she deserved--become a fine lady. after she had told me everything about herself, she asked me to relate what i had done while absent. when i told her how successful the expedition had proved, i found that the madus who tended her doves and made cheeses in the viszpa ogrod, was vastly different from the madus who had once accompanied the haidemaken expeditions. she grew pale with horror when i described the slaughter of the caravan; and the occurrence which resulted in my becoming the inheritor of the old turk's crutch, and a lame leg. she became more composed, however, when i told her about the marvelous cure at the healing spring; and quite recovered her composure when i gave her the image of the holy virgin the prior had sent her. ah me! that image was her death, as well as her salvation. the next morning i told her i had to leave her again. she sought with tears and caresses to dissuade me from going. she clasped her arms around my neck, then flung herself at my feet, and clasped my knees--she seemed unable to control her wild despair. i have often thought since that the poor child had a presentiment she would never again behold me in this life. i sought in vain to comfort her; in vain i assured her that i would never leave her again after i returned from this expedition, from which i hoped to secure what would enable me to establish a home for her in some large city. she was inconsolable. she accompanied me to the entrance to the rock-corridor, and would have gone clear to the cavern, had not her father met us just as we were entering the passage. he frightened her by saying it would be unsafe to venture among the haidemaken in her condition, as all robbers entertained the superstitious belief that the fourth finger from the hand of an unborn babe rendered the possessor invulnerable to bullet and sword. nyedzviedz would not even allow a last embrace, but thrust us roughly apart; and forced me to precede him into the corridor. i kept looking back from time to time, so long as the entrance remained in sight. my madus stood, looking after me, in the circular opening of the rocky wall; she seemed like a saint encompassed by a halo of light, and as the corridor grew darker and more gloomy the radiant image at my back increased in brilliance until a sudden turn hid the beautiful vision from my sight. that same evening we set out for berdiczov--four-hundred haidemaken, with the culverin. christmas. it was early autumn when we began the siege, which i conducted in so skillful--from my point of view!--a manner, that december found us still outside the walls of the monastery. three times i changed the position of our assaulting forces; but took good care every time to select a point far enough from the walls to prevent our shots from damaging them to any considerable extent. nyedzviedz kept urging me to a nearer approach: he said we were so distant, that the cannon-balls from the fortifications had to roll over the ground to reach our lines. so, one day, after he had examined the ground, and discovered what he believed to be a more advantageous position, i was forced, in order not to rouse his suspicions, to comply with his request. while superintending the throwing up of intrenchments the first night i managed to secrete under the earth-works a keg of powder, and in the morning i told the leader that extreme caution would be necessary, now that we were so much nearer to the fortifications, as the monks were having powder-mines laid under our breast-works. i had heard peculiar noises during the night, i told him, and, suspecting what was being done, i had scattered a few peas on the head of a drum standing on the ground. the lively dancing of the peas had convinced me that my suspicions were correct. but the leader was incredulous. he decided to take observations for himself; and would spend the following night in the trenches, when he could also watch the result of our bombardment. this would make it impossible for me to carry out my plans for exploding the keg of powder hidden in the breast-works. but, i was not to be outdone. i happened to remember an expedient i had once employed with success, and resorted to it again: i drew the fuse through a long reed, one end of which i thrust into the keg. i had to be very cautious; for nyedzviedz had a nose that could smell a match cord at long range; but with the fuse inside the reed, i could prevent the fumes from getting into the range of his olfactor. the powder exploded at the right moment, just when the leader was bending eagerly over the breast-work to peer after a bomb. after the smoke and dust cleared away, i drew him from under the heap of earth, from which only his legs protruded. he had not been injured in the least, but all desire to assault the enemy at so close a range had fled, and i was allowed to return to our former position, on the brow of a hill, a considerable distance farther from the fortifications. i consoled the dissatisfied haidemaken with the assurance that, when the real cold weather of winter should set in, the moat would freeze over; then it would be an easy matter to storm the walls at close range. i did not think it necessary to tell them that the warm spring would prevent the water in the moat from freezing. in the meantime came christmas--an anxiously longed-for day in many respects. with the dawn of christmas morning came a furious snow-storm, the north wind flinging down on us such masses of flakes that it was impossible to see ten steps away. it was just the sort of weather i had calculated on. the bombardment had to cease, as the monastery was completely hidden from view behind the veil of snow. the haidemaken retired to their tents, and amused themselves, gaming with dice and cards, for what stakes do you imagine? they had no money, remember! why, the winner paid, and the loser received, a box on the ear! i hadn't any fondness for the game myself; but my comrades seemed to enjoy it hugely. while gaming, drinking, cursing, were going on in the other tents, i sat in my own, alone, and silent, pondering over my past years. i recalled the different anniversaries of the blessed day, beginning with the first i could remember when, held in my mother's arms, i removed from the christmas-tree my first ginger-bread doll, which i was loath to eat because of its beautiful golden hue. then, my thoughts turned to the humble cot in the viszpa ogrod; and i wondered, with a strange trembling in my bosom, if the little bethlehem crib, my madus had prepared for the reception of a precious occupant, now held its treasure. the monastery bells were ringing for the christmas service; on the bastion a long procession of monks with innumerable lamps was moving toward the chapel. the wind was driving the clouds across the sky, and hundreds of witch-forms rioted above the camp, in the faint light which came from a mist-veiled moon. the snow-fall had ceased; only the wind, which was scattering the storm-clouds, still swept with unabated vigor across the plain, packing the fine snow more compactly together. suddenly, amid the noise of carousing and shouting which came from the neighboring tents, i heard a sound that made me drop quickly to my knees, and lay my ear close to the ground. at last! at last! they were coming! i could hear distinctly the hoof-beats, when they crossed the rocky road from which the wind had swept the snow. then, the sound ceased--they were come to the plain where the snow muffled the noise of the hoofs. duke visznovieczky's dragoons were approaching at a brisk trot to the assistance of berdiczov monastery. i did not wait for them to come up. in the dark all cows are black! i said to myself: "it will be useless to try to convince the dragoon who raises his sword against me that i am this one, and not the other one!" so i wrapped myself in my mantle, slipped from the tent, and ran fleetly toward the monastery. when i paused to look back, after the relief troop had begun the attack on the robber camp, i saw the witch-dance i had seen earlier, it had descended to the earth, and with it was joined a tumult of demons; of black forms, and white, darting hither and thither; of furious sword cuts; frenzied cries; mad flight, and swift pursuit! the early morning assault was successful. the dragoons routed the haidemaken without a shot. what became of my comrades i cannot say, for i continued on my way to the monastery, where i shouted myself hoarse before the draw-bridge was lowered to admit me. early mass had just been concluded. the monks with their tall candlesticks, chanting a psalm of praise, led the procession returning from the chapel; the cripples hobbling in the rear, hummed the antiphony. but, hei! didn't the devout company break ranks quickly when i appeared before them with the announcement: "duke visznovieczky's dragoons are come, and have attacked the haidemaken camp!" the psalm-singing ceased at once; and, instead, everybody was shouting: "to arms! to arms!" even the canopy-bearers left the prior in the middle of the court-yard, and ran to fetch their arms; while the cripples hopped about on one leg and brandished their crutches and staves. by this time we could see that the beleaguerers were fleeing before the dragoons in every direction. the valiant burgers who, at the beginning of the siege, had taken refuge in the monastery, could now no longer repress their heroic feelings. seizing whatever would serve as a weapon, the brave fellows dashed across the draw-bridge and sped toward the field of battle; the reverend fathers followed at a more dignified pace; the cripples brought up the rear, and assisted the worthy burgers to complete the work of destruction begun by the dragoons, by cutting off the feet of those haidemaken who had already been decapitated. whether nyedzviedz had succeeded in escaping the fate of many of his comrades, i could not learn then; nor did i care! i was too thankful that i had been spared from destruction and delivered from the clutch of the robber-band. therewith ended my career as a haidemak. the prisoner here paused in his confession, feeling that he, as well as the court, needed a rest. "i am inclined to believe," observed the prince, "that the accused rehabilitated himself through his valiant act. so much as he sinned, so much he made good! he was healed by a miracle of god; therefore, it behooves us earthly judges to consider well before we pass sentence where the heavenly judge granted absolution." to this the chair, with obvious irritation, made reply: "if your highness intends to permit this malefactor to extenuate, in a like manner, all the rest of his misdeeds, when he gets to the end of the list we shall feel that he deserves canonization instead of punishment." part iii. in the service of the duke. chapter i. malachi. the next day the prisoner continued his confession: my experience at berdiczov monastery, my deliverance from destruction, as well as the miraculous restoration of my crippled limb, decided me to adopt the faith of the holy brotherhood. their solemn ceremonies, their elevating devotions, their piety, made a deep impression on me; but the most comforting to me of all their rites was that of the confessional. it was such a comfort to unbosom myself to one in whom i could trust implicitly; to confide in him all the secrets that tortured my dreams by night, and my thoughts by day. and then, to receive absolution--to get back, as it were, the bond i had given to satan! one day was not long enough for all i had to tell. i could have spent every day of the week in the confessional, pouring into the ear of the good father agapitus the sins which burdened my conscience. and one day i confessed, too, that i was becoming weary of the life in the monastery, where there was nothing to do but tend to the sick all day long; and that i wanted to go back to the world--if not to my former sinful life. after i had confessed, i ventured to ask the worthy father to recommend me to some polish noble, with whom i should have little work and much amusement. there were many such places, i said, where the services of a man of my stamp were required. "my dear son," returned the worthy father, "i cannot recommend you to a christian man of the world, for, although i could tell him that you are a pious confrater now, i could not say that you have always been honest. i know just the contrary, and i cannot give false witness. but i will do what i can for you. here is the crutch you left with us--the gold is still in it. take it, garb yourself in beggar raiment, and limp to lemberg, where lives a master malachi in the jewish quarter of the city. you need only to inquire for him, and you will be directed to his house. he is a wicked man, in league with satan. he deserves to have been sent to the scaffold long ago--and he will get there should the inquisition be established. malachi is the man for your needs. tell him what you require, he will understand you--especially if you tell him what your crutch contains!" i could understand clearly that a pious man like father agapitus could do nothing for me--so notorious a sinner! he could not give me a letter of recommendation, with false dates; it was enough if he directed me where to find an accomplished counterfeiter, who could supply my wants. so, i kissed his hand in gratitude; bade him farewell, and, with my crutch under my shoulder, set out for lemberg, begging my way so that no one should suspect that i carried in my crutch the wherewith to pay for food and lodging. when i arrived in lemberg i repaired at once to the jews' quarter, where the streets are so narrow two wagons cannot pass one another. directly i entered the principal thoroughfare, which seemed a veritable rag-fair from one end to the other, i was surrounded by a swarm of noisy children. i took from my pocket a denarius, held it up before them, and said i would give it to the lad who would conduct me to the house of malachi, whereupon the youngsters began to quarrel as to which of them should become the possessor of the coin. the largest scamp among them, who succeeded by force of his superior size and strength to vanquish his fellows, offered himself as guide. he led me a pretty chase, through numerous byways and alleys, where there was hardly room for two persons to pass, to a shop in front of which was sitting an aged dame, with her cap drawn down to her eyebrows. said my guide, after i had placed the denarius in his hand: "this woman knows where malachi lives--she will tell you;" and before i could stop him, the little rascal was off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. i turned to the crone, who kept nodding her old head as if she were assenting to anything i might say to her, took from my pocket a _marien-groschen_, and holding it toward her, said: "here, mother, this pretty coin shall be yours if you will direct me to malachi's house." she nodded--as much as to say "very good;" rose from her chair, shuffled into the shop, where she filled a small vial with red polish brandy. this she handed to me with one hand, at the same time extending the other for the money. "i don't want brandy--i want to know where malachi lives?" i shouted at the top of my voice. the dame trotted back into the shop and brought a bottle of green russian brandy. the little scamp had left me to deal with a deaf woman! when i bawled into her ear for the third time the name of malachi, she fetched from the shop a packet of insect powder which she offered in exchange for the _marien-groschen_. then i bethought me of an expedient which is usually successful in like cases: i took from my pocket a crown and held it toward the dame. this cure for deafness proved effective. "oh, you want to find malachi?" she said in a cautious whisper, nodding understandingly. "follow me." she closed and locked the shop-door, opened a little gate at the corner of the house, led me across a vegetable garden hung with soiled clothes; across a second; thence through a narrow passage, between two old buildings, into a wood-shed; from there into a cellar; then over a swinging bridge across an ill-smelling canal; and, lastly, through a long, seemingly interminable corridor, at the end of which she knocked with her staff at a wooden door, at the same time whispering in my ear, and taking the crown from my hand: "i can't tell you where malachi lives; but i have brought you to the thaumaturgus, who knows everything; he will tell you where to find malachi." the door opened, and i saw before me a venerable man with silvery hair and beard. he was blind. his tall form was enveloped in a black silk robe girt about the waist by an oriental sash. from his garb, i concluded that a coin of greater value would be necessary to procure the information i desired. "are you the man who knows everything?" i inquired. the old gentleman was not in the least chary of words. with great readiness he declared that he understood the language of the birds of the air; the speech of the beasts of the field; that he could converse with dragons; could discover subterranean springs; could tell any man whether or no he was the son of his father; could even understand the tongue in which demons spake-- "but," i interrupted, "i don't want to know any of these things. if you will tell me where malachi lives, i will pay for the information." "ah, my son!" he responded, turning his sightless eyes heavenward; "that is a difficult question to answer. there are in this world as many malachis as there are flowers in the field, and stars in the sky. there are seventy-seven in this very city; a malachi mizraim; a malachi meschugge; a malachi choschen; malachi pinkas; malachi honnowas--how do i know which malachi you want?" "i want the one who is a--counterfeiter," i answered, with some hesitation. "ah, my son!" again ejaculated the venerable sage, shaking his head sadly, "how sorry i am to hear that you are on such evil ways! all the malachis with whom i have to do are honest, god-fearing men." i saw plainly that i should have to assist the old gentleman's memory; i pressed a gold coin into his palm. he turned it over and over in his fingers; tested it in various ways; and, after convincing himself that it was genuine, he delivered this apothegmatic solution of the riddle: "my son, he whom you seek, i cannot find. i have never seen him--i am blind. we will consult the miracle." he stepped back into the room, to the table, where he groped about with his hands among the different objects, until he found a long steel needle. this he thrust between the leaves of a heavy book lying on the table, opened it, and placing his forefinger at the point of the needle, where it rested on the page, said, in a prophetic tone: "he whom the miracle designates is ben malachi peixoto, the portuguese--not i, but the miracle says so." "and where shall i find this portuguese?" i asked. "when you go from the door of my dwelling, you will find his directly opposite. knock twice, then once, then twice again, and you will be admitted. and now, my son, go your way in peace!" a stocky youth, with a candle, conducted me down a dark stairway, opened the door, and i found myself in the same street from which i had started on my quest. malachi's house was the first one on the corner. i had been led a tramp, for half a day, hither and thither, up and down, through the entire ghetto, to reach the first house in it! i knocked on the door as i had been directed; it was opened by a quince-colored lad. i cannot say for certain whether it was a lad or a lass, i think, though, it was a lad. i could not understand the language he spoke--indeed, i don't believe it was a language at all! he conducted me up a creaking staircase, into a darkened room, in the corner of which crouched a human form with its back to the door. he did not turn at my entrance, but kept his face turned from me all the time i was in the room. in front of him was a mirror in which he could see my reflection. the fleeting glimpse i caught of his face in the glass, told me that the mysterious creature had no beard; his face was quite smooth, which i believe is the fashion among portuguese jews; it had been embrocated with orpiment, which eats off the hair of the beard--a mosaic law prohibiting the use of metal to remove hair from the face. "is malachi at home?" i inquired. "malachi is at home; what do you want of him?" the man spoke in the third person, so that i could not have sworn that he to whom i addressed my inquiries was malachi or not. "i will tell you my errand as briefly as possible," said i. "i want to secure a position in the household of duke visznovieczky, and require a patent of nobility to certify to my noble birth. i also want an academic testimonial; a certificate of baptism and confirmation in the roman catholic church; and, lastly, i want a letter of recommendation from some grand duke or other, which testifies to my erudition, and skill in all the sciences, as well as to my excellent character. of course i don't expect you to furnish me with all these documents for nothing. i am willing to pay your price for them. how much do you ask?" the man replied to my reflection in the mirror: "malachi's answer to your insolent request is: you have applied to the wrong person. malachi does not meddle with such criminal doings. moreover, malachi has nothing whatever to do with ragged beggars like yourself. if you desire to become such a knight as you describe, and have the money to pay for the transformation, go to malachi's cousin, malchus, the tailor, who sells gentlemen's clothing. he lives on the corner of bethel street, beside the fountain. from him you can buy all manner of fine raiment. malchus will transform you to a noble knight--if you have the money to pay for it. and now be gone from here, and don't come back again, for malachi is an honest man whose lips do not utter falsehoods; his fingers have never been stained with the ink of forgery." firmly believing that he was the malachi i sought, i departed from his house with a disappointed heart, and betook myself to bethel street, to the house beside the fountain, where i found malchus the tailor. i would at least exchange my beggar's garb for the raiment of a gentleman. "how glad i am to see your lordship again!" exclaimed the little man, as i stepped into his door. "may i become as the dust of the street, if it doesn't seem a hundred years since i saw you last! but, does your lordship imagine i could fail to recognize the noble knight zdenko kochanovszki, who, in fulfillment of a vow, journeyed on foot, and garbed as a pilgrim, to jerusalem and back? have not i, malchus the tailor, eyes to see? i'll wager my head against a button, that nobody but myself would recognize your lordship in those ragged garments. could the beautiful persida, from whom your lordship received the magnificent wreath at the tournament, see you now, she would say: 'give this ragged beggar a penny, and drive him away.' she is a duchess now, the wife of the powerful duke visznovieczki. but _i_ have not forgotten your lordship; i still have the clothes your lordship left in pledge with me--also the embroidered leather-belt with the bag containing the documents. i kept them all, safely concealed, for i knew your lordship, the brave and noble zdenko kochanovszki, would return from the holy land and redeem his pledge." i saw at once that i should have to accept the personality thrust upon me by the loquacious little tailor, and call myself zdenko kochanovszki; and when i found how admirably the puissant knight's cast-off garments fitted me, i no longer hesitated to take possession of his name also. and that is how i became zdenko kochanovszki. when i was completely garbed--and a stately mazar, i looked in the knight's habiliments!--i asked malchus what was to pay. "why, surely your lordship remembers the sum i advanced on the clothes? of course, i did not count in the loan the jeweled clasps your lordship desired to be sent to the beautiful persida; so you owe me only a round hundred ducats--" "a hundred ducats?" i repeated in consternation. "why there isn't in all poland a waywode who can boast of so costly a suit of clothes." malchus smiled slyly: "that is very true, my lord, and there is not in all poland a magnate who can boast of more valuable documents than those in the bag attached to your lordship's leather-belt. when your lordship left them with me and charged me to care for them as for the apple of my eye, i knew they must be of great importance. so i have kept them safely concealed all these years. i don't know what the papers contain as i can read only what i write with my own hand. i don't understand latin, or greek; and i don't know how to read from left to right; consequently your lordship may believe me when i say i have not read the papers. your lordship will find everything in the bag just as when it was placed in my hands for safe keeping." i opened the bag, and, on examining the documents, found to my surprise and delight that they were just what i wanted. there was a patent of nobility, with a turk's head in the crest--(concerning the turk's head i might justly have appropriated it for my own escutcheon, only i had not come into possession of it on the battlefield!) there was also an academic certificate, from the rector of sarbonne, with the baccalaureate degree; also certificates of baptism and confirmation, signed by the bishop of cracow; a testimonial of valor from the imperial commander-in-chief, montecucculi; and a pardon from the patriarch of jerusalem--such as are bestowed on pilgrims to the holy sepulchre--all of which were the property of zdenko kochanovszki--who i was! malchus continued to smile slyly while i was examining the documents, and when i had read the last one he said: "doesn't your lordship think these handsome clothes are worth one hundred ducats?" i gave him a hearty slap on the back; then counted out a "round hundred ducats." the clothes were not worth one-tenth that sum, but i was quite satisfied with my purchase. i was now fully equipped for my entrance to the ducal palace; as zdenko kochanovszki i might without hesitation seek admittance anywhere. he to whom the name rightly belonged had disappeared eight years before, and had most likely lost his life in the holy land, or in the battle with the infidels in hungary. whoever still remembered the beardless youth, would not wonder at the great change eight years of hardship and danger had made in him; and would expect to find the man a different looking person from the boy. as for my looks--i doubt if my own mother would have recognized me. the duke was an old man, of a girth so enormous that he was obliged to wear a broad surcingle as support to his rotund paunch. his hair and beard were gray on the right side, but black on the left, which gave him a very peculiar appearance. when i presented myself before him, he seized both my hands, and exclaimed: "what! zdenko kochanovszki back again? the devil! what a man you are grown! do you remember what we did at parting?" i was confused for a moment: how was i to remember what i had never known? however, i had to reply, so i stammered what i thought the most probable: "we drank to each other, your grace." "by heaven, you are right, lad! that is what we did! but, do you also remember our wager?" i ventured another guess, and answered: "each wagered he could drink the other under the table." "ha, ha, ha! right--right!" shouted his grace, embracing and kissing me. "that's what we wagered--and the devil fly away with me if i don't match you again this very moment! ho, there, fetch the bratina." the bratina is a huge golden beaker that holds two quarts. this was brought to me, filled with hegyaljaner wine. now, i had fasted for many hours, and was both hungry and thirsty, so that it did not require much of an effort on my part to empty the bratina at a draught--to the supernaculum! "the devil fetch me!" roared the jovial duke. "if i had not recognized you already, i should know you now!" i had no difficulty drinking his grace under the table; and from that hour i became an important member of his household. chapter ii. persida. "_crimen falsi_," dictated the chair to the notary. "but"--the prince made haste to add--"but, _immediatum_, not _spontaneum_. the accused was led to the indirect committal of the act by the instructions of father agapitus; the real criminal is a jew--it is he who deserves the stake. therefore, the prisoner's transgression may be remitted." "if this continues," grumblingly commented the chair, "the prisoner will surely talk himself out of every one of his crimes. well"--addressing himself to the accused--"i don't know what to call you, but for the time being zdenko kochanovszki, continue." under that name, your honor, resumed hugo, i lived the most memorable days of my life. i was treated by the duke as a good comrade and familiar friend. we hunted together for days in the ducal forests slaying the wild bulls and bears by the hundreds; and when we returned to the palace the merry-making began. there would be feasting and drinking; the most enchanting music by a band of bohemian players; the court-fools would amuse us with all sorts of buffoonery; and when any of the jovial company succumbed to the beaker and tumbled under the table the attendants carried them to bed. not infrequently it happened that his grace and myself would be the only two left at the table--we being able to stand more than the others. at times, too, i would entertain the company by relating the most wonderful tales of my pilgrimage, which were listened to with close attention. in all this time i had not seen a single woman about the palace. the grand-duchess was absent on a pilgrimage to berdiczov, in fulfillment of a vow. i learned from one of the guests that the duke's marriage had not been blessed with an heir, and this was why the duchess had undertaken the devout journey. as she knew she should be absent several weeks, she took with her all the women servants, as well as her ladies-in-waiting--from which i guessed the fair persida to be a shrewd, as well as a beautiful woman. i waited her grace's return with no little apprehension, for, with the exception of the grand duke himself, every one about the palace knew that zdenko kochanovszki had been a devoted admirer of the lady before her marriage. indeed, it was said that her marriage to the rich old duke had sent the youthful zdenko on his pilgrimage. that all this was unknown to his grace was certain, else the reception accorded to me, whom he believed to be his former boon companion, would not have been so cordial. there would be some sport when the lady returned home. would she, too, see in me her quondam admirer? what would happen to me if the eyes of a loving woman should prove more keen than those of her husband? what would be the result if she saw through my masquerade? if she should say: "away with this rogue--he is a deceiver! i know what dwells in the eyes of the true zdenko, for i have looked into them. these are not zdenko's eyes." and again: what would happen if she should believe me to be her one-time lover? and question me as her husband had done: "do you remember the promise we gave to each other?" and, suppose i should be as lucky in guessing the reply as before! * * * * * the duke spoke boastfully of his dragoon's victory over the haidemaken before the walls of berdiczov monastery. the robbers had been mowed down like grain; only the leader and a few of his men had escaped by the skin of their teeth; their field-gun had been captured and the gunner hanged on one of the tallest trees--your honors may guess that i took good care not to deny this statement! i praised the duke's heroism, and listened attentively to his tales about the terrible haidemaken, as if i had never heard of them before. at last, one fine day, the pilgrims returned from berdiczov; and the joyous sound of women's voices was heard in the palace. master and man hastened to welcome the fair ones. i alone had no one to greet. i was very curious to see what manner of woman the beautiful persida might be--she for whose sake the owner of my name had gone out into the wide world. the duke hastened to assist her from the carriage on the arrival of the caravan. she was very graceful--tall, with a pale face, large, dark languishing eyes, full red lips, and coal black hair. when her spouse pressed his moist moustache to her lips, she made a grimace. he was overjoyed at her return. the duke's guests and attendants welcomed the returned duchess, each in their own fashion; the former pressed their lips to her hand; the latter kissed the hem of her robe. i did not want my first meeting with her grace to take place in the presence of the entire household; but the duke called me from the hall, where i had withdrawn, and said: "see here, my love, who is this? look at him, and tell me if you recognize the lad?" i was afraid to meet the glance which scrutinized my features--i felt that i should be compelled to blurt out: "i am baran, gunner of the haidemaken." "you don't recognize him, do you?" again said the duke. "i knew you wouldn't. 'tis our long absent comrade zdenko kochanovszki." for one single instant i saw into that woman's soul. at mention of my name, a sudden light leapt into her eyes--a world of passion flamed for one brief instant. her husband had not seen it, only i. then the beautiful eyes became cold again, and indifferent, and the queenly head was gravely bent in recognition of an old acquaintance, the slender fingers were extended for the formal kiss of greeting. she did not vouchsafe another glance toward me, but turned toward the duke, laid her hand on his arm, and said with sudden friendliness: "_comment vous portez-vous, mon petit drôle?_" although her grace took no further notice of me, i saw my way clear for the future. with the return of the duchess the household regulations underwent a complete change. the noisy tipplers received their _congé_; the nightly carousals came to an end. quite a different mode of life had been prescribed by the prior of the monastery for the ducal pair, if they wished his blessing to have the desired effect. all fast days were to be strictly observed; they might eat only sparingly of the plainest food--only of those dishes which conduce to strength: snails, frogs, and those vegetables which grow under ground. this sort of diet, as you may guess, was not suited to the palates of the duke's guests. one after another took his departure, until none remained but myself; and i had become indispensable to his grace, because of my ability to amuse him with adventurous tales. every evening the duchess would send for me to read aloud in a religious book, about saints, until the duke would become sleepy. her grace continued to treat me with extreme reserve; she never lifted her eyes to mine when she spoke to me, but always kept them lowered, as if she were addressing her remarks to my boots. she appeared to be extraordinarily pious; she would repeat a long prayer before and at the end of every meal. she never called me by name--always "sir." indeed, the only time she unbent from her frigid reserve, was, when she patted her husband's fat, bearded cheek, or pulled his moustache, to restore him to a good humor; but these occasions were rare. before the duke retired for the night, the duchess prepared with her own fair hands his slumber draught, the recipe for which she had received from the prior of berdiczov monastery. it was composed of all sorts of costly spices--an enumeration of which i may repeat later, should i take up the trade of concocting various potations, the efficacy of which may not be doubted. the chief ingredient of the duke's sleeping potion was hot, red wine; and he was wont to smack his lips and exclaim after he had emptied the glass: "ah!--my love, that has quite rejuvenated me." he would spring lightly as a youth from his arm-chair, take his wife's hand, and gallantly conduct her to their private chambers, leaving me to the solitary perusal of the pious volume--to learn what had happened to st. genevieve, when attila's huns besieged paris. one evening we were engaged as usual with our instructive reading. the duke and his wife were seated in front of the fire-place; i, as always, occupied a chair at the table on which rested the ponderous "history of the saints and martyrs." i had been reading for an hour and more, how st. genevieve had relieved paris a second time from famine, when the duke suddenly interrupted to say he was so thirsty he must beg that his nightly potion be given to him at once. his wife prepared it for him; but, instead of rising to retire to his own rooms as usual, after he had emptied the glass, he settled himself back in his chair, clasped his hands over his paunch, and in a few minutes his powerful snoring again interrupted the reading. the duchess looked at him for several moments with an indescribable expression on her lovely face--a mixture of loathing, rage, and contempt; then, she sprang to her feet, came swiftly toward the table where i was sitting, and gave it so vigorous a thrust with her foot that it toppled over and fell, together with the saints and martyrs, to the floor with a loud noise. his grace did not stir; his snores continued with unabated vigor. before i had recovered from my astonishment at her grace's behavior, she seated herself on my knee and flung her arms around my neck: "so you have come back to me, zdenko? tell me, do you still love me?" she asked in a passionate whisper, at the same time making it impossible for me to reply-- "stop!" here interrupted the chair: "i don't quite understand how that could be?" "i do," promptly, and succinctly interposed the prince. "continue, prisoner, what happened next?" i hardly know how to tell it, your highness. it was like a dream of paradise! i knew that every kiss i received and returned was deceit, robbery, sacrilege; i knew i was cheating the house which sheltered me; the master of the house who fed me; the unknown man whose name i bore--the woman--god--the devil--all--all. and yet, were you to ask me what i should do were i to be placed in the same situation again, i should reply: "just what i did then--and if it cost me my life!" "hardened reprobate!" exclaimed the chair in a tone of reprimand. then he dictated to the notary: "_adulterium cum stellionatum_--" "but," hastily interposed the prince, "he did not begin it. in this case, as in that of father adam: the woman was to blame. the prisoner will continue." i know it was a great crime--i know it very well, and it oppresses my soul to this day, although i have received absolution for it. in that moment of oblivion to all things earthly, the lovely persida whispered in my ear: "zdenko, if you could journey to the holy land for love of me you could also endure a season of purgatory for my sake, could you not?" without stopping to consider, i answered: "certainly i could!" "very well, then, do not confess this sin which is half mine. do not confide it to priest, or saint, for no matter to whom you might confess, misfortune would come to me as well as to you." i promised not to confess the sin; but i went about with it weighting my soul, much as a wounded stag roams the forest with a dart in his vitals. the old duke at last became so devout that he compelled every member of his household to repair to the confessional in his private chapel, every fast day. there was nothing to be seen of the priest who received the penitents, but his hand, in which he held a long ivory wand with which he would touch the penitent as a sign that absolution had been granted. the duke confessed first; after him the duchess; then i, the house-friend, and major-domo of the ducal household. when my turn came, i took my place before the lattice and said to the confessor: "father, will you give me your word of honor that you will never tell what i confess to you?" "don't ask such silly questions, my son," he replied. "don't you know that the secrets of the confessional are inviolably sacred?" "but, suppose you should tell them sometime?" i persisted. "then i should be burned at the stake." "has it never happened that a priest betrayed the secrets confided to him in the confessional?" i asked again. "such a case is not on record, my son. not even the confession of a murderer may be revealed, though the priest knows that an innocent man will be hanged for the crime. he dare not speak to prevent the law from committing another murder. on the other hand, many a priest has suffered martyrdom rather than betray the secrets confided to him. an illustrious example is saint nepomuck, of whom i dare say you have heard?" "yes, i have read about john nepomucene; but are you a saint of that order?" "the vows i have taken, my son, are the same he took." "that is not enough, father; you must swear to me that you will never reveal what i tell you." and his reverence had to yield to my importunate request before i would make my confession to him. after he had solemnly sworn never to reveal what i should tell him, i made a clean breast of everything--and a rare list it was i can tell you! at the last transgression, however, i made a pause. i remembered what persida had said to me. and yet, the sin i shared with her was the very one that most oppressed my soul. the father noticed my hesitation, and said: "my son, you are keeping back something. you have not told me everything. it is not likely that a stately young gentleman like yourself lives only on caraway-soup! there are many handsome women in this city; every one of them confesses her foibles--you, surely, are not the only saint about here! remember, if you withhold but a single transgression, your tortures in purgatory will be the same as for nine-hundred and ninety-nine." the reverend father continued to threaten me with purgatorial fires, until at last i confided in him the secret which was only half mine. i had no sooner done so than i regretted it; i would have given anything could i have recalled my words--nay, i would willingly have journeyed straightway to purgatory, as i had told persida i would, rather than betray the secret we shared together. but the secrets of a sinful love have wings--they will escape somehow. when i bent forward to receive the reverend father's benediction, he gave me such a thump on the head with his wand that the spot remained sore to the touch for several days. "he absolves one with a will, and no mistake!" i said to myself as i rose to go my way. it occurred to me for an instant, that it would be exceedingly comical if, instead of a priest, it had been the duke who received my confession. i turned to look toward his grace's arm-chair, and was relieved to see that his burly form occupied it, and that he was wrapped in devout slumber. the iron necklace. freed from the burden of my transgressions, i proceeded to do what is usually done by the prodigal sons who have been relieved of their old debts--i set about at once to make new ones. i looked forward with impatience for evening to arrive, for the hour of instructive reading in the book of saints and martyrs. on this particular evening the duke was even more friendly toward me than usual; he jested with me, and frequently compelled me to exchange glasses with him as a sign of his cordial friendship. when the hour arrived for the duchess to prepare the "rejuvenating sleeping potion," his grace became actually boisterous; his fat face grew crimson, his rotund paunch shook like jelly, with his incessant laughter. "see here, comrade," he exclaimed, taking from his wife's hand the goblet in which the hot, spiced wine was steaming, "this is a drink of paradise! when i have emptied it into my stomach, i fly direct to paradise--not the one described by our holy men, where all the men are old, and all the women pious; where there is neither eating nor drinking and where there are no amusements save harp-playing and psalm singing--no, i fly straightway to the improved paradise of the mohammedans, where there is wine to drink and women to admire. there an enchanting greek _hetäre_ offers you the wine of cyprus; the roman bacchante offers falernian wine; the spanish donna serves maderia; the lesbian siren gives you nectar; the persian bayadere brings shiraz; the wallachian fairy, tokay; and the negress abelera dips up sparkling bordeaux in the hollow of her dusky palm and holds it to your lips--each more beautiful than the other, until at last you cannot decide which of the wines is the most delicious. that is _i_ cannot, for you have not yet made the journey. but you shall; for are not we good comrades--you and i? is it not meet that i should let my heart's brother enjoy paradisal delights with me? to be sure it is! very good! you shall go in my stead this very evening to mohammed's paradise--but only this once, mind you! here, take the glass, empty it to the dregs!" i was exceedingly embarrassed; i looked questioningly toward the duchess, who was seated on the arm of her husband's chair. he could not see her nod her head as if to say, "do as you are bid." i took the goblet and emptied it to the dregs. almost immediately i was overcome by a languor that seemed to transform my material body to vapor. i rose from the earth to the clouds which assumed the most fantastic shapes; on and on the breeze wafted me; over enchanting regions, amid talking trees and singing fruits; across a sea of radiant light swept by waves of harmony--amid music, and color, and perfumes, the quintessence of sweetness, amid gorgeous flames which became forms of transcendent loveliness: delilah; bathsheba; salome; laïs; aspasia; cleopatra; semiramis; circe; and the dusky atalanta. the seductive forms gathered around me; they pressed toward me, smiling alluringly. they thrust on to every one of my fingers rings that glittered with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, until my hands became so heavy i could not lift them. their embraces strangled me; their kisses burned on my face and neck like fire; the dusky atalanta's coral lips drew the blood from my veins-- "are you never going to waken from your satanic dream?" impatiently interrupted the chair. "let him dream--it is rather pleasant," interposed the prince; but hugo said: "i am awake. the place in which i found myself, when i opened my eyes, was not mohammed's paradise, but an underground dungeon, the walls of which were dripping with moisture. the flickering light of a small lamp faintly illumined the narrow cell; and the rings which weighted my hands were heavy iron chains that creaked and clinked every movement i made. the kisses which burned on my face and neck were not from the lips of delilah, circe, and the rest; but from those horrible hundred-legged creatures, scolopendra, which covered my body; and the dusky atalanta, who drew the blood from my neck, was nothing less than a hideous vampyre. the embraces which strangled me were not from the white arms of enchantresses, but from an iron band two inches thick and three fingers wide, fastened about my neck, and secured to a ring in the wall by a chain, that was only long enough to allow me to reach and convey to my mouth the mouldy bread and jug of water placed by my side--" "served you right, you godless miscreant!" interpolated the chair in a severe tone. "you got your just deserts at last!" at first--continued the prisoner--i consoled myself with the foolish thought that i was still under the influence of the sleeping potion. i remembered that those persons who eat the flesh of sharks are said to have such dreams: delightful visions at first, followed by the tortures of martyrdom. but the iron neck-band was too painful a reality for me to remain long in doubt as to whether i was awake, or dreaming. the cold, hard, heavy ring betrothed me to death! how long a time i passed in thinking over what had happened i can't say; there was no night, no day, in that dungeon; nor was i told by sleep and hunger when it was midnight or noon. the lamp in my cell was a perpetual one, for the oil did not grow less; it was there, doubtless, to reveal to me all the horrors of my surroundings. reptiles, all manner of creeping and crawling creatures moved over the stone floor and walls; vampyres hung in rows from the ceiling, watching me with their garnet eyes, ready to flash down on me the moment i lost consciousness in sleep. at last a sound roused me from the stupor into which i had fallen; a key turned in the lock, the iron door opened, and a tall man, whose face was hidden by a capuchin, entered, with a jug of water and a loaf of bread. "well, my lad," he exclaimed, on seeing that i had not touched the bread or the water by my side. "do you propose to starve yourself?" his voice sounded strangely familiar; i did not have to trouble my brain guessing where i had heard it before; he pushed back his capuchin, and i recognized the haidemaken priest who had performed the ceremony of confirmation over me in the cavern. "you are the haidemaken pater?" i whispered hoarsely, not trusting myself to speak aloud. "then you recognize me, do you?" he returned, laughing. "i had an idea you would deny all knowledge of our former comradeship." "are you the gaoler here?" i asked. "the gaoler?" he repeated, laughing again. "not by a good deal! i am the court-confessor!" he sat down on the stone seat to which i was chained, and continued: "i dare say you are curious to learn how i come to be here? well, when the duke's dragoons attacked the haidemaken at berdiczov, i hastily donned my chasuble and capuchin, trusting to the vestments to save my life, which they did; but i was taken prisoner and brought to the duke. i could not deny that i was a haidemak, but his grace evidently had use for a person like myself, for he said to me: "you deserve to be hanged, reverend father, but i will spare your life on condition that you accept a proposition i shall offer you: i want you to act the part of court-confessor for a season, to receive the confessions of those persons i shall send to you. i suspect my wife of infidelity, but cannot find out who is the partner of her guilt. they both confess to the court-chaplain i have no doubt, but he is an honest old saint who would let himself be torn to pieces rather than betray the secrets confided to him in the confessional. now, you are of a different pattern; it will not matter to you if the fires of purgatory are heated a few degrees hotter for your purification. if you don't accept my conditions you will have the opportunity at once of testing the temperature of purgatory; if you accept you shall have a respite. what do you say? will you become my court-confessor?" "you may believe, lad, that i would have acceded to a much more difficult proposition in order to save my neck from the gallows; so i became confessor to the ducal household. when i saw you coming toward the confessional i recognized you at once, and guessed that you would have some pretty sins to get rid of. i was not surprised when you told me of your sinful dalliance with the beautiful young duchess; and quite envied your good fortune. i said to myself, 'i will not betray the lad; but make him do penance for the sin,' so i ordered you to put seven dried peas in each shoe and journey on foot to the shrine of the holy virgin at berdiczov. had you been content to do as i bade you, you would not be here now; but you began to haggle with me about the peas--you urged me to let you boil them before you put them into your shoes; and, to win my indulgence, you told me of the good turn you had done the monks of berdiczov by betraying the haidemaken into the hands of the duke's dragoons. ha! but didn't i want to fly at your throat when i heard that! i wanted to strangle you, i was so enraged to hear that it was you who had betrayed us and frustrated our fine plans to secure the monks' treasure. however, i contented myself with giving you a sound rap on the head and straightway communicated to his grace what you had confessed. you have got for your reward the entire ducal property, for you are chained to it so securely you cannot get away from it." the next query i put to the cursed haidemaken priest was: "what has been done with the duchess?" "you need not trouble yourself about her highness, my son; the duke is too shrewd a man of the world to make public the disgrace of his house. the beautiful persida does not know that she has been betrayed. the causes assigned for your incarceration are forgery; the usurpation of the name of a noble knight; and for being a member of a robber band--for all of which you deserve death. that you have been condemned to suffer a hundred deaths for your dalliance with the lovely persida, instead of only one for the transgressions assigned, no one will ever know. as for the duchess: one of these fine days she will, after eating a peach or a pear, get a severe colic that will result in her death. the funeral ceremonies in the vieznovieczky palace will be most imposing--and that will be the end of her grace. it might come to pass, however, that the obsequies of his grace might precede those of the duchess. it depends on which of the ducal pair gets the better of the other! but, you have only yourself to think of, my son. i am here to offer you one of two alternatives: ask to be tried before a court which will sentence you to immediate death on the wheel--unless the duke out of compassion for a good comrade orders your head to be cut off. the other alternative is: elect to remain in this hole, chained to the wall, battling with vermin while you live, and becoming food for them when the breath leaves your body. _tertium non datur._" to this i made answer that i preferred to be executed without delay, even were i to be broiled on a gridiron over a slow fire. i was quite ready to die. "very well, my son, then i will proceed at once to administer to you the last sacraments--" "go to the devil!" i cried furiously, when he approached me with the wafer he had taken from his pocket. "i won't have any more of your cursed mummery. you are no better than i am--you too are sure to go to hell!" "that is more than likely, my son," responded the accursed priest composedly. "the only difference between us is in the manner of our journeying thither. you will travel on foot--i on wheels. so, don't you think it would be well to let me give you a lift on the way? with the heavy pack of sins on your back you might hang on to the tail-board of my wagon!" i could not help but laugh at the rascal, so i said: "very well, if your blessing will help me over the road more quickly, go ahead and let's have it!--and may the devil fly away with you!" he thrust the wafer down my throat and i had hardly got it comfortably swallowed when i fell into a deep sleep. the wafer contained a powerful narcotic. the white dove. in my death-like sleep i still saw the dungeon walls, still felt the iron fetters on neck, hands and feet. instead of the tiny lamp flame, however, which had only dimly lighted the musty cell, a radiant light now filled it--a light that came from overhead. when, with great difficulty, i lifted my face toward the ceiling, i beheld an ethereal form bending above me; her white garments gleamed like snow under brilliant sunshine; her blue mantle was like the starry sky of evening. the coronet above her brow was like the crescent moon. the face was so radiant i could not look at it--my eyes were dazzled as when i gazed into the noon-day sun. the radiant vision held on her right arm an infant; the forefinger of its right hand was pressed against its lips. i believed the holy virgin had descended to me; but when the vision came nearer to me, kissed me, and called me by name, then i knew that it was my madus--my poor deserted, forgotten madus! i was so ashamed of the fetters which bound me. if she should ask why i wore them, how could i reply? "i wear them because of the beautiful woman who caused me to forget you." but she did not ask any questions; she smiled tenderly, and said in her gentle tones: "my poor baran! how unhappy you seem! cheer up--we are come to help you--to release you. my home is now in paradise--i will tell you how i came to dwell there. on christmas eve, i was kneeling in front of the holy image you brought to me from berdiczov, expecting every minute the arrival of the little guest for my bethlehem crib, when i heard a familiar step outside the cottage. it was my father. i hurriedly snatched the blessed image from the table to hide it, for i knew the sight of it would anger him; but i was seized with such a terrible pain in my heart i had to press the image against it with both hands. i hardly recognized my father. his face was fearfully cut, and mutilated; one eye was gone. "your precious baran betrayed us," he gasped, glaring at me with the remaining eye. i opened my lips to speak for you, but before i could utter a word he said again: "you are his accomplice, you miserable creature! what are you hiding in your breast?" i could not lie, so i told him it was the image of the blessed virgin. "a gift from the berdiczov monks i'll warrant!" he shrieked, seizing my hair and flinging me on the floor. i heard the keen blade of his cimeter hiss through the air--then, it seemed as if the sky fell over me. the next instant i found myself in paradise, with every pain changed to bliss. i may not reveal to you the secrets of that blessed realm, my baran. i may only tell you that our little child is with me--he was born in heaven. this is he--he is come to save his father from death." as she spake these words the child bent toward me and took hold of the chains which bound my feet and hands. they fell asunder at his touch. but the iron band around my neck was too wide for his tiny fingers to clasp; it was impossible for him to break it. but he did what twenty-four horses could not have done: with one pull he drew from the wall the iron ring to which the neck-band was secured by a chain. "my blessed child!" i exclaimed, kissing the little hands. "if your strength is so great, then seize hold of my hair, and bear me with you to your home above the clouds." the little one laid his finger against his lips as a sign that he could not, or dared not speak; but the mother answered for him: "no, my good baran, you cannot come to us. before that will be possible you will have to endure many more trials in this world of shadows. you will have to abide here until you shall have performed a good deed for which some one will say to you: 'god reward you.' one single good deed, my baran, will do more toward winning paradise than a hundred pilgrimages, or a thousand prayers." how sinful i am, your honors, is proved by the fact that i am still alive; and as it is not likely that i shall have an opportunity to perform the deed, which will call down on me a blessing from heaven, i shall never again behold my little angel son, and his mother, my sainted madus. after the vision had spoken she beckoned me to follow her. the child touched the wall of the dungeon with his fingers, the stones parted, and we passed through the opening. the radiant form of my madus illuminated the passage amid the rocks, the long flights of stairs we ascended. we seemed to thread our way through the catacombs. at last we emerged from the subterranean region into a dense forest. i saw how the shining garments of my conductress swept over the moss, giving to it, to the flowers, the grass, the trees, the same soft radiance that emanated from her form. gradually the distance between me and the lovely vision widened; my feet became leaden; i could hardly move my limbs. then the radiant appearance lost its human shape, until at last it seemed to me that i was looking down a long avenue between the trees at a faint glimmering light at the further end. the cold air blew across my face, and i awoke. i was in the forest of my dream, around me were mammoth trees between which, a long way off, i could see the glimmering light of the open. the same beggar raiment i had worn to journey to lemberg clothed me; my crutch, emptied of its gold, lay by my side. i made my way toward the light at the edge of the forest. i could see no signs of human habitation anywhere. how far i was from the scene of my magnificence and disgrace i cannot say. when i looked at my beggar's rags, i could easily have believed my lemberg experience an evil dream, had not the iron band about my neck been too convincing a proof of its reality. "well," here observed the prince, drawing a long breath, "that is a most remarkable story!--a miraculous rescue of a transgressor through the aid of the almighty father!" to this the chair added: "i am inclined to believe that the prisoner's escape from the dungeon was effected through earthly, rather than heavenly assistance. it is more likely that the haidemaken priest, bribed by the duchess, conveyed the prisoner to the forest, and clad him in the rags which had been procured from the jew malchus." "_i_ believe the story just as the accused told it," asseverated his highness. "there are a number of similar cases on record--of notorious bandits having been released from imprisonment by the hands of an unborn babe." "and i assure your highness"--hugo ventured to insist--"that everything happened just as i related it. from the moment of my waking in the forest, a white dove nestled on my left shoulder, and accompanied me wherever i went. if i turned to look at it, when it would coo into my ear, it would fly to my right shoulder; but it seemed to prefer sitting on my left." "is the white dove sitting on either of your shoulders now?" queried the chair. "no, your honor," sadly replied the prisoner; "it is not there now. i will tell you later how i came to lose it." the prince announced his decision as follows: "as the prisoner's release from the dungeon was accomplished through a miracle from heaven, it would not be seemly for a human judge to oppose divine favor. this transgression, therefore, may also be erased from the register." part iv. with the templars. chapter i. in the hollow tree. with a ragged mantle on my back, a crutch in my hand, an iron band about my neck, and the white dove on my shoulder, where could i have gone?--even had i wished to leave the forest. the rags and the crutch were fitting equipment for a beggar; but what should i have replied had anyone asked me why i wore the iron band on my neck? i was disgusted with the world and its wickedness. overwhelmed with remorse for the sins i had committed, i resolved to become a hermit and do penance--i would remain in the forest and adopt the rigorous life of an ascetic. after a brief search i discovered a brook that would supply me with fresh water; hard by its banks an oak tree, many centuries old, with a large cavity in the trunk, offered the shelter i should require. i collected moss and dry leaves for my bed; for nourishment there was a plentitude of nuts and wild fruits, and edible fungi. wild bees furnished me with sweets. i bound together two dry branches in form of a cross, set it up between two large stones, and performed my daily devotions in front of it. during the day i roamed through the forest collecting stores for the winter; i laid up a supply of dried fruit, nuts, sow-bread and honey--the last i found in the upper part of my tree-house, where a swarm of bees had taken up their quarters. of the raspberries which grew plentifully along the brook, i made a sort of conserve, which i packed into boxes made of the bark of pine trees. all these provisions i stored in my tree-house, which i had firmly resolved never to quit. but one thought disquieted me. if i remained in the forest how could i perform the good deed madus had told me was necessary in order to win paradise? if i passed all my days in the hollow tree beside the brook, where no human being ever came near me, how was i to benefit my fellow creatures? how win the "god will reward you"--the open sesame to paradise? i pondered this over and over until at last an expedient suggested itself to me, by which i could make known my existence to my fellow-creatures and still remain in my hermitage. i looked about for two broad flat stones; these i fastened together at one side with a cord made of linden bark and hung them on the lower limb of a tree. with a third stone for a clapper i rang my primitive bell three times daily--morn, noon and evening--surely, i said to myself, some one will hear the sound and come to see what is the meaning of it. when the people in the neighborhood learn that a devout hermit is living in the forest, they will visit him, and perhaps bestow alms on him. but, in vain i rang three times every day, no visitors came to my hollow tree, save the fawns that came to drink at the brook, and the wild cats that came to prey on them. many a time i rescued a young deer from the claws of the feline enemy. it was to be regretted that the dumb beasts i rescued could not have thanked me for the good deed. one day i returned later than was my wont from collecting moss and ferns to protect me from the cold of winter (i had already fashioned a door of willow withes to keep the snow out of my tree-house). what was my surprise to find the door open, and all my provisions gone! not a trace of the nuts remained but the shells; there was not a vestige of the dried fruit; the boxes of raspberry conserve were lying about on the ground, broken and crushed, as if they had been trodden under foot by the marauders. even the tent-shaped honey-comb in the upper portion of my dwelling was gone, the plundered bees were buzzing angrily around the tree outside. i could hardly refrain from uttering a malediction on the thief who had despoiled me of my winter store; but i remembered my pious vows, and reproached myself instead: "shame on you, pious anchorite," i said, "were you so wedded to earthly possessions that the loss of them rouses your anger? you were too proud of your store. you were going to play the sovereign in the wilderness. others had an equal right to that which you imagined belonged only to yourself. the truly pious anchorite does not lay up stores for the morrow. he depends on the master to supply his needs. he must pay heed to nothing save his prayers for the wicked, and praises for the master. you have been fitly punished for your arrogance." i said further, "perhaps this has happened for the best. who can say but the despoiler prayed that god might reward the one who had placed the provisions in the hollow tree. if so be that was the case, it was a fine hunger it took all my store to appease!" and again: "who knows? perhaps the hungry one is a great prophet--st. peter himself, maybe. i have heard that that distinguished saint occasionally visits a poor man, and eats up a winter's supply of provisions, only to return it an hundred fold. if so be it was st. peter then he will return tomorrow and so fill your tree with viands and treasure you will never again want for anything--and, maybe, he will also bestow on you a passport that will admit you to paradise whenever you choose to go!" consoling myself with such thoughts, i sounded the bell as usual for vespers; then i drank heartily of brook water, lay down on my soft bed, and dreamed until morning, of flying hams and kindred paradisal delights. at sunrise, i rang the early matin bell; then hurried away, in order not to disturb the prophet when he came to prepare the surprise for me. i spent the entire day wandering about the forest, guessing what my benefactor would bestow on me in return for the nuts, fruits and honey he had taken--would it be the widow's oil-cruse with its never-failing contents? or, a pair of bread-supplying ravens? or, a barley loaf from mount gilead? or, a swarm of those savory locusts which had served as fare for john the baptist? in my rambling i came across a heap of beech-nuts. i hesitated to gather them. what need to take the trouble? there would be plenty, and to spare, in the hollow tree. however, i filled my pockets with the nuts, then turned my face homeward. as i was rather late, i rang for vespers, and told my beads (i had made a beautiful rosary of acorns) before going to my hermitage. a deep growl came from the hollow tree when i approached it. "he is here!" i exclaimed joyfully. "he is waiting to see me. that he is no ordinary person i can tell by his voice!" i crept on hands and knees toward the tree, and peeped into the cavity. the next instant i was on my feet, hurling a million _donnerwetters_ at the shaggy bear, whose monstrous body quite filled the only apartment of my dwelling. i forgot that i was an anchorite, and cursed the brute roundly-- "_votum violatum_," dictated the chair. "broken vow--blasphemy! _capite plectetur._" "by my faith!" interposed the prince with considerable emphasis. "i would have sworn too! _qui bene distinguit, bene docet._ how goes the paragraph relating to blasphemy? 'he that curses his fellowman'--and so forth. but, it doesn't say anything about punishment for him who curses his 'fellow-bear.' you see, therefore, that the _votum ruptum_ does not fit this crime, for it was not the prisoner who broke the vow of the anchorite, but the bear; consequently bruin is the delinquent." "very good," assented the chair. "then the bear is the guilty party: _ursus comburatur_! the robbery of the temple follows: i am curious to hear how the prisoner will clear himself of that! that he will accomplish it i am willing to wager my head!" what was i to do? continued hugo, when the mayor had concluded his remark. my house was occupied by a tenant who would not let me share it with him. i had nowhere else to go. i could not find another hermitage. if i could not be a hermit, i could become a beggar--begging was also a way to gain a livelihood, and i possessed the necessary equipment for it. in poland, no one who can say: "give me bread," needs die of hunger. the iron band on my neck might, after all, be of advantage to me; it would give me a sort of superiority over other mendicants. if i were asked how i came by it, i should say that it had been forged on my neck by the saracens, who took me captive when i was in the holy land, and because i had made my escape through a miracle, i continued to wear the band as a penance. the good people to whom i told this story believed it; it brought me many a groschen and carried me comfortably across poland. i had no sooner crossed into brandenburg (i was on my way to my native city, where i intended taking up the trade of my father, an honest and respectable tanner) than i was surrounded by a crowd of people--not a charitably disposed crowd, but inquisitive. they wanted to know where i came from, where was i going, who and what was i and how i dared to have the impertinence to beg in their city. i replied that i was a pilgrim from the holy land; and that instead of thinking it an impertinence for me to beg from them, they ought to consider it a distinction to have in their community a mendicant with an iron collar around his neck. but the brandenburgers are inclined to believe themselves more clever than the rest of the world. the bailiff seized me, dragged me to the market place, where he proceeded to question me for the benefit of the whole city. "who are you?" he inquired. "i am hungry," i said in reply. "where do you come from?" "from jerusalem." "don't you attempt to deceive me, sirrah! i know the way to jerusalem. through what provinces did you journey?" "through marcomannia, and scythia; through bess arabia, and arabia petræa; through bactria, and mesopotamia; and now i come direct from caramania--" "stop, stop! you are saying what is not true," interrupted the bailiff. "praise be to god! we brandenburgers have maps, and know how to get to foreign countries. the way to palestine is through zingaria, paflagonia, cappadocia, and cinnamon-scented india. "well," i explained, "i did travel through those countries too, but it was at night, when i couldn't see to read their names on the guide-boards." "and what means that iron band on your neck?" "that, your honor, was fastened about my neck by the black sultan, zagachrist, who held me captive fifty-two years and three days." "you are not yet thirty years old." "no, in this part of the world i am not; but in abyssinia, where the sun is so hot, the days contract to such an extent, that one of your years here would be six there." "what an unconscionable liar you are!" exclaimed the bailiff. "heat does not contract. on the contrary, it expands, which accounts for the days being longer in summer than in winter. we brandenburgers know that very well." he seized me by the collar, to drag me to prison, but i held back, and said in a loud voice--loud enough for the crowd to hear: "i tell you i am right; heat does contract. just you sit on a hot stove and see if your leather breeches don't shrivel up under you." the crowd was on my side; but that trial in the market-place might have resulted disastrously for me, had not a knight just then chanced to ride that way. he wore on his head a plumed helmet; his body was protected by a coat of mail. from his shoulders hung a crimson mantle, on which was embroidered a large white cross. a heart-shaped shield swung from the pommel of his saddle. my eyes were at once attracted to this shield, on which were the ensigns armorial: a mounted knight like himself, and on the same horse a ragged pilgrim of a like pattern with myself. "ho, ho!" here interrupted the chair in triumph. "you may have been able to hoodwink the brandenburg bailiff, but you can't do the same with me! you needn't try to make this court believe you saw anyone wearing the coat-of-arms of an order that was abolished in the th century." "i know very well, your honor, that the order of the templars was abolished at the time you mention, but a portion of them took refuge in brandenburg, where the order exists to this day under the name of 'dornenritter.'" having made this explanation, hugo continued his confession: at sight of the templar a great commotion arose among the people crowding the market-place; the women pressed toward him to kiss the hem of his mantle, in their enthusiasm almost dragging him from the saddle. the knight had red hair, and a long beard of the same fiery hue. "there is the red monk," said the bailiff to me. "do you try to make him believe you have been in palestine? he has been there twice--once by land and once by sea--and he has slaughtered more than two hundred heathen and liberated thousands of pilgrims from slavery. talk to him; he will know how to question you." i was in a fix, and no mistake. the knight would be sure at once to detect the errors of my geography. he rode quite close to me, passed his hand over his long beard and examined me from head to foot with his keen eyes. "can you prove to me that you come from the holy land?" he asked in a voice so stern and deep-toned it made me start and tremble. but a lucky thought came to me; i had a convincing proof under my arm--the old turk's crutch, the shaft of which was closely wound with brass wire in a fanciful pattern. "will you examine this, sir knight?" i said in reply--holding the crutch toward him. "you, who are familiar with the arabic characters, will find here a record of my wanderings--the entire history of my wretched captivity, and miraculous deliverance." it was the knight's turn to start and tremble. i saw at once from his countenance, that he knew no more about arabic than--ah--than your honor, and that he was afraid i might betray him, and prove to the multitude that he had never trod the sacred soil of the holy land. the hand he extended for the crutch trembled, but he preserved a bold front, as he turned the brass-bound shaft around and around in his fingers, and pretended to decipher the oriental characters. after several minutes, he returned the crutch to me and said in an impressive tone: "this is indeed arabic--or, rather, saracenic, the language of turcomania. your crutch, devout pilgrim, testifies to the truth of everything you have told these good people. come with me to my castle, where you will be a welcome and honored guest." before he had quite concluded this speech, the bailiff had lost himself in the crowd--he was nowhere to be seen. i was hoisted to the shoulders of a pair of sturdy citizens, and, accompanied by the shouting multitude, borne in triumph to the templars' castle, situated on a moat-encircled hill, a little distance from the city. here, i was committed to the care of the guards on duty; they stripped me of my rags; lifted me into a vat of water, scrubbed me thoroughly, combed and shaved my head, and then put on me a scarlet habit of coarse cloth, which, to judge from its ample proportions, must once have garbed the form of a brother whose conditions of life had been more fortunate than mine. attired thus, i was conducted to the refectory, where the red-bearded knight and twelve of his companions were assembled. "_quadraginta tonitrua_, lad, you please me well!" exclaimed the red-bearded knight, who seemed to be the leader. "never, in all my life, have i ever heard so glib a tongue at lying as yours! you must stop here with us. the devil has taken our sacristan--that's his habit you've got on--he died of small-pox yesterday." you may imagine my feelings when i heard that i was wearing the garment of a man that had succumbed to so loathsome a disease! i made bold to say that i had never learned the duties requisite to the office of a sacristan. "_per septem archidiabolos!_" merrily exclaimed the knight. "i believe you. but, we will instruct you--never fear!" here he noticed the iron band on my neck and added: "ha, _lucifer te corripiat_! why do you wear that curious band around your neck?" in reply i stammered something about a solemn vow, whereupon the entire company burst into hearty laughter. "_ut belsebub te submergat in paludes inferni, trifurcifer!_" bawled the red knight. "either you wear the band in pursuance of a vow--solemn or otherwise--or it was forged on your neck in punishment for a theft. if the former, then continue to wear it to the end of your days; if the latter, then we have an armorer who will relieve you of it in short order." to this i made answer: "though i wear the iron band because of a solemn vow, the sir knights may believe it is in punishment for a theft." the merry company laughed again, and the armorer was summoned at once to relieve me of the uncomfortable collar. baphomet. i now believed i had ultimately attained what i most desired--a comfortable position in a religious house, where i might pass the remainder of my days in peace, and free from care. i should have no further need to trouble about providing for food and drink, and the where to lay my head. my duties were light; i had to ring the bell for prayers three times daily; keep clean the church vessels, and take care of all the vestments. all my time not occupied with these simple tasks, i was permitted to devote to pious contemplation. i soon won the confidence of knight elias, the red-bearded superior. i was named eliezer. it had taken me six months and more to beg my way through poland, consequently, passion week began soon after my arrival at the templars' castle. i was apprehensive that i should not be able adequately to perform the duties requisite for my office during the solemn season, as i was not yet sufficiently familiar with the roman catholic service, having only lately become a neophite. but, when i confided my doubts to knight elias, he replied encouragingly: "don't you worry, frater eliezer, every night during the coming week we shall rehearse scenes from the 'passion play,' which will make you familiar with the services expected of you." this assurance gave me confidence, and i looked forward with impatience to maundy-thursday, as on the evening of that day the preparations for the devotional ceremonies were to begin. maundy-thursday arrived. in the evening, after i had closed and locked the gates after vespers, knight elias bade me take a lamp, go to the chapel, and wait there until the clock struck the hour of midnight, when i should hear three taps on the door of the crypt. i was to open the door without delay, receive with becoming respect the guests who would appear, and obey every order they might give me. i did not betray the astonishment i felt on receiving this very singular behest. i never was what may be termed "faint-hearted." i dare say because my curiosity always was superior to my timidity; and i confess i was most curious to see what manner of guests would come out of the crypt. the last stroke of twelve was followed by three raps on the crypt door. i hastened to open it, and was amazed to find the stairway leading to the tomb brilliantly lighted, and mounting it were a half dozen or more female forms, clad in antique costumes--such as are seen only in the canvases adorning the walls of churches and royal palaces. all the women were highly rouged and powdered; one had her eyebrows penciled with black; another with minium, and another had hers tinted with gold. all carried in their hands gaily colored wax tapers. they were not in the least like the ghosts i had expected to see; and i was not in the least frightened of them either! young blood coursed through my veins then, and it flowed more swiftly when my eyes rested on the beautiful visitors--even though they were denizens of another world! the ghosts saw at once that it was not the old sacristan who had admitted them; and believed it necessary to introduce themselves. the first one said: "i am jezebel, wife of king ahab. fetch the baptismal basin, i want to perform my ablutions." the second announced: "i am salome, daughter of herodias. bring me the golden ciborium." the third said: "i am bathsheba. bring the sacred oil, i want some for my hair." the fourth: "i am delilah. bring a chalice, i want a drink." the fifth: "i am ashtoreth. bring the censer, i want some perfume." "i am tamar," announced the sixth. "bring a lachrymatory, i want to fill it with my tears." there were seven in the company. the seventh had on her head a crown, and was clad in a robe of gold-brocade with a long train. "i am mylitta, queen of sheba," she announced in a voice that sounded like a sweet-toned bell. "bring me the pyx." now, although the rest of the orders had confounded me with their impiety, i had obeyed them, because i had been commanded to do so. this last, however, made me hesitate; i could not lay sacrilegious hands on so holy a vessel. i shuddered, and looked with horrified eyes at the commanding phantom. suddenly, she lifted her arm, and gave me a sound blow on the back, at the same time screaming: "don't you hear me, dolt? i want the pyx." feeling convinced that further hesitation to obey this visitant from another world would not be well for me, i went to the altar, and with a violently trembling hand lifted the sacred vessel from its accustomed place and brought it to the lady. "now, follow us," she commanded; and the procession from the crypt passed on, i following in the rear, out of the chapel, up a winding staircase, to a part of the castle i had not yet been in. we halted in front of a gilded iron door; it opened in response to three raps, and i saw into a long, magnificently furnished saloon. there were no windows in it; a mysterious radiance shone from the niches in the walk, which were hung with gold-embroidered silk. as we crossed the threshold, a heavy curtain across the further end of the saloon parted, and several male figures, garbed in old-time costumes--turkish, roman, persian, chaldean and egyptian--came to meet the women, who greeted them thus: "welcome, ahasuerus!" "baal greets you, nebuchadnezzar!" "osiris, bless you, pharaoh!" and so on, to herod, pilate, nero, sardanapalus--in all of whom i recognized my sir knights. my red-bearded patron answered to the name of judas iscariot. it was a distinguished company! the greetings between the knights and the ladies ever, my patron turned toward me. i was standing near the door--and said: "malchus, come hither." i looked around to see who malchus might be, but finding no one near me, guessed that i too had been given a name suitable for the occasion--that of the chief priests' servant, who lifted his hand against the savior. my patron's next words assured me that i had guessed correctly: "if your ears have really been cut off, malchus--which they must have been, since you can't hear, we must ask ben hanotzri to fasten them to your head again!" i had not yet learned to whom they alluded when they mentioned that name. after his last speech to me, my patron took my hand and led me up to the knight they called nebuchadnezzar. he had strings of costly pearls wound in his beard and hair--as one sees in ancient persian statues, and pictures. "what has malchus done that he deserves to be admitted to the service of baphomet?" he inquired. my patron answered for me: "he has been a heretic, an atheist, a thief, a murderer, a counterfeiter, an adulterer--" "the very man for us!" interrupted nebuchadnezzar--and then i understood why my welcome to the conventual residence had been so cordial! i was asked to take off my monk's habit, and given the dress of a roman lictor, in which character my first task was to remove the lid from a sarcophagus that stood in a niche in the wall. i was horrified when i saw that it contained a wax image of our savior, as he descended from the cross, with the five gaping wounds in his body, and the crown of thorns on his head. the knights gathered about the sarcophagus, and began a discussion, to which i listened with fear and trembling. they spoke in latin, and as i am quite familiar with the language i understood every word. one of the knights asserted, that christ was an eon of the god-father, jaldabaoth, who had sent him to the earth, as the messiah of the pneumatici, and to vanquish his, jaldabaoth's, arch-enemy, ophiomorpho; that christ, having failed for want of courage to accomplish the task, jaldabaoth had allowed him to be crucified in punishment; all of which was satisfactorily proved by valentinus, the gnostic. another of the knights insisted, that christ was an imposter, as was verified by basilides of alexandria, and bardesane; and that his true name was ben jonah hanotzri. the earth seemed to sink from under my feet as i listened to this blasphemous disputation. though i am a wicked sinner, my reverence for all things holy is boundless. i held my hands over my ears to shut out the horrible words, but i could not help but hear some of them. the third knight maintained that the whole story of jesus christ was a myth--he had never been born--had never died. the entire legend was an emblem, a symbol that, like brahma, and isis, had never possessed a material body; and that all images of him were idols, like those which represented basal, or dagon. i imagined that blasphemy could go no further; but the fourth knight convinced me that even hyperbole may possess a superlative. the fourth speaker was nebuchadnezzar; _he_ declared he could prove from the scriptures, that jesus christ was that demiurge, who tortures mankind with laws; renders unhappy and wretched the dwellers on earth; prohibits all things that are pleasant and agreeable to the senses; commands man to do what is good for his fellows, though nature's laws prompt him to do that which is best for himself--be it good or evil for his neighbor. consequently, it was the plain duty of every sentient being to defy this demiurge, to disobey the laws promulgated by him; to practice, instead of refrain from: cheating, robbery, murder, forgery, intemperance, gluttony, debauchery; and that whoever it was that had imposed on mankind the yoke of bondage, the so-called virtues--were he eon, demiurge, ben jonah hanotzri, or jesus christ, deserved persecution, scourging, and crucifixion. "who then," he demanded in concluding his sacrilegious harangue, "is the true messiah?" "baphomet! baphomet!" shouted the entire company of knights and ladies as with one voice. nebuchadnezzar then beat with his fists on a large tam-tam, upon which the curtain at the end of the saloon was drawn back, revealing a platform on which were two statues, life-size. the one on the right was baphomet, with the two faces, one masculine, the other feminine. a huge serpent was wound twelve times about the statue; on each of the rings thus formed was engraved one of the twelve signs of the zodiac. one hand held the sun; the other the moon; the feet rested on a globe, that rested in turn on the back of a crocodile. the other statue represented mylitta. she was seated on a wild boar; a crown of gleaming rubies and carbuncles adorned her brow. the knights and ladies, one after the other, approached the statues, kissed the shoulders of baphomet, then the knees of mylitta. after this ceremony, they joined hands, forming a circle around the images, and began to dance to a song they chanted in a tongue unknown to me. before the dance began, i was told to fill all the sacred vessels with the wine contained in several large jars near the entrance. this was drank from time to time in toasts to baphomet and his companion image. if my horror was great, my curiosity was greater. i mastered the former feeling, in order to see what would be the end of the sacrilegious orgy. the wine jars were soon emptied, and i was ordered by iscariot to refill them in the cellar. on my return to the saloon, i found the company seated around the table; when i approached the queen of sheba to refill the chalice, from which she was drinking, she said to me: "malchus, this crown of mine is so heavy; go down to the chapel and fetch me the one from the head of the woman of nazareth." i went cold from crown to sole at this request. there was in the chapel a beautiful image of our lady, with a crown of pearls and diamonds on her head--the gift of a pious princess. to this image the devout folk of the surrounding region made pilgrimages on holy days; and it was covered with all manner of costly gifts from the grateful believers. and this was the "woman of nazareth," whose crown i was ordered to fetch for the shameless wanton. "didn't you hear the lady's order?" bawled my rufous-bearded patron, thumping the table with his mailed fist. "go at once to the chapel and fetch the crown." if i had refused to obey i should have been killed; but i almost fainted with horror while performing the errand. when i returned with the jeweled crown to the hall of the worship of baphomet, the demon of licentious revelry had been loosed; the women, as well as the men, were dancing with wild abandon. the queen of sheba snatched the crown from my hand, adjusted it on her dishevelled locks, then returned to the phrygian dance, led by herself and nebuchadnezzar; her hair stood almost straight out from her head, as she whirled around and around, so swiftly, that she and her partner seemed but one form with two faces--like baphomet whom they worshipped. after all had indulged in the frantic revelry until they sank exhausted to the divans scattered about the hall, i was ordered to collect the sacred vessels and return them to the chapel, and then to go to my rest. "he must drink with me before he goes," cried ashtoreth. "here, malchus!" she unloosed from her girdle a flask, and held it to my lips. the flask was an exquisite piece of workmanship; it was made of chased gold and richly set with turkish fire opals. "this wine, malchus," continued the lady, "is the juice of the grape planted by noah. the stone jar in which it has been preserved for so many centuries stands beside the sarcophagus of my grand-mother semiramis, in nineveh--drink, it will do you good." on my hesitating, she suddenly flung her arm around my neck, drew my head close to her own, took a good pull from the flask, then pressed her lips to mine, and forced me to swallow the wine from her mouth. never have i tasted a sweeter, a more intoxicating, more stupefying liquor! "now drink," commanded the heathen queen, placing the flask in my hand. i put it to my lips; but perceived at once that the wine had a different taste from that i had received from her mouth. it was bitter, and had a peculiar bouquet. i took only one swallow; but pretended to send several more after the first one. "you may keep the flask as a remembrance," said the lady when i handed it back to her. she flung it among the church vessels i had collected together in the baptismal basin, the better to carry them back to the chapel. i hurried from the saloon with my precious burden; carefully washed all the vessels through three waters; then restored them to their proper places in the chapel. when i had reverently placed the crown on our lady's head, i knelt at her feet, and penitently kissed the hem of her robe. "now what shall i do with this thing?" i inquired of myself, surveying the wine-flask in my hand. "where shall i hide it for safe-keeping? it is worth a deal of money. it would bring me enough to buy an acre of ground, or a mill with five wheels. i'll just fasten it securely, here under my lictor's cuirass for the present." i did so; then, without heeding where i was, i lay down, and almost immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. i don't know how long i slept; i was roused by some one shaking me vigorously, and crying: "wake up! wake up!" "yes, yes, iscariot," i muttered sleepily, "i'll get up directly." "o, trifurcifer!" exclaimed a familiar voice; "the wretch calls me iscariot! just wait, you drunken rogue! i'll sober you!" the thorough drenching i received from the large can of water thrown over me, brought me to my senses. "well, my pious silenus!" growled the knight. "you are a fine fellow to set on guard, aren't you? i order you to keep watch outside the door of the crypt until midnight, and find you the next morning lying inside the cellar door, with your mouth under an open faucet. we were obliged to carry you up here--not knowing whether you were alive or dead." "where--where is the costly flask ashtoreth gave me?" i asked, feeling in vain about my body for the souvenir bestowed on me by the heathen queen. there was neither flask nor leather cuirass, only the old coarse habit i had inherited from my predecessor in office. "come--come," angrily exclaimed the knight, shaking me again. "stop dreaming, and hasten to the chapel; it is time to ring the bell for mass." i could hardly bring myself to believe that it was only a dream--it seemed so real, but i could find no trace of midnight revelry anywhere--indeed, i could not find the winding staircase, which i had ascended from the chapel to the hall of the worship of baphomet. and yet i doubted. the chapel was filled at mass with devout worshippers. a solemn scene was when the knights, garbed in coarse gray habits, and bare-footed, crept on hands and knees to the stone coffin, in which lay a waxen image of our lord. they kissed the marble steps leading to the platform on which the coffin stood, and when i saw them gather about the holy image, my dream seemed so real that, in my excitement, i would have cried in a loud voice to the kneeling congregation: "people! christians! rise--rise! do not kneel in the presence of these blasphemers!" had not the white dove on my shoulder pressed her wings against my lips. then the rich tones of the organ filled the chapel; and the women's voices chanting the "miserere" sounded so familiar--exactly like those i had heard in my dream, singing bacchanalian songs--that i said to myself: "that is ashtoreth's voice--that is delilah's, and that deep-toned contralto is jezebel's!" again i saw the singers emerge from the crypt and move toward the winding stair-case. ah! it was a dream after all! there was no winding staircase. where i had seen the open door, which gave egress to it, was a blank wall; and against it the massive marble monument of the grand master, arminius, who was represented by a recumbent knight in full pontificals, with hands devoutly crossed on his breast. yes, it was only a dream! my heart was relieved of a heavy weight. it was such a relief to feel certain that i had not taken the jeweled crown from our blessed lady's head; and that the queen of sheba had not worn it while dancing in adoration of an idol. when the services were concluded, and i approached the image of our lady, to replenish the oil in the perpetual lamp at her feet, the doubts as to my having dreamed the scenes of the bacchanalian revelry came back in full force; some one had been tampering with the jeweled crown on the head of the sacred image--it had been turned around! there was a pearl in front of the diadem, and a ruby in the back--both as large as a hazel-nut. today, the ruby gleamed like a coal of fire, where always before the radiance of the pearl had vied with the pure whiteness of the waxen brow. the crown had been reversed--i had not dreamed after all! this day was, as i have mentioned before, good friday--the day of universal fasting. the knights' observance of the day was so rigid that they would not even administer to a dying novice the medicines necessary to alleviate his suffering, because they were composed of manna and hydromel, both of which, containing nutriment, were considered food. even i fasted the entire day--of a necessity, though, for there was nothing served in the refectory! my elastic conscience would have permitted me to partake--sparingly, of course!--of food; and i regretted that i had not possessed the forethought to lay aside from the banquet of the preceding night (if it really had not been a dream) the legs of a three thousand-year-old quail! but, had i done so, they would doubtless have vanished with the pretty flask given me by the heathen queen. when i made my duty-rounds as usual on good friday evening, i found my red-bearded patron waiting for me in the sacristy. he said to me: "this evening, malchus, you will watch as before at the door of the crypt--but see that you stop there, and keep awake! don't let me find you again in the cellar tomorrow morning." i said to myself: "i shall be very sure not to go to sleep this time!" the guests arrived earlier this evening. the clock in the tower had not yet ceased striking eleven, when the three knocks sounded on the crypt door. the ancient beauties did not think it necessary to introduce themselves as before, but they gave me the same orders for the sacred vessels. when i moved toward the altar, in obedience to the queen of sheba's behest, she called after me: "don't look back, malchus; if you do satan will fly away with you!" i did not look backward; i had no need. when i held the gold lid of the chalice in front of me, it served the same purpose as a mirror, and in it i saw jezebel walk up to the arminius monument, lay her hand against the head of the recumbent statue, and thrust it to one side, whereupon the entire mass of marble swung noiselessly forward, revealing an opening in the wall through which i saw a winding staircase. pretending not to have seen anything, or to notice anything unusual in the opening in the wall, i followed the ladies up the stair with the articles they bade me bring after them. the long table in baphomet's hall was again loaded with all sorts of eatables: baked meats, pastry, sweets, fruits. "meats!" i exclaimed to myself, "meats on good friday, when all christians, even the calvinists, fast and read their prayer-books to find consolation for their souls and forgetfulness for their stomachs!" and what a feast it was! one might well have believed that hosts and guests had not eaten anything for two or three thousand years! had i been endowed with the hands of an aegeon i could not have supplied the viands and wine as rapidly as the hungry and thirsty revelers demanded them of me. i seemed to be continually running to, or returning from, the wine-cellar. similar scenes to those enacted the preceding night followed the banquet; only with variations one would hardly believe the human mind capable of inventing. the queen of sheba was even more reckless and abandoned than before; she ordered me to bring her the mantle from the shoulders of the "woman of nazareth." i hesitated again to perform the sacrilegious errand, but a sound blow on my back from iscariot's fist sent me hurrying to the chapel. when i returned with the mantle the queen was in need of it, for she was not to be distinguished from the nude goddess on the back of the wild boar. i was so ashamed for her, i could not lift my eyes when i handed her the mantle. ashtoreth laughed heartily at me, and exclaimed: "here, malchus, i will drink to baphomet from this flask; then you shall drink to me." she drank first, then handed the flask to me; it was the same one she had presented to me the night before. i had learned something since then! i knew there were trick flasks with two compartments, which might contain two different kinds of liquor without becoming mixed. if the neck of the flask were turned to the right, one of the compartments would be opened; the contents of the other would flow, were the neck turned to the left. when the heathen queen placed the flask to her lips i had watched her closely, and had seen that her wrist turned slightly to the right. this movement i took good care to copy when i drank, and, as i had guessed, the wine was deliciously sweet. i took a good, long pull before removing the flask from my lips. "very good wine, isn't it?" observed ashtoreth. "a trifle bitter," i replied, making a wry face, upon which she filliped my nose with her finger, and exclaimed, laughingly: "you don't know what is good, malchus! the wine in this flask is some of that left from the marriage feast at cana. you may keep this flask, too; put it with the one i gave you last night." this remark set the entire blasphemous crew into a roar of merriment. "you may remove these vessels now," said nebuchadnezzar, when the laughter had subsided, "and fetch us some _spiritus vini_." i removed the unclean church vessels and brought from the cellar a large stone jug of _spiritus vini_. the simple juice of the grape was not strong enough for the drunken demons; they wanted the more fiery brandy. an idea came into my head as i was going to the cellar. the _spiritus vini_ was made in russia; the mouths of the jugs containing it were sealed so skillfully that only those persons who understood the secret could remove the cork. i had learned this secret while with the haidemaken. i opened the jug in the cellar, poured out some of the brandy, and filled it up with the drugged wine in the flask intended for me. then i sealed up the jug and took it to the banquet hall. "did you drink any of it?" demanded the knight whom the rest called herod, when i set the jug on the table. "i swear by baphomet i did not!" i replied truthfully. "then open the jug," commanded pilate. i made believe to pull and tug and twist the cork--i could not remove it from the neck. at last ahab snatched the jug impatiently from my hands, and after trying in vain for several moments to accomplish what i had failed to do, he set it in a silver basin and struck at the neck with his sword. the jug was broken, of course, and the liquor filled the basin. then, bathsheba and tamar flung into it figs, raisins and orange peel; delilah took a lighted taper from the candelabra and set fire to the huge dish of crambamboli; at the same moment all the other lights in the hall were extinguished. nebuchadnezzar now began to ladle out the burning liquor into goblets which he passed to the rest of the company. the flame dispensing king, with his four horns, the fire-sipping forms around him, their faces blanched to a death-like pallor by the green-blue light of the burning brandy, formed a group that excelled in hideousness every illustration i had yet seen of the _danse macabre_. i fled in horror and disgust from the infernal orgy, fully convinced that i was not dreaming this time. i was determined to make my escape from the abode of demons and idol worshippers. i said to myself: "if these human beings--that they are not phantoms i am convinced--came to the castle through the crypt, then i, another human being, may go out the way they entered." i took my lamp, descended to the crypt, and discovered that one of the memorials, which lined the walls, had been shoved to one side. an examination of this memento to a deceased knight revealed that it was not a slab of marble, but a sheet of tin painted to imitate the more solid material. nor was the niche it covered a tomb, but the outlet to a narrow stairway that ascended in steep spirals from the crypt, opposite to the one which descended to it from the chapel. [illustration: "i took my lamp, descended to the crypt"] i mounted seventeen steps, when further progress was barred by a statue--that of saint sebastian. the heroic martyr was represented bound to a tree, his body filled with arrows, as he had appeared when being tortured to death by the commands of the godless diocletian. i had seen this statue often enough by day in the reception-hall of the castle; then it stood in its niche face toward the room; here, at the head of the secret stairway from the crypt, it stood with its face also toward me. "surely," said i to myself, "st. sebastian must know something about the secret outlet." and he did. i began to examine the niche; then the statue. i noticed that three of the arrows in the breast were brass, and that the one in the middle was brighter than the other two, as if it had been taken hold of frequently. i mounted the pedestal, and, with one arm around the saint to steady myself, i tried to turn the brighter arrow. after a little, it yielded to the pressure of my hand, and the statue, as well as the niche, began to turn slowly on an unseen axis, and in a few moments i saw the starlit sky above me. then i turned the arrow in the opposite direction, and found myself returned to my prison. i had solved the mystery of the phantoms' appearance in the chapel! i returned to the chapel and examined the mechanism concealed under the arminius monument. what would be the result, i asked myself, if i turned the head of the grand master back to its proper position? i did so, and the monument swung back to its place, concealing the entrance to the hall of baphomet. by this time the blasphemers in the hall were sound asleep, and heaven alone knew when they would waken! and when they did, they would not be able to get out of their satan's temple, for it had neither door nor windows. no one would know what had become of them--whither they had gone. when they found a way out of their prison--if ever--i should be far enough away over mountain and valley! i sketched a rapid plan of escape: i would go to the archbishop of aix-la-chapelle and lay information against the knights of baphomet; and, in order to gain credence for my story, i would take with me the desecrated church vessels. no devout christian should drink again from the chalice defiled by the lips of salome and delilah; should have his offspring christened from the basin polluted by nebuchadnezzar; should receive the holy water from the aspergill, defiled by being used to stir the infernal mixture concocted by tamar and bathsheba; not one of the vessels should be used again, until they had been thoroughly cleansed and re-consecrated by the proper authorities. "a most praiseworthy determination! you proved yourself a true christian!" exclaimed the prince, deeply incensed by the impiety of the _dornenritter_, the mere hearing of whose licentious conduct made a godly man feel the need of absolution. "you did what any honest and respectable christian would have done in your place!" "didn't i say so?" in triumph exclaimed the mayor, beating the table with his staff. "didn't i say the rascal would talk himself out of the church robbery? instead of sentencing him for the crime, he is commended for it." hereupon the prince and the mayor became involved in so animated a dispute that each sprang from his chair and begun to pound with his fists on the table with such vigor that the candle-sticks, ink-horn and sand-box danced quite a lively jig. the argument continued until his highness suddenly remembered what was becoming to his dignity; then he rapped the court to order and announced that the hearing was adjourned until the next day. * * * * * the following morning hugo resumed his confession: i found a stout leather bag in the sacristy, into which i put all the church vessels of gold and silver which had been defiled in the bacchanalian orgies. i did not forget the virgin's diadem, either. my left shoulder ached dreadfully under the heavy load, but, because the white dove i told you about was perched on the other shoulder, i would not shift the bag from side to side, which would have made it easier to carry. the revolving saint sebastian enabled me to escape from the castle, but i still had a high bastion to scale. i found the rope ladder by means of which the women had climbed over, and very soon i was on the high road, travelling as swiftly as i could for the heavy bag, toward the harbor-- "hold!" interrupted the chair, "i've caught you at last! if what you have told us is true, why didn't you go at once with the bag of church property to the burgomaster of the city, and tell him of your discovery at the castle? the impious revellers might have been taken into custody that same night." "yes--yes--" the prince made haste to add, "why didn't you do that, instead of thinking it necessary to escape on a ship?" "i believe i can explain my action to the satisfaction of the high-born gentlemen," deferentially responded the prisoner. "you will understand at once why i wanted to take a ship, when i tell you the name of the city. it was stettin. it was in possession, at that time, of gustavus adolphus, whose heretic generals cared very little whether the blessed virgin or baphomet were worshipped in the catholic churches, which had already been desecrated more than once by themselves. indeed, the relations between the knights and the heretics was most friendly, because the former had joined forces with the swedes, and had fought bravely against the imperial beleaguerers. they were loyal comrades in arms with the heretics. that is why i deemed it wiser to escape from the city--" "and you were right--quite right!" with unmistakable approval in his tone, commented the prince. "the swedish heretics were not the proper authorities to settle so sacred and important a matter. the _furtum sacrosanctorum_ may be stricken from the list of indictments." "as may all that follow!" growled the mayor into his beard. "now we shall hear how this innocent criminal disposes of the _homicidium_!" part v. the homicide. chapter i. on board mynheer's ship. a convincing proof of my honest and pious intentions is, that notwithstanding i was in great need of money--i hadn't a penny to my name!--it never occurred to me to help myself from the alms-box at the door of the chapel, which, at such seasons like passion week, was always well filled. i had no "motive" to carry the box with me--it had not been defiled by sacrilegious hands. i still wore the dress in which i had masqueraded as a lictor: the roman balten, the leathern caliga, the chalizeh sandals with straps, and the ancient hebrew pallium. anywhere else in the civilized world a man garbed as i was would have been arrested as a vagabond lunatic; but i was not molested in stettin. that city, under swedish domination, was a free port; the mouth of the oder was crowded with vessels of all sorts, from all countries. the quay swarmed with negroes, spaniards, turks, chinese--all nationalities, all the costumes of the globe were represented. consequently no one, however striking may have been his garb, would have attracted special attention. nor did i, as i passed through the crowd in search of a vessel that was lifting her anchor, preparatory to sailing at once. chance led me to a dutch ship. the owner of the craft, mynheer ruissen, paid no attention to me until after we were out of the harbor, and were scudding before a favorable wind. then, as he was passing along the deck, his eyes fell on me, where i was sitting near the rail, with my bag by my side. he stopped in front of me, thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat, and, after a moment's close scrutiny, addressed me in a language i had never heard before. he tried several different tongues--oriental by their sound--with the same result. i could only indicate by shaking my head that i did not understand him. at last he became impatient, and exclaimed in flemish: "potztausend-wetter! what language does this fellow speak, i wonder?" i understood him then, and told him i could speak dutch, and that i was not a heathen from the orient, but a native of europe, and a christian like himself. "and where are you going, may i ask?" "wherever your ship will take me," i answered. "have you the money to pay for your passage?" "not a solitary batz." "have you anything of value?" "i have a beautiful golden flask set with precious gems, which i will give you as a pledge, or in payment--as you prefer." "did you come by it honestly?" "i will take my oath that i did not steal it. a beautiful woman gave it to me as a souvenir. may i sink with this ship to the bottom of the sea, if every word i tell you is not true!" "na, na,! you needn't mind swearing in that way," hastily interposed mynheer. "i don't want my ship to go to the bottom of the sea! is the flask worth enough to pay for your passage to hamburg?" "it would fetch more than your whole ship!" he paused a moment, then asked again: "what have you got in that bag?" "gold and silver vessels, and jewels." "are they souvenirs too? there, there, you needn't mind swearing again! i won't arrest you--it's no concern of mine how you came by them." i told him then that if he would take me to his private cabin, i would tell him how i came to have the valuables in my possession. he led me to his cabin, where he bade me place the leather bag in the corner. then he ordered one mug of beer to be brought; filled a porcelain pipe--about the size of a thimble--with tobacco, thrust the stem between his lips, but did not light it--i dare say, because he feared it might burn out before he had emptied the beer mug, from which he took an occasional sip while i was telling him my story. when i had told him of the scandalous scenes in the castle, and of my escape with the denied vessels, which i had decided to take to the archbishop, mynheer removed the pipe from his lips, deliberately knocked the tobacco into the palm of his hand and emptied it into the tobacco-pouch. then he drained the last sip of beer from the mug, thrust his hands into his pockets and said: "well, my son, you have acted cleverly, and stupidly at the same time. to fetch the things away with you, was clever--very! but, to decide that you--by yourself--a poor unknown devil, would be believed by the archbishop, when you accused so powerful an order as the _dornenritter_ of blasphemy and sacrilege, was stupid in the extreme. nobody will believe your story; you will be ridiculed, and told that you dreamed all these things." "but," i interposed, "how could i have dreamed things, no living being ever saw with his eyes, or heard with his ears? how could i have dreamed the baphomet worship? how could i have dreamed names like jaldabaoth and ophiomorpho, and that disquisition around the sarcophagus?" "why, you stupid lad! don't you see they will say you have been reading the secret pamphlet which was published by the opponents of the ancient order of templars? but, what was permitted to king philip will not be tolerated in you; you will not be allowed to tell stories about baphomet idolatry, and serpent worship. and, suppose you are allowed to tell what you 'saw with your eyes and heard with your ears'--you have no witness to prove that what you say is true." "oh, haven't i?" i cried, triumphantly producing from the leather bag the pyx with its contents. "here is my witness: this sacred wafer, defiled by the idol-worshippers. see! here in the center of it, is the print of ashtoreth's slipper heel, where she trod it under foot. you see, it is directly over the banner of the _agnus dei_?" mynheer deliberately adjusted his large spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and scrutinized the wafer. "_donnerwetter_!" he growled, "you are right, lad, this is the symbol of baphomet: a half-moon, a double-headed serpent curved to form the figure . hm, hm--you have acted in a praiseworthy manner after all! by bringing this wafer with you, you have saved the souls of many devout christians from eternal damnation, in that you have hindered them from kneeling in adoration today at mass before this symbol of baphomet! indeed, half stettin will owe thanks to you if, instead of damnation, it wins salvation! your brave and valiant deed will save from the flames of hell at least twelve thousand souls! therein lies the wisdom of your action; the unwisdom will come to the fore when you ask yourself: 'what shall i do with these desecrated vessels?' "you thought to arraign an entire order--nay, two, for those wanton females must belong to an order of some sort. to accuse a religious body is always extremely dangerous--specially so, if the order be composed of women. i am afraid it will result in your ruin; you will most likely be arrested for stealing church property--the punishment for which is death at the stake. what will your word be worth against the denials of the knights? do you imagine that any trace of their scandalous revelry will be found? not by a good deal! you will be pronounced a wicked calumniator; unless you want them to cut off your tongue, you will keep it silent between your teeth!" "then what shall i do with these things?" i asked in perplexity, giving the bag a thrust with my foot. "shall i take them back to the castle?--" "that"--interrupted mynheer--"would be the stupidest thing you could do. the sir knights would, beyond a doubt, have you walled into some corner of the castle, where you might await the resurrection with what patience you could summon!" "then, what would you advise me to do?" i asked again. "well, my son, _i_ say, that what you have in your possession belongs to you; accept it as the gift of heaven--though you acquired it from satan. when we get to hamburg i will direct you where to find an honest man whose business it is to relieve pious folk of any treasure they may have taken from satan--or, found where it was not lost. i am acquainted with a christian of that sort; you need not be afraid to trust him--he is honest as a quaker, and would not cheat anyone--on sunday! i think i may trust you to dispose of your treasure as cleverly as you--appropriated it, which, after all, is the chief secret of trade!" chapter ii. the moo-calf. i dare say your highness, and gentlemen of the court, have heard a good many stories about the moo-calf? i shall abstain from expressing just here an opinion of the mysterious creature as, by so doing, i should anticipate the denouement of one of my most remarkable adventures. i think almost every dweller in coblentz has heard of the moo-calf's strange doings; for there are numerous records in the chronicles of the city, of its mysterious appearance and behavior. the moo-calf ordinarily appears in those cities where the jews have multiplied excessively, and attained to power. it is a well-known fact that a calf is the meekest, the most innocent of animals, that it has never been known to assault anyone, that it would be the least likely of all the animal kingdom to wield a boundless tyranny over an entire community. therefore, i do not believe _all_ the terrifying tales i have heard about the moo-calf. do any of the gentlemen here believe them? several members of the court admitted that they believed the tales; some thought a portion might be true, others were non-committal. so much time was given to the discussion, that the chair was at last obliged to interfere. he said to the prisoner--after rapping impatiently for order: "you are not here to ask questions, but to be questioned. now let us hear what _you_ have to say about the moo-calf?" hugo bowed and resumed his confession: when we arrived at hamburg, mynheer so managed matters, that it was evening when he and i went ashore. with the bag of valuables on my back, i tramped after him to the suburb of st. paul, to seek in the winding, and zig-zag streets of the "hamberger berg," the house of the honest christian, who would relieve my back, and incidentally my mind, of the load of treasure. we pushed our way with whole skins through a confusion of menagerie booths, puppet-shows, jugglery and rope-dancing exhibitions, which their proprietors importuned us to patronize, avoided with some difficulty the crowds of tipsy sailors, and at last arrived in front of the house we were seeking. the name of the owner was meyer--a by no means rare cognomen in germany! he was a lutheran, as eleven-twelfths of the residents of hamburg are. they alone possess the rights of citizenship. mynheer ruissen took herr meyer to one side, and communicated to him what business had brought me to hamburg, whereupon herr meyer without further ceremony invited me to sup with him. "i hope"--here impatiently interrupted the chair--"you don't intend to waste more of our time by an enumeration and description of the various dishes you partook of?" "no, your honor, though it would not take long to tell what we had for supper. herr meyer placed before me nothing but bread, cheese and water. he could not say enough in praise of the bread and cheese, and he boasted that the water, which he said was from the elias fountain, possessed the most remarkable properties. while i ate, he examined in turn each of the vessels i had taken from the bag and placed on the table, exclaiming over every piece, and making a peculiar noise with his tongue against the inside of his upper teeth: "a baptismal basin! tse-tse-tse! how could you dare to take this? a censer! tse-tse-tse! young man, did it never occur to you that you were defying satan when you put this into your bag? a communion-cup! tse-tse-tse! i should think your soul would be oppressed with its weight of sin! and--actually!--the holy virgin's diadem! woe-woe-woe, to you, miserable sinner!" i could listen no longer to his lugubrious comments: "oh, hush, master meyer," i interrupted, "what use to talk like that? you needn't think to frighten me with your lamentations. i am a lutheran like yourself--rather let us talk about the value of these things: what will you give for the whole lot? but, before we talk business, bring me something more palatable to eat and drink. your bread and cheese and water are not to my taste." "very good, you shall have something else," with sudden alacrity responded master meyer, whose opinion of me was evidently improving. he hurried to the kitchen, and soon returned with some salt fish, and a jug of good cider, which he placed before me. then he proceeded to appraise the church vessels, and the diadem, telling me the while that i ought to be thankful his dear old friend mynheer ruissen had led me to him. how easily i might have fallen into the hands of the papists, who would certainly have imprisoned me--and perhaps put me to death; or into those of the jews, who had swarmed from spain into hamburg, and were ruining all honest tradesmen. the rascally hebrews would offer only ridiculously low prices for articles they suspected had been acquired by means not altogether legitimate, and would give in payment for them counterfeit money. and, wasn't the cod-fish i was eating most appetizing? after he had examined my treasures two or three times, he said he would give me six hundred thalers for the lot--and that i might drink all of the cider into the bargain. "see here, master meyer," i replied, "your fish is so salty it makes one want to drink continually, and your cider is so sour, i would rather not eat your fish than to have to quench my thirst with the cider. and, moreover, i will take my treasures to the jews' quarter, where i shall no doubt find some one who will give more than a paltry six hundred thalers to a poor shipwrecked traveller for a lot of articles that are worth at least twenty times the sum you offer." at these words my worthy host beat his hands together above his head, and exclaimed: "my dear son! how will you find your way to the jews' quarter at this late hour? it would be very unwise--nay, dangerous, for you to attempt it. don't you know that the moo-calf makes its appearance about this time?" i shrugged my shoulders to indicate that i was not afraid of a moo-calf. "but, my dear son, you don't know what a terrible creature the moo-calf is. it has become even more terrible and ferocious since the jews have multiplied to such numbers in hamburg. these spanish jews understand all sorts of witch-craft. it was they who discovered that if a young calf is fed on human blood instead of milk, it will become savage as a lion. this is the sort of moo-calf they have turned loose in the hamberger berg. it roams through the streets at night, terrifying to death every person it meets, and scatters the watchmen in all directions. it tears the bells from the house doors; it has teeth so sharp that it can snap off the pole of a halberd as easily as if it were a pipe-stem; and its tongue is rough as a cloth-shearer's brush. it roars like a lion, bellows like a wild bull, snorts like a whole herd of wild horses; clatters through the streets like a luggage van, clappers like a fulling-mill, and crows like a cock that is possessed. it takes special delight in pursuing honest men and fathers of families, who suspect their wives and daughters of adventure, and if it chances to catch one of them, _he_ will not very soon forget the moo-calf--that is if he escapes with his head to remember it! another favorite trick with the calf is: to steal upon a pair of lovers, and roar at them with such a terrible voice that they die of fright--" "and what sort of looking beast is this moo-calf?" i interrupted. "why, no one can tell what it looks like, my son. those who have been unfortunate enough to encounter it on the street have had a stream of fire blown into their eyes from the beast's nostrils, and they were not able to see for weeks afterward. the man who is brave enough to thrust his head out the window when he hears the moo-calf bellow, will be sure to regret his curiosity, for his head will swell to such a size that he will not be able for several days to get it back through the window. that is why no one is able to tell what the monster is like. i only know that it has the power to stretch its neck to such a length that it can look into the upper windows of a house. oh, i can assure you, it is a most horrible creature!" i had had ample time, while he was descanting on the moo-calf's terrible doings, to replace my treasures in the bag. "then there really is such a monster?" i observed, shouldering my load. he swore by all he held dear, that the moo-calf not only existed, but that it roamed the streets of hamburg almost every night. "have you any desire to make a bet with me?" i asked. "a bet?--on what?" "that i can eat a whole calf at a sitting--especially when i have a ravenous appetite as now. fetch me your moo-calf and i'll devour him, hoofs, hide and tail!" i dropped the bag from my shoulder to the table, drew forth the short roman sword, which was part of my lictor's costume, and sharpened it on the steel. "now, fetch on your moo-calf," i repeated, again shouldering the bag and making as if i were going to quit the house. "and you really are not afraid of the moo-calf?" exclaimed master meyer, placing himself in front of me, believing i intended to pursue my way. "i see you are a headstrong lad, but, as i have taken a fancy to you, i don't want you to run any risks. come, make up your mind to stop here until morning. we will agree on a price for your treasures; and then have supper together." "no, thanks," i returned, my face still toward the street door. "i don't want any more dried codfish. the season of fasting is over--besides, i am no priest, and if i were i shouldn't object to wine." "you shall have whatever you want, my son. put down your bag, and make yourself at home." and he hurried into the kitchen to give his orders. after several minutes he returned, clad in an entire suit of new clothes; on his arm he carried another handsome suit, which he begged me to accept as a present from him, adding that i would find in the pocket of the coat in a purse the sum he was willing to pay for my treasures, and with which he knew i would be quite satisfied. when i opened the purse i found in it fifty doubloons, and a slip of paper. "what is this?" i inquired, holding the paper toward him. "a promissory note for two-thousand thalers, payable in three months." i knew very well that a note of hand was as good as money, and was quite satisfied with the trade--only, the time of payment was too long distant to suit me. "it is a hamburg custom, my son," replied master meyer when i mentioned my objections. "the money must have time to mature." i was obliged to be satisfied, besides, fifty doubloons would be quite enough to keep me in food and raiment for three months. the supper master meyer now placed before me was of a sort i would not have believed his larder capable of supplying--judging from the fare he had offered me first. there were pasties of all sorts, game, confections and a choice selection of wines. of the last i took special care not to imbibe too freely. master meyer's family joined us at the repast; there were three daughters, comely, and of marriageable age; and a son. the latter, i was informed, was a student at the university. i thought him rather advanced in years for a student! there was not the least resemblance between the three young women; no one would have taken them to be sisters. they were merry creatures, sang and played on the harp and the guitar. one of them, a blonde, was very pretty. i noticed that she stole frequent glances toward me, and when her eyes met mine she would blush and smile enchantingly. i was still young, and not at all averse to a flirtation. moreover, i was a widower. i had had enough experience with the fairer sex, however, to teach me that it would be well to be on my guard. master meyer had introduced me to his family as "junker hermann." the blonde daughter's name was agnes. she was a sentimental and romantic maid. i sat by her side at supper, and was so flustered by the glances from her blue eyes, i could think of nothing more sensible to say to her than: "that when the dear lord should bestow on me a family, i would have just such spoons as her father's"--with which we were eating the chocolate cream--and that my own and my wife's crests should be engraved on the handles. this remark led me to observe further that i thought the initial letters of hermann and agnes would form a pretty monogram. my fair neighbor could not see just how the letters might be arranged. i told her it was very simple: the a need only be inserted between the two uprights of the h to make the union perfect. i wanted the meyers to believe that i was a genuine cavalier, so i said to the father--after i had emptied my third glass of wine: "that ring on your finger pleases me very much. i should like to buy it." "well, you see, junker hermann," he returned slowly, turning the ring on his finger, "this is a costly piece of jewelry. the carbuncle alone is worth fifty thalers; besides, the ring is an heirloom. i wouldn't sell it for seventy thalers." "would you sell it for eighty?" "i wouldn't let anyone but you, junker hermann, have it at any price! as you seem to have taken such a fancy to it, then take it, in god's name, for eighty thalers." "all right," said i. "just keep the eighty thalers out of the two-thousand you owe me." at mention of the two-thousand thalers agnes helped me to a second dish of chocolate cream. "i will draw up a note for the amount," said her father. "we are only human, and no one can tell what may happen to me." "write whatever you like and i'll scrawl my signature to it," i replied disdainfully. when he had quitted the room, agnes whispered to me: "i am very sorry father sold his ring. it is a talisman in our family, and was given to my mother as a wedding-present." "and suppose"--i whispered back to her--"my buying it does not take it out of the family?" "i don't quite understand you," she replied, casting down her eyes, and blushing. "i shall make my meaning clearer when i may speak to you alone." "that can be arranged very easily, junker hermann; when the family have gone to their rooms for the night, we can meet in the bow-window chamber--then you can tell me what you have to say." the father now returned with the note to the dining-room. it was for one-hundred thalers, that being the sum--principal and interest--i should owe master meyer at the expiration of three months. i did not think it worth while to waste words over the usurious interest charged; but signed my name with cavalier _sangfroid_, and the ring was transferred from master meyer's hand to my own. as my hand was considerably larger than his, which was exceedingly thin and bony, i could only get the ring on the second joint of my little finger. just at that moment rupert, the elderly student, must have made a teasing remark to his sister; for the three at once set upon him, and began to belabor him with their fists, and cry out that he should not have any more wine that evening. "very well," he exclaimed, laughing, "then i'll go to the tavern and get some." he invited me to accompany him; saying that we should find at the tavern some good company and bad wine. i excused myself on the plea that i was very tired, and wanted to rest. he departed alone, and we heard him singing, and knocking against the doors with his stick, as he staggered down the street. good-nights were now exchanged, and each one went to his or her room. i waited with considerable impatience until the house had become quiet; then i stole on tip-toe to the bow-window chamber. this apartment is in the top story of the house, and projects several feet over the street. a bright moon illumined the cozy chamber, so that a lamp was not necessary. i had not long to wait; the soft rustle of feminine garments very soon announced the coming of my charming agnes. i met her at the door, took her hand in mine, and drew her into the bow-window. she asked me without further ceremony, to explain how the ring i had bought from her father could remain in their family now that i was the owner of it. "nothing easier in the world! my dear agnes," i made answer. "i need only to slip it on your finger as an engagement ring." she understood my explanation, and allowed me to place on the third finger of her left hand the ring for which i owed one-hundred thalers. after this ceremony i asked--as was natural--if i might seal the bargain with a kiss-- "ha! i knew that was coming!" interrupted the chair; "we don't care to hear that sort of evidence." "why," pacifically interposed the prince, "why, a kiss is nothing out of the way." "_one_ kiss would not be; but it would not stop at one; a second and a third--and heaven only knows how many more would follow, and-- "pray allow me to contradict your honor," respectfully interrupted the prisoner. "there was only one. i will admit that i was about to help myself to more, but i was hindered--" "by the white dove on your shoulder, of course!" interrupted the mayor's ironical tones. "no, your honor, not the white dove. just at the moment i was going to take the second kiss, there came from the street directly underneath the bow-window, the most unearthly sounds--as if a herd of angry elephants were bellowing for their supper. i never heard so hideous a noise. it was a mixture of the squealing of a wild boar; the neighing of a horse; the blare of a trumpet, and the clattering of a heavy wagon over cobbles." "jesu maria! the moo-calf!" shrieked my terror-stricken betrothed, tearing herself from my arms. the next instant she had vanished, with my hundred-thaler ring. furious with rage, and not a little fear, i sprang to the window, flung back the sash, and thrust out my head--never once thinking of the dire result which would follow such action: my head swollen to the size of a barrel. however, that did not happen to me; but enough pepper was blown into my eyes to prevent me, most effectually, from seeing anything on the earth, or in the heaven! i howled with pain and rage--compared to the sounds which came from my throat, the moo-calf's bellowing was the weakly puling of an infant. but, such was the fear of my host and his daughters, of the fiendish brute, that not one of them ventured to come to my assistance. i was obliged to grope my way unaided to my room, and to wash the pepper from my blinded eyes as best i could. while i was thus engaged rupert returned home, and joined his howls to mine; he said the moo-calf had attacked him, and almost done for him. his face and clothes were proof of a rough and tumble encounter with something: the former was scratched and bleeding, and his garments looked as though he had had a scuffle with an enraged eagle. his bed and mine were in the same room, and neither of us slept very much that night. the student was frightfully ill; he kept muttering constantly something about the moo-calf; while i sat by the basin until daylight, mopping my eyes with water. the cursed moo-calf! why didn't he bellow before i gave my costly ring into agnes' keeping? it was not at all likely that i should soon have another opportunity to be alone with her! the next morning master meyer gave me to understand that the duties of hospitality would not be extended beyond one day; and that i would better seek a lodging more suitable to the station of a young man of quality. he would be glad to have me visit him frequently; and if i wanted to be amused rupert, who was perfectly familiar with all the ways of the city, would be delighted to be my guide. i did not see the lovely agnes again alone; so i made up my mind to write, and tell her how much i thought of her. i question now, whether any of the numerous letters i sent her through rupert, ever reached her hands. from that day, there was no end to amusements. rupert was the very lad to make me acquainted in the shortest time with all the resorts of entertainment, and many companions of questionable reputation. i was introduced to a spanish hidalgo; a scotch laird; a brazilian planter; a wallachian boyar--that their patents of nobility grew on the same genealogical tree with my own i suspected from the very first. they were, individually and collectively, hearty drinkers, reckless gamblers, and fearless fighters. that the money they squandered with lavish hand was not obtained through honest means i was confident, and i was equally confident that the entire crew looked on me as their own special prey. but, i taught them a thing or two before very long! at our drinking-bouts, i always left them under the table. while with the templars i learned a valuable secret: how to drink all the wine you wanted without becoming intoxicated. i shall not reveal this most valuable secret here. i have an idea, that when the court sentences me, i may win its clemency by revealing what i learned from the _dornenritter_--the secret which would be of incalculable value to all mankind-- "we shall see about it--if the time ever comes when sentence shall be passed on you!" observed the chair. to out-drink me, resumed the prisoner, after this digression, was impossible, though they tried their best to do so. had they succeeded in stupefying me with wine, i am quite certain they would have robbed me of the note for two-thousand thalers, which i always carried with me. i suspected that the series of drinking-bouts had been arranged to enable rupert to steal the note; had he succeeded, master meyer would have been relieved of paying what he owed me. but my secret enabled me to frustrate their plans. nor did they succeed in getting hold of any of my doubloons. the first time we engaged in a game of dice, i detected their scheme to cheat me; the dice were loaded. as i had played that sort of game before, i astonished and discomfited my companions by the frequency with which the sixes always came on top when i threw. they, and not i, lost money. if they attempted to quarrel with me about my good fortune, they found that, skilled though they were in the pugilistic art, i could take care of myself. i learned some wrestling tricks while i was with the haidemaken, and they served me well in my bouts with those notorious fighting-cocks. i was not the one to get worsted. but, no matter how angry i might be, i always took good care not to injure any of them seriously; had i done so, they would very soon have had me behind prison bars. i was also extremely careful in my intercourse with the women i met. my white dove accompanied me wherever i went, but i never spoke of her to anyone. i would tell my companions, after they had dragged me from one den to another without succeeding in attaching me to any of the alluring nymphs, that i had no eyes for any woman but my charming betrothed, to whom i had vowed eternal fidelity; and that i was obliged to adhere all the more rigidly to my vow, because rupert, being the brother of my sweetheart, might betray me to her were he to see me paying attention to another girl. then the student would swear that a "whole ditch full of devils" might fetch him (a favorite oath in hamberger berg polite society) if he so much as mentioned my name to his sister. i might flirt with whomsoever i chose, he would not betray me. but, i persisted in turning a deaf ear to the fascinating damsels i continued to meet night after night in the various drinking shops we frequented. i knew very well that a tidy wench would be more apt to get hold of my carefully guarded note of hand than would any of my brawling comrades. i wasn't going to let anyone steal it; i had decided that i would take the money home to my poor old parents. the two-thousand thalers would make of them real gentle folk; father could buy a little fruit farm; and a fur coat for himself; and the old mother might promenade to church in a silk mantle, bought with the money her son had given her-- "and which he obtained by selling stolen church property," sarcastically interjected the chair. "the end justified the means," quickly, but with due respect, retorted the prisoner, whereupon the prince laughed heartily. the mayor's face became crimson; he said in a tone of reprimand: "that phrase was not devised by the pious jesuits to excuse the man who steals church property, and sells it to obtain money for his family. the prisoner will continue his confession." in this manner i passed three months. the day before the one on which my note fell due, i spent in my lodgings sleeping quietly. that night i accompanied my friends, as usual, on a round of the different taverns we were wont to frequent. we scattered the night patrol; smeared the windows of several professors' houses with wagon grease; sang rollicking ditties in front of the houses in which we knew there were pretty girls; belabored all the jews we found abroad at that hour, and kept the entire "berg" in a state of excitement, until long after midnight. we marched arm in arm, forming a line across the street that reached from house to house, to the "three apples"--a famous tavern at that time--where, for a wager, we drank all the liquid medicines in the store of an itinerant quack doctor, who had stopped there for the night. it is just possible it was the medicaments that confused my brain--though i am convinced they were perfectly innocent of any intoxicants. rupert became so helpless, he lay like a log on the tap-room floor; the innkeeper ordered the rest of us out of the house. as it was too early to go home, the scotchman suggested that, as rupert was not with us, we should go around to master meyer's, where he and the rest would keep watch in the street, while i made a "window-call" on my betrothed. "that's a bright idea of yours!" i exclaimed. "how am i to get up to my pretty agnes' window? her room is in the top story, in the gable. i am not a moo-calf that can stretch its neck to the luthern." "why are we your friends?" chivalrously demanded the spanish hidalgo. "are not we here to help you? we will form a pyramid: three of us will support two others on their shoulders, and you will form the apex. you can then rap at your lady-love's window, and we will remain immovable, while you exchange kisses with her." the quack's medicaments had, as i said before, confused my brain; i agreed to the silly plan suggested by the hidalgo, and we turned our unsteady steps toward the meyer residence. when we arrived in front of the house, the first thing we did was break the lantern which swung from a rope stretched across the street, in order that the darkness might screen us from the sight of passers-by. the acrobatic feat of building a human pyramid was easily accomplished; and i was very soon standing on the shoulders of two comrades whose feet in turn rested on the shoulders of the three forming the base. i had no difficulty in reaching to the sill of the bow-window; that room, i knew, opened into agnes' sleeping-chamber. i had rapped once on the glass--cautiously, for i did not want to rouse any one in the lower rooms; and was about to repeat the knock, when the fiendish bellowing i had heard once before made the blood run cold in my veins. my comrades under me cried out in terror: "the moo-calf is coming!"--and the next instant i was hanging by my fingers to the sill of the bow-window, with my legs wriggling like those of a frog caught on a hook. i could hear my valiant comrades scampering for their lives down the street. i did not want to call for help; for, if old meyer saw me dangling in front of his window, he would believe me to be a burglar, and shoot me without ceremony. i could not swing myself up to the window-sill, for the sash was closed; so, i hung there, and tried in vain to find a projection below me, on which to rest my toes. meanwhile, the bellowing monster came nearer; i could already hear it snorting under me. i hung motionless as an executed criminal on the gallows, hoping the calf might not notice me. it was a vain hope! the brute came directly toward me, and when i looked down, i saw the hideous horned head stretch upward--nearer, nearer. i could feel the rough tongue lick the soles of my shoes--then my ankles. i drew up my knees, and lifted myself as high as i could; but the elastic neck stretched out longer--the horrible tongue licked higher. i felt as if my trousers were being brushed with a curry-comb, and i thought to myself every moment: "now the devil will seize me!" i wriggled and kicked in vain--nearer, and nearer, came the long horns which threatened to spit me on their sharp points. fiendish laughter seemed to come from the red throat, as the tongue licked higher and higher. it reached my thighs--then my waist, and before i could guess what might happen, the little bag hanging from my belt, in which i carried the note for two-thousand thalers, was snapped from its chain, and disappeared down the brute's gullet. my fear vanished with the note. not even satan himself should take it without a struggle! heedless of the moo-calf, as well as of the danger to my legs, i let go my hold on the window-sill and dropped. fortunately my mantle carried me like a parachute through the air, so that i was not even shaken by a too sudden contact with the pavement. i now stood face to face with the dreaded moo-calf. it was not a creation of the imagination, but a veritable monster, and a most hideous and frightful one too, at that! it had four huge legs and feet like an elephant; a neck two fathoms long, at the end of it an enormous head with horns; the long red tongue hanging from the open jaws was covered with scales shaped like saw teeth. "you may be the devil himself," i cried, drawing my sword, and stepping up to the monster, "but you must give me back my purse." quick as thought, the long neck was drawn in, and the head thrust at me with a force that sent me staggering backward several feet. a faint-hearted man would most likely have taken to his heels, but i was too enraged at my loss to think of seeking safety in flight. what! had i purloined the _dornenritter_ treasures for this? _they_ were now in master meyer's possession, and the two-thousand thalers were in the stomach of this moo-calf! all this passed like lightning through my brain, as i picked myself up from the pavement, where the brute had flung me, and again approached him. "either you take me with you to hell," i exclaimed hoarsely, "or i'll tear my purse from your entrails!" again the monster drew in his neck, spread his legs apart as if to brace himself, and gave utterance to another marrow-freezing roar. i remembered the dose of pepper i had received from him, and held the corner of my mantle in front of my face; this shielded me also from the sparks of fire he blew from his nostrils. i was prepared for the second assault, and when the brute again shot out his head toward me, i dropped nimbly to the pavement, and the head swept over me into the empty air. before it could be drawn back, i was on my feet, and buried my sword to the hilt in the creature's breast. what was my surprise and horror to hear a despairing moan--not from the moo-calf's throat, from its belly--an unmistakably human voice. "i am killed--murdered!" cried the voice, as the moo-calf fell in a heap to the pavement; and from the shapeless leather envelope staggered a human form--my comrade, rupert, the student. the blood was spurting from a wound in his breast--my sword had pierced clean through him! "so, you are the moo-calf?" i exclaimed in amazement, surveying the wounded man leaning, gasping for breath, against the door of his father's house. "the devil take you," he groaned. "why didn't i kill you at once, when you were hanging from the window, instead of fooling with you? now, the old man may play the moo-calf himself, and scare customers from the jews' quarter! it's all up with me! ho, agnes! mettze! come quick! summon the patrol! sound an alarm!" i saw a female form appear in the bow-window. it was agnes. when she recognized rupert's voice, she began to shriek "murder! murder!" i turned to fly, but rupert, who had sunk to the pavement, weak from the loss of blood, seized hold of my leg--even in death he thought only of revenge! i jerked my leg from his grasp with such force, that he fell backward, striking his head against the door-post. he did not stir again. i did not stop to search in the skin of the moo-calf for the promissory note; i took only time enough to catch up a handful of mud from the street, and fling it into the face of the girl, who was leaning from the window shrieking "murder!" into the night. it silenced her for a few moments, and i fled down the street with strides that soon took me a considerable distance from the scene of the tragedy. in my terror i imagined that a multitude was pursuing me, crying: "catch him!" "hold him!" "there goes the assassin!" i fled through unfamiliar streets and by-ways, across bridges, to the outskirts of the city. there i saw, in an underground den, lights and moving forms; and heard dance-music and riotous shouting. i tore open the entrance-door, dashed down the steps, and fell into the arms of an overgrown rascal, who was clad in the uniform of the munster guards. the fellow locked his arms about me, and said laughingly: "you are welcome, comrade! you have come to the proper refuge. you must have been close pressed, i declare! you are puffing like a porpoise! but, have no further fear--you are safe now. come, sit and have something to drink." he pressed a goblet of wine into my hand, thrust his arm through mine, and drank _smollis_ with me, by exchanging his bear-skin hat for my cloth barret-cap. "there, my son, now you are one of us. you have drank our wine, and are now under the command of our worthy captain." i had stumbled upon a body of recruits for a partisan corps. the company was made up of desperate characters, who were glad enough of this chance to escape prison, or the gallows. as for myself, i was forced to put a good face on a bad business! only twelve hours before, i had been a distinguished cavalier, was called junker hermann; and had a promissory note for two-thousand thalers in my pocket. now, i had neither station nor money, and as i had good cause for not wanting to keep the name by which i was known in hamburg, i gave the recruiting sergeant my own true patronymic. after i had been properly registered, i asked the sergeant: "what is the name of our captain?" "meyer." "there are a good many meyers in the world. is the captain related to the berg-meyers?" "you've guessed it the first time, my son! the captain's father lives in the hamberger berg, and is a well-known receiver of stolen goods. rupert, the captain's brother, is a pander." i dare say many a man in my place would have been frightened at this discovery; but _i_ congratulated myself! if i were pursued--i argued--the officers of justice would seek for me everywhere else but in the company commanded by the brother of the murdered man; and if captain meyer ever discovered that it was i who had relieved him of the brother with whom he would have been obliged to share his inheritance, _he_ certainly would not reproach me for it! this, honored and high-born gentlemen, added hugo in conclusion, is the true history of the homicide for which i am arraigned. i have not added to, or taken from it; but have related the events exactly as they occurred. "_qui bene distinguit, bene docet!_" observed the prince thoughtfully. "we call it murder, when the person committing the deed strikes what he knows to be a human being. but, if the man encounters a ferocious monster that he believes to be a moo-calf, and kills it as such, and it turns out to be a human being, 'murder' is certainly not the term to apply to the deed. moreover, the person who is so devoid of sense and dignity, as to conceal his human form in the hide of an irrational beast, is himself responsible for whatever may happen to him! therefore, this indictment may also be stricken from the register." "perhaps, your highness," observed the chair with a covert sneer, "would like to suggest a reward for the prisoner, for delivering the city of hamburg from the terrorism of the moo-calf?" the prince's reply made it obvious that he had not noticed the chair's sarcasm: "i-think-not," he returned slowly. "as the prisoner is likely to be condemned to death for one or more of the other crimes, it would be useless to bestow on him a certainly deserved reward." a further hearing was postponed until the next morning. part vi. chapter i. the forgery.--one cipher. i passed an entire year under the command of captain meyer, during which time i may say i committed no more--nor less, evil than my comrades. i do not hold it necessary to mention the seven mortal sins, of which all soldiers are guilty when in the enemy's country--those sins become virtues then. were i to enumerate the pillaging, homicides, conflagrations, in which i took active part, it would be rather a _captatis benevolentiæ_ than an enforced confession. this much, however, i will confess: the regions visited by captain meyer's corps never expressed a desire for our return. a whole year of such a life was quite enough for me; and, as i had enlisted for only a twelve-month, at the expiration of that time i asked for my discharge. the captain expressed regret at my wanting to leave him; but made no objection when i gave him my reason for quitting the service; i was home-sick, and wanted to see my poor old mother and father. the old folks lived in andernach, near which we were quartered. i had not seen them for full ten years; and i decided that i would spend the rest of my days with them. the gold and silver i had once counted on taking to them, to solace their old age, was not now in my possession: satan, through whose aid i had obtained it, had taken it away from me again. but, if i could not give my parents curse-laden wealth, i was able to offer them two strong and willing arms which, after so many years of sinful struggling, longed for the honest toil that would call down a blessing from heaven. i would adopt my father's trade; become a pious believer, and try to be of some use to my fellow-creatures. before i could do this, however, i should be obliged to commit a forgery--as the world would call it. the burgomaster of andernach, and the manager of the tannery in that place, were so very scrupulous, that they wanted to know all about my antecedents, before they would consent to receive me as a citizen, and journeyman. not for the world would i have forged an entire testimonial for honesty, and respectability; but i did not think, that to add a single cipher to the honorable discharge i had received from captain meyer was anything out of the way. a tiny, innocent, worth-nothing, insignificant cipher, that could harm no one, take nothing from anyone! and i did not place it in front of the figure either--thus giving it the precedence over the more valuable numeral. if the honorable, and high-born gentlemen will but look at it from a different point of view from that usually taken, i feel confident they will not think my transgression so heinous after all. heaven knows! _ten_ years' service under captain meyer contained sufficient torture to purge the most hardened criminal, and make him fit for citizenship in any respectable community! this, your highness, and honorable gentlemen, is the forgery to which i plead guilty. "humph!" ejaculated his highness. "it is not worth mentioning! who would take the trouble to notice such a trifle? proceed to the indictment next on the list--" "on which there is still another crime less!" grumbled the chair impatiently. chapter ii. the legacy. discharged soldiers travel on foot. it is the more expeditious way if the roads are bad, for a wagon is heavier than a man. the man has only two feet to draw from the mud; while the wagon has four wheels. besides to travel on foot is cheaper. when i arrived in andernach i had, remaining from the money i had saved during my year's campaigning, only one thaler; but my heart was so light, the lightness of my pocket did not trouble me. how glad i was when i caught sight of the familiar towers of the palace, and the ruins on the templeberg. how often, when a lad, i had clambered among those ruins, in search of hawks' nests, and roman coins. if i had only broken my neck on one of those innocent quests. everything was so familiar; the large mill-stone factory; the cranes on the quay; the rafts on the river; the long avenues--yes, even the old receivers of customs at the coblentz gate! i recognized the old fellows at once; but they did not remember me. i might stray through the entire town without hearing a single voice call to me: "welcome, welcome! why that is hugo!" i was so changed in appearance! but i remembered everybody and everything! i did not need to ask my way through the narrow streets to the tanneries on the banks of the river. i remembered the names of all the families that lived in those narrow streets. at last i came in sight of the house in which dwelt my parents--the dear, familiar home of my boyhood! there it stood; and beside it, the same tall mulberry tree with its branches shading the street. perched among those branches, i had learned to decline the classical formula: "_hic gallus cantans in arbore sedens, kukuriku dicens!_" at the moment of my arrival, however, instead of a _gallus cantans_ on the tree, an auctioneer's assistant was standing under it, and vigorously beating a cracked drum. "what is going on here?" i asked of the man, in whom i recognized an acquaintance of my boyhood. "there's going to be an auction, master soldier." "what is to be sold?" "everything that belonged to the old tanner. you may take a look inside if you like," he added, nodding toward the house. "it won't cost you anything." "but why are you selling the old man's property?" i asked again. "to get money, naturally!" "for whom?" "for the numerous jebucees, sadducees, and publicans, to whom the old man was indebted. if they sell everything--to the brood of sparrows under the eaves!--there will not be enough money, by a good deal, to pay all he owes." "why," said i, "the old man was a good manager; and his wife an industrious and thrifty house-wife, when i knew them." "and so they were! the old man was all right, until he took to drinking." "took to drinking? why did he do that?" "well--you see, he had a worthless son, who ran away from home about ten years ago. the scamp joined a band of robbers; and when he left them, he gave out that he was a polish count; played all manner of tricks; broke out of prison; robbed churches. every year the news which came to the old man about his hugo grew worse; until at last he was afraid to venture on the street, for the whole town was talking about his worthless son. so he took to drink--had it fetched to the house, and drank harder and harder--especially after his wife died--" "dead?" i interrupted. "is the old dame dead?" my heart almost burst because i had to keep back the words "my mother." "yes, master soldier, she is dead, and it is a mercy the good old soul did not live to see this sorrowful day! but, you must excuse me. i have got to beat this drum, so that a good lot of people will come to the sale." a dozen or more purchasers came in response to the summons. i took up my station by the open window, and looked into the familiar room, where the buyers were higgling over the various articles to be sold. my mother's sunday mantle was just then under the hammer--the pretty silk mantle with the silver fastening at the neck. how i wished i were able to put an end to the disgusting higgling, by shouting in the window: "i'll take the whole lot for a thousand thalers!" but, alas! there was only a single, miserable thaler in my pocket. the mantle at last became the property of an old-clothes dealer: he flung it around his shoulders, and made believe to promenade to church. it was a revolting sight! the entire higgling crew laughed uproariously, and clapped their hands. i could endure it no longer, my heart was bursting. i stepped back to the drummer, and asked: "is it long since the old dame died?" "not so long but you may find her grave if you care to see it. she is buried in the cemetery on the templeberg." "and where is her husband?" "well"--and he scratched his ear--"that is a question i am unable to answer: what was immortal about him, is in heaven, or hell, or purgatory--who can say? flesh, bones and skin, are about to be buried in the earth--just where though, i can't tell you." "buried now?" i repeated. "why, there's no bell tolling for the funeral?" "no, master soldier, the death bell doesn't ring for such corpses. the poor old man hung himself--just here, on this limb above us!" "hung himself?" i repeated in horror. "yes, master soldier--he hung himself on that limb! you see he couldn't stand it when, after he had been told that his property would have to be sold to pay his debts, he heard that the burgomaster had received from hamburg a warrant to arrest hugo, his vagabond son, who had murdered a comrade of his in that city." you may imagine my feeling when i heard these words! they banished from my mind all thought of making myself known as the long-lost hugo, and the determination to keep my identity a strict secret was strengthened by the drummer who, at every beat he inflicted on the cracked calf-skin, exclaimed: "the rascal!" "the vagabond!" "the gallows-bird!" and similar titles of honor! i deemed it wise to join him in execrating the reprobate, whose evil conduct had forced the honest old tanner to end his life on the green branch over our heads. the bloody deed i had committed in hamburg had driven my poor father to a suicide's grave. i could listen no longer to the monotonous drum-beats, and the call which came from the house: "who bids higher?" i stole away from the house to which i had brought disgrace and death. i stole away to that city of the silent multitude, where there is no higgling, no outbidding, no "who bids higher?" here, the wooden cross at the head of the grass-grown mound of earth, serves the same purpose, and serves it as well as the majestic marble monument. after a long search among many familiar, and some unfamiliar names, i found, on one of the wooden crosses, the name to which i had a claim. underneath that mound, bare of green sod, with no mourning wreath of never-fading flowers adorning the cross, rested the woman who had left behind her on earth nothing but a drunken husband, who drank to forget his shame; and a worthless son, whose name was a public disgrace in every city in the land. i flung myself beside the mound. i dared not give vent to my sorrow in moans and tears, for fear a grave-digger, or some passer-by might hear me, and suspect me to be the son of the woman in the grave. the hamburg magistrates had offered one hundred thalers for my arrest; consequently it behooved me to be very cautious. i pretended i had chosen that spot to rest; and lay very still; for, just then, a good many people--chattering old women, noisy lads, and all sorts of shabby folk--were passing through the cemetery, toward the further wall. the crowd seemed to be expecting something--an imposing funeral, i said to myself. i soon found out why they were so eager to get to the boundary wall of the cemetery: in the strip of earth just outside the wall was the suicide's grave. he is not to rest among the respectable christians; but in the strip of unconsecrated ground outside the sacred inclosure. no priest leads his funeral train; his body comes to its last resting place in the knacker's cart, on a bier made of four rough deals. the coffin is unpainted; there is no name-plate on the lid. the bell on the neck of the knacker's old steed tolls him to the grave. instead of a solemn funeral dirge, there is the noisy chatter of the curious mob; and in lieu of funeral oration are the knacker's stupid and offensive jokes, which he cracks while he prepares to lower the coffin into the grave. before he does this, he takes a knife from his pocket, and whittles a few chips from the coffin; and over these the gaping crowd--especially the old women--quarrel and higgle, gladly giving their last pence for the relics. and these people never suspect that the man who leans heavily against the broken cross, hard-by the new-made grave, might rush suddenly upon them, and with the stump of the broken cross crack the skulls of those whom he chanced to strike! at last the knacker took note of me: "well, master soldier," he called, "and how goes it with you? don't you want to exchange a few pence for a chip from the coffin of the man who hung himself? there is great virtue in such a bit of wood! it will preserve you from lightning, and--" "i would rather have a nail out of the coffin," i interrupted, "for iron will attract lightning, which is what i most desire." the fellow was ready enough to comply with my request, but he said the nail would be worth a thaler. i gave him the thaler, the last money i possessed in the world! and received the nail--my legacy from my father! later, i had a ring made of the coffin-nail, and i still wear it on the fore-finger of my right hand. "well," enunciated his highness, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket; "you certainly were punished for your misdeeds, my son. your sufferings must have been greater than if you had been tortured on the wheel." the chair's comments were inaudible amid the sounds of emotion, which came from behind the prince's handkerchief. part vii. chapter i. peaceful repose. i was now without a heller in my pocket; and yet i did not feel poor. i thought to myself: i am a man, born this day--nothing, and nobody. i am so much better off than the new-born babe, in that i shall not have to be taught how to walk and talk, need no one to feed me, and rock me to sleep. i determined i would not remain longer on german soil. if i remained, only one of two alternatives was left to me: if i desired to associate with respectable folk, i should have to allow them, when they discovered who i was, to cut off my head; and if i went back to my old life, or into the army, i should have to cut off the heads of my fellow-creatures. i had no desire to do either. after my varied, and troublous experiences, i yearned for peace and quiet. my plans were soon formed. there was considerable trade in lumber, between andernach and holland. innumerable rafts, composed of huge tree-trunks for masts, and piles for dams, were floated down the rhine; and to the owner of one of these rafts i hired myself as rower. the wage was fair: thirty pfenings a day, with bread, cheese, dried fish, and a jug of beer. i never drank my portion of beer, but sold it for three pfenings, to one of my comrades on the raft, who got thirsty twice daily. i drank only water. when my fellow rowers would curse and swear, because a strong wind, or the current, drove the raft against the rocks, i would remonstrate mildly with them; and assure them that such speech in the mouths of christian men was displeasing to god; and when, to pass the time, they would sit down to a game of dice, i would withdraw to the further end of the raft. if they urged me to join the game, i would reply: "thou shalt not covet what belongs to thy neighbor." after awhile the jeers of my comrades attracted the attention of the owner of the raft. "hello, lad; what's the matter with you? you don't drink, don't gamble, and don't swear--you are damnably pious, it seems to me! but, you are a first-rate worker; and i shall sell you in nimeguen for at least three times as much as any of those lazy louts." "you are going to sell me and my comrades in nimeguen?" i exclaimed in amazement. "why, certainly! what the devil else should i do with you? you can float down stream on the raft; but i couldn't float you up-stream!--and i couldn't carry you on my back, could i? but, don't you worry. i'll find good places for the lot of you. there will be plenty of buyers for the rowers, as well as for the raft, and the price every fellow brings will be equally divided between me and himself!" "what becomes of the men--usually?" i ventured to inquire. "well, i don't believe _all_ are chopped into sausage-meat! the hollander likes to be a sailor--but only a captain, or a pilot. he likes also to be a soldier, but again he prefers to be a captain, or the commandant of a fortress. therefore, common seamen and private soldiers are in demand; and for this the ignorant stranger is good. consequently, you need only say which you prefer: to become a sailor, or a land-lubber--and take your choice." i deliberated a moment, then i said to him: "i will tell you the truth, captain, because i have vowed never again to let a lie pass my lips. i am tired of soldiering. i have shed so much blood on the battlefield, that the remembrance of it oppresses my soul. i don't want to be a soldier; i would rather go to sea, and be rocked by the waves." "well, you are an ignorant dunce!" he exclaimed. "don't you know that, if you go to sea, you will get right into the thick of battle? the dutch fight all their real battles at sea. they keep an army on shore, only that they may have troops to capitulate when a fortress is starved out by the enemy! the soldiers never get any actual fighting. punctuality, sobriety, irreproachable conduct--these are the dutch soldier's strong points--and, the devil fly away with me, if you don't rise to be a corporal in less than a twelve-month, if you join the army! what were you before?" "a gunner." "well, you can be a gunner in the dutch army." "but, what have the gunners in the dutch artillery to do if there is no enemy to shoot at?" i asked. "oh, they find enough to occupy their time. on saturday evenings they have the management of the fire-works, which are set off in the park; and on the other days of the week they prepare the rockets, and other things, for the saturday evening's display." that is why i became a gunner in the artillery, in the goodly city of nimeguen. sixty dollars was the price paid for me, the half of which i received. i was now in a community that exactly suited me. here was no mighty uproar, no rioting, no drinking. here, no vain braggart youths molested the wives of the staid burghers. here were no conflicts between the military and the citizens. all were at peace with one another. on sunday mornings the armed, and the unarmed residents went together to church; and in the evening all drank their pints together amicably in the beer-houses. the soldiers were allowed, when not on guard duty, or otherwise engaged in the fortress, to work for the citizens; the money thus earned belonged to themselves. and there were many chances to secure employment. the entire city of nimeguen was a huge flower-garden, in which was grown that most important article of commerce: the tulip bulb. it is a well-known fact that not only entire europe but all the lands under the dominion of the turkish sultan, would suffer a greater financial loss, were the dutch tulip-bulbs to remain out of the markets for a year, than if all other crops were to fail for the same length of time. by saying this, i do not mean that the carnation is not also a necessary luxury--if i may so term it; but the tulip is, and will remain, the most important article of commerce in the lands i have mentioned. one tulip-bulb is worth as much as a peck of wheat. but it is of different values--according to the color. there are tulips which only kings and sultans can afford to have bloom in their gardens. i was fortunate enough to secure employment for my leisure hours, as gardener's assistant, on the estate of a widow who was "tulip-wealthy." the lady would visit her tulip beds early every morning, to see them in bud; and again late in the afternoon, to see the full-blown flowers. at such times i never got a glimpse of her face; for she always wore a huge cap, from which only the tip of her nose protruded. but i decided, after i had been on the estate a week, that the fair owner must be young, for when she addressed a remark to me, which she did occasionally, her voice was so low--as if she feared i might hear what she said. to judge by the enormous quantities of bulbs she sent to market, the widow must have been very rich; but the bulbs were not her only treasures. she possessed a collection of shells, fresh, and salt-water, that represented a very tidy sum of money. in holland, as well as in england, and france, the shell had also a commercial value; and wealthy collectors vied with one another to secure the finest examples of the _spordilus regius_; the "sun-ray" mussel; the rainbow-hued "venus-ear"; the "queen's cap"; the "tower of babylon"; and "pharaoh's turban," and would pay as high as two hundred dollars for a perfect specimen of the shell they wanted. i have known a perfect _scalaria preciosa_ to bring one hundred zequins. this shell is more valuable than the pearl; and my fair employer possessed a whole drawerful of them. her sainted husband had collected them; and they would have sold for more than would a three-master loaded with grain. more than one nabob had offered fabulous sums for the collection; and it was said that a british peer, who was devoted to the study of conchology, had even gone so far as to offer his hand and title to the widow, in order to gain possession of the much coveted treasure. the widow who hesitates loses a title; while the lady was considering the peer's offer, there was a sudden fall in the price of shells, and my lord sailed away to england. what caused this depression in the shell-market you ask? well, as your highness, and the honorable gentlemen, must know, every sea-creature like the _scalaria_ builds its house with the volutions turning to the left. one day a sailor, whose home was in nimeguen, returned from a voyage to sumatra, and brought with him a large number of _scalaria_ with the shells turned in just the opposite direction--from left to right. now, a shell of this order was a decided _lusus naturæ_, and the price for the ordinary pattern at once depreciated. the bankers and nabobs, who had formerly vied with one another in their quest for the _scalaria preciosa_, were now so inflamed with the desire to possess a _scalaria retrotorsa_, that they willingly paid from two to three thousand thalers for a single specimen. on the other hand, the ordinary _scalaria_, which had sold readily for one hundred ducats, could now be bought for ten, and fifteen thalers. this was a heavy blow for my widowed employer, and she soon found that she had not the strength to bear it alone. when i heard of her loss, i summoned enough courage to say to her: "if this unlucky business about the shells is all that troubles you, my dear lady, i think i can help you. i have a scheme that will in a very short time produce shells which turn to the right--and in such quantities, that you can supply all the shell-markets in the country." the widow reflected several moments, then replied: "but, i couldn't think of allowing you to employ witch-craft to secure such shells for me. i do not approve of magic. i have always held aloof from sorcery, charms, conjuring, and all such infernal practices; and, as i hope some time to be united with my beloved husband, who is with the saints, i could not bind my soul to the wicked one, by countenancing any sort of magic, or idolatry." "there is neither magic nor idolatry connected with my scheme to benefit you, gracious lady," i assured her. "what i have in mind is a purely scientific experiment. it is fully described in a large book written by the learned professor wagner, who was a very pious man, as well as a very clever scholar." "the book i allude to, gracious lady, treats of the sympathy and antipathy of plants, and cold-blooded animals; and is all about creatures made by our heavenly father. it is a noteworthy fact, that the bean vine always twines from left to right around the stake which supports it; while the hop as invariably winds from right to left--neither of them ever makes a mistake. if, however, the bean and the hop be planted close together, then, the two plants being antipathetic one to the other, the bean will twine to the left, and the hop to the right." "_quid fuit probatum._" "from such experiments the learned professor was led to experiment with living creatures. he found that, when an acaleph which forms its shell from right to left in the flower-beds at the bottom of the ocean, chances to lie in close proximity to a _nautilus pompilius_, which belongs to the cephalopods, and builds from left to right, the two, because of their antipathy for each other, will reverse the order of their volutions." "from this it is clear that those conchologists, who have created a veritable social revolution with their _scalaria retrotorsa_, and have shaken the foundations of prosperity in the dutch low countries, have accidentally come upon such shells which, in consequence of an antipathetic propinquity, have reversed their order of building--and by so doing, my dear lady, have caused you great loss and sorrow. but, you need sorrow no longer, if you will graciously assent to my proposition. it will, i feel confident, bring you a fortune so enormous that even the queen regent will envy you!" "but, what is your proposition?" queried the pious soul, and for the first time, half of her face emerged from the depths of her cap. "it is this, gracious lady: order your agents to bring from the ocean living _scalaria_, and _nautili_, which are to be secured with least trouble during the mating season. we will prepare for them here a large basin of sea-water, with sand from the bottom of the ocean. in this we will plant sea-weeds, place our living shells among them, and feed them with star-fish, holothures, and other soft-bodied marine creatures. after a season our shell-fish will spawn; the eggs of the _scalaria_ cling together--like a string of pearls; those of the _nautili_ adhere to one another by sixes, in shape of a star. "when we shall have secured a number of broods, we will fasten together the ends of a _scalaria_ string, forming a circle, in the center of which we will place a star of _nautilus_ spawn; and you will see, when the tiny creatures escape from the eggs, that they will build their houses in a reversed order from the parent shell." my plan was quite clear to the fair widow; she gave her orders at once to her agents, for the _scalaria_, and _nautili_, and from that moment treated me with great respect and affability. meanwhile, i continued to perform my duties: i polished my guns mornings; inspected the soldiers' coats, to see if any of the buttons had been sewed on wrong side up--the lower part of the state's coat of arms uppermost--and reported to the captain that everything was in order. saturday evenings i attended to setting off the fire-works; and every week-day afternoon i worked in the widow's garden. what i earned i laid by. i never touched pipe, nor glass--not even when they were offered to me; and to whomsoever i addressed a remark, i gave the title belonging to him. thus, i gained the respect of all my fellow-citizens. i had become what i had long desired: a respectable god-fearing man-- "now, look out for a special bit of rascality;" _sotto voce_, interjected the chair. i admit it was to win promotion that i conducted myself with such propriety, continued the prisoner. i was extremely desirous of attaining a lieutenancy. when the living _scalaria_, and _nautili_, arrived together with the creatures which were to serve as food for them, they were placed in the large basin with a wall about it, i had prepared for them in the lower portion of the tulip garden; and in due time the spawn was ready for further operation. my gracious employer was greatly surprised to learn that the eggs of the shell-fish have a peculiarity which distinguishes them from the eggs of birds and insects. with the development of the embryonic fish, its envelope also extends; one such egg, which at first is hardly as large as a lentil, increases to the size of a hazel-nut. in this condition its outer covering is very thin--merely a transparent membrane, through which the now quickened animal may be seen revolving with the celerity of a spinning top. one may even detect the pulsations of its heart. "the fellow has actually taken it upon himself to deliver a lecture on malacology!" irritably interposed the chair. "i am sorry to prolong the hearing, your honor," deferentially returned the prisoner, "but, i beg you will allow me to finish what i have to say on this subject, in order that i may explain why i was accused of conjuring. i desire to prove that what i did was not accomplished by aid of any infernal power; but through my own intelligence, in discovering, and making use of one of nature's secrets." as i mentioned before, one may perceive, in the embryonic mollusk, the incessant rotary movement from left to right. in order to keep the two antipathetic broods constantly in the close juxtaposition necessary to influence their development, i was obliged to handle them frequently, as the eggs would move about-- "stop!" interrupted the chair, "mollusks have no eyes; how then were those you hatched able to see their antipathetic neighbors, and move away from them?" their antipathetic sensations informed them. though mollusks have no eyes, they are endowed with other remarkable organs--such as are not found in warm-blooded animals. however, to cut my story short, the quickened _scalaria_, and _nautili_, immediately began to form their shells in the reversed order i had expected, and the secret of fabulous enrichment was solved. during the mysterious process of nature--while the shell-fish were industriously rearing their priceless houses--my patroness daily spent a half hour or more beside the sea-water basin; and would even, now and then, assist me to restore the creatures to their proper positions. at first she would push her sleeves only an inch or two above the wrists; but, after awhile, they were tucked above the elbows, and i could admire as much as i wanted the beautiful white arms--a favor no modest woman will allow anyone but her own husband. as the work had to be done, and as we did not want a third party to have cognizance of our experiment, the fair widow was obliged to assist me, and the natural result of the bared arms was: i became her legal husband. therefore, it was neither through magic, nor witch-craft, nor yet through seductive arts employed by myself, that i became the legal protector of the richest, and handsomest young widow in nimeguen. ("the truth of the matter is: the modest dutch widow bewitched the valiant gunner, and compelled him to marry her!" was the chair's sarcastic interpolation.) well, be that as it may, the lady was amply rewarded for marrying me. the _scalaria retrotorsa_ resulting from my experiment, brought her enormous wealth. we did not know, at last, what to do with all the money that kept pouring into our coffers; but, the larger portion of her reward by far, she found in the conjugal fidelity i vowed to her. i would not have believed that i possessed so many of the attributes necessary to the making of a pattern husband, and my wife would have been entirely satisfied with me, had i been a captain like her first spouse. but i was only a gunner! my predecessor had been a captain, it is true, but he had never seen a battle; and when, on _corpus christi_, he commanded the city militia, and gave orders to fire the salute, he always pressed his hands against his ears to shut out the noise. still, his title gave his wife the right to call herself "frau hauptmannin;" while, as my wife she was merely "constablerinn"--a degradation intolerable to any proud-spirited woman. i tried to purchase at least a lieutenant's commission; but there were fifty-six applicants for the position ahead of me; and there was no telling how many years i should have to wait for my turn. my wife at last became so sensitive that, in order to escape being addressed by the inferior title, she ceased to go out of the house; and when she had occasion to make mention of me to any one, she always spoke, or wrote, in this wise: "the husband of the widow of captain tobias van der bullen." that honorable and high-born gentlemen, is how i came to be called--through no fault of mine!--by my twelfth false name: "tobias van der bullen." i must confess, it was an extremely dull life. of what use to us were the hoards of gold in the treasure-chests? we did not know how to spend them. i did not drink wine; i was not allowed to smoke at home, because it was an unclean habit. and i was always at home, when not at the barracks, because i had nowhere else to go. at the merchants' casino, of which i might have become a member had i so elected, all the conversation was about matters i could not endure. the men were so grave and sedate, there was no fun in trying to play tricks on them; and the women were virtuous to such a degree, that not one of them would have allowed a barn-yard cock to scratch worms for more than one hen. as all married men know, women are peculiar creatures. there are times when they become impressed with a desire to possess certain things that--so say the sagacious doctors--it is unwise, nay dangerous, to refuse to gratify the request. i have heard said, that a woman has been known to long for a dish of shoemaker's paste; another believed she would collapse if she did not get a frog to devour; still another, vowed she could not survive, if her husband did not rise from his bed at midnight, and hasten to the nearest grocery for a box of superfine wagon grease! now, my wife was seized with a longing to possess a sheet of parchment--a desire, you will say, that might easily have been gratified. but, the sort of parchment she wanted did not grow on every bush! a document, engrossed with the words which certified that her husband was a captain, was what she craved. but, where was i to procure it? chance one day brought me face to face with an old acquaintance, mynheer ruissen. he recognized me at once. it would have been useless to deny my identity; moreover, there had been established between us a certain good-fellowship that justified me in believing i might safely take him into my confidence. he told me how zealously the officers of the law were searching throughout germany for the fugitive, who had substituted tin church-vessels for the gold and silver ones used in the templars' castle; and for having caused the wonderful metamorphosis of the hamburg moo-calf. ("fine phrases for robbery, and assassination!" commented the chair). it was fortunate for me that i was known in holland only under the name of my wife's deceased husband; had the worthy dutchmen known who i was, the german authorities would not have remained long in ignorance as to the whereabouts of the fugitive criminal they were seeking. i confided to mynheer ruissen my desire to obtain the title of captain in order to prevent my wife from grieving herself to death. "well, my son," he observed after a moment's deliberation, "it isn't such an easy matter to get to be a captain--on shore. there is no war now. these hollanders prefer to look on fighting at a distance. if you want to become a captain, come with me to sea. i am on my way to east india, with small arms and cannons for the nabob nujuf khan, of bengal. there's a general in his army, who is a countryman of yours--a reinhard walter. he was an adventurer like yourself when he went to india; and now he is a distinguished man. he changed his name to 'sommer,' and the natives out yonder call him 'sumro.' he is in need of soldiers, especially skilled gunners. if you will come with me--who can tell?--you may become not only a captain, but a prince within a twelve-month." the tales mynheer ruissen related of general sommer's success in bengal were so marvelous, they inflamed me with the desire to try my fortune in that distant land; besides, the wearisome dullness of my monotonous existence in nimeguen was driving me to madness. i decided to accompany the mynheer, whom i introduced to my wife. she was almost beside herself with delight, when he told her he knew of a land in which there grew a tree, called the banyan, with a thousand branches, every one bearing a hundred figs, in every one of which might be found a captain's commission. and these wonderful figs might be had for the plucking, by any one who would take the trouble to journey to that distant land. "you must start at once, my dear," said my wife in urgent tones--as if she feared there might not be any of the figs left for me, if i delayed going immediately. "at once! you must on no account miss the ship!" with her own hands she packed everything i should need for the journey--not forgetting soap and tooth-brushes! and she did not weep at parting with me. you see, the women of holland become accustomed to having their husbands go away on long journeys, to be absent for years. i confess i was not sorry to go; for, i knew that, if i stopped at home, when the third member of the family arrived, it would be my task to rock the cradle. i preferred to be rocked myself by the waves on a good ship! two days later i bade farewell for a time to europe, and set sail with mynheer ruissen for india. a favorable wind sent us skimming out of the harbor; my wife waved a farewell with her handkerchief from the shore. "did you commit any crimes on the high seas?" this query from the chair interrupted the voyage for a few moments. "nothing worth mentioning, your honor." "then, just skip over the entire ocean, and don't waste our time with descriptions of flying-fish, and chanting mermaids. debark without further delay in bengal, and let us hear what rascalities you perpetrated there?" part viii. in bengal. chapter i. begum sumro. the next morning hugo resumed his confession: i hope the honorable gentlemen of the court will pardon me, and not imagine i wish to prolong this hearing, if i mention what may seem trifling details. they are absolutely necessary to render intelligible the recital of my most serious transgressions: idolatry, polygamy, and regicide-- "all of which you will prove to have been so many praiseworthy acts!" interpolated the chair. to begin with--continued the prisoner, paying no heed to the chair's interpolation--from one of the upper windows of a tall tower that stands on the left bank of the ganges, in the neighborhood of benares, projects a bamboo pole as thick as a man's waist; and from it depends, by an iron chain, a large iron cage. a man is confined in this cage. his food is conveyed to him from the window of the tower, through a long hollow pipe of bamboo. the cage hangs over a large pool of water that is fed by an arm of the river, and swarms with voracious crocodiles. it is a horrible sight, in the late afternoon, to see these ferocious brutes lift their heads from the water, and grin at the man in the cage. if he should break the iron bars which confine him in his airy prison, and attempt to escape by leaping into the pool, the hungry monsters would devour him skin and hair. "who is the man?" queried the chair. "no less a personage than his royal highness, shah alum, the heir to the throne of the great mogul." "why is he confined in the cage?" "because he extended the hospitalities of his roof to his highness, mir cossim, the nabob of bengal, whom the english banished from his territory, after the battle of patna. later, after the battle at buxar, shah alum himself fell into the power of the english; and mir cossim was obliged to flee to the protection of the nabob of andh, whose commander-in-chief was the general sommer, of whom mynheer ruissen had told me. the english demanded of the nabob of andh, that he deliver to them mir cossim and sommer: whom they wanted to cage, and hang beside shah alum, to keep him from getting lonely! but the nabob of andh allowed sommer to escape; and he fled across the jumna, where he organized another army. he was again defeated by the english, and fled to joodpoor, where he placed himself under the protection of prince radspoota. here he organized troops after the manner of those in europe, and vanquished the rajahs of chitore, and abeil. again he was compelled by the english to flee--but not by the force of arms this time; his enemies intimidated the prince, his protector; and, in order not to cause his highness any inconvenience, sommer went to delhi, the chief city in india, where he sought the protection of najuf khan. the full name of this ruler is: 'mirza nujuf khan zülfikar al dowlah, commander-in-chief to the great mogul.' from him sommer received a hearty welcome." "this sommer," observed the chair, "seems to have been a vagrant like yourself." "i consider that a great compliment, your honor, and thank you for it!" returned the prisoner. then he resumed his confession: sommer had an opportunity the very first day to prove his gratitude for the friendly reception accorded him by najuf khan. the mutinous mahrattas made a sudden attack that night on the residence of the khan, and would have assassinated him, had not sommer hastened with the loyal mahrattas to the rescue, and vanquished the mutineers. and they were fine fellows--devilish fine fellows, too--those mutinous mahrattas! the crack troop of the imperial army! they had once compelled a former commander-in-chief, who had failed, for some reason or other, to pay the troops, to sit, bound hand and foot, and with bare head in the scorching sun, until he gave orders to have them paid. ("i think it will be well to keep that episode from the ears of our troops," observed the prince with a meaning smile.) in gratitude for his rescue, najuf khan charged sommer with the organization of his army; and in a short time he, sommer, got together a force of natives, and europeans, sufficient to conquer a neighboring province, the chief city of which is agra; he also captured the so-called impregnable citadel of drig, in which rock-fortress he imprisoned nabob nevil szig. in reward for this victorious campaign, the emperor of delhi appointed sommer king of the conquered province of sardhana. thus, the son of a grocer in treves became the sovereign of an east indian province. i trust the honorable gentlemen of the court have received this somewhat prolix preface with favor. i believed it necessary, in order to familiarize you with the marvelous changes, which are worked by a mysterious fate in that tropical clime, where alone such changes are possible. if i could but delineate approximately the peculiarities of that region, of the atmosphere i breathed, the ground i trod, i believe the honorable gentlemen would say: "arise, and go your way in peace. you are not to blame for what you have done. your transgressions are but the fruits of the soil which produces also the boa and the upas tree." the province of sardhana is ten times as large as the grand-duchy of treves; and the revenue of its sovereign four times that of the grand duke. it is a very fruitful country, rich in grain, wool, and tobacco. sommer built a fort near his residence; and with the aid of his troops kept the neighboring provinces under subjection. he forced a passage through the forests of mevas, into which, until then, none of the foreign conquerors had been able to penetrate; which had formed an impassable barrier for the great alexander on his triumphal march; baffled the hordes of djingis khan, whose inhabitants sallied forth only when they desired to levy tribute on a neighboring tribe. after vanquishing these savages, sommer directed his attention toward the inhuman balluken, who offered the blood of young girls in sacrifice to their gods, and in a very short time succeeded in dislodging them from their rocky retreat. ultimately, he undertook to subdue the royal pertaub singh, which he accomplished--but not through the force of arms: by his powers of persuasion, which he possessed to a marvelous degree. sommer's patron, as was natural, wished to bestow on his successful commander-in-chief a new reward for all these conquests. there was a beautiful young girl, named zeib alnissa (the hindoo for "ornament of her sex"), the daughter of one of the most influential princely families in delhi, and this girl the emperor sought in marriage for his favorite. sommer informed his patron that he would espouse the beautiful zeib alnissa if she would adopt the christian faith. "why," exclaimed the emperor, "can't you love a woman who worships brahma?" "oh, yes, your imperial highness," responded sommer; "it is because i should love her very much, that i want her to belong to my faith. i am not a young man any more, and i have a profligate son whom i have been forced to disown. if i should die, my wife, according to the brahminical custom, would be burned alive with my body. if she becomes a christian, she will not have to ascend the funeral pyre, but my throne, where she will reign as begum, and prevent my kingdom from falling into the hands of my worthless son." the emperor conceded that sommer's argument was just; and permitted the foreign missionaries to convert the lovely young princess to the christian faith. this was a concession never before granted to a european in india. zeib alnissa adored her husband. she accompanied him on every expedition he undertook; watched over him; guarded him from the secret enemies and treachery which encompass every east indian sovereign. the successful commander-in-chief had many enemies and rivals. the english company had long ranked among his opponents. not infrequently he was rescued as by a miracle from great danger by the watchful care of his devoted wife. ultimately, however, his enemies succeeded in their attempts on his life; and the brave commander-in-chief succumbed to the poison secretly administered to him. he died in the arms of the faithful zeib alnissa, just about the time i arrived in sardhana, to take command of his artillery. his widow, under the title of sumro begum, ascended the throne, thus preventing, as her husband had desired, her step-son from inheriting it. this son was a truly immoral and wicked fellow. i saw him for a few minutes after the begum's accession to the crown, and after she had confirmed my appointment as commander of the fort. he actually had the effrontery to try to bribe me to betray the begum into his power; and, on finding that his efforts were useless, he threatened to revenge himself on me when he should come into possession of the throne. "very well," i retorted. "when that time comes i shall become a regicide." how little i dreamed then, that my words were prophetic! meanwhile, sumro begum grasped with a firm hand the reins of government. she increased her army, and added several pieces of ordnance to the artillery. seated on a spirited battle-horse, or elephant, she inspected the manoeuvers in person. her neighbors in the adjacent provinces very soon learned to fear and respect her; even the emperor gave her credit for great prudence and wisdom. indeed, so great was the influence she wielded, that her voice frequently decided the issue in the discussions at court. those east indian dignitaries are a jealous folk. when gholam kadir found that his influence at the imperial court was secondary to that of sumro begum, he marched with his troops on the capital, and began to bombard the palace. sumro begum, however, heard the thunder of the cannonading, and hastily summoning her troops, joined her forces to those of prince ivan buk, and drove the jealous gholam kadir back to his province. the revolt in the interior of his empire concluded, the emperor was at liberty to turn his attention to the foreign invader. kuli khan had captured the fortress of ghokal gur. this valuable stronghold had to be recaptured; and troops were not lacking, but leaders were. sommer's loss was most keenly felt; but sumro begum was still to the fore, and she was worth a dozen ordinary generals. the imperial troops had been trying for three weeks to recapture the fortress of ghokal gur. they had become tired of the continued ill-success of their undertaking, and had abandoned themselves to feasting and carousing. one night, after all tipsy heads had been laid to rest, kuli khan, with his mongolian cavalry, surprised the imperial camp, and began to slaughter the stupefied troops. the enemy in the fortress could see by the light of the burning tents the horrible butchery going on outside the walls, and decided to take a hand in it. the emperor's tent was riddled with bullets; two of his palanquin bearers were killed, and he was obliged to seek flight on his own feet. but, whither to turn he knew not, as he was in the center of a furious cross-fire. it is quite certain that he would have been destroyed, together with his entire army, had not sumro begum hastened to the rescue, with her admirably disciplined troops, officered by europeans. on hearing of the emperor's danger the heroic begum summoned her body-guard--hardly one hundred men--entered her palanquin, and hastened, with the battery under my command, toward the thickest of the fight. when she saw that the enemy from the fortress was taking part in the massacre of the half-sober imperial troops, she called to me: "follow my example!" then, she sprang from her palanquin, mounted a horse, and at the head of her body-guard, charged upon the enemy. i knew very well what was expected of me! i placed my battery in such a position that the guns would clear a way for the begum. in a very short time the valiant enemy, who had sallied forth from the fortress to take a hand in slaughtering their beleaguerers, were in a wild retreat toward it. sumro begum met them at the draw-bridge, took the commander prisoner, and, with him in chains at her side, entered the fort, of which she took possession in the name of the emperor. she left all but ten of her men to guard the fort, and returned to the assistance of the emperor, whose troops, taking courage from the example of the brave begum, plucked up heart, turned upon their butchers, and after a severe struggle gained the mastery. the rising sun witnessed the annihilation of the enemy. the fort was again in the possession of the emperor, who, in face of his entire army, embraced sumro begum, and called her his "dear daughter." he did not hesitate to declare, in the presence of his commanding officers, that he owed his life, the lives of six imperial princes, his empire, and the rescue of his army, to the brave woman. to this the begum, with a modest blush, made reply: "not to me alone is due all this praise, your imperial highness. the greater portion belongs to my commander of artillery. this is he"--she drew me forward and presented me to the emperor. "to him must be given a fitting reward for the great service he has done your imperial highness." the answer to this was: "let yourself be the brave man's reward!" with his own imperial hand he placed the lady's hand in my own, and betrothed her to me with a ring from his own finger. at the same time he appointed me co-regent of sardhana, under the name of maharajah kong. thus, i became--not a captain, but a maharajah. "and all this really happened?" inquired the chair. "yes, your honor, and more too--as you may read in the court chronicles at delhi." "we will hear the rest tomorrow," observed the prince. "it is enough for one day to have heard how the son of an andernach tanner became assistant sovereign of a province in india." chapter ii. idol worship. the next day the prisoner resumed his confession: i was now ruler of a province, with a revenue of twenty lacs of rupees. i had a remarkably handsome and clever wife, with eyes than which no gem was brighter. but, there was a thought that troubled me night and day: what was to become of my wife in holland? my religion forbade two wives. this thought so troubled me, that at last i confided it to sumro begum. "i don't see why you considered that necessary," interrupted the chair. "you had already told so many lies, another one would certainly have found room beside the rest!" i beg your honor to remember that i vowed at the grave of my poor father to lead a god-fearing life, and to let nothing but the truth pass my lips. the ring made of the coffin-nail, which i wore on my thumb, constantly reminded me of my vow. therefore, i considered it my duty to tell sumro begum that i had a legal wife in holland; and that, were i to go back to her, i should find my child on her bosom. the begum was not in the least offended when i made my confession; on the contrary, she commended me for telling the truth. "he who proves himself faithful to the absent one, will certainly remain loyal to the one at hand," she quoted. only a religion stood between her and me; and that might easily be changed. "if we remain catholics, of course two wives are out of the question," decided the begum, "because that would be bigamy. if we go over to the brahmans, their sacred books forbid the wife to occupy the throne with her husband, and the widow from marrying again. but, there is the faith of siva; it permits a man to have more than one wife; it acknowledges no difference of rank between man and man--as do the brahman and the christian religions--nor does it consider a woman a soulless animal, men and women are alike human beings. an adherent of the siva faith may even take a foreigner to wife; he may eat at the same table with his wife, or wives, after the grace before food, prescribed by the prophet bazawa, has been repeated. we will adopt this faith, then you may keep your other wife, and i will share with her your love and respect." i thought over this suggestion for several days, for the fate of an entire province depended on my decision. on the one hand a people whose prosperity depended on how i would settle the question; a yearly income of several million thalers, a beautiful and clever wife with a heart filled with love for me, with all the delights of paradise on her lips--on the other: the roman pope, with st. peter's keys in his possession! in my position, your highness, and honorable gentlemen, how would you have decided? "get along with you, _perversus nebulo_!" exclaimed his highness, smiling. "you want us to commit ourselves, do you? i'll warrant you suspect what would have been our decision! i don't in the least doubt but even the mayor here, would elect to kiss a beautiful woman rather than the pope's slipper--especially if the choice were submitted to him in the province of sardhana! it is enough: you became an idol worshipper--forced to it by circumstances. it is your own affair, and one which you will have to settle with a higher tribunal than this one. this indictment may be erased from the record." not even the mayor objected to this decision. at first, though, he wrinkled his brows and looked serious; but in the end he smiled with the rest; and dictated to the notary, that the transgression last confessed might be recorded as condoned by the court. most worthy and honorable gentlemen, resumed the prisoner, i must now tell you something about the customs and manners of that land whither i had been led by the hand of destiny. even the sky over there is unlike ours. why, the sun of holland would not do for a moon in india! yon flaming heavens heat the blood and brain to boiling; the humid atmosphere creates phenomena which are like the phantasmagoria of delirium; triple suns, and wreaths of flame appear in the sky; when frequently the mysterious _fata morgana_ portrays inverted landscapes, and cities; the vivid coloring of the clouds causes the most brilliant hues on the earth below to appear faded and insignificant. forests, fields, houses, human beings, at times take on an ocherous hue, as if the world were dead; and when a rain falls, it is a deluge of fire from a sky of brass. and sometimes, the cloud-burst will be like a rain of blood, and the whole earth will glow with the most brilliant crimson hue. on very, very hot days, when the native farmers trudge along the high-road (the high caste native never travels on foot, nor appears in public at midday) the dust rising from their feet looks like a fiery mist, and makes one think he is looking on the damned in hades walking amid the flames! and there too the soil is so different from ours. there the plants we grow in pots in our hot houses thrive and luxuriate under the open sky, and form a wilderness, the lurking place of tigers and lions, in which the fragrance of the very air is intoxicating as wine. the hundred different varieties of fruits, which ripen in succession throughout the year, explain sufficiently how a people that outnumbers the entire population of europe are able to subsist on vegetable diet alone, without the nourishment of meats, which their religion prohibits. the borasses palm supplies them with honey, oil, wine, and sugar; another palm yields flour, butter, and milk; and they have a tree on which grow loaves of bread the size of a human head; raw, this vegetable bread is a sweet fruit; baked, it is as palatable as a bakers' loaf and-- "stop! stop!" cried the chair, rapping on the table with his stick. "that is going too far! of all the lies you have told us, this one about loaves of bread growing on a tree is the most outrageously incredible." "i am very sorry that your honor refuses to believe there is such a tree. the proof that i am not lying may easily be obtained, if your honor will send a deputation to india, to make inquiries concerning the truth of my statements, if it turns out that a single one of them is lacking in truth, then your honor may disbelieve all the rest." "oho!" sneered the chair, "you would like to postpone this trial for a year or more, while a searching commission travelled to the end of the world and back--wouldn't you? we prefer to believe that living creatures also hang on trees like fruits." "and so they do!" responded the prisoner. "there is a sort of large squirrel, or small dog, that has wings and flies, and at night hangs by its hind legs to the limbs of trees, and looks like a gourd." "didn't i say so?" again interrupted the chair with a choleric laugh. "flying dogs that sleep hanging by their feet! go on with your fables, you reprobate!--this honorable court is sitting for the sole purpose of believing every lie you choose to tell. i am curious to hear how your bread growing on trees, and your flying dogs are going to clear you of the crimes of bigamy and regicide." i am coming to that, your honor. the entire world which environs the human being in that distant land, works an irresistible influence on his nature, and the native inhabitant compels, with his peculiar religion, customs, his deeply-rooted prejudices, the foreigner resident to adopt a mode of life antipodal to that he led at home. the majority of the natives wear no clothing at all; while the rest bend under a costly burden of greatest splendor. the indian is a mixture of the ideally perfect, and the grotesquely hideous, heroic at one moment, cowardly the next, free as a bird, and restricted as an anchorite. he is to be envied for his paradisal simplicity, and admired for his gigantic creations. his cities surpass in magnificence and grandeur those of europe. his churches are mountains, enormous edifices hewn by artist hands from a single rock; with thousands of majestic columns, and armies of idols; while his huts are more abjectly wretched than the dwellings of our beavers. the indian, with his thousand gods, to all of whom he renders service and sacrifices--and of whom not one possesses the power to help him--is so gentle-hearted, that he will not take the life of an animal; allows himself to be devoured by lions and tigers; crushed under foot by the rhinoceros; bitten by serpents; and stung by venomous insects--and yet, he considers it no sin to exterminate an entire neighboring folk. oh, that is a strange country: where the aristocrat, if touched by a member of another caste, considers himself defiled, and possesses the right to cut off the hand, or arm that touched him, and the mutilated pariah accepts the punishment as his due. where the wife is burned alive on the funeral pyre of her husband; where the invalid is placed on the banks of a river, and declared to be already dead, so that, should he recover, he may not return to the living, but seek the "community of the dead," which is made up of one-time invalids, recovered like himself. dwelling amid such a people, every idea the european entertains when he lands on that shore very soon fades away; for, there, they have different virtues and different sins. "this lengthy dissertation i take it," interrupted the chair, "is for the purpose of acquainting the court that bigamy and regicide are permissable crimes among that wonderful people?" bigamy is permissable, your honor, on conditions: if the first wife consents, her husband may marry a second. but, before the consent of the first wife is secured, he may not kiss and embrace his second. chapter iii. maimuna, and danesh. my beautiful zeib alnissa was a wonderful woman. on the day of our wedding, which was celebrated with truly asiatic splendor, when meal-time came, and i took my seat at the head of the table, she could not be induced to sit by my side; but seated herself at the extreme lower end of the board. this custom, she said, we should have to observe, until we received my first wife's consent to our marriage, which would give my second the right to repeat the bazawa grace before food. until my new wife was entitled to perform this ceremony we were not allowed to drink from the same cup; were not permitted to clasp hands, or look into each other's eyes. i might not have respected all these rigid laws, which kept me separated from my beautiful bride, had not zeib alnissa herself understood how to compel me to respect them. the siva religion prohibits the use of wine, which is to be regretted; for, in that tropic zone, grow hundreds and hundreds of different sorts of fruits, which would yield nectarious beverages, the taste of which would cause one to forget all about wine, and disgust one with beer. tons of deliciously sweet and aromatic sap flow from the pierced palm, and the agave, and its effect on the human senses is nothing like the stupor which results from drinking our liquors; it is rather a state of exaltation. my charming bride understood well how to entertain me with tales of her native palm forests. she related the history of prince kamir essaman, and the princess bedur. she told me how the prince, who lived in india, and the princess, whose home was in persia, were brought together while they slept, by the two friendly genii, maimuna and danesh, who bore the sleeping lovers on their pinions to the place of meeting, and then back to their homes again. it was an interesting tale, but i grew very sleepy while listening to it. i am convinced that the spicy potion zeib alnissa prepared for me caused the drowsiness, and i only remember that, as i sank back on my pillow, she placed the prohibitory unsheathed sword between herself and me. the moment i closed my eyes in sleep i quitted this earth. i could hear the rustle of wings as i was borne swiftly through the clouds, which parted with a sound like thunder--as when they are rent by lightning. by the light of the stars i could see that i was lying on the wings of the jinnee, danesh. he was of gigantic form; his wings, like those of a bat stretched from horizon to horizon; his hair looked like bamboo rods, and his beard like palm leaves. so swift was our flight that the moon changed from full to last quarter above us. a meteor raced to overtake us, but, when it came abreast with danesh, he thrust out his foot, and gave it a kick that burst it, and sent myriads of sparks flying in all directions. looking downward, i saw china, which i recognized by its porcelain towers, and long canals. then thibet, with the snow-clad summits of the himalayan range, and the great mongolian plain. at last we arrived over mount ararat. i knew where i was, by the tongues of flame which encircled the mount like a wreath. they were the altars of the fire-worshipping parsees--the source of baku's eternal fires; and danesh was one of the great spirits of the flame-adoring heathen. on the summit of mount ararat was a magnificent palace--to describe its splendors is impossible to the human tongue! its walls were covered with the names of those persons who have been happy, and have thanked god therefor. the letters in which the names are written are so radiant, they make night as light as day. here, in a sumptuous apartment, with silken hangings, and glittering with gems, danesh laid me gently down on a divan; and immediately began to laugh in a tone that sounded like thunder. in answer to his laughter, there came a sound from the air, as if the balmy south wind were murmuring a complaint. "you are the one-hundred-thousandth part of a minute late," called danesh. "and you are three-hundred-thousand eons ahead of time," replied the second voice; and the next instant maimuna descended from the sky. this jinnee was also of giant stature, but of feminine form. her ringlets were of sea-coral, her wings of gleaming mother-of-pearl, and on them she bore a woman whom she laid by my side on the divan. then the two genii suddenly changed to vapor; one blue, the other yellow; and while i was staring at them the two columns of smoke sank into two large crystal decanters, which stood on the table among the costly viands and wines. then i turned to look at the woman by my side--it was my own wife, the one i had left in nimeguen, only that she was more beautiful, and garbed more elegantly than i had ever seen her. her voice too was sweeter, her caresses more endearing; she seemed more like a celestial being than a woman of flesh and blood. we showered kisses on each other; i could read in her radiant countenance how overjoyed she was to be with me again; and i was enraptured to clasp her once more in my arms. [illustration: "i could read in her radiant countenance how overjoyed she was to be with me again; and i was enraptured to clasp her once more in my arms"] we committed a thousand foolish acts; laughed, teased each other like children. we seated ourselves at the bountifully spread board; i shared every bite she took; drank out of her glass; we sat on the same chair, drank of every bottle, and found each one sweeter, more delicious than the last. "let us taste what is in those bottles too," suggested my wife, pointing toward the two decanters--one blue, the other yellow. "yes, let us," i assented, and i drew out the glass stoppers. but, instead of wine, two columns of vapor rose from the decanters, one blue, the other yellow, and filled the room. the vapor took shape, first the blue then the yellow, and one became danesh, the other maimuna, and we knew that our bliss was at an end--that we should have to part. we added our names to those gleaming on the walls, to certify that we also had been happy there. after i had written my name, it occurred to me that i had something important to tell my wife; so i said to her: "my love, i must tell you that i have become a king; and that i have taken a second wife. i want to ask a favor of you; will you consent to let me kiss and embrace her as i do you?" the woman replied: "i do consent." that i might have proof of our having spent a blissful hour together, and that she had given me the desired permission to take a second wife, she pressed my hand so tightly in her own, that the wedding ring on my finger--the one with which i had espoused her--burst asunder. and that she also might possess evidence of our meeting, i gave her the "lingam"--the symbol of the siva faith--i wore on my arm attached to a gold bracelet. i also tore from the canopy over our divan a small piece of the material of which it was made--crimson silk woven with dragons in gold thread. then the two genii took us again on their wings, and soon i was speeding again amid the clouds, with the glittering stars above me. the icy summits of the himalayas were already gleaming with the rosy hues of dawn, on noting which danesh increased his speed. i heard the sea murmuring below--a ray of sunlight from the eastern mountains pierced through danesh like an arrow, he dropped me and i fell to the earth. fortunately i had not far to fall--only from my bed, in the palace of sardhana, to the floor! "was it necessary to tell us what you dreamed?" angrily demanded the chair. "well, your honor, if the court at nimeguen accepted my dream as evidence, and based its decision on it, i think it may also be recorded here. moreover, the vision i have related is an important factor in this case." i was so deeply impressed by my dream, that i related it to zeib alnissa as an actual occurrence. i assured her i had really been with my other wife, in proof of which i showed her the broken ring on my finger. "it is a most wonderful occurrence!" was zeib alnissa's comment, when i concluded my recital. "write out the whole vision, exactly as you related it to me, and we will send it to your wife in holland. one of my captains shall hasten with the document after the messenger you have sent to her with the letter asking her to consent to our marriage." i acted in accordance with the suggestion, and wrote on a long strip of chinese palm-paper, which is tough as leather, a full account of my vision. the begum then sent for seven bonzes, who were skilled writers, that they might, by signing their names to the account, certify that what i had written had really occurred; that maimuna and danesh were a well known pair of genii, who maintained direct communication between india and other portions of the globe, and that there was on mount ararat a magnificent palace for the use of lovers who came from distant parts of the world to meet there. all of which was to prove indubitably that i and my wife from holland had been together in the palace. this document dispatched, i believed the question of the prohibitory sword between me and zeib alnissa settled; but i was mistaken; she did not repeat bazawa's grace at supper. "on what are you waiting now?" i asked. "haven't i asked my other wife for her consent? haven't i been with her, and given her my lingam?" "yes, but she has not yet given you anything. until i have her written consent in my hands, i dare not repeat bazawa's blessing," was zeib alnissa's smiling reply. "and i shall have to wait at the gates of paradise, content myself with inhaling the perfume of the flowers within the walls, until our messenger has twice traversed the ocean between india and holland?" "he will need to cross only once. i ordered him to take with him several doves, the species with green feathers known as bridegroom's doves. when your wife has written her consent, the messenger will bind it under the wing of a dove, and it will fly from holland to us here in two days. so, you need reckon only the outward voyage." but that would take considerable time too! i began to wonder how i should have comforted myself had i, instead of becoming an adherent of siva, adopted the faith of brahma, or vishnu, or any other of the many-handed, many-footed deities. "knave, what about jehovah?" interposed the chair with just indignation. "jehovah, your honor, does not forbid polygamy. the patriarch jacob had two wives; david had four; solomon the wise had one thousand four hundred. but, it would be a pity to waste precious time over dogmatic discussion. besides, my wondering resulted in nothing. one hundred and ten days and nights i passed in the society of my charming bride; we ate at the same table; slept under the same canopy; but not once did i clasp her hand, or kiss her lovely lips." "i am curious to know how you managed not to do either," observed the prince. "does your highness desire me to relate what happened on every one of the one-hundred and ten days and nights?" "not by any means!" hastily interrupted the chair. "we want only a summary of your doings out yonder." the prisoner bowed, and resumed his confession: i determined that i would not again drink the sort of sleeping potion which had sent me speeding among the clouds on danesh's back, and communicated my decision to zeib alnissa. "very well," said she, "then i will prepare a drink for you that will keep you awake all night." that would suit me. in india the preparation of elixirs of all sorts has reached a high grade. there is a drug which, if taken by a man of mild disposition, will make him warlike and fierce; it is called "bangue." by administering to the peaceable elephants a decoction of the "thauverd," they can be made quarrelsome and ferocious for the combats arranged for the shah's guests. "therat" will give one the inspirations of a poet; after taking it, the most unimaginative person will become a romancer, and composer of verses. the "nazzarani" tax can be collected from the natives only when they have become docile and tractable from having eaten "mhoval" flowers--a species of manna. zeib alnissa gave me some "panzopari" to chew; it possesses a singular property; it will make even the noisiest tippler so sober and sedate that his brain becomes the seat of all wisdom. then she began to speak of her plans for the future government of our province, and other equally important matters; continuing to talk to me until morning. and during the whole time i remained quiet, and listened attentively; but i saw what i had not yet noticed: that my incomparable bride had a mole in the middle of her left cheek, and i also discovered that she might be alarmingly loquacious if she chose. i could hardly wait until the sun rose. nothing will so effectually sober a man as advice from his wife; and the remedy is frequently made use of in india as well as in europe. a true indian singh--that is what a nobleman is called out there--undertakes nothing without first consulting his wife. indeed, there are some who never give an answer to a question until they have asked their wives what they shall reply. for instance you ask: "what sort of weather are we going to have this afternoon, gholem singh?" "i will consult my wife and tell you," he answers. in the afternoon he will say to you--and no matter if a deluge of rain begins to fall while he is speaking: "we shall have fine weather this afternoon." the following day my bride and i set out on a tour of our kingdom--a ceremony necessary to my installation as rajah. an entire brigade on horses, elephants, and camels, accompanied us as escort. the begum and i rode on separate elephants, as indian etiquette does not permit man and wife to occupy the same "sovari"--that is what the sedan with a canopy on the back of an elephant is called. the begum travelled with the vanguard; i brought up the rear with a good cannon bound to the back of my beast. a cannon, by the way, is a very convenient travelling appendage to a journey in india, as one is frequently called on to give a warm reception to the legions of predatory bands which infest the highways and byways. my bride and i met only when our elephants chanced to come alongside each other at the resting places. we took part in all sorts of festivities. we bore with patience the wearisome ceremonies attendant upon the adoration of the serpent, and taku-worship; we even waded to our knees in the sacred waters of the ganges, at the moharam pilgrimage; and permitted the frantic gusseins and fakirs at the holiza feast to shower over us the red dust of the highway. at the ganeza festival we distributed with our own hands the "muzzer," and received in return the "khilla"--each word means gifts; the former is bestowed by the sovereigns on their subjects; the latter are given by the subjects to their rulers. without this exchange of presents, the sovereignty of the rulers would not be recognized by the people. we visited in their turn all the principal towns and cities; the god-burdened temples and pagodas, which are half church, half tomb--the jaina animal hospital, where the hindoo takes care of invalid dogs, cats, oxen, as well as crows, ravens, and turkeys. we also honored with our presence the bayadere communities, where only women dwell. these bayaderes are privileged characters, you must know; they are allowed entry to the emperor's presence, to dance and sing before him and his ministers. "not a bad custom, by jove!" muttered the prince; aloud he asked: "are the bayaderes pretty?" "enchantingly beautiful, your highness. their garments are of silk and cashmere, embroidered with real gold and pearls; their fingers and toes are loaded with rings set with precious gems. their gowns show a lack of material as do those worn by our women, with this difference: the shoulders and bosoms of our women are left bare; while the bayaderes expose the lower extremities, sometimes even to the--" "stop! stop!" irritably called the chair. "we don't want a full description of heathen toilets!" we also arranged, for the entertainment of our subjects, a number of gorgeous spectacles, and tournaments, resumed the prisoner, dropping the subject of bayadere fashions. there were combats between elephants, and combats between elephants and men. (the former are called "mufti;" the latter "satmari.") there were also combats between lions and boars, and between tapirs. in return for all these festivities, my bride's relatives entertained us with a feast of lanterns; and games of chess, which were played with living chess-men. we also visited the most remote corners of our kingdom, where dwelt the thugs, a community whose faith permits them to strangle all foreigners; the bheels, who worship epidemics instead of gods; the colony of the quadrumans, whose king is called "dengue," and his subjects "apes." every day of our journey brought something new and interesting. after our visit to the "city of the seven sages" we went to the "city of the king's tombs," where are four magnificent temples, under each of which rest the remains of a king. there are no other inhabitants in this city. then followed the pilgrimage to buddha's tree; for, although we were adherents of the sivan faith, we were obliged, in order to win the favor of the majority of our subjects, to pay deference to their deity. then we journeyed to the "fountain of wisdom." there the temple is guarded by bayaderes, who are not permitted to dance anywhere else but in the sacred edifice in adoration of the gods. "a respectable temple, i must say!" ironically commented the chair, to which the prince appended his good-humored observation: "their liturgy can't be very tedious!" during all this time, i saw my bride only when she was seated on a throne, on an elephant, or in a palanquin. the opportunities for an exchange of words were rare. on the one hundred and tenth day we set out on our return home. on the morning of that day, zeib alnissa sent me a letter in which she gave me the welcome news that what might be called our "st. joseph's marriage" would soon come to a conclusion. the carrier dove had returned from holland with the longed-for consent from my first wife. before leaving our capital, we had arranged for a fitting reception to greet our return. when our cavalcade should approach the city gates, all the most distinguished residents, the raos, the singhs, the sages, bonzes and holy men were to meet us at the head of a gorgeous pageant and greet me as "rajah," to which title our tour would have given me the right. then would follow a splendid feast, that would conclude with the "utterpan" ceremony, in which every guest receives from the rajah's own hands a handkerchief perfumed with rose-water. the rajah receives the utterpan from his wife, of whom he may demand that the rose-water perfuming be performed in the zenana. the zenana is that portion of the palace which only the rajah and his wives may enter. i am ashamed to confess it, honorable gentlemen of the court, but i was so rejoiced, so proud of my success, my extraordinary good fortune filled my soul to such a degree, that i never once thought to offer a prayer to the god siva, who had bestowed all the good gifts on me, or to jehovah, who could take them all from me. the fakir, who, in his religious enthusiasm, carries on his head a pot of earth until the orange seed planted in it sprouts, grows to a tree, blooms and bears fruit; who binds himself to a post, that he may sleep standing so as not to lose his balance and drop the pot from his head--that fakir does not suffer half as much as did i those one hundred and ten days and nights, when i was forced to refrain from saying to the most beautiful of women: "o, thou my sweetest one!" but the last day of such restraint and torture was at hand. before us lay the capital; the gilded roofs of its palaces gleamed through the humid atmosphere. already i could see rising from the market-place the "baoli," under which the three-legged stone cow waited (as all believers know) for the hour of midnight to hobble to her pasture outside the walls. already i saw the multitude in gala attire press forth from the elaborately carved gates, on horses, on camels, on foot--a mingling of gold, gems, beauty, flowers, with rags, filth and unsightly scars. zeib alnissa, as usual, rode at the head of the cavalcade, and i at the end, separated from her by a cannon shot range. when the multitude from the city met the head of our cavalcade, there ensued a tumult of shouts and cries, but i was too far away to distinguish what was occurring. i could see, though, that zeib alnissa had risen to her feet in the sovari, and was gesticulating excitedly. i was deliberating whether i should ride forward or remain where i was, when a fakir forced his way to my side. he was the most hideous specimen of his class i had yet seen; his appearance indicated that he had vowed not to cut his hair nor his finger nails for a decade. "what do you want?" i called down to him. "i want you to let me come up there and sit beside you in the sovari," he made answer. one is obliged to comply with any demand these holy men may see fit to make--especially in face of such a multitude. i leaned over the side of my beast, seized the fakir by the hair, and drew him into the sovari. "lucky for you that you granted my request," he said, when he was seated by my side. "you have saved your life by so doing. know that a revolt broke out in the city during your absence. the conspirators declared that the begum forfeited the throne by marrying you, and have proclaimed the valiant singh rais, the son of her first husband, sumro shah, rajah of sardhana. he has taken possession of the city and bribed the army to support him. he has already executed the subjects who remained loyal to you and the begum, and the same fate awaits you--if he captures you." though loath to believe the fanatic's ill tidings, i was forced to credit my eyes, which at that moment saw rude hands lay hold of my beloved zeib alnissa, tear her from the sovari, bind her hands, and, amid the taunts and sneers of the shameless nautchnees, compel her to walk to the gates, while a man, wearing the pearl-decorated hat of a sovereign, climbed to the vacated seat in the sovari. it was the infamous profligate who, by reason of the honors to which his father had attained, was a prince, but who was, by birth, merely a german nobody, like myself. he had deposed the begum as he had threatened, had laid chains on her--the heroic deliverer of her people--and this he had been able to accomplish because he had become an adherent of the religion of buddha, and because the begum had become a worshipper of siva-- "the like of that never could have happened in europe," interpolated the prince. my rage and fury were boundless. in one brief moment to lose my kingdom and my bride; to be robbed of power and love; to be forced to look on helpless while a cowardly knave stole my treasures, chief of which was my beautiful zeib alnissa! it was more than christian patience and siva humility could endure. i unstrapped the cannon at the back of the sovari. the new rajah was haranguing the crowd gathered about his elephant, and gesticulating rapidly with his hands, as he gave his orders. i took aim at his majesty--boom! the next instant there was no head on the rajah's shoulders, but his arms continued to move convulsively. then i turned my elephant's head in the opposite direction, and urged him to the swiftest gait he was able to go. a troop of horsemen followed me, but i dashed into the jungle, and soon distanced my pursuers. my life was saved, but only my miserable life. i had nothing, was nothing-- "oh, yes," interrupted the chair, "you were a good deal: the husband of two wives, and murderer of one king--" "_minorem nego, majorem non concedo_," interposed the prince. "as the prisoner's second marriage was--as he aptly described it: a st. joseph's union--merely one of form, he cannot be said to have committed bigamy. and concerning the killing of the rajah--_qui bene distinguit, bene docet!_--we would understand thereby that a crime had been committed by a subject against a crowned head. but, if one king kills another one, it cannot be called regicide, but ordinary homicide, which, in the prisoner's case, was justifiable manslaughter--" "i knew it!" exclaimed the chair. "i knew the rascal would talk himself out of the three capital crimes: idolatry, bigamy, regicide, and prove himself as innocent as st. susanna!" but, continued the prisoner, even had i not been robbed of my wealth, of what use would it have been to me? i had come to india to win the rank of captain--not to become a rajah. it is a deal better to be a pensioned captain than a deposed king. the new rajah of sardhana set a large price on my head; had i fled the accursed country then, i should have spared myself the terrible misfortunes which overtook me later. i joined the bandasaris, who have no fixed residence, but rove continuously between the ganges and the indus. they are a race like our gypsies. i believed i might organize them into an army and win back my kingdom, and liberate my beautiful zeib alnissa, but the blessing of god did not rest on my undertaking. when i had got my army ready to march to sardhana, the chief of the tribe changed his mind about letting me use his people to win back my throne, and, instead, sold me to the english company, which corporation had also offered a price for my head. thus my unfortunate cranium became the property of the powerful east india company, and there, if nowhere else, a man learns how to pray. part ix. on the high seas. chapter i. the pirates. the english did not think me of sufficient consequence to suspend me in an iron cage over the crocodile pool. this honor was reserved for the native shahs and rajahs. i was transported, with scant ceremony, to bombay, from which city i was shipped to sea, together with fifty other prisoners, who, like myself, had come to india to seek their fortunes, and whose chief crime was their nationality. they were natives of france, holland, germany and spain, and the east india company believed it had a right to arrest them and ship them in a body to new caledonia. now, honorable gentlemen of the court, i beg you to tell me which was the pirate?--i, in the unseaworthy cutter, bound with chains to a spaniard, perspiring over my oars, sailing to new zealand instead of to new caledonia, where the captain had been ordered to take us; having nothing to eat and drink but dried fish and stale water, the captain having again disobeyed orders, for the east india company had shipped honest biscuit, smoked meat and brandy for the prisoner's food--which of us, i ask, was the pirate? the captain, who plundered the helpless prisoners in his power and broke the maritime laws--which, i ask, was the pirate; captain morder or i? "i say captain morder was the pirate--" and the prince emphasized his reply by thumping the floor with his cane. many thanks, your highness; i wanted the question decided, for, against unauthorized force, self-defence is always justifiable. when we poor exiles became aware that our vessel was going farther and farther south, which we were able to judge from the stars; when, in consequence of the wretched food, the scurvy broke out among us; and when at last we also got a taste of the scourge, if we made any complaint, we conspired together to release ourselves from our chains; and to take possession of the cutter. my hidalgo comrade was an expert in such matters. he showed us how to get rid of our manacles as easily as if they had been gloves or boots. it is a very pretty trick, but i don't think i could show you how it is done unless i received something in return-- "we don't want to learn the trick," interrupted the chair. "we have no use for it." well, after we had removed our fetters, we bound the sleeping crew, and, without shedding one drop of blood, made ourselves masters of the "alcyona." now, honorable gentlemen of the court, i ask you: can what we did be called mutiny? we were not the slaves of the east india company; we were not prisoners of war; nor were we criminals. the captain had no right to chain us to the oars; we had done nothing to deserve deportation to a savage country. on captain morder, however, rested most of the blame. he treated us free men like negro slaves; he gave us nothing to eat for a whole week but dried fish, though not all of us were papists; and to be more disagreeably contrary, he gave us smoked meat on fridays because the majority of our crowd were catholics. "that rascally captain deserved to be hanged to the tallest mast on his ship!" exclaimed the justly indignant prince. yes, your highness, he did, but we didn't hang him, because we couldn't get hold of him. while we were securing the crew, he fled discreetly to the powder-room, and threatened to blow up the ship when we went to take him. we had to treat with him for terms. we assured him we did not want to injure him; we only wanted to leave his ship. to this he replied that we might go to the devil for all he cared. then followed a twenty-four hour truce, and our first business was-- "to eat your fill," interposed the chair. yes, your honor, to eat and drink all we wanted. then we lowered the large boat, supplied it with mast and sails; loaded it with all the chests of biscuit, and casks of brandy it would hold, also a small cannon. then we cut into bits the rigging of the cutter; threw overboard all the weapons we could find, in order that the captain could do us no injury in case he took it into his head to pursue us; took possession of his charts, compass, and telescope, and sailed away one beautiful moonlight night without saying goodbye to any one. how did captain morder reach home with the "alcyona?" i really forget whether i ever heard. there were fifty of us in the boat--five different nationalities. as i was the only one who could speak the five different languages, i was elected ship's patron, an office which differs from that of captain in that the latter commands every one on board a vessel, while the former carries out what his companions decide. "i see plainly to what this subtle distinction will lead," dryly observed the chair. "some one else will have to bear the blame for whatever misdeeds the 'ship's-patron' committed." i am compelled to admire the honorable gentleman's keen perceptions, returned the prisoner in his most deferential manner. in this case, however, they are at fault; neither the ship's company nor its patron did anything which deserved yard-arm punishment. our intention, when we left the ship was to land in florida, or the philippines, and there found a new republic. but more than one unlooked-for hindrance prevented us from carrying out the plan. hardly had the "alcyona" disappeared from view, when a dead calm settled down on us; it was so still the sails hung in heavy folds from the yards; we could make progress, and that only very slowly, when we employed the oars. the calm continued for two days, during which not a breath of air wrinkled the surface of the ocean. "didn't you say you had taken all the provisions on the ship?" inquired the chair. "yes, your honor, but 'all' was only the one-half of 'many,' and exactly the one-tenth of 'enough.' even had there been 'many,' we had 'more' hungry mouths, and to take plus from minus is not permissable in algorithm." "and it can't be done," authoritatively interposed the prince. "you can't take eight from seven unless you borrow. from whom did you borrow, prisoner?" "from a crab-fisher we met, your highness. during a calm, the large sea-crabs are more easily taken than at other times." the honorable gentlemen of the court will have learned from natural history the peculiar characteristics of the sea-crab, which is of all living creatures--the human being not excepted--the most timorous. when a crab hears thunder or cannonading, he immediately flings off one of his huge claws, in order that he may escape more quickly. crab-fishers know this, and have made a compact with all warships, by which the latter have agreed to refrain from firing off cannon when in sight of a crabbing vessel. this is the reason all such vessels have a large red crab painted on their sails. the compact also obliges the fishers to deliver half of their catch to any warship they may meet on the high seas. consequently when we came in sight of the crabber we signalled for our share of his catch. we had eaten all our dried fish, and were on half-rations of biscuit. "oho!" called the fisher when he came near enough to distinguish the character of our craft. "how can you demand crabs of me? you aren't a warship." "but we are hungry, and have a cannon on board. you know the result of a cannon-shot during a calm!" this threat brought the argument to a conclusion; the crabber, according to seaman's custom, shared his catch with us. "if," interposed the prince in a thoughtful manner; "if it was according to seaman's custom it cannot be termed 'piracy.'" "no, certainly not!" ironically appended the chair. "it cannot be termed piracy--only an act of playfulness--a bit of frolic! but, let us hear what other pranks the band of fifty played with their cannon? i will spread the map here on the table, so that i may follow the course of your boat. i fancy i shall be able to tell from that whether you and your fellows comported yourselves as honest seamen or thievish pirates." there was an almost imperceptible twitch of the prisoner's left eyelid when the mayor concluded his remark, and spread the map on the table in front of him. in the neighborhood of the marquesas islands, honorable gentlemen, we fell in with a spanish ship loaded with coffee. the captain, in response to our petition, supplied us with coffee, chocolate, and honey. this enabled us to continue our journey; we sailed toward the aleutians, and met on our way a russian merchantman, the owner of which took pity on us, and gave us several barrels of good brandy and salted fish. when we were near the island of yucatan our provisions again gave out, and we were compelled to borrow from an italian trader some sago-palm, flour and several boxes of sultanas. "what need had you of sultanas?" inquired the chair. sultanas are not women, your honor, but dried grapes, which are packed in boxes. when a man is starving he will eat anything! in the neighborhood of barbados a turkish vessel very kindly gave us a supply of pickled pork; and the captain of a chinese junk we fell in with near the canary islands, was friendly enough to share his wine with us. when off madagascar, a greek captain loaded our boat so generously with _rahut rakum_, it almost foundered under the weight; and when near terre del fuego we-- "hold! stop!" screamed the chair thumping with both fists on the map. "if i wanted to make an accurate diagram of your course, i should have to tie a thread to the leg of a grasshopper and let him loose on a blank sheet of paper! a courier on horseback could not have made such twists and turns!" "we did travel in a sort of zig-zag fashion," admitted the prisoner deprecatingly; "but, you see, none of us understood navigation. besides, our charts were not accurate, and our compass full of whims." "must have been a feminine compass!" jocosely remarked his highness. "to tell the truth, honorable gentlemen, i am not quite certain if the names i have given you are the ones properly belonging to the portions of the globe we visited. the excellent custom which obtains in all civilized regions, of posting the names of places at the street-corners, had not yet reached those remote corners. i can assure you, however, that we really met all the ships i have mentioned, as we were forced to beg our way over the limitless ocean." "beg your way!" sarcastically interrupted the chair. "it seems to me that fifty determined men, with small arms and a cannon, and a boat as swift as yours might have overtaken almost any other craft afloat." "we did overtake a good many, your honor, and all of them very willingly shared their provisions with us when they saw we were in distress." "do you remember meeting a merchantman from bremen?" "don't i? don't i remember the generous gentleman! we met him near the cape of good hope. that point of land hasn't got its name for nothing! it brought 'good hope' back to us! we were in tatters; the stormy weather; long voyage; and many hardships had reduced our frames to skeletons, our clothing to rags. when the brave man--blessed be his memory!--came up with us, and saw our nakedness, he took off his own coat and gave it to me--may heaven's blessings rest on him wherever he may be!" "he tells quite a different story," responded the chair. "on his return home, he complained to the hansa league that a boat load of pirates was sailing the high-seas, plundering, and levying contributions, from all vessels it met. he also related how the pirates had taken all his, as well as his crew's clothing. this must be true; for no bremen trader has ever been known willingly to give coat of his to anyone. bremen is not far away. we can summon the complainant--whose name, i believe, is schulze--and let him tell his story here--" "may i beg that your honor"--quickly interposed the prisoner--"will at the same time summon the witnesses who will testify for me? they are, the spanish merchant don rodriguez di saldayeni, from badajos; the russian captain, bello bratanow zwonimir tschinowink, from kamtschatka; the italian, signor sparafucile odoards, from palermo; the turk, ali baba ben didimi effendi, from brusa; the chinese mandarin, chien-tsen-triping-van, from shanghai; the greek, heros leonidas karaiskakis, from tricala; the--" "enough! enough!" roared the mayor clapping his hands to his ears. "i don't want to hear another name. rather will i believe every word you say! you were sea-beggars, impoverished voyagers--anything but pirates! will your highness permit us to erase also this indictment from the register?" the prince assenting, his honor added: "now we will hear how the crime of cannibalism will be disposed of." "i will first take the liberty to remind the honorable gentlemen of the court, that anthropophagy is not at all times considered a capital crime. the inhabitants of the fiji islands look upon it as the only proper method to dispose of a captured foe. the eating of human flesh is a part of the religious cult of the mexicans; and during the tartar invasion of hungary, the people--as rogerius proves--who had been robbed of the necessaries of life, were forced to eat each other. to such a condition of starvation we were also reduced, a fearful hurricane having compelled us, while on the pacific ocean, to throw overboard all our stores in order to prevent the boat from sinking--" "now you are telling another story," thundered the chair. "you say you were on the pacific ocean. if it is a _pacific_ ocean how is it possible that such a storm as you describe raged there? you shall be bound to the wheel, if you don't confess at once that hurricanes never rage on the pacific ocean." your honor is right--my memory served me ill--there are no such storms on the pacific ocean. but there are sharks. the voracious beasts surrounded our boat in such numbers that, in order to prevent them from eating us, we gave them all our provisions, hoping to fall in with a kind-hearted captain who would replenish our larder. but we didn't meet a single ship. for two whole weeks we managed to keep alive by eating our boots, and not until the last pair had been devoured, did we decide to resort to the "sailor's lunch," and cast lots which of us should be served up as such. my name was drawn, and i made up my mind to die calmly--_pro bono publico_. but, when i began to remove my clothes, the spaniard to whom i had been chained on the "alcyona," and for whom i entertained the affection of a brother, stepped forward and said: "you shall not die, brave rajah. you have a wife--nay, two of them, to whom your life is valuable. here am i--your brother, who will consider it a privilege, an honor--as did the brave curtius when he galloped into the abyss to save the republic--to fling myself into these hungry throats!" with these words the noble fellow drew his sword, severed his head from his body and laid it before us. "did you eat any of him?" "i was starving, your honor." "that establishes your crime. the punishment for eating a body endowed with a human soul is death at the stake, you--" "hold," interposed the prince. "what portion of the spaniard's body did you consume, prisoner?" "his foot, your highness." "has the human foot a soul?" "why, certainly," answered the chair. "how frequently do we hear: 'his sense or his courage are in his knees'--sense and courage cannot exist without a soul. and, don't we say: 'honest from his crown to his toes'--whereby we establish that even the toes possess a soul.'" "these are merely phrases--maxims," returned the prince. "if the soul extends to the extremities, then the man who has a foot amputated loses a portion of his soul also; and it might happen, that one-quarter of a human soul would go to paradise, and the other three-quarters to hades--which it is absurd to suppose could be the case. to my thinking this is so important a question, that only the faculty of theology is capable of deciding it. until those learned gentlemen have delivered an opinion on the subject, we cannot go on with this case. therefore, the prisoner is remanded to his cell until such decision shall arrive." a week was the time required by the learned faculty to discuss the questions: "does the soul extend to the extremities of the human body?" if not, just where does it terminate? the decision was as follows: "the soul extends to the knees--for this reason man is required to kneel when he prays. consequently, that portion of the human frame below the knees is a soulless appendage." "then," decided the prince, when this decision was read to him, "the indictment for cannibalism may also be stricken from the register." part x. uxoricide. chapter i. the secundogenitur. although my crime has been most generously condoned by your highness, i have not escaped punishment for it. i have suffered severely. after partaking of the unnatural food, all in the boat were seized with frightful convulsions, similar to those exhibited by a dog afflicted with rabies. the smallest particle of the accursed food is sufficient to make a man experience all the tortures of purgatory. i dare say the reason my sufferings were not so severe as those of my comrades, i ate only the foot. they foamed at the lips; their eyeballs burst from the sockets; they bit each other, and rent and tore their own flesh. they bellowed, roared, and whined, as dogs do at the moon. many of them sprang at once into the water and were devoured by sharks. when my worst torture passed, my limbs became cold and rigid as stone; it was the marasmus. i could see, and hear, but i could neither feel nor move. the fierce sun beating on my face threatened to burn out my eyes, but i could not lift my hands to cover them. to seize the horizon and draw it up to the zenith would have been an easier task than to close my eyelids over the burning eyeballs. yet, amid all this horrible pain, i had the feeling as if a faint zephyr from fluttering wings were sweeping across my cheek. it was the white dove perched on my shoulder, my beautiful white dove, who was come to me again in my hour of direst need! she tried with her outstretched wings to shield my face from the scorching sun, and the blessed shadow brought such relief that i was at last able to close my eyes in sleep. how long and whither the dismasted and rudderless boat drifted; whether it touched any shore--i cannot remember. i don't know what happened during my madness. my comrades in misfortune were lost; some drowned themselves to end their agony; some died a horrible death in the boat. i alone was saved by a heavenly providence for further trials. the drifting boat was found by an indian merchantman bound for antwerp, and the noble christians aboard of her, believing life not yet extinct in my miserable body, worked over me until they brought back the soul to its earthly tenement. i forgive every enemy i have in the world; but my benefactor on that indian merchantman, who brought me back to life, i never can forgive. had he cast me into the waves instead of resuscitating me, i should now be ambergris, for, as the honorable gentlemen know, that valuable substance develops in the stomach of a shark, and i should have been devoured by one of those voracious beasts. instead of a wretched criminal on trial for his many misdeeds, i should now, had i been allowed to become ambergris, be swinging in a censer perfuming the altar of a church. the care i received on board the indiaman fully restored my strength, and when we arrived in the harbor in holland there was no trace about me of the many hardships i had endured. i could hardly wait until i got back to nimeguen to see my dear wife and child. the child would be running about now--perhaps the mother had taught it to call me by name! how happy i should be to be home again!--no captain, no rajah, but a father. not the consort of a begum, but the husband of my wife. i blessed the fate which had delivered me from the land of lions, tigers and serpents. had not i a tulip garden worth all the wealth of india? i turned night to day in order to reach home as quickly as possible, and sent mounted estafets in advance to announce my coming. my wife, who had increased in weight fully twenty-five pounds, had a splendid repast prepared for me; and flung her arms around my neck when i alighted from the carriage. after our first transports of joy were over, my first words were: "now, where is my child?" "there they come," replied my wife, pointing, with a beaming countenance, toward two nurse-maids who were descending the staircase. one of the maids led by the hand a little toddling lad; the other carried an infant in long clothes on her arm. "what--what does that mean?" i stammered, pointing toward the smaller child. "that is your second born, you silly fellow!" replied my wife, smiling affectionately. "my second born?" i exclaimed in amazement. "why, i have been absent for nearly three years." "have you forgotten maimuna and danesh?" she whispered, hiding her blushing face on my breast. "have you forgotten our meeting in the palace on ararat?" "maimuna and danesh?--_himmelkreuzelement!_" i exclaimed, unable to suppress the forcible expletive. my wife, however, was roused to anger by it. did i presume to doubt her fidelity? she demanded in no gentle accents. had she not in her possession ample proof that she was true to me? had she not my own letter, in which i related at length the circumstances of our meeting on ararat, whither we had been taken by the two genii? was a better proof required than the lingam i had given her at that meeting--also the fragment of stuff with gold dragons woven in it? and, if it was true that i was a king at the time of our meeting on the mountain, then the infant on the maid's arm must be a prince! "woman," i returned in a severe tone, "this is not a matter for jest. visions are not real. that i dreamed a delightful dream i admit; but this squalling brat is no dream! on the contrary, he is a very disagreeable reality! i'll go at once to the burgomaster! i'll denounce you to the arch-bishop! i'll summon the consistory! i will not allow myself to be made a fool of!" "very well," retorted my wife, "go to the burgomaster--go to the arch-bishop--summon the consistory, make a tremendous ado, and you will prove yourself a greater fool than i believed you!" i carried out my threat and rushed to the burgomaster's residence. he was still asleep, but i dragged him out of bed, and told him the french were coming to attack the town. that drove slumber from his eyes; and i proceeded to lay my complaint before him. he kept yawning the while so dreadfully that i feared he might swallow me before i got through with my story. when i concluded, he deliberated several minutes, then said i should come again the next day--he would have to think over the matter. i was forced to go back to my wife. i couldn't help myself, for i hadn't a groschen to my name, and the nimeguen inns will not receive a guest unless he pays in advance for his entertainment. to my shame therefore i was compelled to go home, and now it was my wife who raged and scolded. she said i might complain as much, and to whomsoever i wanted, it would benefit me nothing. if i did not accept the situation with a good humor, mine would be the loss--and so on. i bore her taunts, and revilings, in silence, for i felt great need of supper and rest; but i said to myself: "there is a tomorrow--i'll have my revenge then!" the next day i went again to the burgomaster; he was able to keep awake this time. he asked me if he should speak to me as to a nimeguen gunner, or an east indian sovereign? "as to an indian rajah," i replied. "very good!--also: sublime maharajah, nabob, or shah--whichever is the proper title--be seated." my title permitted me to put on my hat, while respect for it obliged the burgomaster to remove his office cap. he continued: "be kind enough to answer the following questions: how many wives does the law permit an indian sovereign to marry? how many elephants, camels, rhinoceroses, male and female genii, and other draught cattle, is he allowed to employ in his service?" i saw what would be the result if i answered these questions, so i said instead: "i beg pardon, your honor, but, on second thought, i believe i would rather have you speak to me as to a gunner of nimeguen--according to european custom." "very good again--also. you gunner-fellow, take off your hat this instant!" he commanded, at the same time placing the cap on his head. "as it is contrary to our christian laws to take a second wife while the first is still alive, i shall pronounce you guilty of bigamy, the punishment for which is the pillory first, and the galleys afterward." this did not suit me either, so i interrupted: "may i beg that you will speak to me as to an indian sovereign?" i put on my hat, but the burgomaster did not again remove his cap. he said: "you had command of a province, and a pair of flying genii; therefore, it is quite within the bounds of possibility that you and your first wife were borne through the air to the meeting-place on the mountain you mention. that being settled, what else do you complain of? have you lost anything?" "no, your honor, quite the contrary; i have found something; a son i did not expect." "is the child living?" "he is." "well--if he is living he is alive. that which is, cannot be denied--it is a fact, and that which is a fact cannot be termed fiction--" this ridiculous un-reasoning angered me, and i interrupted him, whereupon there ensued a war of words that raged furiously until it culminated in an exchange of blows. the case was not one for a mere burgomaster to decide; i would submit it to the consistory. i did not know then what i had undertaken! all nimeguen is related; its citizens are cousins or brothers-in-law, and withal exceedingly moral. if it so happens that any one of them commits an indiscretion, all the rest take great pains to conceal the misdeed. i don't mean that it is never mentioned in private; but there is not a court of law in the land that could summon a witness who would admit that he, or she, knew anything about the matter. in my case, servants, neighbors, citizens, all averred that my wife was the pattern of fidelity; that she had not been known to leave her house, only when she went to confession and to church; that she had not even bought a new cap during my entire absence. consequently, my accusations were ridiculous, and wholly without foundation. her defense had a powerful base to rest on. there was the letter written by my own hand on chinese palm-paper, describing our meeting in the palace on mount ararat, and attested by the bonzes, who, as everybody knows, are learned men, and as worthy of trust as any member of our chapter-house. consequently, there must be such fairies as maimuna and danesh, else the bonzes would not have testified to their existence. if there were no such creatures in europe, it was because the climate was too severe. there are no elephants in holland, yet no one would deny their existence elsewhere--not even the man who had never seen one, would deny that they roamed the jungles of india! moreover, is there not mention made in the holy scriptures of a chariot of fire journeying with a passenger through the air? and did not jonah make a voyage on the ocean, in the stomach of a whale? if holy men could make such journeys, why should anyone deny that the genii maimuna and danesh had carried a man and his wife to the palace on mount ararat?--especially as both man and wife had desired the meeting, whereas jonah had never expressed the least desire to enter the whale's belly. added to this evidence, my wife possessed in the lingam absolute proof of my having been with her on ararat--also the fragment of dragon-cloth, the like of which was not to be found in all europe--all irrefragable proofs! you may guess that the consistory did not hesitate long to deliver an opinion. although it was almost impossible to believe that so remarkable a journey could have been accomplished a respectable and pious lady had really travelled from nimeguen on the wings of an east indian jinnee, at night, to mount ararat, and back in the morning. also: it was not at all likely that the said respectable and pious lady, the former widow of a captain, wife of a gunner, and consort of an indian rajah, would demean her respectable station, and inflict a stain on her wedded fidelity. therefore, the woman accused of adultery was guiltless; and the father of the _surculi masculi_ found at home by the returned gunner, was no other than he, the _nuptiæ demonstrant_. and with this decision i was forced to be satisfied, also with my wife and the infant. here, the prince laughed so heartily that he burst a button from his collar. "an amusing story, by my word!" he exclaimed. "i would not have missed it for a riding-horse! ha, ha--to decide that a vision really happened because the dreamer wrote an account of it--ha, ha, ha!" "and did everything really happen as you related it?" inquired the chair. everything--i give my word of honor--what am i saying? not by my honor, but by the rope around my neck, i swear that everything happened just as i told you. you may apply to the authorities of nimeguen, who will substantiate my account. because of its remarkable character, the case is recorded in the chronicles of the city. this will explain the deed i was forced to commit afterward. "we will hear you confess it tomorrow," said the prince. chapter ii. the quicksands. my case had been decided by the consistory. i was not the first man who had had such an experience; and i was philosophical enough to conclude that if other men had survived their disgrace, i might also. so, i made up my mind to forgive my wife, and live amicably with her. i acted as if nothing had happened to mar the relations between us, and all would have been well, had not my neighbors tormented me beyond endurance. i became furious every time i went into the street. everybody saluted me as "your majesty." they would inquire how i was getting on with my crowns--as if i had a dozen! one man would ask me if i had seen a maimuna lately; another would tell me he had seen a stork with a baby in its bill fly through the air. i received scurrilous letters through the post, and bands of singers would stop under my window and chant my shameful history from beginning to end. in short, everything those nimeguen citizens could invent to annoy me was done. i boiled with rage, for i was unable to defend myself. in any other community i could have defended myself from such persecution. i should have challenged the first one who insulted me, and run him through with my sword. that is an effective way to silence scurrilous tongues. in nimeguen, however, it would have been impossible to find a second to deliver a challenge; and if i had sent it by a messenger the challenged person would have hastened at once to the burgomaster to complain that i had threatened to murder him. if i had tweaked the nose of a fellow for refusing to give me satisfaction, he would have sued me; and i would have been sentenced to pay three marks for a nose-tweak, and six for a slap on the mouth. this would have resulted in my spending nearly all my time in the burgomaster's office, because of the numerous summons to answer the charge of assault and battery, and my wife would have been kept busy paying the fines. at last, i could endure it no longer. i told my wife i should have to go away, and she decided that we would go together to vliessingen, where she would drink the medicinal waters. i was glad enough to accompany her. i would have gone anywhere to be rid of my tormenters. but i was mistaken in believing i should be rid of them at vliessingen. i received anonymous letters by every post; but i paid no heed to them until one day i received the following: "what a stupid fellow you are! your wife does not need a jinnee to carry her where she wants to go. you are her maimuna; and vliessingen is the ararat whither danesh has transported her lover. he has sent her a red velvet cap trimmed with gold braid and white lace, and every time she wears it, she signals to him that you will be away from home that day. oh, stupid dolt that you are!" this was more than enough. my wife had received just such a cap as was described in the letter; and when she put it on, it always seemed to me that she looked happier. i began to find fault with the cap. i begged her not to wear it, or at least not to go out doors when she had it on. but she persisted in wearing it, and ridiculed my anger, until i got to hate the sight of the red cap. one day i was obliged to go to antwerp on business. my wife insisted on accompanying me part of the way, as i should have to walk a considerable distance from the baths to take a conveyance. something--my white dove mayhap--whispered in my ear not to let her go with me; that it would be better for both of us if she remained at home. but she had set her head on going, and nothing could prevent it. and she put on the red cap! i remonstrated with her about wearing it, but she laughed at me and said: "you silly fellow! of whom are you jealous, here in this sandy desert? of the gulls, perhaps?--or the moles?" are the honorable gentlemen of the court familiar with that region? no? then it will be necessary to describe it, in order that what i relate may appear clear to you. the entire country thereabout is an arid waste, a seemingly illimitable stretch of sand dunes, and brackish pools, partly grown with brown reeds, broom and heath, but so stunted that the horns of the cattle grazing there are plainly seen. the herders are obliged to wear long stilts. this uninhabited territory is separated by a dike several feet in height from the downs, which is a fearful region. there, earth and water are combined against man and beast; the two life-dispensing elements have become agents of death. the sand blown from the shore of the sea settles on the deep pools and dries. no plants grow there, and woe to the man or beast that strays on to the downs from the dike, or the heath beyond. the sand will sink beneath the feet of the incautious wanderer; if he draws up one foot, the other will sink yet deeper. at first, the instability of the earth amuses him; he fancies that, when he shall tire of the amusement, it will be easy enough to leave the place. but the sand into which he is slowly but surely sinking is bottomless. inch by inch the unfortunate victim is swallowed--as is the dove in the jaws of the serpent. not until he has sunk to his waist, does despair seize him, and he realizes that escape is impossible. every effort to extricate himself is futile--he only sinks the deeper into the treacherous sand. in vain he shouts for help. no help will come to him, for, he that hears despairing cries from the downs, will flee in the opposite direction to get beyond reach of the sound, knowing well that were he to attempt to rescue the sinking wretch he too would be engulfed in the quicksand. when the victim's head has vanished beneath the surface, only a funnel-shaped depression marks the spot where a living creature has met death, and this sign will be obliterated by the first wind that blows across the sands. as i have mentioned before, a dike, with a road along its summit, divides the treacherous quicksands and the grazing cattle. it was along this dike-road that my wife and i walked arm in arm the morning i started for antwerp. "you see, my love," i said to her, "how happy we are together when there is no one to disturb us. i should want for nothing else on earth if you would but promise not to wear that red cap again." "and i," she returned, "need only to wear this red cap in order to make me perfectly contented and happy." "very well, then wear it--wear three red caps, one over the other, only don't wear this one while i am away from you." "well--i won't wear it while you are away." "swear that you won't?" "no, i will not swear not to wear it, for if i should forget my oath, and put the cap on, then i should perjure myself--and no cap is worth that!" "then the cap is dearer to you than i am?" i asked. "do you hate the cap so much that you hate me because i wear it?" she inquired in turn. "i have just cause to hate this cap, and i don't want to hate you for the same reason. promise not to wear it while i am away." "no, i will not promise--you must not be so quarrelsome." "i will show you why you ought not wear it. here, read this letter i received from nimeguen." i took the letter from my pocket, and gave it to her. her face took on the hue of her cap as she read, and when she had finished, she stamped her foot, tore the letter into bits and flung them over the downs, exclaiming: "now, i shall wear the cap for spite." "no, you shall not wear it," i cried, beside myself with rage. i tore the cap from her head and flung it after the letter. what followed, the honorable gentlemen of the court will be able to conjecture after i have described my wife's figure and disposition. in holland, as well as in some other portions of the globe, married people occasionally disagree; but i believe that only in holland is it the husband who goes to a justice of the peace with a blackened eye to substantiate a complaint against his wife. my spouse was no exception to her fellow-countrywomen. taller by half a head than i, broad-shouldered and with a powerful chest, she could hold at arm's length a small child seated on her hand--and it was a hand, too, that would render superfluous a _visam repertum_, if it came in contact with a human face! and from this amazon i had dared to snatch a favorite cap, and toss it on the quicksands. as i flung the cap away, the woman threw herself against me like an enraged elephant, and sent me staggering backward to the edge of the embankment, where i turned a somersault down into one of the bitter, natron-impregnated pools on the heath, in which not even a leech can exist. i had fallen with my head in the water; it sank to the chin in the slimy mud at the bottom, and had it not been for my presence of mind, i should have drowned; for the most expert swimmer will forget his skill if he finds his eyes, nose, mouth and ears filled with mire--and mire, too, that burns and stings like nettles. i managed with great difficulty to wriggle out of the pool, but i could see neither sky nor earth for several minutes. it took considerable time to cleanse the mire from my mouth, nose, eyes and ears; and it was hours before i could hear again. i felt like one resuscitated from drowning; my entire body burned as if i were covered from crown to sole with a vesicatory. then i began to think of what might have happened while i was sitting on the heath ridding myself of the mire. i could not see my wife anywhere on the embankment. what had become of her? i was compelled to wade through the pools a considerable distance, in order to get back to the dike-road, for the embankment where i had fallen over was too steep to be climbed. therefore, a half hour or more passed before i stood again on the dike-road looking about for my wife. she was nowhere in sight on the road. then i turned toward the sands, and what i saw there caused the blood to curdle in my veins--the foolish woman had gone after her cap! she had it on her head, which, with her two arms, was all that was visible of her body above the sands. it was a horrible sight. her staring eyes were fixed on me in accusation, her hands battled vainly with the empty air, her lips were open, but no sound issued forth. she was still alive, but entombed. i thought of nothing but saving her. i sprang down the embankment, but when the sinking woman saw me coming toward her, she began to beat the sand furiously with her hands, as if she were trying to prevent my approach. i could not have saved her. i had made but fifty steps toward her when i too began to sink. recognizing the futility of further effort on my part, i flung myself face down on the sand, that my entire weight might not rest on my feet, and thus i managed to propel my body slowly, painfully, toward the stable earth. [illustration: "thus i managed to propel my body slowly, painfully toward the stable earth"] a seemingly endless time elapsed before i reached the foot of the embankment, and all the while there was a sound in my ears as of waves dashing against rocks, each wave crying hoarsely: "curse you!" "curse you!" when at last, dripping with ice-cold perspiration and quivering with horror, i reached the top of the dike, i could see only the red velvet cap on the sands; and as i looked, a sudden gust of wind sweeping up from the sea, seized it and bore it toward me. overcome by terror i turned and fled like a madman down the road. all day long i continued my flight over pathless wastes; through withered copses, which had been destroyed by frequent inundations; across marshes filled with croaking frogs, and nesting storm-petrels; the lurking place of weasels and others, and from every corner i heard voices calling after me: "murder!" "murder!" the frogs croaked it from the water, the birds piped it from the air. the withered trees moaned it, and stretched their branches threateningly toward me; and the briars trailing along the ground caught at my feet and cried: "stop, stop! let me bind you, murderer!" all things animate and inanimate joined in accusing me; and at last a wall rose before me to hinder further flight. it was only a broken dike; but to me it seemed a prison. foot-sore and weary, i lay down amid the stones fallen from the wall. they were covered with thick moss, and it was a relief to stretch my tired limbs among them. i began to collect my scattered senses, to think calmly over what had happened, and after awhile i began to excuse myself to the frogs and the petrels, the moles and the sparse-branched withered trees that stood around me staring at me as if they would say: "come, murderer, decide which of us will best suit you." i defended myself: "i am not a murderer; i am not going to hang myself. i did not lay a finger on the woman--it was she who thrust me over the dike into a pool where i nearly drowned. she was foolish enough to go where certain death awaited her--she alone is to blame!" "but, why did you throw her cap on the sands?" questioned the frogs, the storm-birds, and the moles. "had not i a right to do it? hadn't i a right to prevent her from wearing the cap which disgraced her and me? had not she brought dishonor on me once before? was i to permit it a second time? by throwing the cap away i was only defending my honor and her virtue. i did not kill her--she alone is to blame for her death!" "ha, ha, ha!" sneered every animate creature. "ha, ha, ha!" scoffed the breeze sweeping over the moor. no one--nothing in the wide world took sides with me. the elements were against me; every human being on the globe--large, small, white, black, olive-hued--all were against me. cities, towns, villages; houses palaces, huts--all were my enemies; i must flee from every human habitation. and yet, i am not guilty. all the world will say that i am. my wife will be missed; she was seen going away in my company; her cap will be found beside the dike. it will be said that i murdered her, and thrust her body into the quicksands. i am not my wife's murderer. did no one see her thrust me over the dike? will no one testify for me? a fluttering wing brushed my cheek: "ah, my white dove! are you there? you will speak for me. you will tell all the world that i am innocent--that i did not murder my wife?" filled with hope and joy, i turned my eyes toward my shoulder. the white dove was not perched there, but a coal black raven, and he croaked: "thou didst it!" "at last," exclaimed the mayor as he shook the ink from the pen with which he had authenticated the protocol. "at last we have a confession that cannot be rendered invalid by a pharasaical _referrata mentalis_! at last the executioner will get something to do! _uxoricidium aequale_: quartering, _praecedente_: the right hand to be severed from the wrist." "i don't agree with your honor," interposed the prince. "there is a law that was promulgated by _sanctus ladislaus rex_--he was a hungarian king, to be sure, but he is a saint for all that; and because he was canonized his law is held sacred by all christendom; it reads something like this: 'if a man finds his wife guilty of infidelity, and takes her life, he is answerable to god alone for the deed--'" "of course!" angrily exclaimed the chair, "i'll warrant the knave never dreamed that _sanctus ladislaus rex_ would drag him by the hair of his head out of limbo!--let it be added to the rest of the miracles performed by saint ladislas!" part xi. in satan's realm. chapter i. the satyrs. not until the shadows of night had settled around me did i learn into what an accursed region i had strayed. it was the notorious "_kempenei_"--the rendezvous of witches and all evil spirits. when it became quite dark, the jack-o'-lanterns began to flit over the moor--as if the witches were dancing a minuet; and suddenly i heard a tumult of shrieks and yells, and looking upward i beheld the most repulsive lot of females it has ever been the lot of man to see. they had hairy chins; and huge warts on their noses. they came rushing through the air, seated on the shoulders of pallid-faced male forms. each hag hung her mount by the bridle around his neck to a limb of one of the dead trees, and clapped her heels three times together before she descended to the ground. then the witches held a council, and each one detailed the evil she had perpetrated the past twenty-four hours. i heard one say boastfully: "i sent an angry woman running after her cap, which her husband had thrown on the quicksands, and i let her sink to her death. the man escaped--" here her sister-witches fell on her and beat her with switches, because she had allowed a man to escape from her. "let me alone! let me alone!" she shrieked. "i'll find him yet--he won't get away from me a second time!" terror seized me anew. i shuddered, and pressed as closely as possible into my mossy bed. then the hags began to arrange their plans for the next day. they would send the "bocksritter" to attack a caravan that was coming to antwerp. i had heard a good deal about the bocksritter, a mounted band of ferocious robbers, who looked like satyrs, and were in league with satan. they were even more to be dreaded than the haidemaken. when the satyrs committed an extensive robbery, they took good care not to let a single one of their victims escape alive--not even the infant in its cradle. they left no one to witness against them; and, as they fled at once to another country, it was impossible to learn anything about them. where they committed their depredations and the officers of the law failed to find trace of them, it was concluded, and naturally, that the bocksritter were a myth, and the story of their depredations an idle fable. when the witches had decided their plans for the next day, the most hideous of the hideous crew began to peer about her, and sniff the air. "i smell something!" she exclaimed; "something that doesn't belong here." "it smells like a human being," said a second, also sniffing around her. "ha, if only it were the fellow who escaped me this morning!" with a snort exclaimed a third. "it wouldn't take me long to prepare him for a bridle"--she glanced as she concluded toward the pallid creatures hanging on the trees. i pressed still further into the moss and ferns; but the raven on my shoulder began to flutter his wings, as if to attract the witches' attention. "some one is hiding over yonder!" they cried as with one voice. "come on, sisters, let's tickle him!" i heard them approach my hiding place, and in my despair i cried out: "if god be with me, who can be against me!" hardly had the words left my lips when i received a blow on the ear from the raven's wing that made it tingle, but the witches had scattered in all directions, uttering frightful yells. when i lifted my head to look after them, the wind sweeping over the moor was driving before it the glimmering jack-o'-lanterns, which looked like a fleeing troop of torch-bearing soldiers. just then the moon rose above the horizon. it was in the last quarter, by which i knew it must be an hour after midnight. i rose quickly, and prepared to set about performing the good deed i had determined on; i would hasten to meet the caravan travelling to antwerp, and tell the leaders of the danger which threatened them from the bocksritter. i cast from me every fear that prompted me to avoid my fellow-creatures, and rejoiced that it was in my power to serve them a good turn. only after i had proceeded a considerable distance on my errand of mercy did it occur to me that i was unarmed, that i had nothing to defend myself from the wolves which infest that region, but a knife which i carried in a sheath at my side. on my way, i came upon a slender yew tree--a straight beautiful stem, and hard as iron. i cut it down with my knife, and soon had a cudgel that would serve me well in an emergency. i could brain any wolf that might take a fancy to satisfy his appetite with my carcass. i found my own hunger growing wolfish toward dawn, and when i came to the highway i looked about for an inn. i saw smoke rising from a chimney not far distant, and made my way toward the house, which proved to be one of entertainment for man and beast. the inn-keeper, from whom i ordered some bread and cheese, was busy preparing in a large kettle a savory stew of meat and cabbage. i asked him to give me a dish of it, but he said he could not let me have any, as it was for a crowd of people who were coming with a large caravan that morning. it was true then! i had really seen and heard the witches on the moor. it was not a dream. i had not long to wait. a tinkling of bells announced the approach of the caravan while i was eating my breakfast. there were vans and vehicles of all sorts, and all manner of traders; lace merchants, carpet dealers, weavers, goldsmiths, on their way to the fair at antwerp. they had an escort of soldiers, with red and yellow jackets, and armed with muskets and halberds; also several dragoons with buff waistcoats. even the traders were armed with pistols and carbines. all were in high good humor when they entered the inn. the leader of the caravan, a pot-bellied thread dealer, ordered everything that was to be had from kitchen and cellar, and produced from his knapsack a large ham which he shared with some of his companions. toward the close of the meal, he noticed me, and kindly offered me the gnawed ham-bone. "thank you," said i. "in return for this bare bone i will do you a kindness: take my advice, and don't go any further today; or, if you cannot delay until tomorrow, send a strongly armed troop in advance of your caravan, and let one guard it in the rear, for you are in danger of an attack from the bocksritter, who will leave your bones as bare as you have left this one you offer me!" then i repeated to the entire company what i had heard the witches say. but, a curse rested on me! no one believed me; they laughed at me, ridiculed my "witch-story," said i had dreamed it; and the inn-keeper threatened to cast me out of his house for trying to bring disrepute on it. he averred that robbers were unknown in that neighborhood--there were no such disreputable characters anywhere but in brabant and spain, where they lurked in subterranean caverns like the marmots. moreover, who was afraid of robbers? not he! the caravan's valiant escort were delighted with the prospect of a skirmish with the notorious bocksritter--let them begin their attack! everyone of the rascals would soon find himself spitted on an honest bayonet! there was so much boasting about the escort's prowess that at last i concluded the safest way for me to get to antwerp would be to join the caravan; which i did. all went well with us until late in the afternoon, when, as we were passing through a pine forest, the robbers suddenly fell upon us. they appeared so suddenly that one might almost believe they sprang from the earth. they were masked; their clothing was of black buffalo skin, laced with crimson cord. a black cock's feather adorned every hat. the first salvo from their muskets laid low at least half of our company; then the villains fell on us with their swords and began a frightful butchery. the leader of the caravan tumbled from his steed before he received an injury, and had i not been in such haste to save my skin, i should have stopped to say to him: "why don't you laugh at me now, mynheer potbelly?" but it was no time for jesting. i ran swiftly toward the road, on the further side of which was a dense growth of young firs, and beyond them a stretch of undulating moorland, where, i imagined, i might effect my escape. the long yew staff i carried served me well; by its aid i could jump from hillock to hillock, and thus make swifter progress than had i been on horseback. "let him run!" cried the robber captain, who was distinguished from the rest by the crimson ostrich plume on his hat. "let him go; we will after him when we have finished here. he won't go very far." i soon found he was right. i had not gone more than a hundred paces, when i came to a mound from which there was neither retreat, nor advance. it was made up of pebbles, sand and the gravelly soil of the highway, from which a narrow path led to the mound. on all sides were deep ditches filled with stagnant water, rank vines and noxious weeds; so that no one could cross them without risk to life or limb. i was caught! out on the highway, my companions of the caravan were being exterminated to a man. none were allowed to escape. when the work of carnage was completed there, the butchers turned their attention to me. i was alone, and defenseless on my islet. the demons came toward me, laughing brutally, and in my despair i laughed too. i said to myself: "i too will have some fun before i die!" i loosed the leather belt from my waist, and made a sling of it. pebbles lay at my feet in plenty for my david's battle with goliath. the robbers soon found they had to do with a skilled bombardier; my shots struck them and their horses with a force and regularity that began to tell on their ranks. many were thrown from their saddles with skulls and ribs crushed. the fun was not all on their side. finding at last that i was not to be taken alive, they concluded to use me as a target for their muskets. one of them dismounted, lifted the musket from his shoulder, thrust the bayonet into the ground, and rested the gun on it. after he had arranged the priming in the pan, he called to me: "surrender, fellow, or i'll shoot you!" "try it," i called back, whirling the sling around my head. "afterward i'll have a shot at you." "do you throw first," he called again. "no, thank you--you are the challenger; do you shoot first." he fired, and missed me. then i hurled my stone; it struck him on the jaw, and broke off his teeth. then a second, and a third, had a try at me without effect, but everyone of my shots inflicted serious injury. i was not an expert gunner for nothing; i knew that when one is the target for a gunshot, one has but to watch closely when the match is applied to the priming; if two flashes are seen, then the aim will be faulty, the ball will fly wide of the mark, and it will not be necessary to dodge. if but one flash is seen, then it will be well to step to one side. i had the advantage of the robbers; for, while they were preparing their muskets to fire, i could hurl five or six stones, and not one of them missed its mark. i hoped that one of the bullets whistling past my ears might hit the raven on my shoulders; but he was too shrewd a bird; he rose in the air, and i could hear the fluttering of his wings above my head. at last the robbers were obliged to acknowledge that i had the better of them. only one of them at a time could approach my islet over the narrow path; or wade up to his horse's neck through the weed-entangled morass, and that one would fall an easy prey to my sling. "stop!" now cried the wearer of the crimson plume. "this valiant fellow's life must be spared. he will be a valuable addition to our band. let no one molest him--i will talk with him myself," saying which, he got off his horse, and came toward me unarmed. "have no fear," he called to me. "you are a brave lad, and just the sort we need. we kill only cowards. if you will join us you shall not rue it." what could i do? i was a fugitive, excluded from all honest and respectable society. i knew not where to turn. if i refused to join the robbers, i should have to flee from country to country; i might as well fly in company with others. the desire for revenge also prompted me to accept the leader's offer. i would punish the people who had ridiculed me, and condemned me because of a dream. "who are you?" i asked. "are you satan? i will not enter into a league with him." "no, i am not satan; i am the leader of the bocksritter. if you will join us, you shall be corporal, and in time you may become the leader." "thank you," said i, "but i think i should prefer to remain simply a private. i have heard that the man who leagues himself with the 'satyrs,' binds his body to pain and death; and that he who becomes their leader must bond his soul to the devil--and that i will never do." "very well," he growled in response; "i regret to hear so brave a lad decide thus. then bind yourself only to pain and death." our compact was sealed, and i was given the horse and outfit of one of the robbers i had killed in defending myself, and when the black mask had been adjusted over my face, i felt that i had ceased to belong to this world. i had no name--was nobody. i was a satyr, a foe to society. whatever i might do thenceforth, whatever crime i might commit, no one would hear of it. the mask did not speak! the bocksritter committed their horrible deeds of pillage and murder in the netherlands; in wurtemberg; along the rhine; in alsace and lorraine. in which of them, or in how many, i took part--who can say? the mask does not speak! where we roved, what we did, who can say? not i. whether the satyrs robbed churches, whether they destroyed caravans, burned cities, desecrated convents and routed their inmates, plundered mines, devastated estates--who can say? whether i assisted at all the crimes they committed, or at only one--or whether i took part in none--who can say? was i the satyr that flung back into his burning house the usurious jew who had escaped from it? or was i the one that rescued a babe from the flames and bore it on his saddle to the mother's arms? was i the satyr who placed the mine under the convent and exploded it? or was i the one who warned the nuns in time for them to escape--who can say? the mask does not speak. "well," observed the prince, "if you don't know; and the mask won't tell, then this entire chapter of your confession must be eliminated from the index." then he added further, in order to propitiate the chair: "why, don't you see, that the prisoner did not become a satyr of his own free will? that he was forced to join the band under pain of death? if, while he was with the robbers, he committed good deeds, or evil, who--as he says himself--can say?" "aye, who indeed?" satirically responded the chair. "the mystery of the whole affair is so clear that no one will be able to say whether this valiant and pious christian ought to be hanged, or this conscienceless reprobate ought to be canonized!" chapter ii. witch-sabbath. the satyrs did not ask my name when i joined their band; but bestowed one on me with the mask. they did not select their names from the calendar, but chose the appellations of distinguished satanic personages--as, for instance, there was a belial; a semiazaz; a lucifer; mephistopholes; belzebub; azazel; samiel; dromo; asmodens, dopziher, flibbertigibbet, and so on. the leader was astaroth; me they called belphegor, and my "blood-comrade" behoric. the way a blood-comradeship was formed was this: the two men slashed their right arms, and each drank of the blood gushing from the arm of the other. this was an alliance of the first degree. a second comradeship was formed by two men pricking their names into each other's arms. both ceremonies were performed only on witch-sabbath. great privileges were associated with blood-comradeship. the comrades shared everything; they belonged to each other. mine is thine, and thine mine. if one of them said: i want this, or that; the other had to give it to him. whatever one commanded the other had to obey; and if one comrade wanted to exchange bodies with the other, the latter was obliged to consent and-- "but that is impossible," here interrupted the prince. "no it isn't," spoke up the chair with like decision, "johann magus proves conclusively that such exchanges have been known to take place." "well, if it is possible," returned his highness, "i should like, if your honor and i were 'blood-comrades,' to see how we would manage such an exchange! there's room enough in my hide for three like you; but how i could get into yours puzzles me!" the prisoner proceeded to explain how it might be accomplished: the entire body undergoes a change; the larger becomes smaller, and _vice versa_; so that an exchange is easily effected. it needs only the consent of both parties. all sorts of complications may arise from such an exchange, though. suppose i were a bridegroom, and my blood-comrade should suggest an exchange of bodies; or, if i were on my way to the gallows, and i should ask to exchange? one day the leader of the band said to me: "belphegor, you must marry. you will not be a genuine satyr until you are mated with a female member of our band." "but where are the ladies? i have not yet seen any of them," i asked. "i have a bride ready for you, my youngest sister lilith. you shall see her very soon." i knew that a lilith had tempted father adam to be untrue to mother eve; if she and the captain's sister were one and the same, then she must be considerably older than i. so i said: "does she wear a mask?" "certainly." "then i'll marry her!" and so it was settled that i should become the leader's brother-in-law. in a subterranean cavern in the black forest our wedding was celebrated. the entire company of satyrs were assembled to witness the ceremony, and when the numerous torches were lighted, the cavern looked like an immensely large church with this difference: everything was inverted. the images of the saints stood on their heads; even the crucifix in the chancel was upside down. the organ's base was against the ceiling; the winged cherubs hovered overhead feet upward; the bells swung with the clappers standing upright, and the choir chanted the psalm backward. the priest who performed the ceremony had the most peculiar legs; one was at least a foot shorter than the other; and when an acolyte removed the mitre, the father's head came off with it. asafoetida instead of incense was burned in the censer. my bride, whom i saw now for the first time, was robed in garments far more costly and magnificent than any i had ever seen on my regal wife, sumro begum. the fine clothes and gew-gaws concealed the contours of her form, and a heavy gold-embroidered veil completely hid her face. the priest made us repeat the marriage service backward; and when he bade us inscribe our names in the register i took good care to look closely at my wife's hands. they were encased in gloves, but i could see that the finger nails were long and sharp--which did not augur favorably for me should there arise any domestic differences between us. her voice was youthful enough; she did not pronounce p like m, from which i concluded that she still had teeth. we left the church to the music of the organ. i led my bride on my arm to the wagon waiting for us at the entrance to the cavern. it was a large, heavy vehicle, roomy enough for a dozen persons, and harnessed to it were six stag-beetles. "how in the devil's name are these beetles going to drag such a heavy vehicle?" i cried angrily. "six horses couldn't move it." "no, of course they couldn't!" assented my wife. "the axles need greasing. here, rub some of this ointment on them." i obeyed, and greased the axles with the contents of an agate box lilith held in her hand. the entire wedding company now sprang on the wagon, leaving only the driver's seat for me and my bride. lilith took the reins; the six beetles spread their wings, and off we went--the heavy wagon with its heavier load flying as swiftly and lightly through the air as thistle-down before a gale. i thought it an excellent chance to get a sight of my bride's face while both her hands were occupied with the reins, and quickly flung back her veil. horror! the blood froze in my veins. they were the repulsive features of the witch i had heard boast on the _kempenei_, that she would catch me yet, and prepare me for the bridle. beyond a doubt she was father adam's temptress, for there were wrinkles enough on her hideous face to represent the many centuries which had passed since her little affair with the first man; while, for the development of such a moustache from the delicate peach-down, which makes a woman's lips so kissable, would require many a cycle of time! "i will jump from the wagon!" i cried in terror. "better put your arms around me to keep from falling out!" laughed my terrible bride, and then i noticed for the first time that we were at least five hundred feet above the earth. to force me to adopt her suggestion, lilith guided the beetles toward the spire of the cologne cathedral, against which we struck with such violence that to save myself from tumbling from my seat i had to fling my arm around lilith's waist, at which the entire company laughed uproariously. at last, to my great relief, we descended to the earth, and alighted in a lonely forest, at another of the witches' meeting places, where we were greeted by a weird company that assembled from all quarters of the globe. they came through the air, riding on brooms, on chairs, on benches-- "i don't believe a single word of the ridiculous story!" here emphatically exclaimed the prince. "i do," with equal emphasis affirmed the chair. "johannes de kembach has described witches' journeys in almost the same language; and the learned majolus testifies to the flying wagon, which a servant in mistake greased with witch ointment instead of axle grease. moreover, a similar tale is related by torquemada, in his hexameron--a recognized authority on such matters." the prisoner continued his confession: the witches, as i said, came through the air accompanied by their gallants; the demons rose, with their attendants, from the ground. among the latter were several of the celebrities from whom the satyrs had borrowed the name they bore. semiazaz is the jester of the demon-crew, also the musician; and when he plays, all the rest have to dance. his nose is a clarionet; he plays it with his ears instead of his fingers with which he thrums on the skeleton ribs of a cow, as on a harp; and he beats the drum with his tail. behoric, my blood-comrade's god-father, is a huge fellow with an elephant's trunk, with which he signs his name. that is why n. p. (_nasu propria_) instead of m. p. (_manu propria_) is always appended to this demon's signature. behoric is also an elegant cavalier. he wears his tail jauntily over one shoulder, and fans himself, when he gets too warm, with the brush at the tip. all of the demons, with a single exception, had wings like a bat. my namesake alone differed in this respect from his fellows. his wings were formed from the quills which have been used on earth to sign and write documents worthy of the infernal regions. there was the quill used by pilate to sign the accusation against jesus christ, and the release of barabbas; the quill with which aretino indited his sonnets; the quill used by queen elizabeth to sign mary stuart's death sentence; the quill with which catharine de medici ordered the horrors of st. bartholomew's night; the quill with which pope leo x. wrote indulgences for money; the quill with which pope innocent wrote the words: "_sint ut sunt aut non sint_;" the quill with which a distinguished archbishop wrote his ambiguous answer: "_reginam occidere nolite timere bonum est_;" the quill that wrote at shylock's order the contract for a pound of human flesh; the quill used by the mortal foe of the foscari to write in his book "_la pagata_;" the quill with which king philip signed the death warrant of his son; the quill with which tetzel scrawled his pamphlet attacking luther--and all the rest of the quills which have been used for such like infamous deeds, were to be found in belphegor's wings. they were gigantic wings, too, much longer than those of roc; and whenever behoric needed a pen he would pluck from them the quill which best suited the document he wanted to sign. after all the demons and witches were assembled they began to plan evil deeds; and my bride being the heroine of the hour, she had the right to offer the first suggestion: "there is an inn near the '_kempenei_,'" she began, "whose owner is in league with the commandant of bilsen to counterfeit money, and waylay travellers. the counterfeit money is started into circulation by the inn-keeper, who gives it to the caravans which stop at his house for refreshment, in exchange for the genuine money they leave with him. this publican has become repentant, and wants to atone for his misdeeds. he confessed his criminal practices in a letter to the governor, and told where the commandant fabricated the false coin. this letter i managed to have conveyed to the commandant instead of to the governor, and tonight, the former with his troops is going to pay a visit to the inn. what say you, friends: how many souls shall we send to hell?" "all of them! all of them!" yelled the witches. "we will have some fun this night! ho, lucifer! we await you!" a terrific noise and rumbling was heard, and the ground opened, as when an earthquake cleaves the crust of the globe. from the abyss rose his infernal majesty, the king of evil, before whom the entire company knelt--or rather squatted on their heels-- "what was he like?" queried the prince. i cannot answer that question, your highness--and for a very good reason, as will be learned further on. when lucifer appeared all the witches disrobed-- "not to the buff?" again interrupted the prince. yes, your highness, and further. they took off their skins, too; and when their hideous, wrinkled, warty hides were stripped off, they were the most beautiful and fascinating fairies. my lilith was more transcendently lovely than any image of a goddess i ever saw--she was perfect beauty idealized! your highness will understand now why i had no eyes for the prince of darkness. i had lost command of my head--for one kiss from lilith's ravishing lips i would have bonded my soul to the devil. behoric, the real demon, for whom my blood-comrade was called, now took a black book from his knapsack, and bade his namesake step forward to be stigmatized. this was accomplished as follows: behoric plucked a quill from belphegor's wings, and with the nib made tiny punctures in my comrade's arm, thus forming letters. after making a puncture in the flesh he would make a dot with the bloody quill-point on a page in the black book. when his task was finished, the name "behoric" gleamed in red letters on my comrade's arm; and in letters of flame on the page in the black book. the demon then presented to his namesake a thaler, as christening gift; after which, he turned to me, and said i should also receive a thaler if i would allow him to register my name among those of the chosen ones of hell. not for a dozen thalers would i have consented; but, for one kiss from my fascinating lilith, i would have done anything asked of me. i extended my arm for the stigma; but my blood-comrade stepped up to me and said: "comrade, do you see this thaler which i got in exchange for my soul? i want you to give me your bride for it." as i have told you, a blood-comrade dare not refuse the request made by his fellow. i pocketed the thaler, placed lilith's beautiful hand in behoric's palm, and saw them move away to join the dancers. behoric and belphegor now seized my collar, and importuned me to have my name recorded in the black book; but, with the loss of my bride, all desire to join the demon ranks vanished. in vain i made all sorts of excuses; they would not release me. at last, i cried with simulated anger: "to the devil with you! not a single member of my family ever was known to sign a contract when sober! i will eat and drink, then i'll talk business with you!" hardly had the last word crossed my lips, when before me stood a table loaded with delicious viands, and rare wines. the wedding guests seated themselves around the table, and proceeded to enjoy the repast, but to my extreme disappointment both wines and food were without taste. there was no substance to the former, no savor to the latter. i began to quarrel with the demons: "i can't eat this food," i exclaimed irritably. "i can't eat meat without salt." "salt?" repeated one of them. "where should we get salt? there is no ocean in hell." "but,"--i persisted--"i must have some salt--and if you have to fetch me lot's wife--" "don't scold so, little man," jestingly interrupted lilith, pulling my mustache. "here--taste what is on my lips." "i don't want honey--i want salt," i yelled, pushing her away. "_donner und blitz!_ give me salt, or i'll skin lucifer!" now, a curse has the same effect on a demon that a prayer has on an angel. the younger devils rushed with all speed possible to lucifer's palace to fetch the only salt-cellar in the infernal regions; it is for the sole use of the king of evil. this salt-cellar is a large mussel-shell and looks like a christening bowl; it is filled with salt collected from the tears shed by penitent sinners who delayed their repentance until it was too late. two active little imps dragged the salt-cellar to my side. "here's salt at last--god be praised!" i exclaimed in a loud voice. the next instant the table with its viands disappeared amid an unearthly din, and rumbling as of thunder. the demons sank cursing into the earth; the witches flew yelling into the air, and i fell backward to the ground unconscious. when i came to my senses, i was lying in a peat bog one hundred and twenty miles from the black forest, in which i had celebrated my marriage the night before with the beautiful lilith. "either you are a madman, or you dreamed all this nonsense," in a stern tone observed the prince, at the conclusion of hugo's recital. "i don't believe a single word of it." "well," commented the chair with less emphasis; "one thing is clear: among the many lies the rascal has entertained us with for weeks, this last tale is the only one to bear a semblance to the truth. similar occurrences are related by majolus, and ghirlandinus; also by the world-renowned boccaccio, whose statements no one would think of doubting. i say that, for once, the accused has adhered strictly to the truth." "very good," decisively responded the prince. "then, as he did not sign the compact with satan, he cannot be charged with _pactum diabolicum implicitum_. consequently, this indictment may also be expunged from the record." part xii. the bread of shame. chapter i. the magic thaler. the most convincing proof that everything occurred as i related it, said the prisoner, continuing his confession the next day, was the thaler i found in my pocket, when i came to my senses in the peat bog near the "_kempenei_"--the thaler my blood-comrade gave me in exchange for lilith. i remembered what i had heard the witches say about the commandant's visit to the inn-keeper and though i had suffered terribly because i had tried once to perform a good deed at his house, i decided to warn him of the danger which threatened him that night. it was very late in the evening when i drew near the inn; but light still gleamed from the windows, and sounds of merriment came from the open door. the inn-keeper, who was celebrating his marriage with his fifth wife, recognized me at once. he was not in the least rejoiced to see me again; quite the contrary: "see!" he called to his friends inside the house, "this is the fellow i told you about--the one who predicted what would happen to the antwerp caravan. every word he said came true! he shall not come into my house again. i dare say," he added, speaking to me from the door-way, "i dare say you have another witch-story to tell? don't you dare to utter one word of your evil prophecies, you bird of evil omen!" the entire company seized cudgels and chairs and threatened to brain me if i opened my lips. "just keep your temper, good people," i returned coolly, "i don't intend to tell you what would be of great benefit to you--your treatment of me is so unfriendly, i shall not say one word--i want nothing from you but some bread and cheese, and a mug of beer: and a bundle of straw in a corner where i may pass the night." "have you money to pay for all this?" demanded the inn-keeper. "certainly i have;" and i handed him my thaler. "ho-ho, fellow, this is a counterfeit," he sneered, tossing the coin to the ceiling and letting it fall on the stone table. the clear ringing sound was unmistakable--the thaler was genuine. angered by the insolence of the inn-keeper, i said in a tone, the meaning of which he could not mistake: "look here, beer-seller; i want you to understand that _i_ am not a circulator of counterfeit money!" "what!" he roared in a fury; "do you dare to insinuate that _i_ circulate counterfeit money? for your impudence i shall keep this thaler, and have it tested in the city tomorrow; and that you may not run away in the meantime, i shall pen you in my hen-coop." the entire company helped him to thrust me into the coop, which was so small i could neither stand upright nor lie down in it. and there i crouched, hungry and thirsty as i had come from the witch-wedding. suddenly the early morning quiet was broken by a fanfare in front of the inn. i heard horses' hoofs stamping the earth; loud shouts and curses; and the clank of weapons--the commandant of bilsen had arrived with his troops. in a trice the doors were broken open; the startled wedding guests could neither escape nor defend themselves. the soldiers cut down all that came in their way: men, women, old and young. from my hen-coop i witnessed the slaughter, which i cannot describe, for i grow faint with horror if i but think of it. not even a dog was left alive about the inn. when the work of butchery was completed one of the soldiers took it into his head to peep into the hen-coop. he saw me, broke the lock with his hatchet, and dragged me out by the hair. "don't kill me, comrade," i begged, "i am only a poor soldier like yourself. the inn people took all my money, and penned me in the coop--you can see for yourself that i am not one of them, but a foot-sore wanderer." "did they take all your money?" asked the trooper. "i had only a thaler; the inn-keeper said it was counterfeit, and kept it." "let's see if you're telling the truth," said the fellow, beginning to search about my clothes. "ha! what's this?" he exclaimed suddenly, holding up the thaler he had found in one of my pockets. "i thought you were lying, you rascal," he added, giving me a blow with his fist, and thrusting my thaler into his pocket. at that moment another trooper approached, and said something to the first, about not making 'way with me--that the french recruiting officers would give ten thalers for such a sturdy chap. then he too inquired if i had any money. i swore i had none; but he was as incredulous as his comrade, and also searched my pockets. in one of them he found the thaler which had returned to my possession; and he too gave me a blow for telling him a lie. then came a third trooper with the same inquiry: "have you money?" i had not yet got used to having the thaler return to me, so i said: "no, my friend, i haven't another penny"--and he didn't find anything in my pockets; but when, at his command, i drew off my boots, the thaler fell out of one of them. from this trooper also i received a vigorous blow for lying. when the fourth, fifth, and sixth troopers followed with the same demand for money, i replied: "yes, friend, i think i have a thaler somewhere about my clothes--just search me and maybe you'll find it." and every one of them found the thaler--once it was found tucked under the collar of my coat; another time in the lining; a third time in my neck-ruff. my fun came afterward, when the troopers discovered they were minus the thaler they had taken from me. they accused one another of stealing, which led to a scuffle and blows. i was sold for ten thalers to the frenchmen, who, when they stripped me to put me into uniform, also searched my clothes. they found nothing; but when they were shearing my hair the thaler suddenly dropped to the floor. the sergeant pounced on it, exclaiming: "a thaler profit, comrades!--we'll have a drink at once!" beer was ordered from the inn, in which they were quartered; and while they were drinking, the sergeant turned to me and said: "are you thirsty lad? you are? very well, then, go into the yard, lift your face to the clouds, and open your mouth wide--it's raining heavily! when you have quenched your thirst from the clouds, stand guard at the gate." i had to obey, and stand guard; but i did not quench my thirst with rain water. after a while i heard loud voices in the bar-room. the inn-keeper's wife was accusing the soldiers of stealing the thaler given to her by the sergeant for the beer. she said it had been taken from the drawer, while she was attending to her work in the kitchen. "which of you fellows stole the thaler?" angrily demanded the sergeant. no one answered; whereupon the sergeant proceeded to flog the men, one after the other, with a bunch of hazel-switches. but the thaler was not found. then the five soldiers seized the sergeant, and paid back what he had loaned them; as each had received six blows, the number delivered to him in payment amounted to thirty. "fine discipline!" i said to myself. "fine discipline, where the sergeant flogs his men, and the men flog the sergeant in turn! it's a fine service i've got into, i must say." i thrust my hands into the pockets of my wide trunk-hose, and what do you suppose i found in one of them? the dangerous thaler! it had not occurred to the frenchmen to search me! "i don't see how such a thing could happen," in a puzzled tone, observed the prince. "there is no mystery about it," returned the chair. "the coin was a 'breeding-thaler'--as it is called. a breeding-thaler will return to the pocket of its owner, no matter how often he may spend it. if, however, he bestows it as a gift on any one, it will not return to him; but to the person to whom he has given it." "ah, had i only known that sooner!" in a tone of deep regret, murmured the delinquent. chapter ii. the husband of the wife of another man. the breeding-thaler was not of much use to me, for i was in a region where there was nothing i cared to purchase. i was with the french camp in front of the city of lille, where i had been assigned to the artillery, because i had admitted that i knew something about the management of cannon. it was a miserable existence: crouched day and night in the trenches; or, on the lookout for the grenades, which were hurled into our camp from the city we were besieging. but i could have endured all the hardships if i had had enough to eat. the french general would not allow any vivandières with spiritous liquors to enter the battery; the gunners, he said, must remain sober; and that they might not want to drink, they were given very little to eat, as eating promotes thirst. if i sent a sapper with a jug to the canteen for beer, he would invariably return with the empty jug, and swear he had lost the thaler i had given him on the way--which was true; for, no matter how often i tried it, the coin would be back in my pocket before the messenger had been gone five minutes. the consequence was i was in a continual state of hunger and thirst. the officers, on the contrary, had plenty to eat and drink. they were always feasting and making merry in their tents. my captain had in camp with him a companion of the gentler sex, who was not his wife, nor was she his sister, daughter, or mother--nor yet his grand-mother. this lady would sometimes accompany him on his tours of inspection, riding by his side, in a long silk habit, with a plumed cap on her head. she was a beautiful creature. one day the general, who had got tired seeing so many women about, gave orders that every one not having a legal husband among his troops should leave the camp within twenty-four hours. that day my captain came to me, and after making believe he was come on business about the guns, said: "by the way, gunner, you look to me like a chap who was used to something better than loading cannon and sleeping on the ground--" "and gnawing dry bread," i ventured to append. he laughed, and said again: "i've half a mind to appoint you my adjutant--how would that suit you?" "i shouldn't object." "will you do me a small favor in return?" "whatever i can, sir." "i should want you to keep a well-supplied table, and invite me to dine and sup. i, of course, will pay all expenses." "that doesn't sound like a very hard task, sir," i replied. "it isn't--only there's a condition goes with it. in order to entertain properly an officer of my rank, there will have to be a lady to do the honors of the table." "but, where can i get the lady, sir?" "i'll find one for you--the lady you have seen riding with me. she has long possessed my deepest respect." i scratched my head back of the right ear: "if you respect the lady so much, sir, why don't you marry her?" "stupid fellow!--because i already have a wife." "look here, sir," i said after a moment's deliberation, "i have eaten all sorts of ammunition bread during my experience as a soldier; i have cheated and stolen; but i have never occupied a position so low as the one you want me to accept." "but, my lad, consider the advantages: plenty to eat, and drink, and nothing to do--that is one alternative; the other: in the trenches night and day, bread and water! i will give you half an hour to think it over; if you refuse i shall offer the position to some one else--some one who is not so squeamish as you." that was a long half hour! i thought over what i had to lose if i accepted the position: honor? i had very little left; but, if i had squandered it i had done so with my sword and musket, idled it away in a hundred ways--though never in the despicable manner suggested to me by my captain. but i had been persecuted and cursed for trying to do good--what use to try again? besides, i hadn't anything to lose: i might as well eat and drink away the little self-respect and honor i still possessed. at the end of the half hour, the captain came for my decision. i said: "i accept your offer, sir--here's my hand on it!" i held out my hand, and so did he; but, before they came together, each of us drew back--each prompted by the same thought: "this fellow's hand is more soiled than mine--i cannot take it!" but, i married the donna that afternoon, bestowing on her one of my numerous names; and after the chaplain of the regiment had performed the ceremony, this thought involuntarily suggested itself to me: "hugo, my lad, you are not the only one cheated in this business." from that hour it went well with my body--and luckily one's stomach does not possess a conscience! in addition to a well-filled larder and cellar, i had a title--i was called "adjutant." i saw my bride only at table; how frequently the captain visited my quarters i cannot say. when he was obliged to absent himself on duty connected with the campaign, he would always try to surprise her by an unexpected return. one day she was more than surprised when her lover was brought back to camp minus his head; he had had the misfortune to get within range of a cannon shot from the enemy's lines. my situation now became anything but agreeable. i ceased to be an adjutant, but i was still the husband of my wife--a rôle i found it exceedingly difficult to continue. the woman had been accustomed to every luxury; but, as money does not fall from the sky, i found great difficulty in providing her with the bare necessities of life. one after another of the costly ornaments she had received from the captain were disposed of to supply her numerous demands, until all were gone. then she began to quarrel with me and accused me with trying to starve her. i bethought me of the magic coin i had carried in my pocket all this time, merely as a souvenir of the demon-assembly in the black forest. i said to it: "now, thaler, show what you can do!" and gave it to the woman to buy what was necessary. i did not know then that if a breeding-thaler were given away it would not return; and when i placed it in the woman's hand i believed, of course, i should find it again in a few minutes in my pocket. but i never saw the thaler again! when, at the expiration of several hours, it did not return to me, i consoled myself with thinking it must be in the woman's pocket. but it had not returned to her--she had given it to an ensign who had been an admirer of hers for a long time. so, the magic thaler was gone for good, and i had nothing but the woman i had married to please my captain--and he was dead! what was to be done? should i run away from my wife, and my flag?--become a two-fold deserter? i pondered over this question for three days; for three long days i endured the taunts of my wife, and the ridicule of my comrades, and on the third i fled-- "i should have run away the first day!" emphatically exclaimed the prince, giving the table a thump with his fist. the mayor's eye twinkled as he added: "consequently, desertion may also be stricken from the register!" (_quod dixi dixi._) part xiii. the exchange of bodies. chapter i. the quack doctor. "well, you godless reprobate," began the mayor, addressing the prisoner, when the court was assembled the next day for a further hearing of the remarkable case, "you have come to the last of your crimes; you have illustrated how the seven mortal sins may be trebled, and how the perpetrator may clear himself of the entire twenty-one, if he possesses a fluent tongue. with your entertaining fables you have understood how to extend the time of your trial five months and two weeks, believing, no doubt, that the frenchmen would in the meantime seize the fortress and save you from the gallows. but that has not come to pass. only one more indictment remains on your list--treason. i don't believe you will be able to talk yourself out of that! but we will now hear you make the attempt." the prisoner bowed and summoned to his aid the muse, by whose help he had wrested from death one day after another, to assist him win yet another twenty-four hours in god's beautiful world. as the honorable gentlemen of the court are aware, i entered into service here, after i deserted from the french camp at lille--and i have tried to do my duty faithfully, as becomes a good soldier-- "i must say"--interrupted the prince with considerable stress--"you were the best gunner in my artillery." after he had thanked his highness for the compliment, the prisoner resumed: one day, while i was deeply absorbed in my technical studies, a quack doctor was brought to my quarters. he had announced that he was my messenger to the camp of the enemy, and that he had returned with some important information for me. he was an imposter; i had not employed any one to perform such errands for me. i ordered the fellow to be brought before me. he was of low, but vigorous stature, with a crafty countenance, and cunning leer. he had with him an entire apothecary's outfit: a chest filled with all sorts of oils, extracts, unguents, and pills. the fellow laughed in my face and said in an impudent tone: "well, comrade, don't you know me?". "no; i have never before seen your ugly phiz," i replied, a trifle angrily. "nor have i _seen_ yours; but i know you for all that--belphegor." i was startled. "you are behoric?" i exclaimed. i sent the orderly from the room, then asked: "how did you manage to find me? you never saw me without a mask." "i will tell you: i have two magic rings; one i wear on the little finger of my right hand; the other on the little finger of my left hand, both with the setting turned inward. if i say to the rings: 'i want to find my blood-comrade, belphegor,' one of them turns around on my finger and the setting shows me the way i must go. if i arrive at a point where two roads meet, the other ring shows me which to take. that is how i came here." the explanation did not altogether satisfy me--the fellow's face made me doubt the truth of it; but i could not deny that i was his blood-comrade. besides, i entertained a sort of affection for him; we had been good comrades, and had not drank each other's blood for nothing. "well," said i, after deliberating a moment, "what brings you here?--here, where nothing is to be got but fiery bullets." "i came to ask you to exchange bodies." "why do you wish to exchange?" "the leader has ordered it." "do you still belong to the satyrs?" "yes--and so do you. it is not a disease from which one can recover; nor an office one may resign. it is not a garment one may cast aside; nor a wife one may divorce. in a word, once a satyr, always a satyr." "i pledged only my body, not my soul," i interrupted. "and it isn't your soul i want, comrade; only your body. you may carry your soul in my body, and go whithersoever it may please you to wander." "but, what shall i do while in your body?" "you will do what i should do: sell theriac and arsenic; _lapis nephriticus_, _nostra paracelsi_, apoponax, and salamander ointment--for all of which you will receive good, hard coin from the credulous fools who will be your customers. it is the easiest life in the world!" "but i don't know the least thing about your medicaments, and couldn't tell what any of them would heal or cure." "oh, you need not trouble your head about that! just take a look into this chest. see--here in the different compartments are arranged various bottles, vials and boxes, with the names of their contents above them. these tiny letters under each one, which cannot be read without the aid of a magnifying glass, are the names of the diseases for which the contents of the bottles, vials, and boxes are infallible remedies. when a patient applies to you, listen what he has to say; then, diagnose the disease, consult your microscopic directions, and dose him according to his ability to pay." "and how long will i have to wear your hideous form and let you occupy my stately proportions?" i asked. "until we both desire to exchange again. i will give you one of my magic rings and i'll keep the other. if you turn the ring on your finger at the same moment i turn mine, then the exchange will be effected, no matter how far apart our bodies may be. now, take this ring, and summon your orderly. bid him escort me to the gate, and give me a glass of brandy before he lets me depart." i obeyed these directions and, after a few minutes, the burning in my throat convinced me that i was in behoric's squat body; that he occupied my taller shell i found very shortly. hardly had the exchange taken place, when a bombardier came to announce that the second cannon in the third battery had burst, whereupon behoric in my body answered: "boil some glue, and stick the pieces together; then wind some stout twine around the cannon to prevent it from bursting again." at these directions the bombardier and the orderly exchanged glances and snickered. "this won't do at all," i said to myself, so i whispered to my figure: "behoric, just change back again for a second, will you?" each turned the ring on his finger, and i was again i. "take the broken cannon to the arsenal," i said to the grinning bombardier, "and put in its place one of the bronze pieces from chamber number iv. why do you laugh, idiot?" then behoric and i exchanged again, and i found myself trudging in his body down the hill from the fortress, with the medicine chest on my back. i was obliged to pass through the beleaguerer's camp, and, naturally, was commanded to halt. when they spoke to me i could not understand them--i, who am perfectly familiar with french, latin, english, polish, russian, turkish, indian, dutch--i, with behoric's untutored ears, and with his inability to converse in any language but the german, could not understand a word the frenchmen said to me. the colonel was obliged to send for an interpreter. "have you been inside the fortress?" i was asked. "i have." "did you deliver to the chief gunner what i sent with you?" "i did." "will he do what i ask?" "he will." here, to my great surprise--for i had done nothing to earn it--the colonel pressed fifty thalers into my palm, and motioned me to pass on my way. i wandered out into the world, trudged from city to city, selling the contents of my chest, until i came to madgeburg, where, having accumulated a considerable sum of money, i bought a horse and wagon. i could now travel about with greater convenience and speed than when forced to carry the heavy medicine-chest on my back. i also hired an assistant to blow a trumpet when i wanted to collect a crowd around my wagon. i became so well satisfied with the pleasant life i now led, no thought of changing back to my own body ever occurred to me. my blood-comrade might keep it, and continue to fire cannon from ehrenbreitstein--i was quite content with my quack-doctoring, and with his anatomy. and a wonderfully shrewd and sensible little anatomy it was! my own did not contain a tenth part the sense that was in his. therefore, i considered it my duty to bestow the best of care on it. i fattened it with the same attention to details i would have observed had it been my own and i was amply able to supply it with everything that was necessary to increase its bulk. i had all the money i wanted. the regular doctors became impoverished; for, to me alone would the people apply for help--and i must say the remedies i sold accomplished wonders. one day, however, a misfortune occurred to me. i was selling my miracle-cures in the market place in madgeburg as fast as i and my assistant could hand them out, when some one--a wretch hired by the envious doctors, no doubt--thrust a piece of burning sponge into the ear of my horse. you may guess the result. the horse ran away, the wagon was upset, and my medicaments scattered in all directions. my neck was not broken, but what happened was almost as bad. when i came to replace the medicaments in the chest, i found that i could not remember just where each bottle, vial, and box properly belonged. however, i made a guess of it, and put them back where i thought they ought to be. i made a good many mistakes, though, judging by some of the very peculiar effects the remedies produced after the accident. the syndic, whose right leg was shorter than the left, sent for me to remedy the defect. i was a little fuddled from having emptied a bottle of good french wine just before i quitted my lodgings; and, instead of rubbing the elongating ointment on the shorter limb, i applied it to the longer one; the consequence of which was: the longer leg increased to such a length that the worthy syndic, when he wanted to sit down, had to perch himself on the buffet, and would bump his head against the ceiling every step he took. he threatened to shoot me. a second mischance occurred when i was called to attend the president of the board of trade. he had the gout in both feet and could not move without crutches. i had a certain remedy for that fell disease, a remedy so powerful that only a very small portion, about the size of a pea, was required to embrocate an afflicted member. thinking to hasten the cure, i applied half the contents of a box to each foot, which made the old gentleman so active and nimble, he was forced, for a time, to take the position of runner for the elector of brandenburg, because he could not keep his feet still; nor could he sit anywhere but at a loom, where he might stamp his feet continually; and at night, when he wanted to go to sleep he had to be bound to a tread-mill. two other wonderfully efficacious remedies were: a wash to force a luxuriant crop of curling hair to grow on a bald head; the other, if applied to toothless jaws, would cause new teeth to appear. the result of getting these two remedies misplaced was: the tooth-wash was used on the bald head of a man; and the hair-restorative on the toothless jaws of a woman. instead of hair, two beautiful horns appeared on the man's head; while the woman grew a mustache that would have roused the envy of a drum-major. but these cases were nothing compared to what happened to the wife of the chief justice. she was afflicted with severe paroxysms of hiccoughing, and i was summoned to relieve her. there was in my chest a remedy for such an attack; but, having been misplaced, i got hold of the wrong box, and administered to the sufferer a dose of pills intended to force obstinate hens to produce eggs. in less than six weeks that unfortunate lady gave birth to seven living children-- "i don't believe it! i don't believe a single word of it!" interrupted the prince, who had almost burst his belt with laughing. "you are asking too much if you expect us to credit such outrageous fables." here the chair remarked with great seriousness: "beg pardon, your highness: but there are authentic records of similar cases. in hungary, the wife of a count miczbanus gave birth at one time to seven living sons, all of whom lived to grow up." "she certainly took some of the prisoner's hen pills," laughingly responded his highness. the prisoner continued: naturally mistakes of this sort roused the animosity of the patients; but, none were so enraged as was the burgomaster. his case, indeed, capped the climax! i had two miraculous cures: one would cause to disappear from the human nose pimples, warts and all other disfiguring excrescences; the other would transform silver into gold. the burgomaster possessed a large silver snuff-box and an exceedingly prominent and highly-colored nose which was covered with unsightly pimples. he sent for me in secret and bade me test the efficacy of the two miracle-cures on his snuff-box and on his nose. like some of the other remedies, these two had also changed places, in consequence of which, the burgomaster's nose turned to gold, while the snuff-box vanished as if from the face of the earth. this cure so amused the prince he could hardly gasp: "enough--enough!--no more today! we will hear the rest tomorrow--i am faint with laughing." the court adjourned until the following day, when the prisoner resumed his confession: as might be expected, this last mistake of mine caused a dispute to arise. the burgomaster, however, was not so angry because his nose had changed to gold; but nothing would console him for the loss of his snuff-box. he actually accused me of stealing it! had the worthy man been versed in the science of chemistry, he would have known that there are substances which absorb, and consume, each other. for instance: _argentum vivum_ will dissipate _aurum_; and _aqua fortis_ will consume silver as will a starving cow barley. this is called _occulta qualitas_. the citizens of madgeburg, however, are not clever enough to comprehend matters so transcendental in character. i was summoned to appear before the mayor, who, being father-in-law to a doctor, sentenced me, out of spite, to be flogged in public. this did not suit me at all, so i said to myself: "now, friend behoric, i have been content to occupy your carcass without murmuring, so long as nothing more was required of me than to stuff it with liver-pasties and oysters; but, when it comes to having the hide tickled with a cat-o'-nine tails, then you had better come back into it!" i was already bound to the pillory and the executioner had bared my back, revealing the marks of former scourging--of which i could remember nothing as they were on behoric's body. when the executioner saw that the whip would not be new to my blood-comrade's hide, he sent for a heavier scourge, the ends of which terminated with barbed nails. "now, behoric," i said, "you must take this flogging yourself." my hands being bound together, i had no difficulty turning the ring on my little finger. i had given it but one turn, when, to my great joy, i found myself in my own body, in my casemate in ehrenbreitstein fortress; and before me stood his honor, here, with an empty fire-ball in one hand; in the other, what he called the "proofs of my treason." i guessed at once what my blood-comrade had been doing, what crime he had committed while occupying my body. the frenchmen, who are leagued with the bocksritter, had sent behoric to the fortress, to take my place, and inform them what was going on in here. when he found that his crime had been discovered by his honor, the mayor, he said to himself: "it is time for belphegor to return to his body;" and, as it happened, he turned his ring at the same moment i turned the one on my finger. i can imagine his consternation when he found himself in the pillory in madgeburg, with his back bared for the scourge; and i have to laugh every time i think of the grimaces he must have made when the barbed nails cut into his scarred hide! this, your highness, and honorable gentlemen of the court, is the strictly veracious history of my last capital crime. part xiv. the white dove. the decision of the court at the conclusion of the long trial was as follows: "whereas: after hearing all the evidence, it has been found impossible to establish fully the exact nature of twenty-one of the twenty-two crimes, for which the prisoner has been indicted, the court has decided to pronounce him guilty of only the twenty-second and last on the register--'treason.' "but, as the prisoner avers that this transgression was committed by his blood-comrade, who occupied his, the prisoner's, body at the time the crime was committed; and that his, the prisoner's, _mind_ was not cognizant of the blood-comrade's intentions when the exchange of bodies was effected, the court has decided to acquit the prisoner's mind and commend it to the mercy of god; and, that it may serve as a lesson to all miscreants who contemplate a similar crime, to sentence the body to death by a merciful shot in the back of the head." the prisoner thanked the court for its clemency and assured the honorable gentlemen that he had no desire to postpone the execution of the just sentence. when he was brought to the place of execution he removed his coat and hat, then requested, as a last favor, that his hands might be left free, and not bound behind his back, as he wished to clasp them on his breast in prayer. the request was granted. he knelt, and in an audible tone repeated the lord's prayer. then he turned toward the musketeers, who were waiting matches in readiness above the priming-pans, and said earnestly: "comrades, i beg you, when you shoot me, try also to kill the raven which is fluttering on my shoulder"--he glanced furtively toward his shoulder and added joyfully: "no! no! it is not the raven--it is my white dove--my precious white dove! she has come to bear my soul to the land wherein she now dwells! my good angel!--my madus--my only love!" twelve musket shots rang out on the silent air, and the white dove soared away with the released soul. finis.) transcriber's note: the original edition did not contain a table of contents. a table of contents has been created for this electronic edition. the use of quotation marks in the original text was irregular and not always consistent. some words, especially proper names, were also spelled inconsistently. except as noted below, spelling and punctuation have been left as they originally appeared. on the title page, "maurus jokÁi" was changed to "maurus jÓkai". in part i, chapter i, a single-quote (') was changed to a double-quote (") after "it would make the carrying on a war an easy matter." in part i, chapter ii, "prisoners: i was a member of a band of robbers" was changed to "prisoner: i was a member of a band of robbers", and a missing quotation mark was added after "diabolicum implicitum". in part ii, chapter i, quotation marks were added after "kto tam? stoj!" and "not a man of your word", "you shall have this koltuk-denigenegi" was changed to "you shall have this koltuk-dengenegi", and "incendarii ambitiosi comburantur" was changed to "incendiarii ambitiosi comburantur". in part ii, chapter ii, "cities, castles, and monastaries" was changed to "cities, castles, and monasteries", and a quotation mark was added after "not the other one!" in part iii, chapter i, a quotation mark was added after "what your crutch contains!", "i don't wan't brandy" was changed to "i don't want brandy", and a quotation mark after "the tongue in which demons spake--" was removed. in part iv, chapter i, a quotation mark was added before "this wine, malchus", a quotation mark was added after "homicidium", "qui bene distinquet" was changed to "qui bene distinguit", and "deeply incensed by the impiety of the donnenritter" was changed to "deeply incensed by the impiety of the dornenritter". in part v, chapter ii, "que bene distinguit" was changed to "qui bene distinguit", a period and quotation mark were added after "the two-thousand you owe me", quotation marks were removed after "seal the bargain with a kiss" and "bought with the money her son had given her", and "the same geneological tree" was changed to "the same genealogical tree". in part vi, chapter i, "worth-nothing, insignificent cipher" was changed to "worth-nothing, insignificant cipher", and a missing period was added after "in every city in the land". in part vii, chapter i, a quotation mark was removed after "respectable god-fearing man". in part viii, chapter iii, "mantained direct communication" was changed to "maintained direct communication". in part ix, chapter i, a quotation mark before "during a calm" was removed, and "how is it posible that such a storm" was changed to "how is it possible that such a storm". in part x, chapter ii, "all were against, me" was changed to "all were against me". in part xi, chapter i, "cast from me every fear" was changed to "i cast from me every fear", and "david's battle with goliah" was changed to "david's battle with goliath". in part xi, chapter ii, "sint ut sunt aut nou sint" was changed to "sint ut sunt aut non sint". in part xiii, chapter i, a single quote (') was changed to a double quote (") before "why do you wish to exchange?" and "do you still belong to the satyrs?", and a quotation mark was added before "the leader has ordered it" and after "such outrageous fables". available by the internet archive, cornell university, harvard university and google. liliom a legend in seven scenes and a prologue by franz molnar english text and introduction by benjamin f. glazer horace liveright publisher new york liliom copyrighted, , by united plays inc. _all rights reserved_ first printing, may, second printing, june, third printing, august, fourth printing, november, fifth printing, september, sixth printing, december, seventh printing, january, eighth printing, december, ninth printing, november, _caution_--all persons are hereby warned that the plays published in this volume are fully protected under the copyright laws of the united states and all foreign countries, and are subject to royalty, and any one presenting any of said plays without the consent of the author or his recognized agents, will be liable to the penalties by law provided. applications for the acting rights must be made to the united plays, inc., broadway, new york city. _printed in the united states of america_ as originally produced by the theatre guild, on the night of april , , at the garrick theatre, new york city. cast of characters (in the order of their appearance) _marie_ hortense alden _julie_ eva le gallienne _mrs. muskat_ helen westley _"liliom"_ joseph schildkraut "liliom" is the hungarian for lily, and the slang term for "a tough" { frances diamond _four servant girls_ { margaret mosier { anne de chantal { elizabeth parker { howard claney _policemen_ { lawrence b. chrow _captain_ erskine sanford _plainclothes man_ gerald stopp _mother hollunder_ lilian kingsbury _"the sparrow"_ dudley digges _wolf berkowitz_ henry travers _young hollunder_ william franklin _linzman_ willard bowman _first mounted policeman_ edgar stehli _second mounted policeman_ george frenger _the doctor_ robert babcock _the carpenter_ george frenger _first policeman of the beyond_ erskine sanford _second policeman of the beyond_ gerald stopp _the richly dressed man_ edgar stehli _the poorly dressed man_ philip wood _the old guard_ walton butterfield _the magistrate_ albert perry _louise_ evelyn chard _peasants, townspeople, etc._ lela m. aultman, janet scott, marion m. winsten, katherine fahnestock, lillian tuchman, ruth l. cumming, jacob weiser, maurice somers, john crump. _prologue_ an amusement park on the outskirts of budapest _first scene_ a lonely place in the park _second scene_ the tin type shop of the hollunders _third scene_ the same _fourth scene_ a railroad embankment outside the city _intermission_ _fifth scene_ same as scene two _sixth scene_ a courtroom in the beyond _seventh scene_ before julie's door _produced under the direction of_ frank reicher _costumes and scenery designed by_ lee simonson _technical director_ sheldon k. viele _scenery painted by_ robert bergman _costumes executed by_ nettie duff reade _stage manager_ walter geer _assistant stage manager_ jacob weiser _music arranged_ by deems taylor _executive director_ theresa helburn introduction the première of "liliom" at budapest in december, , left both playgoer and critic a bit bewildered. it was not the sort of play the hungarian capital had been accustomed to expect of its favorite dramatist, whose the devil, after two years of unprecedented success, was still crowding the theatres of two continents. one must, it was true, count on a touch of fantasy in every molnar work. never had he been wholly content with everyday reality, not in his stories, or in his sketches or in his earlier plays; and least of all in the devil wherein the natural and supernatural were most whimsically blended. but in liliom, it seemed, he had carried fantasy to quite unintelligible lengths. budapest was frankly puzzled. what did he mean by killing his hero in the fifth scene, taking him into heaven in the sixth and bringing him back to earth in the seventh? was this prosaic heaven of his seriously or satirically intended? was liliom a saint or a common tough? and was his abortive redemption a symbol or merely a jibe? these were some of the questions budapest debated while the play languished through thirty or forty performances and was withdrawn. almost ten years passed before it was revived. this time it was an immediate and overwhelming triumph. perhaps the wide circulation of the play in printed form had made its beauty and significance clearer. perhaps the tragedy of the war had made molnar's public more sensitive to spiritual values. whatever the reason, budapest now accepted ecstatically what it had previously rejected, and molnar was more of a popular hero than ever. from which it may be gleaned that hungary takes its drama and dramatists more seriously, disapproves them more passionately and praises them more affectionately than we americans can conceive. in paris i once saw an audience rise en masse, because the sculptor rodin had entered the auditorium, and remain on its feet cheering until he had taken his seat. something of the kind greets molnar whenever he appears in public, and nothing is more certain than that he is the hero, the oracle, the spoiled darling of club, salon and coffee house in which artistic hungary foregathers. but the years immediately following the first production of liliom were for him a period of eclipse. it was the first time that even the threat of failure had cast its shadow across his career. he became timid, wary of failure, too anxious to please his public. his subsequent plays were less original, less daring, more faithful to routine. never again did he touch the heights of liliom; and some of his best friends aver that he never will again until he has banished the dread of failure that obsesses him. an odd situation, truly, and in some aspects a tragic one. genius lacking the courage to spread its wings and soar. a potential immortal bidding fearfully for the praise of a coffee-house clique. is it vanity? is it abnormal sensitiveness? biographical data cast little light on the enigma. franz molnar was born in budapest on january , , the son of a wealthy jewish merchant. he graduated from the universities of geneva and budapest. his literary career was begun as a journalist at the age of eighteen. he wrote short sketches and humorous dialogues of such beauty and charm that he became a national figure almost at once, and the circulation of his newspaper increased until it was foremost in budapest. then he married margaret vaszi, the daughter of his editor, herself a journalist of note. two years later he was divorced from her, and subsequently he married an actress who had played rôles in his own plays. for a portrait of him as he is today you have to think of oscar wilde at the height of his glory. a big pudgy face, immobile, pink, smooth-shaven, its child-like expressionlessness accentuated by the monocle he always wears, though rather belied by the gleam of humor in his dark alert eyes. his hair is iron-gray, his figure stocky and of about medium height. a mordant wit, an inimitable raconteur, he loves life and gayety and all the luxuries of life. nothing can persuade him out of his complacent and comfortable routine. he will not leave budapest, even to attend the première of one of his plays in nearby vienna. the post-war political upheaval which has rent all hungary into two voluble and bitter factions left him quite unperturbed and neutral. his pen is not for politics. yet it is a singularly prolific pen. his novels and short stories are among the finest in hungarian literature. he has written nine long plays and numerous short ones. a chronology of his more important dramatic works is as follows: a doktor ur (the doctor). jozsi. az ÖrdÖg (the devil). liliom. testÖr (played in this country as "where ignorance is bliss"). a farkas (played in this country as "the phantom rival"). uridivat (attorney for defence). a hattyu (the swan). szinhaz (theatre: three one-act plays). undoubtedly the greatest of these is liliom. indeed, i know of no play written in our own time which matches the amazing virtuosity of liliom, its imaginative daring, its uncanny blending of naturalism and fantasy, humor and pathos, tenderness and tragedy into a solid dramatic structure. at first reading it may seem a mere improvization in many moods, but closer study must reveal how the moods are as inevitably related to each other as pearls on a string. and where in modern dramatic literature can such pearls be matched--julie incoherently confessing to her dead lover the love she had always been ashamed to tell; liliom crying out to the distant carousel the glad news that he is to be a father; the two thieves gambling for the spoils of their prospective robbery; marie and wolf posing for their portrait while the broken-hearted julie stands looking after the vanishing liliom, the thieves' song ringing in her ears; the two policemen grousing about pay and pensions while liliom lies bleeding to death; liliom furtively proffering his daughter the star he has stolen for her in heaven. . . . the temptation to count the whole scintillating string is difficult to resist. what is the moral of liliom? nothing you can reduce to a creed. molnar is not a preacher or a propagandist for any theory of life. you will look in vain in his plays for moral or dogma. his philosophy--if philosophy you can call it--is always implicit. and nothing is plainer than that his picture of a courtroom in the beyond is neither devoutly nor satirically intended. liliom's heaven is the heaven of his own imagining. and what is more natural than that it should be an irrational jumble of priest's purgatory, police magistrate's justice and his own limited conception of good deeds and evil? for those who hold that every fine dramatic architecture must have its spire of meaning, that by the very selection of character and incident the dramatist writes his commentary on life, there is still an explanation possible. perhaps molnar was at the old, old task of revaluing our ideas of good and evil. perhaps he has only shown how the difference between a bully, a wife-beater and a criminal on the one hand and a saint on the other can be very slight. if one must tag liliom with a moral, i prefer to read mine in liliom's dying speech to julie wherein he says: "nobody's right . . . but they all think they are right. . . . a lot they know." benjamin f. glazer. _new york, april, ._ liliom synopsis of scenes prologue--_an amusement park on the outskirts of budapest._ first scene--_a lonely place in the park._ second scene--_the photographic studio of the hollunders._ third scene--_same as scene two._ fourth scene--_a railroad embankment outside the city._ fifth scene--_same as scene two._ sixth scene--_a courtroom in the beyond._ seventh scene--_julie's garden._ there are intermissions only after the second and fifth scenes. cast of characters liliom julie marie mrs. muskat louise mrs. hollunder ficsur young hollunder wolf beifeld the carpenter linzman the doctor the magistrate two mounted policemen two plainclothes policemen two heavenly policemen the richly dressed man the poorly dressed man the guard a suburban policeman the prologue an amusement park on the outskirts of budapest on a late afternoon in spring. barkers stand before the booths of the sideshows haranguing the passing crowd. the strident music of a calliope is heard; laughter, shouts, the scuffle of feet, the signal bells of merry-go-round. the merry-go-round is at center. liliom stands at the entrance, a cigarette in his mouth, coaxing the people in. the girls regard him with idolizing glances and screech with pleasure as he playfully pushes them through entrance. now and then some girl's escort resents the familiarity, whereupon liliom's demeanor becomes ugly and menacing, and the cowed escort slinks through the entrance behind his girl or contents himself with a muttered resentful comment. one girl hands liliom a red carnation; he rewards her with a bow and a smile. when the soldier who accompanies her protests, liliom cows him with a fierce glance and a threatening gesture. marie and julie come out of the crowd and liliom favors them with particular notice as they pass into the merry-go-round. mrs. muskat comes out of the merry-go-round, bringing liliom coffee and rolls. liliom mounts the barker's stand at the entrance, where he is elevated over everyone on the stage. here he begins his harangue. everybody turns toward him. the other booths are gradually deserted. the tumult makes it impossible for the audience to hear what he is saying, but every now and then some witticism of his provokes a storm of laughter which is audible above the din. many people enter the merry-go-round. here and there one catches a phrase "room for one more on the zebra's back," "which of you ladies?" "ten heller for adults, five for children," "step right up"---- it is growing darker. a lamplighter crosses the stage, and begins unperturbedly lighting the colored gas-lamps. the whistle of a distant locomotive is heard. suddenly the tumult ceases, the lights go out, and the curtain falls in darkness. end of prologue liliom scene one scene--_a lonely place in the park, half hidden by trees and shrubbery. under a flowering acacia tree stands a painted wooden bench. from the distance, faintly, comes the tumult of the amusement park. it is the sunset of the same day._ _when the curtain rises the stage is empty._ _marie enters quickly, pauses at center, and looks back._ marie julie, julie! [_there is no answer._] do you hear me, julie? let her be! come on. let her be. [_starts to go back._] [_julie enters, looks back angrily._] julie did you ever hear of such a thing? what's the matter with the woman anyway? marie [_looking back again._] here she comes again. julie let her come. i didn't do anything to her. all of a sudden she comes up to me and begins to raise a row. marie here she is. come on, let's run. [_tries to urge her off._] julie run? i should say not. what would i want to run for? i'm not afraid of her. marie oh, come on. she'll only start a fight. julie i'm going to stay right here. let her _start_ a fight. mrs. muskat [_entering._] what do you want to run away for? [_to julie._] don't worry. i won't eat you. but there's one thing i want to tell you, my dear. don't let me catch you in my carousel again. i stand for a whole lot, i have to in my business. it makes no difference to me whether my customers are ladies or the likes of you--as long as they pay their money. but when a girl misbehaves herself on my carousel--out she goes. do you understand? julie are you talking to me? mrs. muskat yes, you! you--chamber-maid, you! in my carousel---- julie who did anything in your old carousel? i paid my fare and took my seat and never said a word, except to my friend here. marie no, she never opened her mouth. liliom came over to her of his own accord. mrs. muskat it's all the same. i'm not going to get in trouble with the police, and lose my license on account of you--you shabby kitchen maid! julie shabby yourself. mrs. muskat you stay out of my carousel! letting my barker fool with you! aren't you ashamed of yourself? julie what? what did you say? mrs. muskat i suppose you think i have no eyes in my head. i see everything that goes on in my carousel. during the whole ride she let liliom fool with her--the shameless hussy! julie he did not fool with me! i don't let any man fool with me! mrs. muskat he leaned against you all through the ride! julie he leaned against the panther. he always leans against something, doesn't he? everybody leans where he wants. i couldn't tell him not to lean, if he always leans, could i? but he didn't lay a hand on me. mrs. muskat oh, didn't he? and i suppose he didn't put his hand around your waist, either? marie and if he did? what of it? mrs. muskat you hold your tongue! no one's asking you--just you keep out of it. julie he put his arm around my waist--just the same as he does to all the girls. he always does that. mrs. muskat i'll teach him not to do it any more, my dear. no carryings on in my carousel! if you are looking for that sort of thing, you'd better go to the circus! you'll find lots of soldiers there to carry on with! julie you keep your soldiers for yourself! marie soldiers! as if we wanted soldiers! mrs. muskat well, i only want to tell you this, my dear, so that we understand each other perfectly. if you ever stick your nose in my carousel again, you'll wish you hadn't! i'm not going to lose my license on account of the likes of you! people who don't know how to behave, have got to stay out! julie you're wasting your breath. if i feel like riding on your carousel i'll pay my ten heller and i'll ride. i'd like to see anyone try to stop me! mrs. muskat just come and try it, my dear--just come and try it. marie we'll see what'll happen. mrs. muskat yes, you will see something happen that never happened before in this park. julie perhaps you think you could throw me out! mrs. muskat i'm sure of it, my dear. julie and suppose i'm stronger than you? mrs. muskat i'd think twice before i'd dirty my hands on a common servant girl. i'll have liliom throw you out. he knows how to handle your kind. julie you think liliom would throw me out. mrs. muskat yes, my dear, so fast that you won't know what happened to you! julie he'd throw me---- [_stops suddenly, for mrs. muskat has turned away. both look off stage until liliom enters, surrounded by four giggling servant girls._] liliom go away! stop following me, or i'll smack your face! a little servant girl well, give me back my handkerchief. liliom go on now---- the four servant girls [_simultaneously._] what do you think of him?--my handkerchief!--give it back to her!--that's a nice thing to do! the little servant girl [_to mrs. muskat._] please, lady, make him---- mrs. muskat oh, shut up! liliom will you get out of here? [_makes a threatening gesture--the four servant girls exit in voluble but fearful haste._] mrs. muskat what have you been doing now? liliom none of your business. [_glances at julie._] have you been starting with her again? julie mister liliom, please---- liliom [_steps threateningly toward her._] don't yell! julie [_timidly._] i didn't yell. liliom well, don't. [_to mrs. muskat._] what's the matter? what has she done to you? mrs. muskat what has she done? she's been impudent to me. just as impudent as she could be! i put her out of the carousel. take a good look at this innocent thing, liliom. she's never to be allowed in my carousel again! liliom [_to julie._] you heard that. run home, now. marie come on. don't waste your time with such people. [_tries to lead julie away._] julie no, i won't---- mrs. muskat if she ever comes again, you're not to let her in. and if she gets in before you see her, throw her out. understand? liliom what has she done, anyhow? julie [_agitated and very earnest._] mister liliom--tell me please--honest and truly--if i come into the carousel, will you throw me out? mrs. muskat of course he'll throw you out. marie she wasn't talking to you. julie tell me straight to my face, mister liliom, would you throw me out? [_they face each other. there is a brief pause._] liliom yes, little girl, if there was a reason--but if there was no reason, why should i throw you out? marie [_to mrs. muskat._] there, you see! julie thank you, mister liliom. mrs. muskat and i tell you again, if this little slut dares to set her foot in my carousel, she's to be thrown out! i'll stand for no indecency in my establishment. liliom what do you mean--indecency? mrs. muskat i saw it all. there's no use denying it. julie she says you put your arm around my waist. liliom me? mrs. muskat yes, you! i saw you. don't play the innocent. liliom here's something new! i'm not to put my arm around a girl's waist any more! i suppose i'm to ask your permission before i touch another girl! mrs. muskat you can touch as many girls as you want and as often as you want--for my part you can go as far as you like with any of them--but not this one--i permit no indecency in my carousel. [_there is a long pause._] liliom [_to mrs. muskat._] and now i'll ask you please to shut your mouth. mrs. muskat what? liliom shut your mouth quick, and go back to your carousel. mrs. muskat what? liliom what did she do to you, anyhow? tryin' to start a fight with a little pigeon like that . . . just because i touched her?--you come to the carousel as often as you want to, little girl. come every afternoon, and sit on the panther's back, and if you haven't got the price, liliom will pay for you. and if anyone dares to bother you, you come and tell _me._ mrs. muskat you reprobate! liliom old witch! julie thank you, mister liliom. mrs. muskat you seem to think that i can't throw you out, too. what's the reason i can't? because you are the best barker in the park? well, you are very much mistaken. in fact, you can consider yourself thrown out already. you're discharged! liliom very good. mrs. muskat [_weakening a little._] i can discharge you any time i feel like it. liliom very good, you feel like discharging me. i'm discharged. that settles it. mrs. muskat playing the high and mighty, are you? conceited pig! good-for-nothing! liliom you said you'd throw me out, didn't you? well, that suits me; i'm thrown out. mrs. muskat [_softening._] do you have to take up every word i say? liliom it's all right; it's all settled. i'm a good-for-nothing. and a conceited pig. and i'm discharged. mrs. muskat do you want to ruin my business? liliom a good-for-nothing? now i know! and i'm discharged! very good. mrs. muskat you're a devil, you are . . . and that woman---- liliom keep away from her! mrs. muskat i'll get hollinger to give you such a beating that you'll hear all the angels sing . . . and it won't be the first time, either. liliom get out of here. i'm discharged. and you get out of here. julie [_timidly._] mister liliom, if she's willing to say that she hasn't discharged you---- liliom you keep out of this. julie [_timidly._] i don't want this to happen on account of me. liliom [_to mrs. muskat, pointing to julie._] apologize to her! marie a-ha! mrs. muskat apologize? to who? liliom to this little pigeon. well--are you going to do it? mrs. muskat if you give me this whole park on a silver plate, and all the gold of the rothschilds on top of it--i'd--i'd---- let her dare to come into my carousel again and she'll get thrown out so hard that she'll see stars in daylight! liliom in that case, dear lady [_takes off his cap with a flourish_], you are respectfully requested to get out o' here as fast as your legs will carry you--i never beat up a woman yet--except that holzer woman who i sent to the hospital for three weeks--but--if you don't get out o' here this minute, and let this little squab be, i'll give you the prettiest slap in the jaw you ever had in your life. mrs. muskat very good, my son. now you _can_ go to the devil. good-bye. you're discharged, and you needn't try to come back, either. [_she exits. it is beginning to grow dark._] marie [_with grave concern._] mister liliom---- liliom don't you pity me or i'll give _you_ a slap in the jaw. [_to julie._] and don't you pity me, either. julie [_in alarm._] i don't pity you, mister liliom. liliom you're a liar, you _are_ pitying me. i can see it in your face. you're thinking, now that madame muskat has thrown him out, liliom will have to go begging. huh! look at me. i'm big enough to get along without a madame muskat. i have been thrown out of better jobs than hers. julie what will you do now, mister liliom? liliom now? first of all, i'll go and get myself--a glass of beer. you see, when something happens to annoy me, i always drink a glass of beer. julie then you _are_ annoyed about losing your job. liliom no, only about where i'm going to get the beer. marie well--eh---- liliom well--eh--what? marie well--eh--are you going to stay with us, mister liliom? liliom will you pay for the beer? [_marie looks doubtful; he turns to julie._] will you? [_she does not answer._] how much money have you got? julie [_bashfully._] eight heller. liliom and you? [_marie casts down her eyes and does not reply. liliom continues sternly._] i asked you how much you've got? [_marie begins to weep softly._] i understand. well, you needn't cry about it. you girls stay here, while i go back to the carousel and get my clothes and things. and when i come back, we'll go to the hungarian beer-garden. it's all right, i'll pay. keep your money. [_he exits. marie and julie stand silent, watching him until he has gone._] marie are you sorry for him? julie are you? marie yes, a little. why are you looking after him in that funny way? julie [_sits down._] nothing--except i'm sorry he lost his job. marie [_with a touch of pride._] it was on our account he lost his job. because he's fallen in love with you. julie he hasn't at all. marie [_confidently._] oh, yes! he is in love with you. [_hesitantly, romantically._] there is someone in love with me, too. julie there is? who? marie i--i never mentioned it before, because you hadn't a lover of your own--but now you have--and i'm free to speak. [_very grandiloquently._] my heart has found its mate. julie you're only making it up. marie no, it's true--my heart's true love---- julie who? who is he? marie a soldier. julie what kind of a soldier? marie i don't know. just a soldier. are there different kinds? julie many different kinds. there are hussars, artillerymen, engineers, infantry--that's the kind that walks--and---- marie how can you tell which is which? julie by their uniforms. marie [_after trying to puzzle it out._] the conductors on the street cars--are they soldiers? julie certainly not. they're conductors. marie well, they have uniforms. julie but they don't carry swords or guns. marie oh! [_thinks it over again; then._] well, policemen--are they? julie [_with a touch of exasperation._] are they what? marie soldiers. julie certainly not. they're just policemen. marie [_triumphantly._] but they have uniforms--and they carry weapons, too. julie you're just as dumb as you can be. you don't go by their uniforms. marie but you said---- julie no, i didn't. a letter-carrier wears a uniform, too, but that doesn't make him a soldier. marie but if he carried a gun or a sword, would he be---- julie no, he'd still be a letter-carrier. you can't go by guns or swords, either. marie well, if you don't go by the uniforms or the weapons, what _do_ you go by? julie by---- [_tries to put it into words; fails; then breaks off suddenly._] oh, you'll get to know when you've lived in the city long enough. you're nothing but a country girl. when you've lived in the city a year, like i have, you'll know all about it. marie [_half angrily._] well, how _do_ you know when _you_ see a real soldier? julie by one thing. marie what? julie one thing---- [_she pauses. marie starts to cry._] oh, what are you crying about? marie because you're making fun of me. . . . you're a city girl, and i'm just fresh from the country . . . and how am i expected to know a soldier when i see one? . . . you, you ought to tell me, instead of making fun of me---- julie all right. listen then, cry-baby. there's only one way to tell a soldier: by his salute! that's the only way. marie [_joyfully; with a sigh of relief._] ah--that's good. julie what? marie i say--it's all right then--because wolf--wolf---- [_julie laughs derisively._] wolf--that's his name. [_she weeps again._] julie crying again? what now? marie you're making fun of me again. julie i'm not. but when you say, "wolf--wolf--" like that, i have to laugh, don't i? [_archly._] what's his name again? marie i won't tell you. julie all right. if you won't say it, then he's no soldier. marie i'll say it. julie go on. marie no, i won't. [_she weeps again._] julie then he's not a soldier. i guess he's a letter-carrier---- marie no--no--i'd rather say it. julie well, then. marie [_giggling._] but you mustn't look at me. you look the other way, and i'll say it. [_julie looks away, marie can hardly restrain her own laughter._] wolf! [_she laughs._] that's his real name. wolf, wolf, soldier--wolf! julie what kind of a uniform does he wear? marie red. julie red trousers? marie no. julie red coat? marie no. julie what then? marie [_triumphantly._] his cap! julie [_after a long pause._] he's just a porter, you dunce. red cap . . . that's a porter--and he doesn't carry a gun or a sword, either. marie [_triumphantly._] but he salutes. you said yourself that was the only way to tell a soldier---- julie he doesn't salute at all. he only greets people---- marie he salutes me. . . . and if his name _is_ wolf, that doesn't prove he ain't a soldier--he salutes, and he wears a red cap and he stands on guard all day long outside a big building---- julie what does he do there? marie [_seriously._] he spits. julie [_with contempt._] he's nothing--nothing but a common porter. marie what's liliom? julie [_indignantly._] why speak of him? what has he to do with me? marie the same as wolf has to do with me. if you can talk to me like that about wolf, i can talk to you about liliom. julie he's nothing to me. he put his arm around me in the carousel. i couldn't tell him not to put his arm around me after he had done it, could i? marie i suppose you didn't like him to do it? julie no. marie then why are you waiting for him? why don't you go home? julie why--eh--he _said_ we were to wait for him. [_liliom enters. there is a long silence._] liliom are you still here? what are you waiting for? marie you told us to wait. liliom must you always interfere? no one is talking to you. marie you asked us--why we---- liliom will you keep your mouth shut? what do you suppose i want with two of you? i meant that one of you was to wait. the other can go home. marie all right. julie all right. [_neither starts to go._] liliom one of you goes home. [_to marie._] where do you work? marie at the breier's, damjanovitsch street, number . liliom and you? julie i work there, too. liliom well, one of you goes home. which of you wants to stay? [_there is no answer._] come on, speak up, which of you stays? marie [_officiously._] she'll lose her job if she stays. liliom who will? marie julie. she has to be back by seven o'clock. liliom is that true? will they discharge you if you're not back on time? julie yes. liliom well, wasn't i discharged? julie yes--you were discharged, too. marie julie, shall i go? julie i--can't tell you what to do. marie all right--stay if you like. liliom you'll be discharged if you do? marie shall i go, julie? julie [_embarrassed._] why do you keep asking me that? marie you know best what to do. julie [_profoundly moved; slowly._] it's all right, marie, you can go home. marie [_exits reluctantly, but comes back, and says uncertainly._] good-night. [_she waits a moment to see if julie will follow her. julie does not move. marie exits. meantime it has grown quite dark. during the following scene the gas-lamps far in the distance are lighted one by one. liliom and julie sit on the bench. from afar, very faintly, comes the music of a calliope. but the music is intermittently heard; now it breaks off, now it resumes again, as if it came down on a fitful wind. blending with it are the sounds of human voices, now loud, now soft; the blare of a toy trumpet; the confused noises of the show-booths. it grows progressively darker until the end of the scene. there is no moonlight. the spring irridescence glows in the deep blue sky._] liliom now we're both discharged. [_she does not answer. from now on they speak gradually lower and lower until the end of the scene, which is played almost in whispers. whistles softly, then._] have you had your supper? julie no. liliom want to go eat something at the garden? julie no. liliom anywhere else? julie no. liliom [_whistles softly, then._] you don't come to this park very often, do you? i've only seen you three times. been here oftener than that? julie oh, yes. liliom did you see me? julie yes. liliom and did you know i was liliom? julie they told me. liliom [_whistles softly, then._] have you got a sweetheart? julie no. liliom don't lie to me. julie i haven't. if i had, i'd tell you. i've never had one. liliom what an awful liar you are. i've got a good mind to go away and leave you here. julie i've never had one. liliom tell that to someone else. julie [_reproachfully._] why do you insist i have? liliom because you stayed here with me the first time i asked you to. you know your way around, you do. julie no, i don't, mister liliom. liliom i suppose you'll tell me you don't know why you're sitting here--like this, in the dark, alone with me--you wouldn't 'a' stayed so quick, if you hadn't done it before--with some soldier, maybe. this isn't the first time. you wouldn't have been so ready to stay if it was--what _did_ you stay for, anyhow? julie so you wouldn't be left alone. liliom alone! god, you're dumb! i don't need to be alone. i can have all the girls i want. not only servant girls like you, but cooks and governesses, even french girls. i could have twenty of them if i wanted to. julie i know, mister liliom. liliom what do you know? julie that all the girls are in love with you. but that's not why _i_ stayed. i stayed because you've been so good to me. liliom well, then you can go home. julie i don't want to go home now. liliom and what if i go away and leave you sitting here? julie if you did, i wouldn't go home. liliom do you know what you remind me of? a sweetheart i had once--i'll tell you how i met her---- one night, at closing time, we had put out the lights in the carousel, and just as i was---- [_he is interrupted by the entrance of two plainclothes policemen. they take their stations on either side of the bench. they are police, searching the park for vagabonds._] first policeman what are you doing there? liliom me? second policeman stand up when you're spoken to! [_he taps liliom imperatively on the shoulder._] first policeman what's your name? liliom andreas zavoczki. [_julie begins to weep softly._] second policeman stop your bawling. we're not goin' to eat you. we are only making our rounds. first policeman see that he doesn't get away. [_the second policeman steps closer to liliom._] what's your business? liliom barker and bouncer. second policeman they call him liliom, chief. we've had him up a couple of times. first policeman so that's who you are! who do you work for now? liliom i work for the widow muskat. first policeman what are you hanging around here for? liliom we're just sitting here--me and this girl. first policeman your sweetheart? liliom no. first policeman [_to julie._] and who are you? julie julie zeller. first policeman servant girl? julie maid of all work for mister georg breier, number twenty damjanovitsch street. first policeman show your hands. second policeman [_after examining julie's hand._] servant girl. first policeman why aren't you at home? what are you doing out here with him? julie this is my day out, sir. first policeman it would be better for you if you didn't spend it sitting around with a fellow like this. second policeman they'll be disappearing in the bushes as soon as we turn our backs. first policeman he's only after your money. we know this fine fellow. he picks up you silly servant girls and takes what money you have. tomorrow you'll probably be coming around to report him. if you do, i'll throw you out. julie i haven't any money, sir. first policeman do you hear that, liliom? liliom i'm not looking for her money. second policeman [_nudging him warningly._] keep your mouth shut. first policeman it is my duty to warn you, my child, what kind of company you're in. he makes a specialty of servant girls. that's why he works in a carousel. he gets hold of a girl, promises to marry her, then he takes her money and her ring. julie but i haven't got a ring. second policeman you're not to talk unless you're asked a question. first policeman you be thankful that i'm warning you. it's nothing to me what you do. i'm not your father, thank god. but i'm telling you what kind of a fellow he is. by tomorrow morning you'll be coming around to us to report him. now you be sensible and go home. you needn't be afraid of him. this officer will take you home if you're afraid. julie do i _have_ to go? first policeman no, you don't _have_ to go. julie then i'll stay, sir. first policeman well, you've been warned. julie yes, sir. thank you, sir. first policeman come on, berkovics. [_the policemen exit. julie and liliom sit on the bench again. there is a brief pause._] julie well, and what then? liliom [_fails to understand._] huh? julie you were beginning to tell me a story. liliom me? julie yes, about a sweetheart. you said, one night, just as they were putting out the lights of the carousel---- that's as far as you got. liliom oh, yes, yes, just as the lights were going out, someone came along--a little girl with a big shawl--you know---- she came--eh--from---- say--tell me--ain't you--that is, ain't you at all--afraid of me? the officer told you what kind of a fellow i am--and that i'd take your money away from you---- julie you couldn't take it away--i haven't got any. but if i had--i'd--i'd give it to you--i'd give it all to you. liliom you would? julie if you asked me for it. liliom have you ever had a fellow you gave money to? julie no. liliom haven't you ever had a sweetheart? julie no. liliom someone you used to go walking with. you've had one like that? julie yes. liliom a soldier? julie he came from the same village i did. liliom that's what all the soldiers say. where _do_ you come from, anyway? julie not far from here. [_there is a pause._] liliom were you in love with him? julie why do you keep asking me that all the time, mister liliom? i wasn't in love with him. we only went walking together. liliom where did you walk? julie in the park. liliom and your virtue? where did you lose that? julie i haven't got any virtue. liliom well, you had once. julie no, i never had. i'm a respectable girl. liliom yes, but you gave the soldier something. julie why do you question me like that, mister liliom? liliom did you give him something? julie you have to. but i didn't love him. liliom do you love me? julie no, mister liliom. liliom then why do you stay here with me? julie um--nothing. [_there is a pause. the music from afar is plainly heard._] liliom want to dance? julie no. i have to be very careful. liliom of what? julie my--character. liliom why? julie because i'm never going to marry. if i was going to marry, it would be different. then i wouldn't need to worry so much about my character. it doesn't make any difference if you're married. but i shan't marry--and that's why i've got to take care to be a respectable girl. liliom suppose i were to say to you--i'll marry you. julie you? liliom that frightens you, doesn't it? you're thinking of what the officer said and you're afraid. julie no, i'm not, mister liliom. i don't pay any attention to what he said. liliom but you wouldn't dare to marry anyone like me, would you? julie i know that--that--if i loved anyone--it wouldn't make any difference to me what he--even if i died for it. liliom but you wouldn't marry a rough guy like me--that is,--eh--if you loved me---- julie yes, i would--if i loved you, mister liliom. [_there is a pause._] liliom [_whispers._] well,--you just said--didn't you?--that you don't love me. well, why don't you go home then? julie it's too late now, they'd all be asleep. liliom locked out? julie certainly. [_they are silent a while._] liliom i think--that even a low-down good-for-nothing--can make a man of himself. julie certainly. [_they are silent again. a lamp-lighter crosses the stage, lights the lamp over the bench, and exits._] liliom are you hungry? julie no. [_another pause._] liliom suppose--you had some money--and i took it from you? julie then you could take it, that's all. liliom [_after another brief silence._] all i have to do--is go back to her--that muskat woman--she'll be glad to get me back--then i'd be earning my wages again. [_she is silent. the twilight folds darker about them._] julie [_very softly._] don't go back--to her---- [_pause._] liliom there are a lot of acacia trees around here. [_pause._] julie don't go back to her---- [_pause._] liliom she'd take me back the minute i asked her. i know why--she knows, too---- [_pause._] julie i can smell them, too--acacia blossoms---- [_there is a pause. some blossoms drift down from the tree-top to the bench. liliom picks one up and smells it._] liliom white acacias! julie [_after a brief pause._] the wind brings them down. [_they are silent. there is a long pause before_] the curtain falls scene two scene--_a photographer's "studio," operated by the hollunders, on the fringe of the park. it is a dilapidated hovel. the general entrance is back left. back right there is a window with a sofa before it. the outlook is on the amusement park with perhaps a small ferris-wheel or the scaffolding of a "scenic-railway" in the background._ _the door to the kitchen is up left and a black-curtained entrance to the dark room is down left. just in front of the dark room stands the camera on its tripod. against the back wall, between the door and window, stands the inevitable photographer's background-screen, ready to be wheeled into place._ _it is forenoon. when the curtain rises, marie and julie are discovered._ marie and _he_ beat up hollinger? julie yes, he gave him an awful licking. marie but hollinger is bigger than he is. julie he licked him just the same. it isn't size that counts, you know, it's cleverness. and liliom's awful quick. marie and then he was arrested? julie yes, they arrested him, but they let him go the next day. that makes twice in the two months we've been living here that liliom's been arrested and let go again. marie why do they let him go? julie because he is innocent. [_mother hollunder, a very old woman, sharp-tongued, but in reality quite warm-hearted beneath her formidable exterior, enters at back carrying a few sticks of firewood, and scolding, half to herself._] mother hollunder always wanting something, but never willing to work for it. he won't work, and he won't steal, but he'll use up a poor old widow's last bit of firewood. he'll do that cheerfully enough! a big, strong lout like that lying around all day resting his lazy bones! he ought to be ashamed to look decent people in the face. julie i'm sorry, mother hollunder. . . . mother hollunder sorry! better be sorry the lazy good-for-nothing ain't in jail where he belongs instead of in the way of honest, hard-working people. [_she exits into the kitchen._] marie who's that? julie mrs. hollunder--my aunt. this is her [_with a sweeping gesture that takes in the camera, dark room and screen_] studio. she lets us live here for nothing. marie what's she fetching the wood for? julie she brings us everything we need. if it weren't for her i don't know what would become of us. she's a good-hearted soul even if her tongue is sharp. [_there is a pause._] marie [_shyly._] do you know--i've found out. he's not a soldier. julie do you still see him? marie oh, yes. julie often? marie very often. he's asked me---- julie to marry you? marie to marry me. julie you see--that proves he isn't a soldier. [_there is another pause._] marie [_abashed, yet a bit boastfully._] do you know what i'm doing--i'm flirting with him. julie flirting? marie yes. he asks me to go to the park--and i say i can't go. then he coaxes me, and promises me a new scarf for my head if i go. but i don't go--even then. . . . so then he walks all the way home with me--and i bid him good-night at the door. julie is that what you call flirting? marie um-hm! it's sinful, but it's so _thrilling._ julie do you ever quarrel? marie [_grandly._] only when our passionate love surges up. julie your passionate love? marie yes. . . . he takes my hand and we walk along together. then he wants to swing hands, but i won't let him. i say: "don't swing my hand"; and he says, "don't be so stubborn." and then he tries to swing my hand again, but still i don't let him. and for a long time i don't let him--until in the end i let him. then we walk along swinging hands--up and down, up and down--just like this. _that_ is passionate love. it's sinful, but it's awfully _thrilling._ julie you're happy, aren't you? marie happier than--anything---- but the most beautiful thing on earth is ideal love. julie what kind is that? marie daylight comes about three in the morning this time of the year. when we've been up that long we're all through with flirting and passionate love--and then our ideal love comes to the surface. it comes like this: i'll be sitting on the bench and wolf, he holds my hand tight--and he puts his cheek against my cheek and we don't talk . . . we just sit there very quiet. . . . and after a while he gets sleepy, and his head sinks down, and he falls asleep . . . but even in his sleep he holds tight to my hand. and i--i sit perfectly still just looking around me and taking long, deep breaths--for by that time it's morning and the trees and flowers are fresh with dew. but wolf doesn't smell anything because he's so fast asleep. and i get awfully sleepy myself, but i don't sleep. and we sit like that for a long time. that is ideal love---- [_there is a long pause._] julie [_regretfully; uneasily._] he went out last night and he hasn't come home yet. marie here are sixteen kreuzer. it was supposed to be carfare to take my young lady to the conservatory--eight there and eight back--but i made her walk. here--save it with the rest. julie this makes three gulden, forty-six. marie three gulden, forty-six. julie he won't work at all. marie too lazy? julie no. he never learned a trade, you see, and he can't just go and be a day-laborer--so he just does nothing. marie that ain't right. julie no. have the breiers got a new maid yet? marie they've had three since you left. you know, wolf's going to take a new job. he's going to work for the city. he'll get rent free, too. julie he won't go back to work at the carousel either. i ask him why, but he won't tell me---- last monday he hit me. marie did you hit him back? julie no. marie why don't you leave him? julie i don't want to. marie i would. i'd leave him. [_there is a strained silence._] mother hollunder [_enters, carrying a pot of water; muttering aloud._] he can play cards, all right. he can fight, too; and take money from poor servant girls. and the police turn their heads the other way---- the carpenter was here. julie is that water for the soup? mother hollunder the carpenter was here. there's a _man_ for you! dark, handsome, lots of hair, a respectable widower with two children--and money, and a good paying business. julie [_to marie._] it's three gulden sixty-six, not forty-six. marie yes, that's what i make it--sixty-six. mother hollunder he wants to take her out of this and marry her. this is the fifth time he's been here. he has two children, but---- julie please don't bother, aunt hollunder, i'll get the water myself. mother hollunder he's waiting outside now. julie send him away. mother hollunder he'll only come back again--and first thing you know that vagabond will get jealous and there'll be a fight. [_goes out, muttering._] oh, he's ready enough to fight, he is. strike a poor little girl like that! ought to be ashamed of himself! and the police just let him go on doing as he pleases. [_still scolding, she exits at back._] marie a carpenter wants to marry you? julie yes. marie why don't you? julie because---- marie liliom doesn't support you, and he beats you--he thinks he can do whatever he likes just because he's liliom. he's a bad one. julie he's not really bad. marie that night you sat on the bench together--he was gentle then. julie yes, he was gentle. marie and afterwards he got wild again. julie afterwards he got wild--sometimes. but that night on the bench . . . he was gentle. he's gentle now, sometimes, very gentle. after supper, when he stands there and listens to the music of the carousel, something comes over him--and he is gentle. marie does he say anything? julie he doesn't say anything. he gets thoughtful and very quiet, and his big eyes stare straight ahead of him. marie into your eyes? julie not exactly. he's unhappy because he isn't working. that's really why he hit me on monday. marie that's a fine reason for hitting you! beats his wife because he isn't working, the ruffian! julie it preys on his mind---- marie did he hurt you? julie [_very eagerly._] oh, no. mrs. muskat [_enters haughtily._] good morning. is liliom home? julie no. mrs. muskat gone out? julie he hasn't come home yet. mrs. muskat i'll wait for him. [_she sits down._] marie you've got a lot of gall--to come here. mrs. muskat are you the lady of the house, my dear? better look out or you'll get a slap in the mouth. marie how dare you set foot in julie's house? mrs. muskat [_to julie._] pay no attention to her, my child. you know what brings me here. that vagabond, that good-for-nothing, i've come to give him his bread and butter back. marie he's not dependent on you for his bread. mrs. muskat [_to julie._] just ignore her, my child. she's just ignorant. marie [_going._] good-bye. julie good-bye. marie [_in the doorway, calling back._] sixty-six. julie yes, sixty-six. marie good-bye. [_she exits. julie starts to go toward the kitchen._] mrs. muskat i paid him a krone a day, and on sunday a gulden. and he got all the beer and cigars he wanted from the customers. [_julie pauses on the threshold, but does not answer._] and he'd rather starve than beg my pardon. well, i don't insist on that. i'll take him back without it. [_julie does not answer._] the fact is the people ask for him--and, you see, i've got to consider business first. it's nothing to me if he starves. i wouldn't be here at all, if it wasn't for business---- [_she pauses, for liliom and ficsur have entered._] julie mrs. muskat is here. liliom i see she is. julie you might say good-morning. liliom what for? and what do _you_ want, anyhow? julie i don't want anything. liliom then keep your mouth shut. next thing you'll be starting to nag again about my being out all night and out of work and living on your relations---- julie i'm not saying anything. liliom but it's all on the tip of your tongue--i know you--now don't start or you'll get another. [_he paces angrily up and down. they are all a bit afraid of him, and shrink and look away as he passes them. ficsur shambles from place to place, his eyes cast down as if he were searching for something on the floor._] mrs. muskat [_suddenly, to ficsur._] you're always dragging him out to play cards and drink with you. i'll have you locked up, i will. ficsur i don't want to talk to you. you're too common. [_he goes out by the door at back and lingers there in plain view. there is a pause._] julie mrs. muskat is here. liliom well, why doesn't she open her mouth, if she has anything to say? mrs. muskat why do you go around with this man ficsur? he'll get you mixed up in one of his robberies first thing you know. liliom what's it to you who i go with? i do what i please. what do you want? mrs. muskat you know what i want. liliom no, i don't. mrs. muskat what do you suppose i want? think i've come just to pay a social call? liliom do i owe you anything? mrs. muskat yes, you do--but that's not what i came for. you're a fine one to come to for money! you earn so much these days! you know very well what i'm here for. liliom you've got hollinger at the carousel, haven't you? mrs. muskat sure i have. liliom well, what else do you want? he's as good as i am. mrs. muskat you're quite right, my boy. he's every bit as good as you are. i'd not dream of letting him go. but one isn't enough any more. there's work enough for two---- liliom one was enough when _i_ was there. mrs. muskat well, i might let hollinger go---- liliom why let him go, if he's so good? mrs. muskat [_shrugs her shoulders._] yes, he's good. [_not once until now has she looked at liliom._] liliom [_to julie._] ask your aunt if i can have a cup of coffee. [_julie exits into the kitchen._] so hollinger is good, is he? mrs. muskat [_crosses to him and looks him, in the face._] why don't you stay home and sleep at night? you're a sight to look at. liliom he's good, is he? mrs. muskat push your hair back from your forehead. liliom let my hair be. it's nothing to you. mrs. muskat all right. but if i'd told you to let it hang down over your eyes you'd have pushed it back--i hear you've been beating her, this--this---- liliom none of your business. mrs. muskat you're a fine fellow! beating a skinny little thing like that! if you're tired of her, leave her, but there's no use beating the poor---- liliom leave her, eh? you'd like that, wouldn't you? mrs. muskat don't flatter yourself. [_quite embarrassed._] serves me right, too. if i had any sense i wouldn't have run after you---- my god, the things one must do for the sake of business! if i could only sell the carousel i wouldn't be sitting here. . . . come, liliom, if you have any sense, you'll come back. i'll pay you well. liliom the carousel is crowded just the same . . . _without me?_ mrs. muskat crowded, yes--but it's not the same. liliom then you admit that you _do_ miss me. mrs. muskat miss you? not i. but the silly girls miss you. they're always asking for you. well, are you going to be sensible and come back? liliom and leave--her? mrs. muskat you beat her, don't you? liliom no, i don't beat her. what's all this damn fool talk about beating her? i hit her once--that was all--and now the whole city seems to be talking about it. you don't call that beating her, do you? mrs. muskat all right, all right. i take it back. i don't want to get mixed up in it. liliom beating her! as if i'd beat her---- mrs. muskat i can't make out why you're so concerned about her. you've been married to her two months--it's plain to see that you're sick of it--and out there is the carousel--and the show booths--and money--and you'd throw it all away. for what? heavens, how can anyone be such a fool? [_looks at him appraisingly._] where have you been all night? you look awful. liliom it's no business of yours. mrs. muskat you never used to look like that. this life is telling on you. [_pauses._] do you know--i've got a new organ. liliom [_softly._] i know. mrs. muskat how did you know? liliom you can hear it--from here. mrs. muskat it's a good one, eh? liliom [_wistfully._] very good. fine. it roars and snorts--so fine. mrs. muskat you should hear it close by--it's heavenly. even the carousel seems to know . . . it goes quicker. i got rid of those two horses--you know, the ones with the broken ears? liliom what have you put in their place? mrs. muskat guess. liliom zebras? mrs. muskat no--an automobile. liliom [_transported._] an automobile---- mrs. muskat yes. if you've got any sense you'll come back. what good are you doing here? out there is your _art_, the only thing you're fit for. you are an artist, not a respectable married man. liliom _leave_ her--this little---- mrs. muskat she'll be better off. she'll go back and be a servant girl again. as for you--you're an artist and you belong among artists. all the beer you want, cigars, a krone a day and a gulden on sunday, and the girls, liliom, the girls--i've always treated you right, haven't i? i bought you a watch, and---- liliom she's not that kind. she'd never be a servant girl again. mrs. muskat i suppose you think she'd kill herself. don't worry. heavens, if every girl was to commit suicide just because her---- [_finishes with a gesture._] liliom [_stares at her a moment, considering, then with sudden, smiling animation._] so the people don't like hollinger? mrs. muskat you know very well they don't, you rascal. liliom well---- mrs. muskat you've always been happy at the carousel. it's a great life--pretty girls and beer and cigars and music--a great life and an easy one. i'll tell you what--come back and i'll give you a ring that used to belong to my dear departed husband. well, will you come? liliom she's not that kind. she'd never be a servant girl again. but--but--for my part--if i decide--that needn't make any difference. i can go on living with her even if i do go back to my art---- mrs. muskat my god! liliom what's the matter? mrs. muskat who ever heard of a married man--i suppose you think all girls would be pleased to know that you were running home to your wife every night. it's ridiculous! when the people found out they'd laugh themselves sick---- liliom i know what you want. mrs. muskat [_refuses to meet his gaze._] you flatter yourself. liliom you'll give me that ring, too? mrs. muskat [_pushes the hair back from his forehead._] yes. liliom i'm not happy in this house. mrs. muskat [_still stroking his hair._] nobody takes care of you. [_they are silent. julie enters, carrying a cup of coffee. mrs. muskat removes her hand from liliom's head. there is a pause._] liliom do you want anything? julie no. [_there is a pause. she exits slowly into the kitchen._] mrs. muskat the old woman says there is a carpenter, a widower, who---- liliom i know--i know---- julie [_reëntering._] liliom, before i forget, i have something to tell you. liliom all right. julie i've been wanting to tell you--in fact, i was going to tell you yesterday---- liliom go ahead. julie but i must tell you alone--if you'll come in--it will only take a minute. liliom don't you see i'm busy now? here i am talking business and you interrupt with---- julie it'll only take a minute. liliom get out of here, or---- julie but i tell you it will only take a minute---- liliom will you get out of here? julie [_courageously._] no. liliom [_rising._] what's that! julie no. mrs. muskat [_rises, too._] now don't start fighting. i'll go out and look at the photographs in the show-case a while and come back later for your answer. [_she exits at back._] julie you can hit me again if you like--don't look at me like that. i'm not afraid of you. . . . i'm not afraid of anyone. i told you i had something to tell you. liliom well, out with it--quick. julie i can't tell you so quick. why don't you drink your coffee? liliom is that what you wanted to tell me? julie no. by the time you've drunk your coffee i'll have told you. liliom [_gets the coffee and sips it._] well? julie yesterday my head ached--and you asked me---- liliom yes---- julie well--you see--that's what it is---- liliom are you sick? julie no. . . . but you wanted to know what my headaches came from--and you said i seemed--changed. liliom did i? i guess i meant the carpenter. julie i've been--what? the carpenter? no. it's something entirely different--it's awful hard to tell--but you'll have to know sooner or later--i'm not a bit--scared--because it's a perfectly natural thing---- liliom [_puts the coffee cup on the table._] what? julie when--when a man and woman--live together---- liliom yes. julie i'm going to have a baby. [_she exits swiftly at back. there is a pause. ficsur appears at the open window and looks in._] liliom ficsur! [_ficsur sticks his head in._] say, ficsur,--julie is going to have a baby. ficsur yes? what of it? liliom nothing. [_suddenly._] get out of here. [_ficsur's head is quickly withdrawn. mrs. muskat reënters._] mrs. muskat has she gone? liliom yes. mrs. muskat i might as well give you ten kronen in advance. [_opens her purse. liliom takes up his coffee cup._] here you are. [_she proffers some coins. liliom ignores her._] why don't you take it? liliom [_very nonchalantly, his cup poised ready to drink._] go home, mrs. muskat. mrs. muskat what's the matter with you? liliom go home [_sips his coffee_] and let me finish my coffee in peace. don't you see i'm at breakfast? mrs. muskat have you gone crazy? liliom will you get out of here? [_turns to her threateningly._] mrs. muskat [_restoring the coins to her purse._] i'll never speak to you again as long as you live. liliom that worries me a lot. mrs. muskat good-bye! liliom good-bye. [_as she exits, he calls._] ficsur! [_ficsur enters._] tell me, ficsur. you said you knew a way to get a whole lot of money---- ficsur sure i do. liliom how much? ficsur more than you ever had in your life before. you leave it to an old hand like me. mother hollunder [_enters from the kitchen._] in the morning he must have his coffee, and at noon his soup, and in the evening coffee again--and plenty of firewood--and i'm expected to furnish it all. give me back my cup and saucer. [_the show booths of the amusement-park have opened for business. the familiar noises begin to sound; clear above them all, but far in the distance, sounds the organ of the carousel._] liliom now, aunt hollunder. [_from now until the fall of the curtain it is apparent that the sound of the organ makes him more and more uneasy._] mother hollunder and you, you vagabond, get out of here this minute or i'll call my son---- ficsur i have nothing to do with the likes of him. he's too common. [_but he slinks out at back._] liliom aunt hollunder! mother hollunder what now? liliom when your son was born--when you brought him into the world---- mother hollunder well? liliom nothing. mother hollunder [_muttering as she exits._] sleep it off, you good-for-nothing lout. drink and play cards all night long--that's all you know how to do--and take the bread out of poor people's mouths--you can do that, too. [_she exits._] liliom ficsur! ficsur [_at the window._] julie's going to have a baby. you told me before. liliom this scheme--about the cashier of the leather factory--there's money in it---- ficsur lots of money--but--it takes two to pull it off. liliom [_meditatively._] yes. [_uneasily._] all right, ficsur. go away--and come back later. [_ficsur vanishes. the organ in the distant carousel drones incessantly. liliom listens a while, then goes to the door and calls._] liliom aunt hollunder! [_with naïve joy._] julie's going to have a baby. [_then he goes to the window, jumps on the sofa, looks out. suddenly, in a voice that overtops the droning of the organ, he shouts as if addressing the far-off carousel._] i'm going to be a father. julie [_enters from the kitchen._] liliom! what's the matter? what's happened? liliom [_coming down from the sofa._] nothing. [_throws himself on the sofa, buries his face in the cushion. julie watches him a moment, comes over to him and covers him with a shawl. then she goes on tip-toe to the door at back and remains standing in the doorway, looking out and listening to the droning of the organ._] the curtain falls scene three scene--_the setting is the same, later that afternoon. liliom is sitting opposite ficsur, who is teaching him a song. julie hovers in the background, engaged in some household task._ ficsur listen now. here's the third verse. [_sings hoarsely._] "look out, look out, my pretty lad. the damn police are on your trail; the nicest girl you ever had has now commenced to weep and wail: look out here comes the damn police, the damn police, the damn police, look out here comes the damn police, they'll get you every time." liliom [_sings._] "look out, look out, my pretty lad. the damn police----" ficsur, liliom [_sing together._] "are on your trail the nicest girl you ever had has now commenced to weep and wail." liliom [_alone._] "look out here comes the damn police, the damn police, the damn police----" [_julie, troubled and uneasy, looks from one to the other, then exits into the kitchen._] ficsur [_when she has gone, comes quickly over to liliom and speaks furtively._] as you go down franzen street you come to the railroad embankment. beyond that--all the way to the leather factory--there's not a thing in sight, not even a watchman's hut. liliom and does he always come that way? ficsur yes. not along the embankment, but down below along the path across the fields. since last year he's been going alone. before that he always used to have someone with him. liliom every saturday? ficsur every saturday. liliom and the money? where does he keep it? ficsur in a leather bag. the whole week's pay for the workmen at the factory. liliom much? ficsur sixteen thousand kronen. quite a haul, what? liliom what's his name? ficsur linzman. he's a jew. liliom the cashier? ficsur yes--but when he gets a knife between his ribs--or if i smash his skull for him--he won't be a cashier any more. liliom does he have to be killed? ficsur no, he doesn't _have_ to be. he can give up the money _without_ being killed--but most of these cashiers are peculiar--they'd rather be killed. [_julie reënters, pretends to get something on the other side of the room, then exits at back. during the ensuing dialogue she keeps coming in and out in the same way, showing plainly that she is suspicious and anxious. she attempts to overhear what they are saying and, in spite of their caution, does catch a word here and there, which adds to her disquiet. ficsur, catching sight of her, abruptly changes the conversation._] ficsur and the next verse is: "and when you're in the prison cell they'll feed you bread and water." ficsur and liliom [_sing together._] "they'll make your little sweetheart tell them all the things you brought her. look out here comes the damn police, the damn police, the damn police. look out here comes the damn police they'll get you every time." liliom [_sings alone._] "and when you're in the prison cell they'll feed you bread and water----" [_breaks off as julie exits._] and when it's done, do we start right off for america? ficsur no. liliom what then? ficsur we bury the money for six months. that's the usual time. and after the sixth month we dig it up again. liliom and then? ficsur then you go on living just as usual for six months more--you don't touch a heller of the money. liliom in six months the baby will be born. ficsur then we'll take the baby with us, too. three months before the time you'll go to work so as to be able to say you saved up your wages to get to america. liliom which of us goes up and talks to him? ficsur one of us talks to him with his mouth and the other talks with his knife. depends on which you'd rather do. i'll tell you what--you talk to him with your mouth. liliom do you hear that? ficsur what? liliom outside . . . like the rattle of swords. [_ficsur listens. after a pause, liliom continues._] what do i say to him? ficsur you say good evening to him and: "excuse me, sir; can you tell me the time?" liliom and then what? ficsur by that time i'll have stuck him--and then you take _your_ knife---- [_he stops as a policeman enters at back._] policeman good-day! ficsur, liliom [_in unison._] good-day! ficsur [_calling toward the kitchen._] hey, photographer, come out. . . . here's a customer. [_there is a pause. the policeman waits. ficsur sings softly._] "and when you're in the prison cell they'll feed you bread and water they'll make your little sweetheart tell." liliom, ficsur [_sing together, low._] "them all the things you brought her. look out here comes the----" [_they hum the rest so as not to let the policeman hear the words "the damn police." as they sing, mrs. hollunder and her son enter._] policeman do you make cabinet photographs? young hollunder certainly, sir. [_points to a rack of photographs on the wall._] take your choice, sir. would you like one full length? policeman yes, full length. [_mother hollunder pushes out the camera while her son poses the policeman, runs from him to the camera and back again, now altering the pose, now ducking under the black cloth and pushing the camera nearer. meanwhile mother hollunder has fetched a plate from the dark room and thrust it in the camera. while this is going on, liliom and ficsur, their heads together, speak in very low tones._] liliom belong around here? ficsur not around here. liliom where, then? ficsur suburban. [_there is a pause._] liliom [_bursts out suddenly in a rather grotesquely childish and overstrained lament._] o god, what a dirty life i'm leading--god, god! ficsur [_reassuring him benevolently._] over in america it will be better, all right. liliom what's over there? ficsur [_virtuously._] factories . . . industries---- young hollunder [_to the policeman._] now, quite still, please. one, two, three. [_deftly removes the cover of the lens and in a few seconds restores it._] thank you. mother hollunder the picture will be ready in five minutes. policeman good. i'll come back in five minutes. how much do i owe you? young hollunder [_with exaggerated deference._] you don't need to pay in advance, mr. commissioner. [_the policeman salutes condescendingly and exits at back. mother hollunder carries the plate into the dark room. young hollunder, after pushing the camera back in place, follows her._] mother hollunder [_muttering angrily as she passes ficsur and liliom._] you hang around and dirty the whole place up! why don't you go take a walk? things are going so well with you that you have to sing, eh? [_confronting ficsur suddenly._] weren't you frightened sick when you saw the policeman? ficsur [_with loathing._] go 'way, or i'll step on you. [_she exits into the dark room._] liliom they like hollinger at the carousel? ficsur i should say they do. liliom did you see the muskat woman, too? ficsur sure. she takes care of hollinger's hair. liliom combs his hair? ficsur she fixes him all up. liliom let her fix him all she likes. ficsur [_urging him toward the kitchen door._] go on. now's your chance. liliom what for? ficsur to get the knife. liliom what knife? ficsur the kitchen knife. i've got a pocket-knife, but if he shows fight, we'll let him have the big knife. liliom what for? if he gets ugly, i'll bat him one over the head that'll make him squint for the rest of his life. ficsur you've got to have something on you. you can't slit his throat with a bat over the head. liliom must his throat be slit? ficsur no, it _mustn't._ but if he asks for it. [_there is a pause._] you'd like to sail on the big steamer, wouldn't you? and you want to see the factories over there, don't you? but you're not willing to inconvenience yourself a little for them. liliom if i take the knife, julie will see me. ficsur take it so she won't see you. liliom [_advances a few paces toward the kitchen. the policeman enters at back. liliom knocks on the door of the dark room._] here's the policeman! mother hollunder [_coming out._] one minute more, please. just a minute. [_she reënters the dark room. liliom hesitates a moment, then exits into the kitchen. the policeman scrutinizes ficsur mockingly. ficsur returns his stare, walks a few paces toward him, then deliberately turns his back. suddenly he wheels around, points at the policeman and addresses him in a teasing, childish tone._] christiana street at the corner of retti! policeman [_amazed, self-conscious._] how do you know that? ficsur i used to practice my profession in that neighborhood. policeman what is your profession? ficsur professor of pianola---- [_the policeman glares, aware that the man is joking with him, twirls his moustache indignantly. young hollunder comes out of the dark room and gives him the finished pictures._] young hollunder here you are, sir. [_the policeman examines the photographs, pays for them, starts to go, stops, glares at ficsur and exits. when he is gone, ficsur goes to the doorway and looks out after him. young hollunder exits. liliom reënters, buttoning his coat._] ficsur [_turns, sees liliom._] what are you staring at? liliom i'm not staring. ficsur what then are you doing? liliom i'm thinking it over. ficsur [_comes very close to him._] tell me then--what will you say to him? liliom [_unsteadily._] i'll say--"good evening--excuse me, sir--can you tell me the time?" and suppose he answers me, what do i say to him? ficsur he won't answer you. liliom don't you think so? ficsur no. [_feeling for the knife under liliom's coat._] where is it? where did you put it? liliom [_stonily._] left side. ficsur that's right--over your heart. [_feels it._] ah--there it is--there--there's the blade--quite a big fellow, isn't it--ah, here it begins to get narrower. [_reaches the tip of the knife._] and here is its eye--that's what it sees with. [_julie enters from the kitchen, passes them slowly, watching them in silent terror, then stops. ficsur nudges liliom._] sing, come on, sing! liliom [_in a quavering voice._] "look out for the damn police." ficsur [_joining in, cheerily, loudly, marking time with the swaying of his body._] "look out, look out, my pretty lad." liliom "--look out, my pretty lad." [_julie goes out at back. liliom's glance follows her. when she has gone, he turns to ficsur._] at night--in my dreams--if his ghost comes back--what will i do then? ficsur his ghost won't never come back. liliom why not? ficsur a jew's ghost don't come back. liliom well then--afterwards---- ficsur [_impatiently._] what do you mean--afterwards? liliom in the next world--when i come up before the lord god--what'll i say then? ficsur the likes of you will never come up before him. liliom why not? ficsur have you ever come up before the high court? liliom no. ficsur our kind comes up before the police magistrate--and the highest we _ever_ get is the criminal court. liliom will it be the same in the next world? ficsur just the same. we'll come up before a police magistrate, same as we did in this world. liliom a police magistrate? ficsur sure. for the rich folks--the heavenly court. for us poor people--only a police magistrate. for the rich folks--fine music and angels. for us---- liliom for us? ficsur for us, my son, there's only justice. in the next world there'll be lots of justice, yes, nothing but justice. and where there's justice there must be police magistrates; and where there're police magistrates, people like us get---- liliom [_interrupting._] good evening. excuse me, sir, can you tell me the time? [_lays his hand over his heart._] ficsur what do you put your hand there for? liliom my heart is jumping--under the knife. ficsur put it on the other side then. [_looks out at the sky._] it's time we started--we'll walk slow---- liliom it's too early. ficsur come on. [_as they are about to go, julie appears in the doorway at back, obstructing the way._] julie where are you going with him? liliom where am i going with him? julie stay home. liliom no. julie stay home. it's going to rain soon, and you'll get wet. ficsur it won't rain. julie how do you know? ficsur i always get notice in advance. julie stay home. this evening the carpenter's coming. i've asked him to give you work. liliom i'm not a carpenter. julie [_more and more anxious, though she tries to conceal it._] stay home. marie's coming with her intended to have their picture taken. she wants to introduce us to her intended husband. liliom i've seen enough intended husbands---- julie stay home. marie's bringing some money, and i'll give it all to you. liliom [_approaching the door._] i'm going--for a walk--with ficsur. we'll be right back. julie [_forcing a smile to keep back her tears._] if you stay home, i'll get you a glass of beer--or wine, if you prefer. ficsur coming or not? julie i'm not angry with you any more for hitting me. liliom [_gruffly, but his gruffness is simulated to hide the fact that he cannot bear the sight of her suffering._] stand out of the way--or i'll---- [_he clenches his fist._] let me out! julie [_trembling._] what have you got under your coat? liliom [_produces from his pocket a greasy pack of cards._] cards. julie [_trembling, speaks very low._] what's under your coat? liliom let me out! julie [_obstructing the way. speaks quickly, eagerly, in a last effort to detain him._] marie's intended knows about a place for a married couple without children to be caretakers of a house on arader street. rent free, a kitchen of your own, and the privilege of keeping chickens---- liliom get out of the way! [_julie stands aside. liliom exits. ficsur follows him. julie remains standing meditatively in the doorway. mother hollunder comes out of the kitchen._] mother hollunder i can't find my kitchen knife anywhere. have you seen anything of it? julie [_horrified._] no. mother hollunder it was on the kitchen table just a few minutes ago. no one was in there except liliom. julie he didn't take it. mother hollunder no one else was in there. julie what would liliom want with a kitchen knife? mother hollunder he'd sell it and spend the money on drink. julie it just so happens--see how unjust you are to him--it just so happens that i went through all of liliom's pockets just now--i wanted to see if he had any money on him. but he had nothing but a pack of cards. mother hollunder [_returns to the kitchen, grumbling._] cards in his pocket--cards! the fine gentlemen have evidently gone off to their club to play a little game. [_she exits. after a pause marie, happy and beaming, appears in the doorway at back, and enters, followed by wolf._] marie here we are! [_she takes wolf by the hand and leads him, grinning shyly, to julie, who has turned at her call._] hello! julie hello. marie well, we're here. julie yes. wolf [_bows awkwardly and extends his hand._] my name is wolf beifeld. julie my name is julie zeller. [_they shake hands. there is an embarrassed silence. then, to relieve the situation, wolf takes julie's hand again and shakes it vigorously._] marie well--this is wolf. wolf yes. julie yes. [_another awkward silence._] marie where is liliom? wolf yes, where is your husband? julie he's out. marie where? julie just for a walk. marie is he? julie yes. wolf oh! [_another silence._] marie wolf's got a new place. after the first of the month he won't have to stand outside any more. he's going to work in a club after the first of the month. wolf [_apologetically._] she don't know yet how to explain these things just right--hehehe---- beginning the first i'm to be second steward at the burger club--a good job, if one conducts oneself properly. julie yes? wolf the pay--is quite good--but the main thing is the tips. when they play cards there's always a bit for the steward. the tips, i may say, amount to twenty, even thirty kronen every night. marie yes. wolf we've rented two rooms for ourselves to start with--and if things go well---- marie then we'll buy a house in the country. wolf if one only tends to business and keeps honest. of course, in the country we'll miss the city life, but if the good lord sends us children--it's much healthier for children in the country. [_there is a brief pause._] marie wolf's nice looking, isn't he? julie yes. marie and he's a good boy, wolf. julie yes. marie the only thing is--he's a jew. julie oh, well, you can get used to that. marie well, aren't you going to wish us luck? julie of course i do. [_she embraces marie._] marie and aren't you going to kiss wolf, too? julie him, too. [_she embraces wolf, remains quite still a moment, her head resting on his shoulder._] wolf why are you crying, my dear mrs.---- [_he looks questioningly at marie over julie's shoulder._] marie because she has such a good heart. [_she becomes sentimental, too._] wolf [_touched._] we thank you for your heartfelt sympathy---- [_he cannot restrain his own tears. there is a pause before mother hollunder and her son enter. young hollunder immediately busies himself with the camera._] mother hollunder now if you don't mind, we'll do it right away, before it gets too dark. [_she leads marie and wolf into position before the background-screen. here they immediately fall into an awkward pose, smiling mechanically._] full length? marie please. both figures full length. mother hollunder bride and groom? marie yes. mother hollunder, young hollunder [_speak in unison, in loud professionally-expressionless tones._] the lady looks at the gentleman and the gentleman looks straight into the camera. mother hollunder [_poses first marie, then wolf._] now, if you please. young hollunder [_who has crept under the black cloth, calls in muffled tones._] that's good--that's very good! marie [_stonily rigid, but very happy, trying to speak without altering her expression._] julie, dear, do we look all right? julie yes, dear. young hollunder now, if you please, hold still. i'll count up to three, and then you must hold perfectly still. [_grasps the cover of the lens and calls threateningly._] one--two--three! [_he removes the cover; there is utter silence. but as he speaks the word "one" there is heard, very faintly in the distance, the refrain of the thieves' song which ficsur and liliom have been singing. the refrain continues until the fall of the curtain. as he speaks the word "three" everybody is perfectly rigid save julie, who lets her head sink slowly to the table. the distant refrain dies out._] the curtain falls scene four scene--_in the fields on the outskirts of the city. at back a railroad embankment crosses the stage obliquely. at center of the embankment stands a red and white signal flag, and near it a little red signal lamp which is not yet lighted. here also a wooden stairway leads up to the embankment._ _at the foot of the embankment to the right is a pile of used railroad ties. in the background a telegraph pole, beyond it a view of trees, fences and fields; still further back a factory building and a cluster of little dwellings._ _it is six o'clock of the same afternoon. dusk has begun to fall._ _liliom and ficsur are discovered on the stairway looking after the train which has just passed._ liliom can you still hear it snort? ficsur listen! [_they watch the vanishing train._] liliom if you put your ear on the tracks you can hear it go all the way to vienna. ficsur huh! liliom the one that just puffed past us--it goes all the way to vienna. ficsur no further? liliom yes--further, too. [_there is a pause._] ficsur it must be near six. [_as liliom ascends the steps._] where are you going? liliom don't be afraid. i'm not giving you the slip. ficsur why should you give me the slip? that cashier has sixteen thousand kronen on him. just be patient till he comes, then you can talk to him, nice and polite. liliom i say, "good evening--excuse me, sir; what time is it?" ficsur then he tells you what time it is. liliom suppose he don't come? ficsur [_coming down the steps._] nonsense! he's got to come. he pays off the workmen every saturday. and this is saturday, ain't it? [_liliom has ascended to the top of the stairway and is gazing along the tracks._] what are you looking at up there? liliom the tracks go on and on--there's no end to them. ficsur what's that to stare about? liliom nothing--only i always look after the train. when you stand down there at night it snorts past you, and spits down. ficsur spits? liliom yes, the engine. it spits down. and then the whole train rattles past and away--and you stand there--spat on--but it draws your eyes along with it. ficsur draws your eyes along? liliom yes--whether you want to or not, you've got to look after it--as long as the tiniest bit of it is in sight. ficsur swell people sit in it. liliom and read newspapers. ficsur and smoke cigars. liliom and inhale the smoke. [_there is a short silence._] ficsur is he coming? liliom not yet. [_silence again. liliom comes down, speaks low, confidentially._] do you hear the telegraph wires? ficsur i hear them when the wind blows. liliom even when the wind doesn't blow you can hear them humming, humming---- people talk through them. ficsur who? liliom jews. ficsur no--they telegraph. liliom they talk through them and from some other place they get answered. and it all goes through the iron strings--that's why they hum like that--they hum-m---- ficsur what do they hum? liliom they hum! ninety-nine, ninety-nine. just listen. ficsur what for? liliom that sparrow's listening, too. he's cocked one eye and looks at me as if to say: "i'd like to know what they're talking about." ficsur you're looking at a bird? liliom he's looking at me, too. ficsur listen, you're sick! there's something the matter with you. do you know what it is? money. that bird has no money, either; that's why he cocks his eye. liliom maybe. ficsur whoever has money don't cock his eye. liliom what then does he do? ficsur he does most anything he wants. but nobody works unless he has money. we'll soon have money ourselves. liliom i say, "good evening. excuse me, sir, can you tell me what time it is!" ficsur he's not coming yet. got the cards? [_liliom gives him the pack of cards._] got any money? liliom [_takes some coins from his trousers pocket and counts._] eleven. ficsur [_sits astride on the pile of ties and looks off left._] all right--eleven. liliom [_sitting astride on the ties facing him._] put it up. ficsur [_puts the money on the ties; rapidly shuffles the cards._] we'll play twenty-one. i'll bank. [_he deals deftly._] liliom [_looks at his card._] good. i'll bet the bank. ficsur must have an ace! [_deals him a second card._] liliom another one. [_he gets another card._] another. [_gets still another._] over! [_throws down his cards. ficsur gathers in the money._] come on! ficsur come on what? got no more money, have you? liliom no. ficsur then the game's over--unless you want to---- liliom what? ficsur play on credit. liliom you'll trust me? ficsur no--but--i'll deduct it. liliom deduct it from what? ficsur from your share of the money. if _you_ win you deduct from my share. liliom [_looks over his shoulder to see if the cashier is coming; nervous and ashamed._] all right. how much is bank? ficsur that cashier is bringing us sixteen thousand kronen. eight thousand of that is mine. well, then, the bank is eight thousand. liliom good. ficsur whoever has the most luck will have the most money. [_he deals._] liliom six hundred kronen. [_ficsur gives him another card._] enough. ficsur [_laying out his own cards._] twenty-one. [_he shuffles rapidly._] liliom [_moves excitedly nearer to ficsur._] well, then, double or nothing. ficsur [_dealing._] double or nothing. liliom [_gets a card._] enough. ficsur [_laying out his own cards._] twenty-one. [_shuffles rapidly again._] liliom [_in alarm._] you're not--cheating? ficsur me? do i look like a cheat? [_deals the cards again._] liliom [_glances nervously over his shoulder._] a thousand. ficsur [_nonchalantly._] kronen? liliom kronen. [_he gets a card._] another one. [_gets another card._] over again! [_like an inexperienced gambler who is losing heavily, liliom is very nervous. he plays dazedly, wildly, irrationally. from now on it is apparent that his only thought is to win his money back._] ficsur that makes twelve hundred you owe. liliom double or nothing. [_he gets a card. he is greatly excited._] another one. [_gets another card._] another. [_throws down three cards._] ficsur [_bends over and adds up the sum on the ground._] ten--fourteen--twenty-three---- you owe two thousand, four hundred. liliom now what? ficsur [_takes a card out of the deck and gives it to him._] here's the red ace. you can play double or nothing again. liliom [_eagerly._] good. [_gets another card._] enough. ficsur [_turns up his own cards._] nineteen. liliom you win again. [_almost imploring._] give me an ace again. give me the green one. [_takes a card._] double or nothing. ficsur not any more. liliom why not? ficsur because if you lose you won't be able to pay. double would be nine thousand six hundred. and you've only got eight thousand altogether. liliom [_greatly excited._] that--that--i call that--a dirty trick! ficsur three thousand, two hundred. that's all you can put up. liliom [_eagerly._] all right, then--three thousand, two hundred. [_ficsur deals him a card._] enough. ficsur i've got an ace myself. now we'll have to take our time and squeeze 'em. [_liliom pushes closer to him, as he takes up his cards and slowly, intently unfolds them._] twenty-one. [_he quickly puts the cards in his pocket. there is a pause._] liliom now--now--i'll tell you now--you're a crook, a low-down---- [_now linzman enters at right. he is a strong, robust, red-bearded jew about years of age. at his side he carries a leather bag slung by a strap from his shoulder. ficsur coughs warningly, moves to the right between linzman and the embankment, pauses just behind linzman and follows him. liliom stands bewildered a few paces to the left of the railroad ties. he finds himself facing linzman. trembling in every limb._] good evening. excuse me, sir, can you tell me the time? [_ficsur springs silently at linzman, the little knife in his right hand. but linzman catches ficsur's right hand with his own left and forces ficsur to his knees. simultaneously linzman thrusts his right hand into his coat pocket and produces a revolver which he points at liliom's breast. liliom is standing two paces away from the revolver. there is a long pause._] linzman [_in a low, even voice._] it is twenty-five minutes past six. [_pauses, looks ironically down at ficsur._] it's lucky i grabbed the hand with the knife instead of the other one. [_pauses again, looks appraisingly from one to the other._] two fine birds! [_to ficsur._] i should live so--rothschild has more luck than you. [_to liliom._] i'd advise you to keep nice and quiet. if you make one move, you'll get two bullets in you. just look into the barrel. you'll see some little things in there made of lead. ficsur let me go. i didn't do anything. linzman [_mockingly shakes the hand which still holds the knife._] and this? what do you call this? oh, yes, i know. you thought i had an apple in my pocket, and you wanted to peel it. that's it. forgive me for my error. i beg your pardon, sir. liliom but i--i---- linzman yes, my son, i know. it's so simple. you only asked what time it is. well, it's twenty-five minutes after six. ficsur let us go, honorable sir. we didn't do anything to you. linzman in the first place, my son, i'm not an honorable sir. in the second place, for the same money, you could have said your excellency. but in the third place you'll find it very hard to beg off by flattering me. liliom but i--_i_ really didn't do anything to you. linzman look behind you, my boy. don't be afraid. look behind you, but don't run away or i'll have to shoot you down. [_liliom turns his head slowly around._] who's coming up there? liliom [_looking at linzman._] policemen. linzman [_to ficsur._] you hold still, or---- [_to liliom teasingly._] how many policemen are there? liliom [_his eyes cast down._] two. linzman and what are the policemen sitting on? liliom horses. linzman and which can run faster, a horse or a man? liliom a horse. linzman there, you see. it would be hard to get away now. [_laughs._] i never saw such an unlucky pair of highway robbers. i can't imagine worse luck. just today i had to put a pistol in my pocket. and even if i hadn't--old linzman is a match for four like you. but even that isn't all. did you happen to notice, you oxen, what direction i came from? from the factory, didn't i? when i _went_ there i had a nice bit of money with me. sixteen thousand crowns! but now--not a heller. [_calls off left._] hey, come quicker, will you? this fellow is pulling pretty strong. [_ficsur frees himself with a mighty wrench and darts rapidly off. as linzman aims his pistol at the vanishing ficsur, liliom runs up the steps to the embankment. linzman hesitates, perceives that liliom is the better target, points the pistol at him._] stop, or i'll shoot! [_calls off left to the policemen._] why don't you come down off your horses? [_his pistol is leveled at liliom, who stands on the embankment, facing the audience. from the left on the embankment a policeman appears, revolver in hand._] first policeman stop! linzman well, my boy, do you still want to know what time it is? from ten to twelve years in prison! liliom you won't get me! [_linzman laughs derisively. liliom is now three or four paces from the policeman and equally distant from linzman. his face is uplifted to the sky. he bursts into laughter, half defiant, half self-pitying, and takes the kitchen knife from under his coat._] julie---- [_the ring of farewell is in the word. he turns sideways, thrusts the knife deep in his breast, sways, falls and rolls down the far side of the embankment. there is a long pause. from the left up on the embankment come the two policemen._] linzman what's the matter? [_the first policeman comes along the embankment as far as the steps, looks down in the opposite side, then climbs down at about the spot where liliom disappeared. linzman and the other policeman mount the embankment and look down on him._] stabbed himself? voice of first policeman yes--and he seems to have made a thorough job of it. linzman [_excitedly to the second policeman._] i'll go and telephone to the hospital. [_he runs down the steps and exits at left._] second policeman go to eisler's grocery store and telephone to the factory from there. they've a doctor there, too. [_calling down to the other policeman._] i'm going to tie up the horses. [_comes down the steps and exits at left. the stage is empty. there is a pause. the little red signal lamp is lit._] voice of first policeman hey, stephan! voice of second policeman what? voice of first policeman shall i pull the knife out of his chest? voice of second policeman better not, or he may bleed to death. [_there is a pause._] voice of first policeman stephan! voice of second policeman yes. voice of first policeman lot of mosquitoes around here. voice of second policeman yes. voice of first policeman got a cigar? voice of second policeman no. [_there is a pause. the first policeman appears over the opposite side of the embankment._] first policeman a lot of good the new pay-schedule's done us--made things worse than they used to be--we _get_ more but we _have_ less than we ever had. if the government could be made to realize that. it's a thankless job at best. you work hard year after year, you get gray in the service, and slowly you die--yes. second policeman that's right. first policeman yes. [_in the distance is heard the bell of the signal tower._] the curtain falls scene five scene--_the photographic "studio" a half hour later that same evening._ _mother hollunder, her son, marie and wolf stand in a group back right, their heads together. julie stands apart from them, a few paces to the left._ young hollunder [_who has just come in, tells his story excitedly._] they're bringing him now. two workmen from the factory are carrying him on a stretcher. wolf where is the doctor? young hollunder a policeman telephoned to headquarters. the police-surgeon ought to be here any minute. marie maybe they'll pull him through after all. young hollunder he stabbed himself too deep in his chest. but he's still breathing. he can still talk, too, but very faintly. at first he lay there unconscious, but when they put him on the stretcher he came to. wolf that was from the shaking. marie we'd better make room. [_they make room. two workmen carry in liliom on a stretcher which has four legs and stands about as high as a bed. they put the stretcher at left directly in front of the sofa, so that the head is at right and the foot at left. then they unobtrusively join the group at the door. later, they go out. julie is standing at the side of the stretcher, where, without moving, she can see liliom's face. the others crowd emotionally together near the door. the first policeman enters._] first policeman are you his wife? julie yes. first policeman the doctor at the factory who bandaged him up forbade us to take him to the hospital.--dangerous to move him that far. what he needs now is rest. just let him be until the police-surgeon comes. [_to the group near the door._] he's not to be disturbed. [_they make way for him. he exits. there is a pause._] wolf [_gently urging the others out._] please--it's best if we all get out of here now. we'll only be in the way. marie [_to julie._] julie, what do you think? [_julie looks at her without answering._] julie, can i do anything to help? [_julie does not answer._] we'll be just outside on the bench if you want us. [_mother hollunder and her son have gone out when first requested. now marie and wolf exit, too. julie sits on the edge of the stretcher and looks at liliom. he stretches his hand out to her. she clasps it. it is not quite dark yet. both of them can still be plainly seen._] liliom [_raises himself with difficulty; speaks lightly at first, but later soberly, defiantly._] little--julie--there's something--i want to tell you--like when you go to a restaurant--and you've finished eating--and it's time--to pay--then you have to count up everything--everything you owe--well--i beat you--not because i was mad at you--no--only because i can't bear to see anyone crying. you always cried--on my account--and, well, you see,--i never learned a trade--what kind of a caretaker would i make? but anyhow--i wasn't going back to the carousel to fool with the girls. no, i spit on them all--understand? julie yes. liliom and--as for hollinger--he's good enough--mrs. muskat can get along all right with him. the jokes he tells are mine--and the people laugh when he tells them--but i don't care.--i didn't give you anything--no home--not even the food you ate--but you don't understand.--it's true i'm not much good--but i couldn't be a caretaker--and so i thought maybe it would be better over there--in america--do you see? julie yes. liliom i'm not asking--forgiveness--i don't do that--i don't. tell the baby--if you like. julie yes. liliom tell the baby--i wasn't much good--but tell him--if you ever talk about me--tell him--i thought--perhaps--over in america--but that's no affair of yours. i'm not asking forgiveness. for my part the police can come now.--if it's a boy--if it's a girl.--perhaps i'll see the lord god today.--do you think i'll see him? julie yes. liliom i'm not afraid--of the police up there--if they'll only let me come up in front of the lord god himself--not like down here where an officer stops you at the door. if the carpenter asks you--yes--be his wife--marry him. and the child--tell him he's his father.--he'll believe you--won't he? julie yes. liliom when i beat you--i was right.--you mustn't always think--you mustn't always be right.--liliom can be right once, too.--it's all the same to me who was right.--it's so dumb. nobody's right--but they all think they are right.--a lot they know! julie yes. liliom julie--come--hold my hand tight. julie i'm holding it tight--all the time. liliom tighter, still tighter--i'm going---- [_pauses._] julie---- julie good-bye. [_liliom sinks slowly back and dies. julie frees her hand. the doctor enters with the first policeman._] doctor good evening. his wife? julie yes, sir. [_behind the doctor and policeman enter marie, wolf, mother hollunder, young hollunder and mrs. muskat. they remain respectfully at the doorway. the doctor bends over liliom and examines him._] doctor a light, if you please. [_julie fetches a burning candle from the dark room. the doctor examines liliom briefly in the candle-light, then turns suddenly away._] have you pen and ink? wolf [_proffering a pen._] a fountain-pen--american---- doctor [_takes a printed form from his pocket; speaks as he writes out the death-certificate at the little table._] my poor woman, your husband is dead--there's nothing to be done for him--the good god will help him now--i'll leave this certificate with you. you will give it to the people from the hospital when they come--i'll arrange for the body to be removed at once. [_rises._] please give me a towel and soap. policeman i've got them for you out here, sir. [_points to door at back._] doctor god be with you, my good woman. julie thank you, sir. [_the doctor and policeman exit. the others slowly draw nearer._] marie poor julie. may he rest in peace, poor man, but as for you--please don't be angry with me for saying it--but you're better off this way. mother hollunder he is better off, the poor fellow, and so are you. marie much better, julie . . . you are young . . . and one of these days some good man will come along. am i right? wolf she's right. marie julie, tell me, am i right? julie you are right, dear; you are very good. young hollunder there's a good man--the carpenter. oh, i can speak of it now. he comes here every day on some excuse or other--and he never fails to ask for you. marie a widower--with two children. mother hollunder he's better off, poor fellow--and so are you. he was a bad man. marie he wasn't good-hearted. was he, wolf? wolf no, i must say, he really wasn't. no, liliom wasn't a good man. a good man doesn't strike a woman. marie am i right? tell me, julie, am i right? julie you are right, dear. young hollunder it's really a good thing for her it happened. mother hollunder he's better off--and so is she. wolf now you have your freedom again. how old are you? julie eighteen. wolf eighteen. a mere child! am i right? julie you are right, wolf. you are kind. young hollunder lucky for you it happened, isn't it? julie yes. young hollunder all you had before was bad luck. if it weren't for my mother you wouldn't have had a roof over your head or a bite to eat--and now autumn's coming and winter. you couldn't have lived in this shack in the winter time, could you? marie certainly not! you'd have frozen like the birds in the fields. am i right, julie? julie yes, marie. marie a year from now you will have forgotten all about him, won't you? julie you are right, marie. wolf if you need anything, count on us. we'll go now. but tomorrow morning we'll be back. come, marie. god be with you. [_offers julie his hand._] julie god be with you. marie [_embraces julie, weeping._] it's the best thing that could have happened to you, julie, the best thing. julie don't cry, marie. [_marie and wolf exit._] mother hollunder i'll make a little black coffee. you haven't had a thing to eat today. then you'll come home with us. [_mother hollunder and her son exit. mrs. muskat comes over to julie._] mrs. muskat would you mind if i--looked at him? julie he used to work for you. mrs. muskat [_contemplates the body; turns to julie._] won't you make up with me? julie i wasn't angry with you. mrs. muskat but you were. let's make it up. julie [_raising her voice eagerly, almost triumphantly._] i've nothing to make up with _you._ mrs. muskat but i have with you. everyone says hard things against the poor dead boy--except us two. you don't say he was bad. julie [_raising her voice yet higher, this time on a defiant, wholly triumphant note._] yes, i _do._ mrs. muskat i understand, my child. but he beat me, too. what does that matter? i've forgotten it. julie [_from now on answers her coldly, drily, without looking at her._] that's your own affair. mrs. muskat if i can help you in any way---- julie there's nothing i need. mrs. muskat i still owe him two kronen, back pay. julie you should have paid him. mrs. muskat now that the poor fellow is dead i thought perhaps it would be the same if i paid you. julie i've nothing to do with it. mrs. muskat all right. please don't think i'm trying to force myself on you. i stayed because we two are the only ones on earth who loved him. that's why i thought we ought to stick together. julie no, thank you. mrs. muskat then you couldn't have loved him as i did. julie no. mrs. muskat i loved him better. julie yes. mrs. muskat good-bye. julie good-bye. [_mrs. muskat exits. julie puts the candle on the table near liliom's head, sits on the edge of the stretcher, looks into the dead man's face and caresses it tenderly._] sleep, liliom, sleep--it's no business of hers--i never even told you--but now i'll tell you--now i'll tell you--you bad, quick-tempered, rough, unhappy, wicked--_dear_ boy--sleep peacefully, liliom--they can't understand how i feel--i can't even explain to you--not even to you--how i feel--you'd only laugh at me--but you can't hear me any more. [_between tender motherliness and reproach, yet with great love in her voice._] it was wicked of you to beat me--on the breast and on the head and face--but you're gone now.--you treated me badly--that was wicked of you--but sleep peacefully, liliom--you bad, bad boy, you--i love you--i never told you before--i was ashamed--but now i've told you--i love you, liliom--sleep--my boy--sleep. [_she rises, gets a bible, sits down near the candle and reads softly to herself, so that, not the words, but an inarticulate murmur is heard. the carpenter enters at back._] carpenter [_stands near the door; in the dimness of the room he can scarcely be seen._] miss julie---- julie [_without alarm._] who is that? carpenter [_very slowly._] the carpenter. julie what does the carpenter want? carpenter can i be of help to you in any way? shall i stay here with you? julie [_gratefully, but firmly._] don't stay, carpenter. carpenter shall i come back tomorrow? julie not tomorrow, either. carpenter don't be offended, miss julie, but i'd like to know--you see, i'm not a young man any more--i have two children--and if i'm to come back any more--i'd like to know--if there's any use---- julie no use, carpenter. carpenter [_as he exits._] god be with you. [_julie resumes her reading. ficsur enters, slinks furtively sideways to the stretcher, looks at liliom, shakes his head. julie looks up from her reading. ficsur takes fright, slinks away from the stretcher, sits down at right, biting his nails. julie rises. ficsur rises, too, and looks at her half fearfully. with her piercing glance upon him he slinks to the doorway at back, where he pauses and speaks._] ficsur the old woman asked me to tell you that coffee is ready, and you are to come in. [_julie goes to the kitchen door. ficsur withdraws until she has closed the door behind her. then he reappears in the doorway, stands on tiptoes, looks at liliom, then exits. now the body lies alone. after a brief silence music is heard, distant at first, but gradually coming nearer. it is very much like the music of the carousel, but slower, graver, more exalted. the melody, too, is the same, yet the tempo is altered and contrapuntal measures of the thieves' song are intertwined in it. two men in black, with heavy sticks, soft black hats and black gloves, appear in the doorway at back and stride slowly into the room. their faces are beardless, marble white, grave and benign. one stops m front of the stretcher, the other a pace to the right. from above a dim violet light illuminates their faces._] the first [_to liliom._] rise and come with us. the second [_politely._] you're under arrest. the first [_somewhat louder, but always in a gentle, low, resonant voice._] do you hear? rise. don't you hear? the second we are the police. the first [_bends down, touches liliom's shoulder._] get up and come with us. [_liliom slowly sits up._] the second come along. the first [_paternally._] these people suppose that when they die all their difficulties are solved for them. the second [_raising his voice sternly._] that simply by thrusting a knife in your heart and making it stop beating you can leave your wife behind with a child in her womb---- the first it is not as simple as that. the second such things are not settled so easily. the first come along. you will have to give an account of yourself. [_as both bow their heads, he continues softly._] we are god's police. [_an expression of glad relief lights upon liliom's face. he rises from the stretcher._] come. the second you mortals don't get off quite as easy as that. the first [_softly._] come. [_liliom starts to walk ahead of them, then stops and looks at them._] the end is not as abrupt as that. your name is still spoken. your face is still remembered. and what you said, and what you did, and what you failed to do--these are still remembered. remembered, too, are the manner of your glance, the ring of your voice, the clasp of your hand and how your step sounded--as long as one is left who remembers you, so long is the matter unended. before the end there is much to be undone. until you are quite forgotten, my son, you will not be finished with the earth--even though you _are_ dead. the second [_very gently._] come. [_the music begins again. all three exit at back, liliom leading, the others following. the stage is empty and quite dark save for the candle which burns by the stretcher, on which, in the shadows, the covers are so arranged that one cannot quite be sure that a body is not still lying. the music dies out in the distance as if it had followed liliom and the two policemen. the candle flickers and goes out. there is a brief interval of silence and total darkness before_ the curtain falls scene six scene--_in the beyond. a whitewashed courtroom. there is a green-topped table; behind it a bench. back center is a door with a bell over it. next to this door is a window through which can be seen a vista of rose-tinted clouds._ _down right there is a grated iron door. down left another door._ _two men are on the bench when the curtain rises. one is richly, the other poorly dressed._ _from a great distance is heard a fanfare of trumpets playing the refrain, of the thieves' song in slow, altered tempo._ _passing the window at back appear liliom and the two policemen._ _the bell rings._ _an old guard enters at right. he is bald and has a long white beard. he wears the conventional police uniform._ _he goes to the door at back, opens it, exchanges silent greetings with the two policemen and closes the door again._ _liliom looks wonderingly around._ the first [_to the old guard._] announce us. [_the guard exits at left._] liliom is this it? the second yes, my son. liliom this is the police court? the second yes, my son. the part for suicide cases. liliom and what happens here? the first here justice is done. sit down. [_liliom sits next to the two men. the two policemen stand silent near the table._] the richly dressed man [_whispers._] suicide, too? liliom yes. the richly dressed man [_points to the poorly dressed man._] so's he. [_introducing himself._] my name is reich. the poorly dressed man [_whispers, too._] my name is stephen kadar. [_liliom only looks at them._] the poorly dressed man and you? what's your name? liliom none of your business. [_both move a bit away from him._] the poorly dressed man i did it by jumping out of a window. the richly dressed man i did it with a pistol--and you? liliom with a knife. [_they move a bit further away from him._] the richly dressed man a pistol is cleaner. liliom if i had the price of a pistol---- the second silence! [_the police magistrate enters. he has a long white beard, is bald, but only in profile can be seen on his head a single tuft of snow-white hair. the guard reënters behind him and sits on the bench with the dead men. as the magistrate enters, all rise, except liliom, who remains surlily seated. when the magistrate sits down, so do the others._] the guard yesterday's cases, your honor. the numbers are entered in the docket. the magistrate number , . the first [_looks in his notebook, beckons the richly dressed man._] stand up, please. [_the richly dressed man rises._] the magistrate your name? the richly dressed man doctor reich. the magistrate age? the richly dressed man forty-two, married, jew. the magistrate [_with a gesture of dismissal._] religion does not interest us here--why did you kill yourself? the richly dressed man on account of debts. the magistrate what good did you do on earth? the richly dressed man i was a lawyer---- the magistrate [_coughs significantly._] yes--we'll discuss that later. for the present i shall only ask you: would you like to go back to earth once more before sunrise? i advise you that you have the right to go if you choose. do you understand? the richly dressed man yes, sir. the magistrate he who takes his life is apt, in his haste and his excitement, to forget something. is there anything important down there you have left undone? something to tell someone? something to undo? the richly dressed man my debts---- the magistrate they do not matter here. here we are concerned only with the affairs of the soul. the richly dressed man then--if you please--when i left--the house--my youngest son, oscar--was asleep. i didn't trust myself to wake him--and bid him good-bye. i would have liked--to kiss him good-bye. the magistrate [_to the second._] you will take dr. reich back and let him kiss his son oscar. the second come with me, please. the richly dressed man [_to the magistrate._] i thank you. [_he bows and exits at back with the second._] the magistrate [_after making an entry in the docket._] number , . the first [_looks in his notebook, then beckons liliom._] stand up. liliom you said _please_ to him. [_he rises._] the magistrate your name? liliom liliom. the magistrate isn't that your nickname? liliom yes. the magistrate what is your right name? liliom andreas. the magistrate and your last name? liliom zavocki--after my mother. the magistrate your age? liliom twenty-four. the magistrate what good did _you_ do on earth? [_liliom is silent._] why did you take your life? [_liliom does not answer. the magistrate addresses the first._] take that knife away from him. [_the first does so._] it will be returned to you, if you go back to earth. liliom do i go back to earth again? the magistrate just answer my questions. liliom i wasn't answering then, i was asking if---- the magistrate you don't ask questions here. you only answer. only answer, andreas zavocki! i ask you whether there is anything on earth you neglected to accomplish? anything down there you would like to do? liliom yes. the magistrate what is it? liliom i'd like to break ficsur's head for him. the magistrate punishment is our office. is there nothing else on earth you'd like to do? liliom i don't know--i guess, as long as i'm here, i'll not go back. the magistrate [_to the first._] note that. he waives his right. [_liliom starts back to the bench._] stay where you are. you are aware that you left your wife without food or shelter? liliom yes. the magistrate don't you regret it? liliom no. the magistrate you are aware that your wife is pregnant, and that in six months a child will be born? liliom i know. the magistrate and that the child, too, will be without food or shelter? do you regret that? liliom as long as i won't be there, what's it got to do with me? the magistrate don't try to deceive us, andreas zavocki. we see through you as through a pane of glass. liliom if you see so much, what do you want to ask me for? why don't you let me rest--in peace? the magistrate first you must earn your rest. liliom i want--only--to sleep. the magistrate your obstinacy won't help you. here patience is endless as time. we can wait. liliom can i ask something--i'd like to know--if your honor will tell me--whether the baby will be a boy or a girl. the magistrate you shall see that for yourself. liliom [_excitedly._] i'll see the baby? the magistrate when you do it won't be a baby any more. but we haven't reached that question yet. liliom i'll see it? the magistrate again i ask you: do you not regret that you deserted your wife and child; that you were a bad husband, a bad father? liliom a bad husband? the magistrate yes. liliom and a bad father? the magistrate that, too. liliom i couldn't get work--and i couldn't bear to see julie--all the time--all the time---- the magistrate weeping! why are you ashamed to say it? you couldn't bear to see her weeping. why are you afraid of that word? and why are you ashamed that you loved her? liliom [_shrugs his shoulders._] who's ashamed? but i couldn't bear to see her--and that's why i was bad to her. you see, it wouldn't do to go back to the carousel--and ficsur came along with his talk about--that other thing--and all of a sudden it happened, i don't know how. the police and the jew with the pistol--and there i stood--and i'd lost the money playing cards--and i didn't want to be put in prison. [_demanding justification._] maybe i was wrong not to go out and steal when there was nothing to eat in the house? should i have gone out to steal for julie? the magistrate [_emphatically._] yes. liliom [_after an astounded pause._] the police down there never said that. the magistrate you beat that poor, frail girl; you beat her because she loved you. how could you do that? liliom we argued with each other--she said this and i said that--and because she was right i couldn't answer her--and i got mad--and the anger rose up in me--until it reached here [_points to his throat_] and then i beat her. the magistrate are you sorry? liliom [_shakes his head, but cannot utter the word "no"; continues softly._] when i touched her slender throat--then--if you like--you might say---- [_falters, looks embarrassed at the magistrate._] the magistrate [_confidently expectant._] are you sorry? liliom [_with a stare._] i'm not sorry for anything. the magistrate liliom, liliom, it will be difficult to help you. liliom i'm not asking any help. the magistrate you were offered employment as a caretaker on arader street. [_to the first._] where is that entered? the first in the small docket. [_hands him the open book. the magistrate looks in it._] the magistrate rooms, kitchen, quarterly wages, the privilege of keeping poultry. why didn't you accept it? liliom i'm not a caretaker. i'm no good at caretaking. to be a caretaker--you have to be a caretaker---- the magistrate if i said to you now: liliom, go back on your stretcher. tomorrow morning you will arise alive and well again. would you be a caretaker then? liliom no. the magistrate why not? liliom because--because that's just why i died. the magistrate that is not true, my son. you died because you loved little julie and the child she is bearing under her heart. liliom no. the magistrate look me in the eye. liliom [_looks him in the eye._] no. the magistrate [_stroking his beard._] liliom, liliom, if it were not for our heavenly patience---- go back to your seat. number , . the first [_looks in his note book._] stephan kadar. [_the poorly dressed man rises._] the magistrate you came out today? the poorly dressed man today. the magistrate [_indicating the crimson sea of clouds._] how long were you in there? the poorly dressed man thirteen years. the magistrate officer, you went to earth with him? the first yes, sir. the magistrate stephan kadar, after thirteen years of purification by fire you returned to earth to give proof that your soul had been burned clean. what good deed did you perform? the poorly dressed man when i came to the village and looked in the window of our cottage i saw my poor little orphans sleeping peacefully. but it was raining and the rain beat into the room through a hole in the roof. so i went and fixed the roof so it wouldn't rain in any more. my hammering woke them up and they were afraid. but their mother came in to them and comforted them. she said to them: "don't cry! it's your poor, dear father hammering up there. he's come back from the other world to fix the roof for us." the magistrate officer? the first that's what happened. the magistrate stephan kadar, you have done a good deed. what you did will be written in books to gladden the hearts of children who read them. [_indicates the door at left._] the door is open to you. the eternal light awaits you. [_the first escorts the poorly dressed man out at left with great deference._] liliom! [_liliom rises._] you have heard? liliom yes. the magistrate when this man first appeared before us he was as stubborn as you. but now he has purified himself and withstood the test. he has done a good deed. liliom what's he done, anyhow? any roofer can fix a roof. it's much harder to be a barker in an amusement park. the magistrate liliom, you shall remain for sixteen years in the crimson fire until your child is full grown. by that time your pride and your stubbornness will have been burnt out of you. and when your daughter---- liliom my daughter! the magistrate when your daughter has reached the age of sixteen---- [_liliom bows his head, covers his eyes with his hands, and to keep from weeping laughs defiantly, sadly._] the magistrate when your daughter has reached the age of sixteen you will be sent for one day back to earth. liliom me? the magistrate yes--just as you may have read in the legends of how the dead reappear on earth for a time. liliom i never believed them. the magistrate now you see they are true. you will go back to earth one day to show how far the purification of your soul has progressed. liliom then i must show what i can do--like when you apply for a job--as a coachman? the magistrate yes--it is a test. liliom and will i be told what i have to do? the magistrate no. liliom how will i know, then? the magistrate you must decide that for yourself. that's what you burn sixteen years for. and if you do something good, something splendid for your child, then---- liliom [_laughs sadly._] then? [_all stand up and bow their heads reverently. there is a pause._] then? the magistrate now i'll bid you farewell, liliom. sixteen years and a day shall pass before i see you again. when you have returned from earth you will come up before me again. take heed and think well of some good deed to do for your child. on that will depend which door shall be opened to you up here. now go, liliom. [_he exits at left. the guard stands at attention. there is a pause._] the first [_approaches liliom._] come along, my son. [_he goes to the door at right; pulls open the bolt and waits._] liliom [_to the old guard, softly._] say, officer. the guard what do you want? liliom please--can i get--have you got----? the guard what? liliom [_whispers._] a cigarette? [_the old guard stares at him, goes a few paces to the left, shakes his head disapprovingly. then his expression softens. he takes a cigarette from his pocket and, crossing to liliom--who has gone over to the door at right--gives him the cigarette. the first throws open the door. an intense rose-colored light streams in. the glow of it is so strong that it blinds liliom and he takes a step backward and bows his head and covers his eyes with his hand before he steps forward into the light._] the curtain falls scene seven scene--_sixteen years later. a small, tumble-down house on a bare, unenclosed plot of ground. before the house is a tiny garden enclosed by a hip-high hedge._ _at back a wooden fence crosses the stage; in the center of it is a door large enough to admit a wagon. beyond the fence is a view of a suburban street which blends into a broad vista of tilled fields._ _it is a bright sunday in spring._ _in the garden a table for two is laid._ _julie, her daughter louise, wolf and marie are discovered in the garden. wolf is prosperously dressed, marie somewhat elaborately, with a huge hat._ julie you could stay for lunch. marie impossible, dear. since he became the proprietor of the café sorrento, wolf simply has to be there all the time. julie but you needn't stay there all day, too. marie oh, yes. i sit near the cashier's cage, read the papers, keep an eye on the waiters and drink in the bustle and excitement of the great city. julie and what about the children? marie you know what modern families are like. parents scarcely ever see their children these days. the four girls are with their governess, the three boys with their tutor. louise auntie, dear, do stay and eat with us. marie [_importantly._] impossible today, dear child, impossible. perhaps some other time. come, mr. beifeld. julie since when do you call your husband mister? wolf i'd rather she did, dear lady. when we used to be very familiar we quarreled all the time. now we are formal with each other and get along like society folk. i kiss your hand, dear lady. julie good-bye, wolf. marie adieu, my dear. [_they embrace._] adieu, my dear child. louise good-bye, aunt marie. good-bye, uncle wolf. [_wolf and marie exit._] julie you can get the soup now, louise dear. [_louise goes into the house and reënters with the soup. they sit at the table._] louise mother, is it true we're not going to work at the jute factory any more? julie yes, dear. louise where then? julie uncle wolf has gotten us a place in a big establishment where they make all kinds of fittings for cafés. we're to make big curtains, you know, the kind they hang in the windows, with lettering on them. louise it'll be nicer there than at the jute factory. julie yes, dear. the work isn't as dirty and pays better, too. a poor widow like your mother is lucky to get it. [_they eat. liliom and the two heavenly policemen appear in the big doorway at back. the policemen pass slowly by. liliom stands there alone a moment, then comes slowly down and pauses at the opening of the hedge. he is dressed as he was on the day of his death. he is very pale, but otherwise unaltered. julie, at the table, has her back to him. louise sits facing the audience._ liliom good day. louise good day. julie another beggar! what is it you want, my poor man? liliom nothing. julie we have no money to give, but if you care for a plate of soup---- [_louise goes into the house._] have you come far today? liliom yes--very far. julie are you tired? liliom very tired. julie over there at the gate is a stone. sit down and rest. my daughter is bringing you the soup. [_louise comes out of the house._] liliom is that your daughter? julie yes. liliom [_to louise._] you are the daughter? louise yes, sir. liliom a fine, healthy girl. [_takes the soup plate from her with one hand, while with the other he touches her arm. louise draws back quickly._] louise [_crosses to julie._] mother! julie what, my child? louise the man tried to take me by the arm. julie nonsense! you only imagined it, dear. the poor, hungry man has other things to think about than fooling with young girls. sit down and eat your soup. [_they eat._] liliom [_eats, too, but keeps looking at them._] you work at the factory, eh? julie yes. liliom your daughter, too? louise yes. liliom and your husband? julie [_after a pause._] i have no husband. i'm a widow. liliom a widow? julie yes. liliom your husband--i suppose he's been dead a long time. [_julie does not answer._] i say--has your husband been dead a long time? julie a long time. liliom what did he die of? [_julie is silent._] louise no one knows. he went to america to work and he died there--in the hospital. poor father, i never knew him. liliom he went to america? louise yes, before i was born. liliom to america? julie why do you ask so many questions? did you know him, perhaps? liliom [_puts the plate down._] heaven knows! i've known so many people. maybe i knew him, too. julie well, if you knew him, leave him and us in peace with your questions. he went to america and died there. that's all there is to tell. liliom all right. all right. don't be angry with me. i didn't mean any harm. [_there is a pause._] louise my father was a very handsome man. julie don't talk so much. louise did i say anything----? liliom surely the little orphan can say that about her father. louise my father could juggle so beautifully with three ivory balls that people used to advise him to go on the stage. julie who told you that? louise uncle wolf. liliom who is that? louise mr. wolf beifeld, who owns the café sorrento. liliom the one who used to be a porter? julie [_astonished._] do you know him, too? it seems that you know all budapest. liliom wolf beifeld is a long way from being all budapest. but i do know a lot of people. why shouldn't i know wolf beifeld? louise he was a friend of my father. julie he was not his friend. no one was. liliom you speak of your husband so sternly. julie what's that to you? doesn't it suit you? i can speak of my husband any way i like. it's nobody's business but mine. liliom certainly, certainly--it's your own business. [_takes up his soup plate again. all three eat._] louise [_to julie._] perhaps he knew father, too. julie ask him, if you like. louise [_crosses to liliom. he stands up._] did you know my father? [_liliom nods. louise addresses her mother._] yes, he knew him. julie [_rises._] you knew andreas zavocky? liliom liliom? yes. louise was he really a very handsome man? liliom i wouldn't exactly say handsome. louise [_confidently._] but he was an awfully good man, wasn't he? liliom he wasn't so good, either. as far as i know he was what they called a clown, a barker in a carousel. louise [_pleased._] did he tell funny jokes? liliom lots of 'em. and he sang funny songs, too. louise in the carousel? liliom yes--but he was something of a bully, too. he'd fight anyone. he even hit your dear little mother. julie that's a lie. liliom it's true. julie aren't you ashamed to tell the child such awful things about her father? get out of here, you shameless liar. eats our soup and our bread and has the impudence to slander our dead! liliom i didn't mean--i---- julie what right have you to tell lies to the child? take that plate, louise, and let him be on his way. if he wasn't such a hungry-looking beggar, i'd put him out myself. [_louise takes the plate out of his hand._] liliom so he didn't hit you? julie no, never. he was always good to me. louise [_whispers._] did he tell funny stories, too? liliom yes, and _such_ funny ones. julie don't speak to him any more. in god's name, go. louise in god's name. [_julie resumes her seat at the table and eats._] liliom if you please, miss--i have a pack of cards in my pocket. and if you like, i'll show you some tricks that'll make you split your sides laughing. [_louise holds liliom's plate in her left hand. with her right she reaches out and holds the garden gate shut._] let me in, just a little way, miss, and i'll do the tricks for you. louise go, in god's name, and let us be. why are you making those ugly faces? liliom don't chase me away, miss; let me come in for just a minute--just for a minute--just long enough to let me show you something pretty, something wonderful. [_opens the gate._] miss, i've something to give you. [_takes from his pocket a big red handkerchief in which is wrapped a glittering star from heaven. he looks furtively about him to make sure that the police are not watching._] louise what's that? liliom pst! a star! [_with a gesture he indicates that he has stolen it out of the sky._] julie [_sternly._] don't take anything from him. he's probably stolen it somewhere. [_to liliom._] in god's name, be off with you. louise yes, be off with you. be off. [_she slams the gate._] liliom miss--please, miss--i've got to do something good--or--do something good--a good deed---- louise [_pointing with her right hand._] that's the way out. liliom miss---- louise get out! liliom miss! [_looks up at her suddenly and slaps her extended hand, so that the slap resounds loudly._] louise mother! [_looks dazedly at liliom, who bows his head dismayed, forlorn. julie rises and looks at liliom in astonishment. there is a long pause._] julie [_comes over to them slowly._] what's the matter here? louise [_bewildered, does not take her eyes off liliom._] mother--the man--he hit me--on the hand--hard--i heard the sound of it--but it didn't hurt--mother--it didn't hurt--it was like a caress--as if he had just touched my hand tenderly. [_she hides behind julie. liliom sulkily raises his head and looks at julie._] julie [_softly._] go, my child. go into the house. go. louise [_going._] but mother--i'm afraid--it sounded so loud---- [_weepingly._] and it didn't hurt at all--just as if he'd--kissed my hand instead--mother! [_she hides her face._] julie go in, my child, go in. [_louise goes slowly into the house. julie watches her until she has disappeared, then turns slowly to liliom._] julie you struck my child. liliom yes--i struck her. julie is that what you came for, to strike my child? liliom no--i didn't come for that--but i did strike her--and now i'm going back. julie in the name of the lord jesus, who are you? liliom [_simply._] a poor, tired beggar who came a long way and who was hungry. and i took your soup and bread and i struck your child. are you angry with me? julie [_her hand on her heart; fearfully, wonderingly._] jesus protect me--i don't understand it--i'm not angry--not angry at all---- [_liliom goes to the doorway and leans against the doorpost, his back to the audience. julie goes to the table and sits._] julie louise! [_louise comes out of the house._] sit down, dear, we'll finish eating. louise has he gone? julie yes. [_they are both seated at the table. louise, her head in her hands, is staring into space._] why don't you eat, dear? louise what has happened, mother? julie nothing, my child. [_the heavenly policemen appear outside. liliom walks slowly off at left. the first policeman makes a deploring gesture. both shake their heads deploringly and follow liliom slowly off at left._] louise mother, dear, why won't you tell me? julie what is there to tell you, child? nothing has happened. we were peacefully eating, and a beggar came who talked of bygone days, and then i thought of your father. louise my father? julie your father--liliom. [_there is a pause._] louise mother--tell me--has it ever happened to you--has anyone ever hit you--without hurting you in the least? julie yes, my child. it has happened to me, too. [_there is a pause._] louise is it possible for someone to hit you--hard like that--real loud and hard--and not hurt you at all? julie it is possible, dear--that someone may beat you and beat you and beat you,--and not hurt you at all.---- [_there is a pause. nearby an organ-grinder has stopped. the music of his organ begins._] the curtain falls transcriber's note this transcription is based on images scanned from a copy made available by cornell university and posted by the internet archive at: archive.org/details/cu these images were supplemented by images scanned from a copy made available by harvard university and posted by the internet archive at: archive.org/details/liliomalegendin glazgoog the following changes were noted: - for consistency, all names in the stage directions have been capitalized. - p. : i'll stand for no indecency in my establishment--added a period to the end of the sentence. - p. : which of you wants to stay. [_there is no answer._]--changed the period after "stay" to a question mark. - p. : _the door to the kitchen is up left and a black-curtained entrance to the dark-room is down left._--for consistency, changed "_dark-room_" to "_dark room_". - p. : [_with a sweeping gesture that takes in the camera, dark-room and screen_]--for consistency, changed "_dark-room_" to "_dark room_". - p. : _ficsur's head is quickly withdrawn. mrs. muskat re-enters._--changed "re-enters" to "reënters". the hyphenation occurs at the end of a line. elsewhere in the text the word is printed with a diaeresis. - p. : the magistrat--changed the character title to "the magistrate". alternate spellings such as "irridescence," "moustache," "improvization," and "reënters" have been retained as has the inconsistent spelling of liliom's last name ("zavoczki," "zavocki," and "zavocky"). transcriber's note: there was no table of contents in the original paper edition. a table of contents has been created for the convenience of the reader. a christian but a roman by maurus jÓkai [illustration] doubleday & mcclure co. new york copyright, , by doubleday & mcclure company * * * * * by the same author [illustration] debts of honor, the poor plutocrats, a hungarian nabob, the nameless castle, etc., etc. * * * * * table of contents chapter i. chapter ii. chapter iii. chapter iv. chapter v. chapter vi. chapter vii. chapter viii. chapter ix. chapter x. chapter xi. chapter xii. a christian but a roman. chapter i. in the days of the cæsars the country surrounding rome vied in splendour and luxury with the capital itself. throughout the whole region appeared the villas of roman patricians, abodes of aristocratic comfort, where every artist, from the sculptor to the--cook, had done his utmost to render them attractive and beautiful. these noble patricians, many of whom had incomes of eight or nine millions, often found themselves in the unpleasant position of being obliged to avoid rome. weariness, wounded vanity, insurrections of the people and the prætorians, but especially distrust of the cæsar, compelled them to turn their backs upon the imperial city and retire to their country estates. thus, for several years, mesembrius vio, the oldest senator--who since the death of probus had not set foot in rome nor given the senate a glimpse of him--had resided on his estate at the mouth of the tiber. true, he said it was on account of the gout and the cataracts from which his feet and his eyes suffered; and his visitors always found him sitting in his curule chair, with his ivory crutch in his hand and a broad green shade over his eyes. the old man had two daughters. one, glyceria, had married when very young, thanks to the imperial favour, a great lord who had become a libertine; soon after the libertine lost his head, and his property, as well as the imperial favour, went to the beautiful widow, who in a short time had the reputation of being the aspasia of the roman capital. of course, mesembrius was not only blind, but deaf, when glyceria was mentioned in his presence; he himself never permitted her name to cross his lips. his second daughter was sophronia, who was always by the old man's side at his country estate. a beautiful and virtuous maiden, she seemed to unite the charms of three greek goddesses: the graceful form of venus, the noble beauty of juno's countenance, and the purity of psyche. yet sophronia owed no special gratitude to heathen goddesses; on the seashore nearby lived the wise eusebius, the descendant of the apostle, and the beautiful girl had long attended the secret meetings where the holy man announced to the followers of christ the doctrine of the one god who dwells in the soul. old mesembrius knew that his favourite daughter was secretly a proselyte of the new faith, and he did not oppose it; nay, he did not even let his daughter perceive that he had any idea of it. young sons of patrician families often came from rome, lured by the fame of the maiden's beauty, and all cherishing the hope of obtaining her hand and with it her millions. mesembrius received them very kindly, arranged great banquets in their honour, and brought out wine a century old. the youths were soon intoxicated by the liquid fire, and after the last libation each one showed himself in his true colours and poured forth the most secret thoughts in his heart. old mesembrius listened and reflected. one unmasked himself as a profligate; another was free from such tastes, but developed great talent for being slave and despot in the same person; and even if an _omnibus numeris salutus_ was found, he showed, when the last subject--his opinion of christianity--was introduced, like all the rest, that it was his conviction that the christian religion was nothing more than a sect which denied the gods and, by withdrawing from the popular pleasures, games, and combats in the arena, embittered every joy by their obdurate melancholy and in their stead celebrated horrible rites in gloomy caverns, compelled their followers to pierce with their knives the heart of an infant rolled in flour, and to drink its blood; till the gods, in their wrath, visited the earth with floods, pestilences, earthquakes, and barbarians, and that consequently there could not be enough of these people boiled in oil, burned in pitch, torn by wild beasts, and buried alive to avert from the land the severe punishments sent by the wrathful gods. mesembrius had heard enough, and gave his daughter to none of these youths. he honoured the martyrs, but did not wish to find sophronia's name among them. not one of the rejected suitors saw her face. one day a sun-burned youth entered mesembrius's dwelling. the old man, who sat in the trichinum of his summer-house, saw him, and, in spite of the cataracts on his eyes, shouted: "are you coming to see me, manlius sinister? come, come, here i am." the old man could still see when he chose. the youth hastened up to him, embraced him, and pressed his hand. "how manly you have grown!" said mesembrius, smiling; and, as if his eyes were not enough, he felt with his hands the youth's face, arms, and shoulders. "you have become a man indeed since you marched away with probus. so you've come to ask me for my daughter's hand?" manlius seemed disconcerted by this straightforward question. "i am not so selfish, mesembrius. our ancient friendship brought me to your house." "i know, i know. we are aware of the kind of friendship which exists between an old man and a young one, especially when the old man has a beautiful daughter. for my daughter is very beautiful, manlius, very beautiful! if you could see her! don't say that you saw her four years ago--what was that? you were then a child, and so was she; what did you know about it? but now! o manlius! it would be a great mistake of yours if you did not fall in love with her." "what use would it be, old friend? you have refused so many suitors who were better, richer, and more powerful than i that i do not even venture to hope." "why, manlius? cannot you, too, gain power and wealth? is not your uncle, worthy quaterquartus, the most famous augur in rome, whose prophecies always prove true, who holds in his hands the future of the cæsar and the state?" "that is all true." "then you see you may yet become a great man. you need only seek the favour of carinus a little, and win your uncle's good will. surely it is easy?" "at least it is not difficult." "see! see! who knows how far you may go? what will it cost carinus to have a rich old senator drowned, and give you his palaces and treasures? then you, too, will own mansions and slaves, will bathe in rose-water and eat peacock's tongues. what bars your way? you can gain all these things, by cringing. cringing, i say." manlius let the old man talk on. "but stay with me as long as you feel inclined, and be of good cheer." in the evening a magnificent banquet was served in honour of manlius; everything that could please the palate, eye, and heart appeared. the young man's face glowed with the fire of old falernian wine, and he often struck the table with his clenched fist, entirely forgetting the respect due to his host. mesembrius saw that the soul of his guest was beginning to open and, propping his cheek upon his hand, he commenced the examination. "well, manlius, how do you like the falernian? am i not right in saying that italy is the bosom of the earth, for here are the breasts--namely, the mountains which produce this wine?" "yet i have quaffed a more inspiring drink in my life-time." "a more inspiring drink, manlius? at whose table?" "from the euphrates." "what do you mean?" "it was after the battle of ctesiphon. we had fought all day long, my arms were dripping with blood and my brow with sweat. in the evening the persian army was scattered, and on that one day the euphrates overflowed its banks." "and you drank from it?" "yes. that water has an intoxicating effect." "fame intoxicated you, manlius. it was in that water." "i don't know what was in it; for when i raised my helmet, which i had filled with it, to my lips, i did not set it down until the last drop was drained." "and then other good things awaited you? you could indulge yourselves to your heart's content in conquered ctesiphon. i can imagine how well you fared with the beautiful dark-eyed women whose husbands were obliged to abandon them, and the palaces and storehouses of which you took possession. every soldier was swimming in milk and honey." "well, we didn't do much of that sort of swimming, for we marched farther that very night; and as for the dark-eyed wives, all the leaders had issued strict orders that the captured women should not be insulted by the soldiers." "well, well, such orders are not usually taken too strictly. we know that." "by hercules! then you know very little about it!" exclaimed manlius furiously. "we took it so strictly that i had one of the soldiers in my legion, who abducted a maiden, bound by the feet to two trees which had been bent down and tore him asunder when they sprang back again." "well, you won't tear me asunder on that account," laughed old mesembrius, delighted with the noble indignation displayed by his guest. he beckoned as he spoke to a numidian slave who stood near, holding a richly engraved silver basin: "come, ramon, fill my guest's goblet." "no," cried manlius; "i can fill it myself. i need not be served like carinus, who is too indolent to hold his goblet when he drinks, and is afraid of wearying himself if he lifts a fig from the dish to his lips with his own hands." "ho! ho! manlius sinister! you are slandering the cæsar!" "_Æcastor!_ it is no slander. is it not well known that his feet never touch the earth, and that, even in his bathroom, he uses a wheel-chair? to-day he had a ring on his finger and, complaining that he could not endure the burden of its weight, ordered it to be drawn off. recently he had a notorious forger of documents, who understands how to imitate other people's writing marvellously well, released from prison, and appointed him his private secretary, to be spared the trouble of inscribing his signature with his own hand. now this cheat provides every document with the cæsar's name." "o manlius! you are saying a great deal about carinus, who was once your schoolmate." "i have no inclination to boast of that. true, i often shared my bread with him when he had none, and exchanged his tattered pallium for mine, but i feel no desire that he should ever recognise me, since i might easily fare like the rest of his schoolmates who appeared before him to remind him of former days, and whom carinus unceremoniously thrust into the 'tower of forgetfulness,' to rid himself of the uncomfortable feelings of the past." "ah! manlius, you are talking like seneca. you will never rise high in carinus's favour in this way." "when was that necessary for a free roman?" cried the knight, raising his head proudly. "i have a sword and a brave heart; if these will not lead me to fame, i want no power which can be obtained by crawling in the dust. it suits only dogs and libertines." mesembrius laughed and rubbed his hands in delight; then he urged the youth to drink more, and the wine began to restore to the face trained amid the corruption of roman society to dissimulation, its real character. "go on with your story, my good manlius; we stopped at the battle of ctesiphon. that is the enemy stopped there, while you went on as far as you could." "with all due respect to your grey beard, senator, never say to me: as far as you could. for we might have gone to the juxartes--there were none who could have opposed us. the flying persians vainly destroyed everything before us: not even deserts and wildernesses can offer obstacles to the roman legions; every soldier carried provisions enough for ten days on his back. i ought to add that, during the whole dreary campaign, we slept on the frozen ground in the severest winter weather. the persians convinced themselves that they could not check our advance, and, when we reached a city whose barbarous name the gods cannot expect a roman tongue to utter, we encamped there. as twilight closed in, the envoys of the persian monarch--magnificently dressed men with braided hair, rouged, with black eyebrows and fingers laden with rings--came and asked to be led before the augustus: i mean carus, don't confound him with carinus. they were conducted into the presence of a man who was sitting on the bare ground, with a yellow leather cap on his head, eating rancid bacon and raw beans. he had thrown over his shoulders a coarse, shabby purple mantle, which distinguished him from the others." "that was carus; i recognise him," muttered the old senator. "the augustus did not even permit the entrance of the envoys to interrupt him in his meal, and while he was quietly crunching the beans with his strong teeth, they delivered, with theatrical pathos, their carefully prepared speeches, whose glittering promises and high-sounding threats harmonised ill with the raw lupines which the cæsar was eating. when they finished at last, carus took the yellow leather cap from his smooth bald head, and, pointing to it, said to the ambassadors: 'look here, and heed my words. if your king does not acknowledge the supremacy of rome and restore her provinces, i'll make your country as bare as my head.'" "i recognise carus there, too." "the envoys went off in great alarm, and the legions struck up the war song, whose refrain is: _mille, mille, mille occidit_." "it was composed in honor of carus, who is said to have killed in many a battle more than a thousand foes." "yes, yes, that's true." "his son would kill ten times as many, but of his own subjects. never mind that, however. go on, manlius; tell me what else befell you. every one has a different story about that whole campaign. one says you were attacked by the black legions, a second speaks of tumults, a third of miracles. this much is certain: instead of pressing onward, you suddenly turned back, although no one could resist you, you said." "and it is true; men could no longer resist us, but is there no mightier power on earth?" "certainly; the roman gods. but i hope you did not draw their wrath upon you, and that your augurs had favorable omens. your uncle, the world-renowned quaterquartus, was with you." "yes, he was with us, and there was no lack of victims or of the entrails of beasts, and plenty of crows were caught." "manlius, you speak of these sacred things in a very profane way." "i have every reason to do so. our soldiers once captured a man clad partly in skins who, according to his statement, had retired into the wilderness to mortify his body in honor of an invisible god. he had built a pillar of stones, on whose top he had already spent thirty winters and summers, exposed to frost and scorching heat. there he stood all day long, with arms outstretched like a cross, bending forward and striking his head against his knees. several legionaries were curious to learn the number of these bows, but when they had counted nineteen hundred they grew weary, dragged him from his pillar, and killed him."[ ] [footnote : simeon the stylite.] "and did you pity this nazarene?" "let us speak lower, mesembrius. it is dangerous to utter and to hear my words. do not think that i am intoxicated and invent this tale. i saw this man breathe his last; for i came too late to save him. he did not curse his murderers. an expression of supernatural bliss rested upon his face, he raised his eyes rapturously toward heaven, and died blessing those who slew him. i drove them away and, to relieve his suffering, gave him some cold water. he thanked me and, with his last strength, whispered in my ear: 'roman! do not cross the tigris, for there lies the eden of the invisible god, who is not to be offended.' i repeated the warning to the cæsar's younger son, numerian, who was the friend of every good soldier, and he carried it to the augustus, who, struck by the ascetic's words, asked quaterquartus to hold an _augurium_. my uncle's skill in announcing oracles which no one can contradict is well known." "your words are very bold, sinister." "thus he once predicted to probus that, after a thousand years, his family would restore the ancient glory of rome." "after a thousand years!" "at the end of a long mummery we learned from my uncle's muttering lips that god would fight in the next battle." "without adding whether with or against us?" "the imperator ordered us to march forward and, on the very same day, we crossed the tigris. at sunset several of the men who had killed the martyr simeon stylites were suddenly filled with horror and cried out loudly; for lo! he stood before them on a hilltop with arms outstretched like a cross, while amid continual bowing he struck his knees with his head. and i had helped to bury the lifeless form! the night was dark; clouds, rising from all directions, covered the horizon; flashes of lightning darted to and fro in the distance as if they were fighting with one another. the pealing of thunder echoed nearer and nearer, the world was veiled in gloom, sounds never heard before began to roar about us, and when a vivid flash of lightning seemed to cleave the depths of the firmament, we imagined that we beheld countless shining forms gazing down at us. it appeared to every legion as though the other legions were engaged in a fierce, bloody conflict, the clashing of swords and lances echoed around us, but there was no fighting anywhere. in the darkness we thought that our whole army was transformed into a single vast, confused mass, in which man fought against man, the mounted cohorts trampled down the foot-soldiers, the tribunes rode at the head of the legions, and the troops met in desperate, destructive shocks. only while the lightning glared did we see the legions standing in motionless squares in their places. suddenly, amid a terrific peal of thunder, a quivering mass of fire crashed down amid our ranks, shaking the earth beneath and the air around us. horror made us fall upon our knees, every animal hid its head in the earth, and the fearful tumult roared into our ears the judgment of a mighty god. when we ventured to look up again, a fire was blazing in the midst of our camp. the lightning had struck the tent of the augustus. no one dared to extinguish it, though the cæsar and the statues of the protecting gods of the army were within its walls. all were burned. then who are the gods, if not they? o mesembrius, is it true that above us dwells an invisible being, who is the lord of heaven and earth, and that the lifeless stone images which we worship are not even able to defend themselves?" mesembrius pressed the youth's hand. he had heard enough. "we will say no more about it, manlius. you shrank from the power that barred your way. it was god! how did the army behave later?" "the soldiers could not be induced to march forward; they walled up the place where carus augustus was helplessly burned with the protecting gods of rome, and now there stands in the midst of the wilderness a building with neither doors nor windows, that no human foot may enter the spot which god has cursed. the troops chose numerian for their commander, and demanded that he should lead them back to illyria. i was commissioned to bear these tidings to carinus; that is why i am here with you." "i hope you will do this often. it is a great pleasure to be able to live in rome, is it not?" "no pleasure to me; i would rather go back to my legions." "really? then surely you have not yet seen carinus' circus and the magnificent games which only rome can offer; you have not visited the baths of antonius, the warm baths scented with the fragrance of roses in walls adorned with gems--you have not yet found the woman you love in rome, eh?" "i have seen all, without finding pleasure in it. what am i, a battle-scarred legionary, just from the rude land of scythia, to admire in the bloody fool's-play of your arenas? here they make a game of war; we make war a game. and i never cared for the thermæ; warm baths are only fit for _quirites_, not for soldiers. blood can be washed off with cold water; true, a polluted man needs warm." "but you have not answered my third question. have you found no fair woman in rome? yet why do i ask? they will find you, even if you do not seek them. oh, the roman beauties are neither proud nor arrogant. when you have once appeared in the forum, and they have seen your stately, well-formed figure, i shall have to ask: did they not drag you away with them? did they not tear you to pieces as the bacchantes did orpheus?" "oho! mesembrius, the falcon is not caught with lime-twigs." "go! go! why should you be a falcon any more than the rest? as if the doves of venus had not built their nests in the helmet of mars! go! dissimulation does not suit your face. you flushed crimson and lowered your eyes. why do you wish to deceive an old man like me? or have the morals of rome improved under the shadow of carinus? and while formerly, when one of the vestal virgins died, a substitute could scarcely be found, have all who once worshipped aphrodite become priestesses of vesta?" "i did not say so, mesembrius." "then it is the other way. come, don't deny that you have had an interesting adventure. five or six women surrounded you at once, laying their hearts and fortunes at your feet, and you chose the fairest, the one whose embraces were most ardent, whose kisses were most glowing? or you could not choose, and loved them all? one crowned you with garlands in the evening, another in the morning; you vowed fidelity to one by the sun, to another by the moon, and loyally kept your vow to every one? very good, very noble! this is the joy of youth, manlius! in my early years i was no better!" "but, mesembrius, you gave me no time to speak; all that you are saying has nothing to do with me. i will frankly confess that during my one day's stay in rome i had more to do with the slaves who were sent to me by their mistresses than with their husbands, to whom i had been sent; but it is not my habit to attribute any special importance to such matters. i am a member of the manlius family, in which it is an ancient custom for the men to love only one woman, but faithfully and forever--to mourn her constantly if she dies, to kill her if she betrays him, and to avenge her if she is wronged." "these are fine words, manlius, but i see a ring glittering on your finger of a style which men do not wear; i suppose it belongs to the woman you love." "you are not mistaken in one thing. the ring belongs to a lady, and i wear it solely on your account." "mine, manlius? what is the ring to me?" "when i left the capitol yesterday evening a veiled matron slipped a thin roll of manuscript into my hand and vanished swiftly among the colonnades; the roll was passed through this ring. from curiosity i opened the parchment and read the following mysterious words: 'manlius sinister! you love a maiden whose father is your friend. this old man and his young daughter are threatened by a danger which, except by the gods and their foes, is known to me alone. if you wish to learn it, hasten to me. the bearer of this letter will wait for you at the _pons sacer_, night and day, until you come. if you show her this ring, she will lead you to me. signed, a woman who has loved you from your childhood, and whom you have always scorned; who is hated by those whom she desires to save.'" "this is a strange occurrence, manlius." "to me it is an incomprehensible mystery. who has the power to look into the depths of my heart and read its feelings? have my dreams betrayed me, that some one knows i love your daughter, whom i saw four years ago, and have been unable since to forget? and who can the woman be who seeks to save another woman whose love shuts out her own?" the old man's face darkened. the wine stood untouched a long time before the two who, during the conversation, had become perfectly sober. but their hearts, which the wine had opened, remained unveiled. "let me look at the ring more closely," said mesembrius in a low tone. manlius held out his hand. the stone in the ring was a wonderfully carved cameo--the white bust of a beautiful woman, with greek features, upon a purplish-yellow ground. mesembrius frowned gloomily as he examined the cameo; he averted his head, again gazed fixedly at the ring, and at last with a gesture of loathing, thrust it from him and bowed his gray head despairingly on his breast. "why do you look so sad?" asked manlius. "do you know this ring? do you know its owner!" "i know her," replied the old man in a hollow tone. "speak, who is it?" "who is it?" repeated mesembrius with flashing eyes. "who is it? a shameless hetaira, a loathsome courtesan, whose breath brings pestilence and contagion to the inhabitants of rome, whose existence is a blot upon the work of creation; who has been cursed by her father so many times that, if all his execrations were fulfilled, no grass would grow upon the earth where she sets her foot, and compassion itself would turn from her in abhorrence." the old man's last words were lost in a convulsive sob. "who is this woman?" cried manlius, springing from his chair. "this woman is my daughter," gasped mesembrius. "glyceria?" "_abraxas!_" the old man fairly shouted the word used to ward off evil, and shuddered with loathing as he heard the name. manlius drew the ring from his finger and went to the window, beneath which flowed the tiber. mesembrius guessed his intention. "don't throw it into the water! a fish might swallow it, the fishermen catch it, and it would again see the light of day. it will poison the tiber, and whoever drinks from it will go mad. keep it. i have an idea, on account of which you must wear this ring. you said you had done so until now for my sake." "i kept it to save you, if need be." "i thank you, sinister. so you love me and my daughter. i thank you again and again; we will be grateful. in return, i will give my age, she her youth. we have always held you dear, always regarded you as one of our family. if you wish to guard us from peril--keep this ring--go with it where you are led--seek her who sent it--and kill her." "mesembrius! she is your daughter." "if the basilisk is the child of the bird in whose nest it was hatched." "but she desires to shield you from some unknown danger." "for me the world has no danger except she herself! what pestilence, earthquake, tempest, and scaffold mean to the dwellers upon earth, her name embodies to me! if i could approach her i would kill her." "she wishes to save you." "do not believe her. every word that falls from her lips is a lie; she has deceived her father, she deceives the gods. her face looks as innocent as a sleeping babe's. when she speaks you are enchanted; if you should let her go on, she would draw the dagger from your hand, bewitch, ensnare you, melt your heart by her accursed magic arts till you were as cowardly as a scourged slave. she does not paint her face like other women, but her soul; now she is luring you to her by the pretext that she wants to save me and sophronia, and if you go to her and do not thrust your sword into her heart, ere she can speak one word, she will persuade you to kill us." "mesembrius, what has she done to you that you speak of her thus?" "what has she done? she buried me ere i was dead! she dragged my grey beard in the mire! she poisoned my heart, robbed me of my sight and my blood to paint obscene pictures with them upon the walls of the lenocinium." "fury blinds you, mesembrius." "why should it not blind me? has a roman no right to curse when people say to him in the forum: 'dismount from your horse, for your daughter has lost her honour!' can i show myself anywhere in rome without witnessing my disgrace? is not her name prostituted in all the shameless verses of an Ævius and mavius? did she not appear in the amphitheatre in a pantomime before the exulting, roaring populace? does she not go in broad daylight, with her shameless train, clad in a _tunica vitrea_ or _ventus textilis_? does she not allow herself to be painted as _venus vulgivava_? and is there an orgy, a bacchanalian festival, in which she does not play the loathsome part of queen? oh, manlius, it is terrible when the hair is grey to be unable to look men in the face, to hear everywhere and be forced to read in the eyes of all: 'this is mesembrius who corrupts rome! this man gave life to the monster who daily consumes the bread and drinks the blood of a hundred thousand starving people. let us beware of approaching him.' oh, manlius, believe me, you will yet kill this woman." "i have never killed a woman, and i never shall." "remember my words. this megæra loves you, and she knows full well that you love another. that this other is her sister will not trouble her; these satiated messalinas are fastidious, even in blood. ordinary blood no longer tickles their palates; that of their own kindred is sweetest." "guard your tongue from omens!" "i feel what i say, manlius. it would be better for you to slay this woman from caution than for vengeance. when you see a serpent, you crush it, do you not, without waiting till it strikes its fangs into your flesh, and gives you reason to destroy it?" "you are a father, mesembrius. i understand your grief, but do not share it." "you will become a husband, and then you will share it." "how can you expect me to hate, old friend, after you have rendered me happy? you talk of your wrath to a sleeper dreaming of his bliss, while your furious words disturb the stillness of the night. from all you say i realize only that i shall possess sophronia's love. this word, this thought inspirited me, even when the war cries of the fierce sarmatians were thundering in my ears, even during the nocturnal attacks of the legions, and in the scorching sunshine of persian battle-fields. i beheld her lovely face in the river which, swollen by streams of blood, overflowed its banks. it hovers before me now while you talk of blood, and amid your savage speech i hear but one thing--that she will be mine." "now i perceive the truth of the words that love makes us blind." "and hate reckless, you must add." "may the gods grant that you are right; that some day the whole world may say: 'mesembrius, the daughter whom you disowned is pure as diana, and all you said of her was slander, blind imagination!' i--but even then i would say that you must kill her, manlius, for she has deceived the whole world!" the old man's eyes were bloodshot; excitement had so wrought upon his whole nervous system that he trembled from head to foot, and when he rose from the triclinium he gripped the arm with such force that the ivory sphinx remained in his hand. "slaves, bring torches!" he shouted loudly, forgetting that he usually spoke with asthmatic panting. "let us go to rest, manlius; it is long past midnight. may you dream of your love as i shall of my hate." he left the pavilion as he spoke, and moved firmly, with head erect, through the long garden to his villa, without remembering that he could not walk a step on account of his gout. the slaves pushed his empty chair behind him. manlius remained a long time in the triclinium, lost in thought. leaning over the sill of the window above the tiber he gazed dreamily into the waves, flooded with silver by the rising moon. black boats glittered in her rays along the shore, and the notes of a mournful hymn echoed from the distance through the still air. the outlines of a woman's white-robed figure were visible in one of the boats. manlius was reflecting upon the emotions that filled his heart. he fancied he was dreaming, as we sometimes dream that we are awake, and now imagined that he was dreaming of sophronia's gentle, musing face. he had no rest; some indescribable feeling oppressed his heart. his excited soul longed for the open air, and, taking his sword, he wrapped his _paludamentum_ around him, entered one of the skiffs fastened under the window, and, loosing it from the chain, rowed in the direction of the mysterious melody. chapter ii. what a wonderful phenomenon it was that truth should triumph over fiction, and the simple doctrines of the cross should conquer delusive mythology! the religion of the poets, the dreamy groves, the flower-strewn shore, the chosen deities of the sunlit island worlds, who in the enthusiasm of this artistic nature rose from the foam of the sea, were pervaded by the fragrance of flowers, immortalized as stars. warm ideal figures united with mankind by sweet love dalliance. how all this fabric vanished from the arms of its worshippers at one word from the mighty being who, throned on a measureless height, is yet near to every human creature, whom no one can see, but everyone can feel, and who is the god of the stars as well as of the lilies of the field. how the altars of the olympian gods gradually grew cold, how the rose garlands vanished from the golden plinths, how the people disappeared from the perfumed halls to hear beneath the open sky, illumined by glowing sunlight, the words of an invisible truth. this sky, this sunlit sky was the mystery of mysteries! the night-sky, with its thousand stars, was the mythological heaven; that of the day belonged to the faith of the truth indivisible. neither the depth nor the height of the latter can be measured. we only feel the beneficent warmth, and from the infinite blue distance an eternal hope tells the heart that beyond this sky is another and a better world, of which this earth is only the shadow; and the darker, the more gloomy are the shadows here, the more radiant is the truth there. this was the idea which won the victory. earth ceased to be a prison; death was no affliction, and the cæsar was no longer omnipotent. in the time of augustus cæsar a poet said: "if rome persecutes thee, whither wilt thou flee? wherever thou mayst go, thou art everywhere in the power of rome." the new faith offered every persecuted human being a place of refuge, and rome vainly conquered all the known world. another unknown world full of secret joys that increased in proportion was reserved for those who suffered here below, and the darker, the gloomier the shadows here, the more radiant would be the truth there. this faith which wiped the tears from the cheeks of those who wept could not fail to conquer. soon persecutors and persecuted united in it, for it alone afforded comfort to him who suffered innocently, and forgiveness to him who acted unjustly. the persecutions of the cæsars only increased the adherents of the new religion instead of lessening them. in the public streets in the midst of rome appeared those chosen by the holy spirit to proclaim the doctrines of the omnipotent god, which they would deny neither on funeral pyres nor under the teeth of the wild beasts in the circus games; and the living torches which, covered with pitch, were kindled to light the imperial gardens, declared, even in the midst of the flames, that what was anguish and suffering here was salvation and joy there. in vain were they murdered. the blood of the slain merely sealed the doctrines which they attested; and whoever creates martyrs only gains implacable foes. but the imperator carinus invented a new species of martyrdom. the proselytes shrank neither from death nor from torture. what was anguish to others seemed bliss to them; and fragile girls, inspired by the holy ghost, sang hymns of praise in the midst of the flames. carinus no longer had these sainted virgins dragged to blazing pyres, but gave them to his soldiers; and virtuous women who did not recoil from the most terrible death trembled in the presence of the shame which scorched the purity of their souls more fiercely than the flames of the burning oil. and while they entered the arena of the circus with brave faces, they thought with horror of the hidden dens of sin. it was a diabolical idea to punish those who, for the transparent purity of their souls, were ready to renounce all the pleasures and joys of earth, by the lowest form of these joys. and carinus knew that his victims could not even escape this disgrace by death, since the religion of the christians forbade suicide. therefore during his reign believers met at the hour of midnight in secret places, subterranean caverns, and abandoned tombs, and dispersed again at dawn. the roman augurs had been informed of these secret meetings; and, that the people might help in searching out the places, they spread the report that the christians, after all the lights were extinguished, committed horrible deeds which could be done only in the deepest darkness. this was saying a great deal, since in rome every possible atrocity was perpetrated in the brightest daylight. * * * * * gliding along the shore in his boat, manlius constantly drew nearer to the singing which so strangely thrilled his heart, and soon reached an arm of the tiber, at whose mouth about twenty empty boats were rocking on the water. he looked around, and saw by the dim, uncertain moonlight, a large round, massive building, shaded by huge italian pines, from whose interior the music seemed to issue. he walked around it. the moon was shining through the windows and colonnades, but no human being was visible. manlius thought with a shudder of the tales of witches which he had heard in his childhood, of the sabbath of wicked souls that met in invisible forms in places shunned by all men. his superstitious terror increased as he associated the vision of his dream with this tradition. he always saw before him the face of lovely, gentle sophronia when he tried to think of these accursed sorcerers; and against the gloomy, horrible background her smiling countenance appeared. at last he summoned up his courage, and releasing his hand from his cloak, he strode resolutely into the vestibule of the building. as he entered, his thoughts, at the first glance, took a different direction; for in the centre of this vestibule a square stone had been raised from the floor, and through the opening thus formed, a subterranean hall could be seen, from which rose the singing. so this was the _agapeia_ of the christians. concealed by the darkness and the shadow of a pillar manlius saw before him two long rows of figures. the heads of the men were covered with hoods, the women were closely veiled. all were singing a gentle, mournful melody. the tones expressed self-sacrificing sorrow, a sublime, quiet suffering, blended with a strange suggestion of grief which sent a cold shiver through the nerves of the listening roman. a few small oil lamps were burning at the end of the dimly lighted hall, by whose faint glimmer manlius perceived a lifeless human form, whose feet and hands, stretched in the form of a cross, were pierced with nails, while a crown of thorns adorned the brow, and a freshly bleeding wound was visible in the side. "so these are the terrible people who under the shelter of night hold their abominable meetings," thought manlius, panting for breath as his hand sought the hilt of his sword; while in his excitement he fancied he saw the head of the figure nailed to the cross sink lower and lower. the singing ceased, and after a long, soughing sound, which is the universal sigh of a devout assembly, an old man, whose snow-white beard floated far down on the breast of his black robe, came forward. taking a cup which stood at the feet of the crucified form, he raised it to his lips and kissed it three times with devout fervour. but instead of devotion manlius saw an expression of loathsome bloodthirstiness in the face of the grey-haired monster, while the penitent kneeling of the men and women seemed to him an evil, obscene movement; and the cup before which all bowed their heads, in his imagination, was filled with blood, the blood of a man murdered in a terrible manner. the old man in a trembling voice said: "in this cup is his blood, which was shed to bless us; this cup is the holy remembrance which effaces; this cup is the bond by which we shall be united! worship this holy symbol, and be pure through the blood of the purest!" shuddering, manlius grasped his sword-hilt, and when he saw a tall female figure clad in white, with her veil partly thrown back, approach the old man and take the cup from his hand, he tore the blade from its sheath and, frantic with horror, sprang through the square opening into the midst of the hall. "hold, accursed murderers!" he cried, blinded with rage. "you apostles of sin! what are you doing here?" not a sound was heard in the assembly. it was prepared for such attacks. the old man answered quietly: "we are worshipping god!" "may you be accursed when you utter that word! you have committed deeds for which even the darkness of night is no protection. you disturb by your diabolical songs the dead resting beneath the earth; you kill human beings and force one another to drink their blood, and when your nerves are roused to execrable excitement by this blood, you extinguish your torches and commit sins whose bare thought inspires horror." "you will repent what you have said, manlius sinister!" cried the clear voice of a woman standing beside the greybeard. it was the one who had first taken the cup. manlius started as he heard a familiar voice utter his own name, and when the lady now threw back her veil, he beheld in amazement sophronia's gentle, innocent face, with its mild, calm eyes, divine smile, and the hallowed power of an almost supernatural firmness. "sophronia!" groaned manlius, and his drawn sword fell from his hand. doubt took possession of his heart. he believed that he was still the sport of a terrible dream, and with heavy tongue faltered: "gods of olympus, let me wake!" "you are awake!" said sophronia. "look me in the face. i am sophronia, the friend of your childhood." "but this cup of blood----" "blood only for those who believe, the remembrance of blood for those who remember. touch it with your lips." with ill-repressed loathing manlius tried the contents of the cup and stammered in amazement: "this is wine." then, in a low tone, seized by a fear hitherto unknown, he asked: "and that dying figure?" "is the image of the crucified saviour." manlius perceived with astonishment that it was only a painted picture. "do you worship a dead man?" "a god who became man to die." "that is impossible." "how often the gods of olympus assumed human form in order to enjoy pleasures whose sweetness can be experienced only by human senses. the god of love, our god, assumed human form in order to be able to feel the sorrows which torture mankind, misery, shame, persecution, and death. the gods of olympus became human beings to show mortals the path to hell; the god of love, our god, became a mortal to guide us into the way to heaven! the gods of olympus are brilliant, royal forms, who demand sacrificed victims, gold, magnificent temples, bloody hecatombs, and promise in return long life, treasures, palaces, and blood-stained victories. the god of love, our god, is a poor, dead form, who asks nothing except a pure heart, and promises nothing at all for this life; whose image is a symbol that, in this existence, we shall have only sorrow and suffering, but in another world joy and happiness await us----" while these words were uttered, all who were present involuntarily bared their heads. manlius did the same, without knowing why. the others knelt down; he, too, fell on his knees. "i have persecuted you wrongfully," he faltered, extending his arms, "take vengeance on me." "the god of love commands us to forgive our persecutors. leave this place in peace and confidence. though you should betray us, torture us, slay us, we will pray for you." "may i be accursed if i do so. never can i leave you calmly, for you have filled my heart with unrest. the terrible words of the avenging god arrested me in my path. i read in your face the words of the all-pardoning god. oh, give me comfort. must i lose two heavens: one above, the other in your heart?" "the heaven of love is closed against no one," said sophronia, pointing upward with holy devotion. manlius clasped the outstretched hand, and raising it to his lips, asked with tender emotion: "and your heart?" "the god of love does not forbid earthly love," replied sophronia, with a radiant smile. manlius, his face glowing with happiness, sank at the young girl's feet, resting at her side like a tamed lion, while through the hall rang the hymn of joy which teaches rejoicing with those who rejoice. the grey-haired patriarch laid his hand upon the new catechumen's head, and the dying god looked in benediction upon them all. chapter iii. the next day it was old mesembrius' first care to send for his daughter and speak to her of manlius, whom, of course, he praised according to his deserts. the young girl's cheeks glowed during the conversation, and, as her face betrayed, she confessed to her father, with sincere joy, that she had long loved the young soldier. mesembrius could not find words to express his pleasure. he embraced sophronia again and again, and with tears of happiness placed her in the arms of manlius, who entered at that moment. "my only blessing," he faltered, in tones trembling with emotion. "o my father," said sophronia mournfully, "do not say your only blessing. you have another daughter." "may my curse rest upon her head. hasten your marriage, and then go far, far away from here. so far that not even a cloud from this sky can follow you. this soil is already so laden with sins that it trembles every moment under them as if it could no longer bear the burden. go hence, that you may not perish with the guilty. i only wish to live for the moment that i know you are happy and beyond the two seas; then, for aught i care, death or carinus may come." that very hour manlius returned to rome to set his house in order, and when he had made all the preparations for the wedding, he again mounted his horse, and late in the evening rode to old mesembrius' villa. it was already past midnight. the sky was covered with clouds. he could only move at a walk, when, on reaching a bridge, he saw a dark group of people coming from a side path. it seemed to be a band of prisoners guarded by soldiers. at that time of wars with the barbarians, robbers and thieves had increased so much that they gave the prætorians uninterrupted work. manlius supposed that he had met such a company, and quietly returned the salute of the passing soldiers. only one circumstance seemed strange--a woman's tall figure, with a long white mantle floating around it, rode at the end of the train. when she saw manlius stop she stopped too, as if she expected something. they remained thus a short time, looking at each other; then they turned and rode on. it was impossible to distinguish any one's features in the darkness. manlius paused again, glanced back, and considered whether to return and ask some question; he did not know himself what. but pleasanter thoughts soon occupied his mind, and as the clouds parted, allowing a silvery streak to glide over the tiber, his spirits also brightened, and he dashed joyously forward to the beloved home of sophronia. he could already see the colossal outlines of the mesembrius villa, when he perceived in the road a magnificent _lectica_, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and hung with silk curtains, such as in those days only the most aristocratic women used in traveling. two splendidly caparisoned sumpter mules were harnessed to the four poles, beside which marched two slaves. therefore the young man's surprise was so much the greater when he saw a man's ugly, pock-marked face thrust out between the curtains, and instantly recognised Ævius, the base parasite, who was ready for half a sestertia to compose a panegyric upon the last gladiator, and had prepared for carinus cæsar's greyhound a genealogy, according to which, on the mother's side, it had descended directly from the she-wolf that suckled the twin brothers romulus and remus. manlius could not repress a smile at the singular situation of the panegyrist. "oho, Ævius, how long has the cæsar had you carried about in a _lectica_ like an aristocratic courtesan?" "be merciful, manlius, and do not jeer at me. i am the most miserable writer of verse since pegasus became the steed of poets. just think what a favorable opportunity presented itself to secure immortality. yesterday afternoon i learned that by the cæsar's command a band of idol-worshipping christians would be surprised at their meeting place on the tiber; and i instantly hired a horse--a horse that exactly suited me, for i could not miss the chance of perpetuating so rare a spectacle by the power of my lyre for the benefit of posterity. there would be so many things priceless to us poets, such as killing, crucifixion, boiling in pitch, and similar matters. and now how have i fared! on the way the gods of egypt threw me into the company of an accursedly charming woman who was being borne along in this superb traveling litter. first, this woman lured my secret from me, then she lured me off my horse to sit by her side in the _vehiculum_; and with junonian perfidy to a heaven-aspiring ixion, she sprang out on the other side, swung herself upon my horse, which she sat with the ease of an amazon queen, and laughing merrily gave me the advice, if i was a poet, to use pegasus, then dashed along the road i had pointed out, leaving me in this time-killing apparatus, which is more tiresome than the hour-glass. she probably reached the scene of the spectacle in season, while i, with these two mules and two asses, lost my way so completely that i am obliged to return to rome." manlius held his breath as he listened to the parasite's words. "who was this woman?" he asked in a hollow tone. "don't you know her _lectica_, manlius? ah, you are still a novice in rome if you do not, and doubtless come from very distant lands where such things are not mentioned, _gelidis scythiæ ab oris_. this is the _vehiculum_ of the unaccountable and indescribable glyceria, and the woman who outwitted me was no other than the circe who has turned goddess, is worshipped by every one, including myself and carinus, and who thus maltreats every one and changes her adorers, including myself and carinus, into calves and oxen." manlius did not hear the poet's last words. when the name "glyceria" reached him, he struck his heels into his horse's flanks, and as though he felt the scourge of the furies upon him, dashed wildly into the courtyard of the villa mesembrius. the old man, without noticing the expression of rage, terror, and despair that darkened the knight's face, met him with a smile. "is your daughter at home?" asked manlius, trembling in every limb, and as the old man did not answer at once, he repeated anxiously: "where is your daughter, mesembrius?" the aged senator drew the youth, who was impatiently awaiting his reply, aside, and whispered: "i will tell you the secret, but act as though you did not know it. she is in the habit of attending the meetings of the christians. she has gone to one now, and has not yet returned." manlius, trembling, raised both clenched hands heavenward, and shrieked: "cursed be the heaven which permitted this to happen!" mesembrius drew back in astonishment, asking in a tone of bewilderment: "what is the matter?" manlius despairingly grasped the old man's hand. "you have been robbed of your daughter." mesembrius' face blanched, and sinking back into his chair he faltered with fixed eyes, "glyceria!" "yes, you are right; she has robbed you of her. and i, blind fool, met them, and these eyes did not recognize her in the darkness; this pitiable heart did not feel that, five steps off, she was being borne away from me. if it could happen that the sister dragged the sister to death before the lover's eyes, what means your sovereignty, jupiter, ormuzd, zeus, zebaoth, and the rest of ye chosen kings of destiny? fiends rule the earth, and fate is an evil omen! but i, too, will be no better. old man, gather all your curses, begin to pour them forth at dawn, and do not cease till nightfall. meanwhile i will act. may dira aid me." the old man, as though stricken by palsy, repeated: "my daughter; oh, my daughter--" manlius compressed his lips; a bloody mist flickered before his eyes. "your daughter? i will avenge one and kill the other! may ate be with us both.[ ]" [footnote : the goddess who avenged evil deeds.] as he spoke he swung himself upon his horse, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, galloped back at frantic speed to rome. chapter iv. _panem et circenses!_ was the watchword of the roman populace when hungry or wearied. the nation was really in a most admirable situation. it never knew the prosaic occupation of labour. the cæsars distributed gratis bread, wine, and oil, which were sent by the conquered provinces as tribute; and as for the games in the circus, the sovereigns strove to surpass one another in the magnificence of these entertainments. carinus excelled all the others by the great variety in these shows, and the reckless, extravagant splendour of their arrangement. one day the whole arena was strewn with gold dust, so that the dust clouds whirled aloft by the hoofs of the trampling horses glittered in the sunlight; and the quirites, whose garments were covered with it, went home actually gilded. the next day the circus, as if by magic, was transformed into a primeval forest. giant oaks which had been brought with their roots from the mountains, leafy palms conveyed in huge casks from the coast of africa, had been planted in the midst of the huge space, and the staring populace, who had just seen a desert covered with gold dust, had now come to admire, in the same spot, a great forest, beneath whose shade appeared the rarest animals of the south and east, from the graceful giraffe to the shapeless hippopotamus--a perfect paradise, with trees ripening golden fruit, in whose foliage birds carolled, amid whose branches serpents twined, and beneath which wild peacocks and tame ostrichs preened their plumage. when the people grew weary of gazing archers came and shot the beautiful creatures. then the forest was removed, and the next day the populace beheld in its place a sea on which whole navies fought bloody battles. again, in midsummer, when everyone, languishing under the scorching sunbeams, sought shelter in the shade, the people summoned to the circus saw, with surprise bordering upon terror, a winter scene. the circus was covered with snow, which had been brought in ships and carts from the icy peaks of noricum and gallia, and over which hundreds of pretty sledges were gliding amid the clear ringing of little bells--a sight never before witnessed by the romans. in the midst of the arena icebergs towered aloft, on which lay strangely formed seals, and over the surface of a round pond, where polished glass took the place of ice, skilful skaters displayed their arts. the shivering romans wrapped their cloaks around them, wholly forgetting that drops of perspiration were trickling down their brows from the heat; and while the skaters pelted the spectators with snowballs, the audience, shouting in delight, enthusiastically cheered the imperator who so generously provided for the amusement of his subjects. * * * * * let us now seek carinus in his own palace. we will walk through the enormous building, which with its extensive gardens occupies the space of a whole quarter of the city. gilded doors lead into corridors like streets, which end in a peristyle supported by pillars. in the atrium the whole court moves to and fro, slaves playing master and grooms playing senator; and the entrance to the magnificent apartments of carinus is guarded by a brown-skinned thracian giant. happy are those who can enter there! for here man no longer walks on earth. these magnificent oval halls allow admittance neither to the light of day nor to the season of the year. here there is neither winter nor summer, day nor night. the apartment has no windows; lamps, perpetually burning behind transparent curtains, diffuse a light whose steady glow is midway between that of the sun and moonbeams. here the best of every season of the year is represented: the warmth of summer, which is conducted hither by invisible pipes, the ice of winter, the flowers of spring, and the fruit of autumn. carinus never knows whether it is dawn or twilight, whether it rains or snows--with him pleasure is eternal. there he lies among the cushions of his couch; before him is a table laden with choice viands; around him a mob of sycophants, dancers, hetæræ, eunuchs, singing women, parrots, and poets. his face is that of a youth satiated with every pleasure, pallid and disfigured by large red freckles; his features express the weariness of exhaustion. only a few hairs are visible on his lips and his chin. two eunuchs are alternately lifting food to the cæsar's lips, food which has already caused a violent headache, amid which a single dish has perhaps cost hundreds of thousands, yet charms the palate solely by its rarity. carinus does not lift a finger; the corners of his mouth droop sullenly, and a motion of his eyes commands the food-bearers to eat the expensive viands themselves. now ideally beautiful female slaves again lift golden goblets to his mouth; but he leaves them, too, untouched till at last a phrygian takes a sip of the spicy cyprian wine and offers the intoxicating liquor in her rosy lips. this stirs the torpid nerves of the cæsar, and drawing the slave toward him, he drinks from her coral mouth. "i will marry this girl," he says, turning to one of the courtiers. "you wedded the daughter of a proconsul yesterday, o my lord." "i will divorce her to-day. who is this slave's father?" "a carpenter at the court." "i will appoint him proconsul." "this will be your ninth wife within four months." carinus drew the phrygian down beside him and laid his head in her lap. singing and dancing were going on around him, and Ævius, paying no heed to either, was declaiming before him. his iambics extolled with shameless flattery all the qualities which carinus did not possess, his roseate complexion, his bold, fearless soul. he described the games with the utmost detail, and spared neither jupiter nor apollo, that he might laud carinus above them. "alas, something oppresses and disturbs me. i don't know what it is," whined carinus. instantly two or three slaves were at his side, straightening his cushions, arranging his hair, loosening his garments. "oh, it oppresses and disturbs me still." "perhaps Ævius's iambics trouble you," said marcius, the imperator's barber. "perhaps so. stop, Ævius." the poet bowed with an humble look, though secretly bursting with rage. the barber had interrupted his finest verses. "what is it that disturbs me still?" groaned carinus wrathfully. "guess! must i think instead of you? something irritates, something vexes me! i should like to be angry." "i have guessed it," said the barber. "these few hairs of your beard which disfigure your glorious face and insolently tickle your majestic nose and lips are annoying you. o carinus, have them removed! your face is so feminine in its beauty, and would be fairer still were it not injured by these ugly signs of manhood!" "you may be right, marcius," replied the youth, and allowed the hairs to be plucked out, which operation was performed by the barber with such skill that, at its close, the cæsar appointed him prefect. at the same moment a noise was heard outside the door. several recognized the voice of old mesembrius, who was trying to force his way into the imperial apartments. galga, the gigantic thracian doorkeeper, held the old man back, and told him to come the next day. carinus was asleep. "this is the tenth time i have come here!" shouted the old man. "once you said he was sleeping, again he was eating, the third time he was bathing, and the fourth he was not at leisure. but i _will_ speak to him." it cost galga a hard struggle before he could force the aged senator out of the atrium, and then it needed two or three slaves to push him through the door. carinus was much pleased with galga. "since you know how to guard my door so well, you deserve to be made chancellor of rome." "and i? do i deserve nothing, my lord?" asked Ævius in alarm. "to you, Ævius, i will have a temple erected, in which every poet shall lay his verses upon your altar." "i thank you, o augustus, for the temple and the verses of beginners; but my tusculum?" "surely you know on what condition i promised it." "if by the power of my eloquence, the honey of my tongue, and the magic of my poetry, i induced that earthly goddess, glyceria, to render you happy by her favor. did i not bring her to you?" "you brought her, doubtless; but what did it avail? after this bewitching phantom had kindled my love to the utmost by the sight of her charms, and lured my secrets from me, she suddenly laughed at me, thrust me from her, and left me, while i have longed for her possession a hundred times more." "did you not have the power to detain by force the fair demon who had entered the snare?" "ask my slaves what she did to them? when i commanded them to stop the accursed enchantress she seized a goblet filled with wine, muttered a few strange words of incantation, and smoke and flames instantly rose from the cup. then, with a face that inspired terror, she turned to the slaves, crying in a ringing voice: 'whoever does not throw himself on the floor, and remain there motionless, will be instantly transformed into a hog.' the dolts flung themselves down, and the bold sorceress walked over their heads to the door, where she blinded galga so that he did not recover his sight for three days. but, o Ævius, why do you compel me to talk so much? why do you weary my thoughts and rob my tongue of its rest?" Ævius probably thought that his own tongue was not so valuable, and began to babble: "glorious carinus! that woman is not worthy of your love, but of your contempt. i have discovered a far more precious treasure, beside whom glyceria is a pebblestone beside the diamond, a shooting star beside the sun, common wine beside nectar." "who is it?" "the former is a virgin, the latter already a widow. the former has not yet loved at all; the latter has learned to hate love, and the former's beauty is still more marvellous. she is a christian maiden, who was captured a short time ago, thrown by your order, with her companions, to the lions, and lo! the starved beasts were tamed by her glance, crouched caressingly at her feet, and licked her hands. i witnessed this with my own eyes, o augustus, and was amazed. the guards of the animal cages took the girl from the midst of the lions, and gave her to the fiercest illyrian legionaries. and what happened? an hour after these very soldiers were seen kneeling before her, listening with devout fervour to the words of magical power which fell from her lips; and when the tribunes attempted to take her away to deliver her to others, they defended her, and allowed themselves to be slain for her to the last man." carinus started from his pillows in great excitement; an unwonted fire glowed in his eyes. he pushed his last wife away from him and beckoned to Ævius: "let this girl be brought before me!" the poet received the cæsar's command with deep satisfaction, and, provided with his seal ring, hastened directly to the prison. chapter v. sophronia had been locked in a separate cell, where she was entirely alone. the sun could reach her only through a small round window, and when it shone upon the head of the kneeling maiden, the halo of martyrdom seemed to hover around it. a snow-white robe, fair and pure as her soul, floated around her. her face wore an expression of supernatural repose, in which the impress of resolution alone betrayed the mortal. the door of the dungeon opened and a tall, stately woman entered, slipping a purse of gold into the jailer's hand as he left it ajar behind her. she was clad in a heavy silk _himation_, fastened on the shoulders by diamond mounted fibulas; a costly anadem confined her wealth of curls, and the golden veil hanging below, in spite of the delicacy of its texture, completely shrouded her features. the draping of the folds of her robe showed refined taste, and the heavy pearls which held down the ends and corners indicated the high rank of the wearer. sophronia looked up as she heard the rustling of the silk, and seeing the stranger standing before her, asked in surprise: "what do you seek here, roman?" the lady raised her veil, revealing a face which recalled the sublime goddesses of ancient times; a lofty brow, beautiful lips, cheeks in whose dimples cupids were playing, and dark eyes with the deep, indescribable expression that seems to conceal all the enigmas of feeling, alluring charm and repellent sadness in every feature--a wonderful play of sorrow and sunshine which in the sky is called a rainbow, in the human face passion. at the first moment sophronia shrank back at the sight of this countenance, but she instantly held out her hand with a lovely smile, saying kindly: "sister glyceria!" "do not give me your hand," said the lady sadly. "do not embrace me. at the first instant of recognition you started back. you were afraid of this face, and you may be right. it is four years since we have seen each other, four years during which you have heard so many curses heaped upon me by revered lips that you did not tremble without cause when you saw my features." "i have never ceased to love you." "i will gladly believe it, but let us not speak of that. your new faith teaches you to love even your enemies. fate has taught me to renounce all whom i have loved. but that is well; we have no time to indulge in lamentations now. i have learned that the games in the circus to-morrow will be closed by the martyrdom of the christians who are sentenced to death." "then let god's will be done," said sophronia, clasping her hands on her bosom. "no, this shall not be done! twice already i have tried to release you, but i came too late; to-day i am in time. change clothes with me; put on my veil. your figure is like mine; no one will notice the difference. a trustworthy slave is waiting outside with horses. in an hour you can be clasped in the arms of your father and your lover." glyceria closed her eyes sadly, crushing hot tears with their lids, as if she had said: "my father, my lover!" "and you?" asked sophronia. "i shall stay here." "and the games in the circus to-morrow?" "will be closed with me." "never!" said sophronia, filled with lofty self-sacrifice. "why never? those who hate _me_ love _you_, and how gladly i would give years of my life to win a smile from their lips. if one of us must die, why should it be you, whose loss will plunge them into despair? why not rather i, whose death they would bless? you will preserve a happy life for others; i shall cast from me a wretched one." sophronia clasped her sister's hands in both her own, and gazed with her pure eyes deep into glyceria's troubled, sorrowful ones. "you were the woman who, on the night i was captured, offered me her horse to escape?" "why do you speak of that?" "do you remember my answer?" "you said that a christian ought not to fly from danger." "since then i have seen death in many forms, and i repeat it. if it is god's will that his name shall be praised by my martyrdom, let his will be done. i will accept with rapture the crown of thorns that encircled the saviour's brow, and bless the hand which opens the door of salvation to me. oh, death means no torture to those whose joys begin after it is over." "but those whom you would leave behind?" "they will see me again beyond the grave." "to which despair will bring them. o sophronia, listen. two human beings who execrate me are now praying for you. if you die this terrible death, you will not meet them in the other world, for the horrors of life will hunt them down to hades. oh, let me die, let me be forgotten, wept by no one, blessed by no one, missed by no one. let your grey-haired father have two joys in a single day--my death and your life." "a heart so embittered is not fit for death, o glyceria!" "do you suppose i could not look it calmly in the face?" "but not rapturously. to the christian death is a new world; to the unbeliever an eternal darkness." "may this darkness embrace me. life only oppresses me like a burden. i do not desire to live again, but wish to pass away, to be forgotten, to rest undisturbed in a silent grave. i want to leave this brilliant chaos, whose sole reality is pain. but may you lead a long and happy life." "o glyceria, why should your face become so gloomy?" "is it not true that once there was not so great a difference between us? my soul was as radiant, my face as bright as yours. we were so much alike that even our father could scarcely distinguish us. nay, the object of our love was the same, and we did not conceal this from each other, but agreed that if he chose one, the other would silently resign him." "ah, if he had only taken you! then we might both be happy." "it was not my fate, o sister! the gods had not so decreed. unknown, mysterious hands tangle the threads of human destiny, and guide them harshly through life. so who ought to be called to account for the soul? the man whose wife i became was a pitiful libertine, who appeared just at the time manlius decided in your favour, and by producing a document which contained proof that our father was connected with a conspiracy against carinus, forced me to become his wife." "and therefore my father cursed you." "may he never recall his curse. it has been fulfilled. this venal slave lost his head when the cæsar saw me. from that moment my life was a perpetual warfare, whose weapons were flattery and seduction. i had to defend my father constantly. all the men who breathe here are his foes! the cæsar hates him because he will not flatter him; the courtiers hate him because he is a man of honour; the people hate him because he is rich; every criminal hates him because here virtue is considered a conspiracy against sin. i was forced to conquer all rome, from the cæsar to the plebeian, that i might save the grey hairs on my father's head. i attended the imperator's orgies. i allowed myself to be applauded in the amphitheatre by the dregs of the people, and to be flattered by base courtiers. and how often i have torn up mesembrius's death sentence after i succeeded, half by cajolery, half by force, in wresting it from the hands of spies, demagogues, senators, lictors, and even those of the cæsar himself!" "and this brought you my father's curses." "he was right. it was contemptible in the daughter of a roman patrician. oh, he must never know it. if he should learn that he lived at such a cost, he would kill himself." "you also discovered that the hiding place of my fellow-believers was betrayed, and hastened there in advance of the others?" "i informed manlius of it two days before, but he shrank from entering my house. now there is no other way of escape save the one i offer, and thus fate will be best satisfied. she who merits death and desires it will die, and those who enjoy life and deserve it will be happy. that is right. return to your father and to manlius, sophronia, and then go far, far away from here." chapter vi. sophronia, sobbing, threw her arms around her sister's neck. in rapid alternations of feeling the shining vision of a happy life passed before her mind. she saw her loving old father who guarded her so anxiously from every breath of air; she saw the youth whose pure love promised her long years of joy in the future. the girl's strength of mind vanished before this alluring picture, and she sank on the bosom of her sister, who, with a brave though sad face, clasped her in her arms as a mythological goddess of war would embrace an angel that belonged to the realms of another deity. "hasten hence," she said, throwing her ample _himation_ around her sister's shoulders, and fastening the golden _balteus_ about her hips. "you can follow my slave safely. no one will notice the exchange, especially amid the noisy tumult of the circus." "no, i cannot accept this sacrifice," cried sophronia, struggling with her own heart. "god forbids it." "your god is the god of love," said glyceria. "if on account of this god of love you will not save yourself, i swear that this day shall long be mentioned by the world as a day of horrors. i know all the formulas, before which the beings of darkness tremble, at whose utterance the solid earth is shaken and blazing comets dash across the sky, sending down pestilences upon the living. if you sacrifice yourself to your god, i will sacrifice rome to mine, and will destroy it so utterly that the centuries will find only fragments of its royal purple." the pallid girl trembled in her frowning sister's arms. the latter now quietly fastened the anadem she had taken from her head in her sister's hair, and drew her veil over her face. "there, now you are safe. if you are asked who rescued you, say that it was a stranger. i wish to cause no one sorrow. never mention my name." the weeping girl embraced her sister, from whom she could not bear to part. glyceria herself urged her away: "go, hasten. do not kiss me; it is not well to kiss me. destruction is on my lips." yet sophronia did kiss her, and at the same instant Ævius entered with the guards who accompanied him. "we are betrayed!" shrieked glyceria, placing herself before her sister to protect her. then, with savage fury, she cried: "who sent you to this place, miserable sycophant? you have made a mistake; this is a prison, not a bacchanalian revel." "it is a golden cage, in which i find two doves instead of one." "put your insipid jests into rhyme, but spare me their tasteless folly. and now, go!" "very willingly if you will come with me; but the augustus sent me here." glyceria hastily whispered to sophronia: "do not betray that you are my sister, or our father is lost, too." then she turned to the soldiers. "insolent knaves! do you know me? i am the terrible glyceria who sends down a rain of fire upon you when you are in camp, who makes the rivers overflow their banks before you, and in the midst of summer brings winter upon your bands so that you are swept away like flies? do you no longer remember trivius, whom in my wrath i transformed into a stag, and did not restore his human form until the hounds had torn him? did you see before my palace the flesh-colored caryatides, who keep guard before my door and seem to follow every passer-by with their eyes? they were slaves who disobeyed me, and whom with a single breath i transformed to stone. do you wish to be fixed to these walls as statues, or changed into wild beasts to rend one another to-morrow in the amphitheatre? which of you dares to raise his hand; which of you will bar my way?" the soldiers shrank back in superstitious terror. Ævius alone stepped before her. "divinely beautiful woman, it would be useless trouble to transform these fellows to brutes. you ought rather to change my heart into stone, that it may have no feeling for you. but now permit me to conduct this christian maiden to the cæsar, who will gladly see you the next time, but now desires to behold her. though you should vouchsafe to wreak your utmost wrath upon my innocent head, i can do nothing else. my head and my heart are at your service, but carinus has commanded my hands to bring this maiden before him." glyceria whispered impetuously to her pale-faced sister: "now a greater horror than death awaits you. but be strong. under the _balteus_ which i fastened around you is a sharp dagger. you are a roman; i need say no more." she pressed sophronia's hand as she spoke, and without vouchsafing Ævius another glance, hastened through the ranks of the soldiers, who swiftly made way for her. chapter vii. trembling with horror, sophronia stood on the threshold of carinus' apartment. the spectacle before her seemed to her eyes more terrible than the torture chambers of the prison and the dens of the wild beasts. drunken slaves lay on the floor, singing and touching goblets with drunken senators; men, rouged and clad in women's garments, were singing to the accompaniment of harps indecent dithyrambics, while they had twined the feminine anadem upon their heads with oak leaves, the simple ornament of civic virtue. the most prominent magistrates, consuls, prefects, tribunes, disguised as fauns and satyrs, were dancing with girls robed in transparent tissues, whose cheeks and eyes were glowing with the unholy fires of sensual passion; and in the midst of this diabolical revel lay carinus, himself the greatest disgrace of his own imperial purple. the effect of the wine and the emotions roused by the scenes of this orgy were visible on his face; his hair was dripping with the perfumed salves that had been rubbed into it. sophronia shuddered at this scene, which, wherever she turned her eyes, showed the same figures; and for the first time in her life she forgot to call upon the name of god, who is always nearest when the danger is greatest. but who could think of god's presence where the devil's altars are erected? in trembling terror the christian maiden seized her gold _balteus_, as it were from instinct, without remembering her sister's hint. but no sooner did she feel the hilt of the dagger in her hand than she regained her strength of soul. in an instant she was once more the brave, resolute roman, and without waiting to be led, she passed boldly through the circling dancers, and with her tall figure drawn up to its full height, stood proudly before carinus. "is it you whom they call in rome the augustus?" she asked with infinite contempt. carinus, smiling, raised himself on his couch, and motioned to the noisy revellers to be quiet. "since when has the word 'augustus' in the roman tongue meant shame and loathsomeness?" sophronia boldly continued, gazing defiantly at carinus. "what accursed destiny sent you to rome to gather around you everything that is abominable, everything that is accursed, and bring to sovereignty the sins transmitted to you from the temples of your gods? do you not feel the trembling of the earthquake under your feet; do you not hear the muttering of heaven's thunder? does not the roar of millions of approaching barbarians rouse you from your slumber, that you may learn that you are not the lord, but only dust upon the earth, which at a single breath of god will pass away and become the dust which buries you?" carinus turned to Ævius, saying: "by paphia, you did not deceive me. this is a wonderful creature. there, there, beautiful maiden, rage on, be wrathful; upbraiding only heightens your beauty, and the more you reproach me the more ardent my love becomes." "you will repent some day amid eternal flames! above you is throned an invisible god, who reads the thoughts of your heart; and as you now see laughing faces around you, you will behold on the day of judgment features tortured and distorted by pain, and you yourself will not be otherwise." "by the pantheon! this figure is still lacking in the ranks of the gods. Ævius, bring a sculptor. build a temple, place the statue of this goddess in it, and call her _venus bellatrix_." an artist belonging to the court instantly pressed forward, seized a stylus and waxed paper, and sophronia, with chaste indignation, perceived that while Ævius was turning her indignant words into rhyme, the sculptor was trying to catch the movements of her superb figure. the young girl instantly stopped speaking; not another word did she utter, not a feature of her face moved. "hasten your work, sextus, if you wish to sketch the _venus bellatrix_," said carinus. "in an hour this figure will be _venus victa_." as he spoke, he glided nearer to the girl like a hungry serpent, and fixed his eyes greedily upon her face. sophronia stood cold and motionless as a statue. "well, why do you not continue to rage? be furious! it increases the rapture that fills my heart a hundredfold; rave, curse, blaspheme. i will kiss and embrace you, and be frantic with bliss." the patrician's daughter made no reply; not a feature stirred. "ah, do you seek to chill me by the coldness of your face? you doubtless perceived that the flush of shame which crimsoned it, the flames of your wrath were joy to me, and now, merely to rob me of my sweetest pleasure, you choose to behave as if shame and anger had vanished from your cheeks? slaves, tear the garments from her limbs!" sophronia silently drew the dagger from beneath her girdle, and looked fearlessly around the circle of faces. carinus remained fixed in the attitude in which this unexpected movement had surprised him. every one stood still as if spellbound. Ævius alone did not lose his presence of mind. with a smooth smile on his false lips, he glided nearer to the maiden. "fairest virgin, do not forget that you are a christian. your god punishes sternly those who open the gates of death by force; and your religion regards it a sin to kill yourself or any other mortal, while it requires you to endure whatever god has decreed, whether it be death by torture or an hour of bliss in the arms of the cæsar. do not forget that you are a christian, and that many christian women have borne this form of martyrdom before you." the drawn dagger trembled in sophronia's hand. Ævius moved a step nearer. "remember that you are a christian," he said, casting a swift glance at the dagger to wrest it by a bold spring from the maiden's hand. "but i am also a roman!" cried sophronia, as she recalled her sister's words; and with the speed of lightning she buried the steel in her heart. the blow was dealt with a sure hand, and the blade pierced the strong heart to its hilt. the roman prized her honour more than her salvation. the next instant she sank dying on the floor, composing the folds of her garments with her last strength, that even in death she might not betray the grace of her figure to unholy eyes. chapter viii. meanwhile the father and the betrothed husband vainly sought the maiden. they could search only in secret: open protection, undisguised defense could not be given to sophronia. old mesembrius had not been seen in rome for a long time, and therefore every one was surprised when the distinguished patrician again appeared in the forum, leaning on his ivory crutches and pausing at every step. "ah, worthy senator, you rarely show yourself in rome," said a perfumed patrician dandy. "since the death of probus we have not seen you even once." "i am old and feeble, my good pompeius. my feet will scarcely carry me, and i should not have recognised you had you not spoken to me, for my eyes are almost blind." "but why do you not live in rome?" "if you should see the splendid turnips i raise in my garden, you surely would not summon me to rome. an old man like me interests himself only in his apricot slips." at this moment a messenger from the capitol whispered to pompeius: "carinus has laid aside the purple in favor of his brother numerian." mesembrius sometimes heard so well that he caught the faintest murmur. "what did you say?" he eagerly exclaimed. "carinus has abdicated, and numerian will be imperator? huzza! huzza!" "do you know numerian? what kind of a man is he?" asked the courtiers anxiously. "what kind of a man? he is a hero, a roman, under whose rule rome's golden age will begin again and the sun of fame will again shine upon us. the glorious battles which rome fought against half the world numerian will continue. we will all share them. a new and radiant epoch is dawning. i will swing myself upon my charger and be where every man of honour must appear. i am not yet too old to die in battle!" the old man, frantic with joy, was gesticulating enthusiastically, without thinking of his crutches, and recognised an acquaintance coming from the direction of the capitol at a distance of a hundred paces. this was quaterquartus, the augur. "you are from the capitol, quaterquartus? well! well! what is the news?" "what i predicted," replied the augur with dignity. "the senate would not accept the abdication, and compelled the immortal carinus to continue to wear the purple." mesembrius was obliged to lean on his crutches again. "oh, my poor feet! oh, this terrible gout in my knees! foolish old man that i am; what have i been saying? i swing myself on a horse? if i could at least sit comfortably in my wheel-chair! such a foolish old fellow! how could i go to war when i see so badly that i cannot distinguish friend from foe? laugh at me, my dear friends; laugh at such a silly old man. oh, my feet----" and, groaning painfully, he dragged himself forward. then manlius met him. "have you learned anything?" he asked. "to-morrow i will force myself into carinus's presence. and you?" "i will seek glyceria." "that you may kill her ere she can speak." "have no anxiety. even if she could use magic arts, she would die. we will meet in carinus's atrium to-morrow. be provided with a good sword." * * * * * manlius went to the _pons sacer_. before the statue of triton sat the old woman who had given him the ring. when she saw manlius she rose and went to meet him. "have you the ring with you, my lord?" she asked. "look at it." "will you go with me?" "that is the purpose of my coming here." "i have waited for you four days. why did you not appear sooner?" "pleasure never comes too late," replied manlius bitterly, and allowed himself to be conducted through gardens, byways, and covered passages till his guide opened a small bronze gate, and taking him by the hand, led him through a dark corridor into a circular hall, adorned with pillars and lighted by a single round window above. here the old woman left him and went to summon her mistress. manlius looked around him. he had imagined the apartment of a roman lady an entirely different room. he had expected to see jasper columns, garlanded with climbing plants, fountains perfumed with rose water, representations of frivolous love scenes, an atmosphere saturated with heavy fragrance, purple couches, and silver mirrors, and instead he found himself in a lofty, noble, temple-like hall, whose walls were adorned with masterly pictures of battles and heroes, while in the centre stood the marble bust of a bald-headed old man. "perhaps glyceria does not even live here," he thought, and just at that moment heard his name uttered behind him. he turned. before him stood a pale, slender woman, in a simple snow-white robe, whose folds concealed her figure up to her chin and covered her arms to the wrists. this was not the alluring costume that suited a love adventure. the face was still less seductive. deep, despairing, consuming grief, that blight of beauty, was expressed in every feature. manlius recognised glyceria. his blood rushed feverishly to his temples, and he convulsively clutched the hilt of his sword. yet he did not wish to kill her thus. he thought that this, too, was only a new variety of the arts of temptation in which women are such adepts. when a libertine is to be attracted, the graces are called to aid; if it is a hero, minerva must be summoned to help. clothes, moods, will correspond with the character of the chosen individual; nay, even the features will be altered so that they will appear different to every one. he could not kill her while she looked so sad; he must await the moment when she began to speak to him of her love to thrust his sword into her heart at the first yearning smile. pausing with drooping head, three paces from manlius, the lady faltered almost too low for him to hear: "you have come late. very late." manlius, with suppressed fury, answered: "is love a fruit that becomes overripe if it waits long?" glyceria looked at manlius in horror. "what is the matter with you that you speak to me of love?" "did you not summon me that we might whisper together of rapture, bliss, and sweet delights?" "once your words would have given me pleasure; now horror seizes me when you speak in this way." "are you not convinced that your beauty has such magic power that every man who beholds you forgets every woman he has ever seen?" replied manlius, half drawing his sword from its sheath. glyceria looked into the youth's face as though she were gazing into impenetrable darkness, and asked: "even the one who is lying dead at this moment?" manlius started back, his breath failed, his face grew corpselike in its pallor. he strove to pronounce sophronia's name, but his lips would not form the word, and staggering back, he was obliged to lean against a pillar. glyceria went toward him, her staring eyes fixed upon his face as if she wished to read his inmost soul. "manlius sinister!" she said calmly. "my dreams have told me that you will kill me, and i know that the hand beneath your chlamys is clutching your sword-hilt. that will be no grief to me. my anguish is that you see in me your promised wife's murderess." manlius sighed heavily, and a secret shudder shook his whole frame. in a voice that seemed to come from the grave, he asked: "how was she killed? was she torn by wild beasts? or did greedy flames devour her tender body? speak, hetæra. tell me clearly and minutely how she was tortured to death. i _will_ hear." "she was not dragged to the scenes of torture, but to carinus' orgies." "ah!" shrieked manlius in unutterable fury, covering his face. then, removing his hands, he said quietly: "go on; omit nothing. describe step by step the outrage, and in what way my idol was dragged through the mire. speak!" "nothing of that kind happened. a roman woman, who wished to rescue her, exchanged garments with her in the prison; and when this plan was baffled, she concealed a dagger in sophronia's girdle and the girl killed herself before any man's hand touched her." tears streamed from the young soldier's eyes; his sword fell from his hand. "ye gods, bless that roman woman for the sake of the dagger. do you not know who it was?" "she does not wish you to be told." manlius drew a long breath, as if relieved from a heavy burden. "i thank you for these tidings." there was something terrible in this gratitude. "the danger is not yet over," glyceria began again. "carinus, whose pallid face was sprinkled with the martyr's blood, sank back upon his couch half fainting, and through his trembling soul flashed the thought: if a woman could die in this way, how will her father or her promised husband--kill! no one knew sophronia; but my father's presence in rome has already attracted attention, and although he makes no public search, people are beginning to suspect that the dead girl was his daughter. you will both be summoned before carinus to-morrow; he will ask if you can recognise a dead woman who was found murdered in the christians' prison, and sophronia will be shown to you. be hard-hearted at that moment, manlius; let no tears fill your eyes when you behold this corpse. say that you do not know it, wear an indifferent face; for if you betray yourself, you will lose your head." "i am to wear an indifferent face," said manlius, with dilated eyes, "and not recognise her when she lies dead before me? i am to say that i have never seen her?" "do you imagine that carinus would suffer a man to live whose promised wife had killed herself on the cæsar's account?" "you are right," said the knight, bitterly. "manlius will learn to dissimulate." he burst into a terrible laugh. glyceria sank on her knees before him, and offering him her beautiful bosom, stammered, sighing: "and now--take your sword--begin with me." manlius smiled. "so your dreams have predicted that i shall kill you? you are beautiful, glyceria; really marvellously beautiful. is it true, as people say, that carinus loves you ardently?" "still more ardently do i hate him. why do you ask?" "because i should like to know whether you have ever rendered carinus happy by your favour?" "never even with a smile." "and yet he would gladly give years of his life for a single night with you." "ah, by styx! if i should grant him a night, it would be an eternal one!" cried glyceria, drawing herself to her full height while her face crimsoned. manlius went up to her and clasped her hand. "now you see, glyceria, that your dreams deceived you, for i shall not kill you. no, i shall not kill you, but will make you my wife." glyceria drew back her hand in horror. "manlius, this is mockery, and bitterer than death." "no, it is only love. i love you." "manlius, do not kill me thus, not thus. rather with the sharp sword." "i love you. if i loved your sister, i now see her features in your face; and when grief for her loss tortures me, i must fly to you to find consolation. i do not believe aught of all the world says of you; i will take the past from you and make you what your sister has been. i will lead you back to your father, and he will bestow upon you the blessing he gave your sister. i will endow you with everything that was her property. you will wear her simple garments and even assume her name, and i will call you my sophronia." glyceria, trembling violently, escaped from the youth's arms as he drew her toward him with gentle violence, and with glowing cheeks and panting bosom, fled without answering these bewildering words. manlius, looking after her, muttered under his breath: "cannot i play the hypocrite too?" chapter ix. as glyceria had learned through her spies, manlius was summoned by the lictors to carinus' presence that very day. but instead of waiting for the command, he went to the palace before he received it. instead of his plain military costume he had donned the ample flowered silk toga worn by the fashionable dandies of the time, rubbed his hair with perfumed ointments, loaded his fingers with gems, adorned his ankles with circlets, and even ornamented his toes with rings which glittered between the thongs of his sandals, while he had scattered little red spots over his face till it looked as freckled as the cæsar's. so, with an indolent, loitering step and a coquettish carriage of the head, he entered the vestibule of the imperial palace, which was already swarming with courtiers similarly attired, who gazed enviously at the youth's unusually magnificent costume--only they could not understand why he had painted freckles on his face. manlius bowed to the floor before carinus--a form of salutation which had been transplanted to rome from the persian court. even Ævius was forced to admit that no one understood how to bow with so much humility as manlius. then, seizing a corner of the imperial mantle, he kissed it with the devout fervour which only the most pious jews show in kissing the thora. carinus wished to appear stern. "you have already been in rome four days, and this is the first time you have come to me," he said reproachfully. "o glorious augustus," replied manlius in an inimitably sweet tone; "i have already been ten times in your atrium to deliver the news i bring from asia, but i learned as often that you were enjoying the delights envied by the gods, and i am not one of those rude soldiers who recklessly force their way in with their messages of supposed importance, and rob you of hours of bliss which can never be regained." "good. you are a man of worth; but what tidings do you bring from persia?" "there is no life anywhere in the world, o augustus, except where you are. all the lands of the earth exist only to make the contrast between them and rome the sharper. i will not weary you with tiresome tales of war and battles. wars merely serve to lessen the number of dissatisfied people, so why should i disturb your repose with my descriptions?" "you are right, manlius. speak of other things." "my experiences are at your command. i saw the marvels of barbarian lands, and always thought of you. in africa i saw horses whose shining skins were streaked with stripes, animals whose like no imperator has ever shown in our circus games. i left orders with the commandant of alexandria to send several of them to you. in the indian seas a kind of snail was discovered, which fastened itself to the rocks by means of threads as fine as a cobweb. from these threads the people there manufacture a fabric even more brilliant than _sericum_, and i brought a _velamen_ of it for you, such as only the princes of that country wear." as he spoke, manlius gave the imperator a superb textile which he had brought with him from india in the hope that it would be sophronia's bridal veil. the cæsar was filled with admiration at the sight of the unusually brilliant, delicate texture. "manlius, i appoint you senator." the courtiers began to stare enviously at manlius. as the barber, who was the most jealous of any sign of favour from the cæsar, could find no fault with the _velamen_, he vented his anger upon manlius' face. "where did you get those freckles, manlius? you look as if the flies had played an evil trick with your features." "you are a barber, marcius. i painted these freckles. it is a very aristocratic fashion which i learned at the court of persia." "is it the fashion there to wear freckles?" asked carinus, whose cheeks marcius was in the habit of painting white and pink. "only among the aristocrats. it is the distinguishing mark between the dignitaries of the kingdom and the common people. true, it requires a more refined taste than yours, marcius, to appreciate this; one must understand, too, why and in what degree these freckles embellish the face. the empty, smooth face, like yours, for instance, which, when one looks at it, shows only white and pink, is the beauty of the plebeian; apollo's countenance is freckled." manlius knew that carinus liked to be called apollo. the courtiers were horrified at this bold assertion. "i repeat that apollo's face is adorned with freckles. for apollo's image is the sun, and is not the sun itself full of spots? is not the sky strewn with stars, and are not the stars the freckles of the sky, as freckles are the stars of the human face? therefore, o marcius, do not censure this magnificent taste of mine." carinus motioned to his barber to remove the paint from his face. "divine countenance!" cried manlius rapturously. "o you profaners of the sanctuary, who conceal the freckles which the graces have scattered with lavish generosity over these features. come, friends, let this face be the model of ours." and the courtiers instantly sat down in turn before marcius and had freckles painted on their faces that they might resemble carinus. from that moment it was the fashion in rome to have freckles painted on the face. "manlius," said the cæsar, "i appoint you prefect of rome." all the imperial favourites were supplanted by the young tribune. Ævius was in despair. "to what shall i henceforth compare the cæsar in my poems, since roses and lilies are no longer beautiful?" he wailed. "compare him to the royal panther," manlius advised. and the poet was content. at this moment mesembrius arrived, and hearing in the atrium that manlius had already entered, hastened after him. on the threshold he caught a glimpse of the young soldier and started back. "is that actor manlius?" he asked himself, gazing at his silk toga and freckled face. "have you seen glyceria?" he whispered. "yes," replied manlius. "have you killed her?" "no." "then i understand the change. hitherto only caterpillars became butterflies; in you a lion has undergone the change. i pity you." the old senator, as he spoke, moved forward with dignified bearing and, leaning on his crutches, stood before the augustus. "augustus carinus, i have come to bring a charge, or, if it pleases you better, to beseech a favour. i had an only daughter----" "you have another," interrupted Ævius. "i say i had an only daughter. she was the joy of my life, the prop of my old age. allured by a new religion, this girl and her companions were captured at the meeting place of the christians. i will not argue with you over matters of belief, carinus, but i entreat you to listen to the petition of a man who has grown grey in the service of rome, and restore my only child." carinus raised himself indolently from his _lectisternium_ and whispered a few words to his eunuch. then he turned to mesembrius. "senator, we do not know whether your daughter is among the captured christians; had we been aware of it we should have delivered her up to you long ago. she was beautiful, you said?" "i did not say so, o lord." "i have so understood. but unfortunately i must inform you that a beautiful girl in this band of christians killed herself last night in prison." "that was not my daughter. sophronia could not forget her grey-haired father, whom her loss would drive to despair." "look at the corpse, senator, and if it is not your daughter, which from my heart i hope, i will have her brought here at once and she can then return with you." mesembrius was so startled by this unexpected favour that he forgot to express his thanks for it. the eunuch returned, followed by two slaves, who bore on a bier a corpse covered with a large pall. Ævius drew it from the body. mesembrius pressed his hand upon his heart; the blood rushed to his temples; his breath failed; he could not move; he stood motionless for a time, then, with a wild cry of anguish, flung himself upon the lifeless form. "my child! my dear, dear child!" "so i have him to fear, too," murmured carinus. sobbing aloud, mesembrius embraced the beautiful, beloved body. death had restored to the face the repose, the supernatural loveliness which had been peculiar to it in life. it seemed as though she were sleeping and at a call would wake. "oh, my dear, sweet child," sobbed the old man; "why must you leave me here? if you were resolved to die, why did you not appear to me in a dream, that i might have followed you? what have i to love in this world now that you are no more? what is to become of me, an old withered tree, whose only blossoming branch has been cut off? have you no longer one word, one smile for me? once you were so gay, so full of cheerful converse--oh, why must i endure this?" the father turned neither to the cæsar nor to the courtiers; he gave free course to his tears, burying his face in his dead daughter's winding-sheet. but gradually he seemed to realise that he was weeping alone, and his dim eyes wandered around the apartment with a vague consciousness that there must be some one else here who owed to sophronia's manes the tribute of tears. there stood manlius, with a cold, unsympathising face, talking to carinus. not a feature betrayed the slightest sorrow. mesembrius indignantly grasped the youth's arm. "and have _your_ eyes no tears, when your bride lies murdered before you?" seized with suspicion carinus suddenly looked at manlius; the courtiers, with malicious pleasure, turned toward him. "my bride?" asked manlius, in a tone of astonishment. "your mind is wandering, old mesembrius." "have the furies robbed you of your reason that you no longer remember that, but three days ago, you asked for my daughter's hand and i gave it to you?" "your daughter's hand, certainly," replied manlius, with unshaken calmness. "not this daughter's here, however, but glyceria's." "may you be accursed!" shouted mesembrius, with savage fury, and without heeding the cæsar, his dead daughter, or the danger threatening him, he rushed out of the hall like a madman. this very thing saved him. "follow him, galga!" shouted carinus. "seize him. this man's head must be laid at my feet." meanwhile mesembrius rushed through the palace. the throng of slaves shrank back in terror at the sight of his agitated face, and allowed him to reach the open air. his frantic words instantly gathered a crowd around him, and by the time galga, at the head of a troop of mounted prætorians, went in pursuit of him, the mob had attained threatening proportions. but the thracian giant dashed recklessly through the masses of people. as he stretched his arm from the saddle to seize the old man's head and sever it from the trunk with a single stroke of his sword, the roman, with strength wholly unexpected in a man of his age, dealt the brown-skinned colossus such a blow with his heavy crutch that he fell from his horse with a shattered skull. mesembrius swung himself into the saddle at a bound, and led the infuriated populace against the armed cohort, which was scattered in a moment, and before reinforcements arrived to quell the tumult, the old patrician had disappeared and was never found. chapter x. manlius remained with carinus to amuse him; he taught the dancing girls the dazzling arts of the indian bayaderes, and conquered Ævius by producing on every occasion, and at every toast, distiches more apt and beautiful than the court poet could fabricate. during a single evening carinus gave the now universally envied favourite a hundred thousand sestertiæ, and, when he learned from him that the teutonic women, by means of a special kind of soap, dyed their hair amber-yellow, he promised manlius to appoint him governor of gallia that he might send him some of this soap which turned the hair yellow--at that period a hue ridiculously fashionable in the aristocratic society of rome. the banquet lasted a long time. true, it was only afternoon out of doors, but any one who did not know that the feast had begun in the morning would have supposed it was already midnight. carinus poured the wine that remained in the drinking horn upon the floor, in token that he drank some one's health, and then handed it to manlius. "to the health of the beautiful glyceria!" "and to yours, carinus," replied manlius, giving his own in exchange. "manlius," said carinus, the blood mounting to his face, "do you know that i have already had one husband of glyceria slain?" "you did well, carinus; but for that i could not become the second." "do you know why i had him killed?" "because he concealed his wife from you. fool! have the gods created a sun that some one may take possession of it and allow others no share in its light? those who snatch a beautiful woman from the world, and then demand that she shall be loved by no one else, are thieves and robbers!" "it might seem strange to you, manlius, if i should take you at your word. you must know that i love your wife madly." "that is your affair, carinus. i do not keep her locked up. the way to her is open to every one." "it is easy for you to play the magnanimous. she herself secludes herself sufficiently. while hundreds of thousands of men tremble at a wave of my hand, all my power cannot win the love of this one woman." "and how glyceria _can_ love! ah, carinus, i know that when, in the evening, the door opens to me which you always find closed, you would joyfully permit me to occupy your throne and reign in your stead so long as you fill my place as bridegroom." carinus sprang up as if an electric spark had thrilled him. "_hecatæa!_ i will take you at your word! take my throne, command my slaves, my empire in my name, have my favourites killed, make the lowest in rome the highest, empty my treasure-houses, and, for all this, merely give me the key of your bridal-chamber." "the bargain is made; here is my hand. give me the parchment and stylus. listen to what i write to glyceria, and send it to her dwelling: 'goddess of my love! i shall spend the hours between evening and morning with you. my heart longs for your words of consolation. the cypress-branch has wounded my brow; your rose-wreath may subdue its flames. when the evening star, the lamp of lovers, begins to shine, extinguish yours that, if tears should dim my eyes, you may not see them, but only feel my kisses. until dawn i shall be with you, and in possession of my happiness. your languishing husband, manlius sinister.' send this letter by a slave, and put on this ring, which you must show at the door. then you will be admitted, and glyceria's women will conduct you where she awaits you." carinus listened greedily to every word from manlius, who coolly handed him the ring and the letter. trembling in every limb, he could not speak, but motioned to a slave to deliver manlius' letter to glyceria. the courtiers whispered together in astonishment. "what a fortunate man you are," Ævius whispered in the ear of the new favourite. "why did not i have the good luck to possess glyceria's love, that i might cast it from me with the same indifference?" the slave soon returned with a letter from glyceria to manlius. the latter handed it to the cæsar: "it is yours; read it!" carinus, with trembling hands, unrolled the parchment; his eyes sparkled as he read: "manlius! your lines quiver in my hand. a thousand emotions are raging in my heart; fear, longing, holy horrour, and wild love. i am under the ban of an irresistible spell. i wish you might not come, but if you do, i shall be unable to resist you. i feel within my breast the power and the desire to destroy the whole world, but at a breath from you all my strength fails; i am nothing more than a weak, loving woman, who loses her reason in her love. oh, do not come! glyceria." "that means: 'oh, come!'" said manlius laughing, propping himself carelessly on one elbow upon his couch. carinus ordered his _lectica_ to be brought, and had himself lifted into it. "no man has ever done that," whispered the barber, filled with envy; "given up his own bride to another." "meanwhile you are the ruler of rome," said carinus to manlius. "let the fellow who writes my name come. whatever you command, i command. reign over my kingdom." "and you over my heaven." the slaves closed the purple curtains of the _lectica_, raised it on their shoulders, and withdrew with the cæsar. the trembling courtiers, with humble faces, gathered around the youth whom the imperator's crazy whim had made for an hour the master of the world. manlius stretched himself comfortably upon the cushions of the imperial couch, sought among the throng of courtiers the man who was trembling most violently, and beckoned to him. it was marcius, the barber; by virtue of imperial favour, præfectus prætorio. "you are the commander of the prætorians?" asked manlius. "yes, my imperial master," stammered the barber, rolling his eyes. manlius laughed. "so you really consider me the cæsar? if i _were_ the imperator, i would have you beheaded because you mocked at my face; but call me your friend. i know your merits." "o my lord!" "i know, and will reward them. you are accustomed to bleed people, so you will make a good soldier; you are skilled in arranging the hair, which indicates your talent for commander-in-chief; and understand how to pluck out hairs coolly, from which i perceive that you are stern and impartial. i am not satisfied with the leaders of the army in the east, numerian and diocletian, and i therefore appoint you general of these troops. you will set out at once for thrace. honourable _defraudator_! sign our name to the document." marcius's brain fairly reeled under the burden of his new dignities. the courtiers were rigid with astonishment, and calculated that if manlius began to reward thus those who had mocked him, he would perhaps raise to the very heavens those who had looked at him with smiles. the appointment was made out. the secretary signed the cæsar's name, and marcius, with a very important face, retired at once, carrying his commission. urged by envy and jealousy, Ævius pressed forward to manlius. the latter saw his struggle and beckoned to him. "you will be præfectus prætorio in marcius's place, and distribute four thousand talents among this valiant band, whose sole duty consists in guarding our person. to be able to reward these men richly continually, we will lessen the numbers of the outside army. why should we keep foreign countries garrisoned with our legions, pay roman gold for roman steel, and give the leaders opportunity to rebel against us? in an hour you will depart for thrace, bearing our command to numerian and diocletian to dismiss half the army at once, and the sum thus saved i place at your free disposal, my noble friends. write down my words, honourable _defraudator_!" a frantic shout of joy greeted manlius' speech. the courtiers rushed to him, raised him on their shoulders, and amid the accompaniment of music and thundering cheers, bore him around the room. the fury of intoxication had risen to madness, senators were no longer to be distinguished from actors, dancers and hetæræ, slaves and bacchantes mingled in the hall, wine flowed from the skins upon the floor, the lamps were extinguished with it, and darkness covered the foul scene. the only window in the apartment was a round one in the ceiling which admitted the fresh air. when the last lamp was extinguished, the senseless revellers saw with terror that the window above their heads now gave light. what if the sky had kindled into terrible flames to illumine with its awful glare the hell beneath! the horrible tumult of the orgy ceased as if by magic, and through the doors, suddenly flung wide open, rushed a slave, calling in a trembling voice the message of terror: "save yourselves! rome is burning!" through the round window the crimson glow shone like the flames of the day of judgment upon the evil beings caught in the midst of their sins. * * * * * when carinus showed the ring, he was conducted without delay to glyceria's apartments. the palace already stood wrapped in silence and darkness. carinus felt rustling garments brush him in the corridors, soft hands guided him and, amid low laughter, led him through quiet rooms until at last he clasped a hand at whose electric pressure his blood began to seethe, and a familiar voice faltered with a tenderness never heard before: "manlius! so you came?" it was glyceria--cruelly deceived glyceria. "i expected you, and yet i hoped you would not come," she whispered softly. "do you feel the tremour of my hand in your clasp? it is quivering with love and fear. love robbed me of my senses. one word of tenderness from your lips made my soul your slave--all that, during my whole life, i had concentrated in a single thought, the goal of my longing which i had never hoped to possess, the joy of which i had always dreamed, but never hoped would be mine--i now embrace! i do not understand it. this is not the day or the hour in which we ought to speak of love, but you mentioned it, and can the woman who loves choose the hour for answering the question?" carinus stole the caresses of the loving woman. "yet, o manlius! i trembled lest you might come only to mock me, only to play a cruel game with me, obtain the deepest secrets of my heart and then jeer at me for them. no. you cannot do that. you cannot trample in the dust the only feeling which i have kept unsullied amid the ruin of my life. can you hate me because i love you? and if you hate me, would you not slay, rather than mock me?" carinus silently drew the trembling figure toward him and covered her cheeks and lips with fervent kisses. glyceria, in blissful delusion, yielded to his embrace, and in her happiness had almost silenced the warning voice in her heart, when carinus' cheek suddenly touched hers, and she discovered that his face was beardless. the most terrible thought darted through glyceria's brain. "ha! who are you? you are not manlius. be accursed! you are carinus." and, wresting herself with the strength of despair from the cæsar's arms, she rushed toward the opposite side of the room and disappeared behind the curtains of the niche which concealed her couch, drawing the heavy folds together and hastily fastening the cords. "you will not escape me!" shrieked carinus, dashing in the fury of his passion toward the curtains, and tearing them down, while he tore apart the knot which confined the cords with his teeth. but these few seconds had sufficed for glyceria to light a vessel filled with some inflammable fluid and, at the instant carinus succeeded in forcing the curtains apart, she poured the flaming contents over her couch and, while the blaze caught the light draperies, she herself sprang with a single bound upon the bed, now burning around her, whence like a terrible, destroying vision she shouted to the terror-stricken augustus: "now, come!" the next moment the hall was wrapped in flames. like the fiend who gained an entrance into heaven and was forced to fly thence, carinus fled from the destroying fire, while glyceria, seizing a burning coverlet, rushed from room to room, setting fire to each, and, dragging costly garments into the main hall, kindled those too. in a few minutes the whole palace was in flames and, at the end of an hour, a sea of fire was rolling through rome. carinus had been borne back to his palace senseless. glyceria fled that same night to the temple of cybele. chapter xi. while in rome pleasures alternated with horrors the troops commanded by numerian marched over rough roads, amid severe privations, to the bosporus. here they were joined by the fugitive mesembrius who, when he left rome, fled directly to numerian. no one had been able to see this noble cæsar for several weeks. he suffered severe pain in his eyes, and did not leave his tent. mesembrius made his complaint to the leaders next in command. one, diocletian, promised to avenge him, while the second, aper, referred to numerian and refrained from giving any opinion of his own. "then let me go to numerian; if i speak to him, he will be the first to draw his sword against his brother," urged the senator. "you cannot see him," replied aper, placing himself before the entrance to numerian's tent. "no one except myself is allowed to speak to him during his illness. he even gives his orders to the army through me alone." mesembrius sniffed the air suspiciously. "why does so strong a smell of musk and amber come from this tent?" "why?" repeated aper, his face blanching. "why do you desire to know, senator?" "what?" retorted mesembrius; "because you lie, aper, when you say that numerian issues his orders through you." "what? what do you mean?" shouted the soldiers who had gathered around the two. "i mean that numerian is no longer living!" cried mesembrius in ringing tones. "no, no, the strong odour of amber issuing from his tent is only to disguise the scent of corruption, and aper has long taken advantage of you by issuing orders in numerian's name." the soldiers forced their way into numerian's tent and found the old man's words confirmed. numerian had lain dead a long time; his body was far advanced in decomposition. aper was instantly put in chains by the soldiers on account of this deception; in the afternoon an empty throne was erected in the open fields for the election of a new imperator. mesembrius walked through the ranks of the legions, recommending diocletian, whom the soldiers fairly forced to take his seat upon the throne. then aper was brought forward. "i charge you, publicly and plainly," said mesembrius, "with having murdered numerian and betrayed us to carinus." "and we condemn you," roared the army with one voice. "and i execute the sentence," said diocletian, stabbing with his own hand the prisoner sentenced by the troops. in the midst of this wrathful mood marcius arrived with the order given to him by manlius and, without knowing what had happened, he delivered his appointment to the new cæsar. "who is this?" asked diocletian, turning to mesembrius. "the cæsar's barber." diocletian turned smiling to the soldiers. "friends! carinus provided for our beards and sent us a barber with the rank of an imperator; pray sit down before him and have yourselves shaved. but do you take care not to cut my soldiers' faces, my little friend, for if they should try their big razors on you, you would fare ill." the soldiers, amid loud shouts of laughter, dragged marcius off with them, and made him shave their bristling beards. scarcely an hour later Ævius arrived with the command to dismiss half the army at once. this enraged the cæsar and the whole body of troops. to assail their interests so boldly was presumptuous even from the imperator. "to the funeral pyre with the messenger and his message!" cried diocletian, and the poet had already been bound to the huge pile of logs when he sighed bitterly: "o ye gods, must i, while still living, witness my own apotheosis?" diocletian laughed at the idea and ordered the poet to be brought down from the funeral pyre, contenting himself with putting him in the pillory, after which he sent him back to rome with a message declaring war against carinus. * * * * * the thunderstorm was rising, though as yet it sent forth no lightning. in rome it was openly stated that the army sent to the west, filled with mortal hatred of carinus, had already reached the ister, only nothing was said of it in the cæsar's palace. there revelry was perpetual and if, from time to time, any one alluded to diocletian's approach, he was pitilessly derided. "who is this peasant?" asked manlius. "who ever heard his name among the patricians of rome? who knew his father? his mother, on the contrary, was known by many. she was a slave in the house of senator anulinus. anulinus has a right to demand him as a fruit of his household." the courtiers laughed at the jest. "you must know him, manlius?" "i have never seen him. i used to be where danger threatened, and i never saw diocletian. i know him because i was told that he always led the rearguard when we were marching forward, and the vanguard when we were retiring." peals of laughter greeted the words. "and what is the character of his army?" he was asked. "it is a valiant, obedient body. it has killed three of its imperators. as for its courage and fearlessness, it is peerless in those qualities, for it retreated from the banks of the tigris without having seen an enemy. when i tell you that i myself was the greatest hero among them, you can judge of the rest." "and your news of victories?" "were two-thirds inventions. although we sometimes gained one, we owed it to our superior numbers; but the army must now be greatly reduced by desertion and disease." this sycophantic nation liked nothing better than to hear the soldiers slandered, and therefore manlius even slandered himself. when diocletian's army approached so close, however, that there could no longer be any doubt as to the danger, the imperial generals urgently pressed the imperator to prepare for war, and carinus gathered his troops from the european provinces. suddenly the rumour spread that carinus would command his army in person. he could be seen at two military exercises, the reviews of the troops. manlius was always at his side, constantly stimulating his vanity or his jealousy by entreating him not to leave the victories to his leaders or commit the course of the campaign to their knowledge and prudence. "the victorious general is a new foe," manlius was in the habit of saying, and the imperator assumed the chief command of the assembled forces, and produced no bad effect mounted on his grey charger and clad in a suit of gold armour, with a purple striped violet mantle floating around his shoulders. on the day before the departure of the army, the leaders went to all the temples in turn, offering sacrifices everywhere, even on the altars of the egyptian gods. manlius assisted in bringing the animals selected for victims to the haruspex. the populace listened in solemn devotion to the augur's words. quaterquartus extended his arms and, with closed eyes, said, in deep tones: "this battle will ruin the enemy of rome." true, he did not say whom he considered the enemy of rome--whether diocletian or carinus. at last the imperial procession reached cybele's temple. amid a deafening uproar of drums and blaring trumpets, the frantic priestesses were dancing in the open portico, stabbing their bodies with knives, muttering with foaming lips incomprehensible words, and whirling around till, overcome by giddiness, they fell to the floor. suddenly a shriek, shriller, more terrible than any other sound in this inharmonious uproar, rang above the din; a shriek so piercing, so heart-rending, that every one gazed trembling in the direction of the sound. a woman's tall figure stood beneath the pillars; a long white mantle, which she clutched with both hands, floated from her head to her feet. "woe betide thee, rome! woe betide ye, roman people! woe betide thee, imperator of rome!" the woman came out into the portico and, as she fixed her cold, expressionless eyes upon the throng, carinus, seized with horror, grasped the hand of manlius, who stood by his side. "that is glyceria." manlius also shrank back in terror. the madwoman, with the face of a prophetess, stood upon the steps of the temple. "woe to those born on roman soil, the children who must atone for the sins of the fathers, and the fathers upon whom the curse of their children falls. o roma! the stars of ruin will appear in thy sky, and the earth will tremble beneath thee! horror will dwell within thy walls, and peace will remain far distant. foes will trample thee under their feet, foreign nations will show thee thy banners which they have wrested from thee, thou wilt beseech barbarian enemies to grant thee the bare gift of life, and thy greatest foes will dwell within thy walls, for they are thine own emperors! the air, corrupted by the curses uttered, will bring the plague upon ye, miserable mortals! those whom famine spares will perish in battle; those whom the sea rejects the earth will swallow! o rome, thou queen of nations, thou wilt be orphaned; thou wilt vanish like the star that falls into the waves; nothing will be left of thee save the memory of thy sins, and the grass which will grow over thy palaces; even thy gods will disappear from thy temples so that, in thy despair, thou canst pray to no one!" a tribune bent forward to kiss the maniac's hand, and ask in a timid voice: "what result dost thou predict for the battle to which carinus is just marching?" glyceria heard the question, and looked gloomily at the soldiers. "fear nothing! destroy, set brother against brother, whoever may conquer--rome has lost. if carinus is victor, he will uproot half rome; if diocletian conquers, he will destroy the other half, and both are well deserved. march to battle, mad nation; shed thy blood, kill thy sons, let them die in tortures and remain unburied. when their souls flutter away in the autumn mist, they will be forgotten. men, behold your wives clasped in the arms of others, your houses burned, your children dragged to slavery, and know that there is no world where ye can find compensation. go! die accursed and despairing!" amid terrible convulsions, she sank down on the steps of the temple and, with outstretched arms, cursed the roman people even while her lips were almost incapable of speech. "take back your curse!" shouted the flamen dialis, rushing up to her and seizing her hand. with her last strength glyceria raised herself, her eyes rolled wildly over the throng and, once more summoning all the bitterness of her heart, she raised both hands and extending them over the multitude shrieked: "be accursed!" with these words she fell back lifeless, her staring eyes, even in death, fixed upon manlius. chapter xii. the armies of the imperial rivals met between belgrade and szeudrö. the imperator carinus' troops were perfectly fresh; diocletian's legions were wearied by fatiguing marches. carinus ordered his tent to be pitched on the top of a hill, whence, at manlius's side, he watched the conflict. the result was for a long time doubtful. diocletian's skill and experience as a general held the superior numbers of the foe in check. "your leaders are good for nothing," cried manlius; "diocletian's centre might be broken by a general, resolute assault, for his weakest legions are stationed there, and then half his wing would be lost." "make the necessary arrangements yourself," said carinus. "forward with the reserve, tribunes!" shouted manlius. "the foreign legions must be sacrificed; let them be hewn down, and then on with the triarians. send against the phrygian cavalry the german bands, who must hamstring the horses with their long swords. let no one remain here. march forward with all your men. i alone can guard the cæsar." the result of these orders was an immediate change in the tide of battle. diocletian perceived that a skilled commander, who knew the weaknesses of his army, was opposing him; he hastily gave the signal for retreat to save his force from destruction. standing in the entrance of his tent carinus watched the progress of the conflict. his troops were everywhere driving the enemy before them, his cavalry was pressing onward. the flush of triumph glowed upon his face, every feature was radiant with the pride of victory, his heart throbbed with joy. "i have conquered!" he exclaimed, wild with delight, clapping his hands. "but i, too, have conquered," said a bitter, terrible voice behind him, and the cæsar felt an iron hand seize his arm and drag him into the tent. carinus, startled, glanced back and saw the gloomy face of manlius, who was crushing his arm with one hand, and in the other held a drawn sword. "what do you want?" asked the imperator in alarm. "do you remember, carinus, the girl who killed herself before your eyes to escape your embrace? that girl was my promised wife. do you know what i want now?" "manlius, you are jesting. what do you want of me? why do you terrify me?" "i could have killed you often when, overpowered by drunkenness, you lay in a sound sleep, in the intoxication of your crimes, but i wished to await the moment when you were happy, when you had reached the summit of your renown, before i slew you." "mercy! help!" "no one can hear your call; the shouts of joy drown your whimpering. do you hear the cries of triumph and the glorification of your name rising on all sides? do you hear the universal cheer: 'long live carinus?'--now, _die_, carinus!" the next moment another horseman rode among the exulting troops; his right hand waved a lance from whose point gazed down the head of the conquering imperator. the victorious troops surrendered to diocletian. the end. savon saloilla kuvauksia ja muistelmia kirj. lauri soini helsingissä, kustannusosakeyhtiö otava, . sisÄllys: lähdemäen veljekset. kuuna myötiin. yhtiö. pekka. maailmaan. siitä tuli sittenkin sovinto. laskiainen. olikohan siinä jotakin. hän uinuu tuolla. tarina hevosen varsasta. kevään korvalla. uusi ystävä. piippuni. rökkilän vaari. autiolla. jaakko jyryläinen. "numero salonen". "noh, noh!" lähdemäen veljekset. lähdemäen vanha isäntä oli kuollut jo monta monituista vuotta sitten. se sama ukko, joka oli noin kaksitoistavuotisen pojan korkuinen, eikä varreltaankaan paljoa vantterampi. mutta se ukko olikin ollut ihan puhtaasta teräksestä. oli ollut vain mökin poika alkujaan ja itse tehnyt talon kylmään metsään. seinätkin oli laatinut semmoiseksi, kuin ne nytkin seisoivat lähdemäen harjanteella, suurten, mykeväin peltojen piirittämänä. pettua oli syönyt, ja petun syötyään kyntänyt ja raatanut. itse kertoi hän siitä monta kertaa vanhoilla päivillään, tuvan lattialla kävellä kääkertäen. se oli ollut teräksestä se ukko ja oli teräksestä kuolemaansa asti. kuoltuaankin sanoi vielä yli orren hyppäävänsä ja käyvänsä toisen veljensä, yhtä teräksisen mäkiahon ukon, luona viinoilla hautaan mennessään. mutta hän ei hypännyt yli orren eikä käynyt viinoillakaan mäkiahossa. täytyi mennä vain pihan lävitse, kun oma poikansa oli kirstun kannella istumassa... hallavahapsinen vanha emäntä jäi taloon jälelle ja kaksi poikaa taloa hoitamaan. pojat tekivät työtä toimella ja sovinnolla, tekivät yhtä täsmällisesti kuin isäkin. joskus yrittivät riitautua, mutta äitivanhan tähden eivät ilenneet. mutta sitten heitti keikaa äitikin ja toinen veljeksistä istui hautaan mennessä hänen kirstunsa kannella. sitten jäivät veljekset kahden kesken. he elivät sovinnolla. tuntui kuin äidin lempeä henki olisi ollut vihanpuuskia tyrryttämässä. sitten he läksivät kosimaan. kosivat kilvan ja toivat kilvalla taloon kaksi emäntää. emännät hoitivat kotiaskareita ja miehet menivät raatamaan pelloilleen. mutta kerran kun miehet tulivat raatamasta, olivat emännät riitautuneet. he tahtoivat olla emäntiä toinen ja toinen, eivät kumpikaan yhdenvertaisia, vaan molemmat etunenässä. isännät menivät emäntiä sovittamaan, mutta sovintoa ei syntynyt, riidan syytä ei ottanut kukaan kannettavakseen ja entisiä riitoja selvitellessä riitautuivat välit yhä pahemmaksi. isännätkin riitautuivat. he söivät illallisen suutuksissaan ja äänettöminä. sitten menivät puhkaen lepoastioihinsa. mutta yön aikana he tuumivat vaimoineen uusia tuumia ja huomenna sanoivat veljekset toisilleen, että he eroavat. ja he erosivat. maat halaistiin kahtia, vanhempi veljes sai lähdemäen taloineen ja sulatetuine peltoineen. nuorempi veljes sai talon rahat ja osansa irtaimistosta. nuorempi veljes läksi rahoineen ja irtaimineen omalle maapalstalleen. läksi suutuksissaan, ei tarjonnut työssä kovettunutta kättään veljelle jäähyväisiksi. hän teki metsään toisen kartanon ja sulatti peltoja sen ympärille. maahan rytkähtelivät suuret puut ja peltoaukea yhä leveni. kannot kohoilivat maasta leveine juurineen ja suuria juurikkakasoja ilmestyi raadokselle. nuorempi veli teki itse ja teetti muilla ja työ edistyi yhtenään. mutta sitten rupesivat loppumaan kotitalosta saadut rahat ja pelto ei ruvennut täyttä viljaa kantamaan. vanhemman veljen pellot kasvoivat ja vanhempi veljes söi paksun rukiisen leivän. mutta nuorempi veljes ei tahtonut turvautua vanhemman veljen armoihin. hän oli eronnut suutuksissaan ja pysyi suutuksissaan, kävipä sitten miten kävikin. hän meni kylän kauppiaan luo ja otti velaksi. kylän kauppias antoi mielellään. kun uudestaan loppui vilja, meni hän uudestaan kylän kauppiaan luo ottamaan velaksi ja kylän kauppias antoi mielellään. nuorempi veljes teki niin monia monituisia kertoja... kauvan aikaa. mutta sitten kylän kauppias ei antanutkaan enää velaksi. kuului tarvitsevan takaisin entisetkin. se oli kevättä silloin. nuorempi veljes kynti peltojaan ja kylvi maahan viimesen viljansa. rukiin alku versoi lupaavana ja kevättouvot rupesivat tekemään samaten. mutta muuanna päivänä kun nuorempi veljes kynti pellollaan juurikkakasain keskellä, näki hän kylän isäntiä menevän taloonsa. pitäjään vallesmanni näkyi menevän myös. ja ne taloon menijät katsoivat voitonhimoisena lupaavan näköisiä viljapeltoja. katsoivatpa isän talosta tuotua ruunaakin, jolla nuorempi veljes oli kyntämässä. talosta alkoi kuulua huutoja ja siellä rupesi paukahtelemaan vallesmannin vasara, kun kylän kauppias otti pois velkojaan korkoineen. nuorempi veljes riisui heponsa ja kävi katsomaan. hän katsoi, eikä virkkanut mitään. leveä leuka vaan tukevasti värähteli ja otsalle ilmestyi tummia ryppyjä. emäntä oli kätkeytynyt kammariin. pieni poika tuli itkerehellen isän polvia hyväilemään, mutta jäi suu auki katsomaan, kun isä ei hänestä välittänyt mitään. irroitti vain hänet hiljaa itsestään ja äänetönnä katseli hävityksen kauhistusta. tavarat alkoivat huveta. alkoivat mennä puolesta arvosta, mutta isäntä ei virkkanut mitään. mitäpä hänellä oli virkkamista. tukevasti värähteli vain leveä leuka ja otsalle ilmestyi tummia ryppyjä. silloin ilmestyi vahvaharteinen mies joukon seasta. se astui vallesmannin luo käskien lopettaa huutokaupan. sanoi maksavansa kaiken velan. se oli vanhin veljeksistä. nuorempi veljes ei virkkanut mitään, leveä leuka vaan yhä tukevammin värähteli. kylän isännät hajaantuivat ja tavarat jäivät pihalle hajalleen. muutamat menijöistä heittivät niihin vielä himokkaita silmäyksiä. vanhin veljeksistä luki vallesmannille rahat ja vallesmannikin läksi tiehensä. silloin jäivät veljekset kahden kesken. nuorempi veljes ei virkkanut nytkään mitään, mutta leveä leuka vieläkin pyrki värähtelemään ja kasvoille herahti lämmin vesikarpalo, joka salaa hieraistiin nutun hihaan. toinen ei virkkanut mitään ja toinen ei toiselta odottanutkaan mitään. he istuivat molemmat kammarissa kahden kesken ja molemmista tuntui niin hyvältä. mutta hiiloksessa porisi mustakylkinen kahvipannu ja nuoremman veljeksen vaimo hääräili sen ympärillä. he joivat äänettöminä kahvia pari kuppia mieheen ja sitten erosivat. melkein äänettöminä erosivat, mutta, työstä rajaantuneet kädet puristivat toisiaan jäähyväisiksi ja vanhin veljes muistutti: -- käyhän meilläkin, kuu aikasi antaa! nuorempi veljes seisoi kauvan pihalla ja katsoi vanhimman veljeksen jälkeen. tuntui niin hyvältä nuoremman veljeksen sydämmessä. ja rukiin alku versoi lupaavana pelloilla juurikkakasain keskellä. kevät-touvot rupesivat tekemään samaten. ruuna myötiin. aaro löi kuin vimmattu. tuimasti välähteli kirveen kirkas terä, vinhakasti lastut puusta kimmahtelivat ja raikkaasti pauke kajahteli kuusikossa. pökäleitä katkeilikin suuren kuusen tyvestä toinen toisensa häntäkoukussa. alkoi kumminkin ruveta hakkaajaa hengästyttämään ja hän istahti kuusen tyvelle lepäämään. tuntuikin istuminen lumisen kuusikon sisässä niin rauhoittavalta. tuuli hiljaa kuusia heilutteli ja niistä pudota lupsahteli lumi maahan pieninä paloina. siihen putoili muun lumen sekaan... sai kumminkin pieniä syvennyksiä hangen pintaan, josta näki että siihen se oli pudonnut... siinä istuessaan ja lumen lupsahtelemista katsellessaan hyräili aaro itsekseen jotakin mielilauluaan kuusten huminan sekaan ja unhotti työnsä kokonaan. hetkisen perästä se taas muistui mieleen ja aaro alkoi pölkkyjä halki paukkiloida. poissa se nyt tuntui vain olevan jäntevyys jäsenistä, veltolta tuntui olento ja vastahakoiselta työn tekeminen. -- olkoon, -- ajatteli aaro, heitti kirveen olalleen ja läksi kotia kohden tallustelemaan. isä-tanu oli aamusella lähtenyt raivioniityltä heinään. sieltä tultuaan oli sanonut lähdettävän lahden takaa kiukaakiviä hakemaan. jyväpussi otettaisiin mukaan, jonka aaro saisi viedä myllylle sillä aikaa, kun isä kiviä päästelee. niin se oli tuumattu. isä-tanu ei vielä ollut kotiutunut ja odottaissaan aaro vetäytyi penkille pitkäkseen. tuntui niin raajoja raukasevan. kohta kumminkin rupesi ruunan tiuvun kilinä aaron korviin kuulumaan ja ruuna vetää jupotteli tuvan ikkunan alatse heinähäkkiä, jonka päällä tanu näkyi istua kököttävän. aaro meni isäänsä vastaan ottamaan. heitti heiniä hevon eteen, kallisti rekeä häkkineen heinäladon oveen päin ja pani luokin jalaksen alle pönkäksi, sitten rupesi häkistä heiniä latoon kantamaan. isä kävi tuvassa turkkinsa pois riisumassa ja tuli sitten toveriksi heinähäkin purkamisessa. keräili ripeitä maasta heinähäkin kupeelta ja kantoi ladon perälle. ladon lattialtakin keräili pois heinän hipenet, kun aaro hataruudessaan oli niitä sinne röyhyytellyt. kun häkki saatiin tyhjäksi, kaatoi aaro sen pois reen päältä. isä vierytteli sen aitan seinävarteen ja nosti pystyyn sillä aikaa kun aaro ajoi aitan eteen ja hilasi rekeen jyväsäkkiä. isä toi sitten siihen rautakangin ja puisen lapion. molemmat miehet rupesivat rekeen, aaro jyväsäkin päälle istumaan ja tanu polvilleen takapuolelle. aaro nykäsi ohjaksista ja hepo läksi verkalleen eteenpäin astuskelemaan. lahden takana jäi tanu pois reestä rautakankineen ja lapioineen. aaro nykäsi taas ohjaksista ja hepo läksi verkalleen kävelemään. mutta kun he pääsivät tien mutkan taakse vesakon suojaan, nykäsi aaro ohjaksilla pari kertaa uudestaan ja hevon täytyi lähteä juosta hölkyttelemään. perille päästyään hilasi aaro jyväsäkin myllyyn ja läksi takasin ajaa karettelemaan. aaron jälkeen lyöttäytyi joku hevosmies, jota hän ei tuntenut. pulskea ori näkyi olevan aisoissa ja kaksi isännän näköistä miestä istui reen perässä. aaro ajatteli itsekseen että ei hän edelle laskisi, jos pyrkisivätkin. usutti jo varalta ruunaa, että menisi kiivaammin ja täytyihän sen hevon juosta hölkytellä, kun suupielistä ratastimilla nykytettiin. isä oli tien varressa odottamassa, että poika osaisi kivien luokse ajaa. aaro ajoi tien viereen hevosensa, että jälestä tulijat sivuitse pääsisivät. mutta siihen kohdalle ne seisottuivatkin ja reimakasti hyvää päivää toivottivat. kättä he pistivät tanulle ja sitten aarollekin siihen yhteen kyytiin. -- no eikö sitä lähdetä kylään pahan sään pitoon? -- kysyivät vieraat tanulta. juuri silloin olikin paksuilla paloilla alkanut lunta lupsehtia jykevästä pilven venkaleesta. -- kyllä kai täältä näkyy hennovan, myönsi tanu. -- tulee semmoisia lumilepereitä, kuin vanhoja akkoja rukkineen. -- niin --, sanoi toinen vieraista, -- me lähdettiin nyt uudestaan siitä hevoskaupasta tuumimaan. olihan siitä jo siellä kotona puhetta. -- mutta lähdetäänhän nyt... täällä ei viihdy itse vietäväkään! aaro käänsi taas heponsa tielle ja läksi alamäkeä lappalan taloa kohden ajamaan. hän arveli yksinään, että ei vieraita edelle laskisi, jos ne pyrsivätkin... nykytti jo varalta ohjaksista. isä siinä ajaessa kertoi, että hän oli viikolla kaupungissa käydessään syöttänyt hevostaan peltolan talossa ja sanoi sen isännän olevan toisen vieraista. silloin oli jo hevoskauppaa hierottu, vaan ei se ollut syntynyt. aaro arveli isälle, että ei alenneta hintaa siitä, mitä isä silloin oli tahtonut... kyllä ostavat silläkin, koska kerran ovat tänne asti jälestä ajaneet. -- eikä alenneta... taloon tultiin, kujaan ajettiin. ostaja tarkasteli vielä hevosta ja sitten mentiin tupaan kaupan hierontaan. tiukalle tingittiin, markan pari ostajat kerrallaan kohottivat, kunnes ei ollut riitarahaa kun kymmenen markkaa. sitten eivät sanoneet enää lisäävänsä. -- eihän tuo nyt mihinkään kuulu kymmenen markkaa, -- sanoivat ostajat. -- eipä kyllä teidän varoissa, -- myönsi aaro. tingittiin ja hikoiltiin, mutta mihinkään ei muututtu. -- alennetaan pari markkaa, eihän tuosta mitään näy tulevan, -- rohkeni aaro omasta päästään sanoa. isä katsoi vihaisasti aaroon, mutta ei virkkanut mitään. väiteltiin vielä. isäkin alensi kolmisen markkaa ja sanoi sen olevan viimesen hinnan. toiset eivät sanoneet enää lisäävänsä ja siksi ruvettiin eroamaan. kättä lyöden heittivät tanu ja aaro jäähyväiset vieraille ja läksivät ovea kohti lipumaan. tanu hykkäili yksinään, että jos vielä olisi joku markka alentaa, kun tässä on niin tiukka rahasta. ei kuitenkaan mitään virkkanut, aukasi jo oven ulos mennäkseen. - tuossa käsi, -- ehätti silloin ostaja sanomaan. -- enhän minä nyt ole mikään kitunaskali! sen saatte, mitä tahdotte! tanu kääntyi ja kättä lyötiin. ostaja luki rahat ja tanun, rahamiehen, oli pidettävä harjakaiset. mentiin ulos ruunaa katsomaan. siellä se seisoi kujassa, talon janne-poika oli sille antanut heiniäkin pureksittavaksi, tanu osotti luo mennessään hevolle kättään ja rupatteli: -- poku, poku! pokuko se on? ja poku kohotti päätään, pörhisteli korviaan ja silmäinsä valkuaisia iloissaan vilautteli. huuletkin niin hyvillään höpläkehtelivät ja niiden välistä kuului hiljainen: -- höp, höp, höp... tanu ymmärsi selvään, että hepo ilmotteli iloaan kun oli saanut hyviä heiniä syödäkseen. hepo oli vähän aikaa purematta, ikäänkuin kuullostaen, mitä hänelle virketaan. sitten otti taas heiniä suuhunsa ja alkoi purra raksutella. tanun ruumista silloin niin kylmästi karmasi, kuin häneen olisi raju pohjatuulen puuska puhaltanut... ruumista tuntui oikein värisyttävän. nyt hän ymmärsi, että tuommonen hevonen se veti vertoja paraimmallekin ystävälle ja nytkö siitä oli erottava!... ja melkein kuin viettelemällä ne sen olivat ottaneet, tanun mielestä. tinkivät niin viimeseen veripisaraan, vaikka siitä tuommosesta olisi kannattanut antaa puolta enemmän, kuin hän oli tahtonut alkujaankaan. -- ei voinut tanu mennä enää hepoa kaulallekaan taputtamaan... tuntui kun se olisi häneltä väkivallalla otettu omaisuus, johon hän ei saanut enää koskettaa. Äänetön oli tanu harjaiskahvia juodessa, vaikka muut hauskoja juttuja laskettelivat. sitten läksivät hevosen ostajat. toinen isännistä istui oriinsa rekeen ja peltolan isäntä läksi ruunalla ajamaan. ohjaksista hän ensin kiskasi, mutta kun ruuna ei siitä niin kiprakasti lähtenyt, niin ohjasperillä kyleksille sivallutti. silloin hepo päänsä pystyyn teristi, painautui matalaksi ja läksi nelistämään minkä kavioista kerkesi... ei ollut tottunut lyöntiä saamaan, muuten kun joskus vallattomia kepposia tehtyään. tanun ruumista taasen kummasti karmasi ja kasvot mustanpuuhkeiksi lävähtivät. hänen jäntereensä värähtelivät ja kädet nyrkkiin puristuivat. -- voi turkanen! -- -- semmoinen lause viimein ukon huulilta sujahti. -- -- peräsukaa siitä miehet läksivät kotimökkiään kohden tallustelemaan. aaro tahtoi vähän jätättää tanua, kun vanha mies ei niin ripsakasti päässyt eeltämään. -- jalkamiehiksi he olivat nyt joutuneet, vaikka äsken ajoivat hevosella. aaro jätätti isänsä ihan näkymättömiin ja joutui ensiksi kotiin. Äiti istui siellä villoja kartaten tuvan peräpenkillä ja oli "koko maailmaa" itsekseen hyräillyt. oli jotain erinäistä aarossa huomaavinaan ja sanoi ikään kuin leikillään: -- kauvanpa siellä viivyttiin. -- kauvan, -- ynähti aaro pitkäveteisesti. Äiti katsoi ikkunasta pihalle. katsoi saunan eteen, katsoi tallin... katsoi pihan yli yleensä. -- mihinkäs ruuna jäi? -- ruuna kuoli... -- ole vohuimatta! -- epäili äiti. aaro oli vähän aikaa ääneti, sitten sanoi hän harvasteeseen: -- _ruuna myötiin_. -- todellako? -- ihan. Äiti kyseli ja aaro selitti asian juurta jaksain. jo uskoi äitikin asian todeksi. hänen kasvonsa rupesivat punettumaan ja näytti siltä, kun olisi pala hänen rintaansa juuttunut. ensin hipasi hän salasin puolin silmäänsä huivin nurkalla, mutta sitten täytyi lähteä kiireesti ulos puikkimaan. tuokion perästä kun hän taas tuli tupaan, olivat hänen silmänsä punaiset ja vesikierteillä. Ääneti istui penkille ja hipasi taas huivin nurkalla silmäänsä... -- vai myötiin ruuna! ja minä kun sitä syöttelin ja hyväilin kun lastani ikään... ja kun se oli vielä niin hyvä ja viisas, osasi ilmottaa kuin ihminen mielialansa... itken pokuani ikäni aikani! ja kyyneleet ne taas tulvana herahtivat, isot lämpimät kyyneleet. aaroa pyrki tuo itkeminen naurattamaan, vaikka ikäväksi se itsellekin yllätti... ei hän toki kuitenkaan noin vähämielinen... -- hupsu... nauroi aaro äidille. nauruun se jo rupesi äidinkin suuta vetämään ja hän pyhki silmistään pois viimesiä kyyneleitä... taisi se sittenkin olla hupsua yhden hevosen tähden tuommonen, mutta kyllä se toisekseen semmonen eläin kannatti itkeäkin. tanukin tuli kotiin. ei ollut ilonen miehen mieli, vihaisia katseita hän silmistään sirotteli. rukkasensa pani naulaan ja turkki päällä penkille istahti. oltiin hetkinen ääneti, äiti uskalsi viimein arasti virkahtaa: -- huokeasta möitten ruunan. -- niinpä meni, -- huoahti tanu. heitti vihasenlaisen silmäyksen aaroon, oli ajatuksissaan hetken, mutta sitten nousi seisalleen ja käveli kiihkeästi lattialla edestakasin. -- on sitä miehellä tuota miehuutta, -- alotti tanu siinä kävellessään. -- ensin niin varmasti esitti, ettei enää hintaa alenneta, mutta sitten alkaa kuitenkin helpotella... ei se olisi ollut suuri koko vaatimuskaan. -- helpotittehan tuota itsekin, -- koetti aaro puolustuksekseen vaikerrella. tanu painautui taas penkille istumaan ja oli hetken aikaa ajatuksissaan. sitten hän äkkiä ylös kavahti, vilkasi äitiin ja sanoi lyhyesti: -- niin -- ruokaa! yhtiö. ensinkin oli kokoontunut mies ja hevonen joka talosta, joka talosta oli suuri summaton hirsi vedätetty ja hirret yksistä tuumin laudoiksi sahattu. kun laudat olivat kuivaneet, pantiin taas työhön mies joka talosta. kutsuttiin hyväksi kiitetty venemestari toisesta pitäjäästä ja ruvettiin valmistamaan suurta suummatonta kirkkovenettä. kylän isännät olivat jo monta monituista herranvuotta siitä samasesta asiasta aprikoineet ja tuumineet. ei tuntunut näet oikein juhlalliselta, että kukin omalla nuottaveneellään kirkolle kitkutteli, siinä tahtoi sydämissä pyöritelläidä kateellista kilpailua ja sen semmosia epäpyhiä asioita. viime kesänä syksypuolella siitä asiasta oli ruvettu vasta oikein totisemmin puhumaan ja siitä oli seurauksena että syksytalvesta jo otettiin metsästä veneverstaita. ja nyt kaputeltiin ja naputeltiin rökkilän talon avaralla pihamaalla. vene kyhättiin kuosulleen ja kaaripuita kiinni naulailtiin. hiessä päin miehet liehasivat ja päivä keväisellä herttaisuudellaan kiirehti kuivaamaan vasta valmistuvaa venettä. ja se valmistui viimein se kaksisoutuinen, pitkä kirkkovenonen. se lepäsi siinä niin ilosen näkösenä ylettäen melkein pihamaan toisesta päästä toiseen. ja taas tuli mies joka talosta ja jokaisella miehellä oli tervaämpäri toisessa ja nahtari toisessa kädessä. ja he sivelivät sen suuren, kaksitoistahankasen ja ilosen näkösen veneen punasen ruskealla tervalla. mutta venemestari ryvetti nahtarinsa noessa ja maalasi suuren veneen kokkaan kummallekin puolelle: yhtiÖ. kun terva oli veneeseen kuivanut, tuli taasen kyläläisiä kaksi miestä joka talosta. he panivat monta paksua seivästä veneen alle ja kantoivat sen seipäiden varassa rantaan. ja varhain, jo auringon nousun aikoina seuraavana sunnuntaiaamuna kokoontui kylän kansa suuren, iloisen yhtiön ympärille. talot ja torpat olivat jätetyt autioiksi; nekin, joiden oli jäätävä kotimiehiksi, olivat tulleet katsomaan suuren kirkkoveneen ensikertaista lähtöä. ja vene sai väestä täytensä, muutamia jäi maallekin. veneessä oli vanhoja muoria ja vaaria, keski-ikäisiä akkoja ja ukkoja ja nuoria poikia ja tyttöjä. se survattiin verkkaan rannasta taipaleelle, vähän ulommaksi päästyään se kääntyi ja kylän väki alkoi vinhassa tahdissa soutaa kirkolle. rannalle jääneet katsoivat kauvan veneen kiivasta poistumista. sieltä vilkkuivat valkoset tyttöin huivit ja alusnutut mustempain pukineiden seasta ja airojen lehdet välähtelivät molemmin puolin venettä veden pinnalla. sitten peittyi vene mykevän marjaniemen ahon suojaan ja rannalle jääneet kävelivät kaihoisina kukin mökillensä. ja hyvää alunottoa seuraten mennä lojotti yhtiö kirkolle monena pyhänä ja monena kesänä. ennen auringon nousua alkoi kertyä sen ympärille pyhäpukuisia ihmisiä ja odottivat, kunnes aurinko oli kappaleen matkaa ylöspäin kavunnut. sitten kun ei enää kuulunut ketään tulevaksi, työnnettiin vene vesille. joku talojen isännistä istui perään ja suuren veneen airot alkoivat vettä velloa säännöllisessä tahdissaan. isosti pauhusi ja vaahtosi vesi korkean kokan edessä ja voimakkaat aallot vierivät kahden puolen kapean lahdelman rantamille... matkalla sivuutti yhtiö kaikki pienemmät matkan tekijät ja jysähti ensimäisenä kirkon lahden rantapenkereeseen. ja kun toiset joutuivat rantaan pienillä paateillaan, kävivät he yksistä tuumin ihailemassa tololaisten mahtavaa kirkkovenettä. kirkkoajan jälkeen läksivät pienet purret edeltäkäsin vettä viilettämään. yhtiö odotti kannettavakseen kaikki omankyläläiset ja viipyi viimeseksi. mutta sitten kun se läksi, niin se läksi aika vauhdilla! vesi pursusi ja vaahtosi vain korkean kokan edessä, kun se sivuutti kaikki pienemmät matkan tekijät ja ensimmäisenä kolautti kokkansa kotirannikolle. niin oli asiat ensimäisinä kesinä, -- mutta sitten yhtiö rupesi ylpeämmäksi. se ei enää malttanutkaan odottaa kaikkia tulijoita kotirannassa ja viimein se jätti jälkimäisiä kirkkorantaankin... se oli sittenkin vain vähäistä. mutta viimein kun se uskalsi jättää tyhjille teloille talon emäntiä ja isäntiäkin! ja talon isännät ja emännät suuttuivat, haettivat haasta hevosen ja ajoivat kärrikyydissä kirkolle... ja yhtiöstä vähenivät kirkkomiehet pyhä pyhältä, kesä kesältä ja yhtiö itsekin harvensi kirkossa käyntiään. ja silloin kun se kävikin, oli siinä vain joku isäntä, muut olivat vain loisia ja mökkiläisiä. * * * * * mutta eräänä sunnuntaina kuului tololan lahdelta kumea ulvahdus ja kun kylän kansa kiiruhti katsomaan, näkivät he siellä uuden kummituksen. siellä oli rautainen, suuri, muhkeaksi maalattu venonen, joka tupruutti savua korkeasta torvestaan. ja veneessä olijat sanoivat, että siinä pääsee siinä veneessä kirkolle ja kirkolta pois viidelläkymmenellä pennillä. -- hyh, kylläpäs! -- ihmetteli kylän kansa ja läksivät pois rannasta nenät äkäsesti nyrpällään. mutta rantapenkereen päällä tuli vastaan isäntiä ja emäntiä kirkkotamineissaan ja kuuluivat menevän siihen uuteen tuliveneeseen. silloin ihastuivat torpparit ja loisetkin ja juoksivat rantaan viisikymmenpenninen kourassa. he eivät kaikki joutuneetkaan... olivat vasta rantapenkereellä tulossa, kun "sukkela" jo eteni rannasta ihmisillä täytettynä. mutta siitähän ei auttanut työlästyminen, omahan heillä oli veneensä... jälelle jääneet katsoivat rantapenkereellä, kun uusi vene meni tulista vauhtia mustaa savua ilmaan tupruuttaen. mutta ensi sunnuntaina tuli "sukkela" uudestaan ja silloin oli toisillakin vuoronsa. ja sitten se tuli joka sunnuntai saaden täytensä joka kerralla. tuli vasta aamiaisten aikaan ja läksi vähä myöhemmin, mutta ehti yhtä hyvin aikanaan perille. mutta yhtiö kuivi ja ravistui lahden pohjukassa. vesi huuhtoi tervan sen reunoista, laidat lahoivat ja ääripuut poikki pykeilivät! se ei ollut moneen kesään paikaltaan pikahtanut ja alkoi peittyä pajunvesojen sisään, jotka kasvoivat sen omassa pimennossa. se näki joka kerta, kun "sukkela" ihmisiä täyteen ahdettuna läksi kirkolle mennä pahkuamaan. silloin se muisteli niitä ilosia aikoja, jolloin hän oli lähtenyt samalla tavalla, vaan nyt sai siihen paikalleen lytistyä. mutta häntähän tarvittiin soutaa ja ihmiset olivat laiskistuneet! mutta yhtiö toivoi vielä... se toivoi saavansa pannun ja höyrykoneen sisäänsä ja pääsevänsä kirkolle pahkuamaan savua tupruutellen! hän sai kauvan odottaa. * * * * * mutta kerran, kerran kokoontui kylän kansa taas yhtiön ympärille! ne kokoontuivat iltasella, mutta ehkäpä ne tulivatkin vain tuomaan vasta höyrykonetta. yhtiö sahattiinkin poikki ja vedettiin korkealle rantapenkereelle... siellä hilattiin molemmat kappaleet toisiaan vasten pystyyn ja kannettiin suuri rovio risuja ympärille. sitten ne sytyttivät risut tuleen ja yhtiö poltettiin juhannuskokkona. se suuri vene kähisi ja ritisi, mutta ahnaasti tulikielet nuoleksivat sen kuvetta ja leimahtelivat pilviin asti taivaalle! silloin muuttui kullan karvaiseksi kesäyön utuinen hämärä... nurmikko ja lehdistöt -- ne olivat kaikki kultaa! vanhan kirkkoveneen pyhä tuli oli ne kullannut... ja kylän kansa oli muuttunut kullan karvaseksi, kun ne räpyttivät käsiään ja riemuissaan huutelivat... huomen aamuna tuli "sukkela" tololan lahdelle savua tupruuttaen. vähän ajan perästä se taas läksi kirkolle kylän kansaa ihan pikaraisillaan. pekka. pikku pekka ei ollut kooltaan kovinkaan rehevä. semmoinen ressukka vain, jonka jalassa ei ollut edes housujakaan. kyllähän hänellä toki oli housutkin, mutta hän ei niitä käyttänyt näin jokapäiväisissä oloissa. ja kun oli kerran opastunut olemaan paitasillaan, niin ne housut tuntuivatkin ihan tarpeettomilta kuvatoksilta... kahlehtivathan vain pieniä jalkoja. hän oli vain pikku pekka, mutta pieniähän ne olivat muutkin, jotka mekastivat pohjoismäen torpan pellon alapuoleisessa notkossa. siellä he olivat huutaneet ja hulikoineet jo kauvan aikaa, aamusta asti melkein. pohjoismäen eemi oli noussut suureen ritvalehväiseen koivuun ja siellä oksalla istuen käkenä kukkua helkytteli. toiset lapset luulivat olevansa variksia, piipottelivat pientarella, raakuivat ja liehauttelivat siipiään. kun eemi viimein kyllästyi käkenä kukkumiseen ja oksia myöten alas kapusi, rupesi koko lintuparven mieli marjoja tekemään. siinä vierelle ihan olikin ohrapellon keskellä tuuheita vatunvarsipensaita raunioiden ympärillä. sieltä kuumotti vattujakin ihan kirjavanaan, mutta tahtoi vähän pelottaa mennessä toukoa tallaamaan. uskallettiin sitä sittenkin! varovasti hiivittiin ohraa myöten, kiville koetettiin astella ja jakailtiin kahtaalle vihannoita ohran olkia, etteivät; vain lahmaantuisi. mutta kun päästiin syvemmälle ohran sisään niin ei pidetty väliä jos sotkeutuikin, kukapa sieltä kävi katsomassa, ennenkun leikattaessa ja sitten saakoot hevoset syyn niskoilleen. ihan kirjavanaan ne olivat siellä vatukot punasista marjoista. taisi niissä muutamissa jo olla matojakin, mutta mitäpäs siitä... yhtä vattuahan se on vatun matokin! ja sinne sitä painauttiin kyyrysilleen ohran ja vattu pensasten väliin, ettei näkyisi jos kuka sattuu kulkemaan... pian ne alkoivat punaset pilkut pensaista puhdistua ja kyllästymään rupesivat marjamiehetkin, kun säämyskäiset pussit rupesivat täyttymään. valkoisia päitä alkoi pumpsahdella ohran sisästä näkyviin ja pienet piippaimet rupesivat vuorotellen muuttelehtamaan pientarelle päin. silloin ei enää tullut niin välitetyksi ohran lakoilemisestakaan, kun oli kerran saatu saamiset nautituksi! -- uidaanpas! eemi se oli aina joukossa uljain ja kekseliäin, vähän väliä valmis uutta keksimään! kilvalla sitä piiperrettiin notkelmaan mutahaudan partaalle ja pienen pieni pekka pinkasi perästä, että paidan helmukset sinne tänne siekalehtelivat. pian oli riisuttu kelteisilleen kesäisistä tamineista ja kohta ei näkynyt joukosta muuta kuin häliseviä päitä mutahaudan mustassa vedessä. kun vesi rupesi liettymään kovin sakeaksi, alkoi uiminenkin ruveta kyllästyttämään. pois sieltä haudasta harrittiin ja alettiin kilvalla ylle paitoja sukia. kukaan ei tahtonut jäädä viimmeiseksi pukeumispuuhassaan, kun toiset olisivat silloin päässeet ruunanpään keittäjäksi sanomaan. eemi se joutui ensiksi puettuaan puun kalikan mutahautaan viskaamaan. -- en ole ruunanpään keittäjä, enkä suolan maistaja! toiset tekivät samaten ja pieni tiina jäi viimeseksi, vaikka toiset tytöt jo koettivat auttaakin. viskasi se sentään risun kappaleen hänkin osaltaan. -- en ole luunanpään eittäjä, entä tuolan maittaja. -- kuulkaapas! kannetaanpas tuolta rauniosta kiviä tänne mutahautaan! se mies joka saa suurimman kannetuksi, -- näin oli eemi taas valmis esittämään. tuumasta toimeen. kilvalla kiviä kantaa kinnistettiin ja se sai miehen nimen, joka suurinta kiveä voi kuletella. se se oli iloa, kun vesi aina kiveä viskatessa kuohahteli ja pärskähteli! mutta pikku pekka tahtoi olla mies miehistäkin. hän otti suuremman kiven kuin oikein jaksoi kantaakaan ja sen kera mutahautaa kohden mennä retuutti. kovasti hän sitä koetti viskata ja kovasti se kivi vettä hulauttikin, mutta --- voi surkeata! -- koko mies sutkahtikin hautaan jälestä. siellä se nyt uros puliskoi paitoineen päivineen sakeassa vedessä. sinne mentiin ihan umpisukkeloon, paidan helma ja hiukset vain veden pinnalla heilahtelivat. siitä toki selvisi seisalleen mies vähäväkinen, mutta suu oli selkosen selällään ja naama muutenkin niin toivottoman näköisenä. kädet olivat toisiin toveriin päin ojolla, ja sormet niin harrallaan, ettei niitä toki olisi saanutkaan sen harrammalleen. -- ui, uijui -- ää -- ää -- äää -- --! pekka oikein itki näet. -- elähän itke! tule tännemmäksi niin me nostetaan pois, -- koettivat toiset viihdytellä. läksi siitä uros maata kohden harrailemaan, mutta suu ei vain ottanut oijetakseen sen suoremmaksi. kovin oli mieli apea, kovan onnen kyyneleet silmistä siivilöityivät ja siihen valui mutainen vesi tukasta pitkin poskia. vielä rähjähti ukko käsilleen veteen, vielä murtui mustemmaksi mieli ja parkuvirsi kävi yhä haikeammaksi. -- Ää -- ää -- ää-ää --! pekka parka...! viimein saatiin uros nostetuksi norosta, vedettiin käntylleen nurmikolle. monissa miehin paitaa mieheltä raastettiin ja väännettiin pois enintä vettä. pekka vain äänetönnä tarkasteli toisten touhuja. toverit olisivat panneet pekan paidan puun oksalle valistumaan, mutta pekka ei semmoisista piitannut, päällensä vain pakkasi. läksi sitten kotiin päin väännättelemään, suu vieläkin vähän väärällään. Äitiään kaipasi pekka, vaan sitä ei löytynyt koko mökistä. pekka etsi tuvasta, etsi navetasta ja saunastakin, mutta ei näkynyt sittenkään. itku alkoi taasen ilmoille pyrkiä. itku se viimein pääsikin, pääsi kalvavan kaihoinen itku. kurkun täydeltä huusi pienoinen mies, eikä välittänyt laisinkaan virtensä kauneudesta. eihän se silloin ääni iloisesti helkähtele, kun sitä on suuret surut murtamassa... kuunteli pekka väliin ja sitten alotti taasen virren uudelleen. entistä valtavammin valitti ja yhä rämeämmin ääni värähteli. viimein tuli äiti näkyviin. päreinen konttivakka sillä näkyi olevan selässä lehtiä täyteen ahdettuna, kun tulla ressutteli vesakosta pellon veräjälle. veräjän yli se hilasi itseään konttivakkoineen ja sitten pientaretta myöten pihaan päin. mutta mitäpä siitä oli turvaa pekalle, torua alkoi vain likemmäksi päästyään. -- sillä lailla huutaa, että luulisi koko pojan sutten hampaissa olevan! kunhan minä saan kättä pitempää, niin kyllä minä opetan, mokomankin parkujan! Äiti meni kujanpohja-latoon ja taisi siellä lehtivakkaansa tyhjentää, koska kuului kahina. pekka alkoi arvella, että "mikähän myräkkä tästä oikein vääntyykään, koska äiti alkoi kättä pitemmästä puhua..." pekan sydän alkoi niin somasti pampahdella, pelko näet rupesi rinnassa rehentelemään. hirveältä se tuntui ajatellakin, että jos nyt ruvetaan märän paidan kostuttamaa selkänahkaa vielä koivurieskalla voitelemaan. arveltiin siinä vähän, että jos lähdettäisiin äidiltäkin armoakin pyytämään, mutta toisekseen ei pekka tuntenut olevansa ollenkaan armon kerjuutuulella. märkä paita se niin oli karaissut ruumista ja sydäntäkin, että tuntui paremmalta omaan apuun turvautuminen. pian oli pekka tehnyt sen suuren päätöksensä ja alkoi vilistää pientaretta myöten vesakkoon. tutjahteli vain päässä valkonen tukka ja veräjä muutaman kerran narahti ylös kavutessa. veräjällä vilkasi mies vielä jälelleen ja sitten sujahti vesakkoon. sieltä pensaan takaa hän vielä pihaan päin pilkisteli. Äiti näkyi tulevan tuvan perään ja katseli ja huhuili, mutta kun ei mitään kuulunut, meni taas pihan puolelle. pekka läksi vesakkoon päin tallustelemaan. siellä oli naurishalme pellon aitavarressa ja pekka pujoittihe aidan raosta sisäpuolelle. käänteli siellä pieniä kaaliksen alkuja, mutta kun niiden juurissa ei ollut kynnelle kykeneviä, täytyi taas hiipiä pois samasta raosta, josta oli tultukin. alkoi ruveta tuntumaan vähän vilulle märässä paidassa ja lepikon vilvennossa, täytyi väistäytyä ahon laiteelle. siinä heittäytyi pekka syrjälleen pehmosen sammalmättään kupeeseen ja antoi päiväpaisteen hellittää kylmettyneeseen ruumiiseen. kovin tulisesti se päivä paistoikin, tahtoi ihan polttamaan työnnätellä. Äiti oli sanonut sateen edellä päivän niin kovin tulisesti hellittävän. aurinko alkoi jo illan puolelle kallistua. pitkin lepikon rintaa ensin laittautui paistamaan ja sitten rupesi vaipumaan leppien suojaan. leppien pimennot pitenivät pitenemistään. nälkä alkoi jo pekan vatsaa väännellä. kotiin teki mieli lähtemään, mutta ei tahtonut uskaltaa. idästä päin oli jo jonkun aikaa pieniä pilven hapeneita tulla hassottanut, mutta nyt sieltä jo rupesi kuulumaan ukkosen ryskettäkin ja musta pilven pakkula alkoi hivelläidä sinitaivaan rannikolle. yhä ylemmäksi kohosi pilvi ja yhä vaisummasti ilma järähteli. viimein alkoi jo pisareita ripsehtiä ja seassa pudota muksahteli isoja rakeen mokkareita. silloin täytyi lähteä kotiin... pekka kuulosti ensin oven takana ja uskalsi sitä sitten vähän raottaa. Äiti näkyi voitaleipää popsivan pöydän takana ja sisään se vetäytyi pekkakin kun oli kerran näyttäytynyt. Äiti näytti hyvin vihaiselta. ensin sillä lailla parkuu ja sitten vielä lähtee pakoon pökäsemään! ensimmäisen synnin olisi ehkä antanut anteeksi, mutta toista ei kuulunut käyvän antaminen millään ehdolla. pekka itki ja rukoili. meni ihan äidin eteen ja hypisteli nöyrästi äidin röijyn helmaa, jos sitten paremmin heltyisi. Äiti käski vain olla voivottelematta ja hakea vitsa valmiiksi. vai aina tässä vain anteeksi! -- ettekös sitten piiskaa, jos haen vitsan valmiiksi, -- kysyi pekka vähän toiveekkaampana. ennenkin oli tullut armo, kun oli hakenut vitsan valmiiksi, niin jospa se keino nytkin auttaisi. varmuuden vuoksi kysäsi pekka jo edeltä päin... Äitiä pyrki semmoinen kysymys naurattamaan, mutta kovalta hän koetti sittenkin näyttäytyä. -- no, senpähän sitten näkee... pekka ymmärsi sen jo täydeksi lupaukseksi. ei se äiti niin ollut myönnytellyt muulloinkaan, jos kerran oli tosi kysymyksessä. nauru tahtoi jo pyrkiä huulille itkun sekaan mennessä vitsaa hakemaan. ulkona sataa suopotteli vettä ja jäitä sekasin. pekka sieppasi lehtisen vastan oven poskesta ja vei kokonaan äidille. leikiksi koetti lyödä koko asian ja katsoi äitiä kysyvästi silmiin. -- syöhän nyt! sanoi äiti annettuaan pojan ensin hieman odottaa. pekka rupesi voileipää jauhattelemaan, mutta katsoi vielä äitiä kysyvästi silmiin, kun se herkesi syömästä. oih! Äiti ottikin luudan käsiinsä ja rupesi siitä muuanta varpua irti ravistelemaan! pekka paralta takeltui pala suuhun. hän jätti voileipänsä pöydälle ja heittäytyi äidin helmaan... silloin pääsi äidiltä väkistenkin raikas nauru ja hän sieppasi pojan polvelleen. -- voi poika parkaani! pekka oli hyvin ihmeissään. hän ei voinut mitenkään käsittää, mitä se tuommoinen merkitsi. ihan hämilleen kävi pienoinen mies. -- enhän minä sinulle mitään aikonut tehdä. hampaan kaivurassia aijoin vain ottaa luudasta, sanoi äiti ja nauroi niin että vedet silmistä kihahtelivat. pekkakin koetti nauraa, vaikkei häntä oikeastaan naurattanut, kun oli tullut tuommoinen erehdys. tuntui kujeenkin mieli niin pehmoselta ja nöyrältä, kun hyvä äiti oli sittenkin antanut anteeksi, vaikka hän oli jo koettanut valmistautua uhkamielisenä tuomiota vastaan ottamaan. olkoonpa muut asiat miten hyvänsä, kunhan taas oli maassa rauha ja vielä saatu aikaan koivuniemen herran käymättä selänpään hovissa juhlatanssiaisia pitämässä. pekka tuumaili siitä edestä olla toiste hyvin äidin mielen mukaisena. pekka koetti vielä jauhatella voileipäänsä, mutta tuntui nyt elämä niin tyyneltä ja rauhalliselta, että täytyi panna voileipä pöydälle ja heittäytyä sänkyyn tuvan karsinanurkassa. maailmaan. kallen vanhemmilla oli semmoinen sievonen torppa tololan lahden rantarinteellä. viljamaat eivät olleet niin suuren suuretkaan, mutta tuottivat kyntäjänsä tarpeeksi... monen täytyy tulla toimeen vähemmälläkin. vaikka toisella kymmenellä elävä kalle-poika ei ollut ollenkaan tyytymätön isän kotona olemiseen, paloi hänen mielensä kumminkin niin tulisesti päästä maailmaan... tuntui mielestä niin raukkamaiselta siinä isän suojassa turvitteleminen, mutta kun saisi olla mies mistään riippumaton, niin se se olisi jotakin. -- kalle innostui toisinaan niin noista itsenäisyyden ajatuksistaan, että luuli olevansa jo kaukana unelmoimissaan ihanissa oloissa -- ja silloin hän nosti päänsä pystyyn, pullisti rintaansa ja oli mies mielestään. muuanna kelkkeänä kevätaamuna meni kalle lahdelman takalolle kasken karsintaan. aamiaisille asti hän huiskutteli puun oksia poikki kirveellään siellä keihkeällä rantaharjanteella, mutta sitten teki tulet ja katseli eväskonttinsa sisustaa. syötyään istahti kivelle ja antoi katseen luisua ympäristön jokaiselle kulmalle... lahdelle päin sitten viimein unehtui tuijottamaan. jää lepäsi synkän puuheana lahdelmalla, mutta ihan pohjukassa puron suulla oli jo hiukan sulaa poretta, jossa kevätahava sai veden pinnan virivirtoina värähtelemään ja pirteät aaltoset yhä avarammalta jään reunaa murentelivat. lahden takaisella rinteellä viherti keväinen rukiin orahisto kotoisessa peltopalasessa. kotiluvan katto sieltä kuvasti silmään ihan lumetonna ja kuivana ja puhdas oli vehreä petäjikkökin pellon aidan takana. kallen rinnassa puhalsi silloin niin huikaiseva innostuksen hengähdys, että hän tietämättään tahtomattaan koholle kimmahti. vaistomaisesti tarttui hän kirveen ponteen ja ryhtyi työhön, mutta se oli nyt hänelle liijan verkkaisaa semmoinen... hän löi kuin vimmattu, kätten ja ruumiin jäntereet olivat ihan hullaantuneet ja mielin määrin ponnahtelivat ilman tahtomatta. eikä kirveskään edes katsonut eteensä, tulta säihkyen vain kiviin tirskanteli. mutta sittenkään ei niin verkkaisat liikkeet voineet vaimentaa sisäistä raivostusta. kädet paiskasivat kirveen olalle, kontti luiskahti harteille ja kalle läksi... jalatkin olivat vimmassa, vai olisiko maankamara ollut niin joustava, että miestä koholle puusuutteli lahden pohjukan ympäri kotia kohden laukatessa. se oli huimaa taivallusta, jolla kalle yltyi matkaa katkasemaan... kintut vilkkaasti lavertelivat ja leivän kanturainen ja voivakkanen kontissa hätäytyneinä rumahtelivat. mutta lahden pohjukassa jalat rupesivat tyyntymään ja pää alkoi vaipua vasemman olkapään puolelle kallelleen. alkoi ruveta mietityttämään, miksi hän oikeastaan oli lähtenyt ja jättänyt kasken karsimatta. -- minä lähden tukin uittoon! niin äkkiä ja varmasti nytkähti esille se ajatus, että täytyi lausua oikein korvin kuultavaksi. reimakasti astui kalle kotiin ja ilmoitti asian äidille. -- noo-o, -- sanoi äiti, -- mistä se semmoinen puuska nyt juolahti? jokos kaski tuli karsituksi? -- minä lähden tukin uittoon, vakuutti kalle ikään kuin halveksien äitiä, joka tuli muistuttelemaan semmoisista vähäpätöisyyksistä, kun oli niin suuri asia kysymyksessä. -- minun _täytyy_ päästä lähtemään. isäkin tuli kotiin pellolta, kun oli nähnyt kalienkin sinne raksuttelevan. isä istuutui penkille, eikä ollut niinä miehinäänkään. alkoi vain visakoppaista piippuvekaraa tupakkamassin helmuksiin tuhrutella. --- meidän nuorimieshän tässä kuuluu olevan tukkijoelle lähdössään, ehätti äiti ilmoittamaan. -- soo'oh! -- niini, vakuutti kalle varmasti. kyllähän ne vanhukset koettivat selittää asiaa monelle mukalalle, koettivat estää poikaa "turhia höpisemästä" hyvällä jos pahallakin, mutta ne neuvokit eivät tulleet mihinkään taroon tällä kerralla. -- mene sitten! sanoi isä viimein vähän närkästyneenä. Äiti pani konttiin lisää evästä ja kalle käski panna puhtaan paidan ja pyhäisen puvun... jos näet sattuisi pitemmältäkin viivähtämään. Äiti oli pannut vaatteet ja muut ja seisoi ovella kallen lähtiessä. -- milloinka sinä tulet takaisin? -- no, en tiedä. Äidiltä tillahti itku ja hän nyyhkytti huivin nurkalla silmiään kuivaillen: -- muistahan olla ihmisiksi ja pidä jumala mielessäsi! kirjoita, jos et kohtakin palaa! kalle läksi. pientaretta myöten pisteli pellon veräjälle ja katosi vesakkoon. Äiti oli tehnyt lähtiessä mielen vähän haikeaksi, mutta sitten se taas ilostui, kun pääsi vähän loitommalle kotimökistä. jalat taasen alkoivat miestä koholle keikutella ja eväät kontissa rumahtelivat. joella naapurikylän laiteella oli jo tukin uitto parhaallaan. päällysmies sanoi aamulla kallen pääsevän työhön. kalle loikoi iltasella muutaman talon lattialla valveellaan muiden tukkimiesten välissä. kolme neljä miestä pelasi kolmenkymmenen pennin nakkia pöydän päässä iltahämärässä. tupa oli täynnä tupakansavua ja taisi siellä haista vähän viinallekin. kallen mielessä se jo tukin uitto kuvasteli... hän näyttäisi mimmoinen se on oikea tukkimies! siinä muistui mieleen, kuinka he olivat talilan malkin kera piennä poikana Äyskosken niskalla lukkien selässä vilmittäneet ja putoamisesta ei ollut tietoakaan. ajattelutti se sittenkin niin paljon, että kalle näki nukuttuaankin unta tukin uitosta. varhain, kilvan auringon keralla nousivat miehet aamulla ja läksivät työaloille kahmistamaan. kallekin sai pitkävartisen sestan olalleen ja sen kera jokivarrelle ponnisti. suoraan töytäsi hän tukille näyttääkseen muille, ettei sitä olla arkalasta kotoisin. keskelle jokea juoksi kalle ja seisottui pölkylle. mutta pölkky, riivattu, alkoi kahtaanne päin pyöriä ja mukanaan huojutteli miestäkin... ei tuosta turmiosta ollut turvaksi! -- kiireesti läksi kalle jokivartta kohden ponnistamaan, ihan kuin kana, jolta on pää pois leikattu. sula aukko tuli eteen ja pätkis!... siellä se poika patikoi lirissä. vilkasi ympärilleen, näkeekö kukaan. kyllä ne miekkoset näkivät ja kallelle pitkin joen vartta ilkamoivat. -- koirako se? -- ootko paha akalles? -- kultaasiko muistelet? kallen pisti vihaksi, kun eivät malttaneet olla ilkkumatta, mokomatkin roikaleet... olisivatpas itse täällä pulikoimassa, niin tietäisivät melutessaan! -- mutta eiväthän ne olleet, niillä oli ihan kuivat pöksyt, mutta hän sollotti sumassa. mutta ovat kaiketi kerran olleet hekin ja ovat vieläkin, kun niiksi sattuu! onneksi ei joki ollut syvä, kainaloihin asti vain. kalle jätti patransa virran vietäväksi ja koetti pölkylle ponnistaida, mutta taas se ruoja rupesi pyörimään... juuri kun oli päälle pääsemässä, täytyi pauhahtaa selkämyksilleen jokeen. -- tule täänne, minä noostan! huusi joku miehistä etempää. -- suma auki! kuului lähempää. kallen luonahan ne olivat tukit kulustaan seisottaneet, ruuhkaantuneet. kalle alkoi tyyntyä... eihän siinä mitä hätää ollut, maa jalkain alla niin kuin muuallakin, vaikka nyt vähän tuota veden hujukkaa!... käsin työnneltiin puita menemään ja maalle päin astua jutistettiin... koska eivät tukit selkäänsä ottaneet, niin tottahan maa omansa korjaa! -- katsokaas, pojat! noin se oikea tukkimies vain pohjasta jaloin tönii tukkia taipaleelle! hahhahhaa! -- naurakaa vaan, ruojat! ajatteli kalle. -- syö siitä, juo siitä, elä siitä! huusi muuan. -- niin, no mitäpäs siitä, jatkoi toinen. -- liessua pojat, mitäpäs siitä! toisti kolmas. -- hurutsuilaa! -- ja kepeästi viimeinen puhuja keppelehti juoksevalla sumalla, sinne tänne ruumistaan sujutteli ja lomaan leikkisästi lähätti veteen lapikkaansa kärkeä. kalle oli hyvin toimessaan omissa puuhissaan, patikoi pölkkyjen lomitse joen rantavierteelle ja sinne päästyään vääntihen kivelle. tunsihan siinä olevansa kuin turvansa takana, vaikkei se lystiä ollut vieläkään, kun oli paidat ja pöksyt likomärkänä ja lapikkaat vesilastissa. enintä vettä puisteli kalle pois ryysyistään ja paahteleiksen päiväpaisteessa. mutta se rupesi tuntumaan niin ikävältä siinä istuminen. se vähän lohdutti mieltä, kun näki toki toisenkin poikasen pistävän rysän siellä ylempänä pajupensaan juurella. meni vielä ihan umpisukkeloon, hattu vaan jäi veden pinnalle kellumaan. kalle istui kauvan aikaa kivellä ja kasvot alkoivat käydä yhä epätoivoisemman näköisiksi. miten lienee siinä viimein pieni koti muistunut mieleen siellä tololan lahden rantarinteellä -- ja kalle ei kauvan punniskellut päähänpistojaan. taipaleelle lähdettiin, tarvottiin vetistä niittyä vesakkoon. yöpaikasta otettiin kontti harteille ja lähdettiin kotia kohden vievälle polulle. päivä kohosi yhä korkeammalle ja lämmitteli aukeamaan yritteleviä lehtinupukoita. kallen vaatteet olivat märät ja rintaakin tuntui niin kummasti kaivelevan, kuin olisi tehnyt jonkun rikoksen. siitä tuli sittenkin sovinto. aina niitä vain sattui kamppauksia heidän välillään, isän ja pojan. pienen torpan viljelemiseen kuuluvista töistäkin voi näet olla erilaisia mielipiteitä. lantatunkion laitto, ojankaivaminen ja muut semmoiset seikat voivat olla toisen mielestä toisella tavalla tehtävät ja toisen mielestä toisella tavalla. isä ei näet ojasta välittänyt, olipa se suora tahi väärä, sillä vedellähän on notkea niska, arveli hän. poika taas ajatteli, että ojan pitäisi olla suoran; ensiksikin se olisi niin soma silmälle, kun pelto olisi säännöllisissä suorissa saroissa ja toiseksi olisi kyntömiehen parempi ajaa ensimmäinen vako suoran ojan varteen... hänhän sen tiesi, joka kynti kaikki, mitä torpassa oli kyntämistä. isä väitti, että hän luultavasti oli kyntänyt enemmän kuin poika ja oli vain saanut vääränkin ojanvarren kynnetyksi ja toiseksi ei ollut mitään etua pellon kauneudesta... se ei sillä kasvanut yhtään jyvää enemmän. hänestä tuntui niin turhanpäiväiseltä ruveta ojan sijaa kepittämään ja passaroimaan. se oli niin mukavaa lähteä kiertämään kiveä, ennen kuin ojan pää siihen kiini töksähti. pojan hän kyllä antoi laitella ja kuljailla miten hyvänsä, vaan hän itse tahtoi tehdä työnsä vanhaan hyvään malliin. mutta pojan silmää kangertivat isänkin työt, vanhaan malliin tehdyt. ja hänkin jo oli olevinaan siksi mies, että hänelle olisi pitänyt antaa jossakin kohden perään... niin, oli kai hän siksi mies, kun oli jo eukot, piiput ja muut... nyt oli jo kevät ja hän oli ottanut muijan viime syksynä. kesällä oli ilman aikojaan pilapäin lähtenyt kerran yöjalkaan ja siellä huomannut sen hepolan piika-hellin. olivat jo silloin yrittäneet pappilaan, mutta ei oltu pantu vielä kirjan päälle, kun sulhanen oli alle seitsemäntoista... hän oli perttulin päivän aikaan syntynyt ja perttulin jälkeen kun mentiin pappilaan, niin sitten jo seuraavana pyhänä kirkossa kuulutettiin. riiviikolla sitten pidettiin häät ja sen jälkeen se oli eukko aina kotona nuorella juholla. se juhon eukko oli semmoinen lyhyt lyllykkä, jolla oli punaiset pullukkaposket ja paksut pohkeet. se oli niin mieluinen elätti juhosta. ja kuitenkin sanoi isä eräänä kauniina perjantaipäivänä: -- noin vähämielisellä miehellä ei tarvitseisi olla eukkoa. mutta se oli jo liian suuri loukkaus, kun niitä oli niin paljo entisiäkin tuoreessa muistossa ja muita riitoja vielä siihen lisäksi. ja samana perjantaipäivänä alkoi juho tuumata sille pienelle punaposkiselle eukolleen, että mitähän jos olisi ruveta ja keittää kerrankin oikea erovelli, niin näkisivät ne varmaan vanhukset. kyllähän he nyt toki toimeen tulisivat, kun oli kesä niin lähellä ja vielä sillä paremmalla puolella. se pieni pullakkaposkinen eukko oli ensin vähä vastaan, mutta sitten sanoi, että "tee kuin tahdot"... semmoinenhan se on sääntö, että vaimon on oltava miehen tahdolle kuuliainen. ja juho kun nyt kerran tahtoi sillä tavalla, että erotaan, niin mitäs siinä oli muuta kuin että erottiin. sunnuntaina vasta aijottiin lähteä, oli vain nyt päätettävä ihan valmiiksi... jos ei valmiiksi päättäisi, niin ennättäisi vielä koko tuuma haihtua sunnuntaihin mennessä... juho meni isävanhan luo ja vähän arveltuaan sai asiansa selitetyksi... pyysi vielä päälliseksi, että isä ei vaan suuttuisi, jos on ennen riideltykin, niin erotaanhan toki sovinnolla... eihän se isä suuttunutkaan, päinvastoin vain hymyili itsekseen. juhoa vähän harmitti tuo hymyily... taisi pitää leikkinä koko erohommaa. -- minkäpäs minä sille voin, kun eroatte, niin erotkaa. tultiinhan sitä toimeen ennen kuin teitä oli maailmassakaan, niin jospa sitä tullaan vastakin, niin se sanoi isä ja hymyili hyvin tarkoittavasti... ja nuori juho läksi heti hepolan taloon kysymään, eivätkö he ottaisi kotiinsa asumaan. lupasivathan ne antaa asunnon ja työtäkin... mutta juhoa rupesi koko homma niin somasti arveluttamaan kotiin palatessa. se isäkään ei ollut edes yhtään vastustanut... jos lie ollut hyvinkin vain mieliin, kun mentäisiin pois vastuksina olemasta. vai mitähän lienee miettinyt, kun niin salaperäisesti hymyili? juhosta alkoi itsestäänkin tuntua koko tuuma vähämieliseltä. kun se isä olisi edes vähänkään vastustellut, niin olisihan lähtö tuntunut ehkä vähän miehekkäämmältä... siinä tien varrella oli pienoinen uudisniitty, joka oli isän kera yhdessä perattu. tuores nurmen alku siinä maasta ilmoille yleni ja siellä takapuolella viherti tuuhea rukiinlaiho nuoremmassa perkkiössä... se tuntui säälittävän, kun ei saisi olla mukana ensikertaa niittämässä omaa tekemäänsä niittyä... omalta tekemältähän se tuntui, kun kerran oli ollut työssä osallisena. ja se kävi myös vähä omalle tunnolle nuhtelevaksi, jättää isävanha yksin mökin töitä tekemään, vaikka niissä oli kylliksi puuhaa kahdellekin. -- kun juho palasi kotiin, oli siellä vain äiti yksinään. isä oli mennyt perkkiöviitaan ojan kaivuun ja helli pellolle kiviä poimimaan. -- eiköhän se ole se puuhasi sentään vain tyhjää hourimista, sanoi äiti. isänkin sanoi äiti sanoneen: -- antaa hänen täyttää mielitekonsa, sittenpähän tietää, kun kokee. antaa mennä, kun luulee sieltä niin hyvän marjamättään löytävänsä! juho ei puhunut äidille mitään niin merkillistä. otti lapion olalleen ja läksi isän luo perkkiölle. isä oli alottanut alusta ojan kaivun, poikkitelaisesta ojasta ylöspäin... oli kepittänyt ojalinjan ihan suoraksi, vieläpä oli kantanut pitkän riuvunkin ojan varteen ja sen vartta myöten piirusti suohon niin suoraa ojaa, että tuskin mistään voi löytää suorempaa... juho rupesi kamartamaan ojan sijaa edeltä päin ja isä loi ojamuria pois pohjasta jälempänä. ei puhuttu paljon mitään, eikä ainakaan yhtään sanaa, joka olisi erohommista muistuttanut... juhosta tuntui olo niin hyvältä, että hän ei muistanut, olisiko se milloinkaan ennen tuntunut semmoiselta. juho käyttäytyi aivan kuin vanhat miehet koko huomeisen päivän, joka oli lauvantai, säätty ja pyhitetty sunnuntain aatoksi... hän ei ensinkään kisaillut pienen pulleaposkisen vaimonsa kanssa. isäkin se piti häntä aivan vertaisenaan... kun hän aitasi lehmille käytävää, jota myöten saisivat navettaan marssia, kysyi hän juholta, pantaisiinko aita kulkemaan kodan nurkkaan niinkuin ennenkin, vaiko suoraan ladon seinään, että silloin jäisi kaivo pihan puolelle, eikä karjan jalkoihin. he olivat viime kevännä riidelleet sen samasen aidansijan päällisiä, mutta isän tahdosta aita oli suunnattu kodan seinään. -- isä saa tehdä miten tahtoo. kun juho iltapuoleen kulki isän työpaikan sivuitse, näki hän, että isä oli kaivon jättänyt pihan puolelle ja yhdistänyt aitansa ladon seinään... kun oli iltasella jo kylvetty, niin tuli juhon: korvaan suplattamaan se hänen pulleaposkinen eukkonsa. kysyi, että "laitetaanko ne vaatteet nyyttiin lähtöä varten huomiseksi valmiiksi?" -- annahan olla... ennättääpähän nuo aina, sanoi juho... aamulla makasi juho pitkänlaiseen, niinkuin muulloinkin pyhäaamuna. kun hän heräsi, oli se pulleaposkinen vaimo jo mennyt pois vuoteesta... mutta se tuli aittaan, kun juho vielä oli sängyssä selällään. -- vieläkö sinä laiska makaat, kun minä olen ollut jo liikkeessä ainakin pari tuntia, lehmät lypsänyt ja muuta... nouse toki syömään edes! -- eipä tuota ole kiirettä... juhosta tuntui niin herttaiselta kellottaa seiällään pehmoisessa vuoteessa lammasnahkapeitteen sisässä. kevätaamun lempeä aurinko loi valoaan aitan oven täydeltä siltapalkkeihin ja ulkoa lemahteli kasvavan nurmen tuores tuoksu... päälliseksi tuli se pieni pulleaposkinen vaimo istumaan sängyn reunalle... kun kummallakaan ei ollut mitään sanomista, niin se pulleaposkinen vaimo otti vuoteesta rukiintähkän ja siveli sillä juhon huulia... juho tapasi pikkueukkoa kiini, mutta se ennätti pinkasta pakoon, ennen kuin juhon käsi oli irti peitteestä... juho ei mitenkään malttanut olla lähtemättä perään. se pullukkaposkinen vaimo juoksi porstuaan ja porstuan parvelle, mutta kun isä kovaksi onneksi istui porstuan penkillä, niin juho ei ilennyt mennä perästä... isä nauroi vain nuorten leikille ja neuvoi sitä pulleaposkista eukkoa ottamaan parvelta suuren tuohisen kontin ja pudottamaan juhon päähän... juho saikin kohta kontin päähänsä ja isäkin nauroi hyvillään. juho tunsi itsensä niin onnelliseksi, ettei muistanut sitä perjantaista lähtöhommaa koko päivänä... joshan lienee muistanutkin, niin ei hän siitä ainakaan mitään virkkanut. se pieni pulleaposkinen vaimo odotteli iltapäivällä, että eikö kukaan virkkaisi mitään eropuuhista, mutta kun sitä ei kukaan näyttänyt muistavan, niin antoi hänkin sen kyllä mielellään unehtua... parempihan se sillä lailla onkin. eikä sitä ero-asiaa ottanut puheeksi kukaan silloin eikä muulloinkaan... laskiainen. paljon ennen päivän railon ravimäen ylitse näkymisen olivat jo vanhan talon rengit lietsussa. eihän sitä olisi ollut pakkoa niin puhteella tuijakehtelemaan, mutta ne rengitkin ne rynnistivät nyt ihan omasta tahdostaan, jotta puolelta päivin jouduttaisiin suksien kera mäkien rintoja syyhyttelemään. otto läksi kuttaniityltä lammasheiniä hakemaan. kun porstuan ovesta ulos kerkesi, hihkasi jo reimakan rynttäyshuudon ja tulen väkenä kimposihe rekien kanssa räiskämään. häkin sitasi reen kaustoille, sitasi niin tiukasti, ettei siitä vähällä ollut jäädä mitään jälelle koko häkin retukasta. sitten oli otto jo tallissa, sökötteli mustan ruunan suuhun vanhan isännän vanhoista saapasvarsista tikkailemat suitsipahaiset. silloin jo kiskasi voimansa perästä ratastimista, että saisi vähän hevoseenkin omaa intoansa tarttumaan. heikki joutui silloin vasta tuvasta. mutta tullessaan sysäsi jo pihalla piika-liisan kumoon kovalla vauhdillaan, eikö todellakin liene vain ihan huimeesta kaatunut. ja heikki kun toi hevoista, niin siinä helinän synnytti suuri jousikulkunen ja tammaa lyödä hivautettiin tallin ovesta tullessa ohjasperillä, se kun heikin mielestä oli semmoinen turkasen hulttio. tamma kohotti päänsä pystyyn ja näytti sitten yhtä innokkaalta kuin heikkikin. otto hyppäsi jo häkkiin ja räimäsi mustia ohjasperillä. musti pani kaulansa kyömyyn ja potalsi kuin pyssyn suusta virstalle. heikki osotti tamman heti jälkeen ja silloin sitä lähdettiin. kulkuset rolakehtelivat ja hevot tallasivat, minkä kavioista kerkesivät. uni oli renkipojista nyt yhtä etäällä, kuin virkeys tavallisesti. ennen päivän tuloa tulla rytistivät pojat kotiin, otto heinähäkkineen ja heikki rantekuormineen. ennen päivän tuloa ehdittiin syödä ja olisi ehditty sujauttaa ruokalepokin, jos olisi maltettu. mutta nyt pantiin vain hevot aisoihin ja annettiin mennä viiletellä. peloitti näet vähän jos isäntä ei mäenlaskuun laskisikaan, siksi koetettiin tehdä työtä ihan täydellä tahdolla... laskeehan sitten, kun ajetaan hevot ihan uuvuksiin. lapset läksivät jo päivän tultua kelkkoineen hujauttelemaan "pitkiä pellavia" riihen perästä, siellä kun oli vähän myöttävää. kun aina rupesi paleltamaan, silloin sitä täytyi kynsiin puhallellen piipertää tuvan puolelle lämmittelemään ja suuta tahtoi vetää vähän väärälleen. mutta tupajoukot kun vain nauroivat tuolle surkeudelle, niin täytyi itsensäkin nauraa siihen itkun sekaan. mutta kun sormet vähän verkistyivät, niin patii, mäkeen uudestaan. talon kalle-poika oli hieman vanhempi, eikä enää niin välittänyt kelkalla hilskaroimisesta. hän siveli tuvan pankon vierellä suksiaan talilla ja eikö sitä liene pantu vähän voitakin... suksien täytyi näet huilata oikein isän vitsasta näin laskiaisena. pitemmälle niitten täytyisi viedä kuin muiden poikain lipaskot. alkoi siinä jo pitkästyttää puolisen odotus, tunnusti vähän siltä rinnassa, että jos vitkastelemisella menisi koko ilo läpi käsien, vaikka eihän sinne mäkeen oltu ennen puolista menty ennenkään. vanhaan taloon hiihtää liuhutteli korventaustan kustakin. köyhän mökin poika oli lähtenyt siksi aikaiseen, että ehtisi rasvarieskoille taloisiin taloihin. olihan hän kyllä edellisinä päivinä kulkenut kylällä "laskiaista keräämässä", mutta tuli ne toki aina tarvituksi kotonakin anomalla saadut rasvahipenet. penkille se poika istahti, sinne oven puoleiseen päähän, ja silmäili vesissä suin, kun emäntä sian lapetta uuniin hilasi. ohrajauhoista oli leivottu ohuita rieskoja, joitten päällyspintaan pistettiin sianläskiviipaleita. olipa tahtaasta tehty pienonen kuppikin, joka mätettiin ihan pikaraisilleen läskilepereitä. täytyihän sitä toki laskiaisena olla olemista, kuu se ja joulu olivat vuoden ainuita rasvapäiviä. ja ne läskit ja rasvat ne uunissa karisi ja tirisi, niitten suloinen tuoksu sieltä koko tupaan lemahteli ja jopa rengit sen tunsivat pihallakin tullessaan ja hevosia riisuessaan. oikein keillekin vedet suuhun herahtivat ja molempain huulet herpoutuivat niin nauttivan tyytyväisesti lerpalleen. suitset käsivarrella ne pojat tupaan reksuttelivat ja sarkatakkiaan naulaan asettelivat lämpimässä suuressa tuvassa. sian lape, rasvarieskat ja muut höllötökset kannettiin pöydälle ja kilvalla alettiin niitä hannustaa. ei se ole näet sillä hyvä, jos sukset voitelee, mies se on myöskin hyvästi sian lihalla sivuttava, sitten ne vasta sukset oikein luitelee. korventaustan kustallekin vietiin sinne penkin ovensuupäähän rieskan kannikka ja melkein samankokoinen sianlihavinkale. eihän se nyt toki laskiaisena kielteessä... isäntäkin istui pöydän takana, koomin kuin siellä yläpään puolessa ja usutti kovasti puremaan. mutta kun renki-heikki oli ensiksi herennyt syömästä, silloin alkoi kiirehtiä mäkeen menemään... kuuluivat saavan mennä joka kynnenkanttura, kyllä hän itse jäisi hevoisia ruokkimaan. -- isäntä myös, ivaili heikki. eihän se toki sanonut kehtaavansa kuuskymmen-vuotinen vanhus, eikä ne muutkaan ilenneet lähteä niin kovin rikeneelle. rengitkin piippujaan hyväilivät, kuin muka veisaisivat viisi koko lähdölle. mutta miten lienee heikki siinä sattunut nousemaan naulasta sarkatakkiaan ottamaan ja päälleen tunkemaan. otto seurasi esimerkkiä ja sitten sitä laiskan näköisesti ulos astuttiin, mutta kun tuskin päästiin porstuaan, niin honkainen silta alkoi oikein jykevästi tömähdellä ja pihan poikki vihlastiin juoksujalassa tallin yliselle paraita suksia valikoimaan. heikin hunsvotti joutui ensiksi, kun oli ensin lähtenytkin, vaikka otto koetti kopaltaa kiinikin portaita yliselle puittaessa. paremmat sukset sai heikki kun saikin. ei ollut tullut tehdyksi oikeita sompasauvoja, mutta välikös sillä! rantteen latvaa rutaistiin vain käteen liiterin sivuitse mennessä, tai mitäpähän sattui saamaan kepakkoa. heikkikin sieppasi vanhan pesuluudan tynkyrän toiseksi sauvakseen. hiihdettiin naapuriin. sielläkin olivat jo pojat lähdön sypäkässä, muuan vain vielä suksiinsa varvasremmiä rakenteli. toiset jo seisoivat suksilla ja odotellessaan kahtaanne käsin liukuilivat. -- hei, pojat! eikös mäkeen? -- kohta paikalla. -- mistä aijotte laskea? niskalan vuorelle kuuluivat menevän. oisihan se ollut mäki siinä rantarinteessä lähempänäkin ja parempi vielä, mutia niskalan rinteelle kuu kuului tulevan paljon muitakin, niin sinnehän sitä piti mennä joukkoon... joukossahan sitä on hyvä viiletellä. lähdettiin, kilvalla mentiin. livakasti sujahtelivat rasvalla hotjatut sukset ja miehet hiihtäessään hikoilivat. pian oltiin niskalan vuoren korkeimmalla kukkulalla, jossa jo toisia poikia oli täydessä huijakassa. muutamat junnasivat rinnettä ylöspäin ja toiset latua alas livauttelivat, jotta takkien liepeet ilmassa hulmahtelivat. vastatulleista ehätti ensiksi korventaustan kusta suksensa ladulle asettamaan, arveli sentään lähtiessään. -- onkohan siellä hyppyjä? -- ei ole sillä ladulla, mutta noilla toisilla. melkein vahingossa lähtivät kustan sukset rinnettä alas liukumaan. siinä alaspäin huhkiessa tuntui niin suloisesti ruumista hivelevän ja sitten siihen sekaan peloitti, jos alhaalla kaatuu hyvinkin ja toiset pääsevät nauramaan. sukset ihan uhalla rupesivat alemmaksi päästyään yhä vinhakammin liukumaan, menivät pakanat niin kovasti, ett'ei oikein kärsinyt eteensä katsoa, kun vielä sukset saivat pehmeän lumenkin pölähtelemään. kustan silmät revähtivät kovin isoksi, kun mäen alla näkyikin lumipilven seasta parin kyynärän korkuinen hyppyri. kusta painoi silloin silmänsä umpeen ja odotteli loppua, kaatumista nimittäin. jo joutuivat sukset lumipakan niskalle ja siitä kauvaksi eteenpäin kimmahtivat. mutta silloin katosi kustakin suksiltaan... hän oli sukeltanut piiloon pehmeään nietokseen. -- akka nimes! -- akanpa sai poika! toiset ilakoivat ihan mielin määrin kustin kaatumiselle. mutta mäen päältä läksi huitelemaan vanhan talon kalle. huimaa vauhtia hän huhki, mutta vieläkin sauvoillaan voiman väestä surviskeli. yläpystyä hyppäsi hän lumipakan päälle päästyään ja vilahdellen hivelsi petäjikön läpi eteenpäin. mutta siellä etempänä jäsähtikin petäjään vasemman puoleinen suksi, arvelematta se poikki pätkähti ja hankeen täytyi kuin täytyikin suistua urhakan miehen. kusta se hypyn luona hangesta selvitteleiksen ja alkoi paksun rosokylkisen petäjän juurella itkeä tiherrellä, oli näet hajuaistintaan vähän ravakanlaisesti hangen pohjaan puusuuttanut. eihän siihen nokkaan juuri koskenutkaan, mutta sittenkin se tuntui niin itkettävän surulliselta, kun täytyi antaa ruusun punaisen nenäverensä tippua pirpatella valkoiselle hangelle... toiset veitoset eivät joutaneet paljon katsettakaan siroittamaan semmoisille tihertelijöille, mäen laskun touhussa vain tuijakehtelivat. oikein aikapojat hivauttelivat hyppyristä, mutta muut hätähousut tekivät toisia latuja. kallekin sieltä mäen alta vetäytyi toisella suksellaan hiihtää kentustaen, toisen suksen kappaleita kantoi käsissään. korventaustan kustan täytyi hänelle antaa suksensa, puolet helsingin ruunanriimu sikarista sai palkakseen. ja kalle laski hypystä uudestaan, laski ylväkämmästi kuin muut yksikään. tapaturmakin sattui väliin, mutta mitäs niistä semmoisista... kun olisi tullut edes suurempia! ei se kumminkaan ollut minkään veroista mäen lasku petäjikössä, parilta pojaltakin kun oli sukset poikki rätkähtäneet, lähdettiin miehissä liehkaan. jään poikki sujutettiin vanhan talon rantarinteelle ja siellä ilon pitoa jatkettiin. lahden poukaman poikki tuon tuostakin ajaa hyräytteli hevoismatkueitakin. naisväet ne siellä laskiaista ajelivat, lienevätköhän sitten kiinikään tavoittaneet. saivat ne hevot vain panna kavioistaan viimeisensäkin, antaakseen kunnon kyydin ajajilleen. -- laskiaisiltana ei saa ensinkään pitää tulta valonaan, siksi on jo päivän aikaan syötävä ja maata asetuttava. se oli semmoinen tapa ollut jo ikivanhoista ajoista ja siksi sitä vieläkin noudatettiin. ja laskiaisiltana ei saa puhella kylpiessä, eikä kylvyn jälkeenkään... sitten ei näet kesällä ole vastusta itikoista. tytöt ne koettivat olla hyvin hissukseen, niistä itikoista kun oli aina semmoinen vastus, söivät punaisille pirpeloille naamat ja kädet. mutta ne hyvät yrityksetkin menivät hukkaan. pojan yltiöt kun näet syöntyivät riivastelemaan, niin silloin oli leikki toisella tairoolla. suuhavissa ne ensin suitsuttelivat, mutta jos siitä ei tullut puheen lisää, kävivät käsiksikin. muokkasivat ja myrskäsivät niin kauvan, että täytyi edes älähtää ja silloinhan ne jo olivat menneet hukkaan hyvät humalat. mutta suuhavissa ne saivatkin jo voiton, katalat. hanna-piijaltakin kun kysyttiin mitä varten hän oikeastaan on puhumatta, oli hän keksivinään mokomille semmoisen vastauksen, että se huulilta ulos pamahti, ennen kun ehti oikein ajatellakaan. -- että lehmät tulevat paremmin kotiin. tiina-liisalla oli ääni sitkeimmässä, mutta talttumaan ne saivat hänetkin. kimakka huuto täytyi päästääkin, kun pojat alkoivat povelle pakata oton kodan räystäästä tuomaa jääpurasta. ja sitten kun ne riivatut vielä nauroivat ja kutittelivat! -- vähitellen väsähtivät joukot levolle ja pimeä talvinen yö hiipi hiljalleen tupaan. lähellä oli laskiainen vielä aamullakin, mutta se oli niin pahalla puolella. olikohan siinä jotakin? talvella kulki tie ihan suoraan haapanotkon torpalle ja kesälläkin kulkivat jalkamiehet malin niityn ylitse, mutta hevoiskyydillä kulkijat saivat kiertää ympäri kuistia myöten. sieltä oli teuvonkin ajettava heinästä tullessaan, vaikka maan pinnalle olikin jo ensimäisiä lumen hipeneitä ripsehtinyt. keli siitä ei sentään vielä yhtään liukastunut, kuloutuivathan vain viimeisetkin vihannammat nurmen täppeet laidunmailta, että lehmät ja muut sorkka-elävät olivat yksistään talvirehuilla ruokittavat. teuvo käveli huoletonna heinähäkin jälestä ja jätkän säveltä viheltää hujautteli. ne sävelet ne huvittivatkin niin mainiosti, niihin kun näet yhtyivät muistot sunnuntai-illoista tanssineen ja punaposkisine tytön tylleröineen. häkkisen torpan pellon aitavarteen seisotti teuvo heponsa ja meni torpan vaimoväen kanssa irnuilemaan. teuvosta pitikin naisväki hyvin paljon, kun oli hauska ja sukkela, osasi aina puhua loisten mieliksi. -- päivää, sanoi teuvo ja veitikkamaisesti pilkisti tuvan ovesta. -- päivää vielä, oli lois-ulla nuhtelevinaan. -- siellä virkaileksen ja viivytteleksen, kun kotiisi meni morsiamet ja muut! teuvo piti leikkinä koko semmoiset puheet. -- elä yhtään epäile! kulki tästä semmoinen pieni, musta tytön lipasko, morsiamesi sanoi olevansa. taisi mennä rukin sijaa katsomaan, selitteli lois-ulla. -- elkää vetkutella, epäili teuvo. -- no, oikein totta, kulki tästä tyttö ja sinua kyseli. eihän se teuvo ollut laisinkaan uskovinaan noita tuommoisia tuumia. pois läksi koko eukkojen roikasta, eikä ollut niinä miehinäänkään, että hän muka uskoisi. ruuna kun näki miehen pihasta pientaretta myöten vetäytyvän, läksi jo yksinään mennä loiskuttelemaan, vilkasi vain teuvoon heinähäkin vieritse, että jääpikö se hyvin paljon jälelle. teuvo koetti olla uskomatta ullan tyttökertomusta, valettahan se oli kuitenkin. mutta se muistui mieleen taas ja ikään kuin olisi jysähtänyt vielä rinnassa, mokomakin asia. jos tuo puhe olisi nyt ollut vaikka tottakin, niin olisiko siinä mitään sen tavattomampaa... kulkihan niitä ihmisiä muulloinkin. turhaltahan se tuntui semmoisen asian niin mieleen painaminen, mutta se ei sittenkään ajatuksista vieraantunut. kiihtyi vaan, kuta enemmän koetti hätistellä. ja kun teuvo sai hevosen ajetuksi pihaan heinäladon oven eteen, niin hän ensi toimekseen livisti tupaan katsomaan, oliko siellä niin erikoisia. olihan siellä pieni, vasta mekon yltään riisunut tyttönen peräpenkillä istumassa, jota teuvo ei tuntenut tutkimallakaan. teuvo seisoi oven suussa kauvan aikaa ja katsoi tyttöön ja sitten äitiinsä, joka seisoi äänetönnä lieskiveen nojaten. Äiti näytti katsovan hyvin tutkivasti häneen ja muutenkin tuntui ilma tuvassa niin tukalalta ja painostavalta, että teuvo viimein pujahti ovesta takaperin pihalle sanaakaan sanomatta. hän riisui ruunan valjaista, vei talliin pilttuuseensa ja alkoi apetta hämmennellä. teuvo ei tiennyt tuvassa olevasta tytöstä mitä varten se oli tullut, mutta sittenkin tuntui että se oli tullut hänelle pahojaan tekemään. teuvo oikein vihasi tuota tyttöä... mutta juuri kuin teuvoa härnäten tuli tallin ovelle se tyttö virnisteli ja nauratteli niin tutun takeisesti. -- täällä hevoselle keitetään. teuvo ei kehdannut virkkaa mitään "mokomallekin marakatille". tyttö kaiveli povuksiaan ja löysi sieltä rutistuneen paperin, jonka ojensi teuvolle. -- mikäs tuo on? sanoi tyttö koettaen saada ääntään tuntumaan hyvin salaperäiseltä, kuin olisi muka suurenkin ilosanoman kulettaja. teuvo silmäsi vain kirjettä ylenkatseellisen näköisenä, eikä aikonut ensinkään ottaa käteensä. -- se on riikalta, sanoi tyttö. riikka käski sanoa paljon terveisiä! -- hm, vai niin. teuvo otti veltosti kirjeen tytön kädestä ja musersi kokoon taskuunsa, hämmenteli vielä apetta ja rupesi sitten ruunan reisiä sukimaan, ei ollut tyttöä huomaavinaankaan. -- se riikka pyysi saada vastuun nyt minun mukaani, sanoi tyttö. -- enpä minä jouda tässä kirjoittamaan. käyköön hakemassa postista, minä lähetän sieltä kautta. hulluuttahan tuo on lähettäminenkin noin rikeneelle. teuvo meni hämmentämään vielä ruunan apetta jotain tehdäkseen, vaikka ruuna oli vähän vihassakin, kun tuli siihen tahrimaan, ettei saanut syödä rauhassa. taskussa oleva kirje alkoi melkein polttaa kuvetta, olisi toivonut tuon tytön menevän pois, että saisi oikein rauhassa lukea, mutta ei se tyttö näkynyt olevan niinkään kiireissään. teuvo oli riikkaa vähän riijaillut viime kesänä isänsä kanssa tukkilautalla ollessaan. kovalla myrskyllä olivat siellä kureniemen mökissä olleet pari päivää sään pidossa ja tuo kirje se oli kureniemen riikalta niiden parin päivän seurauksia. mitähän mahtoi sisältää? teuvo ajatteli, että sen kai täytyi sisältää jotain erikoisempaa, kun on kerran sieltä asti lähetetty jalan syten tuomaan. jotain siinä on erinäisempää ja teuvo tiesi että siinä voisi kyllä ollakin. tyttö poistui viimeinkin ovelta ja teuvo pääsi kirjettä katselemaan. kukkaiskortti pelmahti ensin sisästä ja löytyihän sieltä kirjekin päälle päätteeksi. teuvo luki, luki kerran ja kahdestikin kirjeen, toivossa että sieltä olisi pitänyt löytyä jotain erinäisempää, mutta se oli vain tavallinen rakkauden kirje, lemmen ruikutuksia vain toinen toistaan imelämpiä. sitä, jonka teuvo luuli kirjeessä pääasiana olevan, siitä ei löytynyt jälkeäkään. teuvo tiesi, että kirjeessä olisi voinut olla _jotakin_, mutta mitään erikoista hän ei kuitenkaan huomannut. koetti etsiä jotain lausetta, jossa se _jokin_ olisi kierrellen, peitetyin sanoin ilmoitettu, mutta ei erittäin pystynyt sitä yhdestäkään lauseesta löytämään. siitä vain voi saada enimmän vihiä, kun kirjeessä sanottiin, että "silloin oli niin lystiä, kun olit täällä, mutta nyt saan itkeä niidenkin aikojen edestä". -- teuvo tuli viimein siihen johtopäätökseen, että kirjeessä oli sittenkin jotain erikoisempaa ja se oli semmoista, että teuvoa tahtoi hävettää tuvan puolelle mennessä. kauvan hän seisoi tallissa ja puristeli kirjettä taskussaan, mutta viimein rohkeni mennä tupaan kumminkin. isä ja äiti olivat jo ruvenneet syömään, mutta teuvo meni allapäin penkille istumaan ja ei ollut syönnistä viitosinaankaan. isä viimein virkahti: -- eikös se teuvo syö? teuvosta tuntui kuin vanhusten katseissa olisi ollut jotain painostavaa, salaperäistä ja tarkastelevaa ja siksi ei hän koko syöntiaikana uskaltanut silmiään kohottaa. se kirje hävetti niin kovasti, tiesiväthän ne vanhukset sen kuitenkin. teuvo odotti, että vanhukset virkkaisivat jotakin kirjeestä, mutta eiväthän ne mitään virkkaneet. isä vain sanoi leikillään syötyään, sänkyyn makaamaan mennessään: -- teuvollahan se kävi morsian rukinsijan katsonnassa. teuvo ei virkkanut mitään, mutta alkoi pitää vähäpätöisempänä koko asiaa, koska isäkin otti sen niin leikkiveriseltä kannalta. illemmalla, kun teuvo oli äitinsä kanssa tuvassa kahden kesken, kysyi äiti: -- keltä se kirje oli, jonka se tyttö kuletti? -- kirje? -- niin. -- eihän se mitä kirjettä tuonut. -- toipahan, kyllähän minä tiesin. teuvo koetti tekeytyä silloin hyvin huolettoman näköiseksi ja koetti sanoa hyvin pilkallisesti: -- hyh, naurattaa minua ne semmoiset kirjeet. -- niin, sanoi äiti. naurattaa, sydämetön, mutta olisitpas hänen sijassaan, niin ei varmaan naurattaisi. teuvo katsoi ihmettelevästi äitinsä silmiin, ikäänkuin ei millään muotoa olisi ymmärtänyt äidin tarkoitusta, vaikka tunsi äidin ajattelevan samaa, kuin itsekin oli kirjeestä odottanut. -- näytäppäs se kirje, sanoi äiti. hennoihan se teuvo sen näyttää ja äitikin tuli vakuutetuksi, että kirje ei sisältänyt mitään muuta kuin tavallisia rakkauden ruikutuksia. mutta teuvo otaksui kirjeessä olevan jotain, jota riikka ei ollut rohennut selvin sanoin ilmoittaa. teuvo tiesi että sitä oli semmoista, mutta se oli heidän kahden salaisuus, ainakin tällä kertaa, mutta tottapahan aika näyttäisi... ja aika näytti, että siinä oli _jotakin_. mutta teuvo ja riikka laittoivat asiansa sitä ennen semmoiseksi, että se ei ollut mitään erinomaista. teuvo kävi näet hakemassa riikan haapanotkolle. hän uinuu tuolla. hän uinuu tuolla... päivän säteet siellä iloisesti leikittelevät, suvinen tuuli lempeästi suhahtelee. haaviston lehdet vilkkaasti lepattelevat ja kukat tuoksahtelevat huolettomasti nuojahdellen. ja hän, impi, istuu siellä uinaillen suuren koivun juurella. hervotonna lepää hänen päänsä pienen sohvan selkänojaa vasten ja siniset silmät ovat haaveillen avaruuteen. kesän lempeä hohde heijastaa hänen kasvoihinsa ja puhtoisen valkeaan esiliinaan... se kultaa hänen tuuheat kutrinsa, joita suvinen tuuli tutjuttelee. hän uinuu tuolla... mutta välillämme vaahtoisa virta voimakkaana pauhailee, meidät eroittaen. jos lähtisinkin yli pyrkimään, niin varmasti virran nielut minun mukaansa ryöstäisivät ja häntä en sittenkään tavoittaisi. kolkko louhikko on täällä allani ja suvinen päivyt ei kuonnu kallion takaa tänne paistamaan, mutta tuonne se paistaa, tuonne vastaiselle rinteelle. siellä on lumoova ympäristö, mutta hän, impi, on vieläkin viehkeämpi. hän uinuu tuolla... ja minä seison täällä tuonne suunnaten katseeni. tuon kosken kuohut muuttuvat kiiltäviksi kultarahoiksi, jotka vyöryessään vastakkain kilahtelevat. se on mammonan mahtava virta, joka meidät eroittaa. ja -- hän uinuu tuolla... noiden kuohujen takapuolla hän uinailee -- kunnes päivä peittyy vuoren suojaan, eikä paista meille kummallekaan. tarina hevosen varsasta. pikku hepo kohotti päätään ja töllisteli ympärilleen. ei näkynyt muuta kuin jylhät seinät ja yhdessä seinässä reikä, josta virtasi valoa sisään... siinä vieressään huomasi hämärässä ison elukan, joka oli hänen itsensä näköinen ja jonka sieramet hiljalleen vavahtelivat, kun se hänelle äänteli... -- höphöphöphö... pikku hepo haisteli ensin pehkuja altaan ja sitten sen isomman elukan karvaista mahanahkaa... löysi siitä pienoisen nahkanipukan ja alkoi sitä suussaan lutustella ja annas olla... siitä mehui jotain kosteaa, joka maistui suussa makealta. sitten nukkui pieni hepo, mutta kohta heräsi, kun kuuli ryskettä... hän näki kuinka seinään aukesi aukko aivan maan rajaan, paljon isompi kuin se, mikä oli siellä ylempänä... aukosta tuli pari elukkaa sisään, jotka eivät olleet ollenkaan yhteen näköön kuin hän äitineen... niillä oli pää pyöreämpi kuin heillä ja kantoivat etujalkojaan ylhäällä ilmassa, kävelivät vain kahdella jalalla... toisella oli vielä takajalkojen ympärillä irtonainen nahka riippumassa, että ei näkynyt kuu hiukan jalkateriä... ja sillä toisella kaksijalkaisella oli astia etujalassa, josta se syötti emolle mitä lienee syöttänyt, kuului sitten ääntävän sille toiselle kaksijalkaiselle: -- mikä sille tuolle pienelle hevoselle pannaan nimeksi? -- hevonen, sanoi toinen. -- ei, pitäähän sillä nyt olla joku erikoisnimikin. ja he tuumivat kauvan aikaa siitä asiasta ja viimein päättivät ristiä hevon "tytöksi". ja toinen kaksijalkaisista tuli häntä hyväilemään, taputti kaulalle ja kutkutteli. -- tyttö, tyttö, tyttö. pikkuhevon pisti vähä vihaksi ja hän koetti kääntää pois päätään, mutta sitä enemmän se vain muokkasi ja hoki: -- tyttö, tyttö, tyttö, tyttö... pois ne menivät kohta kumminkin ne kaksijalkaiset. pikku hepo meni taas nuohomaan sen toisen näköisensä elukan mahanahkaa... emokseen rupesi hän sitä elukkaa nimittämään. syötyään painautui hän emon selkää vastaan ja nukkui. iltapäivällä tulivat taas ne kaksijalkaiset ja se toinen sanoi ovella tullessaan: -- tyttö! tutultahan se tuo sana soinnahti pienen hevon korvaan, mutta viisi hän siitä välitti... kohotti vain hiukan päätään ja liikutteli korviaan. se kaksijalkainen tuli luo, taputti kaulalle, syyhytteli ja hoki: -- tyttö, tyttö, tyttö -- -- -- oikein turmelukselle alkoi tuommoinen käydä pienen hevon. se kiepsahti seisalleen ja mieli potkaista... mutta se kaksijalkainen pani hänen suunsa eteen kupin, jossa oli mitä lienee ollut valkoista... hepo kun ei siitä mitään välittänyt, niin kahdella jalalla kävelevä kasti etujalkansa valkoiseen nesteesen ja sitten pakkasi hevon suuhun, se maistui samanlaiselle kuin mitä hän oli saanut emon mahanahkasta... sitten se kaksijalkainen painoi kuppiin hevon turvan kokonaan ja kun hän oli kerran päässyt makuun, oli kuppi ihan tyhjänä. mutta kun kaksijalkainen tuli huomen-aamuna ja taas huusi ovella tullessaan: "tyttö", niin silloin pieni hepo kavahti pystyyn ja meni luo... siitä päivästä lähtien alkoikin hän tuntea itsensä tytöksi... -- tyttö, tyttö -- -- kului viikko, parikin. muutamana päivänä pantiin suitset emon suuhun ja alettiin vetää ulos siitä alhaalla olevasta isosta reijästä. tyttö meni perästä... mutta hämmästyksestä täytyi hänen seisattua, kuu oli ilmaa niin leveältä kuin silmä kannatti ja maassa näkyi jotain vihertävää. semmoista ei tyttö ollut osannut uneksiakaan. hän painoi maahan turpansa ja sitä vihertävää pilapäiten haukkasi, eikä se pahalle maistunut... täytyi painaa turpa maahan uudestaan ja haukata!... tuntui tuo niin lystiltä, että tyttö somasti leiskautti ruumiinsa takaosaa ja jalkojaan ylöspäin siroitti... mutta kun katsoi ylöspäin, niin huomasi että emo oli jo pitkän matkan päässä menossa... se ei milloinkaan ennen ollut noin etäällä. -- ihihihihi, sanoi pieni hepo ja läksi emoa kohti pinkasemaan. suoraksi ojensi hän pienen töpöhäntänsä ja lomaan siristi takajaloillaan ylöspäin. mutta kun oli juuri emon luo pääsemässä, niin töksähti johonkin. hepoparka ei ollut huomannut, että emo oli veräjästä viety toiselle puolen aitaa siellä tuvannurkan luona; hän oli juossut vain suoraan ja nyt oli heidän välissään korkea pisteaita. hepoparka hyppi aitavarressa sinne ja tänne, läksi sitten juoksemaan pitkin aitavartta emon kohdalla. oli siellä edessäpäin aidassa veräjä, emon taluttaja aukasi sen ja niin pääsi pieni hepo mokomastakin pulasta. hän hörhötti hyvillään ja aikoi mennä emon mahanahkaa tonkimaan, mutta se meni vain eteenpäin. emon taluttaja vei heidät molemmat vielä yhdestä veräjästä läpi ja sitten pääsi emo valloilleen. siellä lähellä veräjää oli iso katras pieniä eläimiä ja niillä oli kaulassa kilisevät kellot. muutamia oli vieläkin pienempiä, jotka sanoivat niille isommille: -- mä--ä--ä--ä--ää! tyttö olisi mennyt nuuskimaan noita pienempiä, mutta ne piipittivät pakoon... ilman ivasillaan ajeli tyttö koko katrasta vähän matkaa edellään, sitte palasi emon luo niskojaan nakellen ja sääriään siristellen. alkoi sitten maasta haukkiloida vihantaa nurmikkoa, kunnes rupesi väsyttämään ja täytyi painautua nukkumaan pensaan juurelle päiväpaisteeseen. hetken perästä kun heräsi, huomasi olevansa yksinään... sukkelasti hän kavahti seisalleen, mutta emoa ei vaan näkynyt mistään! kiivaasti kävi siinä hevon sydän tykyttämään... -- ihihihihi! ja pensaan takaa kuului karkea, mutta niin lepeä ja lohduttava ääni vastaan: -- Öhöhöhöhö! sieltäpäs se löytyikin emo! tyttö pinkasi luo, pisti päänsä emon mahan alle ja alkoi sieltä etsiä niitä pieniä nahkanipukoita. parin päivän perästä otettiin emo taas suitsiin ja alettiin taluttaa, tyttö sai pinkaista perästä. iällä kertaa se emo pantiin rautaisen rakkineen eteen, jota kuuluivat auraksi sanovan. kaksijalkainen painoi tuota laitosta maan sisään ja emon täytyi vetää edes ja takaisin melkein samaa jälkeä. tyttö pinkasi perässä. rupesi siitä viimein väsyttämään ja tyttö painui pitkäkseen pellon pientarelle... tuokion nukuttuaan kun heräsi, niin emo oli taas kadonnut. eikä se nyt ainakaan ollut pensaan takana piilossa, kun oli pitkän matkaa aukeaa joka puolella... tyttö läksi pinkasemaan pitkin vaon vartta ylös vastamäkeen ja sieltä se vielä emo kumminkin löytyi mäen takaa. teki mieli taas emon mahanahkaa kaivella, mutta emo ei seisattunut niinkuin muulloin... kovin nyrpeäksi kävi tytön mieli, kun luuli emon jo suuttuneen... pieni hepo ei tiennyt, että rakkauden on toisinaan väistyttävä velvollisuuksien tieltä. * * * * * viimein päättyi kesä syksyyn siinä eteenpäin elellessä. syksyllä pantiin emo tallissa kiini pilttuusensa ja tyttö salvattiin pieneen karsinaan. silloin ei saanut ensinkään emon mahanahkaa nypelöidä ja oli tyydyttävä kuiviin heinän hapeneihin vihannan nurmen sijasta. laskettiin sitä toisinaan ulkonakin käymään, mutta vihanta maa oli muuttunut aivan valkoiseksi ja vilu kummasti karmasi ruumista... hypähteli se tyttö kumminkin yläpystyä iloissaan, kun oli taasen päässyt vapauteen... tuli siihen talon pieni poikakin ja rapisteli tytön edessä käsiään... tyttö nousi myöskin kahdelle jalalle ja olisi kietaissut kätensä pojan kaulaan, mutta se ennätti pois kimmahtaa... tallissakin se talon pieni poika tuli aina syyhyttelemään ja toi leipäkimpaleen tullessaan. poika ruopotteli ja rupatteli tytölle kuin toverilleen ainakin ja pian heistä tuli hyvät ystävät... kun talon pojalle joskus sattui vastahakoisuuksia, niin silloin se tuli tytön luo, riippui sen kaulassa ja itkeä tihuutti... ja tyttö silloin niin hyvittelevän näköisesti höplötteli huuliaan ja painoi päätänsä maahan, ikäänkuin olisi ottanut osaa pojan suruun... ulkona he aina joskus yhdessä leikkivät. poika kun räpytteli käsiään, niin nousi toinenkin silloin kahdelle jalalle ja tapaili poikaa kiini... poika kun juoksi pakoon, niin tyttö pökäsi perästä. talvi ja tuleva kesäkin kului mitään merkillisempää tapahtumatta, mutta seuraavana talvena ruvettiin tyttöä panemaan aisoihin... tyttö luuli vain leikiteltävän kanssaan, kohosi taas kahdelle jalalle ja rupesi valjastajaa tapailemaan kaulasta. kovaksi onneksi sattuikin tytön kova kämmen kolahtamaan valjastajan otsaan, johon tuli iso vertavuotava haava... silloin vietiin tyttö pilttuuseen ja sujutettiin nahkasiimaisella piiskalla selkään... semmoista löylyä ei tyttö ollut saanut ennen milloinkaan ja siksipä se nyt pisti kovasti vihaksi... hän siristeli ylöspäin sääriään, että ne melkein kattoon kolahtelivat. sitten vietiin tyttö uudestaan aisoihin. tyttö ensin aikoi lähteä eteenpäin juoksemaan, mutta kun tunsi, että hänellä oli jotain jälessään, niin puulautui takaperin ja nousi kahdelle jalalle... silloin tunsi hän taas selässään kipeän ruoskan läjähdyksen... silloin se taas karmasi niin somasti hevon ruumista. hän kytristyi oikein kokoon, hyppäsi pystyyn ja läksi vimmatusti eteenpäin pökästämään... aikoi juosta niin pitkälle, kun vain tie piisaa. töin tuskin ennätti mies hypähtää liiteille. tyttö juoksi sen minkä kavioista kerkesi alas rantamäkeä ja potki voimansa takaa reen sepipajua. jouduttiin niin jäälle ja mentiin vain samaa kyytiä eteenpäin. mies veti ohjaksista sen minkä jaksoi, että hevon oli ihan suunsa varassa reki vedettävä, mutta viimein sattui toinen ratastin katkeamaan ja silloin oli hepo taas jätettävä valloilleen. jää sattui edestä päin halkeamaan kovasti vongahtaen ja sitä säikähtäen hepo kuin nuoli syrjään ponnahti, että poikki rätkähtivät molemmat aisat... silloin pääsi hepo vapaudessaan kotiin päin nelistämään ja jätti miehen jäälle rekineen... kotona meni tyttö tuhuttaen tallin ovelle seisomaan ja painoi päänsä lumeen. mies kun joutui jäältä takaisin ja meni tyttöä riisumaan, niin hepo parka vapisi peloissaan ja katsoi rukoilevasti isäntäänsä. hepo sidottiin tallissa pilttuuseensa ja sai tuntea kyleksillään voimakkaita ruoskan läjähdyksiä. ensin se koetti potkia, mutta kun lyöjä ei sillä helpoittanut, niin viimein hepo painautui vapisten kokoon pilttuun pohjaan ja katsoi rukoilevaisesti kurittajaansa. lakkasivat ne vihdoinkin kurittamasta ja hepo jäi ihan liikahtamatta seisomaan pilttuuseensa. ei kääntänyt päätäänkään ensinkään, vaikka ennen oli niin vilkkaasti vilkuillut ihmisten perään... vavahteli vain, kun isäntä lattialla ämpäriä kolisteli. talon pieni poika tuli tyttöä hyväilemään ja tarjosi leipääkin, mutta tyttö ei vain ollut viitosinaankaan, kivipatsaan lailla vaan seista tökötti. poika tarttui tytön kaulaan riippumaan, ruopotteli niskaa ja taputteli olkapäihin ja itkusilmin surkutteli: -- voi minun tyttö-rukkaani! silloin ne alkoivat tytön korvat liikahdella ja huulet hellävaraa pojan takkia höplötellä. leivänkin otti jo huuliensa väliin ja siinä vähän aikaa piteli, mutta kun poika pakkasi sitä vain suuhun, niin viimein alkoi hepo hiljalleen purra mytystellä. sitten se pani päänsä pojan olkapäälle riippumaan ja huulet naurun ja itkun sekaisesti mutuilivat pojan syyhytellessä. * * * * * hevon takajalat olivat varmaankin vikaantuneet reen sepiä potkiessa, koska alkoivat pöhettyä ja jäykistyä. eikä sille enää ruokakaan tahtonut kelvata, joten se alkoi ruveta yhä laihtumaan. isännälle tuli hätä käteen, että jos meni pilalle noin tuostaan hyvä hevoisen alku. hän tarjoili sitä kaupaksikin, mutta kukapa sitä niin pahaksi turmeltunutta hevoista rupesi ostamaan. hevon takajalat rupesivat viimein vuotamaan ja se laihtui niin, ettei alkanut päästä ylöskään omin voiminsa. ja jos muutkin sitä pystyyn auttoivat, niin se horjui ja hoipuroi ja viimein kyhnähti kylelleen... tappaa se arveltiin pitävän koko koni, kuolevanhan se näytti kumminkin... * * * * * oli muuan pireä pakkaspäivä. lumi kiilui kirkkaina tähtösinä maassa ja kuusten lehvillä. metsät pakkasen käsissä rusahtelivat ja kumahtelivat ja tie jalan alla surkeasti valitteli. tyttö kulkea laahusteli muutaman talon rengin jälestä pellonalusniitylle, josta oli mutaa vedätetty. korkealla romotti hepoparan selkäranka ja kupeissa oli nahka painunut kylkiluiden lomiin. takajalkojen säärivarsista oli lähtenyt nahka ja osa lihaakin ja ne niin pahasti heutosivat kävellessä. tyttö solmittiin kiini pieneen vesaan mutahaudan reunalla, vaikka ei kaiketi se olisi karannut muutenkaan. renkipoika meni noin viiden sylen päähän ja ojenti paksun koivun kupeesta tuliluikkunsa suun tytön otsaa kohden. tyttö liikutteli hiljaa korviaan ja raukeasti lummaili silmillään... kuului kumea pamahdus ja tyttö suorastaan polvilleen lysähti. siitä se vierähti syrjälleen ja punainen veri pulpahteli otsasta valkoselle hangelle. tyttö väräytti vielä pari kertaa jalkojaan ja sitten oli ihan hiljakseen. * * * * * läheisessä metsässä hapisteli harakka koivun latvassa pitkää pyrstöään. se nauroi siellä niin ivallisesti ja hyppeli lähemmäksi puusta puuhun... kevään korvalla. matinpäivähän se on se ensimmäinen kevätpäivä... silloinhan me lapset siellä maallakin pyrittiin kirja kädessä tuvan seinänvarrelle istumaan. eihän sitä useinkaan vielä matinpäivänäkään ollut tuvan seinänvarrelle pientäkään pälveä sulautunut, mutta useinhan se silloin jo päivä lämpösemmin hellitti ja me mentiin turkki korvissa heinäladon kynnysalle, heinänrikkojen päälle, päiväpaisteeseen punakantisia aapisiamme selailemaan... eikähän se nytkään uskaltanut luonto ijänikuista vanhain sääntöä ruveta rikkomaan. matinpäivänä se jo rupesi lämpimämmin paistamaan kaupunkitalojen kattoihin ja sai sieltä räystäästä vesisuihkuja katukäytävälle rapattamaan. vesi alkoi liuotella lunta pehmeämmäksi seinävarresta ja jopa leveämmältäkin, kun kevätpäivän säteet seinästä taittuivat lumen pintaa pistelemään vasten aurinkoa olevilla katukäytävillä. vedeksi sen lumen täytyi alkaa vain hiutua ja ihmisten tallaamista peläten rupesi katuojaan lipumaan. siellä jo vielä hyyhmänä lepäsi, kunnes herrasväki lähetti renkipojan reittiä selvittelemään ja niin vesi pääsi vähän nopeammin omia teitään vilistämään. paljaaksi se alkoi selviytyä jo katukäytävä esplanaadin vastenpäiväisellä puolella. pakkohan siinä oli paljastua, kun päivä polttavasti hellitti ja "vapaamieliset" ihmislapset jouduttaivat päivän avuksi lapioineen katukäytävän jäisiä kahleita katkomaan. ihan viimeisen kosteudenkin ne päivän janoiset säteet nuoleksivat sileältä asfalttikäytävältä ja se olisi siinä niin kuivana itseään paistatellut kuin kuuminna kesäsydännä, jos herrasväkien kyökkipiiat eivät olisi sitä lumisine jalkoineen täpöstelleet ja mustia, märkiä jälkiä jättäneet. siinä ne näkyivät piikatytöt mielellään kulkevan päivänpuoleista katua valkoisine esi- ja pääliinoineen, joilla jo kevään merkiksi olivat itsensä sonnustaneet... herrasväki se kulkikin kadun toisenpuolitse, esplanaadin reunoitse lehdettömäin puiden pimennossa. eihän se nyt toki käynyt päinsä, että jo ensimmäisellä päiväpaisteella itsensä päivetyttää, mitä se sitten maksaisi kesäsydämmellä naamojensa suojeleminen, jos ne nyt jo mustuttaisi... piikatytöt ne vain uskalsivat mennä keväisen päivän lämpimään paisteeseenkin sinne toiselle puolelle katua... mikäpäs se niin häpeä heille, jos eivät olisikaan niin kovin hienoja -- ja kerjäläispojatkin ne siellä päiväpaisteessa seinävarressa seisoskelivat ja nisu-pullaansa pureskelivat, jonka ainoalla viisipennisellään olivat ostaneet. olihan ne ihmiset talvipakkasillakin ulkona liikkuneet, mutta eroa siinä vain näytti olevan niiden nykyisessä liikkeessä... se näytti semmoiselta kuin muurahaisten kihinä pesänsä paljastuneella päälaella. * * * * * mutta muutamia päiviä vain se päivä niin hempeästi hellitti... matinpäivän kunniaksiko lienee hellittänyt vai ihmislasten mielihyväksi. -- muutamana iltana alkoi taivaan täydeltä lunta tupruuttaa ja peitti paljastuneet katukäytävät ja muut. pakkanenkin huomasi, että ei sitä niinikään ole naisekkaalle auringolle alttiiksi antauttava, ennen kun kunnialla viimeiseen vereen asti koettaa. ja seuraavan aamun valetessa nähtiin, että pakkanen oli nietoksille ja huoneitten seiniin yöllä hopeaisia helmiään piristellyt ja kovasti nurkkia ryskytteli ja kipristeli kipeästi ihmislasten neniä, korvia ja koko näkötaulua. kovin äreäksi se olikin äkäytynyt pienen tappion saatuaan, tarttui uudestaan ohjaksiin ja ei helpottanut, vaikka auringon säteet koettivat parastaan päiväsydämmen aikana, ihan seinävarressa katukäytävän reunalla ne saivat vain hieman iumenrippeitä hiostumaan. ja semmoista se oli sitten ihan marianpäivään asti. kahdet pyhät olivat marianpäivän aikaan ja silloin pitkinä pyhinähän sen olisi luullut valonkuninkaan saavan talviset kahleet katkotuksi. kyllähän se sunnuntaina, aattopäivänä koettikin päivä entistään ehommin heloittaa, mutta ei siitä lähtenyt sen enempää, päinvastoin pakkanen iltasella entistään kipakammin näpisteli suutuksissaan, ja vihasta vaaleana täytyi valon haltijan paeta metsän taakse muille maille valloituspuuhissa rynnistelemään. verisiä kyyneliä se vuodatteli taivaan rannalle mennessään... niin verisiä, että koko taivaan ranta punaisenruskeaksi holvaantui ja sitten alkoi mustaksi hämärtyä, kun auringon kyyneleet maahan valahtelivat. mutta ihmislapsia kihisi katukäytävät ihan täyteläisenään ja sekaisin ne nyt pujottelivat herrat ja narrit, kun pahankurinen päivä ei ollut kenenkään muotoja mustuttamassa. katulamppujen sytyttäjä hätäisenä juosta piipotteli viritellen omaa valoaan vaipuneen auringon sijaan... koetti jouduttaa tulia lyhtyihin, ennen kuin kovin ennättäisi pimetä. ja katulyhtyjen valossa ne ihmislapset toistensa sivuitse pujotteleivat ja ristiin rastiin matkustelivat. palvelustytötkin ne olivat kastrullinsa kyökin seinälle jättäneet ja siinä ryhmissä supatellen sipsuttelivat mielitiettyjään väkijoukosta etsiellen. vasta lähellä puoltayötä ne kukin kotiinsa katosivat ja kadut jätettiin kerrassaan pakkasen valtaan. pakkanen olikin poikaa puolestaan, yksinään ryskytteli ja paukutteli... marianpäivähän se on toinen kevätpäivä, vaan lumet ne silloin vielä katoilla lepäsivät ja se ei ennen ainakaan kuulunut hyvää ennustaneen. pakkanen oli päälle päätteeksi lasinruutuihinkin hopeaisia helyjään siroitellut. nolonnäköisenä se aurinko näytti naamaansa toisen kevätpäivän aamuna. siellä puiden latvassa ensin turvitteleiksen, ikäänkuin ei olisi mielinyt ensinkään ylös ilmoille kohota. nousi se sieltä viimein kuin nousikin... tekeehän voitavansa, tulkoonpa sitten voitto milloin tulleekin. uusi ystävä. sitä ei voi poskeinen kuvailla, kuinka se vanha kahvipannun rottelo katria harmitti. kaiken ikänsä sai hyöriä ja pyöriä maailman turhissa touhuissa, eikä saanut edes parempaa kahvipannua... niin toteen kostoon se riehuminen meni! kuinka sitä voi tarjota tuommoisesta pannusta vieraille ja muille, eihän sitä ilennyt nähdä itsekään! kyllä se olikin näköinen se pannu! se oli saanut varmaankin jo monta kolausta, vahingossakohan lie saanut vaiko kuritukseksi pahoista töistään, kukapa sen voi varmasti sanoa. kyllähän se oli tehnyt paljon pahaakin, monta täyttään oli tyhjentänyt, kun näet oli toisinaan niin innostunut hiiloksessa poristessaan, että sen sisus oli ruvennut oikein kuohumaan kiivaudessaan... kuhmuinen ja ryppyinen sen oli vain kuve. nokkakin siltä oli puolitiestä poikki musertunut ja, siksi ei sitä voinut koskaan panna ihan täyteen. toinen korva siltä oli myös katkennut ja oli täytynyt sen vuoksi kaivaa reikä sen harteihin. reikään oli pujoteltu rengas jäniksen langasta ja samasta aineesta oli laitettu ripa, jonka toinen pää oli kiinni renkaassa. sitten siinä oli vielä pari läpeäkin, toinen uurteissa ja toinen harteissa, jotka molemmat aina täytyi paikata ruisjauhoista tehdyllä taikinalla. eihän se siis ollut ihme, jos katria harmitti, ketäpä meitä muitakaan kuolevaisia ei olisi harmittanut hänen sijassaan. eihän sitä kehdannut puhdistaakaan tuommoista roseloa ja siksi se sai olla niin mustana kuin vain tahtoi. hävettihän se toki tuodessa sitä vielä vieraitten nähtäville. hävetti se, vaan minkäpäs sille voi, kun ei ollut parempaa. mutta katri heitti sen koko häpeän aatunsa niskoille. jokaiselle vieraalleen, jolle keitti kahvia, selitti hän aatua monta kertaa pyytäneensä uuden pannun ostoon, mutta eihän se jörökki välittänyt mitään, vaikka olisi minkäkinlainen tarvis. luulisi tuon toki vähän hävettävän, vaan mitäpäs ne miehet välittävät... monta kertaahan se sanoikin katri aatullensa siitä samasesta asiasta. koetti saattaa asian ihan selvään valoon, että aatukin sen ymmärtäisi, mutta vieläkös se... mököttihän vaan! -- niitä joutavia hän! -- sanoi aatu. niinhän ne miehet luulevat, että se on vaan joutavaa, joka kuuluu vaimon alalle. katrin pisti oikein vihaksi tuommoinen jörömäisyys ja hän meinasi sanoa aatulle ihan vasten suuta, vaan sikseenhän se sentään aina jäi. niin monta vuotta se pannu oli jo ollut semmoisena, että katri ei oikein varmasti muistanutkaan, ja sittenkin sanottiin vaan, että "mitä joutavia". se nyt vaan on semmoinen asia se, että se pannu täytyy saada, "vaikka nuha nassakasta läksisi", ajatteli katri ja hän oli semmoinen eukko, joka pani päätöksensä toimeen. onneksi oli katrilla neljä lihavaa ja kaunista kanaa, kaksi valkeaa ja kaksi ruskeaa. (oli hänellä kiiltävähöyheninen kukkokin, mutta se nyt ei tähän kuulu, kun se ei kuitenkaan muninut.) ne kanat kun keväällä alkoivat munia, niin katri säästi munat ja vei pappilaan. rahat hän pani säästöön. ja rahakasa kasvoi yhä villalankaisessa pussissa, kamuvakan nurkassa, tuvan peräpenkin karsinalasin puoleisessa päässä... välistä täytyi katrin aina katsoa pussin kiiltäviä hopearahoja ja silloin niitä kuvasteli mielessä niin ihmeen paljon hyviä ostettavia: milloin tuntui olevan ostettava mustapohjainen ja valkokirjainen karttuuninen pääliina ja milloin mitäkin. mutta sitten kun hän taas muisti semmoisen kirkaskylkisen kahvipannun, niin lankainen kukkaro sai pitää sisältönsä, vieläpä vahvistui ja lihoi lihomistaan. ja tuskin oli kesä puolivälissä, kun katri meni kauppamieheen ja osti sieltä ihan uuden kahvipannun. se pannu oli ihan eheä joka paikasta, eikä siinä ollut ruutuja eikä röykköjä ja ripakin siinä oli oikein sepän tekemä ja ehyt. kun katri tuli kotiin, pani hän sen uuden pannun salaa hiillokseen. kuinka sievästi se kökötti siinä hehkuvan punaisen hiilloksen varassa ja porisi sitten vielä niin kumisevalla äänellä! sitten otti katri pannun pois tulelta ja kätki uunin suuhun piiloon. kävi kutsumassa aatua tupaan, se kun siellä navetan edessä havuja hakata raksutteli. -- tule tupakalle! aatu ajatteli, että mitähän se taas siellä... menihän kumminkin, kun kerran kutsuttiin. katrilla oli jo kupit pöydällä valmiina, kun aatu tuli. -- noo, kahvikestitkö täällä? -- niinpä tässä, sanoi katri ja hymyili hyvin salaperäisesti. se tuntui niin somasti hytkäyttävän ruumista, kun ajatteli aatun hämmästystä uuden kahvipannun nähtyään. ja hän meni uunin luo, otti aarteensa uunista ja hyvin mahtavan näköisenä pöydälle kantaa kekutteli. katsoi aatua silmiin, että mitähän tuo virkkaisi. -- nooh -- -- mistä se nyt tuli? -- luuletkos sinä minua niin mitättömäksi, että minä en saisi... saanhan minä! ja katri selitti, kuinka hän oli hankkinut ja säästänyt, ja nyt se oli siinä se pannu kuin olikin, vaikka ei miehessä ollut laittajaa... -- pyyh, sanoi aatu. siinähän se nyt oli se uusi pannu. kuinka herttaiselta se siitä kahvikin muistui! niin, parempaahan se nyt toki oli kuin vanhasta tinaamattomasta rähjästä. kun pannu saatiin tyhjäksi, kopisteli ja huuhtoi katri tarkkaan perskat sen sisästä. päältäkin kuurasi niin kirkkaaksi, että se välähteli kuin kulta. sitten se pantiin nurkkahyllylle hyvin keihkeälle paikalle. ja tulevaksi sunnuntaiksi kutsui katri kokoon ystävänsä ja naapurimökkien vaimot. hän keitti heille kahvia sillä uudella pannullaan ja selitti sen _itse_ hankkineensa, vaikka aatulla ei ollut niin paljon tolkkua... piippuni. yksi ainoa on vain maailmassa, jota minä oikein sydämestäni rakastan. hänen kerallaan käsi kädessä tuntuu niin turvalliselta elämän murokkoisten urien kompuroiminen. se yksi on oma rakas piippuni. kun minä olin vielä hyvin pieni, tein minä kovasta niveräkoivusta hyvin suuren piipun. sen keralla minä nousin kotimökkini luona olevalle korkealle mäelle ja tein siellä tuuheista kuusen naavoista hyvin pitkän parran. sitten kun minä siitä suuresta niveräkoivuisesta piipustani vetelin hyvin suuria savuja, niin ne savukiehkurat pöllähtelivät mustina, leveinä pilvinä taivaalle. sitten minä hakkasin reijän suuren onton kuusen kuupeeseen... sinne minä kätkin sen niveräkoivuisen piippuni ja tukkesin reijän kuusen kaarnalla. se oli salainen piilopaikka, johon minä sen niveräkoivuisen piippuni kätkin, ja siksi minä piirustin suurilla kirjaimilla kuusen kaarnaan reijän yläpuolelle: "_salapönttö_, jossa säilytetään yksi salainen piippu." ja kun minulle joskus sattui tulemaan ikävä, nenin minä salapönttöni luo ja päästelin varovasti pois kaarnaisen peitteen. otin sitten kuusen ontelosta sen niveräkoivuisen piippuni, pakkasin siihen isävanhani massista hivellettyjä kessun rouheita ja pullauttelin pilvenkaltaisia haikuja. sitten kun minä läksin vaeltamaan kohden kaukaista maailman rantaa, otin minä seuraani sen oman rakkaan piippuni. kun tuli vastaani eksyttäviä tien haaroja, istuin minä mättäälle ja kaivelin sen rakkaan piipun poveltani. ja sitä kun minä hetkisen hellästi suutelin, selvitteli se hennon järkeni ja minä osasin oikealle tielle. toisinaan sattui tuulispäiden tuimasti tuprahdellessa synkän elon korven kuusia päälleni rutjahtamaan. mutta niidenkin alta minä selvisin, kun muistin vain tuprauttaa muutaman pehmoisen savukiehkuran niveräkoivuisesta piipustani. ja kun joskus sattui hieman valoisampiakin päiviä, niin kaksin me niistäkin nautittiin. onnikin tuntui onnelta vasta vienosti leijailevain savupilvien suvannossa. armas piippu! sinä rehellisin taistelukumppani ja uskollisin ystävä, sinä ainoa armaani elämässä ja kuolemassa! kuinka monta hyvää työtä olet minulle tehnyt, kuinka monta onnellista hetkeä valmistanut ja kuinka monta sinä niitä vielä valmistat! ihanain savupilviesi suojassa minä unholan kovan kohtaloni ja elämän sotkuiset vyyhdet. tuossa sinä nytkin lepäät edessäni pöydällä ja tarjoot palvelustasi, odotahan vaan vähän, niin minä taasen sinun ylennän hampaihini! jos minulla olisi vähän sointuvampi ääni, niin minä laulaisin pitkän virren sinun ylistykseksesi. minä antaisin koko maailman tietää, miten suloinen sinä oikeastaan olet -- ja minä laulaisin sinun päähäsi kauniit hopeiset helat ja pitkän kulta-helaisen varren! sinä rakas, herttainen piippu! tule tänne jo sieltä pöydältä! minä tahdon sinua kerrankin oikein hellästi suudella. rökkilän vaari. silloin oli kevät ja ihan samanlainen, kun keväät ovat tavallisesti. lumi oli jo lopuilleen pois hiutunut, pienoinen nietos oli vain siellä täällä aitavarressa. olipa muudan äkiytynyt jäämään tuvan peräänkin, vaikka isäukko olisi sitä siitä koettanut hävittää tuhkaa kylvämällä. pellot olivat yhtenä vellinä ja pihamaakin oli vielä ihan mustana, joku nurmen täpe vain näytteli terävää kärkeään. meistä lapsista se oli kiusoittavaa semmoinen kesä, kun joka paikka oli niin pahasiivoista, että äidin täytyi meidät kieltää tykkönään ulos menemästä. yskää olisi vain muka hankittu ja ryvetetty liinaisten paitojen helmat ihan pahanpäiväisiksi. ja me olisimme silloin suoneet olevan ihan täyden talven, jotta olisi saanut kotirinteellä kelkkoineen mäkeä sujautella. riihen perästä, korkean heinähaasion luota lähteä hurottamaan, hurottaa lumella peitettyjen raunioiden ylitse, jossa niin somasti aina kelkkaa leiskahutti -- ja sitten alempana jalalla kammeta vähän oikeaan, ettei kelkka pääsisi aitaa puskemaan. sattuihan siellä joskus saamaan kuperkeikankin, ja silloin se tahtoi vähän niinkuin itkettää, mutta naurukin joutui samalla itkua sokaisemaan. niin, mutta nytpä ei ollut talvi, eikä edes kesäkään, olihan vain semmoista mustaa -- ei mitään, toisinaan vain vähän vesisateen tiherrystä. tuvassa täytyi vain pysytellä, päiväkaudet vedellä puuhevoista ja työnnellä tuolia selälleen kaadettuna. vieläpä äiti muisti paljon useammin käskeä kirjaakin käteen ottamaan, kun oltiin aina siinä silmien edessä. Äiti kielsi vielä ottamasta ruohoisia käämin pohjallisiakin siskon kangastuolien korvakkeessa riippuvasta käämivasusta. siinä sitä toki olisi ollut vähän huvituksen vaihtelua, kun olisi niistä pyssyjä valmistanut. -- suotta särette vaan pohjallisia, sanoi äiti. mutta joskus me kuitenkin saatiin tehdä hyökkäys käämivasulle. silloin kun ei ollut äiti eikä sisko tuvassa... olin nytkin ihan koko aamupäivän odottanut semmoista loma-aikaa, mutta ihan kuin kiusaa tehden istui sisko vaan kangaslaudalla. minä seurasin hyvin tarkkaan, milloin sisko sai aina kääminsä loppumaan, ottaisiko se uuden vielä vai lähtisi ulkona pistäymään. uudenhan se aina otti ja alkoi kutoa paukutella. mutta viimeinkin! viimeinkin jätti sisko sukkulaisensa kankaan päälle siihen pännärien viereen ja alkoi ulos sipsutella. silloin se oli toivottu hetki tullut... ei muuta kuin tuoli jalkojen alle ja pyssyn raaka-aineita ottamaan! kiire oli toimessa. peloitti, jos hyvinkin tulevat, jää työ täyttämättä ja hyvässä lykyssä saa vielä tukkapöllyn palkastaan. Äiti etenkin jos sattuu tulemaan... kyllähän se hennosi tukasta pölyyttää siskokin, mutta ei se hänen kurituksensa toki tehnyt niin kipeää, oli vain paremmin leikin tekoa. mutta siinä kiireessä ei joutanut oikein vakavasti työskentelemään. tuoli sattui kaatumaan ja pyssymestari maahan nuuskalleen. aijoin ensin panna nauruksi koko asian, mutta sitten rupesin olkapäässäni tuntemaan kipua. ja se koskikin niin kovasti että täytyi päästää surkea valitusvirsi kuuluville. -- Äitii --! Äiti tuli. kopeloivat miehissä olkapäätäni ja loppupäätös oli se, että isä otti minut selkäänsä ja läksi rökkilän tahvon luo kantaa reksuttelemaan. tahvo näet tunnettiin hyvin taitavaksi semmoisten jäsenvikojen täsmimisessä. minä puolestani en ollut oikein selvillä koko tahvosta, mutta isäni selässä yksin ihmettelin asian laitaa. olikohan se samallainen tahko, jolla oli tahkottu seppä-antin minulle tekemää veistäkin... tahtoi pelottaa, että jos minuakin rupeavat tässä muun hyvän päälle vielä tahkoamaan. -- onko se se sama tahko, jolla veitsiäkin tahkotaan? eihän se kuulunut tahko olevan, mutta semmoinen hyvä vanha vaari, tahvo nimeltään. minä kuvittelin häntä, miten parhaiten osasin, arvelin että totta kai hänessä täytyy olla jotain semmoista pyöreää ja tahkon tapaista, koska on nimikin vähän sinnepäin vivahtava. olisiko kasvot ehkä vähän tahkon näköiset, paitse että niissä töyhöttää pitkä valkonen parran höyväläinen. -- onko sillä tahkolla partakin? kuului olevan parta. -- kuului olevan hyvä vaari. -- kuului kivunkin vähentävän kädestäni. yltyi siitä isäni vaarin elämän tarinaa kertoilemaan. kertomus ei tuntunut mielestäni oikein "kansantajuiselta", mutta sain kuitenkin sen verran selville, että tahvo oli ollut vain köyhä poika alkujaan, raataen ja säästäen oli omaisuutensa hankkinut. itse oli ollut isäntänä ja emäntänä, lehmän lypsyä ja leivän tekoa varten oli vain täytynyt pitää naispalvelijaa, mutta itse oli ukko aina keittänytkin. vasta vanhoina päivinään oli tahvo tuonut vanhan lesken rökkilään emännäksi, ja leski oli tuonut jo tullessaan kaksi poikaa, joista nyt kuului toinen olevan rökkilässä isäntänä. nyt kuului nuori isäntä vaimoineen hyvin huonosti vanhaa vaaria kohtelevan. isän pakinoidessa oltiin jo vaellettu rökkilän näkyville. talo oli jo ihan kelkkeästi näkyvissä harmaine rakennuksineen ja tuohikattoineen keskellä veteläin peltojen. talo sijaitsi peltoja hieman korkeammalla penkereellä ja minusta näytti vähän semmoiselta, että se harjanne siinä ei olisi voinut tulla toimeenkaan ilman tuota taloa, ilman harmaita aittoja, navettaa, tallia ja tuparakennusta. jouduttiin siitä taloon ja me isäukon kera astuttiin tupaan käsi kädessä. silmiini pisti ihan ensiksi valkohapsinen ja harmaapartainen ukko pöydän päässä verkkoa pistelemässä. kuultuaan asiamme tuli ukko kättäni koettamaan. vesi tirahti silmistäni ja välistä täytyi ihan ääneen älähdellä ukon kopristellessa... oikein teki mieli suuttua suhahtamaan.. vihdoin hän toki lakkasi, kääri huivilla käden kaulaani ja määräsi sen siinä pidettäväksi. luulin jo pois pääseväni, mutta sitten huomasin että olin suuresti erehtynyt. isäni ja vaari rupesivat keskenään pakinata pitämään, puhuivat niin tanakasti ja tosissaan, että se on syöpynyt jotenkin tarkkaan muistooni. nuorta kansaa he etenkin moittivat tavoistaan. on vainen palvelijatkin valmiit murisemaan ruuan huonoudesta, työn paljoudesta ja lepoaikojen lyhyydestä, mutta olisivatpas eläneet hekin jonkun kuutisen seitsemisen kymmentä vuotta ennemmin, niin eivät varmaan kykeneisi henkeäänkään vetämään. ja tahvo syöpyi kertomaan: -- kyllä muistuu mimmoista oli ennen, kun tätäkin vähää kontua kokoon haalittiin. maanantaiaamuna kun läksi useiden virstain päähän paloakin kyntämään, sai selkäänsä tuohisen kontin, joka oli täytetty pelkällä petäjäisellä. usein viikkokauden sai siellä sydänmaalla elellä ja tulla toimeen miten hyvänsä. työstä päästyään ja heponsa laitumelle laskettuaan otti leipäpalasen hyppysiinsä ja läksi ahoa astelemaan. sieltä nappasi marjan särpimekseen, jos oli, mutta jos ei, niin täytyi tyytyä ilmankin. jos nuori nouseva sukupolvi olisi nähnyt ne ajat, niin eipä enää tällaisilla selvän leivän päivillä valittaisi. -- eipä valittaisi! -- vielä tässä pari vuotta jälelle päin minäkin jaksoin nousin ylös yhden, kahden aikaan aamusilla ja kävin puu- eli heinäkuorman hakemassa, ennen kun tulin muita herättämään. panin silloin hevosen syömään toisten hevosten joukkoon ja läksin uudestaan työhön muiden mukana. hevoseni oli kuitenkin paremmassa kunnossa kuin nykyisten renkien jouten olevat syöttiläät. -- niin sitä on taloa hankittu, mutta nyt nuo jo näkyy voimat vähenevän ja miehuus pois katoavan... meitä vieraita kutsuttiin kahville ja sen perästä lähdettiin vihdoinkin kotiin. kotiin kävellessä puhui isä vielä rökkiläisistä, moitti sitä että niin huonosti vaaria kohtelevat ja ihmetteli, että ennen niin varakas talo nyt on jo saatu velkaiseksi. mutta minun muistooni syöpyi tahvo syvemmälle, kuin mikään muu siihen astisesta elämästäni. * * * * * parin viikon perästä puhuivat kaikki kotonani käyvät vieraat, että rökkilän tahvo on tullut hulluksi. en ymmärtänyt, mitä se hulluksi tuleminen merkitsee. mutta muuanna kevätkesän poutaisena päivänä satuin sen näkemään. me pehertelimme suuressa multahaudassa, josta oli kaikenmoisiin kotitarpeihin hiekkaa vedätetty. mullasta teimme uunia ja kaikenmoisia ja ikävästä ei ollut tietoakaan. mutta katajikosta alkoi kuulua outoa rusketta. säikähdimme, että sydän oli ihan kurkkuun kohota. silloin näimme rökkilän tahvon. kasvot olivat paljon laihtuneet sitten viime näkemäni ja parta, se kaunis harmaa parta oli hyvin pahassa siivossa. hän hymisi hiljaa itsekseen kävellessään pitkin katajikkoa, riipien katajoista neuloja ja kylväen niitä täydessä toimessa maahan. me kyyristyimme mutahautaan piiloon ja vanhus ei meitä huomannut. jatkoi vain peltonsa siementämistä ja katosi viimein katajikkoon. rökkilän tahvo puhui päivät päästään tuulia taivaita, joista ei kukaan sanonut paljon mitään ymmärtävänsä. viimein häntä ruvettiin pidättämään tuvassa, kun muuten olisi huipotellut vain yhtenään metsissä. tahvo sanoi tahtovansa vain mennä pois ihmisten vastuksina olemasta ja pyrki karkaamaan. sanoi tahtovansa mennä pois omaan kotiinsa, siihen, jonka hän oli rakentanut. -- nouse, tiina, lypsämään lehmiä... kas kuinka paljon mansikki lypsääkin! -- hoi, -- tuokaa raintaa... tuokaa saavia... huh -- voi kun se nyt lypsääkin paljon... koko maa käy ihan valkeaksi! hyvänen aika, nyt se on jo pukki... elä tule mokoma, miniän ruoja... hui, -- hui -- käärmeitä... käärmeitä... käärmeitä... st, st, st... tämmöisiä hän houri päiväkaudet ja pyrki kotiinsa menemään. välistä oli levollisempi ja silloin puheli pelloista ja kauniista viljapelloistaan. voi kun siitä ruojasta oli talon väelle vastusta, emännälle etenkin! mitä tehdäkin mokomalle hylkiölle... ja he köyttivät tahvon nuoralla käsistään kiini vanhan kammarin nurkkaan ja antoivat olla onnensa nojassa, veiväthän vähän syötävää. sittenhän siitä mokomasta oli rauhassa! pian riutuivat tahvon voimat, että hän ei tarvinnut enää köysiä. hän sai maata oikein sängyssä tuvan ovensuunurkassa ja siinä houria houreitaan. muutamana aamuna kun rökkilän talon väki jo oli aamiaisella, käski emäntä palvelustytön viedä vaarillekin "vähän leipää" sinne ovensuunurkkaan. tyttö puisteli tahvoa kotvasen, mutta ei saanut liikahtamaankaan. autiolla. enhän minä voi oikein selvään itsekään käsittää, mitenkä sitten muille selittää, mikä lumousvoima sillä autiolla on oikeastaan. se on kyllä tuntuvinaan selvältä, että paikan viehkeys on vain mehevässä luonnossa ja kyllähän siellä on sitäkin... mutta on siinä autiossa jotakin muutakin kuin tavallisissa kukkivissa maisemissa. siellä tuntee sydän semmoista lämmintä, pyhää käden koskettelemista ja silmäin edessä näyttää olevan kirkkaimmalla päiväpaisteellakin hennon hentoa utua, jossa väreilee näkymättömäin keijukaiskuvien hienoja värivivahduksia. niin -- no siellä on nyt vain jotain semmoista, jota ei oikein jaksa ymmärtää. autio ei ole edes niin erittäin kaunis paikkakaan, paljonhan niitä on kauniimpia. onhan siellä kyllä tuoresta ja vihantaa nurmikkoa, jonka latvojen tasalta pilkistelee tuhkatiheässä sinisiä ja valkoisia pikkukukkasia. sitten on muutamia leveitä leppäpehkoja, puolikymmentä ritvaoksaisia koivun höyväläistä ja suuri summaton humiseva petäjä. pidänhän minä paljon siitä nurmikosta ja puista, petäjästä etenkin. minusta tuntuu, kuin se olisi siihen kasvanut jonkun säädöksen pakoittamana, muistopatsaaksi sillä sijalla eläneille. petäjä on tuvan uunin sijalla... sanovat sen siksi kasvaneen, kun uunissa on ennen vanhaan paistettu pettuleipiä. niin, niitä muistoja! minähän luulen, että nuo muistot menneistä raatajoista minua juuri täällä viehättävätkin. tuntuu kuin ritvaiset koivut ihan tuoksuisivat mennyttä aikaa vasten kasvoja ja kuin ne olisivatkin vain varjokuvia kaatuneista vanhuksista. ja minusta tuntuu vielä, kuin ne kaatuneet olisivat olleet paljo parempia kuin me nykyiset. lepänlehtien lemusta kehittyy se semmoinen käsitys, tuoksahtaa sydämeen ja sinne syöpyy ja hautautuu. kuvittelen entisten eläjäin eläneen semmoista tarumaisen kaunista elämää, eikä tämmöistä jyrinää ja turhanpäiväistä touhinaa. summaton joukko mielikuvia vaeltelee ajatuksissani siellä pensaitten varjostamalla autiolla. ja ne ovat kauniita kuvia, koko elämäkin siellä kuvastaa niin mehevältä ja sopusointuiselta. eikä niitä kaikkia voi niin tarkasti selitellä, että sen toinenkin ymmärtäisi. kuitenkin tuntuu ihan nautinnolta, kun sitä edes koettaa kuvailla. ja sitten koetettua tuntuu se leppäpensaitten varjostama autio vieläkin runollisemmalta ja rakkaammalta... tuoksahdelkaa vaan te kukat, vihertäkää nurmet ja lepatelkaa leppien lehdet! peittäkää verhoonne menneitten maan isien muistot ja tehkää ne hyvin hämäriksi. antaa peittyä vain askeleitten, valkoisten ja mustien! me teutaroimme täällä uusia tuoreita askeleita, joita taasen kätkevät uudet kukkaset, kasvaneet pehmittämiimme penkereihin. jaakko jyryläinen. jaakko jyryläinen seisoi hovin herran kammarin oven poskessa. seisoi kuin jäykkä savolainen konsanaan, ei kumarrellut eikä pokkuroinut. -- no, mitäs se jaakko? -- pyytäisin herralta, jos saisin käydä torpan tekoon kirveskorven kuusikkoon? herran suupielissä väreili ivallinen hymyily ja silmät tähtäsivät jaakkoon niin nauravan näköisinä. -- jassoo, vai torpan tekoon! -- niin -- herra lupasi. lupasi viljellä kymmenen vuotta arennitta. ja jaakko nosti suuren, tuliterän kirveen harteilleen. korpeen astui, työn alotti. kuuset tunsivat navakoita iskuja kupeissaan ja paukahdusten kaiku vaelteli pitkin saloja. hongat horjuivat, kuuset kupsahtelivat rysähdellen pitkäkseen. vyötäisiään myöten taarusteli jaakko hangessa ja kuusista lupsahteli niskaan suuria lumipaloja. leudolla säällä sulautui lumi pukuun ja jäätyi iltapakkasella. mutta korvessa aukea leveni. havut pantiin kasaan, kuusista tehtiin hirsiä ja särettiin aidaksia, koivuista hakattiin halkoja. kun päivän kajo aamulla alkoi roihuta kuusten latvoilla, astui jaakko korpeen, ryskytti siellä päivän ja palasi, kun illalla kuusten lehvät rupesivat tummentumaan. kun kevätpäivät rupesivat korvessa kuusten juuria paljastelemaan, oli jaakko jo ison aukean reunassa. silloin tuvan pohjakehikko perustettiin. kirves paukkui taas, suuri puinen moukari jyrähteli ja tuvan nurkat rupesivat korkenemaan. seinät salvottiin, harjaorsi nostettiin. sitten täytyi lähteä hovin herran työhön leipää ansaitsemaan. jaakko kynti ja niitti hovin herralle, mutta niittäessään ja kyntäessään ajatteli uuden tuvan tekoa. ajatteli ovea ja ikkunoita, olematonta kattoa ja uunia. mutta kun saatiin hovin herran viljat kootuksi, meni jaakko taasen tuvalleen. teki uunin, ovet ja ikkunat. kalkutteli kouruja katoksi, laittoi lattian ja laipion. sitten teki navetan pyöreistä puista ja toi navettaan hovin herralta ostetun vasikan. tupaan toi jaakko pirteäposkisen eukkonsa ja parkuvan pojan. uuden tuvan uuni lämpisi ja lakeistorvesta tuprusi savupatsas kohden korkeutta. jaakko itse tarttui rautakankeen ja lapioon, hakkasi juuria, kaivoi maata, väänteli kiviä ja soreita ojia ilmestyi suon reunamalle. mutta liisa-eukko tarttui kuokkaan ja pöyhötteli maan sitkeää kamaraa. saatiin sarka valmiiksi ja toinen kiehkesi perästä. sitten tuli talvi. liisa kehräsi hovin emännälle ja jaakko myllästi kuusikossa. pitkinä puhteina puheltiin ja tuumittiin. totisina tuumittiin ja välistä oikein innostuttiin tulevaisuuden suunnitelmista. pitkät illat ja pitkä talvi meni kuin siivellä hivaisten. ja keväällä taas kuokittiin ja kaivettiin. kesällä oltiin työssä hovin herralla. syksyllä kylvettiin ruista ja kylvökselle kohosi hentoja oraita. hovin herra käy katsomassa. hän hymyilee, mutta ei hymyile ivallisesti. * * * * * kuluu viisi vuotta. hovin herra käy taasen korpeen katsomaan. hän löytää suuren peltoaukean, jossa kasvaa hento-olkisia rukiin aaluvia. rukiin pienet tähkät tököttävät pystyssä kuulean syyspäivän paisteessa. viime yönä oli liikkunut halla ja korjannut viljan... sen saman se oli tehnyt joka syksy ennenkin. herra pudistaa päätään ja menee matkoihinsa. mutta jaakko puree pettua ja pettuleivän syötyään astuu nevalle kirves ja lapio kädessä. liisa käy keralla kuokkineen. * * * * * ja taasen kuluu vuosia nelonen, viitonen. hovin herra käy korpeen katsomaan. hovin herra löytää pellot entistään avarammat ja pelloilla kasvaa sakeassa jykeviä olkia ja olkien latvoissa täyteläiset tähkäpäät. herra kuulee kopseen kuusikosta ja käy jaakkoa katsomaan. sieltä löytyy laihakasvoinen mies, joka kaivaa ojaa kuusikkoon. herra katsoo ilosta säihkyvin silmin viljapeltoa ja sitten kääntää katseensa jaakkoon. -- sulla on täällä mehevä viljamaa. -- jumalan kiitos, hän on kasvun lahjoittanut! -- tästä lähtein saa jaakko antaa minulle puolet viljasta. jaakon rintaa tuntuu jokin ulospäin pullistavan, mutta tyynenä hän virkahtaa: -- pelto on vasta ensikerran täyden viljan kantanut, halla on tähän asti korjannut ainoankin. herran silmät silloin säkenöivät ja ääni vihasta värähtelee. -- ensi kerran tai toisen, se ei kuulu minuun. maa on minun, maksa puolet, tahi astu taipaleelle! ja vihasta punoittavin kasvoin käy herra matkoihinsa, hänen omallaan on rehennelty, hänen omistusoikeuttaan on loukattu... jaakko on allapäin ja mietteissään. jakaisiko toiste herran kera kahtia, vai ottaisi kirveen olalleen, menisi toisen herran maalle ja alottaisi uudestaan? mutta ilta lähenee, tuulen henki tyyntyy ja päivä vaipuu ilman rannalle. taivas selviää poutaan ja kylmyys panee kaiken elävän värähtelemään... aamulla on kaikki jäistä ja kuollutta. tähkät ovat tönköiksi kivettyneet ja pukeutuneet vaaleaan verhoon... halla on käynyt jaolla ja ottanut kaikki omakseen... "numero salonen". simo tallusteli likaista tietä muhkeata kasarmia kohden. asteli alakuloisena portista pihan puolelle ja hiipi arastellen hiekoitettua käytävää, suoriin riveihin istutettujen koivujen välitse. ja ne saivat simoon juhlallisen, kunnioittavan tunnelman, ne rakennukset. mutta siinä tunnelmassa oli samalla niin raskasta, painavaa, masentavaa... simo oli tulossa sotamieheksi. hän oli puettu sarkaan, karkeaan kotikutoiseen. lapikkaat olivat jalassa, tervalla sivellyt, päässä oli pitkävillainen, lampaannahkainen lakki ja selässä tuohinen kontti. simo katseli ympärilleen, eikä tiennyt mihin menisi. huuletkin kävivät siinä niin etsiviksi, höltyivät erilleen tuuman verran. muutaman rakennuksen ikkunasta näkyi hempeitä kukkasia, valkosten uutimien välistä. simo seisottui, silmäili sisälle ja sitten yksin tein muutakin ympäristöä. pahuus... mihinkäpä siinä osasi! kulki siitä joku sotilas, herralta näytti, lieneekö ollut kapteeni vai... valkonen nauha oli poikkitelasin sinisessä olkalapussa. -- oisin sotamieheksi tulossa. mihinkähän minä oikein... ja simo hivutti pitkävillaista lakkiaan oikealle korvalle. -- menkää pataljoonan kansliaan! ja herra neuvoi, mistä sen löytäisi. näkyi nauravan mennessään. simo päästeli kontin siteistään, heitti sen eteiseen ja astui sisään. sielläpäs kuului olevan nimi kirjoissa... kolmanteen komppaniaan neuvoivat menemään. ovessa tuli vastaan joukko nuoria miehiä. olivat samalla asialla kuin simokin. simo käveli sinne päin, jonne neuvoivat. tuli pihaan, seisoskeli siinä konttineen ja katseli. komea oli hovi, suuret olivat ikkunat seinillä, mutta seinät tervatut. piha oli sileä kuin kirkkotarha, ei nurmen täpettä missään, seinävarsillakaan. tulivat viimein kaikki katsotuksi, simo jouti sisään. mutta sisässä sotilaat ivasivat pitkävillaista hattua ja tuohista konttia. -- -- -- illemmalla saapui miehiä enemmän. kävelivät kaihoisina kartanojen ympärillä, olivat kuin siiville lyötyjä. mutta simoon katsoivat kaikki syrjäsilmällä, ivaava, halveksiva väre suupielessä. kun aika joutui, pantiin nuoret miehet riviin. annettiin numerot sukunimen edelle, papin panema nimi sysättiin syrjään. neuvottiin vastaamaan "minä" ja huudettiin. se oli pieni muistettava se sana, mutta ei sitä tahdottu muistaa. joutui vuoro simon kohdalle. -- numero salonen! simo oli ollut vähän ajatuksissaan. kun kuuli sukunimeään mainittavan, kohotti päätään ja vastasi: -- on. -- Äh, nahjus! "minä", eikö ole käsketty sanoa?! -- voi hemmetin herapekuna! noinko se sitten on sotilaan kallo koipien välissä lupottava. pää pystyyn, rinta ylös, vatsa sisään! sotilaan rinta ei saa olla tehty puurovadista. ja aliupseeri tuuppasi simon leukaa ylös, painoi hartioita eteenpäin ja ryssäsi nyrkillään vatsan kohtaa. nuo sydänmaan moukat olivat kuin eläimiä, heidän kanssaan voi pusertaa rinnastaan sotilaallisen taisteluhalunsa. eihän sitä sivistyneempäin kanssa sillä lailla kehdannut toki ensipäivinä... mutta simon kasvot sävähtivät punasiksi. kädet kupeella puristuivat nyrkkiin... -- "_minä_", pitää sanoa! no, numero salonen! mutta simolta ei kuulunut mitään. huulet olivat puristuneet tiukasti yhteen. -- mitä! eikö kannata vastata!? kaikkia pölkkypäitä niitä tulee ihmisten ilmoihin! maltahan... kyllä täällä semmoisista mutkat oijotaan... paremmistakin on oijottu. seuraavana yönä oli simo putkassa. ja simon rinta tuntui kiehuvan, tuntui tahtovan revetä täytelyyttään. hetkiseksi välähti kuva kotimökistä, siitä, jonne kulki vain mutkainen ura kuusikon välitse, joka sekin oli talvella ummessa. mutta kuva haihtui, kädet puristuivat nyrkkiin... -- ennen vankeutta, kuin nöyryyttä! * * * * * sotilaat olivat saaneet sotilaan puvun. puvusta ei enää voinut miehiä eroittaa, mutta simo kun oli päässyt hampaihin, sai hän olla hampaissa, käsikaluna. ja simo oli tullut ärtyisäksi, kylmäkiskoiseksi ja jäykäksi. muita hän oli oppinut tuntemaan sortajikseen ja kohteli äkäsesti; yhteen oli kiintynyt -- sotilasten lainakirjastoon. siellä oli uutta, ennen tuntematonta, mutta samalla ystävällistä, puoleensa vetävää. simo luki illoilla, luki että silmät punettuivat. mutta sotilaat simoa kiusasivat ja härnäsivät ja siihen yhtyivät aliupseeritkin. simo koitti olla heistä välittämättä, mutta täytyi aina lopulta tuskastua. ja silloin kilvalla naurettiin. tuhmahan hän oli, koska suuttui. oli tultu jo kevääseen. lumi oli juuri mailta huvennut, hiekka kuivanut kasarmin pihatantereella. oli oltu ensi kertaa kentällä harjoituksissa. oli marssittu, temppuiltu ja "pikoonnattu"... oli komennettu rivi maahan mahalleen. simon kohdalle oli sattunut suuri vesilätäkkö ja simo ei ollut siihen heittäytynyt. simo oli saanut rangaistukseksi palvelusvuoroja. siinä oli siksi asian alkua, että kotiin tultua kyettiin simoa "piruuttamaan". ivattiin, naurettiin ja lopulta härnättiin. osaston päällikkökin oli osallisena. simo viimein suuttui. päällikköön viskasi vihansa. -- sen koira! ihmisten verta imet, vaikka täytyisi olla toisia asettamassa! aliupseeri tuli pöyhkeänä simon eteen. -- olenko minä koira? sanoppas kerran vielä! simon kasvoja hiveli aliupseerin äkäiset hengähdykset. -- koira olet... susi, syöjä, raastaja...! ja simon silmissä maailma pimeni. nyrkistynyt käsi sysäsi voimakkaasti "herraa" rintaan... herraparka keuskahti selälleen. hämmästyneinä seisoivat miehet. mutta selvittyään aliupseeri meni kapteenin luo ja simon tie johti putkaan. se ei ollutkaan ensimäinen kerta. -- -- -- siellä oli istuttu vihainen viikko, pimeässä putkassa, puolella ruualla. mutta viimein ovet avautuivat ja simo sai astua ulos. nurmen täppeet pilkistelivät maan raosta ja koivujen oksiin oli herhistynyt vihannoivat lehtien alut. semmoista mehua, semmoista pehmoista täytelyyttä ei simo ollut koskaan luonnossa tuntenut. oli niin kirkasta, niin valoista, että simon rintakin huoahti valoisana. illemmalla simo meni mäelle kasarmin kupeelle. siellä oli laajalta kaunista nähtävää. ja sitten se muistutti niin paljon korkeaa kotimäkeä. se oli vain eroa, että siellä oli somaa luontaista epäjärjestystä, mutta täällä kaikki istutettua jäykkiin, suoriin riveihin, oksat puissa yhden näköisiksi saksittuja. mutta tänne niin kuin sinnekin näkyi yläpuolelta sininen ilma, samalla lailla läikkyi järvi tuolla etempänä ja samalla tavalla alkoi lehto vihertää tuolla alhaalla kuin kotilehdossakin. ja simo istui puiseen sohvaan ja katsoi kotimökkiään kohden... mutta pian herätti hänet kiihkeä kellojen kilinä. kaupungista päin se kuului, mutta simo ei tiennyt mitä se merkitsi. jonkin hädän huomasi hän vain olevan... katsoi sinne, katsoi tänne, katsoi kaikille puolilleen. läheltä kasarmia metsän takaa nousta öllisti sakea savu ja sekaan vilahteli pitkiä tulikieliä. simo ei joutanut ajattelemaan mitään, mutta läksi savua kohden kaihkasemaan. koko pataljoona tulla rymyytti myös, tuoden suurta paloruiskua. metsän sisäinen herrastalo oli tulessa. jykevinä liekit ilmassa leimahtelivat ja musta savu pakeni metsän ylitse. lounainen tuuli tupruutteli tulta läheistä aitta- ja karjarakennusta kohden. pataljoonan paloluutnantti komensi: -- toimeen, pojat, pelastakaamme ulkohuoneet ja annetaan palaa sen, joka väkistenkin palaa. seilit päälle, pojat! mutta mitenkäpä ne vietiin! talon ainoat tikapuut seisoivat vasten palavaa rakennusta, liekit peittivät ne tykkänään. kukapa ne sieltä otti! ne ottaa simo. hän kiskasee kiireesti korvilleen suvilakkinsa reunukset, juoksee, katoaa liekkeihin. kaikki katsovat liikkumatta, huokumatta. mutta kohta hän palaa, vetäen perässään palavia tikapuita. tuskin saa tulesta tulleeksi näkyville, kun monissa miehin temmataan tikapuut hänen käsistään. seilit saadaan päälle, ulkohuoneet ovat pelastetut. -- herranen aika! katsokaas, kun tuo mies on tulessa! simon vaatteet ne olivat syttyneet palamaan ja turhaan koetti hän itseään sammuttaa. ihmiset tulivat luokse, kopistelivat simoa, mutta tuli kiihtyi vain kurittamisesta. tuotiin vihdoin vettä ja saatiin mies sammumaan, mutta vaatteet kartena kaikki maahan karisivat. simon ruumis oli palohaavoja täynnä, täytyi kantaa kasarmille. makasi monta viikkoa simo sairashuoneessa. ei tullutkaan enää semmoista, että olisi sotilaaksi kelvannut. sai mennä salon moukka omalle alalleen, maan pintaa penkomaan. "noh, noh!" -- noh, noh! ja pikku nassu kihnutteli veräjäpuita pienellä, luisella kärsällään. koetti saada rakoa niin suureksi, että olisi mahtunut pihan puolelle pujahtamaan. mutta kova oli veräjä, ei tullut apua rynnistelemisestä. nassu tirkisteli kulmainsa alta pihan puolelle, vikisi, urisi ja voivotteli harmissaan. pihalla näkyi nassun emäntä, vanha leena, kävellä kyykehtivän, mitä lienee siellä tihruslellut. ja nassu koetti parkua surkeammin, että vähänkään kävisi sydämmelle. kuulipas leena-muori surkean rukouksen ja tuli veräjälle soppakiuluineen. pudotti pois pari veräjä-puuta päältä päin, että yletti kaataa kaukaloon. nassu hamusi himoissaan kiulusta vettä kärsällään, että leenan täytyi sitä pois ahdistaa. sitten se hyvin sikamaisesti katsoa vekotti poskesta hetkisen, töytäsi sitten hätäisesti kaukalolle ja alkoi soppaa päänsä rakoon tassutella. -- niin, törsäkö se on, -- maanitteli leena ja nassun niskaa syyhytteli. nassun olisi tehnyt mieli leikkisän raukeasti keuvahtamaan syrjälleen, kuten muulloinkin leenan ruopotellessa. ei sentään malttanut, oli siinä niin mieleistä tehtävätä. -- nöh, nöh! -- äänteli se vain mielihyvissään. kun kaukalo tuli tyhjäksi, läksi nassu pitkin pellon aitavarteista tietä vörnittämään. siihen aitavarteen hellitti päivä niin herttasesti, että rupesi oikein raukasemaan, kyllä täytyi levolle kyhnähtää. -- nöh, nöh! -- kyllä se tuntui hyvältä. suoraksi ojensi nassu pienet töppösensä nurmikolle, painoi silmänsä umpeen ja levollisena siinä kellotti. siinä kävi mieli taas niin tyytyväiseksi maailmaan, unehtuivat muistosta nälkäiset päivät ja veräjäkin, joka esti pihan puolelle pääsemästä. -- noh, noh, kyllähän tässä... yhhyh... ja unta hän veteli, että nenä sihisi... kepeää porsaan unta. kuului hänen korvaansa nukkuessakin pieninkin risahdus ja lintujen iloinen liverrys. kuului tieltä päin ihmisjalan kapsetta. nassu kohotti päätään, katsoi pienillä silmillään ja kuunteli tarkalla korvallaan. nassu tunsi tulijan. naapurin isäntä sieltä näkyi tulla toikkaroivan ja hyräili yksinään mitä lienee hyräillyt. nassu nousi töppösilleen ja meni vierasta vastaan ottamaan. kumarteli kärsäänsä ihan maan pintaan asti ja vähän alemmaksikin, sekä virkkoi: -- nöh, nöh. kun isäntä tuli lähemmäksi, katsoi nassu sitä suoraan silmiin ja vieläkin hienosittain kumarteli, mitä lienee ollut mielessä. -- huut, sika! -- ärähti isäntä ja nassua kylkeen potkasi. nassun nenä venähti pitkäksi hämmästyksestä. hän älähti pahoillaan ja kirnitti tiepuoleen, maan pintaa myräilemään. harmitti se vähäsen, kun häntä niin halpana pidettiin, potkittiin ja puukkiloitiin. olisipas hänellä kerrankin edes vähäsen valtaa, niin kyllä hän mokomillekin luonnon herroille kostaisi. nassun teki mieli vähän vakoilemaan mokomatakin kuningasta. läksi perästä virnittämään ja näki miehen heidän pihaansa toikkaroivan. mies nousi veräjästä pihan puolelle, mutta nassun täytyi jäädä harmissaan aidan raosta tirkistelemään. leena-muori oli pihalla. sen kanssa meni isäntä polittamaan heidän omaa kieltään, jota ei nassu ymmärtänyt... kuulostihan kumminkin, mitä ne pakinoivat. -- onkos teillä nyt viinaa? -- kuuli nassu isännän suhahtavan, kun ensin olivat muista asioista pakisseet. -- on, on -- näin meidän kesken sanoen -- toki muutamain päiden täysi, -- supatti leena-muori ja molemmat läksivät tupaan tallustelemaan. nassu läksi vörnittäen metsää kohden vessuttelemaan. mutta taival tuntui hiljaa käymällä katkeavan, täytyi lähteä juosta vilkittämään, että heilahteli kippura saparo. siellä hän sitten möyri maata päiväpaisteisella aitavarrella. mutta kovin rupesi kesäisessä helteessä varistamaan harjaksista nahkaa. kylpyä tuntui mieli tekevän, mutta eihän niitä ollut lätäköitä näin kesäsydämmellä, tokkopa lienee ollut missään. nassu arveli, että jos hyvinkin olisi siellä pellon eteläpäässä, siellähän oli semmoinen notkelma, jossa muulloinkin oli ollut kosteutta viimeseksi. nassu tassutteli sinne päin, läksi juoksujalkaa vihlasemaan. ei siellä ollut vettä notkelmassakaan, mutta oli kuitenkin hiukan kosteampata mutaisen kuoppuran pohjassa tien varrella. siihen se nassu painautui syrjälleen ja kuvettaan syyhytteli viileään, mustaan mutaan. huhhuh, kun se tuntuikin nyt kylpy hyvälle, kun oli koko päivän aurinko kuvetta kuumentanut. -- noh, noh, -- sanoi nassu taas niin tyytyväisenä. ei hän taaskaan välittänyt mitään ihmisten ilkeydestä... olkoot vaan mitä hyvänsä, samapa se hänelle. aurinko vaipui jo mäen taakse ja alkoi hämärtyä kesäinen ilta. nassu keturoi vain vilposella vuoteellaan, painoi kärsänsä mutaan ja antoi silmäinsä vaipua umpeen. silloin alkoi taas kuulua tieltä päin raukeita, säännöttömiä askeleita. nassu raotti silmiään, mutta ei kehdannut kohottaida katsomaan. mutta yht'äkkiä rutjahti jotain raskasta nassun päälle mutahaudan reunalta. nassu parkasi surkeasti ja ryykäsi kauvas metsään, sieltä hän sitten peloissaan tirkisteli paksun koivun juurelta. kaksi miehen jalan näköistä kun vain näkyi haudan reunalta, uskalsi nassu mennä katsomaan, miten vieras köntyili hänen hyvässä makuuksessaan. mutta kun mies herkesi liikkumattomaksi ja painoi päänsä pehmoseen mutaan, uskalsi nassu mennä sitä lähempää tarkastelemaan. hän ravisteli miestä hampain takista ja kärsällään käännytti vähän päätäkin silmiin nähdäkseen. Äskeinen isäntä näkyi olevan, henki vain löyhki niin pahalle... nassua oikein aivastutti... ravisteli ja puisteli se nassu miestä vähän kostoksi ilkitöistään, äskeisestä potkasusta ja sitten yörauhan häiritsemisestä. -- oö-ö-öö, mekä se... -- noh, noh! -- sanoi nassu kärsäänsä mielissään kohottaen, kun sai toverinsa ääntelemään. -- yhhyh, -- ykisi mieskin ja kääntyi enemmän kylelleen, että naama paremmin kosketti mutaan. nassunkin viha leppyi, kun sai toverinsa ääntelemään. hän painoi kärsänsä miehen kainaloon ja kallistui sen kuvetta vasten virkistävään lepoon... -- noh, noh! kyllähän tässä... yhhyh.